Keelin Stillwater, the pirate captain infamous for taking ships without any blood spilled, stared at the soldier whose life was on the line. Drake noticed that not only pirates from both crews, but also surviving refugees from Sev’relain, had gathered around to watch and wait on the decision. He had to suppress the smile that threatened to erupt onto his tightly schooled features.
“Black Sands and Sev’relain are gone.” Stillwater’s grey eyes were as cold and unyielding as stone. “You beg for a mercy you did not show any of your victims.”
Drake waited a moment longer for Stillwater to make the decision before prompting him. “Up to you, Captain Stillwater. Over the side or back with the others?”
“Feed him to the sharks.”
“No!” the soldier shouted, but it was too late. The pirates dragged him the last couple of steps and tossed him over the railing.
The soldier’s scream rang out for a moment, before it was drowned out by a splash; another moment later, Drake heard the sound of pleading again as the man resurfaced and begged for mercy he was never going to receive.
“Shouldn’t be long now.” Drake smiled at the twenty soldiers still bound and huddled together on the deck.
When the screaming started it was guttural, raw, and it left none that could hear under any doubt about how painful a death it was. Drake kept his face fixed in that dangerous smile, ignoring how ill the affair was making him feel. Death was necessary and, often even more so, the spectacle was needed as well. Now was one of those times. Thankfully, the screaming didn’t last long; the creatures of the sea had a habit of dragging their food down below the waves to devour it. There wasn’t much like the ocean and the beasties that lived in it for making a man seem small and fragile.
Drake looked at Stillwater to find the man had gone pale. He stepped between his fellow captain and the captive soldiers. “That sated your need for blood yet?” he said quietly.
Stillwater looked up at Drake and opened his mouth to reply, before promptly shutting it again and nodding.
“Good.” Drake turned back to the soldiers. “So who’s next?”
There was a silence so complete that Drake could hear the timbers groaning and the waves smacking against the hull. Many of the soldiers attempted to keep their eyes locked on the decking, but some of them started looking around for an escape.
“You’ve made your point, Drake,” Stillwater said slowly.
Drake ignored the man. “I recognise you.” He pointed to a young soldier and cracked a grin.
The soldier shook his head frantically.
“Aye, I think I do. Seem to remember you had a shield and were dead set on getting me killed.”
“I… uh… sorry.”
“You and that big bugger with the lip. Tell me something, soldier – what did you see?”
The soldier looked Drake in the eyes, his expression something between awe and terror. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I saw the ship come alive.”
Drake heard Beck scoff, and he shot her a dangerous glance before turning back to the soldier. “Go on.”
“Aiben was about to put his sword through you, and the ship came alive, protected you. Then you pointed at Aiben and told him to die, and he did. Chest just burst open.”
Drake nodded sagely before turning around and approaching Princess. “Make sure that one gets back to Sarth. Drop him off on a trade route, I reckon.”
Princess smiled and nodded. “The rest of ’em, Cap’n?”
“Couldn’t give a shit. Feed them to the waves or stick them with their mate somewhere. Just want them out of my sight.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
As Drake started walking towards the plank that had been set up between the Man of War and the Fortune, both Beck and Stillwater rushed to his side. Drake couldn’t help but notice that Stillwater was watching the Arbiter through narrowed, suspicious eyes. There was a good chance the man had worked out what she was, and that was an issue that would need dealing with sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, he currently had the more pressing issue of a hundred homeless refugees to house.
“What was that about?” Stillwater said as Drake mounted the walkway between the ships. A quick glance downwards and Drake was assured that whatever had killed the unfortunate soldier they had thrown overboard was still very much about.
“Sometimes a healthy dose of reputation can do a man wonders. That bastard goes back to Sarth and reports to his superiors that the ship was taken by Drake Morrass and Keelin Stillwater, bloodthirsty pirates more than willing to orphan unfortunate children, all the while protected by the very ships they sail. Not to mention possessing of some quite inexplicable magics.”
Drake stepped carefully back onto the Fortune and waited for the others to make the crossing. “Those superiors, folk in charge, dismiss most of that as fancy, possibly caused by weeks, or months, of exposure to the rough sea and indomitable sun. Problem is, that soldier doesn’t stop at just telling those in charge. Problem for them, anyway.
“Back into the ranks and a couple of ales down him and he’s telling everyone he knows, soldiers for the most part, maybe some sailors, but they’ve no doubt already heard their fair share.”
Beck was the last over the plank, and she was giving Drake that unimpressed look she favoured so highly; problem was, she was beautiful no matter what look she was giving him, and Drake liked having beautiful things.
“Before anyone can stop him, there’s stories floating about saying we rode ships made of fire, shot lightning from our eyes, and sucked the souls from men’s bodies. Dread pirates. Morale won’t be too high among men who find themselves ordered to hunt down foes like that, eh.”
A couple of Drake’s crew were waiting to talk to their captain with all the patience a pirate could muster.
“They say similar things about Tanner. Dread pirate, eats souls to stay alive,” Keelin said
“Aye, I’ve heard them all. Ghost of the old Captain Black, made a deal with Rin herself to float him up from his watery grave. Same stories say that Elaina is actually the sea goddess in mortal form, but I reckon you’d know the truth of that one better than most. Ever find seaweed down where there should have been hair?”
Stillwater looked ready to take a swing, and, with Drake’s current condition, he would likely land the blow. Drake held up his hand. “Point is, Stillwater, rumours and reputation are mostly shit. I know – I’ve made up more than a few in my life. You know the truth about Tanner and you know the truth about you. Don’t really matter what other folk think, does it?”
Stillwater looked like he was about to protest, but said nothing.
“Good. Now we got some concerns to deal with. What is it?” Drake said to the first of his crew hovering nearby as he started for his cabin. Stillwater’s first mate was loitering around the doorway, and Drake decided to give him the staring of a lifetime. The man looked away, cowed.
“Folk from Sev’relain, Captain. Even… uh… with… even with all da boys we lost – ain’t enough space for ’em all. ’Less we gone start packin’ ’em in like, uh, crates.” The pirate laughed; he quickly stopped when no one else joined in.
“We have all the space we need, Heller. Start moving the refugees over onto the Man of War. You should do the same with those on your ship, Stillwater.” Drake opened the door to his cabin and walked in, letting his procession follow him. He crossed the cramped space to his desk and lowered himself into the chair behind it, resisting the urge to let out a grateful sigh as his body decided it never wanted to stand ever again. At the same time he truly wished he’d retrieved a bottle of rum from the cabinet before sitting down. Little could make how he currently felt right, but rum would definitely make him feel better.