The salt air was drenched with half-sobbed commands and whining pleas.
“Full sail!”
“She’ll catch us. There’s no stopping Mad Junie.”
“Did you hear what she did to the entire Spagnoll fleet in the Adriatic?”
“No!”
“Well then, pray you never learn…!”
The deck lurched as an additional sail was raised. Emerald, all but forgotten by the terror stricken crew, dropped to her knees and crawled aft.
She glanced at the approaching skiff with excitement, but also apprehension. Though she knew the stories of Juniper’s piracy had been distorted through many means, among them threats, pub whisper campaigns and the effects of mind altering tinctures, Emerald had never actually seen Junie in battle and she feared to see her dear friend transformed into something ferocious. Though these men be the vilest scoundrels, thought Emerald, they each once had a mother looking over their cradle.
As if in answer to that thought, a childlike wail arose from above her. She looked up, shocked to see the brawny scarred henchman clutching a mast and sobbing in white-knuckled abject terror. His eyes wide and glassy, he pleaded to no one in particular.
“Y-you don’t understand! Sh-she said the scar was a reminder t-to stay orf the seas! If sh-she caught me on water she would…Oh help me!!”
Emerald scrambled to avoid the stream of urine now issuing from the bottom of his breeches, only to find herself facing a pair of stockinged legs. A hand grabbed the back of her gown and hauled her upright. Peter Prique bared his teeth in an insane grin.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he hissed. Emerald winced at his rancid breath. Embarrassed, he shut his mouth, but kept his grip firmly in place as he dragged her to the starboard deck.
A sharp cry sounded from the air and the deck fell deathly silent. All heads rose, mouths agape, to watch a low swooping peregrine falcon circle the ship.
“She’s got her beast…” one sailor breathed.
“Shut up!” cried another, and all voices died.
The skiff neared. Emerald watched in awe as her, not exactly demure, but at least well-bred friend gathered up her skirts, placed her booted foot high on a crate, exposing the length of her bare leg, and struck a flint against her heel to light a small cigar clamped in her smiling white teeth. Cigar lit, Juniper took a long puff, then pulled out a remarkably ornate gun and turned to the stunned crew of Emerald’s boat with a companionable expression.
“You have something that belongs to me,” she said simply.
And with that, twelve screaming crewmembers threw themselves off the deck of the boat and began to swim for shore. One last remaining lackey, the rather large goon, clung to the mast as if his limbs would not allow him to do more than hold on and shake.
Junie squinted and spat out her cigar.
“I remember you…” she said.
He squealed, bolted, and dove to meet his compatriots in the comparatively safe swells of shark infested ocean.
In a single, lightning fast motion, Juniper was aboard the boat, her skiff tied up neatly as if by magic. Emerald felt Prique’s hand shaking as it tightened around her mouth and dragged her backwards. She cried out, but no sound issued from the putrid seal of Prique’s glove. From the forward deck, she heard the sounds of heavy objects being dropped, wood being cracked open.
“Explosives,” whispered Sir Prique, as if to himself, then dragged Emerald about to face him. He glared at her with a fiendish intensity. “You can swim, can’t you, princess?” Emerald’s heart began to pound.
“Hallo Emmie!” A sharp click rang out behind Prique’s head, causing him to relinquish his sweaty grip on Emerald. Juniper smiled at Emerald, her merriment not quite reaching her eyes, which swam with unshed tears. “Long day at sea, eh? What say you to dinner at home?”
“Oh, Juniper,” cried Emerald. “That sounds perfect.” She sniffed, but Juniper gently pointed her towards the skiff.
“Board now, then, so we can watch the fireworks from a distance.”
Emerald grinned and gratefully acquiesced, hopping delicately into the small vessel, finding a seat, and settling her skirts about her in a beseeming way. She was grateful for the high deck of the boat, which blocked her view from any of the goings on aboard. She knew what Junie must do; indeed, she awaited the gun blast with held breath, but that did not mean she was prepared to witness it first-hand.
Voices were suddenly raised above her, though she could not make out the words. Last moments, she supposed. How emotional it all was. She sighed and looked out to sea, homeward. Tonight, she thought, we’ll sip that claret I’ve been staving away for my saint’s day and try to sort this whole mess out.
The gunshot rang out. Emerald closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath to feel the bump as Juniper jumped silently aboard the skiff, and the smooth relaxation of the lines as they sailed away from her prison ship.
“It’s over,” Emerald sighed.
“Not yet,” snarled Peter Prique.
Emerald gasped as she turned to find him looming over her, one hand on the lines. He grinned and leaned in close.
An earsplitting blast cut through the sea air, nearly capsizing the skiff as its force struck the tiny sail. Emerald pulled herself about with a shaking hand. Where there was once a channel ferry, a grey cloud floated, settling down about a collection of burning planks.
Prique nodded sharply.
“Now it’s over.”
