Siren's Serenade

In the blistering summer of 1515, along the North African coast in Algiers, the Mediterranean's crisp, azure waters sat tantalizingly close. However, the scorching south winds from the Sahara turned the air into an almost mummifying heat. At noon, the colossal sun transformed this coastal city into an oven, hitting almost 50 degrees Celsius. Not even the flies dared to venture out for a meal at this hour. Yet, in the heart of Algiers' central square, over two thousand men jostled together.

"Dang it! How much longer we gotta wait? When's this show startin'?"

A burly dude impatiently wiped sweat off his face, working out the kinks in his stiff legs. He'd just tussled for a scrap of shade under a date palm, leaving his face bruised and adding to his irritability.

"Hold on. I bet the moment it kicks off, those slots are gonna fill up quick. Joinin' Hayreddin's crew ain't a walk in the park." Usually, the crew only needed two to three hundred more hands, but this time, ten times that number showed up, revealing the fierce competition.

"Tamarind juice! Light beer! Ice-cold drinks to beat the heat!"

"Figs! Big grapes! Dried olives! Goat cheese, fragrant and sweet!"

"Hey, sir! Need a cloth to sharpen that knife? After a rubdown, it'll be sharper and shinier than Aladdin's sword! No? Well, check out this foot ointment from the East for athlete's foot, and there's also the Indian miracle, the 'Nine Nights of Great Strength' pill!"

A dozen vendors, unfazed by the heat, crowded the square. Some lugged baskets, others pushed carts, peddling various drinks and snacks.

In this mostly Muslim city, a Christian missionary, draped in a sun-blocking robe, ordered a beer and asked one of the drink vendors, "What's with all these folks packing knives and swords?"

The vendor shot him a 'you're clueless' look. "You don't know? Lord Hayreddin's ship's recruiting!"

"Barbarossa Hayreddin? The boldest in North Africa..." The missionary muffled a gasp. "It's well-known, but the authorities cool with pirates openly recruiting in the city center?"

The vendor chuckled. "You're an outsider. Algiers is the pirate's den, and Lord Hayreddin's the real shadow governor. We all bank on him for a living. Once you're aboard, even if we don't clash for a month, you can still earn three gold coins!"

The missionary was floored. A regular sailor in the Spanish navy only get one silver coin a month. Three gold coins could buy twenty milking cows. No wonder folks were itching to join.

Algiers thrived on pirates, the wealth they brought, making them like gods here, protecting the city. Being a pirate was the hottest gig in town.

The missionary wanted more intel but spotted a burly giant, almost two meters tall, leaping onto the city wall, causing a stir in the square.

"That's Hank, the vice-captain of the raiding party!" The vendor, jazzed up like seeing a celeb, spoke with admiration. "The raiding party's the real deal, a bunch of pros among pros! Hank can lug around a ton of cannons and blast 'em!"

Hank raised his giant hand like a fan, pressing it into the void, hushing the square. His opening spiel was straightforward:

"One eye lost, ten gold coins! Both eyes lost, twenty coins!

One arm gone, ten gold coins! Both arms gone, twenty coins!

Nose, ears, fingers, one price, three coins!

For those who check out early, a tidy settlement fee of fifty!"

The grisly content echoed through the air. The square's men stayed silent for three beats, then erupted like a volcano:

"Awesome! The bounties are off the charts this time!"

"Hail Lord Hayreddin!"

"How much for losing your... you know?"

"Pah! What's in your pants ain't even enough for half a finger, and you dare ask for compensation?"

"Ahahaha!"

Hank kept it rolling. "We need a boatload this time, five hundred! If you're feeling brave, step up and give it a go!" He fished a bunch of silver coins from his pocket, tossed them into the air, adding the final flourish to the already heated atmosphere, "Those snatching a gold coin gettin' a spot on the ship!"

The swaggering spectacle showcased the might of this pirate crew.

Some impatient folks eagerly grabbed at the shiny little things, creating chaotic clusters in the crowd, accompanied by a cacophony of curses. Hank sneered; those who couldn't hold their ground here wouldn't cut it on the ship.

Several burly men brought in a large iron cage with an examiner inside, tossing out gold coins. The crowd went wild, pushing and shoving to get close. Those lucky enough to be nearby snatched a coin, while others, less fortunate, had to rely on strength or contemplate snatching from someone else.

The blazing sun inadvertently weeded out the frail, and many succumbed to the high temperature and overcrowding, collapsing from heatstroke. The square resembled an anthill that had exploded, with shoes strewn all over. The missionary, dumbfounded, watched this fervent scene, too stunned to speak. The drink vendor chuckled, "This is a special test; life on the ship isn't a comfy inn."

When many became immobilized in the crush, from the dense foliage of a date palm on the city wall, a "plop" echoed as a date pit fell. Alongside the pit landing, a slim figure dropped down from the tree, using shoulders and vendors' carts as stepping stones. Like a little leopard, he effortlessly leaped over the crowded people and vaulted onto the large iron cage where the coins were distributed.

Hank, standing on the cage, paused for a moment. The newcomer was a teenager, around sixteen, with a slim package on his back. He wore old clothes, washed to a pale hue, and a coarse linen headscarf revealing a few strands of chestnut hair. His face, covered in dirt and sweat, made it hard to discern his features. However, a pair of black-and-white eyes stood out, seemingly inexperienced at first glance but emanating an unsettling sharpness not typical for his age. As his gaze shifted, it resembled the cold light of the moon, chilling to the bone. Even Hank, a seasoned warrior, felt a bit unsettled under that gaze.

"Give me a gold coin," the youth unabashedly extended his hand, with a slender wrist and a faint callus in the palm.

"He's cheating! How can this be allowed?" Dissatisfied voices rose from the crowd. Some tried to pull him down, but the cage was over three meters high, and they couldn't reach.

The youth justified himself, "You only said whoever grabs it first counts, not how to grab it."

Hank nodded in agreement but didn't give him a coin. After sizing him up, Hank laughed, "Kid, you're too young for the ship."

"I'm sixteen, already an adult," the youth retorted, lifting his head defiantly, though it didn't make him much taller.

"He's not even fifteen! So short!"

"Yeah, yeah! Poor development. One big wave and he'll be thrown off!"

Hank chuckled and said, "Open your mouth."

The youth, bewildered, complied. Hank bent down and scrutinized him seriously, then suddenly declared loudly, "This colt hasn't shed all its baby teeth yet, not fit for the ship!"

"Hahaha!" Mocking laughter erupted from the crowd.

The youth grew anxious, "I'm really an adult, capable of doing anything!"

Hank, looking at his sharp chin, shook his head, "The ship is full of rough men; you won't last. Grow a few more years."

"I'm literate! Can read and write!" The youth added another qualification. The mocking laughter diminished. In an era where among a hundred people, finding someone who could write their own name was a rarity, being able to read and write was quite a remarkable skill.

Hank nodded, "Oh, you're educated. Head to the west side of the square; see if they need anyone there."

The examiner remained firm, and the youth could only jump down from the cage, stepping on the shoulders of the crowd, making his way west. Despite being prepared, none of those trampled managed to catch his ankle.

"Dang, this is weird. Look at this kid, so skinny, and yet surprisingly heavy." A man touched his sore shoulder, complaining. The weight seemed to come out of nowhere.

Compared to the chaotic crowd on the square, the recruiting event on the west side was relatively calm. A few wooden tables under white sunshades, examiners with kindly expressions, yet strangely few applicants. The youth walked past table after table, finally understanding why there were so few people applied.

Navigator: Must know navigation, helm control, familiar with celestial bodies, tides, and underwater reef formations.

Carpenter: Must understand design drawings, skilled in ship repair, patching leaks, varnishing, and furniture making.

Gunner: Shooting accuracy nine out of ten, able to maintain and repair various weapons, handle muskets, rotating cannons, and naval cannons.

Armorer...

As the youth walked and shook his head, he realized that technical professionals were even harder to find than literate individuals. Finally, at the end, he encountered a cultured young man sitting in the shade, reading a book. Wearing a pair of high-quality crystal glasses, he looked nothing like a pirate, more like a cold and arrogant scholar. In front of him lay a leather tool bag, and several uniquely shaped silver knives, extraordinarily sharp, and a saw for amputations glinted in the sunlight.