Keelin resisted the urge to throw the woman into the water. Humiliating her like that would likely only make matters worse, though it would undoubtedly make him feel a lot better.
“Answer my damned question.”
“Just sayin’ hello to a few old friends while they were around, Stillwater. Ya may have… civilised the folk you stole along with the ship, at least to some degree, but many of ’em still remember the good ol’ days.”
“You stay the fuck away from my ship, and my crew, Elaina.”
“Boundaries, is it, Stillwater?” she said, staring into his grey eyes with her sparkling blues. “And what if your crew don’t stay away from me?”
Keelin opened his mouth to reply, despite having no idea what he would say, but was interrupted by a bird somewhere above letting out a screech that sent painful shivers down his spine.
A black-winged monstrosity swooped down behind Elaina and came to a perfect landing on her right shoulder. Keelin noticed her wince, though only for a moment, as the raven’s talons gripped. The bird was larger than any other raven Keelin had ever seen. It had one black eye and one milky white one with a scar that ran through it and down the length of its razor-sharp beak. Again the creature let out a loud screech and focused it malicious gaze on Keelin.
Elaina let out a mocking laugh as Keelin turned and started towards his own longboat. “Better run, Stillwater,” she shouted after him. “Looks like my da is home.”
“Yanic, get back to Fango. Find any of the crew on shore leave and bring them back to the ship.”
“They ain’t gonna be happy ’bout that, Cap’n.”
“I don’t give a fuck if they’re spitting fire. Anyone not aboard in two hours gets left, and they can take up their displeasure with Tanner.”
“All aboard in two hours. Aye, Cap’n.” Yanic ran off in the direction of the jungle.
“Morley,” Keelin continued, “soon as we’re under way I want to know who Elaina spoke to and what the fuck she said. Bloody woman is likely trying to steal the ship out from under me.”
“Can’t steal what’s already hers, Captan,” Morley said quietly.
Keelin glanced back at his quartermaster and shot him a dark look. “Not the time, Morley.”
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.”