Chapter 5: Sons of Whores #5
Observing his fellow pirates bustling about, ferrying their possessions and plunder to the Marine ship, Marcus's attention shifted towards the eerie display adorning their own vessel's main mast. Dozens of lifeless bodies dangled grotesquely from the rigging, stripped bare and bearing the marks of brutal execution.
Among them, one corpse with a distinct scar across its chest stood out, drawing Marcus's gaze like a magnet.
As he pondered the scene before him, Marcus's thoughts didn't dwell on the fate of the marines; their demise was but a grim testament to the Cutthroat pirates' victory, nothing more, nothing less. Instead, he lamented the failure of his carefully laid plan.
The fate of the marines mattered little to Marcus; such acts of brutality were par for the course among the Cutthroat crew. It was their grim tradition to display the corpses of fallen enemies, sending a chilling message across the seas. But Marcus's schemes were of a different nature, rooted in his own ambitions and the brewing tensions within the pirate hierarchy.
Serving as the right hand to the first mate, Marcus had orchestrated a subtle campaign to sow discord between the first mate and the captain. His aspirations lay in the hope that the first mate would seize control, with Marcus himself poised to ascend to the coveted role of first mate in turn.
Lost in his scheming, Marcus's ambitions extended far beyond mere manipulation. His ultimate goal was to betray the first mate when the timing was perfect, seizing the captaincy for himself. But such plans were distant dreams, a game of patience and strategy played over the long haul.
Interrupting his reverie, a rough voice shattered the silence. "Judging by that long look on yer face, I reckon your little scheme didn't quite pan out?" The voice belonged to a tall, lean man with a pallid complexion, his coat adorned with numerous sword sheaths.
It was none other than the first mate.
Marcus turned to face the newcomer, Mr. Bart, and let out a resigned sigh. "Aye, the lad didn't take the bait, Mr. Bart," he confessed. "I entrusted him with one of my special blades, thinking he didn't 'ave the nerve to strike down the damned sea hound... who would have thought he'd really do it?" Marcus lamented, shaking his head in disbelief.
Mr. Bart chuckled softly, a glint of admiration in his eyes. "Cunning as ever, I see, Marcus," he remarked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Had the lad failed to kill the marine, you would have pinned the blame on him, knowing full well the marine's body didn't have the telltale scar of yer special knife..." He paused, nodding in approval. "But now that the deed is done, you can claim credit for it," he concluded, offering Marcus a nod of acknowledgment.
Marcus mulled over Mr. Bart's words, his mind awash with treacherous schemes. "Still, Mr. Bart, a failure's a failure indeed... I aimed to give the captain a good poke for what he did to ol' Jon, but now..." His voice trailed off, a shadow of uncertainty lingering in the salty air. "What do you reckon we should do next, Mr. Bart? Should I pay the lad a visit under the cloak of night?" he proposed, awaiting Mr. Bart's nod of approval.
The first mate shook his head, a wry grin curling his lips. "Nay, there's no need for that anymore... I caught sight of the lad just moments ago, and what do ye think he had tucked in his belt?" Mr. Bart's grin broadened, sparking Marcus's intrigue.
"The quartermaster's prized dagger! Ya know what that means, don't you?" The first mate continued.
Marcus's eyes widened, a glint of disbelief flashing in the dim light. "Doesn't that mean the quartermaster's taken the boy under his wing...?" he pondered aloud. The first mate nodded sagely. "In that case, we can't be making a move against the lad without rufflin' the old sea dog's feathers... But why would the quartermaster take in such a useless whelp...?" Marcus queried, his bewilderment clear.
Mr. Bart shrugged, a hint of resignation in his weathered features. "Who can say what plots that old sea dog be brewin'? He's survived two captains afore Wellington, and I can't begin to discern his intentions..." His voice trailed off, a note of uncertainty tainting the salty breeze.
"For now, we'll be keepin' a weather eye on the quartermaster and the cabin boy... And speak of the devil," he added, nodding toward the gangplank connecting the two vessels, where Blake and the quartermaster were preparing to board the Marine ship.
Taking in the scene before him, the quartermaster's grin widened. "A merry mood indeed, with good reason! Thirty Marines bested by a mere twenty of our own, and their ship now ours," he declared, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "But let's not forget the cost... three of our own, fallen today," he added somberly, his gaze shifting to Blake. "Why don't ya offer'em a song or some such, lad?"
Blake felt the weight of the quartermaster's words and the expectant stares of the crew bearing down on him. Though he bristled at being thrust into the spotlight, he knew better than to defy the quartermaster's request.
With a resigned nod, he delved into his memories, searching for a suitable tune, until he found one that originated from this new world he found himself in.
Positioning himself by the railing, Blake raised his hand and began to strike it rhythmically, the sharp echoes reverberating across the deck. Confusion flickered in the eyes of the pirates as they exchanged puzzled glances, uncertain of Blake's intentions.
The quartermaster, however, caught on swiftly, his grin widening as he joined in, stamping his foot in time with Blake's rhythm. Slowly, others began to catch on, the beat spreading like wildfire as more and more pirates added their own percussive contributions.
The sound grew louder and more infectious, drawing the attention of the captain himself. With a quizzical expression, he approached, his curiosity piqued. A moment's observation was all he needed before he, too, joined the rhythmic chorus, his footfalls adding to the cacophony of sound.
As the crew embraced the impromptu performance, their confusion melted away, replaced by amusement and curiosity. Together, they transformed the deck into a makeshift drum, their rhythm echoing across the waves.
Blake waited for the opportune moment, his heart pounding as he prepared to sing. Clearing his throat, he launched into his melody, his voice carrying over the bustling deck.
"My Bonnie lays afar upon a lonely eiderdown, while I dream of gold and glory not yet found," he sang, his words weaving a tale of adventure and longing that resonated with the pirates.
"I sail a freezing scar of violent wind and thunderin' sound! They won't sing of us, forsaken sons of whores!" As Blake's song continued, a few of the crew paused in their tasks, drawn by the haunting melody.
Quickly, bottles of alcohol were produced, passed around as the mood onboard shifted from work to revelry.
"Hoist the flag, pillage all that shines! Lessons never lost in time! Will they sing for you, discarded sons of whores?" Blake's voice rang out, his lyrics stirring something primal within the pirates, igniting a fierce sense of camaraderie and defiance.
The quartermaster, caught up in the fervor of the moment, joined his voice with Blake's, the two leading the crew in a powerful chorus that echoed across the deck and beyond.
"Across the savage skies and every storm in the sea!" they sang, their words carried away by the wind. "The flutter of the sails and groaning of the wheel!"
With each verse, the crew's spirits seemed to lift higher, their differences monetarily left aside, and their worries vanishing as they lost themselves in the music and the revelry it inspired.
They stomped their feet and clapped their hands, some even raising their voices in song, adding to the rhythm of the song and creating a lively beat that reverberated through the ship.
"Sail through hail and snow, yet our spirit never yield!" Blake continued, his voice strong and clear above the din. "Today we sing for you, departed sons of whores...!"
The song reached its climax, the final notes lingering in the air like a promise of defiance and resilience. For the briefest of moments that would never last, the pirates stood united, their differences set aside as they celebrated their victory.
It seemed that things would only continue to look up for these pirates, but unfortunately, the quartermaster had other plans, and so did many others aboard the ship.
The chaos had yet to even start.
...
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