This is the story of the last voyage of the Orb Nymph and it's crew of 22 women, all pirates, who sailed the seas between Acadia, in the North, and New Providence, in the Bahamas, in the year of Our Lord 1717, smuggling weapons to the colonists and swapping hides and tobacco for silk and spices. I was a mariner aboard that vessel, one of the few who could write a readable hand, and so it was my duty to chronicle our accounts.

This story begins in the lavishly decorated mansion of Edward Teach, known by all as the pirate Blackbeard. The mansion sat on a small rise overlooking the ocean, in Bath Town, North Carolina, just across the street from the home of the colonial secretary and Teach's friend, Tobias Knight. It was there that Blackbeard sought a temporary respite from his trials, having surrendered to Gov. Eden and secured his freedom with a generous contribution to the colony. It was there his last wife, Mary, 16, bore his youngest son. Not long after this story takes place, Blackbeard returned to his infamous ways, only to die a year later at the hand of Col. Robert Maynard of the British Royal Navy.

But that is another story....
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"Telamarine, unhand that man!"

In the grand hall of Blackbeard's mansion, amidst a sea of nefarious pirates, gamblers, rogues and corrupt government officials, a fiery redhead with flaming green eyes drew her dagger and twirled it expertly before her rival. The second woman, the twin of the first, whose red tresses fell lushly about her shoulders, danced lightly around her opponent and gingerly fingered her stiletto.

The crowd parted, forming a circle around the two, as drunken spectators looked on with relish. There was nothing like the scent of blood in the air to liven up a party.

"You want him, you'll have to fight for him," the second woman challenged. She knew her opponent, Rosalita, was deadly at hand-to-hand combat. Telamarine flushed red with excitement.

The man in question, a fast-talking highwayman named Ricardo, wiped the grog from his face with the sleeve of his silk shirt and watched with a bored expression on his face. He was a man accustomed to being fought over, and since the combatants were beautiful twins, he had little to lose.

"I'll carve that cold heart of yours right out of your body and serve it to the fishes!" yelled Rosalita.

"You couldn't carve a turkey if it was dead and lying on a platter in front of you!" Telamarine yelled back..

The first parried, and the second dodged.

"You couldn't find a man of your own? In this whole room?" the first demanded to know.

"Why should I do the hunting?"

"I found him first!"

"But I got him last!"

Again, they lunged at each other, barely escaping injury. The crowd held its collective breath and looked on.

"Is he really worth dying for?" the first one asked, taunting her sister.

"No, but he's worth killing for!" the second responded.

They lunged at one another again. This time, Rosalita managed to slice through Telamarine's ruffled shirt, leaving the shoulder slit and hanging halfway down her arm. The crowd gasped.

"That's my favorite shirt!" Telamarine screamed, enraged.

"It was MY shirt, you vixen. You never gave it back to me!" countered Rosalita, grinning widely and lunging for a second swipe.

But before any blood was drawn, a third woman entered the circle, her shoulder length black hair tossed wildly about her shoulders. She wore men's pants, a leather tunic secured with snake hide, and a necklace of animal claws around her neck. She pulled her flintlock and fired once over the heads of the feuding sisters. Ceiling plaster fell like snow around them. They stopped short.

"Rosalita! Telamarine! That is enough!"

The two stood still, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I will not have you killing each other over a mere man -- and a landlubber at that!"

"But, Captain..." Rosalita began, glancing up to make sure the ceiling would hold.

"Silence! You will gather your things and return to the schooner immediately!" The Captain then turned her attention on the highwayman, a scowl firmly on her face. "And as for you, you worthless piece of dog meat, leave this house while you still have your manhood!"

She aimed her pistol slightly south of his belt, her hand steady, her eyes ablaze.

Paling, Ricardo glanced quickly about him, but when no one would come to his aid, he began to back out the door.

"You won't get away with this, Captain Ursula," he warned. "I curse you! You will be lost at sea! You will be in hell for a hundred years!
You will never see your home or loved ones, again!"

The captain cocked her flintlock and waited while he fled the mansion. Blackbeard, the thick, dark curls of his beard smoking from the lit matches he planted in them to intimidate people, step forward and laughed.

"Ladies, ladies," he said, smiling at the three. "Is this anyway to celebrate my retirement?" He reeked from ale and stale tobacco, and years at sea had turned his skin dark, leathery and lined.

"Retirement? Hell!" said the captain, screwing up her nose at the smell of him. "You'll retire when they throw your stinking bag of bones to the fishes, and not one minute before!"

Blackbeard's eyes went even darker, if that were possible, as he considered her words.

"That may be true, my lovely captain, but until then...." He turned to face the crowd. "Let us eat and drink and be merry, for tomorrow -- who knows?" He laughed heartily and seized another drink from a passing wench.

A mandolin player started back up in the background and the crowd dispersed, falling into easy conversation as if nothing unusual had happened. Captain Ursula glanced quickly around.

"Rosetta?" she called out. The captain knew, without asking, that her first mate was always close at hand.

A tall, dark-haired beauty in a flowing red skirt appeared, her off-the-shoulders, ruffled blouse revealing a small rose tattoo on her skin, her hand resting cautiously on a sheathed sword.

"Yes, Captain," she said.

"Gather the crew and make sure our 'special' cargo is secured. We set sail at midnight," the captain instructed.

"Aye, Captain." With that, Rosetta disappeared.

The captain turned to leave, also, but Blackbeard caught her arm in a vise-like grip and wouldn't let her go.

"You're insane!" he growled. His curly black beard hid his lips, but the captain could see a smile in the crease of his eyes.

"If I am, I come by it honestly," she retorted, brown eyes meeting brown eyes.

He released his grip.

"La Beltranista disappeared three years ago. It's in Davy Jones' Locker, now," he said.

It was an old argument, and he knew her response before she said it.

"Three years ago to the day, the hour, and the pier," she responded.

"So, you would risk the lives of your crew for revenge? To chase a ghost ship into the Devil's Triangle?"

She didn't respond. She knew he was right, but it didn't matter to her. He nodded. Then he laughed, a deep rolling laugh that consumed the entire room and echoed down the halls. As Captain Ursula and her crew of women pirates wound through the crowd and departed the mansion, his laugh was the last thing they heard. It followed them through the dead of a damp warm night and all the way to the docks, and it would haunt them aboard the schooner in the weeks to follow.

"All hands aboard and accounted for, Captain," said Rosetta, as they prepared to weigh anchor.

"Set sail," Ursula ordered.

The captain slunk into her cabin, Blackbeard's words weighing heavily on her mind. 'Perhaps this is a fool's mission, she thought. Then, again, hundreds of ships sailed to the Bahamas and back at all times of the year; just because she'd keep a lookout for La Beltranista while in route, didn't mean.... Damn, yes it did. Damn crazy thing to do.'