Chapter Text
“Ship off the port bow, cap’n!”
A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth and he gazed into the crowsnest where his look out, Neville, was holding a spyglass to his eye. He swiped a steady hand through his auburn hair and peered out at the open sea spread out in front of him like a great blanket of blue and white. They had been waiting for this for weeks now, a ship. The men had been getting restless, he was getting restless. They needed action, a bounty to quiet the anxious men, a share to spend on ale and whores in the port cities.
He couldn't tell the origin from this distance without a spyglass and called for his first mate, a large exotic man whom he named Roman. “Can you see who we might be dealing with?”
Roman, a native of the land of Samoa, was an imposing sort with deep olive skin and long black hair. The men called him a demon thanks to his ferocious nature in battle and the large tattoo that covered the length of his arm. Captain Ambrose made it a point to befriend the man when they had picked him up at port, sold to him as cheap labor. He turned out to be an avid sailor and a confidant. Someone Ambrose could not live without.
He also took none of the captains nonsense, which he needed.
He approached the port bow and stood alongside the captain, still smirking at the way the crew parted for the Samoan. “Do you ever tire of them being afraid of you?”
“When it is no longer useful, then yes.” He answered with a huge grin that earned him a friendly clap on the shoulder. He handed the spyglass over and waited patiently. “Who be it, Dean?”
If it were anyone other than Roman, it would have been ten lashes for being so improper to the captain, but as it were, Dean just lifted the piece to his eye and watched, reading the situation and it's earning potential. In these waters, odds of an English military ship were just as likely as a Spanish galleon filled with gold, or, at the very least, something worth ransoming.
As a pirate, if he attacked the wrong type and lost, he'd be hanged publicly for piracy, his crew would probably meet a similar fate, or they could be sent to work in camps on the mainland. None of that sounded acceptable.
“Appears Spanish.” He said, the smirk still at the corner of his mouth. The ship wasn't running flags, which was unusual, but not unheard of. Many in these waters would pull in their colors in hopes of avoiding a pirate attack. It didn't usually work. “No colors.”
“Could be a trick.” Offered Roman.
Yes, it very well could be. If his ship had seen them, the odd were high they had been spotted as well. He didn't see any signs of military on what little he could see of the deck, but the ship looked too small to be a military vessel anyway. He dropped the spyglass and looked at Roman with a twinkle in his eye he knew got under the large Samoans skin. “Raise the colors, get the men to their stations. We're taking that ship.”
Roman sighed, but obeyed. “Aye aye, cap’n.”
Dean smiled and adjusted the sword at his side, ready for some action.
Roman was yelling at all the crew, getting them into position with his booming voice. They all listened, knowing disobedience would be punished by the Captain. Dean thought of himself as a fair leader, but wouldn't hesitate to put someone in their place when necessary. His men respected, but feared him and that's how he preferred it.
He ordered his helmsman to bring the ship around, which he did without hesitation. The wind was with them today and the bow turned easily. He ordered sail adjustment to bring up their speed, knowing his schooner could easily out-sail the larger ship they were hunting. Finally, he looked back just as his colors were hoisted to the top of the mast, a great skull with interlocking swords run through its open mouth.
“Let's begin.” He said to himself, that grin widening as they approached.
The fight was short, the captain giving in easily. Dean didn't blame him. When a ship full of pirates attacks, it's better to just relinquish the cargo and live to fight another day. Fortune was with them this day as the ship was carrying crates full of sugar to one of the coastal cities. Highly prized, the loot would gain them a large bounty when they reached port.
“Cap’n Ambrose?” His Gunnery Master that went by Owens called from the captured ships captains quarters on deck.
Dean turned to Roman, who nodded. He knew the Samoan would handle thing on deck while he attended to Owens.
“There's nothing in there!” The captured captain called after him. “Please, just take the cargo and go!”
Dean shot him a skeptical look. “Obviously, that's not true. Is it?”
The captain clamped his mouth shut. Dean instructed Roman to watch him. Another nod from his first mate and he headed to where Ownes was waiting patiently.
“What have you found?”
Owens pointed to a crate off to the side. “The chest sneezed, cap’n.”
“It sneezed?”
“Aye.”
Dean stepped up to the chest and inspected it carefully. It was large, typical of where a captain may keep papers of mark, but definitely large enough to fit someone of even Ambrose's tall stature. He looked back at Owens and pulled his cutlas free from his belt, with his Gunnery Master following suit by producing a pistol. He kicked it and there was a startled yelp from inside. Looking back at Owens, he ignored the ‘I told you so’ look on his face.
“You in there?” He spoke to the chest. “Are you armed?”
“No.” Was the small, decidedly male response.
“Are you lying?”
There was no response that time. Casting a cautious look over his shoulder at Owens, Dean carefully unmatched the lid and pulled it open, quickly assuming a defensive position with Owens by his side.
Inside, a young man of no older than 25 was holding his hands up. Though he appeared like he could be a member of the crew, his white tunic and black breeches were too clean, which lead Ambrose to believe this man was hiding out - and not just from pirates.
“Who are you?” Ambrose asked, his defensive stance not wavering for the moment.
“Seth.” He answered and stood up. He was tall and fit, but his hands were soft and his skin, though olive toned, was paler than someone who might spend time on a ship's deck. His face was kind, even with a few months of beard covering much of it. It was too well groomed to be that of a sailor. This person was more important than he appeared to be.
He didn't appear armed, but Ambrose was taking no chances. He nodded at Owens, who immediately grabbed Seth by the arm and pulled him from the chest, patting him down for any hidden weapons.
“Why were you hiding, Seth?” Owens asked, giving the young man's shoulder a shove.
“Because you're pirates.” He answered as if they shouldn't have been surprised.
Dean dropped his sword, but kept it in his hand as he approached. He made sure to take his time and circle the man, taking in everything about his body language, his dress, his appearance. He stood tall, head held high like some sort of high ranking British twit, but his accent was decidedly not British. He could have been Spanish with his dark hair and eyes, but again the accent was wrong.
“You,” Dean finally said, pointing the tip of his sword at the man's chest and almost grinning at the way he tensed. “Are not a sailor.”
“I am.”
Dean pointed the tip of his sword a little harder, eyeing his reaction. “No, you ain't. Owens, bind his hands, he's coming with us.”
The fear in the young man's eyes was laughable. He'd obviously heard stories of pirates, most true, some exaggerated. But something told him this man was important. If he was hiding out, pretending to be a sailor, that meant there was someone looking for him, and that someone probably had money.
This young man could prove very profitable indeed.
Owens made quick work of tying the man's hands in front of him and dragging him behind Dean as they left. The captured captain saw them and obviously looked agitated and distraught.
As did Roman. “What are you doin’, Cap’n?”
Ambrose watched as Owens led Seth to their ship. “He's important, Roman. I just don't know how yet.” Then he turned to the captain. “Who is he and why was he hiding?”
“He's n-no one significant!” The captain stuttered, trying and failing to throw Dean off. “A simple deck hand!”
Dean laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the captains assertions. “You are not very truthful, are you? Throw him overboard, Roman.”
Roman grabbed at the sniveling man's coat, but, predictably, his true cowardice won out. “Wait! He's the son of a Lord!”
That's what Dean was looking for. “Why is he hiding on your ship?”
“He's trying to gain passage to Spain.” Answered the captain.
“That doesn't answer my question.” Dean snapped. “Besides, he doesn't sound Spanish.”
“His father owns a plantation in Florida and is a cruel man, forcing him to marry an even crueler woman.” The captain said. “He's just trying to get back to his mother.”
“Who is his father?” Roman asked this time and the captain refused to answer. Dean had a feeling it was because of who asked it and not the question itself.
“Answer the man!” Dean yelled, tired of this dance.
“Hunter Hearst Helmsley out of St. Augustine.”
Dean had heard of him, everyone had. A bastard if one ever existed. He had a bad reputation of mistreating everyone who worked for him and delighting in the pain he caused. He was also one of the richest lords in the Caribbean. Bribing him would be an honor and a pleasure.
“Thank you for your cooperation.” Dean said with a small, polite bow. “Now, throw him overboard Roman.”
“But! But!”
He didn't stick around to watch Roman toss the cowering captain overboard, but he delighted in the scream and splash that followed.
Yes, this Seth could prove very profitable indeed.