The Queen Anne's Voyage

Chapter 1.1

A pirate is a hero to his crew but a villain to the people.

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I peered through the cracked window. The sun rising out of Barcelona's cerulean horizon bathed the ocean with an orange glow. It was beautiful. I bit my lip, losing myself in thought. Every time she crossed my mind, my heart would pound wild like a tempest. She was truly one of a kind: I imagined myself exploring the infinite depths of her beauty. I imagined myself witnessing the grace of her form. With all this thinking, I heaved a deep sigh. Someday, I would definitely conquer her. Own her. Make her mine. Yes, I was in love. Madly in love with the sea.

A deep voice behind me started yelling suddenly. "-Son of a bloody wuss, Edward! What are you- Oh please, get your tiny arse movin' already! Tis' too early to be day dreamin' bout your childish fantasies! You know we've got tons of work to do!" I jumped off the barrel I was sitting on in an instant.

"Morning, Master Grant," I replied, bowing slightly and panting a little.

The dark skinned man nodded before sitting on a nearby stool, chewing his tobacco stub. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me while scratching his chin. Master was the town swordsmith, and I work at his shop as his apprentice. He always told me to call him Grant but I preferred calling him master. It felt more appropriate that way.

"Mornin'. Seems like you didn't get a wink of sleep, lad. Your entire face reflects horrible."

"Aye, master. Had to work on something really important."

Master raised his brows. I couldn't blame him though. Staying up all night just to work on something sounds suspicious enough. Without another word, I walked into the backroom of the cabin. This was where all the swords were kept. Rows of unfinished blades hung on the dusty brick wall. An old furnace sat on one corner, and a rusty anvil was beside it. But I had no business with the furnace or the anvil or swords right now. Instead, I approached a wooden chest beside the door. With care, I opened it and pulled out the only sword inside. Although the form was apparent, it wasn't finished yet. The blade had little jaggy edges, and the shape of the hilt unclear. Still, I brought the sword to Master.

"So, that's what you've been sweatin' to the bloody death last night? Well then, lemme' see if you actually got some craftsmanship in that frail body of yours. Gimme' that." He laughed, and I handed him the sword.

He started examining it, and my gut began to twist. To have my first piece judged by a prominent craftsman, I felt horrible. I even had an urge to snatch the sword and apply finishing touches for once. But it was pointless. A sword must be examined first before it could take its final form. Master's words were still clear in my mind: 'An unfinished sword is like a naked woman. You can see the elegance of her beauty and more importantly, you see her flaws. Therefore, you can only perfect the blade in its naked form. '

I had watched Master forge swords a countless number of times. Royal families would often stop by to avail of his services. A fair lot would also visit in random just to see and admire his works. I wasn't surprised. He was a swordsmith for a reason - he only made swords and the best ones too. Actually, a lot of people considered him the legendary craftsman of most of the greatest swords of this age.

"This is surprisin'ly a fine sword. Hmm, crystalized iron ore for the most part with weeny touches of adamant, eh? Not bad. Not bad at all. In fact, tis' quite impressive for a rookie," he said as he pinched the tip. "I like the balance between the metals although the design's rather disturbing..."

Master's brows arched together and his lips curved a little.

"Disturbing?"

"Putting the design aside, there's another even more disturbing problem..."