Chapter 13: Swaine

"Gascon, Gascon, I have an idea!"

Marcassin bounced up and down beside the courtyard fountain like an oversized rabbit. The elaborately detailed model ship, which was nearly his size, mind you, didn't seem to have any effect on weighing him down like one would expect.

"Why don't we play pirates? We even have a boat now!" He held his new birthday present up, as if his elder brother really hadn't noticed it long before. The child had been practically lost from view behind it, after all, and Gacon mused that the legs that hopped below actually belonged to the ship and not, as was less unsettling, a young boy.

"You do remember Father telling you that wasn't a toy, don't you?" Leave it to their old man to give them presents they couldn't use. And Marcassin had never even been the type to like boats. That was a trait strictly reserved for the elder prince.

The same went for pirates, come to think of it.

The child's hopping stilled as he began to juggle the large ship between one arm and then the other until he had managed to maneuver it over to his side. "I know. I'm not going to put it in the water. It's just here for scenery."

Gascon crossed his arms, eyeing his younger brother sternly from where he sat on the fountain's edge. "But you're forgetting one key detail. Your birthday was yesterday, which means I'm not obligated to play anything with you today."

The child's large eyes blinked at his older brother as he worked to comprehend what this meant for him. "But…but I thought you liked pretending to be pirates." His face lit up with a hopeful sort of smile as he continued, "You…you can even be the captain, and I'll be…I'll be the boat-sway…um…" Marcassin furrowed his eyebrows as he attempted to form the word, "the boat-swain."

Gascon snorted. "How many times do I have to tell you, that's not how you say it, you dummy. It's pronounced bosun, not boatswain."

His younger brother attempted to stand taller, but the weight of the boat in his arms hindered any such efforts. Not that it would have made much of a difference had he succeeded. "I'm not a dummy, Gascon! That's how it's spelled!"

"I don't care how it's spelled, that's not how you say it." Gascon eased himself to his feet and planted his hands on his waist. "What's a 'swain' supposed to be anyway?"

Marcassin shrugged, and the elder prince laughed. "Just put that thing away already," Gascon continued as he turned on his heel, his head held high. "If it gets broken, we both know who Father will blame." He paused to glance over his shoulder one, final time, "Captain's orders."

The first rays of morning trickling through the iron bars of his cell window were responsible for waking the former prince from dreams of the past, memories that felt so foreign, it was as if they truly were mere dreams and not the reality he had so foolishly left behind. It had been a while since he had the good fortune of sleeping behind a locked door. But it didn't bring enough comfort to make up for where he was or what he had done to end up here.

Gascon had tried to tell himself that there could be some positives to his current situation, depending on how one looked at it. Jail meant shelter, and it meant food. If his sentence was long enough, it meant a place to wait out the impending winter. He had heard that it didn't snow in Lari due to its proximity to the ocean, but if autumn was anything to go by, it was still bound to get so cold that he had severe doubts as to whether or not he would still be in possession of all his fingers and toes by the end of it if he didn't secure someplace warm to stay.

Come to think of it, if he didn't have this prison cell, he had nowhere else to go. Wasn't that pathetic?

The door to his cell creaked open behind him, but even then, Gascon failed to budge from where he was lying on his stomach on the cot, the smell of which he tried his very best not to think too much about. The reason for his apathy was twofold. He figured he'd be here for a good while longer, so what was the point? Plus, he didn't think he had the energy for movement right now anyway. Of course, if the guard had brought breakfast, then that was another story entirely.

"Get up, boy. It's about time we figured out what we're doin' with ya. Ya don't think ya can just go 'round stealin' an' get away with it, do ya?"

No. That's what he thought being locked in a cell was for. But what did he know? As much as he would have liked to voice those thoughts aloud, he remained silent.

The guard's voice spoke up again, louder this time. "Get up, boy! I'm not messin' around!"

With a tired groan, Gascon did as he was told, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. This guard was different from the one last night. He had a mustache, the main distinguishing feature he could recall. It had been dark when he had been arrested. Plus, he hadn't been too interested in the face of his captor to pay much notice before now.

"Since you're young, we might be willin' to go easy on ya. But only if your parents come an' pay for what ya took."

"I took one thing, and the shopkeeper got it back. He didn't actually lose anything." Gascon wasn't in much of a mood for being polite at the moment. Worst case scenario, his sass would prolong his imprisonment, and he'd have a place to wait out the winter. Big deal.

"A whole cartload of fruit ended up in the street. I'd hardly call that no great loss. Come now, tell me where your parents are, kid. If they're halfway decent, their punishment will be worse than what I can dish out anyway."

Was that supposed to motivate him?

Gascon crossed his arms. "And what if I don't? You don't plan on keeping me here forever, do you?" Forever was a bit overkill. But exactly how many more months would it be before spring was here?

It wasn't the best sign when the guard chuckled. "The customary punishment for stealin' in Lari is ten lashin's. If that's really what ya'd prefer, then I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Was this guy some sort of sadist or something? This threat alone was enough to override his earlier composure and send his heart racing. He might have been able to accept an extended prison sentence. But corporal punishment was most certainly where he drew the line. "W-wait a minute. What are you on about-" Gascon sprung to his feet when the guard turned to leave. "M-my parents don't even live around here. I've been visiting…my aunt. Go get my cousin, Katrine. Maybe she can pay for what I owe."

At his urgency to come up with a deal before the guard could leave, he hadn't exactly put much thought into what he was even saying. He could only hope Katrine would be obliging. He hadn't seen her in a while, and who knew what her conniving brother had said about him in the meantime?

The guard turned back, scratching his chin as he considered the teen's suggestion. "Katrine eh?"

"Yeah, she lives three doors down from the town doctor."

"All right, I'll be back in a bit." The guard made as if to leave, only to turn back around one more time with another laugh that set Gascon's teeth on edge. "Don't go anywhere."

Gascon thought he would have been happy to see Katrine's face again. He was wrong.

Nearly an hour later, a face that was much prettier than the guard's peered through the barred window in his cell door. Though it was certainly much easier on the eyes than that mustachioed maniac, the expression alone was enough to make him seriously reconsider which one he'd rather meet in a dark alley.

"I'm here, ya terrible boy! The guard told me everything. What in the world were ya thinkin'?" Well, this was certainly off to a great start.

Even though a sufficiently solid door stood between them, Gascon approached with caution. "Katrine," he raised one hand in a nervous wave, "haven't seen you in a while…"

"No, Gascon, ya haven't. Not since Reese told me ya were a big, fat liar! And on top o' all that, ya have to be a thief, too! Why, Gascon, if I had known-"

She had just taken to shaking a fist at him when he interrupted her. "Listen, Katrine, you've got it all wrong. This has all just been a big misunderstanding. I didn't even take anything. I just bumped into that fruit cart, and everything fell out. It wasn't my-"

"I don't wanna hear it." Somehow, it was the fact that her voice had fallen in volume that made his excuse die in his throat. "Ya asked me to come here to bail ya out. Is that right?"

It had sounded like a solid plan at the time. His only plan, really. "Yeah, that's right." Okay, it was a really awful plan, he had to admit.

"Gascon…I get that you're poor. But I'm poor, too. And at least ya only have yourself to consider. I have my sick mother to look after." She paused, squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a second as she thought over her next words. "You have a lot of nerve askin' me for money. I'm only doin' this because I used to like ya. And because ya look mighty pitiful in there." Pausing once more, she wiped at her eyes, and what came next would be her final words to him, "I never want to see ya again, ya selfish boy!"

Katrine disappeared with an angry flip of her head, though the distinct sound of sniffles trailed after her that stood in sharp contrast to her recent outburst. Gascon was no longer certain which would have been worse. That or the lashings. It was too late to reconsider his actions now, though.

He rushed to the window in his cell door, calling out into the dimly lit hallway beyond. "I'm not a thief, Katrine, I swear! It was an accident! Just a bloody accident!"

Several minutes later, the sound of footsteps drifted back to him, and he ran back to the window to catch a form approaching through the shadows. For a split second, he held on to the scant hope that Katrine might have softened in her anger towards him, but it took but a second longer to prove his suspicions to be false.

The guard with the mustache was returning, a rusted old key in one hand. Gascon shot him the saltiest glare he could muster. The man didn't seem to care.

"That girl just told me you're not really her family," the man said as he unlocked the door. "Shoulda known you were lyin' through your teeth, boy. You're lucky it doesn't matter now."

As soon as the door opened, Gascon took no delay in stepping out into the hallway beyond. "You have something that belongs to me, you know."

"Eh?"

He followed the man down the hallway back into the main office. "My gun. Because if I can't get away with stealing, then neither should you."

"You're a rude, little bugger, aren't ya?" the man shot back over his shoulder, but his usual amusement seemed to not have been dampened one bit. He opened a drawer behind his desk and retrieved the item in question. "Here, take it, but mind where ya point that thing. You're liable to get into some real trouble if ya don't know what's good for ya."

Gascon grabbed his pistol and returned it to its old hiding place beneath his coat. Without another word, he was already out the door when the town guard spoke up again.

"Hold on a second." The man followed him outside just as Gascon was considering the possibility that he had changed his mind, after all.

"Seein' as ya clearly have no family in town, I'm gonna need ya to leave," the guard went on. "We've already had runaways causin' trouble in Lari, and we don't need more. I'm escortin' ya to the town gates. Come along now."

Gascon hesitated. There sure were a lot of people assuming he had somewhere to go. Now what was he supposed to do? He already couldn't afford to stay at the inn anymore. Now the whole bloody town was trying to throw him out!

"There ya are, little brother. I've been lookin' all over for ya."

They both turned to face the source of the new voice. A young man was approaching them, surely no more than a year Gascon's elder. His bushy blonde hair was nearly long enough to obscure one eye, while the other peered out at them with an unsettling deadness that sharply contrasted the cocky tilt to the boy's grin. It was the very same dullness found in the eyes of fish that the former prince so loathed. A chill crept along Gascon's spine at the thought.

Gascon stiffened when the newcomer threw an arm around his shoulders. "Mom and dad sent me to find ya after ya ran away, so I'd better take ya home. Come along, mate."

"Guess I've got no choice, huh?" The question had a lot more meaning than might have seemed obvious on the surface.

"Ya bet ya don't." The stranger waved a hand at the guard, whose eyes had been narrowing in suspicion the whole time. "Thanks for findin' 'im for me!"

The guard's eyes widened when he was struck with a sudden comprehension that Gascon himself seemed to have been left out of. "Wait a tick, I know ya! Stay right where ya are!"

By now, the boy was running, Gascon trailing a short distance behind after the stranger had tugged him by the arm to get him moving, the reason for Gascon's cooperation the fact that there was little time to think about why they were even doing this to begin with.

"Nah, never seen yer ugly mug before! So long, ya rotter!" the stranger tossed back over his shoulder.

"Thanks a lot!" Gascon said. "I just got out of jail!"

"Ya didn't think ya'd be runnin' from the law again so soon, huh? Well, get used to it, mate! That old codger ain't gonna catch us anyway!"

Sure enough, it wasn't long before their pursuer had been lost far behind them, as too were his shouts for them to stop and face judgement. To complete their escape, the stranger tugged him into a nearby alley.

"Who the heck even are you?" Gascon asked between breaths.

"Ya thought I wouldn't notice another pickpocket on my turf, didja?"

That didn't even come close to answering the question. Gascon straightened at the accusation. "Pickpocket? Who said I was-"

Once again, he found himself interrupted. "It was bound to happen, wasn't it? It's how we all start out. Once society kicks us into the gutter," he kicked a nearby can for emphasis, "what other choice do we have? But seein' as I just sprung ya from jail, it looks like ya could use some help."

That was not in the slightest what had just happened. Katrine had gotten him out of jail. But something else was still nagging at him. "Have you been stalking me or something?" At least that was one sentence he had been allowed to finish.

The stranger crossed his arms. "Is that how ya thank a person who just saved yer skin?"

He was getting nowhere with this guy. "Yeah, thanks, but no thanks." Gascon turned away, but had gone no more than a few paces when the boy made a decidedly worrying statement that made him stop in his tracks.

"Ain't ya forgettin' somethin'?"

When Gascon looked back, the other boy was holding his pistol out before him with a smirk on his face.

"Wh-why, you…you-you give that back right-!" Gascon lunged for his pilfered pistol, but the thief hid the item under his jacket and turned his back to him.

"If ya can't stop someone from pickin' yer pockets, what kind of thief does that make ya, huh?"

"I never said I was a thief!" Gascon attempted to reach around him, but the other boy stepped neatly out of his grasp.

"And what are ya gonna do about it? Who's the one with the gun, huh?"

"Are you threatening me?"

His wish was granted far sooner than expected when the thief turned around quite without warning and tossed the pistol his way. Gascon attempted to catch it, but his hands only met with empty air before it struck him square in the chest and clattered to the ground. Not too eager to leave the stolen item unattended for any longer than necessary, he scrambled to retrieve his gun before any more misfortune could befall it. His teeth gritted when the other teen laughed, but by the time he had straightened to his feet, whatever he had poised on his lips was interrupted yet again.

"Ya haven't been on the streets long, huh?" The stranger's voice had dropped, and his eerily dead eyes watched him from beneath shaggy bangs. "I can tell because you're still not that dirty, and ya don't have any holes in your clothes yet."

"Aren't you observant," Gascon said, his gun still gripped at his side. "Seeing how you look like you died last week, I can only assume you've been on your own a lot longer."

The boy bared his teeth in a grin, all but a missing upper canine. "Yep." With that, he made a show of clearing his throat and thrust out a hand. "Name's Connor. And what can I call ya, mate?"

"You don't catch on very quickly when people want you to back off, do you?"

Connor withdrew his hand and closed his eyes like one dealing with a difficult child. When he opened them again, any sign of his earlier amusement was gone. "We could work well together, you and I, and from what I've seen, ya need a guy who's got your back. I assure ya, no one else will. And hey, I've even got somethin' ya might want."

Gascon's mind cycled through all the other things Connor could have taken. It was only until after he had realized that he had nothing else to lose besides his newly reclaimed pistol that his interest was piqued, albeit only a little. "What could you possibly have that I'd want?"

Connor shrugged. "Oh, just food and a place to sleep. Unless that doesn't-"

Now it was Gascon's turn to cut him short. "And what's the catch?"

At this, Connor's earlier smirk had returned with full force. "Oh, no catch. I need a guy to watch my back just as much as you do, is all. It's a dangerous world out there, especially for people like us. So whatta ya say?"

"You can even be the captain, and I'll be the boat-swain."

Once again, it didn't seem he had much choice, now did he? Gascon said the very first thing that came to mind. "Swaine. The name's Swaine."

"What's a 'swain' supposed to be anyway?"

Darned if he knew.

This time, he took the hand offered him and shook it. "That deal of yours doesn't sound half bad, just as long as you don't forget which of us has a gun."

"Yeah, yeah…I won't forget. Right this way…Swaine." Connor sauntered by him, only to turn on his heel to face him once more, his dead eyes showing the first sign of life in the form of a dangerous glint. "I guess this means ya owe me one, mate."

I've read plenty of stories where Gascon names himself after his older self (of course, he's unaware at this time that the man visiting from the future is him as an adult), but I wanted to do something different where the name is inspired by a mispronunciation courtesy of young Marcassin. For years, I believed the word "boatswain" was pronounced exactly as it was spelled, until I watched some pirate movie and learned that it's pronounced "bosun". It's a kind of random source of inspiration, but…my point is, I liked his name being inspired by a memory of his younger brother.

Updates may become less frequent for a while because I have a whole new section of the story to plan and write.