Book One: Captain Storm

Although still unfinished (I am guessing about halfway done) i have decided, after much thought and bracing, to publish the whole of my first book (so far!) here. So far, this story has been four years, four months and six drafts in the making. It will one day, hopefully, be published as a proper book, but i doubt that will be very soon.

Thus, i present to you a mature soap opera style tale of pirates on the high sea, ambition, fatality, a girl and a fight for survival. A prologue, if you will, of the future five, and life, love, death and struggle in the eighteenth century.


Full of typos, i know, i know, but i do try where i can.

Chapter Fifteen: Treasure

She was still staring hopelessly at the door when Storm opened it, swaying slightly and looking rather pale beneath his fallow tan.

Chapter Eight: The Cook Pot

The woman before Florencia was much more tenuous and serenely beautiful than Lucia had been.

Chapter Eleven: Storm Brewing (EDITED)

“A girl dressed as a boy?” Luigia moved closer, curious, “That’s a bit conspiratorial, isn’t it?”

Chapter Five: The Old Gaol

He resembled a blighted potato. His skin was jaundiced and mottled and scabby and his eyes bulged as though he had been hung at some point but without any luck.

Chapter Fourteen: Attack at Noon

She blushed sullenly, and after a moment of taciturn silence, answered a little peevishly...

Chapter Nine: The Blackest Hair

The one that was smirking was skinny with the blackest hair she had ever seen.

Chapter One: 1722

“Seabirds don’t have black flags,” Margarita replied matter-of-factly.

Chapter Seven: Watling Island

It always gave her a sense of malapropos vainglory to know that her family had been honoured so.

Chapter Six: Clara Muerte

His lungs seemed to rattle...she saw the speckles of bright blood on his hand and chin.

Chapter Sixteen: Flower's Trial

“What’s the meaning of this?” He asked, calling across the stockade to Storm.

Chapter Ten: Black Allen

“You tell yer Cap’n Storm,” he said, “that Black Allen knows ‘e’s ‘ere an’ that I’ll go ter the Governor himself if ‘e ain’t left by nightfall!”

Chapter Thirteen: Newland Left Behind

“Then I’ll catch you,” Flower smiled, almost fatherly “now go.”

Chapter Twelve-The Dancing Whore at the Anchor Inn

The whore who had been undressing clambered up barefoot on the sturdiest table, around which many swarmed like bees around some very dusty flower.

Chapter Two: The Dark Horse

“Maman?” Margarita called; their mother had stopped screaming. “Maman!”