The Real Men Behind the Myths.

When I had no more tears left to shed, I sat up, drank the concoction, and slowly made my way out of the cabin on weak legs. Sam was right. I could stay in the 18th century and die, or I could try and go back home. With Howel Davis dead, there was no way in hell I was staying in this shithole. Shaking and blinking in the sunlight, I watched unsteadily as the men went about their work, the deck alive with activity. I had once been a part of this, been proud of it even. Now, as I looked around, I realized that without Howel Davis, these men were merely pirates. They would never again have a leader like Howel. Who was this strange man who led them now?  Read more...

Walter’s grimy fingers tightened their grip on the brim of his hat. “The night you were taken, word reached us that you had tricked Sam and bribed Smith and Withers to take you ashore.” He looked at me with a flash of spite. “We knew not why you would have done such a thing, considering Davies had ordered you to stay on the Royal Rover. Davies — he was alarmed but calm at the start, commanding us to search the island, to leave not a single door unopened. ‘Twas not until he learned that Jack Blaine was also on the island that he went mad.” Walter began twisting his hat, clearly perturbed by what he was telling me. “I’d never seen ‘im in such a state. Jack Blaine had you, he was certain of it. You know Davies, Sabrina. You know how he was always plotting, always thinking his plans through. Not now. Without a trick up his sleeve, he had us weigh anchor to give chase to Blaine’s ship, which had left but a few hours earlier. We worried for ourselves, you see, for Davies had all but lost his wit. Then, when we discovered he’d taken you to Príncipe, a sudden calm befell him, as though he understood something none of us knew, none of us could guess.”  Read more...