Pirates. She had the most terrible luck with pirates. One might think that she would simply stop going to sea, but there always seemed a necessity to cross the great water. And that’s where they lay in wait out there in the ebbing tundra. Hundreds of ships could cross the Atlantic everyday without incident and it would always be her ship that incurred the wrath of the pirate horde. She cursed her poor fortunes under her breath as a cutlass was flourished at her face. Her hands moved so fast that even she had trouble seeing their path. She ended up with cutlass and buckaneer in hand. With unmatched speed and dexterity she marched her captive about the deck as a living shield cutting a path through the scallywags as she went. It wasn't long before the fighting seemed to swarm around her and she realized she was the only crew member from her vessel still standing. What was the point of setting sail with a fortified ship if it fell so easily?
For the moment she had given up her
hostage in favor of more maneuverability. Somewhere in her battle she had
managed to pick up a second blade and had gained the higher ground at the bow.
She was readying herself to try and force back the pirate crew when a call rang
out that ceased all combat.
“Enough!” said a man in bright red
coat with gold togs, “Who be you, woman?”
She stood with blades poised ready
against further assault as she replied, “My name is Wilhelmina Chase, of
Philadelphia.”
“You’re a ways from home, lass.
What brings you to the Caribbean?”
“I was here on business.”
“What manner of business?”
“Personal.”
The man strode right up to her,
showing little care for her blades or ability to use them. He stroked his chin
thoughtfully as he regarded her. She knew that she must have cut a strange
figure of femininity as she took a mental tally of those she had crossed blades
within so short a time. As he continued his querying she eased slightly at the
shift in mood.
“Where did you learn to fight like
that?”
“Let us just say you aren't the
first pirate I've met.”
