Drops of sweat beaded from the first mate's forehead and temples. Although the older of the two men had immediately tended to the injury as best he could, the wound seemed to have become infected. His protégé lay feverish before him and he could do nothing more than dab at his forehead with a wet cloth. He had been sitting anxiously at his sickbed for hours. He had not let the Amethyst's ship's doctor, if you wanted to call him that, near him, because he knew only too well from years of experience that this butcher only made things worse instead of better. He had to get Nathan ashore to a proper and, above all, trained doctor or he would not survive this, that became clearer with every passing minute. In his mind, not for the first time, he cursed the damn ship and its crew.
"Hang in there, Nathan. Don't give up. You've been through so much, don't let something like this take you down now!", he pleaded with the unconscious man.
Not the slightest reaction came from the one struggling with death. The moments of unconsciousness of the other had become longer and longer and now hours had passed since he had last uttered some confused words. The old helmsman didn't want to admit it, but he would probably soon have to say goodbye to him for the very last time. The world was cruel. Why had fate brought them together again only to have him linger at his deathbed for the last terrible hours?
A loud knock suddenly made him jolt around.
"Open up! The captain wants you, Scott," the ill-tempered gruff voice of a sailor echoed through the wood a moment later.
The elder glanced appraisingly at his charge before launching into a retort.
"The first mate is unable to see the captain at the moment. Give him the message," he called through the closed door without leaving his position.
"The hell I will! Get your ass on deck, Fargo, and haul Scott's while you're at it!" the pirate outside the mate's cabin refused to be brushed off. Fargo let out a strained groan as he finally rose from his seat and went to the locked door.
He assured himself that the door could not be pushed open by the other just like that if he now opened it a crack. Satisfied with his constellation, he opened a crack wide and, with all the authority he could muster, glowered at the pirate.
"We won't move a yard from here until we've docked somewhere. Tell him that!" he clarified.
"You can glare at me all you want, but my glass eye is enough for me. I don't need a lead bullet between my ribs too. If it's so important to you that we dock, then talk to the captain yourself," the pirate stood firm. He clearly had more respect for his former helmsman now that they were facing each other without the wood between them than he had a few minutes ago, but the fear of the captain's anger was immensely greater.
Fargo realised he was not going to get anywhere here. If the captain wanted to talk, he would have to give in willy-nilly. It was already bordering on a miracle that he still remained unharmed on board the Amethyst.
Without another word to the pirate, he pulled the door shut again. He let the insults that immediately came through the door bounce off him. For him, nothing was more important at the moment than keeping his protégé safe, and if he had to risk his own life for that, he would do it. He wrung out the rag he had been dabbing the other's forehead with regularly again and placed it on the other's glowing forehead.
"I'll be right back, Nathan," he assured him. His gaze lay anxiously on the motionless figure for a few more anxious seconds. He was about to turn away when he noticed a drop forming on the other's face. This time, however, it was clearly not a bead of sweat. The drop had collected in the corner of the other's eye and was now running down his cheek.
"Nathan...", Fargo faltered. He caught the tear with his index finger before it had fully left his face.
Fluttering, Nathan's eyelids opened and he turned his veiled gaze towards his mentor.
"Don't leave me... Stay here... I can't do this alone..." he stammered.
"I have to go, Nathan," Fargo spoke to him.
"I'm going to die... they're going to kill me..." he continued, his eyes fixed on the other in fear.
Fargo was confused. Who was Nathan afraid of. He was critically injured, yes, but no one on board was out for his life.
"Who are you so afraid of, Nathan?" he wanted to know.
"The pirates, they will come for me," he replied, and again tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
Now the other was completely confused, but then realised that Nathan probably couldn't tell the difference between a fever dream and reality. The old helmsman realised that it was not the first mate of the most feared pirate ship in these latitudes who lay there, but rather the frightened boy they had fished out of the sea so many years ago. He didn't really seem to be talking to him at the moment, but to a person from his memories.
"I'm so scared, Aiden," were Nathan's next words and proof of Fargo's theory. He didn't know any Aiden. At least, there was no one by that name in his time on Amethyst.
"Nathan..." he put in, but didn't know how to get him out of his illusion, or if he even could.
He decided not to try and just play along. Forcing him to realise that he was hallucinating would probably lead nowhere anyway. Maybe this Aiden could even give him more strength than he who had left him on this cursed ship.
Nathan's babbling became more and more definite and urgent. He seemed to be really afraid for this Aiden. He no longer noticed that it was actually he who was dying. Every now and then he cried out in anguish, grasping at nothing, and again and again tears ran down his cheeks. Finally, he even drifted into a language Fargo no longer understood. While Nathan's pronunciation of some words had often been difficult for his ears in their common language, he could no longer do anything with these words. Fargo knew that Nathan knew this language, he had always sung a song in this foreign tongue when he felt unobserved.
But this was the first time he had actually heard him speak these different, yet melodious words.
Nathan whispered them softly at first. Repeated the same short sequence over and over again. Gradually he became louder and, to Fargo's concern, more and more panicked, until finally he was screaming like a banshee. The only thing the old helmsman understood was the recurring name of the unknown sailor from Nathan's memories.
Quick-witted, he grabbed the other's arms and squeezed him soothingly into the sheets. Nathan struggled against it but could do nothing in his weakened state and finally calmed down.
Fargo remained by his side, waiting for the moment, and continued to speak soothingly to him. It wasn't long before Nathan finally seemed to have fallen asleep.
How long do you think he would be able to keep this up?
Fargo had to act, so with a heavy heart he left his protégé behind and set about clearing the door enough for him to squeeze through.
"Come to your senses after all?" the pirate still waiting in front of it asked mockingly as he pulled the door shut behind him again and locked it.
"Don't you have anything to work on?" he replied cuttingly and, without waiting for an answer, made his way to the captain's cabin.
On the way, he met a number of contemptuous and angry glances, but he didn't care. He hadn't expected it any other way, after all, he was a traitor in their eyes. It was a miracle that he could just walk through their ranks, as many of them would have been too eager to slit his throat with their sabres or send him over the edge. Why they hadn't done so long ago could only be down to one person on this ship and he would probably be exchanging words with that person shortly.
His heavy boots came to a stop in front of the nobly decorated double door, as he had done for much of his life. Memories of his time as helmsman of the Amethyst flashed before his inner eye. After a brief pause for reflection, he finally raised his hand and tapped vigorously against the paneled mahogany wood.
"Aye!" came a muffled sound from within, signalling that he was allowed to enter.
That the captain had not expected his appearance was only shown by a brief narrowing of his eyes, which would have gone unnoticed by anyone else who was more inexperienced in dealing with him. A certain satisfaction spread through him, as it showed that the other had thought his courage and self-confidence were inferior to his. He had always been a far too unpredictable and thus delicate variable in the captain's equation, as his escape had recently proved.
"Why are you standing here, traitor? And not my faithful first man?" the captain asked, mentally jabbing with each of his words.
"He is not in a position to stand here at the moment," he answered truthfully. Did the captain really not know how bad things were for the other? Surely the talk should have spread across the ship in no time at all? After all, the man sitting in front of him had his eyes and ears everywhere, as we all know.
"You didn't let our doctor see him, so he can't be too badly off," the captain said. It was crystal clear to both sides that he was only trying to provoke him, but he couldn't refrain from an angry retort.
"He would only make things worse! Your helmsman needs all his limbs to be of use to you," he attacked the arts of the ship's doctor as well as the captain himself.
"I actually thought you were smart enough to realise that the fish aren't nibbling on you just yet because I want them to," the captain threatened subliminally.
Fargo knew never to underestimate the other, this man had fooled him so many times and surprised him in the most hopeless situations by still keeping the upper hand. He could imagine only too well that the other one was holding more cards than he was openly showing and at least one of them would clearly concern him personally.
"Why is the Amethyst at anchor?" he tried to change the subject and get answers at the same time.
"Attentive as ever," the captain acquiesced and replied, "the wind has driven us into rugged climes after my first mate so abruptly resigned. Unless a capable helmsman takes over, we'll be stuck here," he explained with a smug smile on his lips.
The captain could not have made his intentions any clearer without articulating them directly. But everything in Fargo resisted taking the wheel of this ship in his hands again, and yet there was nothing else he could do if he wanted to get Nathan ashore.
"I'll get us out of here and to the nearest port, then you let me and the boy off the boat," he put the encouragement into the room.
Silence struck him. Then a low chuckle was heard. It quickly grew into a resounding derisive laugh.
Theatrically, the other wiped a non-existent tear of laughter from the corner of his eye before raising his voice again.
"You make demands? You?" the captain asked, fixing his counterpart with a probing gaze.
"How about another share of booty and supplies, for the masters?" he continued to mock the other's insolence.
Fargo saw at once that his emotionalism had caused him to make a tactically far-reaching mistake. Never should he have revealed his plans in such a way.
"Does he already know about your plans, Fargo?" the captain asked, violently scratching the old helmsman's confident demeanour. He hadn't had a chance to talk to him about it yet. Fargo had assumed that Nathan would follow him when he got the chance, but was that really the case? Why did the captain's pointed question only make him doubt? He knew the answer, but didn't want to admit it to himself. Too much time had passed. Nathan had become a grown man of his own. A man who made his own decisions. How could he assume that he would give up the life he had so painstakingly built?
"Are you sure he still trusts and follows you as blindly as he did then?" the captain poked further into the open wound.
Fargo knew exactly what the other wanted to achieve, but there was nothing he could do about it. Spasmodically he tried to hide the fact that he had already successfully sown doubt in him.
"I will take him to a doctor," he clarified, but knew that his statement did not sound half as convinced as he would have had Herne.
"When he is able to decide for himself again, I will ask him to come with me," he added as an afterthought.
"You don't need to ask that question. For my part, I know the answer all too well. I know who... his loyalty belongs to after all these years and believe me, no one can break this bond. Especially not you, who deceived him so much," the captain continued, shattering the last shred of hope.
"We'll see...", Fargo said and turned away to leave the cabin.
He had just taken the first step towards the double doors when one grazed him and flew on until it dug into the wood panelling and lingered there as a memorial, still vibrating slightly.
"Don't ever turn your back on me again," warned the gruff voice from the darkness behind him, "take the wheel and obey my orders or the next one hits."
Fargo's heart was pounding in his throat. Why did he keep taking such liberties with such a dangerous enemy?
"Aye," he said, then finally stepped out of the lion's den.
Hesitantly he wandered up the stairs to the steering wheel. He raised his hand but could not bring himself to grasp the old familiar wheel. What was he doing here? Nathan needed him. He was supposed to be at his side, not standing here, and yet, for better or worse, this was the only way he could help him.
When he saw the captain also step onto the deck, he finally gave himself a jerk and wrapped his fingers around the wood.
The look of victory on the ruthless pirate's face met him and triggered the question in him whether the other had really considered this possible outcome from the start and had therefore not immediately taken him out of the way with his pistol.
"What's the course, Fargo?" he asked, causing the entire crew to burst into mocking laughter with the phrase they had always exchanged in greeting earlier.
Fargo replied nothing, but punched in hard. The Amethyst immediately caught the wind in her sails and started moving so jerkily that a good dozen of the men lost their balance. Even the proud captain could only with great difficulty avoid the embarrassment of kneeling before his old helmsman.
He had to do this, but he would not be shown up. He knew only too well that it was anything but clever to incur the captain's wrath, but he had always tested his limits with him and the current situation actually seemed to have stretched them a little.
For the time being, he was only met with an evil glare, but when he was already sure to get away without comment, the captain once again demonstrated his cutting tongue.
"You should be more careful, I'm sure it's not very pleasant to be thrown around like that with a serious injury," he worded cleverly, immediately sparking guilt for the thoughtless affectation.
He could tell himself as many times as he wanted, but he would never have the upper hand in this game. Fargo complied and finally set a precise course for the nearest port.