Losing Sev’relain had most definitely not been part of the plan. It was supposed to be the beginning of his rise, the centre of his empire, the heart of the Pirate Isles. Now it was nothing more than ash and ghosts, and the isles already had more than its fair share of the latter.
The men mourned, some of them for a town that had been good to them and better over the years, and some for the few who hadn’t made it back to the Fortune, either lost amidst the chaos or in the brief and ill-fated resistance the pirates had given the soldiers of Sarth.
Drake had known Black Sands would fall long before the Sarth Man of War even set sail from its home in the Holy Empire. The Oracle had told him it needed to happen, so Drake had arranged it. But the loss of Sev’relain was more than a shock.
“There’s a boat being lowered from The Phoenix, Cap’n,” said Princess. “Reckon that ponce, Stillwater, means to come aboard.”
“Stow it, Princess,” Drake said quietly.
“Your words, Cap’n.”
“Stillwater saved a lot of lives back there,” Drake continued. “Most other captains fled. The man has earned some respect at least.”
“Aye. Well, him and his respectable arse are headed over here, by the looks.”
“Show him to my cabin.”
Drake turned, ignoring any further response, and leapt down to the foredeck, crossing the space to his cabin quickly and sparing barely a glance for the refugees from Sev’relain littering his ship’s deck.
It was early morning, with a brilliant sun just starting to peek over the horizon, and both ships were floating in languid waters just a stone’s throw from each other. Stillwater would no doubt want to know what happens next, and where they should take the refugees. The truth was that Drake didn’t have so much as an inkling, and that angered him even more than the loss of Sev’relain.
Beck was waiting for Drake in his cabin. Despite his fury over the burning of his town and the murder of his people, Drake found himself aroused by the sight of the woman. Unfortunately, as he knew full well, women like the Arbiter couldn’t be confronted directly. He would need to be very careful in his approach, and she was definitely the type who needed to feel as though it were her choice.
“The fuck are you doing in here?” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Preparing,” the Arbiter said casually, tilting her head just for a moment to look at Drake from underneath her hat. “When I accepted this assignment I believed you would be the target of an assassination attempt by heretical forces. I now believe that may not be the case, and I find myself unprepared for the task. Also, I can’t get the smell of peppermint out of Princess’ cabin.”
“Aye. He uses it to wash his hair. Don’t tell the rest of the crew though, eh. We got company coming, so how about you fuck off for a bit.”
“The captain of the other ship.”
“Aye.”
“I killed for you, Captain Morrass,” the Arbiter said. She was using Drake’s ink, pen, and paper to draw an intricate design Drake didn’t recognise, though he guessed it to be a magical rune. “Four men of Sarth died at my hands back in that shit hole you called a town, and you still don’t trust me?” Her compulsion failed to take hold of Drake’s will yet again.
“If all you had to do to earn my trust was end a couple of lives, the list would be very long and I would be very dead, Arbiter. Stay if you fancy. You might not like what you hear.”
The Arbiter said nothing, nor did she show any sign of moving. Drake refused to show his frustration and instead decided to pour himself a drink. By the time the door to his cabin opened he was staring out of the window at the fathomless blue. Even in the roughest of waters, Drake found that the sight of the deep sea beneath him calmed him enough to let him collect his thoughts – and at that moment they truly needed collecting.
“Good to see you survived, Drake,” Stillwater said as Drake turned to greet his fellow captain. Two men from Stillwater’s ship flanked him, and one of them looked suspiciously like one of Loke’s guards.
“Just a day ago I reckon you’d have been just as happy to see I hadn’t,” Drake replied with a grin. He was starting to feel a little more like himself again, now he had a deck beneath him and a drink in hand.
“Just a day ago I hadn’t watched Sev’relain burn to the ground.” Stillwater’s voice sounded so heavy with grief Drake wondered who the man had lost in the massacre. “We got a problem.” Stillwater seated himself in the single remaining chair.
“Who are they?” Drake waved a hand at the two men behind the other captain.
“Morley is my first mate, Kebble is my new shadow. You got another cup of that?”
Drake took a mug from the cupboard and placed it on the desk along with the bottle of rum.
“Is she trustworthy?” Stillwater said as he poured himself a drink.
Drake glanced at Beck, who appeared to be paying the whole conversation little to no attention. “More than less.”
“Well, we brought sixty-seven refugees on board, Drake.”
“Eighty-two,” Drake said with a grimace.
“Our supplies can’t support that many,” Stillwater continued. “We didn’t exactly have time to take any on in Sev’relain, and my crew have to eat first.”
“We’re gonna be stretched a little thin our own selves.”
“There’s only one port close enough so that me and mine won’t starve.”
“Fango ain’t an option,” Drake said through gritted teeth.
“It is for me.”
An oppressive silence settled upon the room and all eyes turned towards Drake. He felt a burning anger in the pit of his stomach, and it took all the self control he could muster not to round the desk and put a dagger in the ungrateful bastard of a captain’s eye.
“You siding with Tanner, Stillwater?”
“I ain’t siding with anyone,” Stillwater objected. “Didn’t even realise it had come down to choosing. Fango is the only settlement near enough that our supplies won’t run dry, and it’s damn near unassailable. Those bastards from Sarth wouldn’t stand a chance against the jungle. You really want to save those people we plucked out of that massacre, then Fango is the only real option.”
Drake considered his options carefully. It wasn’t that he agreed with his fellow captain, but more that the Oracle had told him he needed Stillwater on his side – and this sure as all the Hells felt like a moment he could lose the man. After all the trouble Drake had been through arranging Stillwater’s beating and subsequent saving just so he’d believe he owed him a favour, losing him now wasn’t an option.
“Back there, before the attack, you asked me what I was getting out of helping the folk of the isles. I intend to be exactly what we all need to save us from those bastards who want to wipe us out. I intend to be king.”
Drake would have liked Stillwater to be shocked at the idea, or at least angry. At that point Drake would have settled for an indication that his fellow captain had even heard him, but Stillwater remained still and stony.
“Wish I could say I was surprised, Drake,” he said eventually with a shake of his head. “Last time pirates had themselves a king it caused the exact thing you’re wanting to stop – a purge. Do you really think what we need now is to give you a crown and piss off Sarth even more? We need to run. Hide. Lay low until they get bored of burning towns, and then come back and resettle.”
“You’re a fucking coward, Stillwater,” Drake said with more scorn than he intended. He was starting to wonder why the Oracle had insisted he needed such a spineless cur. “Your plan is to run away and hide? Let Sarth murder thousands of people, most of whom never done a day’s pirating in their lives.
“They’re after us, not the folk of Black Sands or Sev’relain. Just, the easiest way to get to us is through them. It’s because of us Sarth is out here, and it’s because of us the folk of Sev’relain are dead. I ain’t about to run away from a fight we started.”