Living in England was no longer an option. Even on the
farms and in the plains outside the cities, people were
becoming familiar with the infamous Black Widow of London.
She hated that name. To her, it always sounded like some
aging hag that married decrepit old geezers and attached
herself to the family fortune. She was young, beautiful and
killed indiscriminately. She did use her beauty to lure
victims into trusting her, but young, old, man, womanÉ none
of that mattered. She didn't bother with the long slow con.
She'd let herself get picked up at a tavern, the theatre,
maybe even a charity gathering. Then she'd kill her victims
in the throws of lust, enjoy the comforts of their home until
the bodies began to stink, and move on with as much loot as
she could carry. For almost a decade, she was an invisible
predator, every desire she dreamed of just waiting to be
plucked by her blood soaked fingers. Now at twenty-six years
old, she found no end to hiding in shadows and running from
the law. It was time to go to America.
The 1800's were well under way. The new century promised
freedom and adventure in the wild untamed lands of a vast
unexplored continent. She dreamed of the endless frontiers of
lawlessness, an uninterrupted lifetime of lust and blood. She
felt safely away from capture. The large boat she traveled on
was filled beyond its capacity with immigrants in search of
their fortunes in the new world. How on earth would anyone
pick her out of the masses of people that flooded the eastern
seaboard? How indeedÉ No sooner than she set foot on the
Boston harbor, a ragged looking, grey haired man with a small
unit of local law officials put cuffs on her wrists. He
introduced himself as Wesley Gordon of Scotland Yard. He had
a scar on his left eye and walked with a bad limp. She knew
exactly what Scotland Yard was. Still in it's infancy, it was
fast becoming the most organized criminal investigation force
on the planet. No doubt it was all but solely responsible for
ending her life of criminal ease, but how in the world could
this man have known to be waiting for her on the shores of a
different country. How did he have the cooperation of locals?
She grunted in frustration but gave no resistance as the
detective and his numerous escorts led her through the
watching crowd to the nearest jail.
"For someone who doesn't like being called The Black
Widow, you dress the part quite well."
She sat in the dimly lit cell, hands folded in her lap.
A small, rectangular window on the wall opposite the bars let
the only light into the dank stone square.
Her dress was quite fancy, thick black material splashed with
red ruffles and decorative lace. She looked at the wall with
a distant bored expression.
"You seem to know a lot about me. Do I know you?" She
asked the man standing on the other side of the bars without
bothering to look at him.
"Intimately." He responded with hints of pain in his
voice and stood gazing.
She gave him a quick glance, sighed, then looked back to
the wall. He wasn't the detective that put her in jail. No
sooner than the door of her cell clinked shut, Gordon handed
out large sums of money to the local law officials that aided
him and they all left. This younger, obviously wealthy man
walked up to the bars a short time after and spent quite a
while staring at the woman in cuffs before commenting on her
dress. He had the same thick English accent she had, but he
pronounced his words with a formal, pompous air. His hand
stitched suite was just off the color of royalty, with his
family crest embroidered on the right breast of his shirt. A
smaller, almost unnoticeable version of the crest was sewn on
the front of his fancy, wide brimmed hat. His eyes gazed out
from under the brim with seething hatred. His fists were
clinched and his lips strewn tight. He stared at her as she
continued to ignore his presence.
"I was twelve when you killed my parents," he said at
last in a gruff voice.
"I remember." She said plainly, still not looking at
him. There was a melodic tease in her voice, as if she were
the one outside the cell looking in at him. "I was sixteen.
Your eyes filled with that same hatred the moment you burst
in and saw them drowning in their own blood. Your mom
stumbled around the room trying to scream through her severed
larynx." She paused and looked the man in his hate filled
eyes. "Your father was still hard inside me when his life's
blood gushed from his neck."
She turned her attention back to the wall, expecting the
man to fly into a fit of rage. He didn't. His fists
unclenched and he calmly grabbed two bars of the cell.
"Your public execution is scheduled for tomorrow at
noon, right here on the docks."
"I can only imagine how much of your family's fortune
you must have spent to enlist the help of officials a
continent away," she said with a scoff. "Tell me, do you
think watching my death will set you free of your prison of
anger?"
"At twelve-fifteen, a ship at the end of the harbor will
be leaving."
"I suppose you will be on that ship with my head tucked
securely in your arms." She stood up and approached the bars.
"I was lonely, you know. That's why I tied you up instead of
killing you. I thought maybe after the shock wore off, I'd
have someone to talk to. But every time I took the gag from
your mouth, you just screamed and cried your little head
off."
"Twelve-fifteen and not a second later. Should you
manage to be on that ship, you will find Identification
papers in the Captains quarters belonging to a woman who
bears a frightful resemblance to yourself."
The Widow stared at the man in silence. She touched one of
his hands gently, expecting him to yank it away in disgust.
He didn't; only continued staring into her eyes with fierce
intensity. Finally, he blinked and turned away. As he reached
the door, the young woman in the cell called out.
"I don't know what you want from me, but fifteen minutes
gives me more than enough time to kill you before I'm on that
boat."
The man stopped, but didn't turn back as he responded.
"All I want is for you to be the monster you are on the
open seas."
"You won't live to see it," she said tauntingly. "I
promise, I'm going to kill you."
His back turned; she couldn't see the amused half smile on
his lips as he walked out of the room.
When the guards came to collect her, she appeared to be
in quite a state of disarray. Barefoot, her shoes were lazily
tossed into a corner of the cell. All of the ties on her
elegant dress had been undone and it looked as if all her
clothing would fall off at any moment.
"You can take a few minutes to clean yourself up if you
like," said the larger of the two guards, putting a key into
the cells door. She gave him a curious looks as he opened the
cell and the second guard stepped inside to retrieve her. She
was a small woman with dainty hands. It took a great deal of
care for her not to reveal the fact that the iron shackles
were seconds from falling off her wrists. The two men led her
out of the police station into the bright sun. It was a short
walk to where a makeshift execution stage waited just inland
of the docks. Ten guards in soldier's uniforms stood at
attention with long barrel bayonets. As the two guards walked
the woman to a wooden block in the center of the stage, the
soldiers broke ranks and positioned themselves in a circle
around the outskirts of the growing crowd.
*Fools!* The widow thought to herself. Those soldiers
were on loan, and that meant they were going to be less than
attentive until something happened. Their position around the
crowd was meant to block an escape attempt, but if the entire
crowd began a scattered panic in all directions, they'd be
useless. The man with the angry eyesÉ She saw the large brim,
embroidered hat moving through the middle of the crowd. Why
wasn't he in the front row?
Clearly he had gone through a lot of money and trouble to get
her in chains, but now it seemed that he had gone through
even more money and trouble to make sure she lived. Her eyes
stayed fixed on the hat as the two guards pulled her to her
knees and pushed her head onto the wooden chopping block. She
felt them leave her side and heard the heavy tromp of another
pair of boots approaching her. Her gaze stayed fixed on the
big hat as heard a description of her crimes being shouted
from somewhere off stage. Then there was silence. She knew
that silent moment was the executioner raising his axe above
her head. She breathed in deep, contemplating if all of this
was the angry man's way of taking a sadistic pleasure before
watching her die. It was time for the axe to fallÉ but
instead the ground rumbled. It was a fast tremor accompanied
by a defining boom and bright flash. This was the moment.
She didn't bother to look around for the source of the
explosion, only slipped her hands from her cuffs and stood up
letting her clothing fall to a crumbled heap at her bare
feet. Her would be, executioner was dazed and bewildered and
she wasted no time grabbing the large axe from his hands. As
expected, the crowd was in a fantastic frenzy. She heard
shots, but not one of the soldiers was in a position to get a
clear shot at her through the chaos. She ran strait for the
hat that never left her line of sight. Lunging with every
ounce of force her small body could produce, it wasn't until
she landed on the man's chest, axe plunged deep into his
torso, that she realized this wasn't the angry eyed man she
long so desperately to kill. A word of cursing was all the
reaction time she had to give this realization before she was
on her feet and running. The end of the docks was the only
thought on her mind as another round of shots rang out. She
felt a hot sting on the edge of her forearm and knew she
couldn't evade another round of gunfire. Her legs burned as
she tried to run faster. Five minutesÉ six minutesÉ She tried
to stay at top speed. Her legs burned and loose wood jagged
at her feet with every step.
There it wasÉ the last ship at the very edges of the
wooden docks. It was tiny compared to the other ships. Its
sales unfurled, it raged against the single rope holding it
in place. At the railing of its stern, a portly man with long
dark hair stood holding a small hand axe and looking at a
timepiece. His eyes darted up at her, but only for a second
before intently fixing again on the pocket watch. The arm
holding the axe raised and woman leapt for the ship. She
grabbed the railing as the man chopped through the rope
releasing the ship to the wind. She force of thrust was more
than the woman could handle and her grip in the ships railing
peeled slowly away.
"I've got you, Captain!" The portly man said grabbing
the woman just before her fall. She watched the hand axe drop
into the water, then saw the pocket watch dangling from its
clip on the man's shirt. The water below sped by, and the
docks blurred away behind them. She forced her way through a
swirl of disorientation and tried to find her footing with
the fast sway of the ships motion. "My name is Dresden, your
first mate." He informed her as she gained her balance.
As they walked from the back of the ship, it didn't seem
as tiny as it had docked next to the passenger liners in the
bay. The woman looked back to see that any ships attempting
to pursue wouldn't even be able to get their anchors up
before this small vessel disappeared into the distance. She
scanned the deck of the ship to find six crewmen stopped mid
job and staring at her, ropes and pulleys in their hands as
they watched the small naked woman with lustful eyes.
"You called me captain," the woman said to Dresden while
looking at each of the men. "Do you know why I have been
given command of this ship?"
"Begging your pardon, Captain, but wouldn't you be more
comfortable having this conversation after you've gotten
dressed?"
"No." She looked up at her new first mate with a
dominant glare. "If these men are to call me Captain, then
they need to know that there isn't a situation on this earth
that will make me fear them."
Dresden was taken aback. He gazed down at the small
naked woman. "Well then," he said returning to her query.
"Every man on this ship will lay down his life for you;
follow into the gates of hell if that's your orderÉ" He
paused and leaned in to make his point, "Ébut for those who
sale under the Black Flag, the kind of question you're asking
could seriously shorten a man's life span."
"Well then," she said folding her arms in
disappointment and furrowing a brow, "at the risk of my
death, I have just one more question for you?"
"Aye?"
"What's the name of this small ship?"
A wash of pride and a big grin flushed across Dresden's
face. "The Rose Marie. Fastest Pirate Ship to ever haunt the
open waters."
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End.