Chapter Text
The Wingalet was a good ship. She was a schooner of Fontainian make, with room enough for seventy-five men, though her crew of fifty could sail her expertly. Her two masts carried an array of sails, rigged fore-and-aft. Her name was displayed against the dark wood, shining golden when the sun’s light glinted off of the paint. The Wingalet made no place her home, she hailed from no port; the entire sea was her harbor. She sailed where she pleased, taking treasures along the way.
She could speed gracefully over the surface of the sea, going into shallower waters than any other ship would dare. She snuck up on even the largest galleons, chasing them down until her crew could attack. With eight fixed cannons and four swivel guns, she could deal harmful blows just below the waterline, before darting out of range of her enemies’ counter.
The flag that flew above her was one that could strike fear into the hearts of even the most courageous sailors. On deep-red fabric, which some said had been dyed with the blood of the men her crew had slaughtered, an emblem depicting a three-headed dog was painted for all the seas to behold. Though her captain preferred to use the kinder term, privateers, everyone aboard the ship, along with everyone they had ever attacked, knew exactly what they were. Pirates. The Pirates of Meropide.
Rumors spread across all the nations of a ship with the name Wingalet. Rumors of the schooner that snuck up out of the mist, boarding before an alarm could sound, and disappearing again, all of their treasure stolen in mere moments. Rumors of a ship that was blessed by the winds, sailing faster than any other. Rumors of the crew, bloodthirsty as sharks. The Pirates of Meropide were known for their cunning, their wits, and above all else, their ruthlessness. The rumors said that no survivor had ever been found in the wreckage of one of her battles.
Captain Wriothesley often laughed when he heard the rumors. No, the flag had not been dyed with blood. They did not appear out of thin air, they simply knew how to avoid being detected. They were not blessed by the wind, but they did have an expert crew, who could harness the wind in the Wingalet’s sails in the most efficient way. And perhaps her crew was as ruthless as the tales tell, though perhaps the true reason that survivors were rare was not because they were killed, but because they were invited to join the crew of Fontaine’s most feared ship.
All in all, the Wingalet was a good ship. A remarkable ship. Even so, good ships sometimes had to be repaired. Not from damage sustained in battle. No, the crew of the Wingalet was smart enough to avoid the cannon shots that were fired at them. The ship was simply in need of repairs. The name would be repainted, making the golden lettering even more beautiful. The sails would be mended, barnacles removed from the ship’s underside. She would be cleaned inside and out, ridding her decks of any vermin that had crawled aboard.
This process only took about a month, thanks to the two shipwrights who made their home among the crew. They often bickered with each other, but almost everyone else on the schooner agreed that they were secretly in love.
So, as they did a few times each year, they returned to the only town that had ever been somewhat of a home harbor for the Wingalet. Port Lumidouce claimed to be a respectable town, though everyone knew that this was not the case. It was a haven for pirates, taverns on every street corner, ships constantly entering and leaving the harbor. Anything could be bought for the right price, exotic goods from other nations traded and sold, changing hands faster than the changing tides.
Captain Wriothesley stood on the deck of the Wingalet, watching the town of Port Lumidouce grow larger as the ship neared the shore. He had never liked returning to port, but it was necessary to keep the ship running. So many things could happen in a town like Port Lumidouce, some of them good, most of them bad. On the open sea, the Pirates of Meropide were feared. They had power. Here, they were just another crew of some ship that had come in for repairs. Their reputation meant nothing.
The repairs would only take one month. Then, it would be back to the sea, the place where Captain Wriothesley felt most at home. The horizon of the aquamarine water brushing the endless blue of the sky was Wriothesley’s only comfort. He could stare at the line where sea met sky for hours. He just had to survive for one month in Port Lumidouce, and then he could set sail again.
Still, the thought of his precious Wingalet brought ashore, unable to make a quick escape, leaving him and his crew essentially stranded in Port Lumidouce…Wriothesley couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
The ship veered towards a sandy stretch of beach just off to the side of the harbor, far enough away that they would not be bothered by any curious townspeople. The morning passed by in a blur after that. The ship was dragged from the water, laid on her side in the golden sand. The process of bringing her ashore was backbreaking work, and the sun was nearing the horizon by the time the crew had finished.
Once Wriothesley made the call to end work for the day, the crew began to disperse, making their way into the port town for a well-deserved night in a tavern. Wriothesley stayed behind, watching the sun’s final rays illuminate the beached ship.
It was only for one month. Thirty-one sunrises, and then they could leave.
Wriothesley watched the waves lapping up onto the beach, the light from the sun tinting them golden. The water spread over the sand, the surface of the sea settling down as night approached. The sandy earth beneath Wriothesley’s feet felt strange after standing only on the wooden decks of the Wingalet for so many weeks. One month, and then he could go back to the sea, back to the pirate life he knew so well.
Turning his back to the sea, Wriothesley followed the rest of his crew into town. His shadow stretched out before him, creating a patch of darkness on the sun-kissed sand. The light began to dim, the sun sinking lower below the horizon. Wriothesley knew that if he were to look now, he would see the path of gold that stretched over the sea, reaching from the disappearing sun, all the way to the place where he stood. The waves would create a mesmerizing shimmer, making the surface of the water seem to sparkle.
Wriothesley didn’t turn around to watch the sunset. He had seen it many times from the deck of the Wingalet. The only difference now was that he stood on solid ground, rather than being able to feel the light rocking of the boat beneath his feet.
Making his way into town, Wriothesley could hear the bustle of evening life roaring to a start. He knew the streets of this port like the back of his hand. Even though he despised returning to dry land, Port Lumidouce was the place that the Wingalet visited most often. Wriothesley’s feet drew him through the town, eventually depositing him in front of a tavern.
There were many taverns in Port Lumidouce, but The Rusty Rudder was the only one that Wriothesley liked. It was not a very large building, though it had two floors. The walls of the ground floor were brick, though the second story had been built from wood. Golden light spilled from the windows, accompanied by the sound of laughter and cheer.
Wriothesley pushed open the door, and was immediately hit with the stench of rum and alcohol. The ground floor room tended to be a bit more rowdy, and while Wriothesley sometimes joined the activity down there, usually when he felt like there was something worth celebrating, or when he had drank too much, he almost always veered for the stairs, going to the second floor. This is what he did tonight.
From upstairs, he could still hear the voices from the lower level, loud laughs traveling through the floorboards. The atmosphere of the second floor of the tavern, however, was much more suited to a relaxing drink after a long day of sailing.
Wriothesley sat down at the small bar that had been built on this floor, not quite as grand as the one downstairs, yet still equipped with enough alcohol to keep any pirate happy. He bought a bottle of rum, sliding a gold coin across the bar as payment for the drink. He took a swig, relishing the feeling that the alcohol left in his mouth. He kept his gaze fixed on the table in front of him, not wanting to look out the glass doors that had been left open, swaying in the wind.
The doors led to a balcony, from which the sea was in perfect view. Wriothesley loved the ocean, but seeing it while he was in port only left an emptiness in his heart. He should be out on the water, not on dry land. This wasn’t his home. He wanted a pirate’s life, not a landlocked one.
His eyes inevitably flicked to the sea, watching it quietly from his seat at the bar. The sun had fully dipped below the horizon, no longer visible above the calm surface of the ocean. Wriothesley’s gaze drifted from the horizon, landing on the form of a man, sitting elegantly at one of the tables on the balcony.
The man was turned towards the sea, his long white hair trailing behind him. He dressed in ornate clothing, the clean fabric lined with lace and ruffles. From the way that he held himself, Wriothesley almost would have believed him to be of noble background, though someone like that would never be seen in a tavern like this one. The Court of Fontaine, perhaps, but not in Port Lumidouce, a pirate haven and den of thieves.
The bartender caught Wriothesley watching the figure on the balcony. “Someone caught your eye, eh?”
“Do you know anything about him?” Wriothesley watched the elegant figure. Everything about the man was so prim and proper. “Do you know how long he’s been in Port Lumidouce?”
“Only since this mornin’,” The bartender responded. “Arrived around eleven. He’s been sittin’ in that same chair all day. Sure is an odd fellow. Hasn’t even ordered anythin’. He’s just been sittin’ there. All day. Barely moved at all.”
“Interesting,” Wriothesley mused. “I wonder what he’s like?”
“I think it’s best to leave him be. A few younger folks tried to talk to him earlier, but they said he only stared at the horizon, didn’t even act like they were there at all. He’s like a ghost, he is. Barely there. He was mutterin’ something’ earlier, just nonsense, though. Real eerie, if you ask me.”
“Well, I’ve seen plenty of strange things in my time at sea. Could I get a glass of water? The purest water you have, if possible.” Wriothesley slid another coin across the table.
“Sure thing. You plannin’ on given’ it to that strange fellow over there?”
“Yeah. He’s probably dehydrated after a whole day of just sitting there. I’ve seen it plenty of times on my ship.” Wriothesley carefully took the glass, bringing it out to the balcony.
The elegant man didn’t look up when Wriothesley approached, his gaze locked on the sea. Wriothesley set the glass in front of him, but there was no reaction.
“Hey, can I sit here?”
He didn’t respond, staring directly ahead. Wriothesley sat down at the table, watching the strange man. His dry lips moved with soundless words, which Wriothesley could not decipher. Wriothesley pushed the glass into his hands. The man startled at the feeling of the cold glass against his gloved hands, finally breaking his gaze from the horizon, turning to look at Wriothesley.
“Hey, you need to drink some water. You’re dehydrated, and that can be pretty dangerous this time of year.” Wriothesley watched the man’s amethyst-toned eyes flicker nervously about, looking as if he had awoken from some kind of a trance. Wriothesley took the glass, holding it up for the man to take. “Drink. It will make you feel better.”
The man took the glass of water with shaky hands, bringing it to his parched lips. He sipped the water slowly, at first, before taking large gulps, as if water hadn’t passed his lips in days. He set the empty glass back on the table, wiping his mouth elegantly with the corner of his sleeve. He looked up to Wriothesley, a look of gratitude passing behind his eyes.
“Hello. Can you tell me your name?”
“My…my name,” The man whispered. His voice seemed weak, as if he rarely used it. His pronunciation was sound, though Wriothesley thought he could detect the faintest hint of an accent that he couldn’t quite place. “If it must be known, I am the one called Neuvillette.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Wriothesley held out his hand to shake, but Neuvillette only looked at him with a confused frown. “My name is Captain Wriothesley, of the Wingalet.” Wriothesley took Neuvillette’s hand in his own, shaking it in a greeting.
Neuvillette looked down at their clasped hands, seeming unsure about the gesture. As soon as Wriothesley released him, Neuvillette’s hand shot back to meet his other, clenched tightly into fists beneath the table.
“So, Neuvillette, are you from around here?” Wriothesley noticed how Neuvillette took several moments before responding, as if thinking over his words.
“In a way, I suppose.” Neuvillette’s voice was soft, like waves washing upon the shore at night, but also deep, like the ocean. “Though my place of origin is of little importance.”
“I see, I see,” Wriothesley hummed. Neuvillette had an odd way of speaking. He was strangely formal, more formal than anyone Wriothesley had ever met. “What’s your story, then? What brings you here?”
“My past is my own, Captain Wriothesley,” Neuvillette responded coldly. “If it is of no offense, I would like to keep it that way.”
“My, my! Someone’s salty!” Wriothesley chuckled.
“‘Salty?’ I do not understand your meaning. To say something is ‘salty’ is to refer to its taste. For instance, the water of the sea tastes of salt. I do not see how that relates–”
“It’s just a saying. It means that you’re upset about something,” Wriothesley explained. “You sure are an interesting person, Neuvillette. How long are you planning on staying in Port Lumidouce?”
“A month,” Neuvillette said. “One month, no more, no less. Exactly a month. Thirty-one sunrises.” His voice trailed off to a whisper, and Wriothesley barely thought he heard Neuvillette say, “And then I can go home.”
“Well, what do you know?” Wriothesley said with a smile. “That’s exactly how long I’ll be staying! I’m just waiting for my ship to be repaired.”
“I see.”
“Speaking of my ship,” Wriothesley checked the pocket watch that hung around his belt, “I should go check on it once more before I turn in for the night. I don’t want to show up tomorrow and find that we didn’t bring it in far enough to be safe from the tides!”
“I understand. Goodnight, Captain Wriothesley.”
“Night! Hey, maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime! I’ll be in port for a while, after all. See you around, Monsieur Neuvillette!” Wriothesley waved goodbye, making his way back through the tavern. He slipped the bartender another coin on his way out, grabbing one last bottle of rum.