Reborn as a Pirate Captain – My Journey to Build a Pirate Republic

The disbelief came out as a grin.

James went forward with both arms coming up, meaning to embrace the man hard enough to flatten him, then remembered, half a step before impact, that two soldiers embracing in a corridor was the sort of sight that invited questions. Again.

So he stopped himself and seized him by the shoulders instead, shaking hard enough to send his borrowed hat crooked.

"Tomás! You bloody miracle!"

Milagros caught James by the arm with a grip that required no translation. "Keep your voice down, unless ye’ve a fancy to explain to the whole garrison why soldiers are near weepin’ over each other in a hallway."

James managed to get most of the grin under control. Most. "Christ, I’d half convinced myself you were far into the sea by now. What in God’s name are you doin’ standin’ guard outside a dungeon?"

Tomás’s voice remained calm. "The message reached Williams as you intended, Captain. He took the Marianne beyond the harbor and is waiting in open water. I judged one man alone would attract less notice."

"And Ned?"

"Went with Williams, of course."

James let out a breath that had a laugh trapped inside it. "And you stayed behind alone in a city that wants every last one of us hanged."

Tomás simply shrugged, as if it was nothing much. "The word of the jailbreak reached me by dawn, and what came after within the hour. I thought the fort worth a look."

He tugged at the borrowed cross-belt across Tomás’s chest. "And the coat? Where’d ye find yourself a spare Spaniard? Were they handin’ ’em out?"

The words were spoken perfectly serious. "There was a man behind the stables that stepped away from his post to relieve himself. I do not believe he finished."

Even Milagros lost the fight for a moment and let out a short snort.

"Christ above, Tomás, out here catchin’ Spaniards with their breeches round their ankles as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world."

"The uniform was not going to remove itself, Captain."

James shook his head, then turned and caught Milagros by the shoulder. "Tomás, this is Milagros, the reason we are in this mess this mornin’."

Milagros gave him a short, sincere nod. "I have followed enough of your story to know I owe you more than I have proper means of repaying, señor, though I won’t pretend I’ve understood every word of it."

Tomás returned the nod and left the matter there.

The door behind them gave a creak, and all three turned together.

James’s hand went to the hilt at his hip, and then the danger vanished from his mind as quickly as it had arrived. Sam slipped inside and eased the door shut without a sound, breathing much harder than any man merely walking down a fort corridor had a right to breathe.

"Sam." James’s grin returned at once. "Bloody hell, scared me for a second there."

Sam gave Milagros a brief nod. They knew each other well enough from the jailbreak that neither saw any profit in wasting time on introductions.

Then he gave James the rest of his attention.

"Calloway. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised ye managed to squeeze yerself out of trouble."

Sam popped one shoulder and exhaled deeply. "Been through every stretch of that dungeon I could reach, Kit and Jim weren’t anywhere in it. Strangers, all of ’em, pirates from God knows whose crew, and a fair few poor souls chained up for nothin’ worse than the color of their own skin."

James clicked his tongue in resignation.

"Bloody Spaniards."

Sam shrugged, "Aye, well. I’d have been swingin’ from a rope of me own by dinner if this one hadn’t near pulled my arm clean off draggin’ me sideways."

"What happened?"

He laughed in exasperation. "Got rid of the guard with me, took his uniform, and thought I’d bought meself a bit of luck. Then I turned a corner and walked straight into a patrol, eight of the bastards, broad as the whole passage, and not a door near enough to duck through."

"There was a door." Tomás said it without heat.

Sam shot him a look, then turned back to James. "Then this one gets a fist in my collar, near lifts me clean off me feet, starts cursin’ me out in Spanish loud enough to wake the dead, and marches me straight past the whole lot of ’em like I’m some drunken fool caught asleep at his post. And they let us through, never even blinked."

James looked from Sam to Tomás, delighted by the whole ridiculous business.

"What in God’s name did ye tell ’em, Tomás?"

Tomás simply shook his head, "That I’d found him asleep at his post and meant to have him flogged for it myself, so they needn’t trouble themselves with the matter. They did not trouble themselves."

He laughed outright, and Milagros had to drive an elbow into his side to shut him up again.

Sam muttered, still working at his shoulder, "Man near tore the arm off me sellin’ it, and never so much as blinked while he did it."

James let himself have the laugh, then turned his attention toward the dungeon door behind them.

The grin faded into something more thoughtful as an idea began to take form.

He tapped a finger against his chin. "A whole cell full of desperate men, just waitin’ for a reason to make a proper nuisance of themselves. Might be worth rememberin’ once we’ve got the other two."

Milagros folded her arms. "Don’t put the cart before the cow now."

James waved the thought away. "Aye, fair enough. Find Kit and Jim, then we’ll worry about burnin’ bridges."

The four of them moved off together, four more Spanish soldiers in a fort that had plenty of them, and slipped back into the morning traffic.

Women carried baskets of wet laundry between them and water carriers came through with buckets hanging from their yokes. Near the passage they walked, two officers stood complaining over a report neither seemed willing to trust.

The four passed among all of it without drawing so much as a second glance.

Then they neared the kitchen and smelled the woodsmoke first, then frying, and between the two there was enough food to make a man’s stomach take notice before his eyes had found the kitchen.

James slowed as they came up to the open door.

Then a voice came from inside and stopped him where he stood.

Jim.

There was no mistaking it, even with a doorway between them. He was speaking Spanish, too, and not merely the four words any of them had ever managed to drag out of him.

"...amor. día. debo. ir. salvar. amigos..."¹

A young woman’s voice answered him, bright and sweet, the words tumbling out in a nervous little rush.

"Shh, shh... no, no... quédate. Quédate aquí, sí. Esconde. Aquí estás seguro. Muy seguro. Más seguro que cualquier otro sitio hoy."¹

All four stopped at once, their boots scraping against the stone.

For once, nobody had a damn thing to say.