Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Would you mind not setting my ship on fire?” Yerasmine looked up from the arrangement in front of which she was kneeling – five candles, all lit, standing in a loose circle around a small metal bowl that contained the slowly dissipating ash of the letter she had just burnt – and squinted at the figure whose silhouette was illuminated by the moon shining behind them.

“I thought it wasn’t your ship.” She grinned. The figure stepped out of the immediate moonshine and around into the flicker of the candles so that Yerasmine could see their face, and thus the rolling of their eyes.

“Not technically, no,” the privateer relented, “But it’s still my main source of income and my only home. Plus, I’m sure Fyonn wouldn’t appreciate if you burnt down what is technically his ship.” Yera laughed.

“I will have both him and you know that I am very capable with candles!” She turned back to watch the remaining ash slowly rise up into the moist sea air and be carried away by the early morning’s wind. The sun would rise soon. “I’m done anyway,” she murmured, half to herself, and leaned forward to blow out the candles, one after another. She quenched the last flame, the one closest to her, between two fingers and used the stain of soot to quickly draw a rune onto the wood of the ship where the metal bowl had stood.

The privateer watched her as she collected her candles and made her way to the railing to wash the stain of ash out of the metal bowl. Summer was setting slowly but surely over the Western seas and it would be unbearably hot out on the water soon. The privateer had taken off their usual grey vest and coat that ordinarily made them merge with the shadows to even the attentive eye. Some months ago, Yera hadn’t thought that she would ever see them without all their garb. But the weather was relentless. And they were, deep down, a practical person.

Even in the early morning breeze, the wide linen shirt they wore clung to their skin in spots and a headband kept their hair from falling into and sticking to their face. They looked delectable, really, and as Yera put the rest of her things away, she wondered whether she might convince them to go for a sunrise swim with her…

“Successful spell-work?”, they asked, casually, as thought they had held a conversation that they were now just picking back up. They tended to do that.

“Remains to be seen,” Yera mused. “It’s been a little difficult to reach my convent. Ver is always about, and Gøld… It’s not always safe to reach out to her. Thus, the fuss.” Her privateer hummed.

“Not all cities West of the landmass are so friendly of witchcraft.” Yera shook her head. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” they sighed, “Anti-piracy legislation is on the rise, and people get more and more scared of all the occult trades.” For a moment, they were staring thoughtfully out onto the water. Yerasmine stepped up to them quietly.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked. They huffed out a breath and turned to her with a rueful smile, inching closer to her.

“The future.” They shrugged and playfully slung an arm around her waist. “Many thoughts.” She hummed, amused.

“You always have many thoughts.” The privateer just laughed and leaned their forehead against hers so their noses brushed.

“I do often wish I could outsail them.” Yera grinned.

“Well, maybe I could help with that.” The privateer snorted at this, but let themselves be pulled into a rough kiss, and even nibbed at Yera’s lips as they pulled back to whisper against them.

“So corny.” Now, it was her turn to laugh.

“Like you aren’t into it.” Their laughter was barely more than a catching of breath in their throat before they were kissing again. A soft wind blew across the deck of the Silent Slaughter, carrying the scent of firewood and bread. The privateer sighed into the kiss and parted from her.

“We’re getting closer to the shores.” Yerasmine just pulled them closer and buried her face in their neck.

“Is that really so bad?” she mumbled into their soft skin and felt a shiver run down their back where she was holding them steady. “Nobody has seen the Silent Slaughter near any city shores in weeks and months.” They hummed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’d love to keep it that way, too.” The privateer sighed shallowly when Yera simply bit at their neck in response. “I do have to be careful.” She leaned her head back to look up at them, pouting.

“I know that…” She wistfully let her words trail off and looked up into the sky that was slowly turning lighter shades of blue so that the stars were barely visible anymore. Silence settled and she thought that she could almost hear seagulls in the distance. “I’ll see you in the Hamnstad tomorrow, right?”

It was what she settled for to say. A lot of thoughts went unspoken. About how she hated that they had to be away so much. About how she knew that she had been very busy lately, too. About how the anti-piracy fleets that had been set up to guard all trading harbours in the surrounding seas scared her, too. About how she was scared for them, perhaps even more than for so many of their mutual friends who dabbled in piracy, but had other trades on the side. About how she knew they were constantly on edge and scared for Fyonn as well, and that just maybe someone would find a way to find him if they laid hands on the Silent Slaughter.

They had discussed all those thoughts and feelings, several times. Out on sea, on ships or islands, or when they met in smaller towns around the Hamnstad that weren’t in the greater trade conglomerates. She knew they did their best to be around. And that they knew that so did she.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” They were smiling now, one of their small smiles that started in their eyes and only seemed to tug at the corner of their mouth, but lit up their whole face anyway. Their hands found hers and they pulled them close to their face so that they could lightly kiss the knuckles of each of her fingers. “Also, the caravan would never miss the Hamn Union Holiday. People are never more willing to expend a coin or two to some travelling showrunners.”

“It’s the people’s favourite day,” Yera mused, “Hamnstadians get generous when they’re in a good mood.”

“What,” the privateer mad an exaggeratedly shocked face at her, “Hamnstadians? In a good mood? Legend has it that’s an impossible thing!” She shoved them playfully.

“Don’t spread harmful stereotyped about my hometown – or you’ll see what a Hamnstadian in a bad mood really looks like!” They laughed and wrapped both arms around her again. Yera shuffled closer so that she could bury her nose underneath their chin and feel rather than hear them hum a tune.

“You know you mean the world to me, right?” Yerasmine kept her nose buried where it was. They did this at times – got sentimental out of the blue. She would have teased them for it, but they would only have smiled and quoted something at her about parting being such sweet sorrow or the like.

So instead, she ran her nose up to their ear and mouthed a soft “I love you too” at the ticklish skin there.

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the next day

The sole reason that the Hamn Union Holiday wasn’t Yerasmine’s favourite Hamnstad holiday was because it would have been entirely too self-centred of her.

Now, the holiday wasn’t officially thrown in honour of her parents’ work on the traders’ and workers’ unions that had governed the Hamnstad thanks to their hard work for about two decades now – but it might as well have been.

Being the union princess of the Hamnstad… It had some perks, one of them being that free drinks were thrown her way all through the Hamn Union Holiday. Not literally, mind you. It was nice and all, just sometimes it could get a bit much. Hamnstadians were deeply respectful people, most of the time. But high on holiday spirit and holiday spirits they let themselves get carried away at times.

This year’s celebrations were delightful though. Colours and music and ships in the harbour as far as eyes could see. Yera got lost in the crowds and the caravans and shows for several hours.

She only found her privateer again when night had firmly settled over the city.

The Empty Flag was a cheap but somehow still classy pub down where the market district streets spilled into the harbour district. It was kept alive solely by the shabby bohemia that trickled into the city for days surrounding every festival or holiday. A party in the Hamnstad hadn’t properly started until it had moved into The Empty Flag - and partying never stopped in the pub.

When Yera entered the establishment, the smell of ale and weed briefly mixed with the scent of early summer rain. Heads turned and cheers sounded as the door fell shut behind her; Yera’s eyes promptly caught blue ones within the crowd, glowing with mirth.

The privateer whistled and the crowd around them caught the tune, singing echoing through the smoke filled room. The union princess stalks the night, the streets glow dark, the moon shines bright, in fresh new colours burns her hair, the moon is far, the princess fair! Cheers half muffled the next verse as Yerasmine did her best to wave away the off-tune voices. The union princess walks the deck, in starlight glows the water’s trek, the princess sings a sirens’ song, she sets sail steadfast, wilful, strong.

The singing trailed off during the last words, the crowd turning back to their cheering and yelling, ale dripping from carelessly gripped cups to the wooden floor. The privateer untangled themselves from the colourful crowd that had held them in its grip and met Yera halfway.

“I saw you perform on the main square!” The glow in their eyes was excited and Yera could tell they were a bit beyond tipsy. It had been a long day and night. “You were amazing!” She hummed, amused, and shared a quick peck with them, using the momentum from their not so subtle stumble into her arms to pull them a little more aside. Not that anyone in the pub was paying any real attention to them – but one couldn’t be careful enough.

“Pray,” she murmured while she manoeuvred them both further away from the thicker crowd, “Where does the Silent Slaughter lie tonight?” The privateer chuckled light-heartedly, though she could tell how their eyes flickered around them, making sure that nobody was within earshot of their conversation.

“Let me keep some secrets, will you?” they teased. Yera grinned.

“I’m naturally curious,” she shrugged. They had reached a more secluded corner of the pub and she pressed them to the wall where the shades barely reached either of them, leaning her head on their shoulder so they could hear her over the noise.

“You know where the Slaughter is more often than anyone else in my life.” Their eyes seemed to glow in the dim light here. Yera could hear the grin in their voice but there was also some intensity to the way they looked at her. She cocked her head.

“More often than Fyonn?” It was barely more than a whisper, but their eyes quickly scanned the room again and tension crinkled the skin between their eyes. They didn’t like to talk about Fyonn out in the open, worry still not having lessened from when they had thought someone was out to threaten him.

“It’s his ship…” they mumbled now, so that she had to more read the words from their lips than hear them. “He always knows…”

“Always knows how far away from him you are…” Yera finished. The privateer only hummed in response. It was common ground for Yerasmine to tease them about the nature of their relationship with the mysterious pirate on his secret island. Tonight, however, she had an ulterior motive for asking where their ship was anchored. “I have a job for you.” Their eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

“I kind of hope that’s innuendo…?” Their pout was so adorable that Yera had to laugh and kiss them. But she withdrew when they attempted to pull her closer.

“Hm, not really,” she said against their lips.

“Ah…” They sighed.

“It’s paid,” she assured. The privateer leaned back against the wall so they could look her in the eyes again.

“Why do I feel like I won’t like this?” She bit her lip. She had figured this wouldn’t be easy, but if she played her cards right, she could sway them.

“It’s urgent.” The privateer seemed a lot more sober now than they had minutes ago.

“I am not in urgent need to payment,” they frowned. “You know I’m laying low at the moment.”

“It’s just a transport job!” Yera was quick to say, “A friend of mine needs to get to the Lindstad and the person they paid for the transport didn’t show. I wouldn’t think to ask if it weren’t important.” Their face betrayed how little they liked the direction this was going. They clicked their tongue.

“A friend of yours?” She nodded eagerly. They sighed, thoughtful. “Why ever did I say that you could talk me into practically anything?” Yerasmine grinned.

“Because of my incredible charm.” She leaned in to kiss them and they hummed into it, hands finding hers to squeeze her fingers. “I’ll give you the address and meet you there tomorrow at noon.” They pulled back from the kiss and their eyes were twinkling mischievously.

“You’ll be up tomorrow at noon?” they joked. “It really must be important!”

They ducked out from under her outraged laughter and she chased them back into the crowd of the pub laughing loudly.

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the next next day

Yerasmine was humming a little tune to herself while she climbed up the cliffs outside of Marien towards the laid back hillsides of Bethanien. Being up at noon after a holiday full of celebratory frenzy wasn’t a problem so long as one simply didn’t sleep.

The carriage to Marien had been quick and the morning sea air had sobered her somewhat. Climbing these cliffs felt good, even. Once upon a time, before her parents had split up, before they had even dedicated their lives to active politics, they had lived out on the laid back hillsides of Bethanien. The hills spilled down into a little fisher village that was surprisingly well-connected to the sea via a canal-turned-river, but none of that drew much attention from the harbour towns.

Today, though, Yera wasn’t headed for the village of Bethanien, or even for the meadows and hills leading towards it. Before the land spilled into seemingly never-ending greens, just outside of the small town of Marien, tucked behind a crest from the cliffs that surrounded the town, lay a cottage as cosy as it was neat.

She found her humming spilling into whistling as she approached the wooden door painted in mossy green. Sure, she was here on serious business, but truth be told, she didn’t get to visit her friends often enough, and it was always nice when she found an opportunity to stop by.

Her hands found the key placed underneath a cornerstone by the door in well-practised motions and she breathed in the scent of fresh baking when the door opened with a familiar creek. Her whistling trailed off when she closed the door behind her and stepped from the small entrance hall, leaving her coat behind, to the kitchen/living room. There, she stopped dead in her tracks, and gaped. Then, she laughed, loudly.

The privateer glared back at her, utterly unamused.

“Just for the record,” they said through gritted teeth,” I am mad at you, and every second you spend laughing instead of lending me a hand only makes it worse.” Yera tried to catch her breath, choked on it and couldn’t help her coughing spilling into more laughter.

“Sorry,” she wheezed through tears spilling out of her eyes, “I just forgot that you’re always running early.” Their gaze could have made a dozen well-trained stadwatch guards turn around and run for their lives.

“Hilarious.” Clad in their usual grey garb and vest, the privateer was effectively and proficiently tied by their hands and feet and waist to the decorative ornaments of the southside window bars. She could see their fingers straining against the ties, but if she knew her friend, those were holding tight. Yera was opening her mouth to say something, but in the same moment the clock above the entryway struck noon. As if on cue, she heard the front door open, and a figure stepped through the entrance hall into the room.

Leather boots closed around dark brown trousers, rounded off by an embroidered vest over a dusky pink shirt. Brown hair was cut short, but some longer, frizzlier strands in the front fell almost into green eyes in a pale, freckled face. Her friend wasn’t very tall, but their presence cut a striking figure in any room they entered. Yera smiled, almost involuntarily.

“Vic, old friend!” she greeted them, “Pray tell, why have you tied my privateer to your window bars?” Vic blinked at her once, twice, looked to the privateer as though they had forgotten them, and then back at Yera with a sigh,

“Reckon I should have known that you would invite a criminal into my home.” The privateer scoffed.

“I didn’t invite them in, exactly…” Her protest was cut off by the privateer.

“What else does meet me there mean then?” She crossed her arms.

“Some people knock, you know!” Their eyes narrowed.

“Says you!” She grinned and shrugged. “How was I to know the friend you were speaking of would be Vic!”

“How was I to know Vic would tie you up?” She turned around to her friend. “Actually, why did you? Aren’t you two acquaintances? Your ships sail in tandem, or so people out on waters say…” Vic had been looking between them with a hint of recognition in their eyes. They clicked their tongue.

“So? That doesn’t mean I trust them on land. They’re a criminal.” They pulled her aside and lowered their voice. ”Your privateer? When were you going to tell me your other partner who you’ve been going on about is the captain of the Silent Slaughter??” Yerasmine raised her hands in defence.

“I was going to get to telling you. But we haven’t really been seeing much of each other lately, have we?” Vic made an acknowledging if disapproving noise.

“No offense to your taste, Yera, but they really cannot be trusted.”

“You know, I’m right here, and I can hear you!” The privateer tugged on their bonds unhappily.

“You speak when spoken to.” Yerasmine watched in fascination as the privateer’s mouth snapped shut at the sound of Vic’s biting voice. “Seriously, Ye, they’re a menace.”

“Mind you, I might like that about them.” It was now her turn to glance back and forth between her two people. “Anyway, I don’t understand. I thought you two knew each other quite well? What do you mean you don’t trust them on the main land?” Vic pinched their own nose as if a headache were coming on.

“Ah,” they said. “They’re the contractor you organised for me, right? That’s why they’re here.” Yera frowned.

“Yes! Why else would they be here?” Her friend grit their teeth.

“You tell me? That’s the canal rat slash con-artist who stole my diplomat’s pass from me the week I first got it.”

“Oh come on, you’re still hung up over that? I got it back to you!” For the first time since Vic had entered the room, the privateer turned back to look at Yerasmine. “You thought it was a good idea hiring me on a job for the Western Seas Conglomerate’s diplomat Jann van Seger, less formally known as Vic, captain of the Fortuna?”

“Hey!” Yera raised her hands in defence. “I just thought you knew each other – how could I have known you had some sort of secondary backstory!?” Momentarily, a confused and bewildered silence settled over the trio. Sunshine filtered through the window behind the privateer. Vic ran a hand through their hair and sighed. Yera bit her lip.

“You could have just told me,” the privateer whispered as if to themselves and Vic glanced at them sharply in a way that Yera wasn’t sure she understood.

“So,” she broached the tension, “Could you still… be swayed to take this job, though?” Her privateer gave her a long-suffering look which she held steadily. Eventually, they sighed, and rolled their eyes down towards the ties around their feet and lower body.

“I’m not going anywhere, am I?” Yera grinned winningly at them and then cocked her head at Vic who was nervously fiddling with one of the many rings on their hands. They caught her gaze and shrugged, letting out a long breath.

“I do need transport. And they’re here.” They hesitated, and looked between the other two again, scoffing eventually. “Hell, they’re the captain of the Silent Slaughter - they’re the best at their job I could hope to get. Who’d I be to turn that offer down?” Yera’s grin broadened.

“Excellent!” she exclaimed. “So we can pick this up where we never got to leave it off!” The privateer cleared their throat audibly.

“Yes, hate to interrupt, love, but if someone could finally—”

They never got to finish their sentence, interrupted by a jingling sound by the doorway and moments later, another figure stepped into the room, wearing wide clothes in bright colours, long blonde hair braided with flowers in it. She stepped into the room elegantly and put down a basket of fruit on the table next to Vic’s bag before taking in the situation.

“Whatever is this then?” Vic cringed.

“I’m sorry, dear. I was going to have visitors out of the way by the time you came back, but something came up.” They shared a tentative hug with the newcomer, quickly followed by Yerasmine throwing herself into the woman’s arms.

“Sygn! Oh my, long time no see!” The other woman laughed and hugged her back tightly.

“That’s because you never show your face, Yera-Kind.” She let go of her, taking her all in with one look and regarding her fondly.

“Oh, by the Seas…” Yerasmine turned around to where the privateer now looked suspiciously like they had seen a ghost. “You…” They stuttered, staring at the newcomer. “You’re the Lady Sygn. The legend of the upper opera stages. I am… a huge fan? Is that weird to say?” Yera had to stop a laugh from escaping her. Sygn blinked, then turned to Vic.

“Sorry, darling, why is there a pirate tied up in our living room?” Vic cringed again.

“Privateer, actually,” Yera chirped in at the exact same time as, to her surprise, so did Vic. Sygn’s eyes went wide, passing between Yera, the privateer, and back to Vic.

“So, that’s your contractor then.” She whistled between her teeth, then nodded to herself and picked her basket back up. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to tell me later. I’ll leave you to it then.” She crossed the room in three swift steps and paused by the next doorway, turning back towards the privateer over her shoulder. “And don’t worry, sweetheart. We can always discuss autographs later.” With that, she was gone. Something between five seconds and five minutes passed in complete silence. It would have been impossible to tell how much. Eventually, Vic let out a breath they must have been holding.

“As if this day couldn’t have gotten any weirder.” Yera gave them a sympathetic look, that was only interrupted by a groan coming from the window.

“Seriously, would somebody please untie me?”

Vic had drawn the curtains before the south side window because the sun was now at full height. The privateer only stopped heaping spoons full of sugar into their tea cup when the host of the house placed a small vial next to it.

“Against rope burns,” Vic said, clearing their throat uncomfortably. “I’m usually more gentle with the knots. You just caught me off-guard is all.” The privateer very slowly put their spoon down next to their cup and picked up the vial, opening it, and pouring some oil onto their wrists, cautiously rubbing it in. Only then did they glance at Vic who had sat down on the opposite side of the table.

“Impressive rope work,” they remarked, as though talking about the weather. Vic looked away.

Yerasmine watched all this with some estranged fascination. She had never asked either captains about the nature of their relationship with each other. All she had known was that they sailed in close waters and wrote letters. She had assumed they were close friends. Obviously, she would have to revise some assumptions. It made sense, in a way. The privateer was still awfully secretive, even if she had been able to make them open up to her. And Vic wasn’t usually in the habit of confiding into pirates too deeply, even when they were sailing with the Fortuna. But there was some strange tension to them. Yera would have to suss out their mysterious backstory before the day was over. But that was neither here nor now.

“So you didn’t tell me that the friend of yours who needs help is Vic because…?” The union princess was snapped out of her thoughts by the low mumble of her privateer next to her. Vic watched them attentively across the table while the privateer seemed for now intent on not looking at anyone or anything other than their tea cup.

“Right,” Yera set down her own tea spoon. “It’s… sensitive. And I thought that if I simply told you, you might say no.” The privateer turned their head so that they still weren’t looking at her, but she could see their eyes narrow.

“Damn right I would have. They have their own ship.”

“We can’t take the Fortuna.” Vic seemed to finally have decided to join the business half of the conversation. The privateer again cocked their head so that they were looking not at Vic directly, but at their tea cup.

“Why not?” Vic silently stared back at them and Yera sighed.

“Because it’s not just a transport mission. It’s a rescue mission.” Now, the privateer did look at her. And then at Vic.

“Well,” they said, “Do go on.” Vic put their elbows on the table and leaned forward, taking a deep breath.

“A friend of mine has gotten lost at sea. He’s… a smuggler, so it’s not exactly unusual for him to be missing in action for a couple of days. But he’s also reliable to a fault. And he promised he’d be here to pick me up – three days ago.” The privateer held their gaze calmly now.

“Pick you up to go where?”

“He was going to take me to the Lindstad. That much is true. On a diplomatic mission.” The privateer’s eyes narrowed, but Vic noticed before they had time to object. “I know. The Lindstad is a dangerous place for pirates or anyone dealing in occult traits these days. That’s why I’m going there. They are about to pass a new Book Shipment Act that would restrict the freedoms of those aiding the occult even more than they already do. But they also have trading contracts with the Hamnstad and other union cities. If they don’t want to lose those, they cannot pass harsher laws than the union statutes allow. It’s time they were reminded of it. I’m sure you will understand that this is an important mission.” The privateer raised their eyebrows but didn’t say anything. “And I can’t take the Fortuna there either because, for one, they don’t expect me and I would prefer to have the element of surprise on my side, and two, the Fortuna has been known to sail with ships that occasionally deal in piracy – so they wouldn’t allow her to dock.”

“So you want to sail there with my ship?” Vic smiled thinly.

“No. I want to sail there with Charly’s ship. And I want you to help me find him. Smuggling may be an occult trade, but he has a trader’s licenses in the Lindstad and resides there most of the time, so he will know how to get me in.” The privateer clicked their tongue.

“And if we don’t find him in time?” they asked. “Will you then ask me to take you to the Lindstad?” They learned forward. “Sailing my ship into that city harbour would already be stupidly dangerous without my carrying one of the union cities’ most respected diplomats across the canal.” Vic leaned forward another inch and for a moment, their hands seemed to want to reach out towards the privateer, but then they stalled where they were.

“Captain… You understand the importance of my mission, I am sure.”

“Oh, I understand it very well, captain,” There was almost a hiss to the privateer’s voice. One Yera hadn’t heard often. “However, I don’t think I have to tell you again that I don’t work in diplomacy.” Vic promptly leaned back in their chair as if the privateer’s words had stung them. But their voice was quiet, controlled, and unmoved when they spoke.

“And I do think I should tell you again that you might.” The privateer opened their mouth to respond to that, but before they could, Yerasmine grabbed their hand and squeezed it.

“Do it to look out for a kindred spirit. I know Charly. He doesn’t get lost at sea.” She squeezed their hand more gently again. “And do it for a friend.” They looked at her and she nodded meaningfully towards Vic who spoke up again when their eyes met the privateer’s.

“I’m willing to trust you,” they said. And Yera could see the privateer swallow. “And I think perhaps I already do. Captain.” The privateer held their gaze for a long moment. Then, they took a deep breath and let out a long sigh, rubbing at their eyes with their free hand.

“Where was your friend last seen?” Yerasmine smiled.

Many stories were told about the Sisehtab Nebula that slung around the cliffs where the canal delta splitting the main land spilled into the open seas. Legend had it the cliffs had once been islands, destroyed in the relentless war fought between two goddesses – one of the lands, and one of the seas.

Yerasmine had never been to the Sisehtab Nebula. Her mother had sailed its outer trails once, and had told Yera stories of its cold that seeped thought clothes right into one’s soul. Among Yera’s friends were mostly such pirates that would steer past invisible cliffs hidden by thick fog. Of course, it didn’t surprise her, as such, to hear that the privateer had sailed the Sisehtab Nebula before.

“It used to be a good place to hide out when being followed,” they mused. “But nowadays, staying in these waters too long is too close to the shores of those who hunt after pirate ships relentlessly, even through the Nebula.”

Yera caught Vic’s concerned glance at that. She decided to trail after them as they went to refasten the rearmost sail, the privateer ever staying with their hands steadfast on the steering wheel. (Notably, Yera had never seen the steering wheel move any way that hadn’t been in the privateer’s interest. But she wasn’t going to point that out now.)

“Sailing a Nebula is too dangerous even for the stupid, young, rich kids who want to show their worth as soon as their parents buy them their first ship,” Vic mused. “Only the most desperate would.” They pulled sharply on a rope and tied a knot that looked complicated with incredibly ease. The afternoon sun’s force was slowly lessened by the fog that was rising around the ship. Not for the first time did Yera feel that this ship was reaching a destination faster than should have been plausible.

“The Silent Slaughter isn’t like other ships,” she said, tugging on the knot Vic had made as if to test its strength while her friend was already attending to another rope. “I’m pretty sure it would never run aground. So they should be safe from cliffs and such.” Vic glanced up at her.

“So you know of Fyonn.” Yera hummed. Interesting.

“Even met him once.” Vic’s eyebrows rose.

“I only got letters,” they murmured, and finished another knot. “What’s he like?” Yera shrugged.

“Different.” She met Vic’s gaze head on. “So, what’s your story? You’re all close and stuff. You sail in tandem. You know of Fyonn. But you don’t trust them? What’s up with that?” Vic sighed, but nodded, and she followed them to the ship’s rear.

“I first met them at the Hamnstad docks, you know. Couple of years back. During the rallies.” Yerasmine raised her eyebrows and Vic chuckled. “I know. No idea whether they already had the Slaughter back then. Probably. They were definitely already involved in crime. They were writing speeches for small money down at the waters. And they were good. Really good. I tried to encourage them to join the speakers, say what they were really thinking. But they said politics weren’t for them…”

“You became friends.” Vic stared out into the fog that was being painted a reddish gold by the sunlight. They shrugged again. Bit their lip. Shook their head.

“I don’t know? I thought so.” Yera leaned closer to them and lightly rocked into their side comfortingly.

“You can’t resist a mystery case.” Vic laughed.

“No, I cannot. Guess we’re alike in that.” They hummed. “Well. They would challenge me at the small crowds. Patronise me, really. But it made my speeches better. I really think they cared. In turn, I’d trail them past the docks sometimes. They weren’t hiding their criminal pursuits, not from me, anyway. Somehow they figured I wouldn’t tell the stadwatch on them. Not that anyone would have told on anyone those days. The stadwatch couldn’t be trusted then. I did continuously try to talk them out of it though. But they wouldn’t hear of it. It was good though. We’d tell each other we were too good for what we were doing, and maybe we both meant it, but we were good.”

“What happened?” Vic wrapped an arm around her.

“The rallies became bigger. I saw them less often. Change came about. History. We were both there. I saw them again, after everything – among the people who’d still gather at the docks just out of nostalgia. Or maybe because we couldn’t really believe it, or didn’t want to forget where we came from. Anyway, the day I first got my diplomat’s license. They were there, along with some others. They congratulated me. And they stole my license from me. I know it because they left an apology note. And because they returned it to me two days later. I don’t know what they did with it. I had reported them, of course. Probably not in time to prevent whatever access they got with it, but still, I had to. Otherwise, it might have cost me the license completely. And nothing had ever mattered more to me than getting it in the first place.”

“A betrayal of trust.” They gave a small nod.

“It was around the time people started whispering about the Silent Slaughter. They stopped coming to the docks. I think they must have joined the caravan around that time, too? I only figured out they were the quiet captain much later. They sent me letters. I responded.” Vic shrugged. “It’s important to have allies on sea. It seemed mutually beneficial. So we decided to trust each other on water. As far as we can. But we don’t see eye to eye on land. And we definitely don’t do business together.” Yera met their eyes.

“I’m sorry. They were the only one I could think of.” Vic shook their head.

“No, it’s alright.” They studied her face for a moment. “I’m glad, you know. That they have you.” Yera grinned.

“I thought you were judging my taste earlier?” Vic opened their mouth to respond, but before they could, the privateer’s voice carried over to them both.

“A hand, please?”

The fog was now thick around them and they had to clamber up to the height of the steering wheel to be able to fully see the captain where they stood, staring out onto the waters in from of the ship as though they could see clearly through the white and blue mist. They weren’t holding onto the steering wheel anymore. The wheel was steady nevertheless. Only occasionally did it turn a millimetre here or there and Yerasmine couldn’t shake the feeling that they were gliding past sharp cliffs every second, unbothered by the danger.

“Vic, I need you to drop anchor when I give the signal, yes?” Vic nodded and disappeared back into the mist to the back half of the ship. “Yerasmine, love, you need to hold onto the steering wheel tightly when the anchor drops, can you do that?” Yera scoffed and stepped up next to them, assuming their position as the captain stepped forward and leaned over the railing, peering into the endless haze.

“Makes one wonder how you do it when you’re sailing alone,” she remarked. The privateer threw a grin at her.

“Don’t be contrary now. I don’t make the rules.”

“I’d like to speak to the guy who does,” she murmured.

“Well, remind me to take you back to the Island some time.” She laughed.

“I will.” The privateer made a noise, then they whistled a sharp tune and Yera just so remembered to grip onto the steering wheel tightly when seconds later the ship lurched and groaned against the weight of the anchor that Vic had to have dropped further back. Yera yelped as the wheel tried its level best to turn one way or the other. The privateer was on its opposite end shortly, helping her to hold it tight as the ship settled slowly but surely.

“It never likes stopping,” they hummed. Vic appeared back out of the fog.

“So, where are we?” The privateer waved them over to the railing where a corded ladder hung down into the mist. Vic gave them a sceptical look.

“Not all land masses that were islands have turned into cliffs in here” they explained. “If they had, pirates would never have used the Nebula as a hide-out. Nobody can anchor just between cliffs for long, you’ll hit a sharp corner sooner or later. But there’s sand banks here. And spots of land that are even less unfriendly.” They made an inviting gesture towards the ladder. Yera made a move towards it, but Vic grabbed her by the shoulder and held her back. The privateer sighed. “Fine. I’ll go first.” They swung themselves over the railing, and within seconds were lost to view. “I’m fine in case you’re wondering,” their voice eventually called from below. Vic rolled their eyes at Yera’s chuckle and followed.

The fog was less dense closer to the ground. The water was black where it lapped at the stony shores of the rock they were standing on. The privateer waved them past the ridge that protruded from the ground and gestured at them to be quiet which made Vic give another disgruntled eyeroll, but they complied. The entire structure they were slowly shuffling across looked to Yera like some giant creature had ripped a massive piece out of a mountain and hurled it at the sea with such force that it had stuck to the ground at an odd angle. The fog seemed to lift further as they surrounded it, the twilight lit by the gloom of a lantern the privateer had lit.

“Just as I thought,” they murmured as they gestured for them all to stop behind a stone ledge. “Unlikely for anyone who sails into it to get lost in the Nebula. You could have told me your friend’s a smuggler.”

Yera leaned past them. Dark water stretched on the other side of the ledge, the mist faint. Only some hundred metres away, she could make out the familiar arc of sandalwood and wine red sails. She could feel Vic in her back.

“How can you tell?” the diplomat asked. The privateer hummed.

“Small ship, broad sail, backup rudders, one workable cannon each side – and a low hull. I haven’t seen a ship of this exact cut, ever. But it’s a pretty piece. Perfect for smuggling work.”

“He built it himself,” Yera supplied. The privateer whistled through their teeth.

“Well. It’s easily defendable, to a point. As soon as someone makes it on board though, you don’t really have much room to work anymore.” Just as they said that, Yera made out another shape in the water. A sleeker boat, low railing and sails taken down, anchored, tied and hooked to the more familiar vessel. “Looks like unhappy business partners took advantage of a remote meeting point. Not many people who venture in such areas to do business anymore. So your friend must be dealing in some valuable or dangerous goods. Or both.” Vic took a step forward.

“He’s a good man!” The privateer turned around to them, holding their gaze.

“I have no doubt.” Their tone was genuine and Vic blinked in something that wasn’t quite surprise.

“So,” they shuffled from one foot to the other. “Any ideas on what to do now?” The privateer turned back around and peered over Yerasmine’s shoulder at the two ships on the other side of the rock.

“Yeah… Yeah, I might have a plan.”

“I still don’t understand why you want to be the one to distract them.” Vic was wringing their hands. “I’m the diplomat here. I should be bargaining with them.” Yera took two of the blades the privateer offered to her and stuck one of them in the back of one of her boots while she hooked the other one underneath her belt.

“You really shouldn’t.” Vic stared at the weapons held out to her in offering in bewilderment and shook her their head.

“Why not??” The privateer lowered the weapons, refastening one of the straps underneath their coat that Yera knew held a range of knives, and sighed.

“I can give you the whole argument.” They spoke earnestly and calmly. “One, you both know Charly and you know your way around his ship, so I need you two to take care of the other steps that I couldn’t do as quickly or effectively as you can. Two, because these people are criminals. When an official union cities diplomat shows up at their meeting point with a smuggler, they might not only recognise you, they would also definitely see you as a threat and they wouldn’t react kindly. It wouldn’t be much of a distraction, more of a spontaneous assassination attempt.” They stopped fumbling with their clothes and pulled forth a small, handy dagger. “And three, I don’t trust this setup. Hijacking a smuggler’s boat because they’re unhappy with the trade would drive people like these out of business rather quickly. Smugglers have a code and they talk to each other. Nobody would trade with people who can’t be trusted to respect their terms. So, either these people are amateurs – which comes with its own dangers – or…” They trailed off. Yera frowned.

“Or?” The privateer sighed through gritted teeth.

“Or, someone knows that Vic is trying to get to the Lindstad with Charly’s help and paid these guys to hold him back.” Vic looked at them with an unreadable face. The privateer shrugged and offered a dagger to them. Eventually, Vic nodded and took it from them, sliding it between the leather straps they wore beneath the left sleeve of their shirt. They gave Yera and then the privateer a grim smile.

“Repeat order?” Yera perked up.

“I sneak onto Charly’s ship and hide out there.” The privateer nodded at her.

“I lure the crew of the other ship onto their ship by feigning to want to speak business. There, I distract them.”

“Meanwhile, I cut the grappling hooks and ties, lift the anchor, and get ready to hoist the sail,” Yera added. Vic thumbed at where they had hid the privateer’s dagger.

“And I search the other ship for Charly and free him, get him aboard his own ship and sabotage the other ship if I can.”

“And only if there is occasion,” the privateer added. “No need to take unnecessary risks.”

“The same goes for you.” Yera held their gaze for a moment. They shot her a lop-sided smile that almost looked apologetic. “I’m serious.” The privateer’s gaze flickered towards Vic and Yera turned to see her friend open their mouth to say something, but the ship’s captain spoke up before they could.

“I wouldn’t dare to risk Vic’s mission.” Something passed over Vic’s face and they closed their mouth. Yerasmine distinctly felt like she should say something, but she couldn’t quite think of anything before Vic turned around and made their way back over to the corded ladder.

“Let’s get this over with then.”

The bulk of Charly’s ship was huge, and ran deep underneath the water – storage room for contraband and an impressive collection of tools, books, and craft space. Climbing the side of the boat was no easy feat, but Yera knew the vessel and it was far from her first time pulling her weight up the soft sandalwood.

Her fingers made contact with the deck and she slowly crept further, the tips of her boots digging into the hull to keep her weight levelled. She had drawn her hood into her face so her hair wouldn’t draw attention before her eyes could peak over the railing. Just the second she scanned the surface of the ship for people, a familiar, sharp whistle sounded from the bow of the strange ship. Yera spotted movement in the shadows and kept her head low.

A grey silhouette swung around the front raise of the other ship, throwing back their hood and revealing a shock of blonde hair in the dim light. The privateer’s voice cut through the moist air.

“All hands on deck!” Clever. Yera had to bite back a laugh as three figures emerged from the shadows and gathered on the side of the deck that was opposite to where she was hiding. On the other ship, calls and feet on wood could be heard and another half a dozen people emerged from further back and below deck, suspiciously gathering in a hesitant distance from where the privateer stood. After a moment’s pause, one of the figures stepped forward, his gruff voice carrying faintly over to where Yera was perched.

“Who are you? What do you want? Why do you call for hands?” The privateer looked around, taking in the scene, most certainly doing a head count. Then, they bowed with an exaggerated flourish.

“Forgive me, friends. It wasn’t my intent to cause confusion.” They took a small step towards the crew of the other ship, arms open in a gesture of reassurance. “Not many sailors make a stop in this Nebula anymore. I merely wished to see what kindred souls might have found a hideout here.”

Yera could see one of the figures on the deck of Charly’s ship lean over to another and murmur something, The privateer’s audience was invested. Vic had to be making their way up the rear end of the other ship now. This was her moment!

She pulled herself up and over the side of the ship, knees sliding quietly over the deck, boots finding purchase. On soft souls she kept low and quickly made her way to the back of the boat. Here, Charly kept barrels full of water, provisions, and other useful things. It would be easier to hide in the shadows here. For now, however, her steps lead her past the supplies to a latch in the back of the deck.

She cringed when pulling on the heavy iron grip on the ledge. It creaked, quietly but audibly, and for a few seconds she dared not move. But the voice of the privateer still rang out clearly, even though she couldn’t make out what they were saying from here. No other noise. Relieved, she pulled the latch all the way open, and shuffled forward until she could let herself drop through the hole.

She landed in a squat and made a quick check of her surroundings. The first lower deck of Charly’s ship, the Aunt Anarchy it was called, wasn’t anything much remarkable. Here, light from above filtered through many latches leading up to the main deck so that one could come down from any spot on the ship if necessary. It mainly made space to work the two cannons, small and old, but sturdy, easily handleable by one person. In the back quarter of the first lower deck, however, Yera knew there to be another hidden mechanism.

She trailed around another collection of barrels and almost fell over something that looked like a crowbar before she found the collection of ropes and chains that span from the main deck down a latch in the back of the first lower deck that opened way down into the open water.

The mechanism was delicate so that the ropes could be pulled and the weights could be moved, but no water would make it into the ship during storm or when carrying heavy cargo. Charly had built the mechanism himself and Yera couldn’t really claim to understand it. At its heart was some sort of pully system, counteracted by a contrary weight, so that one could easily lift anchor when needed, but also quickly drop it again.

Yera didn’t understand how it worked, but she did know how to work it. Her hands set to work and were halfway through the untying of knots that Charly had talked her through a hundred times before she heard the steps behind her.

Too late did she attempt to turn around. A heavy hand landed on her right shoulder and she flinched back, looking into the sunburnt face of a bearded mercenary. A nasty scar ran past one of his eyes and he was missing several teeth as opened his mouth. The tip of his sabre pointed at her sternum.

Yera ducked out from under his grip before he could speak, and shoved at him hard. He yelped and stumbled backwards, but not far, and was back in balance by the time it took her to quickly move so that the ropes and chains were between them. He growled and lunged at her, but she turned so that his grasp went past her. It was her turn to yelp as he struck out with his sabre. She just barely avoided the rusty blade and pulled out one of the knives the privateer had given her in turn.

The mercenary let out a short string of curses as he tried to pull back his sabre but found it stuck in the chainwork. He yanked on it harshly once, twice, and Yera used his moment of distraction to lunge forward. He jumped back to avoid her knife and she cut through one of the ropes tangled in the construction instead. The mercenary had let go of his sabre now and seemed intent on just taking Yera down with sheer brute force. She had to take some quick steps to evade him, always cautious to keep the ropes between them. He quickly drew back his hand as she moved to strike out with the knife and cut another rope.

The mercenary growled in frustration and lunged at the ropes now, gripping them tightly and moving them to one side as far as he could as to finally be able to properly see Yerasmine. She stared into glassy brown eyes and he grinned darkly. She grinned back at him and pulled on the hilt of his sabre that was now right in front of her. With the ropes she had cut loosened, the weapon came free easily, and when the mercenary let go off the tangle of cords to reach for a weapon to defend himself from his own, Yera took a strategic step forward in turn and yanked on the chain that had come free.

A rattling sound cut through the air between them and lightly shook the wooden ground beneath their feet. The mercenary hesitated in his reaching for a second sabre and looked back up, meeting Yera’s eyes just in time for her to see one of the counterweights come down from the ceiling and hit him straight in the forehead.

He fell to the ground quietly and without fuss as the chain rattled and the counterweight eventually came to a stop. For a moment, Yerasmine’s heavy breathing was the only sound audible to her. Then, she took a step forward and glanced down the latch. She hadn’t been wrong in her actions. The anchor was weighed. Charly would probably have to fix the mechanism. But it had worked. Maybe she understood more about how it worked than she had thought after all.

She briefly wondered whether Charly would be more proud of or more mad at her before remembering the mercenary. Carefully, she stepped past the mechanism to take a closer look at the man lying limp on the floor. He didn’t move when she nudged him with her foot. She took a quick breath. Minutes had passed since she had come down to the first lower deck. She didn’t have time to dispose of him or secure him somehow. He would have to wait.

She clambered back up the ledge she had come down through carefully, sneaking back to her hiding spot between the barrels on the main deck first to have a vantage point.

The main deck was empty. Shadows gathered on deck of the ship tied to the Aunt Anarchy by its far side. Yera took care to be quiet as she tiptoed out of her hiding spot and towards the railing she hadn’t climbed over.

Coming closer, she could make out the shapes of people on the strange boat. It were more than it had been before. She couldn’t be sure since she hadn’t done a proper headcount, but it seemed as though all sailors above deck had made their way off the Aunt Anarchy back on deck of their original ship. Sneaking closer still, she could make out voices again.

“And if you are who you claim to be, why shouldn’t we capture you and sell you out to the highest bidder right away?” That was the voice of the first mercenary who had answered the privateer. Ducked behind the railing now, Yera realised that the mercenaries had formed a circle around the privateer, slowly crowding in around them. It made sense. If they had really revealed their identity to the strangers, the group aboard the strange ship might have called for the others onboard the Aunt Anarchy to come over as backup. The privateer held a reputation after all…

“Ah, how short-sighted,” mused a most familiar voice, “of you to think that that should be the most beneficial thing we could do together.” The privateer still hadn’t drawn a weapon. Their shoulders were low, they seemed relaxed, if alert, their steps describing almost the circle of dance steps as they made sure not to keep their back to any of the mercenaries for too long.

This wasn’t good. It itched underneath Yera’s nails to do something, to somehow draw the crew’s attention to her, but she bit her lip. She had to remind herself of the plan. The privateer was good at what they did. They would call for aid when they felt that they didn’t have the situation under control. Yera didn’t like it, but she certainly trusted them. And they trusted her.

She took a deep breath, cursed twice under her breath to calm herself, and started crouching down the length of the railing, cutting ties and loosening grappling hooks where she found them. She made sure to stay
low and to cut the hooks so that they wouldn’t fall down into the water, lest the splashing sound alert the crew of the other ship.

She was slowly pulling the long wood of a plank onto the Aunt Anarchy, trying to minimise the sound of oak being pulled over sandalwood, when a hand from below suddenly grabbed at her wrist. She almost shrieked, but a second hand quickly shot out and covered her mouth, causing her to let go off the plank. A brief scraping sound could be heard, loud in the relative quiet of the fog. For a moment, everything froze.

“Winds are picking up,” the voice of the privateer was steady and invaded the clearer space within the mist, lit by the ship’s lights. They were theatrical. They were present. They were captivating. Yerasmine caught herself listening intently. “I could just leave. Leave you here and your two ships to drive into each other until the wood has been worn down to paper. Or, I could help you out…”

In the expectant silence, Yera held her breath. Then, there was laughter among the crew on the other ship, and she took a relieved breath – or, she tried to, only now remembering the hand covering her mouth and nose. She shook it off, but before she could do much else, the hand around her wrist pulled and a familiar round face appeared above the railing, glasses steamed up in front of dark eyes, just as dark hair falling into a face streaked with small scars. Her relieved breath almost got stuck in her throat.

“Charly!” She helped pull the smuggler all the way over the railing and onto the deck of his own ship, transitioning her tug on him into a hug seamlessly. Charly laughed helplessly into her shoulder.

“A little help here please!” A hiss came from over the railing and Yera and Charly quickly let go of each other, hurrying to help pull up Vic who was clinging onto the ship’s hull with one hand, the other hand clutching the oak plank that had threatened to fall all the way down into the water. With combined strength, the three pulled the wooden board to safety, lying back on deck and catching their breath.

“Good to have you back!” Yera patted at Charly’s hair and he chuckled lowly.

“Fuckers seized my ship because I refused to sell them some of my most endangered books. Who does that??”

“We didn’t have to sabotage their ship,” Vic whispered, their breathing still going fast and turning to fog in the rapidly cooling air. Yera raised an eyebrow at them.

“Yeah, they ran aground when trying to make their way out of here,” Charly explained. “Been stuck here for days, unable to figure out how to make my ship work for them. Idiots.” Yera nodded in understanding and threw a glance towards the coarse wood of the other ship.

“I’ve cut all ties, the plank was last.” She looked at Vic. “We need to get the hell out of here. The privateer is doing what they can, let’s make use of the time we have and set sail.” Charly sat up.

“That’s your clown over there keeping my clients busy?” Vic elbowed him in the side.

“That’s Ye’s boyfriend.” Charly looked over to her with big eyes.

“Alright,” he eventually mumbled. “Let’s set sail and buy them an out.”

They all together crawled to the big sail pole at the centre of the deck. Charly talked them through the actions of untying cords and retying them elsewhere. Meanwhile, the winds did pick up still, and the voices on the other ship got louder, and less friendly.

Yera found herself looking between the railing towards where the privateer was audibly stalling for time and the mast where Charly was standing, waiting to cut the last cord to let the sail finally fall open. The smuggler thoughtfully stared into the middle distance as if listening to something.

“What are we waiting for?” Yera hissed, looking over to Vic. She only now realised that her friend was throwing equally worried glances back and forth. They leaned closer to the smuggler.

“Charly…?” He shook his head lightly.

“Wind,” he murmured. A yell could be heard from the other ship. Voices rose and got loud. Yera ran before she knew what she was doing, her feet carrying her all the way to the railing. She didn’t bother to hide anymore. Quickly, the privateer’s eyes met hers – as well as a few others’. The yells got louder, fingers pointed at Yera. The privateer had pulled a foil from below their coat. Within seconds, they stood between the crew of the other ship and the railing leading towards the Aunt Anarchy.

“Alright,” they called. “Who wants to play a round of sword Limbo-Dance slash high jump?” The mercenaries descended upon them. The privateer easily sidestepped the attack of one who went tumbling overboard as they tripped him, swirling around to block the sword of another one. A third one spotted an opening in their side before they could react, but just as the attacker made to lunge forward, a stone hit them square in the forehead and they yelped in surprise, stumbling backwards and their eyes turning upwards as they fell onto their back. Yera whirled around.

By an open barrel filled with metal scraps and leftovers stood Vic, aiming for another mercenary with what looked like a squashed and folded up kitchen fork. Yera turned to Charly, who looked at the scene in bewilderment.

“Charly!” she yelled. “Now!” The smuggler seemed to come back to himself and shook off his stupor. He raised his hands high and yanked on the chord he was holding, cutting the one underneath it with the dagger he had been holding to it in anticipation.

A sound like giant wings flapping once, twice, thrice, and a gust of wind that caused Yera to have to hold onto the railing as to not stumble off the side of the boat. The wine red sail unfolded and Charly was pulled forward by the final cord holding onto it a few stumbling steps before he found his footing, dragging the soles of his leather shoes against the sandalwood and dragging the cord back to tie it tightly to the pole in front of the ship’s steering wheel. Wind filled the sail as it fell into shape, and the Aunt Anarchy lurched once, smoothing quickly into a glide that gained speed immediately. A perfect jump start. Yera whirled back around to the railing.

The privateer shoved one mercenary away from themselves and into another one that was coming at them. They turned and broke into a run, past the two masts on the small boat, towards the rear of it. Yerasmine stumbled forward when they jumped and managed to grasp their forearm just as one of their shoes made contact with the sandalwood railing and threatened to slip off it. For a breathless second, they were both out of balance. Then, Vic was by her side and within seconds they had their arm hooked around the privateer’s shoulders as they pulled them the rest of the way on deck.

Another lurch pushed the Aunt Anarchy forward as wind rushed in and blew white and blue mist between them and the enemy ship. The privateer stumbled and they all ended in a heap on the soft sandalwood floor. A whoop sounded from the steering wheel and Yera looked over to see Charly make a pose of victory as well as a rude gesture at the crew of the boat quickly disappearing behind them. She couldn’t help it. She started laughing manically. Her knee dug into Vic’s side and the diplomat tried to wiggle out from under it, pushing their elbow into the privateer’s stomach who released a breath of air.

“Ow.” Vic looked around in confusion. Their eyes met Yera’s, and then the privateer’s as they all stared at each other. Promptly, Vic had to laugh too and Yera joined in again, eventually causing even the privateer to chuckle helplessly.

It took them a minute or two to calm down and untangle from each other. Yera caught the privateer blush as they separated from Vic, and Vic avoid their eyes in turn. She smirked, and was about to make a comment when the scene was interrupted by Charly striding over to join them. The privateer cleared their throat.

“You must be Charly.” They extended their hand. Charly didn’t take it.

“And you are?” Yera felt that it was her turn to step forward and clear her throat.

“I think an introduction is in order. Charly, this is the privateer. Caravan traveller by land, and quiet sailor on sea. They’re the captain of the Silent Slaughter. I vouch for them.” Charly briefly looked at her, then back at the privateer, studying them closely.

“I ask for temporary permission to board your ship and stay on it,” the privateer murmured, lowering their gaze respectfully. “I realise my request is belated, but I hope you understand the need for the delay.” Charly cocked his head to one side.

“You’re no privateer,” he said. The captain looked back up at him. Yera frowned.

“Yes, they are.” Vic dusted off their clothes and stepped closer.

”They prefer the terminology of privateer to one of piracy,” they explained. Charly wrinkled his nose.

“Prefer it? Privateer is an official title. Given out alongside a license. I know all licensed privateers around the union cities, I work with them regularly. And the Silent Slaughter definitely isn't a licensed ship, nor is its captain a licensed privateer.” Silence fell. Yera's frown deepened. It was true, privateers had a license. She had never thought about that. She turned around to her partner, expecting a ready explanation. But instead she met steely blue eyes and a stoic facial expression.

“You aren’t a privateer?” The words had left her mouth before she had a chance to think about them.

“Figures.” Vic’s comment was quiet, but it cut through the silence and Yera thought she could see the privateer flinch. They still did not say a word. Charly took a step forward.

“My friend has vouched for you,” he said. “So you may stay for now. But do not think that I trustingly invite dishonesty onto my ship.” He turned around and stalked back towards the steering wheel. In her back, Yera could feel Vic turn as well and follow him. She kept her gaze on the privateer. But they didn’t meet her eyes. Eventually, they too turned around, and stole into the shadows at the bow of the ship. Yera stared after them.

The Aunt Anarchy had found open waters again, but night had set. The skies had turned indigo and would soon be black. Early stars were blinking alight. It would likely take them until morning to get to the Lindstad. Vic sat down next to Yerasmine in the corner of the ship’s rear where a small kitchen was assembled to host up to five people in a relatively cosy setting. Yera put her head on Vic’s shoulder and for a moment, it was blissfully quiet around them. Not that either of them could ever stay quiet for long.

“Ye…” The nickname fell like a sigh from Vic’s mouth. “You still know them better than anyone does. They’re awfully secretive, and—”

“Do you ever wonder why?” Yera raised her head off Vic’s shoulder. Her friend looked at her curiously. “People have reasons for their secrecy. Most don’t just pick it as a lifestyle.” Vic seemed to think about that. They shrugged.

“I just assumed it was a necessary character trait for someone in their business.” Yera nodded.

“I assumed it had to do with Fyonn. It makes sense with what I know of their backstory. But…” She trailed off. I think there is more to it didn’t quite cover what she meant. She took a deep breath of the salty night air. She had missed the sea air at night. The sound of gentle waves against wood. The ever present breeze. She hadn’t been sailing much lately. The Desperate Dolly didn’t feel like home anymore. She briefly thought of Elyon, and sighed. “You care for them.” She made it sound like a question although it wasn’t. Vic didn’t look at her.

“I do.” Somehow, she had expected them to be more hesitant with the answer. But then, it wasn’t like Vic to hold back on thoughts and feelings. “I think we’re something like friends. More than that out on the water perhaps. I don’t know. Confidants.” They sighed, irritated. “And I know they care for me – I mean, they’re not exactly subtle. I just wish they could drop the I-can’t-be-what-you-think-I-could-be act and actually be candid with me.” Yera looked over to them and hummed.

“See, that’s just it,” she mused. “I’m not always sure that it’s an act.” Vic looked back at her. They seemed on the verge of saying something when a loud noise came from close to them. Yera flinched and scrambled to her feet, Vic rising next to her. “What the fuck?” It took her a couple of seconds to realise that the latch down to the first lower deck had been thrown open. It took her another few seconds to realise that the angry, red face emerging from it seemed vaguely familiar – and that she had utterly forgotten about the unconscious mercenary she had left down there. “Aw, fuck.”

She lost her footing when she jumped out of the way of the man storming towards them and ended up stomach first on the ground. A dazed second passed before she turned her head to discover that, apparently, Charly stored a collection of rapiers and other blades underneath the sitting bench in his ship’s kitchenette. She randomly grabbed one and turned around to heave herself onto her knees.

Apparently, the mercenary had decided to leave her where she was and chase after Vic instead who had gotten only a few steps far and was now cornered between a stack of barrels and the ship’s railing. Yera cursed and hurried to get to her feet.

The mercenary must have gotten a sword from somewhere and Vic had pulled out the dagger the privateer had given them earlier, but their odds were not looking good. Yera threw herself at the armed man from the side with a yell. He went down with a grunt. Regrettably, she went down with him. Before she could take charge of the situation, she took an elbow to the temple. A cough wrung itself out her throat as she briefly saw stars. The sounds of stumbling steps and metal scraping over wood where nearly drowned out by the ringing in her head. Before her eyesight fully cleared, she took a kick to the stomach. The world turned over. She curled into a tight ball with a low groan. With great strain, she glanced back up to where Vic stood, dagger clutched in front of them, staring in a mixture of fear and defiance at the mercenary who had retrieved his sword and was approaching them again.

In a sudden rush of grey and silver, the privateer stood between Vic and the attacker. Yera had to blink through the hasty movement. She forced herself to her knees. Blades clashed somewhere. Vic was at her side and helped her up. Her breathing was coming back. She turned around just in time to see the privateer take a step back, the mercenary going after them, but then there suddenly was Charly, and the privateer took a step forward into the space of their attacker who lost his balance – and before he or Yera knew what was happening, he was being pushed by Charly, tumbled over the railing and fell.

A breath passed. Yera turned to Vic, clutching their arm.

“Are you okay?” They nodded, their eyes never leaving the privateer however who turned around to Charly and nodded at him.

“Thank you.” Charly nodded back.

“Don’t mention it.” Another second passed in which everyone was just breathing and staring at each other. Then, the privateer fainted, and Vic lunged forward with a yelp to catch them.

“…stupid, reckless, careless to jump in front of me like that!” Vic was pacing. It had been a while since Yera had seen them pace. Her head was still hurting a bit. But it was getting better. The fingers of her right hand were intertwined with the privateer’s, pressing the fabric of Charly’s coat to their side. “We said no unnecessary risks! I had the situation perfectly under control!”

“Didn’t look like it from where I was standing,” the privateer muttered through grit teeth. Their breathing was laboured. Yera stared at them.

“You look remarkably pretty for someone who’s bleeding out.” They frowned up at her.

“I’m not bleeding out, love.” They flinched underneath her touch, but she kept the pressure steady, just as Charly had told her. “Are you sure you’re alright? If that piece of garbage hurt you—”

“He hurt you!” Vic was gesticulating wildly now. “And you and Charly threw him over board!” The privateer sighed.

“You’re welcome for saving your life.” Vic stopped pacing and stared at them.

“Don’t you dare die on me.” Their tone was serious and there was some vulnerability to their voice. The privateer’s gaze softened as they looked at them.

“I’m telling you,” he repeated, to both them and to Yera, “I’m not bleeding out. I will be fine.” Charly rushed back in, dropping a stuffed bag next to them.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he declared, and took a vial from the bag, dripping some of the liquid inside it onto his hands and rubbing it in. “I’m going to need you to undress.” The privateer sighed.

“Not how I expected my day after the Hamn Union Holiday to go, I admit.” They winked at Yera, but she could only roll her eyes as she released the pressure on their wound and helped them carefully peel off their vest and shirt. The fabric stuck to the skin where the blade had passed through it and the privateer hissed. “That’s a perfectly good set of clothing gone to waste.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to wear some colour some time,” Vic remarked, but it seemed almost as though they were talking to themselves. They rather carefully weren’t looking at the wound just below the left side of the privateer’s rib cage. Charly had no such qualms and leaned forward curiously, investigating the cut as it was bared to the night air.

“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” he declared after a moment. “I’ll have to clean this, and I’d rather give you some stitches just to be on the safe side, but it doesn’t look to worrying. Will hurt like hell though.”

“Oh happy day,” the privateer sighed sarcastically while Yera tugged the sleeves of their shirt from where they had gotten stuck at the wrists. Charly actually chuckled and moved back to grab another vial from his bag, when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. The privateer raised a questioning eyebrow. Yera blinked at him. Slowly, Charly shifted and stared at the privateer’s left forearm. When he made a move to reach for it, the privateer pulled their arm away and covered their wrist with their other hand, hissing as the movement pulled on the cut on their side. Charly flinched back lightly.

“Sorry,” he muttered, hurrying back into action and sorting through his back until pulling out another vial. He opened it, but then stopped again, hesitant. “Is that…” He trailed off. The privateer stared back at him defiantly.

“Hell you think it is?” they growled. Charly slowly, methodically, unscrewed the vial and poured some of its contents over the privateer’s wound. They hissed, but kept their eyes open. Charly pulled forth some gauze and set to cleaning the wound. He wouldn’t look at the privateer’s face as he continued speaking.

“Nobody gets that letter burnt into their forearm and still makes it out of the penal pits alive.” He said it almost casually. The privateer studied his face closely while he worked.

“Would you know?” The words seemed almost accusing, but the way they said them was soft and genuine. A small frown moved across Charly’s face. Gone as quickly as it had come.

“I’ve lost a number of friends to piracy prosecution.” He worked needle and thread out of his bag, setting up for stitches. His voice was still low. “It must have taken you great courage to make it out of that alive. Even more to keep going.” The privateer briefly closed their eyes. “Courage and some luck, I’d imagine.” They swallowed audibly. Suddenly, Vic kneeled down by their other side and grasped their right hand. Yera hadn’t even realised that she had taken their left one and once again tightly intertwined their fingers. The privateer’s eyes fluttered open as Charly made the first stitch. They found Vic’s eyes. The diplomat squeezed their hand.

“They would never have given you a license. You could never have asked for one. Even in the Hamnstad they would have had to drive you out of town with such a branding.” The privateer sucked in a breath that sounded only a little like an attempt at laughter.

“It’s a license in its own way,” they whispered. “They don’t get to tell me what the P stands for. They have made too many decisions that impacted my life.” Yera squeezed their hand. They looked over to her. Their eyes told her a hundred more things they did not have to say. They must have tried to fend for themselves. To plead with the law. To appeal to politics. They hadn’t meant to be drawn into piracy when they left their hometown to sail the seas. The first vessel they had been recruited on after getting lost had fallen into the nets of piracy prosecution. They had been young, gullible, righteous. And they had had all that burnt out of them.

The methods of prosecution used by the cities in the sparser lands were forbidden and ostracised in the Hamnstad and the union cities. But the penal pits still existed out there. And nobody who was in them ever got out, Charly was right about that. Before everything they were today, before the Hamnstad, before the Silent Slaughter, before Fyonn, the privateer had fought themselves out of there somehow. But the literal branding of that place they would be wearing for the rest of their life.

When Charly had finished the stitches and wrapped up the wound, and the privateer had been redressed and sat more comfortably under covers back in the kitchenette corner to rest, Charly finally looked them in the eye again and offered his hand. The privateer blinked, then took it.

“I’m Charly. It’s an honour to meet you.” They shook hands.

“The honour is all mine,” they responded. “I’m the privateer.”

.
.
.

the next next next day (which makes it the day after the day after the Hamn Union Holiday, if you want to keep count)

The privateer was fast asleep, wrapped up in blankets and nestled into a comfortable corner. It didn’t get too cold at nights, but Yera still found herself shivering lightly every now and then. The sky was turning grey. Streaks of pink and purple would soon seep into it, long before the yellow and light blue. Fatigue had crept up on her during the night, but she hadn’t really been able to get much rest.

Vic seemed to have had a similar experience. They were tugged next to privateer on their opposite side to Yera. Silently, they were watching the hour before sunrise together.

“I’m glad that you have them, too.” Vic’s whisper barely disturbed the calm morning air. It was almost lost in the sound of the waves licking at the ship. But Yera heard and looked over to them, raising an eyebrow. Vic smiled apologetically. “And I’m in no position to judge your taste, I didn’t mean to. I think I’m mainly trying not to judge my own taste… They confuse me, is all.” Yera watched her friend as they stared into the morning sky and chewing on their lip.

“I know they seem at times like they’re not,” she murmured. “But they really are emotionally available.” Vic sighed.

“I know that. Really. I just…” They shrugged. Yera hummed.

“You don’t need to know what it means.” She reached over the sleeping privateer and squeezed Vic’s hand. Her friend smiled ruefully and squeezed back.

“I really am glad you two have each other.” Yera smiled.

“Me too.”

“Last chance to leave my ship before we spy land!” Charly called over his shoulder from where he was fastening a rope. Yera was stood next to the privateer, keeping an arm around them for warmth, and to steady them. The sun had begun to rise half an hour ago. The privateer’s gaze was firmly fixed onto a spot on the horizon. Charly had apparently finished his work for now and came to stand next to them. The privateer handed him the spyglass they were holding, nodding towards the horizon. Charly looked at them curiously, then raised the spyglass to his eyes. He whistled through his teeth. “Trusty crew you must have. And a skilled navigator. I didn’t see anyone following us.” The privateer didn’t answer. Yera smiled. She didn’t need to look through the spyglass. The dark three mast ship with blue sails was becoming more visible on the horizon by the second. The Silent Slaughter didn’t have a crew. But Charly didn’t need to know that.

“We’ll be out of your hair in another half hour,” the privateer assured him. Vic had to have come back up to the main deck at some point, now joining them by the railing.

“Not joining us in the Lindstad then?” They weren’t looking at the privateer. They all knew it would be terribly dangerous for them to enter the Lindstad. Yera held out her free arm and her friend joined her in a side hug.

“Maybe next time,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to go this far southwest this time around. I have a meeting, actually.” Vic nodded.

It didn’t take long for the Silent Slaughter to come within boarding distance at all. Yera shared a tight hug with Charly.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything. And do take care.”

“You take care,” she shot back. “Make sure to get Vic back home safe.” He grinned at her.

“I would never risk their safety. They’re in good hands.” He turned to go and get a plank. Yera looked to the other side of the boat where Vic and the privateer were sharing a private moment. Vic seemed irritated about something, but the privateer took their hands into theirs and spoke softly, hunched forward to look into their eyes. Vic huffed and rolled their eyes. Yera grinned. The two captains seemed to come to some sort of agreement as they discussed in lowered voices. Eventually, the privateer was about to step away when Vic leaned forward, briefly went on tiptoes and leaned up, placing a chaste kiss on the privateer’s cheek. The privateer remained frozen in place, even as Vic turned and went to join Yera where she stood. There was a twinkle in their eyes when they arrived next to her.

“I hope your mission works out,” Yera said and wrapped her arms around them. Vic chuckled.

“I have a good feeling about this one.” They turned more serious when they stepped back from the hug. “They don’t know over there, but it’s only the beginning. We’ll tackle the prosecution laws targeting occult trades next.” Yera smiled and reached out to brush a curl of brown hair out of their face.

“Doing the union’s work always.” Vic gave the most genuine smile.

“It’s my honour to, really.” The privateer had found their footing again and came up to join them now. A faint blush was still spread over their face and they only glanced at Vic briefly.

“Time to go?” Yera nodded and took them by one hand. She squeezed Vic’s shoulder again, and Charly’s when they walked past him, the privateer sharing a nod with him as well. As they crossed the plank over to the Silent Slaughter she leaned over and whispered to the privateer.

“Farewell kiss?” They coughed mildly.

“Shut up!” She grinned.

“Let me guess: They wanted to pay you and you refused?”

“I won’t compromise a union diplomat by taking money from them.”

“So a kiss instead?” They sputtered.

“Actually, I asked for that autograph from the Lady Sygn and they assured me they would get it to me!” Yera smirked.

“Ah, so the kiss was for free…” The privateer groaned as they set foot onto the deck of their ship.

“If you keep going on about it, I will throw you overboard.” Yera laughed, climbing after them.

“I’d like to see you try! Your ship loves me. Or should I say: your boyfriend’s ship.” They glared at her, then shoved back the plank towards the Aunt Anarchy and rose to raise their hand to a last parting gesture.

“We’re setting sail,” they said. “Where would you like me to drop you off?”

***************************

.

elsewhere, elsewhen

Fyonn stood on the hill just North of the main village and West port, where the island’s river spilled into the sea and the green water turned first white, then a deep but clean blue, and waited.

Waiting had come naturally to him for the longest time in his life. It had been part of who he was – of what he was. He hadn’t taken it for granted so much as it had encapsulated him. But this was different. Waiting for Tïn was always different. The passage of time seemed to change for him when they were concerned.

The Silent Slaughter didn’t appear on the horizon. It simply emerged out of the islanders called the Nay - the not-quite-something that surrounded Vyllam and kept it hidden from those who did not know that it could be found – invisible to any eye that wasn’t Fyonn’s in one second, sailing proud and strong close to the shore in the next.

The Slaughter was far from Fyonn’s favourite ship. Nor had it been his most expandable one. She was simply the ship that had called to Tïn. The one that had chosen them. A three mast vessel had seemed an extravagant choice to Fyonn. But it made sense in its own way.

Tïn didn’t like to drop anchor in the West port where they were supposed to unrig a ship of this size. Fyonn wasn’t sure anymore whether they did it just to be irritating or whether there was some actual reason to it. He extended a hand when Tïn slid down a rope tied to the side of the ship towards the ground.

“Welcome home, captain.” To his surprise, Tïn actually took the hand offered to them to help pull them onto dry land. They huffed, as typical for them, starting up a complaint instead of returning the greetings.

“You could have just sent a letter and let me come myself instead of calling the ship back like a dog and making me be dragged along.” Fyonn spotted the carefully hidden wince in their step as they let go off the Slaughter. He was all over them before they could react.

“You are hurt.” They hissed as he pulled up their shirt, coarse fingers inspecting the dressing underneath.

“Easy. Give a guy a warning before ripping off their clothes!” But they let him step closer and relaxed into his inquisitive touch. “I’m fine. It’s healing nicely.”

“Proper work on the stitches,” he agreed, then looked up into their face. “Who’d you heroically jump in front of then?” They sighed.

“Vic.” Fyonn smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t start. Yerasmine’s all over my ass about it already.”

“I bet she is.” He let go off them and picked their hand back up instead. “Come on. I’d like for Jaek to take another look at that suture, just to be on the safe side.” Tïn trailed after him and rolled their eyes.

“Not that I’m opposed, but did you just call me here to fuss over me?” Fyonn clicked his tongue.

“I should every now and then, just to spite you.” He shook his head fondly. “But no. I happen to have a job for you.” Tïn gave him a suspicious look and sighed when he just winked at them.

“I wish someone would finally say that and only mean it as an innuendo,” they murmured. Fyonn snickered.

“Oh, you’d hate if I made it that easy,” he replied easily. “But I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” They hummed.

“Things could be easy once in a while.” Fyonn briefly pressed his lips to the back of their hand.

“That from the person who always comes back either hurt or wanting to hurt me.” Tïn rolled their eyes fondly.

“Like you’re not into it.” He laughed, but tugged them closer and pulled them downhill towards the main village.

.
.
.

meanwhile, out on the water

The privateer had dropped Yerasmine off on one of the small islands in the archipelago a few miles off the main land where the union city seas spilled out into the open sea of the west, just north of the land curve. It didn’t take long for Gøld to pick her up, her friend and fellow senior member of her convent ever reliable. She had received her message on board of the Silent Slaughter still, a rather timely answer to her spell work the day before the Hamn Union Holiday.

The other witch’s ship was a pretty little thing, its sail creamy white with golden and silver lines running over it. It stopped right in front of the grassy cliff Yera was standing on, and Gøld appeared at the ship’s bow, almost on eye level with her. She wore black suspenders over a flannel shirt. Rings and piercings in hear ears and nose caught the light of the afternoon sun. Her white hair was shaved short and her grey eyes lit up with her smile.

“G’day, Yerasmine.” Stuck underneath her right arm, Gøld held a familiar-looking book. Bound in leather and gold. And Yera knew that red and blue runes were covering the delicate paper. Exitium. Fyonn’s book. “I’ve been looking at this thing since you gave it to me,” Gøld called. “I think it’s time we sat down and really talked about it.”

Yerasmine smiled and caught the rope that Gøld threw out to her. She was looking forward to this next adventure.