Page 3 of A Flash of Golden Fire

I tried not to sway on my feet. I was so tired and weak. I stared at the coin purse in my outstretched hand as it began to go in and out of focus. Was I about to faint?

The captain continued, “But why do you want a place on a ship you only heard about a moment ago? And only supposed before that?” he asked.

He looked me up and down with more skepticism than his crew had given me.

Perhaps this was a useless endeavour. How could I convince him that I’d be an asset?

He raised his eyebrows. “In search of a wild life, are you? Dreaming of glory and women?”

No.

“No,”I said as emphatically as I could. “I just need a place, sir.”

My legs trembled and my heart quailed. I was a grown man, truly, but I’d never felt more like a child than I did at that moment.

“Any place,” I whispered.

Some indiscernible emotion crossed his face. Disdain? Sympathy? Interest?

He took two steps toward me and plucked the purse from my hand. He stroked it with his thumb and fondled the contents through the soft leather, narrowing his eyes in contemplation.

When he met my gaze, a sparkpassed between us.

Then he averted his gaze and tucked the purse into the pocket of his fine jacket.

“Off with you, Mr White. I’m not in need of men,” he said.

He pulled out a chair and sat, straddling the seat as he prepared to address the others.

A desperate rage took hold of me. He’d taken my coin—all I had left to my name—and for a moment, it had looked like I might be in luck. The spark that had ignited at his look became a lightning rod of rage, giving me a burst of strength and a tendency to recklessness.

I gazed wildly about me, spotting a half-full tankard of brown ale that might or might not have been his. I grabbed the cup and threw it at him, uttering a string of curses and insults, demanding he return my coins, or I’d set his ship ablaze by morning.

None were more surprised at this turn of events than I, except perhaps for the captain himself. The tankard bounced off his middle, and ale splashed onto his fine clothes and up to his chin, the crash of the cup to the floor heralding the return of my sanity.

What have I done?

Captain Martin stared at me with apparent calm as the frothy liquid spread over his clothes. He reached under his jacket, pulled out a flintlock pistol, and aimed the barrel at my head.

“I suppose you’re going to beg for mercy,” he said in steely tones that suggested pleading might be my only option.

But I was all-in now, and there was no going back.

I kept my voice low. “Give me back my coin or bring me aboard.”

I didn’t have anything to lose now that he had my money. If he didn’t do either of those things, then he might as well shoot me and be done with me.

I stared at Captain Martin, and he stared back. He was probably as surprised as I that I wasn’t backing down. But strength had come from somewhere, and a sense of destiny held me straight and sturdy in front of him and all his crew. If I was meant to die now, then so be it. I’d not shed any tears for this place.

Captain Martin narrowed his eyes as the crew looked on with baited breath and, no doubt, a yearning for blood. I closed my eyes, ready for the end.

My own quick breaths hung in my ears as I waited.

“I’ll not waste a bullet on you. Come aboard, then. If you don’t prove your worth to me in a week, you’ll walk the plank.”

I let out my breath and opened my eyes. We stared at each other, neither willing to back down, but at least he hadn’t shot me.

He tucked the gun away and folded his arms on the table.

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