The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen by Christopher Newman Read Free Book Online Page B

wound staining her breeches. Her opponent hadn’t altogether missed with his strike. Summoning up the remainder of her strength, she slowly ran him through the heart, giving no ear to the howls of pain roaring out of his blood-flecked lips.
    “Toss that baggage over the side. Anyone else thinkin’ I be ill fit for command?” she snarled.
    Silence greeted her and most took a nervous step back, their heads bowed in supplication, indicating the mutiny was at an end. With the head of the snake cut off, the body just curled and flopped in its death throes.
    “Well then, hop to yer chores. I’ll be in my cabin,” she said. “Fetch the sawbones to visit me therein.”
    The deck swayed before her eyes, and her footing, usually sure and steady, lost most of its famed sturdiness. She managed to get inside and close the door before collapsing in a heap where Tom found her scant seconds later.
    Dreams. Those unbidden and often enlightening images that flutter into our sleeping minds can entertain, shock or confuse us. Too often we don’t realize these are insights from Beyond, warnings or suggestions we don’t pay much heed to. However, they are, my dear friend, a way to glimpse our true desires. Vixen was no different while she hung in her hammock, her thigh bound tightly and a fever raging through her slumbering body. Personally, I find many a yarn to be discovered in my dreams. How about you?
    The ocean was violently rolling, waves splashing over the decks while the wind howled like tormented souls from Hell. The sky was black as pitch. It was accented only by bright flashes of lightning and the booming, rippling noise of deep thunder that reverberated in Vixen’s chest. Viciously the Sea Fox tossed from side to side, making sailors stumble and dance to maintain their balance. She watched while several were flung over the railings to plunge and sink into the churning waves.
    Looking behind her, she saw a gray ship, its sails torn and flapping, gaining upon the privateer. Onboard this macabre craft were the souls she had sent to Davy Jones’s locker. Their deep-throated cries for vengeance rose above the shrieking wind. Vixen could feel their hatred of her burning upon her water-soaked skin and searing into her very soul.
    “I warned ye of this!” Ginger Tom said from beside her. “Ye wouldn’t listen, and now the dead rise up from the briny deep to kill us all!”
    Turning to say something in return, she watched in horror as he was flung off the poop and into the frantically churning water. Hysterical fear chilled her heart until it grew even icier than the frigid water cascading over the poop deck to drench her. Twisting her head about, she roared out commands, but the decks were empty, void of any of her buccaneers. When she heard their gurgling cries, the pirate captain knew they had been swept overboard. She was alone.
    The derelict ship slid past the Sea Fox , grappling hooks biting into the wood of her vessel. As the ships slammed together, there was a splintering shriek of tortured wood. Grinding and snapping sounds shot upwards from between the two craft. Vixen hung on to the wheel for support, her strong hands and sturdy legs keeping her upright despite the shock of the impact. The vengeful dead scurried or jumped onto the deck, scrambling up the stairs with cries of murderous glee.
    Ripping her rapier out of its sheath, she met the first of them, an Effingham Marine she had killed in her first action. His gray, waterlogged face and listless dead eyes sent a shiver through her bones. Knocking his rusty blade aside, she drove the point through his un-beating heart so violently the spiraling hilt of her sword struck the dead man’s chest. He croaked out a laugh. Tugging himself away, he deprived her of her long, slender blade. She drew, aimed and fired faster than it takes time to tell. The black hole left between his eyes by her pistol shot didn’t seem to bother the dead soldier. He came on.
    Swarms of her