Hidden Treasure, a Cliff’s Secret (Part 3)
. : Part One // Two : .
They’re all led inside and greeted. Mercedes is a full-figured woman with beautiful shiny-clear ebony skin. She has dark make up on her eyes, though she wears nothing on her full lips. Her hair sticks out in every direction, frizzy and wild, but is pulled back by a black sash. She’s dressed in a dark red dress underneath a brown robe, black sashes hanging from her torso. Her wrists are adorned with dozens of bracelets and many chains and necklaces hang from her neck.
Sam can’t stop staring at her.
Kurt nudges him when they enter her home, whispering, “I believe it’s rude to be ogling at people like that.”
Sam shakes his head, pulling his hair out of its tie only to tie it once again. When he walks away to sit down, Kurt stares after him.
Mercedes slaps curious hands away from the cages and jars on the shelves that take up every inch of wall-space inside. Kurt tries not to pay them much attention after he spots a jar filled with eyeballs.
Blaine makes a quick deal with Mercedes, and lets the crewmembers on the second boat know they have to carry supplies back down to the boats. Once they get to work, Mercedes, Blaine, Kurt, and Sam take a seat at a table.
“So Blaine,” Mercedes says, “what brings you here to Tia?”
Blaine pulls out the medallion and removes it from the chain, placing it on the table with a soft thump. “This,” he says, sliding it over to her.
Kurt hears her sharp inhale, her hands slowly reaching out for the piece of gold before studying it carefully. She hums, lifting the medallion closer to the lamp above the table. The gold glints in the light, shining against the flame of the lamp.
“My, my,” Mercedes drawls, smirking at Blaine. “Blaine Anderson, how did you manage to get your dirty fingers on a piece of Brownbeard’s gold?”
“Me,” Kurt speaks up, and Mercedes looks at him with a curious expression. Kurt takes a breath, readying himself for his story.
“My friend was kidnapped,” he explains. “I think she managed to grab this from her captor and left it behind for someone to find. I think she was trying to leave a clue.”
Mercedes nods once, her head moving in a slow and deliberate fashion. She leaves the medallion on the table, then brings up her hands to the table, resting her chin on her fingers and her elbows on the wood. Dozens of bracelets clink as they slide down from her wrist, and she closes her eyes, humming low in her throat.
Kurt watches her, her eyes closed and her lashes fanned against her cheeks as she continues to hum, restless as he waits in anticipation.
When she finally opens her eyes, she places her hands flat on the table, on either side of the medallion, glancing at Blaine from her peripheral vision.
“I assume, Blaine, you know what to do,” she asks, though Kurt thinks it’s more of a statement than a question.
When Kurt looks at Blaine, his face is sombre for once. He assumes the position Mercedes had taken, bringing his elbows on top of the table, folding his hands into a ball and placing them in front of his mouth.
Sam waits on Blaine’s final say, watching him carefully, but Kurt sits with his brows furrowed, confused by what Mercedes said.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “but what does Blaine have to do?”
“You’ve never heard the story?” Sam asks, bewildered, as if Kurt had just asked someone they didn’t know what the moon was.
“Uh, no...?” Kurt trails off. “My father was never one to tell stories.”
Sam looks astonished but Mercedes cuts in, “There is a legend.”
Kurt doesn’t reply, simply waits for more.
“Tobias Oates was an ambitious man,” she begins, “who wanted more than what the world offered. It’s been said he’s travelled all seven seas and been to the end of the Earth.
“But his greatest accomplishment was finding Atlantic gold.”
Kurt raises an eyebrow at that.
“Old Oates found an island too big to be called island as the land ranged from vast forests to miles of desert. Oates’ Island, he called it. In the centre of the land was a cliff that separated the two, and at the bottom of the cliff was a cavern filled treasure, dated centuries to when the first people of the land roamed.
“Jewellery, trophies, silverware,” she listed, then she smirked. “And, of course, gold. An entire cave filled with what even the greatest king could only dream of.
“Oates didn’t care for nothing but the gold, too hungry for yellow metal to care for anything else. So he left the rest of the treasure behind in the cavern he ventured in, but he spent all he could. On lavish living, the women, the fame. He took over the seas and wreaked havoc where he wanted to spend his gold, changed his name and called himself Brownbeard to all who feared him.”
She picks up the medallion and held it up in front of Kurt’s face.
“This medallion is a doubloon from the island he discovered. It is said that all the gold had been lost, spread across the globe to ever find all of it, bartered and traded and melted into other things, its worth and history lost.
“Yet here is a remaining piece, preserved in its glory.”
She places the medallion on the table again, sliding it towards Blaine, who hasn’t moved an inch since she began speaking.
“That piece is a testament that Oates’ Island exists, and that the treasures Brownbeard left behind are just as real.”
Kurt’s in awe of what he’s heard, but he’s still confused.
“But, I don’t understand, what does Blaine have to do?” he persists. “Is it dangerous, or - ?”
“The cavern’s at the very bottom of a cliff, and it’s impossible to get down to it,” Sam explains, placing his arms on the table as he leans forward. “Apparently it’s so steep that you can’t even see the bottom.” He bows his head. “But that’s not even the worst of it. The only way to get to the cliff is through the land first. But to get to the land you have to pass through a cove of vicious mermaids.”
Kurt whips his head back to Mercedes when she adds, “Don’t forget about the army of undead.”
Kurt widens his eyes and gulps.
“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters. “Did you say army of undead?”
“Brownbeard was careless,” Mercedes says, “but he was not dumb. He intended on living long enough to return to the treasure, but he knew that once others heard of his success he couldn’t leave it unguarded. He tricked an entire fleet to visit the cavern at the cliff with the promise of sharing the treasure, but instead he left them all for dead. It’s been said that the area has been cursed by the sailors who had been left behind, their bloodlust for Brownbeard never dying.”
She pauses for a few moments, her face growing solemn. “After Brownbeard’s death, many have ventured the seas to find the island again, but none have succeeded. Years became decades and Brownbeard became a myth, so many generations passing that he’s nothing more than a child’s bedtime story.”
Kurt’s mouth is left dry. His best friend had been kidnapped and taken to a cursed cliff? How was he -
“I’m going to do it,” Blaine finally says, looking up with finality in his eyes.
“Blaine, she just said there’s a cursed army waiting there!” Kurt says, eyes wide and jaw dropped.
“Blaine how do you expect us to make it to the bottom of that cliff?” Sam asks, equally as shocked.
“And how are we supposed to find this island anyway?” Kurt exclaims, the idea of finding Oates’ Island growing more ridiculous with each passing second. “If it’s been lost for decades and no one’s found it, what makes you think we can?”
Blaine stays silent for a beat, then he looks at Mercedes.
“But that’s why I’m here, aren’t I?” he admits, looking at Mercedes inquisitively. Mercedes turns to him with a glare, her eyes narrowing to slits.
“Blaine Anderson, don’t you dare think of -”
“Your maps, Tia Mercy,” Blaine insists. “I know you have them.”
“First my compass and now my maps,” Mercedes sighs, still glaring. “What have you done with the compass, anyway?”
Blaine pulls it out from his jacket, dropping it on the table with a thunk.
“Still functional?”
“It led me to you, didn’t it?”
Blaine tucks his compass away, and Mercedes sighs again, closing her eyes, though this time she looks more resigned than angered. When she opens them she looks at Blaine and asks, “And why do you think I’m going to hand over one of my precious maps to you?”
“Because you owe me.”
“You are not going to let go of the fact you brought me here, are you?” she asks with a shake of her head. Kurt wants to ask but with the giant grin Blaine has on his face he feels like he doesn’t want to know. “I would’ve been just fine on my own, you know.”
“I sped up the process though, didn’t I?” Blaine counters. “You’ve made the village happy and peaceful, Mercedes, all thanks to me.”
Mercedes takes a deep breath before looking up at the ceiling for a couple moments. Kurt wonders if she’s going to meditate but then he realizes Mercedes is probably trying to calm herself down before she hits Blaine. He can relate.
Finally, Mercedes drags herself out of her seat, the chair scraping against the floor, walking into another room. Nobody moves from the table, listening intently as they listen to Mercedes in the next room, the only sounds to be heard are papers shuffling and metal clanging.
Mercedes walks back to the table in a flourish, unrolling a large map that covers the entire table. There are shapes and markings and ink stains all around it, phrases scrawled next to islands that Kurt doesn’t understand. Mercedes points to the centre of the map, where a visible split can be seen between two lands, tapping at the image.
“Brownbeard’s Cavern,” she says.
“Death’s Cliff,” Sam whispers.
“My next destination,” Blaine says with determination.
.x.
It doesn’t take long to pack up their supplies and the map Mercedes had given them. Blaine says his goodbye first, hugging Mercedes tightly and whispering something to her. She actually does smack him behind the head, and Kurt laughs, walking over when Blaine walks away with his hand on his head and a sour expression on his face.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I met him,” Kurt admits with a smile.
“Somebody’s gotta keep in his place,” Mercedes says with a shrug.
Kurt reaches a hand out. “It was nice to meet you, Tia Mercy.”
Mercedes looks at his offered hand and raises an eyebrow at him.
“Why are you really going, Kurt?” she asks.
Kurt looks down at his hand and balls it into a fist, feeling awkward for trying to say goodbye with a handshake. He presses his lips together before looking up again and meeting her gaze.
“I’m going to rescue my friend. When I bring her back there’s a reward that I could spend to help my dad and -”
“You’ve told me that when we met,” she cuts him off, bring a hand up to stop him. “And I believe that. But you would not put up with that -” she says, her head jerking towards where Blaine went “- for a friend or any reward. I wouldn’t.”
Kurt’s jaw drops, hanging for a moment before he collects himself.
“I would for my father, he means the world to me and -”
“Treat him well,” Mercedes cuts in. “Blaine’s never looked like that before, and he may be a nuisance but you’re something to him. I’ve never felt his energy so high, so positive. I assume that is all you, because he’s never been like that with anyone else I’ve met,” she explains, so matter-of-fact. “Do not let that go to waste.”
Kurt, appalled that she drew such conclusions, can only keep his mouth open. He must look like a fish out of water, he knows, but how could Mercedes possibly know that. He barely knows Blaine, and just because he feels safe with him and is beginning to become fond rather than annoyed by his smug looks and overly-proud demeanour, it doesn’t mean that Kurt feels something for him.
Can it?
Mercedes speaks again before Kurt can make anything out of it.
“Give me one moment,” she says, turning on her heel to another room before bringing back a glass container of what Kurt only assumes is mud. “Your face is very clear,” she says when she returns, “and looks very soft. The salt must be painful on your skin.”
Feeling like he’s breaking his neck at how fast she changed the topic, he brings a hand to his face.
“Uh, yes, the water is awful for my skin but I’m -”
Mercedes pushes the container towards him.
“Take it,” she says. “It’s good for the skin, especially the face.”
Kurt hesitates, because, really, it looks like she’s offering him a jar of mud.
“Thank you,” he tries, “but I really don’t think -”
She grabs his hands and places the jar in them. With her hands free she places her palms on his face, thumbs pressing against his skin. Her hands are softer than he thought, like a warm blanket rubbing his face. Kurt’s eyes widen, no one’s held his face like that since he was a young boy.
She tsks, her mouth frowning. “Yes, that mixture should help. Just a light coat every other night. If you run out, ask Blaine. He knows the recipe, but he’s too stubborn to ever use it.”
Kurt lets out a breath when she lets go of his face, a squeak escaping his lips when she brings him in for a hug. With the jar in between them the position is awkward, but Mercedes holds him close, her arms warm and comforting.
“Do not underestimate your voice, Kurt,” she whispers into his ear, her breath hot and her tone low and serious. “I can tell you’ve made peace with having a voice so different from other men, but never stop singing. You are like a bird, meant to fly and roam free, singing to your heart’s content. Besides, everyone loves a good song.”
Kurt’s baffled by the sudden admission, but he nods, chin knocking against her shoulder when he replies, “O-okay.”
“I hope to see you again, Kurt,” she says when she lets go of him, smiling softly. He whispers out a you too before he makes his way to the door.
When he looks over his shoulder, he just catches Sam giving her a kiss on the cheek.
.x.
It’s just barely morning, the sun peeking out over the horizon when Kurt finds Blaine whistling, yet again carving something into the piece of wood he travels around with. It’s been over two weeks since they’d left Mercy’s Islands, and there is no land in sight.
Blaine’s sitting against a couple of barrels on the main deck, his hat gone and replaced with a bandana wrapped around his head, the snick of his blade against the wood the only sound against the waves, the ship’s creaking, and his whistling. Kurt plops onto the floor across from Blaine, back pressed against one side of the ship, looking at the wooden piece curiously. Blaine smirks at him, his whistling ceasing when Kurt sits.
“You’re always carving that thing,” Kurt says in lieu of a greeting. He nods towards the piece of wood, continues, “this is the same position I found you in when I met you at the pub.”
Blaine chuckles, continues shaping the wood as if Kurt hasn’t said anything.
A heartbeat later, Kurt asks, “You gonna tell me about it?”
“Depends if you’re asking,” Blaine replies. He pauses his carving to blow away chips of wood, brushing the remainders away before continuing.
“I’m asking.”
Kurt watches as Blaine pauses mid-slice, his face growing more solemn than Kurt’s seen before. It takes Blaine a moment to finish the chip he was carving out, looking up at Kurt with a serious expression.
He holds up the piece of wood in front of Kurt’s face; he can make out shapes, intricate designs being carved into it now, but he doesn’t see an image.
“This plank is from a piece of a tree from the house I grew up in,” Blaine begins. “It’s the only thing I took when I left home other than the clothes on my back.”
“What’s it supposed to be?” Kurt asks, and Blaine takes the wood in his hands to begin carving again.
“Not sure yet,” Blaine answers simply. He looks at Kurt with a playful smile when he says, “I prefer to carve out random shapes than to have something planned out in advanced.”
Kurt shifts towards Blaine, scooting over to sit next to him. He looks over Blaine’s shoulder to watch him carve, steady hands slicing smoothly into the wood.
“So you’ve done this before?”
“Many times. My old crew liked to keep some of the things I made sometimes.”
Kurt’s interest peaks at the mention of his old crew, but he doesn’t know if he wants to ask about Blaine’s history at sea just yet. There are too many stories, even more rumours, and Kurt isn’t sure if he wants to find out the truth to any of One-Eyed Bill tales quite yet.
“Where did you learn how to do carve?” he asks instead. “Your father taught you or -”
“Ha!” Blaine barks out, head thrown back. “No, my father didn’t teach me this. Commander William Anderson has no time for such pastimes, believe me.”
His eyebrow rises in recognition. “Commander Anderson? You mean Bill Anderson?”
Blaine turns toward him with an amused expression, the eyebrow not under the eye-patch rising in curiosity.
“Oh, he goes by Bill now?” Blaine asks. His good eye glints in the rising sunlight, bright hazel inquisitive and intrigued. “And how would you know about Mister Bill Anderson, Kurt? I thought you were just a simple blacksmith’s son.”
At the tone, Kurt narrows his eyes, squaring his shoulders as he shifts away. “My father is more than a blacksmith, Anderson, do not talk about him -”
Blaine’s expression softens, triangular eyebrow twitching as he turns towards Kurt.
“I meant no insult, Kurt, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. He shrugs, sliding back into his position. “I’m genuinely curious as to how you know my father.”
Kurt studies him carefully--face neutral and body language calm as he continues shaping his wood piece--and he sighs, relaxing again.
He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, looking into the distance. The sun is rising higher and higher, hues of pink and orange bleeding into the sky like dyes onto a cloth. He takes a deep breath of air, the salty breeze barely registering to him like it once did.
“My mother was a noble, my father a blacksmith,” Kurt begins. Blaine makes no move to acknowledge him speaking, but he continues anyway. “She died when I was young.”
It hurts less now, saying that out loud, and even remembering it at all. He hears Blaine mumble an I’m sorry, Kurt but Kurt only shrugs. It happened so long ago now, and the memory of her is more fond than painful.
He takes a breath before he continues, “My father wanted a change after her death. Said everything in England reminded him too much of her. We came out West and started over, and my mother’s bloodline was never acknowledged out here. I was seen only as Blacksmith Burt Hummel’s skinny son, never as Countess Elizabeth Steward’s heir.
“I was barely eight when my mother passed, but I remember that her family never liked my father, or me for that matter, because my father was a blacksmith and not another noble. My mother had other siblings, aunts and uncles I never got to know, and I assume the Steward line continues there instead of through me...” he trails off.
Kurt gulps, taking another breath. The only one who knows this story is his father, and that’s because he’s lived through it with Kurt. It feels strange, telling it to a man who’s barely more than a stranger and less of an acquaintance.
“When my father decided he wanted to move out to Western colonies,” he continued, “he asked for a favour.”
He paused, looking at Blaine intently.
“From your father.”
Blaine continues carving as if Kurt’s still said nothing, but Kurt licks his lips, presses them together before sitting back.
“All I know is that Commander Bill Anderson liked my dad’s work, his swords and other artillery,” Kurt recalls, “and I know that Bill was always on good terms with him, so it only took a letter and a few favours on Bill’s part before my father and I were out on sea towards the Caribbean. We’ve never turned down a request from Bill since we moved, even if we had to ship it back to England.”
Only then Kurt hears something out of Blaine: it’s a chuckle, and when he turns he sees Blaine shaking his head.
“Can’t believe it,” Blaine mutters softly with an amused smile. “So many years growing up I heard my father saying I only practiced with the best equipment--‘Burt Hummel’s finest, Blaine’--and we never crossed paths.” He looks at Kurt, bemused smile still on his face. “Yet here we are.”
“Here we are,” Kurt repeats with a nod.
Kurt wants to contemplate how different things would’ve been if he had stayed in England, if his mother never died, if his father wasn’t a blacksmith. Everything’s too good to be coincidence. Instead, however, he continues to look at Blaine, his soft expression and his short curls peeking out underneath his bandana.
He doesn’t realize he’s leaning closer and closer to Blaine until he hears Sam’s voice.
“Captain! We’re hitting Mermaid’s Cove!” Sam calls out.
Kurt’s breath leaves him, and he blinks rapidly, feeling Blaine’s breath on his cheeks. They’re so close that Kurt can almost feel Blaine against him, lips so close they can brush -
“Blaine!” Sam calls out, and his voice sounds a lot closer, and Kurt tilts his head up to see that Sam on the rail of the forecastle, looking down at them.
Kurt takes a deep breath, looking back at Blaine, who’s looking back up at Sam as well with an expression Kurt can’t read. He clears his throat and Blaine looks at him again, face turning into a smirk.
Kurt’s about to open his mouth when Blaine stands, yelling back up at Sam, “Keep straight, Sam, I’ll be up in a moment!”
He drops a hand, an offer.
Kurt looks at Blaine’s hand, fingers calloused and worn from years at sea, before looking back up at Blaine.
Kurt doesn’t waste a moment to reach out and take it, letting Blaine help him onto his feet.
He follows Blaine up the stairs to the forecastle, heading towards the rail with squinted eyes and a hand at his brows to shield his eyes from the rising sun. Next to him, he can hear Blaine taking out his telescope.
Mermaid Cove is more scenic than Kurt imagined. The ship travels towards the cove’s opening, the seawaters’ deep blue turning into lighter and lighter shades of cerulean then turquoise as they get closer. There’s an expansive white, sandy beach with large rocks standing at the ends, towering so high that it’s almost as tall as the Dream itself. Dotting the beach are palm trees, and even from afar Kurt can see their bright leaves swaying with the ocean breeze. Near the centre of the cove is an abandoned port that Kurt recognizes as Brownbeard’s Port.
They’re still a long ways off from the island, but it’s absolutely stunning.
Kurt doesn’t even realize his breath is taken away until he hears Blaine call out, “Sam! I want a small crew ready to examine the port before we land.”
Kurt turns with furrowed brows, watching Blaine make his way towards the wheel.
“What do you mean, Blaine?” Sam asks, confusion obvious on his face.
“The mermaids will tear the Dream apart if we move any closer to that beach,” Blaine explains. “You’ve heard the stories, Sam. These mermaids are vicious, and they will destroy us before we even make port. We must make peace with them if we want any chance of getting to Death’s Cliff.”
When Sam makes no move to give out the order, Blaine groans, muttering to himself before shouting towards the main deck.
“What makes you think the mermaids won’t kill us now?” Kurt asks, bewildered by the thought of such creatures tearing apart an entire ship.
“We’re not encroaching on their territory yet,” Sam says, his head bowed slightly in thought, bringing a fist up to his chin as he presses his lips together. “That change in colour in the water you see before you reach the beach?” he asks, and Kurt nods. “That’s theirs’. The waters change because of the rush activity going on.”
Kurt hums, thoughtful.
“So how do we let them know we mean them no harm?” he wonders out loud and Sam snorts out a laugh.
“That’s the thing,” he says, “nobody knows. It’s said that Brownbeard was such a menace he killed off whoever came in his way, but we can’t do that. You’ve seen our supplies; we don’t have the gunpowder--or even the manpower--to kill them all.”
Kurt purses his lips, turning to Blaine, who’d been shouting orders since Sam began explaining things to him.
“And how do you suppose we can get through these mermaids?” he asks Blaine, who finally seems satisfied by the crew getting to work.
Blaine turns, a grin on his face. “My charms, of course,” he says with a smug look.
“You’re insane!” Sam yells, whipping his head around to Blaine. “You can’t reason with mermaids!”
“Then how do you suppose we get to that port without dying?” Blaine demands, the smile falling from his face.
The two argue back and forth, Kurt rolling his eyes as they bicker, turning around to lean against the rail that overlooks the main deck.
He ponders, thinking of how they could peacefully get past the mermaids. Kurt hasn’t harmed anyone yet, and he’d like to keep it that way.
Next Part