Chéri

Ch.3: The Bi-rate

It had been three bloody days and the mischief Jackson had gotten up to was nil. He mostly found himself scrubbing the deck and fastening ropes to bitts. Admittedly, he was learning more about working on a ship, but it was an awfully boring affair getting there. The crew seemed either indifferent or slightly annoyed by him and Jackson suspected that if he were not there, not all that much would be different. So, he passed the time by bothering Kingsley.

"You know I have more jobs than just babysitting you?" asked Kingsley, inspecting the edge of the bow.

"Yes I know," said Jackson, dancing idly on his heels, "I just don't- well, I just don't understand, you see."

"Uh huh. And what don't you understand?"

"This boat, the Marauder's Mistress, it's small, only three sails," said Jackson, motioning emphatically with his hands, "And there's not a properly sized cannon to speak of! Only dinky little things, not even capable of firing grape shot."

"Are you done criticizing my ship?" asked Kingsley, arms crossed and not amused.

"I'm not criticizing it..." said Jackson, before leaning in and whispering, "It just doesn't seem like we're built for war, is all."

"It's because we're not built for war," said Kingsley, returning to inspecting the bowline.

Jackson did a double-take. "What do you mean we're not built for war?"

Kingsley chuckled a little. "There's a reason all the old Pirates went extinct, matey. The British, Spanish, French, they just kept building bigger boats and soon there was nobody on the Free Seas that could match their firepower. Nowadays, you can only get along by outrunning or outsmarting them."

Jackson was aghast.

"So you're saying we don't make our money by robbing people?"

"Not exactly," said Kingsley.

"Then how do we?"

"Smuggling mostly. There's many shillings to be made in avoiding royal tolls. We do rob when we can get away with it, but it's not our principal occupation."

Jackson was unsatisfied, but he decided not to press the man. He left Kingsley to his duties as Quartermaster and went pacing about the ship. He helped where he could but quite honestly, there wasn't much to help with. The boat was simply overstaffed. There were about one-and-a-half crewmates to every job that needed doing. And most times, Jackson wasn't the most skilled man for the job. He would just stand to the side of whoever was doing the task and stare. It felt odd to him. Surely, it wasn't cost-effective to field such a large crew for such a small boat, he thought.

Jackson made himself busy whenever Amelia or another lieutenant walked by, but that's all it was: busy work. And he was getting sick of it. He would find out what this voyage's purpose was, or his name wasn't Jackson Alexander Pretter.

##

It was his fourth day on the Marauder's Mistress and a thin crescent moon had emerged amid the last rays of the sun. The Caribbean was calm, and the xebec jostled only slightly on top of the waves. Kingsley, Amelia, and Jean-Luc had all gathered in the Captain's quarters. Jackson decided to follow them and quietly hid behind the doorway.

The Captain's cabin was decorated nicely. Purple drapes and orange lanterns added a nice ambiance to the mixed living/working space. Heavy desks and chairs clashed with the soft linens and silks that adorned her bed, but in a way that was tasteful and wholly complementary of each other. Cerulean-tinted windows made the sunset-dipped sea that much more beautiful. Various baubles and compasses set in stacks below ornate landscapes made the room feel lived-in and cozy. Gawking at the place, Jackson almost forgot to listen in.

Amelia was going on about some "plan" to do with a "formula." Jackson couldn't make out much. He leaned forward in hopes of catching more of the conversation. Immediately, he got a sinking feeling in his gut. The boat rocked, and he couldn't stop from falling forward. Jackson collided into the deck with a thud. The four Pirates inside the cabin all swiveled to look at him.

Jean-Luc pulled out a pistol. "It is my turn, non?"

Jackson's eyes went wide. He stayed on his knees, holding his hands out before him.

"Wait just a moment," said Kingsley, "We don't know what he's heard."

"'e has heard too much regardless," said Jean-Luc, "The stupid boy you insisted on bringing will have to die."

Jackson scanned the room in a nervous fit. Unfortunately, there was nothing at arm's length. Wait! Jackson thought, My grandfather's pistol!

He reached for his belt. There was nothing there.

Jackson had left the flintlock with the rest of his belongings in the crew's quarters. He was royally fucked.

Jackson met eyes with the Captain. She was so cold that he feared he might turn to stone under her watch. Still, she was his only hope. In her hands, there were documents with bits of red writing on them, little x's, and numbers here and there.

He raised an eyebrow. They felt oddly familiar to him.

Then, Jackson got it.

"Those are alchemical formulas!" he blurted out.

The Captain put a hand up and Jean-Luc lowered his pistol. The four Pirates in the room eyed each other suspiciously.

"How does he know- " started Amelia.

Dead serious, the Captain put a finger up to her mouth. Then, she walked around the table and towards Jackson. Breathing heavily, the boy just knelt there, afraid to make eye contact. The Captain took a dagger from her belt and placed it lightly under his chin. She pulled gently on the cool blade and raised Jackson's head to face her.

"Look at me," she said in a breathy voice.

Jackson could hear his own heartbeat. He resisted the urge to look down at the dagger pointed into his neck.

The Captain leaned in towards his ear. "What do you know about alchemy?" she whispered.

Jackson shivered. "um, I- um, I am an alchemist. Or, at least, I was."

The Captain pulled her dagger away from his neck. Jackson sighed in relief, almost collapsing forward onto the floorboards. He grabbed at his throat to see if there was any blood. There wasn't a scratch. He blinked in disbelief.

"You've made quite the catch, Kingsley," said the Captain, sauntering back to the table, "Who knew our latest runaway would be such the expert?"

"what- what are you doing with alchemy?" managed Jackson.

"Oh no, baby, you misunderstand. Just because I'm not killing you doesn't mean I'm telling you my whole plan."

Jackson glanced at the three Pirate lieutenants behind the Captain. They were all staring daggers back at him.

"Now, go run along before I change my mind."

Jackson stumbled to his feet. Cheeks red as roses and tears running from his eyes, he sprinted down the stairs and away from the Captain's cabin. He made his way to the crew's quarters where he promptly threw himself into his cot and curled up into a ball. Clutching at his grandfather's pistol, he stayed there as the day turned into night and the gentle Caribbean waves lulled him towards an anxious sleep.

Maybe this whole ordeal wasn't the best idea. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a pirate. Oh, Thomas, if only I'd stayed back in the port with you.