Donovan Hastings – Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The night air was cool and damp, full of quiet and dark and sea mist, drifting in off the bay.  Captain Donovan Hastings strode through the dark alley, along with his first mate, Fagan.  They ducked out of the cool night air, through the swinging saloon doors, into the Rusty Cutlass.  Donovan smiled to himself at the contrast in environments.  Mismatched lanterns and candles were scattered around the room, casting ambiguous shadows into the corners, and spreading a warm friendly glow over everything else.  Boisterous laughter, and flirtatious giggles mingled and echoed in the smoke filled air.  Ale sloshed and spilled as pints and glasses clanked together.   A skinny man with a receding hairline banged out a bouncy little melody on an out of tune piano in one corner.  It was the same tune he always played.  The sailors swapped stories of their misadventures on the high seas, while the girls made eyes at them, hoping to get lucky.  Most of the sailors’ stories were more entertaining than true to life, and most of the girls would seem a lot prettier after a couple of pints.  Of both facts Donovan was well aware, but neither fact bothered him much.  It was hard to feel lonely in the comforts of the Rusty Cutlass, and easy to forget your past.  Donovan liked the feeling it gave him.  Besides his ship, it was the closest thing he had to a home.  Closest thing he’d had to a home in a long time anyways.

“Hey baby, you looking for some company?”  A young busty blonde said, leaning in close to Donovan.  She was flaunting ample cleavage and showing more leg then any girl should be entitled to have, let alone show in public.  The girl must have been new, seeing as Donovan didn’t recognize her.  

“No thanks, love.”  Donovan said, shrugging her off his arm and making his way towards the bar.  She gave Donovan a brief look that was something more than disappointment, but just shy of personal offense.  The girl then focused all of her attentions on Fagan.   Fagan ignored the girl.  Donovan gave Fagan a slap on the back, “It’s so nice to know I’m not irreplaceable.”  Fagan chuckled, and followed Donovan towards the bar.

“Captain Donovan Hastings!”  A handsome woman with a perfect figure and bright red hair, called out from behind the bar.  Trudy had once been absolutely stunning, and though she was rumored to be nearing forty years old, she was still as pretty, if not prettier than most of the younger girls she employed.  Fact is, Trudy could still earn more than most of the girls who worked for her, if she chose to.  She rarely chose to.  As owner and proprietor of the Rusty Cutlass, her time was better spent managing.  Hiring.  Firing.  Recruiting new girls.  On occasion, however Trudy would make an exception, and take a guest upstairs, or better yet to her private quarters behind the bar.  Donovan had been one of the exceptions many a time.

“Looking for a good time honey?”  Trudy said, as she leaned forward over the bar, intentionally exposing a lot of cleavage, and smiled seductively at Donovan.

“Times are hard, love.”  Donovan said.  “I’m not entirely sure, I can afford you.”

“Donovan Hastings!”  Trudy exclaimed, standing up straight, and turning slightly to one side, placing a hand on the curve of her hip.  “I do believe that you lie like a rug!”  She said, wagging a finger in Donovan‘s general direction.  “You think I haven’t heard of your crew’s exploits?  Sailing under no flag, but your own.  Transporting everything from soldiers and weapons, to rum and spices.  Plundering ships on both sides of the war, and somehow currying enough favor with both sides to keep your neck out of the noose.”  She shook her head in mock disgust.  “Mark my words Donovan Hastings, your good fortunes won’t last forever.”  

Donovan smiled a wide confident smile.  “But one can hope, right?”

Trudy made as ugly a face as someone of her beauty was capable of, and a small sound escaped her lips.  On someone less attractive, it would have been a snort.  She then poured two pints of dark ale, and slid them towards Donovan, and Fagan.   “On the house boys.”

Fagan picked it up and lifted in Trudy’s direction.  “Much obliged Ma’am.”  He chugged half his ale appreciatively.  “That hit the spot if you don’t mind me saying so.”  Fagan was thirsty more often than not.  He wasn’t more than five and half feet tall, a full head shorter then Donovan, and was skinny to boot.   Small, and thin in build was not to be confused with weak.  Donovan had watched him rumble with men twice his size and come out looking better than the men he had fought.  Fagan gulped the rest of his ale, ran his fingers through his greasy wisps of thinning hair, and wiped his mouth with the back of is dirty sleeve.  “Think I’m going to go win me some money at the card table.”  He said, heading towards the table in the corner.  Donovan turned to face the middle of the room, and propped his elbows up on the bar.

Trudy leaned in close from her side of the bar.  “Seriously Donovan, ever think of giving up the life of pillage and plunder, and starting a family of your own?”  Her voice was little more than a whisper, but she was close enough that Donovan had no trouble hearing her, even above the commotion of the saloon.

Still, Donovan pretended not to hear her, choosing instead to stare out at the crowd in miserable silence.  He never could find a way to tell her, that there was a time when there was nothing in life Donovan Hastings desired more than a family of his own.  Ten years ago, he thought he had found one.  That was then, this is now.

Trudy had come around to Donovan’s side of the bar, and was standing in front of him now.  Her slender fingers were on his face, pushing his longish black hair back away from his charcoal grey eyes.  Fingertips tracing his strong jaw line through his stubbly goatee.  She looked up at him engagingly, gently guiding his eyes towards hers, and holding his gaze.  She then lifted her heels off the plank floor and planted a slow, soft kiss on his mouth, still holding his face in her hands.  The kiss was something more than friendly, but not quite passionate.  “It’s odd.”  She whispered, searching Donovan’s eyes.  Donovan could almost feel her lips brush his, as she breathed the words.  “Sometimes you’ll be standing in the middle of the Rusty Cutlass, in the middle of all this commotion,” She said, gesturing aimlessly around the room.  Then with a hint of sadness in her voice she said, “And yet, you’re still so far away.”  

Snapped from his reverie by more pressing needs, Donovan pulled her towards him, and held her in his arms.  Slowly he turned his head to one side, and kissed Trudy firmly on the mouth.  This time there was passion, or at the very least lust.  Sometimes it‘s hard to tell the difference.  “I’m right here, love.”  He said, with a sly smile.

“Hmm. And here, I was operating under the assumption that you couldn’t afford me.”  Trudy said, throwing his earlier words back at him, with a smile of equal parts warmth and teasing.

Donovan placed his index finger to his lips.  “This has to be our little secret.”  He whispered, as he produced a long strand of pearls from his deep jacket pocket, and offering it to her.  

Trudy gasped, her eyes wide with astonishment and her hands covering her mouth.  “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”  She said, pulling her fiery red hair off the back of her neck, allowing Donovan to place the strand of pearls around her neck.  The necklace was long enough to loop around her graceful neck twice and still have some slack.  She looked up at him with a twinkle in her emerald green eyes, and silently mouthed the words ‘thank you’.

Donovan pressed her body against his, cherishing the feeling of her familiar warmth as it spread through him.  “Not yet, love.  But you will. ” He said with a smile.  

They stood in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms, ignoring the crowd around them.  In their own little universe as it were.  Then, without warning, Donovan took Trudy’s hand in his, and led her through the crowded saloon towards her private quarters.  She followed without protest, more than willing to oblige.  Donovan stopped at the door, holding it open for Trudy, and glancing one last time around the Rusty Cutlass, before shutting the door.  As Donovan turned towards Trudy, she threw her arms around him, and squeezed, pressing her tightly corseted breasts against Donovan, kissing him with a kind of reckless abandon, Donovan longed for, but hadn’t experienced in far too long.  At that moment in time, there was little doubt in Donovan’s mind, he had all the family he would ever need.

Later that evening Donovan tenderly kissed Trudy on her lips.  She was asleep.  Naked, save the pearls Donovan had given her.  Laying on her back, with her red hair splashed over the pillow like a wave of fire on a white sand beach.  Her breathing was smooth and even.  Donovan pulled on his boots and silently slipped out her private door, back into the bar.  A fair amount of the patrons had taken their leave, either heading back home to families of their own, or heading upstairs with one of the Rusty Cutlass girls.  With fewer patrons a few of the candles had been blown out, and the piano player had gone home for the evening.  The room seemed darker, and quieter.  Sadder.  A small group was still sitting at the table in the corner playing cards.  The man with the biggest pile of money in front of him had Fagan’s dagger in his belt.  Donovan recognized the man at once.  He went by the name Montero.  He was brute of a man, nearly as tall as Donovan and probably twice as heavy.  Big.  Not fat.  Donovan had met Montero only once before.  At the time, Montero was wanted for murdering a member of the royal guard.  Fagan was nowhere to be found.  

“Mind if I get in on a couple of hands?”  Donovan said with a wide friendly grin.

Montero jerked his head at an empty seat across from him.  “Sit.”  Montero said.  He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.

“Thank you kindly.”  Donovan said taking the seat, Montero had indicated.

Donovan got off to a slow start at the card game, but recovered quickly, stringing together back to back winning hands, on several occasions.  A couple hours later, when Donovan was quite sure he’d won back the money Fagan had lost, and then some, Donovan gathered his winnings into a pile and stood up.  “Think I’ll be calling it a night, gentlemen.”  Donovan said tipping his hat.  He stood without picking up his winnings and waited.  

Montero was shuffling the next hand already, trying to move on quickly and forget the money he had just lost.  “Something else I can do for you?”  Montero said, pausing his shuffling long enough to give Donovan an irritated look.

“The dagger on your belt belongs to a friend of mine.”  Donovan stated.

“You accusing me of stealing it?”  Montero demanded.

Donovan smiled pleasantly at Montero.  “Not at all sir.”  Donovan said, “Then again.”  He shrugged, “Supposing I was?  What then?”  Donovan watched as color crept into Montero’s cheeks, and something vile flickered in his eyes.  Montero was struggling to control a rage that Donovan was all too familiar with.  All too often Donovan struggled with that same rage.

“Captain Donovan Hastings.  I’ve heard rumors of how ruthless you can be.”  Montero said in a low voice.  “I respect a man who’s made a living the way you have.  It’s a hard life.”  Montero paused.  When he started speaking again, his voice was nothing but a low snarl.  “And right now that’s the only thing keeping me from coming across this table and cutting your throat.”

Donovan smiled.  It wasn’t happiness.  It was a confidence, that Donovan had been told by others, sometimes bordered on arrogance.  “First of all.  Better men then you have tried, and failed.  Secondly.  You and I both know, the rumors you hear of me are true.”  Montero opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.  “And last of all, knowing that said rumors are true, then you should also know that if you did indeed ‘come across the table’, as you so eloquently worded it, you’d be the one getting your throat cut.”  Donovan already had his own dagger out, and was flipping it in the air aimlessly.  He paused long enough to gather a small pile of coins in the fingertips of the same hand the dagger was in, and tossed them on the table in front of Montero.  

Montero glanced at the money in front of him, then looked around the table at his comrades.  Looking for support.  None came.  They had all heard of Captain Donovan Hastings as well.

“That should be more than enough to cover the value of the knife.  So what’s it going to be Montero?”  Donovan said, giving Montero a hard stare, while going back to nonchalantly flipping the knife with his right hand.  “You going to turn a decent profit on a knife you won in a poker game, or get your throat cut?”

Montero looked as if the bruise to his ego was causing him physical pain.  He stood up, slowly.  Donovan stopped flipping the knife in his hand, and waited.  Montero reached behind him, and pulled Fagan’s dagger out, still in the sheath.  He tossed it at Donovan, gathered his things and left.  Donovan stood motionless, watching Montero leave, collected his winnings and went to the bar and bought a drink with some of Montero’s money.