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It was trickier to find a spot at a dock in Coraqua than in Port Victor, but only because there was only a dock in Port Victor. For a tiny tug, and her experienced captain, even the trickiest parking job was no more than a bump and a curse word away.
...Previous
It was trickier to find a spot at a dock in Coraqua than in Port Victor, but only because there was only a dock in Port Victor. For a tiny tug, and her experienced captain, even the trickiest parking job was no more than a bump and a curse word away.
Adam slotted the tug sideways between two much larger ships, slid down the ladder down to the deck, grabbed a coil of rope and leapt over the railing onto the dock before the tug could drift too far. He reeled it back in and started to loop the rope around a piling, securing the boat nice and snug to the dock. The impeccable ballet of the lonely man of the sea. He stood straight, and sighed.
“Alright, let’s go see what…the…” He trailed off as he realized he was speaking to the evening air. Susan was not standing at the railing as she had been a moment before. In the short time he’d taken to tie up the boat, she’d already made it most of the way down the dock towards Weatherdecker’s ship. When he called her name, she didn’t turn around.
The ship was all that existed now. She charged at it, a tiny trebuchet against a looming castle wall. Unfortunately, trebuchets could not cross water. She ground to a halt with her toes on the edge of the dock, just a few impassable feet from the ship’s wooden planks.
“Hey!” She bellowed loud and strong. “Open up!”
The only reply was the creak of the ship, bobbing on the waves. Susan saw a pile of rope to her right, littered with metal hangings. She picked up a rusted piece of scrap and hurled it at the ship with all her might. It hit with a wooden clonk and promptly fell into the waves, never to be seen again.
After an unsure pause, a head appeared at the railing.
“What, us?” called down the sailor.
“Yes, you!” bellowed Susan. “Put down a plank! I want to see your captain!”
“What for?”
“None of your business! Let me at him!”
The head turned, consulting someone behind him.
“We’d do it, see, but he’s not here,” he called at Susan. “Off to the pub, I think.”
“Which one?” she demanded.
“Uh…should I say that?” The sailor asked his compatriot loud enough for her to hear.
“Yes you should!” she shouted up. There was some murmuring above.
“Uh, the One-Eyed Gull, I think,” said the sailor, once an agreement had been reached. “Usually his spot ‘round here.”
Susan did not thank him. She turned on her heel, into Adam’s embrace.
“Susan,” he panted, “what the hell are you doing?”
“Where’s the One-Eyed Gull?” she snapped.
It was a few minutes’ walk from the maze of docks, in an alley buried in the bigger maze of Coraqua’s downtown. Adam had been expecting them to swing by the guardhouse first, but Susan apparently had other plans.
She was first through the doors of the pub; Adam burst in after her, only taking a brief moment to sort through the doors ricocheting back into his face.
“Susan! Susan, wait!”
She ignored his shouts, storming up to the bar instead. Adam stopped to apologize profusely to the sailors she shoved aside in her tirade.
She slammed her hands down on the bar, instantly grabbing the tender’s attention.
“Where’s Captain Weatherdecker?” she demanded. The mustachioed bartender gave her a curious look.
“Why y’be wantin’ him, miss?”
“NONE of your business. Where is he.”
The bartender thought for a minute before jerking his head in the right direction.
“Corner table, big guy next to the fob in the black. But don’ pretend I din’t warn...”
She was gone before he could finish. A moment later, Adam bounced off the bar like a ping pong ball and sorted himself out in her direction.
“Susan, for cronch’s sake, think about what you’re doing! Sorry!” he shouted at the man he’d bumped into. “SUSAN!”
She found Weatherdecker in quiet conversation with the fob in black, nursing a beer. Most of his men were at the surrounding tables, doing quite the opposite. Beer sloshed, cards flickered, ladies giggled somewhere in the gloom.
Susan tried to stay calm as two dark gazes fell on her. The captain looked as though he could snap her in half with two of his fingers. The sleek man in black looked as though he might try.
“You’re Captain Weatherdecker?” she panted.
“Aye, miss. How can I be helpin’ ye?”
“I don’t want your help. I want my son back and I want him back now.”
The two pirates exchanged a sideways glance. Vesco reached out slowly and cracked a peanut from the bowl in front of him, not looking down.
Adam burst out of the throng of pubgoers and grabbed Susan around the waist.
“Captain I’m sorry she didn’t mean it she’s hysterical I’ll get you your money just please don’t hurt her she’s got nothing to do with it I swear!”
The captain sighed and tossed up his hands.
“Oh, THAT son! Aye, I heed ye, miss. Howzit, Adam?”
“Fine, thank you. Please forgive her, Captain, she’s just upset. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
Susan shoved him so hard he cracked his head on the floor.
“FUCK off, Adam! WHERE’S my baby!?” she shouted at the pirates.
“Miss, please,” said the captain, “I promise ye, the lil’ lad’s alright. Won’t let nuthin’ happen a’him. You’ll have ‘im back soon as your man there gets ‘is debts in order, cross my heart.”
Susan leant over the table, fists trembling on the wood.
“He is NOT my MAN. And I don’t want my son back SOON. If you don’t go get him, right now, we’re coming back with the police!”
Vesco grinned and ate another peanut.
“I’m serious,” said Susan. “Give him back, NOW!”
“You know what, miss? I’d like me money now, too. How’m I supposed to get it without a lil’ motivation fer yer hubby down there?”
Adam, who’d just pulled himself off the floor, jumped as Susan slammed her hands on the table again.
“What Adam gets up to in his spare time doesn’t concern me OR my son. That is between you and him and no one else. How can you sit there with a clean conscience knowing that you’re dragging innocent people into your petty little disputes? How can you put the same value on the life of a child as on a few dollars in a poker game?”
“Miss, with all due respect, we’re not talkin’ ‘bout a few dollars. Yer boy there owes me quite a sum.”
“NO sum is worth endangering my son!”
“Miss, he ain’t in danger, I tole you!”
“SAYS you, you cretin! Why didn’t you just take Adam’s boat if you wanted your damn motivation?!”
“Pfft. Miss, that junker’s not worth a dime on ‘is market.”
Susan took a deep breath.
“You don’t have to do this,” she sighed. “Please. Just give me my son back, then do whatever you want to Adam. I’m begging you, don’t drag us through the mess he’s made.”
Vesco snorted. “That tyke was the mess he made, wasn’t he?”
She was quick, quicker than the pirates, quicker than even she knew she was. The bowl of peanuts was flipped into the air. Those still in their shells ricocheted off table, chair, and pirate alike. Empty shells fluttered down like the confetti of a strange parade. The bowl itself hit Vesco in the nose and clattered to the floor.
The crewmen around them had gone silent, all eyes drawn to their quartermaster. Adam’s hands were hovering over Susan, ready to grab her and run. Vesco reached up, shuffling a few confetti peanuts off his shoulder, and touched his upper lip. He examined his fingers and saw no blood. He looked up at Susan.
In a blink, he slid a knife from his sleeve, flipped it open, and flung. It lodged in the table only a few centimetres from her hand. She flinched back into Adam. Vesco rose, slowly.
“If you’d made me bleed,” he said, “I wouldn’t’ve missed.” He reached across the table and yanked the knife from the wood. He flipped it closed and slid it home. “Mind your manners, would you?”
He sat back down, never taking his eyes off the frightened woman. Several peanut shells remained static-clung to his hair and shoulders. He knew they were there.
Susan could feel the eyes on her. They were waiting for the backdown. Oh, they’d like that, wouldn’t they? Adam tried to grab at her as she took a step forward.
“You don’t scare me,” she said loudly. “Take your puny little knife and shove it!” She turned back to the captain. “Give me my son, you bastard!”
Vesco started to rise again, but his captain stayed him with a hand on his chest. The captain himself stood, coming around the table to face Susan. He was much taller than he looked sitting down.
“Look, miss, I unnerstand what yer sayin’. Really, I do. But I can’t take away a man’s boat. How’s he s’posed to work off his debt if ain’t got the means? This jus’ made more sense - from a business perspective, mind.”
She swung at his face with a closed fist. The crewmen gasped quietly; but their captain caught her arm. She let out a yell and swung with the other, but his powerful fingers closed around that one too.
“If you wanna pick a fight with someone, girl, pick it with Adam. He’s the one that let me take the tyke inna first place. Besides, I could use yer help with the naggin’. He’s a bit slow goin’, in my experience.”
He released her hands at the same time he shoved her backwards, forcing her to take a few steps away.
“Have a nice night, you two,” he said, with a nod. “We’ll see you ‘round, Adam, eh?” He turned his back before he got a response.
“Sure thing, captain,” said Adam quickly. “Susan, we’re going. Susan, I…Susan!”
She’d already picked up a chair and swung. It came down hard over her head, and shattered across Weatherdecker’s back. It exploded into splinters. She tossed aside the remains of the legs she held.
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me!” she bellowed. “Give him to me, right now!”
The captain turned to her, looking as if she’d done nothing more than tap him gently on the shoulder. He smiled at her, calmly, his eyes dancing with amusement. He said nothing. Susan growled and lunged at him.
A pair of arms hooked themselves under hers, catching her in midair. She was spun around and guided firmly away from the pair of pirates.
“That’s it,” said a stern but quiet voice, “out with you! I don’t allow rowdies in here.”
She pulled free of the grasp, and whirled around to face the mustachioed barman. He continued to shepherd her towards the door.
“You don’t understand!” she snapped. “That man’s kidnapped my baby!”
“It’s your baby, you can break your own damn chairs about it! Out!” He gave her a final shove out the open door, and strode back into the dim pub. She was about to give chase when Adam caught up, catching her and holding her for good this time.
“Susan, for god’s sake, what were you trying to accomplish in there?!”
“Why didn’t you help me, Adam?! You just stood there! I almost had him and you just—“
Adam drew her closer with a sharp tug, cutting her off.
“You did NOT almost have him. He’s twice your size! The only thing you almost did was get us in a stupid amount of trouble. Would you fucking think about this, please? We can’t. Do. Anything. We need the police. I was trying to tell you that before you ran off like an idiot!”
She wrenched free of his hands, glaring. But through that glare, her eyes were bright and shining.
“I held your son up,” she panted, “in front of your face. You looked right through him. THEN you let him get kidnapped. And I’M the idiot!?”
She stormed off towards the docks, not giving him the chance to respond. He sighed, and gave her an appropriate moment of solitude before catching up in long, gangly strides.
“Look,” he said quietly as he paced alongside her. “I don’t have an excuse for the kidnapping thing. I’m still sorry about that. But I thought we agreed that my lack of clairvoyance wouldn’t come between us.”
She sighed, long and hard.
“Why can’t something fucking work out, for once?” she snapped. “I just want one thing, one fucking thing to go my way. That’s all I ask.”
He swooped in and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her to a stop. She looked up at him, eyes fierce and watering.
“Instead of making things go your way, Susan, why don’t you try going with the way of things? You throwing a fit won’t help. You sulking on the boat won’t help at all. What will help is a visit to the guardhouse. Now, I’m going no matter what, but you could probably describe the kid better than me.” He let go of her wrist. “Are you coming, or are you just gonna pick fights until he magically reappears?”
He let her think for a moment; then turned and walked away with his hands in his pockets, back towards town. He didn’t say a word as he heard her fall into step beside him.
Michael McCrea was reading the evening newspaper on a bench in the town square. Occasionally, he’d look up, watching the ever-changing gaggle of playing children, and smile, thinking of his own grandkids.
He was a stocky, square man, appearing to be hewn from granite. He had a deep chest, and a deep voice, and a quiet manner. But, he had kind eyes, and a top hat, and he dressed smartly, in a black cloak and waistcoat. An oddly muscular but dapper gent reading the paper on this fine tropical evening. Who would remark on such a thing? Nobody in Coraqua over the past couple of days, that’s who.
He didn’t look up when he heard bootsteps coming his way. He didn’t look up when someone joined him on the bench. He turned a page, and read for a moment, before saying:
“Nice weather we’re havin’.”
Mr. Airedale sighed, fidgeting slightly with the book in his lap. He had not worn his medalled jacket, or, worse, his bicorne. The breeze in his hair felt wrong.
“Lovely,” he agreed. “Just lovely.” He too watched the children at play.
Mr. McCrea closed the paper, folded it, and laid it across his knee. He slid a silver pocketwatch from his waistcoat and snapped it open. All in one movement, he closed it and slid it back.
“Only ten minutes late,” he observed. “Give or take a couple days.”
“I do not wish to talk about it,” said Mr. Airedale.
“Oh, yeah? That bad?”
“No, not bad. Just…insufferably stupid.”
Mr. McCrea looked at him for the first time, smiling sideways.
“Your Benefactor’s gonna have questions.”
“I am aware,” said Airedale. “Richard can answer them.”
Mr. McCrea turned back to the news with a laugh; his laugh was a small shot of breath through his nose, and a tiny twitch of a smile. In the ensuing silence, Mr. Airedale opened his book. He flipped to several different pages, turning a chunk at a time, to gather a handful of looseleaf papers from within. He closed the book, folded the papers together with careful creases, and handed them to Mr. McCrea, who promptly rolled them up in his newspaper. Mr. Airedale frowned at this, but said nothing.
Mr. McCrea stood off the bench, and tipped his hat to Airedale.
“Take care,” he said pleasantly, and made his way across the square to a stone alley. Airedale watched him until the last flick of his cloak had disappeared from sight. Book still in hand, he made his own way back to the docks, the opposite direction.
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