Historical Notes:
The St. Bartholomew Massacre - A horrifying holocaust that occurred on August 24, 1572 in France. I'll go into more detail of this if/when I have a chance to write Youji's story.
King Philip II (taken from the notes of 'Upon a Painted Ocean') - King of Spain from 1556 to 1598. He was once considered a possible candidate for marriage to Elizabeth I.
Political Climate of the Seas (taken from the notes of 'Upon a Painted Ocean') - For almost a century after Columbus sailed to the Americas, Spain ruled the sea with their infamous Spanish Armada. However, when a princess named Elizabeth took the throne of England in 1558, English ships began encroaching in an area that had primarily belonged to the Spanish. With the defeat of the Armada by the British in 1588, Spain's iron grip of the oceans began to loosen, and other nations, especially England, took advantage. For the next 50 years, Spain lost most of its naval prowess, the English slowly replacing the once mighty nation in the new Americas and elsewhere in the world.
Pirates, Privateers and Letters of Marque (taken from the notes of 'Upon a Painted Ocean') - Although Elizabeth I publicly condemned piracy, she privately supported the act. One way of waging the silent war for dominance against other naval powers was to issue 'letters of marque', which gave ships the legal power to raid others. Those who possessed these letters had the blessing of the issuing monarch, and were known as privateers, as Ran is in this story.
(***)
Into the Silent Sea
Chapter 2: Insanity's Edge
(***)
Port Royal, Jamaica
1597
"I may not be certain, but I think that's bad for your health."
Righteous eyes of crystalline blue glared at the smoking stick resting lazily in Youji's fingers, their owner the very picture of a nagging fishwife ... that was, had he been twenty years older and of the opposite sex. Youji glanced bemusedly over at Omi's smaller, and somewhat imposing, figure before leaning forward against the ship's rail once more and returning his gaze to the hustle and bustle of Port Royal's docks, the rolled up tobacco automatically returning to his mouth as if the younger boy had never spoken. He had managed to haggle himself a small box of the said tobacco the day after they had docked over a week ago, and he couldn't have thought of a better way to pass the afternoon than to relax on the Redemption's deck while making use of his recently procured commodity.
The wharf was over spilling with life this time of day, the muted and overzealous yells from the respectable to the less-than-respectable mingling in the sultry Caribbean air to produce a blended cacophony that was more unique and potent than the most exotic spices. Idly, Youji's green eyes began to follow the path of a dockside prostitute as she made her way up the quay, and attempted to proposition herself off to the gruff and burly sailors who hurried by. A few paused to stare and consider, but in the end, none stayed, in all likelihood, pressed by the more urgent demands of strict captains and inescapable ship duties. The woman wasn't ugly by any stretch of the imagination, despite the sad state of the tight corset that pushed her breasts up to the limits of indecency and the threadbare skirt that was short enough to reveal an attractive pair of slim ankles. Yet, even with those haphazardly upswept auburn curls, pouting lips, and rouged cheeks, Youji could see a dullness in her expression that painted the woman's story on her face.
Disease, the tall blonde concluded easily. Be it the pox or some other malignant ailment acquired from her illustrious trade, the prostitute would be dead by the end of the year, her fate written as clearly as the sun shining in the sky.
But he had seen worse, Youji thought as he closed his eyes briefly and breathed in more of the burning tobacco. Yes, he had seen life a hundred-fold worse than that dying prostitute on the docks of Port Royal. From that cursed St. Bartholomew's Day in Paris until the moment he'd met his equal in an over-optimistic blond boy, he had witnessed enough of humanity's darkness to fill a dozen tomes. But that was something of the past and of another life, something he had left behind and forgotten - or rather, had tried to forget.
"Youji, did you even hear what I said?"
Omi's stabilizing voice reined the wayward direction of his wandering thoughts, and anchored him to the here and now in a way for which he would always be secretly thankful.
"I heard you, Kid," he said in a tone more nonchalant than he felt. Sometimes, like that very moment, he wanted to scream, to stare that so-called omnipotent being who had created this damned world straight in the eyes and curse the fine mess that had been made of everything. But to openly display that fury and to rail against the injustices like a lunatic would only betray the very man he'd become, not to mention that it would scare the wits out of Omi.
"What do you want?" he added lightly and turned to look at the blond youth.
For a fleeting moment, the boy hesitated, whether it was caused by Youji's sudden attention or the blunt question was undetermined. "N-nothing, really," Omi answered and recovered quickly. "You just looked like a brooding poet standing here by yourself, and seeing as there isn't a ship full of the fairer sex to entice, I thought something was wrong."
Youji gave the smaller blonde his infamous lopsided smile.
This was Omi ... ever optimistic, ever cheerful, and ever perceptive. There were times when he'd wondered how he had managed to travel with such an energetic companion, and yet, there were even more times when he'd wondered how he couldn't.
"Nothing's wrong, Kid," Youji replied. He breathed in one more lungful of his tobacco and dropped what was left of the stick overboard. "Just enjoying the afternoon."
The ensuing expression on Omi's face told Youji that the boy was far from convinced, but having been at each other's side for so long, the younger blonde knew when to leave well enough alone. Straightening, Youji stepped over and automatically ruffled the boy's hair, inwardly aware of how much Omi detested it but inexplicably compelled to do it nonetheless. Locks of diluted gold slipped smoothly through his fingers as the midday sun reflected off each fine strand, and it was then, with the soothing combination of silk and heat against his skin that he understood why he'd always found the chance to casually touch the younger man whenever he could.
Yet, the realization did not stay long in his head when he noticed the playful look of distaste on Omi's face. "Must you always do that?"
"Yes," Youji said candidly, the habitual wicked gleam in his eyes as he removed his hand. "Now, don't you have something to do?"
The younger man shrugged. "Not really. I was going to - " Omi stopped, his eyes suddenly widening and his body tensing. "On second thought, I think I do have something that needs to be done."
At the smaller blonde's words, Youji turned to look in the direction Omi was staring, ... and noticed what had sobered the boy up.
Ran.
To say the redheaded captain looked upset would have been a gross understatement, but likewise, to say he looked furious would have been an overstatement. The man had that set to his expression he usually boasted when he was about to discipline his crew, and Youji could feel Omi's desire to leave the vicinity when that happened. If there was one thing the boy hated more than having his hair rifled through, it was being on the receiving end of someone's anger.
"I think the captain wants to talk to you, Youji," Omi said with a calmness that barely veiled his uneasiness. "I'll leave you two alone."
Like it was the most gracious of courtesies, the younger blonde walked away, leaving his taller companion to stared amusedly in his wake. Omi was perhaps one of the strongest people Youji had ever known - a boy with a will of steel that rivaled men twice his age, and a wit as sharp as a rapier's edge - but at times, he acted endearingly like the awkward youth he truly was.
"Youji, a word."
The commanding voice cut the air crisply and cleanly, and distractedly, the tall blonde wondered how the captain always managed to sound so formidable even when the situation didn't call for it. Slipping into his comfortable carefree persona, Youji turned to the approaching redhead.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, my lord Captain?" the blonde drawled as he leaned his back against the ship's rail, arms crossed and head high as if he were in charge of the ship instead of the other man.
"I want to discuss your actions yesterday," Ran said seriously as he stopped before his crewman.
An inquiring blond eyebrow rose. "I helped retrieve your precious document. You can't find fault with that."
"It's not so much the results as it is your methods," the redhead stated plainly.
A hint of pride and defensiveness began to bubble up from within the blonde. Green eyes glittered and previously relaxed muscles stiffened. "From my point of view, I've done nothing wrong and as long as I get the job done with no one getting injured, I don't see why you should take exception to it."
"But I do take exception, Youji," Ran threw back, his voice regulated, but the conviction still unabashedly clear. "I take exception to you jeopardizing the mission, and I take exception to you endangering my crew."
The blonde couldn't stop the small smile from tugging at his lips. The whole purpose of this talk was abundantly apparent now. "You're a little too protective of your first mate, aren't you, my lord Captain?"
An indecipherable flicker graced those implacable violet eyes and Youji felt a spurt of triumph at seeing through the other man's perfect façade.
Who had said that the Redemption's captain was inhuman?
The blonde's lazy smile widened at his accurate assessment and at the other man's moment of discomfort, but that quickly disappeared when Ran regained his composure and stared steadily into his eyes.
"Not any more so than you are of Omi."
Youji's whole demeanor immediately became more solemn. "I am not - "
"I graciously let you and your young friend stay on board my ship all those months ago," Ran cut in, almost ruthlessly, "and if the two of you wish to remain on board, I would suggest you take my position a little more seriously and heed my orders when I give them."
At the redhead's inflectionless words, Youji bristled, his natural arrogance affronted. "You have earned my grudging respect thus far, Captain. Don't ruin that now by threatening Omi," the blonde ground out through clenched teeth.
"Then don't threaten Ken's life."
The echo of the last phrase lingered uneasily between the two men, the air suddenly thick with unrelenting stubbornness and unparalleled pride. At the rate this was going, Youji realized that the both of them could have easily stood there until Armageddon without a victor, and thus, tried to regain his previous good humour.
"It seems that we are at an impasse, my lord Captain," he said, using his teasing moniker for the redhead to diffuse the tension. "I will concede then and play the part of the obedient crewman."
And yet, even as he said it, Youji knew that his attitude and tone would negate his very words. His natural character and obedience were two concepts that simply did not go well with one another. But, it was all Ran would get and it was what Ran reluctantly accepted.
Seeing that he would get no more from the blonde, the young captain let out a tired breath and began to turn away. "Make sure that it doesn't happen again, Youji," the redhead said as they separated.
Youji nodded his acquiescence as he watched the other man walk toward the quarterdeck. "Aye, Sir," he whispered quietly and with a dash of mockery. And then, green eyes twinkled knowingly as they watched Ran meet up with a familiar brunette.
"It would appear, my lord Captain, that we both have something to protect, don't we?"
(***)
The British Colony of the Virginias ...
The lines had been faded by age, but after countless hours of careful scrutiny, Crawford had finally managed to decipher the scribbling on what felt like a piece of cured animal skin.
South, the dark-haired captain concluded. He had to head south to find the answer to all his problems.
He leaned back and let out an exhausted sigh, his eyes closing and his hand coming up to give them a good rub. The hard, resisting wood of his desk chair dug into his spine and at the constant pressure, he finally became aware of the other stiff joints and strained muscles in his body.
The brief trip to his childhood home was fast becoming a distant memory now, as were all his other recollections of that time. Trust given and indifference returned, innocence offered and scorn rewarded, that had been his pathetic existence and he was more than glad to leave it in those decrepit ashes to be lost into the obscurity of time. He had gotten what he'd gone for, and that was all that mattered.
A map. The map. And with it, his ultimate goal - vengeance.
For the past two days, he'd sequestered himself away in his cabin with his prize, the Valiant having been left in the hands of his crew and their skills. And now, as the blessed silence of his room slowly gave way to the muffled shouts and muted pounding of a docked ship in repair, he wondered if it had been wise to leave his men unsupervised. Had Schuldich still been alive, he would have easily delegated everything to the redhead to handle, for in the three years that the man had been on the ship, he had acted with as much arrogance as befitted a captain. And as much as the dead crewman's upstart attitude had irked him, Crawford could not deny that Schuldich had been the most competent of all his men.
At the thought of the conceited redhead, something inside the dark-haired captain constricted, an occurrence that the man in question was at a loss to explain until a sedate pounding began to sound in the back of his head. Crawford breathed out another sigh, this one of relief.
He was hungry.
'Then again, who wouldn't be after two days of starvation?' he told himself.
Satisfied with his assumption, he sat up in his chair and carefully folded the map in front of him. He wasn't finished with the thing yet since he still had a course to plot but that could wait until after he'd eaten.
"Nagi." He didn't yell the boy's name exactly but his voice came out loudly enough to penetrate the walls of his immaculate cabin. If his guess was correct, the meek brunette who'd somehow attached himself to the crew would be wandering close at hand, very much like a certain untamable redhead had once been wont to do.
"Sir?"
As he'd expected, a small face with malleable blue eyes peeked through the doorway, his appearance accompanied with the telltale squeak of a hinge that would need some oiling soon. The boy had mysteriously appeared at his side almost seven months ago on that fateful trip to Myklos Island. Where he'd come from, and who he was exactly, Crawford didn't know and hadn't felt compelled to ask. In fact, for a time, he hadn't even realized that the kid had come aboard his ship - that period being one where he'd been too distracted to even care - but when he finally did notice the undersized boy discreetly dogging his footsteps, he'd passively accepted it. Schuldich was gone, which meant that he'd lost a crewman, and according to his rationale, keeping the boy, Nagi, around saved him the trouble of actively seeking out a new sailor.
"Bring me some food," he sent the order to the boy without much thought.
"Yes, Sir."
Yes, Sir. And that was it.
A simple 'yes, sir' followed by a quiet click of the closing door.
No objections, no protestations, and no defiance. Complete compliance.
/**
"Why, Crawford? Go do it yourself. I've got better things to do."
"Need I remind you, Schuldich, that I am the captain of this ship - a title, might I add, that you've neglected to call me - and if I order you to do something, you are to do it without question."
"Or what? You'll throw me overboard like you've been threatening to do for the past four months I've been on this ship?"
**/
A dull pain in his right hand drew Crawford's attention back to the present. He look down at the limb on his desk - knuckles white, and fingers tightly fisted - as it gripped his recently folded map into a savagely crumpled ball. His tired eyes narrowed in anger. Even in death, that redhead still managed to irk him. Slowly, and with more concentration than he would admit, he released his hold on the abused map, each finger seeming like it had to be consciously told by his brain to relax.
His lips thinned.
Perhaps he should have thrown Schuldich overboard when he'd had the chance.
(***)
Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean ...
Drip, drip.
Darkness. Dampness. Deprivation.
Drip, drip.
Schuldich squinted at the wooden boards before him and swung his fist out to give it a good hard punch.
The brig. That lily-livered ass of a captain had actually had the audacity to throw him in the goddamned bloody brig.
Drip, drip.
Numbing coldness and pitch-blackness had become his constant companions in the past two days, which he would have suffered grudgingly had it not been for the cramped dimensions of his prison. It was small and it was confining, wide enough for him to take only one step in each direction, and high enough for him to stand only with his knees bent and back slouched. As it was, he could barely sit comfortably with his legs outstretched on the hard floorboards.
Drip, drip.
'And that damned leak!' he mentally screamed as he punched the wall again. It would serve them right if he began to tear at the boards and make that leak into a gaping hole large enough to sink this sorry excuse of a ship.
Drip, drip.
The droplets of water were mocking him. It was mocking as undoubtedly as the crew above deck was mocking him. A foreigner, a man who was so different from everyone else on board with his bright red-orange hair and mischievous green eyes, had dared to question that boastful pig of a captain. They probably wondered if he was daft to do such a thing, which, at times, Schuldich wondered himself.
Why he had approached and convinced the Spanish captain to let him join the crew was beyond him. One minute, he was enjoying the relaxing summer day in the Plaza del Mercado, and the next, he was sailing out of Valencia's port on board the outdated frigate named the Isabella. All he knew was that he was on a ship again, cutting through a pristine world of crystal and light, and playing in a field that had been almost like a home to him for three years.
Schuldich smirked at his sentiments.
Perhaps he was going insane after all.
Drip, drip.
Again, his fist connected with the rough wood, splinters no doubt flying in all directions if he could see them and into his hand if he could feel it. The cold of the brig had long robbed him of sensation in his outer extremities and the small pool of water gathering beside him would not help matters at all.
He hated this. He hated being cold. He hated being left in the darkness. He hated being on board a ship with such an intolerable captain.
/**
"Schuldich!"
"I know, Crawford. I'll do it when I finish this. It's not as if you can't wait."
A condemning pause.
"Fine, Cap-tain. I'll save you the trouble and throw myself overboard if I don't do it..."
**/
Drip, drip.
'This was all that dimwitted Spanish captain's fault,' Schuldich fumed. He had been perfectly within his rights to refuse to swab the decks ... hadn't he? Such chores were beneath him ... at least on the Valiant.
Drip, drip.
He punched repetitively at the wall again, uncaring of the damage he brought to his hand. And yet, no matter how much he cursed his situation, a small part of him knew the truth, as loathed as he was to recognize it. He hated it here because it wasn't the Valiant. He hated it here because it was too constricting and too rigid. He hated it here because it wasn't captained by a ruthless, dark-haired killer with golden eyes.
Crawford would have never thrown him in the brig for such a small act of insubordination ... because when all was said and done, Crawford would have never taken away his freedom.
(***)
San Juan, Puerto Rico
The room was a den of cutthroats masquerading as a respectable establishment, and Ran was well aware of this fact the moment he'd stepped into the place. Despite the rushed trip from Port Royal and a better part of the day spent trying to find the place, the redhead's sense of observation hadn't dulled.
The Señora Roja was a moderately clean building where the walls abounded with a generous amount of beeswax candles and the furnishings sat in a sturdier state than those typically found at a dockside tavern. Even the thick smell of processed molasses was decidedly less than expected from a place well known for its rum. But Ran's keen sense penetrated through the deceiving veneer, his thorough violet eyes easily seeing the covert glances from the wealthier looking clientele and the muscles tensed for action at the slightest provocation beneath all the cloth finery. The people who frequented the establishment were those who fancied themselves gentlemen and sought to prove thus by acting the part through ill-gotten gains. Yet, for Ran, who had been born into a world of wealth and privilege, they appeared nothing more than imposters, and bad ones at that.
Quickly giving the room one last survey, he gestured for his men to follow him to a table in the far corner, his hand falling casually onto the pommel of his sword as he made his way through the questionable patrons. He had only brought three men with him today - Ken, Youji, and Mr. Mumbles - for the sake of inconspicuousness, but for the exchange that was to take place, he didn't see any need for more men.
"Who exactly are we meeting, Captain?" Ken asked as he took a seat beside the redhead.
Ran glanced over to his right at his first mate, an action he instantly regretted since he usually had such a difficult time looking away from the younger man when he least desired it. His gaze lingered on the play of candlelit shadows that danced across Ken's fine featured face, the montage of dark and light giving the brunette a deep, mysterious air that now contradicted the fiery spirit Ran had come to know.
"A friend," the young captain answered a little more tersely than he'd intended and finally dragged his attention from the man. In doing so, he noticed the knowing glimmer in a pair of green eyes from across the table and Ran fought an impulse to put his fist straight into Youji's handsome face. Their conversation from yesterday still sat fresh in his mind, and when he recalled how quickly the blonde had read his actions, he couldn't stop the wave of self-anger that washed through him.
When had he become so transparent? He, the renowned captain of the Redemption, who'd prided himself on his reputation of impenetrability, had been caught.
"And what does your friend look like, my lord Captain?" Youji's question was as innocent as it sounded, but oddly enough, Ran was certain there was an undertone of humour in those words.
The redheaded captain forced himself to keep his eyes on the entrance instead of the occupants of the table. "Someone prettier than you, Youji."
"A woman?"
The quick remark came from Ken, his surprise apparent to everyone at the table.
"So it's a woman that Ken and I risked our lives to please?" Youji taunted. "I do hope ... "
Ran blocked out the blonde's voice as he went on to exalt the fairer sex, a task made much easier when a dark hooded and cloaked figure walked through the door. Reflexively, the redhead rose from his chair as the mysterious arrival approached. Not long thereafter, his companions noticed the new patron and followed Ran's example with a concerted scraping of chairs.
"Ran," a breathy voice greeted the captain as gloved hands raised up to lower the hood. Glorious red hair, well defined lips and porcelain skin shone enticingly in the flickering candlelight the moment the enshrouding hood was rid of, a vision that elicited an appreciative whistle from Youji.
"Manx," Ran returned and bowed over her offered hand to place a light kiss on her fingers.
Lady Mansfield, who the young captain had taken to calling Manx over the years, nodded her acknowledgement of the courtesy and quickly glanced around the table at the other men.
"My men," Ran introduced. "Gentlemen, this is Manx."
The newest arrival made the requisite nod in each of the men's directions before turning back to Ran. "You have it?" she inquired as she took the seat that Youji gallantly gave up, and watched the redheaded captain expectantly as he sat down with the rest of his crew.
"Yes," he replied quietly, reached into the hidden pocket of his cloak, and extracted the coveted map on the table. "Although there was quite a bit of trouble acquiring it. Now, I know I owe your husband my life, Manx, and would do anything you asked, but I would honestly appreciate being told what I'm risking my crew's life for."
Unsettling amethyst eyes trained unwaveringly on the woman, patiently awaiting an answer. Manx remained silent for several heartbeats, her reluctance to speak masked expertly with a steady, challenging gaze of her own.
Finally, the lady gave in. "Have you ever heard of the Fountain of Youth?"
"Yes, but that's only a myth."
"Well, I believe otherwise," Manx returned. "Before my husband died, he was on a mission for the Queen to find it."
The last statement confused Ran. "Why would Bess be interested in the Fountain?"
"Because Spain is," the woman answered easily. "You, of all people, should be aware of the tensions between the British and the Spanish, Ran. Although it has never been officially declared, England has been silently at war with Spain since Elizabeth has taken the throne. Why do you think her Majesty gladly gave you a letter of marque?"
"So Bess wants to find this Fountain before Philip does?"
"Yes."
Ran watched Manx closely, not completely satisfied with her explanation. "There's something more to this, isn't there?"
Again, the redheaded woman said nothing.
But the young captain refused to relent. He had drawn his own conclusions, and was almost certain he was right. "You said your husband was searching for this fountain before he was killed. Did his death have something to do with this map?"
At his deduction, Manx looked away, her very aversion of his gaze affirmation enough.
"Manx, I think it's time you told me how John died. The man saved my life, and I've never had the chance to repay him. If I can - "
"Ran," the woman cut him off, her face still turned away. "You said you would do anything for me, am I correct?"
Her voice held a steel force in it that he had long come to recognize as her 'business' voice. Her husband, John Mansfield, had been an honourable and admirable man; yet, unknown to many, his true strength had always laid in his wife. And when she spoke so seriously, Ran had a tendency to listen, and listen carefully. Leaning forward on the table, he nodded and waited for her to continue. But nothing was immediately forthcoming.
Then, Ran realized that Manx hadn't looked away to avoid him; she had turned away to watch a group of five men walk into and around the room. The new arrivals appeared respectable enough with their fine doublets and expensive hose, yet one look into those malicious eyes and at those prominently displayed weapons, and one was easily convinced they weren't out for a night of revelry.
Instinctively, Ran tensed for trouble and hoped his men did as well. He didn't know what exactly triggered the whole event but somewhere between the men finally making eye contact with Manx and the redheaded woman yelling his name, he reacted.
"Youji, move!" Ran ordered as he flipped the table over just in time for two gunshots to ring out. Immediately, chaos became a close companion to the acrid smell of gunpowder in the air. An army of scraping chairs and falling tables were quickly followed by the cascading sound of answering gunshots, the other occupants of the establishment reacting to the sudden violence.
Ran quickly took out his pistol and looked around for his companions. Youji and Mr. Mumbles were crouched behind another overturned table to his left, and Ken had taken shelter behind a stack of water barrels to his right, all with their weapons at the ready and awaiting their captain's orders. Manx had ended up hiding with him behind their own table, her own concealed pistol out and primed.
"Ran, those men are here for me. I was investigating John's death a little too closely and brought this down on myself," she explained breathlessly. "You said you'd do anything for me? Then find John's murderer. Find the Fountain and you'll probably find the bastard who killed my husband."
The young captain looked disbelievingly at Manx. Had he heard correctly? Searching for a myth was perhaps the height of insanity, and she wanted him to find it? Still, John's murderer was walking around unpunished ...
"Ran, please." Manx's pleading eyes beseeched him into speechlessness. Just then, an errant bullet skimmed the top of their table and sent a shower of splinters in their direction.
"Ran!"
He heard Ken's shout and watched the brunette lean out and loose his only shot.
Damn it! That was Ken's only ammunition. Without his pistol, all his first mate had left was his sword. Whatever his decision was, he would have to make it quickly.
"Please, Ran."
Again, Manx's entreating voice echoed beside him. Taking in one last deep breath, he nodded.
The woman's strained expression relaxed enough to smile slightly with relief. "Thank you," she whispered. "The map ... "
Ran inclined his head again. When the table had been flipped, the map had fallen down amidst the chaos. He looked over at Youji and Mr. Mumbles, and then at Ken, signaling for them to make for the exit on his command. He knew he was taking a risk, but didn't see any other way of getting out with both Manx and the map. The other patrons were providing the perfect distraction, and there was no harm in taking advantage of it.
"Manx, we're going to run for the exit. Get ready," he informed the woman. "I'll grab the map on the way out. It's just on the other side of the table."
Manx raised her pistol, letting him know of her readiness to comply.
He could hear the staccato of his heart beat steadily in his ears, and could feel the tightness in his stomach that usually precluded a fight, but the whole experience had become something he'd learned to relish. There was never a moment when he'd feel more alive than the moment before he taunted Death. Re-affirming his grip on his pistol, he mentally counted to three and then nodded his signal.
Ceding control to his body, his rational mind observed impartially as he and his crew left the safety of their hiding spots, weapons ready, and dove headlong into the lethal fray.
(***)
That had been pure insanity, Ken thought as he walked steadily behind Ran down San Juan's pier, lungs grateful to be breathing the refreshing night air, tainted as it was by the stench of dockside waste. Even now, as he, Youji, Mr. Mumbles, and the captain returned to the Redemption, he had a difficult time believing they'd made it out of that war zone alive.
The evening had begun with the promise of a simple, sedate rendezvous, and Ken had not expected anything more. However, that had all changed when she had shown up, a beautiful woman with enticing red lips, flawless ivory skin, and a mysterious familiarity with Ran. From the moment those two had sat down, he had felt an uncomfortable weight sit heavily in his chest and had had to suppress the need to physically separate the two. In fact, he'd been so caught up in their cozy rapport that he'd failed to notice the questionable arrivals at the entrance until Ran had flipped over the table.
That was when he'd finally realized what a complete fool he'd been for letting his guard down. It had taken a rowdy brawl to finally put him back in the right state of mind but from that moment onward, he'd been as alert as he'd always been. They had somehow managed to fight their way out of that room, all of them dodging flying fists and blocking swinging swords. Ran had even retrieved that precious map they'd had so much trouble acquiring, an act that had momentarily stopped Ken's heart when he'd lost sight of the redhead for that second, but they'd surprisingly made it out relatively unscathed. Not long thereafter, they had separated from Manx's company - the woman claiming that she had to get back to her own ship - and oddly, Ken felt relieved to see her go.
Now, as they walked up the moonlit gangplank and onto the ship, Ken wondered exactly who that woman had been and what she was to Ran.
"You've been especially quiet tonight."
Ken looked over at Youji and stepped onto the main deck to join the man. "Have I?" he returned innocently.
Youji smiled slyly. "Well, more so than usual. I don't suppose it has anything to do with that pretty redhead our captain met tonight?"
Innocent expression undisturbed, the brunette gave a small shrug.
Youji actually had the audacity to chuckle. "Ken," he said with a teasing glint in his eyes. "I have this theory about redheads. You see, their personalities are just too similar for any attraction to even exist. They're too stubborn and headstrong to get on well together, if you ask me. And I don't think they want to pass on that unfortunate trait of red hair to their offspring."
At the blonde's outrageous theory, Ken had to smile. Farfetched as it was, the other man's words actually made him feel a little better.
"Youji, I don't think ... "
"Ken, can I see you in my cabin, please?" Ran's commanding voice pre-empted Ken's comments.
The first mate looked over at the figure of the redhead making his way to the captain's cabin without even turning to see if the brunette complied.
Ken sighed inwardly, and excused himself from Youji. Duty called.
He caught up with the young captain at his cabin door, and waited for the other man to enter first before he followed. Closing the door firmly behind him, he turned to await orders from the redhead.
Yet, Ran didn't walk to his desk as he usually did when he had orders to dole out. Instead, he stopped just several steps into the room and turned to stare tiredly at the first mate.
"Ken, I - " Ran stopped.
It was then that Ken knew something wasn't right. The man never hesitated when he spoke.
"Captain, what's wrong?"
The words had no sooner left his mouth than Ran's legs gave out. Instantly, the brunette was at his side to catch the falling body before it hit the hard boards.
"Ran, you stupid bloody idiot!" he exclaimed with a mixture of anger and fear as he registered the warm stickiness that coated his fingers. "You've been shot!"
End Chapter 2