The Demise of Foxy Jack (Adventures of the X Pirates Book 1) Page 2

  Warren could feel her presence and comfort as ocean water swirled around him. As he came up for air he drew in a deep cleansing breath and with a scream he let out all the pain. That was the last time Warren would have the dream. It would turn into a dull ever-present ache that had at its center a burning core of unending love.

  The determined pelican spent the next few months felling trees and building a home on a small parcel of land on the north end of the island. He built a dock, a boathouse, and eventually a small fishing boat that he christened, Remember the Dream. He would fish when he needed to eat, he would wander the island when he needed to think, and when he missed his wife he would build another room onto his home. It was becoming a grand affair because he would enjoy their imagined talks while he worked.

  Warren created a new life for himself, and other than missing his beloved he was happy. The fishing was grand in the surrounding waters of this island and Warren loved the blissful peace it provided him until the morning a single boat happened to pass by. He recognized the vessel and the three pelicans aboard her. The boat was the Chatterbox. She was captained by Liz Reed and crewed by her constantly bickering sisters, Hedda and Louella.

  At that moment no one was speaking. All four of them were just staring at each other wondering how this occurrence came to be. Chatterbox silently sailed passed the anchored Dream. Liz and his sisters just stared, beaks agape. There was Warren Bronck, the legend himself, missing for almost two years. He was the same but different. He had built himself a fine new boat. He was fishing again. As Chatterbox turned towards home Warren feared that life as he knew it was about to change again.

  Ten days later an invasion force arrived consisting of four fishing boats and a frigate class ship. Crazy Bird, Lonely Heart, Troubled Waters, and of course Chatterbox, were all filled stem to stern with curious and excited pelicans. The massive exploration frigate Reconnaissance was delivering a pompous armadillo representing Her Majesty Queen Anastasia.

  The Pelicans made shore first. Reconnaissance anchored and quickly dispatched three landing boats. The armadillo was accompanied by thirty-five of Her Majesty’s Marines. The only thing they brought with them was the flag of the Empire affixed to a staff. Stepping onto the beach Elmer Humphrey, Lord High Magistrate of New Lands and Territorial Acquisitions for the Empire pierced the beach, and planted the Queen’s colors.

  Warren ran out to repel them.

  This is not your island.

  He shouted.

  If you want to make something of yourselves go do it somewhere else.

  The Marines raised their rifles at his approach. The multiple cocking sounds made Warren’s left eye twitch. Elmer Humphrey ordered them lowered.

  Are you Warren Bronck, sir?

  Humphrey asked.

  Well of course I am you dolt.

  The armadillo laughed.

  I see your legendary sense of humor is intact.

  Warren felt a small pain in his brain as everyone else laughed as well.

  Did you discover this island?

  The armadillo prodded.

  This island found me.

  Warren responded.

  It saved me.

  He added.

  It never needed discovery.

  The pain was beginning to grow.

  Well said, sir.

  The armadillo laughed out loud without understanding.

  Tell me, Warren Bronck.

  Humphrey said for all to hear.

  Is the fishing grand here?

  Warren betrayed nothing.

  If Warren is here then the fishing must be grand.

  Hedda blurted out.

  That’s what I said when I saw him.

  Louella shouted back.

  No. I said it first.

  No. I did.

  Well I saw him first.

  No you didn’t. I did.

  You’re such a liar.

  You were born a liar.

  You were lying in your egg.

  Warren tried to find Babs in his mind.

  Ladies, enough.

  The armadillo shouted in the most charming way.

  Mister Bronck, sir.

  Warren couldn’t hear her at all.

  It is my pleasure to inform you that I claim this island in the name of the Empire and Her Majesty Queen Anastasia.

  Warren missed his wife.

  In light of your discovery, and in order to mark it, I name this place in your honor.

  Warren couldn’t go on without her.

  I name this place the Island of Bronck.

  With that there was a resounding cheer from all the invaders on the beach.

  For Warren, the shouting was incessant and grating. The sound was echoing loudly in his skull. The Queen’s Marines all began firing their rifles into the air. Shot, after shot, after shot, rang and cracked out loud. The reports ricocheted memories in his mind. Hearing the signal, Reconnaissance opened fire with her fifteen guns. The sudden noise was deafening. It thundered through Warren’s body and set off a burst of bright white light in his mind.

  Then through all the pain and noise he heard her

  It’s time to go, my love.

  He felt her in his heart.

  It’s time to go, my apprentice of the seas.

  And so Warren quietly walked away.

  While the invasion party was celebrating their latest acquisition, Warren Bronck took Remember the Dream out to sea. No one he knew ever heard from him again. Some say that he was killed by a great white whale. Others say he was swallowed by a giant fish. All anyone knows for sure is that Warren never returned to the island that now bore his name.

  II

  The Island of Bronck

  Ship, dead ahead, Captain!

  The panic stricken shout from the lookout at the bow of the side wheeler paddle steamer, Tamasha cut through the darkness quickly.

  There was a full moon, but thick clouds kept it hidden. The wind was brisk and the clouds were moving quickly. Moonlight would appear for a moment and then it would disappear the next. A veteran lookout knows to stay sharp on a night like this. Anything could come out of a flash in the dark.

  In the wheelhouse, Captain Bradley Bemboom reacted calmly, but firmly.

  Full reverse left and right paddle clutches.

  Tamasha was already at full steam. She was avoiding Royal Patrol boats that were rumored to be in the area. The boilers at full pressure would assist the reverse Bemboom had ordered, and bring Tamasha to a stop relatively quickly and well within distance of whatever was out there.

  And blow the warning whistle, Mister Thompson.

  Aye-aye, Captain.

  The first mate immediately pulled back hard on the clutches that controlled the turning mechanisms of the paddle wheels that were affixed to Tamasha at mid-hull on her port and starboard sides. She groaned as the paddle boxes covering her blades above the water line filled with surging ocean water. She lurched back hard as she screamed her warning out into the dark.

  Bemboom was unfazed by all the commotion. His full attention was just ahead of the paddle wheeler. The light of the moon made another appearance. There was indeed a ship directly ahead of them and the Captain made several quick observations in the brief instant he saw her.

  The ship was at rest and there was no one on deck or at the helm. Anchors were in the water at both the bow and the stern. There were eight gun doors at her facing side, and they were all open. She was directly ahead, closing fast, and horizontal to their approach at mid-ship. Tamasha was on a collision course that would destroy them both.

  The Captain turned the wheel hard to starboard. Tamasha began to turn, but her limited rudder control was not going to be enough. Instinctively k
nowing what his Captain wanted Thompson disengaged the left paddle clutch bringing that wheel to a stop. The turn became much more severe. With her right paddle turning alone at full speed the paddle wheeler became unstable and that was exactly what Bemboom wanted.

  As she turned parallel to the other ship, Tamasha started tipping to her starboard side. As she rolled, she began to expose her hull bottom to the mystery ship. The rolling starboard blades were moving more and more water as she continued to list and slide closer towards the anchored wall of wood and sail beside her.

  The right paddle bucket suddenly shattered under the weight and pressure. With that there was a surge of ocean water between the two ships. A temporary barricade of cresting and rising water came up between them as they drew forcibly side by side.

  Everything and everyone on board Tamasha rocked as she slammed broadside to broadside against the ship in the dark. The impact was bone jarring, but the water wall lessened the destruction. The ocean between them ebbed just as quickly as it came, and pushed the two ships away from one another.

  Having been thrown to the floor of the wheelhouse in the melee, Captain Bemboom rose up and pulled the emergency pressure release valve. Down below on the lower deck the boilers responded by releasing all of their energy in one volatile burst. A fifty-foot blast of steam roared and rose into the dark night sky. Tamasha wailed until her steam was fully exhausted and she came to a quiet rest.

  In juxtaposition to the noise and violence that had just occurred, an eerie silence immediately fell upon the two ships. Moonlight came and went, here and there. The mystery ship was still again and there was still no crew to be seen. Bemboom was transfixed by the immovable object and its irresistible force, but the sounds of commotion down below brought him back.

  He turned to his very capable aardvark.

  Mister Thompson.

  Yes, sir

  See to our guests.

  Aye, sir.

  Everyone knows that aardvarks are generally cautious creatures. They’re bookish and tend to prefer their solitude, but that gives them sharp minds and even sharper instincts.

  You did very well, Lewis.

  The Captain added.

  Thank you, sir.

  But Bemboom was being drawn away again.

  Damage assessment as well, sir?

  Thompson asked dutifully.

  Of course.

  Bemboom responded as he exited the wheelhouse and jumped onto Tamasha’s top deck.

  And find Mister Pinkus.

  The Captain called back to Thompson who acknowledged his commands and went about the business of getting them done.

  Bradley Bemboom was a black panther of grace and style with a calm disposition especially when facing the unknown. He was of royal blood and could trace his lineage to the first regional monarchs that came before the Empire. He was educated at the finest military schools and academies. Committed to a life at sea and in service to the Crown he rose quickly through the ranks and gained a fierce reputation as a pirate killer.

  Chief General Cameron Brazen named him, the Night Hunter. All those that served under his various commands called him, the Iron Fist in the Velvet Glove. Clearly deserving of the opportunity, he was given charge of the Valiant under the command of Admiral Ludlow Castle at the Battle of Bourne. As he walked the deck, Bemboom recognized the ship before him. She was much bigger than he remembered, and bathed in scattered shafts of wandering moonlight she was most frightening.

  Bradley Bemboom was disgraced and fell out of favor when he spoke out after Bourne. The Empire did not destroy the enemy that day. The scoundrels had simply slipped away in a clever illusion. Revenge and Nightthorn were outgunned and inexperienced. They should never have escaped the clutches of four of Her Majesty’s finest ships.

  There was no need to hide the truth but he watched as both command and crown did just that. All concerned didn’t want the Empire to appear weak and vulnerable. Instead they created a nightmare that enjoyed hunting and killing.

  The panther’s career ended when he began telling government officials that he saw genius in what Nightthorn had achieved, and he agreed with the Brethren of Crows purpose of rooting out corruption. He also believed that the crow had justification in seeking out revenge on those who killed his family. Bemboom was subsequently stripped of all rank, titles, and property, and was banished from court.

  The mad squirrel that dreamt up Tamasha fished Bemboom from the bottom of a bottle so that he could captain her and on this night the panther was beginning to wonder if sobering up and agreeing to the task had been a wise move.

  He could feel the fur on the back of his neck rising.

  Is that what I think it is, Captain?

  Bemboom had been startled, but never showed it.

  Yes it is, Mister Thompson.

  His stalwart first mate was wearing his fear.

  Why is she here and abandoned, sir?

  Bemboom knew why.

  Because she’s dead, Mister Thompson.

  He turned to his nervous first mate.

  Or hadn’t you heard?

  The Captain smiled a little smile.

  Fear is never to be feared, my friend.

  With that the panther leapt onto the deck of the infamous ghost ship, Revenge.

  Bemboom was now standing on hallowed ground. Moonlight and shadows danced around him. His footsteps seemed to echo as he firmly but cautiously took his first steps. He admired her eerie glory. A nightmare circus turned into a ship. Wood from whatever they could find to build her hull, posts and poles for masts, and big top circus tents for sails. It would all be comical and endearing if not for her reputation and the feeling of foreboding that reeked from her.

  Bemboom could sense that death had been here many times over. Below him, the deadliest firepower on the high seas was silent. She had doubled her gun doors since last they met. And she had murdered and destroyed so many. Revenge was scarred too. Her once bright colors were fading away. Battle torn wood, scorch marks, and blood had joined the palette that colored her appearance and demeanor. Bemboom thought everything about her was deadly, devious, and somehow deceptive.

  A shaft of moonlight split the darkness and all that was Benjamin Nightthorn suddenly stood before him, the crack in his scarred beak from Belladonna’s ring when she beat him, the edges of his feathers left gray from the singe of the lightning that struck him on the night he tore out her heart, and the ever present bloodthirsty revenge hungry fire in his eyes.

  Bemboom stepped towards the crow incarnate.

  Have you come for me?

  He dared ask.

  Never forget. Never forgive.

  Nightthorn whispered as he faded away under the cover of another passing cloud.

  Revenge and her cannon suddenly roared to life and fired upon Tamasha at point blank range. Not being fit for battle she was instantly obliterated. Unlike many of Nightthorn’s destructions at sea that went unreported for months, news of Tamasha traveled quickly across the Empire because of the rank and caliber of some of the guests on board. No one knew that not all were lost.

  The Tamasha had been the audacious experiment of entrepreneur, showmen, and professional gambler Manfred Pinkus. She was a floating gambling hall and entertainment establishment that rode the waves in a flurry of debauchery and excess that had never been witnessed before.

  The paddle wheeler was also an experiment in new thinking. No one had thought to attach blades that would move water to propel a ship. Manfred decided to use steam engines to drive them. He had her built in the shipbuilder’s haven of Blithe. All the pelicans thought he was crazy and obviously mad, but the squirrel was following a dream and he was paying handsomely to achieve it.

  Tamasha was also a very clever business venture. By putting her out to sea
Manfred Pinkus was able to avoid the Queen’s tax by earning revenue beyond Her Majesty’s territorial waters. Once the Queen’s Department of Finance and Taxation caught wind of what was happening, they kept moving the demarcation further and further out. Tamasha should not have been out as far as she was. Greed on both sides of the coin put her there.

  Manfred Pinkus arrived on the Island of Bronck floating on the only piece of Tamasha he had left, her nameplate. The squirrel washed up unseen on what had come to be known as the Founder’s side of the island. The father of the recently deceased paddle wheeler was injured, dazed, and confused, but even in that state Manfred refused to believe that he was lucky at cards but entirely unlucky at life.

  Everyone knows that squirrels are social creatures, very practical, and always planning ahead. Manfred Pinkus was all that and more, but unlike most squirrels he consumed life for the now. He believed in having fun and taking life less seriously. Practicality was not his strong suit. Risk suited him better.

  The Pinkus family made their fortune in nuts. They were organized and methodical creatures of business. Not one nut ever went unaccounted for and whatever extra nuts were acquired had to be put away for a rainy day. They treated their wealth and finances the same way. Working with nuts is of course natural to squirrels. This simple dried fruit, with its one tasty and valuable seed could be found in many regions, and in many forms, all across the Empire.

  From the lowliest hovel to the mightiest castle, every food pantry had an ample supply of Pinkus Family Nuts. Rustic family dishes could be uplifted. Fine dining cuisine transformed. They even proved to be a nutritional snack that could be carried in a pouch or pocket for long or short travels. Unending variety, cooked or raw, easy to store and easy to ship, nuts were everywhere, necessary, and highly popular. Always set at just the right price for the market, the Pinkus family entire was rolling in nut money.