Hades's Revenge Read online

  His father…he hadn’t thought of him until just now. He wondered if his father was looking for him. Of course he was, wasn’t he? And Penelope, was she weeping for him—distraught and regretting her act of humiliating him? He’d always known her adoration for his father but how could she have been so callous to one whom she’d been so close to betrothing?

  Chapter Two

  A metallic rod slid above them, shrieking its reluctance to budge. A second later blinding white light streamed into the gloom of their pitch black dungeon. Their hands protected and filtered the painful glare of daylight from their eyes as an officer addressed them.

  “You are aboard the vessel Victory of his majesty’s royal navy. King George thanks you for your voluntary acceptance to aid us in our endeavors. Per your signed agreement you may not leave this ship for any reason until this voyage has ended or you have been instructed to do so by myself or a higher officer. You will be imprisoned if you attempt to disembark this vessel without authority,” he said. The feather in his tricorn hat fluttered in the breeze against the blue sky.

  He tugged on his red coat with both hands, making the golden buttons twinkle in the sunlight. The fresh breeze was a godsend from the foul stench of their hold, and Jessop found himself closing his eyes and breathing it in to savor its salty sweetness.

  The officer continued while several other officers dropped down a stout wooden ladder for the men to ascend out of their hole.

  “I am Lieutenant Damian Crock serving as first mate and quartermaster to Captain William Kramer on this ship. You will take your orders from me or any other officer of rank. Failure to do so will find you in the brig until punishment is decided. Discipline is at the discretion of the arresting officer and deemed prudent with my final consent.

  “My subordinates are less cruel than I and often seek menial punishment for insubordination. That is why I have the final say in all matters for those who take the privilege of serving their king with disobedience. They should be severely punished as I see it,” he said with a snake hissing smile and a twinkle of delight in his eye.

  Jessop could see this scrawny self-absorbed man with his nasally voice enjoyed his position and the undertaking of inflicting punishment. The look on his face made Jessop’s skin crawl and a chill ran up his spine.

  The men one by one climbed the ladder and stood surrounded by redcoats and men of simple dress. This was the first real view of the abducted group of men now his brothers. There were ten of them ranging in age from fourteen to fifty but the bulk of them including himself were eighteen to thirty. It was apparent by their injuries that some were not kidnapped as pleasantly as he had been.

  Black eyes, split lips, bruises, and blood covered four of them and one even appeared to have a dislocated shoulder. Thankfully the older man he assumed was the raspy older voice he’d heard in the bowels of the ship, and the boy were not among the bloodied and broken.

  Lieutenant Crock studied them as he encircled his captives, walking slowly with his hands behind his back, when suddenly he brought them forward dropping one fist into the cup of his other hand as he did so. Jessop presumed he was sizing the situation.

  His father had a similar act though he did not circle his prey as this predator did. He would instead nod his head as if agreeing with some unseen consultant and cluck his tongue in a disapproving manner.

  Yes. That’s what Crock was doing. Jessop was sure of it. He was assessing them; reading their facial expressions and the way they held themselves in front of him. Were they cowardly or strong willed? Would they be defiant or dutiful?

  He wondered though, why Crock kept eyeing him. It was as if Crock couldn’t quite decipher his thoughts about him. After another circle of dead silence, Crock pointed to the young boy and several officers scuttled him off. This worried Jessop. What would they do with such a lad? He couldn’t be used for hard labor. Maybe they would groom him for a cabin boy or something less brutal.

  Next Crock pointed to the man with the injured arm. “Take him to the cook,” he said, then turned to Jessop. He must have read the concern on his face and wondered if he might speak out of turn against his command. Jessop knew he was being tested and refused to let the lieutenant win at this game. When Crock could see he wasn’t going to say anything, he continued.

  “As for the rest of you, I suggest you clean up that filth below.” He motioned towards the pit they had just climbed out of. “We keep a clean and tidy ship on the Victory and that,” he pointed towards the hole, “is your new home until we depart ways—one way or another,” he said as he stepped away and out of sight.

  Jessop wasn’t sure if the last part was actually meant to be said or a scare tactic, but he wasn’t going to make waves the first day. Several officers appeared with buckets and hand brushes dispersing them to the closest recipient. Another officer handed the older gentleman two lanterns and two others plopped bedding and other supplies within the arms of the remainder.

  * * *

  Down into the hollow in the deck they crept. With light, the space had a different feel. The supplies were deposited in a clean high area while Jessop and some others cleaned up the vomit. This was a little tricky since the smell made them gag and some were still having trouble with the swaying of the ship. But after the worst of it was gone, the smell dissipated and they picked out a place to call their own.

  Once they were pleased with the condition of their new accommodations, they ventured out once again to the open sea air. They walked around the boat and watched what the officers and men did. Some were quite friendly and struck up quiet conversations. Other’s quickly took to mastering rope tying or how to caulk the deck. Jessop noticed Crock hadn’t brought them out of their hole until there was no sight of land. It was a scary feeling knowing the only thing keeping you from drowning was the ship and it made Jessop all that more determined to become a proficient sailor so he could treat the ship with the utmost respect.

  They quickly learned the key players on the ship, though it seemed she required a great many able bodied sailors to keep her running smoothly. The captain also held the title of Sailing Master—this kept him very busy. He tended to the maps and graphs of navigation as swell as drilling the men for attack.

  Crock was the next in command and he made it his mission to scrutinize everything under him. He fancied himself on long leisurely walks about the ship, listening, and observing all matters. It was quite disturbing to most and he made his subordinates nervous. The “go to” man was the boatswain—his name was Noah Bartley. He was in charge of all deck activity, sails and rigging, and the anchor. If you were on his deck he knew about it.

  The master gunner took his orders officially from Crock, but Day worked closely with the captain on a regular basis with drills for the men. From what Jessop could gather, Day bypassed Crock on the day to day items, but to keep Crock’s ego intact, Day did make an effort to include him in the reporting of what, where, and when they were drilling.

  The carpenter, Walter Simmons, was in charge of everything pertaining to wood—exterior decking and masts. The master gunner controlled the cannons, their firing, maintenance, and supplies.

  There were several mates and they served as apprentices to the masters of their expertise. Though it would seem the “able bodied sailor” might serve at the bottom of the ranks, he was quite respected. A sailor filled in for any position that was lacking and was the backbone of the Victory, despite what Crock might tell one.

  Jessop learned that having a cooper aboard was rare on ships such as the Victory, but the captain had some pull in naming Stuart Penn as his. Most any supplies or liquids upon the ship were stored in wooden barrels, tied and stowed in every nook and cranny.

  Keeping things water tight was incredibly important. A cannon won’t fire with wet gun powder. Food, clothing, and other essentials had to be sealed in barrels of all sizes to keep them from being ruined. It was Penn and Simmons who Jessop most identified with. Once the two men noted Jessop’s affinity
for metal working, he was quickly staffed to work under them.

  Penn had Jessop repairing his backlog of damaged casks and barrels from the last storm they’d encountered some weeks back. When he wasn’t working for Penn, he was helping Simmons repairing things for Bartley that pertained to the rigging and masts.

  Though Penn and Simmons weren’t officers of the navy, they were craftsman in their field and important members of the crew, naming them such “masters-at-arms.”

  Meals were where these statures in rank made themselves obvious. The officers would not eat with anyone who was not of some nautical rank, and the master craftsman had a ranking all their own. It was shortly after Jessop had started working for Penn that he found he was somewhere in the ranks of being “undefined.”

  * * *

  When the bells marked the first dog watch time, those hungry sailors not on duty and not an officer made their way to the tween deck where they could eat their supper. The tween deck was where the kidnapped gentlemen made their home, a narrow deck beneath the open deck above and the storage hull. They shuffled down the ladder, some hobbling from soreness of work or injury. Life as a sailor was hazardous to say the least and there was nary a day when one or more didn’t find a new bandaged wound on his mate. The past few weeks Jessop had familiarized himself with his fellow captured sailors, making friends with some and acquaintances with others.

  The man with the raspy voice he’d spoken to in the darkness was a fatherly type, obviously well educated, but not of money. He wondered how someone of his means could be so scholarly, but didn’t feel it was his place to ask the man. His name was Conrad Brown and his skills in math made him a quick learner for the many calculations used by the sailing master/captain Kramer. Kramer sought Brown’s expertise more and more over the weeks in checking his own calculations, though Brown spent most of his time working with Ivan Day the Master Gunner.

  He was a friendly man, knowledgeable in travel, life, and the sciences and Jessop found he was always happy to share a meal and shoot the breeze with him. Not all the men who had been abducted were quite as friendly as Conrad. One in particular seemed especially defensive towards Jessop for reasons he was uncertain. He’d tried in several instances to compliment or defend the curtly gent named Will Rees, to no avail.

  Rees grabbed the back of the chair that was about to house a sitting Jessop. Noting a shadow at the doorway, Rees practically shouted, “Lord Aster, please…let me help you with your seat.”

  Jessop had kept his surname to himself for the most part on their voyage. He hadn’t been sure how such knowledge might play out with the men, but now that the cat was out of the bag…

  “Aster?” a voice from the door came. “Are you kin to Maximillian Aster, friend to King George and others of the court?”

  Jessop’s face flushed meeting Rees’s happy gaze with a glare. “Yes, sir,” he answered.

  “Indeed. What luck,” Crock returned rubbing his chin as if he had a devil’s goatee growing there.

  Rees’s jaw dropped when he realized his plan had gone to pot.

  “Mr. Aster, why did you not make this tidbit of news known to me,” Crock asked sauntering among the seated men, his stockings of white shone like a beacon against the drab brown seamen’s clothing. He dabbed his nose with a lacey handkerchief as if the men’s rank odor was unpalatable to him.

  “It didn’t seem relevant,” Jessop said.

  “Relevant? My good man, of course it’s relevant. I fear you underestimate your importance. Someone so familiar to our great king needs to be acknowledged.” He shoved the plate from Jessop’s hands scattering the smoked fish, chunk of cheese, and bug ridden biscuit across the table. “You shall eat at the master’s table. We cannot have you fated to malnutrition on our watch. Come, Aster.”

  Rees was fuming in the corner, appalled by the turn of events. Jessop was sure from his first meeting with Crock that he was a greedy man. The prospects of rewards for returning a wronged lad to his very rich family made Crock’s blackened heart skip a happy beat. But what puzzled Jessop was how Rees knew who he was.

  Chapter Three

  Meals with the Masters Simmons and Penn were much tastier compared to the worm ridden biscuits, cheese, and smoked fish he received with his equals, but they were also more jovial. Meals usually had some hot meat item which was often the leftovers from the officers’ meal. Stews were common where the cook used leftovers from other meals to make a welcome smorgasbord.

  Given his knowledge of mechanics and carpentry he learned from “Big Tom” back home, he fit in with the conversations of work to be done, work that was done, or past disasters from shoddy masters before.

  With a full belly of salty hot fish stew and potatoes and a few tankards of beer, Jessop wandered back to his bed with the other abductees. He lay swinging in his hammock in motion with the others around him, some snoring, some reading with a flickering close-by lantern.

  He thought about his best friend Tommy Kohler, Jr., Big Tom’s son, and how thankful he was he’d learned so much from the generous giant he often wished was his own father. Tommy had often jested how he’d like to switch places with Jessop and eat at the “high-table” as he put it. Jessop knew that once the glitter of gold faded, Tommy would realize how good he had it.

  The creaking and moaning of the ship became a gentle lullaby to Jessop. There was a peace on the water far from men and their politics. It was hard work manning a ship, but there was a feeling of accomplishment when the men worked together to unfold the sails. Like tiny ants running up and down the masts and across her decks, yelling commands and confirmation as they were a well-oil machined. When the canvas snapped to attention as a gust of wind filled it to the breaking point, reminding the men of the curves of a voluptuous woman’s breast.

  The ship picked up speed as the other sails filled with booms of their own pulling the ship faster. Smiles spread on the faces of her men as the Victory skated across the waves like a great swan of wood and fabric. Jessop was enjoying this life, though there were definitely things he missed—a hot soak in a tub, a soft featherbed, being dry for an entire day, and eyeing a beautiful woman. Ah yes. There was much talk on the Victory about women. Some good, some bad, but all seemed to miss the softer sex as much as he.

  The vision of Lily, a girl he admired from afar who lived on the other side of town, was running through a field of knee-high yellow flowers. Her long blond hair flowed in the wind, looking like an ocean of golden waves, then plop. A heavy object fell to the wooden floor startling Jessop and making the snoring man nearby choke and cough as he settled back into a deep doze. It was William Rees and as he bent to pick up the dropped book he glare at Jessop with discontent.

  He was getting into his hammock when Jessop said, “Rees. I’ve been wondering how you knew my identity.”

  “You weren’t the only bloke seized from the Ruddy Knuckles,” hitting the lump of fabric he was using as a pillow venting his annoyance at being reminded of his failed attempt at demeaning Jessop.

  “I hadn’t realized,” Jessop replied trying to jog his memory of the faces in the tavern that evening when he stepped in from the rain.

  “Your kind rarely do,” Rees said settling in and opening his book once more.

  “My kind? Kindly elaborate,” Jessop said rather annoyed at its connotations, but also curious as to what and why Rees had such a vendetta towards him.

  “Your kind,” Rees said louder, but never moved his eyes from his book, “Loyalists. Those so filled with their own egotistical arrogance they don’t notice those around them or BENEATH them.”

  “Have I wronged you in some manner unbeknownst to me?”

  “Not personally, though I have been wronged by many of your peers.”

  “Then why are you so hostile towards me?”

  “No reason. I just don’t like your sort.”

  “Here,” Jessop said referring to the confines of the middle deck, “we are the same.”

  “Are we?” Rees
said finally dropping his book to his chest and glowering at Jessop. “You who are too good to eat with us or work with us? You who will be offered back to his father at land fall for a tidy little sum. No, Lord Aster, we are not the same. Not remotely.” Then he went back to his book.

  “That still doesn’t explain how you know my name,” Jessop pushed.

  An annoyed sigh came from Rees as he slammed his book closed and turned down the fuel to the lamp making the flame flicker then die out. “I live just the other side of town from you. Tiny little farm I’m sure you’ve never noticed that runs parallel to a field of mustard.”

  Jessop went rigid and thoughts of the lovely Lily popped back into his mind.

  Rees continued as he pulled a blanket to his neck, “You might know my sister. Lily. She’s the pretty young woman you’ve been spying from afar for near on five years now.”

  Jessop gulped at the rising embarrassment that took over him as he thought on Rees’s knowledge of Jessop’s infatuation.

  * * *

  With a decline in rough weather, and Jessop as an extra hand, the cooper’s backlog of repairs to the hundreds of casks and barrels were quickly waning. On the occasion that such a workload became depleted, Penn often took it upon himself to service the officers’ swords, sabers, and muskets. This too was something that on occasion Jessop did for Big Tom.

  A special concoction of oils along with a good whet stone made Jessop the go-to guy for sharpening a weapon. Even Penn was intrigued by Jessop’s skills in honing.

  On one such occasion a prized sword was given to Jessop to work his magic on. It was an heirloom piece owned by Ivan Day and he set it carefully in Jessop’s hands blanketed in a blue velvet wrap. Jessop unwrapped the specimen to find a wondrous beauty of metal and craftsmanship. Jessop smiled at Day when he picked up the sword and felt its weight. Never had he felt anything so perfectly balanced. Jessop tossed it in the air much to Day’s dismay, letting it reflect and shine brightly in the bright sun. It twirled tip over pommel twice before Jessop caught it gingerly finding its center of balance. A sigh of relief hissed from Day’s lips.