One

The hold of the ship was dark, dank, gloomy and smelled of filth and rot. The sound of boards creaking and groaning, water lapping against the hull, and the coughs and grunts of the other prisoners was all Jack could hear. He stood in a cage, one of about five others, casually leaning on the bars, his wrists bound with iron manacles.  He was the perfect image of a swashbuckling rogue – dark hair that fell to his shoulders, wearing a tricorn hat, large hoop earrings, seafarer’s coat, buckled trousers and ridiculous cuffed boots. He normally carried a bejeweled cutlass at his side, but as it was, he was a captive and thus had no weapon.

The hatch opened, sending light into the dark hold. Jack squinted. A heavy man with a broad brimmed hat and a massive beard stomped down the stairs, flanked by two pirates carrying pistols and knives and sneers.

They marched over to Jack’s cell and stopped. “Jack Hawkins.” The big man boomed, his voice deep yet hoarse. “It has been some time since we last laid eyes upon each other.”

“Captain Blackheart.” Jack doffed his hat, “It has been a while.”

“Years, probably.” Blackheart turned his red eyes upon his captive and stared at him.

Jack avoided his terrible gaze and glanced around his holding place. “The quality of your accommodations has degraded though. Last time I was aboard the Harbinger I remember it having softer beds and less bars.”

Blackheart’s voice was icy. “The last time ye were aboard was before Port Royale. Yer no longer me guest, Jack.”

Jack acted as if he was thinking hard. “Oh, right. Port Royale, your prison raid, freein’ me, we were best of mates, all that. Are we still friends?” He cocked his head and grinned impishly.

Blackheart smiled thinly but his eyes were narrow. “I don’t know, Jack. Ye tell me. Or better yet, we’ll ask – “ he paused for effect – “Arcadia Del Sol. Does she think we’re still chums?”

The roguish grin faltered. Jack furrowed his brow and stared at the ceiling. “Arcadia? Oh right, now I remember. Little Spanish tart. What a looker. Who ended up with ‘er, me or you? Oh right…” He trailed off as he saw the look on Blackheart’s face. “Come on, mate, yer not still upset about that, are ye? ‘Twas her choice, not mine.”

The bearded pirate let go of the bars and stumped back and forth in front of the cells. The other prisoners cowered and placed their arms around their heads protectively as he drew a long, curved blade from his coat sleeve and tested it on his finger. 

“Hawkins, I don’t remember you giving her much of a choice. But it no matter, women come cheap on these waters. Tis not her I wanted. The Lady Arcadia Del Sol had a map which she stole from her father, who took it from the corpse of old Bartholomew Herring after he swung. Where is it?”

Jack cleared his throat. “Map? M’love had a map, did she? Well if she had a map, then how would I know where it is? Why don’t ye ask her about it?”

The ship swayed, causing Jack to take a hold of the cage to stand. “I did.” Blackheart’s voice was deadly. “Some love, Jack. She gave ye in without much pressure. Where is the map?”

Jack folded his arms. “Don’t look at me. I don’t have it.”

“He’s right, cap’n.” One of the pirate guards piped up. “We searched ‘im good. Found naught but a single doubloon and some –“

Clang! Blackheart rammed the dagger against the bars with a deadly force. The pirates jumped back in surprise.

“Why don’t ye talk, Hawkins? You know I can make ye. Save me the trouble and yerself the horror of that.”

For a moment, the two pirates locked eyes, the old staring into the soul of the young, searching for any weakness.

The younger pirate shrugged. “I – don’t have it. I lost it dicing to Connor Allen of the Coral. What a stroke o’ rum luck, too. Bid snake eyes, and when I called ‘is bluff, the cheeky little son of a –“

“Save it, Hawkins!” Blackheart thundered.  He turned and stomped towards the stairs, pausing to turn at their base. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to find Captain Allen, and if he does have the map, I may set you free. But if he does not,” he slid the curved blade back down his sleeve, “I’ll raise the stakes and ask you again.” He beckoned, and the evil trio ascended the steps to the next deck. As they disappeared, Blackheart called one last time, “I needn’t tell you, Jack, that if yer lying to me, hell will become yer best friend.

Thud!  The trapdoor slammed shut. The other prisoners glanced nervously at each other in the dimness.

Jack Hawkins swallowed, and patted the slight rectangular bulge in his left boot.

N N N