“I want to trade for whatever job you’ve got. You look a lot less sticky than I feel.”
Ollie twirled a huge needle between his fingers, “Any good at sewing?”
Tyler grimaced, shook his head. The young Wolf just laughed. “It’s the cosiest job on deck, minus perhaps lookout.”
“Up there?” Tyler glanced at the nest way above their heads. While he was not a stranger to heights he couldn’t imagine that spending hours up on the tiny platform could be considered ‘cosy’.
“He’s just putting you through your paces, seeing what you’re made of. People don’t become pirates because it’s easy.”
“The hangman is looking tempting right now, I won’t lie.”
“They were gonna hang you?” Ollie leaned away a fraction, enough for Tyler to notice. “What were you in prison for again?”
The thief just grinned, there was no need to go into detail. “I’m a criminal.”
Ollie relaxed, rolled his eyes, “Join the club.” He glanced up at the sun, “See ya later I suppose. Wouldn’t want you to get into trouble on your first day because of me.”
“Too late.”
~
Only once the decks were sparkling did Jim consider their job complete, reassigning those who didn’t already have another chore lined up. Tyler would have been happy to never see another mop in his life, but his relief at being given a new task was short-lived. Peeling potatoes wasn’t all that much of an improvement, especially when you had to peel enough for a crew of thirty who were all starving all of the time, or so they claimed. By the amount he’d been told to prepare, portion sizes were huge. That was at least something to look forward to. He sighed and picked up yet another vegetable, flicking away an errant peel that had wrapped itself around his fingers. The knife was pretty blunt, not worth slipping in his pocket for a rainy day. He stabbed it into the barrel beside him, wiped his hands on his trousers. He’d been sitting still for too long, doing a mindless task at that. Tyler felt itchy, too much of his mind wandering. It was times like this that he’d start thinking back. Instead he searched for a distraction, grinning as one happened to walk past. Long silky black hair, almost brushing the belt a rather expensive looking cutlass hung from. Tyler knew an AAA grade ruby when he saw one, though gemstones were not his forte. It was a thief thing.
“Hey beautiful.”
She drew to a sudden halt, twisted her head slowly to the direction of the voice. And Tyler felt his tongue try to shove itself back down his throat. She was in fact a he. And he looked pissed off. Tyler gaped for a moment, “Your sword. Sorry. That is, it’s a beautiful blade. That’s what I meant.”
“Thanks.”
Tyler knew when he’d been marked, and he’d definitely just been marked. But it was a compliment, right? The man carried on, his hair glinting in the sunshine. If they ever got on good terms Tyler would definitely ask him what he used in it. Though he doubted they’d be plaiting each other’s hair anytime soon.
He perked up when he saw a figure he recognised, definitely female and definitely friendly. “You again. Well this is my lucky day.”
Anya flicked her plait back over her shoulder, “Hello Tyler. How are you getting on?”
“Well I’ve so far only been trusted to mop decks and peel potatoes, but I’m keeping my hopes up that I’ll be given some more important tasks at some stage in my newfound pirating career.”
“You plan to stay then?” She gathered up one of the trays of peeled potatoes, stacking another atop it before standing. Tyler silently offered a hand out in assistance but Anya shook her head with a smile.
“For now. I’ve noticed there are considerable perks to being on this ship – namely the company.”
Anya treated him to a short burst of a giggle which transformed into a smile, “Do you ever stop flirting?”
He grinned, the one that proved an excellent distraction for women and most men. If all else failed he could normally talk his way out of tight spots. “Not when the focus of my attentions is so captivating.”
“Oh come on, stop.” She waved his comment away, but she was laughing, and if he wasn’t mistaken that was a blush creeping over her cheeks.
“I’ll try my best but really, I mean you may have to turn around or something.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
Tyler tipped the hat he wasn’t wearing in a jaunty salute, “Thank you.”
Chapter 3
Charms
She was trying to keep a low profile, keeping far enough away to be beyond his radar, but he tended to know when someone was watching him. It was a helpful trick to pick up when the watch were always on your back. Those who didn’t learn to recognise when to run didn’t live long. Tyler’s bad record with jail cells had something more to do with his high ranking, and therefore an unfortunate habit of his name, or one of his names, coming up all too often in relation to trouble. They’d tried to pin him down for a number of years now, finding nothing would stick long enough to keep him rotting, or make him swing.
Up till Rust that is.
Ugh, even thinking his colour made rage spark up those parts of his mind that logged ways to dispose of people quietly. When you had someone who was willing to speak against you it carried a weight that even Tyler had been unable to talk himself out of, and by then they’d grown wise enough to his tricks to put him in a cell that could actually contain him for longer than five minutes.
He’d spent days trying to find the way out, in his experience there was always a way out, whether it be a rusty nail, a loose stone, a hinge with a little too much oil. All of these factors could be manipulated, used to his advantage. Getting out of the cells was the easy bit, it was what came after – finding the first weapon that you could get your hands on. Again improvisation came in handy, a chair leg, a coil of rope, the loose stone from the wall. You could probably fill a book with the things Tyler had turned into weapons. Even that wasn’t the hardest part, because then you had to get past the coppers. Fortunately his contacts meant that he could usually get word out for a certain powder to end up in the mess hall’s stew pot on a certain night. Whatever opposition he faced tended to be feeling dozy, or on the messier ones, throwing up a generous amount of the contents of their stomachs. He had to keep a low profile after that one, the watch hadn’t been too pleased with him. It probably didn’t help that those on duty had been forced to clean up the mess by their superior officer. The memory made him chuckle, till it was tainted by that of his last incarceration. It hadn’t got right up to the last minute, but it had been a close one. Whether he’d have thought of something or found some other opportunity before the rope had been wrapped around his neck, Tyler couldn’t be sure.
She was still looking at him. She’d drawn her hat low over her features, tucked her bright hair beneath it. But there could be no mistaking her, even from this distance. She carried herself with a certain confidence, shoulders back, every part of herself placed with complete purpose, from the angle of her head to the flick of her wrist. She was wearing the same jacket from that night, a darker shirt beneath it, and cropped trousers with her feet left bare. There were no swords at her back, a rare sight indeed, though she still wore her pistols, and had a rather nasty looking dagger strapped on for good measure. A good number of the crew went about unarmed when they were sailing, but he knew weapons were never far out of reach. Must be the same with pirates as with thieves – trust only goes so far. He’d always thought that meant other thieves, other gangs. But he’d learnt first hand that sometimes attacks come from within your own crew. From those you were closest to.
With a start he realised she’d moved. Disappointment added to the general pissed off aura he couldn’t help emitting when he thought of the deceit that had crushed him almost to the point of no return. Tyler spotted that fiery hair out of the corner of his eye, grinned. He should know by now not to dwell on things, to keep his mind busy. Flirting was as good an outlet as any, and she was a worthy opponent. He set do
wn the barrel he’d been carrying, setting his sights instead on the pirate captain approaching. She didn’t falter until she got beside him, until he spoke. “You keep looking at me like that and I’ll lose my concentration. You’re even more stunning in the daylight.”
She didn’t admit that she’d been watching him intently. That look had sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t admit that either. Irena didn’t smile, but tilted her head up slightly. “Does that actually work on people?”
“You’d be surprised.” He felt his mind focus, preparing for whatever she threw back at him. This was what he played this game for, focus like this was not easily won. Cogs were whirling at the back of his mind, fingers twitching in impatience. Part of him expected her to ignore him.
She took a step towards him, halting before him a lot closer than he’d anticipated. Her legs brushed against his own, her breath curling around his neck as she spoke. “And you expect me to fawn all over you now because you think I look good?”
Tyler chuckled a little, if only in an attempt to relax his hammering heart. His head at least was ready with an answer. “I’d have no complaints.”
“I know I look good. I don’t need you to tell me. Give up.” She flicked him on the chin, her nail pricking against his skin, then she turned on her heel and was gone.
Tyler let out a low whistle, smiling to himself despite the outcome. She hadn’t ignored him at least, she’d seemed pretty willing to join in. She’d cut it short obviously, but surely she was a little interested. Tyler gripped the edge of the barrel and criticised his reflection in the surface of the water. Had he really grown that rusty that his flattery was no longer working? His brow creased into a frown. Anya seemed susceptible enough to it. But it was Irena that he’d set his sights on, and she continued to knock him back. Infuriating really, especially for that look in her eye whenever he caught her watching him.
He’d never been a particularly impressive figure of a man, he spent too much time behind a desk for that, but he made sure to keep himself fit enough to outrun the watch. He was taller than most, though he hid it in such a way that would make onlookers describe him as average height. He’d learnt a long time ago it paid to be ordinary. It made you less of a target, less memorable to people who may have cause to hand on your likeness. As such he’d ensured that descriptions of him were hazy at best.
That, coupled with the multitude of names he used, had been the main secret to his success at remaining overlooked by the countless authorities who tried to bring him to justice. Why, he was never quite sure – yes he was a criminal, but he’d never thought of himself as a bad person. Not worth hanging anyway…surely. But people tended to not appreciate their secrets being made public, more so than losing their diamonds and gold. If they knew the number of secrets he kept to himself, the ones that hadn’t proved profitable enough, or he just hadn’t found the right buyer for, perhaps they’d be a little more reluctant about imprisoning him. Prisons were the best place to trade the only thing that was left to you, the things you knew.
Black hair, hazel eyes, and dark skin – inherited rather than due to hours in the sun. Tyler hauled the barrel back into his arms with a grunt, and continued on his way. He wouldn’t think about heritage right now, it wasn’t a topic he liked to linger on.
Jim had set him this particular task, Tyler suspected mainly because he didn’t think the comparatively scrawny looking newbie could manage the barrels by himself. Tyler had been determined to prove him wrong. He wasn’t weak after all, he’d taught himself to climb sheer walls, run across the rooftops – you had to be able to carry your own weight to do that. Not his fault that he didn’t put on muscle like some of the crew. Honestly, some of them had muscles that were more like boulders than flesh – Jim included. But that’s what came from a life at sea, bad skin and good contouring. Tyler smirked to himself.
The first mate’s opinion of him was pretty low, he’d already figured that much out from Jim’s subtle hints. He was also confident that he knew why, albeit that wasn’t too hard to figure out. Hostile relations with the natives didn’t bode well for his future aboard Siren’s Call, though it was something of a matter of pride to Tyler that he was able to get on with most people he met. He was after all a nice guy. True he was a thief, and his hands weren’t the cleanest, but it was a messy job. Needs must and all that. He’d done what he’d had to do, with the brains to distinguish between what should be done and what was running before you could walk. It had got him to where he was. Where he had been.
Tyler dumped the barrel unceremoniously with the others, ignoring the little water that sloshed over the sides. Someone was watching him again. He turned, schooling his expression as he spotted Jim, huge arms folded tightly across his chest, judging him. Had he felt a little more confident of his survival odds, Tyler might have taken a bow, or at the very least raised an eyebrow jauntily. He allowed himself a grin. Well, he didn’t plan on sticking around long anyway.
Chapter 4
A crew of misfits
Tyler was starting to get the hang of things, it really wasn’t anything too taxing, and he’d always been quick at learning. The knots proved no trouble for a man who had taught himself to lock pick at age five. At least with knots you could see them before you rather than having to figure out the internal workings of an unseen puzzle. Ollie remarked on his talents at figuring out how knots were done just by looking at them, but Tyler gave little away. He hadn’t told them what he’d been on land, aside from the fact that he was a thief – it would serve them better to see him as that rather than what he really was. Until he had his feet back on solid ground it didn’t matter all that much.
The other Jailbirds were a similar calibre of criminal to what he claimed to be. Notably there were no murderers or rapists, mainly thieves like himself, though no one who he recognised and no one who admitted to recognising him. He was content to keep it like that. He knew a few of the marks they wore, and they probably recognised his. As far as their marks went they were pretty low ranking, some still on their first crew. Perhaps they were low enough to not recognise the pattern he wore, but he kept a strip of fabric about his wrist to cover it. He wasn’t about to take chances like that yet.
Tattoos were the who’s who of the thieves. Though it went against Tyler’s better judgement, he’d been marked three times. It was the way they did things, and he wasn’t about to go up against tradition, even if he did suspect that the coppers had figured out some of their codes. It was as good as going around yelling ‘I’m a thief!’ though Tyler was smarter than that. He kept them covered, never revealing them unless he needed to. And, rather than ridding himself of his old mark, he kept it. This was a matter of preference – some opted for covering old marks with new tattoos, some went for the blade, a rather painful route that Tyler had refused after seeing the messy scars that the practice left, and some just kept their old marks. This served as a means of confusion, there was no real way to tell which mark was the most recent. He’d got away with still being a member of his old crew a few times, sneaking onto their premises for motives other than reminiscing about the old days.
The last of those particular nights had earned him a bullet to his chest, and a reputation amongst his current crew that earned him a title.
As for those of the crew of Siren’s Call, he’d figured out a few of the names by now. Ollie, his bunk neighbour, seemed to be friends with everyone. Young but strong, he had a habit of tapping his foot while someone else was talking, likely because he was used to being the talkative one. Chatty was an understatement – in fact he barely stopped talking aside from when he was asleep, and even then he’d woken Tyler up on more than one occasion shouting about dancing bananas or some such nonsense. He came across as naïve, but Tyler could see that shadow in him, the sort of shadow that came from being a criminal or from, for example, growing up with an assassin as a father. The only thing he didn’t talk much about was his fathers’ line of work, he’d skirt around it so spectacula
rly smoothly that Tyler was inclined to take notes.
Ollie had inadvertently taken Tyler under his wing, without either of them realising how. But Tyler was pleased to know he had at least one friendly face he could turn to if he found himself needing help.
Pips hadn’t warmed towards Tyler, but she treated everyone else with the same sort of disdain, so he decided not to take offence to it. Everyone that was, except for her partner Blue. She also seemed to hold a soft spot for Anya, but that could have had more to do with the fact that Anya provided meals. Pips always had seconds, and dessert, and rather unfairly never seemed to gain any weight.
Blue was a Southerner, and you’d think his rather unimaginative nickname came from his navy coloured hair, but apparently Blue was the name he’d been born with. He was skinny, as were most Southerners, but strong. He kept his facial hair closely shaved, his navy hair long enough to curl over his brow.
Anya, the friendly one with the blonde plait, would most often be found with Negrita, who tended to be quiet in public, though Tyler did not think for one moment it was down to shyness. She watched everything with a certain sincerity that Tyler had come to recognise as someone taking stock of every comment, every movement. If pirate ships had call for them he would not hesitate to say she was a spy. It was a strange pairing, the serious Negrita with her dark skin and dark hair, tall and willowy, against the blonde, paler, shorter and noticeably curvier Anya, who always smiled. They couldn’t have been more different.
Beyond Jim the only other higher up Tyler had met was Malcolm, who seemed to serve as the ships accountant, amongst other things. His mouth was constantly moving, chewing the sticky foul smelling tobacco he seemed to prefer. It had dyed his teeth black, and aged him further than Tyler suspected he actually was. Whatever clothes he wore were immediately stained where he wiped his hands upon them, black from tobacco and ink. His dark hair was shoulder length, but he kept it tied back with a rather jolly red ribbon in a small ponytail at the back of his neck. His patchy beard had seen better days, probably another effect of the tobacco. He always seemed washed out, like he was monochrome and the rest of the world in colour, and his grey eyes didn’t help with that impression.
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