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cryptidwritings · 1 year

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Dark Water

Chapter 15 : A Bit of Grog

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CW: none...?

The day was hot. Lines bounced off the water, creating with it a blanket of humidity that sucked the very life out of everyone on Talon. Ships rolled in and out at a snails pace, finding port and sending their crews inside for rest and drink.

They were sluggard. Everything slowed by the summer sun. Swamp birds cawed and cooed, and the blacksmith's hammer stilled, leaving Isidro alone to fill the thick air with the strikes of the axe on the green stumps of swamp trees.

Isidro sighed as the stump finally split in two measly halves and fell to the ground to join the small pile. It would stay green for weeks, and to start a fire now would be insane. He tossed the axe onto the ground and sat in the dirt, rubbing his face with calloused hands to clear the dwindling sweat off his brow that refused to evaporate in outrageous humidity.

A warm wind hit his face, and he was able to take another deep breath as the horses brayed in the stable. He needed to tend to them - to make sure they were ready to pull the cart-full of the Pulver's handmade goods for the opening of the Windover Summer Market. They would see thousands of sailors heading home, wanting something to freshen themselves up before meeting their families again.

"Give 'im a little space."

Isidro's eyes opened a crack, and he saw three heads over him as the swampy smell came back, and jarred him awake.

Theodora and two of her workers kneeled next to him in the dirt. One held a fan and was waving it over his face while the other tapped his brow with a cloth. The combination brought him back a bit, and he tried to sit up, but stumbled back to the ground. His strength was sapped from his very bones.

"Give it a minute," Theodora ordered, "I already got one a you passed out inside, don't need another. Savvy?"

She pushed a cup of water at him, and he took a gulp.

"Yes, Miss," he blinked at the other two, and gave them a tired nod of appreciation.

"Help me get 'im out of the sun."

The three women pulled on his arms until they reached the shade, and continued their treatment until he could sit up on his own and take a drink.

"You're lucky things are slow," Theodora crossed her arms and sat back against the pub wall, looking over her land, glassy from the heat.

Isidro nodded, lacking the strength to speak, or the audacity to laugh at the thought of luck. If such a thing existed, it was cruel.

She glanced at Isidro, whose cheeks and ears were still flushed, but acceptably so.

Then she nodded to the other women - who dropped the fan in Isidro's lap before entering the pub. Isidro blinked, then grabbed it, using it immediately.

"The summer is the worst," she relaxed, "you'll get used to it."

He took another small drink, and a deep breath, feeling his wits come back to him for a moment.

He looked at her; a strong jaw led to a brown shirt that melded with her brown skin. Her dark eyes were shifty, and her hands - usually purposeful, were unsettled.

"Winter is perfect, though," she pushed a wrinkle from her pants, "the cold air is good for business."

"Yes, Miss," Isidro replied, looking back at the land, noticing the indent where they had dragged his body out of the sun. He took a small drink, and furrowed his brows as he attempted something rather foolish.

"I couldn't help but overhear," he took another drink and weighed the temporary silence. She hadn't stirred, so he proceeded.

"That you pay the two, uh, brothers, for rights to use their dock?"

Theodora sighed, and Isidro gripped his cup firmly, waiting for it to be snatched out of his hand as punishment for prying.

"Aye."

He exhaled slowly.

"Used to be that no one could own the sea," she shook her head, "it might still be true past the harbor, but anything that can be tamed can be claimed."

"And when did they claim it?"

Her lips pursed, "My brother, the stupid fool, lost a bet and handed it over to those two little bastard's slimy mother. Now they collect money while I-"

"-pay the debt," Isidro finished with a solemn nod.

Theodora eyed the sailor, "Aye..."

Isidro took another desperate drink. Some spilled over his lip and down his chin to his throat, retreating past his adam's apple and to his chest where it was soaked up by the open collar of his shirt.

Theodora pushed herself to standing and fixed her clothes as she cleared her throat.

"Get inside when ye ready," she opened the door, "I need help cleaning the bar."

"Yes, Miss. Thank you... again."

Theodora paused, and looked down at the sailor.

"Ye welcome."

...

Moss sat up on his bed, leg outstretched, staring at the wall and trying to ignore the perpetual aching all over his body. The beating had taken its toll, forcing him to take shallow breaths to not aggravate the bruises on his torso or the cuts in his mouth, restricting everything except his mind- he had to reel that in personally. Too long left alone and it would start to drift past its sheltered harbor and towards the chaos of the previous days where he would feel ice on his skin and the ocean in his lungs.

He shook his head clear, focusing on the noise of the pub. Increasing as the day went on and the heat rose, the hum of voices and the dull music was comforting even when his leg would pulse with pain and he'd have to breathe through the wave, curling his toes just to make sure he still could as the door opened.

Moss focused behind the sailor, towards the back of the bar where Theodora was busy pouring another pint, looking over her shoulder briefly as more pirates settled and tossed coins on the counter.

“How was your beauty sleep?”

Moss took a small drink of the water, now stale from dust, grimacing as a strong stench of odor wafted in with the sailor.

“You can ignore me if you like,” Isidro groaned as he sat on his bed, “while you were resting up I've been getting my bearings on the place. Swamp air smells strange, not sure if you’ve noticed that.”

“It’s not the only thing that reeks,” Moss swallowed back a cough.

“Ah,” Isidro acknowledged, “and here I was worried your sunny disposition would be blighted by the fever. How’s the leg?”

“Don’t,” Moss’ face twisted with impatience. He took a slow breath, feeling his ribs hesitate, then glanced in Isidro’s direction, though he couldn’t see much besides the dim glimmer of his eyes, "no need to pretend when we’re alone.”

“Who says I'm pretending?” He tossed the fan to Moss.

Moss took another drink in response.

Isidro sighed, “You know nothing about the reality of what we’re up against," he mentioned, "Pirates only respect three things: power, loyalty, and money, and guess what we have none of? The only way we get out of this is by giving them what they want."

“How should I do that?” Moss challenged with a bite, “go ahead, show me loyalty. In fact, show me how to watch someone drown and then sit down next to them for a chat.”

Isidro groaned and rubbed his head, avoiding the knots in his unbrushed mane that had already begun to twist around each other.

"I was acting on orders,” he stated, “I'd be in chains right now had I ignored you. Then what? You get a bullet in your skull or end up here anyway with no one to watch your back?"

The room devolved into silence. Isidro moved again as Moss took another drink. When he awoke and saw Isidro was gone, he assumed the worst, but a barmaid came in with food and water, and assured him that his “friend” was working hard to make up for his sickness. as much as he hated to admit it, Moss had to rely on the sailor a bit longer.

He grabbed the fan and spread it out - feeling the sweet sense of relief immediately.

The sailor sat beside him, almost the same length away as they were when they had formally met.

“Look, we’re in this together now, aye? We’ll be rid of this place in no time.”

Moss chuckled, “only pirates leave Talon.”

“Exactly,” Isidro tapped Moss on the chest with an open hand.

Moss looked down, noticing the inflamed red of the healing wound. Isidro eventually retracted the rejected gesture, mumbling about how it was probably a bit too soon.

“How old are you, mate?” He finally asked.

“What?” Isidro’s brows stitched together, “older than you look,” he muttered, wiping accumulating sweat off of his upper lip as Moss offered his cup over, keeping his head down as the Sailor's hand reached into his view, extending fully to reveal hastily scrawled ink over his skin.

“Twenty three,” was Moss’ tired reply as he lie back down with the water on his chest, still fanning himself.

"You have tattoos," Moss observed.

"Aye," Isidro affirmed, guzzling down the water, "four year's worth."

"Did they hurt?"

Isidro smiled at the innocent question, eyeing the lad beside him as his hostile gaze turned to curiosity.

"Like hell," he took another drink.

Moss paused the fanning to point at his own knuckles, "what does, uh, that say? A name?"

Isidro took in a deep breath as he flexed his fingers, staring down.

"Do you have someone, lad?"

"Um..."

''Family?”

“Oh. Yes,” Moss paused as an unwilling and yet powerless part of his memory fought forward, “though it never felt like that to me, but what does that have to do with-”

"Makes sense why you wanted to be a sailor, then,” Isidro groaned as he lie down on his bedroll, staring up at the ceiling, “most of them don't have any other place to go. They like it that way.”

"Most, but not you?"

Moss looked up at the sailor as the silence stretched on a bit past normal. His eyes were far away - nested in the past with dark circles and a forlorn gaze into nothing.

"Aye," the sailor reflected, looking at the ceiling like one would the stars in a night sky, "and they're the only reason I've lasted this long."

Moss pushed himself over, looking at the sailor's knuckles. Black ink had turned a hazy dark blue with craggy edges.

"Do you mind if I ask what-"

"-Yes, I do," Isidro cut him off and dropped his hands. He glanced at the surprised swabbie, rubbed his stubbled chin, and sighed, “it’s a boring, tedious story."

Moss' curiosity burned in him, but he fought to push it away and let it go, for now.

The pub noise came in under the door, though Moss didn't find it particularly suffocating anymore despite the situation leaving a massive hole in his stomach that couldn’t be filled by anything, even if he was in a state to be able to crave anything at all.

"How do we get out of here?"

"It'll take some doing," Isidro cleared his throat, "Can you stand?"

"Uh, Right now?"

"Now. Tomorrow. Next day. Can you stand?"

“I haven’t tried yet. It still hurts.”

Isidro nodded, “and it will. For a long time, but you have to make yourself useful soon else they find someone new and you lose your head, or worse.”

Moss glanced at Isidro, “worse?”

“Aye,” Isidro lie back down, “there’s always worse.”

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