“Food…” said Stillwater’s first mate, a southerner from the Wilds, if Drake wasn’t mistaken.
“Same solution, I reckon.” Drake leaned back in his chair and put his boots up on the desk, an action he quickly regretted when he realised they were covered in blood. “Anybody bothered to check the Man of War’s hold? Reckon it might be stocked with supplies to get us to where we’re going. More than enough, if you don’t mind soldier’s rations.”
“And where are we going?” Stillwater was pacing bloody bootprints into the rug. Seemed everybody was tracking in the same mess.
“You two done, or ya got more to say?” Drake said to the two members of his crew who had followed him in.
“Uh, done, Cap’n.”
“Then roll up that bloody rug and give it to the sea, then find Princess and tell him to get his arse in here.”
“Aye, Captain,” said Heller as they moved to obey.
Drake needed one of his charts of the isles; unfortunately, his body needed to not move. In an act of sheer willpower, he pushed himself up out of the chair. Drake was unwilling to show any sort of weakness in front of another captain or, even worse, an Arbiter. He limped over to a locked cabinet and pulled out a key from his pocket. The key was a show and nothing more; the real release on the cabinet door was a small button hidden on the bottom side of the lock. Drake inserted the key and turned it, pressing the button as he did so, and the cabinet door opened. It wasn’t that he was paranoid, but more that he occasionally spent extended periods of time away from the Fortune and didn’t trust any of his crew. Or anyone from any crew, for that matter. There were, in fact, only two people Drake trusted in the world, and one of them was himself.
He picked a specific chart from the cabinet, and then locked it again before taking the old chart to his desk and laying it flat, using two stones to weigh down the edges. He walked around to the other side of the desk, stopping by the cupboard to take out a bottle of run, and lowered himself back into his chair. The others moved closer. Even the Arbiter seemed curious.
Drake uncorked the bottle and took a deep swig before pushing it towards the others. Stillwater eyed the rum warily, but Beck happily plucked it from the table and took a swig, and Stillwater’s first mate quickly followed suit.
“So where are we going?” Stillwater was frowning down at the chart. “Can’t ferry these refugees around forever, Drake.”
The door to the cabin opened. Princess shuffled in, closed the door behind him, and joined the others at Drake’s desk. Now that his full audience was here, it was time to upset them all. Drake pointed at a large irregular shape on the chart.
Princess was the first to respond – with laughter. Stillwater looked stony-faced, Arbiter Beck looked disappointed, and Stillwater’s first mate cursed in a language Drake had never heard before.
“You’re fucking mad! Captan, he’s fucking mad.”
“Careful, Morley,” warned Princess, still grinning as if Drake had told the funniest joke the man had ever heard. “Opinions aside, you just insulted Drake Morrass aboard his own ship. Crew don’t take too kindly to such.”
“Blind devotion to your captan aside, Princess, but we just followed you into a foolish attack on a Sarth Man of War, and now your captan wants to feed us to the devils of Cinto Cena.”
“A fairly dramatic name, don’t you think?” Drake said merrily, reaching across the chart for the bottle of rum.
“Oh!” Morley exclaimed. “I should call it by its common name? The Isle of Many Deaths.”
Drake shrugged, spreading his hands. “Also fairly dramatic.”
Morley turned to Stillwater. “Captan, the men have already lost so much. Yanic’s gone and Smithe’s already got a fair number of the crew behind him.”
“Not now, Morley.” Stillwater was staring daggers at his first mate.
“Sounds like loyalty problems,” Drake said.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good. Hate for a mutiny to put our alliance to dust before we even get anywhere.”
“Morley isn’t wrong about Cinto Cena, Drake. It’s uninhabited for a reason, and folk have tried to settle there before. Between the flaming cliffs, the sand devils, and whatever the Hells makes all those noises in the forest, Many Deaths is an apt name.”
“It’s untouched, aye.” Drake nodded. “Plenty of resources for building a new town. Getting these folk off our ships, settled and started. Between the flaming cliffs on the south side of the island and the sand devils occupying every beach front, it’s the most defensible island we got.”
“Except maybe the Isle of Goats.”
“Aye, well that one’s a whole different kettle, eh. Folk who wander into that forest don’t come back out normal. Besides, it belongs to Tanner, and I don’t think we’ll get far trying to take it by force. Cinto Cena is the best choice we got.”
“It’s a shit choice,” Morley said.
“Your pessimism is starting to piss me off, friend,” Drake growled.
“Better you pissed off than all of us dead. Captan…”
Bristling, Drake very nearly leapt over the desk to stick a sword in Morley’s guts. Only his better judgement and a lack of anything approaching an energetic response stayed his hand. Instead, he leaned forwards just a little and stared into the man’s shit-brown eyes.
“My being pissed off is likely to lead quite directly to your death.”
“It would be a dangerous place to settle,” Stillwater said quietly.
“Captan, you can’t…”
“Ain’t a place in the isles doesn’t have its own peculiar sorts of danger.” Drake spoke over Stillwater’s first mate. “That’s what makes the folk that live here so damned tough.”
“The flaming cliffs regularly set fire to the forest,” Morley protested.
“A band of deforested area, well maintained, will make certain the fire doesn’t spread,” Stillwater countered. It almost made Drake smile, watching his fellow captain argue his point for him.
“And the sand devils?”
“Can be killed,” Drake cut in. “I’ve seen it. Reckon I could teach folk. Just gotta lure them out and don’t let them get away. We take the north beach, wipe the beasts out on that one, and leave them on all the others. Natural protection from any and all who might want to repeat Sev’relain.”
“What about the thing in the forest?” Princess asked.
Drake sucked his golden tooth and grinned. “I’ll deal with that.” He forced as much bravado into his voice as possible.
The unfortunate truth of the matter was that he had no idea what called the forest of Cinto Cena its home, and just as little an idea as to whether he could deal with it. Luckily for him, he had an Arbiter as a shadow, and he was relying on her to follow him into almost certain death.
Morley looked sceptical. “You’ll deal with it?”
“Aye.”
There was a moment’s silence as everyone in the room started to wonder whether or not it was truly possible to tame the island of Cinto Cena. It was a turning point. If they believed in Drake, they would follow him – and if they followed him there, they would follow him anywhere. If they didn’t believe in him, they would try to run, sail along in someone else’s wake, and the only other option was Tanner Black. If they tried to run, Drake would have to stop them.
“Start sending the refugees across to the Man of War, Morley,” Stillwater said eventually. “At the same time I want the supplies split three ways, one third for each ship. Pick ten men, those you trust the most, to sail her. I assume you’ll do the same, Drake?”
“Aye. Only fair, I reckon,” Drake said with a genuine smile.
“As soon as people and supplies are where they need to be we’ll set off.”
“Good to have you on board, Stillwater.”
“I really hope you know what you’re doing, Drake,” Stillwater said with a cold voice and a vicious glare at Beck, before turning and walking out of the cabin.