Charles Vane sat in the Fort's tower observing the bay. He held a round-belly bottle of rum propped against his thigh in one hand, a brown cigarette smoked in the fingers of his other. Humid warm breeze carried the scent of wet wood and hammering sounds from the sands of the beach where his new ship was being born. Not the new Ranger, he winced at the thought and inhaled, letting out a perfect ring of smoke barely visible in sunlight. The only true Ranger, his Ranger, for the one Flint took from him for that insane endeavor had no right to bear this name, anymore. Vane took a deep breath of it all – sea, wood, tar, sand and rock, his smoke and alcohol on his breath – and felt as close to happiness as he'd ever thought he would find. But no, perhaps, it was not quite the happiness yet. The real thing had to be dwelling out there, in the open sea when it was raging against the sides of your ship and shower you and the decks with salty foam like a lover with kisses. Then and only there you could feel as free as the sea itself. And freedom for Vane meant everything one dreamt to gain in life to name happiness. It was the bliss no drug would bring. In the eye of the storm, in the midst of battle, Vane found the secret note of his unique harmony. Nothing in this Fort played it for him. The sea and The Ranger were the instruments missing.
"Captain."
He turned, inhaling the smoke. One of the former slaves and his new crew member, a shaggy creature with dreadlocks and beard, was peeking through the doorway.
"That whore came t'see you. Says 's important."
Vane nodded, took a gulp and looked at the construction on the beach. It wasn't seldom that the whores made the house visits, but he usually was aware of it being the instigator. He didn't glance back towards the footsteps shifting back at the door, not before his crewman's boots faded downstairs. "You come rare now," the pleasant voice with a soft accent said. "I thought I'd come to see if you founded a new brothel up here yet."
He sneered and gave her a once-over, inhaling. She started slowly around the tower, lacking the confidence of the Madame Vane got used to seeing about her after she'd obtained her new walk of life. She seemed to be picking her words carefully and he intended not to help. If Jack had something to do with it, she'd have talked business with no delay. Thus, it had to be interesting.
"You're going to sail when she's ready," Max jerked her chin towards the view on the beach. "And you got the leads. But I might have even better ones saved for you whenever you please. The price will be one favor."
"And what is that?"
Her head tilted a tad back, returning a touch of pride to her look that Vane missed when she came in earlier. "I want a place in your crew."
They stared at each other for a time, Vane with an incredulously raised eyebrow and Max with a tense anticipation. Then Vane threw his head back, laughing. Max scowled and waited it out. He took a swig of rum and smoked. "I didn't know you could joke."
"I don't joke around you."
He regarded her ironically. "Then you've finally fucked the rest of your brains out."
"It is my final price. If you don't like it, you can go on running after the bones she throws you while fucking your brains out. How long you think your men be willing to feed on the stumps and bits she gives you that no one else takes?"
Vane was smiling no more, nor did he look mad. His eyes grew cold and sharp, calculating what had led her to think of something like this – and better yet, to bring it to him. She waited, never taking her scanning eyes off him. In them, he saw that she was dead serious and decided he needed to approach it from a different angle. "Why come to me when you bargained a captaincy for your buddy Jack?" A fleeting look on her face revealed that not everything was as serene in their little threesome, eliciting his shrewd smile. "I see. Too bad." He looked at the beach, and drank.
"It's not easy starting over," Max said, her tone softer now. "I can make it smooth and victorious, I have the means, if you take my offer. I'll make it worth—"
"You can't. Drop it and go back to your whores. Stick to what you know, and I'll stick to mine."
"You're losing more than I do."
"Fuck it."
"Sooner or later – rather sooner – your crew will start complaining again about how poor the loot is, and how all the fat pieces fly to Flint's plate. Even Jack will be doing better than you hoped once he's set, and what you get is a beggar's bowl's worth. A piece of shit or nothing. What then? You're gonna rot on this rock up here while others live your ambitions."
"You're not the golden oracle around here," he said through gritted teeth, staring at the bay. Better not to look at the wench, then maybe he might squelch the urge to sock her one and make her bite that tongue of hers in half.
"I am better." Her voice reeked of smiling and he had to check. She was.
He winced irritation and put out the cigarette stub on the stony sill. "Go bug your jolly band before I throw you out of this tower."
"Please, think about it. I offer you a way to be free of her like I can be free of my limits. We can broaden the horizon for each other. You can still have her. But she won't have you by the balls anymore. Don't you want it? I dare you to look me in the eyes and say you prefer to eat from her hand like a homeless dog she pets or hits when she wants."
He turned to her, icy rage glistening in his stare. He was tempted to hit her, and she knew it, and she smiled a little as if welcoming him to strike the truth itself and see if it stopped being such. He rolled his eyes and took a swig. "Why me?" He held up a finger. "You as much as hint on her again, and I break your jaw."
"Your men listen to you and fear to disobey. It's only possible with how you can control them. Even Flint might be second to you at it." It was flattering, but Charles Vane wasn't partial to compliments.
He thought about it, gave a small smile. "You know what he said when you came? 'That whore'. That's what you are to them. There can be no whores on my ship. Do you understand?"
She was ready to spit out a comeback when the sense of it dawned on her. "What do I do?"
Vane shrugged, turning away indifferently. "Change it."
"How? I won't give up my share in the brothel. It's all I have, much more than many here have. A piece of stability I suffered a lot for."
He gave her an interested look. It was indeed spectacular to see the scheming Max lost in his little riddle that wasn't even that deep.
She waited for his reaction, and when none came, she said: "You take me in and announce any place you want me to have. They'll take it."
"No." She was about to speak, he raised a hand to stop her. "No one makes a space for you. You make them take you in – once you're an addition of value. Become one. On a hunting ship there's no place for a distraction everyone chases to fuck."
"What do you want me to be?"
"Something other than pain in my ass. If you can't figure it out, you're not worth the hassle."
Max gnashed her teeth and pondered it. "I need help."
He chuckled. "Yeah, you do." She wasn't leaving, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her, read her face. "Go for the likes of you for it."
A frown of confusion dissipated slowly on her face as she understood. "But what if sh—"
"She butchered eight of my crew for your petty need to bite Eleanor back. I bet it's a lesser thing to trick her to do for you than shitting on loyalty." He eyed her calmly, then reached in his pocket to roll up a smoke. She stood there for a few seconds, then silently turned and left. He glanced after her, smiling briefly to himself, and lit his cigarette.