Freebooter Pirates

“Keep our heading, ya lousy bootlicks!” my voice seeped across the deck like a crashing wave. The hired buccaneers aboard my ship straitened up some, hardly one to set into panic from the words of one woman. A fine ship this, a Last Hurrah in every sense of the term. Passed down from my father after his untimely demise, and now the closest thing I’ve ever known to a home.

“Storms off the port bow.” I heard his voice before the stomps of his boots, clopping up the steps and informing me with that relaxed ease of a practiced sailor.

“I see the storm, Adrian.” My eyes were looking elsewhere though. Where was it, east? Maybe a bit too the north. If the winds weren’t with us then it might set us back days, but I couldn’t afford some robed lunatic to control the weather for us. Maybe I could skirt around the blackened sky.

“By my reckoning of our current, heading we’ll be overtaken in six hours.” He stated with plain dryness, but for situations like these discussing the weather was hardly a boring topic.

“Hurrah can handle it, she’s a tough ship.” And yet the moment I said that I felt a pang of guilt. No, worry really. Did I really want to risk my father’s pride?

“The ship is sturdy, but the men are unseasoned.” He countered, which left me wondering if it was himself he was worried about.

“Ten of my finest are aboard. Do you doubt their skill?”

“Of the finest toughs, but your finest aren’t manning the sails.” He looks back with a crude motion, fresh hires checking the ropes and keeping our sails at the right angle. “It’s very easy to fight a troll or slay a man, you stab or bash until it stops moving. You’re best are right good at that. Can’t stab a storm. Can’t punch the rain.”

“What would you have us do, then? If we get caught in this storm then unfurl the sails and bunker down below deck to wait it out.” With an impatient huff I almost couldn’t believe I was having this conversation.

He looked thoughtful. “Thirty men strong. Decent pay on offer. And yet … our talents wasted if we can’t find our target.”

“She’ll be here.” I muttered.

“You said this yesterday, and the day before.” His tone didn’t change, he spoke as of this waste with the same level of care and dread in which he’d referred to the storm. Dry and listless, boring for lack of a better descriptor.

“And then you’ll just have to hear me say it again, now won’t you? Go check the chef, make sure no one’s been snacking.”

“Captain, I would recommend that- …”

“Leave before I grow tired of this conversation Adrian.” I watched as he regarded my tone, nose puffing out and his eyes narrowed. He might have looked suspicious, but the insightful dullard all too keen on picking up aspects of sailing and weather and ship maintenance always struggled to read people. It’s possible he caught onto my irritation, but it didn’t matter even if he was oblivious. He left all the same.

I watched the seas, feeling that familiar swell and the sweeping fall as Hurrah tore through the waves like a knife through bread. Sprays of white bursting across her bow and the salty brine smell as constant as the chill winds.

How to deal with the storm though. I could always deal with losing more men, they weren’t hard to find after all. So long as we looted the corpse they weren’t even expensive to outfit, at least not compared to a successful heist. But highway robbery requires a someone along the highway to rob. Did she change routes?

No, maybe the storm just scared her off. That captain always was a coward, and no fearful dolt will dive strait into a tropical storm. Other possibilities are that we were just late, the trading vessel already past. Or perhaps my eyes and ears on the lookout was slacking on the job, missed signs of our catch when we had the chance.

Hard to be a pirate on empty waters, what good is having a ship of the toughest brawlers and yet you can’t catch someone to rob even with fast and light ship? I swear if I end up losing money on this venture because I have to pay repairs but don’t get a payout, I’m putting a bullet between that man’s eyes the next I see him. Honest work should never pay more than a cunning cheat, it’s just not right.

“Captain?” I heard a shout from behind me. No, wait … above.

“See the Jenivere yet?” even harder to not sound impatient when a hard working pirate is forced to worry for so long.

“No miss Kass, it’s the birds. Look?” he points somewhere to the port side, toward the storm. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at this dullard’s worrying when mine was so much more practical.

“They’re just flying down to escape the winds, hard storm hitting soon and they probably think they can outrun it.” Leaning on the wooden railing, wasn’t about to let some fresh recruit’s jumpiness distract from my ponderings.

The ocean rose and fell with Hurrah’s very stride, the ship seemed almost happy to slice apart waves and skip across the waters. Sturdy and fast, some hundred and twenty feet from stern to bow, she was my pride and joy every bit as much as my fathers. It felt nice to just listen to the waves crest and crash, take in the ease and the freedom in this expanse of dark and cold and blue.

“C-cap …” Another call from the lower decks, but I closed my eyes and ignored him.

Our plan was to intercept a trading vessel coming down from the north toward a nearby port town, the Jenivere probably didn’t have anything exceptionally valuable save maybe a magic weapon or two, a bit of spice maybe, but there was always something the old man planned to sell when he came this way. And just like old habbits, bar tal- … I mean, my informants always mentioned him taking extra cash out of foreign pockets. Charging to let extra civilians ride out the trip, taking commissions off of government types to move prisoners across, he even had his own cage according to some.

And he was heading to a slave town.

If that old captain didn’t think to sell off his passengers upon arrival then I’d just have the honors of doing it for him, and we’d get to keep that nice cage just to sweeten the temptation.

“Kass!” this time someone shouted, and with an angry huff I shouted back.

“Stow it bootlick, or you’re on latrine duty for a weak.” I didn’t have to shout louder than him, I just had to be the captain.

We didn’t have the supplies to stay our here indefinitely, some decent sailors but not too much food. Lots of fighters and weapons, but no spare parts or engineers, we can’t keep this girl running if she gets into too much of a scrap. In retrospect clearing space in the cargo hold so that we could fit more of what we stole wasn’t the safest plan, and now if we had to sail back to port for a resupply I’ll still be losing money. Maybe if we find an island somewhere. A few natives to shank and rob, some sparkling idol we can take back. Or just the fruits and coconuts one expects from the tropics.

“KASS! We’re under attack!” The shouting again.

My eyes were open, I looked over my shoulder to see where the lookout pointed. Birds? Flapping. Dark shapes in the distance coming in close, low and fast from an equally dark backdrop of cloud and rain. Wait, no … they weren’t birds.

Wings, feathers, yellow talons trailing behind on a bouncing flight which required they shove their arms downward at full force. One in the center had a humanoid figure riding atop it’s shoulders, green and robed and with a long pointed nose. But then the flying creatures themselves were also fairly well shaped, the legs and hips and face of a woman while the arms were elongated wings where fingers should have been. It didn’t take  a sage or a dungeonear to guess what was coming.

“Weapons out! Adrian wake the Freebooters, and you Morrant! Explain, how did they get so close?!” I was already taking out my crossbow in one hand and my pistol in another. There were five of the darned things, wait no, six if you counted the rider. And I damn well wasn’t letting any of those half-breed monsters on my ship!

“I gave the alarm as soon as the harpies were spotted captain.” He called down with worry, sounding as if he feared I would bite his head off before the birdwomen did. Chances are they’d just sing at him until his mind melted, I’ve heard harpies can do things and I’ve heard magic can do things, none of them are ever good things.

“They seem to be aiming for us specifically.” The one Freebooter on active duty up top calls out, reaching to grab his own weapon.

“Must want a place to land, we’re the only thing for miles.” A lowly bootlicker muses.

“Well they aren’t getting it here unless it’s in the form of a pelt. Fire as soon as you get a shot, don’t let them sin- …” and then I heard it. That wonderously beautiful melody.

One of them was singing, and even through the clamour and crash of waters bellow and a distance of sixty yards away, it felt like the voice of an angel. For a moment I almost thought she was one and could only imagine stepping forward into her embrace.

But in the very next moment I was disgusted by it, a filthy half-breed? What so her mother got nasty with a bird at some point and now she expected to pass herself off as some siren? I wasn’t buying it, a quick shake of my head and a look at her ugly mug was all I needed to break whatever spell that voice tried to hold over me.

They flurried closer, hurriedly closing the distance.

“Go suck an egg!” I shouted to the squadron before taking a crack shot with my crossbow. They were some hundred and fifty feet out, but a mere fifty yards wasn’t enough to turn my aim from truth to lie. The bolt hits that blasted singer square in the chest, and I got to experience that rush of glee from her momentary choking in response. 

Her wings stalled. The harpy drifted, and in the distance I could see the waves claim her body. Good.

My Freebooter from the other end of the ship took a quick shot and missed, but it was close enough to risk taking another shot. The only problem was the fate of my men was a little distracting.

“What are you doing, no! STOP! She’s stopped singing!” I shouted, as even though the voice of that she-devil no longer burned into their ears a number of my men were striding mindlessly forward. One clambored up over the edge of the boat, having the misfortune to cover by the rim. Before anyone could stop him the sailor was overboard, diving into the waves and lost in our forward movement. Yet still more followed after in that blind, all too likely lust filled desperation. Not all of them thankfully, but this was just one Harpy singing, and for all I could tell my men would kill themselves trying to rescue the drowned one.

Another man pulled himself just over the rim, but then stopped and stayed there. Gazing down into the water as if he’d just reached a startling realization, holding himself back. Another man stumbled forward, weapon still drawn as he just crawls over the edge and seems all too ready to jump. A third ambles, too far away to reach the edge and well within the reach of his fellows.

A quick melee, lunges and grabs, two of those with a clear head reached out but weren’t fast enough to pin down an evasive mindslave. Four more rushed out from beneath the bow, charging as fast as they could manage, and one stayed behind near the door to our lower decks desperately gripping onto a rope. As if holding himself in place might save his mind.

But the harpies were closer now, their friend forgotten in the surf. Forty yards … 

The robed creature on the leader’s back seemed unmoved, my forces were too distracted to lease a volley of death into their advance, and now … oh by the nine the next one started to sing. That delightful melody, words caught in my throat in the struggle to fend off whatever magics tore into my will, my mind. I could feel it, I knew that I was under someone’s control and yet I still couldn’t help myself. It was just too amazing, just so beautiful.

I had to see her up close, I just had to hear that tone for as long as she would sing it. I moved forward.

Other men around me had fallen under her sway, even those who had resisted the first song now stopped whatever they were attempting and gazed toward this bird woman with longing. If you resist once you are immune to the voice, at least for a while, but that immunity only extends to the one harpy. This was five, all within audible range of my entire ship, singing songs in turn. One after another.

The man right next to me faltered, and I could see his listless walking toward the edge of the ship. I didn’t care, and a part of my mind flared up in anger at the thought he’d reach the harpy first. I was closer, she was my bird, how dare he think he’d share? I debated shouting down to my crew. Give proper commands, order them to get bellow deck and force the harpies to wait them out. To get rope and tie yourselves in place. For a moment I wondered about Adrian and gathering help from the Freebooters bellow deck on their sleeping shift, but I could see Adrian right now standing on the edge of the boat and prepared to leap.

Actually so was I come to think of it …

Why was I right at the edge?

“Oh you fuckers.” I managed to shout, pulling away from the railing in a panic, mind free once more in flared with a dull anger.

The one Freebooter on deck spent his time drawing another crossbow bolt. The targets were closer, but also closing fast. And in the same span of time it took him to pull one bolt, a splash and a splash as two men dive overboard and are abandoned to the surf. Two more pull up next to the edge of the boat and resist, shaking off their infatuation via the fear of impending doom. I heard the crash as one man dives to tackle a mind controlled buccaneer, only to be deftly avoided and land flat on his face.

A twang, and a twang, two shots plinked out toward the harpies who hadn’t yet begun to sing. Perhaps these men each realizing that a mad scramble to save the doomed dullards was hopeless when you could just be killing the threat, and that they will run out of songs faster if you kill them before they get to sing.

Such a shame they both missed. Not exactly paid for their marksmanship, these bootlickers. 

“G-gnn, can’t …” I shook my head and stammered to give orders. Right next to the edge, and they were now some twenty eight yards away, they’d be on us in seconds. And to my horror, a third one started to sing.

Did I say horror? Can elation count as horror? Before I’d even realized my feet had moved I was back to standing on the railing, and without a second’s hesitation I dove over the edge. That momentary panic as water rushed up to greet me, the waves that I’d so often gleefully stabbed through now came to take their revenge for my ships misdeeds. Facefirst into the waters, a wave swelled to swallow me in black and salt and bubbly foam.

I didn’t get to see what happened next, my whole world was frothing bubbles and churning salt. I could hear splashes, but I also knew that the song demanded I come closer. I could hear another song, the fourth harpy to cast her voice yet again enticed our forces, enticed me to swim closer! But I wasn’t get to let that half breed harlot pull me away from my true love, not something as wonderful as the third harpy who ever sang, that wondrous melody to grace my ears from the heavenly symphonies above.

Just as my head broke the surface I found myself surrounded by splashing, one behind me, one to the left, a third to my right. Three men had jumped overboard behind me and all I could think to do was desperately swim toward one harpy … my harpy. It was so hard to even turn back and watch my beloved ship sail on without me.

But there were only three harpies now, and the one with a robed figure was missing? Perhaps it was one of the splashes, or if the fates truly despised me then she just turned invisible. A shudder, but I had to keep swimming, I had to get close to that beloved’s voice.

And much to everyone’s dismay for all of the reasons, she sped past and simply kept pace with my ship, now closing in to the point they were about to land. Their songs continued, old ones I didn’t care about and the one glorious song from my beloved. My ship was singing? No, the bird. That half bird woman with the best voice of them all.

More shots twanged out in weak bursts, one missing, one hit dead center but didn’t even knock the bird down. The harpy just flew through the pain, landing on the stern with claws scraping into wood. Another harpy broke formation and swooped over to the bow, and from my angle I could see her claws stab into a man’s chest. Digging deep into his shoulders with a harsh grip while he fumbled to load a crossbow. Freebooter he was not, but his armor was holding and the man wasn’t out for the count.

But then the horror of horrors. My harpy. MY HARPY. She chose another! A man at that, completely passed me by to dive into a six man throng of people trying to decide if they should throw themselves over the edge or not. I couldn’t see who she picked, but she practically threw herself into his face claws first and tush second. How dare he. I risked my life to be close with my beloved, just to hear her sweet voice, and without even a moment’s touch that harlot was stealing my bird!

This wouldn’t stand. I dropped my hand crossbow and very quickly drew a small knife from my belt. Three people were around me, some in front and some behind, but I was swimming to reach the side of my ship. Already near the stern, it sailed ahead oblivious and took my harpy along with it. 

No.

Unacceptable! A stab, a harsh jab to plant my blade into the polished wood and latch on for the ride.

My blade nicked and scraped aside. No hold, no bite, no edge, and most certainly no handholds.

On the edge of my ship, the Last Hurrah, I saw people backing away from the edge just as I saw claws and swords and wrestling for control. The ship sailed away from me at speed, far too fast to catch up with, and at my speed in the water I’d already outpaced the three behind me. Those who fell into the waves not even a minute earlier weren’t anywhere to be seen, already so far out of range the swells blocked vision of them. If they were lucky a sea beast would devour them quickly. If the gods hated them, they would exhaust or freeze trying to stay atop the surface in this wretched wasteland of water.

And all of that paled in comparison to this latest horror the gods bestowed upon me. Flash of blood, a spray of feathers, and the singing stopped. I still wanted to hear it, I still needed to hear it, but the silence was as maddening as the actual sounds had been. A bird woman falls over the side of the ship, blood on her talons and crimson leaking from a wound on her chest. The bolt of a crossbow still jutting between her sternum the obvious signs of injury.

The ship outpaced me, my father’s love and joy abandoning me into death at the same moment my beloved chooses to join me. She hadn’t cheated after all, she didn’t leave me behind. She was dying to come with me! So she could sing in the afterlife, we would be there together. We would …

What the hell am I doing?

I could now hear this harpies words for what they truly were, the broken broken not so much by my resistance but by the lack of elegance in her singing voice.

“FFffffffuuuck!” the harpy screeched while splashing in surf and blood, her wings dragging her down and the injuries clearly not helping. Salt water on an open wound, I only wish I could have done more to make it painful. Even as I felt the need to screech out similar shouts of disapproval, my ship zipping, I was loosing ground with every second. Ten yards away. Then twenty … soon it was thirty.

A man at the stern of the ship, a lowly buccaneer. But even if he was a bootlicker, unless my eyes deceived me he was a bootlicker with a rope.

“Catch!” a rope and a throwing arm, the long cords trailing out into the air before leaving a wake of white as it touches into the waves. I had to scramble for the ends, swimming forward, no surging with a desperate hope of survival after this humiliation. The harpy beloved, oh how I loathed to think those terms, gagged and spluttered trying to swim through the pain while I simply overtook her.

A grab! No, a miss.

Another grab, my fingers closing around the solid rope and holding tight. Cold, miserable, battered by the waves and with a mind that was just coming down from being usurped, I dragged myself forward one tug at a time. More buccaneers, and then even a Freebooter appeared at the stern to grab their end of the rope. Four men pulled, taking me closer.

Soon I was lifted free of the waters entirely, chill wind drying my clothing and the damp mess leaving that pitying sense of exposure. My gun was soaked and the charges ruined, everything smelled of salt, there was sand in my hair and I could feel itching everywhere beneath the armor.

But I was free. Safety back on the boat, a luxury denied even Adrian. The words came out in a choked whisper. “How many did we lose?” and I could see the pain in several men’s eyes.

“Five, all of them overboard. Then we have two injured.” I looked past his arms.

Shivering and on the verge of weeping, I saw an unconscious but not dead harpy tied up to the mast. Her chest heaving even with a ballista bolt through the center, and the shape of a bootlicker’s fist imprinted into her face. There was blood on other parts of the deck, some splashes near the center, and a large pool on the bow. 

“One has minor wounds that will be fine in a day or two, the other has been gored pretty badly. He can still stand and work, but he’ll require hospitalization and a bit of bedrest before those cuts and scrapes heal. And we’ll have to watch that none of his stab wounds get infected.”

My teeth were clattering so harshly I could scarcely speak. “T-the one prisoner w-we have, keep her a-alive. We c-c-can sell it if n-nothing else c-comes of this. G-get the Freebooters on d-deck, I w-want four on watch at a-all times. Rope y-yourself to the mast if n-need be.”

The silver lining to this was that none of the elite Freebooters were lost, or even injured, mostly because they were asleep and never called onto battle. Bootlickers could be replaced, even useful ones like Adrian. And it costs less to recruit someone at port than it does to pay the agreed upon stipend or cut, making such death tolls profitable if a bit bothersome. Best to not tell the men this of course.

“What will you be doing, captain.?” One man asked as I step through toward the center deck. Splashing soppy clothing onto the floor as I clop down stairs, all eyes on me save those who actually had work.

I glanced toward the storm, a problem close in the future and one I still hadn’t considered how to circumvent. I thought of the Jinevere, and how that bastard captain cheated me out of his slaves and his gold that should have been mine by right. 

“Me? I’ll be in my quarters. Getting plastered. It’s been a very long day.”