MF - Ruler of Seas - #3 Wreck-Age

(Josie Sayz: This is the other part of my duology story Moonstone Fortress: Saviour of Ships that I shared a while back. It is very special to me and is tied to a point in my life where I was the happiest I have ever been. It is based off a MERP_UK game that an old friend (Kevin) and I started working on together. The game got lost very early on and will never be revived. This is the alternative route to the story. It isn’t finished yet; I am only halfway in writing the story. I figured that if I shared this, it would force me to keep at it, as I hate sharing unfinished work.

This is my Mary Shelley piece - he will be the most hated man to ever exist, after I am through with him.

If you are interested in checking out Saviour of Ships, , you can find the prologue here: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-1-blackout.html

 

Part 1: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2022/08/mf-ruler-of-seas-1-charleston-mistake.html

Part 2: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2022/09/mf-ruler-of-seas-2-discovery.html).

 

 

Moonstone Fortress

Ruler of Seas

 

Wreck-Age

Spinning around on his heels, Pete’s lips parted as he took in his new surroundings. To his right, a row of cobblestone houses lined the edge of the road, each connected by their puffing chimney. A passing horse shuddered its chestnut mane, as it strutted by, hauling a cart full of hay across Pete’s path. Clattering to a halt, the horse dipped its head into a barrel of carrots and began munching. Crates of potatoes and barrels of apples lined the building’s boundary. A wooden sign, splashed with emerald paint, swung from the doorway. Pete’s eyes flickered from the fruit and vegetable merchant to the next building, as a warm, doughy scent drifted into his nostrils. Saliva dribbled to the corner of his mouth. ‘A baker’s,’ he gasped, as his eyes glistened at the baker stacking fresh-baked loaves and rolls in his window display. Arching his head further, in the far end of the street sat a building full of paper, inkpots, quills, books and religions palms.

“Watch where yer goin’!” growled a voice at Pete’s left. Spinning his head around, Pete’s snarled nose met a bulging man’s scowl. Shuddering, Pete’s eyes widened and stared at the man’s scar that stretched from the point of his eye socket, around his cheek, to the corner of his mouth. Pete swallowed hard, as he shuffled back.

“I got yer, Petey,” called Brandon. Grabbing Pete by the scruff of his collar, his large companion dragged Pete out of the way. “Better watch where yer goin’ in these parts, Petey,” Brandon warned him, in a hushed tone. “Pirates and all sorts a scum linger ‘round ‘ere.” As Brandon released his collar, Pete nodded. Rolling his shoulders back, and adjusting his shirt, Pete arched his head to the left. A red sign bearing a white cross swung at the far end of the street.

‘Might be useful,’ Pete noted, as the image of the man’s gruesome scar crept a shudder up his spine. Tilting his head to the right, a grin prodded into the right corner of his mouth, as Pete gazed at the woman in the next window. Her currant-coloured low-cut blouse clung to her frame as she stretched up on her toes to adjust the sparkling wine-red dress that shimmered on display. Bending over to swipe her fallen tape measure, the woman in the window bumped into the gentleman’s garment displayed beside her. Blushing, she spun around on her heels and began tapping the navy jacket, with royal, golden tassels, free from creases. As Pete’s grin grew, he let out a little chuckle to himself.

A crease lined Pete’s brow, as his eyes fixed upon the next of the merchant buildings. Unlike the other blooming window displays, this one attracted no such attention. No sign swung from the doorway. No produce piled up in the window, enticing people inside. With weathered windows and cracks creeping up the brickwork, this building lay forgotten, almost invisible, to passers-by. Beside it, on the corner, towered a grand stone building, lined with pillars on either side of the doorway. Watching a well-dressed gentleman waddle inside, with a clinking sack of coins, Pete’s eyes widened, as he let out a whistle.

“Pete,” called his beefy companion, waving him over. “This way.” Turning his attention to Brandon, Pete jerked his head, as he jogged over. In front of him stood a two-story high, sandy inn, lined with hickory beams and wooden window shutters. Wavering above head, a weathered walnut sign, bearing the name ‘Wreck-Age Inn’, creaked, as it swayed on its hinges. Adjacent to the bank, the inn towered over the other merchants in the street. Candlelight flickered in the window bays, as they neared the entrance.

Sliding through the batwing doors, Pete dipped his head and squinted his eyes, as the bright beams from the sun outside dimmed to a warm amber of flickering candlelight. While his sight adjusted, Pete seeped a deep breath. Humming, a grin plastered across his face as the familiar, sharp scent of ale wafted into his nostrils. Fluttering his lids, Pete’s eyes danced across the tables, which filled the room, accompanied by the rhythm of the honky-donk, ragtime ditty that sounded to his left. As his eyes fell upon the scrawny pianist, in a bowler hat and striped shirt, he smirked at the ‘Do Not Shoot the Piano Player’ sign surrounded by bullet holes, above the man’s stooped head. Pete shook his head with amusement. He flickered his sight to the many men gathered around the nearby tables, tapping their feet, beating their hands together and sloshing their tankards between swigs and boisterous bellows. A busty blonde barmaid swept passed Pete, gathering up empty glasses. The ruche of her skirt ruffled against his leg, as she leant over the table. Pete averted his eyes, as wolf whistles sang out.

Beyond the bustling beer guzzlers lay the bar. Pete’s eyes wandered to the array of coloured bottles, of all different shapes and sizes that lined the shelving behind the bald-headed gentleman manning the bar. Running a discoloured rag through a glass, the barman’s eyes widened as he spotted Brandon pacing towards him. “Wait here,” Brandon called to Pete, over his shoulder. With a shrug, Pete hovered near the entranceway, staring ahead at the feathered edging and patches to the bartender’s worn, sage waistcoat. Above the barman, a line of glasses dangled down from pegs on a wooden beam.

‘Seems a little fancy for a place like this,’ Pete mused.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Pete’s eyes drifted over towards a large, open fireplace at the far side of the room. Having scraped back their chairs, a bulky band of men strode in his direction. Their torn, striped and stained shirts revealed blooded scars, brutal bruising and blotches of inked markings. As one of the men bulged his bicep at the passing brunette barmaid, the chest of a busty woman bounced on his arm. Bellowed laughed bounced off the bar’s wooden beams as the brunette scurried away. “Blockheads,” Pete muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Returning his sight to Brandon, at the bar, his beer-bellied companion waved him over. Clambering through the crowded tables, Pete followed after Brandon, as the larger man waded through a swarm of earthen covered men, with torn clothes, saturated in sweat. Shifting his sight to his shoes, Pete sidestepped the shards of glass, chicken bones and nutshells that littered the floor.

A sweet, floral scent twitched his nostrils. Twisting his head over his shoulder, he followed the fragrance. His stomach spiralled. His heart hammered at his chest. Sweat clammed his palms. Swallowing hard, his eyes widened as a copper-haired barmaid’s eyes locked with his. Biting her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed at his stare as she curled her hair behind her ear. Tingling danced down his spine. “Brandon!” beamed a chorus of men, causing Pete to shudder from his trance. Feeling his cheeks redden, he returned his gaze back to the red-head, as he bashed into Brandon.

“You’re alive!” gasped one of the men at the table, as he stood up to thump an arm around Brandon’s back.

“That I am lads, that I am,” Brandon beamed. “An’ I found Little Petey too,” he told them, hooking an arm around Pete’s shoulders. As the three gentlemen at the table’s brows furrowed at the sight of Pete, Brandon added, “The lad who saved me life, back on the ship. Wiv-out Petey I’d have been a goner.”

“Aye,” grinned the sandy-haired man to Pete’s right. “Great to see you Petey.” Pete’s shoulders stiffened, as he forced a grin.

“Arh yes, Peterson, wasn’t it?” uttered a man with a greying-brown nest of hair perched on the top of his head, to the left of Brandon. Swallowing, Pete nodded. “You would be wise to learn not to interfere with the captain’s orders.” As the man spoke, Pete’s eyes narrowed.

‘How does he know me?’ Pete wondered, as his eyes scanned the man’s face. ‘I guess he does look familiar,’ he decided, gazing at his elongated nose and raised cheekbones.

“Yes, Cap’in Halaken, Sir,” Brandon stuttered, saluting the long-nosed gentleman. “I’m sure Petey ‘ere learnt ‘is lesson. Right Petey?” Brandon muttered, elbowing Pete’s ribs.

“Sure,” Pete grumbled, fixing a hard stare upon the captain. Clenching his teeth, Pete clasped a hand to Halaken’s journal, tucked behind him. ‘The old man looks even more unfit to rule a ship without that stupid royal wig and makeup,’ Pete scoffed to himself, as he stared at the man’s sagging skin and dark rings beneath his eyes.

Dropping into the chair that was placed beneath him, Pete lowered his sight to the table. Conversation continued around him, as Pete stared at the table’s empty plates, caked in pools of gravy grease. His lips parted as saliva drooled into the corners of his mouth. Lowering his lids, Pete took a slow inhale through his nose. Rich, succulent beef and thick roasted potatoes wafted up his nostrils. Flickering his sight in Brandon’s direction, his stomach rumbled. Pete punched a fist to his abdomen and hunched is back, in hope that no one would notices his grumbling belly, as his brows slanted upwards.

“So, what’s the course a action Cap’in?” Brandon asked, with a puckered brow, having explained to the captain his and Pete’s journey to the Wreck-Age. Wrinkling his nose in Pete’s direction, Captain Halaken looked him up and down.

“I shan’t discuss the king’s matters amongst the likes of him,” Halaken snarled.

“But Cap’in!” Brandon gasped. “Petey, ‘ere, saved me life.”

“Hey,” yelled Pete over Brandon pounding his fists into the table. “If it weren’t fer me, you’d all be dead,” he barked. “I was the one who told you to bring the ship around.”

“Now, now Petey,” Brandon muttered, tugging at Pete’s cape. “You know the ol’ cap didn’t mean that.”

“You,” Pete continued, prodding a finger in Captain Halaken’s face, “Were far too interested in kidnapping any other blinking ship that crossed your path. You didn’t care who it was you were fighting or if it put you all in danger. You just wanted to blast everyone else out of the water,” Pete raged.

“P-p-p, Pete,” stuttered Brandon, as Halaken’s snarl returned.

“King’s men,” Pete spat. “You’re no better than a band of pirates – worse even, ‘cause even a pirate captain wouldn’t act so reckless and endanger his entire crew!” All eyes at the table bulged out of their sockets, as they stared, mouths agape, at the prisoner they had befriended.

“On the house boys,” cheered the bald bartender, holding two huge plates. Sliding one down in front of Brandon, he gave the other to Pete. Saliva dribbled down the corner of Pete’s parted lips, as his eyes widened at the lump of mashed potatoes, pile of peas and the huge slab of beef smothered in gravy that lay before him.

“Thanks Garrin,” Brandon grinned, grabbing a fork and tucking in.

“Yeah, thanks,” gasped Pete, turning to face barman, with a huge grin.

“You lads eat up now,” Garrin told them, patting Pete on the back. “I’ll send Lela over with some drinks.” Turning to Captain Halaken, he asked, “Another round?”

“Will do Owen,” Halaken nodded. “Add it to our tab.”

As Garrin departed, plodding back to the bar, the table fell silent. Scraping his cutlery against the edges of his plate, Pete shovelled bite after bite into his mouth. The warm, comforting flavours melted over his tongue. A hum escaped him. “Good huh?” mumbled Brandon through a mouthful.

“Good?!” Pete exclaimed. “This is the best grub I’ve ever tasted.”

Having remained silent since Pete’s outburst, Captain Halaken recoiled from the group. Sat hunched up against the left arm of the chair, the captain angled himself to face Pete’s direction, as he scribbled away on his parchment. Dipping his quill into his inkpot, the snarl drained from Captain Halaken’s face, as he glanced up at his former prisoner. “I must apologise, Peterson, for I can see now that I behaved in an unacceptable manner,” the captain acknowledged, in a low, sorrowful tone. His features drooped, as he glanced at each man in turn around the table. “Peterson was right; I became so obsessed with the king’s mission that I neglected my role as a captain. I could see the treacherous conditions in which we were sailing, however, I chose to ignore them. I hungered for the victory over our foe and by doing so, singlehandedly killed hundreds of Castellus men. I am not a noble man. Peterson is right… I am no better than those we were sought to hunt down… a pirate.”

“Captain!” gasped another member of the crew at the table, whom Pete recognised as Lawson, the other man who he helped man the Long Tom.

“Peterson, I hope you can find it in you to accept the forgiveness of an old fool,” uttered the captain, his voice full of woe. “If I had only listened to you, things could have turned out oh so different.” Shrugging, Pete shovelled another forkful of food into his mouth.

“What’s done’s done,” Pete mumbled. “What’s yer next plan of action?” he asked with a mocking tone, as he shrugged. “You’ve three crew members left – Brandon, Lawson and-” Frowning at the man to his right, Pete hesitated, realising he did not know this privateer’s name.

“Sanders,” the sandy-haired man replied.

“Right, Sanders,” Pete nodded. “You’ve no ship. No money,” he continued his heated rant towards the captain. “Give me one good reason why I should stay.” Snarling his nose, Pete folded his arms, please with his speech.

Prodding his elbows into the arms of the chair, Captain Halaken laced his fingers together, leant forwards and whispered, “Moonstone Fortress,” with a smug grin etched on his face. Lines furrowed on Pete’s forehead.

Glasses clattered together as the sweet, floral scent twitched into Pete’s nostrils once, more. His stomach spiralled as he looked up to find the copper-haired barmaid’s eyes were locked on his once more. The left corner of his mouth prodded up, as she placed a bar tray full of drinks at the table. “Why Lela, you are just in time,” Captain Halaken told her with a chuckle. “Pull up a seat, my dear, and join us in our Moonstone discussion.”

Pete’s heart kicked at his chest. ‘She’s linked to all this?’ Pete’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. As Brandon reached behind himself to drag a nearby chair for the barmaid, Pete’s eyes remained fixed on her. Unlike the blonde and brunette barmaids, he had seen, Lela was not flaunting her figure for the beer guzzlers’ attention. With her ivory blouse buttoned up to her neck, and her khaki cardigan draped over her frame, to some she might disappear in amongst the crowd. Nodding to Brandon, Lela perched on the edge of her seat. Pulling at the cuffs of her cardigan, she fluttered her eyes in Pete’s direction. Her soft, sweet smile and the sparkle in her cerulean eyes slid a smirk up his face, as his ears began to burn.

“Come in closer, lass,” Halaken hissed, as he clattered his chair closer towards the table. Obeying orders, the petite redhead scrapped her seat across the floor’s wooden beams. Her cheeks flushed as the ground creaked beneath her. Watching Lela’s rosy complexion, the smirk prodded deeper into the corner of Pete’s cheeks. As sweat clammed his palms, Pete wiped his hands down his trousers, shifting his sight to those around him. Shuffling in his seat, Pete scratched the back of his neck, before folding his arms onto the table. Leaning forwards, he pressed his elbows into the table, flickering his focus from the blushing barmaid to the privateer captain.

The captain cleared his throat, straightened his back and pressed his shoulders out. Shifting his eyes between his crewmen, a smile spread across Halaken’s face and his eyes widened as they fixed upon the former prisoner. “This may interest you, Peterson,” Halaken smirked, with a gleam in his eye. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Pete nodded.

‘This’ll be interesting,’ Pete mused to himself. ‘What could the old bat possibly say that would have me interested?’

“As I confirmed,” the captain began. “Yes, we were sent by King Charleston to investigate into the rumoured pirate activity. Over the past few months, pirates have been attacking our tradesmen as they make their way overseas to and from our neighbouring countries. Castellus, alone, have lost hundreds of men, as vessels have failed to return home. Brandon, Lawson and I ventured out this way a few months back, when the disappearances of Castellus tradesmen first began. It was then that we discovered the black and red flag of Valder flying from the barbican of Moonstone Fortress. How the pirates found a way inside the castle remains a mystery.

Moonstone Fortress lies northeast of here. Its name derives from the legend you fellows may have heard of: The Legend of the Moonstone,” Captain Halaken explained, keeping his eyes locked with Pete’s. Having taken a sip of ale, Pete punched a fist to his chest, preventing him from spitting it out in the captain’s face.

“Ha!” he laughed, slamming his hand into the table. “You don’t expect me to believe that childish bedtime story, do you?” Pete scoffed. “Parents tell that tale to their kids, to stop them from wanting to become pirates.”

“Even fairy tales hold truth in them,” Lela warned him, as her shy smile turned into a stern stare. Swallowing, Pete shot his eyes towards the table and ran a hand across the back of his neck.

“Still,” he mumbled with a shrug. “It’s childish nonsense.”

“Would you care to explain it to the table then?” Halaken asked his previous prisoner, “Seeing as you know the story so well.”

Exhaling a sharp snort of air through his nostrils, Pete’s smirk returned to the left corner of his mouth. Looking to Lela he thought, ‘Might be my chance to impress her,’ before agreeing to Captain Halaken’s request. “Alright,” Pete shrugged, rolling his shoulders, as he straightened his back. “Hundreds of years ago, some ship got strung through the whirlpool, just outside of Langti. The ship got wrecked and the captain found himself washed up on some little island.” As Pete recalled the story to the crew, he flickered his eyes back to Lela, in hopes her smile would return at his knowledge of the tale. “They call it Moonrock Island, as the captain found a moonstone etched with a moon and stars that is said to harvest magical powers. It granted him the ability to resurrect his crew.” A smile spread across the captain’s face and he nodded for Pete to continue. “But he ended out resurrecting the bodies of all men who lost their lives at sea. He basically had an undead army. He got greedy, used them to take over all of the nearby islands – Langti, Barkton Versulin, Bahaven Peak, Castellus and the land beyond Motorus Relicta. When he discovered the magical fruit forest of Fructi Forté-”

“Magical fruit forest?” Lawson frowned, with a chuckle to his voice.

Turning to Lawson, Pete laughed along with him, “It depends which version you’ve heard. Each country adds their own twist to it,” he said with a playful grin and a shrug. “Anyway,” he continued, turning his attention to Lela. “The captain became so obsessed with the fruits trees on Fructi Forté that he had his undead army build him a castle nearby. He had his men surround the castle with a towering boarder of rock, so that no one, but he could ever access it. One day the captain met his match, when an opponent of his finally brought him down by shattering the moonstone, scattering the pieces into the sea. With the moonstone gone, he also lost his undead army. Defenceless, his reign came to an end and he was hanged, in the harbour gallows of Castellus.”

“Very good Peterson,” Captain Halaken mused with a nod, as his former prisoner finished the story.

“I still don’t understand what some silly legend has to do with-” pausing to think, Pete turned to Lawson, at his right, as his brow puckered. “Well, anything really,” he added with a shrug.

“It has everything to do with what you have recently encountered, boy,” the captain told him, with a chill to his voice. A shiver shuddered down Pete’s spine. Turning to the petite redhead that sat beside him, Captain Halaken allowed himself a soft smile, as he asked her, “Would you care to continue, Lela?” Pinching her lips in, Lela nodded.

Twisting her head over her right shoulder, Lela nodded towards Garrin at the bar, before returning her attention to the privateers. Lela cupped her hands to her elbows and stiffened her shoulders, as she traipsed her line of sight to each man at the table while she spoke. “Valder, he calls himself the Pirate King,” she informed them. “Has somehow managed to seek entrance into Moonstone Fortress.” With raised brows emerging on Sanders and Pete’s foreheads, Lela elaborated, “Moonstone Fortress has remained a mystery to the people of Shipwreck Cove and the surrounding islands for hundreds of years. As Peterson correctly informed us, it is a castle encaged by a border of rocks. For centuries sailors have tried to gain access, but no one has ever found a way… that is until a few months ago.

No one knows how, but one day King Valder’s blood-covered skull flag appeared on the flagpole. Rumour has it that he has begun to collect the moonstone pieces that were scattered centuries ago. With the moonstone complete, who knows what could happen.” Swallowing, Lela shrugged, dropping her sight to a knot in the table.

“Right you are my dear,” hummed Halaken. “Now, how and why does this involve us, you may ask.” Folding his arms on the table, Pete leaned forwards, intrigued by the captain’s words. “We were sent by King Charleston, not only to take down the pirates, but to take control of Moonstone Fortress. With that as our base, the king hoped that we could keep the seas safe from all of these pirate attacks.”

Leaning forwards, Pete’s shirt puckered up his back. Feeling the weight of Captain Halaken’s journal tug at his cape, Pete flopped back, against the backrest of the seat, and clattered the chair across the ground, sliding himself closer towards the table. As he gave his chair one final scrape, Pete grasped a hand to the journal and chewed the inside of his cheek, in hopes of hiding his interest. ‘Getting hold of this fortress could be interesting,’ Pete mused. ‘You’d have view and control of every direction… every harbour. With an army at your side, you’d be unstoppable… you could rule the seas.’ Noticing Halaken gesture towards Lela, Pete’s ears began to burn as her eyes locked with his.

“Lela, here, is my personal spy,” the captain announced, in a whisper, to the table. “She sees everything that happens here, at this little harbour. She knows every man who passes through.”

“Do not say it like that!” she protested, recoiling back in her seat. As her cheeks blushed, Pete’s grin grew. “It makes me sound like one of them,” she exclaimed, pointing towards the other barmaids, huddled around the bar.

“But it’s true,” Halaken went on, with a grin and a gleam in his eye. “Lela mixes and mingles with all of the tradesmen, privateers and pirates that pass through Shipwreck Cove, extracting all of the useful information, from the stories she hears and reports them back to me, in Castellus. She helps us to keep one step ahead of the rest and assists in weaving our strategy. Without Lela, Castellus may as well be a sitting duck for cannon fire and piracy ambushes.” Hearing the captain’s complement, Lela pinched her lips in as her cheeks turned an even rosier hue. “Lela, here, has already planned our next move.” Punching out his chest, Pete’s admiration of the beautiful barmaid grew. “Tell them, Lela,” the captain went on. “What’s their next plan of action?”

Flickering her sight from Captain Halaken, to Lawson, to Sanders, before resting on Pete, she bit her bottom lip. “Adrean Blagden, captain of the Serpent’s Tongue, is recruiting tonight. He is King Valder’s second.” Arching her head over her right shoulder, Lela scanned the bar area near the pianist. Giving a sharp sniff, she spun her head back towards the group. “See the man nearing the bar – tall, long wavy hair,” she tapped her hand below her right shoulder. “Long, black leather coat, red scarf…?” Observing as Captain Halaken’s crew gazed beyond her, she waited for their sight to return to hers before continuing. “They are looking to venture out to Motorus Relicta first thing in the morning.”

“The collection a islands dedicated t’ collectin’ bodies a those lost at sea?” Brandon exclaimed, leaning back on his chair. “Why would a pirate want, or should I say need, ta go to a place no one ‘as been t’ since the turn a the century?”

“Why hasn’t anyone been there in so long?” asked Pete. “Haven’t the pirates been killing tradesmen for months? Don’t they still take the bodies there?”

“Motorus Relicta hasn’t been used as a body dumping ground in so long, ‘cause they ran outta room, like,” Brandon explained. “For hundreds a years the dead were buried there – bound t’ run outta room eventually,” he added, shrugging.

“Good point,” Sanders muttered, with a nod.

“Motorus Relicta is also said to be the location, in which, the bodies of all of the sailors who returned from the dead, to help construct Moonstone Fortress, are said to be buried,” Lela warned them. “Whatever business Captain Blagden and King Valder have with burial ground; you can be sure it has something to do with the moonstone.” Glancing between Lela and the pirate, Captain Blagden, a ramble of whispered mutters murmured from Halaken’s crew.

Clearing his throat in a cantankerous manner, Captain Halaken regained the attention of his men. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, Brandon, Sanders and Peterson, is to go undercover on Blagden’s crew and gather as much information as you can, regarding the moonstone and what the pirate’s plans may be. The Serpent’s Tongue is scheduled back in port in three days. This should give you ample time to do some serious sleuthing.”

“You want us t’ do what?” gaped Brandon.

“You’re sending the prisoner and not me?” Lawson raged, rising from his chair. “This is preposterous!”

“Sit down Lawson,” hissed Halaken. “You’re drawing attention to yourself. This is the exact reason why I chose Peterson over yourself. You and I run the risk of being recognised, by the pirates, as King’s men. Brandon and Sanders are less likely, as they have not ventured to the Wreck-Age as frequently as we have. With Peterson with them, they should arouse little suspicion,” the captain explained to his second. “Now Peterson, should you accept this mission, I shall put in a good word for you with King Charleston. All charges of piracy will be dropped, and should we succeed in gaining access to Moonstone Fortress, I would like to offer you a position as one of my spies, like Lela here, as a token of my apology and gratitude.”

Pete exhaled a long hum as the captain’s deal circled through his mind. ‘I would like a free ticket out of a hanging,’ he reasoned with himself. ‘But can this pathetic bunch really outsmart a band of pirates and take over a castle? I could be working alongside this beauty though.’ The tips of Pete’s ears began to burn a fiery red, as he gazed across the table at the barmaid. Pinching her lips in, Lela’s blushing smile returned as her eyes met Pete’s. ‘Being back on a pirate ship might not be so bad,’ Pete told himself, as he pressed a hand to Halaken’s journal. ‘And this Blagden guy looks like he knows his stuff,’ he reasoned, as he turned his attention to the captain of the Serpent’s Tongue. Pete observed as Blagden strode through the bar with his shoulders back, chest out, like he owned the place. Planting his palm into the bar counter, the pirate ordered a pint, pinching the bottom of a brunette barmaid that scurried past him. Slapping an arm around a man who joined him at the bar, Blagden let out a cheerful chuckle as the two men raised their glasses and chugged on their ale. ‘This could be interesting,’ Pete mused with a grin. Turning to Captain Halaken, Pete told him, “I’m in.”

 

*

 

Nearing the upbeat ditty that echoed off the wooden beams, Pete tapped his foot to the beat, whilst he stood in line. The view in front of him was obscured by Brandon, whose budging figure towered over Pete. Leaning to his right, Pete stretched his neck around Brandon’s body. Toppling, Sanders grabbed a hold of Pete’s shoulders, from behind. “No need t’ be nervous buddy,” chuckled the sandy-haired man, as Pete threw a glare in his direction.

“Yeah,” agreed Brandon, as he spun around. Clasping a hand on Pete’s shoulder, Brandon tugged him closer. Feeling his stomach flip to his feet, Pete toppled into Brandon’s side. “You’ve got us, Petey,” Brandon beamed.

“We’ll look out for each other,” Sanders exclaimed.

“That we will,” Brandon reassured them with a nod. Forcing a smile, Pete resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Great,” Pete muttered, as Brandon scuffed his hair. “Hey,” he grumbled. “I’m not a little kid.”

“No ‘ard feelin’s,” Brandon shrugged. “Yer the little un t’ us.” Grabbing an arm around Pete’s shoulders, Brandon and Sanders gave Pete a squeeze.

“I’m eighteen,” Pete barked, squirming out from their grip. The pulse pounded in his temples. Balling his hands into fists, Pete’s nose snarled.

“An’ still a squirt of a man,” Brandon chuckled. Smirking, Sanders nudged Pete’s arm.

“Don’t mind him,” Sanders whispered to Pete, jabbing his head in Brandon’s direction. “He gets a little excitable at times.”

“No kidding,” muttered Pete, rolling his shoulders back.

“Don’t be forgetting, you saved his life,” Sanders reminded him. “The man’s gunna be looking out for ya.” Prodding the corner of his mouth up, Pete nodded as they moved forward in the queue.

The rhythmical patter and accompanying claps died, as the pianist passed them, heading towards the bar. Conversations lowered to a mumble, as the sudden silence could not mask the inn’s discussions. “Name?” growled a gruff voice, a few paces ahead. Pete puffed out an exhale and tapped his foot, as the man in front of Brandon mumbled away. “Name?” muttered the voice again. Hearing Brandon clear his throat, Pete snarled is nose, pressed out his chest and punched his fists to his hips. Brandon side-stepped to the right, as Sanders appeared on Pete’s left.

“Me mates an’ I ‘eard Blagden’s after a crew,” announced Brandon, holding a hand out towards Pete and Sanders.

“Aye,” spoke a tanned man, with a nod. “That he is.” Dropping his quill back into the inkpot, the man folded his arms, allowing the sleeves of his cobalt shirt to drape over the list in front of him. “What brings you to port?” he asked raising his right eyebrow.

“Yer see, erm…” Brandon stuttered, as his tongue scraped against the roof of his mouth.

“We were shipwrecked,” Pete blurted out. “We raid the trees on Fructi Forté and bring the fruits back to Shipwreck Cove to sell.” While Pete wove his tale, Brandon swallowed at the lump in his throat and Sanders shifted his sights to the ground, scraping the tip of his boot at a knot in the wooden flooring. “There’s loadsa trade here!” exclaimed Pete, as his story continued. “That’s how we make our living. Only last night, one a them King’s ships rammed us. We’re only a sailboat, see, but they smashed right through us. Lost half our men. Only the three of us survived. We made it t’ port and were wondering what our next move would be, when we heard Captain Blagden was looking for a crew. We respect him an awful lot, right lads?”

“Yer, yeah,” agreed Brandon, scratching a hand to the back of his neck.

“Sure do,” Sanders added, swinging a fist in agreeance.

“We’d be real grateful, you know, if you’d help us out,” Pete pleaded. “It’s hard enough making a living as it is, now we’ve got no boat, no crew and barely any coin to get us through the week. We’ll be a big help – honest.”

“Been on a ship before?” asked the man with a chuckle to his voice, as he ran a hand through his goatee. “Your dinky, little sailboat ain’t nothing compared to a triple masted, double decked, beauty a the sea.”

“We sure have,” Brandon beamed. “Why I’ve manned a ship most a me life.”

“Aye,” nodded Sanders. “Me too.”

“What about you, squirt?” asked the man at the desk, looking down his nose at Pete.

Smirking, Pete muttered under his breath, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“What was that?”

“Look! We can man a ship as good as the next man,” Pete told him. “You ain’t exactly got crowds a men lined up here ta pick an’ choose from, so what d’ya say? We’re willin’, we’re able and we’re keen to work for Blagden. What more could you ask for?” asked Pete with a shrug. As a thumping hand whacked Pete on the back, he staggered forwards. Feeling his heart sink to the pit of his stomach, Pete flickered his eyes towards the bar, in hopes of catching a glimpse of Lela, to boost his ego. His insides knotted as the grinning face of the pirate, Captain Blagden, met his.

“Welcome aboard!” beamed Blagden. “Moritz, sign them up! We set sail at dawn lads. You up for it?”

“Aye-aye,” Pete, Brandon and Sanders sang. Grumbling under his breath, Captain Blagden’s second in command, Moritz, cursed as he scribbled away at the parchment in front of him.

“Good to hear lads,” Blagden cheered. “And don’t mind Moritz,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “He doesn’t take well to new crewmates.”

“Always good ta be suspicious,” Brandon told the pirate captain, with a nod. “Yer never know what could ‘appen. Could ‘ave yerself a bunch a privateers pretendin’ t’ be pirates, like, ta try an’ sneak information an’ secrets.” Scrunching his hands into fists, Pete held his breath as he strode past Brandon, kicking him in the shin.

“Sorry mate,” Pete muttered, as Brandon began howling. “Accident,” he shrugged. Tapping Blagden on the back, Pete led the pirate captain back towards the bar.

Reaching the bar, Captain Blagden bid his new crew member goodnight and strode towards the back of the inn. Plonking himself on a barstool, Pete watched after Blagden as he approached the redheaded barmaid.

Gathering tankards, plates and clearing up shards of glass from a nearby table, Lela sighed to herself. Clawing her nails through her hair, she groaned, before reaching out for the final glass on the table. A hand met hers. With a gasp, she retracted her hand. Her cheeks flushed as she shot her head towards the man who stood beside her. Pete clenched his teeth and scrunched his eyes to slits as he watched Captain Blagden assist Lela with clearing the table. A warm smile stretched across the barmaid’s face as the two of them embraced. Kicking back his chair, Pete leapt to his feet. Two hands pressed down on his shoulders. Flinging his head over his shoulder, his heart rammed into his ribcage as Brandon, Sanders, Lawson and Captain Halaken appeared at his side. “Peterson you did it!” Halaken cheered. “Sanders told us how you convinced the pirates to recruit the three of you. We are most grateful for your assistance.” Humming a reply, Pete’s shoulders deflated, as his view of Captain Blagden and Lela was distorted.

As Halaken and the rest of his crew joined Pete at the bar, Pete’s continued twists and stretches over heads and limbs to catch a glance of Lela and Blagden’s interaction, did not go unnoticed by the bartender. “You got your eye on Lela there, huh?” Garrin grinned, stepping into Pete’s line of sight. “She’s a good un. Thinks the world of Blagden too – he’s like a father to her,” Garrin told him, as he ran a rag through a smeared nonik glass.

“Father?” Pete repeated, with a frown.

“No need worrying sonny,” Garrin chuckled. “Lela’s got eyes for you. She ain’t never shown interest in a fella before, I’ll have you know,” Garrin assured him. “An’ I’ve known her almost six years now.” Upon hearing this, Pete’s heart raced. His pulse fled to his ears, burning them to a rosy hue. “She sees something special in you, lad. And don’t you dare hurt her, or you’ll have me an’ Blagden’s entire crew huntin’ yer down.” Pete’s eyes widened and he forced a swallow, as Garrin chuckled.

Upon the barman’s arrival to the scene, Captain Halaken ensured his crew that Garrin was looking after them. “Garrin and I go back years lads,” the captain told them. “How many is it again, Garrin?”

“Oow, too man to count,” the bartender chuckled. “Shows my age.”

“Nonsense,” laughed the captain, nudging his friend in the ribs. “Garrin here’s set us up with rooms, until we can send note to Castellus and have the king send us a vessel home.”

“Brandon, Peterson, I’m afraid you two will be sharing,” Garrin told them. “Now don’t worry,” he added, seeing the look of shock on the men’s faces. “It’s a twin room. The only one I’ve got left at the moment. What with all the pirate attacks, there’s a lotta men stranded lately.”

“How terrible,” Lawson gasped.

“It’s good for business,” Garrin told them, with a shrug.

Footsteps vibrated the floorboards beneath Pete’s feet. A puzzled frown fixed upon his forehead, as he arched his head over his shoulder. He inhaled a sharp breath, as Captain Blagden appeared as this side, with Lela not far behind him. “There you go, Miss Lela,” he said with a bow, having placed two bar trays full of tankards and plates on the bar for her.

“Thank you Adrean,” she smiled, with a curtsey, as she placed a third bar tray full of empty glasses down on the bar.

“Now, stay safe my dear,” he told Lela, as he took her hand and kissed it.

“You too,” she whispered, with a teary smile.

“I’ll do my best,” Blagden nodded, before bowing once more. As Lela dropped another curtsey, the pirate captain turned on his heels and disappeared into the crowd.

“You gentlemen should get some sleep,” Lela told them, as she stepped behind the bar. Gathering a collection of clean glasses and tankards, she piled them onto a clean bar tray. “You have an early start tomorrow.”

“That you do men,” beamed Halaken. “Are you ready to do your country proud?”

“Aye!” cheered Brandon and Sanders.

“Ready to set sail,” Pete added, winking at Lela. Seeing Lela blush, Pete chuckled, and his ears turned a deep crimson.

“Take care,” she whispered. “I believe in you.”

 

*

 

A sea salt stench wafted up his nostrils, as the ship rocked. Circling the stick in his arms, in a rhythmical motion, Pete mopped the spot at his feet. A muttering of voices murmured away behind him, as the pirate crew carried out their duties. ‘This stinks!’ Pete grumbled to himself, as he snarled his nose at the knotted boards beneath his feet. ‘Mopping the blinkin’ deck is never ending,’ he raged. Hearing the waves splosh over the starboard gunwale, Pete let out an exasperated sigh as he trudged towards it. The breeze wafted through his curls, carrying a new scent to his nostrils. Snapping his eyes tight, Pete took a slow, deep inhale. A sodden wood, fresh foliage fragrance brought back memories of his recent adventure with Brandon, through the woodland of Shipwreck Cove. Flickering his eyes back open, another scent filtered into him. A sweet, floral fragrance, mixed with a thick forest of berries made his taste buds tingle. Saliva salivated in his mouth and his stomach began to grumble. Arching his head towards the starboard gunwale, Pete’s mop clattered to the ground and his lips parted, as a gasp escaped him. A vibrant array of shamrock and fern foliage bearing a rainbow of cherry, tangerine, dandelion, Prussian-blue, boysenberry and fuchsia-coloured fruits danced in the breeze. Allowing a breathy, “Wow,” to escape him, the corner of Pete’s mouth poked up.

“Back to work,” growled a voice from behind. Stiffening his shoulders, Pete ignored the voice, continuing to gaze over at the vivid coloured island, full of ambrosial fragrances. Footsteps neared him. Having not recognised this voice, and knowing it to not belong to Captain Blagden, or his second, Moritz, Pete shrugged them off. His eyes grew wider, as the ship neared the fruit filled island. Vibration tingled his feet, as the footsteps thudded behind him. The light around Pete faded. “Are you deaf?” growled the voice. Engulfed by the stranger’s shadow, Pete spun around on his heels and squared his shoulders to his opponent. Widening his eyes, Pete swallowed at the gut of a man that stood before him. His navy and sweat stained chiffon-coloured shirt puckered above the man’s hairy navel. Shifting his vision higher, a lump lodged in Pete’s throat. His stomach churned at the stale fish and sweaty body odour that accompanied the pit-stained man. “I said back to work,” barked the bellied buccaneer.

“Jeez, I was only taking in the scenery,” Pete retorted. “Give a guy a break.”

“Captain Blagden don’t take no dilly-dallyin’,” the pirate growled.

“Oh yeah,” Pete taunted, punching out his chest. “And who’d you think you are?” Locking eyes with his opponent, Pete forced himself to swallow. A scar engraved deep in the man’s skin stretched from the corner of his left eye socket, curved around his podgy cheeks, stopping at the corner of his mouth. A shiver crept up Pete’s spine, as recognition sunk in. His insides swirled around in a circumbendibus. Snapping his jaw tight, Pete’s brow lined, as he did not recall parting his lips as he stared.

“You got a serious attitude problem, landlubber,” the pirate spat. “What’s yer name, kid, so I can grass yer up t’ Moritz?”

Letting out a laugh, Pete retorted, “Why should I tell you, suck-up? You’re no big shot around here. And I am working,” Pete snapped, swiping his mop from the ground as it clattered towards him. “I dropped me mop when the ship swayed. You got a problem?” Rolling up his sleeves, Pete puffed out his chest, watching his pirate opponent crack his knuckles, as he lined his face with anger.

“Petey!” came a cry from the gundeck. Turning at the sound of his name, Pete scowled at a sandy nest of hair, as Sanders and a waddling Brandon trundled towards him. Exhaling a gruff breath through gritted teeth, Pete balled his hands into fists. “Petey!” they called again, panting as they reached Pete’s side.

“Aww…” cooed Pete’s opponent. “Little Petey’s got his backup here to protect him.”

“Shut it!” Pete barked, jabbing a finger in the pirate’s chest. “And it’s Peterson t’ you.” Turning to his privateer companions, Pete screeched, “Can’t the two a you just leave me alone?”

“B, b, but Pete,” stuttered Brandon, placing a hand on Pete’s shoulder. Jerking his shoulder out from under the privateer’s grip, the scowl dropped from Pete’s face as he stared behind the King’s men. Watching Pete’s bottom lip drop, the men turned in the direction of Pete’s stare.

Stood on the gundeck above them, with his feet apart and shoulders back, a mane of dark hair flapped from his tricorne hat. “What is the meaning of this?” thundered the voice from above. Scraping his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Pete shot his pirate opponent a daggering scowl. Sanders and Brandon quivered, rooted to the spot, as the captain leapt down to the main deck to join them. Stepping towards the scarred man, the pirate captain sighed. “What trouble have you caused now, Bigby?” Captain Blagden fumed.

“B-b, but, it wasn’t me,” the scarred man stuttered. “It was him,” he cried, jabbing a finger at Pete. “He wasn’t workin’, so I-”

“Enough Bigby,” Blagden sighed, as he stepped between the pirate and Pete. Stroking the nail of his index finger against Bigby’s cheek, Captain Blagden added, “Need I remind you what happens when you step out of line?” in a light sing-song tone.

Shuddering under that captain’s touch, Bigby stuttered, “S, s, s, s-sorry c-c-Captain Blagden, Sir. Eh-eh, it won’t happen again,” before squirming away towards the bow of the ship.

With Bigby trudging away from the scene, the captain turned his attention to his other three troublemakers. The internal smirk that Pete had been wearing, during the scarred pirate’s interrogation, washed away, as Captain Blagden’s boots circled Pete and the privateers. “Why aren’t we mopping?” demanded the captain. “Is there a problem with your arms?” he mocked, raising his brows at Pete, Brandon and Sanders. “Or are my mops not good enough fer the likes a yer?”

“Sir, no Sir,” saluted Blagden, straightening his back. Taking a step towards the sandy-haired man, Captain Blagden cleared his throat, as his nose snarled.

“No sir!” Sanders shouted.

“Then back t’ the quarterdeck wiv yer,” Blagden barked. “An’ you,” he snarled, stabbing a finger in Brandon’s belly. “Will be on sword sharpenin’ duty at dawn. Do you read me?”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” Brandon saluted again.

“Then get!” roared the captain, jabbing a thumb over his right shoulder.

“Sir, yes, Sir!” Brandon and Sanders sang in chorus, as they scurried away and up to the next deck of the ship.

Looming over Pete, with his hands on his hips, Captain Blagden cocked an eyebrow, whilst he waited for the privateers to be out of earshot. “The Fructi fruits thief I presume?” muttered the captain. Lowering his head, Pete’s heart dropped to his stomach as the lie he had told to be admitted into Bladgen’s crew stabbed him in the gut. Visions of Bigby’s scar flashed before his eyes, sending a shudder down his back.

“I – I,” Pete stuttered, staring at Blagden’s boots. Stepping towards Pete, Captain Blagden slapped a hand to boy’s back.

“You know what kid?” mused Blagden. “You remind me a lot of me, when I was your age.” Jerking his head towards the gunwale, Captain Blagden strode towards the ship’s edge, gesturing for Pete to follow him. As Captain Blagden stretched his arms out, on the edge of the ship’s wooden body, a warm, hearty sigh escape him. “I remember what it was like on my first voyage, many years ago,” he began. As the wind trailed his hair out behind him, Blagden took in a deep inhale of the sea breeze. “Eager, full of excitement and energy. Buzzing with adrenaline. Wanting to prove my worth to the captain. Hopes dreams and aspirations to do well – to make something of myself,” the passion in the captain’s voice stirred the feelings in Pete’s stomach.

“Yes,” Pete gasped, eye wide, catching the captain’s gaze. “I want to do more than just mop the deck,” he grumbled, slamming his mop to the ground. “I want to do things. I want to be someone. I want-” Images of his previous voyage, on Captain Halaken’s vessel thundered to the front of his mind, as the ship dipped starboard. Swaying. Rocks. Cannon fire. The sinking bow. Anger boiled to the surface. “I know more about a ship than the last stinkin’ captain I sailed with,” Pete raged, balling his hands into fists. “He almost got the lot of us killed. Outta over a hundred men, only five of us survived and the only reason we did was because of me. I warned him. I told him to bring the ship around, but would he listen to me, noo! He was too interested in blasting the enemy out of the water that he neglected his first responsibility as captain – to keep the crew safe. I swear down I-”

“Easy little man,” chuckled Blagden, nudging Pete in the ribs. “Easy does it.” Shaking his head, Pete shuddered himself out of his trance.

“Sorry,” he muttered, with a shrug.

“Don’t be!” Blagden exclaimed, gazing out over the briny blue. “You’ve got passion kid. I like it. Makes for a good leader.”

“Yer think?” smirked Pete, running a hand across the back of his neck.

“You bet,” Blagden nodded. “I tell yer what, when we make shore on Motorus Relicta, this time tomorrow, you come with me when we search the ruins. Show me what you’re made of?”

“Sure,” Pete agreed, with a nod. “And, er, thanks!” Snorting out a puff of air, Pete’s smirk prodded up into the left corner of his mouth.

“But for now,” growled the captain, hearing mutterings of his crew near. “Get back to work! Scrub that deck! Make it shine. I wanna be able to see my face in it.” Frowning at the captain’s words, Pete opened his mouth to correct him. “Shut it!” Blagden barked. “Now get moppin’! Prove yourself puny pirate. I’m watchin’ you Fructi thief!” With a quick wink, Blagden turned on his heels and stomped up the deck. “Whatta you lookin’ at Beady?” he boomed. “Back ta work.”

 

*

 

With the soothing hush and hiss of the sea, his lids lowered. An amber glow, from a flickering candle, illuminated his closed lids and he shot his eyes back open. His heart hammered in his chest. ‘I’m awake,’ he told himself, shaking his head. ‘I’m awake.’ Wrinkling his nose, the burning soot scent from his flickering flame tickled the hairs inside his nose. The fragrance soon extinguished, following a foul, fishy burp from the snoozing pirate in the hammock above him. Throwing a hand to his mouth, Pete heaved forwards. The acid in Pete’s stomach crept back up his body. Wrinkling his nose, he rolled over onto his left side, wafting a hand to the air. Turning the page in his book, Pete squinted his eyes, as he tried to continue reading his book now that his light source had been extinguished. A rickety groan yawned to his right, as another pirate stirred. Rolling over, the pirate flopped himself away from Pete and returned to his deep wood-cutting snores.

Straining forwards, Pete drew the journal nearer, as his eyes skimmed over the loopy handwriting. ‘So, the privateers plan to rule over the castle at Moonstone Fortress, do they?’ Pete sneered. ‘I don’t think the frilly, frolicking privateers fully estimate what their up against. They can’t just charge in and demand to take over,’ he mocked. ‘If you’re going to take over and reign supreme you need to take action and be willing to do whatever it takes. Besides,’ he added, snarling. ‘Who’d want a sea ruled by that old codfish? If anyone’s going to take over Moonstone Fortress, it’s going to be me.’ Wrinkling his nose, Pete inhaled three, short, sharp sniffs. A whiff of rotten egg swept into his lungs, as the buccaneer residing in the hammock above passed gas. Flinging his face into the nook of his elbow, Pete leapt from his hammock and bolted to the door.

Leaping out into the fresh air, Pete stuffed Halaken’s journal back down his shirt. He ruffled his cape around his torso and strode out onto the main deck. Squinting a little, as his eyes adjusted to the streaks of gold and crimson that glimmered through the shadowy, slate-grey sky, Pete ran a hand through his curls as he inhaled his first comfortable sulphury sea salt breath. Punching out his chest, a soft smile stretched out across his face. His heart thudded to the soft sway of the sea sloshing against the body of the ship. Swaying with the rhythm of the ocean, Pete allowed a hum to escape him.

“Thought I might find you out here,” came a voice from behind him. Gasping, Pete’s stomach dropped. His heart leapt into his throat, as he flung his head over his shoulder. “Relax,” chuckled Captain Blagden, seeing Pete’s jaw drop. “I enjoy a good sunrise too.”

Silent messages passed between the two, as Pete and the pirate captain conversed through smirks and sighs as they gazed out at the mesmerising rosy, golden beams, protruding through the clusters of clouds. Twinkling light danced over the sea’s surface. The sky’s scarlet glow warmed to an amber hue, as the ashen clouds began to dissolve.

Stretching his arms out against the gunwale edge, Captain Blagden exhaled a tuneful hum, prodding a smile into the corner of his mouth. “What are your plans, fruit thief?” asked the captain, without turning away from the glowing, medallion beams as they sliced through the pewter clouds.

“There’s more to me that stealing fruit, yer know,” Pete chuckled, playing along with his tale, as he scraped a hand through his curls. “And the name’s Pete.”

“So, Pete,” mocked Blagden. “Where do you see yourself five years from now?” Folding his arms, the captain cocked his head in Pete’s direction. With a shrug, Pete slipped his hands into his pockets.

“I dunno,” he muttered. “Haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Guy with your ambition can’t want to be a deck scrubber forever,” Blagden chuckled. “An’ if you do, I’d consider a career change – you ain’t that great.”

“Cheers,” Pete laughed. “Not to toot my horn or anything,” Pete began, as he turned around, leaning his back against the ship’s body. “But after my last experience on a ship – I reckon I’d make a pretty good captain.”

“Thought about who you’d work for?” Blagden asked. “Gotta be careful whose side you take, whose business you get involved in. Yer can make a lot more enemies than alliances in this line a work, kid.” Nodding his head, Pete let out a hum, deep in thought.

“So, who d’you work for, if you don’t mind me asking?” asked Pete.

“Me?!” exclaimed the captain. “I work for King Valder – have done most a me life. Started as a cabin boy for another of King Valder’s crew and worked me way up. You’ve gotta always be willing to give it your all. Put in yer nine pieces of eight’s worth – if you catch my drift?” After winking at Pete, Captain Blagden returned his attention back to the sun, cracking over the horizon.

“Who does Valder work for?” asked Pete, scrunching his mouth to one side.

“That’s King Valder,” Captain Blagden corrected him, with a harsh tone. “You’d do well not to forget that,” he muttered under his breath. Pushing himself off the gunwale, Captain Blagden strode across the deck, to the boat’s portside. Waving a cupped hand in Pete’s direction, the captain signalled for the lad to follow.

Creaking across the main deck, Pete’s eyes widened as Blagden pointed towards the distant rock formation that they had passed yesterday. Squinting his eyes, Pete gripped the wall of the ship to steady his balance. “Wow,” he breathed at the blooded skull flag flapping, as the morning winds grew fierce. “Will we be heading to Moonstone Fortress?” Pete asked, as his sight focused upon the jagged battlements. ‘I wonder if they’re up there watching us?’ he wondered. “Does Valder – I mean King Valder really own it? How did he get inside? What’s the secret?” he rambled, pressing a hand to Halaken’s journal hidden beneath his shirt.

“We sure aren’t heading to the keep today,” Blagden warned. “But if you can prove you’re not all talk, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the king. If he’s impressed enough by your talents,” the captain went in a musical tone. “He may allow you to make his acquaintance on the island.” Pete frowned, unable to tell if Captain Blagden was mocking him.

“Beats having him make mincemeat outta me,” replied Pete, with a chuckle, as he prodded the left corner of his mouth.

“Alright,” sighed the captain, with a nod. “You’d better scram before the early birds pass through to the galley. Go grab some grub, but you’d better be back on deck, scrubbin’ before roll call.”

“Yes Sir,” saluted Pete, straightening his back. His heart rapped in his ribcage. ‘This guy means business,’ Pete warned himself, swallowing the lump in his throat. As Blagden nodded back at him, Pete turned on his heels and headed towards the galley.

“Hey kid!” Blagden called after him. Pete arched is head over his shoulder. “You still interested in proving yourself, accompanying me on Motorus Relicta?”

“You bet!” Pete ginned with a nod. A smile stretched across Captain Blagden’s face as he nodded back at Pete, before striding towards the helm.

 

*

 

The rhythmical port to starboard sway slowed. Voices rumbled. Footsteps thundered. A collection of bodies congregated around the main deck. Looming over the crew, Captain Blagden stood above them, on the quarter deck. Ducking beneath playful punches and squirming out of the way of chest bumps and hair scuffed headlocks, Pete scrambled to the main mast. He gripped his hands through the ratlines and clambered up a few prongs, out of reach of the rowdy wranglers. Swinging back, Pete had a perfect observation spot. Boisterous bellows could not obstruct the captain’s orders, nor did he face the possibility of been thumped or swung into another pirate and have to face a bust up. He could not afford an injury or to let the captain down. Gazing down at the rambunctious men below, they wavered and toppled into one another, as though they had each consumed a tankard or two of the captain’s finest ale. These men, however, had not touched a single drop.

Arching a hand over his eyes, Pete squinted as the sun’s low beams blinded his vision. Scanning the group below, Pete searched the crowd for Halaken’s men. A bumble of navy stripes, armpits stained the colour of mustard and flabs of overhanging flesh merged together. Near the side-lines, hovering behind a bundle of barrels, a large bellied man, with dark hair swept back in a ribbon, stood. He appeared to be hiding from the group, accompanied by a well-build man, with a nest of sanded hair. Shaking his head, Pete chuckled to himself. ‘They’ll never fit in if they act like that.’

“Arad, Beady, Bigby, Chuck, Drunge, Neal and Peterson,” announced the captain. As Blagden spoke, conversation between the crewmen dropped. “You men have been chosen to accompany me to the islands. As fer the rest of you,” Blagden continued. “Moritz is in charge until I get back. If anyone disobeys his orders while I’m gone, it’s the cat o’ nine tails fer the lot a ya.” A shiver washed over the crew. “As fort the other seven. To the rowboat – pronto.” Murmurs, whispers and nudges broke out amongst the men, as the captain’s seven chosen ones fumbled across the deck.

Dropping down from the ratlines, Pete scampered, ducked and dodge-rolled out of the line of sight of Halaken’s men. ‘I’m not doing this for them,’ Pete spat. ‘Pathetic cowards. It’s my time to shine.’

 

*

 

Lunging forwards, Pete planted his feet, gripped the oar tight with both hands and tugged it towards himself, as he straightened his back. The scrawny man beside him, in a scarlet shirt mimicked his actions. “That’s it, men!” came the vigorous boost from the captain. “Keep at it. Stroke… and stroke.” Grunting, Pete flung himself forwards once more, as the mechanical dip, pull, lunge, drag motion tugged at his biceps. “Come on men, stroke!”

With water lashing in his face, Pete snapped his eyes tight and wrinkled his nose, as he lunged forward. Swinging back, he pierced his eyes open. Two dark earth eyes stared back into his. With the scar striking him in the corner of his left eye, Pete shuddered as he recognised the pirate perched in front of him. As Bigby returned facing forward, Pete scowled at the back of his head. ‘What the devil is this troublemaker doing here?’ Pete raged. ‘You act up and you’re the captain favourite, is that it?’ he fumed, jabbing his oar into the sea. Raking the ocean behind him, Pete took another stab at it with his beaten wooden paddle. Snarling his nose, Pete declared to himself, ‘You think you’re so bad Bigby, huh? Just you wait.’ With another grunt, Pete lunge forward. As he plunged his oar into the ocean again, a grin stretched across Pete’s face.

Dragging the rowboat against the pebbled shore, Pete staggered forwards. The cocky grin dropped from his face, as his eyes fixed upon the island that they had arrived upon. The charcoal ground crumbled beneath his footsteps, as Pete staggered forwards. His eyes shifted from ivory mound to ivory mound that littered the pathway before him. His arms trembled. A shuddered crept up his spine. The racing of his heart caused his bottom lip to tremble. Trying to swallow, his tongue scraped against the roof of his mouth. Crouching down, Pete examined the ivory piles in front of them. Hundreds of long, eggshell sticks scattered the ground, each with two bulbous lumps on either end. Trembling, he leapt back. His foot slipped. Throwing his head over his shoulder, he spun around. He had tripped over another piece of ivory debris; this one however was not long and straight, like the others. A smooth spherical rock, with two deep set sockets stared back at him. ‘A skull,’ he shuddered, as he backed into Blagden. A yelp escaped him, as he flung around to meet the face of the captain.

“Yer not scared, are yer?” chuckled Captain Blagden, thumping Pete in the back.

“Scared?” laughed Pete, running a hand across the back of his neck. “Me?” Shuddering once more, he straightened his back and puffed his chest out. As Pete sucked in a slow, deep breath, his heart eased its thumping. “I don’t think so,” Pete declared. “I was just thinking of all the men that died… this is the sailors’ cemetery after all.” Nods and hums of agreeance accompanied Pete. One man even marked a cross over his body. An elbow nudged Pete in the side. Turning to his right, he was met with a nod from the lean man of colour whom he had been rowing beside. He forced a smile.

“Right lads,” beamed Blagden, as the pirates whom he had assembled gathered around. “You know why you’re here,” he boomed. “Arad, Bigby – no, Chuck and Bigby,” Blagden changed tactics, as the scar faced man and Pete’s rowing partner, gave each other a high five. “You take the west wing. Arad and Beady, you take the east. Neale and Drunge, you search near here and mind the boat. Peterson, you come with me – we’ll take the north side.” Nods and murmurs muttered amongst the men. “Now, if any of you find it, come an’ get me at once. No openin’. No peekin’. You leave that t’ me, d’you hear?”

“Yes sir!” they called out.

“Good,” Blagden growled. “Now get t’ work!”

Fumbling through the cluster of corpses, Pete swayed his arms at his sides for balance. The umber rocks beneath their feet crumbled with each step. Thick clouds of dust fogged their ankles. Looking ahead at Captain Blagden, the pirate was may paces ahead of him. Striding through the debris, the pirate captain sped along. Leaping over a large pile of pelvises, Pete dove his heels into the ground and raced towards the captain.

“Hey!” Pete panted, as he neared the pirate’s pacing. “Where are we going?” Ignoring Pete, Captain Blagden crouched down. He stroked a thumb to the markings on a stone slate, brushing the dust and dirt from its engravings. “Hello?!” Pete shouted, as he stomped to a halt at the captain’s side. “Where are we going?” he asked again, but louder this time. “What are we looking for?” Pete raged. “How am I supposed to help, if I don’t know what I’m doing?” Blagden punched a fist to the ground, pushing himself back up to stand. Keeping his head forward, the captain did not twitch at Pete’s questioning, as he continued with his search. Scanning the ground as he strode, Captain Blagden’s eyes moved in a robotic manner, from left to right, left to right.

Their shadows shrank to a splotch around their ankles. Heat fizzled against their scalps. The arches of Pete’s feet ached, as he trudged his right foot in front of his left. Crouched in front of a row of slates, Blagden began brushing the markings, as he had done hundreds of times already. Squatting down beside the captain, Pete mopped his brow with the scruff of his sleeve. “Can I help?” Pete asked with a sigh, deflated from Blagden ignoring him. Shifting his eyes from the stones to Pete, Captain Blagden cleared the dust from his throat.

“Dust these ones down, would ya?” Blagden told him, nudging his head towards the three gravestones lined on his left.

“Yes Sir,” muttered Pete, as he shuffled alongside him. Tugging on the corner of his cape, Pete rubbed is fist in a circular motion over the ruins. As the stubborn dirt, dust and spiderwebs protested at their disturbance, Pete spluttered a chesty cough. “So, what am I looking for?” Pete asked, squinting is eyes at the symbols and markings etched into the stone. “I don’t recognise the language,” Pete confessed.

“Ignore the writing,” Blagden muttered, as he glanced over Pete’s shoulder. “I’m looking for a symbol.” Stretching over Pete to examine the last of the stones in this section, Captain Blagden sighed. “It’s not here. Let’s keep looking.” With a nod, Pete rose to his feet and followed after the captain. As Pete opened his mouth, Captain Blagden announced, “It’s a circle… with a crescent moon on the left and a star on the right.” Pete’s eyes widened at Blagden’s sudden spew of information. He had asked the captain over and over for what they were looking for, yet he had ignored Pete for hours. “You ain’t getting anymore outta me just yet,” Blagden warned. “I’ve had men loyal on my crew fer years who ain’t made it this far. You take an inch an’ you’re as good as dead, you hear?”

“Yes Captain,” Pete muttered.

“You prove yourself – an’ I mean really prove it,” Blagden went on. “Then we’ll talk.”

The two continued walking in silence. Kicking at a pebble-sized bone, that resembled a finger or toe fragment, Pete noticed the captain too had slowed in pace. Reducing his strides, Pete arched his head around at their surroundings. Clouds bubbled around them. The gushing of the sea splashed up the rocked ledge ahead. Arching his head around, the mounds of skeletons that clustered at their feet changed in hue, from a solid, strong ivory, to an eroded greyed ash. ‘This must be the older part of the graveyard,’ Pete observed, as he circled their location. The beams from the sun elongated their shadows, as it neared it’s decent from the sky. Stretching his arms out, Pete gave an aching groan. “Nothing,” Captain Blagden muttered under his breath, as they reached the farthest northern point of the largest of the Motorus Relicta islands. Pete shuddered, turning to the captain’s side. “Nothing,” he growled again. Clamping a hand to his tricorne hat, Blagden threw it from his head. Stomping his boot into the hat, he cursed to himself.

“Everything okay, Captain?” Pete asked, taking a slow step towards him.

“Captain!” came a cry in the distance. Turning towards each other, Captain Blagden and Pete’s eyes widened. “Captain!” it came again. Turning their heads towards the cry, Pete squinted against the sun, as a khaki blob waddled towards them. “Captain!” Spotting the crewman bounding towards them, Captain Blagden leapt towards him. Racing after the captain, Pete followed not too far behind. As the three grew closer, the khaki blob Pete had spotted came into focus. A short, round man with a scruff of hay-like hair on his head and a khaki shirt with a charcoal rope fastened around his waist with several knots, trundled towards them. “It’s Bigby,” gasped the galloping man, as he skidded to a halt. Leaning forwards, the pirate pressed both hands to his knees as he hunched forwards panting. “He’s found it, captain,” he wheezed. Pete watched as Captain Blagden’s eyes bulged from his sockets.

“Chuck, lead the way,” the captain ordered.

Scrambling over mounds of bones, Pete scampered behind Captain Blagden as he raced in the direction that he had positioned Chuck and Bigby in. Rolling over on his ankle, a sharp pain twinged up his left calf. Pete punched a fist to the ground to bounce himself back up, as he continued the chase. His heart pounded. Throwing is head over his shoulder, Pete looked back at panting Chuck, who was hunched forward, wheezing against his knees. “Keep in there, Chuck,” Pete called over to him, as the pirate’s silhouette faded in the distance. As Blagden stopped, arching a hand to his forehead, squinting against the setting sun, Pete stumbled alongside him. “What is it?” Pete asked the captain. “What has Bigby found?”

“Drat,” Blagden hissed, ignoring Pete’s questions. “We’re losing light fast.” Cupping his hands around his mouth, Blagden called out, “Bigby… Bigby, where are you?”

“Over here!” came a distant cry to their distant right. Arching his head around, Blagden clasped a hand to his hat, as his eyes scanned the land. Nothing but bones and rocks. “I’m down here!” the voice of the man that interrogated Pete yesterday carried towards them. Scampering over piles of carcases and mounds of rocks, Blagden stumbled on, with Pete in tow.

“Bigby?” Blagden called again. “Can you still hear us? What’s your position?”

“I’m over here!” Bigby cried. Rolling his eyes, Captain Blagden sighed. “I’m in a hole!”

“Nah, you don’t say,” Pete muttered under his breath. “How the hell are we supposed to know where a blinkin’ hole is, you dullard?!”

“He’s over here,” Chuck wheezed, behind them. Pointing toward a large mound of overturned dirt, Chuck lunged forward, spluttering a chesty cough. Fumbling over the mound, Captain Blagden and Pete peered over the entrance.

“Captain!” Bigby exclaimed, seeing Captain Blagden and Pete’s heads appeared over the pit’s edge. “Here!” he beamed, holding a calico pouch up towards them. Stretching down, Captain Blagden swiped the pouch from the pirate’s hands. Pete’s eyes pierced from his sockets, noticing the spruce-coloured etching on the calico sack. A circle sat in the centre with a crescent moon clinging to the left of the arch and a five-sided star hatched over the right. Lines furrowed Pete’s brow, as he felt he had seen the symbol before.

“We’ve been digging fer hours,” Pete heard Bigby say, shuddering him away from his thoughts. Leaping up, Blagden swept away from the hole, distancing himself from his men. Glancing over his shoulder, he checked that neither Pete nor Chuck were in peeking distance, before shuffling the contents of the oat-coloured calico sack into his hands. His eyes grew wide.

“Chuck! Pete!” the captain projected, as he stuffed the pouch into his inner jacket pocket. “Get Bigby outta that hole! Round up the rest a the men and meet me at the boat.” Turning on his heels, Captain Blagden stormed towards the south side of the island. “And Bigby,” Blagden added. Slowing his pace, the captain took a slow turn towards his men. “I’ll be sure to put word in for you with the king.” Clapping his hands together, Blagden boomed, “Chop, chop men! Time’s ticking!”

 

- Josie -