Children Of The Sky (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 2)

Chapter 26

Mutineers told fascinating stories. Rook had half a mind to sit on deck in his bubble of invisibility and listen to their gruesome, far-fetched tales of glory as they tried to outdo one another. Mick's were always the best. He somehow made them sound realistic until you walked away, came to your senses, and realized there was no way he'd done what he'd just convinced you of.

Mick wasn't really a mutineer, though. Jack's loyal first mate of four years now, and the only original member of the crew left save Rook himself, Mick was as good a trickster as any. As such, it was he who was chosen to play traitor and keep anyone from getting killed when, inevitably, some handful of crew members or other got word of the bounty out for the ghost ship with the letters looping almost unreadably on the hull. Not many knew the slum dialect of the Cassarian's native tongue well enough to know what the name meant, but the men aboard were usually a fairly dependable crowd. The ones who did know would sometimes stop and whisper it under their breath before moving on. Zalviore. Savior.

If nothing else, Rook prided himself on having a brother with a flare for the dramatic.

The wood of the deck was warm from afternoon sunshine beneath the calloused souls of Rook's feet as he walked, not even bothering to creep, along the deck of the Zalviore and trotted down the stairs into the Captain's quarters. Invisible and shadowless as he was, no one noticed him when he slipped around behind the chair at the desk, where Mick, the cheerful, traitorous de facto leader of this particular mutiny, lounged with a bored expression as he listened to a man across from him complain. Jem, if Rook was remembering right. A squirrelly man with eyes and an ego far too big for his head, picked up for stealing jewels he'd lodged in fruit. Rook wasn't particularly surprised he'd been part of a mutiny.

Crouching behind the desk, Rook poked at the tender, salt-crusted skin on top of Mick's foot, watched the toes twitch, and did it again. It took thrice more for Mick to catch on; he wasn't normally thick, but he was understandably dulled today by Jem's babbling.

"Kol," he said to the man, cutting him off.

Kol. Not Jem. Same amount of letters, anyway.

"--love to continue this later," Mick was saying, and rose to his full height--he was taller than Rook, still, which was bloody unfair. "I've just remembered something I need to do, and I'm afraid it requires peace and quiet. I'll chat with you in a bit."

When the man had left, Rook pulled the chair away from Mick's place and plopped down, letting his magic wane and settling with a grin as Mick leaned back against the desk and folded his arms. The man was wearing a shirt today; that was a rarity.

"How's the captain?" Mick asked casually, though questions danced behind his dark eyes. "You were gone for almost a month."

"Mostly healed from the shot he took in Ctash," Rook said, ignoring Mick's raised eyebrows and pulling his knees up to his chest, reaching down to loosen the lever that let the top of the chair swivel. It'd been a gift from an old woodworker they'd saved; Rook thought it was the very best thing they owned. Pushing off the desk, he twirled the chair absently. "Got two new crew members, too. A real short girl named Crynia and her dad. He's a blacksmith."

Mick rubbed his jaw. "A girl, eh? We'll have to work out sleeping arrangements apart from the men for her." Catching the chair by the back and stopping Rook from spinning--much to his chagrin--Mick jerked his thumb for Rook to get up, pushing the side of his head good-naturedly when Rook have him a lewd gesture Jack would've lectured him for. "C'mon, kid. I think these buggers have had time enough in power. You know what to do."

Rook grinned again. "The usual?"

There was a rascally twinkle in Mick's eye as he gathered his long hair back into a bun. He wore it just past his shoulders; the brown was bleached in streaks by the sun. "The usual."

***

The sun burnt the clouds on the horizon a bronze-orange by the time the bowsprit of the Zalviore showed its beloved old point headed into the cove. Jack rose from where he sat by the fire Crynia's dad had kindled, bare toes sinking in the sand, and the storm withdrew from his excitement to let him feel the sprout of it in his chest. He hadn't seen that trusty old hunk of wood, iron, and rope for a good month and a half now; he wondered if it was possible to be homesick for something that rarely stayed in the same place. He'd always gotten his emotions mixed up a bit--an unfortunate consequence of the thing that twined with his soul every breath he took.

Crynia left her place under the trees--twilit now, casting shadows on the sand--and came over to stand beside him with an awed look.

"She's yours?" she asked in the tone of someone whose voice has been halfway stolen by wonder.

"She's mine," Jack replied, and didn't miss the pride in his words. The longing was almost a physical pull towards the sturdy masts, the off-white sails that stood curled against them. Tapping Crynia's elbow and casting her a glance, he turned and took a sideways step towards the water. "They'll send a boat to pick you up when I say so, after I've checked everything's all right. The man's name will be Mick."

There was what wanted to be a smile playing at her mouth as she crossed her arms and hugged her middle, a habit of hers when she was nervous and didn't want to show it. "All right. We'll be waiting."

The sound of the crickets followed him as he took a running leap out over the water and changed midair, feathers landing on the water beneath him and floating in the gentle current. He circled the crow's nest once before descending and caught Rook's wide, white-toothed smile from where he perched on the side, fearless as the bird he was. When Jack landed at last on the rough wooden deck of his faithful old vessel, he saw first a group of five or so men tied up and gagged around the base of the main mast with a rather casually triumphant Mick lounging by the rail. He gave Jack a shrug when his captain raised an eyebrow, then continued picking at his teeth with an bone he'd carved for the purpose.

The rest of the crew was free and ready to sail. Jack was met with a plethora of hurried, busy salutes as he took the steps to the poop deck two at a time, breathing the sea air like a man half-drowned. With a few orders, a boat was sent with Mick as its captain to fetch Crynia, her father, and Min, who'd busied himself exploring until now, from the shore. When they'd made it safely aboard, Jack waved away the man steering and took the wheel in his own hands. His callouses were fading; he felt the grain of the wood sharply on his palms as they stole out of the cove like a secret lover and set out into the great blue-gold ocean beyond. It didn't matter; he could deal with that pain as much as anything else. He was sailing. He was home.

~~~

Greetings, all! This update is a bit short, but I needed it done, and thus, here we are. *sweeps a bow* There will be an author's note coming up proooobably next week sometime (no hiatuses or anything like that, just...an update on life right now and a bit of info on how that's affecting my writing and consistency), so stay tuned for that. Might be earlier than next week, because this weekend is less than busy. It'll be great. Hopefully.

Ahem. Anyways. My happy lil creations are back in their comfort zones. Kind of. *cracks knuckles* Let's see what I can do about that. Also I keep forgetting Min exists so he might get a better spotlight soon. *forgetful finger guns*

Procrastinating on plotting things,

Batman