MF - Saviour of Ships - #6 Arrgh Avast Ye Scurvy Lubber

 

(Josie Sayz: This is a story of mine that I started writing several years ago, and I finally got around to editing it. It is based off a MERP_UK game that an old friend and I started working on together. The game got lost very early on and will never be revived. I originally wrote the story for the old friend that I was working on the game with, however, as I know he will never get to read it, as we are no longer friends, I am quite proud of it. I’m finally over the emotional attachment and am ready to edit my story and share it.
Part 1: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-1-blackout.html

Part 2: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-2-awakening.html

Part 3: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-3-serpents-tongue.html

Part 4: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-4-cerulean-eyes.html

Part 5: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/12/mf-saviour-of-ships-5-pillage-village.html)

 

Arrgh! Avast Ye, Scurvy Lubber!

Swinging open the batwing door, Peter’s shoulders drooped. The bouncing ditty of the piano was accompanied by a rich, reedy, airy-squeak of an accordion. Cheers blared out to his left, as a man hooked arms with one of the waitresses and the two skipped about in a roundabout way, before another man grabbed her arm and began spinning her around. Glasses clonked. Men swayed across the bar. Peter’s heart dropped to his stomach. Glancing at the tables full of men, he lowered his sight to his shoes. His insides trembled. Inhaling a shaky breath through his nose, Peter took a step forwards. ‘What do I tell Halaken?’ he worried, as his intestines twisted into knots. ‘I lost two of our men.’ His chest shuddered. ‘I, personally, rowed them to their doom.’ His stomach lathered. As a juicy, steaming, slab of beef wafted up his nostrils, he threw a hand to his stomach. The acid churned away at his insides, bubbling back up his body. Pinching his eyes tight, he forced a swallow. Lowering his sight to the floor, his legs trembled, as he took a step forward. ‘Halaken will never forgive me,’ he told himself, as someone swept over the knot on a beam he had been staring at. His organs swirled. ‘I don’t even forgive me.’

Sucking in a breath, he balled his hands into fists at his sides. His heart tremored. His legs quaked. As a round of drinks were clanked and cheers roared, to his right, Peter forced his feet forward. Keeping his eyes fixated with the flickering flames, in the fireplace at the far end of the room, everything around him blurred. Shouts and jeers rang out over the tables to his right. Cheers and clanking glasses emerged from the bar to his left. His heart raced. Keeping his feet moving, he paced towards the back of the room. His chest jittered. Lowering his eyes back to the floor, he swerved towards the left corner table, where Halaken sat. His gruff tone carried over to Peter’s ears. “If only we could get inside,” Peter heard him say.

Stopping at the head of the table, Peter stared at the empty chair on the table’s end. Forcing a swallow down his closing throat, Peter hardened his stare. Seeping a shaky breath, Peter cleared his throat. “Peter!” gasped Captain Halaken. “You’re here.”

“Listen, Captain,” Peter muttered lowering his lids, having glanced at the two empty seats that his friends once occupied.

“Thought yer weren’t gunna make it,” chuckled Hughes. Scrunching his face, Peter seeped in a breath. He clenched his fists tighter. His nails stabbed into his palms.

“Captain,” Peter’s voice faltered. His chest shuddered.

“Take a seat,” the captain sang.

“I can’t,” Peter squeaked. “Captain, there’s something I have to tell you… it’s Brandon… and Sanders… they-”

“Are right ‘ere,” boomed a voice, over his left shoulder. With a sharp sniff, Peter threw his head to the left. His eyes shot wide. His brow puckered. A large, round man with dark hair tied back in a bow, beamed back at Peter. Dropping into his seat, the man clattered a bundle of glasses onto the table. A hand thudded to his back. Gasping, Peter flung his head to his right.

“Got one f’ you too, Petey!” exclaimed a sandy-haired man, holding a pint glass out in front of Peter. Feeling his heart crash against his ribcage, Peter exhaled a shaky breath.

“Brandon! Sanders!” he cried, his hands trembling, as he took the glass. His stomach swirled. “How are you-” he gasped. “How did you-” His eyes gawked open, fixed on his friends.

Dropping into his seat, Peter’s eyes bulged at Brandon. A V-necked, flaxen shirt draped down his chest. Scraped back from his face, Brandon’s hair gripped together at the back of his head, in an oat coloured bow. Tilting his head to the right, Peter leant forwards, in attempt to get a better look at Brandon’s face. Clean shaven, the right side of Brandon’s face shone under the candle light. Feeling Peter’s stare, Brandon turned towards his crewmate, with a smile. Gawking, Peter gasped. “You alright?” asked Brandon, with a chuckle at Peter’s open-mouthed expression. Peter’s bottom lip trembled, as he mumbled the beginnings of many words. Nodding, Peter let out a shaky breath. The left side of Brandon’s face was almost symmetrical to his right.

“Wh-wh, what happened to your-” Peter stuttered, pointing as his own cheek.

“Yer didn’t expect me ta still be bleedin’ now, did ya?” laughed Brandon, slapping a hand to Peter’s shoulder. As a gasp escaped him, a smile swept across Peter’s face.

“I’m just amazed you’re alive,” Peter exclaimed through twinkling eyes. Turning to Sanders, he added, “Both of you.”

“Same here,” Sanders chuckled.

Peter’s pulse pounded through his temples. His heart raced. Thousands of thoughts swept through him. His brain buzzed. As his palms dampened, Peter spun his head from Brandon, to Sanders and back again. “What happened?” he gasped. “How did you get back? I thought you were dead,” he squeaked.

“Aye,” beamed Brandon. “Don’t yer worry, Little Petey.”

“It’s really wasn’t that bad,” Sanders told him. “After loosenin’ our bondages, we managed t’ swim across to Fructi Forté.”

“You swam all that way?” Peter gasped. His brow rose, as his eyes widened.

“You bet we did,” Brandon chuckled. Peter’s lips parted, as he gazed at the tiny trail of scabs that arched around Brandon’s left cheek.

“But how did you get back here?” Peter cried, spinning back towards Sanders. “You two were injured,” he added, turning to Brandon. “You couldn’t possibly have swum all that way.”

“Sea turtles,” beamed Brandon with a wink. Tilting his head, Peter’s brow puckered.

“One a them trade ships picked ‘em up on the way over here,” Hughes told him, as he jerked his head to Peter’s right. Arching his head over his right shoulder, Peter glanced over at the table on the opposite side of the fire to them. Men dressed in an array of black, white and blue shirts, gathered around a table.

“‘Ad a medical man on board,” Brandon added, as Peter returned his attention to the table. “Patched me up good ‘n’ proper, like.” Hearing those words, Peter’s shoulders relaxed. A smile prodded into the corners of his cheeks.

“I’m glad to have you guys back,” Peter beamed, glancing from Brandon to Sanders.

Glasses were raised. Clonking the tankards together, the group cheered, as they gulped down their ale. Warmth tingled into Peter’s chest as Garrin appeared at the table, with a large plate swimming in beef and mashed potatoes. Saliva dribbled into his mouth. Licking his lips, Peter thanked the innkeeper, before shovelling a forkful into his mouth. “What about you?” Captain Halaken asked his cabin-boy, as Peter scoffed down his meal. “Brandon and Sanders have had us worried to death about you. There were talks of the ship striking Castellus and all sorts.”

“It’s true,” Peter answered, through a mouthful and a nod. “They did.” As Peter continued to plough through his meal, he told the tale of his adventure. Abandoning Brandon and Sanders. Leading his own troop. Marching the attack. Helping villagers. The fire. The Eastern-Star Inn. Storming the blaze. Saving Captain Blagden. Gasps, cries and questions were lobbed at him. Scraping through his plate, Peter revealed every detail.

Cheers and thumping hands boomed around the room, as Neale leapt up onto a table and began to jig. With a chair lying on the ground, Beady began beating the seat. The drumming thudded along with the piano and accordion’s ditty. Another musician joined the group, as the whistling of a harmonica swept through the inn. With the excitement pounding through the room, more and more drinks were poured. Brushing an arm over Sanders, Mora placed a second round of drinks on their table. “Actually,” Peter began as he turned towards her. “Could you ask Garrin to make me a pot of his and Lela’s herbal hot water, please?” Her eyes widened, as a smile stretched across her face.

“Oow, so you’re the one, Lela won’t stop talking about!” she giggled. “I’ll tell her you’re here.”

“You can leave the spare pint, Mora,” Halaken told her. Mora nodded, before winking at Peter. He shuddered.

As Peter continued answering the questions the Carleston crew threw at him, Peter had one of his own. “Where’s Lawson?” he asked, prodding his head to the spot that Hughes had taken up at the table.

“We got a lead on our smuggling suspicions,” the captain told him. “Lawson headed out to see if he could dig anything up.” Peter nodded. A patter of footsteps tapped towards their table.

“Petey!” cried a voice, as she stopped at Peter’s side.

“Lela!” he gasped, as his cheeks reddened. “It’s great to see you.”

“Oh Petey,” she cried, her hands trembling at her chest. “I was terrified something terrible had happened to you. When Brandon and Sanders turned up in the state they did-” her voice box squeaked, as the corners of her eyes sparkled. Lowering her chin, a tear dropped to her hands. “And Blagden’s crew came in hours ago-”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, rubbing a hand to her forearm. “Everything’s okay,” he told with a smile. “I’m here… and I’m safe.” Pinching her eyes tight, she nodded her head. “That’s all that matters.” Clasping her left hand on Peter’s, a smile broke across her face.

“I’m so glad,” she croaked. “I was so worried.”

“Don’t be,” whispered Peter, running a thumb across her blotchy face. “I told you, I’m fine.” Pinching her lips in, her smile poked higher into her cheeks. “Maybe I can catch you later?” he asked her. “Once you’ve finished your shift?” Sniffing, Lela nodded. “I don’t want you to get into trouble,” he mumbled, glancing over Lela’s shoulder. Garrin’s head leant over the bar and his eyes glared towards him.

“I’ll see you later,” Lela whispered, curling her hair behind her ear. Peter nodded, as she curtsied before scurrying off towards the bar.

“You need t’ fill us in,” chuckled Brandon, clapping a hand to Peter’s shoulder. “When did all this ‘appen?”

“Nothing’s happened,” Peter replied, with a shrug, as his face darkened to the hue of a current. Brows raised across the table. “What?” Peter exclaimed. “It’s nothing,” he shrugged. “We just talked the last time I was here, that’s all.”

“Well Lela doesn’t just talk to anybody,” smirked the captain. “It takes a lot for that girl to grow attached to someone.” Swallowing, Peter felt his cheeks tingle as he nodded. “That’s how she’s so good at her job,” the captain added. “Being a spy, you tend to not let anyone near. You keep your distance, that way no one can get to you.” Lowering his sight to his empty plate, Peter nodded again. “You had better watch your step,” Halaken warned. “If you break her… you have me to deal with,” he growled. Swallowing, Peter stared wide-eyed at the captain. “She’s our secret weapon.”

 

*

 

Heading out of the Wreck-Age Inn, Halaken led his men across the gravelled street, to the other side of the village. As the group stopped outside of the backs of the buildings, Peter’s eyes widened. ‘This is where Lawson and I saw those suspicious men,’ Peter realised, as his eyes hovered towards the village’s cliff edge, where he and Lawson had hid.

“We do believe that this is, indeed, a smuggling operation,” Halaken declared, as the group neared Lawson. The captain’s sharp-uniformed second in command was leaning against the wooden framework that etched the cliff edging. With his arms folded, Lawson leant his head to the right, as he stared ahead at the building sandwiched between the bank and the tailor shop, which Peter had assumed was a place of residence. “We believe that the ships we saw docking at the lighthouse, the last time you were here,” the captain began, as he turned to face Peter. “Were stolen. Hughes and Lawson have done some digging around and know that the goods that are dropped off at the house over the bridge are exported to this building that we are standing outside of. We just need to get a look inside and log all of the stolen goods, in detail, and report it back to the merchants,” the captain informed his men. “That’s enough to get law enforcements involved and have their operation shut down.”

“There’s just one problem,” Lawson added, nodding towards the group. “We need a password.”

“We wondered if you three might have an idea,” Halaken speculated, turning towards Brandon, Sanders and Peter. “Having been around their sort,” he added. Looking towards one another, Brandon, Sanders and Peter shrugged.

“We ain’t ‘eard a no password, cap’in,” declared Brandon.

“We’re not saying you have, Brandon,” the captain replied, patting him on the shoulder. “We just thought that you chaps might have an idea…”

“Or at least know the sort of words men of those kind use,” Lawson added, poking his nose in the air.

“I’ll give it a go,” muttered Brandon with a shrug.

“Might be a laugh,” Hughes chuckled. “Them pirates don’t half talk funny.”

As the group approached the back door to the property, Peter noticed a shadow cast in the framework. Beneath his six-foot-four eyelevel, a rectangular, palm-width chunk appeared to be missing from the door. He squinted. There was no hole. Behind the mahogany frame lay a wooden slat, of the same colour. Pushing his way to the front, Brandon rapped his knuckles against the door four times and cleared his throat. The wooden slot slid to their left and a pair of eyes appeared in the hole. “What’s the password?” grumbled a voice from the other side of the door.

“Shiver me timbers,” growled Brandon. “That’s a mighty lot a booty yer got in there.” Peter noticed his friend’s voice sounded gruffer than usual, as the large man rolled his ‘r’s.

“Whatcha think yer playin’ at, mate?” laughed the man through the wooden slot.

“I errr,” grunted Brandon, scratching a hand to his ear. “I errr… ‘eard yer got some booty stashed away in there. ‘N’ me ‘n’ some a me mates were lookin’ t’ get our ‘ands on some, like,” Brandon told him. “We gots coin.”

“Get outta ‘ere,” barked the pair of eyes, slamming the wooden slat back over the spyhole.

“What?” roared Brandon at the door. “Me coin’s not good enough f’ ya?”

“Drop it,” Captain Halaken warned, in a whisper, placing a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. Stepping back from the doorway, Brandon’s snarled expression softened. “Don’t worry,” Halaken told him. “I appreciate the effort.” Brandon nodded. “Give it a couple of minutes and we’ll try again.”

Halaken’s group strode down the pathway, towards the back of the health centre. With their distance from the mysterious building, the privateers discussed their next attempt. “I’ll give it ago,” Sanders announced with a shrug. “How hard can it be?” As Sanders trudged back towards the door, he gave it a kick. The slot scraped back. A pair of eyes appeared.

“What’s the password?” grumbled a voice.

“Scurvy dogs, ye’ve skivered me lizard!” Sanders exclaimed, jabbing a finger towards the eyes.

“Get lost,” barked the voice. “The lot a ya.” As the eyes lowered, the slat of wood returned.

“That was me best one,” Sanders sighed, as he shoulders sunk.

Returning to the group, Sanders scratched a hand to his head. “Sorry fellows,” he muttered.

“No hard feelings,” replied the captain, patting Sanders on the arm.

“That wasn’t even native,” Lawson scoffed.

“What does it mean?” asked the captain the sandy-haired man. Sanders shrugged.

“No idea,” he chuckled. “J’st heard it ‘nd thought it sounded funny.”

Peter flinched, as a pair of hands clasped onto his shoulders, from behind. “What about Petey?” Hughes called out. Peter’s heart sank to his stomach. All eyes turned towards him. “Come on Petey,” Hughes chortled. “You’ve gotta do better than Sanders.”

“Oi!” shouted Sanders. “I tried, didn’t I? And besides,” he huffed. “You weren’t on that ship. You don’t know what men, like them, say.”

“Enough bickering boys,” the captain sighed. “Now, Peterson, have you anything better to add than Sanders, over here?” Poking the left corner of his mouth up, Peter shrugged.

“Okay,” mumbled Peter. “I’ll give it a go.”

Approaching the mahogany door, Peter knocked three times. The slot dragged back. A pair of eyes appeared. “What’s the password?” barked a voice. Sucking in a breath, Peter closed his eyes. His heart rattled in his ribcage. Exhaling, he whistled out a breath.

 “Arrgh! Avast ye. Your hairy willy’s on me slops, yer scurvy lubber!” Peter growled, scrunching his left eye. Striking his right arm across his body, he curved his index finger out into a hook.

“Aye,” came a perky remark from the behind the door. “It’s him,” gasped the voice. “Blagden’s first mate.”

“Open up, quick,” ordered a gruff voice.

The door creaked inwards. A sweet, cinnamon, smoky, gunpowder scent wafted into his lungs. An orange glimmer grew towards them. “C-c-c, cap’in Blagden’s f-f-first mate, Sir,” stuttered the scrawny man, at Peter’s right. Widening his eyes, Peter seeped a breath through his nose.

‘It’s the man Lawson and I saw outside the other night,’ Peter observed. He nodded towards the scruffy beanpole. “Captain sent me to look around,” Peter told him. “Wanted me to keep an eye on you,” he added.

“S-s-s, sure thing, s-s-s-s-Sir,” the scrawny man stuttered back, pressing the fingers of his right hand to his brow, in salute.

“What ‘bout them?” growled a short podgy man, from further inside. Stood at the large centre table, the man pointed a finger over Peter’s shoulder.

‘And he’s the other,’ Peter realised, recognising the man at the table, as being the other whom Peter and Lawson spied on, outside of the building several nights before. “They’re with me,” Peter boomed. “Backup, in case you try any funny business. Now, as you were.”

Stepping inside the room, Peter’s eyes widened. As the door closed behind them, the light from the lamps enhanced. His eyes darted around the room. At the head of the longest table in the room, stood the chubbier man. The man’s eyes widened, as he gawked down at the table’s contents. Lines and rows of pearl necklaces, silver tiaras and golden rings scattered amongst suede, deep-purple pouches. Peter’s tongue scraped against the roof of his mouth, as he forced a swallow. ‘Is everything here stolen goods?’ His brow furrowed, as he arched his head above, where cylinders draped with coloured cloths, silken scarves and an array of wooden beads swung from wooden beams. ‘And the pirates profit from it? All of this is stolen from Castellus, Barkton Versulin, Lanti and the inner cities of Motorus Relicta?’ A shudder tingled down his spine. ‘And the innocent people that work so hard for this trade…’ Peter’s shoulders drooped. ‘I must put a stop to this,’ Peter raged, balling his hands into fists, at his sides.

Turning his head to further examine the room, Peter found waist high buckets lining the walls, full of swords of so many different varieties, Peter had never seen over half of them before. The curved, twisted sweepings hilt of the nerf-swords protruded out from the bucket of steel blades in the room’s far right corner. As Peter’s eyes traipsed around the room, round guard hilted sabres and chunky spiral-handled vorpal blades gathered in clusters. Hung on the wall, above many of the sword pails, lay a long blade with a brick on the end. ‘That’ll do damage,’ Peter shuddered. Turning to his left, a table lay scattered with daggers and short blades. Gasping, Peter’s eyes fell upon a crossbow blade. Its wide steel, bulged out at the fuller of the blade and narrowed to a slit at the edges. Its point was long and thin. ‘That could slice right through you,’ Peter gawked, taking a shaky step back. Its hilt was covered in an array of cogs, nuts and bolts. From the pommel shone a deep, mystic, shimmering azure. Peter’s lips parted.

“The Chartonese silk,” he heard Halaken gasp. Twisting his head, Peter fixed upon the twinkling teal tapestry. Behind him, Hughes let out a whistle.

“That’s worth sacks of gold coins,” Hughes hissed in Peter’s ear. Peter nodded, as he strode over to the table scrawled with drawings and diagrams of the sea. Shuffling his hands through the papers, Peter sensed Brandon’s head peering over his shoulder.

“Do you have anything that shows the waters from here to Langti?” Peter asked the room’s guards, arching his head over his right shoulder to face them.

“Should do,” replied the stout man, as he waddled towards Peter.

“What are you doing?” Brandon hissed. “You’re not really working for Blagden, are ya?”

“We need to keep them busy,” Peter warned him. “Halaken wants to log things, remember? Besides, now we’re in here we have to buy something,” Peter whispered, with a raised brow. “Lela’s from Langti. I wanted to learn more about it.” Swiping a book from the table, the plump man flicked through, before tugging out an insert and passing it to Peter.

“Here-yar,” the man grunted, shoving a weathered sheet under Peter’s nose.

“Wonderful,” beamed Peter. “My friend, Brandon here, and I are really interested in learning as much as possible about Langti. Do you have any books, maybe tapestries?”

“Oh yes,” Brandon went on, giving Peter a wink. “Have yer gots any Langti silks, or bowls? How abouts and Langti mande shields. Me pa always said armour from Langti, there ain’t anything else like it.”

“Erm?” squeaked the scrawny man, scratching a hand to his head. “We ain’t sure where stuffs from exactly.”

“Not our speciality, yer see,” the stout man added with a shrug. “But we’d happily help out a paying customer.”

“That’s great news,” grinned Peter with a nod. “We want to learn about as much as we can.”

“And see all the treasure Langti holds,” Brandon beamed, slapping a hand to the back of the short man beside him.

“Erm… this could take a while,” the lean man added.

“Sure,” sang Brandon, leading the group towards the back of the room. “We gots time t’ kill.”

Whilst Peter, Brandon and the pirates discussed all things Langti, Captain Halaken and Lawson (with help from Hughes and Sanders) began taking note of the array of objects that littered the room. The buckets of weapons were listed, as were the array of jewellery and gems. Lawson scribbled down lists of tapestries and embroidered cloth. Hughes spotted sacks of sugar and flour gathered under tables, which were used as stands for hats and leather boots. Sanders led Lawson to an array of shelves, littered with jars of medicine and bottles of alcohol. “How much d’yer think that’s worth?” Sanders asked, jabbing his head towards the shelves.

“More than your house,” Lawson grumbled. “More than my house. Heck, more than Halaken’s.” Sanders forced a swallow.

Dented shields of armour in an array of copper and pewter rested against the legs of tables. A wooden slab, covered in ox hide, framed the nearest wall. Captain Halaken shuffled from dishes of pearl bracelets, towards a row of ivory trinket boxes. “Interesting indeed,” he muttered to himself, scribbling down on his parchment all the while.

One of the largest items in the room, Halaken left until last. A suit of plate, iron armour stood to the right of the entrance way. Towering at almost six foot tall, Sanders cowered as they neared it. Halaken nodded, as he examined the royal swirling pattern etched in the breast plating. A grim hum escaped him. “This’ll do men,” he muttered, lowering his head.

With Lawson, Sanders and Hughes at his side, the captain curled a fist to his mouth and gave a loud, cantankerous cough. Neither Peter, Brandon nor the pirates fluttered an inch. Halaken grumbled under his breath. Still nothing. With their backs to the captain, Peter and Brandon conversed away with the pirates. As Peter rummaged a hand into his pocket, jangling around some coins, Sanders’ eyes widened and a smile poked into the corner of his mouth. Swiping a peachy coloured conch shell, the size of his head, Sanders and huffed a breath into its long, narrow apex. A spluttering toot sang out. Peter and Brandon spun their heads towards the group. “Quit jesting,” barked Captain Halaken. “Put it down or you’ll break it.”

“Spoil sport,” Sanders muttered, as he returned the shell to its display stand. “It worked though, didn’t it,” he grumbled.

“We all done ‘ere?” grunted the plump man, as Peter handed him some currency, in exchange for the map. Peter turned to Captain Halaken and Lawson with wide eyes. The captain gave a stern nod.

“Yep,” Peter grinned. “Thanks for the inspection, ermm…”

“Name’s Lurz,” muttered the stouter man, with his belly bulging over his shirt.

“Bill,” nodded the beanpole.

“Lurz, Bill, you’re doing a fine job,” Peter beamed at them. “And remember,” he added, as he strode towards the door. Arching his head over his shoulder, Peter pointed a finger at them and growled, “Keep your willy’s off me slopes.”

“Aye, aye,” nodded the men, with a salute.

As the door swung closed behind the group and the privateers began making their way back towards the Wreck-Age Inn, Halaken whispered to Peter, “And what does that mean?”

“Arrgh! Avast ye. Your hairy willy’s on me slops, yer scurvy lubber?” Peter asked. Halaken nodded. “Oi, hey you. You’ve got dried fish on my trousers, you diseased ridden, fool.” Scratching the back of his neck, the captain shook his head.

“Well I never,” muttered Lawson. “No manners – the lot of them.” Peter chuckled.

“So, what happens now?” asked Sanders, holding the batwing to the Wreck-Age Inn open for everyone.

“Now that we have formed a list of all of the property of value,” Lawson informed them. “I am sure the captain shall send a letter to his majesty, with the first sailing ship. Reinforcements should be on their way, within the week.”

“That is as I believe,” Halaken confirmed with a nod.

 

*

 

Flopping back onto his bed, Peter exhaled with a soft smile. Gazing up at the dampening ivory coloured patch on the ceiling, he watched, as it seeped further towards the centre of the room. “Reckon a storm’s a brewin’,” Brandon muttered. Peter agreed with a hum. Pushing himself up to sit, the beaming smile across Peter’s face grew, as Brandon faced him. “What with the big grin?” he asked.

“I just still can’t believe you’re here!” Peter gasped. “And alive.”

“Same goes fer you,” Brandon beamed. “Who woulda thought it, ‘ey? Our cabin-boy, Lil’ Petey’s made his way t’ first mate on a crew on ‘is first solo venture.” Stretching over to Peter’s bed, Brandon scuffled Peter’s hair. As Peter squirmed out from Brandon’s grip, there was a knock upon their door. “I got it,” Brandon sighed. Clambering to his feet, the large man plodded towards the door, in front of Peter’s bed. As the door swung open, Sanders and Hughes stood in the doorway.

“Petey, Brandon,” Sanders sang. “The guys were goin’ t’ celebrate Petey’s victory, with a couple a pints, at the bar. You interested?”

“You bet,” beamed Brandon. “What a ya say, Lil’ Petey? A toast ter yer pirating skills?” he chuckled.

“Yeah,” Peter shrugged. “Why not?” Punching his fists into the mattress, Peter leapt to his feet. There was a knock. Heads spun towards the open doorway. A porcelain hand rapped on the door.

“Lela,” Sanders beamed, as the copper haired waitress appeared in the doorframe. “Care t’ join us in our celebration?”

“Yeah,” Hughes added, throwing an arm around her shoulder and tugging her towards him. “Petey, ‘ere’s broke the pirates tongue. The kid speaks fluent pirate gibberish.” Lela’s brow puckered, as she forced a giggle, looking from Hughes to Peter.

“I figured out the password to the smugglers operating base,” Peter explained. “We got a look inside. The place is crammed with stuff… swords, guns, clothes, jewels…”

“And rum!” Hughes beamed.

“And maps,” Brandon added, prodding Peter in the side. Peter’s cheeks reddened.

“Yeah,” Peter muttered. “And maps too. Lawson and Halaken took note of everything, and Captain Halaken’s sending a letter to King Charleston on the first ship to leave port.”

“Wow!” Lela beamed. “You have been busy. Which reminds me, boys…” Wriggling out from Hughes’ grip, Lela stood in front of the dresser, between the foot of Brandon and Peter’s beds. “Alesea has bought you a round of drinks, to celebrate Brandon and Sanders’ return and Peter’s success. They are waiting for you on your favourite table,” she told them, bearing a big smile. “And are being guarded by Owen,” she added, with a giggle.

“Oooh, is Alesea the chocolate-brown brunette?” asked Brandon. Pinching in her lips, Lela nodded. “Gawsh, we should head down then. ‘Nd free drinks,” beamed Brandon. “Don’t mind of we do.” Leaping past Lela, Brandon was the first to leave.

“Comin’ Petey?” called Sanders, over his shoulder.

“I’ll be there in a sec’,” Peter called after him, as he smiled at Lela.

Peter’s smile rose up into his cheeks and his ears began to burn, as Lela closed the door behind Peter’s friends. “I have been talking to Captain Blagden,” she whispered, staring at the door. “He told me what you did,” she added, as she spun around. “Charging into a burning building to save him, when all of his men abandoned him. That must have been so scary.”

“It was,” Peter swallowed, brushing a hand to the back of his neck.

“But incredibly brave,” she beamed. Peter blushed. Folding her arms, Lela hugged her biceps, as she gazed at a spot on the floor.

“Erm, thanks,” Peter muttered, scraping at the floor with his toe.

“I guess you know about the moonstone too,” she added flickering her eyes towards him.

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. Letting out a shaky sigh, Lela turned towards the dresser. Glancing up at herself in the mirror, she gazed at Peter’s reflection.

“Are you headed towards Sirená Pectram tomorrow?” she asked.

Peter shrugged, “Possibly.”

Pinching her eyes tight, Lela swallowed at the hammering of her heart. Seeping in a shaky breath, she spun around to Peter. “Have you not done enough?” she cried. “You have already been on two voyages. You nearly got marooned. You could have burnt to death in that blazing fire.” Cupping her hands to her face, she sniffled, as her chest shuddered. “I’m very grateful that you were there to save Captain Blagden, of course I am,” she squeaked, looking up at him. “I am just scared that you are in too deep.” Peter reached out a hand towards her. Dipping her head, Lela turned away from him. Her shoulders drooped. “You helped him find another piece of the moonstone,” she muttered.

“Is that a problem?” Peter asked. “I was just doing what Captain Blagden wanted. I was trying to find out what the pirates were up to… I thought that was the idea.” Peter’s heart thudded to his stomach, as Lela folded her arms.

“Do you not know what King Valder plans to do once he gets it?” she cried, spinning around to face him.

“Does it involve a silly ancient sorcery, belonging only to children’s stories?” he chuckled with a shrug. Her eyes daggered at him. “Even Halaken scoffed at it,” Peter exclaimed. “And he has a map of Moonrock Island.” Lela’s eyebrows sloped, as her bottom lip trembled. “Don’t tell me that you believe it?” Peter frowned.

“Maybe,” Lela shrugged, dropping her eyes to Peter’s shoes. “Who knows what that mad man is capable of. He located the entrance to Moonstone Fortress that no one believed existed for hundreds of years. Who knows what else he has found out since taking over.” The trembling in Lela’s chest, rattled. Hugging her arms tighter around her, she cried, “I just want you to be careful,” as her shimmering eyes gazed up at Peter.

“I know,” Peter whispered with a nod, placing a hand on her arm. “And I will be.” Lela jerked herself away from him.

Exhaling through his nostrils, Peter ran a hand through his hair. As he glanced over to the reflections in the mirror, he could see Lela’s bottom lip quivering. He forced a swallow. His pulse pounded in his ears. Taking a step towards her, Peter reached a hesitant hand out, towards her shoulder. She flickered her vision towards his reflection and he retracted his hand. “I just need to find a way to stop Valder from attaching all seven pieces of the moonstone back together,” Peter told her, with a shrug, prodding the corner of his mouth into his cheek. As her heart thudded, Lela dropped her sight to her shoes. “Maybe if I could get a hold of them… I could scatter them to the sea,” he explained with another shrug. “There’s a whirlpool near Sirená Pectram, isn’t there?” he asked, delving his hand into his trouser pocket. Hearing the rustling, Lela turned towards him.

“Yes,” she nodded. “There is.” As Peter unwrinkled the parchment, Lela neared him. “But you must be careful,” she insisted, placing a hand on his. With the map unfolded, Lela pointed a finger towards an ‘s’ shaped rock near the whirl of circling waters. “Sirená Pectram is an incredibly dangerous place,” she warned him. “The sirens lure ships in with their mystical singing.” Lowering her chin, the trembling in Lela’s chest thumped louder. She forced a swallow. “Before you know it, your ship is spiralling out of control in the eye of the whirlpool.” As a shudder trickled down her spine, she shook her head. “I do not want you to get hurt,” she cried.

With sparkling eyes, Lela turned away from him. Her stomach churned. Her eyes stung. Brushing a hand across her face, she sniffed. Rummaging in her pockets, she whispered, “Petey,” as she turned on her heels to face him. The map slipped from his hands, as his eyes met hers. The waterline of her eyes sparkled. The apples of her cheeks reddened. The corners of her mouth upturned. He felt his skin tingle at her gaze. “I have something for you,” she beamed, holding her hands out towards him. Cupping his hands together, Peter’s eyes widened. A weight dropped into his palms. His stomach swirled. A small cluster of rough, sand coloured pen-shells fastened together into a star shape. The narrowed curves all gathered together in the centre. A thin, sand coloured rope entwined around the shells curves. From the centre, the pen-shells widened as they outstretched. Pointing out at five angles, the jagged curves all faced the left. Stroking a finger against it, Peter’s lips parted.

“Lela,” he gasped. “It’s lovely. Did you make this?” Pinching her lips in, Lela nodded.

“It’s a lucky talisman,” she told him. “Sailors carry them to bring luck on their voyage… to ensure a safe journey, and to remind them that one day they will be reunited again, with those they love.” Lela’s cheeks grew rosy, as she dropped her sight to the floor. A shudder trickled down her back. Her heart sank to her stomach. Lifting her shoulders, she kept a firm stare with the floor. “I hate the thought of you being out at sea, battling with pirates,” she whispered, clasping her left hand over her right. “I just wanted to bring you luck.”

“It’s beautiful,” he beamed, gazing at her. As her eyes flickered up at his, his cheeks reddened. “Thank you.”

“I noticed you are left handed,” she added, as her eyes returned to the floor, once more. “So, I made all of the shells face left.” Bouncing up on her toes, she gave a giggle, before dropping back onto her heels.

Delving a fist into his pocket, Peter went to place Lela’s talisman inside, when his eyes widened. “Oh, Lela,” he breathed, as his intestines swirled. Swallowing, she turned towards him. “Before they ransacked the village, on the coast of Castellus,” he began. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, his fist clenched. “I got this for you,” he blushed, as he stretched his arm out, opening his palm towards her. Clasping her hands to her mouth, Lela gasped. A small, round shell sat in the centre of his palm. Its exterior was a creamy-ivory. Numerous blunt spikes protruded out from its glossy curve. “It’s shimmered in the light and it caught my eye,” Peter told her, as Lela’s hand hesitated towards it. A jagged crack lay at the inner centre of the shell. Seeping out from the interior was a sparkling deep mulberry-purple. Lela’s eyes widened, as the sparkles glistened in the light. “It made me think of you,” Peter told her, as her fingers brushed against his palm. “The creamy-white, reminded me of your beautiful skin,” he beamed, rubbing a thumb across her cheek. With a shaking chest, Lela’s lips parted, as she gazed up at him. “And the purple made me think of the blouse you wore, when we shared that evening together. It’s a Mulberry Drupe shell, I think.”

“Petey,” she beamed. “This is beautiful. I have never seen one like it before,” she cried. “How did you know I collect shells?”

“I didn’t,” he shrugged, shifting his eyes to the dresser. “It was just pretty, and I thought of you.” Her weight thudded against him, as Lela pressed her head into his chest and flung her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she squeaked against him. Peter let out a chuckle, as he stroked a hand up and down her back.

“I’m glad you like it,” replied Peter with a hum, as he stroked a hand through her hair. Humming back, Lela shuffled to face him. Peter’s cheeks turned scarlet and his ears burnt, as he gazed back into her cerulean eyes. “Lela,” he whispered. Flickering his eyes from hers to her mouth, he leant towards her. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips against hers.

“Petey?” she breathed, as they parted. “I-”

“Sorry,” he muttered, averting his eyes to the ground. “I got carried away, I-” Pressing herself up against him, Lela stretched up on the tip of her toes, stroked a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him back. As Lela gripped her fingers to the curls of his hair, Peter stumbled backwards. Flopping back onto his bed, he squeezed Lela to his chest. She giggled against him. “That was unexpected,” he chuckled. Closing his eyes, he puckered his lips, as his hands hooked around her waist. Hearing Lela giggle, her lips pressed against his.

The door rattled. A fist beat upon it three times. Peter’s heart raged in his ribcage. Gasping, his and Lela’s faces reddened. Pushing herself up from the bed, Lela ruffled at the creases on her skirt. Peter leapt up, a beat his hand against the cotton sheets. Flattening the bedsheet, his stomach churned. The knock rattled again. He threw a head over his shoulder. “You can get it,” he whispered to Lela, as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Petey!” beamed the voice of his sandy-haired friend, as Lela opened the door. “O-o, oh,” Sanders stuttered. “Lela?” his brow puckered. “I didn’t expect to-”

“She was giving me advice,” Peter blurted out, as he leapt to Lela’s side, in the doorway. “She was telling me about Sirená Pectram.” Diving his hands into his pockets, Peter forced a swallow.

“Yes,” squeaked Lela, with a nod, curling a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s where the pirates are heading next.” Sliding his hands out of his pockets, Peter began patting down his jacket. Sanders and Lela frowned at him.

“It’s here somewhere,” Peter muttered, delving his fingers into his jacket’s breast pocket.

“What’ve ya lost?” asked Sanders, with a sigh.

“Nothing,” Peter mumbled. “I…” Twisting his head over his shoulder, Peter’s eyes glanced around the room. “Arh!” he beamed with wide eyes. His map of the Langti land and surrounding seas lay on the floor, beside his bed. Scooping it up, Peter held it out to Sanders. “See,” he grinned. “I told you buying this would come in handy.” Smiling, Sanders shook his head and rolled his eyes at Peter’s clumsiness.

“So, are ya comin’ down for drinks, or what?” Sanders asked him.

“Sure,” nodded Peter.

“I need to get back to work too,” Lela told them. Scooting past Sanders, Lela turned back towards them and curtsied. “It was nice talking to you.”

 

*

 

With his map in hand, Peter ventured downstairs, to the bar, for breakfast with Brandon, Sanders and Hughes, the next day. Stepping into the bar, a sharp, oily scent wafted up his nostrils. Peter’s stomach gurgled. Pressing an arm to his stomach, he thumped it. “What’ya cookin’?” called Brandon over the bar, to Garrin, whose head bobbed to and fro from the window, to the kitchen.

“Fish ‘n’ scrambled eggs, glazed in a creamy, honey sauce,” Garrin beamed back. “You lads take a seat, ‘n’ Alesea’ll be right over.”

Arching his head around the room, Peter’s eyes widened at the amount of bodies filed inside. Men hunched over tables either side of the doorway. All of the tables opposite the bar were crammed full. There was not a spare seat in the far-right corner of the fireplace. As they approached their usual spot, Captain Halaken and Lawson sat with their backs pressed up against the wall, resting their crossed legs over the two spare chairs. “Mornin’,” Brandon yawned.

“How did you men sleep?” asked the captain, as he slid his legs down from the chair and offered it to Brandon.

“Great,” Brandon beamed.

“Feeling refreshed,” Sanders added, as he dropped into the seat beside Lawson.

“Why are there so many men here?” asked Hughes, as he lifted Captain Halaken’s stack of books from the chair at the head of the table. Crinkling his map in his left hand, Peter’s lips parted, as Hughes squatted into the table’s fifth seat.

“It is surprising,” Lawson told them, as he leant forwards. “Seeing how another trade ship failed to dock last night.”

“Another,” Peter, Brandon, Sanders and Hughes gasped. The captain nodded.

“We were relying on that ship to transport our findings back to King Charleston, this morning,” Halaken sighed.

“There have been no sightings of it,” Lawson informed them. “The night-watchman reported no strange activity on the northern side of the isle.”

“Another ship docked early this morning,” the captain added. “A little before sunrise.”

“But it wasn’t a Castellus ship?” Hughes enquired. The captain shook his head.

“It does not appear to be a trade ship of any kind,” the captain told them.

“No manners or respect,” spat Lawson. “The crew waltzed in before Garrin had even opened up, demanding ale and whiskey. Poor man’s been running around like a madman trying to keep that lot happy.”

Turning to face the collection of tables, beside the piano, Peter’s eyes lay upon a figure in a long, ebony coloured coat. Its tail wafted across the ground, as a man strode from table to table. A black tricorne hat, with golden rope edging, crowned the man’s head. Shuddering, a blur of copper bounced in front of him. “Hi Petey!” grinned a porcelain face, as it appeared in front of his. His stomach fluttered, as he gazed into her cerulean eyes. “Would you like to have breakfast together?” she asked, lacing her right hand over her left. Biting her bottom lip, she smiled up at him, awaiting his reply. Blinking several times, Peter stuttered several syllables. Stunned by Lela’s surprise appearance, he was unable to get a word out. “Only because there isn’t any room at your usual table,” she added, shifting her eyes to his shoes, as Peter ran a hand across the back of his neck.

“Okay,” he muttered, as his face reddened. Lela’s smile prodded up into her the apples of her rosy cheeks.

“Follow me,” she told him, as she tugged on the cuffs at his left wrist. A chorus of, “Oooh,” rang out from his table. Throwing his head over his shoulder, Peter gave them a daggered glare.

Perched on the edge of a barstool, Lela folded her arms across the bar table, as she waited for Peter to jump up beside her. Lifting a cloth off their food, Lela twisted her head over her shoulder, as she waited for her dining companion. “Have you heard?” Lela asked, as Peter hopped into his stool. Turning towards her, Peter shook his head. “The Sea Wolf pulled into the harbour a few hours ago.” Shrugging his shoulders, Peter’s forehead puckered. “The Sea Wolf,” Lela repeated, in a whisper. “King Valder’s ship…”

“Wait,” Peter gasped. “You mean the pirate king is here?”

“Ssshh,” Lela hissed, as she nodded. Lowering her head, she stiffened her shoulders. Twisting his body to his left, Peter gawked at the band of men gathered around the entranceway tables. “Stop it,” she whispered with a harsh breath. “Face forward.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, as he obeyed.

“You cannot let him catch you staring,” she told him. “You could get into trouble.”

“By looking at a man?” Peter scoffed.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Now eat something, before you look suspicious.”

Turning his attention to his plate, Peter’s eyes widened. The largest fillet of fish Peter had ever seen perched on his plate, alongside a dollop of scrambled eggs. Three round slices of bread overlapped the top-left of his plate. Picking up his cutlery, Peter’s eyes were drawn to a bowl that sat between them. A smile poked into the right corner of his mouth. The bowl was full of Lela’s sand biscuits. Cutting into his fish, Peter scraped a helping of egg onto his fork. Taking a bite, he hummed. “Do you like it?” asked Lela. Cupping a hand to his mouth, Peter nodded.

“Delicious,” he mumbled, through a mouthful.

“I am glad you do,” she beamed, stroking a finger along the dark, umber cord that hung from her neck. “I made it myself.” His eyes widened. Punching a fist to his chest, Peter cleared his throat.

“You made this?” he inhaled. “It’s amazing.” Blushing, Lela shrugged.

“Owen promised me that I could spend the morning with you, before you leave, so longs as I helped out in the kitchen first,” she told him. “So… I thought I would make you breakfast… and sand biscuits, because you said that you liked them last time.”

“I do,” Peter nodded, as he reached out for a biscuit.

“I made heated peppermint water too,” she added.

“Thank you,” he beamed. “You do spoil me.”

As the pair ate, Peter gave Lela more details about what had happened during his previous outing with Captain Blagden. Sipping her water, Lela added, “Captain Blagden never told me about the marooning.” Taking another sip, she hugged the mug at her chest. “Brandon and Sanders made a lucky escape.” Turning towards her, Peter nodded. Watching her thumb stroke her mug, Peter’s eyes widened, as he noticed the pendant of her necklace. A small, rounded daisy-white shell, covered in smooth ivory blotched spikes and a sparkling mulberry-wine centre, hung from her neck. A smile stretched across his face, as his cheeks tingled.

“You’re wearing my shell,” Peter mused. With a giggle, Lela nodded.

“I wanted a piece of you with me at all times,” Lela told him. “I knew you were leaving this afternoon, so I…” As her cheeks grew rosy, Lela fluttered her eyes to her empty plate.

“I have your lucky talisman with me too,” he beamed. Slipping his fingers underneath the collar of his shirt, Peter poked the array of shells out, attached to a cord around his neck, to show her. Lela’s eyes widened, as she squeaked, clasping her hands together.

Lela’s smile faded. Lowering her head, she sunk into her seat. “Do you have to go today?” she sighed.

“Of course,” Peter told her. “I’m that much closer to helping Captain Halaken discover what the pirates are planning.”

“I know,” she muttered, shaking her head. “But it is too dangerous, Peter. If anything happened to you I-” As the corner of her eyes began to sparkle, Lela clasped a hand to her mouth, as her chest let out a squeak. Peter squeezed her hand that lay upon the table.

“I’ll be fine,” he told her, with a smile and a nod. “I promise.”

Sliding his hands away from hers, Peter watched, as Lela’s eyes shifted to the view over his shoulder. “Do not turn around,” she muttered, lowering her eyes to the table. “But the man in the tricorne hat… that is Valder, the king of the pirates.” Widening his eyes, Peter sniffed a long inhale. “He hardly ever comes to the inn,” she warned, folding her arms. “Not since he discovered Moonstone Fortress. He keeps all the rum, food and supplies that he needs for himself. He requires nothing from the island. Something is not right.” As she fixed a hard stare over Peter’s shoulder, a shudder crept up her spine. She trembled, shaking her head.

“Don’t be silly,” Peter told her, with a chuckle to his voice. “He’s probably here with the rest of the moonstone pieces, so he and Captain Blagden can put them all together, when we find the last piece.” Staring at her sea biscuits, Lela shuddered again.

“You still do not know what he is going to do,” Lela muttered, as footsteps past behind them. “Pass me the map.” Her chest trembled, as Peter, rummaged around in his pocket. Unfolding it, he placed the map on the table between them. Leaning forwards, Lela’s shaky breaths sent a shudder up Peter’s spine. His heart thumped against his ribcage. Holding a hand to the hollow of her back, he stroked his thumb against her blouse. “This is the course you will take,” Lela told him, pointing at the harbour of Shipwreck Cove and dragging her finger diagonally north-west up the map towards the serpent shaped rock. “Only by gaining the trust of the sirens, will they allow you to pass through their waters,” she warned him. Swallowing, Peter nodded. The drumming inside of him raced. “This is the tricky part,” she warned. “If anyone aboard upsets the sirens, their leader, Coralina will force your ship south, straight into those rocks.” Sliding her finger down the map, Lela circled the cluster of brown dots. “If you make it past them, you still need to be careful,” she cautioned. “For you will be travelling through the strongest current. The deathly whirlpool, which I am certain you have heard the monstrous stories about, will be pulling the ship in, the second that you pass Sirená Pectram. And the sirens are playful, little witches. They might steer you towards it, for a bit of fun.”

“Thanks,” he nodded, resting his left hand over hers. “I’ll be alright. Trust me. I have a plan,” he insisted. Spinning off his chair, Peter squared his shoulders and faced her. “I’ll be back before you know it.” Stepping from her seat, Lela stretched up on her toes and pecked Peter on the cheek.

“Good luck,” she whispered, through rosy cheeks. “I will be waiting for you.” Beaming back, Peter nodded.

“Alright kids,” chuckled a familiar voice, as a hand clasped around Peter and Lela’s waists, pulling them towards him. Turning their heads towards the man, they both felt their cheeks tingle, as their blushes deepened. “My favourite crewman and my favourite little girl,” beamed the leather coated man.

“Captain Blagden,” Lela giggled, as he dipped his head towards her.

Turning to Peter, Captain Blagden nodded, before asking, “Petey, yer ready t’ set sail?”

 

- Josie -