The Merry | Present Day
Slade's office is always jarring to step into.
A scarlet rug interwoven with a geometric golden design covers most of the floor. This, Slade has excitedly told him more than once, is his only souvenir from Az's own country. On every surface there are books, and trinkets made of gold and silver, and painted china, rare uncut rocks, some things that Az can't even identify. On the walls hang gaudy paintings and tapestries interlaced with stunning landscapes. There's not a surface that isn't covered by some material object or brightly-coloured picture.
He stole everything in this room, that's true, but the fact that he chooses to keep these things instead of selling them all says something about him. What exactly that is, Az can't decide, but he knows that walking in here with his bare feet always feels somewhat disrespectful - an interesting accomplishment considering he's never not respected someone as much as he doesn't respect Slade.
Light filters in through the windows on the far side of the room. It halos the captain like a cloak, so bright that he can't quite see those pale eyes, just bone-white fingers laced together to create a resting point for his chin as he leans on his desk.
"Beautiful morning, isn't it, Azaziah?" comes his soft voice. "Have a seat."
Az doesn't want to sit down, but he does so anyway. It's always best to play along with Slade's game of niceties if he wants to keep the captain sweet.
So pale, almost gaunt, with light purple rings under his eyes, and wild shoulder-length hair framing it, is Captain Rowan Slade. Back when Az had first been brought aboard, he'd been struck by how young the captain appeared. The last two years haven't aged him at all. Az estimates he's somewhere in his early thirties.
"I hear you have a job for me," Az says when the silence becomes unbearable.
Slade's grin widens, showing off every perfect white tooth. "I'm glad you seem so enthusiastic! Especially after that unfortunate incident we had last time. That's another town we can't stop in, you know."
"Unfortunate incident?" Az repeats before he can stop himself. "You tortured Isaac."
"For your mistake, need I remind you," Slade says, somewhat wistfully. "Like I said, unfortunate. But we're not here to talk about the past, we're here to talk about the future!" Just like that, Slade brightens and places his hands down on the desk. "We're about to make port in Varez, and I'd really like to get you out and about again. You've been cooped up in here for long enough now. I can tell you're starting to get restless."
Starting to get restless is an interesting way to put it, Az thinks, but he doesn't dare voice that aloud.
"I thought we'd go with something simple to ease you back into it, something that's your style and allows you to stretch your legs a little. Don't say I'm not generous."
He nods when it seems like Slade is waiting for a response.
"Rumour has it a sailor by the name of Enriqué Molina spotted something odd during his latest travels. Can you guess what that might be?"
"It wouldn't have been a gold-coloured siren by any chance, would it?"
"Clever boy."
Slade rarely goes a day without ranting about his hunt for this "Golden Siren", despite all the evidence pointing to it being nothing more than a wonder tale. Every month, they follow new "leads" to nowhere or nothing. Twice a month or more, Slade snaps and has a complete tantrum about it. The thing doesn't exist. It's a myth, a fantasy story created by sailors looking for something fun to talk about. Sirens in these waters are silver exclusively, with their colouration becoming muddier and verging into blue or green up north. And at the northernmost point of the world, they can be almost completely white.
But golden? No. Az has never seen a siren in person, at least not up close, but even he knows they don't come in gold. He'd known someone once, a friend of sorts, who'd made that point abundantly clear right before Slade had pushed him into the ocean with his broken hands tied together.
Az has tried, but could only ever guess what has the captain so obsessed with any siren. They're known for being vicious, bloodthirsty things. Predators of unimaginable power, able to use their singing alone to entice a person into the water where they will cruelly break their spell before tearing their victims' flesh from their bones with razor-sharp teeth. Untameable, certainly, but likely worth a pretty penny to the right buyer, which is the only reason Az can come up with for Slade's fixation.
"So you want me to...?"
Slade's smile doesn't falter for one second. "My sources tell me Enriqué is local to Varez and is home for the birth of his first child. I just want you to go into town and find him, learn what you can about what he saw, and report back to me."
Az blinks. "That's...it?"
"I said it was simple. That's it." Slade pauses, staring at Az with an intensity that could make stone crumble. "Although," he adds, voice low. "Let me offer you some friendly words of advice."
The blood in his veins runs cold at the shift. No, Slade has never taken his anger out on him, but Az has spent the past two years watching him take it out on other people when they don't pick up on his cues, knowing at any second that it could be him. He's learned to read Slade better than he's learned to read anyone else, and so he doesn't take his eyes off the man.
"If you make a mistake this time, if you fail to deliver, I'm afraid I'll have to hold you accountable. I've run out of men I don't particularly like, which puts you right at the bottom of the food chain, doesn't it?" In his peripheral vision, Az barely sees him fingering the hilt of a silver blade whose handle is embedded with red jewels. "I'd really hate to have to drive that point home, you understand?"
"Perfectly," Az affirms without missing a beat. "I won't make any mistakes."
In less than half a breath, a crooked beam breaks out over Slade's face. He straightens up and ruffles Az's wild curls with one spidery hand. "I have faith you'll do your best!"
When the captain stands and turns, Az runs a hand through his hair as if that will dispel Slade's skin-crawling touch. Slade doesn't often touch anyone, but whenever he does it always leaves Az feeling kind of...icky.
"And I do mean it, you know," Slade adds, not looking at him. "I want to see you do well, Azaziah. It would be so much easier if you'd just do as I say."
Az scowls at the back of the captain's head. If Slade is obsessed with the tale of the golden siren, his next fixation is Az himself.
Two years ago he should have pushed Az to his death just as he had Ginger. They'd both been caught trying to intercept a nefarious plan Az had overheard Slade's crew making. They'd both been quickly and violently overpowered. They'd both been thrown belowdecks and left to stew over their fates for hours. Then Ginger had mouthed off about Slade, to Slade. Az hadn't. He finds it hard to believe that's the reason Slade kept him alive. Still keeps him now, and tries without much success to make a pirate of him.
Only once has he asked Slade why, but that had been back then. After the sound of Ginger splashing into the waves below had long gone, and Az was finally starting to become aware of the pain in his knees from collapsing on the deck. When Paver had whispered something frightening enough in his ear to have him calculating how long it would take him to reach the side of the ship and jump off himself, only to have Slade warn him off with authority clear in his voice. While Slade was sitting him down in this very chair and wrapping a blanket around his trembling shoulders and offering him a glass of burning alcohol, asking him for his name.
~&~
The Merry | Day 0
It's still dark out. The lanterns cast the crew in a yellow, flickering light that causes the shadows on their faces to dance. Around twenty pairs of cruel, amused eyes watch him, and a shiver dances down his spine as memories of an eerily similar situation come to mind.
The hands around his arms tighten. He tries to twist against them, if only to see who has him held so firmly. Dark grey eyes, set within a face scarred by fire, narrow in his direction. Az recognises him from the bar: he's the one who'd gleefully suggested the idea that has Az here in the first place. The man's snarling lips twitch into an unkind smile. Az can only look for a moment before his arms are tugged, forcing him to take a couple of small steps back. Hot breath blows over his ear - a sensation that makes him turn his head away on reflex.
"The boy sure has pretty blue eyes, doesn't he?" A dark chuckle. "Don't think I didn't see you hiding in the shadows back in the tavern. You're not as sneaky as you think, brat."
He'd known something was wrong back there. He'd known, and he hadn't been careful enough. A few days at sea and suddenly he's forgotten everything he learned living in Albahri's gutter?
His neck cracks with the effort of turning away from the owner of that smug voice.
"Oh, what's the matter? Seems like you suddenly don't feel like staring. Must be the scars. You'll like the story of how I got them even less."
A hand snatches his chin and lifts his head, but Az slams his eyes shut. Totally foreign to him comes the urge to elbow the man with his now free arm. He quells it with ease, remembering Ginger's crushed hand, fingers bent at odd angles and turning purple.
"He's just a kid, leave him alone!" Ginger's voice cracks out confidently. Az spots him a few feet away, restrained like him, but something in him relaxes all the same. Being alone would be worse, he thinks.
The scarred one with Az's skinny arms in his calloused hands laughs once more. The rest of the crew joins in this time. It makes Az want to curl up and hide away. Make his skin flush with embarrassment.
"What are you gonna do?" the man at his back challenges.
Ginger scoffs. "I bet you think you're so tough, intimidating a kid. Big ugly man with big ugly scars, right? You don't scare me, prick."
They only laugh harder. Az silently begs Ginger to stop talking.
"Give me thirty seconds alone with you and you'll change your mind," the pirate promises. "What about you, boy? You look pretty worried to me. I haven't even done anything yet!"
"Paver, what have I told you about bullying children?"
A sudden quiet befalls them. Az dares to search for the source of this new voice, clipped yet soft. He doesn't have to look very hard. The crew parts to make way for this one. Behind him, Paver's grip tightens.
"Captain" floats on the breeze as the crew murmur their greetings to this new man. He steps into view.
Their captain is...young.
Much younger than most of the other men here, anyway. Only in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, and with a sickly pale complexion to go with a pair of glacial blue eyes - eyes that are fixated firmly on Az. He shifts under the gaze.
"Paver?" the captain repeats. Az can feel his arms starting to bruise. "I'm waiting for your stammered explanation."
"Sorry, Captain," Paver grits out, but he sounds like he's smiling.
The young captain rolls his eyes. In an instant, Ginger is stumbling up to Az's side. They glance at each other, Az's look one of terror that he doesn't try to hide, and Ginger's, one filled with lines and determination.
"I suppose it'd only be polite to welcome you both aboard!" the captain announces, grinning wide. "This is The Merry, and I'm Rowan Slade, your captain."
Ginger snorts loud enough to make Az wince. Those twenty-something pairs of eyes shift from Rowan Slade to the snarling redhead.
"You're not my captain," he growls.
The captain's friendly grin twitches then breaks down into a scowl. He doesn't look angry; on the contrary, he appears to almost pity Ginger. "You're a rude one, aren't you?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "What a shame."
Without missing a beat, he turns away and addresses the entire crowd, though he steals an occasional glance their way.
"As I was saying... I'm sure my crew thought they were doing the right thing when they brought you on board. I'm also fairly sure we could have avoided this whole ordeal if we'd just left at the first signs of trouble, much like you two should have. Sacking your ship was only ever going to be a bit of fun, after all. We could have lived without it.
"But here we find ourselves, and with a bit of a dilemma. We're actually very busy, you see-"
"Planning to murder more innocent merchants, are you?"
Az's eyes fall closed. He's not a believer in deities or higher powers, but he prays hard to anyone or anything that might be listening to shut Ginger up before he gets his other hand broken. Or worse.
Instead of sharp glares and hissed threats, there's laughter. Again. More unsettling than when the whole crew laughed, the young captain with the waxy skin and sunken eyes is practically giggling. The sound does nothing to reassure him. Slade straightens up to stare at Ginger with a disconcerting fondness.
"I like you," he says. "If only we had room on board for one more man. But sadly, we don't. We need to keep that space for something else. Tell me, sir, have you ever heard the tales of the Golden Siren?"
"Hasn't everyone?" Ginger retorts, unwittingly making Az feel stupid for never having heard them. "Is there a point to this nonsense?"
"Of course there is," the captain replies seriously. "I've been rehearsing this speech for weeks, and I'd like to test it out on a captive audience before I kill you both. Now stop interrupting me or I'll kill you now and be done with it."
"Gods above," Ginger mutters, annoyed.
Slade, however, seems not to hear him.
"We've been searching for it for a while now. It seems like every time we get close, it slips away and turns up somewhere else. And by the time we get there, it's gone again. I'm fairly confident that we'll catch it soon though, and when we do, we're going to need somewhere to put it until we can find someone willing to pay what it's worth. So I can't really have anyone taking up space below deck. You understand, I'm sure."
"The golden siren isn't real," Ginger declares. "It's a story to send idiots like you on fool's errands."
The captain's grin twists into an aggressive grimace. He regards the redhead with a glare that could burn rings through metal for several long seconds, with Ginger glaring back in equal measure. Eventually, he appears to relax, and he turns away with a shrug.
"And here I was saying I liked you," Slade says with a deep, exaggerated sigh. "What else did I say? Oh, right! We don't have room on board for one more man. So I suppose that means you'll have to leave. What a pity." He spins, this time staring at Az with that unsettling smile. "It's not all doom and gloom, though! We definitely don't have room for any more men, but I didn't say anything about room for a boy."
Az's mouth falls open. To protest, to do anything. Of course he doesn't want to die, but he doesn't want to stay here.
He doesn't have long to struggle, though, as the captain pats his shoulder gently. Az snatches himself away as best he can, right back into Paver's broad chest which only makes the pirate snicker.
"I'm sure we can squeeze him in somewhere," the captain says. "You won't mind, will you, gentlemen?"
He doesn't hear the whispered words that snake through the air. He tries not to.
"You're so sick, all of you." Ginger doesn't flinch when Slade slithers up to him and presses the point of an intricate silver blade to his throat. "He's a kid. You can let him go."
"He's a kid who's about to learn a very important lesson about minding his own business," Slade responds smoothly. "No need to worry. He won't be hurt. As long as he co-operates, of course. Now, sir, what would you prefer? The blade, or the sea?"
Ginger swallows. Glances at the weapon. Calculates the possibilities in his head. "The blade."
Slade smiles. "The sea it is."
It's pointless to struggle, but he struggles anyway: the agonised yelp that tears out of Ginger's throat as they bind his wrists strikes Az straight in his core, and he wants to make it somehow stop, but it only takes one pair of calloused hands to keep him back. His own voice cuts through the din, both begging and ordering them to stop. No one listens. No one pays him any mind, except for the burly man restraining him, and the icy-eyed captain who doesn't blink as he watches Az panic.
He wishes he was stronger as the crowd parts to reveal Ginger on his knees, panting, groaning, and clammy-looking with colourless skin shining under his freckles. A length of rope binds his hands together from his wrists to his fingertips. It's with a sickening lurch in his stomach Az realises how much it must hurt.
The redhead is given barely a second of reprieve before someone grabs his collar and yanks him up. Just as quickly, Ginger thrusts his foot back in a well-aimed kick, catching the pirate's shin. The pirate swears. Ginger smirks. Slade laughs. Az desperately hopes the pair of them will just die on the spot to save them the pain.
It takes three of them - one at each arm and one with a hand fisted in his hair - to force Ginger to the side of the ship. Only when the captain steps up beside Ginger and places a hand on his back does Az truly comprehend what's about to happen.
His mouth goes dry.
"This is always my favourite part of any social gathering," Slade says, speaking to Ginger as if they're old friends. "It'll be interesting to see how you'll choose to do this. Will you keep your pride and step off with a straight face like a proper man? Or would you prefer we throw you over ourselves, kicking and screaming?"
No sound will come out of Az's trembling lips.
Ginger snorts, completely unaffected by the other man's words. "I'll keep my pride, thank you. And you can take your hand off me as well."
"Still so rude when all I'm doing is offering a gesture of comfort at this difficult time," says Slade, but he removes his hand all the same.
"Whatever keeps you happy, captain," Ginger replies with a painfully sweet smile. He looks all too happy to step up onto the side of the ship.
"It's a shame you were so disrespectful," the captain scolds, shaking his head. "I might have made this quick for you, otherwise."
"Oh, I'm sure. The real shame is that you're searching for something you'll never find. If only you had room for one more man, I'm sure I could help you find something better to do with your time."
"If only."
Ginger turns his head slightly to meet Az's wide eyes. And he smiles. His schooled yet mocking expression melts into a warm, reassuring smile.
Az can't focus, can't tell what the look is supposed to say exactly, not with his blood pounding in his ears and his knees shaking so hard he'd fall if it weren't for Paver holding him up.
He licks his lips with a dry tongue.
"Wait-"
And Ginger is gone. Az doesn't hear the splash, barely even sees him fall.
His legs finally give out, and his captor allows him to crumble.
It doesn't fit inside his head. Doesn't make any sense.
He tries to fathom how, hours ago, he and Ginger had finally reached some kind of understanding. How, finally, he'd felt like he was starting to accept that things could get better. And just like that, because he interfered, Ginger is gone. And everyone around him seems to think it's funny, with the way they chuckle to each other.
Hope that may never have been there melts away, giving rise to new thoughts and fears about what will happen that seem to merge into one unpleasant sensation jolting through his entire body.
He's alone, and seasick all over again.
"Well, that's one problem taken care of."
Az doesn't dare look away as the captain takes slow but purposeful steps toward him, a grin so cracked and crazed on his pallid face that his own crew start to back away. The fear shows on Az's face plain as day, but he tries not to show it anyway. All he can do is try.
The captain stops and looks down at him. "Now, what are we going to do with you?"
~&~
The Merry | Present Day
Az doesn't ask a lot of questions. Not aloud, anyway, and not these days. What's the point when Slade won't answer? He hadn't answered then, and Az has moved on enough to tell himself he doesn't really want to hear what Slade has to say.
"-we really don't need a repeat of last time, do we?"
Az blinks over at Slade who is looking at him now. "Um, no?"
"I was just talking about the only one who's eager to keep an eye on you while you're out and about. Call it encouragement. To keep you on-task and remind you where you belong when you're done."
Az is quite slippery. He's nearly managed to escape more than once. The last time he'd tried, though, the time he'd lost Isaac all of his fingers, he'd made too much of a scene.
"Don't you think the last time was enough of a reminder?" he bites out.
Maybe Az isn't lucky enough to escape successfully, but he is just lucky enough to amuse Slade instead of making him angry. Most of the time.
The captain grins. "I'm sure it was. But what kind of a captain would I be if I didn't learn from my mistakes? Try to behave yourself out there. Not everyone appreciates your smart mouth."
Sensing that the conversation is over, Az nods. "You've got it."
"See how nice things are when you're agreeable? Now run along. I'll let you know when you can head off."
More than happy to oblige this time, Az leaves, and tries to figure out how exactly he's going to find someone in a port town with only an extremely common name to go by.
~&~
A/N: Slade is my favourite character. He was my favourite when I first started writing this and he remains my bestie. If you say mean things about him, I'll cry
BOOK RECOMMENDATION
Mysterious zombie horror featuring wonderful characters, a child zombie with an IQ of 200, the apocalypse, more feelings than I think you're ready for in a book about zombies, an ongoing mystery regarding why these child zombies with human intelligence exist, and a solidly amazing prequel to read afterwards. Adult, horror, zombie, dystopia.