CHAPTER 25 - THE CAPTURE

 

BLACK STACHE’S PLAN WAS GOING PERFECTLY. The crew of the Never Land had shown no sign of alarm as the disguised pirate ship came alongside.

While the pirates were approaching, they’d heard some kind of commotion—shouting, then screams—coming from the deck of the Never Land. But whatever it was, it had not caused the old freighter to change course. Now the two ships were side by side; sails had been lowered, lines tossed to secure the ships together, fenders positioned to keep the hulls, which had slammed into each other, from colliding again.

Stache kept his face hidden behind a mast, though he knew his ruse would not fool the Never Land sailors much longer. They’re bound to notice that my entire crew is barefoot.

Stache had a single-shot flintlock pistol in his right hand, held to his side, out of sight. He liked the idea of a bloodless coup, with no sword soiled. The sight of pirates generally put such fear into merchant sailors that they often surrendered immediately.

He waited, relying on Smee to be his eyes.

From the corner of his mouth, Smee said, “They’s tied up to us now, Cap’n.”

Like a fly in a spiderweb.

“How many on deck?” said Stache.

“A dozen or so crew. A few passengers, including some children.”

“Armed?”

“The children?”

“No, you idjit! The crew.”

“A few knives,” Smee said. “A pistol or two.”

“Our crew?”

“Ready and itching to go."The pirates had gathered along the rail, their blades concealed in their uniforms.

“Good,” said Stache. “Now, call for the captain.”

“AHOY THERE! NEVER LAND,” shouted Smee, to the other ship. “WHO’S IN CHARGE THERE, IS IT?” He knew this didn’t have the right ring to it, but there was no taking it back.

“THAT WOULD BE ME!” a deep voice thundered back. The owner of the voice, a big man, stepped to the rail; Smee saw that the man’s arm was bleeding.

“ARE YOU THE CAP’N THEN, MATE?” Smee said, then cringed. He wasn’t getting any of this navy talk right.

“THE CAP’N IS… INDISPOSED,” the other man said. “I’M THE FIRST MATE, SLANK.” His eyes were on the half hidden form of Black Stache. “IS THAT CAP’N SCOTT?”

“NO, I…” stammered Smee. “I MEAN, YES, BUT…I MEAN…”

“You idjit,” hissed Stache.

Slank, suddenly suspicious, scanned the hard, unshaven faces of the men lining the rail of the dark ship, then glanced down, and noticed the bare feet.

“CUT THE LINES!” he bellowed. “CUT THE LINES!”

But before the crew could act, Black Stache was out from behind the mast.

“NOW!” he roared, and before the sound had died from his lips, two dozen pirates had drawn their blades and leaped onto the deck of the Never Land, whose crewmen froze in terror.

Stache, moving calmly, deliberately, followed his men over to the Never Land deck. He sauntered up to Slank and pointed his pistol directly into his face.

“Mr. Slank, is it?” he said. “Black Stache, at your service.”

Some Never Land crewmen whimpered at the name. Slank, on the other hand, stared coolly at Black Stache for a moment, then—in a reaction that Stache found odd—

turned and looked back over his shoulder, toward a young girl who was standing by the far rail, sobbing, as a huge man held her arms, as if keeping her from jumping over the side.

Slank turned back to Stache, again meeting his eyes. Stache was impressed by how little fear the man showed. I might have room for a man like that, he thought. But what he said was: “If you wants to keep breathing, Mr. Slank, you’ll tell your men to disarm.”

Not taking his eyes away from Stache’s, Slank shouted to his crew: “Put them down, men!”

The relieved Never Land sailors, who’d had no intention of trading steel with the pirates, hastily dropped their weapons to the deck.

“Very good,” Stache said, stepping closer to Slank, his pistol barrel now almost touching the space between Slank’s eyes. “Now, we ain’t got much time with this storm, so I’ll make this quick. You have something I want. Where is it, Mr. Slank?”

Slank took a moment to answer. Again, Stache was impressed by the man’s calm in the face of a loaded pistol.

“We have a few women,” Slank said. “And plenty of rum. But if you think there’s treasure on this old scow, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

Stache’s finger tightened slightly on the trigger, then he eased off. Was Slank bluffing? Or could it be that he didn’t know what he had on his ship? Stache thought about it for a moment, then decided that, for now, Slank was more useful alive than dead.

“Mr. Slank,” he said, “if I don’t find what I’m looking for, it’s you who’ll be sorry. Now, step aside.”

Stache turned to a knot of pirates nearby, raising his voice over the wind.

“YOU MEN COME WITH ME,” he shouted. “WE’RE LOOKING FOR A TRUNK.”