Heta-Collection: The Immortals Through Time

The Immortal Privateer

All he wanted was a drink. It has been a long day of writing paperwork, doing inspections, and sucking up to his superiors. Not that there was a need for him to kiss their arse. It was them that needed him not the other way around, after all. Nevertheless, it was a terribly exhausting day and all he wanted to do was get some ale at his favoured pub. Was that really too much to ask?

"Get up."

Three men had revolvers trained on his head as he held his tankard to his lips. Just a wee jolt of his hand and his tasteful ale would be sailing through his mouth and down his throat. These barbarians couldn't just let him have that, couldn't they?

"All I want is a drink," he said "May I not have a taste before we leave?"

A gun's nozzle was brought closer to the side of his head, ruffling some of his blonde locks. He sighed. Arthur Kirkland, personal advisor of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, and Commander of the Royal Naval Fleet was being held at gun point in his favoured pub, right as he was about to drink his much needed ale, and, most importantly, after his work hours. This was not his lucky day.

Arthur took a glance at the store owner and sighed. The old man was shielding his young daughter from the scene, using his body to block her view. Arthur sighed again as he placed his tankard down on the wooden table. He didn't want to cause a scene here. It was the only place that accepted the likes of him and he owed the owner a favour for letting him spend the night when he gets a bit too sick from drinking too much ale. He stood up.

"All right, gentlemen," he started as he gathered his grey cloak, "lead the way."

He was then roughly pushed out of the pub and into a fairly ominous looking street. It was far from the square and, from the looks of it, was part of the slum areas. The slums have always made him uneasy. It was full of grey, dirt, rats, and death. It made him sick to his stomach. It reminded him of the plague.

"We've got some business with ye Kirkland," the gruff man with an untrimmed beard started, "Ye killed our captain!"

Arthur stared at the man. Arthur had slain several people in his days that he had forgotten most of their faces. The scream, the sound of steel piercing through flesh, and the sound of a lifeless body falling heavily to the ground. Those were all that he remembered of his preys. It has been a while since he had to dirty his hands. Too long even with his position in the fleet. So why was it that this uncouth rat was accusing him of murder?

"You must be mistaken," Arthur replied, "I have not taken any lives for so long."

A thin man grabbed him by the cloak and roughly pushed him to the wall. He hit his head but barely winced. His brows creased, instead, as he kept thinking how he would need a new cloak after this. This man's hands looked like they haven't been properly washed in years.

"Don't play with us!" the thin man said, "Ye killed him! Had him hanged just this morning, ye bastard!"

A hanging? Arthur did remember inspecting a noose before daybreak but he wasn't there for the actual hanging. He was called to court for his advice on the Prince's royal lessons. It was extremely dreary that it almost lulled him to sleep right in front of the Queen.

"Captain Crane was a strong man!" the man with the hat said, "And we ain't gonna let ye go free fer what you did!"

Ah! Crane. Captain Crain Dixon, the notorious port pirate. The pirate and his crew of idiots were port hopping along the western coast of England, stealing and plundering on land and living in the middle of the ocean. Arthur found their sea camp anchored down during one of his patrols. He had his men board it and captured several pirates. The crew were sentenced with lifetime labor in the quarries while the captain was publicly executed by the noose. It was supposed to send a message to the other pirates to not mess with the crown. They still do, unfortunately.