The Pirate King Ch. 05

"He probably won't try to show up anyway, really. Training tonight will just as like be short, and under attended," Thron said, sighing a little.

Natch nodded. "That's what happens when the men get a sniff of the rum."

Rum? I looked up, confused. "Are we heading to a rum port?"

All three men looked at me. "Cor," Finn said. "He is a pirate."

Natch must have kicked him under the table, because he jumped and cursed. The men must have been talking about me, I realized. "Aye," Natch said. "The men realized how close our port is to where we'll be dropping you off tomorrow's tomorrow, and insisted that we stop."

I nodded. That made sense. Rum ports were sacred among the men, islands where Captains kept large stocks of the beloved liquid hidden away. That way, the men would always have a supply, and you could cut down on drinking on the ship. "Was that what the meeting was about today?"

They looked uncomfortable. "Nay," Finn told me. "T'were about you, I'm afraid."

I frowned and looked to Natch to further explain. But it was Thron who took up the mantle. "Cap was just letting us know where and when we'd be dropping you off. Took a little longer than it should have. Things got -"

"Heated," Natch finished. "Lots of men still want you dead."

I shrugged. Let them try.

"Cap made this little speech, all offhand, like he didn't care and such?" Thron continued. "But we know him, right, and he was pissed. Said you'd been injured and that wasn't okay, because, how'd he put it Natch?"

"A prisoner, just because he isn't able to defend himself against more capable foes, should not be considered an easy target." Natch raised his eyebrows at that but didn't say anything more. "Said you had his full protection, by law of the sea."

Finn nodded, picking up the narrative. "Gods all, Wicky looked as if he was like to blow his top. His men had to calm him down."

"Did he say anything?" I asked, offhand.

Finn frowned. "Say anything about what?"

Natch was the only one who truly knew what I was talking about. "No. How could he? Cap had just called you an easy target; couldn't exactly say he'd been taken down by you just minutes prior, not without losing major face."

"You took down Wicky?" Thron looked from man to man, trying to get some confirmation. He must have found it, because he leaned back and whistled. "That explains his actions."

I shrugged again. "His actions have always had the same explanation."

They all looked to me.

"Fear," I told them. "Besides, it matters not. I'll be gone soon."

"Will you come back?"

I looked up. They were all looking at me, staring very intently. Would I come back after being marooned, is that what they were asking? Did they want me to?

I let my eyes meet Natch's; I had offered to come back for him. They had discussed that I was a pirate; had they discussed this as well? Natch stared back steadily.

"We'll see." They nodded, and I went back to my food.

We'll see.

***

When I got back to the deck, the first thing I did was seek out Hams and thank him for his kindness. "There aren't many who would take the time for a prisoner," I told him. "If there's anything I can do -"

He smiled and patted me on the back. "Just coil your ropes, laddie." As he walked away, I heard him snort. "Prisoner my ass."

I liked Hams.

Wicky stalked the deck, his red cravat acting as a beacon for all. Men scattered to get out of his way. I felt almost guilty for bringing this on them, but in the end I was not in control of Wicky's actions. I kept my head down and coiled my ropes, as instructed.

I skipped out early to go and help Cookie prepare. "Not gonna jump out my window again?" he growled.

I shrugged and set to work chopping ingredients.

I served all the men in due order, then went and sat with Finn and Natch. I was surprised that Thron had joined us again, and had brought a friend from the training sessions, a fellow who went by the name of Gret.

I nodded my acceptance and sat watching the door. The Captain should walk through it any minute, to get his dinner. I had things to say to him, I realized. Apologies to make. I ran through possibilities in my head, trying to find an acceptable order of words that would make him understand where I sat. Understand that the hurt I had felt was all my own creation. Gods all, that man made me feel like boy. A bumbling, idiotic, foolish boy.

"He's not coming, lad." Finn pulled me from my pretend conversations. "He took his dinner in his room today."

"Not that he'll eat it," muttered Natch. I frowned at him. "Ghost, you made it. You think he could bring himself to eat anything you touched right now?"

"What?" I looked around at them, found no eyes willing to meet mine. "What do you mean?"

"Have you talked to him recently?"

"Yes," I answered Natch. "This morning."

"And?"

I scowled. I didn't want to remember that conversation. "He blames me. Wants me off his ship."

"Ghost..."

It was a warning, and a fair one. I knew that what I had said was untrue. The men waited.

"He has guilt," I finally acquiesced. "He thinks he hurt me." It was painful to say aloud.

Natch put a hand on my arm. "You need to talk to him."

"I know."

"Gonna be hard," Finn informed me. "He's sequestered himself away in that room of his, won't even entertain Wicky."

"At the rum port," suggested Gret. "We all disembark there."

Natch shook his head. "Too public."

But Finn suddenly looked very worried. "Aye, lads, the rum port. D'you remember Cap before we came south?"

Gret and Thron leaned back, faces suddenly serious. I sat up straight, concerned by their reactions.

"You don't think -"

"A habit is a habit."

"And if he's feeling this bad..."

"Aye, but that was something else entirely. This shouldn't even compare."

"Sorry," I interrupted. "But Natch and I are lost."

Three sets of intense eyes turned to me. I could see calculations running in each, trying to decide how much to say.

"Cap likes his drink," Finn finally said.

"Especially when -"

"Cap," Finn said forcefully, "likes his drink. That's all there is to it."

The other two men met his eyes, then nodded. I looked to Natch, who only shrugged.

I turned back to the others. "But this wasn't a problem before?" I needed to understand what was happening. If they were worried about the Captain, if there was something that was wrong...

"It's worse when he's upset," Finn conceded. "Just be mindful, lad. Bad decisions have been made at the rum ports."

"Ships have been lost," Thron said quietly.

"I'll be mindful," I promised.

Training that night was neither short nor poorly attended. Men who I had never met nor taken the time to know their faces showed up, forming a circle around me as I walked to gather my training blades. The enclosure set my teeth on edge, making me look for any ambush, but they all were simply watching me, silent. I gathered my supplies and moved towards Natch.

"What's going on," I asked him quietly.

He shook his head, his eyes on wrapping his hands. "Word got 'round that you were training." He stood and stretched. "Looks like more of the boys want some guidance."

I frowned. I hadn't really been giving guidance, just trying to get these land boys to fight half decently so I could get some sort of a work out. Still, if there were more of them, maybe they wouldn't tire as quickly...

I made my way to my practice spot. "Alright," I said, crouching low into a defensive guard. "Who's first?"

***

Ichor showed up about halfway through training. I put the kid I had in a headlock down upon the wooden planks and turned to meet him. We stood, mirrored, our shoulders squared. Thron was making his way through the group, no doubt to turn him away, but this man was no threat. I waved him off and he stood down, frowning.

"Why are you here?" I asked Ichor. He shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable.

"I want to be better." He wrung his hands, not meeting my eyes. "I didn't know... I mean, I thought I was..."

I pointed vaguely at the men around him. "Check him for knives." When he was cleared, I sparred with him, and threw him almost instantly. I could see his body tense when mine was on top of his, and eased off immediately.

"Stop planting your feet; you'll do better if you have more mobility." I reached down to help him up. "Again?"

He looked up at me, suspicion clear on his face. I waited.

"Again," he agreed. He took my hand and we began.

***

The rum port turned out to be a nice little island, complete with sandy beaches and fresh water and not a soul for miles.

"Why didn't they just maroon me here," I muttered to Natch as we rowed up to the beach.

He laughed. "And have you drink all our rum?"

Fair point.

It took quite a few trips to get everyone over from the ship. Natch and I were on one of the last shuttles. By the time we reached the beach, the party was already in full swing. We were met by a grinning and ruddy-faced Finn, who pressed a tankard to each of our hands before spinning away, laughing.

"Lightweight," Natch accused softly, and I laughed.

I nursed my tankard the whole night long. I could have drank much more and been alright, but I had been without alcohol for three years and didn't want any surprises.

Besides, I needed to watch the Captain.

He sat by himself, a whole bottle of rum sequestered for his personal use. I watched him work his way through it, his body slumping further and further into the darkness as the bonfire flickered and leapt.

"Natch," I said quietly. My companion had been quite into the rum himself. He leaned against me at his name, humming happily. I was surprised to feel his warmth; Natch did not often touch others so intimately. I draped an arm over him gently, happy to see him feeling so safe around me.

"Ghost," he slurred. "You'll come back for us, right?"

I squeezed his shoulders and didn't make any promises.

When I looked up to the Captain again, he was staring right at me.

I froze, my eyes locked with the Captain's. He was arranged over a log, his legs spidering out before him, that black cloak of his making it seem as though he simply expanded into the universe. As I watched, he took another swig from his bottle, swaying slightly. Although it was hard to tell from here, the angle of the bottle as he moved it to his lips made it look like it was nearly empty.

This couldn't be good.

The Captain pulled himself up, staggering dangerously close to the fire. The light of the blaze lit him like nothing I had ever seen, making his eyes shadows but his hair pure light. He was judgement, and I waited for it to come down on me.

To my ears, it seemed the entire beach become silent but for him and I. I know that this wasn't true; men were singing, the ocean responding, the fire crackling and sending sparks up to keep the stars company. But the Captain's eyes held me. Nothing existed but for us.

He lurched, making the last few steps towards me. Then, he pulled out a knife, and everything slammed back into reality.

The knife was at Natch's throat before either of us had time to react. It was a thin blade, sharp and refined, a perfect fit for the Captain. One false move could pierce Natch's neck in an instant. He was frozen, his arms up, his eyes huge and glued to the sand beneath his feet.

"Cap," he whispered. The knife jerked and he stopped talking.

The beach had truly fallen silent now. All eyes were on us. My eyes were on the Captain. He was swaying where he stood, his gaze unfocused, the knife held surprisingly steady. I could see a bit of blood gathering at the point. Natch's breath was growing quick.

"Captain," I said quietly. His brows drew together, as if he were listening to something far away. I reached out and gently pushed his hand down, freeing Natch from the blade. He gasped and spun away, collapsing on the sand and scrabbling out of view.

The Captain cast about, seeming confused. My hand still on his, I worked to remove the knife from his grasp. "Sir," I let myself say, my voice low and intimate. At that word, he let me have the knife, his gaze traveling up to my face.

"Oh," he said, sounding surprised. "It's you." His body lurched, his knees giving out beneath him. "Oops," he muttered as he dropped. "Fuck."

I went down with him, unwilling to have this man kneel before me. He ended up on his knees in the sand, still unsteady, my arms caught around his waist loosely to anchor him. I felt him sigh, all through his body. I felt him. His skin gave me chills.

"It's you," he repeated. I nodded.

"I'm here." My voice was fragile, delicate like the way I felt, the way it was to be so close to him. I was here. I couldn't be anywhere else.

"I'm sorry," I heard him slur. He lightly rested his face on my collarbone.

I shushed him, pressing my lips to his temple. He had nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. I felt his hand travel up my arm, clumsily make it around my neck. I let it settle there, felt my breathing settle into his. He was perfect, this was perfect, and I was never going to let him go.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again. I tightened my grasp around his waist and he settled into my arms. Nothing had ever felt so comfortable as this. Nothing had ever felt so right. "Don't go," I heard his voice say, heard him plead, and my soul broke against him and reformed as something better, something altogether new and completely incredible and I knew that I would never be able to truly leave him again.

I looked up and found a sea of eyes, judging and watching and waiting. "I'm taking him back to the ship," I stated. I made my voice hard, tried to shield him with it. How had he become so fragile, gone from dangerous to in danger in such a flash? I wouldn't let anything hurt him, I knew. I would keep him safe. "He needs water and rest."

"The hell you are." Wicky stepped forward. He was flushed like the rest of them, from anger perhaps rather than the drink. His cravat was gone, the bruises I had given him clear and brutal. "Him in that state. You, as you are?"

I tensed at the implication. Against my chest, the Captain squirmed, muttering something. I gently kissed the top of his head and he fell quiet. My eyes never left Wicky's, and I could feel them filling up with all the things that had kept me alive, all the pieces that should scare a mortal soul.

"Like hell I'm letting you take advantage of him," he continued, seemingly unaware of the danger he was in. He took a step forward, a blade appearing in his hand.

I still had the knife I had taken from the Captain. I raised it, then, showed it to Wicky. A warning. The air was thickening, something coming to a head that had been brewing for quite some time. I could finally kill this man, I thought. The ocean would have it's offering.

Then movement caught my attention. Thron had come up beside me, his big body lending weight to my threat, weight I might have lacked while carrying the Captain's. On my other side, Natch appeared, small, maybe, but he carried the least amount of land of all these men. Perhaps that made him the most dangerous; perhaps that just made me trust him more.

Other men began to move. I watched, dumbfounded, as man after man from the training group stood and leant their support to Natch and Thron and, I supposed, me. Wicky's face grew dark, his eyes flicking from figure to figure. He could not have seen this coming;Ihad not seen this coming.

The idiots, I thought. Aligning with a prisoner who throws them on their backs for exercise. Who can't even get things right with their Captain, might have put them all in danger. Showing their allegiance like this, just before I was to leave. Drunk. Outnumbered. On land.

I could have taken Wicky, maybe. I could have taken Wicky and his one or two dedicated lackeys. All of them, perhaps, if I had someone to watch the Captain. But this show of support was forcing the other men to pick sides, and it was in danger of becoming an all out mutiny. I couldn't have that, not here, not now. Not with the Captain so delicate in my arms. I looked down at the knife in my hand.

"Natch," I said quietly. "Get them to stand down."

He did so immediately, sheathing his knife and turning to the others. I tossed the blade in my hand over to Wicky. "Keep hold of that," I said casually, as if this show of force had not just occurred, as if Wicky had not just learned that some men on his ship would fall behind me in a fight against him, as if I had not just commanded his men without words and without asking. "He'll want it back when he's sober."

"You don't tell me what to do," he snapped, but he picked up the knife all the same.

"Natch, Finn," I called. "We're going back to the ship. Wicky will come with us." I scooped up the Captain, holding him in the crook of my arms like a babe. He was light, so much lighter than I'd expected. He made a small noise against my chest. His arms were so loose around my neck, so weak. I held him tight. "He'll bring whatever men he sees fit." I turned to head back to the boats.

"Ghost -" Thron said warningly, his eyes hard on Wicky. I paused in my path next to him.

"This is for the Captain," I told him quietly. "We need not fear Wicky; he is inconsequential. The Captain is what matters."

Thron nodded, but he didn't look especially happy.

In the end, Wicky brought four of his bigger goons. I brought Finn, Natch, and the Captain. All of them were drunk, and I was confident that if it came to it, I could dispatch every single one of them and still get the Captain back to the ship safely. But it wasn't needed; the boat made it safely back to the ship.

Wicky tried to say he should carry the Captain up to the deck. I leveled my gaze at him for just a moment, just long enough that he would understand how little I cared about his opinion, then I hooked the Captain to my chest and climbed up one-handed, as smoothly as I could.

He was not doing so well, the Captain. Halfway to the ship he has stopped speaking coherently, just quietly babbled and tried to run his hands through my hair clumsily. I shushed him over and over, kissing his temple, and eventually he had calmed and simply rested heavy in my arms. I was worried about him, about how much he had drank. He still held the bottle clutched tight in his hand, wouldn't let it go, would yell if we tried to pry it from his grasp. It was a constant reminder of how we had gotten to this point, the near-empty bottle clinking and catching on doorways and bodies as we moved through the ship.

When we reached his room, I gently laid him down on his bed. He looked so beautiful, his hair spilling out over the covers. I watched him try to raise the bottle to his lips.

"No," I reprimanded quietly, pushing it away. He whimpered, but let me keep the liquor from him. I turned to Wicky. "I'm staying with him tonight."

"Like hell you are." The first mate was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, all four of his goons behind him. "The Captain needs his privacy."

"The Captain," I said firmly, "needs to be watched. He could hurt himself."

Wicky scoffed. "This isn't his first time doing this. He did fine without you, he'll do fine when you're gone. Come on, I'm locking you up."

I shrugged. They couldn't keep me away, not really. I walked over to the window and opened it. "Fresh air," I explained. Wicky rolled his eyes and hurried me along.

Wicky took me to the cells. A week on the ship, and finally I was getting to sample the cell's hospitality. One of the cages was opened for me.

"You'll stay here all of tomorrow," he told me. "Then the next day, I'll be rid of you. You're bad for this crew, you're bad for the Captain."

I let him walk around me as he would. Nothing would keep me from my Captain. As he tied up my arms and legs, I didn't pay him much attention. When would these men learn that knots -