Shadows of Negotiation

The steady creak of wood and soft lapping of waves against the hull reminded Jacob that, for now, things were calm. The Abyss sat securely at the dock in Port Serpent's Reach, the pirate haven they'd reached after days of tense sailing and that unnerving encounter with the ghost ship. Yet, beneath that calm, a growing sense of urgency pulled at him, a need to push forward.

Jacob leaned over the map spread across his cabin's table. The route to the next convoy snaked out like a tempting prize, but it wasn't without risks. La Fortune was still tethered to the dock, waiting for its fate to be decided. Repairs were underway, with Barret "Old Wood" Hawkins and Kofi hard at work, but they'd need more than just a patch job if they wanted to be ready for the next score. And there was still the matter of negotiating the sale of the captured goods, not to mention La Fortune herself. Jacob rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of it all.

"Captain," Garrett's voice broke the silence. The first mate had entered without Jacob noticing, which wasn't unusual. Garrett had a way of moving quietly, though not out of deference—just experience. "Crew's offloading the last of the spices and rum. Kwame's ashore negotiating the meeting. We should know more by nightfall."

Jacob nodded, his eyes still on the map. "And the crew? How are they holding up?"

Garrett hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Tensions are high. The old crew's still wary of the new hands, especially the women. It doesn't help that we sent Kwame ashore to negotiate. Some of the men... well, you know how they think. They're watching closely." Garrett's expression darkened slightly, a look of frustration crossing his face. "It's subtle, but it's there."

Jacob frowned, glancing up at his first mate. He'd expected the integration of the new crew members to be difficult, but tensions were mounting faster than anticipated. The racism, sexism, and mistrust were palpable, and if left unchecked, it could threaten the unity he was trying to build.

"We need this to work," Jacob said quietly, leaning back in his chair. "If Kwame can't negotiate a fair price for La Fortune, we're stuck here longer than we can afford. And if the crew falls apart before the next raid..."

"They won't fall apart," Garrett cut in, his voice firm. "Not while I'm watching. But you're right. We can't let this stew too long. Maybe send a few of the men ashore, let them blow off some steam. That should ease things a bit."

Jacob sighed, glancing back at the map. "Fine. Let them spend some of the coin we divided. But keep an eye on them. The last thing we need is trouble with the local powers."

Garrett gave a sharp nod, then turned to leave. "I'll take care of it."

As the door clicked shut behind Garrett, Jacob leaned forward, his fingers tracing the route laid out before him. The next convoy would be following a similar path to La Fortune, skirting past uninhabited islands. It was a risk, doubling back on their route, but the payoff would set them up for months. He needed the crew ready, focused, and united for what lay ahead.

A soft knock at the door pulled Jacob from his thoughts. Cedric entered, the aging sailing master moving with the stiffness of years spent at sea. Behind him, Thomas hovered, eager and attentive.

"Captain," Cedric greeted him with a nod, his voice as steady as ever. "We've mapped out the waters ahead, and I've gone over it with the boy here." He gestured toward Thomas, who stood straighter under Jacob's gaze. "He's got a good head for the sea. You were right to take him under wing."

Jacob gave the boy a brief nod of approval. "Good work, both of you. I'm thinking we'll double back on La Fortune's route for the convoy. We'll use the smaller islands for cover, make sure we're not spotted until it's too late."

Cedric's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the map. "It's a sound plan, Captain. But those islands... they're tricky. Winds shift quickly, and if we're caught off guard, it could turn ugly."

Thomas, eager to contribute, chimed in. "I've been studying the wind patterns, Captain. We'll be ready. If we set the sails right and keep the gunners prepared, we can outmaneuver any escort the convoy might have."

Jacob smiled faintly at the boy's enthusiasm but kept his focus on Cedric. "Your thoughts?"

Cedric stroked his grizzled beard thoughtfully. "The lad's right about the winds. But we'll need to stay sharp. No room for error. If Garrett keeps the men drilled and Renard keeps the gunners sharp, we've got a fair chance. Just don't take any unnecessary risks, Captain. We've already got the ghost ship to worry about."

Jacob's stomach tightened at the mention of the ghost ship. The undead captain's eyes, glowing with dark green embers, had lingered in his thoughts since that fateful night. He was marked, and that knowledge weighed heavily on him. But now wasn't the time to dwell on it.

"Understood," Jacob said, his voice steady. "We'll be cautious. I'll speak with Renard and Hale. The gunners need to be sharp before we set sail again."

As Cedric and Thomas left the cabin, Jacob sat back in his chair, his mind whirring with plans. They needed to be ready—ready to negotiate, ready to fight, ready for whatever came next.

But even as he strategized, the weight of the mark, the knowledge of what the ghost captain had seen in him, gnawed at the edges of his mind.

Jacob stood on deck the next morning as the first rays of light broke over the harbor. The crew was already stirring, preparing for the day ahead. Barret "Old Wood" Hawkins and Kofi were overseeing repairs, their movements quick and methodical as they assessed the damage from the storm and set about fixing it. Barret's intensity was palpable—his hands moving with precision and a kind of quiet fury as he worked. Kofi, on the other hand, was calm and steady, his resilience evident in the way he handled the heavy beams and tools.

Garrett approached, his face unreadable. "Kwame's back. He's set up the trade meeting with the local powers. We'll meet them tonight."

Jacob's brow furrowed. "How did it go?"

Garrett shrugged. "He said it was rough at first. They didn't want to deal with him, but he managed to convince them. Racism, same old story. But he's tough. Got us a fair shot."

Jacob's jaw tightened in anger. He had expected this, but it didn't make it any less infuriating. Kwame was one of the sharpest minds on board, and yet he had to fight through layers of prejudice just to be heard.

"We'll make the most of it," Jacob said quietly. "Tell the crew to prepare. We'll need to make a good impression. And send some of the men ashore. Let them blow off some steam, but keep an eye on them."

Garrett gave a quick nod before heading off to relay the orders. As Jacob watched him go, his thoughts turned to the crew—both the old hands and the new recruits. The tensions were still there, simmering beneath the surface. The crew was loyal, but they were far from united.

Jacob had more than just the next raid to worry about. The ship needed repairs, the crew needed unity, and his own growing power—marked by the undead captain—loomed over him like a storm waiting to break. The next few days in Port Serpent's Reach would be crucial. They needed to sell La Fortune, secure supplies, and keep the crew from tearing itself apart.

But even as they prepared for negotiations and repairs, Jacob couldn't shake the feeling that the true danger lay not in the next raid, but in whatever darkness had taken notice of him.

And in the distance, he could almost hear the ghost captain's rasping voice: "Interesting..."