Chapter 141: Home Port for Rogues
The line never let up. Whitlock’s quill kept scratching from one page to the next as steady as a tide, and by the time the sun climbed clear over the trees, James had lost count of how many names the stone had swallowed since first light.
He was watching another man carve his mark when the shimmer gathered in front of him.
⚓ [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Quest Complete : Bureaucracy, Arrr!
Reward : 10 Fate
Reward : Citywide Perk — [No King But the Sea]
Word of a settlement where a freed man’s mark weighs as much as a king’s will spreads across the Caribbean faster than any ship can carry it. So long as Concordia upholds its code, tales of its liberty and justice will continue to draw the curious, the hopeful, and the bold.
James laughed before he could stop himself. It surprised him more than the reward did.
"No King But the Sea."
He tried the words under his breath. They had a solid feel to them, better suited to stone than a floating bit of text.
That brought him to two hundred and ten Fate. A respectable amount.
He looked back at the stone, and how new names crowded in by the hour until there was scarcely room to wedge another between the ones already cut.
"Whitlock."
He nodded toward it.
"We’re goin’ to need another one before the season’s over at this rate."
Whitlock’s quill finished another line before he answered. "Already ahead of you, Captain. Sawyer’s men are marking out another stretch of stone by the ridge if we need it."
James let out a snort that landed somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
"You’ve thought of everythin’, haven’t ye?"
"Somebody has to."
Cudjoe wandered over and tipped his head toward a knot of men waiting in line. Big fellows, broad in the shoulder, still standing like sailors even without uniforms.
"That lot’s wasted standin’ in a queue, they’d look better standin’ on a ship."
"Aye, true that."
James watched them another moment.
"Recruitin’ can wait, though. One thing at a time."
"Ye always say that, Captain."
"And one day it’ll even be true."
The conversation went no farther.
A booming voice thundered across the crossroads, loud enough to turn heads around.
"There he is! Lord and master of the whole bloody island, holdin’ court like some heathen king!"
Thatch strode into view wearing a grin, Sam right behind him, and three more men close after. Israel Hands walked with that loose, easy stride of his, taking everything in without looking hurried about it. Black Caesar seemed to take up twice as much ground as everybody else and said nothing.
Beside Sam came a lean, sharp-faced fellow James had never met, his eyes hopping from the crowd to the stone as though he meant to remember every last one.
"Calloway."
Sam slapped the fellow on the shoulder. "This is Paulsgrave Williams, my quartermaster. Rhode Island born, used to be a goldsmith before he found more interestin’ work."
Paulsgrave grinned, showing off a gold tooth, and held out his hand. "Captain. Pleasure to meet ye. I’ve heard enough stories about ye to fill a ship’s log, and somehow they still didn’t prepare me for this."
James shook it.
"Aye, you get used to it."
"I don’t believe I would."
Thatch slapped James across the back hard enough to shove him forward a step.
"Never thought I’d live to see the day James Calloway held court."
James snorted. "Neither did I."
"One man loses his head, and everybody leaves thinkin’ they got a fair shake."
Thatch shook his head with a grin. "That’s a stranger mornin’ than most I’ve had."
"I’ll take strange over stupid."
"So long as it keeps workin’."
Israel Hands slowly shook his head, smiling to himself. "I’ve sailed under a fair few captains, never one that asked the whole harbor what ought to be done."
"A captain’s word’s still law aboard his own deck," Thatch replied. "Always will be."
"Aye," Israel agreed. "But this ain’t a deck."
His eyes drifted over the crossroads. Sailors, freedmen, fishermen, farmers, women with children on their hips, all waiting their turn before the stone.
"That’s a powerful thing, lettin’ every soul with a name have their say."
"It’ll be a damned inconvenient thing, more like."
Thatch chuckled. "Can’t bully a vote half so easy as a quartermaster."
James snickered. "That’s rather the point ye dumbfuck."
Israel nodded slowly. "Maybe it is. Hard to call a judgment forced on a man when he stood among the folk that passed it."
Caesar grunted his approval.
"Better that way."
Nobody had much to argue with there.
While they talked, Sam wandered over to the stone.
"Spent a good many years thinkin’ Nassau was the freest place a man could stand."
He shook his head, honest wonder plain on his face.
"It was free enough, if ye flew a black flag."
His eyes drifted over the folk waiting their turn at the stone. "This... This feels like it belongs to everybody."
James followed his gaze.
"That’s what we were hopin’ for."
"Aye." Sam smiled faintly. "Looks like ye managed it."
Paulsgrave drifted over to Whitlock’s record book and leaned across the poor man bold as brass.
"So every name there is written the same, is it? Lord’s son, beggar, makes no difference?"
"That is correct."
Paulsgrave barked out a laugh. "I spent years weighin’ gold for gentlemen who’d have sold their own mothers over another grain, and now I find pirates handin’ out justice without chargin’ a penny."
He flashed the gold tooth again.
"Every one of ye’s mad as a bedbug. I believe I’m goin’ to like this place."
Thatch stood watching another handful of names go into the stone before he looked back at James.
"So."
He jerked his chin toward it. "Ye told me we’d put our names in that once the Revenge was ready. Well, she is, what’s the bargain if my whole crew’s signin’ alongside yours?"
"Fair question."
James folded his arms.
"I’m not askin’ either of ye to hand me the rest of yer lives."
"Then what are ye askin’?"
"Treat this rock like home port, not just somewhere you drift into when the mood takes ye."
He looked from Sam to Thatch. "When you are docked here, you put in work. If you capture a prize worth sellin’, Concordia gets first chance to buy before you haul it off to Nassau or anywhere else. In return, you’ve got protection, a dock, and friends that’ll come runnin’ if trouble ever lands on your doorstep."
Sam thought it over and nodded.
"Seems fair enough."
"Better than fair."
Thatch grinned.
"I’ve signed worse bargains for less."
Then he turned toward the crowd and bellowed without waiting another heartbeat.
"REVENGE! GET YER LAZY CARCASSES UP HERE! WE’RE SIGNIN’ ON!"
Sam cupped his hands around his mouth.
"MARIANNE! SAME GOES FOR YOU SORRY LOT!"
The answer came quick enough. Men poured off in a flood, boots thundering over as they piled onto the end of the line until it stretched twice as long as before.
James tried counting them out of habit. Somewhere around ninety from the Marianne, maybe seventy from the Revenge. Near enough, he reckoned.
The line swallowed them just like everybody else.
Blade and quill never stopped.
Cudjoe kept people moving, Whitlock never rested, and one sailor after another carved a name into the wall of marks until the crossroads held more names than James would’ve believed one stretch of stone could carry.
Eventually Thatch and Sam peeled away to see after their own crews. Israel Hands and Caesar followed them while Paulsgrave lingered by Whitlock’s record a little longer before wandering off himself, still muttering about weight and worth like the matter deserved another day’s thinking.
At last James allowed himself to believe the morning’s work was finished. The thought of a cup of rum and a chill place to drink it felt finer than anything else on the island.
"James."
Anne reached him first, Mary close behind, and both wore the sort of face that had run clean out of patience.
"It’s ready."
She caught him by the sleeve and started dragging him along.
"Come on. I’ve waited long enough."
"Ready for what?"
"You’ll see."
Anne paid his question no mind, hauled him bodily toward the brothel, and left him to keep up as best he could.