Elsanne

'Fear those that practice 'em other two'

She could feel the scorching wind blasting over the deck, drying up what the sea soaked. An endless cycle, the waves lessening two days into their journey, after the tornado moved away. The sun, unfathomably hot for the time of year making the waters around them turn a striking turquoise, extending beyond the horizon and giving them visibility for miles.

SHIP AHOY!

Elsanne glanced upwards and saw the boy hanging from the lookout, half in, half out, fifteen meters above deck. He pointed a bronzed hand to the East and Captain Wayland left the helm to his second ‘Lucky’ Trifton and run to portside long spyglass in hand.

“Cheerly, mister Trifton!” Wayland ordered examining the coming vessel. “It’s a Brigantine.”

The latter he said to Byron ‘Crafty’ Vail, his quartermaster that had approached in the meantime.

“Is there going to be a fight?” Loes asked, not thrilled with the excitement and freshly cleaned after she’d puked all that lard soup they had for breakfast.

“Mister Wayland said no one can catch the ‘Corsair’s Gold’, Loes,” Elsanne parroted what she had overheard the other day. “You shouldn’t worry.”

“THEY TURNED!” The boy boomed from the lookout.

“They saw us,” Wayland commented, with a grimace.

“Awfully fast that bugger,” Byron added a moment later, looking on from his own spyglass.

“Easy now, mister Trifton!” Wayland ordered, surprising everyone.

“Captain?” Carver asked, cutlass in hand. He’d the face of Byron, his brother, on a thinner body.

“I know its lines, son,” Wayland replied and then walked towards the crew manning the sails. “Furl the main!” He ordered. “We’ll let her catch us.”

“You sure Cap?” Byron asked, still looking at the approaching ship through his glass.

“Aye,” Wayland Dawson retorted, crooking his mouth. “That’s ‘the Bouquet’, Rose’s ship.”

An hour later Elsanne, Prince Radin and the Cofols, along with most everyone from their ship, had gathered on the deck to watch ‘The Bouquet’ arriving. But for Loes, she’d turned green the moment they’d cut speed and rushed starboard to puke her guts out away from the pirate crew’s mocking eyes.

“I don’t see her, captain,” Byron commented, sucking on the gap he had on his front teeth.

Elsanne squinted her eyes to catch a glimpse of ‘Pearly’ Rose Atterton, but couldn’t make her out, the crew of ‘The Bouquet’ appearing worn out and several amongst them sporting injuries. At least four bodies, she could see, laid immobile on the deck, one of them tied up.

“They’ve been licked something fierce,” Wayland replied, worry evident in his voice. He grabbed a line and yelled to be heard from the ship that had parked on their portside, no more than three meters away. “Where’s Rose?”

“Is that ye ‘Yellow’ Dawson?” One of them asked, putting his hands on the rails of the main deck.

“No it’s me broth’r I don’t have,” Wayland spat angry. “On me bloody ship!”

“Apologies, captain,” The man replied. “Used me head more than me dottore recommends I’m afraid. “

“That’s ‘Striker Preston’, lad’s dumber than a rock,” Byron commented, all serious.

“Is that ye Barnett?” Wayland yelled, after giving his man a look of frustration. “Damn ye lad, where’s Rose?” Elsanne could hear the fear in the captain’s voice and she felt it herself in her stomach. She had taken a liking on the dashing pirate lady and her father.

“Pearly is gone, ‘Yellow’ Dawson,” Barnett replied, oozing misery. “We lost her.”

Wayland hang his head and Elsanne heard him gasping desperately. “What happened?” He asked a sobering moment later. “Where the fuck is that lily-livered prick Stiles?”

“That seems rather unfortunate,” Prince Radin noted, their group standing separately, but watching the pirates talking aboard ‘The Corsair’s Gold’ quarterdeck. “I hope it doesn’t delay our journey further. You disagree my dear?”

“Don’t be callous, husband,” Elsanne admonished him.

“I want us to get back, whilst I’m still young, wife!” He protested, softening it with a smile. Elsanne gave him a good shove to shut him up. “Hey, I’m injured!”

“Apparently not enough,” She retorted and turned her attention on the heated discussion taking place a couple of feet away.

“…twas the Marquette. Reeves ship, ‘Yellow’ Dawson,” Barnett insisted. “There’s no doubt about it.”

“Ferrying mercenaries,” Wayland droned, not convinced. “Amongst 'em a Gish and a Ranger that used ‘quick-draw’, a magic spell. Are ye fuckin’ kidding me?”

“Lads heard her whispering in the old tongue. Twas a spell,” Barnett insisted. “I’ve watched her shoot forty arrows in a minute, captain. Twas a spell.”

“Bah!” Wayland exclaimed disgusted and then rubbed his rugged face hard with both hands. “Abrakas curse us all.”

“There was a knight on that ship, as well,” Barnett added, looking at the disbelieving faces of his colleagues. Wayland Dawson perked up at that, his distraught eyes turning right vicious.

“A knight?” Sounding nigh interested.

“Aye.”

“Was the ship heading to Altarinport?”

“I believe so, aye,” Barnett replied. “Rose thought the same.”

Wayland turned his head and looked at them, mainly Prince Radin.

“What’s the matter?” Radin asked, not likening the pirate captain’s stare.

“Where’s yer man?” Wayland asked accusingly. “The one with the dead eyes.”

“He had other commitments, captain,” Radin replied frowning. “Why?”

Wayland smacked his lips. “Ye got us mixed up, in untoward business, yer highness,” His expression hardening, before he added. “And got Rose killed, is the long and short of it.”

The pleasant mood on their ship took a hit for the worst, after the rest of the crew learned what had happened. While hardened men and women, the pirates openly mourned the loss of their famed colleague, emptying the ship’s holds of beer and wine and sharing it among each other. It was followed by raucous singing and a string of stories that spoke of ‘Pearly’ Rose’s life and many adventures.

Almost everyone had something to say. Some of the stories right scandalous, or completely unbelievable, others outright awe-inspiring. Elsanne listened to them for hours and when the battered and mostly drunk crew of the ‘Bouquet’ left the next day, heading for Lord’s Burrow to bring her father the news of her untimely demise, she approached the silent staring over the horizon Captain and stood next to him.

“My condolences for your loss,” Elsanne said politely. “I sense she meant a lot to you.”

Wayland Dawson snorted. “Whoever did this to ye, must be hang from the foremast.”

“I beg your pardon?” Elsanne said taken aback, not expecting a rebuke.

Wayland grimaced. “No offence, Princess. But ye don’t belong wh’re yer headin’.”

“I married a Prince, Mister Dawson,” Elsanne replied, taking offense.

“Ye are much more princely, than he’ll ever be,” He gave her an onceover. “And closer to a throne, the way I see it.”

Elsanne crossed her arms on her chest. “I’m not really. In five years my nephew will be of age. No one will give me a second thought after that.”

“That’s one life,” The pirate observed callously. “He has three in front of him. As I said, Princess, yer claim is more important.”

Elsanne frowned and stared at the calm sea of the last several days for a long moment, pondering the older man’s words.

“What did you mean earlier?” She asked the silent pirate captain.

“Ye are not supposed to make friends in our line of business,” Wayland explained, taking a roundabout route. “Or even love, much as yer allowed. But ye do, yer grace, just the same. Ye make friends, ye make lovers despite the things ye are forced to do, in order to survive. When the days slow down, or the night comes, ye think about all the things ye’ve done. It can mess ye up.”

“You’ve chosen to be pirates,” Elsanne pointed.

“Some of us did, others didn’t. Life was chosen for them. Anyways, this life comes with baggage. Ye either go along wit it, or ye die. Ye plunder, ye sell slaves and kill people.”

“All horrible things.”

“Which is worst ye think?”

Elsanne shrugged her small shoulders. “Stealing is the lesser evil, I suppose. The other two are way worse.”

Dawson agreed with a nod, then let a breath he held out and turned his eyes on the endless horizon again. His voice though tired and even a little sad, clear enough to be heard over the waves.

“Fear those that practice ‘em other two, Princess of Kaltha. Not out of fear, nor for survival, but out of perverted greed and a vile tradition, they enjoy too much to let go.”