Chapter Text
Sarah Sharpe had lost sight of the Captain as the Bluster had sunk the Inevitable, as she and the others fought tooth and nail to get every last soul off the ship before the broken middle lodged itself down into the sludgy bottom of the harbor. Too many had gotten injured, and their surgeon had finally snapped and yelled at her and everyone else who wasn't needing his attention to, quote, "stop fussing and leave him the fuck alone to deal with this mess."
Sarah Sharpe knew when a retreat was in order, and this was definitely the case now. Tomorrow, at first light, she would gather a few of the others to get back to the wreck and take whatever useful or valuable things they might find. And maybe start a brawl with a few soldiers for good measure, as she was just in the mood to kick in some heads.
Figuratively speaking. Mostly.
They had managed to get away from the castle without too much trouble, which she honestly could only be proud of, if the situation were different. Crow was still missing, and the only reason she'd left him behind was that she knew he hadn't been on the ship as the whole situation went belly up. She remembered him being on land after the public argument he had with Jacob, as well as a bunch of soldiers heading for him. So, following that logic, he had gotten himself arrested. Again.
Well, she doubted that they would be able to keep him for long, so she better prepare a way off this cursed rock.
The small dinghy that they had
borrowed
- no, really, they were planning to put it back where it came from - carried Sarah and the crew's three best divers over the waters and into the main inner harbor of Castle Whiterock, where their ship had been sunk. The gate was still open, its mechanisms likely damaged just as everything else. Had the situation been different, it would’ve had something beautiful to see a beast smashing the castle. And, if the sea felt generous, eating some royals.
The sun hadn’t yet risen over the horizon as their dinghy reached the Inevitable, the sails down to not draw too much attention. Contrasting against the white and green and brick-red of the town and castle, the wreck looked like something of a beached beast herself with the gnarly figurehead gazing accusingly at the skies, the sails down and draping loosely into the water like a partially skinned hide covering splintering ends of broken planks - bones.
Their plan was to be done before the shift change, because tired guards didn’t really bother looking all that well. Usually.
Lizzie, Fleet and Montraine had shed their coats and boots as they quietly went into the water, where Sarah handed them what could be called the salvager’s universal tool: Some sturdy crowbars. Fuck knew how much of a mess the main decks were. Then, she moored the dinghy in the shadow of the wreck, shedding her hat and coat as well after a moment of consideration.
It took a bit of swearing under her breath, but eventually she managed to scale the stern, reaching the broken windows to what had once been the captain’s quarters. Things were tilted at odd angles, the shattered glass on the floor crunching quietly under her lone boot, as she surveyed the mess. A trunk had fallen forward, now blocking the door. A broken bottle having spilled its contents onto the floor, one of the engraved tin cups next to it. The other resting at the foot of the mast, the pins and trinkets and sentimental knick-knacks that had been given to Crow and his father and grandfather and nailed onto the wood catching the light of her dimmed lantern. Not unlike the eyeshine of a cat, she thought. As if the ship was alive, in its last breaths, yet still watching her.
Sarah Sharpe shook her head. Now wasn’t the time for sentimental or superstitious nonsense.
Crow had never bothered with a proper treasury, putting more trust in his crew than Sarah might have at some points. Right now, it paid off, because it didn’t take much time for her to find the simple lockbox that stored the ship’s funds, as well as the log and the spare key that was kept in its spine. Opening the lockbox was quick work, and the contents emptied into her bag just as quickly. After a moment of consideration, she added the log and the tin cups as well. Less because they were valuable, and more because she knew that the old man would appreciate having them back. Going through his weapons stash came next, collecting the things that weren’t easily replaced, as well as other valuables. Both to trade, and also because she knew that it took ages to find a blade that handled and balanced
just
right.
When she climbed back down, the sun had started to bathe the sky and clouds in burning shades of red. A bad omen, but she didn’t worry that much, as there really wasn’t much left to lose. Out of those searching the other parts of the ship, Fleet returned first, soaked to the bone but with a grim look of satisfaction on her face. Lizzie and Montraine joined them soon after, just as silent as they stashed their bags and helped get the sail up. Sarah didn’t care for being undetected so much as for a quick getaway, and besides, she was pretty sure that none of the guard soldiers would dare to touch them anyways.
"And? Did you get what we came for?" Sarah broke the silence once they were far enough past the gate to relax a little, smiling a thin smile when she noticed Lizzie grinning with her sharpened teeth on full display.
"Sure thing. Personal coin stashes, trinkets, everything we could find. Fleet even managed to recover most of the surgeon's tools, maybe he can keep them, maybe not."
"The horns, too," Montraine added, pointing out the obvious. Crow had always kept some of the horns they managed to recover from dead beasts back. For slower times, he said. Sometimes hunts just weren't successful, and it helped soothe a royal's bad mood if they had at least some horns to show.
There were others to sell them to, though, and they would help them back on their feet now.
As usual, selling things wasn't much of a problem. With the current state of things being best described as complete and utter fuckery, the prices for beast horns had almost tripled with the craftsmen that had been willing to circumvent the crown's monopoly on the trade before, and were now scrambling for scraps just as everyone else.
Combined with the ship's treasury, and some more valuables that they sold off, Sarah found that there was enough Coin that they wouldn't need to steal a ship, if they played their cards right.
If she still had a crew, that was.
Merino and her had been talking to the others. About their plan to keep hunting, except not for beasts. There was other prey to be had, like the crown's silver shipments. Because Fuck the Crown, really.
Those fuckers had started to twist the narrative as soon as they could, claiming the hunters were at fault. Calling them bloodthirsty degenerates, as if they hadn't bled for the crown just a month prior. The hunt for beasts now something that would get a man hanged as opposed to be celebrated as a hero. In their oh so glorious kindness they had offered every hunter an opportunity to join their navy.
Sarah Sharpe wasn't the only one they pissed off with that. And if she would one day stand on the outer wall at Whiterock with a noose around her neck, she would make sure that her life had been worth it.
They were hunters. Fighters. Not some fucking mindless navy soldiers.
And so, the crew talked with each other. To Sarah, to Merino. Sometimes hushed, sometimes loudly and with cheap rum boosting their confidence.
At the end of the week, most had come to a decision. For many of them it meant to follow Sharpe and Merino and all the others they had fought and bled with. A life of relative freedom on the seas that might be short, and bloody, and ugly. But then, so had been hunting for beasts.
To any outsiders asking, they were going to take on mercenary work.
Some, mostly those who had a partner or children or other family waiting for them ashore decided to stay on land. Sarah didn’t fault them, nobody did. Their sendoff was loud, and rude, and joyful.
And quietly, she had made sure to at least get them some coin to start anew.
All the while, Sarah had kept her eyes and ears open. They still needed a ship, one they could push close-hauled and high up to the wind, lithe and fast and deadly. A hunter, not one of those navy warships that were slow with a worse handling than a drunken ox.
It took a while, but eventually, they found one. An old girlfriend of Merino's had approached them with the tale of another friend who worked at the shipyards. There was a ship, a hunter, almost finished but now sitting useless at the dock as the future owners had cut off the cash flow, claiming that a hunting ship was useless now. The shipyard's owner just wanted it gone at this point, even if it meant a new ship would be scrapped.
And so, Sarah Sharpe dressed up to sweet-talk a man into letting her buy the ship and pay for the work that was left. Expensive still, but not that much. She didn't mind being practically broke if that meant that in another month or so, they would sail again.
Okay. Maybe she felt a little bad, as she had to take some of the coin that Crow had marked in his personal ledger as his retirement fund.
Speaking of, the old man didn't show up. A bit of listening let her know that he was indeed imprisoned, but not more. Nothing truly useful. And so, besides all the other work, she was left with an escape to plan.
It wasn’t the first time someone she knew had gotten their sorry ass arrested and needed a hand in getting back out, but the current lack of ship meant that she had to wait.
Eventually, the day came. The Albatros was ready to sail. A beauty, really, sleek compared to the Inevitable with her harpooning platforms.
The name fit as well, even if none of them had chosen it. Sure, it would have been easy to do so, but as the hull had been launched already, renaming it was the sort of thing that only meant they'd be tempting fate.
And suddenly, it was only a few nights until an opportunity presented itself. A moonless night, the royals hosting some grand diplomatic thing in their castle, and thus, some very busy guard soldiers.
This time, the Brimsley twins were accompanying Sarah in a dinghy, as they snuck into the seafort surrounding the castle. Connor stayed behind to guard their exit, while Thomas and Sarah made their way deeper into the fort, to the prison cells. Apparently, they had gotten better at this sneaky shit, Sarah thought. No alarms yet, only some guards stashed away in some unused storage rooms. Nobody had died… yet, probably. A good score, for them, even if copious amounts of blunt force were used.
The advantages of that were of course the keys they stole, and the ledger that told them where to find their captain.
Spying through the keyhole told Sarah that she was at the right door, and she didn't bother to keep the grin off her face as she unlocked it, even if Crow looked bad in the dim lantern light. But it was still Crow.
"Come on, Old man."