“Fresh air,” he said aloud, much to the surprise of a passing woman carrying a basket and an expression of utter distrust. He’d felt the need for fresh air and the sea on his toes, and the only place he was going to get either of those was down on the beach.
He’d elicited quite a few stares by the time he reached the sand, where he squinted down towards the newly constructed pier. There were four boats sitting out in the bay, but that couldn’t be right unless he was seeing double – which, he had to admit, was a distinct possibility. There was also a flamboyantly dressed man wearing a round hat barrelling up the beach towards the town.
“Stillwater,” Captain Daimen Poole said, breathless from his charge in the morning heat. “Fuck me, but it’s hot today.” He doubled over in front of Keelin, sucking in huge breaths of air. “What I wouldn’t give for a little breeze, eh?”
Keelin focused on the man and burped.
“Not exactly what I meant. C’mon, got a’selves a new arrival. Big bastard. I reckon we gonna want him on the team. Here, are you drunk, Stillwater?”
Keelin considered lying, but decided he was definitely drunk and he didn’t care one bit who knew it. “Only a little,” he said, fairly certain he was swaying.
Poole made a face as he took off his hat and fanned himself with it. “Aye, well ya’ll ’ave to fuckin’ do. Best behaviour, aye?”
Keelin moved his head in a way that might be considered a positive affirmation before gesturing down the beach. “Lead the way.”
“Why’s that now? Can’t find the sea? Aye, it’s fairly well hidden behind all the water.” Poole laughed, replaced his hat, and started off down the beach.
With most of the buildings now beyond the sand, it was rare to see the beach as busy as it was, but then a new arrival was bound to cause a fair bit of upheaval. From merchants attempting to offload onto water-weary sailors to dispossessed pirates requesting a place on any ship that would take them, there was no shortage of hustle and even more bustle.
A new galleon sat in the bay, and it was quite a large one at that, with three masts and more scars than it was worth paying attention to. Keelin couldn’t say he recognised the ship. At this point he was having trouble recognising his own feet.
A crowd of folk were gathered around the end of the peer, no doubt requesting news and showering impotent praise on whoever had come ashore first. Keelin noticed a head poking up above the crowd and let out a weary sigh. Only one man could be that tall and that bearded, and the black bandana was even more of a giveaway.
“His name’s…” Poole started.
“Khan,” Keelin finished for him, digging around in his memory for the captain’s first name and coming up blank.
“You’ve met then?”
“Aye.” Keelin staggered as a dizzy spell hit him, steadying himself on Poole.
“Ah, shit, Stillwater. Don’t ya be passin’ out on me now.”
“I’m fine.” Keelin pushed away from Poole even as Captain Khan spotted them. “I’d just rather not deal with that big bastard right now.”
“Stillwater,” boomed the giant.
“Little late for that, I reckon, mate,” Poole said with a smile, then turned just as Khan pushed his way through the crowd. “I’m told ya already know…”
Captain Khan ignored Poole’s torrent of words and stepped in front of Keelin, staring down at him; the huge man’s belly was very nearly on a level with Keelin’s chest. The strange scent of black powder washed over Keelin, reminding him of the final moments of old Sev’relain. It already seemed so long ago.
“Hi,” Keelin said, smiling upwards. “Nice to see you again.”
“What do you think of my ship, Captain Stillwater?” the giant said. “Not so little now, eh.”
Keelin shuffled sideways to look around the man and squinted towards his ship. There were skiffs going to and fro and cargo being unloaded even as they spoke.
“I remember,” Keelin said as his memory agreed to function. He waved a finger at the big man. “You were captaining a little sloop last time. Congratulations on trading up.”
Captain Khan didn’t look impressed.
“Ya used ta pilot a sloop, ya say?” Poole said, stepping between them. Khan looked at Poole as if noticing him for the first time. He gave a curt nod.
“An’ ya took that ship” – Poole pointed at the four-masted galleon – “with a sloop?”
Again the giant nodded.
“Do ya mind if I have a quiet word with me fellow captain here?” Poole put an arm around Keelin’s shoulders and steered him away. If Keelin had been a little less drunk he might have found it insulting.
After they’d walked far enough up the beach to be out of earshot, Poole stopped. “Ya got any idea what ship that is, mate?” He nodded behind them.
Keelin looked over his shoulder and squinted towards Khan’s new vessel. “Can’t really make it out from here,” he slurred.
“Oh, well let me be ya eyes for a moment. Her name is the North Gale. Not terribly awe inspirin’, I know.”
“Never heard of it,” Keelin said after a moment.
“An’ ne’er should ya have, mate. A new name is a new name, but it’s a fair bit harder to hide a ship’s scars, an’ those scars tell ya more about the ship’s history than the fuckin’ log books do.”
Keelin was barely listening. He wanted nothing more than to slop back down into his chair at the tavern and nap the heat of the day away. A large part of him rebelled at the very idea of such sloth, but that voice was getting quieter and quieter with each passing day.
“I know that ship better than most, because I’ve been chased by it enough times. That there is the Victorious.”
The name instantly gave Keelin a measure of sobriety, and he took a second squinting look at the ship. There weren’t many pirates in the isles who could say they hadn’t been chased by the Victorious, and even fewer could say they hadn’t heard of her. She was the pride and flagship of the Five Kingdoms navy.
“Aye,” Poole continued, “captained by Bartimus Peel, the most decorated an’ most feared captain our enemy has at their command. Bastard has brought over twenty captains, our fuckin’ brethren, ta his own personal brand of bloody justice. He’s been the scourge of the isles since before I learned ta tie a knot, an’ that there is his ship.”
“And Captain Khan took it with a little sloop.”
Poole nodded. “Reckon that might be one bastard we want on the team, an’ I reckon Drake’d agree.”
Keelin let out a weary sigh. He wasn’t built for this sort of work. His brand of leadership came with people following him because he was their captain, not because he was courting their favour. He sorely wished Drake had stayed behind and sent The Phoenix out instead.
“What should I do?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Poole hissed. “Drake left you in charge for some reason, so get down there an’ do whatever it takes ta get that big, glorious bastard on board.”
With Poole at his back, Keelin staggered back down the beach, the giant Captain Khan watching him. He tried desperately to think of something to say to convince the man to fight with them. It was hard not to notice Khan’s scars, mainly because he had so many of them. He wore no shirt, and the only thing covering his torso was the leather strap that fixed his sword to his back. His skin was so bronzed it was almost brown, and his scars stood out, criss-crossing both his belly and chest. Keelin also couldn’t help but notice the man appeared to be missing his left nipple.
“So…” Keelin began, fully intending to launch into a grand tour of the town, complete with a stop at the tavern.
“Fight me, Captain Stillwater,” the giant said without a hint of humour.
“I’d really rather not.” Keelin laughed. “Look, we need folk like you, Captain. Drake is…”