by Monica Hahn
The docks were quieter during the night, but there was still some bustling going on. He made his way towards the merchant ship he’d been on earlier that night. It was in the process of being loaded for an early morning departure. Horatio grinned at one of the porters. “Do you happen to know if the captain would need any help this trip?” he asked.
The muscular man looked at him and shrugged. “Could be,” he said. “Get aboard.”
Horatio swung onto the ship and asked around until he found the captain. The captain recognized him and smiled when asked about a possible place on his crew.
“One day is today, then, lad?”
“Definitely,” Horatio said.
“Welcome aboard. We can always use a hard worker like you. What about your family?”
“I have no interest in my family’s trade,” Horatio said.
“Well enough. What’s your name, lad?”
Horatio hesitated for just a moment, and then said, “It’s Mikel, Captain.”
“Then stow your stuff below, Mikel, and help load the supplies.”
“Aye, aye, Captain!”
Mikel did as he was told and worked fast and willingly. As the sun rose, the ship cast off from the slip and sailed away, and he watched the kingdom of Tibercon, his birthplace and birthright, fade out of view. There was a lingering sense of sadness with the parting, but a growing feeling of excitement about the whole world out there still to be explored.
He soon made fast friends with a couple of the younger crew members, and they laughed at how his hands had been rubbed raw in the first few days. His occasional work as a dockrat hadn’t prepared him as much as he had thought. Between all the work with ropes, and then scrubbing the deck where the soapy water stung all his new cuts, he was very grateful when his skin began to toughen.
By the time they docked at the next port, he had packed some more muscle onto his frame and grown another inch. His now shaggy hair hadn’t been touched at all, and he had browned to several shades darker. He was unrecognizable, even to himself, which was a good thing, as posters bearing his previous likeness were up around the port city. He was a suspected victim of abduction. Mikel discreetly took down and destroyed all the posters he saw.
Chapter Five
The next two years passed quickly, and at fourteen, Mikel was commonly mistaken for being at least sixteen. He had a reputation as a solid worker and for being mature for his age. He had advanced from cabin boy to deckhand, and he had switched ships a couple of times. Although he had only worked on cargo ships, he dreamed of a faster, sleeker, dangerous pirate ship. He really wanted to be on Tarik the Terror’s crew.
Tarik was the captain of the Spawn, and other sailors spoke of him and his ship in hushed tones. They said that he was ruthless but fair, and never lost his temper. It was rumored that the only time he ever smiled was when he fought. And he never lost, whether it was up against a bigger ship or going against a personal opponent. The tales of his victories were legendary, and Mikel had long been enthralled with any information about him at all.
Eventually, Mikel was able to bribe Tarik’s next location out of a tavern wench who had talked to some of Tarik’s crew and knew where the Spawn would be docked.
Tarik was on the deck of his ship, inspecting the taking on of supplies, when Mikel caught his first glimpse of the famous pirate. Tarik rarely left his ship, although his men were free to carouse on liberty so long as they caused no trouble. He had surprisingly high standards, especially for a pirate captain, but he explained to his men that his no-trouble policy meant that they were welcome in all the ports.
Mikel stood at the bottom of the gangplank and waited for Tarik to notice him.
“May I come aboard?” he asked politely, once Tarik had surveyed him with a quick dark glance.
“That’s a much politer request than I’m used to hearing,” Tarik said, his own manner much more polished than Mikel was accustomed to from tough seaman. “Come aboard, lad, and state your business.”
Mikel swung aboard with the ease of someone accustomed to the sway of a ship, and Tarik’s interest deepened.
“I’d like a spot on your crew,” Mikel said.
“Is that so? And why is that?”
“I’d like a spot because I admire you as a captain,” Mikel said. “And you should want me to join because I’ll be the best crew member you’ve ever had.”
“Is that so? What if I don’t need another crew member right now?”
“Are you saying that you’re full up?”
“At the moment,” Tarik said. “Which is a bit of a shame, because I like you. Try me the next time I’m in port, lad, and you might have better luck.” He turned back to the man he’d been talking to.
Mikel didn’t leave. He stood there, and watched as a couple of boys a bit older than himself strutted up the gangplank and stared at him.
“What’s this, captain?” one of them asked.
Tarik looked a bit surprised to see Mikel still there. “A nuisance, at this point,” he said. “Remove him, lads, but be gentle.”
Mikel looked at the two older boys coming towards him and smiled. Tarik didn’t bother turning around at the sound of the first splash, but he did at the second. Mikel was still standing there, but the other two boys were gone. Tarik ignored their angry cries from the water and looked at Mikel.
“You have two spots open now,” Mikel said. “Luckily, I can fill them both.”
Tarik laughed, laid a hand on Mikel’s shoulder and told one of the other crew members to show him to a bunk.
“What about them two?” the man asked, gesturing to the water.
“If they can’t take care of one young lad between the two of them, they don’t deserve to be on my ship,” Tarik said with his customary calm.
*****
Mikel did do the work of at least two men, and his eager attitude and work ethic soon won him the grudging admiration of the rest of the crew. Tarik began receiving favorable offhanded comments about the young lad and started observing him for himself. He was impressed with what he saw. Mikel was friendly without being ingratiating, and, in fact, had a natural air of command that contrasted sharply with his deference to receiving orders. And he was calm under pressure, something that was on display with their first encounter with a navy ship.
When Mikel heard the cannons sound, he didn’t even wince at the whistle of them, followed by the plunk into the sea. They were too far away to do any damage, and Tarik turned the ship away and began to sail in the opposite direction. Mikel knew that their speed was nowhere near what the Spawn was capable of.
“Johan,” he said, to the nearest crew member as he raced to position sails, “why are we running from a fight?”
Johan laughed loudly. “Running, lad? Never! We’re just leading them on a bit of a chase is all.”
“Why?”
“The captain likes them good and riled up,” Johan said, still chuckling. “Besides, the more cannonballs they drop out of range, the less they have for when we let them get close.”
And the navy ship was still firing its cannons, even more frequently now, but although the cannon balls were getting slightly closer, they were dropping harmlessly into the water.
“You been in a skirmish before, lad?”
Mikel grinned. While being attacked at sea wasn’t an everyday occurrence in his past, there were a couple of memorable occasions when he’d had some excitement. While serving on one of the merchant ships three months ago, in fact, he had ended up helping the crew successfully repel an attempt by pirates to board. And he had the cutlass scar on his shoulder to prove it. That pirate would never scar from the sword thrust Mikel had parried with.
There weren’t very many things that Mikel felt grateful to his grandfather for, but giving him fencing lessons from a young age was one of them.
“I have,” he told Johan.
“Probably not like this,” Johan predicted.
And it was true. Any previous encounters Mikel ha
d been involved with seemed almost civilized compared to this one. After the Spawn had spent a few hours being chased and fired upon, she turned against the navy ship and they locked sides. Grappling hooks were employed by both sides, and it was a frenzied melee. It was easy to distinguish the other side, though, as they were dressed in a regimental red. Mikel spotted Tarik now and then through the fighting bustle and the smoke from the pistols. He was all over the deck, fighting with a ferocity that was inspiring, and engaging with the enemy in an almost graceful dance. And he was smiling, almost grinning. It was truly terrifying.
Mikel was watching Tarik for a moment as he had just dispatched the closest threat, when he saw an officer directly behind Tarik take careful aim at the pirate captain with a flintlock pistol. Mikel knew that the accuracy wasn’t great, but it would have been impossible to miss at that short of a range, and Tarik had no way of seeing or avoiding the danger. Mikel had just discharged his second pistol, and didn’t have time to reload. He glanced up at the rope above him and did a mental shrug as he gripped it with both hands. As he swung from the upper deck to the lower, he successfully made contact with the officer he was aiming for, just as the gun discharged. The lead ball whistled close enough to Tarik’s face that it caught his attention, and he focused in on Mikel’s antics for just a moment and nodded briefly. Mikel felt a small rush of pride as he stabbed the officer with his dagger and then switched to his cutlass for the rest of the fight.
The fighting died down after Tarik found the highest-ranking officer of the other ship and demanded his surrender, which was reluctantly given. Some of Tarik’s crew spoke of scuttling the other vessel, but Tarik had them only disable it instead, which they did with great enthusiasm.
Then the Spawn sailed away, with only a few bottles of choice liquor as a reward. Tarik ordered his men to ascertain their losses and injuries, and to repair the damage inflicted on their ship. It turned out to not be too serious, and the Spawn was soon declared seaworthy. The men all drank to that.
They spent the night reliving their individual moments of glory in the recent battle. At one point, Mikel’s crazy maneuver with the rope was mentioned.
“I never saw the like,” Leonard said. “Just as calm as could be, as he swung over and knocked down that dirty swine that was trying to shoot the captain.”
Mikel’s face darkened a bit, but in the faint light from the lanterns nobody noticed. The man closest to him clapped him on the back. “It saved the captain’s hide, that’s for sure,” he said. “At least by my reckoning.”
“By mine, too,” Tarik said, emerging from the shadows nearby. “I believe Mikel saved my life today.”
He offered his mug to Mikel’s for a toast and Mikel tapped the edge with enthusiasm.
“That was a crazy thing you did,” Tarik said. “What made you think it would work?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” Mikel answered, chuckling. “I’ve been taught that without action, all is lost.” He repeated his mother’s constant saying without effort, it was so ingrained in him.
“What did you say?” Tarik asked, sharply.
Mikel repeated it. “It’s just a saying, Captain. Have you never heard it?”
Tarik shook his head a bit. “I’m familiar with it,” he said, rather dryly. “It’s my family motto.” He shrugged it off, and changed the subject. “I’ve noticed that your sword style is a bit unusual. Where did you train?”
“Tibercon,” Mikel said, not elaborating.
At the mention of Tibercon, all of the noise around them suddenly ceased, and then started up again at an almost unnatural pitch, as though something forbidden had been said.
Tarik went very still and his eyes took on a faraway stare for a moment, then he focused again on Mikel. He sounded natural enough as he suggested that he and Mikel spar together soon, then clapped him on the back and left to make the rounds through his men.
Johan moved to the empty seat next to Mikel and leaned in. He was very serious despite the strong scent of rum on his breath. “So, you’re from Tibercon?” he asked.
Mikel answered cautiously. “I’ve been there.”
Johan nodded. “You’ll never go back as long as you stay with the Spawn,” he said. “We won’t dock there.”
“Why?” Mikel asked, as this didn’t make a great deal of sense. Port Sinbad was the premier port city of the island kingdoms for several good reasons.
“Never you mind,” Johan said. “It’s all ancient history now. But nothing good ever comes from talking about Tibercon around the captain, just as a word of friendly advice.”
Mikel nodded thoughtfully, his curiosity piqued. Obviously, there was no use pressing the subject right then. If the normally chatty Johan wouldn’t divulge anything about it even while drunk, then it must be a serious reason. Perhaps he could find someone tomorrow that would be a little more forthcoming.
But the next day brought its own set of opportunities, and Mikel soon forgot about the mystery. He hadn’t thought that Tarik was serious about sparring with him, but he was woken up with a gruff request to meet the captain on deck, and before breakfast they did some training. It was an intense session, as Tarik wasn’t one to go easy on anyone, but Mikel held his own.
“Not bad,” Tarik declared at the end. “You fight more like a gentleman than a pirate, but we can fix that soon enough.”
The men that had gathered to watch the sport roared with laughter at this.
Mikel enjoyed his training, and was flattered to be getting attention from his idol. Tarik asked him to work on sharpening up the sword skills of some of the other crew members, and Mikel happily agreed.
With this new responsibility, Mikel was too valuable to be used as a deckhand, and so was informally promoted up the loose chain of command on the pirate ship, which continued as the years went by.
*****
By his eighteenth birthday, Mikel had been the first mate on the Spawn for almost a year. He was still enjoying life as a pirate, and had managed to make and save quite a bit of money from his work. He decided to invest a generous portion of his savings in a load of cacao beans being shipped to Maurana, where the world’s best chocolate was made. He would have made a nice profit, too, if the cargo ship hadn’t been taken by pirates, who sent the precious beans overboard without even realizing what they were. When Mikel found out about it at the next port, he challenged the biggest man he could find to a fistfight. It helped take the edge off Mikel’s disappointment, even though he got banned from that particular tavern for life. And since Tarik didn’t let any of his men make disturbances in port, Mikel was given the choice of leaving the ship or taking fifteen lashes for it. He chose the lashes.
Tarik always delivered any punishments himself, and he didn’t hold back, but he came to Mikel’s cabin later that night to give him a salve for his cuts.
“What were you thinking, lad?” he asked. “You know the rules, and I can’t bend them even for you.”
Mikel glared at him. He was lying face down on his bunk, shirtless, and the cuts were still oozing blood. “I never asked you to,” he said. “And the men would mutiny if you did.” He eyed the salve. “Let me guess, that will hurt.”
Tarik chuckled and sat down by the bunk, unscrewing the lid on the bottle. Mikel wrinkled his nose at the smell. “It will probably hurt worse than the lashes,” Tarik said. “But they’ll heal up a lot faster.” He spread a thick layer over each cut, and there was a quick intake of breath each time from Mikel, but no squealing.
“Brave lad,” Tarik said, laying a hand on Mikel’s shoulder when he was finished.
Mikel snorted.
“I’m sorry about your investment,” Tarik said.
“I’ll just have to start over,” Mikel said. “Damn pirates!”
They both laughed, and shared a drink before Tarik left.
Mikel spent the next week sleeping on his stomach. The cuts healed and joined the rest of his scars, of which he had accumulated quite a few over the years.
; *****
It was shortly after this that Tarik shared with Mikel something he had been considering. It was a night after a hard-fought battle that resulted in three of their own men that had perished being tossed overboard, and left them with the groaning of the wounded. Tarik brought out a bottle of brandy for Mikel and him to share.
It was partly medicinal, as they were sporting various bruises, scrapes and gashes. Mikel had deflected a cutlass with his left forearm, and it continued to bleed through the makeshift bandage. Tarik had taken some shrapnel to his right thigh, and he was digging it out with his dagger.
“How much danger have you seen with me, lad?” Tarik asked.
Mikel’s lips twitched with a bit of a smile that was always elicited by this form of address. He felt like it had been forever since he was a boy. And still, every now and then, Tarik would address him as a lad. “Enough for a lifetime,” he answered. “But we’ve always gotten each other through.”
Tarik took another swig of the brandy and passed it back to Mikel. “True enough,” he said. He clapped Mikel’s right shoulder. “I’ve been thinking lately that the cost is too high,” he said. “And for what? A bit of gold, and a bit of adventure.”
“Now you sound like you’re thinking of settling down, with a wife and a couple of wee ones running about.” Mikel snorted. “Perhaps you could even raise pigs, or chickens.”
Tarik chuckled. “As if I could ever leave the sea,” he said. “And a wife is not in the cards for me. I had the love of my life already, lad, and that’s not the sort of thing that you can replace with an imitation.”
“What happened?” Mikel asked. It was rare that Tarik ever opened up, even to him, and he was curious, as this was the first he’d ever heard of a romantic past.
Tarik was silent for a bit, and his eyes took on a glazed look caused more by memories than the brandy. “It didn’t work out,” he finally said. “But, trust me, love isn’t for those unafraid of pain.”
