Neptune's Key

Neptune’s Key

An ancient map points the way to a lost treasure, and some men will stop at nothing to get their hands on it.

Finn dreams of adventure on the high seas, but when an emissary appears in his sleepy fishing town with a secret message, he finds himself caught up in a race to stop the deadliest pirates on the high seas from gaining a power thought to be a mere legend. Join Finn on a swashbuckling adventure as he sets off in search of Neptune's Key!

Praise for David Debord

Invokes the same sense of wonder and joyous fantasy as two of the very best writers I grew up with-David Eddings and Terry Brooks. A world full of magic, sly humor and gripping adventure. This is the stuff fantasy is made of. Matthew Caine, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of Ghosts of the Conquered

A superb story told believably and unpretentiously by a superb new author. Hugo Award-winner Ron Miller

A gripping epic fantasy in the tradition of Robert Jordan, Raymond Feist and David Eddings. The Asgard Oracle

An enjoyable blend of adventure, intrigue, and humor. Fantasy Book Critic

Well-written and highly entertaining. Great dollops of black humour and some wonderful characterisation round out this extremely enjoyable romp. Definitely one to add to the private library. Necroscope

"The Zombie Driven Life is a fast-paced, zombie story that manages to be thoughtful, humorous, and surprising while giving zombie fans everything they love about the genre—gore, desperate situations, and a big body count. The perfect book to devour in a single day." Jeremy Bishop, author of Torment

Paints a horrific scenario of a world in ruin and a few survivors struggling to find safe havens and a reason to carry on. Powerful and disturbing by turns, with plenty of black humour along the way. Alan Baxter, author of The Alex Caine Series

"Give The Zombie-Driven Life a try - it may just set you on the road to obsession!" The Aussie Zombie

Neptune’s Key—A Tattered Sails Novel

Published by Tattered Sails

www.tatteredsails.info

Copyright 2017 by David Debord

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. All events, locations, and characters depicted are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Chapter One

"B lack sails on the horizon, Captain!" Fear shone in first mate Lindsay’s eyes as he spoke the words. Fat raindrops spattered his tanned face, running in rivulets down his cheeks like funeral tears.

Captain Jacob Stone turned to Laiken, not quite able to meet her eye. "Damn the Maelstrom. Harder to shake than a case of Franc Pox, that ship is. The words had barely escaped his lips before embarrassment painted his face crimson. Apologies, Your Grace."

Despite the dire circumstances, Laiken Stenn managed a laugh. I’m not so innocent as all that, Captain.

Stone looked out over the stern, took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. I’d hoped we’d lose her by running through the night, but she managed to keep us in sight.

Laiken brushed a strand of curly black hair from her face and turned to gaze at the inky blot on the horizon that spelled doom for the crew of the Grey Gull. The sight turned her stomach.

How long do you think we have?

Stone shook his head. Not long enough. Thirty nautical miles to the coast of Blackmoon Island as the gull flies. Farther to Port Regret.

She drew in a deep breath, the damp, salty sea air, calming her nerves. Thirty miles was much too far.

We could throw Tiny overboard. That would lighten our load, Lindsay quipped. He scratched his nose and stole a glance at the corpulent quartermaster who, at this moment, waddled up and down the deck, one hand on his pistol, the other on his sword. He might have the body of a manatee, but the man could fight, and the look in his eyes said he was ready to take on Blackwood and the Forsaken Sons all by himself.

You’re welcome to try. Stone managed a tight grin. We could lose him, the rum, and all the cannon and shot and it would buy us an hour, perhaps. Blackwood’s ship is just too bloody fast.

Something struck the water a stone’s throw from the stern, sending up a geyser of foam and salt spray. Beneath the low rumble of thunder came the dull boom of a cannon.

Once again Laiken turned her eyes to the ship that pursued them. Maelstrom was much closer now, its black sails inky slashes in the gray horizon. The distance had seemed much greater only a minute ago. How was it possible that the gap could be closed so rapidly?

Stone saw her confusion. The mind plays tricks on you, especially at sea. Wishful thinking can make danger seem a distant thing until it’s too late.

Laiken bit her lip. We’re in serious trouble, aren’t we, Captain?

Stone didn’t need to reply. The set of his jaw and the faraway look in his eyes said it all.

The bow chaser, he said, speaking of the small gun mounted at the front of most ships, is made for range. It doesn’t fire a heavy ball, so it will take a few lucky shots for them to slow us down.

I’m so sorry, she said. I brought this upon you.

Stone reached out as if to pat her on the shoulder but then drew his hand away. Blackwood is an inevitability to any man who spends his life sailing the Caribe. He’s like old age—sooner or later he gets you.

Can you beat him? Laiken swallowed hard, dreading the answer.

"In a hand-to-hand fight, I’ll pit my crew against any, but he’s got us outgunned. By the time it comes to blows, Grey Gull will be in a bad way."

She could now make out more details of the pursuing ship. A curl of smoke blossomed from the bow, and she found herself holding her breath, waiting to see where the next cannonball would land. It hit the water, closer than the last, but not much. Another brief respite.

Neptune, help us in this our hour of need. Lindsay spoke the ritual words. Wind in our sails, a keen edge to our blades, and foul seas to our enemies. By salt, sea, and sand I pray.

Amen, Laiken whispered. It would take a miracle to see the Grey Gull and her crew clear of the fate she’d brought upon them. But I didn’t have a choice. To do nothing would have been far worse.

Tiny waddled up to the captain, the rolls of fat at his neck and middle quaking. It’ll be a fight, won’t it Captain? His jowls shook as he spoke. I’d rather die than be sold as a slave.

Stone slowly nodded. He strode out into the middle of the deck and addressed the crew in a voice too loud for his modest frame.

"You all know that’s the Maelstrom back there, and you know her reputation."

I also knew your sister’s reputation, but she turned me down, a skinny sailor called, eliciting raucous laughter from the crew on deck.

Stone grinned. I won’t force anyone to die when there is a chance you might live, but you know what the best you can hope for is. He didn’t need to tell them.

I only got one leg,a grizzled old sailor with a peg leg shouted. I’d be worthless as a slave.

No surprise there. You’re already worthless as a sailor, Lindsay called.

Laiken found herself laughing along with the crew. Perhaps their courage sprang from facing their inevitable demise, but there was no denying their bravery.

Another cannonball struck the water, this time to the port side of Grey Gull. They were now in range of Maelstrom’s chaser.

Can’t be any worse than the Teca ship we took down last summer, another sailor said.

Does any man here prefer surrender? Stone asked. If so, speak now.

A moment’s silence, and then a short, blocky sailor with black teeth and skin to match raised his hand and looked around for support.

Tiny strode over to him, nodding in approval.

We understand, the stout quartermaster said. Moving faster than Laiken would have thought possible, Tiny grabbed the sailor around the middle and heaved him over the side. The man barely had time to let out a cry before he hit the water.

There you go! Tiny shouted. "Swim over to Maelstrom and offer them your surrender. He rounded on the crew, hands once again resting on his weapons. Anyone else?"

No one replied.

Very well, Stone said. We’ll keep ahead of them for as long as we can, but when it’s time to fight, we’ll give them a battle like they’ve never seen. That I promise you!

A hearty cheer went up from the crew. Laiken didn’t know if they actually believed they could win, but they appeared to have no fear of death.

Stone returned to Laiken. Your Grace, you should get below. Regardless of how the battle goes, you should be safe. Your husband will ransom you back, I’m sure of it.

Laiken laughed. You forget. The Mark of Port of Palms is in league with them. She pointed in the direction of Maelstrom. He won’t forget my betrayal.

But he’ll want his wife back, surely.

He will want my head, as proof Blackwood finished the job. The rest of me they’ll use for bait. She hoped that was the case. Death was preferable to the other things that might happen to a woman aboard a pirate ship.

Stone didn’t argue. I regret that we did not complete your mission.

You’ve served me well, Laiken said. She wished these men did not have to die on her account. And then a thought struck her. I’ll be back. Please, just keep ahead of them for a little bit longer.

She quickly made her way below and back to the captain’s cabin, which he had given over to her for the duration of the voyage.

Let me guess. You’re going to tell me to fly away, so I don’t have to die with the rest of you. Blanco’s high-pitched voice cut across the thrumming of feet on the decks above and the crash of waves against the ship’s hull.

That’s it exactly. Laiken lit a small oil lamp, casting the tiny cabin in dull, yellow light.

Not a chance.

Will you come down here where I can see you? Laiken snapped.

With a flutter of wings, the crystal conure settled on the table next to the lamp. The rarest of all birds, the reflective properties of his crystalline wings rendered him almost invisible. He was like a chameleon on the wing. Only the sparkle of lamplight glancing on the tips of his feathers made him stand out.

I’m not leaving you, Blanco said. I’m invisible. I’ll fly up to Blackwood and rip his eyeballs out of their sockets.

And leave the mission incomplete. That shut him up. Blackwood mustn’t get his hands on it. You know that.

Silence.

I can’t tell if you’re nodding or shaking your head, she scolded.

More silence, and then Blanco finally spoke, sadness hanging heavy on every word.

Fine. What is it you want me to do?

Chapter Two

The cool, salt breeze swept away the lingering haze of gunfire and the acrid smoke of burning sails and decking, leaving behind the coppery smell of blood and the rank stench of men who had soiled themselves at the moment of death. Riddick Blackwood ignored it all. He’d seen enough battles in his lifetime.

They’re all dead or subdued, Captain. Rax, the ship’s quartermaster, dragged the remaining fingers of his left hand across his sweaty brow, brushing away strands of slate gray hair. Well, all except the fat one. He pointed toward the mainmast, where five of the Forsaken Sons encircled a corpulent, bald sailor. All appeared reluctant to step across their fallen comrades and engage with the man.

Fight me! the fat man roared. He held a sword in his left hand, a pistol reversed like a club in his left. Blood, not his own, by all appearances, spattered his face and clothing. You’re all yellow. Somebody’s going to have to run me through because the bullet ain’t been made that’ll penetrate this hide. He slapped his pistol across his ample gut.

You are correct. You’re as thick as a sea cow. Blackwood strode past his men, arms at his sides. Careful to remain just out of the range of the fat man’s blade, he appraised the sailor for a moment. Tell me, what is your name?

A thrust of his sword was the fat man’s only reply. The fellow was quick, but Blackwood was ready. He slipped to the side, the blade sliding past him. He brought his hand down in a chopping motion and struck the man across the wrist.

To his credit, the man held on to his sword, but his numb fingers could not keep the blade raised. His clumsy swipe scarcely cleared the planks of the deck. Blackwood skipped over it with ease, snatched a pistol from a nearby crewman, and took aim.

Enough! Your protective layers won’t stop me from putting this ball through your eye socket.

His words elicited only a flash of anger in the man’s eyes. If the big fellow had a better grip on his sword, he’d have likely attacked Blackwood and hoped for the best, but he still struggled to hold it steady.

I don’t have to shoot you, Blackwood continued. It will be another thirty seconds, at least before you have full command of your hands, and by extension, your sword. I could open your throat if I wanted, but why waste a good man?

I won’t be a slave. The man spoke each word like a curse.

I ask again, what is your name?

They call me Tiny, the fat man said through gritted teeth.

I like it. Tiny, you are one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen, and I don’t think anything frightens you. In fact, I am so impressed that I will give you a choice. Join them, Blackwood inclined his head toward the surviving members of Grey Gull’s crew, trussed and seated along the port rail, die by my hand, or join the Forsaken Sons."

That caught the man by surprise. His jaw dropped and his sword hand along with it. That was a mistake, for the moment he let his guard down, Blackwood’s crew members struck.

The man standing behind Tiny clubbed him across the base of the skull, and the others swarmed the stunned man. After a brief struggle, they subdued and bound the fierce sailor.

Stunned, Tiny glared at Blackwood through glassy eyes.

The invitation stands. Give it a try. If at any time, you are dissatisfied with my leadership, I’ll grant you the duel you seem so eager for. He glanced at the men holding Tiny’s arms. "Take him back to Maelstrom and let him think about it." As they hauled the big, cursing man away, he