Chapter Text
The wharf thrummed with bodies, soldiers and sailors rushing to and fro with barrels of gunpowder, armloads of muskets, trunks with several days’ worth of supplies for travel. The ship Night Queen sat low in the water and bodies were thronging the ratlines and sail yards, disappearing on the upper masts in the shining morning sun as they prepped her for hoisting anchor.
Commander Alexandra Crain was immune to the noise and the frenzy, her gaze fixed singularly upon the bowsprit of her ship as she strode down the dock. She hardly noticed the path that parted before her through the crowds of people. Not a man or woman with half a brain would risk getting in her way, and with good reason. Her reputation had preceded her without exception for years now -- the youngest female to have attained the rank of Commander in the Royal Fleet, internationally known for her swift and brutal retaliation against even the most dangerous pirates, and without a doubt the finest warrior on the high seas. Hardly a human living had never heard the tales of The Commander and her Night Queen crew.
Her first mate was waiting for her as she stepped from the gangplank to the ship’s deck. “Commander.”
She hardly glanced up at the towering man and he fell in step beside her as she headed toward the quarterdeck.
“What news, Augustus?”
“Another sighting was reported along the southern coast, just fifteen miles south of the St. Mary township.”
“Distributing what they took, I assume?”
“Most likely.”
Daring , she thought to herself. But foolish .
It seemed a deliberate jab at the Royal Navy and, undoubtedly, at the Commander herself. The pirate captain Griffin had grown bolder each time she had managed to escape the grasp of the Empire. She surely knew that word of the plunder of St. Mary had reached official ears and a pursuit ship would be hard on her heels, but she seemed intent on maintaining her habit of distributing the pirated riches to the impoverished before taking to the open sea again.
The Commander felt the familiar mix of admiration and slight dread coiling in her chest at the thought of the pirate. Not for the first time, a mild misgiving accompanied the image of Captain Griffin hanging from the gallows. The Commander had never faced a braver, more worthy opponent, but duty to Queen and country came first and the pirate would be shown no mercy when she was finally brought to justice.
The quartermaster and helmsman were standing at the wheel, an open map held between them. They snapped to attention as she approached, but she waved off the formality with a single hand.
“Indra, how much longer until we raise anchor?”
The quartermaster scanned the sails and ratlines, assessing the progress of the crew.
“No more than twenty minutes, Commander.”
“Make it ten.”
The short haired woman nodded brusquely, then strode toward the rail of the quarterdeck. Her normally controlled voice became a practiced bellow that echoed across the planks.
“All hands prepare for hoist anchor! Unfurl main topgallant and royal. Rig the jibs for southeastern course under full sail. With a quickness, pirates wait on no man.”
The Commander turned to the helmsman, running her fingers down the length of her sword hilt.
“I hope you are ready to sail with all speed, Anya.”
The woman gave a crooked grin, a glint of excitement showing in her hooded eyes.
“Aye, Commander. With all speed.”
She sat perched over the bowsprit, gaze locked on the horizon. The anticipation was heady; she could have waited on the word from the crow’s nest but she didn’t trust anyone’s eyes but her own. She wanted to see Night Queen for herself, to ensure that her gamble had paid off and it was indeed The Commander in pursuit.
“Captain,” came a voice from behind her. “Is it wise to stay in the open like this?”
She didn’t turn to look at her second mate.
“Don’t worry, Bellamy. I’ll see her before she sees me.”
“Are you even sure this plan will work?”
A flash of irritation sparked in her chest but she wasn’t willing to turn away from her fixed gaze on the horizon to give him a silencing look.
“Is the crew in place like I told them to be? Are they ready to sail the moment you send the signal?”
“Yes --”
“Then it’ll work.”
“But--”
“Get below decks and prepare to give the signal, Bellamy,” she said, and her tone left no room for argument.
She heard his sigh before he turned and his footsteps faded away behind her.
It’ll work, she told herself again. All the same, her gamble was just that -- a gamble, and nothing was certain at this point. She only hoped the draw of seeing the infamous Captain Griffin hanged would be enough for The Commander to make the decision that would lead to a successful ambush.
She saw the tip of the bowsprit as the cry rang out from above.
“Ship, ho!”
She leaped to stand upright, gripping the jib rigging to steady herself. Was it…?
The bow of the approaching ship came into view around the edge of the distant coast and her heart jumped into her throat at the words emblazoned across the wood - Night Queen .
She turned then, hardly realizing that she was grinning in excitement as she leaped to the planks and went swiftly down the stairway to the main deck. The ship’s captain was standing at the main mast, his arms folded across his burly chest.
“As we agreed, Captain Quint,” she said shortly.
He nodded, then gave a look at the crewmates nearby. They immediately set about binding her hands behind her back and then tying her arms in place and placing a gag across her mouth.
“If your crew tries to leave without deliverin’ the other half of what I was promised,” Quint growled at her, “I’ll slit your throat myself.”
She nodded, shrugging as if to say, “That’s fair.”
When the ropes were tight, the crewmates stepped back and she raised her eyebrows at Quint. He grinned wickedly, adjusting a thick ring on his middle finger.
“My pleasure,” he said, and struck her hard across the face. The blow knocked her to the deck planks, and she was hauled back to her feet by the crewmates, shaking stars from her eyes.
She grunted through the gag, “Again,” and the massive man seemed more than happy to oblige, bloodying her nose with the second strike.
He was winding up for a third when a deckhand called from his watch point on the bulwark.
“Sir! They’re getting close!”
He begrudgingly stayed his hand, instead grabbing her roughly by the collar and turning her to face the bowsprit.
“Lift the white flag,” he bellowed, unsheathing his sword and resting it against her collarbone as he moved her roughly toward the foredeck. “Stay ready, lads. Never can be too careful with the Queen’s dogs.”
She watched as the Night Queen slowly approached the bay. Uniformed soldiers lined the bulwarks, muskets trained on The Hangman’s Lady and her crew. She caught sight of a familiar figure and her heart leapt. She’d recognize that posture anywhere, and the long brown braids that fell across those squared shoulders were a dead giveaway.
Lexa.
The name rang in her mind like an echo, a distant memory, and she blinked against the onslaught of emotions that flooded her chest. Now was not the time; the ambush could very well mean the end of The Commander, and sentimentality would only hinder her plan.
Steady, Clarke, she told herself. Steady on.
She heard a terse command given, floating across the distance between the two ships and echoing around the bay.
“Hold your fire. The white flag has been raised.”
Her voice still sounded the same, Clarke thought. Low and commanding, power in the steadiness of it.
“Commander Crain,” Quint bellowed, and Clarke flinched, jarred out of her thoughts by his grating voice. “We’ve got something ye want.”
“I want an end to all pirates, Mister Quint,” the Commander called back, and Clarke felt him grunt in anger at the distinct absence of the title of Captain. “And I’m looking at a shipful of them. Give me a good reason not to take your whole crew back to the Queen and see every dog of you hanged.”
“Aye, we’re pirates,” Quint snarled back. “But none of us so well-known and wanted as Captain Clarke Griffin of Sky’s End .”
He shoved Clarke forward at arm’s length, the edge of his sword still resting against her neck.
“She tried to cheat me, and when it came to crossing blades her crew turned tail and ran, leavin’ the good Captain behind.”
Lexa had her gaze fixed on Clarke, and she could feel the intensity across the hundreds of feet between their two ships. She never looked away, meeting Lexa’s eyes, unconsciously grinding the gag between her back teeth.
“Now,” Quint continued. “We all know a pirate is worth more alive than dead when ya want to bring ‘em to the Queen. She likes to play her game, give us what she calls a fair trial, and then see us hanged herself. Captain Griffin here--” Quint shook her collar roughly for emphasis “--is at the top of Her Majesty’s hanging list, and it would be yer great pleasure to finally bring her in, wouldn’t it?”
“Get to the point, Mister Quint,” the Commander said flatly.
“I want to make a deal,” he said. “We give you Griffin, and you let us go. My crew and my dirty hide ain’t worth more than Captain Clarke Griffin, you an’ I both know that. We won’t put up a fuss. None of yer men have to die, none of my men have to waste any bullets.”
Clarke could practically hear his smug grin.
“‘Course, if you refuse, I can slit her throat meself right here right now and open fire on yer lot quick as you like. Maybe you’ll win, but then, maybe you won’t. It’s up to you, Commander.”
Clarke watched Lexa intently; she could almost hear the gears turning inside her head, feeling the weight of the decision before her. Clarke’s stomach was tight. Then Lexa spoke.
“We will take Clarke Griffin in exchange for your escape, but once we have her delivered to the Queen we will hunt you down again and I’ll see every man and woman of you hanged. Do we have an accord?”
Quint lifted the blade from Clarke’s next, extending his sword to the side in a grandiose gesture, undoubtedly baring his yellowed teeth in a broad grin.
“Aye, Commander. We have an accord.”
Lexa turned, descending from the foredeck, hands still clasped stiffly behind her back. Clarke’s face, her burning blue-eyed gaze, lingered in her mind. All this time, all this hunting, and here she was, bound and gagged and ready to be brought to the Queen. It sounded so simple, and Lexa felt a deep foreboding gathering in her chest. Indra’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“Commander, something isn’t right. Captain Griffin’s crew wouldn’t have just left her behind; they could have annihilated Quint’s lot if they wanted to. I smell a trap.”
“As do I,” Lexa said, pulling up short and turning to the quartermaster. “Have Roan ready canons, and pass the word to keep watch for an ambush. Whatever this is, we won’t be taken by surprise.”
Indra nodded and strode off.
Lexa took a deep breath, clenching her right hand behind her back to keep herself from gripping the hilt of her sword. A battle was imminent; she could feel it. She touched the bulwark with a single hand, watching impassively as her crew lowered a rowboat to retrieve Captain Griffin from The Hangman’s Lady . The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she looked across the water to see the pirate captain watching her, blue eyes furious even through the blood and ugly bruise that mottled her face.
Her hand turned to a fist against the wooden rail. Battle or no, she could not let Griffin slip through her fingers another time. The constant hunting and hoping to finally apprehend the pirate was enough to drive any normal human mad, and even Lexa felt her trained and steady nerves beginning to fray. Griffin couldn’t run forever, but she had certainly tried, and the drawn out chase, the anticipation of the gallows, often filled Lexa’s thoughts in the night and kept her from sleep.
Quint’s voice jarred her thoughts.
“Jus’ in case you were thinking of tryin’ anything fancy, Commander, you should know I’ve got a marksman in my ratlines with a bead on your head. Break yer promise, and you’ll be knocking on Davy Jones’ door before you can blink.”
Lexa’s eyes went to the rigging of his ship and saw, as promised, a single sailor with a rifle trained on her. She lifted her chin slightly, keeping her expression stoic as her gaze flickered back to Quint. She didn’t grace him with a response, instead lifting her hand in a gesture to Clarke as the rowboat pulled up close to the side of the ship.
“Captain Griffin, if you would be so kind.”
Clarke kept her eyes on Lexa even as Quint cut through the rope binding her arms in place. It fell in a heavy coil at her feet.
"Leave the rest," came a voice from the rowboat below. Clarke dropped her gaze long enough to make eye contact with the massive black-haired man, Lexa's first mate.
"Her hands and mouth stay tied," he said, and she couldn't fight the snarl that wrinkled her nose.
The reality of her gamble was beginning to set in. She felt a shaking in her chest, a combination of adrenaline and fury, as she looked back up at Lexa. The Commander stood perfectly calm and composed at the rail of her ship, eyes steady as she watched Clarke.
It'll work, she told herself again. It has to work.
"Into the rowboat then, Captain Griffin," Augustus called.
She only hesitated a moment, giving Quint a look that he met with an impassive expression before beginning her ginger descent down the rope ladder. One of the soldiers in the rowboat touched her back to steady her and she growled sharply through her gag.
"Dun tuh me."
She leapt the last few rungs, landing as lightly on her feet as she could. She was only standing a moment longer as Augustus gripped her shoulder in his vice of a hand and shoved her to sit on one of the benches right in between two soldiers. One jammed the barrel of his pistol roughly into her side and she shot him a dirty look, which he stoically ignored.
"Let's go," Augustus said to the rowers.
Clarke glanced up as the rowboat shoved off, watching as Quint gave a nod to one of his mates who disappeared out of sight behind the bulwarks. She dropped her gaze again, taking a deep breath. She knew where the mate had gone. She only hoped he’d reach Bellamy before she was on board Night Queen.
The seconds ticked by in a slow motion countdown, following the heavy rushing sound of the oars as they dragged her steadily toward The Commander. She stood silhouetted on the looming deck of the Night Queen. Clarke couldn’t see her eyes for the shadow on her face, but she could feel them.
Her heart pounded as the moments passed and the rowboat approached her would-be executioner. Maybe Quint had betrayed her. Maybe Bellamy was lying in the belly of The Hangman’s Lady with a slit throat and Clarke would be swinging from Her Majesty’s gallows come sunset tomorrow. Suddenly the oars striking the water sounded like the drums of a death march.