Fire is incredibly loud. It is louder than the screams of men burning, its louder than the mighty timbers of a ship breaking, its louder than the surge of the waves crashing.

The crew of the Legacy was doomed the moment fire took control of their ship. Lord Ney knew this fact better than most of his crew, for in its manifest was a bounty of purified whale oil, enough to light an entire kingdom for a year.

At the first sign of smoke, he tasked a select few, his bosun, Andrei, the ships carpenter, Loxley, and the cook, Serra to gather what they could. The fire was spreading, and the slaves were gushing towards the barricade in one final wave of suicidal violence. There might be some time yet.

Both his mind and hands worked quickly. He was no natural seaman, having bought his position, but he knew enough to know that his survival hinged upon two things - water and heat. Which was strange considering he was going to be quickly surrounded by both.

When parts of the deck floor began crumble into the inferno in the hold below, he knew it was time. It was do or die. Loxley had hastily tied together some crates and barrels, no reasonable man would call it seaworthy, let alone a raft, but it was all they got.

The four of them pushed the contraption off the side, before jumping off themselves. As they clambered on for safety, the wreck lit up in a spectacular blaze. The rest of the oil had ignited all at once. The tower of fire in front of them shone so bright that all of them instinctively drew their hands up to cover their eyes. The resulting heat radiating from the wreck boiled the water off their arms, and left blisters on areas that were exposed. Ney, Andrei and Loxley, who managed to crawl to the far side of the makeshift raft were spared its intensity. Serra was not so lucky, he boiled in his own skin.

Today, hell visited the crew of the Legacy.

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Sounds of vicious splashing awoke Ney. He groaned from the dull pain that came with consciousness - he had been burnt, from the right side of face all the way down to his right arm. Someone had wrapped his head. He knew the pain would be worse the more sober he got. He groaned reflexively. Biting down on his agony, he took a peek at what had woken him in the first place.

A flash of teeth. A thrashing in the waters.

"Shark...SHARK!"

Andrei and Loxley scrambled out of sleep, making similar groans. Ney knew the pain they were feeling intimately, but that pain would be nothing compared to sharks ripping one from limb to limb.

"Quickly men! QUICKLY!"

They had no oars!

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"Break the crates!, we'll use the wood to paddle away"

All three of them were in a flurry. Adrenaline took over and the world slowed around them. It was as if time itself became a thick river in which every action had to fight against. They saw the splinters flying. They saw the food spoil into the deep. They saw droplets of blood, theirs, striking the surface of the waves.

Then they saw one fin turning towards them in the distance.

Shit!

Ney ran over to Serra, and for a moment he paused.

I'm sorry for this.

In one swift movement, he threw the deceased Serra into the path of the speeding shark. A churning of red masked the horrific carnage. The men slowly paddled away, unaccosted.

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~~Ney~~

"So what now Cap'n?", Andrei asks. There is a nervousness in his voice.

Well, we're screwed. Completely screwed. Maintain your composure. Antoine Albrecht Ney, you are their lord and captain. You will not show weakness. You must not show it.

After all, it was your weakness that caused this calamity no?

I wince at my own thoughts. Indeed, I had caused this. Me and my damned cock. Do they blame me? I look for any hatred, any anger, in the eyes of my two remaining men. I find none.

"Cap'n... Cap'n!", Andrei pulls me out of my stupor.

"Yes, ahem... yes, tell me, what do we have left"

"There's not much cap'n. Most of the crates here are empty, you know, for being less likely to sink and such. Most of the food, we lost earlier in the thing with the sharks and all. We got two casks of ale left though", Andrei replied, in a matter-of-fact way.

"And the condition of the shi- uhh... raft?"

"She'll hold, sir, so long as we don't run into any storms or rogue waves. We have enough spare rope here to secure the rig if she becomes undone, we'll be safe for a time.", this time, it was Loxley who answered.

I take out a loaf of bread that I had stashed down my coat and break it into four equal parts. I hand both of my men a piece each. Their eyes widen.

"The fourth piece we will save for bait, Loxley, was it? Can you fashion a trap, not for lobsters, but for fish?"

"I can give it a go, Captain"

"We'll stay here for a couple of days. Then we'll head back to the wreck. -"

I take out a compass, wet my finger and put it to the air.

"I'd say the wind is blowing us sou-sou-west, we'll have to row back in the opposite direction. The sharks should be gone by then, but god willing, there should be some scavenger fish lingering."

"But Cap'n, if you know the direction, why not just - "

"-Head for shore, Andrei? This rig will never make it past the inlet. The waves there are twice as high and twice as strong. We would be scattered like chaff, even before having sight of land-

I pause, letting my words sink in.

"-but you and Loxley, both of you have been at sea longer than I have lived. If both of you say that we have a chance to cross the inlet safely, in this... contraption, then I say let's do it."

Both Andrei and Loxley remain silent.

"The best hope we've got, is to head back to the wreck, and pray that someone saw us. That fire must have lit up the entire horizon, and this is trade wind season, there must be ships out there."

"And what do we do there captain, other than try to fish? Do we just wait?"

"No. We pray. Have faith Loxley. God is watching over us, how else would we be alive, when the rest of our brothers are dead?"

Their faces soften, and I see a glint of hope in the shine of their eyes. In that moment, I wanted to tell them sorry, a million times sorry.

If it were not for my indiscretions...

The ones who I were truly sorry for were gone, consigned to the deep. But this is no time for such weakness.

I was right. We were picked up a mere five days later.