Isla Sin Cabeza
The brig didn’t have a window. All it had was a cloth to sleep and a bucket to piss. With how much the ship turned, you would wake up in warm liquid. Isabella resigned her fate to stare at the ceiling. Taking in all the cracks, all the swirls, all the bends and buckles. That lasted five minutes before any semblance of novelty wore off.
She didn’t try to escape. It would be pointless. Sure, the bars were malleable and she could probably grasp the key by the door if she reached hard enough. But then what? Once outside she’d be among men wanting to kill her. There was simply no way to avoid them.
She turned her mind to those above deck. Wondering how they would get through the fog. Would Spec pilot them? Would someone else? When would they know they were on the other side? For all she knew, they were still in it.
She couldn’t know.
The brig didn’t have a window.
Thumping boots alerted her to the presence of a man. Glancing over, she was surprised to see her former captain staring back at her. His eyes sunk into his face, ageing him twenty years in twenty minutes.
“Your plan worked,” he said cleanly. “Cutting the lights. Only an hour before we get to the island, Spec thinks.”
He wasn’t complimenting her. Far from it. More, he was informing a captive their information proved valuable. She’d seen it enough on her own. Now came the choice of letting the prisoner go or putting a shot through their skull.
“Good to hear,” she said, speaking without lowering her voice.
“So that’s what you sound like,” he pondered. “You hid your voice well.”
“I had practice.”
“I was practice to you?” he glared, taking a step closer. “Practice? All that time you were by my side, and you say it was practice?”
“No, captain, I…”
“Don’t call me captain,” he stormed. “I am no longer your captain. You are my prisoner. You are guiding me to a treasure. You have no say in this matter until I decide that you no longer have any use to me, on which day you die. Do you understand, Isabella Yates?”
He spat her name, daring a response. Some part of him had snapped. The revelation that his right hand man wasn’t a man at all contradicted the rest of his judgement. The only one he could trust was Spec.
So that was his game, she realised. Become the only one he can rely on. Become as indispensable as she was. He took her place, and was likely gearing to replace more.
That just left the question of what he had planned next.
“So what will you do with me?”
“We still need you,” he grumbled. “The map only tells us how to get to Isla Sin Cabeza, but the treasure is still hidden from then on. Some of the men think you will know the rest of the way. God knows why. Maybe they’re just suspicious about having a woman on board. I know I am.”
Isabella scoffed.
“I was on your ship for how many battles?”
“You do not back talk me!” Spit frothed at his mouth. Eyes blazed with violence and cruelty. “You are no ally. You were a man then. Now, you are the equivalent of ash under my boots.”
“You know that isn’t true,” she stood, meeting his gaze. “You may hate it, but I know you, too. You have a purpose for me, otherwise I’d be thrown overboard. How do you expect me to find this treasure when I don’t even have a map?”
He paused. He wasn’t the sort of person she’d expected to be careful with what he would say. Matchstick looked away, unable to maintain her own gaze.
“Feminine intuition,” he mumbled.
Isabella laughed. “What?”
“You heard me,” he snapped. “The map says no man can find the treasure. And given you’re no man, they think you can find it.”
“Who thinks that?”
“Spec.”
She sighed. Of course. “And once I find this treasure?”
“You will be killed. Either by me, by one of my crew, or by the redcoats,” he grinned. “Spec believes we may have beaten them at their own game. A genius, that man. I can see why you didn’t want me facing the sirens. Trying to sow doubt into my mind.”
“Spec’s the one who tried to kill you! Don’t you see? He sent us through danger after danger with you at the front, in the hopes that he could become captain!”
“Shut! Up!”
The simplest of insults. With the bubbling anger and piercing eyes of the man she thought she could trust, it wasn’t the same. This word was a nail in the coffin that marked their friendship. She couldn’t say anything that he would believe. Even if she could show it, it would be her truth against Spec’s lies.
Something this man couldn’t accept anymore.
Matchstick seemed to realise this too. Once more he looked away. Then sighed. The guilt weighed as heavily on him as it did her. Isabella almost felt sorry for him if it wasn’t for being trapped in his ship and threatened with death over and over again.
“For what it’s worth,” he murmured. “I am sorry it turned out this way.”
He strode back up stairs, head as low as his shoulders slumped. Isabella scrunched up her face and kicked the bucket, clanging off the metal bars and by her foot. She sighed and slid down the wall, looking out from her jail and far off into the distant.
She didn’t have to wait long. In just under an hour she heard the landing cry. Boots clattered above her as boats were dropped and readied with men. Two guards came to escort her to one, tying a rope around her wrists.
They pulled her from the brig, the idea of conflict barely inserting itself into their minds. They dragged her across the ground, up to the deck, and into one of the waiting boats. Spec stared across from her with a cocky grin.
“Ah, our female friend has come to play,” he smiled. “Good. Very good. I am sure that we will find our rightful gold in no time.”
Isabella glared back at him. She refused to let his taunting get the best of her. Some part felt it would admit defeat. No, she would just stare. Let him know that even tied up, he was only a short distance from the waters edge and wouldn’t it be just terrible if he fell in?
Rowers pulled them to shore. She’d finally got a glimpse of the island that had ruined her last few days. It was surprisingly small. Not something she expected. At a guess it was only a bit over half a kilometre in diameter. A tall spire carved it’s way out of the ground a hundred meters high, with slate rock sliding down it’s side. Dense forest met a small stretch of beach. Sounds and slight movements hinted at dangers that lay behind it’s foliage.
And on the other side, just by a ridge, was another ship.
Waving a union jack.
“Redcoats!” one of the pirates cursed, turning to Spec. “Thought you said they wouldn’t be here by now?”
“I miscalculated,” he muttered. “But it is no matter. I’m sure you men can take care of them.”
“How did you miscalculate, Spec?” Isabella grinned. “Underestimate their cartographer?”
Spec’s face twisted in displeasure. Of course Wendy knew the way. She hated the seas, but knew a map like the back of her hands. If there was anyone that could get the redcoats through the dangerous waters, it was her.
“Get us to shore and take out those kings men,” Spec ordered, using every bit of energy to not tear out her throat.
The rowers drove the water, propelling them faster to the shores. Boats collided with the sand. The men drew their cutlasses, ready to take on the soldiers. Even after days of disastrous travel, the hunt could always liven their spirits.
Other pirates noticed the enemy, pulling their own weapons and waiting for the captain to deliver the order. He arrived on the final boat, leg planted at the bow in a triumphant pose. He wielded his sword and yelled.
“Charge!”
The rest of them yelled and ran towards the British. They’d prepared, a dozen soldiers aiming bayonets at the charging pirates. Snaps of gunpowder reverberated across the sand. A couple men collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from unnatural holes. If this was meant to intimidate the pirates, it did quite the opposite.
They yelled louder, screaming curses at those who killed their men. Cutlasses clashed against bayonets, sword against sword, man against man. Blood exploded over the beach. Redcoats may have had the training, but so did pirates. When so many used to wear their coats, they could know what to expect. And when they were fighting for their own treasure over king and country, want triumphed over pay.
Matchstick called out in defiance, gunning down one man and slashing another in quick succession. He was a natural born killer. Each redcoat who came upon him met their end in moments. Laughter erupted from his belly, fire consuming his face. Isabella had no clue how his beard seemed to have already caught light.
With all the men distracted, it gave her a chance.
She bolted towards the forest, feet kicking up sand. With her hands tied and ground uneven, each step weight her down. She needed to swing her arms, to build that momentum to escape to the trees.
A hurried shout from behind her dared a peek. Spec ran after her. As best he could, at least. She smiled. A scholar and not a pirate. His legs barely lasted six seconds before he’d run out of breath. How he expected to become the captain was beyond her.
She found herself among the trees. It was far from over now. She wouldn’t be safe until far out of reach of either party. Then she could focus on untying her rope and formulating a plan. Hardly the best option. But it was the only one she had.
Five minutes of running zipped by. The sounds of swords and yells had dampened to a distance mumble. Whatever they were fighting about was beyond her. Catching her breath, she peered through the trees, finding no-one else behind. She cursed at the clarity of her footprints. If someone wanted to, they could easily catch up.
That didn’t matter now. She had to focus on getting the rope from her arms.
It became blindingly clear how challenging that would actually be. These ropes – one she’d shown the men herself – were tied easily and removed with difficulty. To release them herself, impossible. Nowhere to grab onto. Nowhere loose to untie.
She groaned and continued to search for something. Just something to loosen it. A branch. A stick. Anything that would give her leverage on the tie.
Crunching leaves sounded off nearby. She dashed to the side, hiding among the trees. She still had a few tricks.
A figure appeared in the grove. Isabella squinted, trying to make out whomever it was under the shade of trees mixed with the suns bright glow. It masked her face, but the breath was the same as it ever was.
“Wendy?” Isabella quietly called.
The figure turned around, watching as she left her hiding space.
“Bella?” she replied.
Isabella laughed, running to her friend. Relief embraced the pair, finally finding a friendly face after five days of foes. Wendy hugged her, her own arms clasped in cut rope. Stress washed away with their sagging arms, each one clinging to the other to stay up right.
After minutes of just holding each other, they let go, still smiling.
“How did you escape the redcoats?” Isabella asked.
“Why did you get tied up by your crew?”
She explained all that had happened over the last few days. The sirens, the fog, Spec’s semi coup of the captain. When his name appeared, Wendy scoffed.
“That arsehole,” she muttered, working at Isabella’s tied hands. “Knew he was trouble the moment he appeared on board. Treated the girls at the Sunken Sailor like trash. Me most of all. Always so high and mighty, right?”
“Exactly,” Isabella sighed, glad to have someone finally realise. “Anyway, what happened with you?”
“Kind of similar to you, really,” she began. “The redcoats thought I must have known how the map worked. And I did. It was one of these things that just came naturally. I’ve seen enough maps to know what one part meant compared to another. So they locked me up and made me show the way. As far as a bunch of men holding me captive could have gone, it was alright.”
“They didn’t do anything to you, did they?”
“Some tried,” she sighed. “But the captain made it clear I ‘wasn’t for taking’. Hardly comforting, but it prevented the worst of it. Still, didn’t stop the talk. Word of what they’d do to me once I was released and ‘free to do with as they pleased’ was more than I want to hear ever again.”
Isabella cringed. There was little she could say to help her friend. Any words would be moot against the abuse the British cut into her. More than enough after her escape from Ireland.
“Still, it isn’t all bad,” she smiled weakly, finally freeing the rope from her friends hands. “Once they saw your ship come up, they prepared for battle, leaving me alone. So I ran and freed myself.”
“Seems like you did a good job,” Isabella said, rubbing her rope-burnt wrists.
“That’s not all,” she smiled. “I even managed to find the treasure.”
“You found it?”
“Yep,” she grinned. “Not too well hidden, either. Found it in a few minutes. Come on, I’ll show it to you and we’ll be-”
Knife and sword appeared at their throats. The silent footsteps of Spec and Matchstick matched the quiet droning of birds and wind. Spec grinned as he held Wendy under his knife.
“So,” he began. “I was right.”
He glanced to his captain.
“Feminine intuition,” he nodded.
The captain didn’t react. His blood soaked sword hovered mere millimetres from Isabella’s neck, still as a rock. All that ‘charm’, all that ‘joy’, all that made him a captain whom she would have followed to the ends of the earth had died along with the people he slaughtered.
His words were direct. He’d take no more folly or play from his toys.
“Lead us.”
To be continued…
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Cheesman Chronicles 
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