Where The Wind Blows

Port Jackal.

Shallow reefs threatened to sink the unwise sailor, making it a nightmare to dock. Derelict wooden shacks mounted the stony hills, awaiting a solid breeze to tumble them over. Masts poked through the water like the ribs of skeletons, and the shoddy execution dock in the distance hung three dead, their tattered rags rotting with blight.

"Charming atmosphere," observed Joe. He wondered if this place had a tavern with some fresh produce. When he and Lucas had commandeered the old cog from the pirates, barrels of salted beef and pork were all they had. It turned out that pirates weren't exactly "nutrition-conscious"... Who would have thought?

Lucas could tell what Joe was thinking from the look on his face. "They'll have rum a-plenty, maybe a tasty stew if we're lucky."

"And whores," Hookhands rubbed his hooked hands together. "Don't forget the whores."

Captain Hookhands and his ten beautiful slaves were on board the old cog. After Joe had slaughtered his crew, no one was left to sail it back to port. And since no one could be bothered to clean up all the dead bodies on deck, they decided to use the OC to tow them back.

It looked ridiculous since Hookhand's ship was twice the size, and the towing speed was slower than it could be.

In any case, Lucas navigated the troubled moon-shaped bay of Port Jackal. He had a favorite place he liked to park at every port and smiled when he saw this one was free.

When they touched land, the legs of Joe and Cookie wobbled. Void pranced on without a care; he would have made a great natural-born sailor.

Lucas and Hookhands laughed as they watched Joe from behind.

"Where'd you find him?" said Hookhands in a low tone.

Lucas could only grimace. "Does the tide find the shore?"

"I've sailed all around the world and seen plenty of mad cunts," the Hookhands said, his nose twitching with angst, "But this one takes the piss."

In the distance, Joe and Cookie happened upon the tavern. They walked like newborn doves, stumbling against each other like drunken friends. Void did his best to herd the landlubbers. All the while, Joe's laugh boomed against the bleak landscape.

Lucas smiled at that. "Refreshing, though, isn't it? The naivety of it all."

"That naivety will get you killed," Hookhands warned.

It was then that a heavy gust of wind swept the two from behind. It was so strong that Hookhands staggered forward a few steps ahead and had to brace against it.

Lucas patted his old acquaintance on the back, trying his best not to laugh. "You see, Hookhands? You sail where the wind blows."

Inside the rustic pirate tavern, Joe was in a verbal spat with the customers.

"Get that horse out of here!"

"That beast too!"

Joe glared at them, his hand resting on the hilt of Icebreaker. "Why don't you make us?"

Hookhands scoffed. "My point stands valid," his face said. Lucas ignored him and quickly moved to defuse the situation.

"Calm down, ingrates," even though he spoke calmly, the room strained to listen. "There's rum 'ere for everyone."

"Our rum," a voice rejected.

That provocation was all Joe needed. He turned to the culprit with venom in his stride. All these pirates had to do was mind their own business, but now Joe had to clear the house before enjoying his leisure.

Void, however, seemed unfazed. He watched Lucas calmly find a table and then curled up by his feet.

It seemed as if a massive brawl was about to break out, but everyone simmered down only when Cookie bucked someone out of nowhere with his hind legs. Everyone backed away, shocked at the display of pure horse power.

"So, what's your course?" asked Captain Hookhands as Joe joined them at the table.

"I believe we have some errands to run before I earn Lucas' undying loyalty," said Joe, before chugging his rum. The taste dizzied him, "Fuck, that's diabolical!"

Hookhands winced in his chair. He turned to Lucas with some hope, "You can't possibly mean—"

"Bluebeard," Lucas said, his hazel eyes darkening.

The idea amused him: "There's a reason you don't see old sea dogs," said Hookhands, "The sea takes us all. Your father and Bluebeard were the exception."

"I don't give a damn, he has to die."

Joe could not hide his surprise. Aside from the day they first met, Lucas seldom talked about the man who killed his father. He tried his best not to ask, as Joe himself was no stranger to keeping his intentions hidden, even from his own family. Yet now, with Hookhands asking so candidly, Lucas was opening up.

It made Joe realize they had a long way to go in their partnership. Lucas would rather spill the beans to a deformed pirate than to him? That was outright insulting.

"How do you suppose we defeat this Chad alpha male of a pirate?" asked Joe, "Everyone is sucking up to him like he's the Prince of Pentos."

Hookhands leaned back in his chair. One of his slaves massaged his shoulders, and another stroked his forearm. We won't mention what another was doing to his crotch region under the table...

"Aye," said Hookhands, his voice easing with each stroke, "I won't pretend I've wanted him dead ever since he made fun of my hands. How will you do it?"

"If you wanted everyone dead for that, the whole ocean would be empty," Lucas savored the suspense of his golden answer.

"Just fucking tell us how we'll do it, cunt," Joe emphasized on the 'We.'

Lucas checked to see if there were any eavesdroppers, "Simple arithmetic, really. What do we know about Bluebeard?"

"Absolutely nothing," replied Joe.

Hookhands played along with Lucas' mental exercise, "Pirate, slaver, bastard. . ."

"Aye," Lucas swayed with a faint tipsy, his face easing with each sip of rum, "But I've come to realize in those days spent under his wrath. Bluebeard has more eyes on the horizon than anyone thought."

Joe suddenly thought of Bloodraven, and for a moment, he wondered if Bluebeard was a warg, "Eyes?"

"Ever since I made my dad mess with his slave trade, it felt like Bluebeard always had hunters on our tail."

"I asked myself, 'how does this tactless cunt keep finding us?'. . . But then I thought about his fleet, how at every port someone feared his name, and it dawned on me; Bluebeard had a web of communication."

Hookhands scoffed, "A secret genius?"

"He wouldn't be the first pirate to hide his true banners," countered Lucas.

Hookhands shook, and a phantom pain in his missing hand throbbed. He remembered that day of regret that made him set out to sea.

"As you say," Hookhands sighed.

"So, we have an overlord slaver pirate with eyes everywhere. How does that help us?" asked Joe.

Lucas concealed his emotions, "Bluebeard's ability to locate people quickly has made him arrogant, as I saw the day his fleet ambushed us, and he laughed as my father sank."

Hookhands spaced out, his thoughts blending Bluebeard's arrogance with the one who took his hand.

"Just think, how do we 'find' Bluebeard?" said Lucas.

Hookhands snapped back to reality, perhaps due to the climax below, "You don't. He finds you."

Lucas agreed, "Yes, but there is an exception."

Suddenly, Hookhands realized where Lucas was heading, "You can't mean—"

Joe sensed the change in the atmosphere and waited for Lucas's response, wearing the same goofy expression as Hookhands.

"You know precisely what I mean," Lucas said, standing to brood out the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Gentlemen," Lucas said, nodding his head in agreement with the plan he had just formulated, "What do you say we attend the Great Auction?"

Hookhands laughed, his suspicions confirmed, "Aye, the auction!"

Joe raised an eyebrow, "The auction?"

Lucas explained, "Every year, the nobles and elites from all over gather in Tyrosh for the annual Great Slave Auction."

"There's nothing like it," Hookhands salivated, "From whores to gladiators, it has everything you could want!"

Joe stirred a little bit. The idea of slavery was still hard to swallow. He knew this was George R.R. Martin's harsh world, but being so close to casual slavery still felt weird. "And...?"

"And who is the single greatest contributor to the Great Auction?" asked Lucas.

Hookhands made a feeble attempt at snapping the deformed fingers of his surviving, deformed hand, "Bluebeard."

It all became clear to Joe, and he could not contain his wide grin. He stood, raising his mug to his companions, "To Tyrosh, then!"

Hookhands rose with vigor, "Aye!" he said, clanking his mug against Joe's.

Lucas shook his head, 'Perhaps the shore does choose the tide?'

"Aye," he said, and rum sloshed onto the floor.