Chapter Text
Kensington Harbor, 1732.
As the sun crept over the horizon, the Commodore’s mansion became illuminated in a rosy haze. Filtered rays of light trickled against freshly painted windowpanes. The three story abode was thick with ivory plaster and hugged by burgundy brick. Ropes of ivy climbed along the siding, the thick twines winding as they anchored themselves against the building. Inside a bedroom on the second floor, behind the last door on the left, was Louis Tomlinson.
“Mr. Tomlinson, Sir, are you decent?”
Louis arched his back against the plush mattress, cringing as air bubbles crackled along his spine. He wiped crusted sleep from his eyes and slowly sat upwards. Hands pressed firmly against the duvet, he pushed himself off of his bed and with a lethargic pace, began to get ready for the day.
Every morning, it was the same routine.
Once daylight drenched the island and native songbirds had begun their morning melodies, Louis would be woken up by his chambermaid, Ellen. She would gently call into his bedroom with slight hesitance that hindered her plaintive voice. And every morning, her trepid tone was met with a disgruntled grumble from underneath a tangle of covers.
From bed, Louis would drag himself into an adjacent bathroom. There, he would find his pearly porcelain tub already filled with hot water. As he washed off the sheen layer of sweat that licked his body, Ellen would lay out his clothes and quietly dismiss herself to repeat the same actions for Louis’ six younger siblings.
Haphazardly, he dried himself off and stood in front of a perched vanity. The tiled floor was cold underneath Louis’ feet as he combed out the tangled knots of his hair. With a bit of effort, he was able to smooth out the brown tendrils until the ends tickled against the nape of his neck. In the vanity, his blue eyes stared back at him. His skin was flushed tan from the hours underneath the Caribbean sunlight, his nose speckled with freckles. With a last pat against his hair, Louis turned back to his bedroom.
His navy duvet was neatly stretched across the mattress, thick pillows fluffed and settled at the head of the bed. Nestled at the foot of the mattress, a pile of folded clothes. A flowy tunic came first, the creamy material soft against his skin as he shrugged it over is shoulders. Next, a fitted pair of beige trousers that tightly hugged the thick muscles along his thighs and cut off just underneath his kneecaps.
Louis sat on the bed as he pulled up a pair of white socks that tucked underneath the hem of his trousers. At the bottom of the pile was a brown vest lined with ornate gold buttons. It was a gift from his father, Commodore Mark Tomlinson, on his eighteenth birthday. The gold buttons flaunted their “higher” rank in society. Or at least, that’s what the attached card had told Louis. While stability was something to be proud of, Louis would have chosen to spend his birthday with his father rather than gold buttons.
Regardless, he wore the vest every day.
Mindlessly, his nimble fingers secured the vest down his front. Crossing the wooden paneled floor, Louis stopped at a granite wardrobe. He pulled open the top drawer and thumbed over three thick belts, eventually opting for dark brown leather. Securing the belt over his waist, Louis cinched his middle and made sure the thick buckle rested in the center. Slipping his feet into a pair of buckled brown shoes, Louis was ready for the day.
The house was filled with mumbled conversations, voices becoming clearer as Louis descended the grand staircase. His heels lightly clicked against the floor, drawing attention as he passed by different members of the staff.
“Good morning, Sir. Beautiful day,” an older man politely greeted as he bowed his back. His dusted wig remained secured on top of his head with the motion.
Louis curtly nodded back at the house steward, “That it is.”
Continuing his way towards the dining area, Louis saw the rest of his family already gathered around a rectangular table. His mother, Johanna, was sat at the head of the table. Her long auburn hair was pinned back and her cheeks were flushed red from laughter. A smile tugged at the corner of Louis’ mouth as he sidled into the empty seat to her right.
“Good morning, Darling,” Johanna grinned, her hand lightly cupping Louis’ jaw. “Sleep well?”
“Morning,” Louis playfully rolled his eyes as he plucked her hand off of his face. “Would have slept better if I wasn’t listening to someone moan on about Henry Pently all night.”
Louis pointedly cocked his eyebrow as he looked across the table. Directly across from him was the second eldest of the Tomlinson’s, Charlotte. Unlike the rest of the siblings, all of which had brown hair, Charlotte had long silver tresses. It drew attention to her whenever they went to town. However, much to her chagrin, those suitors were quickly batted off by Louis’ glare and sharp tongue.
“Henry Pently? Who’s Henry Pently?” their mother quickly asked, her head snapping between Louis and Charlotte.
Charlotte’s cobalt eyes bored into Louis’ as her mouth twisted into evident disdain. She unceremoniously stabbed her fork into a wedge of potato on her plate.
“Yeah, Charlotte?” Louis egged on as he rested his chin against his palm, “Who is Henry Pently?”
“No idea who you mean,” Charlotte snuffed, her lips pursed as she chewed. Once she swallowed, she picked up her goblet and tilted the glass towards Louis. “I’d rather talk about how you rejected Mary McKinley.”
Blood rushed to Louis’ cheeks as he bit his tongue. Johanna squawked next to him and held up her hands, her cutlery clashing against the plate set in front of her. He quickly jutted his leg out underneath the table and made contact with Charlotte’s shin.
“Louis,” Johanna sternly said, her finger threateningly pointed at Louis’ chest, “What did you do?”
“Uh…” Louis drawled out as he anxiously tugged at the napkin in his lap.
“I don’t like Mary, I’m glad Louis said no to her father.”
Louis whipped his head towards his left, his jaw loose as he stared at his sister, Félicité. She was fourteen, a year younger than Charlotte. Whereas Charlotte and Louis were stubborn and hot headed, Félicité was their antithesis. She was gentle and patient, rarely had a negative word to say against anybody. Which was the exact reason why Louis stared at her as if she had grown an extra limb.
Félicité privately grinned at Louis and barely lifted her shoulders into a shrug.
“See,” Louis gestured towards his younger sister as he faced his mother’s unimpressed stare, “If Félicité says that it was a bad idea, it genuinely must have been a horrible idea.”
Johanna shook her head, “She comes from a respectable family.”
“Is that really all you care about?” Louis incredulously said, flinching at the harsh inflection. “Not who she is as a person, just as long as I marry someone with a respectable family?”
“Of course not, Darling,” Johanna sighed, her hands delicately folding on the tabletop. “I just don’t want you to be lonely. You’ll be nineteen soon enough –”
Louis groaned and scrubbed his hand over his face, “How could I possibly be lonely when I’m surrounded by all of you?” He gestured towards the rest of the table to emphasize his point, the two sets of younger twins quieting in their seats.
To Félicité’s left, there was Daisy and Phoebe. They were identical, ten year old twins who were too curious for their own good. Louis would tell them old stories of mermaids and pirates at night, only spurring them on further learn more. Unlike other little girls their age, the prospect of pirates didn’t scare them; it intrigued them. Eventually, the two girls started to pick up every book in their father’s study about piracy, teaching Louis things that he didn’t even know.
“He can’t go,” Daisy pouted, her bottom lip sticking out slightly as she looked between Louis and Johanna. “Who would tell us stories?”
“That’s what a nurse is for,” Johanna quipped as she meaningfully stared at Louis. “Isn’t it, Louis?”
Louis bit the inside of his cheek as he glimpsed at the two hopeful faces looking back at him. Phoebe was slightly shaking her head as her lips mouthed the word, “No.” He heavily swallowed as he looked at the youngest set of twins by Charlotte’s side. Earnest and Doris were three years old. Both of them had thick curly hair and ruddy cheeks from constant squeals of laughter. They were too young to understand the ways of the world around them.
“Yes,” Louis mumbled under his breath.
“I want you to tell Mr. McKinley that you’ve changed your mind.”
Louis gaped at his mother, his eyes widened as her words sunk in.
“What? ”
Charlotte straightened in her chair, her back rigid as she watched the scene unfold. She extended her hand towards their mother, the pads of her finger lightly pressing to Johanna’s wrist.
“No, no, that’s – That’s not what I meant to…,” Charlotte scrambled for words. “She’s horrible, really. Mother, you can’t make him.”
Louis felt his pulse rabbit in his neck. His hands had turned clammy as his eyes glazed over, shock reverberating through his body. Everything inside of him felt too big, as if his heart and mind were being constricted and grounded down. Sweat clung to the center of his chest, the beads attaching themselves to Louis’ tunic.
“That’s enough,” Johanna effectively silenced her daughter’s rambling. She lightly took Louis’ limp hand in her own, giving his digits a gentle squeeze. “You knew this was coming sooner or later, Louis. It’s time you started your own family.”
He never fully understood why it was expected of him. It wasn’t as if Louis didn’t already have a family, so why did he need to start another? When Louis turned eighteen and Johanna had begun to push the idea of marriage on him, Louis waved it off. He figured that if he continued to swat it away as if it was a fly, surely, it would die. People would stop caring.
Instead of dying, as his nineteenth birthday began to get closer, urgency grew. Other natives and merchants alike began to push their daughters onto Louis, making offers that made his stomach curdle. The thing was, everyone wanted to marry into the superficial ideal of “The Commodore’s Son.” Louis wasn’t sure if people genuinely believed he was going to be a commodore one day, or if it was the money that already filtered through his bloodline. Either way, fathers wanted their daughters to have a share of it.
“Right,” Louis croaked, his voice catching on the word as it hung in the stagnant air.
Félicité recoiled beside him, “You can’t be serious?”
Louis roughly swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed his chair back, the idea of food repulsing him. He stood and folded his hands behind his back as he stared at his siblings and mother.
“She’s right,” Louis gritted out as his eyes slid to his mother’s, “We all knew that this time would come. No sense in putting it off any longer.” Inhaling deeply through his nose, Louis humorously tacked on, “Father will be pleased.”
Pity flickered over Charlotte’s face and Louis had a hunch that he would see a similar expression on Félicité’s.
“So, right,” Louis ineloquently finished as he walked away from the table. “I’ll go see them now.”
Without another word, Louis strode towards the front door, passing by different members of the staff. He grabbed a leather-bound sack by the entrance and slung it over his shoulder. The butler hauled opened the mahogany door, bowing slightly as Louis walked through.
Instantly, he broke towards the stable. The soles of his shoes crunched against the pebbles that covered the ground. The wooden barn was situated towards the right of the mansion, different stable hands maneuvering through the space.
“Oh, Sir, I didn’t know you’d be riding today?” A stable hand rather questioned than stated as Louis cleared through the barn doors. “Gilroy, Murtogg! Get Athena saddled!” the young man shouted with his hands by his mouth, “C’mon men, before the sun falls and we’re all dead in the dirt!”
“Thank you,” Louis murmured as Gilroy and Murtogg quickly ran towards a stall on the right side of the barn.
Louis felt the constriction in his chest ease a fraction as a black Arabian horse was led from the stall. He took a step towards the horse, biting back a grin as she whinnied in response.
“Has she already been fed?” Louis asked as he walked towards the horse, his hands immediately coming to settle against her thick neck. “There’s my girl,” he cooed an octave lower as his hands combed through her thick onyx mane.
“Yes, Sir,” the stable hand answered as he secured the buckle of Louis’ saddle.
“Good.”
Once Athena was saddled, Louis mounted her with an ease that came from years of riding. He firmly gripped the reigns and lightly dug his heels into her side. They sprinted out of the barn, bolting towards an abandoned trail he found at the age of thirteen.
The earth changed from a collection of pebbles to packed dirt. Grass surrounded the flourishing underbrush around him. Louis pulled back and slowed Athena to a walk, his body jostling on top of her weight as they moved. His mind was blankly numb as he processed the morning. Johanna’s words tumbled through his head as they strolled along the barren path, nothing to console Louis aside from Athena’s steady breathing.
“Alright, Love,” Louis patted the side of Athena’s neck and halted her.
From underneath the layers on intertwined tree branches, was a slope that looked down on the harbor. Louis dismounted Athena and arbitrarily looped her reigns around the trunk of a nearby pine, fully knowing that she wasn’t going to trot away regardless. With a quick press of his lips against her shoulder, Louis wandered towards the edge of the gradient.
Louis settled down on the ground, his back aligned with the bark of an old oak tree. His feet extended in front of him, the heels slowly sinking into the earth. He watched as an array of ships kissed the edge of the harbor, crewmen jumping off of the boats to secure their ships to the port. The cerulean blue waves of the Caribbean slapped against the wooden sidings and in the midst of it all, Louis wondered where his father was.
When Mark Tomlinson was fifteen he joined The Royal Navy. At age nineteen, he was one of the youngest Commodore’s in the King’s fleet. Age twenty, he married Johanna Poulston and they had their first child, Louis Tomlinson. Since he turned twenty-one, Commodore Mark Tomlinson had been back to Kensington Harbor twelve times.
Underneath Louis’ bed, there was a small iron chest. Inside the chest was a stack of letters sent from his father. Each one came from a different port, always dependent on where the Commodore had managed to come ashore. When Louis was younger, he showed off the letters and bragged that his father was “special” because he fought pirates. By the time he was fourteen, Louis stopped mentioning him altogether.
The only thing Louis was thankful for when it came to The Commodore, was that every week, thirty shillings would be delivered to their doorstep. By the books, Mark Tomlinson was a respectable man who provided for his family.
Hours molded together as Louis sat underneath the dense brush. His eyes remained on the horizon, his heart anchoring him to the spot even though he was due at the McKinley’s several hours earlier. The skyline morphed from sapphire to peach to navy. He impassively watched as the sun stripped the atmosphere and drooped past the ocean’s surface. The moon tore through the black sky and illuminated the town below. Oil lamps hung outside of stores, Kensington glowing with a lackluster of life.
“Alright,” Louis mumbled to himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he took a deep breath. “Time to go.”
Louis’ knees painfully cracked as he stood for the first time in hours, his face briefly contorted into discomfort. Athena was quietly gnawing on carrots that Louis had packed in his bag, her hooves scraping against the dirt as she nuzzled further inside the leather sack. He grabbed the bag off the ground and breathlessly laughed as she followed the movement with her nose still stuck in the bag.
“You’ve had enough,” Louis reprimanded, his voice anything but hardened as he slung the bag over his shoulder. “Time to go to town.”
Louis was about to mount Athena when he heard an earthshattering boom from the port bellow. He paused with his hand firmly gripped on the horn of the saddle, his breath caught in his throat. The woods around him echoed the sound until it dissipated into nothingness. A shaky exhale cut through the sanctuary as Louis remembered to breathe.
With his bottom lip tugged between his teeth, Louis tentatively turned his head towards the horizon. As his eyes peered from side to side, a deafening bang pelted through Kensington Harbor. Louis scattered towards the edge, his feet tripping over an uprooted pine, sending him down against the earth. He groaned and bared his teeth as his body made contact with the grass.
Crackling concrete erupted in the distance, causing Louis to lift his head in time to see a cannon breaching the town’s clock tower. Bloodcurdling screams riddled the air as the tower crumbled into the streets. Bile rose in Louis’ throat as he pushed himself off the ground. His knees buckled with the movement, nearly causing him to topple back over.
The ringing of bells began to pulsate from the town’s keep. The throbbing sound of metal clashing against metal made Louis’ blood run cold. Bells signified that their town was threatened to go under siege. It was a sound that Louis had learned from his father’s letters and the worn pages of books tucked away in their study.
It was the sound of invaders, the sound of pirates.
Louis’ heartrate jackhammered inside of his chest as he sped towards Athena. He flung his body over her back and immediately kicked his heels into her flank. With a high pitched whinny, Athena began to cut through the trees. Louis hunched his back to keep his head underneath the low branches. A twig snagged the shoulder of his tunic, easily ripping the material and leaving a gaping hole behind.
Another cannon speared into the night sky, the sound only spurring Louis to flick the reigns in his hold. Athena pushed faster, the sound of her hooves accompanying people’s cries of terror. Louis looked over his left shoulder, his jaw slackening as the edge of town was swallowed in orange flames.
“Come on!” Louis shouted as he pressed Athena harder, his eyes locked on the mansion ahead.
Stable hands were fleeing from the barn, their silhouettes barely illuminated. Louis steered clear of them, opting to ride directly to the front of the mansion.
Louis pulled the reigns back as he bellowed, “Whoa, whoa there! Settle, Athena Settle now.”
Athena reared back for a moment, her weight balanced on her hind legs. Louis’ whistled between his teeth as he roughly gripped her mane. She slammed back down, her movements jerky and restless as gunfire peppered the town. Without much thought, Louis released the reigns and let himself fall off her back. Immediately, he rolled over and ignored the sharp pain that shot from his elbow.
“Sir, you – You need to get out of here!” the same stable hand from before shouted as he sprinted from the barn. “They’re coming, I know they’re coming.”
Louis rose from the ground and gripped his shoulders, shaking the other man, “The girls, where are the girls?”
His fingers were digging into the man’s skin, probably leaving faint bruises in his wake. Louis’ eyes were wild as he beseeched him. Flashes of his sisters and mother coursed through his mind like a torrent released from a dam.
“I –” he started and then cut off as a gunshot was fired close by. He moved to get out of Louis’ grasp, his hands trembling by his side.
Unceremoniously, Louis struck him with the back of his hand. The man’s cheek flushed ruby from the hit, his green eyes trained back on Louis.
“Please,” Louis brokenly gasped. He looked towards the horizon and watched in horror as fire engulfed half the town. “Please,” he repeated and loosened his hold a fraction, “Where are they?”
The man swallowed, his throat visibly bobbing. He nodded and gripped Louis’ arm, “C’mon, Sir. Saw Ellen take them this way. Hurry up now, we haven’t got much longer!”
Louis frantically nodded and followed the man towards the back of the mansion. His shoes scraped across the pebbles as they ran. At the back of the house, tucked behind a maple tree, there was a cellar.
“There,” the man pointed, “In the cellar. It’s locked, though. No one’s getting in there.”
“Like hell,” Louis scoffed under his breath.
He ran towards the cellar.
The underground safe house was guarded by two heavy wooden doors that locked from the inside. When he noticed that it was quiet behind him, Louis glimpsed over his shoulder to see the man stock still.
“Are you coming?” Louis huffed out as he thudded his fists against the front of the door. “Charlotte! I know you have the keys,” Louis shouted as he continued to bang against the cellar doors. “S’Louis, come on!”
The stable hand appeared by his side and helplessly tugged on the cellar’s handle. His skin was blotchy as he attempted to tug on the door.
“It’s not going to open,” he panicked, his eyes the size of saucers as he stared at Louis. “We should have run, it’s not going to open.”
“Charlotte!” Louis screamed, his voice shot halfway through as he continued to slam his fists against the door.
He was about to give up when he heard a faint click from behind the door. Louis stepped back and clasped the other man’s shoulder.
The doors opened a fraction, “Louis?”
“Charlotte,” Louis wetly answered, emotion thickening his voice.
He helped pull open the entry and then dragged the stable hand with him. Louis quickly shut the doors behind them and tugged on his bottom lip as he watched Charlotte secure the lock. He had barely turned around before a pair of arms tightly wrapped around his neck.
“Oomph,” Louis gasped as his mother squeezed him tighter. He held her close to his chest and tucked his nose into her hair, “It’s okay…It’s going to be okay.”
She shook her head and sniffled back a humorless laugh, “You were gone all – You didn’t come back! Daisy saw the ship and said something about the sails, but I didn’t listen. And now...”
At that, Louis slightly pulled back. He squinted his eyes as he looked towards the rest of the dark room. “Daisy?”
The small girl emerged from the back corner, her hands anxiously twisted behind her back. “I saw them,” she quietly said. “I watched from my window.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Louis quickly reassured, steeling his voice to remove any room for doubt. “Pirates have been on this island before –”
“Not this one,” Daisy cut him off.
Charlotte took a hesitant step towards Daisy, “What’d – What’d you mean? You know the ship?”
Daisy nodded, her bottom lip worried between her teeth as her eyes welled up.
Louis disentangled himself from their mother and dropped to his knees in front of his younger sister. He took Daisy’s petite fingers in his hands and pressed his lips against her cold skin.
“What ship was it?” Louis quietly asked. He kissed her hands once more, “What’d it look like, Daisy?”
“Red sails with the rose and dagger emblem.”
Louis’ heart plummeted.
“Oi! What’ve we got here?”
Everyone in the cellar stilled at the third party voice that thundered from above. Louis automatically tightened his hold on Daisy’s fingers.
“Plenty of shine I reckon. Let’s be quick, Captain’s not staying long,” an additional voice chimed in, the second one an octave lower than the first.
Slowly, Louis raised himself off of his knees. He held an index finger to his lips and pressed the digit against them, signaling everyone to remain quiet. Daisy nodded and pressed her palm against her mouth.
Louis carefully stepped as he ushered Charlotte and Daisy against the far wall. His eyes locked with Charlotte’s, fear and uncertainty reflected back towards him. Beads of sweat gathered above his upper lip. Félicité, Phoebe, Doris and Earnest were already tucked beside the cement, quiet tears openly streaming down Félicité’s pale complexion. Louis pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes lids, refusing to breakdown in front of his siblings. As he tentatively stepped away, their faces became diminished by shadows.
Johanna stood in the center of the room. A sliver of her skin illuminated by a stream of moonlight that peeked through the doors. Louis stopped by her side, gingerly putting his hand on her forearm. Her almond shaped eyes darted away from the ceiling and locked on Louis’.
“Go,” Louis mouthed as he gestured towards his sisters and brother.
With a final glance towards the cellar door, his mother backed away. She carefully strode around the miscellaneous items that littered the floor. Louis’ uneasy breath stammered in the quiet confines of the room as his family faded into the darkness.
CRACK!
Louis spun on his heel, heart lodged in his throat as his eyes settled on the stable hand. The man was slumped against the ground, a bookshelf covering the center of his body. His limbs were jutted out in unnatural angles, the sight making Louis’ stomach uncomfortable churn.
A pained groan sounded from underneath the bookshelf. Louis bolted over to the man, just barely dodging a renegade can of spare paint as he dropped to the ground. He pressed his hand over the man’s mouth to stifle his slur of whimpers. The man shook his head, tears pricking his eyes as he attempted to shake of Louis’ hand.
“I’m so sorry,” Louis exhaled, his voice barely a whisper as he continued to press back the man’s screams. “You have to keep quiet.”
With one hand still pressed against the stable hand’s mouth, Louis ripped off a section of his tunic. He stuffed the fabric against the man’s mouth, pressing it behind his teeth.
“Bite down on it,” Louis instructed, only moving his hand when the man followed his instructions.
The air around them was stifling as Louis dared to look up towards the cellar doors.
“Did you hear that?”
Louis felt the color drain from his face.
Thwack.
“Course I heard it! M’ not deaf you buggering idiot.”
“I was only checkin’ you heard what it was that I was hearin’!”
“Seeing as how I’m right next to you and you heard something, logic would assume, that I heard it too.”
“What if your hearing wasn’t all that good? Then what? If I didn’t say anything then you’d never know.”
“Well…”
“Aye, got you there, didn’t I?”
“I will put this pistol against your skull, don’t think I won’t.”
There was a snort in response and a light scuffing of boots against gravel. Gradually, Louis stood upwards, his eyes locked on the set of doors as approaching footsteps grew louder. He was all too aware that if they were found, Louis had nothing to defend himself with.
“Well, well, would you look what we ‘ave here, Jenkins.”
Louis took an automatic step backwards as a shadow shielded the crack in the door, the moonlight entirely retreating from the space. His mouth was dry as he listened to the two men pause in front of the cellar.
Suddenly, the left door rattled as one of the pirates attempted to lodge it open. Louis slapped his hand over his mouth and bit into his palm. He watched the material shake underneath the pressure from outside.
“Looks like we’ve got some stragglers!
The door roughly rattled once more before there was an exaggerated sigh.
“Y’know, I was saving this grenade for something a bit more special.”
“Oh, just get on with it!”
There was a faint ping of metal from outside and Louis immediately lunged away from the door.
Louis’ shoulder bared against the concrete floor, his knees tucked against his chest as wooden doors splintered around him. His eardrums rung from the explosion, vision frayed as he blinked open his eyes. A large slab of the door landed by his right leg, the jagged material inches from his skin.
“Bugger,” a deep voice hovered over Louis’ body, “Nothing more than a boy.”
Fingers carded through Louis’ hair and roughly pulled back, exposing his throat and causing him to sputter out a breath. His pupils widened as something cold pressed against his neck.
“Tell me,” the man patronized with his mouth next to Louis’ ear, “What did you plan on doing once we found you?”
Louis flinched as the sword’s blade lightly caressed his skin.
“Don’t want to talk to us?” the second pirate asked from just outside of Louis’ peripheral. “Shame,” he tutted with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Guess we’ll just have to gut you instead.”
“Stop,” Louis gasped.
“Ah, he can talk after all,” the first pirate chuckled.
He pulled Louis upwards by his hair, releasing the handful of tendrils once he was standing. Louis’ face was scrunched in pain as he was shoved against the wall, his scalp aching and spine sore. With the tip of a blade pressing against his Adam’s apple, Louis opened his eyes.
In front of him were two pirates.
Both stood a few inches taller than Louis, their skin coated in grime and remnant gun powder. Their clothes tattered and expressions hardened. The pirate holding the blade had thin scraggly hair that was knotted back with a slip of cloth. Coarse black hair covered his jawline and Cupid’s bow, his deep brown eyes nearly molded with their black pupil.
“Who lives here, boy?” the pirate asked, his head cocked to the side.
Louis chanced a glance towards his right, the silhouette of his family barely recognizable amongst the rubbish and shadows.
“I do.”
The second pirate crowded towards him, his head shaved and glistening underneath the moonlight. He gripped Louis’ jaw and tilted his head from side to side, hazel eyes raking over Louis’ appearance.
“You can’t be more than seventeen,” he said after a moment, his attention drawing up from Louis’ vest to his eyes. “Which means…” the pirate drawled out as a smirk stretched across his mouth, “There’s someone else living here. Aye, savvy?”
“Eighteen,” Louis corrected, his throat bobbing underneath the steel. “My father lives here, too,” he easily lied.
“And where’s he? Left his little lad all alone?” the first pirate questioned with a condescending glare.
Louis brushed off the comment, ignoring the niggling feeling it left in his chest. “He’s in The Royal Navy,” he supplied as if it was enough of an explanation.
The second pirate scoffed, “Right, and I’m the Queen, here to take back some of me earnings.”
“What’s your name, boy?” the first pirate cut in with an expression less humorous than the other’s. His beady eyes peered at Louis as he waited for a response.
“Louis Tomlinson.”
Recognition flooded their expressions at Louis’ response, all trace of laughter eliminated from the confines of the cellar.
“Tomlinson,” the first pirate slowly tested, the name thickly dripping off his tongue as if it was a spoonful of honey. “As in Commodore Tomlinson, I presume?”
Hesitantly, Louis nodded.
“I’ll be damned,” the second pirate leered, “Looks like you’re luck’s changing, Mister Tomlinson . You just might live out the night.”
“What’d – What’d you mean?” Louis stuttered as the two pirates exchanged private grins with one another.
“Ever heard of The Siren’s Scream?”
****
Rope chaffed against Louis’ wrists, his shoulders uncomfortably strained as they were pulled behind him. His eyes stung with stubborn tears that refused to slip down to his cheeks. The only reason they didn’t fall was because he knew that his family was safe. The same family that Louis wasn’t likely to ever see again. With his heart constricted by his chest and his hands bound by thick rope, Louis was led to the harbor.
His eyes raked through the pillaged town. Storefronts were shattered and ransacked of anything remotely valuable. The air was swarmed with a compilation of shrieking and laughter, the conflicting resonances creating a sickening harmony. Louis watched as a woman scurried out of a nearby bakery, her movements frantic as the windows of her shop shattered from a grenade. Four pirates piled out of the shop, their gravelly voices mimicking her screams as they pocketed new shillings.
Anger replaced terror and Louis lunged towards the four men. The two pirates who captured him, Jenkins and Perry, immediately pulled him back. Louis thrashed against Jenkins’ chest, cringing at the feeling of the pirate’s hair against his collar.
“Think you’re going somewhere, boy?” he purred against Louis’ neck. “Gonna kill some pirates like your father?”
Perry roughly pressed the mouth of his pistol against Louis’ temple, “I’d think really hard about my next sentence if I was you.”
The metal of the pistol was cold against Louis’ skin as his eyes darted towards the bakery. Forcibly, he relaxed his shoulders in defeat and shook his head. His hair fell over his eyes as his head lolled forwards.
“I wanna hear ‘im say it,” Perry taunted as he shoved Louis forwards.
Louis nearly tripped over, only remaining upwards because of the rope holding him back. He hissed in pain and dug his teeth into his bottom lip.
“Bastard,” Louis spat out, his tone hardened and lowered an octave.
“Oi! He’s got a mouth on him,” Jenkins whistled out with obvious amusement. “What would Commodore think about that? Years of being trained like a well-mannered pup, all down the drain the second he crosses with pirates.”
“Well, Commodore isn’t here, is he?” Louis sneered as they approached the port.
His stomach lurched as they stepped on the docks. Merchant ships were blasted in the harbor, their scattered remains creating a graveyard on the water’s surface. Smoke and fog tangled together in the air as if they were sinister twins serving a reminder for what was lost. The crackling sound of burning wood filled Louis’ senses as he watched floorboards of The Inception drown in the ocean’s depths. The only ship that remained afloat, was a ship with red sails.
Blood red sails that had an emblem Louis had only ever heard in stories.
“Alright, boy,” Jenkin’s prodded the center of his back. “Into the jolly you go.”
Louis’ attention was torn away from the rose and dagger embedded into the mast. His browed furrowed together as he crossed the dock, “Uh…”
Perry scoffed, “He don’t know what a jolly is, do he?”
“And you don’t know what proper grammar is, do you?” Louis shot back, ignoring the heat that tinged his ears.
“Got you there, mate,” Jenkin’s snorted. He placed his hands on Louis’ shoulders and directed him towards a small row boat. “That,” the pirate emphasized with a firm pat, “Is a jolly.”
“Jolly,” Louis quietly tested as he stepped towards the brown boat that gently rocked atop the waves.
“Yes, jolly,” Perry sneered, not nearly as impressed with Louis’ wit as Jenkins. “Now get in the buggering boat before I decide to shoot you instead.”
Without much grace, Louis shuffled into the boat. His balance was off-kilter because of his bound wrists. Jenkins was quick to follow after him, keeping Louis sturdy with a firm grip. He sat down on the middle thwart, sandwiched between the two men. Picking up the wooden oars, Louis anxiously watched as the men rowed them towards the massive ship. There was another boat being rigged up along the ship and Louis gaped as saw three prisoners being hauled off.
“Meet, The Siren’s Scream,” Perry announced as they closed in on the ship.
The hull of the ship was black, the onyx paint nearly camouflaged by the night. There was line of gold that trimmed above the bottom gun port. A thick stripe of red was painted over the top gun port, the line of black cannons threateningly on display between out of each window. Louis gaped at the Captain’s cabin, the vast barrel windows were entirely lined with shimmering gold. Flickering candles illuminated the room. Louis thickly swallowed as a flash of green material flitted across the panes.
Louis felt like he was going to be sick as their boat got rigged upwards. His breathing was ragged and his hands clammy from a layer of sweat. Hollering voices got louder as they approached the deck. His eyes were pinched shut as he tried to normalize his heartrate.
“What’ve you got there?”
The new voice caused Louis to open his eyes.
A pirate was leering over the edge of the ship, auburn eyes raking over Louis. His thick black hair was pushed away from his olive skin and smudged charcoal rimmed eyes. Wrapped around his forehead was a red headscarf, the material frayed from the wind. He wore a black jacket over his white tunic, the material fitted against his lean frame.
“Malik,” Jenkins greeted the man who was peering at Louis. “Trust me, Captain’s gonna want to keep this one.”
“Don’t tell me what Captain will and won’t want,” Malik’s eyes hardened as they settled on Jenkins’. “Ten minutes on shore and it seems you’ve already managed to forget your place, Jenkins.”
Louis’ eyes widened at the formality and dissonance that immediately settled between the two men.
“Apologies, Quartermaster,” Jenkins slightly bowed his head, the corner of his jaw twitching from tension.
The corner of Malik’s mouth twitched upwards, “Bring him up here with the others.”
Jenkins nodded as his hands roughly fisted the back of Louis’ shirt. He shucked Louis over the bannister of the ship, sending him onto his knees from the brash movement. Louis grimaced as he gingerly got up from the deck. His body was in shock from the amount of trauma it had gone under during the past two hours.
Perry guided Louis towards the other prisoners. There were three men on their knees in the center of the deck. Without being asked, Louis sunk into a praying position.
“Would you look at that, he’s learning,” Perry patronized as he took a step away from Louis.
Without thinking, Louis spat at his feet.
“You little –” Perry gritted out, immediately closing back in on Louis with his sword drawn.
Malik stepped between them, his pistol raised and aimed at the center of Perry’s forehead. The deck grew quiet, the massive crowd of pirates eagerly gathering in a circle to watch the exchange. Louis surveyed the crew, instantly overwhelmed at the sheer size. Without counting, Louis estimated that he was surrounded by at least one-hundred pirates.
It was a motley crew, each individual having their own unique appearance. A few were missing limbs. Some had jackets while others weren’t even wearing boots. Their ages ranged drastically from early teens to late sixties. And for some reason, one that Louis couldn’t comprehend, they all seemed to fit together.
“You will not harm our guest,” Malik coolly said. “The moment he got onto this ship, he was no longer your responsibility.” He cocked the pistol and broadened his shoulders, “Don’t forget that I promoted you from a cabin swabbie and I can send you right back down.”
Perry’s eyes darted to Louis on the ground, his cheeks flushed a furious red.
“Aye?”
Begrudgingly, Perry nodded, “Aye.”
Malik nodded and slid the pistol back into his holster. He strode in front of the four kneeling men. Louis kept his eyes trained on the man’s boots, watching as the material scuffed against the wood with each step. The anticipation from the crew was building like a current and Louis was helpless under its pull. He was at the mercy of the crashing waves, mercy of a man who committed piracy.
Louis exhaled when Malik stopped in front of the man furthest in line.
“You,” he mused in front of the frail man, “What’s your name and why are you on this ship and not dead on the ground?”
Louis openly gaped at the bluntness. His throat dried as he subtly craned his neck to look at the first man. He looked completely average. Mid-twenties with an average build and average clothes. Without knowing him, Louis couldn’t see why a pirate would take him aboard.
“I – Um, I’m James. James Shallot,” he stammered out. His pale skin looked sickly as he avoided making eye contact with the quartermaster.
Malik crouched in front of him and steadily asked, “And my second question?”
James’ eyes searched the surrounding crew, looking for whoever had taken him as prisoner. Louis watched as his throat pitifully bobbed when nobody came forth to explain for him.
Malik reached a hand out and lightly stroked his index finger against the man’s jaw. It could have been deemed as a caress if his next words didn’t follow shortly behind.
“If you can’t give me a reason why you’re still alive, you have no purpose here.”
“I –”
Malik waved him off without batting an eye. He pointed at two burly men and then jutted his thumb over his shoulder, “Toss him.”
“What! No!” James screamed as the two men advanced on him.
Louis watched him attempt to struggle free from their hold, his legs kicking out as they heaved him towards the edge of the boat.
“Please, please don’t do this! I’ll give you anything,” James sobbed, his chest ballooning with each breath.
“I already have everything,” Malik easily answered.
Without another word, the two men tossed James over the side of the ship. Louis flinched as he heard his body collide with the water. There was a possibility that he would make it to shore before exhaustion pulled him over. There was also the possibility that he couldn’t swim at all.
Based on the rapid splashing of water and filtered screams, Louis guessed the ladder.
“Now that you understand how this game is played,” Malik conversationally said as he paced in front of the remaining three men, “I suggest you answer both questions.”
He stopped in front of the man to Louis’ right. Unlike the other two who came on board with him, he was not shaking. His face was surprisingly blank as he stared past Malik.
Without being directly asked, he answered, “Steve Aoki, blacksmith.”
Malik hummed, “Blacksmith, hmm?”
“Yes.”
“Ever been on a ship before, Mister Aoki?”
“No.”
Placing his hands on his hips, Malik looked at Steve with curiosity. “You don’t seem to be too worried about your current position, Mister Aoki. Either you’ve gone mad or you don’t value your life. Which would it be?”
“Neither,” Steve simply said.
“Neither?” Malik challenged as he palmed the grip of his sword.
“For six years I served as a blacksmith to the governor,” Steve began, a private smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “For six years, I’ve wasted my time on pleasantries with people who don’t deserve ‘em. I reckon this couldn’t be any worse.”
Malik’s expression morphed from slightly irritated to impressed. His head lolled forward as a laugh shot out of him. The crew was quick to follow suit as they continued to survey their quartermaster.
“You won’t get pleasantries from me unless you’ve earned them,” Malik responded. Light flickered over his eyes as he tacked on, “And I won’t expect them from you until I’ve earned them.”
Steve lowered his head in respect, a smile quirking the corner of his lips.
“And you?” Malik asked the man on Steve’s right.
“Burn in Hell,” he quickly spat back.
A pleased grin stretched across Malik’s face, “Oh we’ve got a fiery one, mates!”
The crew sniggered around them, a few already pulling their swords from their sheaths.
“Now, don’t be rude,” Malik tutted his tongue.
“Says the pirate,” the man gritted out.
“Ah yes,” Malik crouched in front of him and rested his elbows on his kneecaps. “But listen here, dearie. I might be the pirate, but look at which one of us is already passing judgement on the other.”
Louis watched as the man sputtered in response, obviously taken aback by the confrontation.
Eventually, he lamely supplied, “I know enough.”
“Enough to condemn me to Hell?” Malik challenged with his eyebrow quirked.
“Well…” he stalled, his eyes darting around the crew who were gradually getting closer to him.
“Do you want me to be as cruel as you expected?” Malik asked as he pulled out a dagger. He twirled the silver blade between his fingers, eyes never leaving the other man’s. “Do you want to feel pain? Feel something for the first time in your miserable cocked up life?”
The man’s eyes widened, the hard exterior he had built up crumbling around him as Malik pressed line the blade with his throat. Louis turned his head into his shoulder, refusing to watch what was about to take place on deck.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Malik quietly said, his voice barely comprehendible over the waves, “I’d rather you be wrong and rot in Davy’s Locker than gut you open like a fish.”
Quickly, Malik sprung from his position and jutted his thumb over his shoulder. The same two pirates from James’ sentence, jumped to action with matching grins on their faces. Louis watched as the man, whose name they never learned, was tossed overboard.
“Last but not least, I’m sure,” Malik gestured grandly to the rest of the crew, earning a slew of cackles in response.
Louis glanced towards his right to see Steve already looking back at him. Steve slightly narrowed his eyes and reassuringly tilted his chin upwards, conveying that Louis should do the same. With a deep breath, Louis mimicked his expression.
“Do I need to repeat the directions or do you think you can manage to remember them?” Malik challenged as he spun towards Louis.
With his chin jutted and lips pursed, he answered, “My name is Louis and I’m not dead on the ground because I’m Commodore Tomlinson’s son.”
A gust of salty air pushed over the deck as the information resonated in the night sky. The only audible sound was the continuous wallop of waves wrecking against the ship. Louis kept his breathing even and his eyes locked with Malik’s, refusing to be the first to break.
“Now, that is interesting.”
Malik’s head whipped towards the quarterdeck, his eyes wide as they settled by the wheel of the ship. Louis gawked as the entire crew bowed their head in respect. Some mechanically took a few steps back. Malik straightened his spine and clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes downcast. Instinctively, Louis followed suit and trained his eyes on the deck beneath his knees.
The lethargic sound of heels clicking against wood resonated across the sea. Footsteps descended the staircase, every assured step creating a menacing aura as it grew closer. Perspiration gathered along Louis’ palms as the rhythmic sound halted in front of him.
“Captain,” Malik greeted.
Louis watched out of his peripheral as Malik’s boots shuffled back a few steps. Sweat matted the hair along the nape of Louis’ neck as he waited for something to happen. He felt as if a sharp blade was twisting his gut as the silence became tangible.
There was a metallic slide of a sword being pulled out of its sheath, the sound startling Louis out of his cocoon of sterile shock. His shoulders jumped as the tip of a blade flattened underneath his jaw. Louis’ distorted reflection stared back at him in the polished metal. Engraved rose petals twisted his appearance as they crawled up the length of the sword. The sword lifted and took Louis’ chin with it.
Standing in front of Louis was Captain Styles.
He easily towered over Louis, his wide brimmed hat shadowing his face from the moon’s glow. Plush white and black feathers accompanied one peacock feather along the left brim. Louis’ throat bobbed as he took in the emerald velvet jacket that hugged Captain Styles’ broad shoulders, the lavish material shimmering as it reflected the stars.
His sheer tunic was black, as were his trousers and heeled boots. The tunic was loose against his chest, the material billowy and open to reveal a smatter of tattoos against the captain’s chest. Glittering along his digits were a collection of rings, each one impregnated with a precious jewel. Louis read that the captain collected them from victorious battles, each one a staple of pride and triumph.
Captain Styles titled his head to the side, his blade reflecting the action. Louis let his head be maneuvered by the sword, too petrified to do anything else.
“You’re lucky,” the captain drawled out, his voice low and syrupy as if it was dipped in thick treacle. “You look nothing like your father.”
There was an amused tilt to his mouth as the crew erupted in laughter. Louis saw the slight impression of a dimple as it carved into the captain’s cheek, but it was quickly smoothed out.
“Quite pretty, actually,” Captain Styles patronized.
Louis’ eyes widened at the blatant advance, spit catching in his throat as he attempted to swallow back an indignant response.
Unfortunately, biting back any comment wasn’t in his nature.
“Not sure if I should feel complimented or degraded, Captain.”
Underneath the shadow of his hat, Louis saw Styles’ eyes glimmer with mirth. Green pierced through the dim light and speared into Louis’ chest. Even in the obscurity of the night, Captain Styles’ eyes reflected iridescent jade flecks. The color rivaled the gems that were secured around his fingers.
“Tell me something, Mr. Tomlinson,” the captain practically crooned as he lightly trailed the tip of his blade against Louis’ jaw, “How does it feel to meet a pirate who has spent more time with the commodore than his own son?”
Blood rushed to Louis’ ears as the words mocked him. The composure he held like shield disintegrated underneath the brash statement. Captain Styles’ lips jaunted at the right corner as smugness painted his expression.
“Don’t know what you mean, Captain,” Louis uneasily exhaled.
“Now, we both know that’s not true.” The captain tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Should’ve known you’d be a liar like your father. Would appear you do have something in common with the lying, worthless, swine.”
Fire billowed in Louis’ gut with each word that fell out of the captain’s mouth. Anger that he had learned to repress was pulsating through his veins.
Louis stood from his position and squared his shoulders in front of the captain. A collection of shocked gasps rung throughout the deck but Louis’ attention was narrowed on Captain Styles. Up close, he could see the details of his face that were marred from the shadows.
His brown hair hung in thick curls, the tendrils licking against his collar bones. Hooked in his right earlobe was a cross earring. The metal caught moonlight as it gently dangled in the night breeze. He had a strong jaw and sunken cheeks. With plump rose petal lips and skin of ivory, Louis absently wondered why he cowered behind dim lights and velvet covered brims.
“I’m not my father,” Louis lowly enunciated as he stood in front of the other man.
Captain Styles’ eyes raked over Louis’, his gaze on the borderline of unnerving as it refused to waver. Without flinching, he cut the sword between them. The engraved metal pressed against Louis’ jugular as Styles took a step closer. Heat filled the small space between their chests and even though the blade was a fraction away from piercing his skin, Louis didn’t back down.
“In that case,” the captain murmured, his eyes flickering down the slope of Louis’ nose and towards his lips, “Welcome aboard The Siren’s Scream, Mr. Tomlinson.”
The captain spun around and stalked away, the sudden movement leaving Louis’ unsteady on his feet. Stumbling back a few paces, Louis ran into Malik’s chest and was easily pushed off.
“Shackles for our newest additions,” Malik shouted as he fisted the back of Louis’ tunic. “Hurry up you sons of whores and gutter rats! To the brig with the sorry lot.”
Louis was jerked backwards, his wrists ensnared with biting metal cuffs. A pained hiss grated between his teeth as his skin was pinched between the metal. However, his eyes were stuck on Styles’ retreating figure as he strode towards the captain’s quarters. He didn’t look over his shoulder once to see the crew moving in mayhem on the deck. With a violent tug, Louis was forced to turn away.
The two newest members of the crew were chucked into the brig below deck. Thick iron rods caged them as if they were animals and the air was potent with the smell of rotting wood. Louis crowded into the far corner, resting his forehead against the ship’s siding. His heart was thundering inside his chest as if it was about to collapse from over-exertion.
“Commodore’s son, hmm?”
Louis groaned as he opened his eyes to look at Steve.
“Not you too.”
“Didn’t mean any offense,” the man shrugged and judging off of his pliant expression, Louis believed him. “Just trying to make conversation.”
“Sorry,” Louis mumbled. He awkwardly shrugged his shoulder, “So…Are you really okay with being here?”
A grin stretched across Steve’s face, “This is the most interesting night I’ve had yet.”
It wasn’t an exact answer to Louis’ question, but it settled the nerves that had constantly been twisting at his gut. He slumped against the wood as he huffed out a laugh. Carefully, he situated his back so his hands weren’t too strained in the manacles.
“That was brave of you. What you did up there.”
Louis flushed at the compliment and fiddled his fingers behind his back. “Never been good at biting my tongue.”
Steve chuckled and shook his head, “I see that.”
Comfortable silence stretched between the two men. Eventually, Steve nodded off to sleep, his faint snores filling the space. Louis watched him for a few minutes until fatigue lulled his own eyes shut. Thoughts of his family and emerald jewels plagued his mind, the images intertwining as time passed. Exhaustion pulled at every inch of his being and as the ship gently steered through the Caribbean, Louis fell asleep.
****
“Alright ye bilge rats, off your arses!”
Louis jerked awake from the brash voice that bellowed outside the brig. He blinked his eyes open and grimaced at the uncomfortable pain that shot along his left shoulder. Without much grace, he ambled to his feet. Steve was quick to follow suit.
Standing in front of the rod irons was a middle aged man with sunken eyes and choppy black hair. Wrinkles and a leathery tan made him appear older than he truly was. He pressed a bronze key into the lock and jostled them until the door was free.
“Do ye need a formal invitation?” the pirate asked as he gestured for them to exit.
Steve stepped out first and Louis quickly followed behind. He rolled his shoulders in attempt to loosen the taught muscles. A slew of voices drifted from the top deck as they filed up the narrow stairs. The sun was already climbing the length of the sky, pushing through scattered clouds that billowed above the ship.
“Would you look at that lads, he can do something useful!”
Malik had his arms crossed over his chest as a few crew members chuckled in response. Louis thought he was referring to him until the pirate that collected them let out a frustrated huff.
“Not useless,” he huffed under his breath.
“Sorry,” Malik snapped as he took a few steps closer to the other man, “Did you say something, Cowell?”
Louis could tell Cowell was biting back a smart remark by the way his jaw clenched. Instead he mumbled a begrudged, “No, Quartermaster.”
Malik stopped a foot away from Cowell, his eyes dark as he glowered. An ugly smirk quirked his mouth as he lowly said, “You’re lucky to even be on this ship after abandoning the raid in Bermuda.” He pulled a dagger from its sheath and danced the blade across Cowells’ collar. “If it was up to me, you would have been sent to the gallows with a cannon strapped to ye.”
“Alas, it was not your choice to make.”
Immediately, Malik pulled the blade away and his back stiffened. Captain Styles leisurely walked towards them, his expression a mixture of amused and unimpressed.
“Aye?” he asked Malik, his right eyebrow cocked expectantly.
Malik glanced at Cowell and then back towards his captain. He nodded, “Aye, Captain.”
“Good,” Captain Styles approved. He carefully walked around Louis and Steve with his fingers intertwined behind his back. Louis kept his eyes trained on the captain as he circled the men like a shark does its prey.
Louis noticed that his skin was freshly washed, the nights grime wiped away to reveal sun-kissed skin. In place of his hat, he wore a green headscarf. The light material pushed his curls out of his face and limply brushed in the wind as he paced. Sheer black fabric still covered his upper body but that morning, he wasn’t wearing his lush emerald jacket. Louis suspected he didn’t wear it unless he was in the process of a raid.
“Mr. Aoki and Mr. Tomlinson,” he drawled out once he stopped in front of the two men. “Today I’m going to ask the both of you to do something that I asked all members of my crew.”
The rest of the crew had halted their responsibilities, favoring to watch the spectacle unraveling in front of them. Louis’ stomach was twisted with anxiety but he refused to let it show on his appearance. He kept his back straight and attempted to look as dignified as possible given that he was still in shackles.
“Kneel.”
Louis’ eyebrows furrowed as he unintentionally bit back, “M’ not going to kiss your boot.”
Delight flickered over Styles’ face, his teeth poking out as he bit a smile into his bottom lip. A light chuckle slipped out as he shook his head. His bottom lip flushed the color of blushing roses as it was released.
“Sorry to disappoint Mr. Tomlinson, that’s not what I was going to ask.” He stepped closer towards Louis, his height causing the shorter man to slightly crane his neck to keep eye contact. “But,” he murmured a few inches from Louis’ face, “If I was to ask you to kiss my boot, you would do it. You would keep it up until I was satisfied because I am the captain of this ship and what I want gets done. It’s time ye put your pride aside, Mr. Tomlinson. It was taken from you the moment you came aboard.”
“I’ll keep my pride until I take my last breath, Captain,” Louis gritted out as anger clawed his insides.
Captain Styles dragged his index finger along Louis’ cheekbone, “Want to bet on it?”
Louis jerked his head away from the pirate’s touch, earning a response of cackles from the captain the rest of the crew. Heat flushed against his neck as the captain’s degrading words reeled through Louis’ mind.
“Might have to start adding that to our tradition gentleman” Styles mused as he tossed his head back and bellowed out a laugh.
Steve stepped closer towards Louis’ side, “Don’t let ‘im get to you.”
Louis nodded stiffly, “I know.”
“Louis,” Steve murmured beneath the chorus of laughter, “We’re in this together, yeah?”
Tearing his eyes from the slope of the Captain’s Cupid ’s bow, Louis glanced at Steve. The other man offered him a reassuring nod and a faint imprint of a grin. Louis managed to find comfort in having someone by his side through the drastic new lifestyle he was bound to embark upon.
“Yeah,” Louis agreed and returned the nod.
“Now that we’ve all had a good laugh from our little entertainer…” the captain taunted. Louis opened his mouth to spit back a response but Steve elbowed him in the side, effectively silencing him. Styles grinned, “Back to business.”
“I won’t be having mutiny on my ship,” he bluntly stated, his tone not leaving any room for question. “I don’t have time for cowards or crew members who believe they’re better than the rest of the lot. Those who can’t comprehend that basic code will be made an example of.”
Captain Styles narrowed his eyes as he glanced over Louis’ shoulder, “Speaking of cowards.”
“Oh god.”
Louis’ brows furrowed as he glanced behind him to see Cowell’s face drain of color. His eyes were impossibly wide as a sickly green color pigmented his skin. By the time realization dawned on Louis, two crew members had their hands on Cowell. The captain’s laugh was full of mirth as he watched Cowell struggle in the pirates’ grasps.
Malik stepped next to Louis’ side with an unabashed look of vengeance as Cowell was forced to his knees. His mouth was curled into a smile as he glimpsed at Louis and said, “I’ve been waiting days for this.”
“What did he do?” Louis chanced to ask.
“We were raiding a merchant ship in Bermuda, Mr. Tomlinson,” the captain answered. Louis’ head snapped towards him to see that his sword was brandished in front of him. “Why don’t you tell him what happened next you piece of filth?” Styles condescended before delivering a rough punch against the man’s jaw.
Louis flinched as Cowell spat out a mouthful of blood. His back heaved as he puffed a few labored breaths. He was shaking his head back and forth, “M’ sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Styles’ asked incredulously, roughly tossing his fist into the other side of Cowell’s jaw. “Tell me Simon Cowell, how does it feel to be responsible for the death of a crew member?”
“I didn’t –”
The captain cut him off with a sharp kick towards his chest. “You didn’t kill Walsh, no, but if you were at your post instead of cowering below deck with the gutter rats, he would have had backup.”
Cowell was openly sobbing as his head lolled forwards. “I – I didn’t mean it tuh ‘appen,” he rasped out between gasps, “Didn’t mean for ‘im to die.”
“Well,” Styles said steadily as he lowered himself towards Cowell’s eyelevel, “I hope you know I mean for you to have the worst death imaginable.”
As Cowell sputtered out a slew of unintelligible words, the captain pelted out a sharp wolf-whistle with his thumb and index finger against his mouth. “Bring me a bucket of chum, Payne!”
Louis gaped as a pirate barreled through the crew with a large bucket in his grasp. His thick muscles flexed as he settled the chum by the Captain’s feet. He has short brown hair and even underneath his simple tunic and trousers, Louis could tell he had an athletic build.
“Captain,” Payne nodded respectfully.
Styles clasped him on the shoulder and gave the other pirate a quick squeeze, “Would you like to do the honors since you found him?”
Payne’s brown eyes flickered towards Malik as he shook his head, “All due respect, I think Zayn’s been dying to have a go at ‘im. Let him.”
“Fair enough,” the captain snorted and then beckoned Malik to come closer. “Quartermaster, he’s all yours.”
Louis felt his stomach churn as Malik lit up beside him. He strode towards the bucket and hauled it into his grasp. Malik walked towards the side of the ship and dumped the contents into the sea.
“I want you two to watch what happens to cowards aboard my ship,” the captain ordered as he flourished his hand towards the wooden banister.
Cautiously, Louis walked around Cowells’ limp figure and to the side of the ship. There was a loud slap against the water that had Louis halt his steps but made the crew maniacally laugh. Steve lightly nudged him forward with the toe of his boot. With a quick wary look towards the Captain, Louis leaned over the edge and gaped at the sight in the water.
The cerulean water was stained from blood, the pigment drifting out to make an eerie ring around the gutted fish. Louis reared back but it wasn’t from the putrid smell of fish, it was from the three tiger sharks that were thrashing in the water. Their teeth gnashed as they frenzied from the scent of blood and taste of chum.
“Christ,” Steve exhaled next to him.
Louis stared at Malik’s pleased profile and felt bile rise in his throat. He shook his head, “You’re going to toss him in there, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Malik responded with a completely unaffected tone.
“But –”
Malik silenced him with a pointed look, “Before you judge me, Tomlinson, think about how I lost my mate because of what he did.”
Louis shook his head, “Throwing him in a feeding frenzy isn’t going to bring him back.”
“No,” Malik mused as he glanced at the sharks. He lightly patted Louis on the back and strode towards Cowell, “But it will make me feel better.”
“Please,” Cowell gasped as Malik pulled him upright by his hair.
“I’m sure that’s what Walsh said before he died, too,” Malik spat.
Louis backed away from the banister as Malik shoved Cowell onto the plank. The pirate stumbled slightly but managed to upright himself. The flimsy slab of wood was weakly bent from Cowell’s weight. Unable to watch what was to come, Louis pinched his eyes shut. He shuddered as a weight pressed against his back and a breath tickled the side of his neck.
The captain loomed over him and had his nose against the corner of Louis’ jaw as he mumbled, “Does death scare you, Tomlinson?”
“Only fools aren’t scared of death,” Louis answered, his voice surprisingly even to his own ears.
The captain hummed, “Something the commodore taught you?”
Louis flinched as Cowell lost his footing and slipped off the plank, his body crashing into the ocean below. He pushed the shrieks from his mind as he tilted his head, leaving an inch of space between himself and Styles.
“No, that was my mother.”
“Smart woman.”
“She is.”
It wasn’t long before the screams dissipated and molded into the sound of crashing waves and fins. Louis remained locked in his spot, the only thing anchoring him being the captain’s weight behind him.
“Now that you both understand the severity of what I’m asking,” Styles began as he took a step backwards, “I am giving you both a choice.”
Louis snorted, “We have a choice?”
“You do Mr. Tomlinson,” the captain mused as he gradually pulled his sword back out from its sheath. “Your choice is to swear your service to me or be a coward and follow Cowell to his fate.”
“Join your crew or be eaten alive?” Louis rolled his eyes, “Not much of a choice there, is it?”
Captain Styles’ shook his head, “There’s a difference between joining a crew and swearing loyalty.”
“I’ll do it.”
A crease settled on Louis’ forehead as he stared at Steve. He was calmly standing by his side with an expression that made him look almost stoic. Gingerly, he lowered himself to his knees.
“Aye, there’s a good lad,” Styles approvingly said. He stepped in front of Steve and settled the tip of his sword on his shoulder. “Mr. Aoki, do you swear your fealty to me, Captain Harry Styles and by extension, The Siren’s Scream?”
“I do.”
The captain lifted the blade and lowered it on Steve’s other shoulder, “Do swear your allegiance to this crew and forfeit the life you had before you came aboard?”
“I do.”
“And finally,” Captain Styles returned the blade to the original shoulder, “Do you swear to accept the punishment deemed necessary if you break your oath?”
“I do.”
“Well then,” the captain grinned as he removed the sword, “Welcome to the crew, Steve Aoki.”
Malik helped Steve to his feet and unlocked Steve’s manacles. Louis’ own wrists ached as he watched Steve rolls his wrists and rub over the chaffed skin.
“What will you be choosing, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis looked back towards Styles as he crowded into his space. From their close proximity, Louis could make out golden flecks that illuminated the green of the captain’s eyes. His eyes were curious as we waited for Louis’ response. They were almost daring him to refuse the offer and walk the plank.
With his tongue between his teeth and heart in his throat, Louis sunk to his knees.