The cry of overboard caught her attention too quickly – the sea had been all calm waters and gentle breezes, meaning anyone over the Song’s edge had gotten there due to a fight amid the crew ( unlikely among her own, and even less likely to occur unheard and without a splash ) or was victim to the terrible clash of powers that had occurred most recently between the EITC and the Brethren Court.
Or perhaps more truthfully, between the lady Calypso and her old lover, Davy Jones.
Julia knew better than to get involved in the affairs of the eldritch, at least without invitation – and had spent the better majority of her time on islands the EITC would not think to find, and Jones would not deign to mention. Those who held his heart, after all, did not therefore retain his loyalty. Generally it was the opposite, in fact.
“Andrews, lower a boat – see if that poor soul yet lives,” Her order came even as she reached the balustrade, hands gripping the sides to observe matters and attempt to discern from a distance if the prone form belonged to man, or corpse.
By the time the man was brought aboard, she had arranged for either – unable to tell, even with a spyglass, which the answer would prove to be. The man was impossibly pale beneath the burns gifted him by the sun, and his breath was so scant it barely shifted his breast. “Get him below. He’ll need the surgeon, and water.”
As Andrews made to do so, one of the newer men sang out, “That’s Cutler Beckett himself, that is! I told him cap’n, but he said he weren’t goin’ ta leave ‘im on account of it!”
Julia raised her brows, glancing at Andrews. The two held silent conference before she met the expressions of those now paying much keener attention to the rescue party. “And right he was to not! We do not question the sea her choices – to do so is arrogant and foolish, and I will have neither aboard my ship. We will see in time what worth he brings us – “
“Naught but trouble – damned and cursed that man is!” There was a hum of agreement indeed – the man was a scourge to piracy, as surely as he was to those who might once have called him ally. There was nowhere for him to go, and so the sea had brought him here. Briefly, Julia wondered for but a moment what might happen if she ignored the hint, just this once. As it was –
“And yet he lives! He who challenged a goddess.” Silence. There, that had their attention. “If any of you have concerns, I suggest you raise them with Andrews after our guest has been tended to. Until then, I want you back to work – immediately.”
That seemed to get them stirring, at any rate. She could not fault them for being frustrated. In truth even she was displeased by the notion, but it was what it was. As the man was taken to the surgeon, Julia motioned for the harker to come forth. Once he was near enough she informed him frankly, “I do not take well to men who seek to stir up trouble on my ship, mister – “
“Dawson, ma’am.”
Not entirely unintelligent then. “Mister Dawson,” She tilted her head toward him, “Your information is valuable – I would prefer, in the future, if you would bring valuable information to me directly, rather than to shout it out as you just did.”
“Crew deserve’n t’know that,” He argued, furry brow plucking close in consternation, seeming to believe himself drawn forth into a conspiracy of some sort.
Ridiculous, of course. She’d never trust someone so dimwitted.
“Indeed they do – if,” Julia pointed out quietly, but sharply, “You happen to be correct.”
His eyes widened, and it seemed for all his dimness, the dear mister Dawson was quite aware of that implication. And of how easily it might spread.
“You see why I would rather you come to me – it spares us all a great deal of awkwardness, don’t you think?”
He looked downright mutinous. Her brow arched, and he seemed to rethink his position. “Aye, marm.” Barely respectable, but he did try. She had to give him that, if nothing else. Smiling, she dismissed him – her own expression pinching once his back was turned. He would not last beyond the next port, of that, she was quite certain. All she needed to do now was have an eye on him, and any he summoned to his end would be similarly dismissed. She had no use for men who considered themselves above the laws of the Song – or for those who would try and stir trouble amid her loyal crew!
Now – all that was left was for Andrews and their dear doctor Mandoon to determine just who the sea had brought them. For if indeed it was Cutler Beckett – well, that would be quite the adventure in irony indeed!
Ocean Archive 