The following two days of sailing had been rather uneventful. On the morning of April Thirteenth, the Gale had left port, loaded with enough supplies to make it to the city of Baitane. Aside from a few other ships, bearing the opposite direction, there was a lack of any significant meetings. That should not be interpreted, however, to mean that the meetings they did have were of any importance - just the standard “Hullo” through a speaking trumpet.

The fourteenth was much the same, a dull day, mostly spent playing cards and singing songs. At least, Gareland had gotten to try out the hookah she’d purchased with her friends; even Serpacinno, who didn’t drink as a principle, engaged with them, reckoning the two debaucheries were wholly different, and thus - the latter was acceptable.

This day was not boring, however, for those on board the Fox. The ship’s master, Peytan, said they were within a day’s travel of their mark. By five bells tomorrow, they’d be upon them, and hopefully thereafter, plunder all they were worth.

“Men, I know: typically we don’t go this far east,” He sauntered about the deck with a powerful swagger - chest puffed out and arms crossed behind his back, “But, for him to have so boldly shoved us off, the captain must have quite the haul, don’t you think?” He flashed his gold tooth to emphasize the point.

“Actually, captain,” Silver spoke in hushed tones, waving her hand over the crew, “I’ve taken a look at our haul, and if this bounty isn’t as bountiful as you’ve promised, I don’t believe Quartermaster Atez shall be able to quell a mutiny.”

“How bad is it?” He asked in the same quiet voice; the crew had only had minor success chasing them, finding a few merchant ships carrying nothing of any significant value.

“Unless we can secure a value of at least five hundred dollars, the pay tables will have to go unfulfilled,” She pointed to a small piece of paper she held, “Even if we cut out your shares, mine, and Atez’, we’ll be short about three hundred thirty.”

“See if there’s anything we can sell now, blast it!” His voice got excited with anger and his face was red and sweating. It had become increasingly obvious over the past days that his decision was not a popular one, and he’d overheard a number of conversations about calling council to decide on new leadership. The most perplexing element was its recency, like the message of mutiny was being spread on the winds.

He wasn’t stupid - he knew what it was. Or, at least, he knew it had to do with Ms. Silver. How? He couldn’t say, but the timing of her arrival on the Fox, and the Fox’s subsequent rebellion was almost too easy to connect. So, he smoked from his long pipe, filled with tobacco, and thought up a solution - or maybe a course of action.

He knew he’d have to kill the treasurer, that much was true. But the issue arose that she managed to swiftly cleave the loyalty of the ship in twain. Over a dozen of the men, though most were fodder, had already expressed support for her. No, to kill her, he’d first have to earn back the trust of those whelps.

“Mates!” He called, and the men all stopped doing what they were to look at him, “I will be the first to admit - we’ve had a rough go of it, it’s plain to see.” He walked up and down the deck, the boards quaking under his weight, “So I’ll tell you what: the next merchant ship we see, we’re run ‘em down!” He raised his fist in the air, and his mates shouted back with excitement. “That’s what I like to hear, boys!”

Silver, meanwhile, grumbled at the gunwale; she knew that if he was successful, he would only further cement his position, and if she was too obvious in her sabotage, the same would happen, and she would probably be killed. Granted, if they succeeded, and she didn’t sabotage them, McGraw may very well find an excuse to kill her anyway.

She was too far from any other ship to use her gift in any meaningful way, so she bided her time, making pleasant conversation with the crew. She knew she’d get her opportunity sooner or later. The wind had picked up, contrary to the nowcaster’s prediction, and they spotted a small schooner, two masts and barely armed, within three hours.

“With any luck,” The captain addressed his crew, with only five hands below deck, from his quarterdeck, “This will be an easy mark. Remember, our flag means death - and they know that as well as we do.”

The two ships were bearing towards each other, and with the time being three PM, the visibility was high. The merchant ship continued on its course, with no change to its direction. This was not a move of arrogance, but rather the captain was fooled by the new official look of the crew and ship, who had learned from their mistake.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

A thousand yards out, the merchant ship being well within the range of the pirate ship’s great guns, said pirate ship struck their colors and raised their black flag. The effect was immediate, and the schooner furled their sails to slow down and await boarding.

“Good day, lads!” McGraw stepped onto the deck, after the crew had thrown over their boarding hooks, “May I speak to the skipper of this craft?”

“I am he,” A tall, broad man with a barreled chest and a stern look greeted him with a handshake, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“C’mon, man,” McGraw opened his arms and tilted his head, “You know why we’re here - we tie up your crew, take your loot, and sail away.”

“My men can disarm themselves, but I think you can understand why we can’t let you tie us up.” The skipper responded, not backing down now that the pirate’s captain was within range of a potential deadly blow.

The pirate made a great show of walking about the deck with his arms akimbo and his head pointed down as though in thought. Everyone held their breaths as he did so: the men still loyal to McGraw were anticipating their next orders, Silver’s supporters were similarly engaged, though wondering if their treasurer would take this opportunity, and the merchants were worried their captain may have overstepped to protect their insured merchandise. This three sided coin rolled on the deck for some time, though not nearly as long as most of the men thought. In one minute the captain stopped, having apparently reached a conclusion, at the captain’s quarters.

“Seeing as you were so cooperative in slowing your vessel,” The captain swung open the door, “As a sign of my good faith, I’ll allow your unarmed men to be locked in your quarters until further notice.”

“That’s agreeable, captain.” The skipper led his men into his quarters. The men, for their part, were more concerned with taking in the air in what was typically a room they only transiently occupied and Ms. Silver watched this happen with great disdain; men had become soft recently, as modern anti-piracy measures had been greatly effective, most sailors now lived without fear of the marauders. Whether for better or worse, this lack of fear meant most sailors (these men included) were not ready for when it happened to them.

McGraw, however, was relieved that they had surrendered so easily. It was the pride of every famous pirate to be missing a limb, mostly so you could tell the story of how the limb ended up missing, but the dying breed that he was, he surmised he may be one of the first and last pirate captains to retire with all four limbs. So, he locked the men and captain, who by the looks of it was old enough to remember the terror that pirates used to represent, in the quarters and had his men poke around the ship for any valuables.

“Alright, we’ve probably got about thirty minutes ‘fore some other ship comes along,” The captain joined the crew below deck, pistols ready for anyone lurking in the hold, “So let’s make this quick.”

Silver lit up a cigar, it always helped her to calm down when she was nervous, which she certainly was now; she used her gift, squinting her eyes to see the ephemeral, yellowispy figures that rose up as she foresaw the possible courses of action. None were particularly helpful, even if she unlocked the door, these men were too scared to do anything. She considered threatening them, but a full-scale mutiny, as she saw, ended with her body falling off the gunwale into the sea.

She took another puff, and the billow of smoke drew her attention to the mast. She squinted - a lookout was still positioned up top. Was he forgotten about? Did the crew mean to have a man on the outside? Now that she got a better look with her spyglass, the man was leaning back and his head fell over the bucket. By some stroke of bad luck, he was asleep, and somehow slept through the whole boarding.

It was then she realized her captain’s blunder: he had only left men loyal to her on board the Fox, save for a deckhand named Jan, who was outnumbered by a factor of three. So she made a motion over her neck, and another deckhand, loyal to her, slit Jan’s throat from behind and dumped him overboard.

“Good work, man.” She clapped him on the back and jumped to the other deck. Closer now, she could see that the lookout would follow her back down, and so she trusted her gut and started the slow, stealthy climb up the ladder. When she reached the top, her earlier assumptions were proven when she heard his loud snoring.

She put a hand over his mouth and used the other to draw a pistol, which she tapped on his head thrice before he woke up. He tried to scream, but found it muffled through her wooly appendage, “I’m going to let go, and you’re not going to scream, understand?”

His eyes widened when he saw the pistol, and Silver would’ve been shocked if anyone ever nodded quicker than that man did, “Who are you?”

“I’m Lorane Silver,” She gestured for him to follow her down, “And we’re going to help your crew.”

“What, why?” The lookout asked, understandably.

“I don’t agree with the way my captain’s been running things,” She replied, landing on the deck, “But hush now - bad luck to speak ill of the captain on the deck.” Once he was on the deck, she pressed the gun against his head and fired without hesitation and with a certain coldness in her eyes.

She heard the signature silence of a battlefield shortly before events popped off. Swiftly reloading the pistol, she shot again, this time at the handle of the door, which allowed it to swing open, and allowed the crew to see their lookout, dead on the deck. Conveniently, at the same time, their confiscated weapons floated back up the ladder, thanks to her second gift.

Shortly after she fled to the quarterdeck, to get a vantage point, McGraw returned up the same ladder, his own custom four-barreled musket pointed at them, “Now, mates, I don’t know what happened here - but don’t get any ideas.”

There was a tense period of silence, where the pirate took a few steps towards the weapons before the merchant’s decided that they’d rather take their chances and leapt towards their guns. McGraw sighed, and shot the first man he could; three balls pierced him, and the fourth ricocheted off the gunwale, striking a second man.

“It’s a fight then,” He grumbled, waving his arm at the ladder, “Come on then, men!”

With a rallying cry and a cutlass thrust skyward, everyone on board knew the fight had just started.