Beautiful Friendship

Commodore Seamus Bander. “I don’t believe I’ll ever grow tired of that title,” proclaimed the sea captain in his intelligible selkie accent. “It has such a nice ring to it.” He leaned carelessly on his pilot with winsome smile, staring off into the distance at the blue against the blue. “And Captain Thomas can even set it to a tune.”

The pilot glanced at his illustrious and admirable captain, a man who had saved him through countless gales with his cunning and quick wit. “Aye, sir, but Bander the White Lion has a ring to it too.” He returned the smile; the pilot had served under the Commodore for as long as he could remember, and never once did he lose faith in the man.

“Aye,” he chuckled, “’tis very true, Mr. Pratchett.” Salt air filled his robust lungs. He would always love the sea; it was his home above all else.

“Cap’n, a ship!” called a crewman from the bow, running up with his spyglass.

The Commodore righted himself into a more authoritative posture. “What are her colors?”

“No colors, sir.” The crewman sighed in mild exasperation. “She can only be a pirate ship.”

He nodded in thanks, dismissing the crewman as he stroked his thin moustache in thought. Dealing with pirates always had the potential to go awry, but he had confidence in himself and his crew. Fixing his seal-brown eyes on the vessel, he waited until it came within firing range before he gave the order to signal them and indicate their intention.

The ship didn’t return any hailing. “Cap’n! Cap’n! Ca—”

Down from the crow nest fell a man, his blood spurting from his neck like a light rain. The body hit the deck with a sharp thud merely steps away from the Commodore, causing every man’s heart to leap into his throat.

The Commodore didn’t wait for his pulse to slow. Examining the body, he looked to the sky just in time to catch a glimpse of a large and ugly bird flying in the direction of the pirate ship. “Take your fallen comrade down below to Dr. Nerva, and then bury him quick.”

The pirate ship had strange sails which looked gray and aged, a sure sign that this specific ship was unique in some way. “Cap’n, I think you’d best have a look at this,” called the spyglass crewman at the bow. The ships continued to draw closer, but no shots were fired.

As soon as he saw what his crewman had been looking at, he reeled in incredulity and handed the spyglass back. Through the spyglass, he saw everything from his nightmares. Ugly monsters that slithered across the deck rather than walked were what he saw, and the monsters had walked were equally hideous. He saw everything come to life from the stories children were told to keep them good. “My gods. It’s the Swan of Lain.” When he first learned the name, he groaned inwardly at how such a fearsome ship could possess such a flowery name. Now, he never gave it another thought; if the crew boarded, they would surely die or worse.

“She’s a bonny thing, isn’t she?” The Commodore knew that the voice didn’t belong to anyone in his crew. No one spoke so mockingly.

Keeping calm, the Commodore turned around so slowly that his captain’s frock coat hardly seemed affected. “I…I don’t believe we’ve met.” He prided himself in being polite to anyone regardless of the situation and regardless of being scared half to death.

Other crewmen had slinked away from the visitor in terror. That smile playing on the visitor’s aquamarine lips taunted the Commodore. Dressed in nothing more than a pair of sack trousers, the visitor loomed. His whisker-like fins made him seem twice as formidable. The golden hair not tied up like a bushel of grain hung and clung the way his trousers hung and clung from being soaked. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He extended a strong hand that looked more like it would break the Commodore’s own hand than shake it. “I am Scarlius, Captain of the Swan of Lain.”

As the Commodore grasped his hand, he felt the prickling of a thousand needles on his skin. “How nice to make your acquaintance. I am—”

“Commodore Seamus Bander the White Lion, Captain of the Dame Caoilfhionn and Commander of the Dáire Fleet. It’s the only pirate fleet in existence, if I’m not mistaken.” His smile told that he was never mistaken when it came to such matters. “I knew who you were when I saw the name of your ship.”

“It seems that I’m known in a variety of ways, then.” Already, he felt his wit leaving him to be replaced by fear. He had heard stories of a monstrosity commanding the Swan of Lain, but this visitor did not compare at all to the lurid tales he had heard. This was a specimen of masculine beauty; however, he didn’t doubt for a moment that the pirate captain could snap his spine like it was a twig.

The Swan passed the Dame, her horrid crew leaning on the railing to taunt and frighten the Dame’s men. They hissed and cackled and shrieked, each sound burrowing under every man’s skin. He rested a hand on the Commodore’s shoulder, a hand that seemed hairs away from strangling him. “Care to join me as a guest on my ship?” It was phrase as a request.

Seamus, the Commodore, was far too afraid of denying his request. “Of course.”

They made port near an uninhabited island, the Dame keeping a good distance between herself and the Swan as she wayed anchor. Seamus fixed his eyes on the ominous ship as a crewman rowed him along. Onboard, he found the crew even more horrifying. Ghoulish creatures skulked about, some of them cleaning up a crewmember’s mucus trail or blood from their last feast. And still no sight of their nefarious captain. He felt as small as he had when he first joined the Dame Caoilfhionn’s crew, back when he was pup and it wasn’t a pirate ship. They eyed him hungrily, and he heard a few grumble over just what they’d do if the captain let them taste his flesh. Through it all, he kept his chin high and kept fear off his face.

He found his boot in a large puddle of tar someone had seemingly neglected to clean up. Cringing, he reached to scrape it off with a knife, but the tar yanked his boot so violently that he lost balance for a few panicked moments.

A slender, too-thin arm reached out of the puddle and grabbed on Seamus’ trouser-leg. More of the body emerged from the tar, turning into a woman’s tarry body as it crept up the selkie’s body. The body had no face, just indentations where the features would’ve gone. “Why hallo,” she said, her libertine voice like a growling echo. He could hear the vicious smile even though there was no mouth.

“Hallo.” He managed to keep his voice level, all the while vainly trying to get away. She was twisted around his body, cementing them in place by keeping her puddle on the deck.

Her hands sensually rubbed his chest, snaking under his frock coat to grip his shirt. “Oh, your heart is like a little rabbit….”   

“Miss, I would like your name first before we get too familiar.” He just wanted to distract her.

She ran along his jawline. “Oh, you don’t need to know such a detail before we get friendly with each other.”

“Catrame, he’s not fit for hunting yet.” Scarlius pulled her hand away from the selkie, smirking. Seamus then realized that his line of sight only came to the top of the captain’s chest; it did nothing but emphasized the gravity that could come with angering this man. He also noticed a large scabbard strapped to his back.

The tar woman uncoiled herself and seemed to give the captain a pleading look. However, she accepted defeat and slinked away.

“She’s a very specialized succubus.” The demon feigned an apologetic tone. “She’s also in charge of washing the deck.” He added, the acrid smirk returning, “She adores men. Her touch hurts at first, but one grows accustomed.”

Before Seamus could ask what he meant, burning pain came right along his jaw-line where she had touched him. Exploring with his fingers, he found an ugly burn. Now he understood.

“Come, to my office. We’ll get the privacy you crave.”  As Scarlius turned away, the Commodore shuddered at the giant sword in the scabbard. The hilt sparkled harshly in the sunlight, the metal richly decorated with symbols sacred to Asherah and the angels. The ornamentation left clues in Seamus’ mind, but he couldn’t put any of them together into something that made sense. All he could discern was that this man was ever more than he seemed on the surface.

When he took his eyes off the mysterious sword, all of the color melted off his face; it would’ve puddle at his feet the way Catrame had. A huge rock of a man blocked Seamus’ way, his muscles hard as granite. He had a face harsh as a mountain crag, but it wasn’t mere size that spooked the selkie. The man was half scorpion from the waist down, the body black as burnt ship frames, and the poisonous spur constantly loomed as if to gouge out Seamus’ eyes.

“Ah, I see you’ve met my first mate.” The demon seemed less formidable in size compared to this man he called a crewman. “Mr. Monstrum, I’d like you to meet our guest, Commodore Bander.”

Monstrum nodded politely, nasty gray eyes scrutinizing him with dissatisfaction. “Captain, there is something foul-smelling in our presence.” His voice was deep and brooding.

The demonic captain took a whiff of the surrounding air. “Why Mr. Monstrum,” replied Scarlius with sinister joy, “our guest here reeks of fear.” He paused and added apathetically, “And a hint of haddock, I believe.” Both men snickered, their laughter like far-off cannon fire.

Though panicked, he was not without his tongue or his wits yet. “So it’s true. Do all of your crewmembers have such extraordinary senses?”

“Some more than others. But I dawdle. Mr. Monstrum, as you were.” With a wave of the captain’s hand, the scorpion man left, his feet tapping against the deck like the cat o’ nine. “You’ll have to forgive me. I have a habit of growing easily distracted.” Something about his tone made it sound like a foul lie.

Seamus stepped inside a decadent office, furnished with things that the selkie had only seen in rich manor houses he was looting. More than anything else, he had books; Seamus saw tomes and volumes and manuscript in more languages that he knew even existed.  The captain’s gravity-defying hair brushed the top of the threshold, yet the room seemed to expand for him once inside. Seamus found his seat in a damask chair that probably stood in a nobleman’s parlor.

“Care for a drink?” Scarlius was taking a crystal decanter of port and goblets out of a varnished cabinet.

While he questioned the sanity of accepting food or drink from someone so treacherous, he feared that he had more to lose if he refused. “I’m a bit surprised at your hospitality.” Simply from the taste, he could tell that care had gone into making the port. So far, there seemed nothing out of the ordinary about his drink.

“Well, is anyone ever surprised when you are polite and fair?” He sat in a tall chair made from elaborate blue brocade.

“…Point taken.” He studied a detailed portrait of a woman hanging near the captain’s desk. “Doesn’t your crew ever object to how—” he searched for a delicate word, “—specific your tastes are?”

“You mean extravagant. There was initial opposition to me in the early days of my piracy career, but I crushed such mutineers and I’ve had few troubles since. In any case, mutinies are really more of a nuisance and a waste of time. I have yet to see on my ship someone else who can provide for my crew as well as me.”

“I take it your crew is demanding.” So how powerful were these crewmen compared to their captain? Did the captain have a good hold of authority on them or was he dangerously close to losing control.

“No more than anyone else’s crew. If I give them things to do and food to eat, they are happy.” The glint in his eye hinted at what the food might be. “I see myself as a ruler in some ways. This ship is a tiny floating kingdom, and the crewmembers are my subjects. I am loved and feared by them, and I cater to their needs as I see fit. Without them, I lack power.” He tilted his head, studying the selkie. “We’re actually quite similar, you and I.”

Seamus all but choked on his port, coughing and coughing until the only thing left in his throat was the burn of liquid going down the wrong pipe. Aside from hating the idea that he shared a plethora of similarities with the demon, he had heard the statement far too many times in his career from naval officers and other enemies. “Captain, if you’ll excuse my candor,” he replied tersely. “All great leaders, whether they be good or evil or somewhere in the middle, share the same traits. The differences come in styles, but more importantly, how that leader lives his private life.”  

“Oh? And what do you know about my private life?” He wore a catty smirk.

His seal-brown eyes dared to meet those of the demonic captain. “I know only rumors. But I can speculate on your private life based on the company you keep. You and I are not alike. You delight in pain, whilst I would rather spare people of pain.”

“Yet you kill.”

Having engaged in vexing banter with other enemies, but it didn’t make the conversation any less surreal or make him any less nervous. “I kill out of necessity for the sake of my crew and myself.”

He lifted his goblet to the light, admiring how the crystal scattered and refracted the beams. “And I do the same. I use what I have to protect my crewmembers where there is a threat.”

His voice grew cold and defiant. “But I have never in my life boarded a ship with the intent to slaughter mercilessly.”

Scarlius laughed, his voice filling the room and sounding equally cold. “You have more wit in that skull that I had suspected.”

That seemed like a good thing, but the demon made it sound so sinister. “I chance to wonder if your private life is what brought these crewmen to you.”

“Those who aren’t monsters and demons are outcasts, vagabonds unwanted by anyone but myself. I take them in, and they find a home on my ship.” He deliberately left out much of the answer to Seamus’ question. Not only was he treacherous, he enjoyed being cryptic. “You should try the same. I’ve found men and women with much-needed skills.”

He could only speculate on what kind of so-called skills these people possessed. “Aye, perhaps.”

“But you’d rather not.”

“No.” He didn’t mind saying so.

His smirk grew with delight. “You’re too honest, Commodore. It could kill you one day.”

As much as the statement bothered him, he dismissed it. “Perhaps. I’ll take my chances with the truth.” He searched his mind for more topics of conversations in hopes that talk might delay any possible death to him. “The name of your ship has always perplexed me.”

“That’s precisely what it should do. I commandeered this ship for three reasons. First and foremost, it was the pride and joy of the navy.” He poured himself more port. “Second, this office has some simple enchantment that lets a man as tall as me use it without being awkward. And finally.” The smirk played at his lips again. Had it ever truly left his features? “Irony brings me joy.”

This man wasn’t someone he wanted to make an enemy out of, and not someone he wanted to be yet another victim of. He was known for cunning, so why not use it now? “…Captain. I would like to make a proposal. While we are—” he searched for a polite term “—very different in temperament and style, I would like you to join my fleet.”

“Commodore, this is a selfish move on your part for the sake of making sure I am not an enemy. Give me one good reason why I should join your elitist clique of pirates.”

“I’ll share plunder with you and not interfere with the way you handle your crew. As much as I despise your tactics, you obviously keep them happy.”

He gave him an inquisitive look. “How can you despise what you know so little about? All you’ve heard of me is rumors and speculation.”

For the first time, Seamus smiled. It was a wry half-smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Then enlighten me. Demystify your self for me.”

He chuckled inaudibly, taking mild interest in this bold pirate who was fully aware of the danger he was in by staying on the ship. “Very well, dear Commodore. I’ve been sailing since long before you were born, burned many ships, conquered many a fool, and even had the pleasure of hunting a hunter. That man was a joy, I must say. Right up to the day I killed him.” His smile broadened as the commodore’s fell away. “Now you have reasons to find me deplorable.” Taking the decanter again, he refilled Seamus’ goblet. “And now, dear Commodore, you must reciprocate. I have heard rumors and speculation about your little fleet. Enlighten me.”

Seamus didn’t want more port, but he was too nervous to object. “Well, I have two other captains right now, both of which are excellent mariners and—”

“Their names?” Already, he sounded like he was losing interest.

He bit back a haughty response. “Captain Thomas and Captain Vir.”

A strange look of recognition came over the demon’s face when he heard the names. “…Captain Thomas, you say?”

The Commodore didn’t like his tone. “Aye. Murdoc Thomas.”

An icy glint of hatred came to the demon’s harsh eyes. “I remember Murdoc…he was one of the only men to challenge me and live. You know, he almost managed to sink my ship.” At that moment, Seamus realized he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.