We're low on cash, but seen another target
The Medea cruised along the roiling sea of clouds, the wind sliding off her flanks in a rush like heavy feathered wings. With Lita at the gunwale and no bounties within range, the air was peaceful, still but for the gusts pushing the ship’s polished sides and pulling the sails taut.
Above him, the skies were clear and very blue, the kind of skies every sailor dreamed of when tucked away into sleep. He gazed absently up as he held the pistol on his lap. His eyes unfocused, and perhaps his expression softened as he allowed his mind to wander. It had been so long since he had had the time to simply sit on the deck of his ship and admire the view. He found, with some surprise, that he had missed it.
Maverick squinted as the sun threw a ray of light into his eyes. The spell broken, he frowned and moved his gaze back down to his work. The pistol was old and needed more polishing than ever. He would not allow it to rust or blemish, to degrade until it became a useless figurehead. Not yet.
He was lost in the work when his helmsman, with a girlish trill that forced him to reprimand her, called out for land. It was a small port, barely larger than the isle he only half-remembered hailing from, but it suited him fine. He ordered them to land, retreating into his cabin to carefully stow the pistol away, emerging only when it was time to lash the ship to the pier.
The girls were happy to land. Though having long acquired their sea legs, they much preferred the stability of land to the precariousness of the sky. They were very young still. In time, he knew, they would come to appreciate the skies far more than the ground, especially if the ways of the land came to impress upon them the same lessons he had once been subjected to.
Lita and Lujayn checked their disguises and were sent to gather provisions for the next leg of their journey, which would take them as close to Eirhel as Maverick dared to go, for the time being. On his own, he wandered the dusty streets, ducking into the tavern as soon as he sighted it. It was noisy in there, but not overly so. Briny, stuffy, dimly lit, but not overly so. Not as decrepit and desolate as it could be. He breathed easier.
He seated himself at a corner table and shut his mind to its own noise, concentrating instead on the murmur of conversations around him.
======
The clouds were tinted with the red of early evening when Lita and Lujayn joined him in the tavern, having gone about the business of acquiring goods and storing them away. Quietly, he relayed to them what he had heard over the course of the day. It was nothing of much consequence, and although they tried to hide their discontent, he sensed it and looked away, disgruntled.
They ate, found lodgings for the night in the adjacent inn. The girls - his girls, he sometimes thought, with a wry-secret smile or frown of annoyance - retired early, exhausted by the long trip and the overwhelming delight of being back on land. He was almost sorry that he would be forcing them, come dawn, to rise and be off, but he could not let their noble sensibilities get in his way. They were his crew, first and foremost, before they were women, and certainly before they were noblewomen.
Despite these musings, he found himself watching them for quite some time as they slept in their shared bed, still wearing their boy’s clothes, as was their habit. It was at these moments when, unconscious, unaware, they looked most like girls. It was at these moments when, troubled, dismayed, he did not wish to watch them, yet could not look away.
When he began to think that he might care for them, he rose from his cot and tromped downstairs, to where the tavern had darkened and cooled. Only the landlord remained at the counter, keeping an eye out for the weary travelers who might chance upon the tiny isle in the dead of the night.
Maverick did not speak. The landlord did not speak. They sat in the tavern lit by but a few candles and stray moonlight, and said not a word.
Finally, the landlord murmured, “You’re one of them pirate hunters, aren’t you, boy?”
Maverick stared into the single flame on the table before him, and nodded. “Aye.”
“Then ya must have heard ‘bout the bounty up in Eirhel.”
Maverick frowned, jerked his chin in a movement neither acquiescing nor denying. “I may have.”
“A shame, really, ‘bout that Edmund boy. May have been bound for great things if he...”
Another jerk of the chin accompanied by a narrowing of the eyes. “Edmund?”
“Aye, lad. Surely ya heard of Duke Edmund’s son, even if ya been travelling. As of late, there’s been trouble up in the house of Edmund. Now his boy’s got himself a bounty on his head. The Duke’s been working day and night to get him a pardon, but...”
His fingers clenched spasmodically, but in the dark Maverick kept the gesture under control as he casually replied, “Aye, a shame.”
He remained in the tavern longer than he wished, conversing amicably with the landlord until the man decided to call it a night. Trembling, whispering in trepidation, Maverick returned to the room where his crew lay sleeping deeply as babes, and lay himself down in his own cot.
“Edmund. Duke Edmund. Edmund’s son.”
He did not try to sleep. He merely waited for dawn to find him.
Above him, the skies were clear and very blue, the kind of skies every sailor dreamed of when tucked away into sleep. He gazed absently up as he held the pistol on his lap. His eyes unfocused, and perhaps his expression softened as he allowed his mind to wander. It had been so long since he had had the time to simply sit on the deck of his ship and admire the view. He found, with some surprise, that he had missed it.
Maverick squinted as the sun threw a ray of light into his eyes. The spell broken, he frowned and moved his gaze back down to his work. The pistol was old and needed more polishing than ever. He would not allow it to rust or blemish, to degrade until it became a useless figurehead. Not yet.
He was lost in the work when his helmsman, with a girlish trill that forced him to reprimand her, called out for land. It was a small port, barely larger than the isle he only half-remembered hailing from, but it suited him fine. He ordered them to land, retreating into his cabin to carefully stow the pistol away, emerging only when it was time to lash the ship to the pier.
The girls were happy to land. Though having long acquired their sea legs, they much preferred the stability of land to the precariousness of the sky. They were very young still. In time, he knew, they would come to appreciate the skies far more than the ground, especially if the ways of the land came to impress upon them the same lessons he had once been subjected to.
Lita and Lujayn checked their disguises and were sent to gather provisions for the next leg of their journey, which would take them as close to Eirhel as Maverick dared to go, for the time being. On his own, he wandered the dusty streets, ducking into the tavern as soon as he sighted it. It was noisy in there, but not overly so. Briny, stuffy, dimly lit, but not overly so. Not as decrepit and desolate as it could be. He breathed easier.
He seated himself at a corner table and shut his mind to its own noise, concentrating instead on the murmur of conversations around him.
======
The clouds were tinted with the red of early evening when Lita and Lujayn joined him in the tavern, having gone about the business of acquiring goods and storing them away. Quietly, he relayed to them what he had heard over the course of the day. It was nothing of much consequence, and although they tried to hide their discontent, he sensed it and looked away, disgruntled.
They ate, found lodgings for the night in the adjacent inn. The girls - his girls, he sometimes thought, with a wry-secret smile or frown of annoyance - retired early, exhausted by the long trip and the overwhelming delight of being back on land. He was almost sorry that he would be forcing them, come dawn, to rise and be off, but he could not let their noble sensibilities get in his way. They were his crew, first and foremost, before they were women, and certainly before they were noblewomen.
Despite these musings, he found himself watching them for quite some time as they slept in their shared bed, still wearing their boy’s clothes, as was their habit. It was at these moments when, unconscious, unaware, they looked most like girls. It was at these moments when, troubled, dismayed, he did not wish to watch them, yet could not look away.
When he began to think that he might care for them, he rose from his cot and tromped downstairs, to where the tavern had darkened and cooled. Only the landlord remained at the counter, keeping an eye out for the weary travelers who might chance upon the tiny isle in the dead of the night.
Maverick did not speak. The landlord did not speak. They sat in the tavern lit by but a few candles and stray moonlight, and said not a word.
Finally, the landlord murmured, “You’re one of them pirate hunters, aren’t you, boy?”
Maverick stared into the single flame on the table before him, and nodded. “Aye.”
“Then ya must have heard ‘bout the bounty up in Eirhel.”
Maverick frowned, jerked his chin in a movement neither acquiescing nor denying. “I may have.”
“A shame, really, ‘bout that Edmund boy. May have been bound for great things if he...”
Another jerk of the chin accompanied by a narrowing of the eyes. “Edmund?”
“Aye, lad. Surely ya heard of Duke Edmund’s son, even if ya been travelling. As of late, there’s been trouble up in the house of Edmund. Now his boy’s got himself a bounty on his head. The Duke’s been working day and night to get him a pardon, but...”
His fingers clenched spasmodically, but in the dark Maverick kept the gesture under control as he casually replied, “Aye, a shame.”
He remained in the tavern longer than he wished, conversing amicably with the landlord until the man decided to call it a night. Trembling, whispering in trepidation, Maverick returned to the room where his crew lay sleeping deeply as babes, and lay himself down in his own cot.
“Edmund. Duke Edmund. Edmund’s son.”
He did not try to sleep. He merely waited for dawn to find him.