The Pirate Queen

Chapter 3

Romee, Darmken was a city clustered on top of each other on the rolling hills of the coast. Buildings were squished together, built up, torn down, and kept together by sheer perseverance and spite. The cobblestone streets and sidewalks were uneven from weather and constant use, but neither Eric nor Jora tripped on their way down to the wharf and docks. Even drunk, Eric could navigate these streets with the assurance he did now.

"Where did you see the crew?" He asked, dodging a cart loaded with barrels of rum.

"The Hurricane, sir."

That god-forsaken nefarious place? Eric frequented many bars and taverns in Romee, but he'd only ever been to the Hurricane once and it had been a disaster. It was the night he found out firsthand that the Hurricane was the bar all the pirates went to, and all the pirates went to to bet. Having been young and foolish with a pocket full of money, Eric lost it all. And was then promptly chased out the door.

"Do you think they'll still be there?" Eric wondered, still moving in the direction of the docks.

Jora shrugged, his face impassive. "Hard to say sir, the Dauntless needs a lot of work done if they're to leave in a week. Apparently they took a lot of damage around Rolpido. Came out positive for it though. They're getting fresh timber for the hull."

Rounding a corner, the lopsided walls of the Hurricane came into view. Eric thought it might have once been painted white, but the salty air and one too many storms had stripped it away. There were two windows on each side, and a double-wide door almost always propped open like it was now. Laughter and tobacco smoke drifted out into the air, mingling with the stench of unwashed men and dead fish.

"We could always come back tonight," Jora suggested softly.

Eric turned and looked at his butler, almost level in height to him. Tawny brown hair, eyes only a shade darker, and tanned skin with a suspicious scar on his right jaw, no one would look twice at him in his artfully rumpled clothes with a poker face to win wars. Eric, on the other hand, wasn't sure he could get his posture to relax if he tried. One glance at his shining black hair and the fair complexion that didn't see as much sun as he wanted, and anyone could tell he didn't belong. Going at night would have been the smart move, but they didn't have time. Not to mention the King would probably have Eric's head if he didn't show up to dinner.

"No, we need to go now. Did you happen to hear anything about this dinner tonight?" Eric pressed forward, jumping over a suspicious-smelling puddle.

Jora shook his head. "No sir, the guests haven't arrived yet. But they're coming from inland."

"Interesting..."

Eric stepped through the door and into the hazy light coming through the grime-coated windows. At first no one paid him any mind as he strolled to the bar and up to a man with an eyepatch and a wooden leg. Jora settled next to him on the stool, angled to keep one eye on the door.

"Two ale's please," Eric asked, folding his hands on the sticky counter.

The barrel of a man raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything as he placed two massive foaming mugs in front of the prince, who pushed one at Jora.

"Sir-"

Eric shot him a look. "Drink the ale Jors." He swallowed three mouth fulls and failed to hide his wince as he looked out around the bar. There were two groups of six men in the corner playing cards, and a few other pairs scattered around at the other tables. The only two who really stuck out where the ones with the artificially dyed hair: one bright red, the other yellow with blue stripes.

"That's them," Jora muttered into his glass, gesturing with his head to the two with the dyed hair. "The crew members."

Eric picked up his mug and stood. "Then we'll leave the bar space open for other patrons. Come on Jors, I brought some cards with me to pass the time."

They settled two tables away from the Dauntless crew members who had an open bottle of rum and two shot glasses holding down a map. Eric indeed pulled a deck of cards from his jacket, and began spreading them out on the table. Jora looked mildly impressed that he'd thought so far ahead.

"-Telling you, we can't go that way. Johnson's men are out there and we can't afford to get into some pissing match over petty squabbles," the red-haired one snapped.

"But it's the fastest route," the other one answered impatiently. "And this is a race. We have to risk it."

"You know it's the Captain's decision either way. As long as we get the supplies we need, maybe we can do it."

"Some of those supplies won't be ready until the day before we leave."

"Which is why we're here, having a drink." The red-haired one poured them each a shot and they downed it quickly, settling it back on the edges of the map again.

The blue-haired one leaned forward and Eric had to strain to hear the words exchanged. "Think the Cap is ready for this?"

A shrug and another shot poured. "I don't know. But it's what we're here for."

"Aye." The blue-haired one leaned back, crossing his arms over a broad chest in a move that flexed almost every muscle in his torso and the scars dotting his arms. Eric shifted in his seat, wishing he'd brought more than one blade with him. Every man in here was armed to the teeth except him and Jora.

The pair waited a few more minutes, but the pirates seemed content now to just sit and observe the room around them. The map was folded up and shoved away, replaced with some dice and a sheet of paper. Eric watched, downing the rest of his ale when his eyes met those of the red-haired man.

The pirate tilted his head to the side, jiggling the dice in his hand. Eric slowly lowered his mug and the pirate smiled. "You come here often, Prince?" he whispered only loud enough for the four of them to hear. An impressive feat considering the distance between them.

Jora stiffened, turning his face away from the pirates, but Eric only gave a lazy smile. "Only when I want such fine company as yourselves. That, and it's the closest a man can get a drink by his boat." He pointed out the window to the smaller docks nestled at this end of the wharf. A twenty-foot sailboat was bobbing in the water, the Von Willhem family crest painted into the side.

"Do you easedrop too?" The blue-haired one asked, turning around to look at him with a glare.

Eric shook his head and gestured to the cards. "I couldn't focus on anything other than how to not lose more of my money to this swindler. But if I'm bothering you gentlemen, we can go." One glance at the cards proved Eric's truth. Jora was beating him. By a lot.

The red-haired man snorted and shook his head. "I can't command you on your own shore, your highness. Drink where you want." He waved a hand and turned his attention back to his own table, loosing the die and marking a note on the paper.

They finished the card game quickly, Eric muttering under his breath as he pressed some coins into Jora's hand, and they stood to leave. This time when they walked, everyone watched them go, and continued to stare as they stood on the street.

"Now what sir?" Jora asked, hands shoved lazily in his pockets.

Eric sighed and looked up at the sun, just a little past noon he had to guess. "We go sailing, just like I told those men we were doing. There's plenty of time." He took two steps towards the boat and turned back to Jora. "Do you mind? I don't think I can stomach going back home right now."

Jora's lips twitched up with a smile. "No sir, I don't mind."

"Excellent." He took two more steps and turned back around, pointing a finger. "And Jors? Stop calling me "sir" out in public. Or literally anywhere my father isn't present. Almost two years we've been working together, you can call me Eric."

Jora's head bobbed and he removed his hands from his pockets. He gestured to the sailboat and they began to walk side by side. "And can I just say Eric, that it has been an interesting two years indeed. But I think the most exciting is yet to come."