Plunder , livre ebook

PLUNDER

Turner Publishing Company
424 Church Street Suite 2240 Nashville, Tennessee 37219
445 Park Avenue 9th Floor New York, New York 10022
www.turnerpublishing.com
Plunder
Copyright 2015 Pat Croce and Adam Slutsky.
All rights reserved. This book or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover art: Brandon Henderson
Cover design: Maddie Cothren
Book design: Glen Edelstein
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Croce, Pat, author.
Plunder / by Pat Croce Adam Slutsky.
pages cm
Summary: In England in 1713, seventeen-year-old Charlie begins an adventure to the tropics aboard the Churchill to find out more about his father and unlock the puzzle of the three-lock box as he learns the sea and takes on the rough-and-tumble crew of the British privateer.
ISBN 978-1-63026-893-0 (pbk. : alk. paper)
[1. Pirates--Fiction. 2. Sea stories--Fiction.] I. Slutsky, Adam, author. II. Title.
PZ7.C869665Pl 2015
[Fic]--dc22
2015009461
Printed in the United States of America
14 15 16 17 18 19 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
To my grandkids who keep the flame burning in my pirate soul. -Pat Croce
To my parents, Richard and Robin - For encouraging me to follow my dreams, and enabling me to do so. I ll never be able to thank you enough. -Adam Slutsky
PROLOGUE
W hy is this happening to me? Are they going to kill me?
Or worse?
Questions ricocheted around in sixteen-year-old Charlie s confused mind, and each had the same answer: he had no idea. Judging by the dire predicament he now found himself in, it appeared as if Charlie would never get those answers. Death would likely come first.
The wet and moldy burlap satchel that had been placed over Charlie s head reeked of salt and rotten fish. If the men didn t kill him, sucking in that god-awful smell just might.
Flat on his chest, arms pinned behind his back, wrists and ankles bound, Charlie was completely defenseless. The more Charlie tried to wriggle out of his constraints, the more the abrasive hemp bit into his flesh. After just a few minutes of trying, he could feel small rivulets of blood trickling down onto his hands and feet.
No one should die on their birthday-especially not me! Not after all I ve learned today. My life just became interesting! If only I could get one hand free then maybe I could -
Charlie s thoughts were interrupted when he heard the heavy thumps of the big man s footsteps, signaling his return. Where the man had gone, Charlie hadn t a clue.
Powerful hands grabbed Charlie by the shoulders and hoisted him into the air. A moment later he was dropped roughly across what felt like a rock. When he felt the coarse hair of the man s scraggly beard brush against his arm, he knew he was resting across the big man s shoulder.
Like a sack of potatoes! That s what my life has come to.
Precariously balanced but held firmly in place, the big man walked more than forty paces-Charlie soon lost count- before stopping momentarily. The next sound he heard was a horrible creaking that sent shivers up Charlie s spine.
A door? To where? Where is this mountain of a man taking me? And why?
Charlie wasn t sure he wanted the answers to those questions. Surely he was headed nowhere pleasant.
The big man started walking again and the bouncing, the point of the man s thick shoulder bone digging into Charlie s stomach, indicated they were going down stairs, and the direction conjured frightening images of what would happen next.
Immediately, a singular haunting image crept into Charlie s conscious thought. I m going to be thrown into a pit. Or worse - a dungeon!
Soon, the big man s footsteps leveled off. He went a few more paces before stopping altogether.
This is it! Charlie thought. It s now or never! I m a fighter. If I m gonna die, I m gonna go down swinging!
Summoning every ounce of strength in his body, and trying to transform his considerable fear into ferocity, Charlie screamed at the top of his lungs and arched his body, flinging himself off the big man s shoulder. He felt himself go airborne and had a momentary sensation of flying before landing with a thud on a cold stone floor. The impact rattled his bones and drove the breath from his lungs. Unfortunately, the hemp binds held fast, and Charlie was in the same predicament as before, only worse: now he was slightly dazed.
Charlie breathed a defeated sigh. He wanted to cry. Only his sense of pride held back the tears. Damn, I m really gonna die here.
Suddenly, the same calloused, powerful hands locked onto Charlie s arms, yanked him up off the ground, and dropped him onto his backside atop something hard and wooden.
The moldy satchel was yanked off his head, and Charlie was assaulted by an intense light. After so many minutes of prolonged darkness, he was momentarily blinded. But the searing light was worth it. I can breathe!
As Charlie waited for his eyes to adjust, he sucked in a deep breath, and then another, grateful to be free of the putrid, life-choking burlap hood. As his lungs filled to capacity with fresh air and his strength somewhat returned, two new smells greeted his nostrils. Smells he knew all too well.
Rum and tobacco.
Finally, Charlie s vision cleared. When it did, he almost wished it hadn t, for Charlie found himself seated opposite the most frightening face he had ever laid eyes upon.
CHAPTER ONE
TWO HOURS EARLIER
Night was beginning to fall as Charlie walked home, and with the darkness came rain. The skies over Bristol had been filled with ominous clouds all day and now they d broken open, pouring a cold, miserable deluge down upon Charlie s head.
Fitting. Same old wet, dirty streets day in, day out, year in, year out. Why should today be any different? No matter that it s my birthday. Just another dreary day.
Charlie began to think of his future, but then quickly stopped himself. My future? Who am I trying to fool? I have no future.
Sadly, Charlie knew his self-pity and lack of confidence was based on fact. He was just another impoverished sot trying to survive the grim, lower-class life he was born into.
Weary from the day s labor-sunup to sundown without a respite, nine weeks in a row-Charlie s spirits sank even lower. Not even the thought of his mother fussing about in their tiny shambles of a kitchen, preparing him a special meal or baking him a cake to commemorate the occasion as she d done for previous birthdays, could brighten his mood.
As his father had no occupation to speak of, or certainly not one that Charlie would be proud to inherit, he d accepted an apprenticeship with the local tanner. The back-breaking, foul-smelling work held little interest for him, and the hours were long and tiresome, but at least he was learning a trade, and earning a few coins to buy food for his mother and himself. But that wasn t the only thing that kept Charlie coming back each day. The tanner was an old pit fighter-a rough-and-tumble man who d seen fierce action all around the globe, including some countries Charlie couldn t even pronounce properly- and he found in Charlie a willing ear to listen to his many stories of adventure. He d even taught Charlie some unusual fighting maneuvers, information that Charlie considered far more valuable than learning how to work with a freshly skinned hide. Especially in the hardened city of Bristol, where Charlie s flesh-and-bone escapades with the local riffraff numbered in the dozens.
Fortunately, the majority of those tussles and brawls saw Charlie emerge victorious, proof that he was considerably more competent with his hands and feet than with the tools of the tanning trade. Unfortunately, the stories and fighting lessons were sporadic at best. Ten minutes here, fifteen minutes there. If only those fighting sessions were longer. Then going to the tanner each morning before the sun rose-on those rare days in Bristol when the sun actually did make an appearance- would be an enjoyable endeavor. And while every story and fighting lesson were different, Charlie s thoughts following the pugilism session were always the same.
I could make my living as a pit fighter. Travel around the world to exotic places, challenging all comers. Sure, there d be some tough customers, but I m just as tough, if not tougher. I ve proven myself on the streets of Bristol, toughest city in all of England. If I can survive here, I can certainly handle whoever opposes me anywhere I go.
But wanderlust thoughts were all they were. Just as Charlie would begin to work himself up with dreams of action and adventure, the tanner would call him back to work, snapping him out of his reverie. Then he d toil until day s end, oftentimes well into the evening, before ambling home, dirty and exhausted, only to repeat the tiresome work-and his tedious existence-the following day.
As for Charlie s father, Charlie hadn t seen him since late winter. He was prone to periodic disappearances-going where or doing what, God only knew-but this was the longest stretch he d been away.