The Black Buccaneer - Chapter - 38

The sea was ruthless, a churning mass of dark waves and raging winds. Rain fell in sheets, drenching every inch of the Sea Whisper as it cut through the storm toward Port Royal.

Angelica gripped the wheel tightly, her knuckles white as she fought the wind.

“Keep her steady!” she yelled over the roaring storm, her black hair whipping across her face.

The crew scrambled across the deck, their movements hurried and precise despite the chaos of the sea.

She had one goal in mind—reach Port Royal as fast as possible.

She didn’t care about the storm. She didn’t care about the dangers.

Her father was there. And she had spent her entire life searching for him.

But in her excitement, and with the relentless downpour, she did not see the massive shadow looming behind them.

“SHIP TO OUR STERN!” a crewman shouted.

Angelica whirled around, her heart dropping.

A massive ship emerged from the darkness, its black sails barely visible against the stormy sky.

Then—BOOM!

A cannonball tore through their mast, sending wooden planks flying in all directions.

The Sea Whisper lurched violently, almost knocking Angelica off balance.

“They’re not trying to board us!” another crewman shouted. “They’re just destroying us for fun!”

Angelica’s eyes burned with rage.

Whoever was attacking them wasn’t here for loot—they were here to sink them for sport.

Another cannon blast exploded near the gunpowder storage below deck.

Angelica’s eyes widened in horror.

She didn’t even have time to shout a warning before—

BOOM!

A massive explosion erupted from below, the shockwave sending bodies and debris flying into the air.

The Sea Whisperer was finished.

Angelica had no choice—she jumped into the raging waters just as the ship was torn apart by fire and shrapnel.

The cold bite of the ocean hit her like a dagger, but Angelica didn’t falter.

Her anger burned hotter than the storm.

She swam toward the enemy ship, her body moving with desperate fury.

A loose rope dangled from the side.

Angelica gritted her teeth, seized it with both hands, and climbed.

By the time she reached the deck, the crew was celebrating, laughing as they watched the wreckage of her ship burn and sink into the sea.

Angelica pulled herself over the railing, her breath ragged, her clothes soaked and heavy.

Her rage was blinding.

She didn’t care how outnumbered she was.

She didn’t care that she was unarmed, exhausted, and alone.

She saw the captain—a tall, imposing figure, standing at the helm, watching the destruction with calm indifference.

Angelica’s hand went to her sword.

If she was going to die, she would take him down with her.

With a furious cry, she charged forward, blade raised.

The captain didn’t move, but before her sword could strike—

Something stopped her.

A rope snapped around her wrist, jerking her mid-strike.

Angelica gasped, trying to pull free.

But the ropes moved on their own, snaking around her arms and legs—pulling her into the air like she was caught in an invisible snare.

What kind of sorcery is this?!

Angelica thrashed against her bindings, her eyes burning with fury.

And then—

The captain finally turned.

Angelica froze.

Her heart nearly stopped.

The man before her wasn’t just some pirate.

He was a legend. A ghost. A nightmare.

The cold, dark eyes. The long, graying beard. The hat that bore the mark of a devil himself.

And the expression on his face was not one of anger—it was one of shock.

Like he was looking at a ghost.

Then, in a low, gravelly voice, the captain spoke one word.

“Angelica?”

Angelica’s breath caught in her throat.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

She had spent her entire life searching.

And now, standing before her, was the man she had been chasing through stories and whispers.

She barely found her voice.

Her eyes locked onto his, and for the first time in her life, she said the word she had never spoken before.

“Father?”


Jack Sparrow had never been one to appreciate the finer things in life—at least not in a way that required effort to maintain them. But as he lounged in one of Henry Creed’s many lavishly furnished rooms, sipping aged rum from a crystal glass, he was starting to understand.

Everything about Henry’s estate—the polished mahogany furniture, the imported silks, the endless stock of fine wines and spirits—screamed luxury and wealth.

Jack ran his fingers over the embroidered patterns on the armchair he was sitting in, letting out a low whistle.

“You know, mate, for a man who was once the most feared pirate in the Caribbean, you do have an awfully soft spot for the finer things in life.”

Henry, standing by the open balcony, simply smirked, taking a sip from his own glass.

“It’s called living smart, Jack. You can spend your life looting and running from the Navy, or you can make the wealth work for you.”

Jack leaned back, tossing a gold coin up and down in his hand.

“Aye, well, I can see why you don’t exactly miss the whole ‘pirate’ life. The food here’s better, the bed’s softer, and no one’s trying to stab you in the back every few days.”

Henry chuckled. “You say that as if you’re not constantly running for your life.”

Jack took a long sip of his rum.

“True, true. But that’s part of my charm.”

Henry shook his head with an amused expression, but before he could reply, a loud knock echoed through the house.

One of Henry’s house servants rushed in, looking slightly nervous.

“Señor Creed, there is a man at the gates. He says he is looking for you. His name is William Turner.”

Henry immediately stiffened, and Jack nearly choked on his drink.

“William Turner? Here?” Jack wiped his mouth. “That lad does have a knack for showing up at the worst possible moments.”

Henry sighed, setting down his glass.

“Let him in. And bring him straight to my study.”

The servant nodded and hurried off.

Jack grinned, stretching his arms. “Well, this should be fun. Let’s see what young Will has gotten himself into this time.”

William Turner strode into the study, his face pale and his expression grim. His clothes were slightly dusty from travel, and there was a tension in his stance that both Henry and Jack picked up on instantly.

“Will, lad!” Jack greeted cheerfully. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon. What brings you to our humble—well, not so humble—abode?”

Will ignored Jack and turned directly to Henry.

“I need your help. Both of you.”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”

Will took a deep breath, his fingers curling into fists.

“Two things. And neither of them are good.”

Henry and Jack exchanged a glance.

“Go on, lad, don’t keep us in suspense.” Jack waved a hand.

Will’s jaw tightened, and when he spoke, his voice was laced with anger and urgency.

“First, Lord Cutler Beckett has arrested Elizabeth. She’s locked in a prison cell in Port Royal.”

Jack stopped twirling his coin, his grin vanishing in an instant.

Henry’s expression darkened. “Why?”

“Because of me,” Will admitted. “He arrested her as leverage. He wants me to find Jack and bring him the compass in exchange for her freedom.”

Jack’s eyes flickered with understanding, and he slowly set his glass down.

“Ah. So that’s why you came all this way. To find little old me.”

Will nodded stiffly.

“Beckett knows you have the compass, Jack. And he won’t release Elizabeth unless I bring it to him.”

Jack leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Well, that is quite the dilemma, isn’t it?”

Henry crossed his arms. “We’ll figure out what to do. What’s the second thing?”

Will swallowed hard, looking directly at Henry.

“Angelica’s ship was attacked. And sunk.”

The room fell silent.

Henry froze, his expression unreadable.

Jack’s eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing.

Will hesitated before continuing. “No survivors have been found. In Tortuga, it’s already being said that Angelica is dead.”

Henry’s fingers clenched into fists, his jaw tightening.

Jack let out a low whistle, shaking his head.

“Well… bloody hell.”

Will watched Henry closely, waiting for a reaction.

Henry remained silent for several moments, staring at nothing in particular. His mind raced, but outwardly, he showed no emotion.

Finally, he took a slow breath, his voice calm but firm.

“She’s not dead.”

Will looked uncertain. “Henry, I—”

Henry cut him off sharply.

“She’s not dead.”

Jack studied him carefully, then leaned forward.

“You’re sure of that?”

Henry’s gaze was ice-cold. “I know Angelica. She wouldn’t die that easily. And if she did, I’ll find out who did it and make them regret it.”

Jack let out a slow exhale, glancing at Will.

“Well, mate, it looks like we’ve got quite the situation on our hands.”

Will nodded, his face set in determination.

Henry took another breath, forcing himself to think logically.

Elizabeth was imprisoned. Angelica was missing, possibly dead. And now Cutler Beckett was playing a dangerous game.

He had a choice to make.

But one thing was certain.

Henry Creed was going to war.


The morning sun barely peeked over the horizon when Henry Creed, Jack Sparrow, and William Turner stood on the deck of the Tempest, preparing to set sail for Tortuga.

The Tempest was a marvel of craftsmanship, sleek and deadly, much larger than the Sea Whisperer. Henry had built it for Angelica, intending it as a wedding gift, but now—

Now it was a vessel of vengeance.

Henry clenched his fists as he stared out toward the open sea.

“Whoever attacked Angelica’s ship… they will pay.”

Jack Sparrow, ever the cautious rogue, was not about to let the Black Pearl draw attention.

“A pirate ship like the Pearl tends to turn heads, mate.” Jack smirked, adjusting his hat. “And not in the friendly, let’s-buy-you-a-drink kind of way. More of the, ‘run him through and hang his corpse at the docks’ kind.”

Henry nodded. “That’s why we’ll be using my ship. The Tempest is new, no one will suspect it.”

Jack leaned in, grinning. “You do know you have too many ships, don’t you? You ever consider sharing?”

Henry ignored him.

“The Black Pearl will stay hidden in one of my private ports on the island. No one will touch it.”

Jack gave a dramatic sigh. “Alright, fine. We’ll take your fancy new ship. But if I lose the Pearl, I’m holding you responsible, mate.”

Henry rolled his eyes.

William Turner, however, was less amused. “We don’t have time for your games, Jack. We need to find out who attacked Angelica’s ship.”

Jack raised his hands in mock surrender. “Aye, aye, lad. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

As the Tempest pulled away from the hidden port, the sea breeze filled its freshly sewn sails, and the crew worked efficiently under Henry’s command.

Jack, leaning against the railing, watched as Henry took firm control of the wheel.

“You do enjoy playing the noble captain, don’t you?” Jack mused.

Henry’s gaze hardened. “I enjoy keeping those I care about safe. Angelica was attacked on my watch. That won’t happen again.”

Jack chuckled. “Ah, there it is. The noble hero act. You and young William here are quite alike in that regard.”

William shot Jack a glare. “This isn’t a game. We don’t even know if Angelica is alive.”

Jack’s expression darkened for a moment, then he gave his usual lopsided grin.

“That’s why we’re going to Tortuga, lad.''


The streets of Tortuga were as chaotic as ever—drunken men stumbled from taverns, fights broke out in the muddy alleyways, and the air smelled of salt, sweat, and cheap rum.

Henry Creed, Jack Sparrow, and William Turner moved carefully through the crowd, their disguises concealing their identities. Jack had donned a dark brown coat, Henry wore a simple merchant’s vest and hat, and Will kept his hood up, avoiding unnecessary attention.

They weren’t here for fun.

They were here for answers.

After hours of asking questions, they finally found a captain who had seen the destruction of the Sea Whisper firsthand.

A scarred old sailor, missing an eye and several teeth, sat at a corner table of a dimly lit tavern, a bottle of rum clutched in his grip. His name was Roderick Hale, a veteran privateer who had seen more battles than most.

Jack leaned over, flashing a gold coin between his fingers. “Good evening, mate. We hear you saw something quite tragic near Port Royal. A ship lost, a lady in distress—fascinating tale, I’d wager.”

Roderick eyed the coin greedily before snatching it. “Aye, I saw it. A bloody massacre, it was.”

Henry sat forward, his voice firm. “Tell me everything.”

The old captain took a long swig of rum before continuing.

“It was near Port Royal, just past the reef. Storm was heavy that night, but I saw it—hell, I heard it.” He shuddered. “**Cannons—not like any I’ve seen before. Big. Too big for any normal ship. Tore through the vessel like it was paper. By the time the storm cleared, all that was left were pieces floating in the water.”

William's jaw clenched. “Did you see any survivors?”

Roderick shook his head. “No one. Just wreckage. And the oddest thing? Not a single crate was taken. Cargo was still floating there. Whoever did it… wasn’t after gold or goods.”

Henry’s mind raced. “So it was a message. A warning.”

Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Or a game. Some pirates enjoy destruction for sport. But I’m guessing you know that already, eh, Henry?”

Ignoring Jack’s remark, Henry pressed on. “Did you see a mark? A symbol? Something identifying the attackers?”

Roderick hesitated. Then, he reached for a piece of parchment, dipped a finger into spilled rum, and began to draw.