—Are you sure?— asked the voice that always brought me calm. —You know my father isn't against supporting us while you look for work, love.
"How could I accept that?" From someone who boasted behind my back about how poorly matched I was for his only daughter. To submit myself to his yoke—and worse, to owe him a favor. I won't deny that, deep down, I always had a bit of pride. That pride kept me working, even in rundown places, while waiting for fate to finally smile at me. But to her, that probably looked like nothing more than arrogance.
—Ale…
When I opened my eyes, a short man stood in front of me, with a thick black beard—messy and neglected. It wasn't what you'd call a proper beard; it was more like clumps of fuzz stuck on at random, a badly patched mess that almost looked fake. His clothes were clean, but worn. With his large, fish-like eye, he stared at me with an amused expression.
—Heh-heh, looks like the catch finally woke up.
—Thank goodness,— proclaimed a confident, elegant male voice from afar. —I was starting to think he'd just be dead weight.
The ground shifted, and the smell of fish immediately flooded my nostrils. Holding back the sudden wave of disgust that churned my stomach, I straightened myself. I was lying atop a small mound of dead fish, on a large red oak ship—remarkably aesthetic—beautifully adorned with red wood on the inside and a deep black on the outside, so polished it looked as though it had been waxed.
—You're lucky,— said the distant voice. As I squinted, I finally distinguished its source: the ship's captain. —I just happened to see you go flying, and you were right along our route.
—Sorry… I'm still…
I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, I read it.
[Black Team]
Ignoring the nausea, I leapt away from the dwarf, pulling the silver knife from my jacket—miraculously still in place. The dwarf, sporting a beard that looked like pubic hair glued to his face, simply stared at me in confusion, raising his hands.
—Hey, easy there, buddy. We're the ones who saved you.
My stomach couldn't take it anymore. The violent impulse rising from my gut forced me to empty my stomach all over the ship's deck.
—Ah, so you were seasick. You should've said something, buddy.
—Stop.— I raised the knife, pointing it at him. —Are you from Paul's team?
The dwarf froze, his one visible eye wide open.
—Wow, things are pretty lively around here…
The captain had left the helm, walking with astonishing confidence across the slippery red wooden deck. He was tall, stroking a tangled beard with a reddish hue. His skin, weathered by salt and sun, gave him a worn appearance, but his long leather captain's coat and elegant hat—both a deep black—adorned with a beautiful red feather on both the hat and the front of his jacket, made his rank unmistakable. His steps sounded like wood crushing coral.
He finally stepped between us and, with a friendly smile, pulled both hands from his coat.
Empty.
—We should all calm down, famous Mr. Nobody.
—Famous?
—Captain, this kid's crazy.
—Nah. One of his stars recognizes the playing field. Didn't you hear the rumors?
—My apologies, Captain,— the sailor said, lowering his head.
My head was spinning, but at least one thing calmed me: above the captain's head, it read [White Team]. My legs trembled like noodles and my stomach screamed in agony as the captain approached me with firm steps, extending his hand.
—You know me, but I don't know you.
—Good. That's the right attitude.
The captain withdrew his hand again and, flashing a wide smile that revealed a perfect set of teeth—rock-solid, yet yellowed more than any I'd ever seen—declared:
—I am Bartholomew Roberts. Some called me "the Gentleman of the Seas." Others simply called me "Black Bart."— After that declaration, he bowed theatrically. —The last great pirate the English Crown never managed to hang.
Pirate history wasn't exactly my strong suit, but even a fool like me had heard of Captain Roberts' feats. Born in Wales, he had always dreamed of becoming a merchant sailor. When he finally got his first chance, he threw himself into the open sea and never looked back. What he hadn't expected was fate's cruel twist: in fulfilling his dream, he would be ambushed by the crew of the pirate Howell Davis, who offered him the standard deal of the era—join us, or walk the plank.
Young Roberts, intending to escape at the first opportunity, joined the pirates. Unfortunately for him, he was so competent, skilled, and talented a sailor that he quickly earned a privileged position among the crew. And when Captain Davis died during a clash with Portuguese naval forces, Roberts was chosen as the new captain—against his own intentions.
His leadership skills led him to capture over four hundred ships, and he imposed rules of hygiene and dress upon his crew, earning him the title of the most eccentric pirate of the seven seas.
—Allies?— the captain extended his hand toward me once more.
I didn't have many options, and in the end, he had saved me. So I sheathed the knife and reached out. The moment he grabbed my hand, he yanked me forward, dragging my face straight through the cold vomit on the deck.
—Don't dirty my ship again. Understood?
I could only nod as my face was pressed against the floor. After that, he released me, ran a hand through his hair, and shoved a bucket of water toward me.
—Go on, clean yourself up. The party's about to begin.
—The party?
In the distance, one of the islands was suddenly swallowed by a massive wave, vanishing completely from my sight, leaving behind nothing but sea foam.