The Crimson Wraith

[Alisha Readman]

HI!!!!! (gasp, wheezing) I think I might have gotten partially out of my writer's block. . . .but I feel half dead with the heat! Woe for me that hast no air-conditioning in our house!!!!! (waahh!!!) Thank you again to my sister, who helped me with the song in this story!!!!

 

THE CRIMSON WRAITH

 

I suppose that you might call this a ghost story about pirates. As such, I must tell you, with some regret, that this story does not start out on a dark and stormy night. It was not even a foggy night or the night of the full moon. The sky was clear, with a quarter moon and a breeze carrying the salty air. Tortuga was filled with pirates, thieves, murderers, and cutthroats.

The Rusty Barrel was a tavern filled to the brim. After several drinks, a bunch of men started comparing pirates and their ships, both real and legendary.

"Th' Flyin' Dutchman's th' fastest an' strongest ship ever!" one man declared.

"That's a cursed ship!"

"That's a legendary ship!" a skeptic exclaimed. "It doesn't even exist!"

"What about the Crimson Wraith?" a slightly raspy voice inquired.

A deathly silence fell on the entire crowd within the tavern, even those on the second floor balcony. Everyone stared at the speaker who stood by the bar, a man who looked to be in his twenties. His raven black hair was pulled into a neat braid hanging to his waist, with a worn brown tricorn overshadowing his eyes. His long brown coat partially hid his sword, and a staff leaned against his shoulder. It was carved from dark wood, with silver on either end in strange patterns. The lantern light seemed to make shapes momentarily on the silver as it flickered back and forth, a dragon, a bird, an ocean wave, a sword. . .

An old man on the main floor finally found his voice. "What kinda fool are ye? Speakin' that cursed name?"

"Well, I've only heard of it in passing," the man replied, shrugging. "Never really understood the mystery and horror surrounding it."

"The Crimson Wraith is a cursed ship," the old man spoke slowly, as if to a child. "No one knows how exactly it came about, but it appears in a thick fog bank. It destroys whole ships and their crews, leaving no one alive. And there's only one crew member, the immortal Blackjack Cooper. He captains and crews the ship by himself, as well as controlling the sea. Blood red eyes, long black hair, and a scar on his neck. . ."

His voice died away as he noticed a scar on the side of the younger man's neck. The man grimaced as he pulled off his tricorn. "No, my eyes aren't blood red, they're dark brown, see? And my name is Cooper, but my given name is Alan, not Blackjack."

The old man didn't look convinced, but he turned back to the other people at his table and resumed his conversation. But the subject didn't return to ships for the rest of the evening.

 

Alan left the tavern at around 1 AM, and wandered around the harbor. He sang softly, accompanied by the whistling of the wind around the rocks in the cove,

"Heave ho, yo ho,

Haul away, lads.

Yo ho, heave ho,

Hoist the colors high, lads."

"Havin' fun, boy?" a voice asked from behind him.

Alan turned quickly, and a cutlass was thrust into his stomach, then yanked out. He fell forward and stopped breathing.

"Cap'n, was that a good idea?" The tall man was bald and dark-skinned, with hard muscle and scars showing under his vest.

"Sharrup, Marrow, if ye know wha's good fer ye," the pale-skinned man spoke with a snarl and a thick cockney accent. Straggles of red hair showed from under his tricorn, with a scar running down one cheek. "Everyone I talked wi' don't know 'im. 'E came 'ere on none o' th' ships 'ere now."

As he talked, he quickly took the staff from Alan's hand, then unbuckled the sword and took the tricorn. A quick search of his pockets resulted in a small pouch of coins, a compass, and an odd stone statue of a ship.

"'Elp me wi' 'is coat, stupid!" he snarled.

Marrow started to lift Alan's body, but snatched his hands back faster than a bolt of greased lightning.

"C-cap'n. . .t-tha. . .t-tha. . ." he stuttered.

"Spit it out!"

"A woman!" Marrow hissed.

The captain unbuttoned the shirt partially and snorted. "Yea, but wi' barely anythin' t' show fer it. Wha's yer problem, Marrow? Surely ye've felt plenty o' women?"

"Aye, but never one who looked so much like a man."

They took Alan's coat and boots, her shirt and pants not being worth it. They loaded the body into a longboat and Marrow rowed it out just past the cove. A length of chain was wrapped around Alan's ankles and the body was dumped overboard.

As Alan sank out of sight, the captain said, "Take us back t' shore, then get th' crew back t' th' ship. We're stocked, so we'll leave t'night."

 

Alan regained consciousness slowly, as she always did after dying. The water pressed uncomfortably on her chest, but it would be a while until she drowned. She swirled her hand in a circle, a small whirlpool appearing above her fingers. It grew larger and larger, until it stretched from the surface of the water down to around her in a large bubble of air. Her bare feet landed in the sand with a squelch.

With the part of her mind that was always connected to the ship, she commanded it to come closer but to remain invisible. She set about untangling the chains from her ankles.

As the chains fell to the ocean floor, the ship was very close. She crouched and shot to several feet above the ocean surface. A huge geyser of salt water accompanied as a rope shot from what seemed to be empty air. She grabbed it in her right hand and it pulled her rapidly through the air.

Her feet contacted with wood, wet, cold, and slightly slimy. Her hair had come unfastened and now clung to her face and body. A wind spirit chirped a question as it spun around her head.

"No, Fancy, just a ponytail for now," Alan answered, smiling slightly. "I need to wash it before you braid it again. Would you and Bridy bring me a pair of boots?"

The small ball of pale green light chirped an affirmative and flew towards the cabin of the ship.

"Sean! I need another sword!" Alan called. A sheathed sword and belt came flying through the air, propelled by a small ball of light the color of dying embers. It dropped the sword in her hands, making annoyed sounds in a low rumble.

"I know you just made the sword they stole," Alan said soothingly. "I'll retrieve it in a bit. In the meantime, could you dry my clothes?"

The fire-spirit rumbled again, then he zipped around her in a spiral. A wave of heat enveloped her, and her clothes, hair and skin dried completely.

"Thank you," Alan said. Fancy and a small ball of pale blue light came flying up, each carrying a boot. She took them from the wind- and water-spirits, then the water-spirit zipped down around Alan's sand and grime-covered feet.

"Bridy, what are you doing?" Alan asked. The water-spirit answered with several sqeaky scolding sounds. Water came from nowhere and rinsed off her feet, then carried the grime with it as it slipped over the side of the ship. Sean quickly zipped around her feet, drying them off.

"Thank you," Alan said again, and pulled on the boots. As she buckled the sword belt around her waist, Fancy used a breeze to hold her hair in mid-air while she tied a blue ribbon around it.

"Mae!" Alan called. Another ball of light, this one silvery-gray, came flying up and whistled a query.

"Where are they at?" she asked. The mist-spirit whistled an answer, to which Alan murmured, "About five miles south of Tortuga, huh? All right then."

She strode to the stern and up the steps to the helm, bellowing, "All hands on deck!" As she took hold of the wheel, men came from down below and stood on the deck. It was an eerie sight, for the hundred men were slightly transparent and looked like pirates, but all of them had red stains from the wounds that had killed them.

"Cannoneers, prepare the cannons to fire on Bridy's signal!" Alan bellowed orders in fine form. "Mr. Skinner, get to the crow's nest, and tell Mae when you see them! The rest of you get swords and pistols from the armory! Sean will be watching you, so you'd better watch what you take! Now get a move on!"

The men rapidly dispersed to their tasks. Alan turned the wheel to the right and called a large wind to speed them along. She then noticed one of the men still standing on the deck, near the helm.

"Yes, what is it, Mr. . .?" Alan barked.

"Smythe, Luke Smythe, ma'am," he said, bowing slightly.

"It's 'Captain' to you, Mr. Smythe," she said coldly. "What do you want?"

"Captain. . .when will I be free?" Smythe asked hesitantly.

Alan leaned on the wheel and sighed. "Like I told you and everyone else when you came onboard, you will only be free when either you have served your time completely or I die. Depending on how you perform tonight, you may or may not be free. So, Mr. Smythe, go to the armory and get your weapons."

Disgruntled, Smythe headed below. Fancy, hovering around Alan's head, chirped a worried-sounding question.

"I know," Alan said softly. "He'll be trying something really soon, probably during the battle. Keep an eye on him, all right?"

Fancy chirped reassuringly as the men from below began singing a mournful tune. Alan's eyes glittered with anticipation as she grinned wolfishly.

 

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .

Sorry, the library's about to close. Try and post the rest of it as soon as I can.

[Alisha Readman]

Captain Houlihan of the 'Black Swan' stood at the wheel, absently running his thumb over the smooth wood of the staff he had taken from the dead Alan. He peered out into the fog that had sprung up soon after they left Tortuga. He had ordered lanterns placed at the port and starboard sides, the bow and the stern, but they didn't light up much beyond the ship.

He pulled out from his pocket the stone ship. After studying it for a few minutes, he realized what it was that was odd about it. The prow of the ship had a slit in it, the cannonholes were actual holes, and it felt hollow.

"Cap'n, d'you hear that?" Marrow asked.

"'Ear whot?" Houlihan snapped.

"That strange song," the first mate said, glancing nervously around him. Now that he thought about it, Houlihan could hear an eerie tune.

". . .we were pirates, buccaneers,

sailing the high seas,

plund'ring without a care,

except the hangman's noose.

Heave ho, yo ho,

haul away lads.

Yo ho, heave ho,

hoist the colors high, lads."

A shiver ran down Houlihan's spine as he recognized the tune Alan had been singing before she had gotten knifed. He strode to the railing and roared, "Belay that singin'!"

"None of us is doin' it, Captain!" one of the men cried.

"Cap'n, that sounds like a lot of men singin', and nobody on board is doin' it," Marrow said.

"Hush!" Houlihan commanded. The singing had entered a new verse.

"But now we must pay for

our sins with servitude,

on the Crimson Wraith

under Captain Blackjack."

As the last two words were sung, a giant ship loomed into view, shrouded by tendrils of fog that seemed to cling to it. A ragged remnant of a pirate's flag flew from the mainmast, and the torn sails still billowed on all four masts as if they were new and a strong wind filled them. Along the hull was written in blood-red letters, THE CRIMSON WRAITH".

The ship continued forward until it was even alonside the Black Swan, and Houlihan could see a person at the wheel. A person with long black hair and eyes that seemed to glow an eerie red. . .

"Saints preserve us, it's th' Crimson Wraith!" one of the Irish crewmen shrieked.

"Fire!" Blackjack bellowed. A high-pitched squeak followed. The second level of the Crimson Wraith shot chainshot from the cannons. The small cannonballs on the ends of chains sheared off the upper parts of the masts, causing pandemonium among the pirates on the deck trying to avoid the falling bits. The cannons on the third level shot regular cannonballs into the sides, causing the Black Swan to careen as they started taking on water.

With shouts, the Wraith's crew swung over to the Swan and started fighting with the other pirates. The Swan's crew were horrified that while the Wraith's crew could hurt them, their swords went through the Wraith's crewmen as if they were ghosts, which, in a sense, they were.

"Take the helm, Fancy!" Blackjack shouted. The wind-spirit zoomed up and hovered just above one of the wheel's spokes, keeping it on course. Blackjack ran to the railing and jumped across from the stern of the Wraith to the stern of the Swan. Houlihan gaped, for he now recognized Blackjack to be Alan, who should be dead!

Blackjack drawing her sword brought him back to reality. He fumbled for his own sword, letting the staff fall to the deck. With a grunt, Blackjack charged forward, their swords clashing together.

Desperate, Houlihan did everything he could to keep this person away from him, every trick and feint he knew, but Blackjack blocked every blow. Just when it looked like she might be winning, a bullet came flying towards them. Blackjack jumped back in time, but she was off-balance. Houlihan saw his chance and shoved his sword through her stomach.

He let go of the sword as she staggered back against the railing on the outside of the ship. He started to think that maye he had finished her off, then she reached a slightly shaky hand out, grabbed the sword by the blade and yanked it out. Blood spattered on the deck as she took a deep breath, then smiled icily at him.

"'Ow. . .?" Houlihan lost his voice momentarily.

Blackjack's smile turned to a grin. "Haven't you heard? I'm immortal. You can't kill me."

"Whit in blazes are ye!?" the man shouted.

"The lone survivor of a voyage beyond the edge of the world. I came back, but I paid a hefty price. I can't die. And while we're on the subject. . ."

She shot forward at such a speed that Houlihan was unable to react before she severed his head with one strike.

 

All of the pirates, the Swan's crew included, were gathered on the main deck, facing Blackjack who stood at the bow. It was around midmorning, and the fog around the ship had disappated, plus the ship had stopped moving completely.

Blackjack kept her balance by holding onto one of the ropes. She took a deep breath and bellowed, "DAVY JONES!"

Her shout echoed around the water for a few minutes, then a whirlpool appeared off the port bow. The prow of a ship appeared in the whirlpool, then the rest of it. When almost all of it was in the air, it fell forward and landed right side up with a splash. Part of the water fell on the deck, but it seemed to deflect on on invisible barrier a few inches above Blackjack's head.

The ship bore the name of "FLYING DUTCHMAN", and looked in slightly better shape than the Wraith. A slightly pudgy man stood at the helm, dressed in blue and gray, and with blonde hair in a ponytail and a full beard that flowed down his chest. The blue and green parrot on his shoulder shifted as the man strode to the railing and called in a Dutch-accented bass voice, "How many this time?"

"I've got 10 more souls for you, Jones," Blackjack called.

"Only 10?!" Davy Jones shouted, indignant. "Cooper, why can't you understand I have a lot of work to do?!"

"So do I," she replied, pulling the stone ship from her pocket. "But I need you here to take care of some of it. Mae!"

Mae took the stone ship and flew it to about halfway between the the ships, where it was taken the rest of the way by Davy's parrot.

"Thank you, Jack," Davy said, accepting the ship as the parrot landed on his shoulder. He placed the prow of the ship between his teeth, and his fingers on the cannonholes. He blew and played a short tune on it as if it were a flute, starting low and going high, then abruptly stopped.

With the sounds of an explosion, several huge tentacles shot out of the water and hung over the Wraith, as if waiting for something. Most of the men were in shock at seeing part of the famous and dreaded Kraken.

"Mr. Skinner, Mr. Joel, Mr. Thompson," Blackjack went on to name 7 other men. "You all are hereby released from your sentence on the Crimson Wraith. You will now be taken to the Flying Dutchman and then to the afterlife."

The Kraken's tentacles shot forward and grabbed the men who had been named, then dropped them on the Dutchman's deck. The rest of the crewmen watched with awe and an instinctual fear.

Blackjack cleared her throat. "Now then, for crimes too numerous to mention, and being beyond redemption, the following men are sentenced to be eaten by the Kraken." Her voice turned icy at this sentence, and the men gasped. "Former Captain Houlihan. . ."

One of the tentacles grabbed Houlihan and disappeared under the water with him, cutting short his cry of despair. And the same happened with the other 5 men she named.

"Mr. Luke Smythe, come up here please!" Blackjack said loudly, breaking the silence that followed. The man nervously walked through the crowd and up the steps to the bow.

Without warning, Blackjack's left hand shot out and grabbed Smythe by the neck, her right hand still holding onto the rope. She lifted him in the air easily, her eyes glowing red. She said in an emotionless voice, "Trying to kill your captain is considered mutiny. And mutiny is not allowed on the Crimson Wraith. It's a pity. Were it not for your shot last night, you would have been on the Dutchman by now."

She threw him in the air suddenly. He was grabbed by a tentacle and taken underwater along with all the other tentacles. In the silence that followed, Jack flew the stone ship over to Mae, who took it to Blackjack, who put it back in her pocket. Davy Jones waved a hand in farewell, and the sails puffed out. The ship moved forward, and when it had gotten a ways away for the Wraith, it vanished.

"All men, below decks!" Blackjack called. "I'm not to be disturbed." With that, she left the prow and went to her cabin.

Sean and Bridy got a hot bath for her in a large wooden tub. Drying off, she pulled on a clean shirt and trousers. As she pulled on her shirt, her fingers ran gently across the scar that was left from Houlihan's attack, still healing. She sat down at the table and munched on an apple and some bread while she plotted a course for the next day, and Fancy combed her hair. That taken care of, she tumbled into her hammock for the rest of the day.

 

At dawn the next day, Blackjack was at the helm, wearing clean clothes and with her hair braided again. She leaned her staff against her shoulder as she checked her compass. The water-, wind-, fire- and mist-spirits hovered around her as she spun the wheel, stopping it when they pointed due east.

She adjusted her tricorn as she deeply breathed in the salty early morning air. "Now then, let's see that horizon."

The rising sun turned the sky light pink and shone on the ocean, revealing the dark green depths. A breeze blew Blackjack's braid and coat out behind her. Smiling, she hummed and then softly sang, ". . .hoist the colors high, lads."

 

END

Edited August 12, 2008 by Ran Yoko