Captain Jacob Riley stared at the crate that was now situated on the deck of his beloved ship, The Flying Bounty. It was not large by crate standards, maybe 5 foot each way, but that was still large enough to mean that whatever was inside it was going to be difficult to hide.
The Captain gave a nod to his first mate and right-hand man Pete, who grabbed hold of a mallet and crowbar. Pete wedged the crowbar between the wooden slats of the crate, then lifted the mallet above his head, ready to strike.
"WAIT!" came a gruff voice from below.
Jacob swung round to see a man standing on the harbour, next to where The Flying Bounty was moored, waving his arms at them rather frantically.
On closer inspection, Jacob recognised the now rather red-faced man as the trader he had purchased his latest acquisition from.
"Don't touch it until I am back," the Captain ordered his men, before disembarking and making his way across the harbour wall.
He hoped that he wasn't going to ask for more money. Jacob had already spent far too much, nearly half a year's earnings, on this item.
He approached the man, known only to him as Fingers; a nickname that he had to assume came from the fact he only had two fingers left on his right hand. He'd heard various stories of how the man had lost the rest, but he didn't know if any of them were true.
"It ain't a damn crate of rum! Don't let that numbskull 'it it wi' that 'ammer!"
Fingers had a strong accent which could make him difficult to understand. And it didn't help that he seemed to constantly drop his 'h' sounds.
Jacob considered pointing out that if it was fragile, maybe telling his crew that it was rum in there, might not be such a bad thing.
"Should I be worried?" Jacob asked. "Is there a chance that it might go off if handled roughly?"
Fingers smirked. A look that didn't do his already haggard features any favours.
"It's not ya men I'm worried about."
Jacob frowned. It wasn't often that traders would worry about their goods once money had exchanged hands, and he started to think that maybe he should have asked more questions about what he'd purchased.
"What exactly is in that crate?" he finally dared to ask.
The only thing Jacob knew was that it was a weapon. And the deadliest weapon you could acquire. This wasn't something that Jacob had purchased on the open market. No, all his dealings regarding this weapon had been done in secret, via coded messages and secret meetings.
"Sommet that'll suck out your soul," Fingers said with a toothless grin.
Jacob felt a shiver run down his body, but he blamed it on the northerly breeze that seemed to be picking up nicely in time for their departure.
"It's magic isn't it?" he said, looking back at the crate on his ship and for the first time in his life, he wondered whether he'd bitten off more than he could chew.
"I, it's magic alright," Fingers said puffing out his chest.
Jacob hadn't had much experience with magic, preferring to avoid it if possible. Most of the people he'd heard of who decided to dabble in magic seemed to meet an untimely demise.
He considered asking for his money back. Getting that omen of death off his ship.
But then he thought of his family back home. His elderly mother and father. His brother and his brother's wife and two children. One of them, a baby niece who he'd yet to meet. He knew he was desperate. That was why he was in this godforsaken place. He reached up to run his fingers through his beard, only to touch skin, reminding himself that he had shaved this morning. Something he always did the night before a voyage.
"How do I use it?" Jacob asked.
"You control it," Fingers answered. "Control it and it'll bend to ya will."
"Control it how?"
"Like you would a dog," Fingers replied with a sneer. "Beat it into submission."
That made no sense, and Jacob was about to ask further questions when there appeared to be some sort of scuffle at the other end of the pier.
Fingers immediately tensed.
"Guard's 'ere. I need to go," he said, turning away.
"Wait!" Jacob snapped feeling slightly panicked.
"Oh shit, yeah, I's nearly forgot." Then Fingers proceeded to pull a small brown bag out of the pocket of his long trench coat.
"'Ere," he said, holding it out to Jacob. Jacob took hold of it and peered inside. It was full of what looked like some sort of dried herb.
"Eat one sprig of that Muntle Seaweed and you'll be immune to the magic for 24 hours. You'll need that until you can control it."
Jacob looked in the bag and after doing some quick maths began to panic.
"There's not enough! I have 15 men and a long journey ahead of me. What if I can't control it?!"
"Keep it locked up in the 'old. Then only those who need to go near it will need to 'ave some."
The noise of shouting and fighting from the end of the pier was getting louder as more people joined in the affray.
"I gotta go," Fingers mumbled.
"But, what do I do if I....." Jacob trailed off as he realised that Fingers had already gone.
On seeing a man getting hurled into the sea just a few yards away, Jacob quickly tucked the bag into the inside pocket of his coat and hurried back to his ship.
"Pull anchor!! Let's get out of here," Jacob ordered as soon as he was back on board.
The men jumped into action and The Flying Bounty creaked out of the harbour.
The Flying Bounty was Jacob's pride and joy. He had acquired her last year, after a fortunate hand of poker. Jacob had fallen in love with the galleon instantly and couldn't understand how anyone would ever risk something so beautiful on a game of cards.
Three Eyed John, the previous owner of this ship, who got his name from the large scar he carried right in the centre of his face making him look like he had three eyes, was a drunk and a blaggard. But he also had a family, and so Jacob, being the kind hearted soul he was, offered John a cut of the profits from the ship during its first year in his possession.
The Flying Bounty was not particularly large or grand, but it was fast, and could outrun even some of the King's vessels. It was a merchant trading ship, so it carried limited armoury which is what had led to Jacob's current predicament.
Jacob stayed at the helm for the next three hours lost in his own thoughts. He might have stayed there all night if Pete hadn't sidled up next to him.
"So?" Pete asked. "What's going on with this weapon then?"
Pete was the only crew member who could get away with addressing him like that. They had sailed on numerous voyages together, many before Jacob became a Captain. He considered him as his best friend as well as crew mate.
Jacob swallowed hard.
"It's magic," he said quietly, not that there was anyone around to hear him.
Pete's eyebrows raised. Jacob knew that Pete shared his concerns when it came to anything to do with magic.
"Is it dangerous?" Pete asked.
"Of course it's dangerous!" Jacob laughed. "That's kind of the point."
Pete gave Jacob an unamused look.
"You know what I mean!"
Jacob did understand exactly what he meant. He was just making fun of Pete in an attempt to hide his own nerves regarding the situation. As Captain, it was his job to be confident and not show any fear. If he was self-assured, his crew would be too. Sometimes it was foolish to think of yourself as invincible, but sometimes it was an advantage too. Hesitation could cost you dearly out at sea.
Jacob slid the small brown bag out of his pocket.
"Dangerous enough that we need this."
"What is it?" Pete asked, peering inside.
"Muntle seaweed. Apparently, one sprig of this keeps you safe from its magic for 24 hours."
"There's not much in there," Pete said worriedly.
"I know, but apparently I can learn to control it, and then we'll no longer need it."
Pete glanced nervously over to the crate which was still sitting on the main deck.
"When you gonna look?" he asked, nodding towards it.
Jacob sighed. He knew he'd have to sooner or later.
"As soon as it gets dark gather James, Marco and Lyle. I think I'd rather keep the rest away from it."
Pete nodded in agreement. Jacob was fortunate enough to like all his crew, but Pete, James, Marco and Lyle were those he trusted the most. Probably because he'd sailed with them the longest.
After nightfall, once the rest of the men were down below, the four sailors and their captain gathered on the deck under the light of a full moon.
"I hope that's not an omen," Marco said, glancing at the moon with a smirk.
"Shut up," Lyle snapped, elbowing Marco in the ribs.
Lyle had always been the most superstitious of Jacob's crew, and was the most outspoken when he heard that the new weapon was magical.
Jacob pulled out the paper bag and handed each of the men a sprig of the Muntle Seaweed.
The sailors all glanced at one another as they chewed and swallowed.
"It tastes alright," Pete said with a shrug.
"Let's hope we're not all pissing through our arseholes tomorrow," James said, crude as always.
"Right, are we ready?" Jacob asked confidently.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Lyle replied with a shudder.
Pete took hold of his crowbar but this time he left the mallet on the floor. He stepped forward towards the crate then wedged the crow bar under one of the slats of wood and levered it up until it splintered and cracked.
The sound seemed to echo out across the sea.
The men all looked at one another before Pete did the same to the next piece.
"Do you want some light?" Jacob asked, picking up his lantern that had been sat on the deck to one side.
"I think I'd rather not see anything until I'm done," Pete said, making quick work of the rest of the wood, leaving one side of the crate now fully open.
Pete quickly stepped back so he was alongside the rest of the men.
"I can't see anything," Marco said, but didn't step closer.
It wasn't that they could see nothing. The removal of the wood had revealed that the object was actually inside another crate. Only this one was made up of metal bars.
"Is that a cage?" Lyle asked nervously.
Jacob knew he had to take the lead. Whatever it was, he couldn't be scared of it. He would never learn to control it if he was.
Bravely, and doing his best not to think about whatever was in there, Jacob clutched tightly onto his lantern and strolled up to the cage, holding the light up against the bars.
His eyes widened and he heard a collective gasp from behind him when he stared into the blinking blue eyes of a boy. A boy so pale that his skin looked almost luminous in the light of the lantern. He was curled up into the far corner of the cage, his arms hugging his knees which were tucked up into his chest.
The boy was wearing nothing but raggs, and he was shivering badly.
"Shit! Is that a boy?" Pete asked, coming to step beside Jacob.
Jacob nodded, still in shock. The boy looked a similar age to Gabriel, who was the youngest member of his crew, aged just 16.
One by one, the others came to stand next to the cage, peering inside. All except Lyle.
"What do we do with him?" Pete asked.
"I was going to put it in the hold!" Jacob said, sounding slightly alarmed. "I can't put him in the hold! He'll freeze to death!"
"Put him in the navigation room," Pete suggested.
"But at least 6 men go in and out of there in any one day," James argued.
"What about the food store?" Marco suggested.
"Or the armoury?" Pete added.
"He'll go in my quarters," Jacob said in an authoritative voice that told his men not to argue.
"Are you sure?" Pete asked, glancing around.
"Quite sure. That way only I will need to take the seaweed every day and the rest of you can just take some when needed. It'll last longer that way.
"You should put it in the sea," came a voice from behind, and it was only when the men turned that they realised that Lyle was not standing beside them.
"What?" Jacob asked, shining his lantern over towards Lyle.
"Do you know what that is?" Lyle spat, pointing a shaking finger towards the crate.
"No," the men all replied.
"That thing," Lyle said with a grimace, "is a Siren, and it'll rip out your soul."
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