The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen by Christopher Newman

birthright, but to exile my mother and myself went too far. I swore an oath on my father’s grave I would seek vengeance for the dishonor shown to me.”
    “Astounding! I beg your indulgence to a disturbing piece of news that doesn’t quite fit in your tale. I’m convinced of your staunch belief in said yarn, but as I said, I knew your father well. He was—I am ashamed to admit knowledge of this—unable to sire children. Are you sure he was truly your father?”
    “You dare to insinuate my father lied to me!” she roared, standing up violently.
    “Nay, I pray you to calm yourself. Duke Cornwell was ever a gentleman, scholar and a fair-handed governor—but he was well into his old age when I first heard of his heir. This was only after a trip to Farthing to the north,” Cockrum apologized. “I would suspect ‘twas that which was used to sway the court to separate you from your birthright. Often nobles can know more than honest folk or even ships’ captains. It is a shame you took such a hateful vow, for you might have been able to press your claim to His Majesty.”
    “It was your king who stripped me of my title!”
    “Be at ease, Milady Vixen, for it was the courts who did this, not my liege. In matters of succession, no matter how lowly or lofty, the king doesn’t get too involved. I suspect you have been done wrong by a magistrate.”
    “You lie!”
    “It is God’s own truth!”
    “Well, it is too late for any of this; my course is plotted and the wheel lashed to the heading I have chosen. Aye, I’m sailing to my doom.”
    “I’m afraid that is so. It pains me now to know I’m conveying a daughter of my friend to a gallows.”
    “You truly did know him, then?”
    “By my troth I did!”
    “Then let us talk of my sire until dinner arrives.”
    Despite the turn in conversation, a seed of doubt had planted itself in Vixen’s mind. Considering her mother and father slept in separate rooms, her mother’s claims of the duke being her sire felt somehow wrong. Frantic arguments warred upon each other like battling ships upon the churning sea of her thoughts. She knew her face well enough to now see she bore no resemblance to her illustrious father. Chalking this up to her mother’s heritage, she hadn’t given it much thought. Now, suddenly, she was perplexed and somewhat angry. Sometimes truth can bring to light even the darkest corners of the mind.

Insults and Insolence
    The dawn returned, its rosy fingers dancing through the porthole and awakening Vixen and her mate Tom. Outside, she could hear the yells and cries of the crew harkening to the shouted orders of the officer on deck.
    The prow of the vessel is skimming calmer waters, she thought. This can only mean we’ve sailed into a harbor.
    An hour later they came for the two of them.
    “On yer feet, ye scalawags!” a Marine in red shouted. “We’ve put into port, and the reaper is here for ye. Best not make him wait too long.”
    With clinking and clanking the Marine unlocked the cells and dragged the prisoners on deck to a familiar sight. The alabaster cliffs of Purdy-on-the-Sea jutted up from the foaming waves as the Lady Jane slid effortlessly toward the docks. The crew tossed hawsers to the dockworkers, and soon the frigate was still and the gangplank lowered.
    “I fear this is the end of the line.” Captain Cockrum sighed. “I wish now I hadn’t heard your tale, for my heart is heavy with remorse. I pray you to have a kind word with your sire whence you meet him. Advise him I meant no ill will.”
    “He would understand,” Vixen replied. “I think he will be more vexed with me than ye.”
    “Aye. Here come the soldiers to take charge of ye. My part in this sad tale is now done.”
    Vixen looked to stern to see her vessel pull up to the Lady Jane’s aft. Her rogues’ leaden faces and sluggish movements made her ire swell.
    “They dared not to overwhelm the prize crew,” she whispered to Tom. “The craven bastards deserve