#two-faced fletcher

        “You seen anything out there at all?”

Fletcher finished his scan before dropping the farseeing glasses. He turned and saw Lucius, his first mate, had set himself next to his captain on the top of the lead ship of mix-matched and oddly shaped vehicles that traveled the expanse of the Salt known as The Virtue.

“Nothing. Nothing but Salt as far as the eye can see,” Fletcher muttered with a stiff sigh as he righted himself from where he was lying on his stomach, stiff from remaining in the position for so long. “I thought you were with Prospera?”

“I was,” Lucius said, his voice trying hard to keep an optimistic edge that resounded too forced and false to be comfortable. “We found nothing. She said she was going to keep searching for a while longer.”

“She sent you back here?” Fletcher asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

“She said I was no use to her. Rather rude, actually.”

“Give her some space,” Fletcher said. “Our boatswain has much on her heart. I doubt she will be willing to listen to your usual antics.”

“And now you are the one being rude!” Lucius said with a laugh, but sobered quickly enough, staring out at the expanse around them, seeing the small flicker of light as Prospera continued her search, the sound of her cycle echoing dully to the stopped Virtue.

“You are certain that this is the place that we were told to be looking?” Lucius asked, his voice was low and serious.

“Enzo checked the charts over. There is no mistake in his calculations,” Fletcher assured. “If there is a mistake it was in the information given, not the charts.”

“Don’t tell Prospera you said that,” Lucius warned, rubbing the side of his face as if remembering strikes there in the past. “She gets in a way when someone questions her, even if she is retelling the words of others.”

Fletcher only nodded as they continued to watch the light from the cycle flash from place to place as the driver searched. Searched for any sign of her sister’s kidnapper.

Prospera was from the Spire. An oasis in the middle of the Salt that few believed existed out of the dreams of water starved madmen. A place where water flowed from a thin mountain and green was found in abundance. It was a place that was too good to be true and many lost their lives perusing the fable of such a place.

It was no fable, as Fletcher and his crew of pirates and oil drillers found.

They now patrolled the border of the Spire, raiding those foolish enough to make it this close to the treasure of the Salt. Trading resources and fuel for water and food. It was a good deal, Fletcher thought. He had been in far worse places.

It was on one of their returns from their long digs that they heard of another ship that had been causing havoc in the Salt. A great black ship that belched fire and acid and was uncanny at finding the scouts sent from the Spire, known as Seeds, and destroying their convoys.

It was on its latest raid that they finally were found out, as one of the Seeds escaped and was running through the Salt to find help. The Virtue found her first and she told them of the horrors she had seen. The dead bodies of her sisters that were sent before her. The fire and death. The Dragon.

The girl was with their doctors now and Fletcher and his crew were scouring the Salt for any sign of this trespasser.

It had been two days since they started their search.

“You don’t think The Dragon is real?” Fletcher said, but he knew the answer. There was many on his crew that had brought forth doubts at the girl’s story.

“She was weak from hunger and mad from thirst when we found her,” Lucius admitted, speaking in a whisper as if he was afraid his words might be carried to ears that would kill him for suggesting such a thing. “I am only worried that we are chasing shadows out here.”

“Never thought I would hear you echoing Avernus’ words to me,” Fletcher commented with a wry smile.

“Our Quartermaster is skeptical and greedy.” Lucius said, mirroring the expression on his captain’s face. “But you know he has a good nose for things like this.”

“Things like what, exactly?”

“Things like knowing when it is wild geese we are chasing down.”

Fletcher let out another sigh and looked through the binoculars again, this time watching Prospera. He watched as she dismounted her cycle and ran her hand through the dark salt.

“As you said, Avernus is a skeptic.” Fletcher said. “But Prospera knows her fellows of the Spire. If she says the girl is telling the truth, I believe her.”

Fletcher heard a sigh at his side and felt Lucius adjust position.

“I just hope you have a good way of explaining that to the crew when we have been out here for seven days with no sign of any Dragons.”

“Well, we haven’t been out here for seven days, we have been out here for two and I think they can survive having their patience exercised,” Fletcher bit back, dropping the binoculars to send a sharp glare at his first mate who put his hand up defensively at the look with an apologetic smile.

It was as he was watching the face of his first mate when the pale blue of the moonlight was replaced with a hard red light. The smile gone in an instant and his hand flew to the gun at his side. Fletcher spun back around so violently he nearly jumped off the top of the vehicle.

There was a red burning flare that had shot up from where Prospera was searching. The white light of her cycle was racing toward them as the red continued to shoot up into the air. They couldn’t hear the hiss of the signal flare, but they heard a loud grating clank that echoed over the Salt.

Fletcher peered into the darkness of the night and saw sand beginning to bulge up, as if a great serpent was rising up out of the ground below them.

The mound of salt and sand broke away and a large black land ship appeared on the horizon, letting out a large jet of fire as the thing roared up out of the place it had been hidden below the ground. A sheet fell away from it like a snake’s egg as it turned to chase Prospera, the red from the fire illuminating the Salt and casting long shadows down to them as the cycle streaked forward to where The Virtue was waiting for her return.

“Angles of grace! Here she comes!” Lucius yelled out.

Fletcher said nothing. He had to get the ship moving.

He shimmied down the side of the vehicle and jumped into the wheelhouse, grabbing the string for the horn and pulling it hard and fast. The blast of the horn shook the land ship, two long blasts to signal the warming.

All hands on deck.

The Virtue roared to life herself, the motors in the vehicles that made up her parts all starting as one. The wheel twisting and turning as the helmsman took control over their linked system. Fletcher heard smaller blasts of horns going off to signal that they were linked it, and Fletcher waiting until he heard all seven of the other’s signal before he made the final signal. Locked and secure.

The Virtue lurched forward, all her mechanisms working as one. Fletcher got out of the wheel house and drew his shotgun out from the strap on his back. He climbed back onto the top to find that Avernus, Enzo and Phoebe were already standing ready with Lucius, all armed and alert, looking out at the Salt, watching as The Dragon approached them, jetting more fire and letting out another loud roar in challenge.

“I guess you lost that wager, Avernus! There she is! Coming in hot!” Lucius whooped, but there was a nervous edge to his voice that Fletcher knew would not be resolved until Prospera was back onboard.

“Now is not the time for this, you fool!” Avernus shouted back, the light from the approaching ship lighting his face and twisting his features with more shadows. The marked tattoo of the third eye on his head standing out ominously in the night. “Captain! Your orders!”

“We need Prospera secured and armed as soon as possible!” Fletcher called out over the noise. “Get the guns and crew ready for a fight! We are off to slay a dragon!”

“Aye aye, sir!” The gathered called and moved to their tasks.

Fletcher moved to the signal light and flashed a formation code to the helm who was keeping all the vehicles moving as one. The links and bars that held The Virtue together moved and shifted as the flotilla move to accommodate the formation. The landships stopped in a net position and started to aline with the trajectory of the other barreling towards them.

They had to take the thing alive.

Fletcher navigated over the walk rails between the ships to find the docking section for the scout cycles. Prospera had doubled back and was matching the speed of the accelerating flotilla. Fletcher was nearly deafened by the signal horn from the docking car and the side panel opened. She looked up briefly to see Fletcher watching her and gave a fast nod, pulling her cycle into its bay.

Within moments, she was at his side, her rifle in her hands, flanked by Lucius.

There was no time to speak to each other as a signal horn from the helm blasted.

“Everyone get down! We are about to collide!” Fletcher called out, dropping to the metal below him and taking hold of one of the many secure rails that were there for that very purpose. He didn’t even have to think of how to loop his arms and belt against the rails. The Virtue was no stranger to this sort of violence and slamming herself into other landships.

The roar of The Dragon was drowned out by the smashing of metal against metal as it was caught between the two sides of the flotilla, crashing into the back of their net of thick steel bars at the back. The Virtue lurched backwards as the momentum of The Dragon slammed against them.

Fletcher grunted as he was pushed from one side to the next as the ship changed direction to close off the front of the net so that their now captured target could not escape the way it had come in. Within moments, another loud clang, signaling that the bars in the front had been relined vibrated through the landship and another blast from the helm told them that they were safe to begin boarding and disassembling their target.

Fletcher unfastened himself and stood, along with the other. His crew all shouting and cheering in victory at their catch, looking over to see the black landship in their clutches.

A shot of super heated blue and red flame licked up the side of The Virtue. The heat made Fletcher flinch back in surprise and pain, just avoiding getting scorched himself. The Dragon’s engines roared and The Virtue structure shook as it worked to free itself, slamming its wheels back and forth to try to shake free from its captivity.

The fire flew out from it again.

“It will tire itself out before long,” Lucius commented, watching as the bars lowered underneath the machine and linked together to prepare to lift the thing off the wheels. “I wouldn’t risk my good looks on that just yet.”

“You would risk that for nothing!” Prospera said, her voice was filled with anger, her eyes flashing at the man speaking. “We have no time to wait for this! They have my sister inside!”

A gunshot ricochets off the hull of The Virtue and the pirates lunged down to avoid the fire.

“Live fire! Live fire!” Fletcher shouted out and, almost in a direct echo, one of the vehicles let out a signal to inform the rest of the flotilla that guns were being shot.

Prospera and Fletcher had their guns in their hands instantly, moving to the edge, cautious of flames to appear at any moment.

As they looked into the net, they saw about six masked and begoggled raiders climbing on the top of The Dragon; two of the six were crouched down with long scoped rifles, aiming and shooting up at any heads that appeared in looking at them, while the other four slinked and slid to the exhaust pipes on each side of the landship with large gallons at their sides. They moved over the ship like cockroaches, all too familiar and fast as they moved around the coal black machine.

Prospera took a shot at one of the men with the jugs, catching him in the center of his back. He screamed in pain and dropped the jug, a clear liquid sloshing out and splattering on the metal around him. Everywhere the liquid touched started giving off a dark smoke and the metal underneath it hisses and softened at an alarming rate.

“Oh, defend us. It’s Siren’s Tears!” Fletcher reported, recognizing the freakishly corrosive acid immediately.

“I won’t let them escape!” Prospera growled. “Come on, Fletcher! To battle!”

Fletcher reached out and took her rifle without looking at her at all, he knew this formation as well as the formations of his ship. He got as low as possible, bracing himself against the hull and peering at the men below, he had to take out the snipers.

“Four shots,” Prospera said.

“More than enough,” Fletcher muttered, lining up the first shot.

The rifleman on the right swung his scope to look at the standing Prospera, completely missing Fletcher. It was the last mistake he made.

Fletcher took the shot, the gun slamming against his arm and the scream of the rifle leaving a small and familiar ring in his ear as the light flashed out with the bullet. The bullet found its target just as Prospera leapt off The Virtue and landed on The Dragon.

The other rifleman swung around to try to line up a shot to take, but Prospera was on him faster. Her knife was out in her hand as she pushed the barrel of the gun out of her way, the shot going far stray. She let out a fearful shriek and bared her golden fangs at the man in her clutches.

Fletcher couldn’t see the man’s face through the mask, but he did hear his scream as she plunged her dagger into his chest and rent it out with a spray of gore that colored her clothing in the wind that charged around the flotilla.

With the last sniper down, Fletcher secured the rifle and jumped down into the pit as well. His boots knocked heavily against the hull of the other landship and he drew back out his shotgun.

“Take the ones on the port side!” Fletcher called to Prospera, checking to see that he was loaded. “I’ll take the starboard!”

“Aye!” Prospera shouted back then slid down the side to attack the two on her assigned side.

Fletcher linked his belt into a side railing and slid down to the side of The Dragon, shotgun at the ready. The raider on the side was working frantically, pouring the acid down into the funnel near the exhaust piping. Fletcher lined up the shot just as the man noticed his movement. He took the shot but the man had ducked just a moment too quickly, the bullet pinging off the armour plating of the machine he was still linked to.

The raider had righted himself before Fletcher could fire off another shot, leaping with practiced dexterity on to the pirate captain. They grappled savagely, Fletcher desperately trying to throw the other man off of himself while hands struggled to get side arms free for use.

Fletcher took hold of his saber, but the raider predicted his movement, grabbing at it as well. The heat from the side of the machine made Fletcher’s body slick with sweat and the raider couldn’t keep him trapped down. The sword came up out of its scabbard in Fletcher’s hand and was swung down at the raider’s crown.

The man was quick. He twisted his body to move Fletcher out and around, pinning himself between the armour of The Dragon and Fletcher’s body. The sword swung down all the same, but instead of biting into flesh and cloth, the blade struck the dark metal, splintering the shining weapon as it left nothing more the a scratch on the outside of the vehicle.

The hilt fell out of Fletcher’s hand as both the combatants covered their faces to shield them from any metallic shards. The closeness to the other man allowed Fletcher to catch a rasping laugh of triumph from the other.

He was out of weapons.

The raider recovered first, swinging Fletcher back around and bashed his head against with the side of The Dragon. Fletcher growled, forcing himself to keep focused as his vision swam dangerously and his head pounding in agony from the strike.

He struck at Fletcher’s face while scrambling for the belt that held the man in place. Fletcher kneed him in the side while tearing at the other’s hands to keep himself cemented to the side.

Then there was a horrible sucking sound from the mounted exhaust pipe. A pipe that was pointing right at the two of them.

Fletcher’s was sure if the other man heard the noise, but Fletcher acted first.

Fletcher let go of the hands of the combatant, and slammed his full weight against the man’s side, twisting him in front of the pipe.

It was not a moment too soon.

The Dragon roared a wet and sloshy sound and where fire was shot before, clear liquid sprayed out of the pipes as heave as a downpour. Fletcher ducking into the raider’s chest as a shield against the acid as the other man shrieked in pain as the corrosive acid worked its way through his back.

It was easy for Fletcher to shove the man off of him, the raider falling down under the wheels and out of his sight. But he was too early.

A blinding pain ripped through his arm and chest. Fletcher scream matched that of his attacker and he fell heavily against the strap on his side, desperately wanted to grip where the acid was on him, but he had just enough mind to know not to touch it. The hateful liquid burned like a fire, making his skin pop and blister, sticking to his clothes that were dissolving like sugar. The smell of the iron around him rotting and melting only added to his lightheadedness from the pain.

His teeth were chattering together as he tried to take in breath. His vision darkened. The last conscious thought he had before the darkness overtook him completely was if The Virtue had gotten The Dragon off the ground, which of the vehicles would be the one to crush him.

-

Fletcher’s first conscious thought once the darkness pulled away was that the afterlife sounded a lot like Melanie and Phoebe bickering.

He opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling of the medical car in The Virtue. His arm and cheek ached dully, but the searing agony was faded.

He turned his head to look at the room around him. The twin doctors, Melanie and Phoebe, were both there as he had heard and, indeed, were bickering as usual. He looked at the other bed that the two were standing over and saw an unfamiliar face resting there. It was a woman had dark hair and the delicate features, features that both Prospera and the other women from the Spire shared.

They’d got her.

Fletcher let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes again.

“You always wake up too fast.”

Fletcher opened his eyes again to see Phoebe kneeling down next to his bed, giving him a half grin.

“You would heal faster if you just let yourself sleep,” she went on, her dark curly hair bouncing with the movement of the vehicle.

“It’s not like that is my fault,” Fletcher said back, his voice was raw from his screaming and parched from lack of water. “I am sure you could wake the dead with the way your sister and you argue.”

“Well, we will not have to try that today. You live. The girl lives. No one else was seriously injured,” Phoebe recounted, pleased with the words. “I’d say it was a successful rescue.”

Fletcher looked down at his chest and arm.

Resting on his burns were slices of bright oranges. Fletcher stared at them in confusion.

“Why…?”

“Miracle fruits, those little things are.” Phoebe said, starting the familiar rhyme, but her sister spoke up before she could complete it.

“Keeps you from scurvy and other nasty diseases, delicious to the palate and it counters the effects of Siren Tears,” Melanie said, shaking her head in small wonder.

“But don’t eat those,” Phoebe warned with another smile. “They are soaking up that nasty stuff and if you think Siren's Tears will do a number on the outside of your body…”

Phoebe let the rest of the thought play out with a raise of her eyebrows and a puff of her cheeks. She then changed the subject to the matters of the ship. Prospera was in command while he was in medical, as expected. Avernus was the one that dragged him to them. The amount of damage done to the hold. The rate that The Dragon was being disassembled. Normal ship business.

Fletcher just closed his eyes and listened to the voice of the doctor as it mixed with the rumble of the wheels underneath him.

52 Short Stories in 52 Weeks Challenge

Week 3 – Retelling a Fairy Tale

St. George and the Dragon

And as Fletcher stood on the docks near the shipyard, after all her repairs and finishing were done, he saw her and she was always meant to be seen.

The Virtue was as good as new, better then. She was completely covered in a beautiful fresh coat of paint that seemed the sparkle in the reflected light in the ocean water that she was resting in. She had a deep and rouge like red paint with shining golden accents on her windows and port holds and railing. Her sails were all in, as expected being in port and all, but her masts were strong and solid. Ready to take on the fiercest storm as her sails laughed in the wind as she soared across the sea as if she had wings.

At her front, she had an elaborately carved prow in the style of the gaudy Dutch Indianman ships with a graceful figure head of a mermaid above it. The sea creature’s mouth was slightly parted as if about to sing out and doom all who listened to her songs to the rocky dangers of the deep. Her arms were outstretched and draped in crimson carved gossamer, her hair the same slowing golden that as all over the ship body. She looked fit to carry royalty. She looked fit to be carrying the greatest richest of the seas.

She looked like a more savory prize then the day they first met.

A low whistle drew his attention away from his ship and Fletcher turned and saw his first mate walking up to him, his eyes solely locked onto the Virtue.

“She is beautiful, Fletcher.” Lucius said, his voice was quiet with an almost reverence. “And I know beauty. There is not a man alive that will be able to resist her now.”

“That is the point.” Fletcher said, trying not to sound as awestruck as he felt.

But Lucius laughed at him good naturedly. “Ah, come on Captain, as if you were waiting for an excuse to make her look like this the whole time.”

Fletcher laughed lightly in response to the accusation, but didn’t say anything to the contrary.

“And you call me a letch.” Lucius teased, then looked back at the ship waiting in the dock yard. She stood out like a princess in a common house.

“She looks perfect, Fletcher.” Lucius continued, speaking with an honest tone of voice.

“Like I dreamed her.” Fletcher agreed dramatically.

“I’ll bet Avernus threw a fit so far it reached the mainland when he approved your plans.” Lucius couldn’t take his eyes of the ship when he said it, but Fletcher could hear the mocking tone returning.

“I think the fit only reached down the street when he threw it.” Fletcher reasoned. “He was so stunned by the predicted cost of the venture as a whole, I think he was more willing to approve things he wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“Has he seen her yet?”

“Not yet, he is working with his mate to stock the ship with necessities and ammunition.”

“Well, I expect even old skinflint to break down into joyous tears when he sees what that money had paid for. She looks expensive as all get out. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone tries to steal her tonight.”

Fletcher looked alarmed at the prediction and Lucius caught the look and made an apologetic face. “I am joking of course.”

But the damage had been done and Fletcher in that instant decided that he was going to sleep aboard the ship, just to make sure.

“How goes the staffing of the crew?” Fletcher asked, trying to change the subject as gracefully as possible.

“I think it just got a whole lot easier.” Lucius waved his arm dramatically out to the ship, as if taking her all in at once. “Once the seekers come down looking for work and they see that beauty there, we are going to have to beat them into a line. Bad reputation of the captain or not, the Virtue looks like a ship where fortunes are made on.”

“Any returning faces?”

“Yes, there have been several that I recognized, I’m sure that will make Prospera happy. But I have no doubt once word gets out about our beautiful ship here, there will be even more returning!”

Fletcher sighed contentedly. Everything seemed to be coming together. He had a crew that most could agree on. The Virtue looked like the greatest prize in the water and all her repairs and additions were completed. They had a relatively good idea on where they were heading. And tomorrow they were going to set sail. He had a true feeling of confidence that he had not felt since his first voyage with her, this was going to be the one. This was going to be the adventure that they would remember him by. His name was going to be on that struck fear into the hearts of the navy and earned him cheers and songs from the brothers of the coast.

Two-Faced Fletcher would no longer be a badge of shame and treachery. Once they got on the open sea and chased down that horizon, everything was going to be different for him and his.

“It’s getting dark, I should retire.” Lucius said, watching as the sun continued to sink lower into the sea. “I suggest you do the same, Captain. We have a long day before us.”

He placed his hand on his captain’s shoulder and added. “Don’t sleep aboard the ship. Don’t you want to spend one more night in a proper bed and not swinging on a hammock?”

“I don’t want to leave her alone.” Fletcher said with his half smile. “Call it one of my silly superstitions.”

“I intend to do just that.” Lucius released the touch on the other man and started down the dockyard to the proper town, calling over his shoulder: “Oh! And if you change your mind, or get lonely during the night, I’ll be entertaining some guests at The Vulgar Narwhal.”

“What happened to needing to get our rest for tomorrow?” Fletcher called after him.

Lucius gave a casual bow and answered: “You have your way or resting, and I have mine. How can I rest again if the only women aboard the ship are off limits to me and I work closely with all the men?”

“You had better be cautious, Lucius. You are looking for a very uncomfortable trip of you catch a foul parting gift from your friends tonight and the only people available to treat you refuse to even look at you!” Fletcher laughed back over the growing evening.

“I’ll take my chances. Good night, Captain.” Lucius gave a final wave and walked out of sight.

Fletcher shook his head at the man and walked to his ship. He wanted to give her a look in before it become busied with launching preparations in the morning.

He found the shipyard master and informed him that he would be aboard his ship this evening if he should see some lights on the Virtue in his care. The man gave his approval easily, wishing him a good night and hoped that he found everything to his liking.

Fletcher walked up the downed gangway and stepped onto his ship, he knew her sound as she stepped onto her upper deck, his heels making the familiar hollow sound that he only heard when it was he and her, no other people to corrupt the sound of his boots striking the solid wood flooring. He knew her creaks and sighs as she rested in the calm port waters, he could almost hear her strong sails snapping in the wind.

After some quick questions from the staff inside, Warren did discover that Mertin had slipped outside to play in the rain while no one was paying him any mind.

“Mertin!” Warren called out into the street. He had walked a good ways away from the building where the event was being held, but Agnesia was right, Warren did know the boy and his enjoyment of playing in the rain. “Mertin!”

Warren had been searching for a good while, there was no sign of the boy. his calls had gotten louder and more insistent. He could feel a dread gripping his heart the longer he searched.

Where was the boy?

The lighting flashed overhead and Warren saw three figures in the street.

“Hallo?” Warren called out, moving towards the people. The closer he got the easier he made then out to be, in the lamp light that was on the streets. They were soldiers, wearing uniforms of the Prussian military. He relaxed. They would be able to help him.

“Well, if it isn’t Warren. This is too perfect.” A familiar voice reached him.

Warren slowed as he tried to catch the voice again. His hearing was very bad, but the voice sounded familiar.

The man in the center stepped forward into the lamp light. Warren stopped walking toward them. He did rocognise the face. A face from when he served in the milliarty himself.

Brone.

“I honestly never thought I’d see you again, Brone.” Warren said carefully. Brone was not one of his friends. He didn’t have many, to be fair, but Brone was always too ambitious for his own good and Warren knew him to be dangerous and not a good man in any terms.

“I am not surprised at that.” Brone said back, his breath was coming in hard, as if he had just ran very far to get here. “But, to be fair, why should you see me again? After you left the guard to play with children all day.”

Warren was highly aware that he did not have his sword with him. he disliked the tone that Brone was using. Something was very wrong.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be too hard on you.” Brone said again, still trying to catch his breath. “After all, it will be much easier apprehend you for the murder of the royal son when you have come to us.”

Warren tilted his head, turning his good ear to try to understand what the man had just told him. He couldn’t believe the words that were told to him.

“What? Didn’t hear me? Or are you really just very stupid?” Brone said with a sneer, backing up slightly.

Behind the man lay what looked nothing more than a pile of clothes left on the side of the street. But the colors were bright, even as they were muddied. Warren recognised the colors. He felt the air leave his lungs and he was on his knees before he realized that he had fallen to them.

“Why? Why have you done this?” Warren looked on, horrified at these men. These men that were supposed to be protectors.

“Well, we needed someone who could fit the profile. Someone who didn’t have any friends that would vouch for him. Someone just like you, Warren.” Brone explained, as simply as if he was telling the man the items he needed to get from market earlier that day. “You are also so close with the noble little brats. A dance teacher, I believe in the common term for you. It was all too perfect to let slide by. Kill one of the children. Blame the teacher. We bring you in. After all, we all saw him do it. Didn’t we lads?”

Brone’s friends laughed cruelly at the comment and agreed. Warren lowered his eyes to look behind the man, at the body, unmoving, on the rain soaked ground.

The men kept talking but Warren didn’t hear anything that was being said. His heart was hammering in his head, his grief and fear for the child was ringing in his ears louder than the world around him, drowning out even the sound of the pouring rain. There were no excuse for this heartless cruelty. The roaring in his ears only grew louder and louder as he stared at the child, face down on the Prussian street, his blonde hair darkening from the mud that ran through it, stirred up from the rain.

A sharp pain in his face, caused Warren to look up at Brone again. The man’s sword was drawn, the point pricking his face just under his right eye. In the darkness of the night, Warren couldn’t see the other’s face. Until the lightning flashed again.

Brone’s face was set in a cruel smile.

The crack of thunder broke through the ringing in Warren’s ears.

Warren roared out in wordless fury and pushed up to stand, not even feeling the pain as Brone’s sword slashed down his face. The cocky and cruel smile was replaced with a look of terror as Warren grabbed him by the shoulders and knocked the man to the ground under him.

Brone screamed out something, trying to get his sword up and into Warren’s side, but Warren placed one and on the man’s head and started slamming it into the street below them. Over. And over.

Warren sensed the strike to his left more then saw it and yanked the sword from the, now deathly still, Brone’s hand and deflected the strike. It was so quick that the attacker hesitated and that was all the opening Warren needed to get to his feet and lunge at the man. He drove his new sword out, already adjusting to it’s weight like it was always a part of his hand. As if he had never retired from the service.

The other man barely got his sword up in time to block the thrust, his hands ached from the effort of warding off Warren’s blows. The man had a wild and desperate strength, but his defence was like a solid wall. He couldn’t retaliate against this onslaught.

Warren’s eyes were wide and dangerous, as if a demon had possessed him. Now it was his turn to grin cruelly as he took in the fear in the other’s eyes as the lightning flashed again, illuminating all around them far better in an instant then the megar street lanterns through the rain.

The attacker knew he had to keep Warren on the defensive, his own strike becoming desperate as the fear in his grew. This man, this dance teacher, was so defeated only a moment ago. They were going to be rich men after they had killed the kid and this half-deaf weakling. How could they have failed so spectacularly.

The other’s attempts to keep Warren on the defencive came to a shuttering halt when the man blocked a strike and span directly in front of the other. Before he could think to do anything else, Warren kicked him solidly in the stomach. The strike was powerful enough to throw the man several feet backwards, completely winded.

Warren descended on him like a wolf, pushing him to the ground, completely deaf to the pleas for mercy that the man tried to make.

Warren looked up at the dark street around him; there was one more.

The lighting flashed.

Warren saw the last man, trying to run away, his eyes were wide with terror, he had seen Warren dispatch his co-conspirators without a sound and now he fled for his life.

He wouldn’t get far.

Warren took the sword that his last kill held in his other hand and he began to race after the last man.

The man cried out in wordless fear. If he was calling for help, Warren was beyond the realm of understanding. The man tripped on the rain slick stones but he did not lose his feet. He ran like the devil himself was chasing him.

He ran until a crippling pain lanced up through his body and crumbled to the ground, looking up he saw Warren standing over him. In the dim lamp light he could see the red of blood on the swords out in front of him. He couldn’t get up, and he daren’t look away from Warren.

“Please…” The man managed, his voice was unnaturally high from pain and fear as he begged for his life. “Please…”

Warren plunged the swords down into the man below him without so much as a blink.

The lightning flashed again and Warren whirled around, looking for the next opponent. But there wasn’t any more, there was only the body of the child in the street.

Warren dropped the swords in his hands, the roaring in his ears getting louder again. Now that there was no one else left to fight, there was nothing to stop the ringing. He walked like a numb man over to the child and fell to his knees. He grabbed the boy's small form and picked him up gently, cradling his head in his arms.

“Mertin…” Warren said, at last, words returning to him through his rage and sorrow.He placed a bloodied hand on the child’s chest. “I… I am…”

He stopped. Warren left his hand rise softy. The boy was still breathing.

Without a second though, Warren lifted the boy up into his arms and ran. He had to find help.

--

The door to the grand house slammed open, causing those gathered for the late evening party to all jump. A footman raced to the door to see what was about, but fell back in shock at what he saw.

It was Warren, the dance master. His face was red from a long and freely bleeding wound that ran from his right eye down into his throat. He had the look of a wild and haunted man, he looked at the gathered people without recognition. This clothing was splattered with dirt and soaked through from the rain.

In his arms, was the young prince.

Fletcher felt someone behind him give him a solid push and he lost his footing on the railing, quickly grabbing onto the rope with both hand to prevent himself from falling into the water. He grunted when his back his the outside of the ship and he looked up in rage to see the laughing face of Valentine, and he felt his anger turn to playful annoyance.

“I tell ya to keep of the rails.” Valentine laughed, starting to pull the dangling Fletcher back onto the ship. “One of these days, ya gonna jus’ fall in, never to be see again by the eyes of men.”

“I suppose can live with being seen by the eyes of women exclusively.” Fletcher retorted with a grin and he grabbed onto Valentine’s arm and climbed back on to the ship, staying off the railing this time.

Valentine just cuffed the younger pirate slightly on the shoulder at that, looking out at the ship they were fast closing on.

“What do you suppose she is hauling?” Fletcher asked, leaning out to keep his eyes on her.

“Sugar and tobacco is the best guess.” Valentine reported, licking his salt air dried lips in anticipation for the next fight. “Probably more than a few prisoners too.”

Valentine was one of the quartermaster’s mates and as such he usually had a pretty good idea of what was going on and what targets they were after at any time. Fletcher was excited to hear about the possible haul. Sugar and tobacco were always a delight to carry as he usually got to sample some of the products if Valentine could sneak him any but the prisoners he was most eager for. Every time they took on more prisoners, it was a chance for Fletcher to show off. Make ‘em trust you. Then they want to help you help them. They ever see the betrayal coming.

A command whistle came through the air and the crew moved into boarding positions, loosening their guns and swords as they all found ropes to swing over onto.

“Steady men!” Valentine shouted, translating the whistle, rather pointlessly. They all knew what the signals ment. “Steady!”

The other ship was just going in the straight line, not even bothering to move around the stronger ship as they lined up with her starboard side. Fletcher could feel the adrenaline building up again. He looked at the deck of the other ship, expecting to see wild shots ringing out at them, or crew scrambling to get out of danger.

But there was no one.

Fletcher looked confusedly at Valentine, who wa too busy translating the whistle to notice the askance look from his younger friend.

“Now!” Valentine commanded and all the sailors of the starboard side swung across the sea between the two ships and landed solidly on the other side. They were all shouting and making frightening animal sounds as they moved across the deck like a great many bugs, looking for victims to terrorise. But there was no one in sight.

“Valentine, where is everyone?” Fletcher called out over the shouts of the men around him.

The other didn’t seem concerned in the slightest.

“The rats think they can hide from us! Break down every door! Find every room!”

The crew shouted their approval at the plan and they separated into raiding parties. The larger group heading to the lower deck and a smaller to the sten and officer quarters.

Fletcher followed after Valentine as they moved to the captain’s quarters, still shouting and causing a great terror striking rusks as they went. They reached the doors to the cabin and found them locked, unsurprisingly. Valentine placed a small fused bomb by the door and ordered everyone back.

They obeyed without a second thought and after a few seconds, they heard the wood splintering concussion that was the gunpowder bomb exploding. They rew cheered again and rushed into the captain's quarters trying to bring as much black smoke with them. But there was no return fire, it was silent inside the cabin.

Valentine furiously started fanning the smoke out of the way and ordered a window opened to get the smoke out of the room.

In the room were four men in good clothes, clearly officers or merchants of some capacity, all dead. Shot with their own pistols.

Suicide.

Fletcher looked uneasily at Valentine, as did most of the others in the party. Valentine, looked more confused then shaken and he let out a loud laugh that the others tried to join in with, but it felt forced and worried.

“Cowards kill ‘emselves just seeing the writing on the wall!” Valentine cheered. “Let’s see what those ninnies will say when they hear their captain would have rather faced the devil himself then us!”

The crew laughed honestly at that and got worked up rowdy again… until another man entered the cabin.

“Valentine! They’re all dead! All of them! Not a soul left aboard!”

All the laughter was gone from the room instantly. An uneasy muttering started among the crew. Fletcher could hear oaths for protection in the many mother tongues that were represented in that room.

“Is a curse.”

“They cast a spell on us.”

“Whichcraft, I sees it before. Mark me.”

“I knew it was too easy…”

Fletcher looked at Valentine again. He seemed so much younger in that frightening moment. Fletcher was only barely sixteen that year and Valentine always seemed so much older then him, when it reality, he was no older than nineteen. All bursting with confidence and a loud charisma that made you either want to punch him or get a drink with him, usually both at the same time. It was easy to forget his youth. But right then…

“Then we are taken the ship without a fight!” Valentine said, his voice a little too loud and strained to be natural. “Our reputation must be preceding us more than we think! Let’s get what we can and haul it back to the ship!”

“I ain’t touching anything on this ship…” a gunner to the right of us said, shaking his head, his face as white as a sheet. “Mark me. The goods be cursed.”

Fletcher looked around in dismay at the crew losing heart by the second. He could hear the crew muttering and crossing themselves louder and louder agreeing in frightened whispers.

Fletcher almost didn’t catch the change in Valentine’s face from nervous boy to blood thirsty savage, it happened so quickly. Valentine drew a pistol and shot the man who had spoken dead in the heart. The man dropped to the deck to a stunned silence all around them. The entirely of the crew, looked from the dead man to Valentine, all taking a step back from him as if the devil had appeared in the room with them to herd them all into the gates of hell.

“Scared, are ye?” Valentine asked, his voice was dark and filled with the promise of pain. “Scared of what? Dead men? Curses? You are all damned anyway. You shouldn’t be scared of dead men what can’t fire on the lot of you anymore. You should be scared of what can send you to your torment this very day. This very instant. That, my lads, you should be scared of.”

The crew were all deadly silent as Valentine spoke, watching with held breath.

The man walked forward to where the captain of the ship lay and took the sword that was at the dead man’s side. He held up the light that was streaming in through the open window and stabbed it down into the table that rested in the room.

“Perhaps you lot worry about curses in life. But I didn’t take to a life of piracy because I was afraid of death or damnation. I took this life because I knew I was damned and I wanted to get rich while I am on here among the living.” He then broke into his move daring and savage smile. “Why did you take this life?”

The crew slowly warmed to speech as he spoke, Fletcher just stared in an odd sort of awe at his friend.

“I hear there be Sugar and tobacco left behind by these poor cowardly sods. Are you really going to leave it all behind to rot here?”

“No!” The crew started answering gaining volume and confidence as they did.

“Then let’s take what ours!”

“Aye!”

“Strip it all, men! We take it all!”

With another thunderous ‘AYE!’ the crew all split out and around to start ransacking the ship of all valuables… all but Fletcher who was still staring at Valentine.

Valentine let out a very small sigh, the performance had taking it out of him more than Fletcher thought it would have, but he noticed Fletcher still standing there and walked over and gave him a lazy pat on the shoulder.