The Betrayed Marionette
~.~.~
In these midnight hours, men ran amok. Almost certainly it was understandable, for here, far from the light of civilisation; from glory; from the righteous, blazing glare of the sun itself the night would devour them whole. In the night they roamed unchecked. Under cover of darkness no evil deed would ever see the light of day - no man would never meet his just retribution, for, as the old mantra reminds us, dead men tell no tales.
And so in these, the darkest hours, men would teeter on the edge - would blindly walk down paths well-trodden by countless, sordid souls alike. With trembling, shaky steps; the fall of their feet obscured in the gloom they went and, though twisted and turned about in the dark, these souls would grow bold - accustomed to their lightless world - and there they'd test their feet. Running. Dancing. Jogging and jigging with reckless abandon down their chosen road, blissfully unaware that with every step they staggered ever closer to the gaping chasm at their feet. The chasm that swallowed the sea; that swallowed the lingering light; the earth itself unhinging its jaws and widened and gaped and swelled at the coming of night, devouring those whose minds had been lost; who had strayed too close to oblivion.
Fortune had seen the wild thrill of the night drive even the most seaworthy to despair. He had seen the rise and fall of titans; seen the spirit of smoke and the spill of blood left lingering in their wake; he had watched them ascend to glory and topple headfirst into hell, dragged down, down, down under the weight of their own inflated sense of self.
These men… How pitiful, he thought. How reckless. How utterly incompetent, he mused as he watched their shadows shift beneath the waves, for he had tested those waters on far more accursed nights than these. He had learned to keep his feet. He had perfected his footwork. To him, the stroll beside the brink was but a leisurely waltz and there now he could stand and stare into the abyss itself with his own two eyes and never fear the mighty fall that awaited beneath him. He and his ship and all who sailed her would boldly voyage on the brink and not a day went by that Fortune was not struck by awe at the sight of his galleon. No other craft he knew could stay as true to her Captain as she. No other craft could blend in wholly against this absence of light.
But, after all these years, Fortune knew better than any that the Dark Fortune - in all her glory! - was different.
The Dark Fortune was alive.
At least, that's what her Captain said, though in truth, perhaps every man cast adrift on this endless sea would at one time or another proclaim their ships to be as sentient as they.
But the Dark Fortune was not like those other ships. No, not in the slightest. The Dark Fortune was no mere bulk of brawn and boards and bundles of line.
There, as the clock chimed twelve in the Captain's cabin, Fortune sat beside the window and ran his hand across the wall.
There… He felt her pulse. He heard her sigh. His forehead pressed against the cool, rippled glass, Fortune marvelled at the likeness she shared with he, for she breathed with the wind and danced across the tide like any other, but he felt it - something intangible; something wholly different. Her structure was weighted with memory. Her figurehead grimaced as she cut through the sea. Her hull was as dark the workings of his minds and with every creak; every groan she beat in time to his own blackened heart;
Thump, thump…
Thump, thump…
It was continuous. Everlasting. In the catch of the sails and the ringing of bells and the lurch of the capstan she played;
Thump, thump!
Thump, thump!
Thump, thump!
Furious. Firm. Fixated on her end she continued on and there in his cabin her Captain would revel in the rhythm of their hearts as one - as some terrible entity in itself - and low and tormented he would mutter, in time with the tap of his boot, to a tune of his own imagining - giving thought and rhyme where she could not;
"Fifteen men o' the whole ship's list…
Dead an' be damned an' the rest gone whist…"
'Whip! Whip!' went the wind in the sails. 'Clang! Clang!' rang the beating of iron. Huffing and puffing and grunting aloud the men weathered on, falling in line as the cogs of a well-oiled contraption and blissfully ignorant they trod through the night; clueless; unaware that they only added to the steady beat that yards away their Captain chanted, slipping into shadow, wrapped wholly in the vicarious delight of his own melody, for in his mind he saw his heart's desire play before him as clear as day -
"Fifteen men of 'em stiff an' stark,
Ten o' the crew had the Murder Mark,
'Twere a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead,
Or a yawning hole in a battered head,
An' the scuppers glut with a rottin' redー"
Oh yes… That was his fantasy, he thought as the still-beating galleon filled in the sound of his silence. That was his twisted dream - his self-indulgent vision set in some distant reality where the night tasted of ash and iron and the flicker of fire blazed hot on his chin; where the darkness encompassed all; where the planks beneath his feet shone slick and crimson and the white diamond above his head fettered feebly in the dying wind, charred and tattered beyond all recognition.
Oh… Fortune could just see it now… He could just feel the heat of the flames; smell the blood in the air as he boarded the still-smoking shell of the Shining Black, treading from bow to stern, his chest swelling with a sickening sense of pride as he took in the sight of his handiwork, yet back in his cabin - in that dark, dismal place where few other dreams dwelt - Fortune's grip on this world was slipping. His breath was shuddering. His knuckles whitened, fingers opening and closing uselessly around the arm of his chair as if hoping to feel the cool reassurance of his blade in his hand. He saw it in his head, after all. He saw it glitter under golden embers; watched it neatly clove the lock from the cabin door at the end of the corridor. He sneered and snarled in sadistic victory as the beat wore on - over and over and over again;
'Thump! Thump!'
'Thump Thump!'
"More was seen through the stern light screen…"
He yanked the broken padlock from its chain and threw it aside, kicked the doors open with a bloodstained boot -
"Chartin's no doubt where a woman had been…"
A broken chair. A toppled desk. All manner of chests and drawers and fallen pieces of furniture littered his path - an improvised barricade that had proved utterly futile - when Fortune saw it. Amongst the slivers of parchment and the rags of cloth, before the soot-stained remnants of a once glittering, golden skirt, he espied the shadow behind the bedframe -
"A flimsy shift on a bunker cot…"
Rip back the drapes! Toss up the sheets! Fortune cast the curtain aside and threw back his head and there the man laughed - laughed loud and free until the lanterns shook and the candles flickered and at that image of bloodied pink Fortune would sing;
"And a think dirk slot through the bosom spot!
An' the lace stiff dry in a purplish blot!
Oh, was she a wench, or some shuddering maid?
That bared the knife? That took the blade!"
His chair fell back with a clatter, for now Fortune stood and as his vision faded he clung to the thought - grasped forever onto that dream and all it promised! Onto the sight of their pitiful flag torn in the breeze! The sight of his enemies felled! He clung with all his might to the image of Her Highness' face frozen in the fear of her final stand, her eyes unseeing, that glint of silver shining wickedly in the space between her ribs! O! To live amongst this desolation, he thought!
"O!" he cried, though to the men on his ship or the men in his dreams, none could tell;
"Heave 'em over an' out o' sight!
With a mighty heave-ho an' a fare you well!
An' a sudden plunge in the sudden swell!
Ten fathoms deep on the road to HELL-!"
A crash. The shatter of glass. The spray of rum and the beating of far-off thunder joined his chorus and when the moon had wholly vanished - when the clouds rolled in and the wind grew stronger still - it was then that, finally, Fortune fell. Fortune there found himself at once beyond the point of no return, slipping bodily from the very edge that he had strolled upon for so many years, vanishing into the depths of the abyss, for when the ink-black raven returned to him with its latest tidings his rage at last encompassed all else. His face was like thunder. The fury in his eyes was like the recoiling of the sea. His knuckles shone white in the dark of the Captain's cabin as he tore up the scroll, burst from his cabin and onto the deck and hollered;
"KAZUOMI!
The Dark Fortune shuddered. The planks shivered upon the surface of the deck and, as the shadow of the sails fell across their backs, the crew stilled. The rhythm - the beating of the Dark Fortune's heart had stopped, for, though each and every soul was dastardly enough as to deserve a place on this craft, their Captain's fury was beyond comparison. But Fortune was too bound by his unbridled rage to pay them any heed. His eyes had grown dark. His face had caved. He clenched his fists and to his feet there fell, in perfect pieces, the remnants of the ruined wanted poster. Of Ikuto's face. Of the so-called 'Captain' of the Shining Black...
Above their heads, the raven swooped against the sky and cawed obnoxiously as it found a space to settle in the yardarms. With that, the spell of bewilderment upon its master's head was broken.
"Coward!" Fortune cursed aloud. "Kazuomi..! Kazuomi you COWARD!"
What… What was Kazuomi playing at?
Did he think he could stay his sentence? Did that blundering, blithering wretch think he could throw him off his tail with… With this?!
By this point Fortune was panting, his features contorted, his eyes blazing with the heat of his ire;
"I want him… Kazuomi… Kazuomi an' his wretched royal whore!"
When finally he had stopped quaking, Fortune spat once upon the torn pieces of the poster and kicked them towards the nearest shiphand.
"Send tidings!" he snapped. "Send word! We must find them!"
The man did not reply. At first enraged, Fortune turned on him and watched aghast as the man's face drained of colour. To his surprise, several others were now backing away from him - stepping aside as if he carried the plague…
Ah… That was it. The scoundrel was draped in a soldier's coat - a naval man's uniform. The King's colours stood stark against the gloom in a blazing splash of crimson and blue; in flecks of gold and silver embroidery and the weather-worn medals that he'd had a mind to loot himself when they'd sunk that small-time schooner just days ago. And, in any other situation, Fortune might have felt his rage return. He might've let it light anew as a terrible fire in the depths of his heart. He might have watched the young pirate's face pale and revelled in the shake of his boots as he drew forth his rapier and descended upon the boy as a tidal wave bears down on the shore.
But Fortune did not.
On the contrary… This Captain felt perhaps the most daring notion take hold in his heart. And he knew then that this endeavour of his would require some rather… Risky tactics if he was to succeed.
"The fleets…"
It was right there… Staring him in the face this entire time. And yet he had been too blind to see it.
"His Majesty's fleets…"
The idea dawned upon him - blooming into flower as a new-sprung bud of May - and, as he watched it gain clarity in his mind, a dastardly, decrepit grin broke out across his face.
After all…
"Follow them..!"
...What better way to hunt a fox, Fortune thought, than to follow the dogs?
And, with a growl;
"Find them."
And so, once more, the harbinger took flight.
~.~.~
When Ikuto awoke the following day, stirred gently back to life under the continual to-and-fro of the stern, he was unusually calm. Or, at least, as calm as a person could be on finding their whole world dark and distorted.
Ikuto heard himself groan. He smelt the ever-present tang of salt and spray and at first he was half-convinced that he'd just blacked out for a minute or so - that on opening his eyes he'd find himself still stood swaying beside the gangway, watching his men as they scurried hastily to work under the light of the moon and glancing back to watch the flickering lights of the mainland retreating. Yet soon he realised… There was no moon; no activity nor deck beneath his feet and Ikuto woke, roused at once from his heavy slumber, utterly confused and desperately disoriented. He tried to sit and found that he was in bed. His bed. He could just make out the shapes and shadows of a room - of his cabin - soaked in a soft light. It seemed long past morning, but, groggy and bleary-eyed, this world was too much of a mess for him to comprehend. He slumped back down onto the sheets, dropping like a weight, and gladly shut his eyes again.
Really, Ikuto didn't think he could even sit up again if he tried. Now that he was awake, his entire body was groaning in protest. It was if there was a lag on his brain; as if the weight of the sea were upon his shoulders, pinning him back to the sheets. His breathing was heavy; he was sweating; Ikuto glanced back down and noticed that he was still wearing the same, stifling clothes from the night before. Well, that explained the heat, he guessed, but… As for the rest of it..?
Ikuto scoured his memory, at first with no success, but, the longer he lay there, slowly things started to make sense. Gradually his thoughts formed clearer. Of course… He'd only been on-deck for maybe an hour or so before being commanded into his cabin for the night. Ikuto remembered that now - Utau was fierce when she needed to be, but he couldn't exactly have refuted her if he'd tried. The fact that he could barely remember most of the previous day spoke for itself and besides, the hammering in his head was unbearable. He groaned aloud as a streak of sunlight broke over the blue of the sea, beamed through the dappled windows and settled upon his face. The pain surfaced like a flare and sent furious sparks behind his eyelids. He tried to rub his temples to ease his discomfort, but was only alarmed to find his skin taut and sticky, the reek of iron suddenly strong in the air. Ikuto examined the blood on his palm through squinted eyes, his forehead throbbing, but, for the life of him, he couldn't remember how it got there.
As it turned out, he didn't have to ponder this for very long. It was perhaps only ten minutes or so before the latch of the door slid open, shattering the still silence, and Ikuto's foggy vision caught a welcome splash of pink.
"Do my eyes deceive me?" Ikuto managed a crooked smirk, watching that shade of rose and the glitter of gold grow clearer and more defined as she walked towards him. "Or has Her Highness chosen to grace me with her presence?"
He barely noticed the tension in her shoulders or the tight grip on the tray in her hands, but there was a definite reluctance in Amu's voice as she set the tray down beside the bed and gently helped as he tried to sit up again. "Please…" Amu muttered. "'Her Highness' would rather not be hauling her Captain's sorry ass out of bed, but here we are. Sit up."
She was grumbling, but Ikuto didn't think he could hear any real malice in her tone, so he just relaxed and tried to face her with as much dignity as he might have left. "You know, Amu, you've been the one telling me to knock for all these months." He teased. And, when she looked back at him curiously; "Bold of you, princess, to enter your Captain's cabin without warning."
Amu's quizzical expression was quickly replaced by one of exasperation. "Well maybe you deserve it! You barge into my quarters all the time!" she snapped, perhaps more fiercely than she meant to, but Ikuto noticed the grey circles beneath her eyes and the rough, chewed edge of her lip and wondered whether or not she'd been the one forced to haul his ass into bed the night before as well. "Honestly," she went on; "a ladies' modesty is more than you know."
Ikuto didn't think he heard such certainty in her voice at that, but he didn't mention it. Besides, Amu seemed just about done with this conversation. She took up the tray which carried a meagre sort of breakfast and a basin of water and, whilst he was still trying to think of something suitable to say, she soaked a rag of cloth, gesturing for him to turn his head, and winced as she brushed back his hair to examine the head wound underneath. Ikuto took the pain without fuss, tilting his head to the side as Amu sponged the thick, dark mess off the side of his face. Though, now that he thought about it, perhaps he was too busy wondering why his entire body felt covered in bruises or why his shirt was so terribly caked in patches of dry, brittle bloodstains. He frowned with difficulty, barely grimacing as a trickle of water ran down the back of his neck and along his spine, and glanced over at the woman beside him.
"What in the hell happened?"
Instantly Amu stopped. Bright honey-coloured eyes landed firmly upon him. He searched them closely for any hint of emotion, but, frustratingly, he found none. They remained unreadable - distant - as she tilted her head to the side and murmured; "You don't remember?"
There was a heavy pause - a good few seconds of uneasy eye-contact as the two remained locked in varying states of confusion. Amu watched intently as Ikuto examined his hazy memories, her hand still poised and pressed against his bleeding forehead.
"You remember getting back?" she asked. "To the ship, I mean?"
Ikuto hesitated. "Some of it." he said truthfully. He remembered the moment he'd set foot on-deck at least, but it was almost as though he had jumped through time - skipped straight from there to here in an instant. "Well, we made it to the dock, didn't we?" he said, unusually unfazed by his lack of recall. Now that most of his skin was free of blood he thought he could smell liquor and perhaps the faintest traces of gunpowder and pipesmoke. It seemed to shift as in clouds from his clothes with every movement, but, even in his daze, he didn't think he felt hungover…
Which then only offered one solution;
"Did we get into a gunfight?"
Quickly something passed over Amu's face and Ikuto knew that he'd been right. It was something close to exasperation - something weary and worn-down that he recognised in an instant. He chuckled lightly, leaning back against the headboard and grabbing a dry cloth to mop his face with.
"Of course. Nothing quite like an almighty ruckus to start off a voyage."
Amu laughed somewhat drily. "You start off every voyage like this?" And she shook her head, wringing out her rag into the basin. "You ought to warn me next time, would you? Honestly, Ikuto, here I am nursing the Captain like an infant!"
A low chuckle left his throat at that and he swept his eyes up and down her figure - from the hem of her skirt to the tight fit of her bodice and all the way to the pink tinge of her cheeks, flushed in barely-suppressed annoyance, and the sight was perhaps so adorable that he couldn't resist himself. He pouted, a mischievous glint alight in his eyes, and as soon as he could sit on the edge of the bed without falling back down she was his - his arms wrapped round her waist; his cheek nuzzled into the curve of her side. He purred;
"Then nurse me."
Ikuto took great pleasure in the way her breath caught at those words. He felt it - felt the sharp inhale swell beneath her ribs; felt the tension in her frame and the heat rush through her skin as he held her tight in his arms. She just seemed to fit so perfectly; flush against his front, nestled into the crook of his arm. He glanced up once to flash a cheeky grin at her and saw that her cheeks were scarlet…
And then something, somewhere deep in the back of his memory stirred.
Ikuto tasted rum. He felt the gentle brush of the breeze of his face - smelt the evening air; the smoke; he smelt lavender and the fresh, fragrant air that seemed to linger about her presence. His cheeks were flushed. His heart was hammering-
"Captain…"
A giggle. A sly smirk. And there... Clearer now... Amu's voice echoed in his mind, stirred his senses - a single, subtle moment of clarity about the gloom. Ikuto heard himself chuckle; heard her breath; the beating of her heart…
"Are you trying to get me drunk?"
And then the illusion was shattered. Ikuto didn't even see it coming until he'd already been backhanded across the face. He let out a muffled groan, his head wound throbbing with renewed passion, and slunk back down onto the bedsheets in defeat.
"At least leave me to suffer in peace."
Amu looked sympathetically down at him. "Sorry, ruffian," she mumbled, absently stroking his hair so soothingly that he could've gone back to sleep again. At least she had the decency to look regretful, he thought. "It's a nasty concussion, but you look like you're doing fine. Especially if you can still harass me, at least. You needed to be sober and risen by dawn, but I couldn't get you to stir..."
"I am sober." Ikuto said. "Was I not?"
Amu's inattentive stroking stopped dead. Ikuto cracked open one lazy eye and saw her face unreadable.
"What?"
As one drawn from deep in thought, Amu startled, a blossom of pink blooming across her pale cheeks. She withdrew her hand and averted her gaze. "N-Nothing." she replied, quite unconvincingly, Ikuto had to add, but she left no room for argument. "Now come on! I'm not coming to get you again!"
Ikuto just grumbled incoherently in response. He didn't really want to move. Not when he'd started to feel his persistent headache cowering away at Amu's touch, but in the end he sighed. He was the Captain, after all. He had to make an effort, concussion or not. It was the least he could do for her efforts this morning.
Ikuto resigned himself to a long, arduous day's work of at least trying to look together on-deck. He eased himself to his feet with Amu's aid and somehow managed to keep his balance even when the room seemed to spin beneath him. She passed him a goblet of water (oh, how he would miss the taste of such fresh stuff once it was gone) and watched as he forced down a piece of hardtack (which was thankfully light on his stomach). He watched her out of the corner of his eye curiously as he slowly ate, scrutinising the flush of her cheeks and wondering why he felt as though he was missing something important, but there was no time to think about it. Not when she was shoving him toward the dresser and demanding he make himself presentable. Ikuto couldn't complain. Something about the persistent stench of blood and booze was starting to make his insides turn. He grabbed a fresh shirt and trousers, chuckling cheekily as he watched Amu turn away, splashed his face with the last of the water to wake himself up and shrugged on his regular, blue coat before going out to face the day.
The sun was unnaturally and invasively bright that morning - brighter even than it had seemed bearing down on him through his cabin windows - but Ikuto was positive to at least make it to the quarterdeck without having to turn around and collapse back into bed again. The smell of the salt in the air seemed to rouse him though and, even if his vision was still occasionally shifting, the uneasy motion of the ship on the waves seemed to balance the effect out. As the deck rose and fell beneath him, Ikuto almost felt grounded. Amu even left him alone after a while and went to aid Yaya down below once she was sure he wasn't about to faceplant the planks and so Ikuto stood, slowly coming back into himself, and surveyed his crew from above.
There were relatively few men on-deck for the time of day, though most of them were probably just going down to collect their midday rations from the galley. Still, a lot of them looked pretty green in the face and the Captain almost laughed to himself. Now that he thought more carefully, he thought he recalled a lot of their faces in that tavern before all hell broke loose. For a moment he wondered with a jolt of horror whether they had all in fact made it back to the ship, but he quickly dismissed the thought. His men were too light and jovial for that to have been the case. He found Kukai beside the helmsman not too long after and, from what he'd heard, there'd been more than a few swords exchanged that night. One man had apparently been shot, so Kukai said, but upon seeing Ikuto's appalled expression, the young pirate just laughed aloud and said;
"Nah, don't worry, Cap'n! It was only him with the wooden arm. Blasted right outta it's holdin's, it did. He won't be climbin' anythin' for a while, I tell ya!"
And, true to his word, Ikuto glanced down from the bulwark and saw the elderly man-of-fortune himself sat upon a barrel, grumbling to himself and trying to whittle down a piece of wood into a makeshift prosthetic. He laughed out of sheer relief.
"Pretty lucky, eh?" Kukai said lightly. "Any longer an' I'd've been gone! Cheers for the swift rescue, by the way."
Ikuto raised an eyebrow. After a moment of awkward silence, Kukai blinked.
"For… For stoppin' that fella from beatin' the shit outta me…" he said slowly. And then, just as Ikuto was about to reply, his eyes widened in remembrance, lighting up like little green lanterns. "Ohh, right! That's it! Utau said you might've been concussed! You took a mighty fall down them steps - I remember that much. Still, thanks anyway. I tell ya, you're an amazin' shot even when you're out of it-"
"And just what the hell did you do that warranted my shooting a man?" Ikuto sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. Kukai turned sheepish then. He rubbed the back of his head absently, his cheeks fading of colour. "Souma, when we reach this god-damned island I'm gonna maroon your sorry ass so bad-"
"Chill, man!" Kukai whined. "Go easy on me, Cap'n! I didn't mean it! I was hussled! I won big at cards an' they couldn't handle it!"
"Sure you did, Souma," Ikuto uttered drily, yet, though he wouldn't care to admit it, he'd have been lying if he said he wasn't just a little bit curious. He scrutinised the younger pirate and tried in vain to make sense of the blank spaces in his memory because if Kukai really had been set upon after a night of gambling then he was truly lucky to have gotten away alive. Men in need of money were fierce and unforgiving. "Who'd you hussle?"
Kukai shrugged as if it were no big deal. "I dunno…" he said. "Some guy called Kiseki I think..? Either way, I ain't never going back! I only managed to snatch up a few hundred guineas before they came at me-"
"A few hundred guineas?" Ikuto hissed, aghast. Kukai immediately grew sheepish again. Too struck for words, the Captain just shook his head in disbelief. "If you ever find these men again you're paying them back with your own shares."
"Well, I dunno about that, but hey, ya never know. Let's hope ol' Kazuomi did leave somethin' of his shares buried on a desert island."
Ikuto didn't know whether to laugh or scoff. If they'd been tailing any other pirate in existence then he might've doubted it, but, then again… His stepfather was perhaps the greediest soul he'd ever known. He'd stuffed gold everywhere. Behind his bed posts; under floorboards; all the way down to the deep, dark, hidden places inside the hold where they'd found their cache yesterday. Utau had even found a few remnants of their mother's old jewellery tucked neatly between the planks of the beakhead. It was certainly no leap of faith to suppose that there might just be some deserted isle, ravaged by the tide of the sea, serving as a safehouse not only for the man himself, but for the riches he sought to possess. What was more, Kazuomi had been entirely obsessed with the myth of that one 'Great Treasure' for longer than any of them knew. And there was no greater buried treasure myth in any other fable to be found.
"Well," Ikuto began eventually; "I don't suppose this will be your typical desert island. Not this far north, anyway…" He paused to draw out the map from his pocket and spread it out across the top of the bulwark, trailing his finger over their route. "It looks to have broken off from the eastern continent. It's there - beyond their colonies. There's a little chain of mountainous isles running all the way across that stretch of unclaimed water."
Kukai hummed in thought. He craned his neck over Ikuto's shoulder, following his gaze. "Makes sense that he'd think it a good place to hide. It's open territory, right? Ripe for the picking. " He mused. "Shame, though. I was hopin' for somethin' of a desert feel, ya know? Ya think they might be volcanic?"
Ikuto couldn't say, but it wasn't important. He folded the map up carefully and glanced up at his crew. There were more men filtering up through the hatchway by now, stepping sluggishly across the deck and wincing under the strength of the sun. He would have to push them onwards if they were to make their journey in good time. Such a close call in that tavern had been a mistake and Ikuto scolded himself for not considering all of the risks before allowing them time on-shore. Most of his men were either sleep-deprived or still drunk… And then there was Kukai - the cause of all their troubles. The idiot didn't even look hungover. There was a burning injustice in that thought and so Ikuto just left it. His head was starting to spin again. He sent Kukai up into the crow's nest as punishment for the rest of the day (the moron was so energetic, being left up in such a tight space for hours on end would be maddening) and turned away.
Well, the Shining Black might have had a close call - her crew might have been bested and her Captain worse for wear - but she would make it. Ikuto vowed it. At least he wasn't doomed to spent his day cooped up in his cabin, staring endlessly at Kazuomi's infamous map. His brain couldn't have coped with that today, so really Ikuto was utterly relieved to know that they already had their course - that somewhere beyond that horizon would rise their first port of call.
The first island…
Ikuto smirked.
And he revelled in the notion that his stepfather didn't even know what was coming to him.
~.~.~
By the end of that week, Tadase was almost certain that they had the Shining Black within their sights.
True, it was a bold claim for any man to make and, fair enough, he realised that this sudden notion would sound more than a little far-fetched once word found its way to the King and Queen, but at this point Tadase wasn't entirely sure he cared. If it weren't for the fact that he was preoccupied, he might have been bothered by the nonchalance that seemed to creep up on him - that seemed to seep into his attitude - every time His Majesty's name was mentioned, yet somehow he just couldn't find himself to dwell on it. Besides, he figured that his pride was still more than a little wounded after his conversation with the King's advisor, Kairi, only days before. It was clear enough that His Majesty's faith in him had begun to wane just as it was clear that Tadase was more than riled by the King's new choices. Whatever this so-called 'new scheme' that Kairi had alluded to upon his visit was, Tadase did not like the sound of it. Since when had his navy sunk so low in the King's eyes?
Did he not trust them?
Did he no longer trust his favourite Commander?
The Commander himself brushed the niggling thought away hurriedly, if fiercely, as one might brush off an irritating wasp. 'New scheme' indeed… How on earth did Amu's father think he'd find her if not through his own navy?
It didn't make sense (though Tadase could no longer think straight enough to try and decipher His Majesty's reasoning anymore), but the Commander was determined to continue on unfazed. He would restore the Royal Family and the King's pride in his navy all at once - two birds with one stone! Their runaway royal would be returned to them in a matter of months. Or so he told himself again and again, the mantra growing ever stronger as he recalled the news that Rima had delivered to him that morning.
At that very moment one of his naval vessels was pursuing a nameless ship across the southern seas - a dark ship; mighty and foreboding and just mere days ahead of his men. They had followed the wreckage of a nearby vessel that had gone down not long before and, though they could not yet descry any white diamond or spot through their looking-glass any smudge of pastel pink, Tadase had no doubt about it.
It looked as though (finally!) their endeavour might have been near it's end.
Tadase hoped that he would have the chance to at least catch up to this ominous craft before his men were forced to open fire. Oh, what he would have given to set foot upon the Shining Black itself if only to hew down that fluttering, diamond sail and raise His Majesty's flag in its place or to see for himself that that entire band of ragtag cutthroats were brought to justice as deserved, for he was now far above the oh-so infantile impulse of vengeance that had once driven him to his journey's end. No… He would quell his temper. He would tame it; tether it; shove it deep within his chest and bind it to the back of his mind until the time truly came to bask in the victory of his success. He would stay his blade and see those scoundrels bound in iron chains and he would sail them all the way back to Seiyo - every last one of them! - and he would walk them one by one up to the courthouse where they would each receive the sentences they so dearly deserved.
Walk them to the courthouse. Escort them to the square. Watch them dance the jig of death as they hung upon the gallows…
Good, just, honourable men were inevitably brought to glory before the merciful judge, after all. But those men were so far strayed from the light that their doom was already upon them.
Just how many lives had been lost to the sea by a buccan's hand? How much gold had been snatched from merchant hands? How many ships littered the ocean floor, jutting up from the seabed like skeletal, spindly stretches of coral; once mighty, now fallen? Too many, Tadase thought. It was a mercy that he'd even considered granting these men the privilege of a trial. It was an act of kindness, he told himself - further proof that he, respected Commander of the King's Royal Navy, was by far a kinder, more compassionate soul than any pirate could ever be and not because of the way his gut recoiled at the memory of his then-fiancée who so passionately fought for the pirates' right to a fair sentence.
Tadase felt his chest tighten. He forcibly rid himself of the thought, shaking his head as if to dislodge any unwanted images from his mind, and did what he always did in the situation. He threw himself back into the task at hand. His day was spent with the Captain of his own Seraphic Charm. They met with admirals; spent the morning inspecting their fleet down by the docks; they sent final messages to financiers; and by the time Rima arrived in the study that afternoon and announced that his carriage would be ready on the morrow, the Commander was practically chomping at the bit.
"Perfect!" he exclaimed. "I can stand to wait no longer!" And he struggled to raise himself from his chair, for, even though he was in better shape than ever, he felt that old wound flare anew after such a long and demanding day. "Ready my men! Send word to the King!" he said once he was stood, though his brow glittered with perspiration and his teeth grit heavily. "I must devise a crew and join the chase. Ensure that word is sent to my fleet - the Seraphic Charm will soon join them. The Shining Black cannot be far!"
But, whilst the Captain was simply motivated by this display of determination, Rima's expression hardened. "But, sir…" she murmured. "I don't doubt you will find them… But how do you plan to catch up with them?"
"I have my ways, Rima, dear." he replied evasively and, now full stood, he glanced back. Through the grand, gilded window pane behind him, Tadase saw that the sun was almost ready to begin its descent. The clouds were clearing. The line above the sea was glowing a glorious, unmistakeable shade of rosy pink. High, high above the town that Tadase knew and loved, a single, solitary star had flared into existence. Tadase watched it, gazing as one caught in an unshakeable daze, until…
"Actually… Rima…"
Tadase swallowed. Suddenly he felt cold, yet his skin was bristling with anticipation.
"Ready a coach for me now…"
"Sir?"
"There is someone whom I must speak to before I go."
Tadase did not hear Rima's reply. He did not watch her bow nor observe as she left him alone in his study. No, Tadase turned back, captivated by that little light glittering humbly above their heads… And, all of a sudden, he felt a jolt of déjà-vu.
Starlight and memory and subtle lilac…
And an idea that had long perturbed him reentered his mind. It was a simple idea; a relatively harmless thought; one that he had found himself lingering upon time and time again these past few weeks, come. He had been lost in thought, drawn into the notion for quite some time and yet each time had silenced it just as quickly as it had come - each time he had remained victorious in subduing it to the back of his mind - but now…
Now Tadase could not deny it any more. And so Tadase had spent his day: he had prepared the necessities; he had hearkened to his Captain; schmoozed his admirals; and when all was well and done and all other forms of procrastination run dry, Tadase was left with no other outlet. He swallowed his pride. He bit the bullet. He grabbed his staff and boarded his coach and, before he could so much as entertain the notion of backing out - of turning tail and retreating back over the horizon and down the road to the Hotori home once more - Tadase found himself alighting, soaking in the golden light of the setting sun, and once more staring up at the face of the mansion. That mansion. Atop the headland against the clouds, silhouetted against the watercolour sky and soaked in the golden, peach-pink tones of the oncoming eve.
Tadase tried to clear his throat, but found he could not. His mouth was dry. His scar was aching. As he took that first, tentative step upon the gravel drive he swore he caught a flash of a figure in the third floor window and he knew beyond doubt that there was no time to back out now.
And so Tadase was not surprised when the doors fell open of their own accord nor that his feet followed some invisible path of their own accord, walking on their own, apparently remembering their former route through this beguiling maze of many corridors and marble hallways and twisting stairwells, drawn by some otherworldly enchantment up towards those double doors, glowing softly, sublimely, with some ethereal light.
Tadase was numb, withdrawn from the world, as he placed his palm upon the handle and let them swing silently open.
Blinded for but a moment, when that mystical burst of light began to fade the universe opened up around him. A thousand eyes watched on curiously from above. This world and everything in it simply fell away and was lost to the realm of night…
"Well…"
And there, amidst it all, the playful light of his eyes mingled perfectly against the endless, star-speckled sky, sat the fortune-teller, regarding him with a mix of mischief and curiosity that made the Commander's spine tingle.
His voice was soft and subdued, echoing faintly across the high ceiling;
"You must be truly desperate to come to me, Commander."
Tadase swallowed. "Tsukasa…"
A twitch of the lips. A chuckle. With a gentle 'chink!' the fortune-teller set down his cup of tea and rose slowly from his chair.
"Now, Tadase. What can I do for you?"
~.~.~
A/N: Well I finally return! Plus my fav Tsukasa is back and all is right in the world. His scenes are always my favourite to write. Also I think Fortune's grown on me? Who'd've thought?
This chapter should be the last real filler for a while. I'm feeling pretty excited to be writing again! We're finally moving on!
Anybody still here despite my awful update schedule? It's quite a long shot, but please let me know what you think and/or pester me to update in the reviews!
Thank you for reading! Til next time ~