Title: To Sea
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The newsie boys aren't mine. (They're Disney's. Aaaaall Disney's) The original characters are. The plot is mine as well. Please don't steal them. *puppy eyes*
Warnings: Incredible historical inaccuracy. Cursing. Eventual violence. Thievery. Hey, it's pirates we're talking about here. Oh, yeah, and here be slash!
Notes: 1.) Happy veryverybelated birthday to studentnumber24601! Yay! for B. Also, happy belated Blink Week.
2.) The newsie boys will be introduced starting next chapter. (I decided to go the charmingly cliché story-telling intro route, you see . . . ) Anyway, on to the story!
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Brady O'Malley had a mind for a pint of ale and the company of a few good drinking companions. A bit of stew would go over nicely as well after a hard day's work, and there was no doubt about that. And where's the best place on the isle for all three? Why, old Billy's pub a'course, he answered himself, with no small amount of pride for a correct answer. Brady O'Malley might not be the cleverest chap to grace God's green earth, but he knew his drink and his supper, and there was no doubt about that. And, luckiest of all, Billy's pub was just where he was at.
Shouldering open the solid oak panel that passed for a door, Brady stepped into The Blushing Maiden. He spared an appreciative glance for the pub's bawdily winking and scantily clad namesake, painted in faded and peeling colors on the sign above the door. The picture's for them who can't read so good, Billy had told him one night, but Brady had his doubts about that. How were the poor sailor-types who frequented this dockside strip of taverns and inns--and mostly couldn't tell their own name from the town charter, should they see it--to know it was The Blushing Maiden, if the maiden wasn't blushing anyplace that Brady could see?
He supposed a pretty lass was better than words, at any rate.
The din of drunken voices (one singing a merry ditty into his cups in the corner) and laughter rolled over him as he knocked mud off his boots. It was his life if Mistress Gilly caught him making tracks on her floor. Not that a mite more dirt would have made a difference to the patrons of The Maiden, but only the foolhardy or recklessly drunk risked Gilly's wrath. She had a mean tongue and good aim with a wooden spoon when angry. Brady had seen her face down larger men than he with nothing but that bedamned spoon, and he was in no mood to risk a thumping this evening.
"O'Malley!"
Brady swiveled his head, quickly spotting the waving arm of Billy himself, gesturing him over to a cluster of men. The round, bald-headed pub owner was an old friend of his, and of many of The Maiden's usual visitors. He often took a pint with them, if he could spare a moment. As he threaded his way around tables overflowing with pitchers and glasses half-full of liquor, Brady saw that it was Patrick, Shamus, and Donny with Billy, at their regular table, all listening to someone he couldn't make out.
When Billy saw that he was making his way over, he turned his attention back to the stranger, absently wiping an empty mug with a rag that was probably greasier than the stew he served. Brady felt a curl of curiosity at who could be occupying their attention.
As he drew nearer, he could make out an enthusiastic voice, rising above the general ruckus. " . . . Now in that battle Ogma the champion found Orna, the sword of Tethra . . ."
"Kaegan!" Brady shouted, recognizing the familiar story-telling cadences of the voice. "What brings you 'round these parts, you pompous old fool? And still spinning your fanciful yarns, I take it?"
He scraped a chair back from the table, planting himself firmly on it, boot heels on the rungs, and grinned at their wandering friend.
Kaegan Connolly returned his smile from behind the mug of ale he was drinking deeply from. The old man looked the same as the day Brady last saw him; not a hair on his white head was missing, nor a stretch of gum exposed where a tooth used to lie. The only sign of his considerable age was his browned skin, heavily netted with fine wrinkles. Brady was convinced he had the Devil's own luck when it came to health. Brady's own hair was already mostly gone the way of the Gentry. Long vanished and naught but legends to claim it ever existed, that was to say.
Kaegan dropped his mug to the table. "Ah, Brady, laddie. I was wondering if you'd ever wander in. 'Lads,' I was saying." Here he turned to the rest of the table for confirmation that he had indeed been saying that. He received several encouraging nods. "'Lads,' says I, 'Has our Brady come upon good fortunes and realized he was too good for the likes of humble farmers and an old sailor?' Then, says I, 'No, not our Brady. Even if a leprechaun were to give him a pot of gold --even then! -- he wouldn't be able to resist a pint of ale!'"
He broke into barks of laughter, and Brady joined him heartily.
"You got it all right but for the leprechaun. Not a gold pot in sight, more's the pity."
Green eyes twinkling merrily, Kaegan beckoned Billy closer. "A pint for Brady, to take his mind from his lack of gold." Then he gestured expansively at the other men at their table. "And a pint for us, to take our minds from our lack!"
Patrick and Donny cheered lustily, and Shamus clapped his stooped shoulder. Billy bobbed his head cheerfully, bustling off to fill the order.
Donny, the youngest of their group (and Brady privately thought the most light-minded) spoke up. "Connolly was just telling us about the Battle of Mag Tuired before you came."
"That old wives' tale again?"
Kaegan gave him a long look, then turned his attention to dipping a crust of bread into the dregs of his mug to soften it. He chewed slowly, seeming lost in his own thoughts. Finally, he looked back up. "You liked it well enough last time I told the tale, if memory serves."
Brady shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he had somehow offended the almost perpetually cheery old man somehow. "Yes, but . . . That was then, as it were," he stammered.
Waving him to silence, Kaegan gave him an almost gentle smile. "No harm done. You have the right of it, in fact. A story teller must never repeat his tales. Now, I might not be a bard, but even a poor sailor such as I knows that. And do I have a tale for you!" He slapped the table, good cheer seemingly restored, although Brady thought he sensed a bit of lingering solemnity.
Billy took that moment to arrive with a tray of mugs balanced on one broad shoulder, carefully distributing them before taking a seat with his own. It was a relief to his parched throat to take a long swallow of ale. It went down smoothly and Brady concentrated on the flavor. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of Kaegan's knowing gaze on him.
He's a strange one, he is, and no doubt about that.
After several moments of contented guzzling, Donny once more broke the silence. Brushing hair out of dim eyes, he leaned forward earnestly. "You said you had a tale for us, Connolly? A new one?" He couldn't disguise his childish delight at the prospect.
"Aye, that I do. That I do."
The group of men waited for him to launch into one of his elaborate legends. For all that he wasn't a bard, he twisted a mighty fine story, ones that a body couldn't help but be drawn into.
Instead, he seemed lost in his own thoughts, twisting a rough band of silver around his finger.
When the silence at the table had stretched into awkwardness, and it seemed Kaegan would remain silent the remainder of the evening, Shamus spoke up for the first time.
A large and bear-like man, Shamus was not known for being long-winded. Kaegan looked up as his deep voice rumbled into words. "Will it be another story of the warriors of old?" He seemed gruffly embarrassed to have demonstrated interest in hearing stories at all, but a broad smile spread slowly over Kaegan's face and he lifted his glass.
"Not tonight. I have more thrilling tales for you this eve." With a nod at Shamus, he drank deeply.
"The Fair Folk, then? Pookas? Magic and gold?"
"No, no, and no." Kaegan seemed more pleased with each wrong guess. "None of these and nothing you've heard before."
Brady felt a great curiosity and impatience stirring in his gut. "What is, then?" he yelped. "What great and wondrous tale do you have for us?"
To Brady's astonishment, Kaegan threw back his head and laughed vigorously. "Why, lads! I have none other than a tale of robbery and high adventure. Love, lust, and great passion. The story of great men and scoundrels, of fortune on the sea. I'm going to tell you of Captain Kid, the youngest and craftiest privateer to have ever set sail!"