Black Sea

Chapter 5

When the ship started sailing I was already down the hold, checking the amount of rum and meat stored. They were enough for one week of sail. However, I was ready to give up everything and swim back to Aeredale. After all, I wasn't trained for calculations, but fighting and earning cargo. Only by doing that could I really get closer to achieving my goal.

But, no. The commandment of the ship was assigned to a bunch of drunk addict pirates. And a woman with weird style.

Once I finished my work, I grabbed the chance -and the papers- and rushed to the upper deck. On my exit of the quarterdeck, a strong wave of wind and salty drops collided with my face. I inhaled the fresh air, feeling it cleaning my lungs from the dirt of Aeradale. I admired the dark waters as we seized them with our vessel.

My eyes, among the infinite sky, met the Captain, gazing over his men. Two hands crossed in front of his chest, his grey beard and hair flowing against the wind. Blinded by the sunlight of the setting sun, his eyes were two thin lines, impossible to tell if he saw me approaching. Once I got near him, he acknowledged me with a nod and I found myself admiring the view too.

The orange and greenblue colours on the clouds were melding in with the waters deep in the horizon. The abyss of the sea was like an infinite source of food for my soul, with each second feeling more courageous.

“Captain,” I placed the papers in front of him, having my hand on them as an overweight. The last thing I wanted was them being scattered in the wind and me doing this boring job twice. “Seems like everything's enough for a week. However, we might need more water next time. It's less than rum.”

“Don't worry about that. We pour it into rum. It takes less space,” he took the papers in his hands, releasing me from the task of holding them.

“So...” I mirrored his position. “Who's going to do that job next time?”

“You will. Only you.”

I puffed my chest with oxygen, exhaled more slowly than ever, and tried again.

“Captain, I'm a quartemaster. One of them. It would be more reasonable for the crew to see me us one. See my skills, trust me and trust them. By being locked down there-”

“Mr Turner, the job you are told to do is extremely important. A new member being trusted enough not to steal from our treasures? I think the crew understands that,” he made two steps leaving, but half turned his body to add one more thing. “After all you have to get used to the sea first.”

That last phrase I came to understand late that night. It was a beautiful night, with big bright stars and moon. Everyone on deck fooled around. I was captivated with my first day on a ship. It rose and fell softly over the sea which boiled under it. Somewhere a rythmic banging of hammer was audible among the screeching of the masts and wet ropes.

Until gradually, through a process I couldn't grasp or handle, I was controlled by the rhythm of the sea. The gentle splash of the waves, the stained deck, the heaving of the rail; all made me suffer. I closed my eyes. Inside my brain everything was rolling unstoppably. I ran to the bilge and puked liquid. I knew pretty well what that meant, and I hated it.

When it finally was time to sleep, I secured a bucket next to me. The door to the other part of the room was open, and the pirate's murmourous chattering was fading off, getting everyone to sleep. Only I was awake. Nobody seemed to suffer like me; sweating and with my brain hovering somewhere inside my skull. I grabbed the bucket uncountable times before putting it down dissapointed.

A voice from beside me averted my attention.

“Why are you really here, Turner?” She asked in a low, rough voice. It made me think whether she was awake all that time, or if she simply had a nightmare of me.

“I need the money.”

“Of course. Human stupidity. Like that will make you happy,” that was a wrong conclusion.

I never replied. I didn't have the strength to. The headache became more intense after that and my patience less. How could she ever judge somebody without knowing their purposes? Especially mine. As I curled to my side, she got up to inflame the candle in the lantern, breaking the monotonic darkness in there. And she fell asleep as well, leaving me officially alone and awake.

When I opened my eyes next morning, a heavy headache had settled between my eyebrows holding me still over my hammock. I didn't move a muscle. I could, but didn't want to risk my brain moving. It changed only when Anne walked inside, sword in hand.

“Get up,” she whispered, giving a glance at the boxes behind me. “We have to discuss some matters with Kane.”

I tried to ignore the urge to vomit and the weird feeling in my stomach. She leaned on the door, watching me getting up, but never meeting my eyes. I didn't manage to remain still for long. My brain took a sudden spin, taking my legs with it. I almost fell back on my hammock, if it wasn't for the grasp on some ropes.

Only then did our eyes meet. Mine half open, half closed. Hers emotionless, blank and somehow acknowledging.

“Nice morning, ain't it?”

“A-ha,” I pushed myself upwards and moved past her, sensing her staring at me.

Arriving at the captain's quarters was the hardest task I ever had to go through. And my surroundings didn't help. Nothing ever stopped moving in that torturous way they did. There was no place on the ship silent, or clean. Everything was one whole, and I an unfortunate passenger. When I finally reached my destination, a wave of intoxication hit me hard. The smell of rum is what made me tremble from dizziness.

I collapsed on the chair which in previous times I wouldn't dare to sit on. And I think I heard Anne taking a sit ahead of me.

“Mr Turner, are you alright? You seem... pale. Did you sleep well? Did you eat last night?”

“Perfectly fine, Captain.”

I didn't convince anyone, not even myself. There was a small pause after that lie, finding me scratching the back of my head until the Captain spoke.

“It's our second day on board. It is inevitable to come across with merchant ships. We need to be prepared and ready for battle.”

“Aye.” I shifted glances across the room, Captain Rackham took another gulp of his drink. “Why do I feel that there's is something more I must be informed about?”

“Because there is,” voice flat and hard as a stove lid. “We might come across with war ships. England decided to visit the Carribean.”

I leaned back, my head steading on my palm, eyes low and blurry. “Can't we just fight?”

“Our weapons and cannons need repairing and we don't have tools for that. Our ship isn't in its best condition and our crew not quite... familiar with ship crafting.”

“In other words,” Anne continued. “There's fifty percent chance to meet a merchant ship and... improve our state...” She appeared unable to complete.

“And fifty percent chance to meet a warship and meet death.” I met Captain's eyes. His glass bottle was the only thing mattering to him, or maybe the only thing distracting him.

“Is there anything else I can do? You know... besides checking your cargo?” I crossed my hands in front of my chest. I saw the Captain nodding and Anne rubbing her forehead with her chewed fingernails.

“Anne will give you a list.”

“Right,” I murmed, exhaling. I had grew up with a tendency to be pessimistic when it came to those kind of deals. If they wanted me to do something of importance, they would simply say it not writing them down on a list. In few words, that was a ‘no, you can't’.

The room sinked in silence. I closed my eyes tight, trying to somehow control the pain in my head from seering my skull. But, thanks to the things being said and done, it only worsened. I got up, my knees trembling, trying to balance and walk like a normal person. I clenched my hand around the door handle, staring at my feet for a few seconds before turning around curious.

“Captain,” I avoided her. “Why did we sail if the ship is malfuctioning?”

They glanced at each other, the reply came late by a suspiciouly smiling Captain.

“Simply eager to sail again, Mr Turner.”

It was that second that I gave up questioning them. It was a waste of precious time even talking to them; nothing ever made sense. If I wanted the truth, I had to chase it down.