Clashing Plans and Interests #9

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Perched atop a wooden crate, I surveyed the bustling dock before me, a peculiar sensation stirring within me at the sight of land after days at sea. Despite the grimy atmosphere, with trash strewn about and shady figures lurking in the shadows, it felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the confines of the ship.

If it weren't for the tantalizing promise of a cure for my feeble body, I might have vanished into the throng, leaving behind the tangled web of pirate politics and deception without a second thought.

They say beggars can't be choosers, and right now, that adage applied to me more than ever. As for the pirate politics and skullduggery, Old Barn's plan appeared to be unfolding seamlessly. The pirates disembarked from the ship with a mixture of tension and suspicion, casting wary glances at their fellow crewmates as they departed.

The rift between the captain's faction and the first mate's faction had deepened, each side convinced of the other's treachery. Though there had been no fatalities besides the unfortunate incident where the Captain slew one of the first mate's men on dubious grounds of mutiny, the ship was rife with brawls and injuries.

The crew seemed poised on the brink of self-destruction, until we found ourselves moored at this port.

With both the captain and the first mate engaged in recruitment efforts, it presented a significant inconvenience for me. My mission required the eradication of the entire crew, and the appearance of more pirates would only complicate things.

"I need to do something about this before it's too late," I muttered, scratching my chin as I contemplated the predicament. It was imperative to halt the first mate and the captain's recruitment efforts, or else all our plans would crumble, leaving me stranded with these wretched pirates for who knows how long.

"Right... I can't stop them from recruiting people as long as they're on the island... but what if I make it so they can't stay here any longer...?" A spark of inspiration ignited in my mind. "Yup, let's do that," I decided, hopping off the crate and making my way toward the gangplank to disembark.

However, my departure was thwarted after just two steps by the sudden appearance of Old Barn before me. "Where ya going, lad?" he inquired, fixing me with a scrutinizing gaze.

I shrugged in response. "Nowhere in particular... just thought I'd take a stroll, you know?"

Old Barn nodded knowingly. "That can wait for a bit... come with me," he directed, motioning for me to follow him. With no reason to object, I trailed after him through the bustling docks until we reached a secluded alley some distance away.

Stopping abruptly, Old Barn turned to face me. "Do you still have Marcus' knife?" he queried. I nodded in affirmation.

"Hand it over, then, lad. I've got an idea," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Here you go," I replied, retrieving the knife from my pocket and passing it to him."What do you plan to do with it...? Wait, you're thinking of framing him for murder, aren't you?" I blurted out, my eyes widening in alarm.

Old Barn dismissed the knife with a disdainful snort. "What else would I want with this clunky thing?" He scrutinized Marcus' knife as though it were a child's toy.

"The captain and the first mate are being overly cautious for once, thinking ahead. We can't allow that. We need to wrap this up and scatter the crew before they gather more recruits," he declared, his tone firm, indicating his determination to conclude matters on the island.

I pondered silently, resisting the urge to voice my objection then and there. To complete my mission, every last member of this crew needed to meet their end, and I wouldn't allow a single one to slip through the cracks.

"But Marcus isn't naive. He likely foresaw this and would have informed the others about his missing knife," I argued.

Old Barn chuckled darkly. "Marcus is clever, but he believes himself to be the sole possessor of intellect... He wouldn't disclose the loss of his knife unless he wanted someone else to steal his glory in the future," he explained, shaking his head.

"And even if he did spill the beans... well, we'll just have to ensure he's unable to confirm any suspicions, should anyone have them," he added with a sinister grin, making a throat-slitting gesture.

Hearing his words, I had the urge to sigh as I had no more arguments, but I maintained a stoic facade, choosing to keep my reservations to myself for the time being.

His plan held more logic than I was willing to admit. Marcus's silence about giving me his knife likely stemmed from his desire to claim credit for the death of the marine soldier and the potential for future accolades. Even if he had shared his intentions, as long as Marcus met his end, uncertainty would cloak the truth.

Mere suspicions wouldn't be enough to justify action against the quartermaster, and, by extension, against me.

"Going by that expression, you seem convinced," Old Barn remarked, noting my contemplative demeanor.

I offered a subtle shrug in response, conceding to the plan's efficacy.

"Excellent. Bring one of your firearms and rendezvous with me at the inn near the docks. We'll deal with Marcus once I've laid the groundwork," he directed, his tone carrying authority as he turned away, expecting compliance.

As Old Barn's form melted into the bustling crowd, I couldn't help but release a resigned sigh. My agreement to his scheme was sealed, albeit reluctantly. "I'll see you there... after a little detour," I muttered, veering off in the opposite direction, my mind already calculating the nuances of our impending confrontation.

Leaning nonchalantly against the weathered exterior of the inn, Blake adjusted his hood to obscure his features, his gaze fixed on the entrance as he waited in anticipation. Moments later, Marcus emerged from the dimly lit interior, accompanied by the hooded figure of Old Barn, their hushed conversation barely audible as they navigated the bustling streets.

Blake's hand brushed against the concealed pistol nestled beneath his cloak, ensuring its readiness as he observed the pair's movements. With deliberate caution, he trailed behind them, maintaining a prudent distance while blending into the throng of passersby.

As Old Barn veered toward a secluded alley, away from prying eyes, Blake seized the opportune moment. Swiftly retrieving his pistol, he took careful aim, his finger tightening around the trigger without hesitation.

The crack of gunfire shattered the ambient chatter, the bullet finding its mark as it struck Marcus's ankle, eliciting a sharp cry of pain as the pirate stumbled to his knees.

Grimacing, Marcus spun around, searching for his assailant, but before he could utter a word, or even catch a glimpse of Blake, Old Barn's swift and decisive action stole the moment. With a fluid motion, he drew his knife and delivered a fatal blow, silencing Marcus's protests with a swift slash to the throat.

"A job well done, lad," Old Barn remarked, nodding in satisfaction as he observed Marcus's life ebbing away in a pool of crimson. "Let's head back to the ship and wait for the music," he added with a sly grin.

"Right behind you," Blake responded, approaching Marcus's fallen form and kneeling beside it. "Just need to grab one thing first," he continued, deftly searching through Marcus's pockets until he retrieved one of the distinctive knives Marcus favored. He displayed it to Old Barn. "Just in case, you know?" Blake concluded before stowing the knife away and rising to his feet.

Old Barn chuckled softly, a glint of pride in his eyes. "Looks like you're finally catching on, lad," he remarked with a grin. "All that tutoring wasn't for naught. But it's a shame that... ah, never mind," he trailed off, shaking his head.

Arching an eyebrow, Blake pressed for clarification. "What's a shame? This guy had it coming," he stated matter-of-factly, punctuating his words with a light kick to Marcus's lifeless form.

Old Barn shrugged dismissively. "It's nothing, lad. Just the ramblings of an old man... Let's make our way back to the ship, shall we?" he suggested, already heading toward the alley's exit.

As Old Barn's back turned, Blake's expression darkened, his gaze lingering on the retreating figure. "A shame indeed," he murmured softly before falling into step behind his mentor.

Neither Old Barn Nor Blake knew what went on in each other's mind at this moment, but they both looked forward to a good show that would unfold soon enough, each with his own plans.

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