Madam Silvernape

By Valerie Brown

My men hoist the waterlogged chest on deck. My family’s golden crest is inlaid on the lid. I grin smugly at my shivering brother-in-law, manacled to the ship’s rails. I thrust my knife into the chest’s barnacled lock and twist. The brass feature clunks heavily at my feet.

Inside, there is only a green rum bottle with a note inside it. I pull the cork.

“Madam Silvernape,” it reads, “not God himself could exhume your family’s fortune. Regards, Black John Silvernape.”

I kneel beside my captive. “Say hello to Black John.” I turn to my men. “Toss him in the drink.”