As Marcellus left Captain Crowe's cabin, he had little idea that his fate was a topic of heated discussion among the ship's inner council.
Hawkins leaned forward, his hawk-like eyes narrowing. "Significance in what way, Captain? We've all seen his potential, but a diamond in the rough is still rough."
"True," Crowe acknowledged. "But consider this—diamonds only shine under pressure? What if Blackeye could be a key variable in our negotiations with the Guthries?"
Tommy Bones, who had been silently mulling things over, finally spoke. "You're talking about accelerating his development, giving him a leg up, so to speak? That's a dangerous game, Captain. We don't yet fully understand his loyalty or his capacities."
Crowe nodded, acknowledging the point. "It's a calculated risk, Tommy. But the rewards—ah, the rewards could be monumental. Besides, he has shown not only skill but also a level of ingenuity that is... rare."
"Skill is good, but loyalty is better," Hawkins interjected. "He's a fine privateer and an even finer fighter, but his allegiance still seems to be a fluid matter. He's yet to be truly tested."
"Which is why I've given him a week to mull over my offer. He's also promised to inform us if the Guthries reach out to him with a proposition," Crowe revealed, eying each man carefully.
"A week is a short time on these seas, but a short time on land" Dobbs warned.
"A lot can happen. And what's this about our employer making him an offer? Do they even know about him?"
"They have ways of knowing much that we'd prefer hidden," Crowe replied. "Their network is extensive, their eyes many. But enough about Blackeye for now. What news from the crew? How's the mood since the latest haul?"
Dobbs exhaled deeply. "The men are restless, Captain. They were expecting a larger cut from the Hulk plunder. Supplies are running low, and there's talk of storms on the horizon, mutiny—some followers of Simpleton are bringing up grudges."
"And the Wereshark Marcellus slayed?" Crowe questioned.
"I've heard the chatter," Tommy Bones cut in, "Word's spread about you planning to buy the carcass from him. You're planning to make sea charms, aren't you?"
Crowe looked at the trio, gauging their reactions. "Yes, and it's a crucial part of a longer strategy. Those charms could be a lifesaver in more ways than one, not to mention the fortune they could fetch."
"Interesting," Hawkins murmured. "A charm for every challenge, a remedy for every ail. We live in fascinating times."
"Yes, we do," Crowe agreed, finishing his glass of rum. "And the times ahead could be transformative, for Blackeye and for the viper. We just need to navigate these treacherous waters carefully, as we always have."
"Then let's prepare for whatever storms may come," Dobbs declared, his voice deep and unwavering. "And may fortune favour us in our gambles."
With a collective nod, the council disbanded, each man lost in his own labyrinth of thoughts, each pondering the weight of choices and the complex tapestry of the future. As they filed out of the cabin, the air seemed thick with the promise and peril of the unknown.
...
Days turned into nights and back into days as the ship sailed across the open seas, its timber creaking with the ebb and flow of the tides.
It was on the evening of the fourth day when Marcellus was summoned to Captain Crowe's cabin.
Captain Crowe summoned his words that a new set of charms was to be crafted, and Marcellus didn't want to miss it.
Stepping into the dimly lit cabin, Marcellus found Captain Crowe surrounded by an assortment of materials. Jars filled with peculiar substances lined the shelves, and on the table before him lay the scaled remains of the Wereshark. The beast's lifeless eyes seemed to still carry a glint of its former malevolence, as if resentful of its current state.
"You're just in time," Crowe announced, rolling up his sleeves. "The crafting process is delicate work, you know. Requires concentration, a certain...je ne sais quoi."
So he is like Ingrid not native to Anglia Kingdom.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Marcellus declared, taking a deliberate step closer.
A cocktail of apprehension and anticipation swirled in his gut as his eyes fixated on Captain Crowe.
The Captain was delicately manoeuvring a Wereshark's tooth between his thumb and forefinger, his lips murmuring somthing that Marcellus couldn't decipher.
The atmosphere thickened palpably, as though saturated with an invisible, electric force.
"Voila," Captain Crowe exhaled, his eyes twinkling like distant stars.
what in the blood is voila? Marcellus lampooned.
Dangling from his outstretched hand was a charm, gracefully hanging from a sturdy chain.
"A talisman of protection, steeped in the very essence of the Wereshark. A shield against peril, whether you tread the unpredictable sea or the solid land."
It wasn't merely the charm that transfixed Marcellus—it was a piercing realization that clawed at him. He was a mere novice in this mesmerizing, arcane world.
The unknown had never felt so captivating!
"But how does it protect the wearer? I can't discern any difference," Marcellus queried, the words escaping before he could restrain his curiosity.
Crowe's lips curled into a sly grin. "Ah, Blackeye, the workings of my talisman are mine to comprehend, and yours to forever speculate."
Your grandmother does somersaults!
Marcellus mentally swore, feeling as though he'd just shown his hand. He'd been bested, and now Crowe had leverage.
The Captain had discerned Marcellus' lack of familiarity with the pirate world's more mysterious elements—Leverage One.
More unsettling was the second layer of leverage. From a prior conversation, Crowe had ascertained Marcellus' greedy hunger for something elusive. Power hadn't enticed him. Wealth had made him waver but not yield. The promise of manifesting destiny had left him unfazed. But the allure of supernatural abilities? That had captured his attention—Leverage Two.
The third, most troubling form of leverage was one Crowe was unwittingly armed with.
The Captain's mysterious employer might have information on Marcellus' haunted past. He was a fugitive from Wisbech, with the blood of two vagrants on his hands.
Though his brutal strength had enabled him to escape, that same boon had healed his physical scars, leaving him without evidence of his ordeal.
If Crowe's employer had ties to law enforcement or to those enigmatic figures from the ritual-like dream that plagued him, then Marcellus was caught in a web of his own fears.
These layers of leverage didn't merely add; they compounded, generating an intensifying spiral of anxiety that gnawed at Marcellus' core.
Just as Marcellus was sinking further into the labyrinth of his thoughts, a booming voice erupted from the crow's nest. "Land ho! Mythralis dead ahead!"
It was Tommy's bone voice.