Chapter 3

He still had his crew to lead. Demons, part of him screamed when he saw them milling about above deck. Brothers, said another part of him. His crew. His family. And finally, Cookson's reminder, "If you won't have this sort of thing on this ship, you won't have a crew."

So, he mustered another one of his speeches about how this was the last meal they'd have ready, but the next raid was bound to be no trouble—

"Is the slut still with us, then?" asked Nigels the Navigator.

"Where else would she be? Thanks to you lot," said Killian. To a horror that he wouldn't show, some of the crew jeered.

"The fishing village is gone, earlier than expected," Flint the First Mate said. "That explains it. Women on a pirate ship is bad luck."

Killian gave a hollow laugh. "Bad luck for whom?"

"Now, now, Captain…Done is done," said the Blackbeard the Boatswain, gesturing to emphasize his concern. A ring on his finger caught Killian's' attention—it had an oval stone, with tiny engravings around it. "…and you've had a go for a day—"

"No, I haven't."

The Boatswain pursed his lips. "Ursula is a jealous woman, and She is the sea. We ought to do away with the wench before we embark on another raid, Captain—before dawn, if it could be helped."

"Then set a course for Port Barrie," Killian ordered, "That's where we'll release her."

Flint and Blackbeard exchanged glances. Nigels looked surprised. "Port Barrie's not safe for pirates, Captain."

"Oh, I'll give you until after dinner to gather your mettle," said Killian, who had lost his appetite. He stood, strode past the Boatswain, and told him, "See me."

The boatswain followed him to the poop cabin, passing by the rest of the crew.

When they entered the cabin, the boatswain addressed him cautiously. "Captain…"

Killian unfolded the drawing that the maiden had given him. "The ring you're wearing," he said, "It belongs to her. Return it at once."

"I beg your pardon, Captain," said the Boatswain, unrepentantly, "I didn't know that thieving was something pirates should never do. Oughtn't we return everything else we took as well?"

"If only you could!" Killian snapped.

"You promised us that we would live by our own rules. Ours, not yours. This is a nasty surprise."

"You overpowered a defenseless innocent, that's a rule no better than that of the scoundrel of a king we rebelled against. Don't you realize what evil you've done?"

The boatswain retorted, "Do you? For all your—your pretty face, your pretty ways, and your pretty boys—" he almost spat the last word, and he tore off his stolen ring and tossed it on the ground, "—and your pathetic threats to make us walk the plank, at every little tantrum you throw!"

"I am your Captain!"

"That command was handed over to you because of your nepotistic brother too idiotic to live—"

"That's enough."

"You thought this sort of life would be 'good form', but I swear to you—back when we served the king, none of us would have dared!"

They glowered at one another in silence.

At last, Killian said, "Sir Boatswain, you may leave."

If he'd been older, the boatswain would have had his head off. Perhaps they might even have dueled first. Instead, Killian wondered if it were true.

After the boatswain left, Killian took the ring back to the map room. "What have I done to them, Liam?" He wondered aloud. "What am I doing?" The maiden recognized his voice and opened the door. He handed her the ring, which she received without a word, and he went back to his quarters.

The way that the stars and the moon shone outside of his window told Killian that Nigels and Harrison had roughly set the course he'd ordered them to. Through the walls, he could hear the maiden sing a sea shanty, the tune of which was familiar to him but the words were not, and it was to this that he drifted to sleep.

Cookson's sister had accompanied him when he signed on to be a cook for The Jewel of the Realm, and, for some reason, she had taken half a dozen of her friends with her. They had giggled whenever Killian passed them by, and he could not fathom why. He'd presumed it was out of mean-spirited ridicule, best ignored—until the bravest of them stole a kiss from him as they passed one another on an otherwise empty flight of stairs. When she giggled, Killian recognized the delight in it, and wondered why he ever thought it was malice.

Liam had called to him as she hurried away, and told him, "Don't let them distract you, Killian—" before distractedly having a look for himself. "Oh," he'd said, "Pity about the nose."

Killian hadn't understood that last statement, as there had been nothing remarkable to him about the lady's nose, and he found that he couldn't even remember her face. In the dream, she looked like the maiden. It couldn't have been, for the temerity to be delighted at a touch was something he thought could not survive a rude, artless courtship—but he found himself making his way down the hall after her.

The door to the map room was not only unbarred, it was missing entirely. A feeling of panic arose in Killian's heart, as if he had failed to protect something precious. He ran into the room to see the Boatswain waiting inside—and just as the dream muddled the women, Killian saw the naked Boatswain and thought that it was his brother. The maiden's song filled the room, although the maiden herself was nowhere in sight, and he could somehow understand the words—

"Ask a maiden why she grieves,
Ask a mother why she leaves,
'All I am now belongs to thieves...
and still remains the danger!'"

It sounded like an accusation, one that he knew to be true. His brother-boatswain, knowing that he'd been caught, tried to reason it out: "Is a girl worth the ruin of the only family you've got?"

Killian replied, "You're the one who should be asking that—" and, grief-stricken, he drove his sword into the heart of the naked, and therefore unarmed, sailor—

—who lifted his head, and showed a face that mirrored Killian's own, except it had a sickly lustful grin. (Which Killian himself did grow to have, but he didn't know that he had it.)

"What, didn't I deserve a duel?" The other Killian asked, and then he laughed, and when he laughed he laughed up blood.

The dream became a memory again. He was naked, from the waist up, kneeling on a lavish four-post bed, with the fully-clothed courtesan seated on the headboard. She held a cat o' nine tails in her hand, flicking it to and fro as she spoke. "Lovemaking and battle should be a collaboration, if done properly. You wouldn't strike an unarmed invalid, would you?"

"Perhaps," Killian had said, being in a contrary mood, "If they were particularly irritating."

The courtesan had narrowed her eyes. "Oh, when we get started, you cheeky—"

"I wouldn't couple with someone unprepared, let alone unwilling," Killian interrupted. "That wouldn't be any fun."

"Then prepare yourself," she commanded.

How to prepare for the inconceivable? He was about to surrender, out of morbid curiosity of what it might be like to lose—No, more than curiosity. Trust, maybe. Trust. Inconceivable. He needed to lose, for once, but he knew that he couldn't. Perhaps this would be fun.

She asked, "What's the magic word?"

Thoughtfully, he'd run the tip of his tongue over his lip, and then replied, "Swan song."

Ropes hung from the lattice above the bed. He took the ends and tied his own wrists, with his teeth when the fingers of the tied hand couldn't reach. The courtesan drew the ropes taught, then stood before him, and with her free hand cradled his head against her hip. "Have you been naughty?"

"Oh, yes."

The whip landed hard, stinging his shoulder blade.

"Granuaile is coming over the sea,
followed by a thousand heroes, is she;
A welcome presence would they be...
among these evil strangers!"

The song brought him back to the cabin. A part of him sensed that it had been his turn at the whip, but that when the courtesan had said her own magic word, he ignored her. And yet, that hadn't happened. The courtesan never came aboard The Jolly Roger. She enjoyed being strangled, not struck; so, she would signal, not speak, and he'd certainly paid attention. She'd referred to his ferocity, afterwards, as a high compliment. He'd been prouder of having never lost the form, and to have been a pleasure to a woman of such experience.

But in the dream, he unwrapped the rope into a damp rag and tried to wipe out the bloodstain on the inside of the courtesan's ankle. Instead, the bloodstain spread with each stroke. Eventually, he pressed the rag to the courtesan's—or the maiden's—leg, and tried to shout for help, but his voice had left him.

The courtesan's voice continued the shanty's chorus. "Oh, row, you are welcome home! Oh, row, you're welcome home! Oh, row, you are welcome—"

Liam's voice joined in and finished the chorus: "—home, now that summer's here!"

Killian turned to look at his brother, whose skin was webbed with dreamshade poisoning as he stood in the corridor outside the map-making room, pointing to the door of the captain's quarters. Killian stumbled into the hall to follow the gesture, and he witnessed six men outside of his own cabin's door. One of them was picking the lock. The other five had their weapons drawn—daggers.

"Take care, little brother," whispered Liam.

Killian awoke to a clap of thunder. The sea was at storm, or perhaps the storm was at sea, but The Jolly Roger was in the middle of both. The cabin lurched as if the entire ship were being thrown by a great wave. His door, previously locked, flung open, and six men raised their daggers and attacked.

But they were the surprised ones, having expected a sleeping victim.

"Bad form, men!" Killian drew his sword and swiped at one, driving him back when he'd meant to surround him; parried, blocked, and locked three daggers from three of his attackers. "I don't know what time you call this."

The cabin lurched again, causing two other attackers to stumble into one another. The sixth drew a cutlass, shouted, "It's mutiny time!" And thrust at Killian, who caught at his attacker's wrist with his free hand and twisted it.

"Not that I'm entirely unbiased in opinion," said Killian, "But this is the worst mutiny ever."

He brought his sword downward and outward, the three daggers locked with it, forcing the three to drop their weapons. One scrambled to pick it up again.

"I wouldn't," Killian warned, re-directing the tip of his sword to the face of the man with the cutlass. His other arm held him—Richards—in a stranglehold. "What have I done, that's worth doing this to stop me?"

"You called us scugs!" replied Richards.

"You kidnapped and raped an innocent girl, almost killed her—did plan to kill her," Killian clarified, "And you're trying to stab me to death in my sleep because I called you a name. Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

The mutineer who'd stumbled—Mullins—got to his feet. "The girl's a witch!" He said, "She brought this storm upon us, and you're protecting her!"

Killian scoffed and released Richards from his chokehold, shoving him at Mullins. The cabin lurched again. Nobody stumbled. "When we fought the sea dragon, the Jolly Roger went sideways and upside-down. This isn't even a bad storm." He spread his arms in resigned frustration as he said, "I think you just don't like lasses!"

"The boatswain said it's you who doesn't," said Jack.

"Did the boatswain make an impassioned speech to this effect?" enquired Killian, although he was sure of the answer.

"Aye, the boatswain did the talking," said Mullins, "But Captain Flint knew what to do."

"Told us the truth about you."

"Made us see what's been missing all this time."

"Riding your brother's coattails into lieutenancy!"

"I won't serve a lad-loving, codfish of a Captain."

They closed in around him, those who had dropped their daggers drawing other weapons instead. Killian sighed and said, "No love lost here, lads, I assure you."

He spun, slashing the throats of five of the six men surrounding him. The fifth had ducked, so the sword blade scratched one eye.

"That…was easy," Killian said, as blood washed over the floor of the captain quarters. He stalked towards the survivor and said, nearly panting with fury, "Now you…run back to the others…and tell the rest of them…exactly how easy it was for me."

Jukes, the surviving mutineer, ran off with one hand over his damaged eye. As he passed the map room door, the maiden stepped out, and looked over to the Captain's cabin, where a blood-flecked Killian was stepping over a body—young Jack, or young Simons.

"I'd won them over too quickly when we started," Killian said. He laughed. "I shouldn't have expected not to lose them just as swiftly. What are you doing out of your room, lass?"

The maiden took a step back, towards the stairs, saying something that sounded as if she were attempting to soothe him while being quite afraid herself. She held her precious ring in both hands, where the stone in the center glowed with blue magic.

"A walk around the deck, then? This is fine weather for that." He took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his sleeve down, and offered his arm.

The maiden glanced at the dead bodies in the cabin, looked back at the Captain, said something in a cautious or perhaps sarcastic tone—but she took his arm, and they made their way up the stairs.