Pirates a League of Brothers by H, J, Macey (phonics books TXT) 📖

room. He was carrying a sheet of paper in one hand, and waving two photos in the other saying.

 

"Sorry Dorian but you have to see this, it was found in the mailbox this morning. Tanya was going to discard it, as it should have been submitted before today's date.  I couldn't believe my eyes when she showed it to me," he said excitedly, moving to Doran's side.

 

Lars was one of Dorian's oldest allies, they had seen many conflicts together. Only Dorian had never seen him, this emotionally excited before. He had seen him in the past, standing on the deck of his ship. Bellowing orders, with smoke and musket balls all around him, as cool as if he were ordering a round of rum, for his crew. It had to be something special, to get him worked up like this.

 

Dorian held out his hand as Lars got to him, taking the photo he studded it. Then he sat up in his chair taking a closer look at it. He looked up to his left, to the large painting hanging there.  It had been painted centuries ago and showed three figures in the seventeenth-century dress. The two men wore doublets and hose, and the lady a frilled lace bodice, with a full-skirted dress, of' tinsel sattern.' Each held a rapier sword in the right hand, held downward and crossed to show unity.

 

The left-hand figure was a younger-looking Dorian, in the middle was Pedro Martinez. His left arm was around Countess Isabella Mendez, the granddaughter of Juan de Carvajal of Plasencia. She was also Pedro's devoted lover and confidant, who had worn black ever since to mourn his passing. That day Dorian remembered all too well, and the sight of it now flashed before his eyes.

'Dam you Pedro, wait for us to join you!' Dorian had yelled in his mind, as he watched Pedro's light frigate, the Isabella, joining in combat with the bigger pirate ship.  While Dorian himself tried to close the range with his ship Celesta, trying to bring his cannons to bear on the Carrack.

 

The bigger heavier Celesta was under full canvas and heeling thirty degrees to starboard, her lower gunports almost awash, but she was a knot or so too slow.  The Dutchman could fair no better, only Pedro's Isabella was fast enough to overhaul the Falcon of the seas.

 

Pedro's ship, The Isabella, was woefully outgunned by the Falcon of the seas; by a ratio of two to one, he had twenty to their forty. Pedro could only bring to bear ten cannons, on the port side on one deck. Whereas the Falcon had twenty on two decks both sides, but both being on a port tack.  Isabella's guns had to be elevated up, the bigger Falcons guns could rake the rigging and upper deck from above Isabella. The battle had gone as Dorian had feared, and though valiant, Isabella was no match for the Falcon.

 

Pedro and his men fought with courage, in the hour-long engagement, but it had been hopeless from the start, and Pedro and his men were too brave to turn tail.  Then suddenly Isabella's mizzenmast was carried away by a cannon shot, to fall onto the quarterdeck. The rigging and canvas, falling over the side into the sea to act as a sea anchor. Isabella quickly lost-way and veered to port, cutting across Celesta's bow.

 

Dorian and the helmsman hurriedly altered course to port, to advert running down the Isabella. It gave the Falcon the advantage, to turn tail and run.  Dorian had no option but to give up the fight, there were men in the water. Isabella was badly damaged, he would have to deal with the Falcon another day.

 

The Dutchman had fired a salvo after the retreating Falcon, but they had fallen short so they too joined in with the sea rescue. With a ranting Lars Nordman, shaking a fist, and yelling obscenities from the forepeak of the Dutchman. They gave up the chase, to render aid to their comrades.

 

The Falcon was running under full sail now, lengthening the distance between them, asDorian brought the Celesta about and reduced all sail.  Hove to alongside the stricken Isabella, they pulled men from the sea. Cutting the rigging loose, to get the mast and tangled canvas off the men trapped under it.

 

Pedro and the helmsman were badly injured, when the cannonball struck the mast behind them. The splinters of wood had impaled them both, and Pedro had been mortally wounded.  Dorian and the ship's doctor, sat with him for two days. Before Pedro finally slipped away to the afterworld, and they buried him at sea. Then from The Isabella, came a rush of air, as if she had shied heavily. Water began rushing in and she started to settle as if to fallow her captain to the deep.

 

They salvaged all they could, the painting Dorian was now looking at, from the grand master's cabin, along with a box of love letters for Countess Isabella.  Dorian again looked at the photo, then up at Lars.

 

"An uncanny likeness, but could it be Lars, could it really be?" He asked, with a faraway look, and Lars beside him still looking at the painting said.

 

"That's not all Dorian his name is Peter Martin, in Portuguese that is Pedro Martinez. Look at the photo, and at that birthmark on his right hip. That is too much of a coincident, wouldn't you say.  I will set up a surveillance team, and do some background checks. When we know more about him, I will be sending him an invite for an interview. We will have a closer look at him when the time is right with Doctor Garrick.  He has also applied for a girl as well, her name is Sera Godard."

 

"Doctor Garrick had tended Pedro's wounds many times and seen him without clothing, almost as much as Isabella has. If anyone; he will know if it is he," Lars finished, finally turning away from the portrait. Dorian looked again at the photo and then handed it back to Lars.

"Ok see to it Lars but don't breathe a word to Isabella, she mustn't know about this not yet. Not until we have looked deeper into the possibility, that this is what this appears to be, and that it is possible! Inform only those that need to know, and utmost secrecy must be maintained!"

 

Chapter 3

Sera and Peter had the Sundays papers, spread out on the floor. They were scanning the job adverts', for any type of job. That would get them back to work, and the careers they had trained for. The priority, of course, was legal, then banking and lending establishments. Building companies dealt with mortgage finance, so there would be legal paperwork.

 

They would make a list of possible jobs, then sit down and weed out the no's from the maybes. However, there would be more no's than maybe's. Because half or more would be repeated listing of jobs listed in the week before paper. Sera and Peter would have applied, for the best of them already.

 

It had become a Monday morning ritual after Peter had walked to the neighbouring suburb of Westfield. Where he plucked the Sunday edition, of the West Australian paper from a dustbin before the paper recycling truck did its rounds of that suburb. The few dollars they saved, by raiding a dustbin would be used on phone calls, if suitable employment were found on offer.

 

There was one job on offer in Kelmscott the next suburb towards the city, a few miles along the Albany Highway.  A tax accountant wanted a secretary for his growing business. The salary was negotiable and was dependent on what skill level the applicant had to offer.  At nine Sera was at the corner phone box, dialling the number and scouring an interview at two PM.         

 

 

After their meagre lunch of leftovers, supplied by the Little Italy restaurant in the city. Sera dressed in her business suit and headed for the little rail station a short walk away. She did not notice the fit-looking woman leaving a car, a few houses down the road. Who followed her onto the raised platform, of the narrow gauge rail link, to the city in one direction, and Fremantle in the other.

 

It was more a tram than a train, with three small old rickety carriages. That had wooden slatted seats, a conductress and a driver.  Sometimes on such short journeys as this, Sera might be off before challenged to pay. However, in the past, Sera had brazed it out and waved an expired weekly ticket. When the conductress had looked at her, from the end of the carriage.

 

On this occasion, she was not bothered at all. As the young woman conductress, was far too involved in talking to a young man. Who looked like he could be a footy player, as he had the physique for it?  Sera was confident she hadn't been observed, getting on or off the train at all.

 

Only she herself did not see the fit lady, getting off with her to discreetly follow her, to the Kelmscott shopping complex. That had an array of small shops and business, on the outer sides of the big building.  This was where Sera found the premises', of the accountant she was searching for. 

 

The interview did not go well, in fact, it did not really start.  She had noted the look he gave her when she entered the premises, in her smart business trouser suit. As he is a fortyish looking man, leaning on the desk of his very young receptionist. Who looked like she should be still in school, as she was still in a short-skirted school type uniform?

 

He welcomed her after Sera had introduced herself to him, and he took her through to his office. Then it was that first question, he asked as he closed the door, that put her off the job, and him as a boss entirely.

 

"Do you have more fashionable clothing to wear in the office? You look like you're going to take someone to court, instead of helping them to save money on their income tax? We like to make people relaxed when they're here, a nice looking girl like you should wear something pretty." He said with a smile, that was more of a leer than anything.

 

Then his expression changed completely when Sera unzipped her black leather document case. Placing her corporate lawyer's decree, she had pulled out in front of him. She could then see by his face, she was most likely more qualified, to do this job than he was. She knew then the interview was over, as that fashionable remark had meant a sixty's mini's skirt.

 

He may have needed a secretary, but he wanted one as window dressing. Not one that would tell him, he was fiddling people's taxes to make a living.  He looked lost for words, as she stood to retrieve her document. He just spread his hands while shrugging his shoulders, as she put it back in her case and re-zipped it, then giving him her lawyers look said.

 

"I would amend that advert of yours; to say bimbo required it would stop professionals' like me wasting their time in replying to your advert."  She already had her hand on