[Current Balance: 11,744,410,454 R]
---Previously---
Penn considered it, stroking his chin. "Yes... Havana holds possibilities. I shall give it thought."
Alaric nodded, accepting the answer. He took another slow drag from his cigar, savoring the taste and the moment of relative calm. But then, his always passively alert senses picked up something on the edge of his perception.
His eyes narrowed slightly, his head turning almost imperceptibly towards the southeast horizon.
Penn noticed the subtle shift in Alaric's demeanor immediately. "What is it, lad?" he asked, his own gaze following Alaric's.
A slow, dangerous smirk spread across Alaric's face. He flicked the ash from his cigar overboard with a flick of his wrist. "Heh..."
"Pirates."
---Now---
Penn's eyes widened, snapping from his internal thoughts to follow Alaric's gaze towards the southeast horizon.
"Pirates?" he echoed while squinting his eyes. Far off, barely a speck against the endless blue, was a single sail. "How canst thou be certain from this distance, lad?"
Alaric didn't answer and just kept watching, with a dangerous smirk still playing on his lips.
A few seconds later, the distant speck noticeably grew larger, resolving into the distinct shape of a vessel under full sail, clearly making straight for La Providencia. Even so, the lookout high in the crow's nest remained silent; at this range, it could still be just another merchant or a naval ship on patrol.
Minutes crawled by, the tension on the quarterdeck palpable only between Alaric and Penn. The approaching ship became clearer now… it was a brig, and it was fast and agile. It flew no colours, a common tactic for pirates approaching prey.
Alaric finally turned away from the railing, glancing over at Oldgate who was still engrossed in his chart discussion with the navigator.
"Oi, Whitebeard," Alaric called out casually, his voice cutting through the normal sounds of the ship. "Might want to tell your lookout to clean his spyglass. We've got pirates incoming."
Oldgate's head snapped up and his eyes were now wide with alarm. He instantly swiveled, following Alaric's pointed gaze towards the rapidly closing brig.
A string of curses erupted from the captain. "Damn and blast! Asleep at his post, that useless barnacle! All hands! Prepare for attack! Gunners to your stations! Load the cannons! Look sharp, damn you!"
His voice, amplified by years of shouting over storms and battles, boomed across the deck, instantly galvanizing the crew. The sailors scrambled, ropes were tightened, cannon ports slammed open, and the relatively peaceful atmosphere of the afternoon shattered into urgent preparation for battle.
The commotion quickly drew attention from below deck. The hatch leading down flew open, and Jonathan Hugh emerged, his expression calm but alert. Alaric caught his eye.
"Jonathan," Alaric said smoothly, "Keep everyone calm down there. Especially the staff. No need for them to be on deck during this."
Jonathan gave a crisp nod. "Understood, Master Alaric." He disappeared back down the hatch just as others began to emerge, drawn by Oldgate's shouts.
One by one, Kassandra, Reuben, Thulani, Flavia, and Matteo surfaced, their expressions ranging from curious to battle-ready. They were followed shortly by Leonard, Bernard, Eleanor, and Linette Kenway, looking concerned but resolute. Jonathan, despite Alaric's instructions, clearly couldn't physically prevent the core group from coming up. Alaric just chuckled softly to himself.
Taking another drag from his cigar, Alaric strolled down the short steps from the quarterdeck to the main deck, leaning against the railing as the pirate brig expertly maneuvered closer, clearly intending to come alongside.
William Penn, still on the quarterdeck, peered intently at the approaching vessel, his eyes widening in sudden recognition as its details became sharp. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Is that not... the Sea Dog's Bite!?"
The name meant little to most aboard La Providencia, but Penn, through his travels and connections, clearly recognized the infamous vessel.
"Sea Dog's Bite?" Oldgate muttered, stomping over to stand beside Alaric at the railing, his hand resting on the hilt of his cutlass. He eyed the brig warily.
"Nasty reputation, that one. Fast ship, ruthless crew." He glanced at Alaric. "Want me to give the order to fire a warning shot, lad? Or perhaps try to outrun 'em?"
"Neither," Alaric replied calmly, his eyes fixed on the figures now clearly visible on the brig's deck. "Fold the sails, Whitebeard. Stop the ship."
Oldgate stared at him, his bushy eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "Stop the ship!? Are ye mad, boy? Inviting them aboard?" But then he seemed to remember who he was talking to… the young man who had single-handedly wiped out a frigate's crew, who had faced down two thousand soldiers without flinching.
'He must have a reason,' Oldgate thought, shaking his head slightly. 'Or maybe... maybe he knows someone on that devil ship?'
With a resigned sigh, he turned and barked the unexpected order. "Belay that! Furl the topsails! Drop the mainsail! Bring us to a halt, smartly now!"
Confused murmurs rippled through the crew, but they obeyed, scrambling to slow the massive galleon.
The pirate brig, the Sea Dog's Bite, slowed as well, expertly matching La Providencia's lack of pace until it drifted alongside, close enough to toss a grappling hook across, though none came just yet. Being a brig, it was significantly smaller than the towering galleon, forcing Alaric and the others on the main deck to look down at the pirates crowded on its deck.
A man stepped forward on the brig's railing, clearly the captain. He was an imposing figure, despite being looked down upon from the galleon's high deck.
He wore a weathered black tricorn hat adorned with a single black feather. A long, heavy black leather coat with flared cuffs and rows of silver buttons hung open, revealing a surprising lack of shirt but one belt on his chest, securing three flintlock pistols. A burnt-orange sash was wrapped tightly around his waist. But his most striking feature was his beard… a thick, wild, impossibly long black beard that seemed to consume the lower half of his face.
If this man lived in the 21st century, Alaric mused, he'd look like a particularly intimidating homeless person. A smirk touched Alaric's lips. 'Edward Thatch. Blackbeard himself.'
The pirate captain cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice a surprisingly resonant baritone carrying easily across the gap between the ships. "Good day to ye, gentlemen, aboard the fine galleon!" he bellowed. "A sturdy vessel, bristling with guns, aye! And likely laden with valuable cargo! You may or may not have the misfortune of knowing me... but I am Captain Blackbeard!"
He grinned, revealing surprisingly white teeth amidst the black forest of his beard. "Now, I find myself in need of resupply. If you'd be so kind as to surrender your cargo peacefully, I promise to leave you with your lives intact, perhaps minus a few trinkets, and a grand tale to tell your grandchildren! What say you?"
A tense silence fell over La Providencia. Oldgate gripped his cutlass tighter. Penn looked apprehensive. Reuben and Thulani shifted, ready for action by the hatch. Kassandra watched Alaric, waiting for his move.
Then, a single snort of laughter broke the tension from one of Oldgate's crewmen near the bow. It was quickly followed by another, then another.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
"Did ye hear that, lads? He wants our cargo!"
"Blackbeard? Never heard of 'im!"
"Thinks he can take the Providencia with that little dinghy? HA!"
Soon, ripples of derisive laughter spread amongst the seasoned sailors lining the galleon's rail. They'd faced worse than one brig, even one captained by a man with a fearsome beard.
On the deck of the Sea Dog's Bite, Blackbeard's grin faltered, replaced by a look of confusion, then irritation. He glanced back at his own crew, who were shifting uncomfortably under the unexpected mockery.
Alaric chuckled, the sound cutting through the sailors' laughter. He took one last drag from his cigar, then, to everyone's astonishment, casually vaulted over the railing of the towering galleon, landing lightly and silently on the main deck of the pirate brig below.
The sudden appearance of the well-dressed young man sent the pirates scrambling, weapons instantly drawn with cutlasses flashing, pistols cocked. Blackbeard himself spun around, startled, his hand instinctively going to one of his pistols.
"Hold there!" Blackbeard growled, leveling his pistol, though confusion warred with menace in his eyes. "Who in the devil are you, leaping aboard my ship like a damned ghost!?"
Alaric ignored the weapons pointed at him, calmly dusting off an imaginary speck from his crimson coat sleeve. He took another leisurely puff from his cigar before meeting the infamous pirate's gaze. "Good afternoon, Thatch…"
Blackbeard blinked, lowering his pistol slightly, surprised the stranger knew his real name. "Thatch, is it? You know my name, do ye?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Then you should bloody well know it's pure folly to jump down here alone, fancy coat or no."
"Yeah, yeah, folly, I get it," Alaric waved a dismissive hand, the smoke from his cigar curling around his face. "Look, I just have one question for you, Thatch." His gaze sharpened, his blue eyes turning cold and piercing, locking onto Blackbeard's.
The boisterous pirate captain felt an involuntary jolt, a primal sense of wrongness emanating from the calm young man before him, despite the overwhelming odds.
Alaric let the silence stretch for a beat, his eyes sweeping over the tense, armed pirates surrounding him. Then, he brought the cigar back to his lips for one final, slow drag before asking, "Do you happen to know a man by the name of Edward Kenway?"
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