Somewhere in the harbor, a bell tolled, lazy, rhythmic, the call of the morning tide.
Vikram leaned on a piling, eyes wide at the stranger beside him, a man who looked as if the sea itself had spat him out, sunburnt, beaded, and smiling like a man who knew secrets.
"I know it, from the stories!" Vikram said, breathless. "The ghost ship, right? The one that attacks from nowhere and steals people away in the night?"
Jack hummed approvingly, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Mm. So they say."
"Is it real?" the boy asked, eyes bright with wonder.
The stranger's gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sunlight melted into the waves. "Oh, it's real enough," he said quietly. "Too real for most folk's liking. Best sort of real, if you ask me."
Vikram frowned. "You talk as if you've seen it."
"I've seen it, lad." Jack's voice dropped, soft as the tide's breath. "And the stories don't do her justice."
The boy leaned closer. "You saw it? What was it like?"
Jack's eyes followed the horizon again, "Beautiful," he murmured. "And terrifying. Like a woman who smiles just before she stabs you."
The boy frowned, not entirely sure what that meant, but nodded solemnly all the same. "So… you want that ship instead?" He pointed at the Interceptor.
"For now," Jack said, flashing that crooked grin. "Every grand tale's got to start somewhere."
Jack's eyes followed the ship's lines with something like hunger.
Then, turned back to Vikram with a sidelong look, "Tell you what, lad. You help me with a little something, and I'll give you two more shillings. Aye?"
"Two shillings!?" Vikram gasped. "That's more than I've ever had!"
He eagerly added, "What do I have to do?"
Jack grinned, with that crooked and half-drunk smile, "Are you any good at creating chaos?"
Vikram frowned, thinking. "Hmm... never really tried. Oh! Wait! Once, I made two drunkards stab each other over a sausage. Does that count?"
Jack blinked, impressed despite himself.
"Well," he said slowly, "that's all the better, then."
He pointed toward the dock, where two uniformed guards leaned on their muskets, half-dozing, half-arguing.
"Those two gentlemen there, are in dire need of entertainment."
Vikram snorted. "Oh, I know them. Murtogg and Mullroy. Proper idiots."
(IMAGE)
"Excellent." Jack's grin widened, revealing a flash of gold tooth. He clapped the boy on the shoulder with theatrical flair. "Go on then, lad. Make yourself worth it."
Vikram's grin turned wicked. He slipped off toward the gangway, already plotting trouble.
*
The sun was climbing slow and lazy over the harbor, its light spilling across the water but stopping shy of the shaded dock where two guards slouched in the cool morning air.
One was tall and all elbows, his coat half-buttoned and hat askew. The other was short, ruddy-faced, and already sweating as if the day had no business being this bright.
"I'm telling you, Mullroy," the tall one muttered, squinting toward the rippling water, "that wasn't rum floating in the bay. It was lamp oil."
"Lamp oil doesn't smell like rum," Mullroy shot back, indignant. "And I know rum."
"You think you know rum."
"Better than you!"
"Do not!"
"Do too!"
Behind a crate in the shadow of a sail loft, Vikram bit his lip to stifle a laugh.
From farther back, half-concealed behind a pile of fishing nets, Jack gave a grand little go on flick with his fingers.
Vikram spotted a crab skittering near a coil of rope. Inspiration struck. He nudged it toward the guards and called out, mock-alarmed, "Oi! Sirs! Watch your boots!"
"Holy mother of-!" Mullroy yelped, hopping back, musket flailing wildly.
"What is it?!" Murtogg cried.
"It bit me!"
"It's a crab."
"It's aggressive!"
"It's tiny!"
Vikram couldn't hold it in anymore, laughter burst out of him.
"Hey! You there!" Murtogg barked. "What're you doing, boy?"
Vikram straightened, trying and failing to look innocent. "Just watching, sir. Didn't know the Navy was recruiting crabs now."
"That's cheeky, that is," Mullroy grumbled. "Run along before I feed you to it."
"Can't," Vikram said cheerfully. "Promised my ma I'd stay out till midday. Said I was too handsome to be indoors."
Both guards blinked.
Murtogg whispered, "He is a bit charming, isn't he?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mullroy muttered. "He's an orphaned little rat, remember?" Then, louder, "Now, Move along, lad."
While they bickered, the pirate made his move.
Jack sauntered out from behind the barrels as if strolling through his own parlor, hands behind his back, whistling tunelessly. His boots barely made a sound on the gangway.
He stepped aboard the Interceptor, eyes roaming over her lines, her rigging, the gleam of the wheel. He leaned against the helm, fingertips brushing the polished wheel.
"Quite beautiful," he murmured.
"Oi!" But then Mullroy spotted him, "You!"
"Well," Jack, still one hand on the wheel, and the faintest smirk tugging at his lips muttered under his breath, "that didn't take long." As the two guards fumbled up the gangway, one tripping over his own musket, the other losing his hat to the breeze, leaving poor Vikram, all alone, wide eyed with excitement and a touch of panic.
"You there," Mullroy repeated, pointing his musket like a man who'd just remembered what one was for.
Jack looked over his shoulder.
"Step away from the helm!" Murtogg barked as he and Mullroy clambered aboard, rifles raised. "You've no permission to be here, mate."
Jack turned slowly, hands raised in mock surrender, that signature crooked smile already in place.
"Gentlemen," he said warmly. "Lovely day for a stroll, isn't it?"
Jack pressed a hand to his chest, eyes wide with the scandal of it. "I'm sorry, it's just-" He sighed like a man who'd been struck by inspiration. "-such a pretty boat."
"A what?" Mullroy squinted, affronted by the adjective.
"Ship", Jack spread his arms as if correcting himself.
Meanwhile, Vikram peered from behind a post, grinning until his cheeks hurt.
Mullroy's mouth thinned. "State your name."
Jack inclined his head with solemnity. "Smith."
"Smith?" Murtogg repeated slowly, then louder, "what's your business in Port Royal, Mr. Smith?"
Jack tapped his temple, pretending to search for it. "Business? Ah yes. Honest trade, chiefly."
"Trade in what?" Mullroy asked, suspicious.
Jack's smile widened so that it was almost a confession. "Commodities of a… liquid nature."
"Rum, then," Murtogg guessed.
"Among other fine goods," Jack said brightly. "Soap, hats, moral flexibility, on occasion."
Mullroy squared his shoulders and, with the solemnity of a man who has been taught one half of the world's wisdom, barked, "No lies!"
Jack wagged a finger, theatrically guilty. "Okay. I confess," he sighed, as though admitting to something terribly improper. "Confess that it is my intention, to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, raid, pillage, plunder and otherwise relieve many a Spanish merchant of their burdens."
He paused, took a breath, and added in a tone of wounded innocence, "There. Truth told. You're welcome."
Mullroy's face twisted. "I said no lies!" he barked, aiming his musket squarely at Jack.
Jack looked mildly offended. "And I said the truth. I'm sensing a communication breakdown. Aye?"
"I think he's telling the truth…" Murtogg said slowly, frowning as the idea unfolded in his brain like a rusty hinge.
Mullroy blinked at him. "What?"
"Well," Murtogg went on, "if he were lying, he wouldn't have told us what he's really doing… unless he knew we wouldn't believe him even if he told us the truth."
Mullroy stared, visibly struggling to process the verbal pretzel. "So… you're saying he's honest about being dishonest?"
"YES," Murtogg said proudly, as though solving a great philosophical mystery.
Jack beamed. "Marvelous reasoning! You're wasted in uniform, mate. You'd make an excellent pirate."
Mullroy growled. "You shut your mouth."
Jack tilted his head, utterly unbothered. "See? Now that's just rude. I come here, share my dreams, open my heart, and what do I get? Accusations."
Murtogg, still thinking, muttered, "He does seem rather sincere."
"Sincere?" Mullroy scoffed. "He just confessed to piracy!"
Jack spread his arms wide, all showmanship and grin. "Honesty is the foundation of any healthy relationship, lads."
Jack tilted his head, shifting his weight as if he owned the deck already.
"Well, now that introductions are out of the way," he said, "and seeing as you've both got your rifles pointed at me, which is very polite, by the way, perhaps we might engage in a bit of civil conversation, aye?"
Neither guard lowered his musket. Mullroy squinted suspiciously.
"What conversation?"
Jack gestured broadly. "Oh, the usual kind." imitating the gestures of coin.
Murtogg frowned. "You talk a lot for someone about to be arrested... and no bribes!"
Jack replied smoothly. "Man of the sea, long hours, very few listeners. One develops a certain… conversational stamina."
Mullroy huffed. "You're definitely a pirate."
Jack considered it, then nodded. "Fair. But not currently a pirate, if we're being technical. Formerly."
"Formerly-" Murtogg began.
"Long story," Jack cut in. "There was an island, you see, and a tribe- lovely people, very pointy sticks. Misunderstanding, really. They thought I was a god." He gave a modest shrug. "Or possibly lunch. The translation was unclear."
Mullroy lowered his rifle an inch despite himself. "A god?"
Jack nodded solemnly. "And when the misunderstanding was cleared up, and the smoke had settled, and their chief had unfortunately stepped on a spear, completely unrelated, tragic business, they made me their new one."
Murtogg blinked. "They made you chief?"
Jack smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Aye. And then-"
**SPLASHHHH***
A sudden splash echoed across the harbor. Both guards and jack whipped their heads around toward the rail, startled.
Vikram's eyes went wide. "Someone fell!"
Jack leaned casually on the helm, utterly unbothered.
"-and then they made me their chief," he finished to himself, almost fondly.
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