Chapter Three: Captured (EDITED)

Indistinct noises reverberated through the hull and grappling hooks whistled as they were thrown over the railings; before long, bare feet came clambering up the wooden sides as the pirates shouted and hollered in a tongue of their own.

The cook and his dumb sailor friend, who were still standing up on deck, dropped like stones as a volley of gun fire rang out, causing Margarita to squeal frightfully. The Le Dauphin shook so violently with the cook's landing that dust was dislodged from the ceiling.

Pia wailed and was quickly smothered by someone, but not fast enough, for her noise brought foreign feet to the hatchway, into which they descended, calling out to their fellows as they spotted the women. The pirates cocked their flintlocks with a snicking noise and advanced.

It was Aunt Clara who spoke up first, but the pirates cut her off abruptly with a sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh. She, her sister and Pia were herded out pistol point, their joints cracking as they lumbered up top, dresses rustling.

"Stay-!" Florencia hissed, throwing out an arm to stop Margarita from flying after them. She jumped when she banged her head on the desk's underneath as someone shook the door handle; raising her hand to rub the bruise, she saw her sister clutch the desk's seashell patterned legs in her tiny hands. She clung to it, squeezing her doll to her chest as a pair of man grunted to each other in the corridor.

The pirates' shadows, which reached under the door, withdrew to the sound of shuffling feet, at which Florencia breathed a shaky sigh of relief. She yelped as one of the men, someone large, threw themselves against the door, which made the hinges strain dangerously under their great weight. He stepped back and flung himself forward again, popping out the rivets so that they plinked ominously on the floor; both girls gasped, and time seemed to slow for a moment. The door splintered, frame by frame, as the man launched himself at it for a third time, scattering large splinters across the floor as if fired from a cannon.

A hulking pirate stuck his head through the doorway, from which chunks were still hanging, attached to the jamb. He was huge, so much so that he filled the room up.

The sisters stared at him, horrified. He had tiny, colourless eyes, like quartz, but not as hard or as cold; they were more watery than that as he peered down at them with a gormless expression on his brown, bristly face. The man tried to step into the room, although he had to turn sideways and duck to get just one beef-like shoulder through the doorway. Florencia followed his hand, itself the size of a communion platter, to his belt where a dull gleaming pistol and his cutlass hung.

"Greer!"

With great difficulty, the trollish man looked over his shoulder, goggling gormlessly at a much smaller and skinnier man, who came forward and wriggled past the former through a tiny crack of space left between Greer and the doorway.

The second pirate strongly reminded Florencia of a ferret that Velazquez's daughter-in-law had had at one point. He had the same pointed face and twitchy black eyes. His hair was limp and fell in them, whilst his red skin had a distinctly grubby cast to it as he regarded the sisters with a filthy leer.

"Well," he cooed, eyes glinting. His thin lips that were coated in dark stubble, and he licked them as he added, "What 'ave we 'ere…?'

He spoke English, and so Florencia did not understand him, but his tone and expression were explanatory. She pressed herself against Margarita, hugging her tight.

"-And here I thought that there were only those ugly an' fat old –"

Greer grunted in agreement, and Margarita frowned. She did not understand what the pirates were saying either, as both of them were only versed in Spanish, but she too recognised the unpleasant tone that the pirate spoke with. The latter opened her mouth to reply but was stopped by Florencia to hastily clapping a fear-damp hand over her mouth.

He pirates jeered, then froze as a new set of feet climbed on board; they wore boots and walked with thunderous footfalls that had the pirates gazing up at the ceiling in nervous anticipation.

The newcomer walked the length of the Le Dauphin, drumming his way to the prow and then back again before stopping beside the main mast to kick Marchand's corpse, which caused the Condesa to choke on her horror. Florencia found herself holding Margarita back again; both of them jumped as one of the pirates cocked his gun and fired it, so that someone else fell dead to floor amidst their mother and Aunt Clara's screams.

Moreover, the gunshot acted like a smelling salt, jerking the pirates back to life. The ferrety one looked down from the ceiling, chuckling and shaking his head. He elbowed his friend and muttered something to him, to which the latter grunted and turned his eyes back onto the cowering sisters.

"Let's go, girlies," the smaller man leered greasily, then lunged forward.

He seized Florencia, who flung herself over her sister to protect her as the pirate left a tarry smear on her dress. She and Margarita screamed in his ear, but that did not stop him, for, with a brutal heave, he dragged Florencia free of the desk and clutched her in his bony arms. However, he was unprepared for the flurry of dark coloured velveteen and fury that launched itself at him. He was very nearly bowled over by Margarita, who dropped Adora in her rashness.

"Greer!" The ferret-pirate shouted, his voice edged with fright.

The big man reached down and caught Margarita as though she was a flea between his thumb and forefinger. She shrieked and kicked him in the shins and bit him when he refused to let her go. He howled as she chomped on his thumb, and let her go, but before Florencia could pull her sister back, she found herself pushed aside as the little man snatched Margarita from her grasp. He wrenched his flintlock from his belt and jammed the muzzle beneath her flawless chin.

"Fight an' she gets it!"

He cocked the gun and gritted his teeth. Florencia stopped moving, and her sister had frozen as well, almost like a rabbit that had spotted a fox.

"Now will yer come quietly?"

Florencia felt both terrified and enraged at seeing her sister threatened so, but was at a loss to do anything. She had no gun and as she stood and stared, Greer took her by the arm and dragged her outside.

"Let go of me!" Margarita yelled behind her, but the flintlock did not go off.

Greer's grip was painfully tight. It made Florencia's eyes water and she could already feel the bruises that he would leave. She wrestled with him and managed to hit him in the belly, but to her dismay, her fist bounced off like water on glass. He just looked at her, blinking densely, puzzled.

"Get a move on up there!" His friend shouted.

All of a sudden, Florencia felt the floor vanish in a whirl of varnish and blue cloth as Greer tossed her onto his shoulder, which she found to be very solid. She was too dizzy at first to cry out, and as though she were nothing more than a rolled up carpet, he carried her away.

"You-!" She screamed as her senses returned to order, "Put me down, right now-this instant, you great-!"

His ribcage was as solid as his paunch, Florencia discovered unhappily, as she kicked him hard and lost a mule, which flew off her foot. It landed in the shade somewhere, clattering out of sight. She pummelled his back, but Greer seemed to be greased in a thick layer of unfeeling muscle, for he did not flinch once. The brunette tried bawling in his ear, and decided that he must have been stone deaf as her frustrated scream did nothing to stop him. The sounded echoed in the narrow corridor, and she yelped as he took no care not bump her on the edge of the hatchway as he took her up on deck. The back of her head cracked against the frame, stinging keenly until her eyes watered.

The sun was still blindingly bright. It seemed obscene to Florencia: how could it shine God's happy light on those that were dead and those that had killed them?

Florencia caught sight of the Condesa and Aunt Clara; they had edged themselves away from Pia, who lay lifeless and crooked beside the wheel. The puddle of sticky maroon blood beneath her head had dyed her frilly mobcap brown.

"Rita? Flory?"

Their mother's face was damp and blotchy with tears. Her make up ran in rivulets down her face, spattering her already stained dress in chalky splodges, although now she did not care. Her eyes were all for her children as she stood unsteadily in her high heeled mules, clinging to the railing for support as her fear escalated. A man stood on either side of her, separating her from Aunt Clara at gun point.

"Maman!" Margarita cried out plaintively, as she strained against the ferrety pirate's grasp. She stretched out her tiny hands as far as they could go in a vain attempt to reach her mother across the Bermuda sloop. However, the skinny pirate clung onto her resolutely, prompting the Condesa to speak.

"Please," she beseeched, "please, my girls-let them be. You can have my jewels-"

The pirate on her left raised his musket in warning, and she fell silent accordingly.

Greer carried Florencia over to the main mast, his friend following with Margarita who whimpered loudly at the sight of Captain Marchand's body. He had been kicked over so that he lay on his belly, the splinter of wood that killed him sticking out of his back. His skin had a sickly, greenish hue to it, and there; flies to buzzing around his orifices, were they settled, on his hair and clothes too, like some macabre icing.

The stones, warmed by the sun, were bloodied, although the blood had turned black and sticky in the midday heat, and the pig itself was covered in a buzzing, writhing mass of flies that devoured its flesh, just like Rafaela wished would happen to her husband's mistress' pale, pretty face…

Florencia jerked out of her gory reverie as Greer spun her over and dropped her down on the hot, rough deck. His friend said something to him, still holding her sister as he looked over the Le Dauphin's waist.

"Cap'n!"

She lay motionless, moving only when Greer backed away and took his colossal shadow with him. She sat up, reeling a little as she knelt on the deck, holding her swimming head.

"Cap'n-?"

Florencia looked up. She could not see whom the pirates were talking to, but she noticed that the rest of their ragged band wore nervous, almost scared expressions, their eyes flicking to the same spot in front of the main mast. The only man she could see there was a short fellow in a too big frockcoat who was jittering about restlessly.

"Sir," the thin pirate said, bobbing his head in respect.

Florencia barely held back a snort. The idea this short man was the captain was ludicrous to her.

He doesn't even look frightening, she thought, he looks scared himself-

She was not, however, prepared for him to step aside and pull part of the billowing headsail back, exposing the foredeck where another man was standing. He had his back to them all and did not turn around at first, preferring to stare out to sea where the runaway crew of the Le Dauphin were plainly visible as a speck in the distance.

"Cap'n, sir?"

It was the timid pirate in the oversized coat that called to him, and lowering his spyglass, the latter turned around.

Margarita gasped. The man was a sight to behold. His faded red scarf was tied so tightly around his head that it gave Florencia cause to wonder why his skull-bones had not been squeezed out of place. A battered black tricorn hat rested on top, pulled down low over his eyes to shield them against the sun and his face. It had luxurious ostrich plumes stuck to the suede, wispy and white with age. His tanned face, cast in shadow by his hat's wide brim, was thin and hairless, and hollow like he had not eaten in a long time. A pale scar stood out on his sneering visage, grazing his right, grey eye. It kinked down over his cheek until it reached his chin, whilst strings of his unwashed black hair trailed over his shoulders, which were far from broad.

He dragged a lazy eye of his over Florencia and Margarita, then snapped with great distemper at a large, aggressive looking man standing near him. He barked out an order and sent the man and two others, a young blond and a brunet, clambering into the hatchway, before he went back to surveying the sea.

The three pirates began bringing out the Condesa's and Aunt Clara's luggage, followed by Florencia's and Margarita's, and before long the galley's supplies were coming out too. The rest of the pirates formed an assembly line, passing each thing to the next man and then overboard in the jollyboats, which were rowed back and forth between the Le Dauphin and the Dark Horse.

It was an age before the captain spoke again. He beckoned a small mulatto over, one of three identical brothers, and directed him at the two miserable women, who were huddling together outside of the great cabin. The men guarding them threatened them with their muskets, and forced them to kneel, hands held up for inspection. The mulatto looked them over, hunting for gold and stones on their trembling, baggy bodies. His expression was distinctly unkind as he grabbed Aunt Clara in his dirty hands and led her away from her sister. It was apparent that the heat had made her joints too stiff and swollen to pull her rings off, for the pirates had already divested her of necklaces and earrings. He tugged on her fingers one last time, causing her to grimace, and, satisfied that her rings were not going to budge, he slapped her hand down on a nearby barrel.

"You leave her alone!" Margarita cried out, pulling on the grasp holding her. She kicked the small pirate in the ankles, screaming with hatred and fear as he jerked her to himself again and planted a kiss on her cheek amidst uproarious laughter.

Florencia glanced hopelessly from her sister, to her horrified mother and then to the captain, who had been having a coughing fit. He was bent over the ship's railings, struggling for air; when he straightened, red faced and still wheezing, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and faced his crew.

The mulatto had gotten hold of a boarding axe, and as one of the other pirates held Aunt Clara's hand in place, he swung it down on her sausage fingers.

"No!" Margarita pealed in her high-pitched voice. Her cry rang out across the ship and Florencia thought that it might have reached the islands, but it failed to mask the brief crunch of bone and Aunt Clara's own ear splitting shriek. The brunette chose to look at the floor rather than watch as the mulatto gathered up the woman's severed fingers, off which he pulled her rings and handed them, still slippery with blood, to his gold crazed captain.

Aunt Clara, shocked and bleeding, slumped against the barrel and slid to the floor, clutching her fingerless hand to her chest as she did so. Her spurting blood matted the fur trim stitched to her neckline as the Condesa watched her, looking faint. The pirates made a move on with clearing out the Le Dauphin; they threw Pia, Marchand and the simple sailor overboard but left the cook where he was. His sow, however, was poked out of her makeshift sty and lowered overboard on a rope, squealing in panic, just like the pair of calves that followed her.

The captain watched his crew's every move, tapping the pommel of his cutlass all the while; half of his right-hand ring finger, Florencia noticed, was missing. He peered at the sea every so often, and when he began pacing, his red frockcoat flapped about his knees. It was a while before his slate-grey eyes eventually slid back to Florencia and Margarita, both of whom were sweltering in the sunlight, hungrily and thirstily.

He spoke to the pirate holding Margarita. The man replied dutifully, puffing out his chest and thrusting his frightened prisoner forward without letting go.

Florencia twitched involuntarily as the pirate manhandled her sister, who was oddly subdued; nevertheless, her dark eyes kept flicking back and forth, and none-too discreetly, between her mother and the captain. The latter seized Margarita's chin between his long, calloused fingertips and pulled her head up, scrutinising her. He had flecks of something on his chin, something dark and brown, but he seemed to not notice it or the speckles of blood on his shirt. His eyes were grey, Florencia saw, and as cold as the ice that arrived from New France every summer, but to her immense surprise, there was no lust in them. He shoved Margarita away and turned to the little fellow in the too big coat, who doffed his hat and produced an elaborately carved pipe, which he stuffed with baccy and lit, nursing the fragile spark in the bowl until it smouldered.

Once it was alive and burning, he gingerly offered it to his captain, who snatched it from him without a word of thank-you. He shooed the little man away and jammed the pipe's white stem into his mean mouth, puffing on it silently. The only noises were of the women sobbing and the crew as they removed the last of the supplies and spare equipment; Florencia even saw Adora in one pirate's hand. Her sister did not notice, and the brunette's heart wrenched at the sight of her. The little girl was crying softly to herself, sunburnt and shaking as she sagged in the grip that held her.

It transpired that Margarita's captor was called Rufus. He was named in a moment without gravity as the captain spoke to him, pipe in hand; they chortled together and Rufus relaxed, looking amused for a fleeting moment before his expression of anxious respect returned. He was still holding his prisoner in a vice, heedless of her pain and terror, much like Greer was of Florencia's own grievances. Her feet and her knees were stiff, and her throat was parched for want of cool drink. She glanced over at Aunt Clara and the Condesa, who were sitting together on the deck, weeping silently on each other's shoulders; their fine, silken dresses were smeared with congealing blood.

Margarita cried out. Her throat was dry and made her scream sound raspy, but the noise was still shrill and sudden, much to Rufus' irritation. He tightened his grip on her waifish body for the umpteenth time that day, but only succeeded in making her next cry even louder. It made Florencia jump, and she found herself trying to shush her sister as the pirate holding her glanced warily at his captain, whose face twitched dangerously.

The thin pirate laughed shakily and quickly slapped a filthy hand over Margarita's opening mouth.

"Bloody-!"

His piercing screech caused every head to snap around and look at Rufus, either with disgust or surprise, as he threw up his hand and yelled blue murder. There was a half circle made of tooth-marks between his thumb and first finger, and as he hollered and clutched his wounded limb, he let Margarita go, realising too late what he had done.

The girl was running for her mother as he tore his flintlock from his belt and narrowly missed catching Florencia around the head with it as he did so. He swore and fired it, but his aim was wonky, for the bullet missed Margarita by a mile.

"Let me try!" A man with uneven shoulders shouted gruffly, jerking his own pistol out and adding, "I can 'it that bitch!"

"Please!" Florencia shouted desperately at the man. She struggled against Greer's grip and stared imploringly at the silent, watching captain, her reddened cheeks glistening with tears, "Just leave her alone-!"

He did nothing, and it was with an aggrieved shriek, Florencia tore herself from Greer's sweaty hold on her. Her arm flesh seared a little as she ripped them free and lunged forward to the sound of cloth ripping; to her dismay, she ended up falling on her face and splitting her lip. A coppery tang filled her mouth, which she cupped, looking up dizzily as another shot exploded the air with a deafening crack and plume of smoke.

"Rita!" She managed to cry, spluttering a little on the blood in her mouth, but the pirates did not heed her. She tried to stand but her unwieldy dress had snagged on something; looking over her shoulder, she saw that the apish pirate was standing on the hem, "Rita, run!"

Margarita twitched like a rabbit as the lead ball whistled through her cloud of hair, which had come loose from its pink ribbon. The shot was lousy but nonetheless took a tuft of her hair along with it as she yelped and skidded in a puddle of viscid blood that oozed from the cook's dead body. A mulatto lunged forward, but his arms enclosed an empty space as the girl jumped aside and hovered between the hatchway and the great cabin. She stood on a carpet of splintered wood and sailcloth rags, quivering, gaze all for her sister.

"Don't!" Florencia shouted at her, stretching out a hand uselessly as she realised what her sister was going to do, "Please!"

The latter hesitated, and unbeknownst to them, the captain rolled his stormy eyes and began pushing his red frockcoat aside, under which he wore a silk sash. He had tied a number of flintlocks to it, one of which he tugged loose and brought out into the light, so that the sun glinted off the polished plates and greased mechanism. It was the shine that Florencia noticed out of the corner of her eye, and rolling over a little, she gasped at the sight of the gun. The captain ignored her, however, and cocked it, squinting, his pipe still clamped between his yellow teeth.

Florencia turned back to Margarita, who was staring at their mother and aunt, chewing her lip as she dithered, unawares of the barrel being levelled at her.

"Run, Rita!" The brunette cried, "Run!"

Her sister jumped and, pausing momentarily, took off again. She pelted across the last few dozen feet between her and Aunt Clara as the terrified Condesa beckoned her.

"Third time unlucky girl!" Rufus shouted out quite merrily from above Florencia, on the middle of whose back he had put his boot.

"NO-!"

The captain pulled the trigger and it was like a cannon going off in Florencia's ear. A cloud of blue-grey smoke obscured his face from view for a moment as she fixed her terrified gaze on Margarita. The girl in question, with her springy black curls, dropped down just a few feet shy of their mother, whose hysterical wail rose above the pirates' cheers like a la Chusa's cry.

For Florencia, time seemed to slow. She could hear the laughter and applause around her, but it sounded like it was far away. She turned dully to the captain and stared at him, but he appeared strangely unaffected by both the murder and her stupefied look, which bored into him like a trepanning drill. She was too shocked to scream at him or run and pummel him with her child's fists. She merely watched, almost catatonic, as he shoved his dead pipe back at Newland and barked out another fearsome order.

She did not kick when Greer came closer and cast her in shadow again. Instead, she let her head sink down so that she could mash her face into the grainy wood, chanting Margarita's name as though it would bring her back. Her mass of bushy, wavy brown hair covered her forehead like a veil until Greer lifted her up and caused the world to turn fuzzy. He stank of sweat, old and fresh, which stirred the bile in her guts and brought on a retching fit as he carried her overboard, sick and blinded the by tears that welled in her eyes.

Florencia forgot about the Condesa and her poor Aunt Clara, Pia and the Frenchman too, as Margarita, dancing, blossomed with a smile on her face amidst the growing blackness in the forefront of her mind.