A Legacy of Salt and Steel
Chapter 3 - Fruits of Parting
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Merria was already waiting when 'Amy' stepped down the stairs, back in her usual clothes with her carrier box firmly wrapped around her hips.
She sat by the salt barrels, next to the door, apron still tied, a half-peeled starfruit in one hand, blade in the other. The scent of citrus clung to the air. On the table in front of her, a bundle wrapped in cloth. Her eyes lifted at the sound of approaching steps, but she didnât smile. Not yet. Just took one last stroke of the knife and flicked the rind onto the table.
"Youâre really going, then," she said through bites of the fruit, not looking up right away. There was a tightness in the rumble of her voice, like a rope was coiled around her neck.
'Amy' paused at the base of the stairs, fingers tensing against the boxâs handle, then nodded. "Tideâs good. The Red Hair Pirates leave soon."
A pause stretched between them like taut rope. The wind chime at her open window sang. If she strained her ears, she could almost hear the pirates arguing as they prepared the shipâthe clatter of rope, the thud of boots against wood, a burst of laughter.
"Iâ"
"Youâ"
They looked at each other, a smile almost twisting 'Amyâs' lips. A silence a little awkward, both opening and closing their mouths, before she gestured to Merria to start first.
"You didnât have to forage redroots," Merria said, spitting the seeds into a tin cup. "I never thanked you yesterday, so Iâm doing it now. Thank you."
"Itâs... to make sure that Iâll miss you." Her answer was a tease wrapped in a half-truth, and she winced softly at her own honesty.
A smile. Wry. Pained.
She wasnât good at this, was she? Sheâd always preferred leaving fast, making the goodbye simple and as uncomplicated as possibleâwhen she lingered long enough for them. But now, she didnât know what to say.
She didnât know how to say goodbye to things that were kind and soft without pain.
The younger womanâs mouth opened, closed again. Then, finally: "...You didnât have to speak for me. To him."
"I know."
"But you did."
Merriaâs gaze didnât waver. "Someone had to."
Simple truths that warmed her chest with something that felt like affection and knotted her throat with something else. Her eyes burned, but she didnât let them spill. She looked down at her hands instead. Her knuckles were pale from how tightly she held the folded scrap of paper. The note she wasnât sure would ever be readâbut sheâd written it anyway.
"In case they come looking here," she said softly, holding it out. "Give them this. Itâs short. It just says that Iâm alive and where Iâm going. Aimi and Arioso, they..."
She faltered for a second. How could she describe them in a few words when they deserved hundreds? Fools that should have left instead of staying? People who are everything she is not? Far more deserving of every kindness, softness and sweetness than she ever would. One carried the kind of hope she no longer dared to hold. The other, foolish enough to walk beside her without flinching.
Hers.Â
"Youâll recognize them immediately," she said at last. "They donât know how to blend in."
Merria took it without asking for more detailsâperhaps understanding her more than 'Amy' would have liked. She tucked it into her apron pocket and nodded. "Iâll keep it safe."
She hesitated, again, then exhaledânot just breath, but the tension in her spine. It was something that needed to be said.
"Iâve had people speak for me before," she said, meeting her eyes, hoping whatever she would see would convey her gratitude. "But mostly to condemn. To mark me, or cast me out, or shut me up."
Merria said nothing.
'Amy' insisted, despite the part of her that screamed to stop revealing so much of herself. "You didnât have to care. You couldâve just let me be a stranger passing through. But you didnât."
A long moment passed before Merria said, very softly: "It wasnât needless."
She blinked.
"I donât have a daughter," Merria added, voice steadier now. "But if I did... Iâd want her to be the kind of fool whoâd patch up a boat just to chase something she believed in."
Her throat caught. She looked away quickly, blinking hard. Her fingertips curled against the grain of the box.
âAmyâ hoped no one had to be like her.
"Iâll come back someday," she said quietly because it was easier than a definite goodbye. "If I can."
Merriaâs mouth twitched. "If you do, Iâll make you scrub every barrel in the cellar."
"Thatâs not much of a threat."
"Youâve never seen my cellar."
'Amy' cocked a brow. "Iâm pretty sure itâs currently empty.â
Merria huffed. They both stood there a moment longer, suspended in something gentle. Then Merria reached outânot for a hug, not exactly, but to smooth a seashell charm that had come loose from one of her braids.
âYouâd better go before youâre left behind.â She said. âIâll come with you to the docks.â
She supposed there haven't been people who lingered for as long as she did for quite some time. Merria wasnât good at saying goodbye either.Â
They walked the path of stone together, wind at their backs, each footstep pulling her toward the sea and all its danger.
The docks glimmered in the newborn lightâsoft and opaline, like the underside of a seashell. The tide murmured low and steady against the pylons, and the breeze carried the faint hush of windchimes still half-asleep.
The Red Force sat anchored in the bay, its shadow long across the water. Crew moved quietly aboard, the kind of practiced morning stillness that belonged to people whoâd sailed together for years.Â
The ship had its own built-in stairs. Fancy.
She walked toward it, box swaying with each of her steps, goosebumps rolling down her armsâthe morningâs chills settling in her bones. She kept her eyes ahead, steps sure. She didnât expect anyone to come see her off.
And yetâ
Her steps slowed. Beside her, Merria laughed quietly. âTold you.â
There they were. Just off to the side near a stack of fishing crates: a small, unassuming group.
A few familiar faces from the villageâthe older merchant sheâd helped with his stall, a girl whoâd watched her retrieve her kite. A mother with a younger boy and a basket of sea beans. And the children.
She stopped. Heart beating too loudly.
It was the smallest one who ran firstâbare feet slapping wood, hair tangled with sleep. âYouâre really leaving!â she called, arms flailing a bit too wide.
âAmyâs chest tingled with warmth and something a little bit painful. She crouched slightly, catching her with one hand to steady her. âI told you I might.â
If her voice was hoarse, the little girl didnât detect it.
A second girl approached, more solemn, holding out a crooked palm-leaf charm shaped like a fish. It had already started to unravel. âWe made it for luck,â she said, serious as a priest.
âAmyâ took it like it was gold and tucked it into her shirt, right above her heart. âThen itâll work.â
The boy stepped forward, shoving the sea beans at her. âFor the road. Mom says thanks for playing with us.â
She shook her head. âYou keep those. Sheâll need the rest for drying.â
He hesitated. Then gave a shy nod and clutched the basket tighter.
Behind them, one of the older women pressed her hands together. Not a wave. Not quite a prayer. Just a silent gesture of respect.
No one asked where she was going.
No one tried to stop her.
But they were here. And she hadnât expected that.
She stood, brushing her fingers along one girlâs hair, then anotherâs shoulder. âYouâll look after the tide pools for me?â she asked.
They all nodded, solemn and small.
âAmyâ stepped back, her hands light at her sides.
She didnât say goodbye.
Instead, she gave them a lookâone theyâd remember when the fish ran late or the wind changed. The kind of look that says: You were seen.Â
And then she turned toward the ship.
Merria was waiting next to it, arms wrapped around a bundle before handing it to herâpushing it into her arms, really. Like she knew âAmyâ would protest. âThere is food in thereâsmoked fish, a few starfruits, and bread. For your breakfast. And a coat, if you get cold.â
âYou shouldnât-â
âI know. Youâve already said that.â
âIâ Thank you.â She choked on the words, bowing deeply because it was the only way she knew how to show it.
A hum.
âYou thank people like you never expect kindness from them.â Her hands wrapped around her shoulders, dragging her upright. âAmyâ wrapped her fingers around her wrists, squeezing. Merriaâs voice lowered. âSail smart. Donât let them charm you too quick.â
âTheyâre pirates.â She scoffed, a little wet near the edge.
Merria smirked. âSo are you for now.â
They exchanged a smile. âAmyâ let go.
She climbed the stairs in silence, her boots steady on the worn planks. The sea beyond waited, all open blue and hush. And just before stepping aboard, she turned once.
The children waved. Merria lifted two fingers in farewell, her other hand pressed against her chest.
âAmyâ didnât smile. But her fingers brushed the charm against her breast as she adjusted the bundle in her arm. A quiet thanks. Then she stepped aboard the Red Force.
And Shellmere exhaled behind her.
When her feet landed on the deck, it felt like stepping into a different world.
The first thing she noticed was the silence.
Not a real oneâthe ship breathed with movement: boots thudded against decks, rigging creaked, a gull screamed from a masthead. But it was a comfortable silence. Familiar. The kind that came from people whoâd fought together, bled together, drank too much together and still woke up knowing which rope to pull and when.
No one looked twice when she stepped aboard.
She had expected stares. Questions. Suspicion. Perhaps, even threats. Instead, they flowed around her like water around a rock. Some nodded. One younger deckhand with green-dyed beads in his hair offered her a crooked half-smile and a wink, trying to be charming.Â
That was all. It was unsettling.
Had their captain made an announcement?
She adjusted her grip on the bundle to free a hand, jaw tight.
The Red Force smelled like rum, old wood, and faintly of smoke. Sun-warmed planks creaked under her boots, and somewhere aft, someone was singing off-key. She felt it in her ribs, in the ache of her fingers and the tension of her shouldersâthis ship moved. It had weight. Rhythm.
It was not a place for passengers.
So she kept her spine straight, her gaze ahead. Not meek. Not confrontational. Just present.
âYou missed the welcome parade,â came a voice behind her, low and far too pleased with itself.
She turned, pulse jumping. The familiarity of the tone set her nerves alight.
Shanks leaned against a mast, tired eyes, black coat slung over his shoulders, his stance careless, his smile anything but. He hadnât changed his clothes. They were rumpled, slept-in.Â
He looked like the kind of man who made peace with hangovers by ignoring them.
She hummed softly to herself. Perhaps, they were all hangovered and couldnât really tell that she wasnât part of them.
âI heard confettiâs out of season,â she replied, voice low, guarded but dry. A flick of her eyebrow betrayed just a flicker of dry wit beneath the weariness.
âPity.â He stretched slowly, like a cat in the morning sun, then strolled toward her like the deck belonged to himâlazy, sure and too confident for his own good. âYouâve got a thing for dramatic exits. I figured youâd enjoy a matching entrance.â
She said nothing. Just watched him approach, her expression unreadable, with eyes still salted from leaving. Her lips pressed into a line too thin to be mistaken for anything kind. Still, she relaxed the muscles.
The captain liked to teaseâthat much was certainâand it seemed he took it upon himself to see how far he could push before truly bothering her. She almost clacked her tongue against her teeth but it would satisfy him too much.
He slowed, eyes sharp beneath the grin, taking her in the way one would assess a storm cloud. âYou brought a box.â
âI travel light.â Her voice cut, a little brittle at the edges. Reminding him of their conversation last night.
He squinted at it, amused. âLooks heavy for light.â
âOnly what I can carry.â
âOnly what youâre willing to lose?â he asked, like it was nothing. A thought tossed on a breeze. He reached out, almost absently, fingers brushing toward the boxâs lid.
Her hand slammed down against it, fast as a thrown knife, knuckles white. âOnly what Iâll fight to keep.â
That froze the air for a moment.
His mouth twitched. It wasnât quite a grinâit had too much teeth. âThere she is.â
That made her blink. Her throat tightened around something unspoken. âWhat?â
He didnât answer. His gaze lingered a second longer, reading her with something too shrewd to be casual, then jerked his chin toward a small barrel set by the galley door. âRoo left you breakfast. Thereâs fruit and bread in there. Might want to grab it before Monster remembers heâs hungry again.â
The sudden shift in tone knocked her off balance. She followed his gesture, then shook her head, gesturing to the bundle in her arm. âIâve already got enough. Merria made sure of it.â
Her voice held no softness. Not cold, but final. A quiet rebuff with teeth behind it. The kind of tone used to keep walls high and hands off.
His brow lifted. âRefusing breakfast on principle?â
He sounded dramatically offended. He didnât look like it.
âOn preparation.â Her fingers flexed against the boxâs grain. âAnd I donât like taking more than I can repay.â
He let out a breathy laughâhalf surprise, half admiration. âYouâre going to have a hard time sailing with pirates, sweetheart.â
Sweetheart. She almost bristled on principle. It was too casual. A tease with claws he would use at specific times, when he was mocking her. A man used to be liked even when he shouldn't be.
âIâm not sailing with you,â âAmyâ correctedâargued really because letting him have the last word felt like chewing glass. âIâm just passing through.â
His grin curled wider, then faded into something quieter. Measured. âSo youâre sure about it?â
It sounded like he was testing her resolve, verifying that she hadnât changed her mind in the course of a few hours. As if she hadnât been stewing for days.
She met his gaze, chin lifting a fraction. âI donât change course mid-tide.â
âThat wasnât the question.â
That stopped her. Just for a beat.
The wind stirred at the strands of her hair unbound by braids. She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if trying to read the shape of the trap beneath his words before cocking a brow in a way that said âItâs the only answer youâll haveâ.
He gave no further push. Just jerked his thumb toward the far end of the ship. âFind Benn Beckman before you settle in. Heâs the one who makes sure nobody kills each other. Or sets the ship on fire. Or sneaks extra rations.â
âIs that an official role?â she asked dryly, almost under her breath.
âShip nanny,â Shanks said with mock solemnity, then broke the facade with a crooked grin. âHeâll love you.â
âI doubt that.â
A beat passed. Shanks gave a little nod, barely more than a tilt of his chinâapproval, or acknowledgment, or maybe just a pirate emperor saying âweâll seeâ.
Then he walked off, whistling something tuneless as if they hadnât just traded knives in velvet. âAmyâ watched him go, that lazy gait vanishing past the rigging, swallowed by the shipâs rhythm.
Of course he left it to someone else. Of course he didnât explain a damn thing.
She exhaled slowly, drawing the sea into her lungs and holding it there. Her fingers brushed the fish-charm tucked under her shirt. One last tether to shore. She released the breath and squared her shoulders.
Right. Benn Beckman.
Sheâd seen him once or twice on wanted postersâtall, calm, salted hair. His bounty had reached one billion belies but she didnât have the exact number. Truth to be told, she didnât care to remember once theyâve exceeded the five hundred millions, it was easier to just not cross them. Â
He looked like the kind of man who didnât need to raise his voice to be obeyed. She imagined him to be like the stillness before lightning struck.Â
She passed a group of crewmates coiling rope, and they barely looked up. No questions. No raised brows. No interest. Just seamless movementâeach person part of the ship, and the ship a body of its own. She didnât know where she fit inside it yet. Didnât know if she wanted to.
Strange crew.
The stairs leading up to the quarterdeck creaked beneath her boots. A sea breeze tugged at her hair, and a gull screamed above, circling the mast. She caught movement near the stern railâbroad shoulders, salt-streaked hair, the ember-tip of a cigarette glowing in the shade.
There you are.
Sheâd expected someone hardened around the edges. The kind of first mate who barked orders and kept a rifle slung across his back like a threat. With a captain like theirs, they would need that to keep the ship afloat.Â
Instead, she found a man leaning against the rail, sleeves rolled past his elbows, one hand resting casually against the wood, the other holding his cigarette between two fingers. Watching the horizon like it was something that needed guarding.
At ease.
He looked like a man who carried weight quietly. A man who didnât posture. Didnât chase attention. He simply was.
His arms were the first thing she noticedâsolid, weathered, freckled faintly by the sun. The shirt stretched over his arms just enough to make her pause, not tight, just revealing. Appealing. The kind of strength that came with years on the seaâroped muscle, forearms traced with veins, hands that had worked too much to ever be called soft.Â
The kind of strength that could hold the ship together with his bare hands if it came to it.
She slowedânot from fear exactly, but from wariness. She didnât know how this man judged. Only that he did.
She stopped a few feet away and cleared her throat. âShanks said I should find you.â
His head turned slightly, just enough to glance at her over one shoulder. His expression was unreadable. A puff of smoke drifted sideways with the wind.
âDid he now,â he said.
Not a question. Not quite a welcome either. More like an inevitability laced in quiet suffering. He didnât look surprised.
Somewhere below, Shanks hollered for departure. The last ropes were secured, the sails swelled and âAmyâ made sure to keep her eyes on the first mate. Some of the pirates leaned against the side, waving their goodbyes.Â
A quiet affair so unlike their arrival.
The ship swayed slightly.
âAmyâ straightened. âHe said you keep the ship from burning down.â
A twitch of the mouth. Amusement, maybe. Or warning. âSomeoneâs got to.â
She shifted her weight. The deck here felt firmer. Higher. Like standing at the edge of something.
âIâm not here long,â she added quickly. âJust passage. I wonât be in the way.â
âYou say that like youâve been on a pirate ship before.â He finally turned toward her fully, smoke trailing from his fingers. His gaze swept her once, not leeringâjust assessing. Noting how she held herself, how tightly she gripped that box, where her scars sat and where they didnât.
âAmyâ didnât flinch. âNo. But Iâve been in places where being invisible was the only way to stay breathing.â
A beat. Then Benn nodded, slowly. âGood instinct. Wonât help much here.â
She frowned. âWhy not?â
âBecause no one on this ship stays invisible for long. Not even the ghosts.â
He flicked his cigarette overboard, watching the ember trail vanish into the blue. Then he jerked his chin toward the side rail. âThereâs a spare bunk near the forward hold. Not fancy, but itâs dry. Youâll be on rotation with the rest.â
âI didnât agree to work.â
âYou didnât say you wouldnât.â He met her eyes. Calm. Steady. Like driftwood after the storm. âEveryone does something. Or they donât stay.â
It wasnât a threat. It was gravity. And she stilled her tongue before the urge to say something challenging moved it for her. Something like âWhat? Youâre going to throw me overboard?â
She nodded once. âUnderstood.â
âYou cook?â
âI can boil water.â She shrugged. She could cook like every adult could, not perfect but enough to survive and take a little bit of pleasure out of eating it.
It didnât convince him, though. âThen youâre swabbing decks. At least until Roo takes pity and steals you.â
He turned, already done with the conversation.
âAmyâ started to step away, then hesitated. âYouâre not going to ask my name?â
He paused. Looked at her again. âI figured youâd tell us when it matters.â
Then he walked offâquiet, certain, without looking back.
What a man. The thought felt like an exhale, traitorous but rang true in her soul.
She stood alone for a moment after he walked away, the deck gently swaying beneath her boots. The wind tugged at her hair. Somewhere above, a gull shrieked and wheeled into the wind.
That was it. No questions. No judgment. No performance. Just a man who named what needed naming and left the rest alone.
She hadnât realized how much she needed that.
Not charm. Not provocation. Not the teasing edge Shanks wielded like a blade. Just stillness. Certainty. Space to breathe.
Her fingers relaxed around the handle of the box.
She didnât trust anyone hereânot really. But if she had to pick someone to watch her back when the sea turned, she already knew who it would be.
Not the emperor with the grin but the man with the match and the silence.
Sheâd made it halfway across the deck, mop rasping over sun-split planks that had soaked in as much rum as the pirates who walked them. Her hair was wrapped in her headband, sleeves rolled. The bucket sloshed as the ship shiftedâsteady, predictable motion. She found herself adjusting to it faster than expected.
âMiss Amy?â
The voice caught behind her. She turned.
Kaito was approaching with a loose smile and a coil of rope slung over one shoulder. His shirt was the same as the day before â too big, too open, sleeves damp from work. His spiky ponytail bounced like punctuation. His whole face lit up.
âI didnât think you were coming with us,â he said, blinking. âDidnât even see you board.â
âAmyâ gave him a short nod, wiping her brow. âYou were distracted.â
âYeah, probably.â He scratched at his cheek, still looking surprised. âSo... what are you doing here? Thought you lived in Shellmere.â
She kept her tone even. âNo. I was just passing through.â
That gave him pause. He squinted at her, like trying to see the full shape of something just beyond his reach. âSo youâre sailing with us?â
âFor now.â
Kaito blinked, processing that. âWith the crew?â
âNo.â A touch flat, but not unfriendly. âNot part of the crew.â
There was a beat. Just long enough. He laughedâa little too fast, a little too relieved. âRight. Obviously. Justâsaw you with the mop and figuredâŠâ
The smile stayed, but it faltered just at the edges. His weight shifted, almost like heâd braced for something else. His shoulders loosened.
He didnât say itâwouldnât. But it showed.
She caught the flicker: the way his posture subtly uncoiled, the small breath he didnât seem to know he was holding.
Heâd struggled to get on this ship.
And she hadnât. Or at least, to him, it didnât look like she had.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the handle, thumb brushing it in soft circles.
She looked at him with unreadable calm and eyes too sharp. âIt needed doing.â
Kaito blinked. âSure, but... you know you didnât have to, right? You couldâve said no.â
Her breath stuttered in something close to a scoff, she disguised it as a cough. As if she couldâve said no to the first mateâs direct order. But it suited her all the same. It didnât feel like charity but an exchange of favors.
âI meanâyouâve got your own thing going on,â he added, motioning to the carrier. âDidnât expect to see you scrubbing the deck.â
Her hand drifted toward the strap digging into her hips. She adjusted it once, then let it be.
âYou could put it down,â Kaito offered, stepping a little closer. âMight help with your form.â
Her brows twitched.
He plowed on, clearly trying to sound casualâcharming, even. âI mean, youâve got good form, but you want to keep your strokes a little shorter. Less back strain that way.â He pantomimed a shorter sweep with his hand. âRoo taught me that after I almost pulled something near the galley stairs.â
Of course he had a tip. They always did. A little adjustment. A little suggestion. And always, always with the smile that made it feel like a gift.
Her expression didnât shift much. Maybe a flicker of something at the corner of her mouthânot a grimace. Not quite.
âIâll manage,â she said.
Kaito rubbed the back of his neck. âYeah. Justâtrying to help.â
She gave him a look. Measured. Patient. âI know.â
He seemed to take that as permission to keep going. âItâs just⊠yesterday, you were different. Calmer. Quieter.â
She leant against the mop a little bit, tilting her head. Oh, this should be good. âYou mean softer?â
âI didnât say that.â
âBut you were thinking it.â She answered like it was a fact, like she caught him.
Kaito adjusted his grip on the rope, throwing a glance behind his shoulder. The movement almost hid his wince. âNot in a bad way. I just meant... this is new.â
âPeople can be more than one thing,â she said lightly but her tone betrayed the morbid fascination of watching someone digging his own grave and then digging deeper.
âYeah. Yeah, of course.â He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. âSo, just curiousâwhat made you come with us?â
The question hung there. Easy. Casual. But not harmless.
âI had a direction,â she said. âYour ship was already pointed that way.â
He blinked, letting that settle. âThatâs... kind of poetic.â
She didnât answer.
Another glance toward her box.
âWhatâs in there?â he asked, more careful this time. âYou don't want to put it down?â
A pause. A sharper look, cautious.
âThings I need,â she said. âThings I canât lose.â
His smile dimmed slightlyânot gone, just softened at the edges. âMakes sense.â He took a breath, searching for something safer to say. âWell, it suits you,â he offered. âCarrying your life like that.â
She wrung the mop, wondered if he was like that with all the women he met or if he was trying to be something he wasnât in front of her. She kind of felt bad for him. Whatever it was, he wasnât very good at it.
He lingered a moment. âJust so you knowâif you get tired or someone gives you trouble, Iâve got your back. You helped me.â
âYou dropped things.â
âAnd you picked them up. That counts.â
Her lip twitched. Just a little.
Kaito beamed, encouraged. âAnyway, welcome aboard. If you get seasick, Rooâs got ginger chews hidden in his bunkâsays theyâre for everyone, but he hoards âem. And donât let him talk you into cleaning the galley stove. That thingâs cursed. Swear it hissed at me once.â
She gave him a sidelong glance. âIâll take my chances.â
Kaito grinned again, almost proud of himself. Then with a jaunty half-salute, he added, âBack to my watch. Holler if you need pirate expertise.â
And with that, he swaggered offârope bouncing against his hip, ponytail flapping behind him. On the way, a man clapped his shoulder and dragged him aside while snickering.
âAmyâ watched him go. Pirate expertise.
It was almost laughableâthe pride, the confidence, the gall. But thenâ
Her eyes caught movements tainted in red. The wind brushed his hair with a kind of attention only befallen on lovers.
âWith that kind of captain, even she would believe herself to be bigger than she is.
She dipped the mop again, the water sloshed in the bucket. âAmyâ worked without hurry, without mind. Her hands moved, but her thoughts wandered.
Sheâd met men like Kaito beforeâkind, loud, helpful. The sort who couldnât stop trying to smooth what didnât need smoothing. The sort who thought teaching her how to mop was kindness. And maybe it was to him.
But she didnât need kindness that came with instruction.
Didnât need reminders that even hereâeven nowâshe was being explained.
Kaito believed he was doing something good for someone he believed weaker, more ignorant. And that belief, that easy warmth, that bright grinâ
It was the kind that could wear you down. Could make you believe you were safe. And that was the real danger. Because part of her almost believed it despite knowing that he was wrong.
She paused, leaning on the mop, wrist flexing slightly. Her gaze swept the deckâthe mess of it, the ease, the casual laughter that came not from politeness but familiarity.
A sigh.
Around her, the crew moved in burstsâloud, off-key, and always moving. A handful of men were lowering barrels down to the hold while arguing about whether salted lemons counted as fruit or seasoning. Someone was playing a tune on a cracked flute that sounded like a seagull in pain. Nobody told him to stop. Another sat half-asleep on a coil of rope, nodding along with no rhythm at all.
A few started to bring out tables and chairs.
It shouldâve looked like a mess. But it didnât. They were loud, brash, mismatchedâand somehow, they made it work. Like tide and wind and torn sails all conspiring to keep the ship moving forward.
They didnât look like pirates. They looked like idiots.
But they were idiots who knew each other. Idiots who, somehow, trusted one another enough to fall asleep in full sun with their back to the rest of the world.
She could almost see Arioso in the corner, dramatizing their lives into verse that no one asked for. Could hear Aimi trying to be helpful while accidentally making things worseâsmiling sheepishly after breaking someoneâs knife or mixing herbs in the wrong barrel.
Her throat tightened briefly as the revelation unraveled softly in her mind. She missed them. Not like a hole in her chestânot yet. But like a tightness just under her her ribs. A phantom ache.
It made her look away. The sea stretched out in all directionsâtoo wide. Too quiet.
âDeep thoughts?â The voice came lazily, off her shoulder.Â
Right. What did Beckman say again? Something about the impossibility of invisibility on the ship.Â
She stopped the sigh before it could escape her. She glanced sideways.
She knew him too. Not as infamous as the first mate or his captain but just as dangerous. Black hair in tight curls, skin just a tad lighter than hers, broad-shouldered like most men of the sea. Trademark twin pistols swayed on his belt.
Yasopp leaned against a barrel nearby, cup in hand, watching her like heâd been there a while. His smile was casual if not sharp near the edges.
âNot really.â She straightened herself and was surprised to realize they reached the same height.
âAdmiring our fine naval coordination then?â
âYou all move like youâve done this forever.â
âWe have,â Yasopp replied, crossing his legs at the ankle. âMore or less.â
She hummed softly and wrung the mop to continue her work. They were starting to put out the food now. Wafts of appetizing smells reached her. Her stomach rumbled softly, not enough to be heard but enough to warn her.
âDidnât realize we took volunteers,â he added, watching her work. âUsually takes at least two weeks before anyone offers to clean something.â
âI didnât offer,â she said drily.
âAh. So this is a power move. Establishing dominance through deck scrubbing. Bold.â
She didnât bother correcting him, it was easier that way. It didnât prevent him from continuing. If anything, it encouraged him to be an even bigger nuisance.
He took a sip, watching her over the rim of his cup. âLet me guess. Youâre the strong, silent, brooding type. Mysterious past. Nothing to lose. Probably stabbed a man once for looking at you wrong.â
âAmyâ rolled her eyes and dipped the mop again, ignoring him.
He nodded. âYeah. Thought so. Thatâs the kind of mop technique you donât teach.â
She finally glanced at him. âYou always this chatty with the help?â
âOh, only when they look like theyâre trying not to murder the deck.â
A smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth, but she swallowed it down when she promptly tripped on a rope that she swore wasnât there before. Caught herself right before she tipped over the bucket and splashed the whole deck.
Yassop snorted. Loudly. Uglily. While âAmyâ fought to keep the blush at bay.Â
âDonât worry,â he said between two giggles, like watching someone almost fall was the most hilarious thing in the world. âYouâll get used to the mess. Took me years to realize no one hereâs got a damn clue what theyâre doingâtheyâre just too drunk to care.â
âAnd youâre not?â She cleared her throat. âComforting. At least someone will be sober enough to stir the ship.â
âDonât count on it. Anyway,â he leaned in a little like he was letting her in on a secret, âword of advice? If youâre trying to impress anyone, stop. Itâs suspicious.â
âIâm not,â she said, ears still burning from her misshape.
She wasnât often prone to such a thing.
âGood. Youâre terrible at it.â He tipped his cup to her. She watched the content slosh over the edge, take a leap of faith and splash the freshly washed deck. âBut points for effort. Deck hasnât looked this clean since we spilled that rum barrel in '22.â
She stared at the spill dispassionately.Â
âAh. My bad.â
Her eyes traveled the length of the man, took note of his weapons, and vividly imagined all the ways she could strangle the smile out of his face. People have died for less.
Instead, she settled for: âExplain the smell.â
Yasopp paused, one brow liftingâjust enough to show he heard it. He chuckled low, without turning back. âCareful. You keep talking like that, I might start to like you.â
âThat smell,â came a new voice, âwas fungal. We had to burn three mops after that and still couldnât get rid of the scent.â
âAmyâ turned slightly.
Hongo strolled up, coat flapping in the wind and showing his absâniceâa linen-wrapped bundle tucked under one arm and a cup in his hand. He eyed the deck like it might still be infected.
Yasopp made a mock-wince. âDonât ruin the nostalgia, Doc.â
âI still have the fungal sample,â Hongo replied dryly. âItâs growing.â
âAmyâ arched her brow, impressed and disgusted in equal measures. âFrom the rum?â
Hongo gave her a nod of approval. âFrom the mop. But yes. Rum was involved.â
Yasopp chuckled, stepping aside to give the medic space. âYou here to scold her too?â
âIâm not in charge of morale,â Hongo said, leveling a look at her face. âBut I am in charge of keeping people from scrubbing themselves raw.â
She straightened. âIâm fine.â
âYouâre sweating and you havenât drank anything since who knows when.â He pushed the cup into her hand. âYou havenât eaten either.â
Heâd been watching her.
âI donât needââ
âDoesnât matter. Roo said if you collapse, heâs not sharing his ginger chews. And frankly, I donât want to explain to Benn why the mystery guest fainted mid-deck.â
Yasopp snorted. âMystery guest. That's generous.â
She shot them both a flat look. âIâm working on a task the first mate gave me.â
âYes,â Hongo said calmly, âand now youâre pausing on the order of the doctor.â
He stepped forward and set the wrapped parcel on a nearby crate. âPickled cabbage. Salted rice. No ginger chews. Iâm not spoiling you.â
Yasopp unwrapped the bundle before Hongo slapped his hand away. âHey, she gets pickled cabbage? I got dried fish for three months straight when I joined.â
âYou complained more,â The medic said without missing a beat.
âI was hungry!â
âYou were dramatic.â
She looked between themâthe banter, the lack of ceremonyâand something in her posture eased, though she didnât move from the mop.
âYou lot always like this?â she muttered.
They thought âloudâ, âlivelyâ, even âcharmingâ in Yassopâs case while she meant âdisgustingâ and âexhaustingâ.
âAbsolutely,â Yasopp said proudly, two fists on his hips.
âNo off switch,â Hongo added with the same gusto while her shoulders crumpled in disappointment. âBut youâll get used to it.â
She had a terrible feeling that the three day trip was going to feel much longer. âI wonât be here long.â
They both shrugged.
Yasopp raised his cup. âNeither were some of us. Once.â
That hung in the air a moment, just long enough to feel it turn foreboding. A shiver ran down her back. âThat sounds like a threat.â
Yasopp grinned. âOnly if it works.â
She stared at him. Unmoved.
He sipped. âRelax. We donât do forced recruitment. Itâs bad for morale. And worse for drinking schedules.â
âGood to know.â
âYouâre still scrubbing the deck though.â
âWonderful.â She said flatly.Â
Yassopâs cackles stopped short when wafts of food reached his nostrils. He sniffed once, deeply and promptly left them to join the tables.
âYou can sit with us to eat.â Hongo said, turning on his heels. âBut you strike me as someone who would rather not.â
She didnât give an answer, merely watching him join the flock of people around the table before her eyes moved to the food.
After a moment, she reached for it. Steam curled around her fingers. Salt and vinegar. Brine and starch. Real food. Hearty and humble.
She sat back on her heels and ate slowly, alone.
No Arioso rambling. No Aimi hovering nearby, pretending not to worry. And more recently, no Merria to share the meals with.
Just the sea. And the sound of a crew that didnât ask questionsâbut noticed everything anyway.
She should have known her peace couldnât last.
The sea was calm, sails shifting like breath overhead. âAmy' had tucked herself near the forecastle rail, coiling a line of rope into crisp loops. Her carrier box propped beside her as always. The warmth of the sun pressed into her back; salt and old wood filled the air.Â
Then came the creak of boots and the unmistakable sound of chewing.
Kaito plopped down opposite her, a half-eaten bowl of candied ginger in hand and all the confidence of someone with no idea how close they stood to a knifeâs edge.
âYou know,â he said between chews, âyouâre lucky.â
She gave him a glance. Not agreement. Not denial.
âFirst pirate ship, and itâs this one?â He popped another ginger. âSome crewsâll rob you blind before they even say hello.â
She flicked a coil into place. âLucky me.â
He beamed, mistaking her dryness for rapport. âFigured someone should warn you. The seaâs full of monstersânot just the ones under it.â
A cheer broke out across the deck. Someone had climbed a barrel, waving a mop like a sword. Another pirate threw a fruit rind at him.
âMm,â she murmured. âAnd youâre whatâseasoned?â
âThree months.â He grinned, proud. âAlmost.â
She blinked, slowly. âAh. Veteran.â Red-haired let people that green on his deck?
He rolled his eyes, reading a tease in her words. âLong enough to know what Iâm talking about.â He popped another candy. âLikeâobviously the pirates. Some are real pieces of work. But the bounty hunters? Some are worse than pirates.â
She hummed, looping the rope tighter. âGo on, then.â
âSoâget this,â Kaito paused, for dramatic effect. âThereâs this guy Wasp,â he began, gesturing with a ginger cube. âWears a seastone whip and no shirt. Claims he took down a Baroque Works sleeper agent by setting his ship on fire. Also apparently allergic to shirts.â
She quirked a brow. âSounds like a liability.â
âThen thereâs Sister Mercyâreal sweet voice, poison in the wine. They say she took out two captains and blessed the corpses.â
A pause. She rolled a knot over one palm, thumb circling slowly.
âAnd Tansen the Flame hates sails. Doesnât even check the bounties. Lit a merchant fleet over a carved Jolly Roger once.â
âUnstable.â She hummed softly. âYouâre making these up.â
He grinned. âI wish. Ohâthen thereâs Junpei. No face, no trace. Leaves a little koi card. Creepy, but⊠clean.â
She blinked. That one was new.
Then he dropped it. âBut the one everyone talks about? Sina.â
That earned him a flick of the eyes. Barely a twitch. But her hands slowed.
She was listening.
âSina the Monster Hunter,â he added with low theatrics.
The name settled over them like a thundercloud.
She kept coiling. Rhythm unchanged. But Kaito had noticed the interest.
âSheâs the real deal,â he went on. âNot the strongest. But she took down Captain Varnak. Varnak. Five hundred million. Brutal bastard. Axe the size of a barrel. Thatâs how she got the nickname.â
Her gaze didnât lift, but her hand driftedâalmost unconsciouslyâto the side of her ribcage, just below the carrierâs strap. Thumb brushed against cloth. Then skin. A rough edge there. Raised. Faint.
A scar.
She rubbed it once, then let her hand fall.
âOh?â She said, voice mild. Casual.
Kaito leaned in, clearly delighted by the reaction. âNo one knows what she looks like. No one got the hair right. Some say silver, others black and the rest? Braids to her knees. I heard she doesnât even talk, just hums creepy little tunes.â
That, she thought, was the best part.
She snorted. âSounds like someone you made up.â
âNo, I swear. Sheâs real. Justâno one sees her twice.â Kaito leaned closer. âPeople say she doesnât kill for bounties. She kills to tip the balance. Like you have to earn her blade.â
âHow noble,â she muttered, brushing dust off the coil.
Across the deck, two men were mock-dueling with smoked fish and a mop. A third leaned over the railing, either throwing up or serenading the ocean.
âHeyâjust what I heard.â He looked proud of knowing it.
âStill telling bedtime stories, pup?â
Laram ambled over, flask in one hand, toothpick in his teeth. His skin caught glints of fishscale near the browâa leftover from some half-fish ancestry.
Kaito grinned. âJust explaining the bounty hunter threat to Amy.â
Laram dropped to a squat beside them with a sigh. âAh, the mystery guest with the mop and the box. Fitting.â
âShe asked,â Kaito protested.
âYou mention the one who fed a pirate captain to his own pigs?â
âNot yet,â âAmyâ said as Kaito mumbled âI was getting there.â
âHe was telling me about a⊠âSinaâ.â
Lucky Roo barged between the two fighters and promptly kicked their asses, saying something about not wasting food on his ship. She swore she heard Shanksâ laugh from somewhere.
âAh. That one.â Laram dropped into a squat. âSheâs no bedtime story. I saw what was left of a ship she hitâThe Spear. Hull peeled like fruit. Blood soaked into the nails. Whatever she wanted, she didnât leave much behind.
A stillness bloomed behind her ribs. Her fingers stopped coiling.
The Spear?
A slow blink. Then she frowned. Not visibly. Not dramatically. But it was there, shadowed between her brows. The name Gladiola Squid resurfaced with a strange weight. Ugly bastard, worse breath. But last she heard, he was still breathing.Â
She cast her gaze aside for a second. Maybe she had tuned out Arioso a little too well the last few weeks. She was so out of the loop.
Kaito frowned. âWaitâI thought she was clean. Precision kills, no mess.â
Laram shrugged. âMaybe she got sloppy.â
She looked down at the rope again, eyes unreadable.
"If she ever boards this ship,â Laram added, standing with a stretch, âIâm diving off the side. Hope you can swim, kid."
âAnd why would the crew of an emperor fear a bounty hunter?â The question had left her lips a little too pointed.
Laram paused mid-stretch, looking like a startled cat before grimacing. âNot the seniors. Us temps.â
âTemps?â
There was a lull in the conversation, like her question had brought a storm cloud that weighed over their heads.
âYeah,â Kaito finally explained, just a tad less excited, âLike Captain rotates the ones who donât make it âOfficersâ between his allies.â
Ah. âAmyâ thought. That makes sense.Â
Shanks teaches newbies and make them gain experiences on easier seas. Smart. Keeps allies sharp, debts paid, and promising fighters close.
She rubbed her chin in thought. Perhaps, even, keep an eye on allies?
âYou alright?â Kaito asked softly.
She gave a single nod, brushing dust from the line again. âIâve heard worse stories.â
âWell, donât worry. If she shows up, Iâll protect you.â
She met his gaze. For a second, her purple eyes glittered like amethysts in the sun. The edge of her mouth flickered again. Not quite a smile. Not quite mockery. Something more subtle. âIâm sure you would.â













