Future Glories - Part 7

"I heard you bled something dear in the autumn. You sure you've got the men to man the thing?" Toljorn asked.

"More now than I did then," Blackbeard said.

"He one of em'?" Toljorn said, grunting, pointing over Blackbeard's shoulder to where Vol stood, watching, the reins of his mule in one hand, and the axe in the other. The boy's young face did him a disservice. There was something about him that curdled Blackbeard's blood in a way that even his fiercest raiders couldn't. At first, it had inspired his interest, and now, after seeing what he could do with one arm, it inspired his confidence.

"He's probably two of them," Blackbeard said with a laugh. "Doesn't know how to take orders yet, though, it seems." The boy had come ahead of the rest of them after all, and in their days of marching, he'd made no effort to integrate.

Ordinarily, that sort of man would have no place in a group like his. Even though they were murderers and criminals, he needed a degree of trust and camaraderie amongst his men. A shield wall was useless if you couldn't trust the wall to hold.

But men like Vol were allowed a special privilege, slightly more leeway than the rest, if they could offer more than the rest. Vol seemed to be capable of offering more than the rest, but whether he would or not, that was a matter entirely.

"Seems young to me. Too young. Besides, you haven't even commented on the boat yet," Toljorn said, pointing at the ship.

One could tell that a glance that it was the newest ship in the port. The lacquer on the hull was freshly done, and the wood still looked light underneath it, not yet beaten a dark colour by the relentless waves.

It had no sail on it now, but he could see the oars there. There were enough oars for a hundred men. It was a mighty fine vessel, a whole longship of his own. It wasn't the first longship that Blackbeard had owned, but it was certainly the first one he'd had built from scratch.

He noted a familiar visage carved into a figurehead where one would normally find the shape of a dragon. No dragon he'd ever seen had such a ragged beard, nor such a crooked smile or such a weather face.

"That meant to be me?" Blackbeard asked. Toljorn grinned at that.

"Thought you might like it. We had a carpenter pass through at the end of the summer, claimed to be able to carve anyone's face out of wood. Well, I made 'im prove it to me first, then I tried to tell him what ya looked like. Boggles me ol' mind how well it turned out," Toljorn said.

"You've done well," Blackbeard said. "Well earned my gold. Will you see it fitted out for me, for a voyage?"

Toljorn squinted. "I'd wondered why you'd come 'ere in the dead of winter. Not dying in autumn wasn't good enough for ya, was it? Now you've got to chase death again in the heart of winter? I tell ya, the sea is a less forgiving mistress than the sword. Where are you even meant to be heading."

"There's some islands I've been hearing about," Blackbeard said. "On the other end of the Inland Sea, just before our country turns into a new one. They reckon some foreign noble's got his estate set up there."

Toljorn's eyes widened. "You reckless bastard!" He cried. "You're going to be taking my ship all the way out there? To rob some Syndra noble? It might be in the Inland Sea, but you know as well as I do that those will be Syndra nobles. Damn it, Black, we're meant to be in an alliance with them. Even if you live, the Earls will be coming for you after this," Toljorn looked back on the boy. "All of you. You mean to get all these men on the wrong side of the king?"

Seeing his dismay only caused Blackbeard to grin even further. "We're not like you, you old dog. We ain't got no ties. You're pulled along by the tide of the sea every morning, you watch the moon to try and predict its course. Us? It's blood keeping us afloat, a long river of it. If that blood ever stops flowing, we'll find our heads on the block all the same. We're already on the wrong side of the king, but we're still on the right side of history, I'd wager. We're more in touch with our ancestry than the rest of them."

"Ancestry..?" Toljorn said, pulling a face. Blackbeard understood that reaction. Him, of all people, talking about ancestry. He pulled his rotting teeth into an even wider grin. Why not? He was a man of particular appetites, why not unsettle souls in more ways than one? Why not go against their perception of him, just a little, enough to rile them up, and then kill them all the same? "Damn it all to hell, I have no idea what madness drives you, even when you fire your words at me. I'll outfit your ship for you, aye, but it'll cost you, even if you're only spending your own trip to the bottom of the sea."

"You know I have the coin to pay."

"I mean, it's gon' cost you even more, 'cos of winter. Ain't no folk around here to do the work. No one's mad enough to be here, none save for us," Toljorn said.

"I'll pay, you old crook, don't waggle your merchant tongue at me, I'll have it out," Blackbeard growled, and he was pleased to see Toljorn cower.

Even if they shared a pleasant word or two at times, it would not do to let the shipwright forget the dynamic between the two of them. He glanced once more at the ship. Gods, it was beautiful.

…

Vol trained with his axe.

Finally. After days on end of marching, he had time alone again.

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