Chapter 7

Golden Wings

Locke woke up the next day with a slight hangover. Apparently he had had a few too many drinks the night before. The headache begged him to stay in bed but he powered through. He dragged his groggy body out of his room and towards the bathroom. His morning routine always started with a splash of ice cold water to the face, helping soothe his burning eyeballs. After a quick refresh he would slice at the matte of hair that had taken root on the lower half of his face, trimming it to a decently respectable length. Finally, after brushing his teeth and combing his hair, he would fill a pot with water and place it over the still hot embers of the fireplace.

He made his way downstairs and grabbed himself a sandwich that his sister had made for him. She must have made it when she got home last night because it was about as haphazardly thrown together as the garb he found himself in, with most of its contents sitting outside of the bread slices. A scribbled note that read -for my bestest bro- lay beside it. He devoured an orange, grabbed his bag, and made his way out the door

The sun was barely over the horizon when he left the house. Its light blinding to his still sleepy eyes. He was glad he threw on his coat as the ocean's morning breeze swept over the hill blasting his front with cool air. He walked down past the Hollywood’s house and through their fields, continuing down the hill and into the desolate town below. Part of him relished his morning walk. It was a quiet time to think to himself, no distractions. Part of him despised it, a constant reminder of the soulless dead end he found himself in.

He arrived at the shipyard and threw his gear on to the deck of the ship. The other workers began pouring in as well. They were all shaking off the sleep that still gripped their bodies. After some brief small talk they got to work and continued repairs on the frigate. The pirates had paid their company a handsome sum to get the ship back on the ocean as soon as possible. Locke started the day off repairing holes at the stern of the ship. Lowering himself down with some patch materials he was greeted by giant embroidered letters. -Augustus- was carved bombastically just below the captain's cabin windows. The name was clearly imperial and Locke remembered learning of an old emperor of the same name. As Locke worked, he day dreamed of what he might do with his share of the denarii he’d obtain for his labor. Maybe he could afford a ferry into the capital for him and Lenore. She’d always wanted to see it. It could be like a mini adventure of their own.

The day pressed on, the sun had risen in the sky and had just started its downward trajectory back to the horizon. Locke spent the day all over the ship from patching holes on the hull and lower deck, to banding masts and replacing rigging. Him and his fellow shipwrights lashed together several fresh spars for potential mid voyage repairs. Locke hoisted a few extra up the main mast, to replace the main topgallant yard. Between hammer strokes he heard a voice bellowing his name. He looked down. At the bottom of the main mast, no larger than an ant, stood Vicious’ shadowy figure. He beckoned Locke down to him. Locke obliged, acrobatically climbing his way down the ropes and mast netting to the deck below.

Vicious’ weathered skin, while still quite pale, had regained much of its drab tan. He was standing at the base of the mast with his overcoat fully covering his left side.

“How’s my baby?” Vicious inquired about the ship.

“She’s looking good,” Locke stumbled. “Want me to fetch the harbourmaster, to give you the full report?”

“No kid, I want you to answer my goddamn question.” Vicious responded curtly.

“Right, well she’s not as pretty as she used to be but she’s functional. New yard is in place, sails are mostly rigged and patched. Few holes left but she’ll probably be fit for duty by tomorrow.” Locke responded, wiping his hands with an old torn piece of sail. He pointed at Vicious’ conspicuous left side. “How’s the arm?”

“Like you said, she’s not as pretty as she used to be... but she’s functional.” Vicious pulled his arm out from under his black coat.

His arm was still wrapped in bandages but even then, Locke could make out the huge chunk of flesh, muscle, and tendons that had been removed from the outside of Vicious’ forearm. Further down, his left hand was posed like a mangled claw. Even though his arm shook slightly it seemed frozen in space, it’s fingers all half cocked talons.

Vicious clenched the claw to a fist. The whole thing convulsed uncontrollably from the tension. His stoic face wincing ever so slightly from the pain. “The medicus removed what was dead but he was able to keep some functionality.” He released his grip and the hand slowly regained it’s mangled, hook-like form. “He wanted to amputate. Told him if he cut it off he’d find it squeezing the life from his neck.” He jested.

Locke’s eyes widened.

Vicious laughed to lighten the mood but Locke could see the distraught in his eyes. He wasn’t taking the near loss of his arm as well as he was letting on.

Locke laughed along. Though he did have a genuine interest in Vicious’ arm he was much more intrigued by the ship. “So, you never told me what actually happened to you guys out there.”

Vicious didn’t seem keen on elaborating. “We were following a lead in the capital. Things got a little hairy, we escaped the golden wings.” His focus shifted to the ship as he placed his good hand on it’s mast. “Their cannons did a number on my Augustus but she’s a tough old girl.” He patted the wooden vessel as one would a loyal pet.

“Locke!” Another voice cried out. Locke looked over, Bellamy had emerged from the docks below. “How go the repairs?” He asked.

“Was just telling Vicious here that they’re almost done. How was the catch this morning?”

“You should see for yourself” He pointed over his shoulder. Down below them was Bellamy’s fishing vessel filled with freshly caught carcasses. “Managed to snag a goliath grouper today. We’ll be feasting for weeks!” He said, clearly quite proud of himself. Bellamy looked over at Vicious. “What’d he say your name was again, Vicious? A little on the nose for a pirate no?” He scoffed

Locke spotted Vicious’ bandage, which was now soaked red, as he slid it back under his cloak.

Vicious stared Bellamy down. A sharp displeasure in his eye. “Do you usually boast to make yourself seem important, fish boy?”

The three of them shared an awkward silence as Bellamy and Vicious exchanged glares. Bellamy did his best but Locke could see Vicious’ menacing persona was easily winning this one.

A bright glint distracted Locke. He tried to get Vicious’ attention. "What’d you say about golden wings again?" He said inquisitively.

Vicious’ eyes darted over. Far off in the distance, breaking the horizon, was a pair of golden wings adorned proudly atop the gargantuan mast of an imperial Man-Of-War.