by Rob J. Hayes
Keelin scratched at the stubble on his chin, gestured at the chart, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again and scratched at the stubble on his chin.
“Is that an island or an old stain?” Yanic asked of no one in particular, and received no particular answer.
“What about tis whole area here?” said Morley, pointing to a fairly obvious and significant hole in the parchment.
Keelin plucked a dagger from the corner of the parchment it was pinning down and thrust it through the centre of the chart.
“Hey!” shouted Quartermain. “You damage it, you pay for it.”
Keelin turned a dark glare on the man. “You can take it out of the debt you owe me for setting me up with Elaina.”
Yanic snorted. “Aye, Cap’n. Looked like ya hated every moment of that.”
“That woman has ne’er been owt but trouble fer you, Captan,” said Morley, his bright eyes flashing in his dark face. “Even before you were Captan.”
“Hey.” Keelin suddenly felt very defensive of both himself and, foolishly, Elaina. “She and me may have had some problems in the past but… that ain’t even the issue right now. This chart is shit.”
“You aren’t gonna find a good chart of that region.” Quartermain moved over to stand by his thick-headed son. “Problem is, only one fool is brave enough to go anywhere near that forsaken bit of land, and he ain’t about to give up his charts.”
“Who?” demanded Keelin.
“You know who.” Keelin did know who, but he didn’t want to admit it. “That there is the best you’re gonna get. Take it or leave it. Ten silver bits either way, due to your damaging of the merchandise.”
“You were using it as scrap,” Yanic said.
“Was not.”
“There’s an old shopping list on the back.”
Quartermain coughed into his hand. “Surely just suggested supplies for any expedition to those lands, as recommended by the original cartographer.”
“And tis little drawing?” Morley said, pointing to a section of the chart.
Quartermain walked forwards with his head held high and glanced at the chart. “Sea serpent. Clearly the cartographer’s ship encountered one of the giant beasts and thought it best to note down the location as a way of warning for future perusers of the map just such as yourselves. No doubt you would want to avoid that particular location in case there might be a nest of the creatures.”
Morley looked down at the chart again, then back up at Quartermain. “It is a crude drawing of a penis.”
“Sea serpent.”
“Penis.”
“Enough,” Keelin said in his best captain’s voice. “We’ll not be paying a bit for this chart, Quartermain, and I take it as an insult that you would attempt to sell it to us as legitimate.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll just take the ten bits out of your payment for the cargo I purchased from you.”
Keelin advanced on the smaller man with violence a clear intention, but Quartermain stood his ground, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. Behind him, his son stepped forward with a thick wooden truncheon in one hand and a bell in the other. It would only take a moment for him to ring that bell, and then the odds would quickly fall in Quartermain’s favour as workers from the back would rush to their employer’s aid.
“I won’t forget this, Quartermain,” Keelin promised.
“I should hope you will not; it will prevent future misunderstandings. Now then, shall we settle accounts?”
Two hours later – along with enough bits to keep the crew in booze and pussy for a few days – and Keelin could honestly say he’d had more than enough of Fango and the whole damned Isle of Goats. He wasn’t about to say his time with Elaina hadn’t been enjoyable – though he was feeling more than a little sore in more than one area – but given the grief he was receiving from both Yanic and Morley and the undebatable trouble that always seemed to follow Elaina Black about, it was fair to say he was regretting having run into her at all.
After once again making his way through the jungle without being molested by the unnatural spirits that Keelin knew from personal experience dwelled there, they emerged into south port and were greeted by the unmistakeable stench of burnt octopus. A small group of sailors were cooking the unfortunate creature over a fire and periodically spitting alcohol onto its carcass, sending up plumes of flame. Quite what the creature had done to them to deserve such treatment was beyond Keelin, and the meat was long charred past edible, but he knew better than to get involved in the affairs of four foolish, drunken pirates.
The Phoenix was out in the bay, floating languidly in her anchorage, and she wasn’t alone. Keelin counted a small sloop and two longboats, one making the trip from the sloop, and the other returning to shore from his own ship.
The harbour master was nearby, talking to a giant of a man whom Keelin recognised as the one who had paid him particular attention the day before, when they entered Fango. The big man wore sandals, loose-fitting shorts, and nothing but a strap across his chest, upon which a sword was fixed across his back. Keelin guessed him at easily seven feet tall, and his girth was equally impressive. A round belly did little to hide the man’s obvious strength, and he sported arms as wide as most men’s thighs. A black bandana tied his long, dark hair in place, and his beard was just as long and just as braided. Keelin would have put good money on the man being from north of the Five Kingdoms – no doubt a member of one of the ruthless, bloodthirsty tribes that haunted the mountains of that region. He decided to give the man, his two companions, and the harbour master a wide berth. Unfortunately it was at that moment that the harbour master turned, spotted Keelin, and pointed his way.
“Stillwater,” shouted the giant in an accent that confirmed Keelin’s suspicions about his origins.
“Aye?” Keelin shouted back in an accent that hid his similar origins. Keelin had, years ago, gone to great lengths to hide his natural accent. The fewer people that knew he came from the Five Kingdoms, the better.
The giant pushed away from a flimsy railing and started walking towards Keelin with both his companions in tow. The harbour master remained behind, watching eagerly through cruel eyes.
“Captain?” Yanic whispered from behind.
“Let’s just see what he wants,” Keelin replied quietly.
“What if he just takes a swing at ya?”
Keelin reassessed the size of the man swaggering towards him. “Then you get to be captain, Yan.”
The giant stopped at a good ten paces and crossed his arms, giving Keelin the stare of a lifetime. There was a peculiar smell about him: sweat and, unless Keelin was very much mistaken, black powder. To have such a pungent stench of the stuff about the man, it was possible he bathed in it.
“Keelin Stillwater,” the giant boomed in a deep voice, “captain of The Phoenix?”
“Aye,” Keelin said hesitantly. “And you?”
“T’ruck Khan, captain of North Wind.”
Keelin looked out into the bay and the only two ships occupying it. “The sloop?”
“Yes,” said Captain Khan with a definite note of defiance in his voice.
“She looks like a fine little ship,” Keelin said with a friendly smile.
“Little?”
Keelin coughed. “Well… yes.”
A noise resembling a growl escaped from Captain Khan’s lips and he narrowed his dark eyes. “They say you are the best, Captain Stillwater. The best fighter the Pirate Isles has to offer. I wish to challenge you.”
Keelin laughed before realising the other captain was obviously not joking. He then realised his own hands were resting, as they often did, on the hilts of his twin cutlasses, and that seemed a dangerous place for them right then. He quickly held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating manner.
“Why? For calling your ship small?”
“To see which of us is the better.”
“You can be better.”
“Captan,” Morley said with a tug on Keeli
n’s arm.
“Look, friend,” Keelin said, ignoring his quartermaster. “My life is plenty dangerous enough, what with pirating and knowing a great number of unsavoury folk. Last thing I want, or need, is to add duelling with giants to that list. If it makes you feel better, you can tell people we fought and you won.”
“Captan!”
“What is it, Morley?”
“The boat. Coming from The Phoenix.”
Keelin tore his eyes away from the giant wishing to cut him in half and focused on the longboat Morley was pointing at. The very same boat that had, until recently, been docked at his ship. What he saw made his blood both freeze and boil.
“Nice to meet you, Captain Khan,” Keelin said in a voice like steel without even looking at the man. “Perhaps another time.” With that he stormed off towards the longboat that was even now being secured to one of the smaller piers.
“What in the Hells were you doing aboard my ship?” Keelin shouted as Elaina Black gracefully leapt from longboat to pier.
“Your ship?” Elaina asked with a smile. “Interesting.”
She was wearing clothing all as black as her name. Leather boots that ran up to her knees with silver buckles that had been polished to a shine. Tight trousers that did nothing to hide her hips and a low-cut top that did nothing to hide her cleavage, and a dark coat that was completely at odds with the heat of the time of year. Keelin had to admit that, while she did look enticing, she also looked every bit her father’s daughter.
“Yes, Elaina, my ship…”
“Stolen fair and square, was she?”
Keelin resisted the urge to throw the woman into the water. Humiliating her like that would likely only make matters worse, though it would undoubtedly make him feel a lot better.
“Answer my damned question.”
“Just sayin’ hello to a few old friends while they were around, Stillwater. Ya may have… civilised the folk you stole along with the ship, at least to some degree, but many of ’em still remember the good ol’ days.”
“You stay the fuck away from my ship, and my crew, Elaina.”
“Boundaries, is it, Stillwater?” she said, staring into his grey eyes with her sparkling blues. “And what if your crew don’t stay away from me?”
Keelin opened his mouth to reply, despite having no idea what he would say, but was interrupted by a bird somewhere above letting out a screech that sent painful shivers down his spine.
A black-winged monstrosity swooped down behind Elaina and came to a perfect landing on her right shoulder. Keelin noticed her wince, though only for a moment, as the raven’s talons gripped. The bird was larger than any other raven Keelin had ever seen. It had one black eye and one milky white one with a scar that ran through it and down the length of its razor-sharp beak. Again the creature let out a loud screech and focused it malicious gaze on Keelin.
Elaina let out a mocking laugh as Keelin turned and started towards his own longboat. “Better run, Stillwater,” she shouted after him. “Looks like my da is home.”
“Yanic, get back to Fango. Find any of the crew on shore leave and bring them back to the ship.”
“They ain’t gonna be happy ’bout that, Cap’n.”
“I don’t give a fuck if they’re spitting fire. Anyone not aboard in two hours gets left, and they can take up their displeasure with Tanner.”
“All aboard in two hours. Aye, Cap’n.” Yanic ran off in the direction of the jungle.
“Morley,” Keelin continued, “soon as we’re under way I want to know who Elaina spoke to and what the fuck she said. Bloody woman is likely trying to steal the ship out from under me.”
“Can’t steal what’s already hers, Captan,” Morley said quietly.
Keelin glanced back at his quartermaster and shot him a dark look. “Not the time, Morley.”
Chapter 8 - The Phoenix
Two days out from the isle of goats and neither Keelin nor any of his crew had spotted so much as a sail, let alone the distinctive dark-wood hull of The Black Death. Keelin had managed to escape his brief return to Fango without running into Tanner Black and with only minor injuries at the hands of the pirate’s daughter, who had been relatively gentle considering their long estrangement.
The seas were calm, the wind was gusting, and the sky had barely a cloud in sight. It was perfect pirating weather if only they could find themselves some quarry, but as Keelin had ordered them not to stray into any shipping lanes, they were unlikely to find any.
For the first time in a long while Keelin found himself without a course. He was drifting, letting the wind and the sea take him where it would. He didn’t like it. The charts Quartermain had sold him under duress were worthless – any sailor worth a pinch of salt could see that. Worse, the merchant had been truthful when he’d said only one man would have accurate charts of the waters around the Forgotten Empire, and that man was Drake Morrass.
Keelin had no problem with Drake for the most part, but he knew the man wouldn’t give up the charts for nothing. Everybody knew Drake Morrass never did anything that wasn’t in the best interests of Drake Morrass. That left Keelin with two options.
He could attempt to take the charts by force. Given that The Phoenix was no match for the Fortune, either in speed or crew compliment, that course seemed unwise. He could also try to trade for them, though he was fairly certain Drake would demand nothing less than Keelin’s soul for the transaction. His only other option was to forget the whole affair and give up on the Forgotten Empire. Of course, the moment the crew heard about that decision would be the moment he’d have a mutiny on his hands. He’d promised his crew treasure, and they would demand nothing less.
From behind the spokes of the wheel, Keelin spotted Morley approaching. It felt good to take personal command of his ship for a period.
“Captan,” Morley greeted him. “A word, if ya please.”
Keelin passed control of the wheel back to his navigator and waved for Morley to follow as he went to his cabin. Some discussions were best held in private, and there were very few places truly private aboard a pirate ship.
The captain’s cabin wasn’t just his home; it was also Keelin’s sanctuary to escape and distance himself from his crew. It was just one room, but he had sectioned it off into two areas. The first was his living quarters, containing a small cot for sleeping, a single low table with two cushioned chairs, and a large wardrobe. Regular washing in anything but salt water may be a luxury never afforded aboard his ship, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t able to change into a clean set of clothing at will. The second area was for ship business, and it contained a small desk upon which he could look over charts, a secure cabinet in which he could keep those charts, and an entire wall dedicated to paraphernalia he’d collected over the years of his captaincy. Front and centre was the ship’s original flag; she’d long ago been an Acanthian navy vessel flying a strip of green fields and a red sun.
“Drink?” Keelin said as he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a mostly empty bottle of rum and two clay cups. Many captains preferred to deck out their cabins with all sorts of finery, including glasses to serve their guests, but Keelin was generous with his crew’s share of the loot and most of his spare bits went on clothing to fill his wardrobe.
Morley took the cup and threw back the rum, wincing at the taste. “One day, Captan, I will improve your taste in rum.”
Keelin looked at the unlabelled bottle and shrugged. He didn’t really have a taste for rum – one tended to taste the same as any other – but it was cheap and fiery and sometimes that was just what was needed.
“The crew?” Keelin said.
“Ain’t happy, Captan,” Morley said with a knowing nod of his dreadlocked head.
“Any in particular, or just as a whole?”
Morley shrugged. “Smithe is the ringleader, but he ain’t alone, Captan. Tempers be sizzling.”
“What has them riled up?”
“Ain’t just the one issue, Captan. Things
been mounting for a while now.”
“If you’re being purposefully vague, Morley, please feel free to stop.”
“Where to start, Captan? Not much of a shore leave for many or any this time round.”
“Pressing need to be gone from Fango is at fault. I’ll set a course right away and the men can drink and fuck themselves blind as soon as we reach land.”
“Some of the crew take exception to the lack of real pirating. Your… predilection towards taking ships without bloodshed.”
“The men want a fight?” Keelin interrupted.
Morley sucked at his bottom lip. “Some men never feel more alive than when they’re taking another’s.”
“With every fight comes the risk of death. Peaceful encounters are safer.”
Again Morley sucked on his bottom lip. “Some men never feel more alive than when they’re risking theirs.”
Keelin considered the man’s suggestion for a moment before banging the table with his fist. “I am not Tanner Black. I will not slaughter innocent sailors who are willing to surrender. Any crew member not good with that can jump ship at the next port.”
“Don’t reckon it’ll come to that, Captan.”
“Good.”
“Much more likely to come to mutiny.”
Keelin paused with his clay cup in hand. “That isn’t funny, Morley.”
“Not entirely joking, Captan.” Morley quickly glanced at the rum bottle, then away. “Men ain’t much pleased what with you not delivering on the treasure.”
“They get more of a share of the loot we take than the crew of any other ship out there.”
“Aye, and that’s good enough for the most, but not for the all. You promised them riches, Captan, and you ain’t yet delivered.”
“Not like I haven’t been fucking trying. From the moment we heard about that bloody treasure I’ve been looking for a way to navigate the waters around the Forgotten Empire.”
