Captain Deron's two ships sailed the night sea stealthily. In his cabin, Deron was swamped in pages under the light of a lantern. Pages all scribbled on by his left hand. He'd pause only to mutter to himself as he drew more details from memory. Everything from Adonna's notes. From theories, attached memos, down to the Carto-astrology map. He copied everything, down to the nuances of the writing styles, making each entry near indistinguishable from the original.
Outside his cabin, the muffled voices of drunk crewmen slipped in through the thin walls. Their slurred gossips mingled with the creaking of the ships as they sliced through the dark waters.
"This place ain't half as scary as the tales spin it. Thought it'd be crawlin' with terrifyin' Astrids and crews attackin' and the such."
"Ain't scary? Ye seen the number o' shipwrecks we passed? We ain't met damn probably 'cause Capt'n got us only sailing at nights and hiding away in daytime."
"Speaking of, I heard Cap'n's got us on this whole cruise 'cause some whelps pinched the Hangpole."
"Huh? Thought 'tis that Sagittarius Treasure he's on about again?"
"Who knows? Say, how about we go explorin' when we stop by the morn? Find some locals and… collect tithe… he-he-he…"
Deron grabbed his loaded blunderbuss and stormed out the cabin in wrath. Just as his towering, spine-chilling presence startled those two, the watcher cried "Captain" from up the crow's nest.
An airship up ahead, sweeping the dark waters with its beam of light.
Murmurs rose on both ships. The crew protracting spyglasses had never seen anything like it before. Only thing clear enough was this daunting, flying vehicle getting closer. In the middle of open sea without land in sight, Deron made his call on the spur of the moment.
"DOUSE THE LAMPS!" That command echoes across one ship, the other ship's crew crossed over quick.
They left that empty vessel sailing on ahead while they steered away.
They watched the airship veer towards the empty ship.
Then,
Distant explosion lit the night.
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Morning. 17th December.
The pirates docked at a harbour. Black Market, they called this island. From first glimpse, this ramshackle port was a chaotic jumble of ships of all sizes and designs, their hulls adorned with tattered flags, skulls, and ominous symbols. Salty sea breeze carried whispers of hostility while stares of daggers from all around weighed heavy at their ship. Deron squinted suspiciously at a towering waterside building having its wall facing the piers veiled by thick, red tapestry.
A cluster of crewmen gossiped away from Deron's location. Some believed the airship they encountered last night was a sky beast, others believed it a flying ship.
"Ships can't fly… that were a dragon… you saw them flames." One stammered, voice strangled by alarm.
"Aye. Like them dragons… they exist. Knob said… them dragons exist!" Another whispered.
"Now now, men. Not what it is but what we're gunna do about it." Came the influential voice of a certain mate they called Ravenna. His skin weathered as his boots worn; he bore a vertical scar from a side of his neck down that side of his neck, which marked one of his close encounters with death. Others turned to him, all keenly invested to hear his suggestion.
Before he could speak, big Clint's heavy steps creaked the floor as he approached, towering over them all.
"Captain's about to talk." Big Clint disbanded their little huddle. He stopped back Ravenna though, placing a hand down on his shoulder. "Don't try one of your funny schemes here. You will die." He warned.
As everyone gathered, Deron sat down on the floor and so did they all. "Mates!" He began. "I see doubt on your faces, the unease that comes with venturing into the unknown. But let me share with you mates a secret about the Godless Sea. The real danger here is misinformation. The Consortium governments spread fake maps so voyagers lose their way. Last night's encounter was not beast, no. That was a marvel of engineering called Airship. Not like mean bastards like us got anything we fear – not man, monster nor machine. How many years they tweaked their Consortium laws and sicked their dogs at us yet still we kept expanding our network and gettin' stronger eh? Because Hangpoles, we got this." He clasped his knuckles together, gesturing unity. "We got this." He flexed one of his thick biceps: strength. "We got this." He shifted the fingers to his skull: wits. "And that's why we came here. Black Market is an island of pirates, cutthroats, thieves and all class of vile bastards. Best place to get information and help against that airship."
Captain Deron slid a thumb across his throat, and so his crew all mirrored that throat-slitting gesture with a chorus of hisses.
Soon, a smaller entourage accompanied him down filthy, winding streets leading from the port to the heart of Black Market. Fat, shameless rats squealed from many corners. Narrowness of the streets coupled with webs of leaking pipes overhead and smoke from furnaces and cigars contributed to the overcast atmosphere in this town. It was as if sunlight could barely force its way to touch ground. Everyone they came across was armed with one weapon or another. In fact – aside from chickens tearing themselves apart while roaring circle of crowds placed bets – the least armed creatures they encountered would be children assembling pistols in a back alley.
Black Market Bazaar was the island's central square, where stolen goods and ill-gotten treasures were openly traded. Everything from exotic spices to stolen jewellery amidst bargaining shouts and haggling chatters. There, an Astrid was presented for auction. The bluest shark they'd ever seen, swimming in a glass tank. Bulky and vicious though it may be, however the beauty of glossy blue skin and patches of lighter blue hair gauzy like silk threads in the water were undeniable.
Nonetheless, the sight of an Astrid made captain Deron falter. He had a nervous hand on his blunderbuss.
Bids rolled in for this Astrid called Sharke. Figures inflating, voices roaring,
But then some newcomer graced the Bazaar square. In his tricorn hat, it was Louis IV.
Deron didn't know him, but watched him walk straight to the auctioneer.
Whatever the man with the tricorn hat whispered into the auctioneer's ear halted further bids. That Sharke was no longer up for sale, it was announced.
Knob walked to the Captain's side. "Why not ask for the Engineer?" Knob whispered.
"I will recognise him. Asking makes it dead obvious we're outsiders here." Deron replied.
"This will take forever." Knob sighed. "What does he look like? Maybe we split up?"
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Knob, big Clint, Ravenna and the others were blending in just fine before one of them began humming a particular rhyme about monsters in the sky.
Even though you could hardly tell Knob's expression under the mask of his black bandanna, the way he smacked the singer to shut up at once should've proved serious enough.
"Wonder how much a dragon be worth for auction 'ere if we find one." The singer laughed.
Knob pulled a blade on him. Voice firmed by timbre of threat. "Never mention that again!"
As Knob retracted his knife, little did they know they had already caught the attention of some street kid.
The boy went on to pour gossip into another's ear.
The next person relayed to another 'til the network of informants reached a gang leader inside a gambling den. He wore single-shoulder vest brown as his beard and a blue chameleon rested on his open shoulder as if stuck on it.
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Navigating the chaotic maze of Black Market all alone, Deron came upon a makeshift workshop.
As Deron took his first step across the threshold of this workshop, an unseen trigger activated a peculiar device. From above, a sharp axe swung down in front of his face, stabbing a throb into his bare chest as it swept across the doorway then retracted back overhead. Gears resetting the contraption. It was a warning, an entrance protocol designed to deter intruders who rushed in unannounced.
In one corner, the engineer himself was crouched over a workbench, intently focused on fine-tuning a gadget for a young client inside the workshop. "Very quietly wait for ya turn." Came the engineer's calm voice without him even turning a glance to Deron.
Deron carefully entered and observed the workshop's interior. It was crammed with assortment of mechanical parts and hung blueprints; the air was filled with the clinks and clangs of works in progress, and thick with the smell of oil and metal.
The engineer was done tinkering at his workbench shortly. He finished a device shaped like a paw while ticking like a clock, which he gave his client to test on a safe in the workshop. A locked safe, yet when this mechanical claw was pinned on the safe's lock, the rhythm of its tickings sped up. Cogs turning.
And then,
The safe unlocked.
"Excellent!" Said the engineer. "She also has shapes and sizes of keys if ya so kind as to check the inner chamber. Also utilising vibration to manipulate tumblers of locks. No door or safe is beyond this beaut."
The client's face brightened. "Many gratitude, sir."
"Gratitude is as unnecessary as any form of payment in this workshop, lad. Every time you make a loot, remember – always remember Enzo the engineer provided food to ya table."
Only after that young thief exited did the engineer leave his workbench. Enzo stood glaringly small in front of Deron – but then again most men appeared so before the pirate captain. Receding hairline coupled with few cluster of greyed hair hinted his age despite his wiry figure in a light sleeveless vest. Arms hairier than his face with a distinct headgear having adjustable eyepiece for the right eye.
"You're not a regular." Enzo cranked a knob on his headgear, which protracted the scope of its eyepiece to zoom up Deron's face. "But you do look familiar."
"You still make dangerous hair-trigger traps, Enzo? Rush in and have your face shaved off huh?"
"Ah! 'Tis you, the Hangman himself. Must be some important business to have brought you here in person."
Deron grunted. He roamed around the small workshop. "Humble little place you got here. Expected bigger though. Given how ably you've delivered on our long-distance dealings." Deron stopped by a poster hung amongst blueprints that caught his full attention. When he returned to Enzo, it was to hand his own blueprint, asking if the Engineer could make something like that.
Enzo studied the outline closely. "Interesting… who made this?"
"Some brat. Can you construct such vessel?"
"Needless." Enzo furled the blueprint back to Deron. "The only question is payment."
"Don't tell me you already have something like this?"
Enzo chuckled. "Rarely could anyone design something I hadn't already invented, Hangman. Roaming that Consortium got ya thinking technologically backwards like them."
A scrawny boy entered the workshop via backdoor. He went on to pour whisper into Enzo's ear.
Whatever gossip Enzo received shifted the aura of the air. Deron watched him quietly move to a cabinet.
Then,
The Engineer pulled a mean-looking rifle at him.
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Wandering aimlessly, the rest of the Hangpole pirates chanced upon this workshop. Right from outside, they sighted their ever-shirtless captain unflinching in the face of a rifle.
The moment big Clint saw this, he rushed on ahead of everyone else. Thanks to his heavy steps, Deron saw him coming.
"HOLD!" Yelled the captain.
The very instant big Clint's steps faltered, that axe trap swept right across the entrance a hair's breath away from his nose.
Right behind the Hangpole pirates came a gang of more than dozen grunts led by that gang leader with a blue chameleon perched on his shoulder and fat cigar between his lips.
They too came to raise guns at the Hangpole men.
Outmanned and outgunned, captain Deron instructed his crew to lay down their weapons. But he held onto his blunderbuss.
"Brother, thought you'd be done with 'em 'fore I arrive." Said the gang leader to Enzo, who eyed Deron while answering.
"Humour me, Chameleon. Might be worth hearing this one's explanation." Replied Enzo. He returned to Captain Deron. "So tell me, Hangman, are you on a quest for a dragon?"
"Getting senile already or you just have idiots for informants?" Deron responded.
"Then perhaps you can tell me why your men were yodelling and yapping all about dragons. Stuff like this, you see, we cannot ignore." As his words sank into Deron, Enzo called on that scrawny informant. "Spread the word. Ground their ship and seal the island."
Like wildfire, the engineer's command spread from ears to ears across Black market. Any gang or group it came to, discontinued whatever they were doing at once and grabbed arms.
That thick, red tapestry came off one of the waterside structures, revealing a heavy artillery up inside the building, which shot a spear into the hull of Hangpole pirates' ship. Tethered to chain, the artillery reeled in, drawing their ship 'til it slammed into the edge of land.
Thugs of Black market flocked there.
Another flock of thugs surrounded Enzo's workshop.
Deron's men raised their guns once again. Huddled back to back right outside the workshop. Outnumbered at least 5 to 1, their strategy now was keeping Knob circled in their middle. Each of the Hangpole crew carried a spare flintlock pistol at their hips. Only a keen eye would notice – one after another – they shifted their holsters behind their backs, making each of their spare pistols accessible for Knob.
For a moment, everywhere quietened. Hostility so heavy in the air like powder keg ready to explode.
"Just give the signal, Cap'n." Came Knob.
A round of laughter murmured among the enemy men.
"You lot need lenses more than big brother." Said Chameleon. "Captain, look around again but with eyes this time… reckon your situation. Time to surrender." Expressive as he talked and circled around, the live chameleon on his shoulder opened its droopy eyes.
"Captain!" Knob called again.
"Easy, Knob. Easy!" Deron stepped forward. "Enzo." He called. "My quest is in your workshop. That poster of that girl on the big, brown dog hung in your workspace."
Enzo sent someone back in to fetch the poster… the poster of Adonna on big Bear. "You know her?"
"Adonna Wayneroyal." Answered Deron. "Four brats of them stole my ship and something important on it."
The name Wayneroyal meant something to Enzo that he parroted it.
Chameleon chimed in abruptly. "If you're that girl's enemy then you–"
"Chameleon!" His brother silenced him. Enzo shifted closer to Deron. "Been at sea since I was four. Decades living among the most dangerous men, I didn't survive by taking anyone at their convenient explanation, Hangman. Your men were yapping and yodelling about dragons, were they or not?"
"Because we encountered an airship on our way. The idiots thought it was a sky beast. An Astrid. A dragon."
Enzo yet still wore an unconvinced look on his face. So Deron returned an equally hard stare back down at him. "Which of them?" Asked the captain.
Enzo's informant couldn't answer that.
Chameleon's informant couldn't answer either.
The answer to that raised commotion in Black Market 'til the street urchin who actually witnessed the dragon song was brought before the Engineer.
Asked which one spoke about dragons, the very instant the boy pointed a sure finger, boom! A gunshot erupted, which splashed that man blood on his face.
Deron had shot down his own crew man.
He and Enzo locked eyes again. "Will I get my order or not?"
The Engineer smiled then commanded his thugs to put away their guns. "These "brats" have already made a name around here. And apparently they have made an invention that's never been done before. You'll procure it for me, Hangman."
"Brother!" Chameleon disapproved. "That girl fought Marblemen! She's a hero!"
Enzo didn't care. "Do we have a deal, Hangman?" he asked Deron.
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Disgruntled Chameleon led the Hangpole pirates down the docks to their purchase. There, their steps froze before the sight of the rest of their crew all strung up from a beam. Lifeless.
Chameleon grinned and whispered to Deron, "Will be you next when you fail brother… and by God, you will fail!"