On the Oro Jackson the smell of powder smoke quickly gave way to cheers and the perfume of rum.
Sailors belted off-key shanties and bragged about how cleverly they had toyed with the Marines.
Yes, Garp with his built-in Roger radar had found them yet again, and both sides had enjoyed another friendly meeting.
Kael Grylls leaned against the mast with a fresh orange juice, took a testing sip, and closed his eyes.
Perfect. Ninety-nine point nine percent. That is the taste.
His gaze strayed to Roger.
Roger stood hands on hips, shoulder to shoulder with Gaban, laughing as loud as ever. But the forearm without a sword was swaddled in thick bandages, a dark red bloom slowly widening through the cloth.
Garp had gotten through his guard, sure, but on any normal day a cut like that on a monster like Roger would be knit shut before anyone finished a toast. Kael's ear caught it, the faintest shortness in that booming laugh, the breath just a shade too tight.
His hand stopped halfway to his mouth.
No way. Or has it, finally, arrived.
Kael's heart slid down a step. The sweet juice turned faintly bitter on his tongue.
Night fell and the banquet came on schedule. Roast fat sang over coals, and a great bonfire painted every face a healthy red.
Roger had changed into clean clothes. He lifted a cup bigger than his face and sparred in swigs with Gaban.
"Cheers."
"Ooohhh."
Shanks and Buggy were the rowdiest gremlins, each waving a slab of meat while chasing the other and telling anyone who would listen how they had bravely routed three Marines, earning a round of laughter.
The whole crew soaked in the revel, loud and bright.
Only Kael sat out of step.
He kept to a pocket of shadow with a glass of orange juice, untouched by firelit meat or rum, simply watching his noisy family.
His eyes moved from face to face and finally settled on Roger's, all swagger and sunlight.
No. I have to do something.
Between drinking bouts the noise dipped, leaving only the crack and spit of the fire.
Kael stood and stepped into the ring of light.
"Everyone," he said. Soft, but clear enough to reach every ear.
Heads turned. Roger blinked, curious.
"I have a proposal," Kael said, unusually solemn. "It is time we found a ship's doctor."
Silence held for a beat.
"Pfft." Gaban blew a mouthful of liquor and hacked. "Kael, you feverish. A doctor. What for."
"Yeah," Nozdon thumped his chest. "As long as your head is still on your neck, the rest is a scratch."
"Hahaha. Rum fixes more than any doctor."
Laughter rolled. They thought he was spinning a dry joke.
Kael smiled twice and let it fade. He swept them with those gold eyes. In the firelight they were serious enough to smother the noise.
"Think about it." His voice was slow, even. "Every fight we hold back. We flinch at bad wounds, fear missing limbs. What if we had a first-rate doctor on board."
He paused, then tossed a lure these brawlers could not ignore.
"Picture this. We charge without restraint. Even if an arm or a leg gets lopped, we scoop up the parts and our doc stitches you right back. You can trade life for life against stronger foes, because there is a doctor behind you to catch what falls. Battles become freer, wilder, better."
The smirks slid off faces. Interest glinted. For fighters like these, he had scratched the exact itch.
When the air was ripe, Kael added the killing blow with a gentle smile.
"And more important," his voice dropped into a devil's whisper, "is this. Every banquet ends just when it gets good because we sleep the day away. Wasteful, right. With a doctor, he can brew the ultimate hangover cure. We party till dawn, then a dose each, and by morning we are bright-eyed and ready to, well, start the next banquet."
"We could run three a day. Breakfast banquet, lunch banquet, dinner banquet."
Silence. Pure and total.
Even Roger stared, brains everywhere trying to process the payload.
Three, in a single day.
"Ooohhh."
Brilliant lines add fire to wine.
"Genius. Kael, you are a genius." Buggy's eyes lit up like twin suns, already seeing endless refills of juice and a party that never sets.
"Yes. For the banquets."
"Find a doctor."
"I want to be blackout drunk every day."
The deck reignited. A minute ago they had teased him. Now the entire crew elevated Find A Doctor to Action Item Number One.
The deck boiled again, but now the talk was not battle, it was the rosy dream of infinite feasts.
"Kūhahahaha." Roger laughed till tears sprang, threw an arm around Kael's neck, and shook him. "Kael. What is inside that head of yours. Done. We go recruit the best doctor in the world. For the banquets."
"For the banquets," the crew roared back.
Only Rayleigh did not join the chorus.
He leaned on the rail with his cup, eyes sliding past the raucous crowd to rest on Kael.
Kael smiled with them and rode the wave, but deep in those gold eyes was little joy.
There was weight there, the opposite of revelry, something heavy and out of place.
Rayleigh said nothing. He raised his cup instead, a small tilt in Kael's direction.
Kael felt it, lifted his wooden cup, and drank to him across the air.
They understood each other without a word.
Some news is too dark to end a feast early.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't forget to add this story to your Library, drop a review, and leave a Power Stone if you enjoyed it!
If you're itching to see what happens next, check out the advanced chapters on my Patron!
[email protected]/_theon
Change @ to "a"