At first light, when the sun's blade split the sea fog, the Oro Jackson's deck burst into a very lively sort of misery.
"Ugh, my head."
"Water, someone get me water."
"Where's the hangover cure Kael promised? Bring it, now."
Nozdon clutched his skull like it might split, certain last night's rum was hosting a rave inside his brain.
Shanks and Buggy, the underage culprits who had snuck sips, were sprawled out tongue-lolling, souls visibly floating, faces doing something that really should not be seen by children.
Kael Grylls leaned on the rail, watching this herd of hungover monsters with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"Future terrors of the seas," he drawled, "the reason we are going to find a doctor is precisely because we do not have one. Difficult logic, is it."
Everyone: "…"
Fair point, barely.
"On your feet." Roger's voice boomed from the captain's quarters. He strode out fresh as a sea breeze, no hint of a hangover, only a shade paler than usual. "Hands, make sail. Next stop, Twin Cape."
"Ooohhh."
Bodies protested, but a captain's order is a captain's order. The Oro Jackson swung her prow and went racing for the beginning of the Grand Line.
Days later Reverse Mountain reared up in all its glory.
They rode the climbing current skyward, plunged down the far chute, and settled under the landmark lighthouse of Twin Cape.
This is where every pirate's dream begins. Even the air tastes of legends.
"Here." Rayleigh folded his chart and pointed to the lighthouse on the headland. "Crocus. Best doctor on these seas."
"Kūhahahaha. Leave it to me."
Before the keel fully kissed calm water, Roger bent his knees and launched. He arced across dozens of meters and landed in front of the lighthouse with a thud that rattled the stones three times.
A strange uncle in a floral shirt and glasses, hair tied up like a daisy, was watering a flowerbed. He jumped, sloshing his can everywhere.
"Hey, old man." Roger planted his fists on his hips and flashed all his teeth. "I like you. Join my crew and be my doctor."
The world paused.
On deck, Gaban choked a geyser of rum. Shanks and Buggy gaped, faces spelling out you can do that.
Kael covered his face. Of course it would go like this. Roger's dictionary does not include the entries "subtle" or "lead-in."
The so-called old man, Crocus, pushed his glasses up and gave Roger the kind of look reserved for idiots. "Which kennel did you escape from. No, wait, you are Gol D. Roger. Irrelevant. I have no interest in piracy. Get off my flowers."
Even with a multibillion bounty standing before him, his tone was flat and final.
"Come on." Roger, unbothered, lunged forward, ready to sling an arm over a new friend. "It will be fun. We have meat and rum and endless adventure."
An immense, mournful whalesong rolled across the air.
"Mooooo, ooooo."
By the lighthouse, the sea darkened as a vast shadow rose. A scar-mapped head the size of an island broke the surface, hurling up a mountain of water.
A whale. An utterly enormous whale.
"Waaah. What is that monster." Buggy's eyes almost left his skull. Even the veterans looked twice.
Only Crocus softened. He set the watering can down, walked to the edge, and stroked that battered hide. "Laboon, right on time again. Wait a little longer, they will be back soon."
Laboon rumbled and nuzzled his hand, begging comfort.
Roger was caught by the whale, forgetting the recruitment bit for a moment.
Kael used the distraction. His outline flickered, and he slipped off the deck without a sound.
He rounded the lighthouse and leaned into the shade, waiting.
A moment later, Crocus, done calming Laboon, tossed Roger a perfunctory brush-off and turned for the door. He stopped cold. A black-haired, gold-eyed young man was watching him, smiling without showing teeth.
Crocus frowned. When did the brat get there. He was sure no one had been in that spot.
"You need something. I said I am not interested in sailing with pirates." The tone stayed sharp.
"No rush." Kael's gaze drifted past his shoulder to the hulk on the water. "A stubborn whale. Waiting for its friends, right."
A tiny stiffening ran through Crocus's shoulders. His eyes sharpened behind the lenses. "None of your business."
"Of course not." Kael smiled, something a touch oracular in it. "I just happen to know a little story, about some very cheerful musicians. They called themselves the Rumbar Pirates."
""
Crocus spun fully, pinning Kael with a stare, the first real crack in that still-water face. "How do you know that name."
He had not heard it from another's mouth in decades.
"The sea carries many things." Kael lifted a hand and invisible ripples shimmered across his fingertips. "Sound, light, memory. If you know how to listen."
He was absolutely making it up, but the line, paired with those eyes that looked like they could hear fate itself, rocked Crocus anyway.
Open scheme. Forgive me.
"What happened to them." Crocus's voice trembled despite himself.
He had waited too long, imagined too many endings.
"I do not know it all," Kael said, honestly enough for the hinge of his plan. "I only 'heard' pieces. They entered the Grand Line, met storms and monsters, and kept moving toward a promised point."
He held Crocus's gaze and set the hook the man could not refuse.
"You saw our captain. He is a hopeless fool, and he is also the man fated to sail to the end of the world."
"Come with us, Doctor Crocus. We need your hands. In return, we finish this route. Only at the end will you find the complete answer about the Rumbar Pirates. For you, and for that big idiot still waiting."
Crocus fell quiet.
The wind tugged his pink headcloth. Out on the water, Laboon butted the Red Line again, a hollow thump, as if trying to knock grief loose.
One path was the promise he had kept for decades. The other was perhaps the only chance to untie every knot, to give Laboon and himself release.
At length he breathed out a long sigh, like setting down a millstone.
"Terms." He met Kael's eyes, steady now. "Your captain promises me, himself, that he will help find what became of the Rumbar Pirates."
"Deal." Kael's mouth tilted in the satisfied curve of a plan well sprung.
By the time Crocus hefted his medical chest and followed Kael back around, Roger was still wrestling logic with the air.
"Hey, Roger," Kael called.
Roger turned, spotted Crocus, and brightened. "Oh, old man. Saw sense after all."
Crocus ignored the address and stopped an arm's length away. "I will come aboard and serve as your doctor, on one condition."
"Name it."
"Help me learn the final fate of the Rumbar Pirates."
Roger blinked, then grinned, thumped his chest. "Kūhahahaha. That all. I promise. If it happened on these seas, Gol D. Roger can find it. Welcome aboard, Crocus."
In the ring of Roger's easy oath, Crocus glanced back at Laboon, who still keened at the cliff, eyes complicated.
"Wait for me, Laboon. This time, I will bring back an answer."
Crocus bade the whale goodbye, turned, and stepped onto the deck of the Oro Jackson.
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