The air was clear and a gentle breeze playfully tossed the young girl’s hair. Ocean waves lapped gently at the wooden planks of the boat, sloshing up the sides. The wind carried little droplets of sea spray, wetting the child’s face. Rebekka stood with one leg up on the bow of the small dinghy and took a deep breath. She inhaled the salty ocean air and sighed. In her best attempt to look like a captain, she raised the toy spyglass up to her eye and peered at the island ahead.
“Land, ho!” she cried out.
Pete and Bill continued rowing towards shore. Pete was a lanky man who was too tall for his britches. His knees rose up to meet his chest, confined by the size of the boat. Bill on the other hand was a hefty man with a mustache that looked like it might at any moment crawl off his face. Pete wiped the sweat from his brow and went right back to rowing.
“Ya fink it’s a good idea ta be standin’ up, little miss?” Pete asked. He spoke as if he chewed his words thoroughly before spitting them out. “Cap’n Cutty gave us strict orders….”
“Did the captain not put me in charge of this vessel?” Rebekka huffed.
“Well of course ‘e did,” Bill chimed in with a raspy tenor, “But ‘ow would it look to ‘er mates if a captain went in the drink?”
“So,” thought Rebekka out loud, “I am the captain?”
Pete chuckled and the sudden inhalation that followed caused him to snort.
“Sure, yer the captain of this dinghy,” Bill grunted in response, “But don’t let that go to yer little ‘ead.”
Rebekka pondered this for a moment before internalizing Bill’s advice.
“Well then, as captain, I’ve decided that it I should sit,” she spoke with a righteousness that only an eight year old could own, “A captain must keep up appearances.”
Pete and Bill continued to row until they reached the shore. The waves threatened to topple the small boat and the clumsy pirates didn’t help matters. The two men splashed towards shore, beaching the dinghy. Bill offered a hand to Rebekka to help her onto the shore. The small camp was already set up. The crew of the Devastation were lounging about; drinking, gambling and gluttony abound. Rebekka approached the camp, trailed by Bill and Pete, and was disappointed with the lack of recognition. She tugged on Pete’s shirt until the lanky man knelt down next to the girl so she could whisper in his ear.
“Don’t make me say that,” Pete pleaded.
“When my father get’s back, he won’t be very happy to hear that his authority was undermined.”
Pete groaned and stood.
“The young miss Captain Rebekka ‘as arrived. On your feet!”
The din of debauchery ended and after a moment of indecision, the crew let loose a raucous guffaw.
“Shut yer trap ya freebooter,” squawked a drunken pirate named Sloppy Tom. He was leaning back in a rickety wooden chair, his mud covered boots resting on a wooden table. He took a swig of gin from his rusty mug and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “We don’t take orders from no little girls. If Cap’n Cutty wants somthin’ done he’ll make sure we know it.”
Rebekka squinted her eyes and wrinkled her nose in frustration. What use was there being a captain’s daughter if no one followed your orders? She took a deep breath, smiled, then walked over to Sloppy Tom. She eyed the man up and down. His dirty clothing reeked of gin, he was missing a fare share of teeth, and his left eye sat crooked in his skull. Rebekka gently leaned her hands on the edge of Tom’s chair and put on her best innocent child smile.
“He’s right,” said Rebekka, with an air of innocence. And then in a mimicry of Tom she continued, “If Cap’n Cutty wants somthin’ done, he’ll make sure you know it.”
With a sudden and simple flourish, Rebekka shoved Tom’s chair backward. The man had been sitting precariously and it didn’t take much effort for the young girl to tip his weight. Tom wiggled his arms in an attempt to right himself but there was no use. He crashed to the ground knocking over a pile of barrels as he went. Rebekka stepped deliberately onto the collapsed man’s chest, then onto the chair, and finally onto the card table before addressing the crowd.
“Captain Cutty,” Rebekka paused and pointed at herself, “wants somthin’ done.”
Rebekka watched with a smug satisfaction as the men snapped to attention. She surprised even herself. But then she noticed the visible twitching coming from Pete. Bill remained as stoic as ever but his unbreakable gaze said more than words could.
“Get to work you pox faced blaggards before I personally disembowel the lot of ya,” it was voice of the man who called himself Rebekka’s father, Captain Brant Cutty.
The men who were sober enough to stand scrambled to look busy lest they be caught in the Captain’s tirade. Rebekka turned to face the man. He was a hulking individual with a harsh countenance. The scars on his face mirrored a life of sin.
“The mighty captain graces us with his presence,” Rebekka, making no attempt to mask her derision, curtsied toward the man who now towered over her.
Cutty stomped toward the young girl and, without any show of remorse, tore her from the table. He slammed her down into an empty chair and stuck her with the back of his fist. Rebekka was a tenacious girl, but she was still only eight and alone could not stand against his violent hand.
“Do not speak to my men as though you had any actual sway. They do as I command just as you should,” his words cut her sharper than any sword, “I’ve allowed your verve for far too long. It’s time you started to act like a Cutty.”
Rebekka quivered in her chair but refused to appear weak to the captain.
“I want to see my mother,” Rebekka was doing a poor job of holding back tears.
“Her weakness runs in your blood,” Cutty laughed, "You'll do as I say or I'll see to it that she never sees the light of day."
Then he addressed the crew, “The raid will continue as planned. I need three men with me. We will assault the Duke’s manor during the confusion.”
Cutty smiled an evil grin down at Rebekka.
“I’ll deal with you when I return.”
“I really don’t fink this is a good idea,” whispered Pete.
He had to duck to avoid slamming his head into the low hanging lamp posts. The small port town of Grettin was quiet this evening, it’s residents resting easy after a long day of commerce. The gentle crash of waves against the shore echoed across the docks. Apart from the occasional rat scurrying between crates, there wasn’t a soul to see the pirates. Bill walked in front of Pete holding a small lantern.
“We ain’t monsters, Pete,” Bill whispered back, “She’s just a girl. She don’t deserve Cutty’s brand o’ cruelty.”
“But what if the cap’n finds out what we done?”
“Let’s just ‘ope ‘e doesn't.”
Across the docks, one of the other crewmen held up a lantern and alternated covering the light and uncovering it.
“It’s time,” said Bill, “You ready, little miss?”
Rebekka nodded from her hiding place behind a stack of crates. Bill raised his lantern to give the return signal. In a sudden burst, the men across the docks screamed and charged forth, lighting torches as they ran. The noise was enough to draw the attention of the town guard but by the time they rang the warning bell, the pirate’s plan was in motion - the pillaging had begun. The quiet peace of night was replaced with the din of violence. Buildings began to blaze as torches touched thatch. Villagers ran screaming from their homes as the pirates did what they do best.
Pete and Bill escorted Rebekka along the docks until they reached Lady Lynchmire, the largest vessel in the port. There was only one guard standing watch over the boat - the rest had joined the fight in town.
“This is it,” said Rebekka.
“You sure about this, little miss?” asked Pete.
“Positive. The document I found the captain’s quarters said this is the boat.”
“It’s just one guard,” Bill said, “She’ll be fine.”
There was no argument to be had. Before Pete could speak again, Rebekka had stepped around the corner and ran toward the guard. With all the sincerity she could muster, Rebekka began crying and clung to the guard’s leg. The man seemed confused and then saw Pete and Bill approaching with swords drawn.
“Now, now. Don’t cry little one,” Bill chortled. “We ain’t gonna ‘urt ya. We just wanna ‘ave a little fun, that’s all.”
The guard drew his sword and pointed it at Bill and Pete. With a quiver in his voice, he spoke.
“In the name of the queen I order you to drop your swords and stand down.”
Pete smiled an evil grin, and Bill chuckled.
“Oh but we never said we wouldn’t ‘urt you.”
The guard took one step toward the pirates but before he could attack, Rebekka swung one of the boat’s low hanging pulleys into the back of his head. He collapsed to the ground and Rebekka stood behind him triumphantly. She composed herself and reached down for the guard’s keys.
“She’s stronger than she looks,” said Pete, “Remind me not to get on ‘er bad side.”
“I guess I really am my father’s daughter. Come on,” Rebekka said, “This way.”
The trio rushed up the slipway and onto Lady Lynchmire. Bill’s lantern illuminated the dark hallways below deck. The sounds of pillaging were distant outside, the only sounds audible now were their own footsteps and the creaking of wood.
“Okay this is it,” said Rebekka excitedly.
They had stopped outside the brig - shadows cast from the lantern concealed a huddled figure inside. Rebekka grabbed the bars and peered inside.
“Mother?”
The huddle figure shifted cautiously and then moved towards the bars. The dim lighting revealed a middle aged woman wearing torn and dirtied rags. The creases on her face told a story of woe.
“Rebekka? My sweet angel, is that you?” The woman’s voice quivered as tears began to fill her eyes.
She placed her hands over the young girl’s. They felt rough against Rebekka’s skin but the connection overwhelmed her.
“Well go on you bloody deck swab,” Bill shoved Pete, “Let the lady out.”
Pete fumbled with the keyring and finally opened the door to the cell. Rebekka’s mother ran to her daughter, collapsed to her knees and embraced her.
“It’s beau’iful,” Pete wiped a tear away from his eye.
A sudden explosion from outside rocked the boat.
“I ‘ate to break up this moment,” said Bill, “but we ‘ave to leave, little miss.”
The four of them navigated their way outside the boat and back to the docks. They moved hurriedly along the plankway, avoiding the violent cacophony of the pirate raid. With stealth and cunning they arrived at the small rowboat they had arrived in. Rebekka helped her mother into the vessel and then turned to Pete and Bill.
“I owe you my life. I don’t see how I can ever repay you.”
She hugged them both.
“Oh now you're gonna make me cry,” choked Bill.
“What about the Captain? If he finds out you helped me escape...” Rebekka trailed off, “Come with us, it’ll be safer.”
“Oh don’t worry about us,” said Bill, “Pete and I ‘ave survived worse. Besides, we ain’t cut out for the civilized life.”
Rebekka hopped into the dinghy and squeezed next to her mother.
“Thank you both for keeping my daughter safe,” her mother paused and held Rebekka tight, “First chance you get, you put a sword though that bastard Cutty’s heart.”
“No promises, ma’am,” said Pete.
“Better get going,” said Bill, “Pretty soon, there won’t be much of a town left to flee from.”
Another explosion rocked the dock and threatened to knock Bill and Pete off their feet.
“So long little miss.”
They drew their swords and ran off toward the town. As Rebekka and her mother rowed away from the dock she watched the inferno that was once the port town of Grettin. A cool ocean breeze wrapped around the boat and Rebekka leaned against her mother for warmth.
Captain Cuddly was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.
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