It was past dawn before the pirates caught us. The captain’s hope of friendly sails had not come true.
Nor had his plan to fight.
Wisely, the crewmen ignored their captain’s call to arms. Badly outnumbered, they laid down their weapons and hoped for mercy. The pirates were happy to oblige—the only thing better than looting a ship, after all, was looting a ship without anyone in the way.
The captain’s quarters were by no means protected from the looting, and it was not long before we heard several men enter the outer room. I heard furniture skidding across the floor and small crashes as the pirates tossed items about.
I peered out the tiny crack between the door and the jamb to see a pair of pirates ransacking the place. They were dirty, filthy, covered in the grime of tendays at sea without a bath. The room lay in ruins, each piece of furniture meticulously tipped over. Parchment and shattered wood lay everywhere.
One of the men held a small horn with a leather strap. The other held the arquebus I had seen earlier. They poured smokepowder down the barrel of the oddly-shaped thing—copious amounts of it—far, far too much.
After a moment, the one holding the weapon stepped back, said something, and pointed it directly at the other man, laughing all the while. The other threw his hands up to cover his face and dived backward.
The first pirate lifted his thumb to the hammer at the base of the barrel, pulled back, and let go.
The flash blinded me, the blast deafened me, and the ringing in my ears took a good while to fade. As I reoriented myself, I heard cursing, laughing, and shouting from the next room. The pirates had survived the blast. A shame, I thought.
Then I heard a different kind of blast—the banging of a heavy fist on the door to our barricaded little room.
“The ship’s been surrendered, ye need to be lettin’ us in!” came the call from outside.
“This room is off limits, good sir,” Perrault replied.
“Ain’t nowhere off limits! Open the door!” The banging fist was replaced by a much heavier thud as the man threw his shoulder into the door.
The door had no lock, and the barricade wasn’t especially sturdy—every slam slid the dresser a few inches. It wouldn’t be long before the pirate pushed through. Perrault knew this. He held his sword out—but in his left hand. His right was pressed tightly against his chest, which appeared to be bleeding again, staining his shirt.
“You err badly, sailor. Fetch your captain, and he will confirm: this room is off limits to you.” How Perrault could keep his voice so calm despite his pain and such obvious danger amazed me. I wanted to hide under the bed, or scramble out the porthole, but I took courage from Perrault and did neither. Instead I hid behind Haze, stroking her mane to keep her quiet.
The banging at the door stopped and was replaced by heavy, sharp footsteps. A deeper voice spoke from behind the door.
“I seek the man called Perrault. Open this door.”
Perrault hardly seemed surprised. “Captain Baram, I presume?”
“Indeed.”
Perrault moved the barricade and opened the door, with great effort. Standing patiently was Captain Baram, looking every bit the pirate and every bit the captain all at once. His clothing was similar to Captain Smythe’s outfit, but black instead of blue. His hat was three-pointed, also black, of old and well-worn leather. His face bore the scars of countless battles, and his beard was thicker than Smythe’s, yet it looked regal, neatly trimmed, and well kept. The creases on his face spoke to years of salty ocean winds, his skin as leathery as his hat.
“Come, then, let us speak in private,” said the captain. Perrault nodded, and led Haze and me out of the cabin.
On deck, the pirates had lowered two gang-planks—merely thick slabs of wood—across the gap between the ships. Baram led us across the nearer gangplank onto his ship.
We were not the only ones moving in that direction. A pair of armed pirates stood at the other plank, and a line of prisoners marched across. The crew of Captain Smythe’s vessel were bound at the wrists and ankles then tied together, each to the person in front and behind. They walked with their heads down, hopeless, helpless.
At the back of one of the lines came Joen.
Her head was down, but her eyes were not. They peeked out from beneath the tangle of her hair. No fear filled those eyes, not even the resignation so visible in the older crewmen.
Her roaming gaze settled upon me. She, a captive, tied to the captive in front of him, looked at me, walking free, walking behind the pirate captain himself. Joen slowed and lifted her head. The pirate guard prodded her hard with the hilt of his cutlass, but Joen didn’t flinch or lower her gaze. She looked directly at me, and whispered something. And though she only whispered, and a great distance stood between us, I heard her clearly.
“I forgive you.”
Forgive me for what? I wanted to shout. But Joen had already walked across the plank and out of sight, into the hold below.
Perrault tugged on my arm and I continued walking, following him and Baram to the pirate captain’s quarters.
Once there, Captain Baram opened a glass cabinet—not glass, I realized, but a magical glass known as glassteel, infinitely more solid and expensive than normal glass—and withdrew a dusty bottle. He poured a thick brown liquid into two glasses then looked at me and smiled. He reached for a third glass and moved as if to pour, but a look from Perrault stopped him. Captain Baram laughed and put the bottle away.
“To good health and good fortune,” Baram said, raising his glass.
“Both come to those who seek it,” replied Perrault, tapping his glass to the captain’s.
“And to those who are shown it!” Baram replied, roaring with laughter.
“Your fortune and mine are the same. That I sought it and you found it is no coincidence.”
“Ah, but only if I deliver you where you wish. I am a pirate, after all, and Waterdeep is out of my way. Why should I take you there, when it would be more profitable to return home with my new goods, and a valuable prisoner to boot?”
“Your reputation speaks otherwise, good sir.”
“Indeed, indeed, and the other pirates will not cease to tease me about it!” Again came that great belly laugh, and Perrault joined in. “Very well, very well. Waterdeep it is. We should be there inside four days.”