The Pirate King Ch. 24

I looked down at the metal in my hands. It bit at my flesh. "No," I said.

Minnie scowled. "What do you mean, no?"

"No," I said again. "I do not want to be King." I turned to look at the Captain. He was watching me with a strange expression on his face. As if he had recognized something he should not be able to recognize. As if he had found himself in a place he knew, only it was impossible that he could have ever been there before.

Fate, I thought, as I began to walk towards him. His hands fell down, palms up. Open. Ready. "But I would sail with the King."

"What are you talking about." It was not a true question. He knew, his body, his soul already humming with veracity. I pressed the crown into his ready hands, closing them around the cold metal.

"No," Minnie said.

The Captain did not say anything. He looked up into my eyes, and his brows were drawn down in thought, but his soul was falling in place and I could see the way it made him feel at home.

"This is not how things are done," Minnie hissed. "It stays in the family."

I pointed at Dreyfus's body. "The family is dead, Minnie." I saw the way her face exploded with anger, and I knew it was not directed at me. She refused to look me in the eye, staring towards the corner of the room instead. "The throne killed us all. I, a ghost, Miranda half in each world. Val turned to the land. There is no one left." I pressed the words gently against her stubborn form. "The family was wrong for the crown."

"The King should be the sea," she pressed back.

"Then the King shall be the sea," and I was talking to the Captain, not Minnie, "just as surely as he is the sky. As surely as it was his hand that killed a sea god, his lips that drank his blood and made him eternal, as it was his hundred siren wives that birthed an army of a thousand blessed sons. As sure as his love for a simple prisoner that he captured from a merchant ship."

I bit of my soul unknotted as I drew a laugh from the Captain. "Now that's a fairy tale."

"You're a fairy tale, my love." I squeezed his hands in mine. The smile had again dropped from his face; his eyes were serious on mine. "You are the story."

His eyes searched my face. "Do I have to be?"

"No." Never, I thought. Never will you be forced to take any path so long as I am by your side. "If you want," I told him, meaning every word, "I will throw the crown to the sea, and we will burn this ship to the ground, and then we will sail South. And live. And love. And forget any of this ever happened." I held his hands around the crown. It was warm between our palms. "It does not have to be our concern."

"Like fuck it doesn't," Minnie snapped. I ignored her. She had raised me, but I was my own man now. I held the only life I needed in my hands. The future I wanted looked at me, his brows drawn in though, his eyes holding the stars.

"If you want to go, we'll go," I told my love. "If you want to be King, I will stand by your side."

"Christ." He ran his hand through his hair, then did it again. "Is there a middle ground?"

I shrugged. "There could be."

"No." I had never seen Minnie so angry. "There ain't no fuckin' middle ground. You run, or you stay and do the work, and don't you go thinkin' runnin'll be any easier 'cuz I'll haunt you every day of yer damn life. I'll curse ya, the ground you walk, the ships ya sail. You hear me? Make up your mind, make it up real good, 'cuz if you choose to run yer never comin' back and I'll make damn sure of it so pick the North and the crown or pick a life runnin' in true fear you absolute liver of a -"

"The Crown," the King replied. "I choose the crown."

Minnie stuttered to a stop. And it had been the King that had answered her, there could be no question. I had seen the moment he decided, halfway through her speech. I don't think he'd truly been listening to her. He had been looking into my eyes, and I had been watching the darkening of his as he realized what lay before him. There was a shift that came as his soul tipped on his verity. It was a power that no crown could convey, a truth that existed within the world unbound by expectation, uncreated by man. He was King.

I watched my love become named, and his smile had never been so beautiful.

***

My love wore his new name well.

The Captain did not wear the crown. I had never worn it; if my brother had, it would surprise me. It was an ornate and outdated trinket that was important only as a symbol. I knew, through tale and record, that this particular crown was the fourth one to be created, all exactly the same. Like the King, it was important to have an unbroken line.

We'd done a better job with the crowns.

It was easy to determine what men had been on the ship willingly and which were trapped by Dave's deal. They sorted themselves when we walked out on deck, alive. When they realized that meant the one who negotiated their deals was dead.

Men wept, from fear and from relief. Rex came to my side, fell to his knees, begged forgiveness as tears streamed down his face. Some men tried to fight. Others threw themselves from the ship, preferring to negotiate their own contracts with the Black God.

Our men swarmed the ship as soon as they saw the commotion. We could have quelled the fighting men without their help; with them there, we did not even have to lift arms. The ship was ours in minutes.

The ship had been ours the moment my love had accepted the crown. He stood beside me, looking out over the gathered men. Half were bound and angry, their weapons taken from their hands. The other half milled about aimlessly, or sat on piles of rope, or laid out on the deck and looked up to the sky, exhausted. Relieved.

Natch came and went. The Captain gave him orders and said nothing of being King. I grabbed Finn as he went past and asked after Cookie - in his kitchen, I was told, Finn's tone implying the answer should be obvious. I sent Finn to fetch him.

"So." The Captain kept his voice low and between us. His eyes were on the men spilling over the deck.

I knew what he was asking. "When you decide what to do with them, we'll open the portal. Dave will be waiting."

"Why can't you speak with him?"

I inclined my head, and the Captain made a face. He was King. There was work to be done.

Finn was back, looking annoyed. He told me Cookie didn't want to come over - I reminded him that I had not sent him with a suggestion. He turned around and went back.

"Why don't we use this ship's cook?"

I shrugged. I needed Minnie and Alan to see each other, and sooner was better than later. Besides, I trusted Alan to listen to me. "What will you do with the men?"

The Captain's eyes turned dark. "Let there be consequences for their actions."

My oceans took in the weight of his words, making them heavy and churning. "And the men who had no choice?"

He sighed. "Could you negotiate more deals for them?"

"Dave won't deal with me." Not anymore. I glanced down, watching his brows draw together in thought. "He might deal with the King."

"I have no desire to deal with that man." He sighed, then, deep and long. "Is there anywhere they can go where Dave won't find them?"

I thought of Sneg's stories, the men that had taken refuge in the mountains after my death ate their deals. "The land," I said. The turn of the Captain's mouth told me what decision he would make if he had to choose - it was unfathomable, a life without the sea. I traced my hand down his arm until my hand rested over his. He would never have to make that decision. He flipped his palm over and entwined his fingers in mine, holding me tight.

"We could drop them off at the mainland. Guarantee safe passage." My voice was quiet. The words tasted like dust in my mouth. "Although I doubt many will choose such an option."

"I'll give them the choice all the same." And with one last tight squeeze he set off to explain to these damned men their fates.

Finn was back again. Again, he told me that Cookie did not want to leave his ship. He looked nervous this time - it's possible he realized he had stepped into something much more than it appeared to be. When I sent him back this time, it was with the threat that if Cookie did not appear, I would fire him and replace him with the cook from the King's ship. Finn looked sick at the suggestion, or maybe at having to deliver such a message, but he turned and went.

I would never fire Cookie, and he knew it. The threat was not his termination. The threat was Minnie in his kitchen. I leaned against a mast and waited.

The Russian arrived, looking quite pleased with himself. "It is good to be back on this ship, brat. A fine ship. Many memories." He looked around comically before leaned in to whisper, "I think I like the one we sail better, chestno govorya."

"Aye." The Captain was making his way through the scattered men. At each exhausted form he would stop to shake the man's hand. I could see greetings and introductions pass across the space between them. And then he would take a breath and explain how they would die. He would point to the mast, where the tied men stood - go there to die at sea today. He would point at a cleared space on the other side of the ship - go there to hide on land until you die, dry, afraid, running. An impossible choice. A terrible conclusion. The man he was speaking to now was crying, the Captain holding his hands in his, speaking softly. "Our ship is the better of the two."

"Then we'll burn this one?"

A man who had stood by the mast began to walk to the other side; halfway, he stopped and turned again, then turned again, and again, until he simply gave up and laid down there on the deck. Men stepped over him as they chose the course of their damnation. "I do not ever want to sail on this ship again, Ivan."

The Russian grinned huge, clapping me on my arm. I barely noticed as he left, my attention focused on the Captain's thankless task.

"You can open it yerself." My threat had worked. Alan walked across my father's ship for the first time perhaps in decades. He looked as uncomfortable as I was to see these boards. A bag of salt rested in his hands. "You don't need me."

"What," I asked him as I took the offered salt, "protections are on this ship?"

He crossed his arms tight and high over his chest. "Gods, boy. Just what are you - fuck!" He jumped, narrowly avoiding a kitchen knife aimed at his feet. He stared down at it, more angry than surprised, seemingly unwilling to look up to find the inevitable source.

Minnie was storming over the deck. She churned slow and low and deadly, a Northern gale in full force. I watched, amused, as she pushed Ichor out of her way as if he was not the type of sailor that could give even me pause. Ichor stepped forward, then back, then forward again, unsure if he should stop this angry woman from making her way across the deck unhindered. He glanced in her path and found me.

I waved him down. There was nothing in all the worlds that could stop Minnie.

Alan leaned down and pulled the knife up from the floorboards. He looked it over, making a face. I saw him look it over three times more, twice more than he needed to, a convenient excuse to ignore the tempest headed his way. When Minnie stomped to a stop directly in front of him, he sighed.

"Tool," he said, and handed her the knife.

She snatched it from his hand. "Weapon."

"You nicked the blade."

"Knives are meant to be used, not kept as decoration." The words fell from her mouth automatically; these were old arguments. "The last time I saw you, you'd abandoned your kitchen."

Alan scowled at the ground. "Your kitchens abandoned me."

I stepped in before they could dig in too deep. "Minnie, Alan is our cook."

"And I bet he does a right shit job of it."

I sighed. "I was hoping you two could lift the protections on this ship."

"Can't be done," Minnie was quick to reply. Alan said nothing. "Too ingrained. Too old."

"I just need to be able to burn it."

But Minnie was shaking her head. "We lift the right protections, the whole thing goes up in dust. This ship is ancient, held together by spell work and -"

"Blood." Minnie snapped her mouth shut, looking at her brother. He scraped his toe over the small nick she'd put in the floor. "Damn thing's held together by blood."

Minnie was the one with crossed arms now. She watched him, her eyes narrowed, as he bent to press his finger against the wood. His sigh propelled him back to standing. "I'll need three hours. And supplies, from my kitchen."

"I've everything you need. And it's impossible." Minnie stepped a bit closer, looking at the place he'd been inspecting. "The Hungry One?"

"Are you mad? Do you want us to die? Tell Finn I'll need camphor and - blast, I'll get my own." He began walking back towards the other ship. "Do you think that could work?"

"Not with the shit you -"

I left them to their bickering, content they would find a way.

***

The Captain looked exhausted when he returned to my side. "Where's Cookie?" he asked.

I held up the bag of salt. "Anyone can open the gate."

He nodded. I waited for him to give me further instructions, but he simply stood there, staring at a spot of air between his eyes and the ground. When my hand landed on his waist he started.

"Sorry." His hands came up to scrub at his face. "I'm ready."

"You don't have to be." He nodded again and I pulled him into me, feeling his breath enter and leave his frame. I set the pace of my tides to his rhythm; I existed framed in his life. My fingers traced up his arm, then pushed back errant curls from the curve of his neck until they landed on his chin. I caught a flash of his smile as I leaned down to kiss him.

I could taste exhaustion on his lips. There were remnants of fear, hesitation that I did not think would leave until we were gone from this place. And I swear to you, as he wrapped his arms around my neck, as my love kissed me back, I tasted the sweetness of fate, pressed up against the shape of our future.

When I pulled away, his eyes were filled with constellations. I clasped my hands behind his back, holding him tight, and set my direction against those stars. He was smiling, and I couldn't have stopped myself from smiling back if I had tried.

"Ready," he told me, and I saw that he was.

I kissed him again anyway. I liked the press of his eternity against my tongue. He pulled away laughing, sunshine catching in his curls and spinning out over the deck.

We followed the trails the sunlight left, our hands entwined. The smile fell from my love's face all too soon. There were too many men waiting for death. This ship was too hungry to sustain such an easy happiness. But his hand was light in mine, and his steps had purpose. I walked with him and drew out our circle of salt.

Most men kept back. Rex came to stand by my side. He had stood with me many times as I made deals with Dave. It felt right to have here again. I thanked him with a hand on his shoulder, light and nearly painful in its familiarity. His hand rested briefly on mine, his face quiet and finally at peace. I didn't ask him if he had chosen death or the land. I didn't have to. He stepped over the salt, sitting down at the center of the circle.

The Captain frowned. "You don't have to -"

"There has to be an initial gift. Or he won't come."

The Captain looked to me to confirm his words. Under normal situations, Rex would be correct. But these were no normal circumstances. I had the feeling that with so many dead sailors on this ship, Dave would be completely unable to resist our call, initial sacrifice or not.

Still. "It will show goodwill," I told my love.

I could see on the Captain's face that he was not entirely comfortable with this. Rex watched us from within the salt circle, eyes tired. Face set.

"He wants this," I said softly. The Captain nodded.

Rex leaned forward. "When you're ready."

I pressed my palm tight against my love's. "Do it," the Captain commanded.

I do not think Dave waited for us to knock. The floor dropped from beneath Rex's body as his knuckles hit the boards - or perhaps it was only Rex that dropped, the floor having never been there at all, the solidity of the wood as a barrier between our world and Davey Jones's nothing but a convenient illusion.

The stench spilled over the deck, stale and musty and damp. I saw the Captain's head tilt up as the slow pour crept over his feet, watched as his face settled into the disaffected expression he wore only when truly angry.

When I turned back to the doorway, Dave was emerging.

He took care in his entrance, perhaps trying to impress those he knew would be watching. He traveled up the inner perimeter of our salt circle as if he were ascending a spiral staircase, each step deliberate and precise. An empty smile was pressed on his lips. His skin shimmered in iridescence, making it hard to define his outline. His eyes traced each corner of the deck with a meticulousness born from callousness; he wanted us to wait. He wanted to see if he could make us come to him.

The Captain - the King - crossed his arms. There was only so many things to see that were not us. I smiled as he watched the shadows break from the shimmering mass that was the God of Death, Davey Jones himself, and played his games better than the god ever could.

Dave's slitted eyes were narrowed when he finally turned our way. He made as if to speak to me, then stopped. I watched as his eyebrow raised in what I thought might be surprise. I watched as that expression darkened into something I knew was contempt.

A flash of rage pass over his normally controlled face as he turned to the Captain. My love, I thought. You have made death very, very angry. I could not keep the smile from my face.

"Your Majesty." His voice sapped from him, unfit for consumption, as he made a mock bow in our direction. "Why have you summoned me?"

"You were already coming."

"Perhaps." Dave's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you have something that belongs to me." He pointed to the cowering men behind us.

The Captain shook his head. "Those men will not be going back to you. They are under my protection."

"You don't have the right to make that decision." The words sat like stagnant water.

"If they chose to return to you, then they will. Until then, we will put them on land." Disgust flooded Dave's face. The Captain continued before he had a chance to speak. "There are men who chose to return to you today. You will treat them with respect - they didn't have to make that decision." He paused for a moment, searching the Black God's face. "Blame Dreyfus for this. It was your bad deals with him that got you here."

"Was it now?" Dave smiled wider than a smile should be able to smile. "And what deals were those?"

"Ask him." The Captain made a motion. Dreyfus's body was brought forward. I watched my love carefully as the body was unceremoniously dumped on the deck before him, but the Captain did not show any care, his face impassive, his eyes on Dave. "I think this belongs to you."

Dave leaned back. He licked his lips, his eyes on the body of my brother. I turned away so I did not have to see the gleam in his eye.

"Those men," the Captain continued, "will also return with you. They do not want to come back. Their return in not negotiable." He paused. "You don't have to treat them as anything at all."

"You'll hear no argument from me." Shadows ripped out from the sea all around us; men screamed as they were drug bodily into the sea. The men who had agreed to return crowded around each other, fearful and contained in the black, writhing mass.

Dave took a slight step to his side, his smile ever in place. "You may take the stairs," he crooned to the closest of those grouped men. We watched as his tendrils guided them over the salt circle. One by one the men descended into the stagnant blackness, as all around us living darkness chased men, their terror making their paths fast and stupid.