Swashbuckling on the Edge

Chapter Three

"Does Barton seem...?"

"They say he's always like that."

My eyebrows rose at Dark's offhand answer, but he just shrugged at me. I turned back to our happy host, currently leading us through his beachside home with a very un-pirate-like skip in his step. Barton told us absolutely nothing about the house, which was still curiously empty.

"Doesn't a 'tour' involve more description of the surroundings?" I whispered to Dark.

My captain shrugged again, unconcerned. The three of us continued on, our footsteps echoing bleakly through the house. There were hardly any furnishings on the main floor, the rooms we passed through seem larger and more uninhabited.

Barton pressed open the front door with a flourish of coattails and feathers, beckoning us outside. We walked through, only to be greeted with an unprecedented sight.

The house sat atop a hill, gazing down at the jungle below. A town had been haphazardly cut out and roughly dropped into the thicket of green, a patch of greyish-brown buildings well-hidden from all corners of the cay should any unwanted visitors sail by.

"A pirate town?" I asked, somewhat surprised at the idea.

"They're not so uncommon these days," Barton told me with a wink. "Piracy is growing, mate. Man's last attempt at freedom."

Dark made a noise like a muffled chuckle. When I flicked my eyes towards him, though, his expression was set and unreadable.

"Shall we go on?" I suggested to our host and guide.

"Certainly!" he exclaimed, all excitement.

Barton spun on his fancy, booted heel, leading us down an overgrown path into the humid press of the jungle. The mud sucked at our boots as we descended to lower ground; the rains had started in the area. We were slow-moving, and the constant squelching of feet escaping from mud and Barton's tuneful humming were the only things to break the monotony.

Dark was utterly silent. I would have forgotten he was there if not for the occasional feeling of his hand on my back, steadying me when I stumbled. His change of mood concerned me.

Soon enough the sounds of the jungle were dimmed by the dull roar of the town of Refuge Cay. Breaking through the tree line, we emerged in an alley behind what, I could only assume from the smell of smoke and dirt, was the smithy. At the end of the street, through the slice between buildings, a parade of people marched past, going about their daily lives.

It was into this throng that we plunged, following Barton's royal blue coattails as they swished behind him.

The men and women we passed by in the street weren't all pirates. From observation, they appeared to be an eclectic sampling of the kind of individuals the world had rejected, spat out or ignored, all come together to share this earthly haven. In the crowd I spied the tanned, weathered skin of old sailors, the dusty and plain-dressed labourers sweeping the sweat off their brows, the white, painted faces of the town's whores who shaded themselves in the shadows of doorways. Occasionally I bumped past women, their hair tied back loosely, their arms full of the day's errands.

Barton's feathered hat abruptly stopped. I executed a sharp turn to the side, pulling Dark along with me. The retired pirate captain ushered us into the shaded entrance of a pub, a building that was even louder inside than outside. The moment we raised our heads, a roaring cheer arose to greet us.

"Captain! You're back!"

Dark's stony expression finally changed into a smile. A second later he was swallowed by the mob of his crew, all very happy to see him alive and well. Keith reached him first, gripping Dark in a bone-crushing hug. Five other crewmen piled on after him. I groaned in protest, seeing that all the excitement was causing agony to his shoulder.