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Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, Musichetta extended her binoculars to look over the ocean in front of her. If she strained her eyes, she could imagine the flickering of flames far on the horizon. As it was, it could solely be the setting sun reflected in the water beyond and around her. It might as well be the flag of her Crimson Wave mirrored in the unrelenting waves - peacefully quiet on this journey.
Still, she scanned the horizon for something, anything but the waves crashing against each other, against the wood of her ship. The rhythmic melody mimicked a lullaby on some evenings and a night terror on others. Tonight, there was barely enough wind to carry them forward, let alone glide through the surge like a warm knife through butter.
Behind her, the steadily approaching thunk-thunk-thunk of wood on wood caused her to fold the binoculars and lean against the railing.
A cold hand appeared on the small of her back, slipping to her plump waist. The thunking stopped, replaced by soft breathing - mint and lavender mingling with the salt of the sea and the sweat of her men.
Musichetta extended her hand towards the water, palm up. A paler hand dropped some breadcrumbs into it, the soft tapping of claws on skin, then a ruffled parrot sat on her hand, pecking away at the crumbs.
“He’s been screaming nothing but bloody murder all day,” the calm voice next to Musichetta explained. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he lost his voice soon.”
Musichetta hummed thoughtfully and turned her hand upside-down, effectively causing the parrot to scramble off into the air for a short moment.
“Murder! Assassination!” It screeched before landing on the sailor’s shoulder again, nuzzling his cheek.
“An odd parrot you picked, Joly,” Musichetta noted bemusedly.
“I’m afraid it picked me.”
Looking out over the ocean again, Musichetta nodded lightly. It would be easy to close her eyes, feel the wind through her hair and the salt ever so slowly eating away at rough skin.
“As your Quatermaster and Surgeon, will you let me be privy to your thoughts?”
“As my Quatermaster and Surgeon, have you already fulfilled your duties?”
“Aye,” Joly nodded, “rations and weapons distributed. Ship is navigated and navigation is passed down. So as your lover, may I be privy to your thoughts?”
The ghost of a smile flitted over Musichetta’s lips.
“As my lover, you’re privy to many more things than just my thoughts, honey.” She trailed her fingertips gently over Joly’s hand gripping the railing tightly.
Joly, despite being Quatermaster and having lived on ships for half of his life, was not keen on sea travel. Few things helped.
“Where’s the cats?”
“Murder!” The parrot cried yet again. “Assassination!”
Needless to say, Roger and the crew’s cats were not friendly.
Joly snorted. “This is one crazy motherfucker but I like him. Haven’t seen the cats though, I’m not sure where they are. Catching mice?”
“Would there even be undetected mice on a ship that has been at seas for close to two weeks now?”
Joly shrugged his shoulders, jostling the parrot a bit, who, in retaliation, gently nipped at Joly’s earlobe, making him giggle.
Musichetta turned away from the waves towards Joly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. She lingered for a moment, soaking in the sea salt, the darkness surrounding them, Joly’s steady breathing at her side.
Out of the pockets of her skirt, Musichetta procured a flask filled with rum. She unscrewed the lid and took a sip before passing it over to Joly. He turned it over in his hand a few times before taking a big swig. Joly coughed loudly and thumped his chest a couple of times.
“Not sure that really helped my sea sickness.”
“Rum always helps,” a voice behind them said. “At least that’s what Grantaire says. I, personally, am more of a… yeah no, fuck that, I love rum.”
Joly laughed softly and leaned back against the broad chest behind him. “Bossuet, what are you doing out and about?”
“Swapping my watch with Chetta. You?”
“Distributed funds for the crew and did our budget based on the newest incomings.”
Bossuet hummed and gently kissed the side of Joly’s head. “Sounds like a busy evening.”
“It was. A bit tiring. Mind if I kidnap our princess for the night?”
“If she consents.”
“My most darling captain of this ship,” Joly addressed Musichetta, “May I have the pleasure of taking you to bed tonight?”
“And many more nights after. Bossuet, make sure to wake us when Pierre takes over. The night is still young and three hours pass quickly.”
Bossuet drew her in by the waist and kissed her softly. “Will do, Princess. Sleep tight.”
Joly raised himself up on his tip-toes - a hard feat given he had one wooden leg - and kissed Bossuet soundly. “Don’t spend your watch gambling. But if you do: Josefine has a very nice waistcoat I'm interested in.”
Bossuet snorted. “I’ll remember that. Will you leave me Roger to watch over me?”
Joly hesitated for a moment. “I don't necessarily want him in the cabin with us… Buddy, what do you say?” he addressed the parrot.
“Murder!” it only cried once more.
Musichetta rolled her eyes. “Honestly, if you weren't so attached to that thing, I'd sell it at the next port in a heartbeat.”
Joly gasped in mock shock. They all knew, the whole crew, how much Musichetta detested the feathery thing. But Joly loved him and who was Musichetta to deny him that happiness? She knew the bird was cleverer than it let on, could say more than spout accusations of murder. She wasn't able to prove it, though. What a minx.
With a last look towards the horizon, towards land and prosperity, Musichetta handed the binoculars to Bossuet and kissed his cheek.
“Take care, love.”
“As always. Make sure Joly is warm and sleeps comfortably.”
“I always do in Musichetta’s arms.”
Musichetta smiled softly. Her lovers were romantic to the core, sometimes bordering on sappy. In the beginning, their affection had suffocated her, dragged her under the surface of a muddy lake where all she could see were indistinguishable shapes above her. Now, however, their love left her soaring, raising her up higher than she'd ever thought possible. The beginning of them hadn't been easy, not with their roles in each others lives, not with their pasts, not with the newness of three instead of two.
When Joly gently touched her elbow, Musichetta smiled down at him. She kissed Bossuet once more and watched her men exchange kisses with the same adoration before she tugged Joly away, knowing fully well they could spend the whole night with Bossuet on deck if she didn't get them moving.
Perks of being the captain of her ship not only included first choice of watch and less deck scrubbing duties, but also a cabin for herself and her lovers. It wasn't much; a heavy desk shoved to the side, papers splayed on it, and the rest of the small room taken by a chest and bed.
Musichetta dropped her sword belt the second the door closed. Ever considerate, Joly handed her a silk scarf - captured on a bounty and one of the few treasures she kept herself - to wrap around her hair. With it out of the way, she breathed a sigh of relief and opened her arms. Immediately, Joly stepped into the embrace, peg leg thunking on the wooden floor boards. He kissed the juncture between ear and neck, making her shiver softly.
“Two more days until we're at the port,” she mumbled, tilting her head to the side to give Joly better access. “I could nearly see the lights in the distance today.”
Joly hummed non-committedly and pressed soft kisses further down her neck. His fingers started unbuttoning her vest - he stopped before opening the second button, looking up at her questioningly.
“The fucking parrot needs to leave,” Musichetta told him earnestly, though panting slightly.
Joly snorted and leaned his forehead against her shoulder. “I don't even know where he is.”
“Somewhere in this bloody room and I need him gone immediately if you want anything to happen tonight.”
Musichetta ran her hand through Joly’s sea-salt matted hair, tugging on it softly. With a sigh, Joly extracted himself and looked around the room. Sure enough, the parrot sat high upon a wardrobe, seemingly sleeping. Letting herself fall onto the cot, Musichetta observed Joly cooing at the parrot, trying to get it down. Luckily, the bird complied and was easily shut out of the room. It would probably find Bossuet and be a nuisance to him - all good and well as long as Musichetta didn't have it in their chambers at night.
She flashed Joly a smile when he looked back to her, opening another button of her vest.
“You are a bit of a minx,” Joly grinned.
“I've been called worse things before.”
“Two days until we're at the port then?”
Musichetta hummed in affirmation, watching Joly as he made his way to the cot. He sat down, removing his peg leg. With a deep and content sigh, Joly stretched his back out and let himself flop next to his lover.
“Two days isn't much. Feuilly’s awaiting us?”
“He is.” Musichetta propped herself up on her arm, hovering slightly over Joly. She bent down to kiss him softly.
Joly smiled at her and leaned up, kissing her as well. He rolled onto his side, letting his fingers wander along her hips, tugging slightly on her shirt. It slipped free off the breeches and Joly immediately seized the opportunity to slip his hand under the fabric, caressing the soft skin of her stomach. Musichetta’s breath hitched and she closed her eyes, fingers running through Joly’s hair once more. She pulled him in, kissing him roughly - which was met which much enthusiasm. Just as Joly was about to push her shirt up further, a loud knock sound at the door. Musichetta groaned and, briefly, closed her eyes. With a sigh, she sat up, buttoned her shirt again and pulled back her hair, which had slipped free from her silk headscarf.
“Who is it?”
“Chetta,” Bossuet’s voice came through the door. “We spotted what we believe could be a Royal Navy ship in the distance, steering towards us.”
“Shit,” Musichetta swore under her breath.
She got up and unlocked the door, letting Bossuet in.
“Go help our boyfriend get up and then you two will meet me on deck. I need to assess the situation.”
Bossuet nodded and quickly pressed a kiss to Musichetta’s cheek. The last thing Musichetta heard was Joly’s playful voice saying: “I’m afraid you’ll have to carry me.”
Oh, she knew that teasing tone just too well and the heat in the pit of her stomach was an uncomfortable reminder of it. Duty called, however, so she left her lovers behind to ascend the stairs onto the deck.
“What’s the news?” she asked a nearby pirate, dragging him along with her.
“Two Royal Navy ships, less than half a day’s sail away. They are heading straight towards us.”
Musichetta nodded and grabbed the binoculars. It was too dark to see, the ships rendered near invisible through the lack of light.
“Did you get a clear confirmation of the flags?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Royalists. I asked four other eyewitnesses.”
“Will we reach them by daylight?”
“If we stay on course, it will be before daylight.”
“Are we equipped for a confrontation?”
“Against one ship, yes. Two? Depends on what their mission is. If they are just scouting, we might have a chance.”
Musichetta nodded and observed the ships in silence as well as she could.
“Scouting ships are usually smaller. More agile, more nimble. I doubt these are scouting through the seas. I can’t make out their exact measurements. Fuck.” Musichetta swore and took down the binoculars.
“Leave me now. I have to… I have to talk strategies with my Quatermaster.”
The pirate nodded softly. “Dismissed from my shift?”
“Yes. Get some sleep, Zizka,” Musichetta smiled.
She gently squeezed his shoulder and watched him descend the stairs towards the bow of the ship. With a sigh, Musichetta pinched the bridge of her nose. She turned around as she heard the giggling and whispering of her lovers.
“Bad news, boys,” she sighed.
Joly, carried piggy-back by Bossuet, stopped the giggling to press a kiss to his bald head before Bossuet gently sat down his boyfriend. He walked over to Musichetta, kissing her lovingly.
“The ships?”
“Confirmed to be sailing under the Royalist flag. Too heavy for scouting.”
Joly scrunched up his nose and furrowed his brows. “We don't have enough ammunition. Maybe they are trading ships. They usually travel in pairs as they aren't as heavily armed. We could stand a chance.”
“Not worth risking it,” Bossuet said. “Captain, you've got a plan?”
Musichetta shook her head and hummed thoughtfully. “Steer off course to avoid them. Hope the night and surrounding darkness shield us enough to get away. Possibly arrive later at the harbour than planned.”
“That would mean new calculations of our food and water as well as more pay for the crew,” Joly chimed in gently. “Worth it?”
“I'm not sure. We don't know what or whom we're up against. Could also be a Royal Navy ship captured and posing no threat to us. I don't want to risk us running out of food and water. How much’s there?”
“I'd say enough for two additional days. Four, if we really stretch it.”
Musichetta nodded lightly. “We could take them on. Joly, how much would have to get off course to get out of range of their cannons?”
“Hard to say… If we assume they have standard issued Royal Navy cannons, shot from a five degree angle, we’ll have to be 1.5 kilometers far away. That's only the cannon ball though, not the impact from the crash. I suggest we need to be at least two kilometers far away.”
“Bossuet, get me a map, a light, some paper, something to write. Joly, get me some rum.”
Joly beamed at her. “You know how much it turns me on when you talk like that. Rum will be here ASAP.”
The men scurried off, leaving Musichetta to her thoughts and the dark sea around her.
Yes, diverting would be the right thing to do. Diverting as much as necessary but as little as possible. Anything else would put her crew in danger - one way or another.
It took until the early morning hours just before dawn until they - together with a few selected crewmembers - had managed to plan and steer the ship away from the Navy ships. They might never find out their mission, but better safe than sorry. No matter how much Musichetta would love to rough up some Royalists, the odds had been stacked against her and her crew. Maybe the port would offer some opportunities. Joly wasn't half bad at gambling. Bossuet, however, was not allowed near gambling tables. He was unlucky in every regard - apart from his love life. Still, he frequently complained about his inability to join his lovers in an unfair game of cards or marbles. Joly liked to remind him that Bossuet had only ended up in the Crimson Wave thanks to a lost bet - really, he had used up all his gambling luck there. Musichetta would forever be thankful for that stroke of fate. It was also the reason she believed that, sometimes, fate carried you in another direction than the chosen one. Away from certain harbours, around unpredictable ships and towards a future brimming with smiles, rum and the water licking their feet. And, just maybe, fate had not wanted their paths to cross with the Royal Navy this time. For better, maybe, seeing as previous encounters left the Crimson Wave bruised.
Ever so gently, Musichetta ran her fingertips over a chipped piece of the reiling where an enemy sabre had left a mark.
“Feuilly can fix it,” Bossuet mumbled, hugging Musichetta from behind.
“Maybe I like the battle scar,” she said, looking out at the rapidly approaching harbour. “I like it a bit rough.”
Bossuet kissed her cheek, smile pressing against her. “Did you notify him that we’re running late?”
“Sent a pigeon, don’t know if it reached him. Where’s Joly?”
“Drinking rum and winning at Liar’s Dice. Good thing your crew knows to not rough him up too much.”
“He could take them.” Musichetta leaned back against Bossuet’s chest. “I’d reckon two more hours until we’re there.”
Bossuet hummed and tightened his arms around her. “I'm looking forward to a nice bath. Do we still have some of those bathing crystals we stole off that small Royalist ship?”
“Plenty of ‘em. Mind if I'll join?”
“It would be my pleasure, Captain.”
“First, we need to instruct Feuilly on what to repair though. See if Bahorel has any more of that picked fish and curated meat for our next journey. I told them we’ll be there for a couple of days.”
“They are always glad to see us. We're good customers.”
Musichetta hummed in agreement. “A nice bath, a hot meal, and some more rum with good company. Maybe we’ll even find some new sailors who'd be willing to join. Most importantly though: a private place to piss.”
Bossuet snorted. “Speaking of private… I love being the helmsman cause the wheel obscures like half of our bodies.” Saying this, he started hitching up Musichetta’s skirt a little.
Once they dropped anchor two hours later, Musichetta was satisfied and calm, eager to meet with Feuilly and Bahorel, who already awaited them when her crew dropped the gangplank onto the pier.
“Feuilly!” Musichetta embraced her old friend - and only carpenter she really trusted with her beloved Crimson Wave. “How long has it been?”
“Three months at the most and the lady doesn’t look worse for wear. Sure she needs some repairs?”
“We need a new main sail, currently running with our replacement one. And I know that the wood up in the Crow’s Nest needs some repairs. Those idiots like to smoke up there and tend to extinguish cigars by grading them against the reiling. The bilge needs a check, too.”
“The bilge always leaks first,” Feuilly nodded knowingly. “Weapons? Food?”
“My Quatermaster is meeting with Bahorel.”
“Joly and Bahorel will end up drunk on rum and betting on turtle races again.”
Even if it was subtle, Musichetta didn't miss the fondness that seeped into Feuilly’s voice.
“As long as Joly wins this time around. Remember when they had that weird race? Turtle against rabbit? And everyone bet on the rabbit?”
Feuilly laughed. “But the turtle won! I remember! Bahorel and Joly both lost so much money. God, how long ago was that now? You had just gotten your first proper crew together, didn't you?”
“It must've been… oh, I don't quite know… Three, four years ago?” She sighed wistfully. “Times were simpler back then. And poorer.”
“I wholeheartedly agree. Anyway. Bilge first? Do we have light?”
“Yazemin, light,” Musichetta ordered one member of her crew.
She hurried off to return only moments later with some light. As the bilge was a dark, dingy and damp place right at the hull, Musichetta didn't often walk its halls. As Captain, it was of course her job to make sure every part of the ship was in pristine condition - including the crew - and yet she still checked the bilge only once a week. Certainly not often enough, considering it was the part most likely to show leakage. Well, that's why she was Captain: She was pretty damn good at delegation.
Feuilly shone the light around the bilge, ran his hands along the walls to feel for spots of wetness, to see any sign of leakage.
“Looks alright to me, but it won't last that much longer. Not another three months. We could either change a few planks at the riskiest spots and hope the rest stays dry, exchange most of it or let it run its course.”
“What's your professional opinion?”
“Change the ones with obvious signs of mould or woodworm, change the corners. The rest should hold up.”
“Then that's what’ll do. Bossuet, Joly and I stay at the inn tonight. Sleep somewhere where the bed isn't moving.”
“For ocean-reasons.”
“Where the bed isn't moving due to ocean related issues, yes. Have a bath, a hot meal. A small crew stays on board, I’ll be back by sunrise tomorrow.”
“My men can work through the night, if you trust us with your ship. I'll be with them the entire time. Then we can finish the bilge by sunrise and start on the main sail, go for lunch and finish up the rest with a different crew.”
“And when will you sleep, Feuilly?”
“When your ship is ready to set sail and we have shared an ale or a bottle of rum in the inn.”
Musichetta nodded. “It’s a deal.”
She held out her hand for Feuilly to shake. He grasped it tightly.
“It’s a deal,” he confirmed.
Their handshake set a flurry of actions in motion. Soon enough, the ship was crawling with carpenters, wooden planks. Musichetta’s crew members helped out wherever they could. It was customary that the Captain (and her lovers) spent the first night in the tavern - well, maybe only Musichetta had made it a custom. As much as she loved the sea, and was unbothered by the hardship of living on a wooden vessel for months on end, she could appreciate the warmth and luxury of a proper bath with soaks and soaps. Preferably stolen goods from a Royal Navy ship, of course.
It is how she found herself, Bossuet and Joly in the inn later that night, just before the kitchen closed for the night. They had rented a room with two cots for the night; pushed together they'd make for a suitable bed for the three of them.
“Captain, may I be of help with your clothes?” Joly asked.
Musichetta hummed in agreement, observing Bossuet, who was pouring a generous amount of bathing salts into the bath.
“Treat you like the princess of the seven seas you are,” Joly mumbled, pressing a kiss to Musichetta’s shoulder.
“Then the princess demands no parrots in her quarters. Ever.”
Bossuet tutted from his place by the bathtub, slightly blurred and obscured by the fog rising from the hot water.
“You cannot shut Joly’s Roger out like that.”
“I still hate you for naming him,” Joly said. “You will not be allowed to name my children.”
Bossuet gasped. “But they would be my children, too! Chetta, back me up here.”
“Remember how Joly wanted to name the dinghy Dingles? Neither of you is allowed to name the children. They come out of my womb, so I am naming them something sensible.”
Joly snorted and stretched to kiss Musichetta.”Your ship is literally named after a synonym for menstruation. I don't think either of us three should have naming rights. Right now, I just want undressing rights.”
“You have the right to undress,” Bossuet declared.
“I’ll come over and undress you if you don't quit bossing me around. I am your superior, after all.”
Musichetta snorted. “I like the direction this is taking. Undress him for me, darling? Would you?”
Joly grinned and kissed Musichetta once more before making his way over to their boyfriend. It was indeed very nice to lean against the door and watch Joly distract Bossuet tremendously - though, after a while, Musichetta had to put a stop to the teasing. She did want to enjoy an actually hot bath after all. Oh, and how enjoyable it was once she got in! Leaned against Joly, Musichetta was happy to close her eyes and soak in the lavender-scented soap, happy to be in the arms of her lovers. Of course, someone could always disturb them, something could always happen - as Captain, she was never technically off-duty, especially not when her Quatermaster - her Vice Captain, so to say - was in the bath with her. The ship was in good hands with Musichetta’s chosen third in command and Feuilly’s men working away, but there was never a time she did not worry about her crew or her ship. Still, a bath with her boys came as close to total relaxation as possible. Especially since she could feel her boys relax behind her, feel them kiss, touch, love.
They always worshipped her, she knew as much. It was nice to be soft for them, with them. Musichetta enjoyed those times nearly as much as she enjoyed cutting down the Royalists and collecting money for the schools she was building all around the seven seas. If she ever retired, Musichetta knew it would be just like this: surrounded by her men’s love, preferably living somewhere with a bed soft and big enough to satisfy the three of them nightly. Of course, she’d still have a ship for occasional sailing.
When she woke up the next morning, Musichetta already missed the soft rocking of the waves at sea. It was strange to be steady, strange to wake up next to Joly and Bossuet - usually one of them was still on watch. It was a good strategy, as Musichetta trusted them the most - it just came with the downside that time spent as a trio was scarce.
Despite the unusualness of it all, Musichetta still woke comfortably, kissing her boyfriends awake. They didn’t have much time to daddle, Musichetta was meeting Feuilly just after breakfast - for which he joined them with Bahorel.
“Princess, elegant and gorgeous as ever,” Bahorel’s voice boomed through the inn as Musichetta walked down the stairs.
“Bahorel,” she mused, “as loud and as good as ever, I’ve been told.”
He laughed, loud and joyous, and wrapped her up in a tight hug. Bahorel was one of the few granted this, as Musichetta didn't particularly like hugs - she had been the victim of a few too many stabbings disguised as friendly hugs. One especially ugly and jagged scar near her abdomen was proof of it. And the reason why Joly had committed his first murder. Whoever said a pirate’s life was easy had clearly never lived it.
“Did Joly and you take care of the provisions for the ship yesterday?”
“And back to business.” Bahorel grinned and let go off her. “Let’s talk it over while eating. I'm starving and Bossuet looks like his night was short enough to warrant a spiked coffee.”
“I’ll have warm rum with a bit of coffee,” Joly said, sauntering around his partners as much as he could. Really, going down the stairs with a peg leg wasn't easy. “You'll order for me while I fetch Roger, right?”
Musichetta had very firmly and convincingly argued to have the damn parrot banned from their room last night.
“Will do,” Bossuet nodded.
While Musichetta sat down at a table in a darker corner of the room, Bossuet and Bahorel got their breakfast. She leaned back in her seat, observing the early crowd. You could always learn a lot about a person deciding to spend their morning in a tavern by the port. Lost men, prostitutes either finishing or fishing for a job, pirates, fishermen and the odd little girl sent to the inn on an errand. It smelled hungry and dark. Hungry for a new life, a better chance, a skirt to chase, a pegging, a job. Stray gambling cards on the floor, blood spilled the evening before and rum still stubbornly clinging to the gaps of planks told darker stories of hunger.
There was a lost young man hanging over a glass, clutching it like a life-line. A woman barely out of childhood with two kids hanging off her skirt as she served drinks to a rowdy group of pirates, avoiding wandering hands. Pirates didn’t have manners, not at all, but at least Musichetta was grateful to know that her crew was a passable one. Rowdy, loud and drunk - certainly. But never handsy. Everyone knew by now that you didn’t cross Musichetta, not like that, never like that.
By the door sat a skittish man with a dog by his feet, equally skittish. Not many people around, not really. Some of her crew, who greeted Musichetta with a nod and chatted to Bossuet at the bar. It wasn’t an odd mix of people, not by far. She’d seen weirder groups.
The man with the glass stood up, gathered some papers and hurried out the door just as Joly entered the tavern again.
“Assassination!” cried the parrot on his shoulder and Musichetta couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at the familiar screech of the fowl.
“We’re back!” Joly announced unnecessarily.
He plonked down next to Musichetta and kissed her cheek. Just when he had taken off his coat, Bossuet and Bahorel arrived with a tray - well, Bahorel was carrying the tray as Bossuet was known to accidentally drop trays. Or swords. Or maps. Or binoculars. Or anything, really.
After breakfast - a somewhat meagre meal of bread, more rum than any mortal should have before noon on any given day, sausages which did not really taste like proper meat, and some pickled vegetables Musichetta could not decipher - the four of them made their way to the Crimson Wave again. Some brief instructions to her crew later, Musichetta let them off the ship for the day to do as they pleased and sleep in the tavern. Bahorel had informed them that a new shipment of fruits would come in the next day and Joly - forever concerned about scurvy, considering he was not only the ship’s Quatermaster but also the surgeon - desperately wanted to wait for at least some fresh fruit. Even his fear of scurvy couldn’t quite convince him to eat raw whale meat - the kelp was fine, however. He insisted on at least five fresh fruits per crewmember for the first week of their journey. Musichetta usually obliged because she loved him and because it was nice to have some luxury goods. It did, however, mean that they had to stay another night in the harbour. Usually, Musichetta tried to be in and out of the port as quickly as possible. The port right now was known to them, it was where she met up regularly with two other Captains, where they traded not only secrets and stories but also goods and knowledge. But being in the harbour made her feel… uneasy, restless, insecure. She didn’t feel safe because there was no way she could properly protect her crew with them scattered around like breadcrumbs on a plate. Musichetta didn’t like being vulnerable, not like that. Still, this harbour made her feel less anxious and she knew it would make Joly happy to be able to nibble on a pineapple or suck on a lemon. Maybe next time they met Cosette, Musichetta could ask her how to prepare sushi. The rice combined with the raw fish and kelp would maybe help fight the scurvy on board when they set out to longer trips, such as visiting one of their schools or building a new one somewhere suitable.
It wasn’t too bad, waiting around. They could give the ship a good scrub, replace all the broken parts, even do laundry with fresh water rather than salty sea water. A vacation of some sorts. When the ship came in later the next day, Musichetta helped Bahorel, Bossuet and the crew of the trading ship carry some of the crates and barrels - it earned her ship first pick the next day, as Bahorel had to catalogue and account for every bit of fruit landed in harbour.
During dinner that night, Joly was elated. He could pick his favourite fruits, could get them all a healthy dose of wonderful anti-scurvy food. Bahorel even sneaked him an apple for after dinner - he had kept it in their cabin to protect it from prying eyes and greedy fingers. Being in an extraordinarily good mood, Joly set out to gamble a bit after dinner. Bossuet stayed with Musichetta, chatting away, flirting, letting his hands wander. They were deep in conversation, heads bent towards each other, giggling and trading soft kisses when a chair was turned over and loud yelling erupted. Musichetta looked up, thankful that Joly wasn’t in the midst of it, despite his bird screaming its head off.
“You’re a filthy cheat!” A man with a very dark beard yelled. “A con!”
His fiend grabbed a half full glass of rum from the gambling table and smashed it against the accuser’s face. With a loud shriek, the bearded man touched his splintered skin, blood running down and shards of glass still clinging to the wound.
“I will kill you for this!” He lunged towards the retreating man and grabbed him by the vest, but his grip slipped just so. The accuser turned around and drew his pistol, aiming it at the already wounded.
Bossuet was on his way over to stop the nonsense when young man stepped in front of the gun.
“Gentlemen, please. Can we not handle this in a more gentle manner?”
“What the fuck is that idiot doing?” Musichetta hissed and followed quickly after Bossuet.
“Boy, you wanna get shot? ‘Cause this is how you get fucking shot.” The man with the pistol spit in the young man’s face and shoved him aside. With him out of the way, he shot at the bearded man, hitting him in the shoulder. After that, Musichetta didn’t know what happened next. More and more pirates got involved, sabres were drawn and even more shots were fired. It was chaotic and Musichetta desperately tried to look around for Joly, spotting him only when that goddamn parrot of his made them known by the front door. With her lover safe, Musichetta drew her own pistols and shot once, twice, three times. Up in the air, then dislodging two wall-mounted swords with fell to the floor under loud clatter. She got up on one of the tables, pointing her two pistols in the direction of the fighting pirates. Somewhere at their feet, she could see the young man from before, clutching a head-wound while seeking shelter under a table.
“Shariz, Thompson, Yara! You’re still my crew, under my command. Get out of there immediately or we will leave you here!”
Three heads snapped up and the pirates retreated, effectively breaking the fight apart. Satisfied, Musichetta jumped off the table, stepping over the dead bodies of the initial instigators. She kicked her boot against the table leg once.
“Come out from under there, kiddo.”
Once the young man had gotten up, Musichetta grabbed his arm and dragged him outside with her - Joly should take a look at him. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man to visit such an establishment - his trousers were too fitted, his shoes too shiny and his coat, though cursed with holes, was too fine a fabric. Musichetta was worried he was a Royalist spy, maybe having overheard some of the plans she and her crew had talked about during their stay.
Without another word, she and Bossuet got him onto their ship, all while the man sputtered and mumbled confused excuses and pleas. Once in their cabin, she shoved him onto her chair.
“Joly, take a look,” she ordered.
Quickly, Joly examined him. “Nothing bad, probably banged his head on the table. Are you dizzy, feeling nauseous?”
“Yeah, but that might also be the ship…”
“We’ll keep an eye on it. Have you ever been on a ship before?”
“Yeah, a Royal Navy one.”
“I fucking knew it,” Musichetta cursed. “Fucking Royalist spy.”
“I’m not a Royalist spy!” The man exclaimed. “My grandfather was a Royalist, I am not.”
“Sounds like something a spy would say,” Bossuet muttered.
“No, I swear! I’m just… I’m just no-one, really.”
“Then how come someone like you is in a tavern at the shadiest part of the port?”
“I…” He sighed, dejected. “I recently moved out from home because I found out that my grandfather had lied to me all my life and that my father was an opponent of the Royalist. He was a Nationalist, as am I!”
“Dude, not helping,” Joly hissed. “We’re not keen on Nationalists either.”
“At least he’s not a Royalist,” Bossuet said. He shrugged his shoulders and took Joly’s apple core, holding it out to feed it to Roger.
Musichetta rolled her eyes. “Okay, go on, we’re listening.”
“Uhm… where was I? Yes, Grandfather lied to me so I took a few things and left. Didn’t have much money, enough to carry me through for a while but… then I really had no money anymore and I didn’t know where to go. I sold most of my clothes except for this coat. It’s not very pretty and I wish it were black but dark green must do. I took on jobs reading and writing letters for people who cannot read or write but I soon realised that that doesn’t really make much money. And… well, I don’t know how you feel about these things but I felt bad taking money from people who don’t have much money as it is, so I often just… wrote their letters for free or for a piece of bread. But now I have no money, one coat, one pair of pants and two rum-stained shirts.”
“No shoes?” Bossuet asked.
“I am wearing shoes?” He looked down at his impeccable shiney shoes and lifted his left leg a little. “Shoe.”
“So you’re practically homeless. That why we saw you at the tavern the whole time?”
“I write letters for the owner and can stay there for free but I have to pay for meals and drinks. Can’t really afford that anymore, either.”
Musichetta nodded. “You’re telling the truth?”
“I am no liar, ma’am.”
“That’s Captain for you. Would you like a job?”
“Very much so, yes.”
“Joly, could you…?”
“Yep.” Joly nodded and came around to Musichetta’s side. “Some help is good.”
“I’m missing something here.”
“What’s your name?”
“Uhm… Baron Marius Pontmercy.”
“Mate,” Bossuet sighed, “didn’t we just talk about the Royalists and Nationalists?”
“My father passed the title down to me,” Marius said.
“That aside.” Joly waved his hand dismissively. “Marius, how would you feel about being my Quatermaster apprentice? I could then concentrate more on navigation and being the surgeon, while you manage the lists and accounts?”
“Uhm…” He nervously looked between Musichetta and Joly.
“The pay is good, you get regular meals. Baths are rare, rats are frequent, so are fights and death and disease,” Musichetta said.
“I don’t want to murder people.”
“We’re not going to force you to fight but we will train you up, because you have to be able to defend the ship and yourself. Look, Marius, we are only trying to help cause we’re feeling sorry for you. You don’t really get much of a share of everything we capture and steal ‘cause we usually need the money to build schools and...”
“You build schools?” Marius interrupted her. “I’ve always wanted to be a teacher.”
“How about this, then: You come with us for three to six months and we drop you off at a suitable school where they need a teacher. Meanwhile, you get a steady pay.”
“My grandfather had me trained in horse riding, fencing, sword fighting, archery and I can shoot with three different kinds of pistols,” Marius grinned. “Teach me about your pirate life, then.”
Musichetta laughed. “Lad, there’s just something about you and I’m excited to experience it first-hand.”