When Billy removed the bag from his head, Macha expected brightness stabbing his eyes, but the room he’d been dragged into was already engulfed in the darkness of dusk. The few rays filtered through the circular wall only revealed gloomy statues, silently watching them from the endless heights of what he soon realised was a throne hall.

With a tremendous commotion developing around him, Macha ceased to scout any further, and his attention drifted to the room’s centre, the only place where the scattered torches decently illuminate what was happening. There, a young girl dressed in red silks was shouting orders to confused soldiers hovering around her.

Billy checked over his shoulder while easing his nerves with a squee over the end of Macha’s leash rope. Brock, who hid his anguish better but not his disappointment, was continuously blowing through the nose. “If you guys are in the middle of something important, we’ll come later, aye?” Brock said to the soldier at his back. The unwanted guardian smashed the ground with his spear’s counterweight, calling other fellows, all dressed in the Hanan King’s colours.

“Where is the Swan?” Billy whispered. “I don’t like this, boss. Not a bit.”

Macha wrothe and huffed. “It would be better if you started running now, because with such a belly you won’t make it to-” Billy kicked Macha’s arm. The blow, although done with apathy, still hurt too much. His broken hand, poorly rolled with rags and nasty splints, throb stabs of pain up to his shoulder.

Brock glimpsed over the entrance gates, all opened but guarded. “Don’t be cruel and kick the other arm, mate.”

The comment was very typical of Broccoli, Macha thought. Demonstrate empathy at the same time as indifference. Throughout his captivity, the buccaneer had attempted to appear kind while still following the plan to take him to certain death. At first, Brock’s attitude baffled Macha, but after an endless nonsense of ‘bring him a blanket and more water, I’ll get you out of this mess, promise.’ interspersed with ‘cut off his tongue if he talks again, the Swan will make him suffer.’ Macha's patience was exhausted and his mind made up. Brock was a heartless bug who manipulated everyone. The type of scum who, before stabbing, put a cushion on the floor to muffle the sound of your fall, and still had the guts to say it was so you’d bleed out comfortably.

“Let him kick wherever he wants.” Macha clenched his teeth, not sure if out of pain or anger. “Maybe I’m lucky enough to lose consciousness, so I don’t need to see your stupid hair again.”

With yells of attention from the centre of the Hall, a man put the entire crowd into a deadly silence. The girl in red stood, took a few steps to nowhere, and sat down again. The silence seemed to never end and only after a subtle murmur from the audience and the thunderous footsteps from the low ring’s entrance did life seem to return. “Her Majesty, the Queen of Piracy!” the old man proclaimed, getting up from his stool and bowing to the ground.

“Harpy of the seas. Mother of Thumbs, Admiral of the Reds and humble servant of the Great King of Hanan!”

As the introductory banter continued, Brock’s hands crossed over his enormous perm. “Shake my rotten beams, kiddo,” he whispered. “We are very… very screwed.”

“What a disgrace,” Macha mocked. “You can always try to run, although I wouldn’t wait for Billy, you know… because he’s fat.”

The second kick was less restrained than the first. “Next time, I’ll be trampling over your hand,” Billy said. The sudden aggression put the soldiers under their watch on alert and the points of their spears forward. Billy made a knot at the end of the leash and swung the rope in circular blows. The closest soldier, barely intimidated, responded with a hand over a side sword’s pommel.

“Before you kill us all,” Brock grumbled and tapped the back of a man standing at Macha’s front. “We’d like to see what happens to the little red queen.”

With an impolite beckon, the gecko moved the man to the side who, although annoyed, did not dare to protest. “If you stand, you’ll see better, you know?” Brock said playfully.

“I’m very comfortable down here, thanks.” Macha answered.

Instead of taking the view Brock had opened to the lower circles of the Hall, Macha leaned forwards to check the sides and take a furtive glimpse at the soldier behind the buccaneer. “These mates don’t seem very friendly, veggie. Instead of wasting time watching scared girls, maybe you should find a way to escape. Don’t include Billy. He’ll only slow you down.”

Brock grabbed Macha’s head like it was a cannonball and pushed to twist it back upfront. “It’s the third time you tell the same unfunny joke, kiddo. You’re losing your wit.”

¨Not that I ever had much, to be honest. And I’m tired, I suppose.” Reluctant but lacking strength, Macha let Brock’s fingers turn his head toward the red queen. Now prostrated on her knees, she was letting out sobs and begs the distance muted enough from being too embarrassing. In front of her, an older, emaciated Harpy who still displayed a great deal of wonderful intimidation, waited silently with her hands crossed. At the challenger’s wings, there was a man and a woman, both with a similar leather plate armour as their master. Behind them and at a safe distance, there was a figure in a hooded tunic; an extremely familiar slender shape Macha could never forget.

“Do you think the person in black is the Lady of cards?” Macha asked. For a moment, he considered screaming. Ask for help. But if she was the girl he once met in Tampra, the same one who had an intimate, past relationship with Em, what could happen if he begged her for help? Knowing Em didn’t mean she had any kind of obligation to help him and as brief as was their encounter, most probably she didn’t even remember.

“Certainly,” Brock answered. “But let me give you some advice. If you raise your voice right now, not even she will save you from execution.”

The hood of the lady turned and the centre of the Hall filled with more soldiers, outnumbering by far the guards of the deposed queen. The challenger yelled in an unknown language and the few remaining men protecting the challenged dropped their weapons and knelt.

Macha blinked to relieve the itch of sweat falling from his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean to,” he said. “The lady gives nothing for free.”

“What a stupid game, uh?” Brock said, gently wiping Macha’s forehead with a handkerchief. “Losing a chunk of body for such banality.”

Brooks’ words came out without conviction. The buccaneer was playing with the hair covering his half ear and his attention, although fixed on the queens, seemed to see nothing but an invisible memory.

“That’s how you lost it? Was it a bet or just a fight?” Macha asked.

Taken by surprise, Brock clumsily pulled the curls down while his lips moved without letting go. After a deep sigh and a quick throat clearing, the buccaneer recovered his voice. “Who told you about my ear, kiddo?”

Macha’s response delayed with the young queen’s cries for mercy. Passion and desperation raised the intensity of the fledgling's cries, hitting her mother’ heart and the Harpy kneeled in front of her. The deposed queen rushed into a hug, letting out a cry loud enough to bounce off the walls and up to the invisible roof. The harpy’s armoured arm surrounded a shoulder while the thin counterparts of her young chick squeezed her mother’s waist with passion.

“Come on, veggie,” Macha said, rephrasing the delayed conversation. “ If you want to hide it better, use a bandana.”

“I suppose…” Brock’s words slowed as the queens raised. The little pup crumbled to the side, and then to another. Then, with a grimace of disbelief taking over her innocent face, she collapsed to the ground. “Damn, that was less gruesome than expected.”

The new queen stepped forward, walking unceremoniously over her offspring’s body and leaving a trail of reddened footprints towards the throne. There, she wiped a slender blade and, after hiding it back between the folds of her sash, sat proudly.

“All Hail the Queen!” yelled the old crier.

The crowd repeated, and after a threat of spears rose, Broccoli and Billy reluctantly joined. A long time later, and after an endless gibberish Mancha ignored, all the regicide’s witnesses disbanded, making way for more Hanan men. Exhausted and engulfed by pain, Macha lost connection with reality while following the subtle dance of one of the wall’s torches.

“The Golden King’s nephew is coming.” Billy said, breaking Macha’s fire spell.

“Good,” Brock said. “If Liew wants to talk, it means we have a chance. Do nothing.”

The man Billy mentioned was the young soldier previously siding the Harpy. As he got closer, his shoulders widened and his height grew, highlighting his sense of superiority. His features combined elegance with malevolence but nothing compared to the man following behind. With the austere clothes of a beggar and skin brimming with tattoos, the prince companion unleashed a hideous, nefarious smile before tossing a soaked bag at the Gecko’s feet. “This is a gift for you, lizards,” he said.

Brock endured the following silence while caressing his chin. A tick he had when mind required concentration. “Nay to be rude, mate,” he said after a while. “But I must decline.”

The prince and his foe chuckled. “I owe you a gold, Papiku,” Liew said.

“Told ya, lizards don’t have the guts.”

Brock tensed and pointed towards the sack. “I don’t suck my thumb, gentlemen. The head is the only part worth sending the right message, and heads don’t squash when falling. Whatever you thought to be funny is as inappropriate as is disgusting.”

“Depends on how crushed the skull is… mate,” Papiku said, letting out a soft snigger. “And that was not meant to be funny to you, but to us.”

Liew raised one hand in front of Papiku to take control of the conversation and raised the other to throw a threatening finger. “The ‘right message’ has been sent to your ship in a pretty wooden box. You will bring it to your headquarters together with the immediate orders of folding sails forever.

“Do whatever you want in the dirty streets of Tampra, but the sea is no longer yours. If you don’t comply, all of your scum will hang from the masts just like half of your men already do. Be thankful I let you go with thumbs to suck.”

The soldiers surrounding the buccaneers lowered weapons and opened the circle, inviting their hostages to accept the deal and leave untouched. Brock and Billy shared a look and moved backwards without giving their backs to Liew for a moment. When the leash rope tensed, Papiku talked. “Leave this one here. It’s no longer yours.”

The rope’s end dropped, and Billy’s heavy steps reprised. “Kiddo,” Broccoli said from afar. “Hey …Macha!”

For a moment, Macha wanted to look him in the eye. He wanted to see the disappointment of failing. The pain of seeing themselves as victims for once. But for some reason he did not understand, his gaze could not rise from the ground, and after ignoring his name once again, his eyes moistened to the sound of Brock’s steps following his quartermaster.

“William Brock is too dangerous to be left alive,” Papiku said. “We should have let the fatty one deliver.”

“What do you know about him?” Liew asked.

“Only what my whisperers say,” Papiku answered. “He’s too clever and too capable. And he’s treacherous. He won’t stop pestering us just because you say so. Neither will the Gecko’s command.”

“We will deal with them as expected. After what happened to Otoke, our Queen wants vengeance, not compliance,” Liew said. “And concerning William Brock; I have gossipers too, my friend, and some claim he's the target of another vengeance we can’t interfere. Leave the dog to his fate.”

Liew took one step away before turning to Macha. “Do you want this one as well, or should I tell my men to clean?”

“The deal is all Hanan prisoners to you, all Parnis to me,” Papiku said. ”Why did they bring you here, boy?”

“I was going to receive special treatment from the Swan,” Macha mumbled.

Liew made an effort to show extreme displeasure, and after shaking his head, he hurried to leave. Papiku, left alone with Macha, grabbed the rope around his chest and pulled up. “Well, I don’t think he minds If I take you with me,” Papiku kicked the bloodied sack and chuckled. “Do you? Nah, of course not.”

The following slight push on Macha’s back triggered a wince of pain. “Where, little mouse, where?” To Macha’s stubborn, prideful silence, Papiku repeated his question.

“I broke my hand,” Macha answered before Papiku squeezed him right on the spot.

“Come on, they’ll bandage that mess properly on my ship.” Papiku said, laying a reassuring touch over the shoulder. “You’ll need both at the Black Rock.”

Macha’s eyes widened. Somehow, he believed Brock. A promise to beg forgiveness for a trip to the Black Rock instead of death, and few subtle hints of maybe, just maybe, a chance to escape before arriving. A stupid, naïve thought spurred by convincing lies, of course. Yet, he had hope, and with all the betrayal and regicide happening out of a sudden, the hope grew. Even more after the Gecko’s grip loosened. However, in the hands of Papiku, the stupid idea of a happy ending returned to the box of idiotic daydreams. “After all this pantomime and you send me to the Rock, anyway?”

Papiku tossed the bloodied bag over his shoulder. “Panto-...what? What are you talking about? I saved your ass, ungrateful hake. And yes, I'll send you there and there’s nothing or no one capable of stopping me from doing what I have to do, so deal with it.”

With more conviction but the same gentleness as his previous pushing, Papiku pulled the leash rope. “If you behave well and do it quietly, maybe I’ll assign you to one of the few corners where miners can survive more than a week.”