Sea Bound

According To Plan

I learned that his name is Gerard Delancet, from the Capital. He’s been in the Imperial Navy since he was thirteen, and has worked his way up to Admiral. He had been serving his remaining few years behind a desk but after some young Captain handed over a goldmine, he’d wanted to do his share in bringing down the pirate empire. 

He tells me this as we walk along the edge of the cliffs. 

I’m not sure why he’s talking so openly about himself to a complete stranger - there must be something about me he trusts. 

The two lackeys that had followed him into the inn were at least five steps behind us at all times, with Sam and his chosen four behind them. The sun is rising high, giving way to a shockingly blue sky. It’s as though the world is brightening around me in celebration of my coming victory.

Truly, this is too easy. I’ve already gotten the trust of the commanding officer, and I feel as though he wants to take me under his wing or something. There’s a… fatherly way about him. The way he looks at me, as though he sees potential shining through or some suck bollocks. 

I listen to him, because I’m still the quiet and polite lad my pap taught me to be, but I find the farther we walk, the more I’m actually listening. 

When Gerard tells me a funny story about his daughter, my laughter is genuine. It makes me jolt, and my stomach knots uneasily. I clear my throat and glance away, over the rolling hills of the little island. 

I suppose it’s quite pretty. No underhanded society dressed as politics here. No hierarchy stepping on the faces of the poor. 

Just a simple little life, with simple little problems. 

I don’t know why, but I wonder if this would have ever been a life I might have had, if Kellian hadn’t bought me when I was young. Would I have ever been adopted? Would I have been put into the mines when I was older, or would I have left the orphanage and sought my own adventure? 

I hear a small huff next to me and I glance up. Gerard is looking ahead, but there’s a small smile playing on his lips. I quirk my head questioningly, and the man’s smile deepens as he meets my eyes. I’m not quite prepared for the sadness that I see there. 

“My boy would have been your age about now,” he says slowly, his voice slightly roughened. I frown, unsure. 

“My boy, Benjamin, we had him first. Ah, I had so many hopes for him. He was a tiny wee thing, like you, and he had this mop of black hair that my wife could never tame.” He chuckles again, but his smile is fading. 

“We lost him when he was three, from the pox. My Addie… she never really recovered. We had our daughters, three of them, but nothing could ever replace our Benjamin.”

The weight in my stomach tightens and I look at my boots, watching as they scuff the uneven ground. 

I give Gerard the privacy of ignoring him, and we fall into an odd silence. 

I mean, I’m not a monster. I understand losing a child is the worst kind of pain, and I feel for the man, I really do. Despite his devotion to the Heavenly King, and to the Imperial City - he’s still a man. That s**t must hurt. 

“Ah, here we are.”

My head snaps up, momentarily forgetting Gerard’s grief, to look around. 

We’ve stopped on the edge of a cliff, with nothing but the calm ocean to look over. I frown, casting my eyes around for some snippet of what the f**k is going on, before I catch a motion from the corner of my eye. 

Gerard is walking away from the edge and towards a large boulder. He gestures at his men, and the three of them shove the rock over, revealing a large hole in the ground. My lip curls in confusion, but my men and I head over. 

The hole leads quite far down, but I see the flicker of light somewhere at the bottom. There’s a faint clang of metal meeting metal wafting up, as well as the smell of hard labour and food. 

“Old smuggling den,” says Gerard as he steps back, letting his men climb down the rickety ladder embedded into the sides of the tunnel. 

I look over at my men, who seem more than a little uneasy at the thought of climbing into a hole. But we’re here, and if they want their pay, then they’ll climb down into the Fire Pit if I want them to. 

“After you, son,” says the Admiral, gesturing for me to head down. With a small nod, I hook my foot into the first rung and start a slow descent. 

The rope is frayed under my palm, but it stays together long enough for me to plant my feet firmly at the bottom. I grunt as I land, dusting my hands as I take in the scene in front of me. 

“f**k…”

The cave is absolutely monstrous. 

It must go underneath the entirety of the island, reaching high above and extending out as far as I can see. 

I step forward, my eyes landing on the absolute beauty before me. 

She’s floating gently in the shallow waters running into the middle of the cave, and Imperial men are climbing all over her. There’s scaffolds built all around her, and even here I can see the battering she’s taken. 

“Holy f*****g seas,” mutters a voice next to me, and I smirk as I see Sam’s wide eyes looking at the Galleon as though he’s just met the Queen of the Capitol. 

The ship really is beautiful, and I can see her steering wheel from where I stand, as the bow of the ship is facing me. My whole body trembles with the need to be up there, holding that wheel and watching as we dash through the waves. 

“Quite a beauty, eh?”

I turn to Gerard with a small smile, gently nudging Sam to stop gawking. 

“Sorry sir,” I say sheepishly. “We’ve only seen Imperial Galleons from a distance.”

Gerard laughs as he nods at some passing sailors. 

“I was the same at your age. Come with me.”

Sam and I, along with the four of my crew do as we’re told, following the Admiral away from the ship and further into the cave. 

They’ve set up a whole f*****g city here, complete with blacksmiths, sawmills, kitchens, and a dormitory. It makes me wonder how long they’ve actually been here, and why the f**k more reinforcements haven’t come to help. 

From what I can see, there must be at least fifty sailors here. Nowhere near enough to fill that Galleon to capacity, but enough to keep her afloat. Makes me itch at the thought of my feeble little crew trying to sail her, but we’ll do well enough until we can port and hire more. 

“You lads can stay here for a few days, get some work in, then if you want to stay we’ll bring the rest of your crew in. But it’s hard work,” adds the Admiral, turning to me with a stern expression. 

“We’re used to it,” I say with a small smile. “My Pa worked us hard, but he was fair.”

Gerard gives me a sympathetic smile, before he shows us to the sleeping area. There’s a mish-mash of hammocks and materials, ropes and torn sails set about every inch of the place, creating some kind of material mess. 

There’s no one here, but Gerard gestures at a small pile of material scrap and tells us to make our own sleeping space. I nod, glancing at my men. They’re hardly paying attention, still looking out and over to the ship. I want to clap them round the head, but it doesn’t fit into who I’m supposed to be, so instead I look back at Gerard as he continues his tour. 

Two of my crew are taken to the make-shift loom, where a few others are mending the sails. Two more are taken to the blacksmith, helping to make and mend nails and hinges. 

Sam and I are taken to the actual ship, where repairs are underway. There’s still holes in the side of her, and there’s a crescendo of hammering and sawing as most of the Imperial crew strive to fix her. 

We’re set to work, and it’s not long before the Imperials decide to wrap me up in pullies and hang me around the edge of the ship. I’m smaller, apparently, and easier to hold up while I position the wood and hold it in place for others to hammer. 

By the time nightfall comes upon us, I can barely raise my arms. They tremble from exertion, and I feel blisters inside my thighs where the rope has been rubbing for hours. I have so many splinters in my hands that I can’t flex my fingers, and Sam looks just as exhausted. 

Gerard had not been joking when he said it was hard work. 

The five of us are taken to the dining area, where we’re served hard bread and cabbage broth. I eat it, because I’m starving, but I’m also studying the smaller gathering at the back where Gerard and a handful of others share about cheese and carrots. Clearly, they’re the officers, and they get the better rations. 

I ignore that, instead focusing on my food and the burning in my hands. My men look unimpressed, but resigned. There’s no chance for us to talk, but when they look at me I see understanding in their eyes. 

Stealing this ship is going to be a feat, and we need a plan.

--- 

For five days we work, eat, sleep and work some more. My blisters are healing, but there’s always more to replace them. Many of the Imperials have told me how soft I am, especially when my hands start to bleed.

They call me pretty, a woman, a child, a whelp, cabin boy… none of it in jest, but it’s starting to wear thin. The others have integrated into the Imperial ranks without a hitch, due to their age and experience. Even Sam has a new friend. 

I would be worried that they were going to abandon me and join the Imperial crew - if they didn’t report their findings to me every night, of course. We found parchment, and a few scribbles a night keeps me updated. The parchment is burned immediately, and no one seems any wiser of our plans. 

We’re scrutinised less and less as well, which helps me considerably. I’ve worked out the work schedules - the shifts taken. There’s only about ten men that work on the ship at night, and they’re centered on the ship herself.

So it’s all about timing. I need to get my crew on board and ready to sail before we can even attempt to get her on the ocean. 

“Ah, there’s the pretty girl,” hums a voice behind me, and I glance back to see the two guards from the inn standing on the ground, watching as I swing across the ropes. I roll my eyes and continue to slather tar over the underbelly. 

“Been a long time since I saw such a pretty woman,” says the other, and my hand tightens on the paintbrush. I continue to ignore them, fighting down every instinct I have to stab them in the eye with my brush handle. 

“How much you reckon a lady like that costs, Don?”

“Oh I’m not sure, Lou. Gotta be a pretty penny, surely.”

My jaw tightens and I glance over my shoulder again, casting a black glare at the two of them. They don’t seem to notice the warning in my face, too preoccupied with their taunting. 

“Come here pretty lady, we’ll treat ya right.”

“Yeah, we’ll be gentle lovely lady.”

My upper lip curls as the two of them take a step forward, and I brace my foot against the ship, ready to shove myself outwards and close enough to give them a smart kick. Fortunately - for them - one of the officers is doing his rounds and the two of them scramble away to look busy. 

The officer snorts through his nose at me, a look of absolute disgust, before he turns and leaves me to my work. 

Its boiled my blood. My muscles are tense, aching, and my heart is hammering. Being ridiculed is nothing new for me, but it has been a long time since anyone dared. It brings back familiar helpless emotions, a desperate emptiness that threatens to overwhelm me.

I chuck the brush into the bucket to my side and wrap my sore hands in the ropes, hauling myself up effortlessly over the gunwharf and onto the deck of the ship. Men are roaming on board, carrying planks and tools, crouched in corners, fixing pullies and attaching sails. So many Imperial bastards swarming like locusts. 

I hate them all. They make my skin crawl. 

No one notices me as I step across the deck and towards a small hatch, throwing it open and climbing down.

The hatch leads to a tiny room, filled with barrels of gunpowder, water casks and extra materials. I move through the door and into the berth deck. 

Powerful, intricate cannons line either side of the deck, extending down through the heart of the ship. There’s no hammocks left anywhere, obviously all of them have been taken into the cave. 

There’s no one here, so I start to walk around. I check over the cannons - most of them are functional. 

The walls are all fixed, except a couple of small holes here and there. Everything is gilded in gold, and one cannon alone would be enough to buy a small house. It’s just another disgusting display of wealth from the Capital. 

I turn away, heading for the door at the end. It leads to the officer’s quarters, and I can see that the beds here are still slept in. More comfort for the hierarchy. I slam the door closed and climb up a small ladder, leading to the inside of the quarter deck. 

But what I see here stuns me to the point that I can’t breathe. I can’t blink. 

I stand, motionless, outside of the captain’s quarters. 

The golden plaque is glinting in the lamplight, with beautiful script etched into it. A name.

Cpt. Alexander Williams. 

“What…”

My voice is barely a breath, and as I reach out with a trembling hand to touch the plaque, to make sure it’s real, there’s a hard creak and heavy footfall. 

“Oi! What are you doing here?”

I turn on my heel to see an Imperial sailor standing in the doorway, a sack of some kind slung over his shoulder. He’s watching me with narrowed eyes and my own widen in surprise. 

“I - I’m sorry,” I stutter, something that’s not completely false, but the sailor gives me no time to explain. He lurches forward and grabs my arm, yanking me roughly from the quarters and back onto the deck. 

I feel eyes on me as I’m shoved into a corner, while the sailor that caught me barks out an order for the Admiral. 

Odd looks are thrown at me as I wait, curling up into myself against the gunwharf and awaiting my fate. 

The Admiral comes surprisingly quickly, climbing over the gunwharf and towards me with a concerned determination. 

“What’s going on here?”

“Found him in the Captain’s Quarters, sir,” says the sailor quickly, his whole body straight and taught as he addresses his commanding officer. 

Gerard is looking at me, I can feel it, but I keep my head down and try to look as small as possible. It would just be my f*****g luck to have this whole plan ruined because of my own curiosity. 

“Alright, sailor. Thank you, you can go now.”

“But sir-”

“I said 'dismissed'.”

I glance up through my dark lashes as the sailor’s jaw tightens, and he throws me a suspicious glare before he salutes and marches away. Gerard is standing there, looking quite intimidating even though his expression is soft. 

“Come with me, Hamish.”

I swallow thickly but scramble to follow the man as he walks back into the Captain’s Quarters. He opens the door and steps inside, leaving it ajar for me to follow. 

It’s an odd sensation, walking back into the quarters I never expected to see again. Everything is almost exactly the same, although a few things have been moved. 

“Come sit, son,” says Gerard as he gestures towards the desk.

I feel heat curling up my neck and cheeks as I take the chair on the outside of the desk. My eyes are roaming over the polished wood, my mind replaying a completely different scene. 

I can almost smell the musk of Alexander’s skin as it’s pressing against my own.

“So.”

A glass is set on the desk in front of me, the bottom lined with a dark liquid, and the bold smell of fine whiskey in the air. I don’t take it though, instead watching as Gerard moves around the desk and sits down behind it. 

“Care to explain what happened?”

I purse my lips and cross my hands on my lap, looking shy and sheepish. 

“I… I’m sorry, sir. I was trying to find another paintbrush because the bristles in mine were all falling out and I couldn't find the storage room and I must have gone the wrong way and this ship is so big and I didn’t mean to-”

“Woah, woah, hey. Slow down, take a breath. Have a drink.”

He pushes the tumbler closer towards me and I pick it up. I cradle it nervously in both hands, before I take a small sip. 

The burn is f*****g delicious, the flavour rushing over the tongue and coating my mouth. I want to moan my appreciation, to down the glass and offer Gerard the best blow job of his life for the rest of the bottle. 

But I’m not Captain Black right now. 

I’m poor little Hamish Morrison, and he’s only an innocent whelp. 

So I cough and splutter, wincing before setting the glass back on the desk, much to the Admiral’s amusement. 

“You’ll have to excuse my men. They’re suspicious of any sailor not raised in the navy, but only because they’re so loyal. I assume you’re not stupid enough to try and rob anything from us?”

My eyes widen and I blanch, opening and closing my mouth as I scramble for a reply. 

“What? N- no! No of course not! I wouldn’t!”

Gerard smiles brightly at me.

“I thought not. Well anyway, it’s good I’ve found you. I wanted to talk to you about bringing in the rest of your crew. You’re a hard-working lot, and we can have this ship seaworthy in less than two weeks with your help.”

I swallow again, trying to savour the taste of the whiskey, before smiling faintly. 

“Yes sir.”

“Good. I’ll send one of my men with one of yours to go and pick them up.”

I nod before getting to my feet. I salute awkwardly to the Admiral, who chuckles to himself, before I turn to leave the room. As I reach the door, I hesitate. It could be the death of me, the unravelling of my plan - but f**k it all, I have to know.

“Sir?”

“Hm?”

“Uh… the name on the door, sir. It’s… not you.”

Gerard glances up, one eyebrow raised as he seems to consider what I had said. He tilts his head to the side. 

“No. Alexander Williams is the captain of this ship and crew.”

I blink a few times, before I frown. I don’t ask the twenty questions on the tip of my tongue, but Gerard seems to understand them anyway. 

“He left on a merchant vessel with our injured to take them back to the Capital, and left me in charge of his crew. I was only supposed to be a guest on the Nightingale, but… well, we ran into James Briggs.”

Briggs. 

A nasty son of a b***h and one pirate that you never cross, unless you wish to have your head impaled along the edge of his gunwharf. 

I nod again, reeling in my curiosity, and briefly enamoured with the fact that my heart seems lighter, if a little skittish, from the knowledge that Alexander is alive. 

How… interesting. 

---

Three days later and I have a plan. 

My whole crew is here now, worming their way into the ranks. They work hard, ask questions, and they want this ship. 

Our plan is simple.

Convince Gerard to let my crew take the night shift on the ship. Wait till most of them are asleep. Take out the patrols and release the Nightingale. 

A simple plan, one that would take a little more time. But Gerard has already invited me to join them when they leave, and apparently he’ll see about getting me straight into the navy. 

A surprisingly good man, with good intentions, and it’s almost becoming unpleasant to lie to him. A betrayal will probably hurt him a lot, but it’s a necessary evil. I need a ship, and the navy has plenty. They can survive the loss of one galleon. 

Just ironic that it’s the Lady Nightingale. 

I shift the handle of the bucket to try and ease the pain in my palm. This is the last bucket of fresh water from the small stream at the back of the cave, and as I empty it into the water barrels by the blacksmith, I let out a long sigh. 

Everything aches. 

The moon is already high, and the activity inside the cave has dwindled to nothing but the night crew. I raise my arms above my head and crick by back, sighing tiredly before turning towards the sleeping area. 

As I step forward, something hard and strong is wrapped around my waist. I barely inhale a surprised breath before my mouth is covered and my arms pinned. 

I let out a small noise, but I’m already being dragged backwards. 

I fight against whoever is holding me, but there’s more than one set of arms, and they’re bigger than me.

I kick and squirm, but nothing helps. There’s heavy breathing in my ear, and I smell stale rum on their breath. 

They grunt as I fight, and it’s not until a hard punch in my gut knocks the wind out of me that I still. 

Wherever I’m taken is dark, with nothing but the echoing of laboured breathing around me. My heart is in my throat. Have I been found out? Do they know who I am? Will I be killed and left to rot somewhere deep in these caverns? 

“Here she is… our pretty little lady.”

The voice is slurred, rough, and familiar. 

Instantly I know what is happening, and an icy, debilitating fear grabs my heart, freezing it. My stomach feels as though it’s filled with rocks, and my lungs filled with sand. 

I know what they want. I know what they’re doing. 

Four hands, grabbing at me. 

This is not the plan. 

I lash out with my foot, catching one of them enough to make them grunt. There’s a hard slap to my face. 

This is not the plan. 

I’m thrown to the ground, dazed, and something grabs my legs to pull me down. I let out a yelp but a foot catches my cheek, stunning me again. 

This is not the plan. 

The hands shove me onto my front and I inhale a mouthful of mouldy dust. I cough as I’m pinned down. 

This is not the plan. 

My arms flail, but I can’t move. There’s a weight on my chest and more hands moving for my belt. 

This is not the plan. 

My fingers graze over something, something long and cylindrical on the ground. I can’t see, it’s too dark, but I reach for it as something rests on my legs, holding me still. My fingers wrap around it. It’s cold, heavy. A pipe? A hammer? 

This is not the plan. 

But as I swing my mysterious weapon around with all the force I possess, I hear it connect with something. There’s a stomach-churning crack, and I feel warmth splash across my face. There’s a shout, a grunt, a thud. 

I swing again. 

Another fleshy thud, another moan. I raise it, I bring it down, I feel something give under the weight of it and warm, wet, squishy flakes are sticking to my hand. I don’t know what it is, I don’t care. 

This is not the plan. 

But as I stand, trembling, sore, barely seeing the two dark silhouettes crumpled on the ground, I realise something.

Things very rarely go according to plan.