Bloodtide

Part 48

"A war hasn't been called, Davy... pirate code," a low, haunting voice whispered as the door creaked open. A swirling mist followed, curling around the wooden planks like the tendrils of a ghostly apparition.

I watched as Hallow entered, her smirk widening when the room fell silent. The men shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their faces pale as she glided past them. Even the bravest among them couldn't hide the shiver that ran down their spines, though none dared to speak it. Her presence alone commanded a respect born out of fear—an unspoken understanding that her power was as deep and dangerous as the ocean itself.

"Hallow, thank you for gracing us with your presence," Jones chuckled, though there was a sharpness in his tone that hinted at the underlying tension between them. He turned to face her, the corners of his mouth twitching into a forced smile. Hallow leaned in, her lips brushing his cheek in a gesture that felt more like a warning than a greeting.

The woman was a force of nature, enchanting in every sense of the word. There was a fluid grace in her movements, a siren's allure that drew men towards her, whether they willed it or not. But beneath that captivating exterior, there was a danger that everyone in the room sensed. She could bend them with a word, and break them with a glance. As she pulled away from Jones, the air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken tension, like the calm before a storm.

The mist thickened, the room darkened, and I couldn't help but wonder what unspeakable power she held within those depths—power that Jones, and perhaps even himself, feared.

"Bloodbane is dangerous though," she said, her voice smooth and dripping with confidence. "You all would need support."

Jones's face twisted in disdain, and his response was immediate, his voice sharp and full of venom. "We don't need the help of you slimy creatures!" he shouted, his eyes narrowing as he glared at her. His sudden outburst caused the men to shift in their seats, the tension between them palpable, like a storm ready to break.

Hallow's smirk only deepened as she met his gaze, unfazed by his hostility. "You might not think so now," she replied coolly, her voice a dangerous whisper, "but the sea has a way of humbling even the most stubborn of men."

Jones's fists clenched, his knuckles whitening. He hated mermaids—detested their deceptive beauty and the power they wielded over the sea. To him, they were treacherous beings, lurking beneath the waves, waiting for the chance to drag sailors to their watery graves. And Hallow, with her enchanting presence and sharp tongue, embodied everything he loathed.

But there was more to it, a deeper history that neither would speak of openly. It was as if the weight of past betrayals hung between them, unspoken yet undeniable. The room grew colder, the mist thickening as if responding to the rising tension. Hallow's eyes gleamed, a knowing look passing between them, as if she could see right through him—right into the dark recesses of his soul.

And though Jones's glare never wavered, there was a flicker of something else—something he would never admit, not to her, not to anyone. Fear? Resentment? Or perhaps, the bitter taste of a truth he could not escape, no matter how hard he tried.

But Hallow only smiled, her confidence unwavering, as if she knew that in the end, the sea would always have the last word.

The air in the room was thick with unease, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The flickering lanterns cast long, wavering shadows, and the creaking of the ship's timbers seemed louder than usual, as if the very bones of the vessel sensed the turmoil brewing among the crew.

"We're getting nowhere," John said, breaking the silence, his voice firm as he leaned over the worn table. "Enough glaring, enough suspicion. Let's settle this the way we've always done—by a vote."

Jones rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a scoff. "A vote? What a joke," he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "What's the point? It's not like anyone here's got a shred of honesty left. You lot would sell your own mother for a coin."

The men exchanged uneasy glances, but a few chuckled darkly, acknowledging the truth in Jones' words. Trust was a rare commodity on the high seas, and even rarer among this particular band of rogues.

John ignored Jones' taunts and pressed on. "We're not going to waste time with your paranoia, Jones. We need to decide—do we stand and fight, or do we make ourselves scarce?"

Jones slammed his fist on the table, causing the lanterns to flicker wildly. "Running? Hiding? We've been doing that for too long! It's time we took the fight to them, showed the king what happens when he messes with us!"

"Aye, but at what cost?" one of the men piped up, his voice trembling slightly.

Jones sneered, his eyes narrowing as he looked around the room. "The way I see it, we're dead either way. Might as well go down swinging."

"Or maybe," Hallow interjected, her voice calm and measured, "we take a smarter approach. We disappear, regroup, and hit them where they least expect it. Live to fight another day, when the odds are in our favor."

Jones turned slowly to face Hallow, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You always were the slippery type, Hallow. Always talking about the smart move, the safe move. Makes a man wonder what you've been up to."

Hallow raised an eyebrow, her expression unchanging. "And what exactly are you implying, Jones?"

Jones leaned forward, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "I'm implying that maybe the king's men know too much about our whereabouts. Maybe someone's been feeding them information, hoping to buy themselves a bit of clemency when the hammer falls."

A murmur rippled through the room, the crew exchanging uneasy glances. The idea of a traitor in their midst was enough to send a chill down even the most hardened pirate's spine.

"Are you accusing me of being a traitor, Jones?" Hallow asked, her voice dangerously low.

"I'm saying it fits, doesn't it?" Jones shot back, his eyes gleaming with anger. "You've always been a smooth talker, always knew how to stay out of trouble. Maybe you've found a new way to stay ahead—by selling us out to the king's men."

John stood, slamming his hand down on the table to break the tension before it escalated into violence. "Enough! This isn't the time for finger-pointing, especially without proof."

Jones wasn't backing down, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Proof? Proof is that the king's men found our base, and they found it quick. Somebody's been talking, and if you ask me, Hallow's the most likely candidate."

Hallow held Jones' gaze, her expression unreadable. "Believe what you want, Jones. But if you're looking to start a fight among ourselves while the king's men are on our doorstep, you'll be doing their job for them."

Jones sneered, his hand twitching towards the hilt of his sword. "Or maybe I'll just deal with the problem myself, save us all the trouble."

The crew tensed, hands instinctively moving to weapons, as if sensing the violence about to erupt. One of the pirates at the table raised his hand, his voice commanding. "Enough! We're not going to tear ourselves apart here, not while the real enemy is out there."

The room fell silent again, but the tension was thicker than before, a palpable force that could snap at any moment. The vote was still on the table, but now it wasn't just about fighting or running—it was about trust, or the lack thereof, and the seeds of doubt Jones had planted in the crew's minds.

"We vote," John said, his voice steady, though his eyes darted between Jones and Hallow. "And if anyone has any objections after that, they'll answer to me."

Jones glared at Hallow one last time before leaning back in his chair, reluctantly conceding the moment. "Fine," he spat. "But don't think this is over. If there's a snake among us, I'll find it."