The first three days pass as uneventfully as the sea you are sailing on. Every three hours or so, the man who you now know to the quartermaster, Mingi, unties the ropes around your arms and allows you to take a short walk around the deck to stretch your limbs. You appreciate the thought, but you feel like a piece of meat in a sea of piranhas. Your ankle screams in pain every time you step on it, but you force your mouth shut. It's definitely twisted, but you can't afford to show weakness now. It throbs red and has swollen to twice its normal size, so you hide it with the hem of your trousers and pray that no one sees it.
What makes you even more worried than the twisted ankle is the musket wound on your arm. Even though the bleeding has scabbed over, much to your relief, the flesh around it is swollen and the surrounding skin is tight, angry red. Yellow pus is oozing from the wound and even though you've tried to wipe it away as discreetly as possible with your meagre water rations, the area feels tender and you feel your lips cracking faster than what should be normal. Your vision of the horizon sometimes splits into two and your head swims, but you cover the wound with the coat the best you can and will the pain away.
Thrice, Mingi has caught you stumbling, but he obviously thinks you're simply unused to being on a seagoing vessel or that you simply haven't had the chance to stand in a long time. Lucky for you, he doesn't suspect a thing.
Who knows what they might do to you if they see any sign of frailty?
Even after Mingi has explicitly instructed no one to harm you, the crew obviously hold a very deep grudge against you for the broken nose you gave their quartermaster. Their faces sour whenever you so much as glance in their direction and some even flash bared teeth at you. When Mingi deems that you've taken enough of a walk, he ties you back to the main mast, and the next three hours are spent gazing at the endless stretch of sea, wondering when is the next time Mingi will return.
Seonghwa, the cook, comes to feed you every meal. He is kind at heart, you can see, when he does not strip away your dignity by offering to feed you, instead undoing your bonds and allowing you to feed yourself with a spoon. His voice is soft and polite, if a little guarded, and his hands warm and gentle. While you eat, he moves among the crewmen and distributes food and rum, listens to their troubles and rowdy jokes, laughs along with them and they're so happy together it makes your chest ache.
You can't join them. The voyage is long and your dizzy spells are getting longer, but you can't give up now.
Meanwhile, you watch the crew at work.
The captain is rarely on deck. If he has orders to relay, his quartermaster and first mate does it for him, not that you mind (the sight of him terrifies you). You take the time to notice their little nuances, what they do on board.
Anything to distract you from your missing memories and the mounting pain your body is in.
The deck is never really empty, so at least you have a constant source of entertainment and distraction. They seem to still be recovering from the aftermath of their raid of the town, some pirates carrying out their duties with bandages tied over their arms or legs. They perform lighter duties, such as cleaning out the cannon barrels and sifting the gunpowder into bags, while their brethren pack heavy cannonshot and heave on the sails. At times, the lookout descends from his perch in the crow's nest to lead them into a silly jig or song.
You recognise him.
Tall and lean with a mop of soft brown curls that match his lively, vibrant eyes, his smile is infectious, irresistible, almost. There's a childlike nature to him, in the playful way he messes with the crew and they can only give him fond smiles, joking alongside him and teasing him back.
Yunho, you hear his name is.
He's the one who met your eyes back in the town as you were fleeing to the harbor, the one with the massive oak spear in his hand. He mainly stays in the rigging, only coming down to stretch his legs and make conversation with the rest of the crew, but you feel his curious eyes on you even when he's in his usual spot in the crow's nest. You wish he would talk to you, that anyone would acknowledge your presence, but he has orders from his captain. No one would be foolish enough to disobey Hongjoong.
On the third evening, it rains.
When the first drops land on your cheeks, you immediately turn your face up to catch the precipitation falling from the sky. They feel so good against your burning cheeks, sliding down your body and dampening your clothes. You might just be having another dizzy spell again, but you swear you see the raindrops turn to steam after they touch your bare skin.
It's not storming yet, even though the waves are slightly more choppy than usual. Seonghwa glances up at the rain in the middle of dinner and frowns, getting to his feet. From the quarterdeck you hear Mingi shout.
"Men, to sails! We're heading to shore!"
There's an unhappy mumbling as the crew drain the last drops of rum and shove the remaining scraps of salted fish into their mouths, but they rise to their feet and take their stations quickly. You hear a long, drawn out creak of wood as the water pushing against the rudder forces the ship to the left, heading towards a small cove in the stretch of sandy beach they have been travelling along since dawn broke this morning. The rocky cliffs will provide protection from the coming storm and the colour of the water is a deep blue, indicating that the cove is deep enough for the ship to lower the anchor without fear of getting beached.
The opening into the cove is a little narrow but the captain seems unfazed, steering the ship straight into the cove without fear or hesitation. The Treasure glides smoothly into the little cove, and Mingi relays his next orders.
"Furl the sails and drop the anchor!" You catch sight of the quartermaster descending the stairs of the quarterdeck. His nose is looking better already, but he wears a wooden splint on his nose bridge to realign the cartilage. "We have a free night of rest today, crew."
There are cheers echoing all about you. When docked in a small cove such as this one, the constant pitching and rolling of the ship has slowed to a gentle rock, making it much easier for the crew to get deep, uninterrupted sleep below deck. It's no wonder that they are overjoyed... but you'll be left alone on the main deck.
The men secure the sails, coiling excess sheets and shrouds before bundling them with heavy wooden cleats. The yardarms on the three masts are lowered and the ship finally slows to a stop, bobbing up and down on the waves.
And not a moment too late, because all of a sudden, the sky splits open and a torrential storm strikes. For a moment, you wonder if you can drown from the amount of rainwater falling, the droplets the size of beans and the wind howls past your ear. You curl into yourself, grateful to the thick ropes that are keeping you warm but wishing you had something to cover your freezing feet. Once again, as if the heavens have heard you, Seonghwa approaches you with a piece of heavy sacking.
"Here." Is the first word someone has said to you since Mingi tied you to the mast, and his hands are warm and impossibly gentle against you as he tucks the thick, coarse sacking around your shoulders and feet. You manage not to flinch as his fingers brush your ankle, and he straightens up with a frown on his face.
Please don't leave me alone, you want to say.
He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but doesn't. Instead, Seonghwa turns and strides away, following the rest of the crew who are descending below deck into the bunks. There's a final thunk as the hatch slams closed with a resounding finality, and then you're all alone.
It's dark on the deck. The only light comes from behind you, where the captain's cabin is located beneath the quarterdeck. It barely reaches you, faint and wavering, and the rain limits your visibility to just a few feet in front of you.
Seonghwa stops at the captain's cabin for a moment, staring back in your direction, teeth worrying his bottom lip. While he's lost in thought for a moment, the door swings open and someone pulls him inside.
"Dry yourself off." Their navigator, Yeosang, passes him a towel, eyes soft and worried. "You don't want to fall ill."
"Thank you." Seonghwa replies, ruffling his hair dry. The slightly built man returns to study the maps on the table in the middle of the cabin.
"If the storm stops by tomorrow afternoon, we'll be able to reach Tortuga in another few days or so." He declares, poring over the navigational maps. "But we should be careful, Hongjoong-hyung, the Royal Navy might ambush us the closer we get to the port."
Seonghwa turns to see his captain lying back and swinging side to side in his hammock, strung up in the corner of the cabin next to an eyehole overlooking the ocean outside. But there's nothing to be seen, it's completely dark out there.
"I'm well aware of that." Hongjoong replies, absentmindedly tossing one of his daggers in hand. Seonghwa bites back a fond smile.
"Captain, if you keep up that bad habit you might lose your fingers." He chides and Hongjoong snorts in amusement, finally sitting up in the hammock to look straight at Seonghwa.
"And you need to stop calling me captain when we're in close company, or I might use my authority to order you to."
Yeosang lets out a chuckle as he jots down a few notes down in his rutter. "The two of you never change. Seonghwa-hyung, you should go to sleep and get as well rested as you can. It's straight sailing for the next three days or so."
At that Seonghwa pauses. He opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates. It doesn't go unnoticed by Hongjoong.
"Speak your mind, Seonghwa." His captain's gaze is serious and unwavering as the first day he met him. "You know I will not ignore what you say."
At that, Seonghwa relaxes slightly. They've been a crew, a family for years, but Seonghwa still has worries about how Hongjoong might react to certain things. Especially the one he's about to bring up.
"The prisoner we have on board..." He begins, and Yeosang makes a noise of recognition.
"Ah yes, the stowaway you found in the cargo hold who broke Mingi's nose." He comments as he starts to roll up the maps once more, stowing them in their tubes. "I've been charting our course for the next few days, so I haven't seen him yet. Did he cause some kind of trouble?"
Seonghwa shakes his head. "No, he hasn't. In fact, he's been surprisingly well behaved. There's no rebellious behaviour in him, he doesn't react to the crew antagonizing him, and he lets himself be tied up without a fight. He hasn't even asked for more water or anything to cover himself with at night. Yunho says he remains quiet at all times and doesn't speak a word."
He remembers when he put the sackcloth around him earlier, how small and thin the young boy was, how sallow his cheeks were. But his eyes were sad, so sad and mournful, just like Wooyoung's when he had first stepped aboard this ship trailing chains onto the deck. Eyes that had known only loneliness their whole lives.
A dark shadow flashes across his captain's face.
"Might be a ploy to get us to lower our guard." Hongjoong replies, his voice firm but Seonghwa can hear the mistrust in his words. "Things might be different the second we get close to Tortuga and he has a chance to escape."
"I know." Seonghwa swallows uncomfortably and exhales. "But didn't he already mention that he can't remember why he was at Raguza?" Raguza was the town they had raided just three days before.
"If that story was supposed to win my favor, it was sorely lacking." Hongjoong leans back in his hammock, resuming fidgeting with his knife. His eye is dark, expression cold. "How unlucky can a person be, waking up without any recollection of how he came to be dressed in a Royal Navy coat, bound for the gallows when he should be an officer of high prestige and managing to escape onto the one ship in the harbor whose captain bears the most hatred towards the Royal Navy?"
"Him?" Seonghwa offers weakly, but Hongjoong gives him an exasperated glance and he shakes his head. "Your hatred towards the Navy might be clouding your judgement."
"And your kindness yours." His captain retorts, but there's no real bite behind it. "If he does turn out to be a Royal Navy officer who thought this would be an opportune time to steal back their maps and escape at Tortuga, his suffering will be a lot worse than merely being tied to a mast."
"But you cannot deny that there is a chance that he might be telling the truth." Yeosang pipes up from shelving the very maps they were talking about, glancing at the two of them. When they don't speak, he continues. "Temporary short term amnesia is a common symptom among those who have suffered blunt head injuries and the Royal Navy doesn't treat its prisoners kindly."
There's a thoughtful pause, then Hongjoong laughs.
"Always the voice of reason, Yeosang-ie." The captain sighs in amusement, shaking his head. "You've been spending too much time listening to San ramble on."
Yeosang chuckles, but doesn't deny it.
"I'll think about it, Seonghwa." Hongjoong reassures the cook, who reluctantly nods his head. "You should go to sleep. Worry about your own health instead of our stowaway's."
That's the most Seonghwa can do for the prisoner. "I trust you, captain. Goodnight, the two of you."
Seonghwa turns to leave, and Hongjoong calls after him jokingly.
"Call me Hongjoong!"
Seonghwa steps out of the cabin with a chuckle. Yeosang pulls off his boots and lies down on the bed, putting his hands behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. Maybe he should take a look at the new prisoner soon.
He sees Hongjoong stand at the door that Seonghwa has just left, one eye staring out of the glass window onto the deck, where the prisoner is.
Yeosang gives a knowing smile and closes his eyes.
Your body slackens all at once. For three days, you've been hiding the throbbing tenderness of the wound on your shoulder, the agonizing pain in your ankle and the pounding in your head. You feel as if someone is knocking you repeatedly on the inside of your skull with a heavy stick, and all at once your stomach heaves.
You bite your cracked lips and force the food down. No, you can't throw up. That is the only form of sustenance you have to last you, and the captain will surely be displeased if he catches you puking over his deck. Luckily, the nausea subsides and you rest the back of your head against the solid wood of the main mast.
It's cold and hot all at once. Your body burns impossibly hot and your tongue is heavy, as if you haven't drank a mouthful of water for weeks. But it's cold, so frighteningly cold, ice creeping up your veins and the once comforting feeling of rainwater on your body is like torture. You burrow beneath the wet sackcloth, the only barrier between you and the elements, and let out a tiny whimper.
There's no one here to see you break down. You are alone, you're in pain, your memories are lost. You're on a hostile pirate ship and even if they don't kill you on suspicion of being a officer of the Royal Navy, what will you do once you reach Tortuga? You have nowhere to turn, no one to help you. You are alone all over again.
A tiny sob leaves your throat and you hiccup, pressing closer against the main mast. You try again, try to remember something, anything, but all you see is a sheet of white, the sound of ocean waves in your ears. Then pain lances down your head and the back of your neck and you give up your attempt on trying to remember. Remembering is about as easy as trying to catch smoke.
Before you can catch them, tears slip down your face and you bow your head, trying to hide it. But you can't. It spills out of you again and again in waves of soft sobs and muffled whimpers, wracking your body.
The world sways beneath you. Is the sea getting too choppy? Will the waves rise over the sides of the ship? Are you going to die, here, before any life you have truly begins?
I will be with you every step of the way.
Your eyes finally fall shut, unable to bear the weight of the pain you carry.
But you don't hear the footsteps behind you.
Hongjoong steps forward, unflinching against the rain that pelts his body and the wind that bites at his skin. He walks around the main mast, to where Mingi has tied you up.
He observes you silently. You're small, compared to even him, tucked up in sackcloth and held upright only by the ropes that bind you to the mast. He doesn't bother checking the knots, Mingi is more than capable of doing a perfect job.
Your eyes are closed, head lolling forward slightly, mouth a little ajar. You look so peaceful, so harmless that Hongjoong can almost bring himself to believe your story, but then he catches himself.
No. All too easy to fool him into letting his guard down around one of the Royal Navy. Looks are deceiving. You may seem harmless, but even the most adorable of animals have fangs.
The howling wind pulls away the corner of the sackcloth that was tucked behind your shoulder and you shiver in your sleep, curling up on yourself. Hongjoong frowns, and before he can stop himself, reaches out a hand to put it back.
And immediately jerks his hand away.
Hot. You're boiling hot. You should be freezing cold from the rain, he was intending to allow you a warm bed the next day if you just told him the truth about your identity. He touches your neck once more and feels as if he's just placed a hand on one of Seonghwa's pots right after cooking.
He tears the sackcloth away from you with deft hands, noting how dry and cracked your lips are even though he's instructed Seonghwa to give you water rations equal of that to the crew. His eye scans your body for any sign of what could be causing this, when he sees a bloody patch right beneath the rose emblem of the Royal Navy. He pauses in his tracks.
Does he really care if one of the Royal Navy lives or dies?
"But you cannot deny that there is a chance that he might be telling the truth."
Hongjoong grunts at his indecisiveness. If you're a Royal Navy officer, he can always kill you later. Focusing on the task at hand, he tugs the coat from your shoulder, revealing your black undershirt and an ugly gash on your upper arm. The skin around it is obviously swollen and thick, yellow pus is still oozing from the wound, but what is the most worrying are the tiny, red streaks he sees moving up from the wound.
It's infection. He doesn't even need San to tell him that. And from the distance the streaks have moved, it's been infected the day you were tied up on board. A scowl tugs on his lips.
And you said nothing?
He hates that he admires your grit for one so young. Shaking the damp hair out of his eye, he raises a hand and lightly slaps the side of your face.
"Oi, officer, wake up."
You groan a little, eyebrows furrowing, but by the slack muscles of your arms and legs, you're as dead to the world as Yunho. Hongjoong curses under his breath and moves to the knots, undoing them with practiced ease. The ropes loosen and there's a thump as you collapse to the deck in a heap. Hongjoong grabs you from under the shoulders.
"Get up, will you?" He mutters under his breath, supporting all your weight on your feet so he can drag you to the sickbay, but you let out a cry of agony and bury your face in the crook of his neck, much to his shock. He jumps at the contact and almost drops you, but catches you at the last moment, a longer, more vulgar curse leaving his lips when he catches sight of your ankle.
It's swollen.
Hongjoong groans. Is he blind? Yunho's never going to let him live this down if he finds out about this. How did he not notice?
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
He cracks his knuckles and in one smooth motion lifts you up in his arms. You're surprisingly light, as if you haven't been eating enough for a few weeks already. He should get Seonghwa to cook you a hot meal after you recover.
Then he almost pulls away the hand under your shoulders to slap himself in the face. What is he saying? After you recover, it's back to the main mast for you. He still can't trust you, even if he grudgingly admires that you're as tough as his crew members despite being the smallest person on board.
Why did you have to pick his ship?
Shaking away his thoughts, he turns towards to sickbay, feet thudding on wood as he sprints across the deck. Your breathing is shaky and uneven against his throat, and he grunts as he stops in front of the wooden door next to his cabin.
He raises a booted foot to kick on the door as hard as he can.
"San!"