Unnamed Pirate Story - Chapter 1

“Name?” the bosun asked the man in front of Jeb and his mate Scab, the same as he'd asked the first dozen men, more than likely. This time Jeb was close enough to hear what was being said. The bosun didn't sound bored yet, that was probably good, and he looked like a keen man. Jeb liked that in a bosun.

“Tack Sorum,” the man said.

“Specialty?”

“Ah, the ropes, mate. No man faster on the ropes’n me, and I'm stronger’n I looks.”

He’d have to be stronger, Jeb reflected. He was thin, but there was potential for wirey muscle under his bagging clothes. The ropes were hard work, most of the men he'd known to go into the ropes had a boxer's build. Tack looked like a starved rat.

The bosun only grunted. “We've got a mort o’ ropesmen. It's split share by job, generally, ye sure ye don't mind a lesser share?”

Tack considered, then sighed. “I'd make enemies o’ me mates, doin’ that. Captain Shackles is recruiting at the Scurvy Dog down the lane, I'll try him.”

The bosun nodded. “Shackles is a good captain. Luck to ye, mate.”

“Thankee, and to ye.” As Tack shuffled off, the bosun looked at Jeb and Scab standing together. “Ye twain a matched set?”

“No, sir,” Jeb answered easily as Scab bristled. “Mates from our last job. We was both minded to apply under Captain Deepwell and thought we'd come together.”

“A matched set, indeed,” Scab snorted indelicately. “I like to think I'd have better standards if’n I swung that way.”

Jeb considered this, not taking offense even though he did swing that way from time to time. Scab snored and he had refused to change his socks on their shared voyage. “Aye, and me standards ain't so lowly either.”

The bosun nodded, not cracking a smile even at Jeb’s jest. “Well, one of ye at a time, then.”

“Go on, Jeb,” Scab offered.

“Ta, mate.”

He started to move forward when a miniature whirlwind pushed him aside and thudded their hands on the bosun’s table.

This person was dressed as a captain, hat and all, but they came only up to his chest. They were small, slight of build, but with the scars of a knife fighter on their hands, and with flowing black hair that fell in unruly waves down their shoulders to mid-back.

“Have you found us a cook yet, bosun?” they asked in a decidedly feminine—and cultured—voice.

The bosun, previously unflappable, looked strained and passed a hand over his face. “Captain, ye can't be—”

The captain flipped a hand dismissively. “I know I can't be here, but Luren is talking about his fish stew surprise for supper tonight, bosun.”

The bosun actually blanched. “Captain, I will find us a cook in the next five candidates or send a boy to recruit one from a cookshop.”

“Good man.” The miniature whirlwind—captain—stalked out of the Sea Witch’s Tits, the scabbiest bar on the wharf, without fear.

Jeb noticed that no man tried to molest them and felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. Jeb had a feeling it wasn't their assigned gender that made the bosun not want them here. What was it that had earned them such a fearsome reputation on sight?

“Name?” the bosun asked, once more unflappable.

“Er, it’s Jeb, sir,” he said, turning back with a shake of his head. “Jeb Stey.”

“Specialty?”

Jeb grinned. “As yer luck and mine would have it, I'm a cook! Here be me credentials.” He pulled out a sheet of waxed parchment and handed them to the bosun.

The bosun read them. “Hmm. Ye served with Captain Sharkhook? How’d ye find ‘im?”

Jeb made a disgusted noise. “Hard man, skinflint, and I didn't like the crew, neither. I left as soon as me contract finished, and I didn’t warn ‘im. Jest signed on with another ship and sailed from port that evening.”

“They're dead,” the bosun informed him. “Sank last fall in the Fathom.”

Jeb shook his head. “I'll shed no tears for murderers and rapists, sir, begging yer pardon and rest their souls.”

The bosun nodded, seeming approving. “Cook don't get share on our rig, saving large hauls. Ye’d get a silver a week, plus regular crew percentage of large hauls. Ye can be payed per week, or at port, as ye like.”

Jeb raised an eyebrow at this. Salary on a ship wasn't common, but that was a handsome rate. “Suits me fine. Can I opt to be paid at port but draw as I need aboard?”

“Ye can discuss that with our First Mate later. Can ye write?”

“Aye, some.”

He took the offered quill and moved to sign when the bosun stopped him with a gesture. “Ye saw our captain a moment ago. Don't get to thinking ye can harass ‘em. And I'll warn ye—every man as signs aboard also must pass muster with our Patron. Those as don't never look for another ship, if ye follows me.”

Jeb grunted. “I ain't lookin’ to harass no one. If the Patron is so hard, I’ll die content. It's been a good twen’y years on the sea, for me.”

The bosun nodded and let him sign. “Ye got any kit not with ye?”

“No, sir.”

“Grab a drink, then. I've a few more men to find. The others who've signed on are at that table.” He pointed to a group of four men in the corner. “I'll go there when I’m done and bring ye all aboard.”

To Jeb’s surprise, the bosun handed him a few copper bits, enough for a beer. Well, far be it from him to refuse a free drink! He got his ale and went to sit with the knot of men. He looked around for Scab, but he'd disappeared. He shrugged and sipped his ale. Well, that was the way of things.

“What ye be?” one of the men at the table asked him.

“Cook,” he answered easily. “And ye?”

“Cannons and powder,” he answered.

He had the look of it, a bit smudged and his fingers black. There was a faint burnt smell in the tavern as well, but it was hard to tell if it was the powder man or the fire.

“I'm on ropes,” volunteered another man.

“Oars.” This man was enormous. “Also, I am a good fighter with this.” He hefted an enormous wooden hammer.

Jeb shook his head. “I don't know as I could lift it.”

The man smiled. “Few can. It’s weighted with metal.”

“I'm galley assistant and guns,” said another man, winking at Jeb. “Sarter is my name, I imagine we'll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Jeb. I suppose we will.”

He chatted amiably with the other men over his beer. Gradually four more men joined table—a man crawling with monkeys who said only that he was “useful”, a navigator, a scrawny teenager who’d signed on as cabin boy, and two women who were identical twins with identical swords. After this last, the bosun gathered his things and suggested they finish their drinks.

Jeb opted to leave his. The ale was drinkable, but sour. Most of the others did as well. In short order, the lot of them were striding out if the tavern and towards the docks. There weren’t many ships at the docks, but there were four anchored in the bay. The bosun took them to a sloop and handed over some coin, which told Jeb they were bound for one of the four.

The Starlight was the first they passed, a gilded, delicate thing that he wouldn't have expected the fearless captain he’d seen to run. She was a newer ship, from the look of her, the paint still fresh and her crew looked clean and keen. He wouldn’t mind serving aboard such a vessel.

They passed her by.

The Half Moon was the next, a bit older and more patina on her. She was still a handsome vessel, and the men there were a bit grimier, but no less keen about their work. He’d served aboard many like her, and wouldn’t mind doing so again.

They passed her by.

The Crow’s Eye was the ship he’d just come off. A good, stout vessel she was, and her captain was a fair man, but Jeb hadn’t gotten on well with the crew except Scab, so he’d chosen to move on. Captain Asanda had been disappointed, but gave his blessing after Jeb’s contract was up. This was just sometimes the way of things, on the sea. A lack of comradery sometimes made problems when you were out to sea long enough, problems they’d both rather avoid. So Jeb had gone, with his thanks.

He turned his eyes to the last ship in the bay and felt his blood run cold.

The Moondark fit her name, many of her timbers aged dark as wine. She looked like she had sailed through many a storm and would sink in the next one. He glanced around the sloop and was relieved to see new canvas and wood amidst the supplies they were bringing with them. Still, she was a fearsome ship and he couldn't help wondering if this job would be the death of him after all.

They pulled up alongside her and someone lowered first a cargo hook for the supplies, then a rope ladder for the crew. He shifted his pack on his shoulders for a better position and took the knotted rope in hands that trembled, but climbed with no less will than he had other ladders like it. A job was a job, and his new captain couldn't be worse than Captain Sharkhook had been.

He got a hand aboard on the last rungs from a dark man in rough cut clothing. The man looked him up and down, grunted, and jerked his head towards the others who’d signed on. Jeb joined them, relieved to see that most of them also looked uneasy. It wasn’t him losing his nerve then.

The bosun climbed up last, after the man with the chittering monkeys, and exchanged some quiet words with the dark man. Jeb couldn’t hear what was said, but he saw the sheet with their signatures pass between them. The bosun disappeared somewhere into the ship, and the dark man stalked over to stare at the newly signed on.

“Jeb Stey,” he boomed.

He stepped forward. “Here, sir.”

The man nodded. “I’d be yer First Mate, Kanta Ntaga. Follow the bosun. He’s gone to stop our ship’s doctor from attemptin’ to cook again. Ye can prove yer worth by cookin’ an edible meal.”

“Yes, sir. For how many, sir?”

“Twenty six, with ye new ones.”

“Yes, sir.” Jeb turned to follow the bosun and met him at the door, just peering out.

The man nodded, looking relieved. “Caught Luren early, come see what ye can salvage. I’m to inspect yer kit.”

Jeb raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. Some ships did. “As ye like.”

The bosun led him to the kitchen and Jeb had to stop and stare at the mess. Pickled fish heads were everywhere, their bodies tossed haphazardly into a pot for stewing. He moved to poke through the pot and also came up with an unpeeled onion, half a carrot, and half a candle without the wick.

“I’m beginning to see why the captain was so desperate for a cook,” he muttered, pulling these random items out. “I can salvage this, bosun.”

The bosun sighed in relief. “I’m mortal glad to hear it.”

Jeb unslung his pack and separated his tools from his gear. “Personal items,” he pointed to the larger pack. “Professional kit.” He hefted the smaller pack, and started to untie the roll in his hands.

He swept a few fish heads to the side to set his kit on the table and unrolled it, revealing several wickedly sharp knives, a series of stoppered gourds and bottles, and several small tins. He removed a knife and started to chop the unpeeled onion with a well practiced hand.

The bosun peered curiously over at the kit. “What be all this?”

“The gourds ‘n bottles be oils and vinegars. I made a few meself! The tins be spices, an’ I be sleepin’ with this kit, lest the men be gettin’ ideas. Some o’ them can be pricey.” He finished the onion and walked to where he expected to find the galley for more carrots.

The galley it was, and after a few moments of poking around, he found a small bundle of carrots. They didn’t keep out at sea, so he knew he’d only have them a few days and selected several others, as well as two more onions and several apples he found floating in a barrel of clean water. He carried his armful into the kitchen and found the bosun finishing poking through his personal items, looking pleased.

“Ye pack well,” was all the man said. “What are ye doin’ for our supper? And can ye fight?”

“I’d be a sorry sailor if I couldn’t fight, I’ve a pistol an’ shot fer that, an' I've daggers should I fight close. As fer the grub, I ain't wasting what was already prepped.” He pointed to to fish heads. “It’ll be edible, but I haven’t a recipe for this. Be there oats or peas for filler?”

“Aye, both, an’ I’ll be of help there as our new galleyman will be needin’ time to find everythin’. Have ye a preference?”

“I'm thinkin' oats, as ye will, an’ a bucket of clean water.”

The bosun nodded and ducked into the galley. He stepped back out a moment later with a a heavy sack of whole oats slung over his shoulder. As Jeb measured out three scoops of this, the bosun ducked back inside with a clean bucket he grabbed off a peg on the wall. When he returned, Jeb pointed his knife at the pot and it was poured in.

“Be needin’ else?” the bonus asked.

“I’m thinkin’ two more of water, mayhap three, but if’n ye tell me where the barrel be, I can get it meself. I’m certain ye have other work.”

The bosun hesitated, but nodded approvingly. “Aye, I do. It’s this barrel just inside the door. Keep it covered, the lid be spelled to keep it fresh. An’ keep the bucket clean an’ stowed where I got it. We keep it here, for here it’s most used, but it’s a general use clean bucket.”

Jeb nodded. “Aye, sir, I shall.”

The bosun took himself out of the kitchen. Jeb took himself into the galley for more water before returning to the counter and the vegetables he was chopping. He found himself humming an old sea shanty about the Gold Reef, one of the deadliest stretches of ocean outside of the Fathom. Of course, rumor had it the Fathom was home to perhaps the last free god of the world.

When Jeb had been a boy, there had been more. He'd even seen Skygold himself once, the goddess of his home island Shantasha, as a lad. That had been before the Propoure Empire had arrived, of course. He had needed to learn cooking, then. His mother had been caught in the crossfire during a food riot. His father had been hung for theft when they had no food.

Jeb and his two siblings, Canje and Olit, had kept the house. Barely. Without Skygold, many of the island's traditional crops has failed, but they had learned how to steal from the Empire, how to fish, and how to eat anything edible they could find. Canje made a better grub stew than Jeb, but his wasn't too bad.

"I thought I heard humming," a voice said from the doorway.

Jeb looked up from slicing the apples to find a handsome man there. He was surprisingly neat for a sailor… clean hands. He wore his long, black hair down, his face cleanly shaven His clothes were clean too and, although Jeb could see a few patches in his clothing, they were expertly repaired. His piercing blue eyes regarded Jeb with open speculation and curiousity.

"So you're our new cook." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I be that. Name's Jeb. An' ye are?" he asked.

"I'd be the ship's doctor."

Jeb chuckled. "Ah, so ye'd be Luren of the fish stew surprise." He held up the bit of candle. "Lose something, matey?"

"Is that where I put that?" Luren asked, all innocence. "What a relief it is that Daajin found us such a handsome man… and so handy in the kitchen…"

He blinked. Was Luren… flirting? "Who be Daajin?" he asked.

"The bosun," another voice answered from behind Luren. "Luren, stop flirting and stay out of the kitchen for the next fortnight."

"Oh, but Captain Deepwell…" the doctor started, mock swooning.

A soft scoff. "Save it. Either go in, flirt openly, and help him cook, or get out of my way."

"Oh, well, put that way…" Luren winked at him. "I hope to see you soon, Jeb." He ducked out of the doorway.

The miniature whirlwind walked in, shaking their head. "If he wasn't still the best doctor I've ever met, I'd throw him overboard."

"I love you too, Captain!" Luren called from the hallway.

The captain pursed their lips, then stepped quietly back. Jeb heard Luren grunt. "Eavesdrop on my ship and get shanked, Luren. Don't you have other things you could be doing?"

"Not particularly. My duties for tonight were making dinner."

"Oh? Well, no free hands on this, ship, Luren. Our patron was very clear. Why don't you go help Kanta to find you some work on deck?"

"Oh, I… ah, Captain, perhaps I should check that shipment of supplies Ch'tasa just brought to my quarters?"

"Yes, perhaps you had better."

Jeb heard the sound of hasty footsteps retreating and the miniature whirlwind walked back into the kitchen and peered into the pot. The captain was darker than he'd expected them to be. That cultured accent of theirs was out of the Propoure Empire. They were usually much lighter, especially their nobility. He had to wonder how one of their nobility had become the captain of the Moondark, a ship signing new hires out of Freebooter Bay.

"Kanta said your name was Jeb Stey, is that right?" they asked after a moment of studying the pot.

"Aye, Cap'n."

They considered him for a moment as seriously as they had considered the pot, and he saw that their eyes were a deep blue, like the depths of the ocean. He felt unnerved again, as he had watching them leave The Sea Witch's Tits. That gaze spoke of death for any who were fool enough to underestimate the person who wore it. If he'd been wearing a cap, he'd have snatched it off.

"I'm Captain Eulian Deepwell. Will this be edible?" they asked, pointing.

"Aye, Cap'n." He nodded. "I ain't too certain what yon doctor were planning, but he weren't too far into it when I came to save you from his work." He offered them the bit of candle he'd pulled out of the fish. "Found that with an unpeeled onion and half a carrot. Figured there weren't none on this ship would be minding if I skipped the candle and made me own fish stew surprise."

The captain snorted and took the piece of candle. "I wish I could say it was the first time. So, what's the surprise in your stew, then?"

He grinned. "Bit o' spice to it. I be from Shantasha, when the Empire took'n us o'er we found these peppers was edible. Good bit o' fire in 'em, but I'll be sparin' so no mun has to drink too much grog ter keep they mouth cool."

"Shantasha…" They looked thoughtful. "That was before I was born, I think. I remember when I was a small child, I and some of my friends helped smugglers load food onto their ships for your people. Luren has been known to use some of your peppers in his fish stew surprise, but in quantities that make it inedible."

Jeb grunted. "I see why ye were so keen to hire a cook."

They paused, fingers drumming on their hip. "Did you see that?"

He coughed delicately. "Ye pushed right past me, beggin' yer pardon, Cap'n. I was next ter sign on."

"Oh. Well, yes, you see why." They hesitated. "Will it bother you to share quarters with Luren? He was flirting with you, but that is where our cook has historically kept quarters. So many of you carry your own herbs and spices and many are medicinal. In a pinch, you know."

Jeb felt his eyebrows rise. "Ah… That’s right clever! Yea, in a pinch like that, I’d be willing to give whatever from me kit yon doctor might need. And I do know a small bit o’ herb lore, me ma taught me afore... Well, it were a difficult time. And nay, Cap'n, t'wouldn't bother me none to share with him. I be a bit twix an' twain, if yer catch'n my meanin'. If I don't take with 'im, I know how to say no, good as any."

They barked a laugh. "Good man! I'll ask you not to break his hands if he gets too persistent, but feel free to thump him if you need. Luren is an amazing doctor and a terrible flirt." They smiled then. "He's scared off two good cooks with his ways, but he’s historically very reserved when men return his affections. I am very curious how he'll react to you being twix and twain? I hope you'll keep me informed. Privately, of course."

He grinned. "Aye, I could do that."

They nodded to him. "I'll let you get on with supper, then, Mister Stey. We're putting out soon, bound for a meeting with our Patron." Those fathomless eyes bored into him once more, as though watching for his reaction to those last words.

He nodded gravely. "I look forward to meeting this mysterious Patron, Cap'n. And I'll have the supper finished in, oh, perhaps two or three candlemarks, I'm well accustomed to cooking on a ship in motion."

Captain Eulian raised an eyebrow at his calm reaction, but he noted a slight, pleased smile twitch at the corner of their lips. "I look forward to it, then, Mister Stey. Tah." They lifted a hand in farewell and stepped out of the kitchen.

Jeb took a moment to sag against the counter. He stared down at the vegetables he had been chopping when he'd been interrupted without seeing them.

Captain Eulian Deepwell was, as he saw them, intense, perceptive, and with a keen and wicked sense of humor. He'd served on many ships, most on the shady side of lawful, been in many situations that had made his bowels turn to water. But there was something about his new captain that unnerved him in a way he'd never experienced before. He respected them already, but he couldn't help but wonder what it was he'd signed up for this time.

He shook his head and picked up his knife again, getting back to work. Unnerved or not, he knew better than to let the crew of a ship he worked on go hungry. He'd seen captains mutinied against for that and heard of cooks strung up. He would have to finish his work for now and think later.

He smiled then. Assuming the handsome doctor let him. Yes, he, too, wondered how Luren would feel about him being twix and twain…