Black heart buccaneers face fiery seas, monstrous krakens, and the wrath of the Devil himself!
created by Janet Morris
Genre: Dark Fantasy Pirate Anthology
Avast, ye readers! Here be Pyrates! Feast yer eyes on the cursed treasures before you! Hoist the skull 'n' crossbones! Walk the plank with hell's sorest losers! Join the damnedest buccaneers and privateers ever to sail infernal seas. Here be twelve tales of piracy spun by Janet Morris, Chris Morris, Nancy Asire, Paul Freeman, Larry Atchley Jr, Rob Hinkle, Michael H. Hanson, Joe Bonadonna, Andrew P. Weston, S.E. Lindberg, and Jack William Finley. Corsairs, freebooters and plunderers shiver their timbers and meet their fates as the devil's dupes learn why the deeper in hell you go, the colder it gets.
The depths of hell chill the boldest sinner as damned souls learn why the deeper in hell you go, the colder it gets.
Inside you’ll find:
Bitter Business – Janet Morris and Chris Morris
Pieces of Hate – Andrew P. Weston
Evil Angel – Janet Morris and Chris Morris
Who’s a Pirate Now? – Nancy Asire
Curse of the Pharaohs – S.E. Lindberg
Lir’s Children – Paul Freeman
Unholiest Grail – Larry Atchley, Jr.
The Bitter Taste of Hell’s Injustice – Jack William Finley
Serial Recall and Beautiful Tortures – Michael H. Hanson
Drink and the Devil – Rob Hinkle
The Pirates of Penance – Joe Bonadonna
Muse of Fire – Janet Morris and Chris Morris
Hell Hounds (excerpt) – Andrew P. Weston
**On Sale for Only $2.99 for September Only!**
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Excerpt from Pirates in Hell – Unholiest Grail by Larry Atchley, Jr.
Over
the threshold and into the shop strode a man with wavy shoulder-length
brown hair and a mustache turned up at the ends with styling wax. He
wore a tailored blue frock coat, tan trousers neatly pressed. He waded
through ankle-deep standing water in black leather knee-high boots.
“Welcome to Hellish Curiosities and Clothiers,” LaVey said. “Can I
interest you in anything in particular?”
“Hell-o to you as well,
my damned man,” the patron said in an oratorical voice. “My name is Sir
Henry Morgan. I have heard it said that your shop is the place where
the rarest items of special interest may be found.”
“So true. So
true.” Purring, LaVey stroked his black goatee. Finally, a viable
customer. “We specialize in unobtanium. What, precisely, are you looking
for, dear sir?”
“A product. A very special product,” said
Morgan. “I’ve heard rumors that a cup exists, a special cup — a cup
which, when filled with alcoholic libations or possibly any liquid,
allows the drinker to actually become inebriated. As I’m sure you can
imagine, such an item would be very much in demand.”
“Your
reputation does precede you, Sir. And your predilection for strong drink
is well known.” LaVey said. “Do you know that, after your death
topside, an entire rum distillery company was named after you?”
“Heh,
oh yes.” Morgan grinned. “But they got my image all wrong on the
labels. I’ve never worn anything so gaudy as that outfit they portray.”
“If
such a cup were in my possession,” LaVey responded, “its purchase price
would be quite dear. Only a select few of the damned would be able to
afford such an item.”
“Naturally.” Morgan shrugged. “I have
considerable resources at my disposal. What would you charge for such a
wondrous unholy relic . . . If you possessed it, that is.”
“If
an unholy grail such as you describe actually exists,” LaVey said
carefully, “surely His Satanic Majesty would never allow a mere sinner
to possess it. His rules forbid the pleasure of drunkenness to the
damned, as you surely know. To own such an item would mean risking the
wrath of all the lords of the latter-day hells.”
Morgan drew
close to LaVey and said archly, “Mister LaVey, let’s end this charade,
shall we? Everyone knows you deal in certain items of supposedly
mystical, or even reputedly mythical, powers. Scuttlebutt has it that
most of what you sell is counterfeit rubbish, that—”
“Rubbish!” LaVey interrupted. “I’ve never been so insulted in all my—”
“Wait!
Let me finish,” Morgan ordered. “However, some souls whisper that not
everything you sell is a sham. A certain spear comes to mind.”
“Now
see here, my good sir! That whole business about a certain spear got me
into a great deal of trouble with His Satanic Majesty. I’d really
rather not discuss the topic further.”
“As you wish.” Morgan
licked his lips. “I shall merely point out that if someone in New Hell
knows where to find this unholy grail, you are that someone. You claim
to run the only place where such items can be found. ‘Unobtanium’ you
call it. It would be in your best interest to actually have this item,
the fabled ‘real deal’. You’d be discreet about it, of course, so as not
to rouse the suspicions of the Devil’s Children. So naturally you
couldn’t advertise that you possess such a cup. Thus my question to you
remains: Do you in fact have it? And, if you do, what would it cost me
to buy it? Alternatively, if you don’t now have it, could you get it
upon for a qualified buyer? Name your price, and I will gladly pay it.”
LaVey
pensively rubbed his Mephistophelian goatee, thinking what riches might
be his, could he find so important a relic for this inveterate
privateer, once lieutenant governor of Jamaica, whence he’d raided
settlements far and wide with such single-minded rapacity that he
secured a license to attack and seize Spanish vessels for the English
Crown. “If I’m going to risk His Satanic Majesty’s ire, my price will be
substantial.”
“A soul could name his own price for an item that
can make this hellish existence less vexing.” Morgan grimaced. “Only
from great risk comes great reward.”
“Yes, great indeed,” LaVey
said. But where in hell could it be, this grail which Morgan so desired
that he’d buy it rather than steal it? Returning from the storeroom to
the selling floor with a crystal sphere in her fingers, Madam Blavatsky
caught LaVey’s attention, casting furtive glances toward the back room.
“Excuse me, Captain Morgan,” said LaVey and followed her into the back,
which smelled disconcertingly of mildew.
Once out of Morgan’s
sight, Blavatsky sucked on the corners of her toothless mouth and
whispered, “For ‘great reward’, we may be able to assist him. This grail
has shown itself to me.”
LaVey lit up like a cannon fuse. “You
know where it is? Why haven’t you mentioned anything about this before,”
LaVey demanded of the infuriating, self-proclaimed mystagogue and
leading proponent of Theosophy.
“Because no one has asked about
it until now,” she replied. “Why must I have as my assistant the
greatest idiot savant of the modern age?”
“I’ve only now seen a
vision of it while you and the customer were bantering about its price,”
Blavatsky said, giving him a nasty sidelong glare.
La Vey took
Madam Blavatsky’s arm, and the two nonchalantly made their way to where
Morgan stood, staring through the storefront window, holding a pair of
brass Carl Zeiss Jena binoculars close to squinting eyes. “I don’t have
it right now, but we know where the cup may be found,” LaVey said to
Morgan. “One million diablos is my finder’s fee,” LaVey said.
“Whoa
ho!” Morgan exclaimed. “You’ve the soul of a buccaneer. A princely sum
indeed. Very well, Mister LaVey, you shall have your price—if and when
you produce the cup. The real grail, the goblet of my desire, of course,
and not some simulacrum.”
“Of course, Sir Henry.” LaVey rubbed
his hands together, sensually anticipating the feel of all those diablos
under his sweating palms. “To deliver, I must mount an expedition.
Would you like to join us?”
“Join you? On an expedition? I’ll
lead any expedition my diablos fund. First I must needs muster a
crew—reavers who’ll take my orders, not yours. Even in hell, he who has
the gold makes the rules.” Morgan chuckled at his own levity.
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Larry Atchley Jr. is a writer of primarily science fiction, fantasy, horror, and poetry. His other interests include Qi-Gong Kung Fu, British Humour, hiking, mountain biking, everything about tea, sword fencing, traditional archery, reading and collecting books, and playing harmonica and guitar. He is a crewmember of the piratical poetry and musical performance group The Seadog Slam and is frequently a guest author at various literary conventions and other events. He is a contributing author to Janet Morris’s Heroes in Hell series. You can read his blog, The Short Pale Writer in the Long Black Coat, at www.larryatchleyjr.wordpress.com.
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