Lock is rudely awoken by the deep, resonating toll of The Splinter’s bell. His eyes fly open the moment the noise registers, but he relaxes when it rings out thrice more, recognizing its meaning: port ahead.
He slides out of his bunk, more easily adapting to the ship’s rocking than his poor night of sleep. He rubs at his weary eyes and stretches out his aching muscles before putting on his shirt. It stinks and is stiffened by seawater, but it’s the cleanest thing available to him. He rushes past other men scurrying above decks, relieved to find that he is not one of the last hands to arrive.
He takes a moment to allow for his eyes to adjust to day’s light, examining the sailors bustling about in a frenzy before him as they prepare for their arrival at Crow’s Beak. The pirate haven is located on a medium-sized island in the midst of a smaller set of islets, which allow for it to host its illicit goods and services in relative privacy. The smaller islands surrounding it make navigation towards the haven far more precarious, though Lock does feel a small sense of relief in the safety that they provide. Any ship with a belly much larger than The Splinter would have to cut through a far more sparse and exposed route or risk having its hull ripped apart by rocks, coarse sand banks and fallen debris.
Venturing out onto the deck, Lock glimpses the captain and first mate, Snake, conversing at the helm above him. Snake’s green eyes flick downwards and meet his gray ones, causing the younger man to quickly look away.
He starts to scamper off towards the rigging, but has to come to an abrupt halt as Break suddenly appears in front of him. He feels a chill wash over his entire body and silently curses himself for spending so much time gawking at his surroundings, making him the last to arrive at his post. Lock forces himself to focus on his breathing and nothing more. He knows that a beating is coming now, or perhaps a humiliating dressing-down as a prelude to the violence. He exhales, counting his first breath. It will happen soon, he assures himself. Once it was over and done with, the ghoul would leave him alone for the rest of the day. He inhales.
He exhales again. Inhales. No blows come.
After he’s counted out five breaths, he risks a glance at Break’s face. He sees that the brute’s attention seems to have been drawn by something over his shoulder. Lock feels the tension within his muscles grow tighter. He needs to relax his body, or Break’s blows would hurt far worse.
He forces himself to exhale his held breath. Don’t think, just let it happen.
Break shoves Lock, causing the younger man to whirl and stumble backwards. His back painfully thuds against one of the ship’s masts and Lock wildly looks back up towards Break, preparing himself.
To his complete shock, the second mate stalks past Lock and back towards the lower deck’s entrance. However, his relief is swiftly slain, leaving only shock in its wake: Bones is his new target. The large man’s eyes are bloodshot and dark crescents mar the areas just underneath them. Break snarls something at him, though Bones only grunts in response. The second mate prowls closer and Lock stops moving towards his post, hesitating. He’s not sure if he’s unable or unwilling to leave Bones there to deal with the man alone.
Break raises his voice in his next response to Bones. “So do you think you can just roll in here whenever you feel like it?”
Bones levels his weary gaze to Break’s own. The large pirate is a head taller than the second mate, though Break doesn’t appear to be cowed. “Nah.”
Lock flinches at the sharp crack that explodes out as Break strikes the scarred pirate.
He watches the Bones carefully, noting with trepidation the way that the man’s huge muscles tense and how his great chest swells outwards. But in a breath, Bones’ body has again relaxed and his expression has again switched to one of grim stoicism.
Bones flicks his gaze outwards, seemingly scanning the deck, before his eyes land on Lock. The pirate’s facade cracks for a moment and Lock sees a flash of surprise that’s swiftly replaced with a look of anger. Bones minutely juts his chin out towards the rigging before shifting his gaze back to Break.
Lock hurriedly resumes his path towards his post within the rigging, his wave of relief coalescing with one of confusion. Why had Bones looked angry at him? Did it have to do with the situation at hand, or was it because Lock had been lingering and watching? He hadn’t planned to watch the altercation as if it were some sort of spectacle, as some of the other crew members had been unsubtly doing. He had lingered to stay and offer his help.
Lock grabs ahold of the rigging, beginning to hoist himself up. He focuses on the roughing rope digging into his palms for a moment, trying to ignore the shame that’s beginning to unfurl within him. Did Bones really think that he had just wanted to watch them fight? Or was his look one that acknowledged the fact that Lock had never been able to ward off Break when he himself had been getting beaten? Humiliation burns him with far more ferocity than the sun could ever hope to.
Midway through his climb up the rigging, Lock hears the heavy sound of a fist connecting with flesh behind him. He whirls around on the rope, looping the crook of his elbow through it and wildly scanning the deck below him. Lock finds Break and Bones together just in time to watch Break club the other pirate with a meaty fist that throws Bones back up against one of The Splinter’s bulkheads.
Lock feels himself grow weak with dread and lurches forward, causing the rigging’s rough grasp to begrudgingly pick up his slack and prevent him from tumbling down to the deck below. The second mate lunges to pursue Bones, but Bones catches him with a brutal hooked blow that smashes into Break’s side, causing the other man to double over and stagger backwards.
Hearing that the dispute has escalated from a mere brawl, Snake leaps down from the helm and begins shouting at the both of them. Break surges forward, forcing Snake to roughly grapple the man and pull him away. Bones glowers furiously at the second mate, but makes no further moves towards him.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
A few moments pass before Lock tries to calm his terrified breathing. He feels slightly more assured that the situation has been resolved without need for any further violence. Carefully pulling himself to a more secure position in the rigging, he watching Bones’ departure towards his post and Snake’s look of clear disapproval towards Break before he carefully lets the man go. As Snake walks away, Lock shudders to see the look of pure rage that Break levels at the two departing men. He turns back around and clambers further up the rigging.
***
The Splinter emits low creaks and groans as the wind runs its probing fingers through her furled sails. Lock brings his attention back to the island they had finally arrived at. Buildings and their denizens sprawl out in front of the docks like cats lying in the sun, with many of the folks approaching to hawk their wares at the arriving pirates.
Snake begins calling out orders to the crew to aid in unloading The Splinter’s cargo. Captain Morrow stands nearby, casually leaning over the ship’s railing and speaking with some merchants that have come to the docks. Lock notes that there are other ships docked nearby, though it appears that they’ve already unloaded. Most of them seem to still bear a light smattering of crewmen aboard.
As Snake allows The Splinter’s own men to disembark, a skeleton crew is left behind. Lock notes that Bones remains behind, despite not being ordered to do so. He glances at the man’s still bloodied and bruised face, but the man's face shows nothing aside from his injuries. Lock turns away, his shame still fresh in his mind.
Before they set foot on the island, each man is handed a pouch containing his expected coin from the plunder. Lock receives his and is surprised at the heft contained within. Normally the captain erred on the side of caution while dolling out coin- after all, it was much easier to later pay a man what he was owed than it was to ask him to return coins he’d spent on drink and flesh. It seems that the captain expected their fine goods to sell very well. He slips the pouch into the folds of his trousers, ensuring that it’s double knotted and hidden away from sight.
As the pirates begin to stream onto the beach, Lock examines the crowd. Habit guides him through a methodical process of identifying those within that are bearing weapons. His gaze lingers for a moment on a long dagger strapped to a whore’s thigh before he glances at her face. He blushes furiously when she meets his eyes and his embarrassment turns to panic as she begins sauntering up to him. He fumbles for his coin purse, hoping that offering one of the pieces will be enough for her to leave him alone.
Midway through her approach, the strumpet’s path is blocked by Plank. The large man leans down to say something to her, to which she cants her head, seeming to respond in a playful manner. After a moment, Eel slides in smoothly behind the woman. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, leaning in to say something to her. Lock winces in sympathy as strands of Eel’s greasy hair tumble over her shoulder and caress her face.
The trio’s conversation continues, with the two pirates pressing against and groping the woman. When Plank lays a meaty hand on her exposed breast, she quickly extracts herself. As she does so, points towards Lock with an apologetic demeanor towards the other two. Lock feels his heart skip a beat and he spins around, attempting to disappear into the crowd. He wants no part of this.
Despite his efforts, no more than a few breaths pass by before Lock hears a shouted “Hey!” ring out from behind him. The young pirate ducks his head and tries to continue pushing through the crowd. If he can just slip away, then his crewmates will have no reason to pay attention to him-
He jerks back as a large, sweat-slicked palm is slapped against his shoulder. Lock swallows thickly, forcing his saliva past terror’s icy-clawed grip on his throat and turns around. He looks up at Plank’s flat face and affects a look of innocent confusion on his own. “Aye?”
Plank crosses his arms, his beady eyes set in a stern frown. “She’s ours, ye rascal. Don’t ye be trying to make sweet eyes and snatch her out from under us.”
Lock cants his head, letting his eyes widen and his face go a bit slack at the older man’s rebuke. He intentionally shows the dullard more respect than he’s merited as he responds with, “Sir? I- I’m a bit confused. Who’s this ‘she’ that you're speaking of?”
Plank’s frown deepens, leading to a moment of tense silence as his pig-like eyes trod a path across Lock’s face, searching for some mysterious answer. He begins his response slowly, as if explaining his reasoning required more of him than was typically expected. “Beti, that’s who. Eel an’ I’s lass. She’s ours when we’re here, boy. Yet when we went to her she told us that she’d be with ye before we could lay with her.” To his horror, Lock detects a slight tremor of hurt in the large man’s voice.
Lock desperately trawls about for an excuse within his mind, but panic’s hysteria slashes through his nets, freeing any thoughts that might aid him. As Plank continues to stare at him, the hint of hurt on his face is rapidly eclipsed by a growing tide of rage that threatens to capsize both of them. Plank begins to lumber towards him.
“She’s got a fine dagger on her, sir,” Lock hears himself blurt out.
Plank freezes his advance towards the younger pirate. He blinks rapidly, his wave of fury collapsing under the weight of his befuddlement. “Boy,” Plank starts, slowly lowering fists that had been raised only moments ago. He pauses before finally saying: “what?”
Lock tries not to stammer. “I said that she-”
“I heard what ye said, ye dolt.”
A few from the small crowd that had begun to form around the pair bark and bray out laughs. Others, caught in the blockage, turn to watch the exchange. Lock feels his ghastly pallor recede to make way for a burning scarlet.
Plank lowers himself down so that his flat is near level with Lock’s own. The younger man silently begs for the fair goddess Litu to strike him down and accept him back into her earth. Litu does not answer his plea.
“Why’d Beti say she’d lay with you before us?” Plank probes. The question is dictated carefully and Plank’s expression is unreadable.
Lock exhales, trying to calm himself. He tries to ignore the eyes threatening to pierce and rip him apart with their hooks and focuses his attention on Plank. He answers the man truthfully. “I don’t know. Sir.”
Plank narrows his beady eyes thoughtfully, swinging his gaze over his shoulder and back towards the strumpet. “I see,” he murmurs. Lock feels a chill sense of foreboding sweep through him. He straightens his spine as the older pirate turns his gaze back onto him.
“So you won’t be lying with her, at all. Ever.” It’s not a question.
“Aye, sir,” he affirms quietly. He doesn’t include that he had no interest in the first place.
Plank smiles, the tension flowing out of his body as easily as it had entered. “There’s a good lad.” He punctuates this by clapping his hand on Lock’s shoulder.
“‘Sides,” he adds. “The girls here like their men young! You’ll surely find a good whore to lay. Might even give you a free round.”
Lock gives a weak chuckle, bobbing his head like a puppet attached to the strings of a drunken master. Plank opens his mouth, likely intending to produce another lewd nugget of wisdom, but snaps it shut as his brother calls out to him. He gives Lock a knowing grin before lumbering back through the crowd to reach Eel.
Lock exhales heavily as the man walks away from him, a shudder forcibly coursing through his body. He allows himself to become unmoored, the surge of the crowd bringing him along with it. His drifting is finally halted once he finds himself run aground in front of the island’s many taverns. He glances up at the roughly hewn sign, noting how one of the windows has a board nailed across it and that the other seems to be housing a spider’s sprawling estate, along with many mementos of its captured prey. As he pushes open the door, he’s hit with the scent of stale ale and fresh bile. It’s perfect.
