Where Loyalties Lie

Chapter 8 - The Phoenix

Two days out from the isle of goats and neither Keelin nor any of his crew had spotted so much as a sail, let alone the distinctive dark-wood hull of The Black Death. Keelin had managed to escape his brief return to Fango without running into Tanner Black and with only minor injuries at the hands of the pirate’s daughter, who had been relatively gentle considering their long estrangement.

The seas were calm, the wind was gusting, and the sky had barely a cloud in sight. It was perfect pirating weather if only they could find themselves some quarry, but as Keelin had ordered them not to stray into any shipping lanes, they were unlikely to find any.

For the first time in a long while Keelin found himself without a course. He was drifting, letting the wind and the sea take him where it would. He didn’t like it. The charts Quartermain had sold him under duress were worthless – any sailor worth a pinch of salt could see that. Worse, the merchant had been truthful when he’d said only one man would have accurate charts of the waters around the Forgotten Empire, and that man was Drake Morrass.

Keelin had no problem with Drake for the most part, but he knew the man wouldn’t give up the charts for nothing. Everybody knew Drake Morrass never did anything that wasn’t in the best interests of Drake Morrass. That left Keelin with two options.

He could attempt to take the charts by force. Given that The Phoenix was no match for the Fortune, either in speed or crew compliment, that course seemed unwise. He could also try to trade for them, though he was fairly certain Drake would demand nothing less than Keelin’s soul for the transaction. His only other option was to forget the whole affair and give up on the Forgotten Empire. Of course, the moment the crew heard about that decision would be the moment he’d have a mutiny on his hands. He’d promised his crew treasure, and they would demand nothing less.

From behind the spokes of the wheel, Keelin spotted Morley approaching. It felt good to take personal command of his ship for a period.

“Captan,” Morley greeted him. “A word, if ya please.”

Keelin passed control of the wheel back to his navigator and waved for Morley to follow as he went to his cabin. Some discussions were best held in private, and there were very few places truly private aboard a pirate ship.

The captain’s cabin wasn’t just his home; it was also Keelin’s sanctuary to escape and distance himself from his crew. It was just one room, but he had sectioned it off into two areas. The first was his living quarters, containing a small cot for sleeping, a single low table with two cushioned chairs, and a large wardrobe. Regular washing in anything but salt water may be a luxury never afforded aboard his ship, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t able to change into a clean set of clothing at will. The second area was for ship business, and it contained a small desk upon which he could look over charts, a secure cabinet in which he could keep those charts, and an entire wall dedicated to paraphernalia he’d collected over the years of his captaincy. Front and centre was the ship’s original flag; she’d long ago been an Acanthian navy vessel flying a strip of green fields and a red sun.

“Drink?” Keelin said as he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a mostly empty bottle of rum and two clay cups. Many captains preferred to deck out their cabins with all sorts of finery, including glasses to serve their guests, but Keelin was generous with his crew’s share of the loot and most of his spare bits went on clothing to fill his wardrobe.

Morley took the cup and threw back the rum, wincing at the taste. “One day, Captan, I will improve your taste in rum.”

Keelin looked at the unlabelled bottle and shrugged. He didn’t really have a taste for rum – one tended to taste the same as any other – but it was cheap and fiery and sometimes that was just what was needed.

“The crew?” Keelin said.

“Ain’t happy, Captan,” Morley said with a knowing nod of his dreadlocked head.

“Any in particular, or just as a whole?”

Morley shrugged. “Smithe is the ringleader, but he ain’t alone, Captan. Tempers be sizzling.”

“What has them riled up?”

“Ain’t just the one issue, Captan. Things been mounting for a while now.”

“If you’re being purposefully vague, Morley, please feel free to stop.”

“Where to start, Captan? Not much of a shore leave for many or any this time round.”

“Pressing need to be gone from Fango is at fault. I’ll set a course right away and the men can drink and fuck themselves blind as soon as we reach land.”

“Some of the crew take exception to the lack of real pirating. Your… predilection towards taking ships without bloodshed.”

“The men want a fight?” Keelin interrupted.

Morley sucked at his bottom lip. “Some men never feel more alive than when they’re taking another’s.”

“With every fight comes the risk of death. Peaceful encounters are safer.”

Again Morley sucked on his bottom lip. “Some men never feel more alive than when they’re risking theirs.”

Keelin considered the man’s suggestion for a moment before banging the table with his fist. “I am not Tanner Black. I will not slaughter innocent sailors who are willing to surrender. Any crew member not good with that can jump ship at the next port.”

“Don’t reckon it’ll come to that, Captan.”

“Good.”

“Much more likely to come to mutiny.”

Keelin paused with his clay cup in hand. “That isn’t funny, Morley.”

“Not entirely joking, Captan.” Morley quickly glanced at the rum bottle, then away. “Men ain’t much pleased what with you not delivering on the treasure.”

“They get more of a share of the loot we take than the crew of any other ship out there.”

“Aye, and that’s good enough for the most, but not for the all. You promised them riches, Captan, and you ain’t yet delivered.”

“Not like I haven’t been fucking trying. From the moment we heard about that bloody treasure I’ve been looking for a way to navigate the waters around the Forgotten Empire.”

“I know, Captan.”

“Problem is, there aren’t any charts.”

“I know, Captan.”

“Everyone who goes anywhere near those shores never returns.”

“I know, Captan.”

“And the only damned ship, crew, and captain who could possibly help us getting to that treasure…”

“I know, Captan.”

Keelin realised he was squeezing his little clay cup almost hard enough to break it, and forced himself to relax and put the vessel down. Morley was watching him with something approaching sympathy.

“He was last spotted at Black Sands as it burned back to the sand,” Keelin said through a clenched jaw.

“Only one place he’s like to be,” Morley agreed with a solemn nod.

“You’d best make sure the crew feel bloody grateful for this, Morley.” Keelin drew in a deep breath and let it out as sigh. “I’ll plot a course for Sev’relain.”

“Might be worth you talking to the men as well, Captan. Personal touch, ya might say.”

Keelin glared at his troublesome quartermaster. “Fine. Gather them on deck. I’ll be out soon.”

By the time Keelin appeared from his cabin Morley had assembled the majority of the crew, and first and foremost in the crowd, making his displeasure obvious, was Smithe. The man was six feet of bronzed muscle, with a temperament like a forest fire and a mean streak most alley cats would envy. Keelin couldn’t help but notice the man had a dagger thrust into his belt. Weapons were generally forbidden on deck unless there was a good reason.

“Finally he graces us with his presence,” Smithe said with a smirk. “Only takes a visit from her who actually owns the ship, eh?” A couple of other pirates laughed their agreement. Keelin would have rid himself of the man long ago, but Smithe was well liked among the crew.

Keelin turned, climbed up onto the aft deck, and looked down upon his assembled crew. “Smithe,” he said with a cold stare. “If you wouldn’t mind. What is the nature of pirating?”

“Takin’ stuff that ain’t ours,” the man said instantly.

“I’ll let you think about that for a moment.”

Resting his hands on his twin cutlasses and sweeping his gaze across all the crew, Keelin raised his voice. “So you had a visit from Captain Black, the pretty one, and then what? You decided your current captain ain’t up to the task no more?” There were a couple of coughs, but even Smithe remained silent at the accusation, so Keelin continued. “Times are hard. Prey is scarce. But we’re still pulling in the loot, aren’t we? And if any man here can name another sailor on another boat taking as big a cut… well, I’ll happily call them a liar.”

“You promised us the haul of a lifetime,” Smithe shouted. “Riches beyond imagine and…”

“Aye, I did,” Keelin shouted back, interrupting the surly troublemaker. “And I almost have what I need to make good on that promise. But if you would prefer to sail into the waters of the Forgotten Empire without the guide of a chart, I think you might be on your own there, mate.” Some of the crew laughed, and Smithe’s expression grew darker.

“I ask for just a little more time,” Keelin continued. “To make you all very rich men. For now we head to Port Sev’relain.” There was a cheer from the crew. “But if anyone should spot a juicy prize on the way…” Keelin grinned and let the possibility hang in the air.