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“One more move…” Pyke rasped, angling the silver blade against Malcolm’s throat, “And I’ll slit his throat.”
Tobias gauged the situation. This heist had gone south very, very fast. The floorboards of the Leviathan, Gangplank’s ship, creaked ominously as the vessel rocked to and fro on Bilgewater’s choppy waves.
He was surrounded on all sides by extremely unfriendly faces. His partner-in-crime, Malcolm Graves, was held captive by the shark-toothed manhunter, Pyke. His grey-brown skin almost blended in seamlessly with the overcast clouds above, although the bright red bandana (emblazoned with his eponymous razor-sharp grin), served to distinguish him from the other pirates.
“That’s funny, Pyke.” Tobias replied after a long pause, raising his hands and clasping them behind his head. “I didn’t take you for a cabin boy.”
The hunter’s eyes quirked over the bandana, bloodshot whites narrowing to angry slits. The flat of the knife pressed harder against Graves’ exposed jugular, making the man groan in protest.
“Tobias, I’m in a bit of danger here.” He managed through clenched teeth. “So if you could cooperate, that would be mighty fine.”
The cardmaster sighed, dropping to his knees, keeping his hands clasped behind his head. He knew how these sorts of situations went.
“Fine, fine.” He relented. “Go easy on him, sharky. He bruises like a peach.”
Pyke laughed, a deep throaty noise full of fetid water and seaweed. “I was never a fan of peaches. Too sweet”
He made a motion, as if to complete the blade’s course over Graves’ throat, before a deep, booming voice interrupted him.
“First mate Pyke!” The voice was deep and brassy, loud and clear even over the creaks and moans of the ship. “I’m sure you’re not about to execute one of our guests without asking for permission first?”
Tobias twisted his neck to look behind him. High on the wheelhouse, Gangplank himself stood. His long beard was wet with seawater, as was the long leather coat he had draped himself in. He stepped down the stairs towards his ‘guests’, thick dockman boots thudding loudly against the wood.
“Especially after we just waxed?” He shook his head mockingly. “I thought you would know better.”
Pyke’s expression remained exactly the same, although Tobias was sure he was gritting his teeth together behind the bandana.
“Of course not, Captain.” He pulled the blade away from Malcolm’s neck. The man exhaled a sigh of relief, then shot a dangerous glare at Tobias.
“If we get out of this alive, I’m going to kill you myself.”
Tobias’ eyes were flicking around, looking for some sort of exit or escape, and finding none. “Let’s focus on the first part before we make any promises, Malcolm.”
“Yes, let’s.” Gangplank interrupted their banter. “Because, unfortunately, there will be no escape from the Leviathan. Two well-known bilgerats like you trying to commandeer my vessel?”
He laughed gruffly, pulling an orange from his jacket pocket.
“I’d be a fool to let you two roam the docks after this.” He eyed the orange, then his two guests. “Besides, I’ve heard that a certain Ms. Fortune has taken quite a shine to you gentlemen.”
He bite through the orange, rind and all, chewing thoughtfully while Malcolm and Tobias locked eyes nervously.
“And she has something of mine I’d like back.” He spat out the remains of the orange overboard.
Tobias heard it splash into the water far below, afraid that he and his friend were about to meet a similar fate.
“So, the way I see it, you two are the perfect bargaining chips. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept, Fate. Seeing as you're a low-life, scum-eating conman.”
Tobias made an insulted face while Graves whistled in admiration.
“A little harsh.” The cardmaster replied.
“He’s not wrong.” Graves offered, smiling at Tobias’ discomfort.
Having finished the orange, Gangplank tossed it overboard as well.
“So, luckily for you, you’re worth more to me alive than dead.” He narrowed his eyes. “For now.”
“Great.” Tobias’ hands were still clasped behind his head, but his shoulders sagged in relief. “I assume we’ll be staying in the brig?”
“Wow, what lovely accommodations.” Malcolm rolled his eyes. “I’d almost rather have my throat slit.”
“No, no, no.” Gangplank tutted, wagging a gloved finger. “You two are worth something to me, but that doesn’t mean I like you. The brig is too nice for you.”
“Uh…” Tobias began, worried about what was coming next. “Then where are we staying?”
Gangplank beckoned his crew to wheel a large wooden crate forward. It was on it’s side, but Tobias could tell it was a little taller than both him and Graves, it could house both of them if they were crammed closely together. A thin bed of straw lined the bottom of the crate, a meager attempt at comfort.
“Are you serious?” Malcolm half-spat. “I spent a decade in the Locker just to get shoved in a damn box with him?”
Tobias was getting nervous now. If they were put inside that crate, there would be no escape. Then, he felt a pair of hands grab his waist and deftly frisk him down, removing his deck of magic cards.
“Found his cards, captain!” Proclaimed the lucky deck hand.
“Good work. That’s an extra ration for you.” Gangplank nodded, taking the deck from the boy and shuffling it disinterestedly. “I’m sure these cards are very important to you. Maybe I’ll use them as kindling later. Gets mighty cold out here at sea.”
“Come on, don’t put us in there.” Tobias tilted his head at the crate. “We’ll be easy passengers.”
“You’re not passengers. You’re cargo.” Gangplank replied flatly. “And I don’t negotiate with cargo.” He waved his hand at his crew. “Rope them up. Get them gagged. Tightly. I don’t want to hear a peep or see an inch of movement, you hear?” He cast a fearsome glare at his crew, who had already procured ropes for the job. “Or else it’ll be you in that create.”
There was a pause, a moment of fear, before he clapped his hands together.
“Alright get to it!”
In an instant, the pirate crew swarmed Tobias and Graves with the glee of jackals on fresh meat. A storm of ropes and knots, flying every which way, rough hands and tight cords looping and cinching around the men’s bodies.
“Hey! Watch it!” Tobias growled as a band of rope was pulled brutally tight around his wrists, forcing them behind his back before being anchored to his legs in a kneeling hogtie. “What are you, animals?”
“Gag him already.” Gangplank commanded. “I’m sick of hearing his voice.”
“Wait, Gangplank, we can work- mmraph!” A red bandana, one procured from his own jacket pocket, was thrust between his teeth. An intrepid crewmate had timed it perfectly, taking the opportunity to gag him while he was talking.
The bandana was pulled tight, his teeth clamping down on it in protest, while the crewmember knotted it behind his head.
“That’s you gagged.” The man said, ruffling Tobias’ hair. “I gotta say, I like you better like this, card-man.”
“Krmph-Mmrphmr!” Tobias tried to correct the man through the gag, although his speech was incomprehensible.
“Ha!” Malcolm laughed at Tobias' situation, despite his own manhandling. “Told you keeping those bandanas was stupid- mmrph!”
Without his knowledge, another crewmate had repeated the technique Tobias had been subjected to; Graves was gagged mid-sentence.
“Mrmph! Mrphmmm!” He shook his head, although the knot had already been double-tied behind his neck.
“Now you two match.” Gangplank said happily. The crewmembers dispersed. Both men fell over without the many hands of the pirates to support them, landing with gagged grunts next to each other on the floorboards.
“Any last words?” Gangplank asked. “Anything I can do to make your stay aboard the Leviathan more comfortable?”
A duet of angry attempts at speech flowed from the cloth between their lips, teeth biting deep into the silk, muffled growls, begging, and protests falling on deaf ears.
Gangplank let them struggle and try to speak for a moment, hand clasped to his ear in a mock gesture of listening, before he shrugged.
“They have nothing to say.” He pointed to the crate. “Get them packed away. I’ll be in my chambers.” Then, he turned, sweeping his coat around him.
“Mrphm! Mmro!” Tobias keened into his gag, even as more hands descended on him and Graves. Roughly, they were forced into the crate, shoved so close that Tobias could feel Graves’ cleave-gag against his own cheek. His stubble was rough, as opposed to Tobias’ perfectly manicured and oiled beard, making Tobias roll his eyes.
Graves locked his gaze onto Tobias, as if to say “This is your fault.”
Then, he shoved his head forward with a growl, bumping into Tobias in a show of fettered anger.
“Mrph!” Tobias replied, pressing his own forehead into Graves, jockeying for space and dominance.
“Look at ‘em, fighting like lovers after their first honeymoon.” One crewmate laughed.
“Yeah, they’ll have a lot of time to make up, though.”
Both men chuckled, before the wooden lid of the crate fell onto the box with a loud bang, locking Graves and Tobias in complete darkness. Then, they heard the tell-tale hammering of nails.
Tobias exhaled through his nose. Hopefully Sarah didn’t take too long.