(Continued from part 1)
■ ■
“Uuuuuugh, why did she have to hype it up like that?” Morgan asked, sprawled on her side in the same bunk she’d slept in the night before.
“Because Captain Molly adores nothing more than suspense and dramatics,” Poppy answered from across the room, quietly tending to her plants.
They had returned to Poppy’s room together, Poppy offering Morgan her condolences after Red Molly loudly and very publically dropped the hint that she’d be putting on some kind of show later. There, in the quiet coziness of the well kept room, the last effects of the adrenaline fully faded and Morgan finally began to feel the aches in her muscles from all the swimming she’d done, not to mention the near-impalement-experience.
She had tumbled into the bunk while Poppy promised to brew them some tea that would help her relax and soothe both of their sore bodies.
The compact metal kettle that Poppy had produced from a small crate now sat resting on a short table nearby, steeping and cooling after being brought to a boil over some kind of magic powered equivalent of bunsen burner. Poppy had explained the blend of leaves she’d used, citing the bulk as being from the “honey-moth” plant, with a small amount of “serasflower” added, the former for muscle aches and the latter for relaxation.
“It should be ready now,” Poppy announced, setting down the tiny pair of clippers she’d been using and removing her gloves. She crossed the room and knelt by the table, filling two small wooden cups with the now golden liquid.
“Thanks,” Morgan said, sitting up and accepting her cup with both hands. While she hadn’t felt all that affected by the chill of the deep ocean or the cool air on the surface, the warmth of the cup still felt wonderful as it spread from her fingertips. She spent a minute just sitting and holding her cup while occasionally sniffing the fragrant steam, trying to pinpoint the many scents. It did indeed smell mainly of honey, but there were also hints of something else, something floral that made her think of sliding into a steaming hot bath.
Finally, she brought the cup to her lips and took a careful sip of the golden tea, groaning gratefully as she felt the warmth of it traveling down her throat to pool in her stomach before spreading through the rest of her body. It tasted like it smelled, light and sweet and like honey and sunshine, but with an aftertaste of that mysterious floral scent that cooled her tongue, almost like mint.
“This is really good…” Morgan breathed, hunched over her cup as she drank. Poppy, seated cross-legged opposite her, smiled, then tried to hide it behind her own cup.
“Ah, thank… thank you,” Poppy replied somewhat shakily, her still faintly glowing eyes reflected in the surface of her tea. Morgan hadn’t noticed until she’d actively looked for them, but it seemed like the glowing dots on Poppy’s body did not appear as brightly as before once she was out of the water, with only her eyes and cheeks lit up now.
“I’m glad you like it,” Poppy said, taking a quick sip and sighing through her nose. “Most of the crew won’t drink tea unless they absolutely have to, and it’s nice to share it with someone who isn’t only doing it because they’re deathly ill or dying.”
Morgan chuckled at that, raising an eyebrow. “What, the big tough pirates can’t handle a little tea?”
The sound of Poppy’s giggle at her dumb little joke was as soothing to Morgan’s ears as the tea was to the rest of her body, and she found herself beaming as she took another sip.
“Well, some of them won’t drink it because they think only Empire nobles and people from High Society drink tea,” Poppy said, not bothering to wipe the smile from her face or hide the way she rolled her eyes at that sentiment. “I tried to tell them that tea has existed amongst every culture for thousands of years before the overprivileged few tried to convert it into a status symbol, but…” Poppy shook her head and shrugged dismissively.
“As soon as you're finished, I want to examine you… y-your arm, that is,” Poppy said, clearing her throat and sounding a little more serious. “I need to clean out the wound and get it bandaged. I can't believe I let you talk me into biting you in the water, that was much too reckless. Next time, we'll do it well beforehand while we're still aboard the ship, that way you won't attract every sea beast within a hundred leagues.”
“Oh, you’ll examine me as soon as I'm finished?” Morgan asked with an eyebrow raised, glancing from Poppy’s confused face to the cup in her hands, and back again. Poppy didn't seem to get it, until Morgan opened her mouth extra wide and began raising her cup towards it, at which point Poppys eyes widened and she shot up, reaching across the table towards Morgan.
“N-no, drink your tea properly! You have to savor it!” Poppy exclaimed, and Morgan lowered her cup again while grinning shamelessly. They shared another laugh, Poppy dropping back to the floor and sighing. “Honestly…”
Still smiling, Morgan eased herself back into the bunk, having to rest with her back slightly angled so she wasn't leaning directly on her fin. She took another sip of her tea, taking a moment to do as Poppy said and savoring the flavors more deeply before she swallowed. She was definitely feeling a lot better, her muscle aches fading fast. For a few seconds, she just sat there and stared up at the ceiling, feeling content in a way she wasn't sure she ever had before.
Then, she lowered her eyes back to Poppy and smirked.
“You said ‘next time.’ Already looking forward to it, huh?”
Poppy stared back at her, brow slightly furrowed. Morgan had been expecting, or perhaps hoping for, another reaction like the many she'd already gotten, a blush and a stammer while Poppy tried to explain herself, but this time she got no such thing.
This time, it was Poppy’s turn. The leech girl narrowed her eyes and let the corners of her thin lips curl up into a smile, exposing the tips of her pointed teeth.
“Well,” she spoke, without a hint of a tremor. “You said ‘anytime.’ Of the two of us, I would think that makes you the more overeager.”
Morgan felt her eyes widen, and when she opened her mouth to reply, only a strangled croak came out, something that hadn't happened since back on Captain Silas’ ship, when she’d still been scared out of her mind.
Poppy's face broke, going from a small smoldering grin into a broad smile and she giggled into her hand.
“Let that be a lesson to you, Miss Morgan Hunter,” Poppy said smugly. “If you continuously attempt the same attack, don't be surprised when your opponent learns to parry.”
“I guess that was a little predictable of me,” Morgan admitted, chuckling sheepishly as her cheeks continued to burn. She cleared her throat and adopted an overly serious tone, bowing her head exaggeratedly low. “You have bested me, and now I must admit my defeat.”
Neither of them could keep a straight face after that, and once again they laughed together, and Poppy poured some more tea. Morgan found herself sinking back into the bunk again, letting the contentment from before wash over her completely.
“I feel like I could go for a nap,” Morgan said after a few quiet minutes.
Poppy looked up from cleaning out her tea kettle and the cups. “That would be the serasflower.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Morgan said, turning her head. “Didn’t you say that’s what you use to knock people out when you sneak onto enemy ships?”
“Indeed,” Poppy said, a small smile on her face. “Inducing drowsiness is one of the most notable features of the serasflower. I use a much stronger distillation of the plant's essence for my sleeping poison, but it's much more commonly used by those who find difficulty in falling asleep, for one reason or another.”
Morgan lifted her eyebrows and nodded. “Oh, it's an insomnia cure? Interesting,” she said, rubbing a palm against her cheek and chuckling. “Well, you know what they say: the difference between medicine and poison is in the dosage.”
Poppy looked up from packing her tea set back into the padded crate she had pulled it from, humming slightly.
“Mmh, I like that, that is a good saying,” Poppy said with certainty. “Now then, show me your arm.”
Morgan sat up, extending her right arm while Poppy collected a few supplies; a tall, white glass bottle and a jar of reddish goop, a clean cloth, a roll of bandages, and a bucket. First warning Morgan ahead of time, she uncorked the bottle and poured some of the clear, bitter smelling liquid inside onto the rag, then pressed it to the small ring of teeth marks in Morgan’s forearm, where it burned briefly as Poppy ran the rag back and forth several times, thoroughly scrubbing the area until the rag turned pink. Then, she dipped two fingers into the jar of goo and spread it across the bites, which immediately cooled the skin and scales it came into contact with. It smelled strongly of cherries, sour and astringent. Finally, Poppy wrapped the wound in a thin layer of bandages and tied them off tightly.
The whole time, Morgan tried to keep her gaze fixed on Poppy’s hands and the work she was doing with them, trying and failing to not sneak glances up at the other girl’s determined face. Based on the amount of times they wound up catching each other's eyes, Poppy seemed to be struggling in much the same way. It was a testament to her abilities and her composure that they remained cool and steady while Morgan’s own hands began to twitch and feel clammy.
“T-thank you,” Morgan said when her arm was freed, leaning back into the bunk’s alcove again.
“You are welcome… Miss Morgan,” Poppy replied, tidying up her supplies.
Morgan wanted to say something. She thought Poppy might say something. In the end, both said nothing.
After that, Poppy returned to her work, checking in on her plants again before moving on to working on some alchemy. At least, Morgan assumed it was alchemy, when Poppy took some berries from one of her plants and crushed them with a mortar and pestle, then began combining that with other ingredients she had pulled from her cabinet of supplies. Morgan, tipping over and laying down on her side, just watched in quiet fascination for as long as she could, wondering if she could ask Poppy to teach her a little about alchemy too, since she was already teaching her so much. She imagined them as something like lab partners, sitting together hunched over a notebook, staying awake deep into the night going over each other's notes, until… until…
Until Morgan’s eyes began to feel heavy, and she drifted off to sleep.
■ ■
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Morgan grumbled, half to herself, half to Poppy, who stood nearby as Morgan leaned against the railing at the stern of the ship, staring out at the ocean spread out before her. Behind them, the commotion of the still-growing crowd was a constant reminder of the ordeal that was to come.
“Actually, I can,” Morgan corrected herself. “I’ve only known her for a day but I can confidently say ‘this is so her.’”
Poppy snickered quietly under her hood.
“I am sorry,” she said sympathetically. “If you truly do not wish to proceed with the demonstration, you need only say so.”
“It’s fine,” Morgan said, sighing. “I’ve performed in front of much bigger crowds than this, but I had a lot more time to prepare then.” She’d seen the whole crew gathered last night, for her oath-swearing ceremony, and it consisted of only about fifty or so people. Compared to a packed gymnasium plus a table full of judges, this was nothing.
“Oh, I see, that is good then,” Poppy said, sounding more than a little surprised, even though her overly formal persona, which she’d reapplied as soon as they’d left her room again. “I can not say that I am not also eager to see your skills on display, especially after that small glimpse I caught.”
“Oh, that?” Morgan said with a chuckle. “That wasn’t judo, that was just a little bit of karate. Modern judo doesn’t really have a lot of strikes left in it, since they’re banned on the sport and professional level, but my sensei, er, my teacher, wanted me to be a little more well prepared if I ever got into any real danger I couldn’t run away from.”
Morgan smiled as she thought back to the few “extra credit” lessons in basic punches, kicks, and blocks she’d been given by her sensei. She was often left waiting to get picked up until well after everyone else had already left, so her teacher had taken to giving her extra drills to help pass the time. Going through the old familiar motions again had helped her keep calm, but left her in a bit of a somber mood. Another person from home she was going to miss.
After her nap, which only lasted about two hours according to Poppy, Morgan had awoken feeling refreshed and energized, alone in the sick bay. Curious, but far too worried about getting caught, she resisted the urge to snoop around and instead split her time between stretching, lightly warming up, and thinking over how exactly she was going to show off her judo. In that time she realized, embarrassingly belatedly, that she had failed to consider several fairly important details about her new anatomy.
She had a triangular-shaped dorsal fin jutting out from the middle of her back, and a three foot long tail as thick around as a small tree hanging off her waist.
She had already discovered that the fin and tail prevented her from sleeping on her back in an ordinary bed, but it had finally occurred to her that they might also get in the way of any moves that required her to use her back. She was fortunate that her new build had made her shoulders broad enough and wide enough that she could reasonably avoid jostling her fin while pulling off most throws, but it did mean she would have to be very careful not to land directly on her back when falling or tumbling. On the other hand, she did feel like her balance was much more unshakable with the extra weight of her tail behind her, and she felt like if she practiced enough with it she might be able to use it as a bludgeon, or to knock someone’s legs out from under them, but she wasn’t about to try either of those things until she’d tested them thoroughly. She spent most of her time mentally running through all the forms she could and adjusting them to take her fin and tail into account, then moved on to practicing her strikes, which led to the next much delayed revelation.
Morgan had claws too! She couldn’t close her fist all the way without risking puncturing her palms with the sharp claws that topped each of her fingers, which meant she could not actually throw any punches. She considered that something of a shame, as it meant all that effort that had gone into teaching her how to throw a proper punch in preparation for a real fight would go to waste without her ever having punched a single person. Well, she reasoned, at least she could still deliver one hell of a palm strike, and knife hands were still on the table as well. Elbows, knees, and headbutts were still viable too, but she would have to be very careful of pokes; she did not want to accidentally blind anyone or jab them in the neck with her claws.
All this and more had consumed her thoughts for the remainder of the afternoon, so much so that she missed Poppy’s return to the room until she made an impressed “Ooh!” and began quietly and politely golf clapping after Morgan finished her last set. She had been embarrassed, but the look of delight on the other girl’s face had been worth it.
And here she was again, entirely missing what Poppy was saying because she was caught up in her thoughts, and looking at her face.
“Sorry, what?” Morgan said, flushing and refocusing her eyes on Poppy’s own.
Blinking, Poppy let a small smile show before shaking her head. “I was saying that the crew has been assembled and Red Molly has called for you.”
“Uuuugh…” Morgan groaned, rubbing her cheeks. “Is it too late for me to jump ship and just swim away?”
“I am afraid so, Miss Morgan,” Poppy replied, sounding amused. “You swore the oaths, after all.”
“Dang.” Morgan sighed, following Poppy as they crossed the helm, heading for the stairs. Ethan, the taciturn bird man who had been steering the ship while politely ignoring Morgan and Poppy’s conversation, gave Morgan a nod as she passed.
Standing at the head of the stairs that led back down to the main deck, Morgan saw that the entire crew had indeed been summoned, and were now spread across the wide-open central area between the main deck and the fore deck, seated on the railings or hanging from the ratlines. Surprisingly, she also saw that several square mats of woven green fibers had been retrieved and unrolled across the open area of the deck.
At least they have some safety equipment on hand. That’s a good sign, right?
As one, the crew’s heads swiveled in Morgan’s direction when she appeared. Chief among them was Red Molly, perched jauntily atop the capstan with her legs crossed, her magenta curls bouncing as she turned her head to grin at Morgan.
Sighing, Morgan descended the stairs with her eyes closed, breathing deeply to steady her nerves. She’d done everything she could to prepare for this. She was ready. When she touched down onto the deck and opened her eyes, she returned the gazes of the entire pirate crew with her own determined glare.
“Alright…” she said quietly to herself, stepping past an even more excited looking Red Molly and placing herself in the center of the mat. It felt only slightly softer than the wood of the deck had been, but something was better than nothing.
“Alright!” Morgan said again, louder, to ensure everyone was paying attention. Everyone was. Good.
“I just want to… temper some expectations here. I’m going to show off a fighting style called ‘judo.’ I only studied it for two years, so I’m hardly an expert, and it’s not the most impressive looking or flashy martial art there is.” Morgan turned a slow circle as she explained, falling back on emulating her teacher and the way he’d conducted his classes, even if the words were a bit different. “I was taught it as a method of self-defense, but it’s also a sport, er, well, it is where I came from.” She noticed the hilts of swords and daggers on the belts of the gathered crew members and quickly made another amendment. “But keep in mind, this is a hand-to-hand style, so no weapons. I can disarm someone if I have to, but I’d rather not risk anyone getting hurt, okay?” She got a collective nod and some mumbled words of agreement from the crowd and smiled. “Good, I just wanted to get all that out of the way. I’ll do my best to show you what I can do, but don’t be disappointed if this isn’t all that exciting, you can blame Captain Molly for that.”
The crowd laughed as she pointed an accusatory finger at Red Molly, including Red Molly herself, who was now leaning forward in her seat with that unnerving, hungry look in her eyes. Her speech did not seem to quell any of the excitement she could see in the eyes of the crew, so Morgan just sighed and motioned with one of her hands.
“Okay, then, I just need a few volunteers to attempt to attack me, anyone who, uh, won’t mind getting tossed around a little,” Morgan said, resigned. “It’s a spar, so we’ll try not to hurt each other too badly, and you just try to take me down or force me to yield.”
That caused a stir, and a brief outburst of noise as the crew discussed among themselves before four deckhands were pushed to the forefront, all of them almost as tall as Morgan, all of them looking stocky and well built. Two of them were fish-men with blue and black scales, one was an elf woman with lime green skin, and one was another of whatever Balthazar was, a broad man with pale skin, dark hair, and orange mushrooms growing from his shoulders.
Had she still been her original height, Morgan would have been a lot more intimidated by these burly sailors, but now that she was looking down at them it was hard not to feel like she had nothing to fear, even if this were a serious fight. She pointed to the first of the blue-scaled sea dwellers.
“You, step forward,” she said, and the crowd oohed in anticipation. The man stepped forward, smirking at her and, predictably, cracking his knuckles. Morgan resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead continued to follow the more familiar script. She bowed at the waist, arms at her side, then took up her fighting stance; body slightly turned, right foot forward, right arm up, hands open and ready to grab. A hush fell over the watching crowd as she adopted the no doubt strange-looking pose.
Taking that as his cue to attack, the blue-scaled man charged in, one fist already raised behind his head. She couldn’t have asked for a better first attack, to show off how easily judo could be used to turn an overconfident attacker’s momentum against them. She waited, keeping her weight balanced on her back foot until he closed the distance and began to swing his arm forward, then she shifted forwards, ducking under the punch and shooting her left hand up to catch the man by the elbow. She held on tight and dipped even lower, her right arm coming out and scooping the man’s right leg out from under him, lifting him entirely off the ground and into what resembled a fireman’s carry, then flipping him end over end off her other shoulder, causing him to hit the wooden deck with a weighty, meaty thump, flat on his back.
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It was a textbook “kata guruma”. The shoulder wheel, and there was a reason it was so popular, since it was also basically the setup to a number of famous pro wrestling throws. A lot of the guys in her class had been very excited about that, so she’d seen her teacher demonstrate it countless times.
It was only after she’d completed the throw herself that a final pair of realizations struck Morgan’s mind. One, she had not fully come to appreciate just how much bigger and stronger this new body of hers was, and two, a thin woven mat was not a sufficient substitute for the padded mats of a dojo.
“Oh, geez, are you okay?!” Morgan asked in a slight panic, kneeling down over the groaning, blue-scaled man. His groan turned into a pained chuckle as he gripped at his right shoulder, and he cracked open one eye to peer up at her.
“Oh, aye, ah’ll be jus’ fine, soon as th’deck stops spinnin’,” he said through clenched teeth, and Morgan winced.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have warned you first, I shouldn't have used such a rough move,” Morgan said, gingerly helping the man sit up. She looked up for help, but most of the crew seemed to have frozen. Poppy, however, appeared across from her, taking the man’s other arm and helping lift him to his feet.
“Heh!” the man choked out a laugh and shook his head. “S’my fault fer underestimatin’ ya lass. I thought, with that silly pose a yers… well, showed me ye weren’t foolin’ around, eh?”
Morgan was at a loss for words, but was glad the man didn’t seem seriously injured, or like he was about to hold it against her. Poppy took him from her and led him back to the edge of the crowd, retrieving something from somewhere in her cloak. It was a small bottle of syrupy red liquid, and the man took it and gratefully began sipping from it. While he sat, the crowd overcame its shock, some of them cheering or whooping at her performance. She even saw money changing hands, palm-fulls of coins being passed from one to another as, apparently, bets that had been placed on the outcome of the spar were won or lost.
“Uuh…” Morgan looked up again. The lineup of volunteers had shrunk, the other blue-scaled man and the man sprouting mushrooms both conspicuously absent, leaving only the wiry lime-skinned elf woman, who was looking warily back at her.
“You got this, Em!” someone behind her shouted.
“I’m putin’ a sterling quarter on you Emi, don’t lemme down!” another cried.
“Well, uh, your turn, I guess. I’ll use something less… forceful this time,” Morgan said, trying to sound resuring over the sounds of the crew’s excited voices.
“Y’still plannin’ to send me ass over teakettle?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.
Morgan chuckled nervously and cleared her throat, then nodded. “Well… maybe? It depends how you attack me, but judo is mostly throws and takedowns, like what you just saw. The main point of it is to get your opponent on their back, but there are also a lot of grapples and locks and… well, like I said. Self-defense.”
Em, or Emi, nodded and stepped forward. When Morgan bowed once again, she stared for a second, then shrugged and repeated the gesture, before adopting a fighting stance. This one was much more well put together than the unguarded full-offense approach the blue-scaled man had used. She had her arms up in front of her, fists clenched, and she was moving with some degree of thought in her footwork, trying to circle around Morgan’s right to get at her back and avoid coming at her head on, but Morgan just kept turning to face her.
Finally, apparently fed up with going in circles, Emi darted in close, surprisingly light on her feet for how large she was, and threw a left-handed jab towards Morgan’s face, probably assuming that Morgan’s pose only favored intercepting right-handed attacks and coming in from the left would save her from getting grabbed in the same way the other man had. Morgan kind of felt bad for her.
Lifting her right arm up to intercept the punch was almost too easy, and once she had a firm grip on Emi’s sleeve, she stepped forward, pushing her off balance and forcing her onto the backfoot. Her eyes went wide and she tried to punch with her free hand, but Morgan’s other hand was already closing around the front of her shirt, and by then it was already over. Morgan kicked her left leg out and hooked it around the woman’s own, then used her grip on her shirt and arm to roll her over her knee, landing her on her back with significantly less force than the man before. Morgan, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to show just a bit more of what judo could do, followed her down onto the deck, pulling Emi’s between her legs as she dropped, and wrapping them around her torso. Morgan yanked her into an arm bar that she knew, from experience, was not pleasant to be in for long. She had to land on her side instead of her back to avoid sitting on her tail or crushing her fin, but it was still a perfectly executed hold.
Morgan applied only the slightest amount of pressure while explaining through panting breaths, “A-as you can see… if I wanted to, I could cause you serious pain from this position or… or even break or dislocate your arm, if I weren’t careful.”
“S’a good thing you’re careful then,” Emi croaked, her throat pinned slightly under one of Morgan’s legs. “I got a knife n’my belt, but I figure if I go fer it y’could snap my arm ‘fore I could do anythin’ with it, aye?”
“Yes, I could,” Morgan said, which wasn’t totally a lie. She didn’t actually know if she had enough strength, mental or physical, to break someone’s arm just like that while they were fighting her with everything they had, but she knew she could at least put someone through some very excruciating pain in this position.
“Guess that’s me then,” Emi laughed, patting one of Morgan’s legs with her free hand. “Mind gettin’ off’a me now? No offense, but y’weigh as much as an anchor, lass.”
“Oh! Sorry!” Morgan yelped, instantly releasing her hold on the woman’s arm and rolling to the side to get off of her, then offering a hand to help her up. The crew once again pelted her with cheers or called encouraging words to Emi, several of them clapping her on the back as she rejoined the crowd. Emi down next to the blue-scaled man, who offered her the rest of the red potion (Morgan was absolutely certain it was a potion by now) who took it gratefully and downed it in one swig.
“Well, uh…” Morgan cleared her throat and looked around. “If there are no more, er, volunteers, then I guess—”
“Not so fast!” Captain Molly shouted, cutting Morgan off, and rose from her seated position. At this interruption, the crew around her began to murmur and whisper among themselves, and Morgan saw Poppy’s eyes widen under her hood.
“Uh, y-yes? I mean, yes, Captain?” Morgan stammered out, silently praying what she thought was about to happen wasn’t actually what was about to happen.
“That was decently impressive, I must say,” Red Molly said as she stood to her full height, rubbing her chin and regarding Morgan with a new expression, mouth curled into a smile and eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Despite your overabundance of modesty, you’re actually much better than you let on. I think you could topple most of my crew with your bare hands.”
“T-thank you, Captain, but I—” Morgan began to wave off the praise, but stopped when Captain Molly held up a hand.
“But the Empire don’t come alone, and they definitely don’t come unarmed. You’ve shown me you could easily win us any bar brawl we might happen to get into, but I’d like to see how well your judo fares against an armed opponent,” she concluded.
“W-what?” Morgan asked, eyes widening.
Red Molly didn’t answer her, but rather turned her head to the side, talking to the open air once again. “Oh, calm down, I’m kidding. Of course we’re going to use the practice blades.” Then, turning her head even further, she called over her shoulder, “Poppy!”
Poppy moved from beside the captain to another new addition to the deck she hadn't noticed before. A large wooden chest sat against one railing, and when Poppy opened it and knelt, Morgan could see over her shoulder an impressive looking collection of weapons inside. It was only after Morgan started to notice several that were made of wood that she realized what she was looking at.
Poppy stood, holding a rolled leather bundle under one arm, and brought it back to Captain Molly.
“Thank you, my dear,” Red Molly said cheerfully, unrolling the bundle, revealing it to be a knife carrier, the handles of several knives threaded through leather loops while their blades were covered by another flap of leather. She drew one of them out and held it up for Morgan to see.
“This is a practice blade,” Red Molly explained, pressing the visibly rounded tip into her palm. “Blunt edge, no point, I’m sure you’re familiar, yes?”
“Uh, we had training knives, yes,” Morgan agreed, nodding, although the ones her class used had been rubber. These, as well as most of the other weapons in the chest, were still made of metal.
“Good, then, let’s see how you deal with someone coming at you with one of these,” Red Molly said, turning to scan the crowd, her grin once again widening as she found the target of her search. “Gullen, would you mind?”
Heads turned, Morgan’s included, to the green-scaled bosun, standing mixed in among the rest of the crew. He frowned, but stepped forward to join Red Molly near the capstan. Across the deck, excited chattering broke out as even more bets were placed, as fast as they could be, but Morgan tried to ignore them, not wanting to know how many people were betting against her this time.
“Y’sure about this, captain?” Gullen asked. Morgan wanted to ask the same thing, but with the way her nerves were feeling she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get it out without shouting or squeaking. She didn’t know much about Gullen yet, and while he didn’t seem to be much more physically impressive, there had to be a reason Red Molly was choosing him over just another crew member.
“It’ll be fiiiine,” Red Molly said, tossing the roll of practice knives into his hands.
Gullen’s frown deepened, but he still spent several seconds perusing the selection before choosing one of the knives from the lot, one with black handle and a single slightly larger single-edged blade.
“If y’say so, captain,” Gullen said, stepping over onto the mat while testing the weight of the practice knife in his hands. He looked up and met Morgan’s eyes, giving her a tired shrug. “Let’s get this done, lass. Jes’ try not ta break anythin’, I still got duties ‘round the ship tomorrow, and I’d like ta still be able ta walk then.”
“I’ll be careful,” Morgan assured him. She thought about asking him to do the same, but she held off. As worried as she was, she knew the point of a practice knife was that it shouldn’t hurt her, and she believed Gullen knew what he was doing.
Gullen nodded, and, satisfied he had the feel of his weapon, dropped his arms to his sides and gave Morgan a bow, which she quickly returned. Morgan fell into her stance, and Gullen adopted a fighting stance of his own, turning his body slightly, placing the arm holding the knife in front, with his free hand held open and ready.
Morgan had refrained from mentioning that the number one thing she’d been taught about going up against someone with a knife with her bare hands was “Don’t.” She’d had it drilled in over and over again that her first choice in this exact situation should be to run, and that attempting to fight back was an absolute last resort.
Wordlessly, Gullen advanced, and Morgan backed up, shifting her whole body backwards to give the impression she was in full retreat, which caused the crowd to collectively gasp. Gullen continued to close in, taking careful swipes at her that were too quick for her to even attempt to catch his arm or bat them away. Morgan hit the edge of the mat, running out of real estate to back up unless she wanted to be backed into the crowd, who even now she could hear shouting for her not to give up. Setting her jaw, she jerked to the left, making as if to circle around to Gullen’s right side.
As soon as Gullen turned to follow, extending his arm wide to slash at where he thought she was going, she reversed direction, throwing herself to the right, then ducking and charging in with her arms wide. Before Gullen could pull his arm back from the aborted attack, she collided bodily with his unprotected right side, throwing her right arm around his neck and wrapping her left around his torso like she was hugging him, clasping her hands together where they met behind his head. With one of her broad shoulders shoved into his armpit, she squeezed even harder, forcing his knife-wielding arm straight up in the air, unable to lower or even bend far enough to reach her, and heaved.
She was taller than Gullen, so when she flexed her legs and stood to her full height, his feet left the mat, and there was nothing he could do to stop her from diving forward, sending them both crashing to the floor with her landing squarely on top of him. Morgan didn’t spare a second to worry if she’d overdone it; Gullen was still clutching the knife. She’d lacked the strength to really excel at ground grappling before, but now it was almost scarily easy to plant a knee, then a foot, into Gullen’s stomach, slide her grip from his neck to his arm, and stand, keeping him pinned while roughly twisting his arm.
Gullen held out for so long that Morgan began to worry she’d have to actually hurt him to get him to give up, until, finally, he grunted through clenched teeth and relinquished the knife, which she took into her hands while releasing her grip on his arm. The deck once again exploded into clapping, stopping, and shouting, far more of it frustrated and grumpy as those who had thought she’d met her match were forced to hand over their coin to the few who had continued to believe in her. She almost lost her cool when she saw Poppy, still standing beside Red Molly, discreetly receive a small pile of coins from the captain and tuck them away inside her cloak.
“Nice feint,” Gullen said with another grunt, sitting up as soon as Morgan stepped off of him, massaging his shoulder while rotating his arm. “I shouldn’ta fallen for it, you’re too damn fast fer a lass yer size.”
“Uh… thank you?” Morgan said, uncertainly. Gullen snorted a laugh, then accepted the hand she held out to help him up.
“Thank ye fer not snappin’ any of my ribs,” Gullen said, prodding his side experimentally, then straightened, looking past Morgan, to where Red Molly still sat. “Well, captain, are ye satisfied yet?”
“Oh, never,” Red Molly said, grinning as wide as ever. “But, as far as demonstrations go, I couldn’t have asked for a better show.”
Morgan heard Gullen grumbling under his breath as he wandered off the mat, but before she could follow him, Red Molly continued, sliding gracefully down from her seat atop the capstan.
“Yes, so far, you’ve far exceeded my expectations, but I have one last challenge for you,” she said, crossing the deck in two long strides, placing herself in the center of the mat, her grin threatening to split her face in half. Morgan, stunned, took a step backwards, then another when Red Molly’s hand reached across her body, landing on the hilt of one of her two swords, the one with the blue gem in the pommel.
“As your final test, I’d like you to fight me,” she said, and started to slowly, achingly slowly, draw the sword from its sheath.
Morgan’s eyes went so wide she felt like they might pop out of her head, and she threw her hands up, opening her mouth, trying to shout a thousand different protests at once and ending up only making a strangled croaking noise.
Before she could clear her throat and try again, the air up on the deck shifted. A cold breeze sighed past Morgan’s face, and in the time it took her to blink, a figure had appeared at Red Molly’s side, a faint blue tinge surrounding them that was already fading.
The figure was a woman, taller than Red Molly, taller than Morgan even, but willowy, with bone-white skin, bent slightly with one hand on top of Red Molly’s, preventing her from fully drawing the sword. She had pitch black hair worn in an elaborate braid, black eyes, black lips that were currently turned down in a disapproving frown, wearing a flowing black gown that seemed to float on nonexistent wind. Whoever she was, she was ethereal, beautiful, and Morgan was absolutely certain she’d never seen her before, never so much as glimpsed this woman amidst the rest of the crew.
“Dear…”
When she finally spoke, her voice was so cold it made Morgan’s blood freeze in her veins, and only the fact that it was aimed at Captain Molly and not her kept her heart from exploding.
“Can’t you see you’re scaring the poor girl,” she whispered admonishingly into one of Red Molly’s pointed ears, and the captain visibly shivered while the woman eased the sword she’d been drawing back into place at her hip.
“Aw, c’mon Mav, I just wanted to see what she’d do,” Red Molly said, her ever-present grin having been replaced by a somewhat childish pout, disrupting her usual unflappable attitude.
The mysterious woman rolled her eyes, turning her frosty gaze on Morgan, and she felt as though her spine had been replaced by a frozen metal pole.
“I apologize for my… better half,” the woman said, black lips finally turned up into a smile, tittering sweetly. “She’s gotten it into her head that you are something… more than you appear to be, but, as usual, would rather play her little games than ask a simple question.” Her words did nothing to help ease the sudden spike of worry and fear that had pierced through Morgan’s chest at the appearance of this otherworldly woman, but she continued as though nothing about this situation was out of the ordinary at all. “If you would please answer this question honestly; are you, or were you perhaps raised by, one of the Monks of the Pleiades?”
Morgan’s head swam. She had been convinced that Red Molly had sniffed out her true origin, but apparently she instead had been laboring under the impression that Morgan was, what, some kind of wandering monk? Or the child of one, at the very least.
“N-no? I don’t… no, I’m not.” Morgan almost added that she didn’t know what the “Monks of the Pleiades” even were, but caught herself.
“See?” the woman said, turning back to Red Molly, putting both hands onto her shoulders. “I always tell you, you’re too quick to jump to conclusions, especially the wrong ones.”
“Heh, take all of the fun out of it, why don’t you,” Red Molly said, letting out a throaty laugh, bringing one arm up to wrap around the waist of the mysterious woman who, as far as Morgan could tell, had just materialized aboard the ship from nowhere. “I don’t know if I fully believe that, my instincts usually aren’t wrong, but I can see I’ve gotten carried away again. I’m so lucky to have someone as… patient and forgiving and understanding as you around.”
Uh… what?
All at once, Morgan felt every ounce of the mounting dread she’d been feeling for the past minute melt away and evaporate as the expressions and postures of both Red Molly and the mysterious woman softened and they each leaned into the other, leaving Morgan just… confused! And a little angry, if she was being honest!
The woman chuckled darkly, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at Red Molly’s words, then moved her hands from her shoulders to the sides of her face. She leaned down, while the captain leaned up, and Morgan saw their lips begin to part, and that was the absolute last straw.
“Wh-whoa whoa, hold on a minute!” Morgan shouted, causing the pair to abort their attempted kiss and turn to look at her. She gestured at the black-haired, black-eyed woman, waving her other hand in exasperation. “What the hell is going on here? Who are you? What are you, where did you even come from?” She swung her hand back around, pointing directly at Red Molly’s amused face. “And you, have you just been messing with me the whole time? Were you really about to attack me with your sword if she didn’t stop you?”
Silence reigned. For several seconds, the only sound was Morgan’s own still-elevated heartbeat and her rapid breathing.
Then, the mysterious woman began to laugh. Her laughter was like a chorus of tiny bells, and she brought one sleeve of her elaborate black dress up to cover her mouth while she leaned slightly on Red Molly’s shoulders. When she finally recovered from her laughing fit, she met Morgan’s eyes and smiled gently, placing one hand against her own cheek and sighing.
“Oh, well, I suppose I can’t blame you for being upset, since I never bothered to introduce myself,” she said airily, then, moving her hand to her chest, she bowed her head at Morgan. “Although we already know each other’s names, allow me to say; I am Mavis, and it is a pleasure to formally meet you, Morgan Hunter.”
“Mavis?” Morgan said the name without really hearing it, then her eyebrows shot upwards. “You’re real?” she asked, jabbing her finger towards Red Molly again. “I just thought she was talking to herself that whole time!”
“Excuse me?” Red Molly spluttered, and when Morgan saw her reaching towards her swords again she almost ran towards the nearest side of the ship to throw herself over, but Mavis simply intercepted the hand with one of her own, lacing her fingers through it. She, as well as most of the rest of the gathered crew, had a hearty laugh at that, before Mavis dislodged herself from Red Molly’s side and all but glided across the deck to stand before Morgan.
“Oh yes, I am quite real, though I can see how that may be hard to understand if you’ve never encountered one of us before,” Mavis said, smiling down at Morgan while bits of her dress floated around her. “To answer your earlier question, I am an arsenal spirit. In my time, I was a fantastic swordswoman, if I may say so myself, and the gods agreed. Upon my passing, they saw fit to allow me to return to the mortal world, bound to one of my signature blades, so that I may pass my knowledge and skills onto future generations.”
Morgan gaped up at Mavis, her exasperation and shock melting away to pure, unfiltered awe.
“You’re… you’re a sword ghost?” Morgan asked, eyes wide at the implication of Mavis’ explanation. If what she was saying was true, the concept of souls behaving unusually was not an entirely unknown factor in this world. Could that explain how she’d ended up here?
“Indeed,” Mavis said with a chuckle, pointing back at Red Molly. “You see that gorgeous sword with the blue gem in it, hanging off my handsome wife’s hips? The one that she almost attempted to threaten you with, for which I am deeply sorry for not stepping in earlier? That’s my true body, while this is merely a… projection of my spirit.”
Morgan nodded along, eagerly gobbling up this new and fascinating information, until she caught up with how Mavis had referred to Red Molly, which caused her brain to momentarily short circuit. Her mouth hung open, and she stared up at Mavis, but it was Captain Molly who answered the question she was too stunned to ask.
“Yes, that’s right,” Red Molly said, resting a hand on the pommel of her sword. “You could say I’m… married to the blade.”
The audience let out a collective groan at that, a few brave crew members even going so far as to boo the captain, who just stood there, beaming as though she were receiving a standing ovation. Beside Morgan, Mavis giggled into her sleeve again.
“I’ve lost count of how many times she’s used that one,” Mavis explained, with something like pride in her voice, then drifted back over to Red Molly’s side, leaning down once again and finally getting the kiss she’d been after before. The groans that followed that were more good natured.
Satisfied, Mavis straightened and turned back to Morgan. “Now that I am here, allow me to take over for a moment and say the things my wife should have said by now. Firstly, thank you for your demonstration, it was very insightful. I can honestly say I have never seen techniques quite like that before. Secondly, you are quite the skilled brawler, so much so that I do not believe there is very much we can teach you in the realm of hand to hand combat that you could not already cover with your ‘judo.’”
“O-oh, uh, thank you very much,” Morgan said, finally starting to feel like she had regained some of her mental footing. She supposed it had to count for something if a spirit who was literally a weapon praised her fighting skills.
“However,” Mavis said, holding a hand up, her smile still serene but her tone carrying just a hint of the chill it had before. “Would I be correct in assuming you have no skill to speak of when it comes to wielding a weapon?”
“Y-yeah, that’s correct. I’ve never held a weapon in my life, aside from the training knives, but that was just so other students could practice their disarming moves on me,” Morgan said, swallowing with a throat that had long since gone dry.
“As I thought,” Mavis said with a nod, closing her eyes and causing Morgan to realize she had not blinked once the entire time since her arrival. With her eyes still closed, she inclined her head towards Morgan. “Then let me ask you one last question; would you like to learn?”
Before Morgan could answer, there was a flurry of movement, Mavis’ hand shooting down to Red Molly’s waist, yanking the sword with the blue gem from its sheath. She shoved Red Molly back and spun away from her, coming to a stop with the sword held in one outstretched arm, revealing it to be a short silver blade, slightly curved with a single edge, polished to a mirror’s sheen.
A cutlass, Morgan observed, feeling herself smirk. As if it would be anything else.
Red Molly, recovering from the shove, drew her remaining sword, another cutlass of much more plain design, into her left hand, standing opposite Mavis and adopting a similar pose; body turned sideways, sword arm leading while tucking her other arm behind her back, with her weight balanced in the center so as not to lean too far on either her front or back foot. The two women stared each other down for a single second, then, they began to dance.
Red Molly’s sword flashed, and Mavis’ moved to intercept, not catching it, but turning it, letting it slide down the length then flicking it away. Mavis lunged, swiping downwards, and Red Molly wove out of the way, bringing her sword back around at the same time. Again, blades met and were deflected with the easiest of movements. Morgan was dimly aware of the crew on the edge of her awareness, cheering over the spectacle, but she was too enthralled to even think about joining them.
“You are strong, Morgan Hunter, an uncommonly skilled hand-to-hand fighter if I have ever seen one,” Mavis said, her voice still as even and conversational as it had been when she’d been standing beside Morgan minutes before. While they were matching each other blow for blow, it was clear that Mavis was having a much easier time of it than Red Molly, her face calm and placid while Red Molly’s was scrunched up in concentration. “However, as my dear wife has said, the foes we are duty-bound to oppose will not come unarmed, nor will they come alone. They are an Empire, and they will kill you without a second thought for opposing their authority. If you are to survive long enough to carry out the oaths you swore, then you will need to become much stronger.”
The whole time she talked, she and Red Molly continued to whirl and spin and duck and juke, each momentary contact between blades marked by a sharp metallic tink, the speed at which they moved causing them to come with an almost-dizzying rhythm. Soon, though, it became clear that Mavis was gaining the upper hand, forcing Red Molly to continuously back up, the crew around them obligingly getting out of the way. Until, finally, Mavis caught a thrust from Red Molly, then used her blade to spin her arm up, around, and out with such force Red Molly lost her grip and her sword went clattering to the deck, landing just in front of a thoroughly entranced Morgan. The crew’s cheers grew to a crescendo, and Mavis favored them with a wave of her free hand before continuing.
“You will need to learn how to fight like a pirate fights. Not for sport, not merely to defend yourself, but, when necessary, to kill, and to do so decisively.”
Mavis stepped in, blade held to Red Molly’s throat and, somewhat predictably, gave her a peck on one redder-than-usual cheek, before turning to fix Morgan with the full force of her intense, ethereal glare.
“And so, I ask you again; would you like to learn?”
Morgan looked down at the sword that had landed at her feet, bending down and picking it up with fingers that felt suddenly numb. She held it, horizontally, across both palms, wondering if she'd be able to tell how many people Red Molly had killed with it if she looked hard enough.
Had everyone in the crew heard a version of this speech? How many of them had killed someone already?
How many people had Poppy killed?
She’d told herself she’d be willing to accept almost anything to join the pirates, back before she even knew they weren’t like Earth pirates, before she knew about their oaths. She’d sworn to treat tyrants and extortioners and the unjust as her mortal enemies, and she knew better than to try and delude herself into believing every sailor on every ship that sailed in service to this “Empire” would be a card carrying villain who kicked puppies for fun. These pirates, her crew, her new friends, if she should be so lucky, were, in essence, freedom fighters opposing an entire nation, and now she was too, and that might mean having to get her hands very dirty.
“It’s my choice?” Morgan asked, looking up from the blade, blinking for the first time in what felt like hours. Mavis loomed over her, her face impassive.
“Yes,” Mavis said softly. The crew had quieted down, and the only sounds Morgan could hear were the waves. “You may choose to forego martial training, and we would do our utmost to distance you from the front lines. You would not be forced to join the boarding parties, and only ever have to fight in self-defense should we be boarded in return. Not everyone who joins is willing or capable of fighting, and the crew do not begrudge them that, just as they would not begrudge you for turning this offer down.”
Morgan nodded, meeting those fathomless dark eyes for as long as she could before dropping her gaze, down to the sword she still held across her palms.
“And what would you say if I chose not to learn?” Morgan asked. She wasn’t sure what made her ask; she was pretty sure Mavis still counted as part of “the crew,” but she also seemed like the most experienced fighter on the ship, and she wanted to hear what she had to say.
“I would, of course, accept your decision,” Mavis said, the smile evident in her voice, and Morgan felt a cool hand land on her shoulder. “But, before I did, I would say that to do so would be a truly regrettable waste of your talents, and would leave you weakened and vulnerable should our enemies ever take you unawares, with no one around to protect you.”
Morgan couldn’t help but chuckle. That was pretty much what she expected from the literal living sword. She was only mildly surprised to find that she actually kind of agreed. She didn’t know if she believed she’d been purposefully given this new, powerful body for a reason, but she agreed that it would be a shame to let it go to waste, and most of all she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be held back on the ship while others risked their lives, to have to run and hide and be protected if the danger ever came to them. Part of what had drawn her to Poppy in the first place was her bravery. She boarded ships full of enemies entirely alone, and she’d agreed to stay and fight a dangerous sea creature just because Morgan hadn’t wanted to return empty handed. How could Morgan continue to look her in the eyes, drink tea with her, learn and study and grow closer with her if she chose not to fight?
And so, with her mind made up, Morgan moved her hand, going from awkwardly cradling the sword to curling her fingers around the handle. She held it up, just to feel the weight of it in her hands. It was lighter than she’d expected it to be.
Morgan met Mavis’ eyes, and nodded.
“I want to learn.”