In the captain's cabin, two men faced each other with tension in the air. One was Dobbs, the quartermaster, a bald old man with a potbelly. The other was a young man in his early twenties, his silky black hair framing his determined face. Each creak of the floorboards seemed to add an extra layer to the already charged atmosphere.
"He has the votes," Dobbs stated firmly.
"Beg pardon?" the young man replied, confusion etched on his face.
"Simpleton. He has the votes to remove you as captain. Not every last one, mind you. I haven't finished canvassing yet, but once he sets foot ashore and doesn't have to be sneaky about it, he'll gather what he needs," Dobbs explained.
"I thought you assured me it would never come to this," the young man exclaimed, frustration creeping into his voice.
"Now, hang on," Dobbs interjected, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "I never used the word 'never.' I'm too old to make such promises."
"Don't give me that," the young man retorted. "I told you there would be tough days while we tracked Parrish's ship. And you assured me the crew would weather it."
"Days. Lean days," Dobbs emphasized. "But it's been three months with no profits to speak of, and the crew has no idea what it's all been for because you don't trust them with the truth."
"I don't trust them with the truth," the young man conceded, his tone resigned.
"And now we find ourselves here," Dobbs said with a sigh, the weight of the situation pressing upon them.
"Simpleton," the young man muttered, his frustration boiling over as he slammed his hand on the table.
"They think he knows how to line their pockets?" the young man questioned, his voice filled with disbelief.
"All they know or care about right now is that Simpleton isn't you," Dobbs responded, his voice tinged with understanding.
"I just need a few more days,"
"The page is gone. It could be anywhere," Dobbs stated, a note of concern in his voice. "What makes you think a few more days will solve everything?" Dobbs inquired sceptically.
"I'm going to see Richard," the young man declared confidently.
"Richard Guthrie?" Dobbs asked, surprise evident in his voice.
"Mm-hmm," the young man confirmed. "I believe he can help me reconstruct the schedule."
"You think he's going to lend you a hand?"
"Yes, I do,"
"Let's, just for fun, say that he doesn't," Dobbs proposed. "What then?"
"Then I'll let go of the schedule and return to hunting fat, lazy merchantmen, and everyone will be content," the young man said, his voice filled with resignation.
"This is one of those moments where we pretend we both don't know you're lying," Dobbs stated, a wry smile touching his lips.
The young captain returned the smile.
The tension in the captain's cabin was abruptly broken by a knock on the door, and Tommy Bones, a weathered Pirate, entered with a sense of urgency.
"Landfall," Tommy announced, his voice filled with a mix of relief and excitement. "We're in Mythralis."
The young captain and Dobbs exchanged a glance, a surge of anticipation coursing through their veins.
A wave of emotions washed over them—the weariness of the sea, the longing for familiar shores, and the anticipation of what awaited them. Tommy's announcement echoed in the cabin, invigorating the atmosphere and dispelling the shadows of doubt that had lingered.
As Tommy left the cabin, the young captain turned to Dobbs, their eyes meeting once more. In that exchange, unspoken words passed between them.
Marcellus eagerly awaited his turn to disembark from the ship and set foot on the boat that would transport him to the pirate island known as Mythralis.
As he stepped onto the shore, a surge of excitement coursed through his veins, and he found himself instantly captivated by the place. Every aspect of Mythralis seemed to beckon to him, casting a spell that enraptured his senses.
The first thing that struck Marcellus was the sheer natural beauty that surrounded him. The island was a lush paradise, brimming with vibrant vegetation and exotic flora.
Towering palm trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, their leaves whispering tales of hidden treasures and daring escapades.
The air was thick with the scent of tropical blooms, their intoxicating fragrance embracing Marcellus like a warm embrace. He inhaled deeply, feeling a sense of tranquillity wash over him.
Wisbech and even Lutton paled in comparison to the grandeur of the island before Marcellus's eyes. As he stood on the shore, gazing out at the vast expanse that stretched before him, he realized that this island was at least five times larger than the combined size of Wisbech and Lutton Marsh. And this was merely a glimpse of what lay ahead.
The crystal-clear waters lapped against the pristine, sandy beaches, inviting Marcellus to explore their depths. Shades of turquoise and sapphire stretched out as far as the eye could see, merging with the horizon in a seamless display of nature's artistry.
Marcellus couldn't resist the allure of the ocean and, with a surge of anticipation, he waded into the refreshing embrace of the waves. As the water enveloped him, he felt an indescribable sense of freedom, as if the vast expanse of the sea whispered secrets only a pirate's heart could comprehend.
The pirates stood on the shoreline, their eyes fixed on Marcel as he danced in the water. Their laughter filled the air, echoing with a mix of amusement and understanding.
It was laughter that resonated with a shared understanding as if they had all experienced that same indescribable feeling before.
Mythralis was not just a feast for the eyes and nose; it was a symphony for the ears. The melodious chirping of tropical birds filled the air, their songs harmonizing with the rhythmic crashing of the waves.
Marcellus revelled in the cacophony of nature's orchestra, feeling a deep connection to the untamed spirit of the island. It was as if the very essence of Mythralis resonated with his adventurous soul, whispering tales of legendary pirates who had once roamed these shores.
There were also a lot of people here.
"A pirate city," Marcellus mused, his eyes wide with awe. The sight before him surpassed his wildest imagination.
The air was thick with a medley of scents—salty sea breeze, exotic spices, and the tang of rum that wafted from every corner
Marcellus's eyes darted from one scene to another, taking in the diverse array of characters that populated Mythralis. peasants and merchants of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds mingled together, their unique personalities and tales woven into the fabric of the city.
He saw seasoned captains with weathered faces and grizzled beards, their eyes gleaming with the wisdom of countless voyages.
Swashbuckling rogues in unique attire regaled their comrades with tales of their exploits, while shadowy figures lurked in the corners, whispering secrets and conspiracies.
The streets were teeming with activity.
Merchants hawked their wares, displaying exotic trinkets, stolen treasures, and mysterious artefacts. Blacksmiths hammered metal, fashioning weapons that gleamed in the sunlight, ready to be wielded in the name of piracy.
Marcellus was eager to venture into the bustling pirate city of Mythralis, but his excitement was dampened by his current task. Although Tommy Bones had assigned him to assist in the unloading of goods alongside Noah, Marcellus had actually volunteered for the job.
During the meeting, most of the pirates were eager to rush ashore to embrace their whores, showing little interest in grunt work.
Marcel saw this as an opportunity to hide the book he had liberated from the dead cook's body among the goods, while also earning some favour among the pirates. Having learned from his time in Bastard's Haven, he knew that doing things for others was an easy way to get along with people.
As Marcellus made his way back to the shore after his unexpected swim, he settled down next to Noah, patiently awaiting the completion of the unloading process. The sun beat down on them, casting a warm glow over the bustling harbour of Mythralis.