The Pirate King Ch. 12

Each time his fingers reached a scar they paused. There were many pauses; it did not take away from the flow of his movements, but rather enhanced it with a rhythmic quality that I found incredibly soothing. He never asked after any of the marks he found. I think there were simply too many; it would have taken too much time.

I was covered in scars, from head to toe. You do not grow up fighting and not have the marks to show for it. And so there were the battle wounds, the knife slices, the stabs. The swords I hadn't dodged quite quickly enough. A thousand men's deaths, written on my body for all to see.

But there were many other scars, ones that had served a different purpose. Ceremonial. Ritual. Minnie had taught me blood magic, Cassandra a bit more. I was not always dealing with the sea, an entity that would respond to my emotions, my thoughts. My dreams. There were other things in the world. Hungry things. There were times where it was necessary to give of myself to gain their attention.

There were times when it was prudent to turn their attention away.

And then, of course, there was my back.

The Captain pushed me forward and I leaned my face so that it nearly touched the water, exposing those scars to him. He hesitated for only a moment before rubbing the soap over my back, his fingers applying the gentlest of pressures. My body, already relaxed, floated apart.

When he pulled me back to him I thought he might say something. About the King, about our shared pasts. Instead he said, "You got a haircut."

"Yes." I raised a hand to the still-soapy locks. "Do you like it?"

He hesitated long enough that I actually stared to get nervous. (How could this man always do this to me? I faced down the strongest sea witch of our age, had stood on the lip of an active volcano that she controlled and locked her to the shore - and this man made me nervous when I asked him about my hair?)

"It makes you look less shaggy," he finally said. "A little more scary." He put his fingers into the length at the top and my body responded with a shudder. He tilted my head back to where our eyes could meet. "So long as there's enough for me to grab, I'm happy." A sudden frown appeared on that face, those eyebrows snapping together. "But you know you can do whatever you want with your hair. Don't. Because of me. You know?"

I smiled at him softly. I knew. He also knew that at the end of the day, I would always keep enough length for him to grip, and that was just as much for me as it was for him.

"I'm gonna dunk you now, okay?" I nodded, letting him press me beneath the surface of the clean water.

I took a moment to enjoy the feeling of suspension before I focused on the Captain's hands slipping over my body, through my hair, shucking suds from my body. All too soon he was pulling me back to the surface.

I smiled and shook my hair out, causing him to laugh. "Your turn," I told him, but he was already dunking his own head.

"No offense," he told me, "but I just don't think you're used to handling this much hair."

I snorted and pulled him towards me before he could protest further. On the stool I found a shampoo that I had used to enjoy back before my hair had been taken from me, and I worked that into the Captain's scalp. Soon he was floating before me, his eyes closed and soft noises of enjoyment falling from his lips.

I didn't dunk him to rinse his hair, but instead pulled the warm water up and let it trickle through his curls. He sighed each time I pressed another handful to his head, melting in my arms further. When I had all the shampoo out I began rooting about on the stool next to the tub.

"Whatcha looking for?" he mumbled, sounding half asleep.

He had the wrong kind out. I pulled myself from the water, causing him to jump.

"Fuck, Sailor." He frowned up at me as I moved across the room. "You're getting water on the floor."

I ignored him, rooting through the cabinets. I had brought back a bottle of my favorite maker's concoction back with me the last time I had visited; if Val had not stocked this, of all rooms, with the stuff I would be disappointed.

"Sailor," the Captain complained. "Get back over here."

I found what I was looking for in the back of the cabinet, still mostly full. I grabbed it and headed back to the the tub, slipping in with barely a ripple.

"Fuck," the Captain voiced grumpily, returning to my arms. I began pulling the conditioner through his curls, separating them gently. when it was all worked through I braided the length of it, then slipped the end back into the main twist.

"Let that soak in," I instructed.

"It smells amazing." His eyes were closed; his head drifted to settled on my shoulder. I moved him so that he was against the side of the tub so that I could find my way into his arms. He cracked open one eye to look down at me. "How do you know how to do all of this?"

I shrugged. "I used to have more hair."

He snorted. "No shit." His hand when back into my short locks, running through the silky lenghts. "What happened?"

"The mines."

His hand froze for a moment, then continued. "Of course. I'm sorry."

I nestled into his chest. He had nothing to apologize for.

"I can barely imagine you with long hair," he murmured behind me. I felt him tug lightly on the locks and hummed in pleasure. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Aye," a voice agreed from the doorway. "He is, isn't he?"

The Captain jumped. I didn't. I'd known Val was in the room the moment he'd opened the door.

I lifted my head to watch him sniff the air, knowing he was smelling the conditioner I had in the Captain's hair. "You found that shit?"

I shrugged. "It's the best."

"It'd better be. Shit's expensive." He leaned against the doorway. "I've got your boy downstairs." He paused. "Looks a bit worse for wear, but I've got him."

"You didn't hurt him," the Capitan told him. It wasn't a question, but rather a promise. I raised my eyebrow and looked up at him.

But Val was barely phased. "Think he did that well enough with the drink last night. Better get down there." He looked to me. "He could use a Breakfast Special." Then he was gone, two towels left in his place.

"Huh," I said.

The Captain looked down at me.

"We forgot about towels." I tugged at his shoulder. "Rinse."

***

Within the hour we were down on the brothel floor.

The Captain stopped me right before we turned to join the others. "Come back with me."

I didn't answer, just tightened my hand on his. His hair was still wet, dripping lightly on his white shirt and pressing windows of translucence against his skin. I reached out to touch one but he didn't let me. I watched him as he whirled from me, then sighed and followed him into the room.

"What the fuck," I heard Natch say. He sounded drained. "Can we go back now?"

I caught up to the Captain and stood close to him, but not touching. I knew this was a delicate moment for him. It was for me. I hated leaving him, but it was necessary.

"Donno," the Captain snapped. "Can we?"

I winced. I wanted my happy Captain back, warm and relaxed in the bath. But that time was past; it was now time to deal with what the present brought. And what the presence brought was one of Val's men.

"Finn requests your presence."

The Captain frowned further at the sudden appearance, as well as the pronouncement of knowledge that he should not have. "How the fuck would you -"

The man bowed and floated off into the brothel.

The Captain turned to me. He pointed in the direction the man had come from. "The fuck?"

I shrugged. "Val might be watching your ship."

"Might be?" The crossed arms were back. "What does that mean?"

"He's watching your ship," I confirmed. Val watched everything. "How is Finn?"

"Why is he watching the ship?"

"Because he watches everything." I watched Natch out of the corner of my eye; he looked more hungover than I had seen a man in a long time. "I think you should take Natch back."

"He -" The Captain paused and looked over to Natch. "Fuck."

I could no longer hold back; I would be without the Captain for another month. To not touch him now was pointless. I pulled him into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry."

He let me hold him, but didn't hug back. I could feel his surliness in the limpness of his arms. "For what?"

For the fact that we had to leave. For all the stress you've been through in the last day. For not being able to come with you. "For my brother."

"Fuck that." His arms snaked around my waist and hooked into the back of my breeches. "Fuck him."

I smiled quietly into his hair, knowing that all was well. We stayed like that for a bit, until I blew a breath of warm air into his head all at once. He grumbled at me.

"Natch," I reminded him quietly. He nodded. "I'll walk you down."

"To the ship?"

"Close." It wouldn't do to be seen by the ship; they would want me to come on board. And I couldn't do that. I'd never leave. Plus, being at the docks made my soul itch.

We gathered the slightly shocked Natch up and gently prodded him through the streets. I guided the Captain into a conversation about the ship and the men's well-being as best I could. He didn't want to talk about it; he wanted to walk, silently, his arm around my waist. He'd pulled up my shirt and his fingers were light against my midriff.

"Finn is fine," he grumbled. "Thron is fine, everyone is fine."

Natch made a face. The open air of the street seemed to be doing him good. "Everyone is not fine. Ichor is dead."

I raised an eyebrow at the Captain.

"Fine," he admitted. "Ichor is not fine. But he's not not fine, because he's dead. He's just not existing anymore. So. Not worth thinking about." His fingers had found my hipbone, making it hard for me to concentrate on his words.

I pulled his hand back up to a less distracting spot. "What happened?"

"Wicky," Natch started, while the Captain let his hand fall back down and said, "Nothing."

They stared each other down for a moment.

"Nothing," the Captain repeated, and this time Natch didn't contradict him.

I sighed and removed his hand from my side completely. He glared up at me but softened when I gently laced his fingers through mine. "Wicky?"

"Middle of the night," he told me. Since his fingers couldn't be against me, he seemed determined to press his body as close to me as possible. It made walking difficult. "I think he knew his time was up. He slipped out with a few of his men."

"Ichor tried to stop him," Natch put in. "They slit his throat." He and the Captain both made quick signs of respect for the dead.

I thought about that for a moment. I had liked Ichor, in the end. I had plans for him, a place for him on the Captain's ship. That was too abrupt a conclusion, killed at the hands of someone so bland as Wicky.

"Was he buried with silver?"

The Captain shot me a frustrated look. Of course he was; the Captain would have seen to it.

"And gold," Natch told me anyway.

I nodded and squeezed the Captain's hand even as my feet came to a stop.

The Captain immediately stopped as well. "What is it?"

The harbor was around the bend. I could feel it in my stomach, in my bones. In the way my feet hadn't wanted to stop, but wanted to speed up, to run. The way my body was reverting back to unsettled, uncomfortable, like I'd never quite gotten my land legs.

I hadn't, not quite, but I was close and I was determined to keep them. It was embarrassing to lurch about when you were with someone so graceful as Val.

"This is as far as I go," I told them with as much conviction as I could muster. My body screamed to go further; for the Captain, for the sea, for the ships that creaked just past this row of houses. But I had to stay here.

"You can't come with?" Natch looked sad; the Captain wouldn't look at me at all.

"I'm waiting for Sneg," I admitted. I wasn't sure if I should tell this to Natch, wasn't sure how he'd react, but his face lit up like a sunrise and I couldn't help but smile back.

"More important than coming with me," I thought I heard the Captain mutter, and I pulled him in for a deep kiss.

"No," I reminded him when we broke. "But I promised you a ship. And you promised me a crew."

I felt him sigh. "I just miss you."

I knew. I felt the holes in my soul already threatening, just at the thought of him walking away. I squeezed his arms to show my understanding and he sighed again.

"One more month," I told him quietly.

"You'd better not be fucking late."

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

I watched them leave, feeling the weight that was loss settle over my shoulders, heavy and thick. I dug my fingers into my arms to keep myself from running after the pair, Natch back to shambling, the Captain stiff and careful. I had never seen him move so deliberately.

He never looked back. I was thankful for that. I hated him for it. By the time they turned the corner my fingernails had drawn blood.

I watched the road a moment more, waiting to see if they would come back. I knew they wouldn't, but my body wasn't ready yet to move. It was so heavy, so dense with all the things that came rushing in after the Captain left and yet so filled with emptiness. I took a moment to readjust to the contradiction I became when not in my love's presence.

When I turned around, I found Val behind me.

"So," he said.

"So." It was back to business, now. I had things to do, people to see. Val had a glint in his eye that said he'd rather talk about other things, perhaps the gifts he'd left me (us, my body reminded me; I couldn't think of that then, had trouble thinking of him when he was so close and yet so unattainable) but I was moving forward; I couldn't dwell on the past. Not when the past held the Captain.

The future held the Captain. I had to get there. Fast.

I took in a deep breath. I didn't think Val was going to like this. "Where do they keep the prisoners on this island."

Val looked confused for a moment, then his face darkened. "Oh," he said, his hands coming to rest on his hips. "Oh,hell no."

***

"This is the stupidest idea you've had since you've been back."

Val was leaning on the damp wall of the cells, watching me go from cell to cell. A quick glance, few quiet words, that was all it took to see if they were acceptable; then it was on to the next one.

"I mean, you're dead. What's to say that Dave doesn't just grab you? Claim your dead ass for him?"

I didn't have an answer to that. I hadn't had an answer to that the first time he'd brought it up, or the second. Or all the subsequent times. All I could tell him was that it wasn't a portal, just a doorway; I was just going to be knocking. Maybe Dave wouldn't even answer. That had happened before.

"With you knocking? Dead?"

"Nameless," I reminded Val. "Maybe he won't recognize me." It was something I was actually worried about. These kinds of trades relied on past relationships, the trust built up over years of smaller trades and meetings. Jumping into a named trade?

"Maybe that's a good thing. You promised yourself to him, brother, remember? He's not going to be pleased that you're dead and not his."

I ignored him. There was nothing to be done about it.

The man in the second to last stall nodded to me. He didn't look fearful or upset, just resigned. And he wasn't sick, or injured. A fair trade, I thought. A bit small, but under all that dirt I thought he would clean up nice, and that counted for something with Dave. I nodded back. "Val," I called.

Despite all his reservations, he was the one who had gone out and found the supplies we needed, had nagged me about the right salt, not from the sea but from the mines up in the mountains, the best runes. "About time," he muttered now. He came over to me and handed me a small bag.

I showed the man where to kneel, then let myself into his cage. He knew what would happen if he ran and didn't try; I was thankful for that. It would be a waste to kill him before the ceremony.

The salt circle was poured quickly, and poured thick. The man followed my motions with eyes that were intelligent but tired. It will be better for you where you are going, I promised silently. A fresh start. A new chance.

I handed him a slip of paper. When I had written it the words had been red, metallic. The cut on my forearm still throbbed - I had not had time to wash it yet in the sea. Now the words had faded to a dull brown, belying the importance they held. The power they contained.

"Are you ready," I asked. When he hesitated, I crouched before him. "You can still say no."

"I want this." He didn't sound especially solid, but he did sound sure. "Gotta be better than dancing at the end of the rope."

I nodded. It was. I handed him two pieces of silver and one piece of gold, stamped with Dave's insignia. He ran his fingers reverently over the horned figure. "Davey Jones, then."

I watched him.

He sighed, closing his fist around the metal. "I did always want to meet him."

He didn't say what we both knew. If he took his end on land, like he was supposed to, he would never reach the death god's realm. If the executioners did bury him at sea, which they almost never did, they would strip him of all precious metals first, take anything he could use to pay his fares, and he would wander forever, lost, in the cold currents of the cross worlds.

I was offering him a sailors death. It was good that he took it.

"Ready?" I asked again.

"Aye." He closed his eyes. His hands were tight around the coins.

"Val." I looked back to my brother, but he shook his head.

"Nope." He'd gone back to leaning on the stone, his shirt becoming damp from the dewing air. "You leave me the fuck out of this."

I shrugged and turned back to the man before me. Fair. Dave had never liked Val, and Val Dave. Something about expectations, or lack of trust. But we had done many deals before, Dave and I. My old personal guard had almost all held the marks of spending time in his halls.

I briefly wondered where those men might be before forcing my attention back to the task at hand. There would be time for that later. Now, I had to get this right.

I lay my hands just on the right side of the salt circle - my side of the circle. The side of the living. Then I did the only thing I could do.

I knocked.

There was a moment of complete silence before the floor opened up, and the man before me was swallowed into darkness so complete there was no hope of seeing where he had gone.

"Hope you gave him enough to pay," Val intoned drily, but I had, and besides he had come in living and his soul would be another token. Dave would treat him right.

But would he honor the bounds of an unsigned trade?

I watched the sudden hole in the floor before me, demarcated by a salt boundary, the darkness endless and discomforting in it's strangeness. It looked almost like a puddle, the shadow was so thick. So viscous. As though I could reach out and scoop up a handful of it, bring it over to Val so that we might examine it in greater detail. But I knew to do that was foolish - reaching down into Davey Jones's lair was something even I was not prepared to do. His was another world, and one I had no intention to see prematurely. And yet, here I was, sitting in a cellar staring down into it...

Strangely, I found myself missing the Captain. It's the same color of his eyes, I thought. And he would laugh, to see such a sight, so out of place in the cells.

Even as I thought of him, I scowled. Was there nothing that did not remind me of him?

As I considered the implications of that, the idea of living a life where everything was the Captain, every breath, every memory, every moment (and I have to admit, it was not an unattractive idea), the stillness of the black pool before me was shattered as a hand thrust upward. I was so shocked that I almost forgot to react. It was only as the hand came down towards my salt circle that I reached forward and grasped the reaching fingers, pulling upward with all my might. I had no intention of letting this body destroy my salt lines; the last thing I needed was to curb an infestation of the restless dead.