The Pirate's Legacy: New Identities

Chapter 13: Snakes in the Water

Michael found Roger on the beach, wading in the shallows of the ocean. His rolled up trouser legs revealed slightly hairy legs just as pale as the rest of his exposed skin. In his hands were his boots. Michael could see only the back of Roger's head because the latter stared at the gathering dark clouds in the distance. The young blond man cupped his hands around his mouth. "Captain!" When Roger turned his head sideways to indicate that he'd heard the call, Michael walked toward him. He made sure to stay out of reach. "Some of the men are concerned about heading out into a storm," he said after a moment's hesitance.

Roger turned around and started up the beach, shaking his head. Michael held in a flinch as the other man passed. Roger threw himself onto the sand and began unrolling his trousers. "What sort of lily-livered replacements have you hired for me, Mr. Turnbull?" he growled. Since the pantheon incident, Roger preferred to address Michael by his surname, which was a far cry better than not mentioning at all either Michael's first or last name. Though the tension between them had loosened a bit, that didn't mean Michael was back in Roger's good graces yet.

The grin that the first mate forced onto his face came across painfully. "Aye, lily-livered, but they were all I could find," he said.

Roger grunted. He stood up and stamped on his boots. "Nothing I can't correct," he muttered. They returned to The Jolly Roger where the entire crew waited on the main deck. Dread Pirate Robin took to the helm's balcony and called for attention.

"Now listen here, you maggot-sucking, bilge rats." Roger's words spewed like bullets. "I will not, nor will I ever, tolerate weakness on this ship or in my men. A storm hasn't stopped us before, and it won't now." His black gaze swept across the deck, and pierced straight into the heart of every man watching in fear and awe. "Show some godsdamned backbone. Remember the fires of hell from which you were forged!" The company, now rallied by nerves and excitement, yelled and shouted their agreement. Roger swiped his hand through the air. Silence fell. "But if there are those still objecting to sailing into a storm, leave my ship and go rot in a gully. I've no patience for a man without the pride of a pirate." No one stirred, although eyes watched eagerly for any signs of cracking under Dread Robin's searing stare. After a few seconds, the captain nodded curtly. "Weigh anchor!"

The crewmen jumped to their tasks without another word. In no time, The Jolly Roger sailed toward the dark clouds floating above the invisible line where the sea and sky met. If the men of Dread Robin's original crew hadn't been aware of Draconians on the high seas before now, the recent additions informed their new shipmates of the threat. A subdued and wary atmosphere pervaded the ship.

A high-pitched, twittering cry broke through this tense ambience when Pirata was barely a strip of island behind them. It was followed by the lookout's shouts of alarm. Heads peered up at the crow's nest. An albatross flew amid the masts and the rigging. The lookout's attempts to shoo it away were in vain because the large seabird weaved through the system of lines and sails. A small commotion broke out among the onlookers below.

"Don't kill it," called Godsworth up at the crow's nest when Mr. Drummond drew his cutlass and waved it at the seabird. "They carry the soul o' dead sailors. Bad luck to any poor man for the rest o' 'is nat'ral life if 'e kills a albatross."

"Scare it away, Mr. Drummond!" shouted Dread Pirate Robin. "Damned superstitious clods," he added underneath his breath. Roger threw a dirty look at the first mate, whom he blamed for providing him with such a yellow-bellied crew.

After the nuisance was driven away, an uneasy order fell afterward. Despite the bad beginning, the waters were calm; the clouds stayed their brooding, dark selves; and the wind was fair, if not a bit chilly despite the summer season. The scent of rain hung in the air but nothing fell. Round-the-clock watches scoured the surrounding waters for any sign of Draconians. Their journey kept this way until the second day they were due to pass through Politicka's outer islands. Three ravens flew over them from the East. The lookout spotted another ship coming from the portside, half a mile away.