Where Loyalties Lie

Chapter 33 - The Phoenix

Inactivity didn’t suit Keelin. It grated on him, frayed his nerves, and wore down his patience. Day after day, night after night, they floated in the newly built port of New Sev’relain and waited for Drake’s return. After three months, Keelin was beginning to wonder whether it was coming. Every day the temptation to haul anchor and set sail for some good honest pirating grew stronger, and not least because of his crew’s temperament. Deprive a pirate of a few days ashore, somewhere with a tavern and a brothel, for a couple of months, and they will happily incite a mutiny. Give a pirate a couple of months ashore, somewhere with a tavern and a brothel, and they will drink and fuck themselves broke and then demand their captain take them away from the temptation.

Keelin had yet to pick a governor for the town and, as such, was taking on the responsibility himself. He’d also taken on the responsibility of purchasing loot from passing pirate ships, depleting his own ship’s stores and gifting a fair few credit notes signed by Drake. He was managing both the brothel and the tavern, and seeing that the townsfolk were looked after with all their most pressing needs met. If one of the crew didn’t mutiny soon, Keelin was fairly sure he’d stage the damned thing himself. Within the first two months, Keelin had found himself dealing with everything from food shortages to food contamination, disease to dissidents, sand monster attacks to magical seduction, lumber shortages to riots over housing. The townsfolk had formed themselves a council, and the members of that council brought their problems to Keelin every day. Every day he imagined running them all through, setting fire to the town, and sailing away into the molten-gold sunset.

Keelin had to admit, as he supped on a mug of what was currently passing for ale in the tavern, it could have been worse. The arrival of Daimen Poole and Mary’s Virture had been a godsend. If Keelin had worshipped any of them, he’d have given them the praying of a lifetime. Captain Poole was very much in Drake’s corner, and had thankfully undertaken many of the day-to-day tasks that would otherwise have fallen to Keelin. Unfortunately, after six weeks ashore, Poole’s crew were also becoming anxious to get back on the water.

Scratching at his chin, Keelin caught a finger in a knot of hair and ripped it free with a grimace. He needed to shave. He’d needed to shave for months now, but his razor was back on The Phoenix, and he hadn’t been back on his ship for… Keelin couldn’t actually remember how long it had been. Most nights he found himself getting so drunk he passed out right there in the tavern, and then, when he woke in the morning, he could just pull another mug of piss poor beer and listen to the new list of problems.

There was a stain on his once bright blue jacket. The jacket had cost a small fortune, and Keelin had thought of it as his best, favourite, and smartest garment. Now it looked drab, worn through, and sweaty. Even Keelin had to admit that he smelled. In a town full of folk who stank like weeks-old eggs, that was an accomplishment.

Not even during his time on The Black Death had Keelin taken so little effort to smarten his appearance. Back then he’d been young and brash, but he’d also taken pride in being the cleanest member of the crew. Despite some early beatings, Keelin had quickly established himself as more than competent with a sword. There were definitely some benefits to having spent many of his childhood years training with his older brother. More important than his reputation for being clean or dangerous with a pointy object had been his relationship with Tanner Black’s daughter. They’d fucked and fought in equal measure, but despite their disagreements, back then Keelin would have drained the sea for her.

A small part of Keelin argued that he would still do anything for Elaina. He chalked it down to the booze and ignored the little voice. He seemed to be finding it very hard to organise his thoughts these days.

“I need some fresh air,” Keelin said to no one. A couple of the other tavern patrons, those too drunk to stumble back to their homes or their ship, glanced at him and then away. Keelin struggled with his chair, using the table to pull himself out of it. He promptly staggered, sending both the table and himself careening to the floor. It took some effort to get back up, and even the town drunkard was laughing by the time he managed it.

“Fucking table’s a death…” Keelin stopped, realising that no one was listening and even fewer folk cared. He lurched over to the door.

The world that greeted him outside the tavern was too bright and too blurry. The sun was up high, beating down mercilessly, and, as always, there was barely a lick of wind to be had, unless you counted the hot air the merchants wasted on passing pirates. New Sev’relain may have been well on its way to being called a settlement, but it was far from becoming a prosperous one for those who wished to sell any wares.

They had moved the town further up the beach since first establishing the settlement. Trees had been cleared away and more permanent buildings erected on more stable ground; sand was no place to be counting on structural support. The tavern had been taken apart and moved up the beach in what could only be described as a pointless but monumental effort, and now sat in the dead centre of the growing town. There were homes, warehouses, shops, a brothel, two inns for those pirates wishing to sleep in a real bed for a night or two, and even a gallows. Luckily the gallows had yet to be tested, but with Drake outlawing both rape and slavery, it was only a matter of time before someone found themselves swinging.

When Drake had decreed slavery would be outlawed and any passing slavers caught and confiscated, their wares freed, Keelin had asked why. The only reply he received was a dark stare and oppressive silence.

As Keelin’s vision adjusted to the new lighting situation, he noticed a drunken pirate passed out half against the wall of the tavern and half on the leaf-littered ground. It didn’t look like a comfortable place to rest a face, but the poor bastard was doing it anyway. After a moment Keelin recognised the pirate as Jotin Breen, one of his own men and, until recently, one of the most respected members of his crew. It appeared the long period ashore wasn’t doing anyone any good.

Across the street was the brothel, the Merry Fuck. It certainly wasn’t the most eloquent of names, but then Keelin had made the mistake of allowing the whores to name it themselves. Shrewd the whores may be with their profession, now they had the protection of Drake Morrass, but their command over the common language was far less savvy.

Outside the brothel lay another unconscious pirate, this one not of Keelin’s crew and bleeding from a head wound that didn’t look encouraging. The poor bastard was propped up against the wall of the Merry Fuck, and unless someone did something soon, it was likely he’d die there. Though the whores were under Drake’s protection, the brothel and the other inhabitants were not. As such the whores had hired themselves a couple of hard-headed, heavy-fisted brutes to keep order within the confines of the building. Unfortunately the two men had turned out to be rather vicious in the beatings they handed out; it was one of the many things the council had recently brought to Keelin’s attention.

The streets were busy with folk going about their daily business. Work crews were still felling trees and working their magic to turn them into serviceable wood for construction. A small team of reliable types had been conscripted by the Arbiter before she left with Drake, and they were even now searching the forest and marking off areas protected by magical traps. A fresh water source had been found out in the jungle, and it was currently a full-time job to ferry water down to the town. That was one of the most harrowing jobs the island presented, as the water source was also home to a group of monkeys who would sit in the trees, silently watching any and all who dared trespass on their domain.

There was something slipping Keelin’s mind. He realised it as he stood there in the middle of the street, with folk passing him by on their daily errands. There was something he was supposed to be doing, the reason he’d bothered to leave the tavern in the first place.

“Fresh air,” he said aloud, much to the surprise of a passing woman carrying a basket and an expression of utter distrust. He’d felt the need for fresh air and the sea on his toes, and the only place he was going to get either of those was down on the beach.

He’d elicited quite a few stares by the time he reached the sand, where he squinted down towards the newly constructed pier. There were four boats sitting out in the bay, but that couldn’t be right unless he was seeing double – which, he had to admit, was a distinct possibility. There was also a flamboyantly dressed man wearing a round hat barrelling up the beach towards the town.

“Stillwater,” Captain Daimen Poole said, breathless from his charge in the morning heat. “Fuck me, but it’s hot today.” He doubled over in front of Keelin, sucking in huge breaths of air. “What I wouldn’t give for a little breeze, eh?”

Keelin focused on the man and burped.

“Not exactly what I meant. C’mon, got a’selves a new arrival. Big bastard. I reckon we gonna want him on the team. Here, are you drunk, Stillwater?”

Keelin considered lying, but decided he was definitely drunk and he didn’t care one bit who knew it. “Only a little,” he said, fairly certain he was swaying.

Poole made a face as he took off his hat and fanned himself with it. “Aye, well ya’ll ’ave to fuckin’ do. Best behaviour, aye?”

Keelin moved his head in a way that might be considered a positive affirmation before gesturing down the beach. “Lead the way.”

“Why’s that now? Can’t find the sea? Aye, it’s fairly well hidden behind all the water.” Poole laughed, replaced his hat, and started off down the beach.

With most of the buildings now beyond the sand, it was rare to see the beach as busy as it was, but then a new arrival was bound to cause a fair bit of upheaval. From merchants attempting to offload onto water-weary sailors to dispossessed pirates requesting a place on any ship that would take them, there was no shortage of hustle and even more bustle.

A new galleon sat in the bay, and it was quite a large one at that, with three masts and more scars than it was worth paying attention to. Keelin couldn’t say he recognised the ship. At this point he was having trouble recognising his own feet.

A crowd of folk were gathered around the end of the peer, no doubt requesting news and showering impotent praise on whoever had come ashore first. Keelin noticed a head poking up above the crowd and let out a weary sigh. Only one man could be that tall and that bearded, and the black bandana was even more of a giveaway.

“His name’s…” Poole started.

“Khan,” Keelin finished for him, digging around in his memory for the captain’s first name and coming up blank.

“You’ve met then?”

“Aye.” Keelin staggered as a dizzy spell hit him, steadying himself on Poole.

“Ah, shit, Stillwater. Don’t ya be passin’ out on me now.”

“I’m fine.” Keelin pushed away from Poole even as Captain Khan spotted them. “I’d just rather not deal with that big bastard right now.”

“Stillwater,” boomed the giant.

“Little late for that, I reckon, mate,” Poole said with a smile, then turned just as Khan pushed his way through the crowd. “I’m told ya already know…”

Captain Khan ignored Poole’s torrent of words and stepped in front of Keelin, staring down at him; the huge man’s belly was very nearly on a level with Keelin’s chest. The strange scent of black powder washed over Keelin, reminding him of the final moments of old Sev’relain. It already seemed so long ago.

“Hi,” Keelin said, smiling upwards. “Nice to see you again.”

“What do you think of my ship, Captain Stillwater?” the giant said. “Not so little now, eh.”

Keelin shuffled sideways to look around the man and squinted towards his ship. There were skiffs going to and fro and cargo being unloaded even as they spoke.

“I remember,” Keelin said as his memory agreed to function. He waved a finger at the big man. “You were captaining a little sloop last time. Congratulations on trading up.”

Captain Khan didn’t look impressed.

“Ya used ta pilot a sloop, ya say?” Poole said, stepping between them. Khan looked at Poole as if noticing him for the first time. He gave a curt nod.

“An’ ya took that ship” – Poole pointed at the four-masted galleon – “with a sloop?”

Again the giant nodded.

“Do ya mind if I have a quiet word with me fellow captain here?” Poole put an arm around Keelin’s shoulders and steered him away. If Keelin had been a little less drunk he might have found it insulting.

After they’d walked far enough up the beach to be out of earshot, Poole stopped. “Ya got any idea what ship that is, mate?” He nodded behind them.

Keelin looked over his shoulder and squinted towards Khan’s new vessel. “Can’t really make it out from here,” he slurred.

“Oh, well let me be ya eyes for a moment. Her name is the North Gale. Not terribly awe inspirin’, I know.”

“Never heard of it,” Keelin said after a moment.

“An’ ne’er should ya have, mate. A new name is a new name, but it’s a fair bit harder to hide a ship’s scars, an’ those scars tell ya more about the ship’s history than the fuckin’ log books do.”

Keelin was barely listening. He wanted nothing more than to slop back down into his chair at the tavern and nap the heat of the day away. A large part of him rebelled at the very idea of such sloth, but that voice was getting quieter and quieter with each passing day.

“I know that ship better than most, because I’ve been chased by it enough times. That there is the Victorious.”

The name instantly gave Keelin a measure of sobriety, and he took a second squinting look at the ship. There weren’t many pirates in the isles who could say they hadn’t been chased by the Victorious, and even fewer could say they hadn’t heard of her. She was the pride and flagship of the Five Kingdoms navy.

“Aye,” Poole continued, “captained by Bartimus Peel, the most decorated an’ most feared captain our enemy has at their command. Bastard has brought over twenty captains, our fuckin’ brethren, ta his own personal brand of bloody justice. He’s been the scourge of the isles since before I learned ta tie a knot, an’ that there is his ship.”

“And Captain Khan took it with a little sloop.”

Poole nodded. “Reckon that might be one bastard we want on the team, an’ I reckon Drake’d agree.”

Keelin let out a weary sigh. He wasn’t built for this sort of work. His brand of leadership came with people following him because he was their captain, not because he was courting their favour. He sorely wished Drake had stayed behind and sent The Phoenix out instead.

“What should I do?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Poole hissed. “Drake left you in charge for some reason, so get down there an’ do whatever it takes ta get that big, glorious bastard on board.”

With Poole at his back, Keelin staggered back down the beach, the giant Captain Khan watching him. He tried desperately to think of something to say to convince the man to fight with them. It was hard not to notice Khan’s scars, mainly because he had so many of them. He wore no shirt, and the only thing covering his torso was the leather strap that fixed his sword to his back. His skin was so bronzed it was almost brown, and his scars stood out, criss-crossing both his belly and chest. Keelin also couldn’t help but notice the man appeared to be missing his left nipple.

“So…” Keelin began, fully intending to launch into a grand tour of the town, complete with a stop at the tavern.

“Fight me, Captain Stillwater,” the giant said without a hint of humour.

“I’d really rather not.” Keelin laughed. “Look, we need folk like you, Captain. Drake is…”

“Drake?” Khan narrowed his already beady eyes. “Morrass is here?”

“Not right now, no. See, he and I built this town.”

“I hear he destroyed Sev’relain.”

Keelin shook his head and immediately regretted it, as his hangover chose that exact moment to make his brain feel too large for his skull.

“I was there, and honestly there was no man who did more to save Sev’relain than Drake Morrass. We took the survivors and brought them here. We took the damned ship that burned Sev’relain, and…”

“That ship?” Khan pointed towards the bones of the Man of War. Much of the warship had been scavenged and picked over, but it was still just about possible to see how big the beast had been.

“Aye.”

“An impressive catch.” Khan glanced back at his own ship. “I would have kept her.”

Keelin laughed. “Why? Is your own ship not big enough?”

Khan’s head snapped back around so fast his beard took a moment to catch up. His eyes were dark and angry. “Are you again mocking the size of my ship, Stillwater?”

Poole stepped between the two of them, with plenty of open, calming hand gestures. “I think what Stillwater here meant was that ya new ship is pretty fuckin’ big, eh?”

“Pretty much,” Keelin said, squinting against the light and wishing his headache and the huge captain in front of him would both sail back out to sea and never come back.

“Fight me, Stillwater,” Khan repeated.

Keelin let out a frustrated sigh. “What the fuck is it with you and challenging me to duels? Is it just me, or do you challenge everybody you meet?”

“Just you.” Khan grinned. “They say you’re the best.”

It wasn’t exactly something Keelin liked to admit, but he was secretly quite proud of his reputation as the best swordsman in the isles. “And if I accept, will you side with Drake against Sarth?”

Poole shook his head. “Hang on a fuckin’ minute…”

“Aye,” Khan said with a grin that showed teeth even through his beard.

“If that’s what it takes, then.” Keelin struggled to disentangle himself from his jacket.

“Now hang the fuck on,” Poole shouted, his glare taking in the crowd that had quickly started to gather around the scene. “An’ before either of you piss poor excuses for deck scrubbers thinks ta ignore me again, how’s about ya realise I got far more of me boys down here on the beach than either of you.”

A rare silence drifted across the beach, and all eyes turned to Captain Poole.

“Out-fucking-standin’. Now, in case either of ya haven’t noticed, Stillwater, here, is past the point o’ pickled…”

“I am not!”

“Ya can’t even get out of ya bloody coat, mate.”

Keelin thought about arguing further, but he was still struggling to remove his right arm from the damned thing.

“Now you wanna challenge the best, right?” Poole said to Captain Khan. “He ain’t really the best when he’s like this, now, is he? Fairly certain a crab could take him.”

Khan rumbled an agreement.

“Two days,” Poole said. “We’ll sober this bastard up, an’ in two days ya can have ya fight, an’ when ya lose, everyone will watch ya swear ya allegiance to Drake Morrass. Good?”

Khan smirked through his beard and nodded.

“Good.” Poole grinned, and before anybody else could say a word, he turned, grabbed Keelin by the shoulder, and pulled him away towards one of the dinghies.

“I had that under control,” Keelin protested, knowing full well the situation was anything but under control.

“You’re a disgrace, mate,” Poole spat. “Ya meant ta be in charge ’round here, an’ everyone just saw ya toasted as Admiral Tatters an’ ready ta get cut in half. Now you get back ta ya ship, ya sober up, an’ ya get ready ta fight that fuckin’ giant.”

Keelin put on an arrogant grin that he really didn’t feel. “Easy.”

“Oh, really?” Poole asked as they arrived at the skiff. “Because his arms are as big as my legs, an’ here’s the real kicker, mate. Ya can’t just win. Ya gotta survive, an’ make fuckin’ certain he does too.”