Standing in the bucket, a scary looking stout man puffed at his cigar, face hard, as men pulled him up the ship. He remained upright even though the bucket swayed along with the tide, while two kids settled with their bottoms glued to the wet floor by his feet. When they reached the deck a clean shaven fellow with an annoying grin extended a hand to him.
"Need help, sir?"
"Captain," a low rumble emanated from the old man's bearded neck, smoke puffed out of his nose.
"EDGAAR!" the two kids yelled as soon as they saw the man, prompting a glare from the old man who flinched from the shriek.
"Hello, kids. What a surprise," said the captain who grew a genuine smile. He shifted his hand from the old man and helped the children instead.
The old man grumbled and attempted to lift himself, but two young bloke arrived to help him climb over the railing. He chewed on his cigar and spat when he reached the deck, eyes scanning his surrounding. Edgar was patting the bottom of his siblings, a hearty laughter from the three catching up with life, while the crew was shuffling about, lowering goods to boats to be carried back to port. The Black Turtle was anchored just outside port entrance, the Saint stood guard with his spear, with a mountain of a sea beast surrounded by seven other ships untying their tether, truly looked like he was about to let loose his weapon.
Men were clamoring at the carcass, like fleas sucking blood out of a dog, they stabbed their blade into the gargantuan carcass and dismantled the creature's hide. Another group of men was setting up a contraption that would keep the creature's mouth open, allowing them to gut its tender inside and prevent them from suffocating. Thick black smoke rose from the four boiler boats around holes the men had made, turning its fat into black liquid gold.
The old man gave his cigar a good suck and blew a thick smoke out of his lips. His mustache and beard hid a proud smirk, one he did not want Edgar to see as not to inflate his ego. Said captain called for his quartermaster to bring his siblings into his room, and then stood beside the old man.
"How much coin is all that, good sir Garland?"
"How big is that thing, 200 feet long?"
"250 feet, sir," Edgar answered proudly. He spread his arms as wide as he could.
Garland sucked on his cigar so hard his cheek flattened. A heavy full of smoke sigh followed.
"That's the biggest beast you caught yet, true, but that...," Garland paused, with his fingers holding the cigar with a pinch gestured to the wide open sea from the east to the city. The Black Rose Fortress stood on the river mouth, ships were anchored before its gates, waiting to pass through.
"That is a convoy of Summer lords traveling to the palace and your beast is 250 feet in their way."
Edgar gasped.
He fucking faked the gasp, Garland cursed.
"My, can their pleasure boats survive the tides, sir?" he inquired.
Garland chewed at his cigar. Was the thick smoke around his head steam from his anger or just his cigar?
"The palace is holding a festival. The crown prince is coming of age. You don't want to hold back the summer lords from presenting themselves to the king, do you? One of those ships might have the future queen in it."
Edgar's officers fidgeted behind them, whispering amongst themselves. "From one beast's mouth to another, for fucks' sake..." someone muttered in hush-hush.
"Ah, no wonder they're bringing their nice boats out here. Well, let's get on with the work and let the lords pass with haste, shall we?"
The old smoking man was Sir Garland, the master of Melst's Seahunter Guild. A seahunter knighted by the king himself for pioneering the method all seahunters used nowadays. Bowlark killed his first beast by throwing himself with a spear in hand. Garland attached two dozen ballistas in a ship and went berserk. The living legend himself, leading the largest guild on Eastland.
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"When I receive the first letter of complaint, I promise I'll make you pay, boy," Garland warned.
"The lords do love their letters, don't they?"
"They love any excuse that will reduce payments from your catch, that's what."
"Sure they will, but the guild master won't allow that, right?" said the captain, patting Garland's shoulder.
His men behind him audibly gasped, while the old man only glared at the insolence. Old age had softened Garland a lot. If only this young man wasn't his best captain in years, he would have him in the dungeons. Seven kills so far in the season, fifty so far since he captained the Black Turtle. He reminded Garland a lot of his younger self, brazen, vigorous, fearing nothing, not even terrors of the sea. but the student had surpassed the master. Either the sod was so damn lucky or he knew exactly what he was doing.
Garland blew a smoke to Edgar's face, making him cough. He hated to abuse his title. Garland never wanted to be knighted, but it gave him authority over guild businesses and lesser lords did not dare flaunting their asses and demanding things. He only liked seeing sea beasts dead.
"That's a lot of ships. I remember you left with three," he mentioned. The tone was business. Further entertaining Edgar would just worsen his blood pressure.
"Picked up Anton and his mates when we called for escort, the other two were merchant ships that got lost. Bound to attract some attention with a beast that big."
"What are they carrying, grains?" Garland pointed to the two unfamiliar boats closer to the port.
"Yes, from Riveting, but they stopped by Fymar..." Edgar mentioned in a low voice. "Traded a few crates of liquor, if you know what I mean."
Garland raised his eyebrow.
"Smugglers..." he hushed.
Edgar shrugged his shoulders, feigning ignorance.
"Well, that makes sharing the coin much easier. Where are the captains?"
"In my quarter, sir."
"Don't 'sir' me, boy..." Garland warned.
Edgar erupted into laughter.
"You should get used with your title, Chief," the captain jest, arm embracing Garland, guiding him to his quarter where everybody were waiting for the feast.
With Garland joining the table, the discussion was settled without much dispute. The guild would be buying all cargo from the smugglers ship. They protested, but Garland let them choose between that or having Melrose's port authority boarding their ship instead. After the feast workers escorted the smuggler captain to his ship that was already tugged into the guild's port. As for captain Anton, there wasn't a beast attack while escorting the catch back to port, so he and his men would be paid enough to re-supply their fleet and then some to keep them happy. They had been sailing for weeks without finding a catch. The coins should be enough to refresh his crew before going out into the sea again.
The lion share of the catch would be divided between Edgar's fleet and the guild per their earlier arguments. The lads seemed happy enough and learned a lot from Edgar's hunt. Looked like everybody would be commissioning bigger dragnets. Garland had ordered the shipbuilders to make three more Black Turtle, bigger, faster, deadlier. But Edgar's biggest fans were his siblings. Robin interjected himself every time old Charlie, Lady Charmer's captain, mentioned anything about the Black Turtle. Olivia carried herself better, but her eyes still widened in glee hearing the stories.
They fed themselves full. Prime cut from the sea boar was served endlessly, cooked in all manners known on Eastland, along with casks of Fymar wine and fresh vegetables from the land. Garland was stumbling to get into his boat when they were done. He was lowered with his back on the bucket, and his men pulling him like unto his boat like a caught tuna from the sea. Charlie, Anton, and Sea Wolf's captain, Torri, left in similar manners. Olivia and Robin passed out in Edgar's bed.
Edgar saw the men sailed away. The sun had set a few hours ago, but the workers continued gutting the sea beast in the dark. The net was yet to be untangled. The men reckoned it would be easier to do after they remove more pressure from inside. The creature flailed so much it broke the net in a few places. Thick black smog continued stemming from the boilers, barrels full of beast meat being shipped off to the port to be salted. The stench was appalling.
Sir Bowlark's torch was ablaze, behind him lights from the city rivaled the stars in the sky. Home. The city of Melst under starry sky. The black walls of Lord Melrose's castle marked only with dim torches from its openings, invisible in the dark but to the people of Melst. The bright riverbanks that still saw some activity. A faint ruckus from shore, perhaps from Rita's Tavern just outside the guild grounds. White steam rising from chimneys all over Melst, the beating of iron hearts blanketed the city from the cool night.
The sea rocked the Black Turtle, almost lulling the captain to sleep.
"COLE!" Edgar called for his first mate.
"Aye, cap?"
"Prepare a boat, I'm going home."