Captain Black Tom James's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Captain Black Tom James wanted to be pirate king of Islandia. To buy that crown, he needed coin. Instead he stood on the beach and watched his coin burn. The catnip he had stolen to sell now smoked in a cluster of charred sacks. Flame licked through the torn seams. He had meant to guard the cargo. He had spilled a lantern instead. Now the smell of scorched leaves filled his black fur, and his purse hung empty at his belt. He kicked sand over the fire until the last flame died. Ash was worth nothing. A dead cargo could not fund a bid against every captain in these waters. He touched the compass at his belt out of habit. It pointed nowhere true. He trusted no luck, only his ship and his own two paws. Right now both paws were empty. Buccaneer Bob climbed down from the ship to the sand. Bob was his crewman, and the only cat aboard who knew where cargo could be turned to coin fast. He wore his red headscarf tight and carried a rolled scrap of parchment under one arm. He looked at the smoking sacks and said nothing for a long moment. "Burned it," Bob said. "An accident." "Costly one." Bob crouched by the ash. He poked it once. "There's more." Black Tom leaned in. "More cargo?" "A stash. Under the beach." Bob nodded toward a wooden hatch half buried in palm fronds not twenty paces off. "Full bales. Untouched. I hid them myself." Black Tom bared his teeth in something close to a smile. A hidden cellar of clean catnip could fund the whole bid. He crossed to the hatch and dragged the fronds away. He hauled the door open. Cool air rose from the dark. Below sat rows of canvas bales, each stamped with a plain catnip label. "Load them," he said. "Every one." Bob did not move to help. He stood at the lip of the pit, watching Black Tom count the haul. "You cheated me at cards last week," Bob said. "Called me a gutter cat in front of the crew." "So? You want a cut. Take one." "I don't want a cut." Bob's voice stayed flat. "I want you gone." He planted a boot against the open hatch and shoved. Black Tom stumbled down among the bales. Before he could climb out, the door slammed shut above him. Wood scraped as Bob dragged the bar across. "Bob!" Black Tom threw himself at the hatch. It held. Above, muffled, came Bob's answer. "Blackpaw pays well for a man who crossed you. He's alive, Tom. And he's coming." Footsteps crossed the sand and faded. Black Tom stood in the dark among the coin he could no longer reach, trapped beneath his own stash, with his enemy sailing toward the shore.