Hades's Revenge
Authors: T. Lynne Tolles
Tags: #pirates, #inventions, #war of independence, #patriots, #colonists, #new adult
Pirate to Patriot
Foreshadowing possible war of independence
with England, two young men from either ends of the political and
financial spectrum are abducted by a pressgang and forced into
service of King George’s Royal Navy. Fate deals them another blow
when a pirate ship captures and destroys the British vessel killing
everyone aboard, but our two heroes. William and Jessop are offered
a choice—serve as pirates or die.
Not willing to perish they pursue life as
pirates, proving their worth and serving the colonial patriots by
battling the British, Hessians, and any other foes who cross their
paths.
Troll Publishing
Copyright 2015 T. Lynne Tolles
April 1, 2015
Smashwords Edition
ISBN 978-0-9905589-0-3
All Rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews,
is illegal and punishable by law.
Publisher’s Note:
This is a work of fiction. All names,
characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s
imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons,
living or dead, locales or events is coincidental.
T. Lynne Tolles
Contents
The throaty sighing of a violin floated
above the indecipherable murmur of conversations in the large room.
Most everyone who was anyone in all of the thirteen colonies was
here as well as some significant brethren from across the great
sea. Maximilian Aster was known for his infamous parties both here
and there. He was born into money and he set the model for high
society in the New World whose numbers at last count exceeded 1.5
million.
Extravagant gowns in colorful brocades
rustled and swished against hoop skirts and panniers giving the
illusion of wide hips to its wearer. Most everybody in the room
wore a powdered wig in different heights and lengths. Not to be
outdone by their female counterparts, the men wore elaborately
patterned frocks and high stiff butterfly collars with neck scarves
and lacy cravats.
“Cease your fidgeting, Cornelius,” she said
as she tapped her fan on his arm.
“I despise these collars. Must they be so
stifling?” he said his face contorted as he tugged at it one last
time.
She smiled as a guest passed then continued.
“It is the price of your station in life. Do you think me
commodious wearing a cage of whale bone, a binding corset under
twelve yards of fabric, a four-pound wig and this white paste on my
face? I do not. I do what is expected of me as the fiancé to the
son of Maximilian Aster,” she said cooling herself with the hand
painted silk fan she’d just reprimanded him with.
“I am sympathetic to your plight. Forgive my
insensitivity to your discomfort.” He paused for a moment and
continued after he smiled and nodded to guest. “As for our
engagement, I’ve not been informed of any unanimity among our
parents. It seems barbaric that our destinies are not our own.
We’re adults after all, shouldn’t we make up our own minds about
who we marry?”
Her eyes grew enormous telling him in no
uncertain words to quiet himself. Cornelius looked around to see
several heads quickly turn away.
“Be wary what you say, for it cannot be
unsaid. These are time tested tactics. Our parents know what’s best
for us. If memory serves true, details of our matrimony was
foretold…well,” she said rather exasperated, “since we were
born.”
“Truer words were never spoken, Penelope,
but I fear you are better suited to wed my father than myself.
Truth be told, I find it improbable that you find favor in me.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she said, fanning herself
frantically and looking around in hopes that no one heard him. He
could see a blush flood across her bosom and arms, but the white
makeup covered any hint of it on her face. “It is disheartening
that you distrust my affections so, Cornelius.”
“If you did, you’d know I’d rather be
referred to as Jessop. I hate the name Cornelius.”
He could see she was getting quite flustered
with him as the fan waved faster. “Cornelius is your given name.
You should be proud you’ve been given such a noble name. I grow
weary of this conversation. It is neither the time nor place for
such intimate tête-à-tête.”
He mumbled something under his breath in
response as he turned and headed for one of the open French doors
that looked out over the veranda.
* * *
Jessop stood resting his hands on the
balustrade, the cool breeze washing away his frustration and angst.
A heavy hand found his shoulder and he turned, recognizing the
familiar earnest face on the willowy aging man he knew as his
father.
“Penelope is quite distraught,” his sinewy
voice bellowed.
“Is she?” he responded pulling at his
collar.
“Look at your hands. Did you not bathe
before dressing?”
“Of course I did,” he said quickly hiding
them behind him.
“You frequented the smithies again. You’re
testing my patience. No son of mine need labor like a
commoner.”
“I enjoy it, Father, and I’m good at it. In
fact, I think I may have made a discovery today,” he said
excitedly. “I was smelting pig iron with Big Tom and…”
“Pig iron. What a distasteful term.” He held
his son’s hands inspecting them. “It’s near impossible to scour
coal from fingernails and callouses.”
“I fear you’re right, Father, but as I was
saying… I was working with the furnace, I noticed a piece of pig
iron that hadn’t melted and remarkably I had the inclination to
withdraw and examine it or I might never have determined…”
“That’s fascinating, son, but I must get
back to my guests,” he said heading into the ballroom. Jessop could
see Penelope making her way towards them.
“But don’t you see, Father, this is a
fortuitous discovery. It could revolutionize the production of pig
iron into steel. What currently takes hours to accomplish and
unknown amounts of fuel to achieve, could be realized in mere
minutes.”
His father turned taking the hand of
Penelope and kissing it sweetly then directed his attention to
Jessop. “What pray tell, do you think you’ve discovered,” he said
accentuating the word ‘discovered,’ practically yelling the
question to everyone within hearing distance.
Jessop fumbled a moment with the added
attention his father had drawn to their conversation, but confident
in his theory he retorted, “I believe that by forcing air through
the molten pig iron that the impurities are burned off making the
steel stronger.”
His father smiled and started to chuckle. He
turned to Penelope and she followed him in suit with a few chortles
of her own. “You’re saying, son, that blowing cool air through
molten iron actually burns off impurities in the metal?” He shook
his head and continued. “That’s absolutely ludicrous. How can you
possibly burn something off by cooling it down?” He laughed
annoyingly loud and long, while Penelope practically fainted from
lack of air from laughing so hard.
Jessop reddened in embarrassment and anger
at such a display of blatant humiliation his father had tossed
before him. He turned, ripping the itchy powdered wig from his head
and the cravat from his neck. He could still hear the laughing
behind him as he stormed from the house. He tossed the expensive
wig and lace into the mud as he made his way towards the stables.
His father called to him between tears of laughter for him to come
back.
* * *
His father’s laughter became contagious to
his guests and Jessop heard the crowd roar. A boy was tending to
the horses, watering and brushing them and pulling the ones less
agreeable out of the crowd to separate posts. It was one of these
that Jessop grabbed, tearing the reins from the boy’s fingers. With
both hands on the horn of the saddle, he flung himself onto the
horse without planting a foot in the stirrup. The stable boy
protested a word or two until he saw who was seated and then fell
silent.
A click of his tongue and a jab of his heels
into the horse and they were off. The horse’s hooves entered and
left the muddy road making a rhythmic slap and slurp that finally
drowned out the sound of the maddening laughter. He felt clumps of
mud hitting his stockings and britches and he knew he would be a
mess when he was done, but that made no matter to him. The brisk
breeze on his face dampened his anger after a while and the melodic
clopping of the horse was comforting. He did not know where he was
going, just away from the degradation of his father and the cruelty
of Penelope’s giggles.
The horse fell into an easy cantor as the
rain began. Due to his hasty exit, he’d not prepared for such
weather and was quickly drenched to the bone. A kerosene lantern
swaying in the breeze beneath a wooden sign beckoned as he made his
way around a long wide curve in the road. Jessop slowed the horse
and approached the establishment cautiously noting the name—The
Ruddy Knuckle Tavern. He wasn’t sure where he was and with all the
talk about patriots brutalizing the loyalists it was a bit
unnerving. Jessop had never been very political, he left that to
his father, but given his lifestyle and the fact he was overdressed
for a ride in the rain, the general public would assume he was
loyal to King George, as many of the wealthy among the colonist
were.
Luckily the inn was not very populated, and
it might serve as a way to wait out the rain and dry off a bit.
Jessop dismounted, finding himself up to his ankles in mud. The
chilly wetness seeped into his uncomfortable shoes, soaking his
stockings and giving him a squish with each step. He wiped his feet
as best he could before entering. All eyes were upon him as he
entered the large room of long tables and benches surrounding an
L-shaped bar. Shedding his fancy frock he made his way towards the
bar and the rotund woman manning it.
“How do you fare this evening, kind madam?”
Jessop greeted.
“Good, thank you, sir. How may I help
you?”
“Might I partake in a serving of flip?”
“My pleasure,” the woman smiled displaying
very bad teeth and eyeing him from head to toe. He suddenly felt
naked despite all his wet clothes. He reached into his pocket and
withdrew a Spanish dollar.
“Might you be wanting a room for the night?
It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” she asked quickly, snagging
the coin off the counter.
“So be it, my good woman,” he said seating
himself near the hearth and draping his frock inside out over a
chair hoping those leering at him wouldn’t notice the intricate
finery. He tried to ignore the customers who burned a hole in the
back of his head with their eyes.
The bar mistress concocted the flip from
their tap beer, molasses, and a bit of rum in a large pewter stein
and headed to him. As a final additive to the flip, she pulled a
large iron poker from the red hot coals of the hearth and submerged
the tip into the mug. It hissed and steamed the mixture within,
then she handed it to him. He nodded his thanks and took a large
draw from the brew noting the lovely burnt flavor the poker had
added to its flavor. It was just what he needed—something to warm
him on the inside. He relaxed a bit from the gratifying drink,
though it was quite impossible to be very comfortable when the
customers still had not resumed their conversation since he
entered.
“Might I fetch up some dry clothes?”
