The Band of Rotten: A Sanders Sides Story

The Stray Pirate

France, 1860

He woke up with a groan, the sun already starting to bake his face. He had taken off his eye-patch in favor of the dirty, off-white fabric that he'd tear from the sleeve of his tunic. He hid his trusty eye-patch in the folds of his loose pants in the hopes of avoiding suspicion. No one wants to deal with a pirate—and it's especially suspicious when you find one wandering around on land. He strolled down the small dirt pathway in the fisherman town, heading away from the coast.

As he reached a plateau a distance away from the coast, he could see a speck off to the ocean, not too far from land. It was his ship, Le Destin Doré, with her sails drawn. For the inexperienced, the ship looks more like a merchant ship than a pirate ship. It was his work a few years ago, inventing a way to disguise the ship to make it look less suspicious—pirating and raiding becomes easier that way. It was quite a misfortune that he had to leave the ship alone, though one might say it was his own fault. He didn't fuss about it much—he knew he could get her back.

From the elevated ground of the hill, the view of a fisherman town brought back bittersweet memories of the past. The beach had always been his favorite place when he was younger. But having known the rage of the ocean, he thought the sea was a bigger wonder than a mere beach. He paid attention to the fishing boats docked at the port after two months at sea. Children were running on the sand, spilling with laughter and joy. He couldn't imagine himself ever being that small and cheerful. Looking the other way, he ventured deeper into the town, the sight of the sea finally retreating into the horizon.

After a few hours, the sun was getting higher as it approached midday. His stomach was empty and his throat rough as the sand. It was a shame that he had to leave the ship in such a haste that he didn't have time to acquire provision. So, looking down at a small muddy puddle, he looked down at his reflection, trying to make himself more presentable. He swiped the remnants of dirt on his neck and fixed the sheet covering his eye to look neater. After that, it was not a difficult job to get food and water.

"Excuse me, madmoizelle." He attracted the attention of a young girl who was sitting on the small porch of her house. He gave her a small, shy smile which seemed to have charmed her. "Um, I am not from around here and I seem to have lost my way. Would you mind giving me a little water? I have not another provision left."

"Oh, of course." She smiled in return, a bloom of pink coloring her face. "Would you need anything else?"

"Uh, no, no. No, thank you. I didn't want to be too troublesome. Just the water is fine."

"Nonsense! I'll see what I can get you."

As she retreated into the small house, he congratulated himself. The girl returned with a big ale-mug of water and half a loaf of fresh bread. She handed him the mug which he accepted gratefully, though with a little confusion.

"Why the mug? You don't seem like someone who drinks."

"It's father's," She answered with another smile. "He's a big, burly man with a big appetite, which means a lot of food and ale. He's out on sea now, so I don't suppose he would mind you borrowing his precious mug."

"Well, your father sounds like a delight." He gulped the water quickly, quenching his thirst. "Thank you for your kindness, I better get going."

"Wait, mother had just finished baking and we seem to have some left over. Here, have some."

"Why, thank you." He gave her the sweetest smile and nodded.

As soon as he turned his back, his smile dropped. He let out a sigh, looking down at the paper-wrapped bread. He walked faster towards the center of the town, not knowing what he intended to do. As he trudged further, his mind wandered to the past, but his thoughts didn't linger for long. In the middle of the small town was a statue of a swordfish, body contorted as if breaching out of the water. The statue was surrounded by shallow flower beds that burst with colors. He passed it with a sigh, going even further. He knew not where he was going.