Where Loyalties Lie

Chapter 22 - The Phoenix

Keelin looked furtively into his cabin one last time – the same cabin he’d only entered three times in the past ten days – and swung his foot over the side of the ship. He climbed down the rope ladder and into the boat waiting below. His crew weren’t blind, and they’d have to be to not notice that he wasn’t even sleeping in his cabin anymore. He’d been the butt of no end of jokes regarding the woman who had taken over his domain. Worse than the jokes, though, was Smithe’s endless undermining of his authority.

It wasn’t that he was scared of her. It was that the woman was quite clearly crazy. All attempts at conversation between them seemed to end in an argument, even the most mundane, and Keelin always seemed to find himself looking very much the villain. He didn’t like looking like a villain, despite his profession.

“Sure ya wanna do this, Cap’n?” said Bronson as he sat down with the oars. “Got rid of some of them sand monsters thanks ta Cap’n Morrass, but there’s still plenty left hiding. No need for ya ta come ashore.”

“I’m sure.”

A part of him hoped they’d get the little town set up and thriving soon and sooner. That way he could be rid of the woman. Another part of him, deep, deep down, didn’t want her to leave. It was the same part of him that wanted to solve the puzzle that was Aimi.

“You have the ship, Morley,” Keelin shouted up to his first mate before signalling Bronson to start rowing.

Cinto Cena loomed up in front of them, looking much like any other island in the isles. Broad, expansive sandy beaches framed by rocky cliffs with a steady rise that led into a thick jungle of giant trees.

A roar went up, so loud it hurt Keelin’s ears, accompanied by a distinct shaking of both land and trees. Everybody turned to look up at the forest, and many of those standing on the beach began to back away towards the water, instantly forgetting their sand prodding duties. After a few moments the shaking stopped, and the chatter of birds resumed in the forest. The men chosen as taskmasters set about getting their workers back into order, and it was as if the ground-shaking roar had never happened.

“Many deaths,” Bronson said quietly as he pulled on the oars.

Keelin looked at the big man and, for the first time since he’d known him, saw real fear in his eyes.

“But not ours,” Keelin said. “We’ll tame this place, don’t you worry. Drake has a plan. That bastard always has a plan. I doubt it involves any of us dying here.”

Bronson nodded, seeming a little emboldened, and for the first time Keelin realised just how much faith even his own crew had in Drake Morrass. Even more worrying was how much faith Keelin now placed in his fellow captain.

The boat drifted into the shallows, and Keelin leapt out and began to drag it up onto the beach as Bronson stowed the oars. A couple of The Phoenix’s crewmen rushed to help, Smithe among them.

“Captain,” Smithe said, somehow managing to fill the word with scorn, hate, fury, resentment, and challenge. “I see ya’ve decided to brave the beach with the rest of us. Shame we’ve already done most of the dangerous work, aye.”

Keelin glanced towards the stretch of the beach where the sand monsters had been laid out. He counted five of them, and they were monstruous. Each of the beasts was fifteen feet from mouth to tail, with a wingspan almost as long. They were beige nightmares made all of skin, bone, and teeth.

“You have a slack definition of work, Smithe, if you believe that to be most of them. On a beach this size I would expect there to be easily three times that number.” It was a lie, but Keelin was sick of being undermined, and it was about time Smithe found his own authority in question. “So how about you stop flapping that mouth at me, pick up a spear, and go back to combing the damned beach with your team before I have you flogged for insubordination.”

Smithe let go of the boat and squared up to Keelin, proving once again he was the taller man. “You wanna try puttin’ me to the whip, ya damn well better have the stones ta do it yaself, Captain.”

Keelin let go of the boat as well, letting his hands fall on the hilts of his twin cutlasses. “Careful, Smithe, you shouldn’t test me. I honestly think I’d enjoy it.”

Smithe said nothing, but stared at Keelin, almost as if daring his captain to break out the whip – an act which Keelin had never once had to perform.

“Back to work it is then,” Keelin said cheerily. “Off you go, quartermaster.”

Smithe spat into the sand and turned away, storming off to his hunting group. Keelin found Bronson watching him with a strange look on his face.

“He’s got more pull with the crew than you might think, Cap’n,” Bronson said quietly once Smithe was well out of earshot. “Most of us are loyal to ya, but he’s got a fair few folk riled up. Now I ain’t saying he’s like to call a vote anytime soon, but… some of us, him included, were around when you took the ship from Elaina, and it didn’t sit right with ’em all.”

“Got a point, Bronson?” Keelin said a little more tersely than he’d intended.

“Only that Smithe ain’t the type of man ya want as an enemy, Cap’n.”

“Well, I sure as a watery grave don’t want him as a friend.”

At that Bronson sat back in the little boat and shrugged his big shoulders. Keelin decided it was time to take his leave, and moved off towards the little camp that was destined to grow into a town if Drake and the rest of the pirates had their way. A few shacks had already been erected and were being put to a variety of uses ranging from storage to recreation. They were little more than three walls, a roof of sorts, and a sheet of canvas to provide privacy. Judging by the sounds coming out of one such recreational shelter, Keelin could only assume that at least one entrepreneurial whore had survived Sev’relain and was busy charging every pirate she could entice into the tent through their teeth for what was between her legs. There was a hastily painted sign embedded in the sand outside proclaiming the shack was in use, and a queue forming next to said sign. Keelin walked on by quickly, without giving too much thought as to which of his men would likely be needing a consultation with the ship’s doctor before too long.

Further along, there was a fire pit furnished with a large cauldron pinched from the Man of War, in which some sort of stew was bubbling away to itself. Neither the pirates nor the refugees had any idea what sort of wildlife lived on the island, and none were willing to brave the jungle to find out, so there was no fresh meat to be had, only ship’s stores and rations – and neither of those was ever particularly enthralling. Still, the chef from The Phoenix was collaborating with a man from Sev’relain who claimed to be well versed in culinary delights. Keelin had been to Sev’relain more times than he could count, and he was fairly certain he’d never once seen the port offer anything approaching delightful.

Combing the beach in teams of six men apiece, each carrying iron-tipped spears, short swords, and crossbows, were no fewer than sixty workers. Drake had given them all strict instructions on how to find the sand monsters and how best to deal with them, and as yet they’d apparently killed five of the beasties without losing a single man. Though one woman from Sev’relain, a former guard in the employ of Loke, had taken a nasty gut wound that was likely to put her off her feet for a couple of weeks.

Kebble Salt stood watch over it all from a rickety wooden tower, where his gaze could cover every corner of the beach. His hawk-like vision and precision aim with his rifle had already become something of a legend – one with many different versions, most of which ended with him killing half the crew of the Man of War single-handed, all from the safety of The Phoenix. Keelin was as happy as Drake to let the stories persist if they meant order was kept in the fledgeling town, and nobody had to know that the man was currently able to fire a total of one shot before his store of black powder would run dry.

“Is she still refusing to leave your cabin?” Kebble said quietly as Keelin mounted the steps of the little wooden watchtower.

Keelin laughed. “I just thought I’d come and take a tour around our new little town.”

Kebble glanced at Keelin knowingly.

“Fine. I haven’t asked her to leave yet.” Keelin reached the platform at the top of the tower, where he was greeted by an accusing silence.

“I know,” Keelin continued, feeling strangely guilty. “I’m the captain and it’s my ship and my cabin. I should just ship her here to shore.”

More silence.

“But what sort of life is that condemning her to?” With a dramatic sigh, Keelin shook his head and stared out towards the jungle. Drake and his Arbiter were close to the tree line, though what they were doing there was a mystery.

“She’ll just have to stay aboard for now.” Keelin waited for an argument and got none. “Until we find somewhere better to drop her off.”

Still no argument.

“Well, I’m captain, damn it, and that’s what’s happening.”

Kebble pointed out westward over the sand. “Over that way, between the palm tree and the jungle. What do you see?”

Keelin squinted. He saw nothing but sand and a bit more sand. “Sand?”

“Exactly. Sand.” Kebble nodded sagely. “Do you see how it moves?” Embarrassed, Keelin coughed and pulled out his monoscope. He looked again. The sand was moving very slightly, grains being flung up into the air and thrown a few feet at a time like sea spray on the wind.

“The wind,” Keelin said, automatically trying to feel the breeze. There was none. It was a warm day with air as still as death.

“That’s what I thought at the beginning,” Kebble said. “Nothing but a cool breeze yet to reach my face. But the longer I looked, the more I saw beneath the surface of the event. The more I saw a pattern and understood what it meant.”

“What does it mean?”

“There is a creature there.” Kebble spoke with the air of a man absolutely certain of his words. “As it breathes, underneath the surface of the sand, grains are thrown into the air in such a way that it looks to be just a breath of air on an island which is strangely still.”

“You’re certain there’s a sand monster there?”

Kebble laughed and smoothed down his moustache. “I wouldn’t call them monsters, just animals looking to find their next meal. It’s a lure, you see. On a hot, humid day, what do men and animals alike look for on a beach such as this?”

Keelin thought about it for a moment. When it came to him, the answer seemed obvious. “A breeze to cool down.”

“Exactly. An interesting adaptation in an attempt to lure in potential prey, or just a byproduct of the inescapable need to breathe? Maybe both.”

“What does that have to do with my problem of the woman in my cabin?”

“Maybe nothing.” Kebble sighed. “May be that the more you look at a thing, the more you see of it, and the deeper your understanding goes.”

It seemed to Keelin that there was definitely more to Kebble than met the eye. It was hard to believe the man had been working as a guard for a small-time stolen goods dealer just a few days ago.

“Perhaps you should tell the teams about your little discovery regarding the sand monsters,” he said, deciding to shift the subject away from his own problem. “Might be it could help them clear the beach faster.”

“You’re the captain, Captain.” Kebble laughed. “Though I do think someone should warn that man of the danger he is in.”