With his great knowledge of wars and of people, Arthur Kirkland should have known at this point, that it wasn't wise to trust volunteers. Especially if those volunteers were volunteering for the late night watch. But assigning the men to watch duty was the first mate Tugen's job. On a normal night Arthur would have requested a report of all who were on watch for the night. Instead Arthur had been distracted by another volunteer, the coy little cabin boy (who had been sending him teasing glances since they set sail) had been waiting in his bed when he turned in for the night.
The noise of a pistol being cocked woke him. His fingers twitched to reach for a weapon but as he opened his eye's he knew it would serve no purpose. He sat up as the cabin boy collected his clothes and ran from the room. Arthur saw several of the brigands invading his quarters eye they boy as he passed and he felt a sick sense of satisfaction that his mutiny would not go unpunished.
"And whom might you bilge rats be? To be scurrying onto my ship in the dead of the night?"
The pirates laughed, "Show a leg* there Kirkland! The Cap'n be requestin' your presence on deck." Arthur painted his face the picture of calm as he stood and leisurely pulled on a pair of breeches and a loose fitting shirt. He made no dive for a weapon, with the pistols following his every move he'd be full of lead before he could grasp it. He stood straight and made sure to grab his tri-corner hat with the large ostrich feather before he was herded from the cabin.
The Ship of the Line's deck was crawling with vermin. Arthur's eye's darted to and fro, searching for a sign of his crew, until he caught sight of Tugen and he felt his calm façade begin to crack. Tugen lay prone over one of the guns, a dagger protruding from his chest. A young Frenchmen sat beside the corpse. With a cheerful chuckle he ran up to the formidable Captain and snatched his hat from his head. Arthur could feel a rope being twisted around his wrists but he ignored it, instead raising his eyes to the skies.
The wind was raising. Above their heads the sails that had been neglected filled and spun the ship on it's anchor. Arthur could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he smelled the impending lightning in the air. A storm was building, possibly a hurricane. The waves were breaking higher and higher against the hull every minute, he could feel the freezing water and shivered slightly despite himself.
The pirates laughed and kept their flintlock pistols trained on him, each and every one of them dying to be the one to shoot, as he was paraded up to the gun. He shifted backwards and felt his heel meet open air. Several men grunted as they hauled a line and swung one of the guns out over the waves. Arthur's jaw clenched at the sight. He fought the urge to fight out of the line that connected him to the gun and forced himself to prepare to jump so he wouldn't break his wrists when the gun was dropped.
"So Cap'n," the young Frenchmen sauntered forward, Arthur's own tri-corner hat resting on his head. "It's been a pleasure finally meeting you. You are truly a great legend for your skill and sailing prowess. Never lost a battle at sea! Never sailed into a storm! You are amazing. But I believe it's a time for younger blood to take over!"
Arthur couldn't help but scowl at the boy. He was playing at pirate, playing with a fire much to ancient for him to touch and as soon as Arthur got himself out of this mess, the boy would find that it would come back to bite him in the arse. He didn't even truly realize who or what he was attempting to murder. When France got word of this he would never hear the end of it.
"So Cap'n, before we send you to Davy Jones locker do you have any last words?"
The boy looked positively gleeful. He must be so proud of himself, to have bested the great Captain Kirkland, or so he thought.
"This will not be the last that you see of me. A mere child like you cannot even begin to have the skill it would take to kill me." His eye's swept across the murderous crew and he grinned wildly as the first lightning bolt shot down from the sky and a wave broke across the deck. The ocean and the thunder were both roaring now so Arthur raised his voice to be heard. "At this moment now, I curse each and every one of you here today! Every single one of you will meet your fate at the end of my steel or my pistol!" Lightning struck again and with it's light he could see the fear, the suspicion he had planted in their eyes. The would be Captain snarled and reached forward to grab the front of Arthur's shirt to scream in his face.
"You're threats are all hot air old man! Dead men cannot hurt the living! I will be famous for killing you and I will not allow some silly curse to take away my victory!"
Leaning forward Arthur growled into the boys ear. "You will be the last to die, and in the worst way possible."
Then he heard the splash as the gun hit the water. He braced his feet against the deck to jump, but the boy seemed to realize his plan and held him until the line went taunt and the weight of the gun dragged him off the deck with the loud crack.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold the phone Francis!" Alfred waved his hands dramatically as he interrupted the story. Matthew, sighed just when the story was getting good too. "I asked you to tell us about Arty's adventures as a pirate! Not some fairytale! Now come on, tell us a true story!" The Frenchmen narrowed his eyes, "Mon cher, this is a true story. Now, please, be silent as I finish." Alfred leaped to his feet pacing and waving his arms. "But you clearly just said that Arty was tied to a cannon and tossed overboard! We nations might be sturdier than your average human, but we can still drown! There's no way he could have survived that! Hell he would have kept coming back to life only to drown again! Little fishies would have eaten out his eyeballs!" Francis nodded. "Oui, Amerique, it's true that Angleterre should have died that day. But he did not. Now, Asseoir, enfermer and let me finish the story.
Francis Bonnefoy stood on the dock, staring out at the ship on the water in shock. There was no doubt about it, the ship indeed was fair Angleterre Sea Queen, but the Captain at her helm was anyone but Angleterre. It was a young man, a young French man! A third son of a noble if he wasn't mistaken. And he was currently firing all of their guns into the hull of the Belle Iris, while she was setting at anchor!
Francis stared in horror as his ship was demolished and the former British ship sailed away. His crew came up behind him and at the sight of the destruction that was the ship that had served them so well, they fell to their knees and wept. Francis slowly paced the end of the dock. Belle Iris had been a wonderful ship and he would miss her desperately, but he could always commission another. What worried him more at the moment, was the location of Arthur Kirkland.
Setting his face with a determined expression, he gathered his crew and set about searching the docks for a new ship. When a suitable craft was found, and so conveniently it had just finished supplying for a long voyage, with a sturdy hull and proper amount of guns, he showed the Captain his letter of Marque and sent his crew aboard to take command. When they had chased away the last of the former crew, they quickly set sail after the Sea Queen.
"Okay Francis, are you trying to tell me that Arty was under water for days?"
Francis sighed, really, if Alfred kept interrupting, the story would never be finished. Beside his brother, Mathew seemed to be sighing in agreement.
They followed the Sea Queen for two days, always within sight of her sails, but never close enough to engage her. Francis scoffed at whoever the fool of a boy that imagined himself a Captain. To have a ship so obviously following him and to be apparently oblivious. Angleterre would have long ago either disappeared over the horizon or turned to engage them. He climbed into the rigging, needing to be away from the crew for awhile, and stared after the red sails.
What had happened to Angleterre?
"Wow Francis. Weren't you guys supposed to hate each other at that point in history? The way you're telling this story it's like you were in lov-."
Alfred was silenced as two pillows smacked him upside the head.
They caught her on the third day. The boy Captain had tried to change course, sailing against the wind. To this day Francis believed that this was an order given after he finally noticed he was being followed.
Francis boarded the ship with him men, cutting through sea urchins that he was positive Angleterre would never let even touch his precious ship. He searched for a familiar face and found none. Angleterre and his men were gone, simply vanished.
Then, a horrible cry of terror rose from the filthy crew. All movement on the ship ceased as Arthur Kirkland, soaked and covered in bits of seaweed, hauled himself onto the deck of the ship.
"Wait a minute! You mean he was in the water for three days? Here I was expecting him to be hiding on the boat somewhere."
Mathew shoved a sock into his mouth.
Water dripped from everywhere as he set foot on the deck. Francis could only stare as his enemy approached him.
"I suggest a temporary truce Bonnefoy. For now we appear to have a common enemy."
Francis nodded dumbly, still stunned by his entrance, and did nothing as the man relieved him of his rapier and began systematically slaughtering the pirates that had slew his crew and stolen his ship. As he had promised, each of them died that day, but the would be Captain was saved for last. Francis and his men were only to happy to assist in his death. The man pleaded for his life, he whimpered and cried. But none of his cries were heard and the barnacles across the bottom of the ship ripped him to pieces as he was keelhauled.
"That's what keelhauling is? Holy crap that sounds painful! Did the guy die right away or did he suffer? Man that would suck!"
"Yes, I assure you that it was a horrible way to die."
"Angleterre! Why when did you arrive?"
Arthur stepped out of the doorway, glaring at Francis.
"Long enough to know that you're filling their heads with nonsense. All of you, get out of my house! What the hell are you doing here anyway. I go to the grocery store and come home to find the damn lock broken!"
As he was shoving him from the door Alfred asked, "Come on Arthur! How did you do it."
He glared and with a final push sent him out the door before yelling after him.
"Sea turtles!"
Alfred face grew indignant, "Hey! That was just a line from one of my mov-."
The door slammed in his face.
After the intruders had been chased away, Arthur returned to the sitting room and picked up his tri-corner hat from where Alfred had dropped it during his escape. The vibrant colors had faded over time, the ostrich feather was flattened now.
He sat on the couch and smiled fondly, lifting the hat onto his head as memories flooded his thoughts.
The water was cold. The cannon dragged him quickly down far beneath the waves. His chest was already burning from lack of oxygen. He could still see the silhouette of his ship as lightning flashed across the surface. But all too soon even that disappeared and the pressure of the water was weighing heavily upon him.
He broke and coughed as the salt water rushed into his lungs. His limbs surged into motion, driven by the most basic of survival instincts. His legs thrashed, trying to propel him upwards. His hands ripped at the ropes, he almost dislocated a shoulder when he jerked too hard. But his body was so cold. His movements were slowing, dark spots plagued his vision as an odd luminescent green light rose from beneath him.
Cold lips met his and air was breathed back into his lungs. He sucked it in greedily opening his eyes slightly. Deep sea fish glowed with an eerie green light. In that light danced long hair, red, blonde and black. He could see fins and scales flash by and the ropes around his wrists were freed. He let his eyes slide closed as cold hand held him tightly to cold a cold breast and they sped quickly through the water.
They surfaced in an air pocket of an underwater cavern. Arthur laid himself out on the rocky beach and breathed heavily. At the sound of splashing he opened his eyes and forced his body to sit up. The three mermaids were beautiful, in an odd sort of way. Their eyes were a deep blood red, with a curious second lid that closed when they were submerged but still allowed them to see. Hidden behind the full lips were nasty, sharp little teeth, revealing for the carnivores that they were. Glittering scales extended up their sides all the way to their necks and the skin beneath them was pale with a bluish tent, like that of a drowned person.
They eyed him hungrily, smiling and Arthur couldn't help but to smile back. A legend for his skill and sailing prowess was he? The blonde mermaid dragged herself from the water towards him. He sat perfectly still as her webbed hands and wicked nails wrapped around his body, and dragged him forward into a kiss.
Nay, he was not a legend. He had merely signed a contract with the devil. Mermen were horribly ugly and mermaids were horribly vain. She pushed him onto his back as her friends left the water and approached. Arthur relaxed, they would take him back to the surface when they were finished with him.
Whenever that would be.