Chapter 2

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The air was stale. Crisp saltiness hung heavy in the fresh Caribbean morning. The seamen were greedy for it, breathing in lungfuls of it once they had made sail, despite the fact that their bodies were already missing the perks of fresh ale, unspoiled food, and the warmth of a woman's (or perhaps even a man's) touch.

Unfortunately, they had squandered all their pretty winnings and it was time to gather more. Such was the endless, monotonous pattern of pirates.

Captain Kirkland's men were one of the few of Port Royal deportees that were actually glad to be rid of the city for the time being. None of them were men of preparation or commitment. Nothing interested them for very long, even the glamor of an extravagant hideaway. Nor could they be satisfied with being stationary for weeks on end, restless as their sorry carcasses were.

Now, even as they went about their duties as usual, none of them could ignore their newest addition…

Most of the crew could only see the prospect of future irritation with having a child on board. There were some reverent in the ways of superstition, who wholeheartedly believed that simply having Arthur aboard would bring inescapable bad fortune. Captain James Kirkland was not a man that believed in such things, for he rarely allowed such nonsense to be spoken aboard his Sulfur Queen.

Men of pride felt little concern for their fate. The sea was his personal trinket.

The blond child with heavy brows had been locked away in a small cabin—one that rarely saw any use. Apparently even the iron hearted Kirkland wished to avoid the consequences of simply shoving a boy into the crowded hold to sleep with his grimy crewmen. It was a mistake that he could avoid, then he would, the man had reasoned. Deep down, he really didn't trust anyone.

Last that the quartermaster checked in on the boy, he was in the same position that he had been in since the night before, huddled in the corner. The small candle provided had long since gone out and his food remained untouched, though it had apparently been a feast for the rats, if the nibbled mess on the plate was anything to judge by.

The quartermaster stared at the boy's head nestled between the tops of his knees, pale, scrawny arms wound tightly about his bent legs. He hadn't budged when the heavy door to his cabin screeched open, allowing in a pool of light. Even poor light in a place like this was intense.

Gingerly picking up the wooden square from the boy's side, the sturdy set man released a gruff sigh.

"And when will we be expecting you to join the world of the living, menino?" he muttered, his voice still a bit scratchy after an hour of yelling at new recruits. The men that they were replacing had greatly displeased the Captain and were no longer in service. The same would happen to them if they didn't shape up quickly.

This time, Arthur looked up, an empty green gaze finding the man's softer brown one. They stared at each other for several long seconds before either one of them spoke. The boy's voice was worn and broken from misuse.

"Why are you here… sir?" Arthur had noticed the man's fine clothing, the gold that embroidered his coat. Obviously, this was not just any crewmember.

The man stared at him for a moment before a ghost of a smile fractured his deceptively uninterested eyes.

"The others are far too busy to bother with someone like you, um pouco," he spoke. The amused corner of his mouth remained. Arthur frowned, thinking the man may have been mocking him.

"Aside from that, I have been ordered to see you. At this rate, however," the quartermaster waved at the barely touched food upon the wooden square. "I doubt that you will be with us much longer. Just another corpse to dump overboard."

Arthur grimaced, looking down at his feet once more. Conflict raged within, both wanting someone to talk to after being locked in a dark room for nearly two days and to keep his stubborn silence with anyone that had anything to do with the vile captain. Biting his cracked lip and tasting blood, he glanced back at the older dark-haired man; the swarthy brown eyes patiently waiting for his response. He looked kind enough… and he hadn't been anything but genial since Arthur had been locked away.

Unsure of what to say, but not wanting the man to leave, he asked. "Where are you from, sir?"

The quartermaster cocked his head slightly, his forehead crinkled. "It has been a long while since anyone has asked me that."

Arthur waited, unaware of his wide-eyed countenance, interest slowly growing. The man fought the urge to chuckle at the boy's expression.

"I was born in raised among the shipyards of Porto," the quartermaster's eyes grew distant, a soft glow of fondness warming them from within. "It was through my father and his esteemed position that I was able to learn the ways of shipbuilding. He always claimed that it was through our ancestors' that our sweat and blood branded the vessels used by the King and his fleet that initiated the Age of Discovery."

Arthur was silent for a moment, struck by a sudden spasm of envy for this man who seemed to have already experienced so much and traveled so far while still being relatively young. He was reluctant to admit that he had no idea where Porto was. Maps were not among the few possessions of the Cross Keys and the inn's patrons could never be bothered with the insignificant inquiries of a boy who was eager to know the sights and experiences of a well-versed traveler.

"That sounds exciting," Arthur finally managed to say. "Then, why are you here of all places? Living like a pirate?" His voice unintentionally grew lower, a near whisper, at the last word.

Despite seeing several of their kind in and out of the inn, the word still felt a bit forbidden on the tongue, like speaking a curse on sacred ground. The image of his father's face flickered in his thoughts—a man that was nothing more to him than cold stares and a trail of a distinct coppery scent.

The quartermaster's face hardened; the previously warm look in his eyes withdrawn.

"That is a long story—one that I don't tell often." A pause and two slow breaths. "Let me put it this way… The older you get, the more you realize how rotten this world truly is. And there may be times in which you find yourself becoming just as rotten as the things you hate the most."

Arthur felt his chest constrict. "The world's not all that bad… at least, I don't think so…"

"Which is befitting of a boy your age," the man remarked, a smile growing once more. He stood a bit straighter, as if to leave, his eyes again that playful gleam. "But don't allow me of all people to destroy such pleasant thoughts."

Arthur's arms tightened against his chest and his expression soured. "I'm eleven," he muttered. He tried to ignore how petulant that sounded. The amused lines in the quartermaster's face deepened.

"Still just a boy," he smiled.

Arthur glared, but didn't say anything further to defend himself. Instead, his thoughts diverged and he blurted the first question that came to mind. "What do they call you, sir?"

"I can give you better than that, little master," the man continued to smile as he tipped his hat, a somewhat mocking flourish gesture of a respectable gentleman. Arthur decided right then and there that he liked him. He fought hard to control the smile at the corner of his lips, the first bubble of genuine amusement that he had felt in what seemed like ages.

"My real name is Demetrio Rodrigues Cabrilho," he stated quietly, a sudden sadness now weighing on his smile. "These men call me Porto—as idiotic as that sounds. Many don't see past my birthplace."

Arthur repeated the foreign syllables in his thoughts, attempting to commit it to memory. After a moment of silence when he felt satisfied enough with his efforts, Arthur peered back at the man. "I won't forget, Cabrilho… sir."

In an instant, he felt a calloused hand ruffle his hair. The gesture was so quick and unsuspectingly affectionate; Arthur's face felt like it was bathed in a fever as embarrassment twisted his stomach.

"I would call you Kirkland, but I don't believe that you're quite like your father enough to be called by his namesake," Cabrilho chuckled.

Although Arthur could hear the dryness in his words, he couldn't help the hot retort, ready and bursting at his tongue in that instant. "He's not my father..."

"No?" Cabrilho's face darkened further with his shaded humor. "Isn't he the one that spilled into your mother all those years ago?" Another laugh.

Arthur's face reddened quickly. Although his ears were used to dirty humor being spread within the walls of the brothel, these pirates were shameless. Again he reiterated his former words.

"That doesn't make him my father. Fathers don't leave for eleven years and then just take you away. He's just a man who… who…" He paused, unsure of what label to put over him.

"…A man who fucked your mother?" Cabrilho offered with a careless curve of the mouth.

The boy gave him a hard look before resting his chin over his knees, huddling once again into the same position as before.

"Menino…"

Arthur moved his shoulder away from the outstretched hand. Cabrilho relented by withdrawing it, staying where he was, warm brown eyes watching.

"Why do you call me that? What does that even mean?" Arthur mumbled, his eyes following a seemingly interesting pattern in the floorboards.

"I call you that because you are a child."

Arthur's first instinct was to argue with him, but the way he said it didn't sound demeaning, probably a bit sad, like when he told him what his real name was—for something long forgotten and for something that he may never have again. Arthur wondered about that, but wasn't going to ask. He was resolved to find out for himself when he grew to be as old as Cabrilho.

Just then, another man burst through the doorway, his face red and shiny with sweat. "Porto! The Captain needs you. We're 'bout to do negotiatin' with the blue bastards. La Vigilente is almost here."

Cabrilho sighed before pulling down on the brim of his hat, giving Arthur a subtle wink. "Duty calls. Even if it's the unsavory sort."

The man at the door didn't move, his small eyes trained on Arthur. "He's comin', too."

"What for?" Cabrilho asked offhandedly, though Arthur could see the strain behind his expression. Obviously, it was usually a bad thing to bring prisoners while trading with others.

The other man merely shrugged, however. "Captain said so."

"Very well. Looks like your leash just got a little longer, menino," Cabrilho remarked, that odd expression quickly replaced with one of duty that he seemed to wear around his crew, hardened and as crusty as the callouses across their fingers.

Green eyes glared at the both of them before he steadied himself shakily—being hungry and having yet to acquire sea legs did little to help him along. "I'm coming," he muttered.

Arthur stood carefully, still not able to obtain proper sea legs after having been stashed away in the dark. He grasped at the slimy, wooden walls for balance, the two men watching him with rather amused expressions. Cabrilho ordered the doughy man to go on ahead while he made sure that the boy followed him. As soon as the crew member left, Arthur pushed away from the wall and tried walking unsteadily, a fiercely determined expression plastered over his features.

"You'll get used to it well enough soon," the quartermaster commented, still that ever present amused smile curling his lips.

After a few pauses where the ship rocked a little too much for Arthur's liking, with Cabrilho standing next to him, as still and steady as if he were born on a rocking ship. As soon as they entered the deck, the wide-open spaces, the deep blue sky matched with the blinding sun, Arthur had to close his eyes for a moment to adjust his vision as well.

It was absolute chaos on the deck with everyone doing something, yelling obscenities, and the large, burly captain standing at the center of it, garbed in the bright colors and flourish of a pirate. Arthur unknowingly drew closer to the quartermaster, behind his billowing coat, as a child would hide behind their mother's skirts. Cabrilho didn't say a word about it, simply moving forward. Arthur took the opportunity to glance over at the grand ship that was alongside theirs, connected by ropes and walkways. Men were likewise bustling about their deck, shouting things that sounded like complete gibberish to Arthur's ears, a language that was flowing and throaty.

When Captain Kirkland's piercing gaze caught the outline of Arthur alongside Cabrilho, he scowled deeply. "It looks like you've found a starving, drowned ship rat, Porto. That's not what I asked for."

There was laughter among the crewmembers that caught drift of the Captain's words. Arthur felt a fierce heat cling to his face and he suddenly became more aware of how loosely his clothes hung about his thin frame.

"The boy has refused to eat for the past few days," the quartermaster responded with that tight expression of duty once more as he found the captain's eyes.

The copper-bearded captain's gaze burned with a different sort of fury, perhaps similar to when his orders had been defied, but this time it was with his own child. He stepped forward and the quartermaster stepped aside, leaving Arthur open and vulnerable in the captain's wake. Arthur trembled when he felt the Captain's cold fingers grasp at his chin and fiercely pulled his face up toward his.

"I will not see your feeble mother in you, boy." His voice wasn't raised, but the fierce and almost brittle way in that he'd said those words made it seem like he should be screaming his lungs out. Arthur snarled, pulling his face out of the Captain's grasp, those identical green eyes burning at him.

He knew better than to say anything in response, despite how much he wanted to call that man every dirty word he knew.

The captain seemed a little more sated by Arthur's reaction and the angry scowl tempered into a simple frown. "Today, I'm bringing you with me to witness filth of a different sort. You will be seen, but not heard. But I want you to see and hear everything around you, understood?"

There was a long pause and Arthur knew that he had to respond, lest he wanted the intimidating giant of a man to do something unfathomably worse than any of his own imaginings. Arthur gave a curt nod, lips tightening and those eyes still burning as he dared to look up at Captain Kirkland.

With this boldness, brimming barely beneath the surface, the Captain gave him a grimace of a smile. "You're my blood. Just as rotten. If not now, then you will be."

And with the heavy sound of his boot, he turned to make his way over to the other ship with a group of crewmembers. Cabrilho glanced down at Arthur and motioned for him to follow closely after him. The boy held his chin up high despite the trembling residing somewhere in his chest.

Once he set food on the foreign ship, he felt as if he'd stepped into a foreign piece of the world. The language, both harsh and soft, being spoken around them, along with the outlandish fashions worn by the foreign men. The only figures on the other ship that caught Arthur's attention was a lavishly dressed man with a large, plumed hat, an arrogant countenance plastered thickly across his face that only a captain with quite a bit of power within his grasp would wear. Or so Arthur assumed.

The other was off a younger man standing to the side, the feeling of his gaze intent enough to draw Arthur's own eyes for that brief moment. Noticing the youth in his features, he could tell that the other was somewhere between being a child and a man, a period of transition and hormones. The teenager sported wavy golden hair tied back, and his eyes a calm blue, his features delicate. If not for the scruffy hair on his chin. He looked more like a girl than a young man, if Arthur were to be perfectly honest. Even though they were stained from sweat and grime, his clothes were a touch finer than a crewmember, enough so that Arthur wondered what his status was on the La Vigilante.

And upon noticing that he'd captured Arthur's gaze for that brief moment, a sly smile tugged at the young man's lips. That reaction jerked Arthur's eyes away from his, warmth once more clinging to his skin.

His father wore a tight smile as he greeted the other captain in a language that Arthur could now decipher as French from his limited exposure to the world at Cross Keys, with a hint of stiffness after each elongated vowel. He wasn't sure if he was more infuriated that he couldn't understand or relieved that he wouldn't be forced to delve into whatever it was that his father was trying to accomplish with the other captain. Either way, it didn't seem to matter as Captain Kirkland grasped at the other man's shoulder, a stiff friendship of convenience perhaps, and led them into the other captain's own cabin.

Arthur shuffled, fixing the bottom of a shirt he knew was wrinkled and dirtied beyond hope.

"You look lost, lapin," a voice, silky and humoured, spoke close to his ear, heavy in the same thick accent.

Arthur felt his pulse lurch as he turned to meet the same young man, or rather, not-yet-a-man that he'd noticed before, now standing next to him. The man's eyes similarly caught on him when Arthur turned to face him, and no sooner were the man's fingers at his chin, angling his face to view it better.

"And where did they snatch you from, hm? A pretty little thing, if not for the monstrous brows. Are you here for their pleasure? Can't have a woman on board, can they?" he seemed to tut haughtily at that. "Silly English superstitions."

Arthur's cheeks burned at the man's theories and he roughly swatted the man's hand away, his eyes now the bright shade of anger.

"Piss off," he spat.

Unfortunately, that didn't have the desired effect. The man laughed, almost melodically, earning a heavy glare from Arthur.

"You're a feisty one. A pity you're not a bit older—otherwise, I'd be curious for a taste, myself."

"If you ever touch me again, I'll run you through quicker than you can make a sound," Arthur retorted, not caring if he looked like a little waif with big words, but also not liking the direction this was going in, having already seen how pirates were whenever a potential conquest caught their eyes.

"And how do you intend to do that without a weapon, mon râleur?" The man teased, a certain amused sheen to his eyes now. "I'm guessing that this won't be the last time we'll meet. And I'm also going to wager that this won't be the last time that I touch you."

Arthur just scowled at that, since words didn't seem to deter the French idiot.

"For future reference, if you ever want to send a hired knave after me once you acquire the means, the name is Francis. Bonnefoy if you want the full name, choupinette. It might be easier to track me down with it." He winked in a subtle manner.

The longer Arthur stood in silence, watching the Captain's quarters for any sign of what was going on, the more his curiosity burned. And since Francis seemed to be the only one talking to him at this point, Arthur decided to carve some use out of him.

"So… do you know what's going on?" he mumbled.

Francis glanced over at him, and the corner of his mouth rose. "A name. Give me a name and I'll give you details."

Arthur frowned at that, but he decided to relent. The name of a nobody didn't have much value. "Just Arthur…"

"Well, Just Arthur," Francis responded with that lazy smile once more. "My Captain is currently selling your Captain some valuable information about a certain port that your Captain is hoping to ravage."

"Which port?" Arthur's attention perked at that, his heart sinking a little that he probably was going to witness Kirkland's violence in the near future. He'd heard stories that fed into the man's notoriety, and he never once wanted to personally witness any of those stories.

Francis seemed to be debating something as he turned his gaze toward Arthur once more. And he seemed to come to a decision not too long after, turning his attention back to the ship as he leaned his elbows along the wooden edge.

"I heard that it was Charles Town. It's a far too popular target if you ask me… but something tells me that your Captain has something special in mind there. If anything, Kirkland is never predictable, and he never makes stupid decisions."

Arthur loathed the tone of admiration in Francis's voice, only because he didn't think that the man was deserving of any measure of admiration. He was the slimy filth that lined the bottom of ships. However, for now, he swallowed his contempt and asked another question. "Do you know of anything in Charles Town that he might be after?"

Francis paused, his eyes still forward, his voice lowered. "I hear that he has a personal vendetta against a prominent family there. A member of the council of the Province of Carolina, to be exact. I think it's Jones. Something Jones, from what I've heard."

And Francis's eyes seemed to sparkle in that special, wicked way that followed a pirate whenever they were thinking something devious. "A lofty goal to be targeting a respectable councilman like that. Kirkland doesn't aim low, that's for sure."

"Because he's a bleeding knave who thinks that he has the world at his feet," Arthur hissed, that trapped anger heating over once more.

"Doesn't he?" Francis seemed to ask a genuine question, although the twist of a smile over his lips tells him that he already knows the answer. And Arthur couldn't respond. Because, for all intents and purposes, Captain Kirkland did have the world on its hands and knees. At least this part of the world. There was no law. No governance at sea. He was free to command it how he wished. Here, he has power.

And some of the anger seemed to melt away, or at least made room for other thoughts as Arthur pondered that idea.

It wasn't long before the meeting seemed to be over. Captain Kirkland moved to make his way back over onto the deck of the Sulphur Queen. And curiously, the French Captain followed him with other Frenchmen that wore heavily gilded coats. Arthur and Francis also made his way over after a few other crewmen, briefly noticing Cabrilho standing close to Kirkland. When the two captains unnervingly turned to make their way over to where Arthur and Francis were standing off to the side, Arthur tried his hardest to stay where he was while Francis seemed to stand a bit straighter.

"This is my son, Arthur. From now on, he shall be accompanying me closely," Kirkland remarked rather proudly to the French Captain who briefly gave Arthur some formal-sounding greeting that he couldn't understand. Arthur's gaze didn't waver from the cooper-bearded man, not caring if he was being rude.

"You ask me how I'll remain immortal?" James Kirkland's laughter seemed to cut through the air, pulling Arthur close by the shoulders. "My legacy will live on through him. This is my immortality. Wait and see."

As much as Arthur wanted to twist away from the heavy hands over his shoulders, he couldn't move an inch, his feet feeling plastered heavily to the boards of the ship. The French Captain regarded him rather flatly, a hint of pompous amusement along his thin lips.

"Indeed. We shall see."

It was the only words Arthur really retained from the Frenchman before he made his way back onto his ship, shouting orders in his native language which caused his crew to regroup. Francis followed as quickly as the others, giving Arthur one last glance.

Sure enough, once they made way, the French vessel now quickly becoming a speck fast approaching the faded horizon, Arthur heard the Captain shout their destination with a brutal sort of satisfaction.

Charles Town.

The French bastard was right, Arthur would give him that. They were heading into the colonies.

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