The Pirate King Ch 03

Part of an ongoing series - if you're just joining us, please go back and read chapters one and two! We'll still be here when you get back:)

Weekly is still working for me, so expect that to be our schedule from now on, +/- a day.

*****

I rushed into the mess, knowing it would be empty but hoping Cookie would still be there.

"No food until," he stopped and stared at me, naked from the waist down. "You should not be out like that."

"Dressing would have taken too much time." I didn't have time. I didn't have anything, not self respect, not a soul, not anything. Endorphins were crashing down, leaving nothing to cover up the hole the Captain had ripped in my stomach earlier. I needed to do something, anything, to get myself back to normal, to return my body to the state it should be in. I should be strong. I should be everything. I should not be reduced to nothing by a man who I had only just met.

On top of everything, I didn't understand why what had just happened was bothering me so much. Not bothering me; killing me. Ripping up bits of my soul like sails with rot, rather than the sturdy canvas I knew I should be. It was just casual sex, I told myself angrily. Nothing new to me.

I thought you were okay with being used

, the Captain had said. I was, I really was. Hell, one time I had sailed a ship of gold into a siren's channel just to hear her song. She had held me for as long as her children counted the loot, then tried to kill me.

She had tried to kill me, and it hadn't hurt as much as this did.

I tried to reign in my frustration. I was being unreasonable again. I had fun; I had more than fun. The Captain was incredible. I should be thankful, take the good where it could be found. It was a small miracle that he had even let me touch him again.

Be thankful. I listened to myself think and felt the ocean rise within me. Anger leaked out of me like the sweat that glistened on my body. I had been weak, had allowed myself to become distracted from my goals, I had not stood for what I knew to be right. I remembered the Captain's words the night before and echoed them to myself now:

This doesn't feel good.

I leaned out the port hole in the kitchen. "What kind of ship is it?"

"You're naked."

"

Ship

, Cookie."

Cooks always know the gossip. "Word is, Indiaman. British make, or maybe French, hard to tell these days, but flies a Brit flag. Tough buggers, but then - hey, what do you think you're doing?"

I was leaning out the window, most of my bulk outside the ship, anchored only by my knees and a few fingers as I tried to catch a glimpse of the ship we were chasing down. An Indiaman meant fast, but heavily armed. We were on a schooner, which meant faster, so we'd be there soon enough. But what would we do when we caught her? We didn't have half the weaponry the larger ship did, and with all probability what we had was for shit.

I knew enough to guess what the captain meant to do, a maneuver called the twist. It involved spinning the boat around 180 degrees, faster than you really should, and hitting your opponent with a full side of cannon before they had time to react. I was well familiar with the move. Been on a boat or two that had pulled it successfully. Been on a boat or three that hadn't. I knew it was risky.

I leaned out a little farther and caught my first sight of the ship. We were bearing down on the Indiaman fast, her Union Jack snapping in the wind. Fucking Brits, real pricks about not surrendering. I pulled myself back into the port hole.

"Big guy," I told Cookie. "Probably 40 cannon. You guys usually chase that kind of stuff down?"

He nodded.

"It go okay?"

He bristled. "The crew knows what they're doing."

"Sure." I had my reservations about a crew led by the Captain at this junction. I leaned my head out the window again. "What's the ratio?"

"Ratio?"

"Yeah, Cookie, the kill ratio." I felt bad when he jumped at the snap in my voice. I didn't mean to be short with him.

"Two of theirs for every one of ours. And we don't strike first."

"Shit." This could take hours. And

We don't strike first,

what was that kumbayah shit? These were Brits, for gods sake. Threatening to kill two of them for each pirate they killed wasn't going to do anything.

I had a solution. It would make things go a lot smoother for both sides, save a lot of ammo. And it would probably bring the Captain back to me faster.

I felt a shiver pass through me at that and hated myself. I was done with him. He didn't care for me, would use my body and reject my soul. I couldn't keep doing this to myself; I had seen what happened when captains tried to enter harbors that would have nothing to do with them. I would not rip myself apart on the shoals of his approach, just for some dream of fresh water. Or love.

I shut that thought down so quickly it was almost as if I had not thought it. Almost.

So I would not do this to bring the Captain back. This, I would do for myself. A special treat to bring myself back to myself. I turned to Cookie. "Can you keep a secret?"

He gave me a look.

"You're going to have to. You got rope?"

"This is a ship. We have rope."

"Good." I grabbed the length he handed me and threw it from the window. I spooled it out until it drug in the water, then tied it off to the table bolted to the floor.

"

Do not

," I told Cookie, "cut this for any reason. Understand?"

Cookie nodded.

"Okay. I need knives."

"Not my knives," he moaned. "Couldn't you have gotten them from the Captain's room?"

I shrugged. I wasn't going to explain my frustration with the Captain to Cookie. "Pirates are funny about their knives."

"And cooks aren't?"

"You'll get them back." I didn't bother making any more arguments than that. Cookie knew my word was good. He groaned again but ended up handing over two of his sharpest blades. I wrapped up the larger one in cloth and twine, tying it to my waist. The smaller one I would hold between my teeth for easier access.

I stripped off my shirt, folding it on the kitchen table. Automatically I went to tie my hair back and found it too short, the thin wisps gracing my scalp nothing like what I was used to. I scowled.

Cookie caught the motion. "It'll grow back."

"Yeah." I couldn't deal with that loss too, not right now. I leaned out the window again. We were almost on the Indiaman. I turned back to Cookie. "Remember -"

"Don't cut the rope, yeah." He looked at me. "You know what you're doing?"

I did. I finally had a plan and I was going to stick to this one. "Are you going to ask me that every couple hours?"

"If you keep acting like this. Absolutely."

I scowled deeper and leapt from the window.

It hurts, to hit water from that height, but I'd had practice at making my body like a needle and I pierced the waves exactly how I needed to, slipping beneath the currents like the dolphins that often graced ships' bows. The cold water shocked me, washed me clean of the sweat and the haze that had invaded my space ever since I'd first seen the Captain on the deck of this strange ship. I stayed down as long as I could, letting my lungs burn, feeling the ache of oxygen leaving my body until I couldn't stand it anymore. When I came back up I was pleased to find I'd timed my jump exactly right and the Indiaman wasn't too far away. I slipped the small blade between my teeth and used my powerful arms to propel myself through the water toward the larger ship.

I reached the anchor with relatively little trouble. The Indiamen were well built, had to give credit to her Majesty and her engineers, and it threw up less wake than I was used to. I clambered up the anchor and into the belly of the ship.

I knew that I would have to hurry to make it to the gun deck before the ships started trading blows. I stopped only long enough to grab what I needed from her kitchen.

Brits. Won't surrender to a pirate, but they're terrible superstitious.

***

Aboard the pirate schooner, the men waited with bated breath for the first salvo of cannon fire as they drew closer and closer to the merchant ship. These battles were always long, and could be bloody, especially when they enacted their tax of two dead combatants for every pirate killed.

"Ready," called their quartermaster. "Wait. Wait..." They needed to wait for the first provocation. It was part of their orders.

But the roar of the cannons never came.

***

Up on deck, the Captain stood with his first mate.

"Something's wrong."

"You should have been up here sooner," Wicky grumbled again.

The Captain snapped his spyglass closed. "You only came up when I did, Wicky." He slowly turned his head and raised an eyebrow. "Enjoying the peaceful sounds of midday?"

Wicky turned bright red.

The Captain turned his attention back to the ship. "They should have attacked by now."

"I wasn't even listening," Wicky protested.

The Captain didn't respond.

"Made me afraid to leave my room, you did."

But the Captain was focused on movement occurring on their quarry. "Look." He snapped his spyglass back open. "The sails are coming down."

"Coming what?"

"Down." He watched the movement of the crew in his spyglass. "I think they're surrendering?"

Wicky shook his head. "Cap, they're Brits."

"Aye." The frowning man looked out through his instrument.

"And we've only been chasing them less than an hour."

"Aye, Wicky. But look."

The two men watch the sails come down, slowing the ship to a pace which made their speed seem ridiculous. They would quickly pass them at this rate.

The Captain snapped spyglass shut. There was no denying what was happening. "What made them decide to surrender now?"

Wicky swallowed. "Captain."

"Do you think this is some sort of trick?" he murmured thoughtfully. "Should we be prepping for a boarding?"

"

Captain

." The Captain gave him his attention, brows pulled tight. But Wicky was just pointing, a slight tremor creeping up his arm.

The British flag had come down with the sails. Running up the mast in its place was a white flag, crude dark designs bleeding against the bright sky.

"Is that," the Captain started, stopping just to stare.

But his first mate didn't need him to finish the sentence. "I think so."

The reverse skull and crossbones flapped across from them, black skull painted sloppily over a simply X. The Captain and first mate stared at it, shocked, as it peaked on the mast.

"

Fuck,

" the Captain said, and turned to give his orders to the crew.

***

It was a much easier swim on the way back, the ships veering closer and closer with each passing moment. They'd already come about, turning the ship around with the twist's sharpness even though there'd been no real need. That was smart, I thought. It was always better to have more practice under your belt. That did mean, however, that I had to swim to the far side of the ship to get to the rope Cookie should be guarding.

I found the rope right where I'd left it, thank all the gods the sea had ever birthed. I could have gotten into this ship the way I had the Indiaman, true, but my shirt was in the kitchen and my pants in the Captain's room. It was a long way to move from the anchor block to this part of the ship fully naked.

I hung from the rope and set my sights on Cookie's window. But I wasn't ready to head back to the ship yet; I needed to wash the adrenaline and blood from my body, become the person I was supposed to be. The sea felt good against my bare skin, and I wrapped myself in the rough threads and let the waves wash me clean of blood and the flour I had used to coat my body, scrubbing my hair in the swell and chop. I stayed until I felt clean, until the ocean's pull no longer felt like a judgement.

Only when I was thoroughly scrubbed did I pull myself up the rope, hand over fist, and back through the window. Cookie looked up to my dripping face as I slithered over the metal frame.

"Kicked a hornet's nest, you did. Been people runnin' and shouting for the past twenty minutes."

I shrugged the ocean from my back and tried to readjust to confinement. Cookie handed me a towel and I scrubbed dry. I begged clean water from him to wash the worst of the taste of sea from my body, returned his knives, and began to make my way back to the bedroom, shirt in hand. I paused in the doorway and looked back the the pinched cook unwrapping his knife.

"Hey, Cookie?" He looked up. "Wash that before you use it."

"Aye, boy," he said, eyes big. "I know."

***

I made it back to the Captain's suite without running into anyone, which was a bit of a miracle. Cookie was right; the ship was a hive of activity. I could hear people shouting, running above my heads with an intensity that made me frown. Were they always like this, or did they not realize the ship had already surrendered?

Once I was back in the Captain's room, I grabbed up my breeches and pulled my shirt over my head. I saw no point in being cold, and it sounded like the Captain would be a while. I settled down in bed with one of his books.

I was proud that I didn't even jump when the Captain burst through the door. He took me in, lazily sprawled on his bed, not where he had left me, and raised an eyebrow.

I had no time for his judgements, his assumptions I would listen to his words. "I got cold."

"I'll take this over you running amok." I was ready for him to come and try to control me again, in the way that he had. I had convinced myself that this was no different than the control that had been wielded over me by so many others, decided that his violence lay hidden somewhere under the surface. It lay in the daggers he dug into my soul when he laughed at my assumption that this could have been more; it lay in the way he smiled as he told me he would use me. I had been preparing myself ever since I had returned to his room to stand against his strange power, building walls to help me stay safe. So I was completely shocked when when ignored me completely and walked over to his swords.

He tossed me a saber. "Know how to use this?"

"Hold here," I pointed at the hilt. "Pointy end."

He gave me a serious look.

"Yes, I know how to use a sword. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that." I got out of bed; he looked genuinely worried. "It's got to be serious if you're arming me."

"It'll be fine. Just stay here." He turned to go.

Seeing he had no intention of explaining anything to me, I lunged for the door and managed to keep it shut. "No." My bulk moved to block his path and I heard him sigh. "Explain."

"There might be an ambush. Nothing to worry about, just. The ship is acting strangely."

"Ours?"

"No, the other."

"Oh." I tilted my head. It shouldn't be. The men that had been left had very strict instructions, and I would hate to have to kill anyone else. "Strangely how?"

He made a bit of a face before the words left his mouth. "They surrendered."

"Isn't that good?"

"It would be, but." I saw him hesitate, saw a moment pass before his eyes. I wanted to know that moment, to hold it, investigate, but it was gone before I could really get a glimpse. "There's a flag." He kissed me, and my body melted involuntarily into his. It was so perfect, the way he held me, and he caught me so by surprise that my defenses had not had time to be fully up. I was lost to him the moment he touched his hands to my hips, let alone his lips to mine. He took advantaged of my weakness and moved me aside. "I have to go; stay put, this is pirate's business."

As he moved out the door, he stopped and looked at me, a moment of hesitation lost on my love-shocked form. I stood, still not recovered from the kiss, sword hanging loosely from my hand. He reached out and touched my wrist.

I jumped.

"Be careful," he said, so softly I might have imagined it. Then he was gone.

I put his words from my mind, along with the kiss. I couldn't handle it. He was a distraction. I had washed him from my soul in the sea.

But what had he said? A flag? I moved to the window and looked out. We were pulling up beside the Indiaman. Snapping up on her mast was the reverse skull and crossbones. The one I'd put up.

It was a joke, really. A little calling card we'd always left when we'd taken ships like that. We'd called it our ghost flag, for our ghosted ships, but it didn't actually mean anything. It was just a skull, and an X, and shitty ones at that. I shouldn't have put it up, maybe, but it had felt so natural after the ease of everything else. Like riding a horse, except I didn't ride horses. Like coiling a rope. Like tying a knot. Do it enough times, you just have to complete all the steps. It was nothing to get worked up about, just an inside joke from a past time in my life.

I suppose inside jokes are a lot less funny from the outside. And maybe I had gone a bit over the top.

Man, I thought a little sourly. They weren't going to be happy when they realized I'd painted it in blood.

***

It was hours before the captain came back. He looked weary, exhausted by something that wasn't physical. I immediately put down the book, a treatsie on maritime law, and turned to sit on the edge of the bed.

I had spent the last few hours practicing for this, preparing for his return. I knew, I knew the effect he had on me, knew that I was weak for him, and wasn't going to slip again. And yet, the moment he walked through that door, his shoulders hunched and those thick brows so furrowed they nearly touched, all thoughts fled my mind but concern for him. "You okay?"

He sat down at his desk and began writing furiously, filling a sheet of paper as I watched, then starting on another one. I watched him write harder and harder, until suddenly his nib broke, splashing ink everywhere.

"Fuck!" He threw the papers across the room.

"Hey!" Not knowing what I was going to do when I got there, I found myself moving towards him through the rustling air. I knelt beside the morose figure slumped in his chair, drawn inexplicably by his pain. A moth to flame, my flamable wings in danger of being consumed.

"What is going on?"

"Nothing. I told you, it's fine, it's fucking nothing."

"Yeah." I put my hand on his arm and he pulled away. How quickly I'd forgotten everything I'd thought to myself in the hours he'd been gone. How easy it felt, to comfort him. "Really seems like nothing to me."

"You wouldn't understand," he finally said.

That brought me right back. Nothing but a prisoner, he reminded me. The anger arose, but for some reason it only fed my attempts to console him. "Try me."

He scoffed.

"I'm not a child." I took his hand. "And I can tell you're frightened by something."

"I'm not." But he didn't move his hand away.

I sat there silently, waiting on him. His hand tightened for a moment in mine, then relaxed. He sighed. "Did you see the flag?"

"Yes." I waited for him to say something else, but he just stared straight ahead. "What about it?" I prompted.

I expected to hear something about ghosts, some superstitious nonsense I could laugh at to make him feel better, or maybe about how it was made of blood, but what I did not expect to hear was;

"It's the banner of the King."

He said it so grimly, as if it were a death sentence. As if he had just proclaimed someone mortally wounded, their guts spilling over the operating table, and he was the one telling them they'd never make it back in.

"The king?" I tried to keep my voice light, tried not to squeeze his hand too tight. "Which king?" I knew which fucking king. I couldn't believe he'd done this, couldn't believe -

"The Pirate King. The King of the Sea." He ran his free hand through his hair. "Never thought I'd see it this far south."

"The Pirate King." I repeated the words slowly, tasted them in my mouth. It tasted like blood, and salt water, and my soul leaving my lips as I choked on the two mixed. He'd never expected to see his flag this far south; I hadn't expected to hear that name. And now, twice in one day. Funny, I thought angrily, how fate works. "Cookie said you used to work under him."