Chapter 124: Everything’s Great, All Things Considered
James stepped onto the deck wearing nothing but his breeches, no effort made to hide what Anne had left across his chest and shoulders.
A victorious captain flew a captured flag for all to see, and as far as he was concerned, bite marks were no different.
Pete saw him first while hauling a coil of rope toward the rail. He nearly dropped the whole thing.
"Christ above, Cap’n."
He threw his head back and laughed. "Did the boss lady spend this whole time fuckin’ ye or tryin’ to eat ye? I’ve seen sharks leave prettier work than that."
James rolled one shoulder, showing a bruise already gone dark as an overripe plum.
"Bit o’ both, I’d say."
"Aye, that’s a healthy courtship."
Mackerel Jim called as he strode past with a cask balanced on one shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Had a widow down in Tortuga leave me lookin’ twice as bad, couldn’t wear a shirt for a fortnight. Worth every bleedin’ mark, mind ye."
"Aye, Jim. And I’m sure that tale’s just as true as every other one you’ve ever told."
"Every word, Cap’n. Swear it on me mother’s grave, God rest her."
"Your mother’s alive, Jim."
"Aye, but she’ll end up in that grave eventually, and I’ll still be swearin’ on it."
Laughter rolled across the deck.
James laughed with them as more rowboats were pulled, each loaded with casks and chests hauled from the crashed merchantmen.
The cargo came aboard at a steady pace while the crew went about their work as they would on any ordinary morning. The only difference was that the men kept stealing glances at the captain’s chest instead of watching the ropes in their hands.
He had taken only a few more steps before the space shimmered in front of him. James almost groaned.
⚓ [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Quest Complete : The Fattest Prize in the Caribbean
Reward : 200 Fate
Reward : Ship Perk Fusion — [Devil’s Hull] (Bloody Rose)
Reward : Ship Perk — [Wind Dancer] (Black Fortune)
I have been withholding this notification for the past three hours.
"Yet you’re just in time to be spiteful."
You appeared occupied, and interrupting you while you were enthusiastically attempting to reproduce would have been rude. I do occasionally experiment with manners. The results are consistently disappointing.
"Generous of you."
I know. Try not to make a habit of deserving it.
James barked a laugh and shook his head, his gaze back at the notification.
"Devil’s Hull," he read. "What a nice, Christian name."
Your previous investments into the Bloody Rose have exceeded the threshold for integration.
The reinforcements you bought no longer exist.
They have fused into Devil’s Hull, a unique enhancement unavailable through normal acquisition.
Your ship’s timbers have become... irritatingly durable. Damage that would cripple another vessel will now be dismissed as superficial, and your enemies will eventually conclude the Rose is protected by infernal powers.
Statistically speaking, blaming the devil is easier than admitting incompetence.
James let out a low whistle.
"Aye, that’s more like it. Let ’em curse it, means they’re the ones dyin’ angry."
I do enjoy when you arrive at the correct conclusion by accident.
James shot the empty space a look of offended amusement.
"The Fortune?"
Wind Dancer.
Her hull answers the helm with considerably less reluctance, and her sails now make unusually efficient use of favorable winds. She accelerates more readily, turns more sharply, and wastes less speed in maneuver.
In simpler terms, she will finally have a chance of keeping up with the ship you actually care about.
James snorted. "I care for every ship in my fleet."
An excellent excuse. I recommend repeating it to her frequently, ships are famously understanding of neglect.
"I don’t recall askin’ for parenting advice."
You did not.
Neither have you asked for most of the advice that has kept you alive.
You’re welcome.
James only shook his head, still grinning, and left the voice to enjoy its own victory. Instead, he headed belowdecks toward the hold, where the true weigh of the morning’s work was being stacked.
Tomás was already there, with a lantern on one hand while a record book rested against his knee.
He moved through rows of cargo with care.
The belowdecks had the aroma of sugar and raw rum, and beneath it lingered the dry scent of dyewood and ginger packed into sacks stacked three high against the far bulkhead.
"How’s she countin’ out, then?"
Tomás looked up without losing his place in the book. "One hundred and twenty casks of sugar from two merchantmen alone, Captain, and nearly one hundred casks of rum between all four ships, and another seventy of molasses besides."
"And the coin?"
He simply nodded, "Three large chests of minted silver, one chest of gold and another large chest with almost as much bullion as coin. I’d record them, but I imagine Whitlock will insist on weighing those bars himself."
"True that, Whitlock doesn’t trust anybody’s count but his own. Mine included."
"He has informed me of that, Captain. More than once."
James chuckled and crouched beside a stack of cotton bolts. He ran one hand across cloth stiff with dried salt.
"Indigo?"
He nodded, "Indeed, indigo and cotton both, nearly eighty bolts of each. There is also forty sacks apiece of ginger and pimento and what is close to ninety hides, though many took on water. They will need to be dried before sold."
"Not bad for four ships that never made it home."
"It is a fine haul, Captain."
Tomás closed the book over one finger to hold his place. "Better than I expected when I started"
James watched him for a moment.
Lantern light caught Tomás while he walked from crate to crate, a strange sort of calm over the young man’s face. Very little remained of the church boy who had once suffered to work as a translator back in Pensacola.
In his place stood a man who looked as though he’d discovered some peculiar sort of inner peace surrounded by the ocean and beneath a bright blue sky.
"You’ve changed, Tomás."
Tomás smiled faintly. "The sea has a way of clarifying matters, Captain. A man spends long enough aboard and he learns what is holy."
James shot him a glance. "And what’s that, then? Rum? Gunpowder? A pretty girl wavin’ her skirts at the docks?"
Tomás shook his head, calm as a priest after confession.
"Freedom, Captain. Freedom does not lie, tempt, or ask foolish questions. It simply is."
James laughed. "That’s the finest sermon I ever heard on a ship."
"It is not a sermon."
"It sure as hell sounds like one."
Tomás let out a small shrug. "Then perhaps I have found my calling."
James smiled under his breath and let it be. The lad had gone from blushing at a wink to sound like he wanted to bless the cargo and charge admission for it.
He let the exchange linger while his gaze drifted around the belowdecks. The Rose had fresh iron banding reinforced beams that had once stood bare, everything felt heavier, stronger, more solid than the ship he’d first sailed out of Nassau. The lass felt less like a ship and more like a floating fortress.
"Right then."
He clapped Tomás once on the shoulder before straightening. "Keep at it. We’ve still got a raid to finish, and a captain shouldn’t spend the whole mornin’ admirin’ his own bruises."
He climbed back into the daylight with that thought warming him. The Rose had come through the battle well enough, and even if she had earned a respectable collection of scars, it was nothing that truly mattered.
The Fortune was another problem. He hadn’t seen her since the fighting ended, and before he knew it, his eyes were already searching the sea for her.