Black Stones

An Old Enemy

"Don't think I've been here in years," I say as I look out over the island. After gathering our bearings, the first thing we realized was that we needed to make port, and soon. The storm had washed away all of our spare sails, a good portion of our fresh water, and we had lost eleven crew to inky black waves. Fortunately, there was one such port nearby. Although I wouldn't use the word friendly to describe our destination, the Dauntless would definitely fit right in.
"I thought every pirate spent their time in Tortuga?" Benedict asks next to me.
"Oh, every pirate will find themselves here eventually," I chuckle, "but I try to avoid this place as a matter of principle. To many undesirable sorts here."
The Dauntless slips into to large harbor, and after paying the outrageous price for docking, we go ashore.
"Amos, take Smitty and a few others," I instruct, "and go find some supplies. I'll take Benedict and round up some more sailors at the tavern." It is late evening at this point, and I am sure that there will be quite a crowd at any place that served hard drink. And I am not wrong. Within ten minutes we have already replaced the men we lost, and I walk down to the bar feeling quite happy.
"Rum captain?" The bar tender asks.
"Tea, if you have it," I tell him shaking my head.
"And how about the boy?" He continues, jerking his head at Benedict who had sat down next to me.
"I'll have the same," he replies. The bar tender walks away, then quickly returns with two steaming cups.
"There you go gents. I hope ye enjoy yer night," he says, before rushing off to break up a developing fight on the other side of the room. I watch the commotion with amusement.
"What do you think is happening?" Benedict asks.
"Well, as far as I can tell," I say with a smile, "that pirate there drank some of the others rum. The second demanded confiscation from the first, to which the first replied that he didn't give a sugar stick about what man said. The second then called the first a pudding head, the second called the first a toss pot pratt, and then the second took a swing at the first. Unfortunately for him, the second was right in calling him a toss pot since the man was in fact, quite drunk, and fell onto the card table of the third and fourth. The those two also started taking swings, and I believe that's about where we are now."
I look at Benedict, who stares at me in complete confusion.
"Umm, could you repeat that?" He asks, trying to wrap his head around my long explanation.
"I doubt it," I laugh, not quite sure myself what I had said. The two of us laugh for a little while longer, before something catches my eye. A fifth pirate had joined the fight, who the bar tender immediately hits over the head, sending him to the floor. After yelling a few choice words at him, the pirate picks himself up, and stumbles out the door. It is a man who's profile I recognized easily. After all, he was the first man I had truly learned to hate.
"Benedict stay here," I tell him without taking my eyes off the door, "I've got some unfinished business to attend to."

I follow him down the ally's and back ways, keeping my distance but never losing sight. It isn't hard to follow him, he's obviously very drunk and stumbles around the entire way, knocking over barrels and muttering to himself. Finally, he comes to a stop in front of a bunk house. The owner refuses to let him in, resulting in a new argument, and the door is slammed in his face. The pirate screams at the locked door and tries to force his way in. At this point, I decide to reveal myself.
"Hello Salt," I announce, walking out of the shadows. The pirate spins around, obviously ready to fight whoever it was that dared call him out.
"Yeah? And who are....." He starts, but stops abruptly when he recognizes my face.
"It's been a long time," I say, casually placing my hand on the hilt of my sword, "I don't think I've seen that pretty face of yours in, what, seven years? Maybe eight? My, wasn't that a night."
Salt is backing up against the wall, searching desperately for an avenue of escape. I advance on him, quickly eliminating any thought of running. He begins to draw his sword, but I'm on him in a flash, my own sword drawn and pressed against his throat before his even leaves the belt.
"Don't," I say simply. He gulps nervously, and releases the grip on his blade.
"Do you remember what I promised you that night?" I ask, using the tip of my blade to push down his stained shirt, reveling the scar above his heart. He nods quickly. I look in his eyes and see he is clearly terrified.
"Well, I might be convinced to stay that judgment for a time," I say quietly, watching the hope that starts to blossom in his eyes, "but only if you tell me exactly what I want to know."
"Yes sir, whatever ye want to know, I'll tell ye," Salt replies enthusiastically.
"Last I saw you, you were aboard the Wasp. I want to know where she is. Where is O'Connors?" I ask in a low voice. Despite his promise, Salt hesitates. At least, until I press my sword against his neck hard enough to draw blood, letting him know that I would not hesitate to make good on my own promise.
"An island," he says quickly, "a hide out he fashioned for hiself a year back. It ain't marked on any maps, ye will never find it. But I can guide ye."
I consider his offer for a moment, then sigh. Sometimes, in order to kill a snake, you have to use a snake.
"Fine," I say, "consider yourself a temporary guide. But make no mistake, as soon as we find O'Connors, you're gone. And if I even suspect that you've lied to me, I'll kill you. Understand?"
"Aye," Salt gulps, "I understand."
"Good," I reply, "then let's get started."

Before heading back to Dauntless, I swing back around to the tavern, when Benedict is still waiting at the bar. I was relieved, half expecting the lad to be dead. But then again, if he couldn't defend himself after two months of hard training, well, he wouldn't last much longer on the seas anyways. Besides, I had a lot of confidence in the boy, and the training I had given him. I know he could take care of himself. But instead of standing right up as I expected, he continues to sit at the bar, as if in deep thought.
"Something on your mind?" I ask. He bolts right up, startled and perhaps even a little scared, which I find strange.
"Captain Will!" He exclaims, "no, ah, nothing."
"Are you sure?" I ask concerned, "You seem worried."
Benedict sighs, and seems to deflate in on himself.
"No captain," he says quietly, "I just got word that... Something bad has happened back home, to my sister. Please, just let it go."
I hear the words, and my heart immediately goes out to him. Instead of offering my condolences, or try to get him to talk about it as others had done when my mother passed, I simply obey his wish, and let the subject pass.
"I'm sorry," Is all I say.
"I am too," he says quietly, "I am too."