There is nothing worse for a pirate than dying on dry land. Except, maybe, swinging two feet above it.
When their captain is imprisoned, facing the gallows, the men and women of the Lady Lesya's crew will try everything to break him out--even if it...
Etienne began his millionth round trip between the crates. He had deciphered all the faded chalk scriptures on the rotting wood: origin, destination, content... He knew all of them by heart now. He was under a blue sky and could smell the sea, but he was still a prisoner.
His teeth hurt by dint of gritting them. His palms hurt where his nails cut through the skin inside clenched fists. His face hurt from frowned brow to twisted mouth. His patience had run out and he needed to kill something, preferably something cute and fluffy, as Stalker would advise. If he were to be trusted—and he was not, ever—the painted freak was sleeping in bloodied pelts from a great variety of small inoffensive mammals, cats mostly—even if cats couldn't be considered as inoffensive—but no one ever saw him kill anything else other than the two-legged kind of being.
Lost in his thoughts, he realized too late that Card had returned at last. Too late to punch his young pimpled face when it would have been perfectly dramatic. The kid was handing a leather tube to his father, probably the old captain's map, but otherwise he was empty handed. Etienne felt the wind caress his naked legs once again and couldn't take it anymore . He pushed the father aside to grab the son by the collar.
"Where. Are. The. Clothes?"
Card's eyes widened for a second, but he soon recovered his bored and contemptuous expression. The kid had balls, no doubt about that. The kind that would get him killed before he could have them emptied by any wench, but still. He looked Etienne right in the eyes.
"I forgot. There was..."
Etienne started to shake the brat.
"I don't care about your excuses," he spat two inches from the greasy face. "D'you expect me to walk around half naked? Is this a joke to you? Am I?"
He shoved Card down on the filthy pavement. Logan kneeled to help his son, but didn't intervene further. The look in the kid's eyes was a mix of pain, hate, and defeat. Etienne pressed on, a cruel smile on his lips.
"Maybe I should try your pants? What about that?"
"Or maybe you could get your own trousers back," said a familiar voice.
Etienne turned around. O'Ma was standing, arms crossed over his chest, in his insufferable judging stance. Behind the Quartermaster, two smiles: Tiago's everlasting grin and Dune's very unusual and quite unsettling mimic.
"How?" asked Etienne, unable to formulate a more articulate thought, and painfully aware of his inappropriate and humiliating appearance.
"We obtained unexpected assistance from one of your fellow inmates," answered O'Ma.
"He means we followed someone who knew about this exit," added Tiago.
"Captain!" said Dune.
"And where is this man now?" asked Etienne. "I think thanks are in order... even if you are quite late."
O'Ma didn't take the bait.
"Stalker is in his company. You know him, he always wants to determine if things are genuine."
"He means Stalker is paranoid."
O'Ma turned to Tiago. "I don't need you to translate my every vocable."
"D'you mean Cap understands your magniloquent jiberish?"
The shocked expression on the Quartermaster's face caught Etienne aback and he burst out laughing.
"Captain!" repeated Dune.
Etienne turned his attention to him and finally saw what his most loyal man was holding out.
"My clothes!" He turned to Card. "See how it's done?"
The kid was looking quite lost, seemingly unable to regain his haughty attitude facing the newcomers. Etienne couldn't wait for him to meet Stalker.
He turned again toward Dune and extend a greedy arm to grab his fine trousers, but before he could reach the long awaited means to get his dignity back, shouts came from the door. Three men burst out from the building. Before Etienne could make any move, Tiago was thrown to the ground, O'Ma pushed aside, and an unconscious Stalker landed at his feet.
"Reckon that's yours," said a huge bald man, emerging from the darkness of the prison. The secluded place between the crates was getting quite cramped.
One of the ruffians, his bare and scrawny chest displaying each of his ribs, grabbed O'Ma's arm and twisted it. Another, tattoos covering every inch of visible skin up to his forehead, seized Tiago by the collar and pulled him roughly to his feet. Both of them pressed nasty, rusty scraps of metal to the neck or their dumbstruck victims. O'Ma tried to remain dignified despite obvious pain, while Tiago, as usual, put on quite a show. He wiggled and contorted his face, rolling his eyes as if the whole thing was just a farce.
"Fora, you stink, bastardo!"
And indeed, the former prisoners had brought with them the stench of decay from the prison pit. Judging by the messy beard they all wore, they had been rotting underground for quite a long time.
"The ugly clown told us you have a boat." The bald one, as tall as Etienne and twice as wide, carried a long, curved piece of wood doubtlessly taken from one of the broken barrels scattered across the prison. He exuded strength, confidence, and the form of leadership born out of blood.
"I do," answered Etienne. At his side, Logan took a step backward and forced Card to do the same.
"Then I'm afraid I must remove it from your possession, Captain."
The bald bald man laughed. Etienne remained silent, but he took a step forward, grabbed the pistol O'Ma kept on his belly—Fury or Mercy, he was unable to say even after all these years. He extended his arm and cocked the hammer. The former prisoner flinched. It had been very discreet, but enough to bring a smile on Etienne's face. The man pulled himself together and smirked.
"You wouldn't d—"
The shot took away all his bravery and his lower jaw. The man's eyes grew wild out of surprise. They grew even wilder when he realized he was dead. The rest of his body finally got the message and fell on the ground.
"Now, if anyone else has a request, I'm all ears," said Etienne.
The three fugitives looked at each other, pondering the pros and cons of dying five minutes after being set free. Without a word, they dropped their crude weapons, climbed the crates, and vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.
Etienne turned back to O'Ma and handed him his gun back.
"Don't touch my pistols," said the Quartermaster between his teeth.
"I beg your pardon?" Etienne locked his eyes in O'Ma's. They stared at each other for a whole tensed minute, long enough for them to go through a silent argument.
"Fair enough," O'Ma whispered. He tucked his gun back into his belt and that was the end of it.
"Now..." Etienne clapped his hands. "Get Stalker on his feet and let's return to the ship. It's time to get away from this goddamn town!"
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