The Tale of Charlotte's Beacon

[Jean Capel]

The Tale Of Charlotte's Beacon

 

 

 

-

 

With pride comes pain, and with pain strength. That was the lesson that “Captain” Conrad Mortimer had taken with the highest reverence amongst all he had learned from his bitter mistress.

 

The golden age of the sea reavers had ended; Conrad had been one of the wise few to end his career on a high note, rather than dancing the hempen jig at the end of a rope. Even though he had not been so lucky as to have lived in the golden age, he had made his fair share of plunder and he had treated his crew fairly, ne’er had a mutiny or a word against him been risen on his ship.

 

However this wisdom brought him no comfort during the witching hour as he cried out an aubade of anguish. He would gladly have danced from the rope ten times and again if only to alleviate the fate of his Charlotte.

 

Charlotte.

 

In all his years he had not ever met so feisty and ferocious a women, the red-headed fiery lass who had bested him in the art of the sword by her deception and cunning. Guile and machination were two traits Conrad held in high regard; as they had saved him from the navy and others in his vocation time over without casualty on either side.

 

It was this show of force, and the show of mercy that succeeded it that led to their eventual romantic enjoining upon his retirement. Two beings alike in dignity and passion, vocation and thought.

 

He had searched and searched and searched, and finally from whispers of the brew he had lain his eyes upon her beauty once again. With a duel of the mind and a few matters of cajoling, the subject was set and the two were united.

 

Alas…it seemed the mistress Conrad had once loved had turned against him for his new found love. Thusly, his love stricken with red lung, Conrad left his fertile creature comforts and donned his regalia one final time…for Charlotte.

 

 

 

-

 

 

New Orleans, the dream of all contemporary pirates…of course that’s all it would ever be, a dream. There was a tacit understanding between the trade port and those who dyed the ocean red that should they ever enter the gates of the golden city flying the black flag, they too would contribute to the dye…without quarter.

 

Conrad knew this well, which was exactly why he had burned his flag before he had ever set foot in the state, much less the city. He too was now a member of the pious opposition to piracy, in appearance at least. However despite the rough men an armaments of the city, it was a little known fact that many who had haunted the dreams of sailors for years on end came to their final rest here, whether in flesh or in bone.

 

That was the precise reason Charlotte had come and she was the reason he had come. Now, he was to find that there were in fact other benefits to having enclaves of his contemporaries within an hour’s travel.

 

With flintlock in belt and serrated dagger in sheath, Conrad stood outside the den of debauchery violence and sin that was “The Maritime Maid.”

 

At first look, it was another establishment of the drink and the less than morally admirable women, something New Orleans acquiesced to quite frequently. However the warning carved into the door served to discourage men of less hearty hearts and fists to enter.

 

“Abandon All Hope All Yee Who Enter Here.”

 

Below it, Calico Jack’s flag, the skull and crossed swords ever enduring. No proof had ever been acquired of the nature of the establishment, for all those attempting decided to take an extended leave from the city.

 

With the warning in mind, Conrad slammed his face into the brick and mortar. Blood dribbled down his face and he smiled, the old days were back with a vengeance.

 

His hair may have been graying and his muscles slowly decaying, but he knew in his head that down in his heart he was still the brazen and witty youth he’d been so many years ago, the thing that had attracted Charlotte.

 

He stepped into the darkened interior of the building and swept a searching look from side to side. When he finally found his need, he contemplated on the proper phrasing and when prepared shouted out,

 

“Bill Garret you land loving son of a bitch show your face!”

 

For a moment the entire room turned to look at him in silence, when a man emerged from the crowd. Tall and muscular, skin cracked wrinkled and scarred, face stoic, the room shook as his feet crashed down to the floor with each step he took. And at last when he stood face to face with Conrad, he roared a jocular laugh and embraced him in a hug not unlike a bear on the attack.

 

“Captain you bastard! Where in the hell have you been!? We thought you’d surely been hanged or shot!” he released Conrad from the embrace and smiled, revealing where some of his teeth had been replaced by gold.

 

“We…?”

 

“Yes Cap’, WE!” Bill laughed again as twenty-six other men, the majority of the crowd, slowly stepped out of the camouflage of flesh and revealed their faces.

 

“You dirty loathsome tricky bastards! What am I going to do with all of you?!” Conrad had by this point, succumbed to the jolly mood and began to laugh himself, despite the grim nature of his mission.

 

“Well, we were hoping you could tell us that.” Bill chuckled.

 

Quickly those not of historical affiliation vacated the room, it was clear that fair or not; the establishment was theirs and theirs alone for the time being.

 

“Pull up some chairs, get me a tankard, and I’ll tell you.”

 

Before long the room was one large circle of twenty-five men with Conrad in the middle. The bartender, a tall and lean fellow with one wooden eye, had offered the tankard on the house as soon as he was aware of the legend of his new guest. This generosity was not out of fear, but of respect, as it was a tacit understanding that those who want brew should not fall afoul of the brewer.

 

After a moment’s chatter the pleasantries were out of the way and Bill asked his question once more.

 

“Bill…I’ll tell you all, but first I must know one thing.”

 

“What’s that Cap’?”

 

With that, Conrad stood and walked to the twenty-sixth chair, filled by an unknown face, a tan-faced youth, lean and tall and sandy haired. In a moment’s notice he grabbed the young man by his hair, eliciting shouts and swings, which merely bounced off of Conrad.

 

“Who in the hell is this lass?” he laughed, in all his years he’d had the pleasure of having a career unstained by death albeit with a fair few injuries, but he had always been a fan of the ultimately harmless pair of fisticuffs.

 

Bill chuckled and shouted, “Come on Johnny! Get him off ye’!”

 

The youth fought and finally landed stomped down with his foot on Conrad’s own, pushing him off and drawing his dagger. Conrad turned his fall into a roll and came up in a fighting stance.

 

“AVAST!” shouted the youth.

 

“Son, if you ever say ‘avast’ within my immediate vicinity again, I swear I’ll keelhaul you,” he put a jocular emphasis on the word, as if to wag a finger.

 

Bill laughed and clapped, “Actually Cap’, he’s not your son, he’s mine.”

 

Conrad turned around stunned, “No!”

 

Again Bill laughed, “Yesss!”

 

Conrad turned back to the youth and, upon a mutual assurance the fighting was done with, clapped him on the shoulder, “Any bastard son of Bill can be a bastard crewmate of mine, welcome aboard mate!”

 

“Thank the man Johnny,” Bill admonished only half-seriously

 

“Thank you…cap’,” he spoke in a light and youthful voice, full of promise, not the kind pirates usually attracted, but he’d shape up, Conrad would be sure of that.

 

Conrad had never had a son, and if he didn’t take up his vocation well and fast, he’d never have one. Having someone to pass on his legacy would be quite something, and a son of Bill’s was as good as a son of his own.

 

“Only one problem, Cap’,” Bill spoke again.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You still haven’t told us what we’re doing!”

 

The entire crowd roared with laughter drunkenly…until the look on Conrad’s face showed them that their task was no laughing matter.

 

After a moment’s silence, Conrad put a hand on Bill’s shoulder, “Bill…do you remember Charlotte?”

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Reintroductions said and done, most of the crew was either drunk or asleep in the sorry excuses for beds in the basement of the establishment. Bill sat at the bar with Conrad, his visage changing from gay to grim with every bit of expatiation.

 

After he finished, a silence fell over the two until finally one of them uttered the courage to speak,

“One last trade ship Bill, one coming en route to New Orleans, that’s all we have to do.”

 

“No. Trade ships are suicide these days. We aren’t privateers and we aren’t at war with anyone worth pillaging.”

 

“Goddamn it Bill, you’ve gone soft.”

 

In an instant, Bill grabbed Conrad’s shoulders, spun him and stared him in the eyes. His hands were gripped tightly and were well over the size of what they grasped.

 

“You listen to me Captain, we’re both getting old. We aren’t cut out for that ‘charm the loot out of them’ sh*te anymore. Just because I’ve got the sustaining of our lives at heart does not make me soft, never forget that.”

 

Conrad grinned, “Now that’s the Bill I know.”

 

Bill let go of Conrad’s shoulders and the two laughed like they were children again. Finally, the laughter subsided and the conversation began in earnest again,

 

“So then, no trade ships, no privateering. What the hell are we supposed to do, rob Calico Jack’s treasure trove?”

 

“Not Calico Jack’s trove…”

 

Conrad stared at Bill for a moment, “You’re not serious.”

 

“I’m sure you heard about Galveston?”

 

“Yes, a few months back they forced all the pirates out under threat of artillery fire. According to some reports they fired early, twelve hours instead of twenty-four.”

 

“That’s lies. I was there, some lilly-livered imbecile got excited and caused a building to explode. The entire island erupted into chaos, murder thieving looting arson…by the time the deadline was met, the whole place had been burned to the ground…everyone was dead or gone.”

 

Bill’s face tightened for a moment.

 

“Goddamn shame too, it was the last bastion of barbaric brusque and belligerent bastards such as ourselves.”

 

The two laughed together once more.

 

“So, what’s your point Bill?”

 

“My point is that up until a few months ago, Galveston was the largest pirate enclave in the region if not the world. Many many people died trying to escape…that’s a lot of riches lost to the island.”

 

“Solid plan, except…how do you propose we find them? They are, in fact, lost.”

 

“You remember the Red Beard Gang?”

 

“Aye.”

 

“Well I became…acquainted, with them during my stay on the island. They held possession of the only lighthouse on the island and they extorted everyone with an incoming ship, made quite a bit of money that way. In fact, they made so much money, they couldn’t bury it all.”

 

“Go on…”

 

“Some of it is still around in treasure troves along the island. However….they put most of the money into possessions, gold, jewels, that sort of thing. Then, they renovated the lighthouse.”

 

“Renovated?”

 

“Aye, renovated. They stuffed the walls of that thing full of gold and jewels. And as far as I know, the Red Beards all died when the island burned.”

 

“So…it’s just sitting there…waiting for us.”

 

Bill grinned, “…Aye, Captain.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

It was dark, the sky a murky blue like a bloodstained uniform. The crew had offloaded and awaited orders from the captain.

 

Conrad stood in front of his men, sword sheathed, flintlock in his belt.

 

“MEN! The age of our kind is ending says the man in Washington! We are weak and old say the men on the streets of New Orleans! We are a relic of the past says the man in the museum! Tell me men, ARE THEY RIGHT!?”

 

“NO!” was the resounding answer from the crew.

 

“We may not be raiding today, we may not be the terror of all merchants of the seven seas, but I say to you now that is temporary! What you do with your shares is your own will, but even if I’ve not a right to ask this, I ask despite it. I ask that what you do with your shares in some way advances our kind, buy a ship, own an armory, something that keeps our legend alive. We SHALL NOT allow a world to exist in which it lives without FEARING US!”

 

“AYE!” again, the men responded as a whole.

 

“Well then you dirty bastards, what are you waiting for? ONWARD TO VICTORY!”

 

“AYE!”

 

Such enthusiasm was unwarranted, for they had no idea what was coming to them.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Conrad felt the flames of his ship licking at the flesh and fat on his back. Blood, bile, pus, ichor, vomit, all around him. His friends of a lifetime felled before the blades of that which could not be.

 

His ship burned, the lighthouse burned, his flesh and his mind burned, panged with grief and sorrow.

 

Once upon a time, Conrad had sworn to himself that he would never be stricken with greed, for that was the true curse of all pirates. Now, he was to discover the nature of curses.

 

Bill’s stomach was eviscerated, dead in the arms of his son, his son Johnny whom had so foolishly tried to fight those…things. They had not made his end quick.

 

Surrounded by blood stained coins and jewels, surrounded by sickness, surrounded by death.

 

Conrad looked upon the lighthouse and saw the flesh from his lover’s face fall, saw her bones turn to dust, and her dust scatter to the wind.

 

All of this, for failure. All of this, for Charlotte.

Edited February 22, 2010 by Jean Capel