How To Murder Morris Jones?

I stood on the poop deck of The Red Wake with the sun on my face, the wind filling the main sail and the deep blue under the keel. It’s a great day to be alive, and an even better day to be a pirate.

On my left, manning the wheel, is the greatest man I’ve ever known. Captain Lucius Rutherfield read the sextant like he was born to it, marking our latitude on a map. He grinned at me, his perfect teeth dazzling, his dimples bringing out a cheeky gleam in his eye.

“Morris, matey, this is gonna be the biggest haul yet!” he said, slapping me on the back. “Georgie the Snitch has ne’er steered me wrong. If he reckons the King’s Navy is escorting royal coffers, mark my words, it’d be as true as the North Star.”

I nodded. Georgie knew better than to hornswaggle pirates, and never Rutherfield. Others had crossed the Cap’n, and they found themselves cleaved to the brisket at the end of my cutlass. The Red Wake’s crew did not suffer scurvy dogs.

“Now, it’s lookin’ like we’ll cut off The Pegasus at dusk,” said Rutherfield. He bellowed laughter. “Can’t come soon enough! I swear, Morris, when the sun is past that horizon, we will be rich men.” He drew his sabre, the sharp edge reflecting brightly. “My blade craves blood!”

“Aye, Cap’n. We’ll take the spoils, and anyone who gets in our way will be feedin’ the fishes,” I said.

“Tell you what, Morris my man, I think it’s time for a clap of thunder. Go below and get someone to bring me the grog. The expensive stuff! Only the best for the finest First Mate I’ve ever ‘ad.”

I strode away, schooling my facial expression. You see, I’ve got a bit of a reputation, made a name for myself – Manslayer Morris, Cutthroat Jones, and The Butcher, to name a few.

But no one had called me fine before, let alone the finest. And Rutherfield had had his fair share of first mates. I should know, I made the last bilge rat walk the plank myself.

No need for anyone to know I was feeling warm on the inside, like I’d pounded a good whiskey, or stabbed a really scabby landlubber.

“Oi, ya lazy sods,” I barked down into the hold. “Grab the top-end rum, the one we got off Salty Sterling before we scuttled ‘im. And show a leg about it, or you’ll get a floggin’. Savvy?”

I heard voices shout “Aye-aye!” from below. Satisfied, I turned, as a scream came from the crow’s nest. “AVAST! There’s something in the water,” shouted the lookout. “It’s coming straight for us – hold fast, hold fast!”

I was thrown sideways as something enormous hit The Red Wake on the starboard side, clocking my noggin on a barrel. I heard a crack, like when I would break someone’s arm, but it was coming from the hull. Men were screaming bloody murder, and not in the way I enjoyed.

I stood up, clutching my head, making sure my brains weren’t leaking out my ears. Bit of blood, but I’d had worse from the lads in our friendly punch-ons. I stumbled to the stern, finally getting eyes on Rutherfield. He was calm in the storm, wrestling the wheel casually to right the ship.

Couldn’t ask for a better captain.

I weaved towards him, shaking off the stars I was seeing. He saw me coming, shot me a huge grin like it was a regular day. Then the smile stopped, and his eyes got real wide. I had never seen that look on Rutherfield before. I’d almost have called it horror –-

Something wrapped around my waist, tight, sticking to me, and then it pulled hard. I dropped to the deck, grabbing wildly as I was hauled to the ship’s edge. Finding nothing, I pulled out my cutlass, yelling while cutting into the slimy tentacle that locked me up. It had dragged me to the gunwale when I felt a strong hand grab my wrist. I looked up and saw Rutherfield. Even while he was yanking me, sweating bullets, he gave me that dimply grin.

“Blimey, Morris, put some back into it,” Rutherfield said. “I can’t go against those limey bastards without my First Mate.”

I felt my wrist slipping.

“Heave ho, you filthy cur,” Rutherfield said, his voice becoming agitated. “I’m not letting you get keelhauled by some beastie.”

I smiled. Rutherfield’ eyes got big again, from shock I reckon – as a rule, I don’t smile.

“Time for me to see Davy Jones’ Locker, Cap’n.”

“No, Morris, no,” he said. His eyes were a bit shiny – must have been from all the tugging.

“Fair wind,” I said. Felt my hand slip through, and over the gunwale I went. The last thing I saw was the terrifying rows of teeth as I entered the maw of the Kraken.

~

I stood on the poop deck of Cod Have Mercy, the smell of a storm on the wind, the gale coming through at my back, the ocean dark and menacing. It’s a great day to be alive, and an even better day to be a pirate.

At the ship’s wheel is Captain Lucius Rutherfield, the greatest man I’ve ever known. I feel an ease at his right-hand side, like it’s the spot I was always meant to stand. He’s talking about Georgie.

I nodded absently. I had a bit of an uneasy feeling though, a shiver in me timbers. Thunder rumbled across the sky, matching Rutherfield’s laughter. He had pulled out his sabre, and I got that feeling when something bad is going to happen, like when some dirty blighter is tryin’ to shank me. Fast as a flash o’ powder, I shoved the Cap’n, stepping into his place.

Something hit me. Felt like being shot close range with a cannon ball, but through my whole body from the top of my head. The sound was deafening. Was someone cooking pork? Smelled real nice.

Rutherfield was leaning over me. He looked like the Devil himself, smoke all around his head. Oh wait. The smoke was coming off me. Rutherfield was talking, but the ringing was still in my ears. He took my hand. He looked kind of sad. I’d never seen him sad before.

“Fair wind,” I croaked.

I’m standing on The Unpaid Debt with the unmatched Captain Lucius Rutherfield. It’s a great day to be alive, and an even better day to be a pirate.

Wait a second.

What the hell is going on?

This is more than day-ja voo, or whatever those French dicks call it. I remember; bad things happened to me. I had been dinner for a bloody behemoth. I had been turned into lightning jerky. What was I doing back on the deck?

Rutherfield was brandishing that sword again. He was calling for booze, the good stuff. One of the lads was running to fetch it. I certainly needed a drink.

The deckhand brought the tankards smartly. I didn’t recognise him – must be a new bucko, seeking fame and fortune. I took a deep drink while Rutherfield made a speech about our imminent riches. The ale tasted off, a bit metallic.

I got that grim recognition again. Like when a whore tries to steal my purse.

The Cap’n was about to drink. I knocked the mug out of his hand.

Then I landed hard on the deck. This time, I felt my throat closing up. The noose had found me but without the yardarm.

Rutherfield leaned over me. I’m learning the look now. He was definitely sad.

“Morris, you bastard. You saved me.” He gave me a shake. “Don’t leave me, you scurvy dog.” Then he said, real quiet, “I need you.”

“Fair wind,” I muttered on my last breath.

~

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m getting sick of being on this bloody poop deck. Rutherfield was steering Aye for an Aye, laughing, waving around his pig-sticker.

At least I’m alive, and a pirate. Things could be worse.

Things had been worse.

Sink me, I’m not putting up with another round of this. I’m done being shark bait.

I walked to the jolly boat while Rutherfield went on his little rant. I was loosening the strappings, ready to lower it into the water when I felt a hand on my arm.

“What do you think you’re doing, Morris?” asked Rutherfield. He had that half grin he gets when he’s surprised.

“I’m leaving,” I said, pulling out of his grasp and getting on with my labours.

“Are you addled, or are you three sheets to the wind? You ain’t leavin’, we’re in the middle of the ocean. We’re about to get more doubloons than we can dream of!” He grabbed my arm again.

“Come hell or high water, I’m getting off this boat, and you’re not stoppin’ me,” I said, shoving him, making work on the jolly boat.

Rutherfield’s face clouded over. “What treachery is this, Jones. Do you be wanting the loot for y’self? Is that the cut of ya jib?” he said.

“Cap’n, I just gotta get off this goddamned ship! I can’t be here anymore.” I turned to face him and felt sharp metal run me through. Rutherfield’s face was hard up against mine, his sword hilt pressing against my guts.

I didn’t see that one coming. I must be losing my edge.

As the colour drained from the world, I felt wet droplets on my face as the Cap’n whispered in my ear. “Together ‘til the end, dear Morris.”

~

I was back on the poop deck. Captain Lucius Rutherfield is grinning radiantly, talking about Georgie, making his speech about how the Chum in the Water will board The Pegasus, and we’ll all be rich beyond our wildest fantasies.

I’m nodding, but I’m really thinking about Rutherfield stabbing me, his last words, the dampness on my cheek at the end. Was that his tears? Or were they mine?

I reckon when you’re dying might be an acceptable time to let your eyes water a bit. Maybe even a good time to admit some things to yourself that no self-respecting pirate would ever speak of.

I mean, he is the greatest man I’ve ever known.

My ruminations were interrupted by a shout from the lookout. “Avast, ship ahoy! The Pegasus, portside!”

Rutherfield whooped, calling loudly, “All hands on deck!”

They could be motley, our lads, but they were quick as a cat o’nine tails when loot was in the offing. They knew the plan, and executed it like clockwork. The cannons fired at the clipper’s mast, stopping The Pegasus dead in the water, while we pulled along broadside. At the gunwale, men were ready with boathooks and ropes, the others with cutlasses. All of them were yelling, with manic, murderous smirks on their faces.

I couldn’t have been more proud.

The soldiers were trying to get their act together, but they were wet behind the ears. They had guns, but fired them wildly, only a couple finding targets. While they hustled to reload, I climbed aboard, slashing chests, necks, wading my way through dead men walking.

I heard Rutherfield next to me, cackling like a lunatic, the screams of the men he slayed. My heart skipped a beat.

Does it really get any better than this?

We moved around the deck, the slaughtering a smooth dance. Between jabs and thrusts, our eyes locked. He shot me a charming grin, that cheeky bastard. I couldn’t help it – I smiled back.

I felt a hard ball rip through my shoulder. Rutherfield’s eyes grew wide as dinner plates. I saw him dash towards me.

Never saw it coming. That’s what I get for not paying attention.

The bullet spun me around fast, and I felt myself tumble over the gunwale. A hand snatched my wrist, wrenching my aching shoulder.

I looked up into Rutherfield’s face as I dangled over the broadside.

“No,” said Rutherfield. “Don’t go. We need more time.”

My hand slipped slowly.

“Fret not, me hearty,” I said. “We’ll be together again, mark my words.”

I fell into the unforgiving depths.

~

I was not standing on the deck. I was lying on a beach, waterlogged, waves washing over my legs. My shoulder hurt like buggery.

What fresh hell was this?

The terrible feeling that something bad was happening was overwhelming, but there was something else now too. A niggling voice in the back of my soggy head. It was whispering. I listened hard.

“Got to keep you around for a while, in case they want a sequel,” it said.

I screamed.