Pirates of the Avon

There was nothing to disturb the flat, milky surface of the water. Even the mallards and moorhens were resting in the grass, heads tucked warmly under their wings. I admired the tawney reeds and amber willows off my starboard side as I slid silently past. The fog was absolute. I hugged the bank because the other side of the river was beyond my vision, lost to the chilling-bone, steel-blue vapor. My breath came out in puffs on the drive, distinguishable for only a second before melting and mingling into the vapor like a handful of grain thrown into a silo. I looked behind me, saw the vague form of a tree hanging out into the river, blocking my course. I pulled hard with my left had to adjust my point.

I heard it a moment beefore I saw it: plop, chunk.... plop, chunk... A shadow loomed out of the mist, dark and ominous and bearing down on my stern with terrifying momentum. The hulking, black-clad monsters of the vessel hunched over their labor, single-focused, heaving, grunting. I must have appeared to them as a water-strider to a swan, hardly worth notice.

"Ahead four!" I bellowed. The bowman turned briefly, sized me up, resumed ignoring me.

I dug my starboard blade into the river and pulled hard on my port, sending my tiny craft careening into the sticky mud of the bank and ensnaring me in a tangle of thorn branches. Whilst struggling to remain dry, I dared to glance over at the four as they barreled past. The name on the bow read "Jolly Roger."