A Siren at the Helm

Chapter XXII: Cinnamon and Spice

"Heave," Bloom's voice was tired. He and Tempest lifted the last sail-wrapped parcel. "Ho!" Tempest watched sullenly as it toppled over the railing and into the blue. The body floated for a few moments more before it sank beneath the surface.

A few of the fallen soldiers had not washed overboard with Tempest's wave, getting caught on the banister instead. Tempest had insisted that they each get a propper burial. They might have been Breakwell's men, but they were just following orders. She did not have any personal grievances with them.

It pained Tempest to think that each of the men she and Bloom had wrapped in canvas had once been someone's little boy. Many of them had mothers and fathers waiting on their return, lovers who would never see them again. Perhaps some had children as well. Now they were left without a father. This was the part of piracy that Tempest hated. To be constantly surrounded by death.

And yet, somehow, she had to pull herself together after each fight. She had to move on where others would have mourned. In her past it could have meant the difference between survival and death, especially when they were being chased by the navy such as now. Though in the past, Flaganan had also been there-

"Well, she be all fixed up," Fish boomed from behind her as he admired the part of the rigging he had just replaced.
"That was quick." It came from Bloom.
"Aye, faster than usual. But the deck ain't patched propper. Though it's not The Vengaza, so it don't matter that much anyway."
Bloom shrugged as he walked away. "As long as she gets us where we're goin' that be good enough."

Though Fish had said that the fixing had gone quickly this time, it was already sunset. As the sun was sank into the ocean Tempest swore that, if she were to reach out her hand, she could touch it. Above, the sky turned to fire. A farewell to the dying source of light. In the East a foggy purple was etching it's way into the sky. And, though very faint, the evening star had already made its appearance in the distance. Around her the deck was neat again, all except for the sloppy patch-up-work of wood where cannonballs had landed. At least the mast and wheel had remained intact.

At once there was a tugging at the back of Tempest's mind. Something was missing. As she scanned the ship again she realized it to be someone rather than something.

She strutted up the companionway towards the man at the helm. Mad Mich gave her a dirty look down his nose.
She paid him no mind. "Where is your captain?" She asked.
"He be in the galley if ye must know," he answered with a snort.
"The galley? What is he doing there? Did the fight damage our food stores?"
"How should I know?" He barked.

Tempest rolled her eyes at the pirate's rudeness. After hovering there for a little while more, she sauntered off in search of something to do.

*

Tempest wearily stared at the pewter bowl in front of her before looking back to Esteban. He stood, hands behind his back and chest all puffed up, looking very proud of his creation. Bloom and Mich Mich, the former sitting beside her and the latter opposite her, looked equally astonished.

When it had been announced that Esteban had been the one to cook dinner, Tempest was sceptical at best. She trusted his cooking abilities about as much as she trusted those of Fish. Which was not at all, really.

Esteban sat down and served himself a hearty helping."It is good. I promise."
"Much I trust your promises," Tempest murmured softly enough that he didn't hear.

It smelled good, and it certainly did look more appetizing than Fish's attempt at cookery this afternoon. Perhaps it didn't taste bad either.