The night air was thick with the scent of salt and blood, and the victorious cheers of The Abyss's crew still echoed across the deck. La Fortune, crippled and stripped of its defenses, lay moored alongside, a shadow of its former self. The battle had been won, but Jacob knew his real test as captain had just begun.
He took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the bustling crew as they gathered in the aftermath of the raid. Crates of plunder—gold, weapons, rare coins—were being dragged up from La Fortune's hold, piled high on The Abyss's deck. But beyond that, there were silks, spices, and merchant goods—too bulky to split and too valuable to hand out piecemeal. Those would need to be sold later.
Garrett stood nearby, already overseeing the work, but the freed slaves—now cautiously watching from the shadows—seemed uncertain of their place. The crew murmured amongst themselves, casting glances at the former slaves, unsure what Jacob had in mind for them.
Jacob stepped onto a crate at the center of the deck, his tall frame silhouetted by the moonlight. He needed to make sure the men understood where he stood—and more importantly, where they stood.
"Oi, listen up, you filthy lot!" Jacob bellowed, his voice a thunderclap that cut through the chatter. "Tonight, we've won a hell of a prize, and every one of you mongrels who fought has earned your share."
Jacob's eyes swept over them, hard and commanding. "First things first, the plunder! The gold, the weapons, anything of value you can carry—gets divided as always. Officers get their due, but every one of you miserable bastards gets a fair cut."
The crew's cheers rose into the night, the promise of reward enough to rally the most weary. Jacob let the celebration simmer for a moment, but he knew the next part of his speech was just as crucial.
"But as for the rest of it—the silks, the spices, and other fancy trinkets we hauled up from La Fortune's belly—that'll get sold at the next port. We're pirates, not pack mules! We sell those goods and split the coin after."
A murmur of agreement rolled through the crowd, but tension still lingered. Jacob could sense the unease, especially as some of the crew cast glances toward the newly freed slaves standing awkwardly to the side. They were unsure of what to do, and it was Jacob's job to set the tone.
He pointed toward the huddled former slaves, drawing the attention of his crew back to them. "Now, as for these poor souls," he said, his voice lowering with a serious edge. "They were shackled below like animals, packed in for trade. They didn't ask for this life, but they've been given a choice now. And let me tell you, the men who fight to earn their freedom are more dangerous than any of us born to it. So here's what happens next."
Jacob stepped down from the crate and strode toward Garrett, who had been observing the freed slaves with a keen eye. "Garrett, give me an account. Who among them has got use for us?"
Garrett scratched his beard thoughtfully, his sharp eyes narrowing as he mentally sorted through the freed men and women. He walked slowly past the huddled group, taking his time with each one. Many of the former slaves wore tattered rags, their skin sun-scorched and marred by the scars of both lash and labor. Their eyes, once dulled by captivity, now flickered with uncertainty—freedom was still a foreign concept to them, and most were unsure how to grasp it.
"A few, Captain," Garrett began, stepping forward to address Jacob and the gathered crew. He pointed to one of the men, a tall and broad-shouldered figure with deep ebony skin. His face was weathered, his beard patchy, but his eyes were sharp with intelligence. "That one there—Kwame. He says he was a merchant back in West Africa before his village was raided. Smart lad, by the look of him. Knows his way around trade routes, and he's got connections. Could be useful if we ever want to unload cargo somewhere safe without too many questions."
Kwame met Jacob's gaze directly, a calm confidence in his posture. Though his wrists were still chafed from the chains, there was a dignity to the man, as if captivity hadn't broken the core of who he was. His accent, thick with the cadence of his homeland, carried a wisdom that intrigued Jacob. This was no ordinary freed man; this was someone who could navigate the undercurrents of trade with as much skill as Jacob could navigate the treacherous waters of piracy.
Jacob nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. A man with merchant ties could open doors to discreet markets, places where they could offload goods without catching the eye of the British Navy or rival pirates. "What else?"
Garrett glanced over his shoulder at the huddled group. "There's two others might be worth keeping."
He gestured toward a squat, barrel-chested man whose skin was the color of aged mahogany. His arms were thick with muscle, and though he was bruised and battered from his time in chains, his hands were calloused and worn in a way that only a craftsman's could be. His expression was grim, but there was a gleam of resilience in his eyes.
"That one there," Garrett continued, "worked as a carpenter for a shipping company before he was taken. Says his name's Kofi. He's got the hands of a man who can fix more than just wood. Could be useful with the shape The Abyss is in."
Kofi's eyes flicked between Jacob and Garrett, nodding once as if already committing himself to the idea of service. He didn't speak much, but Jacob could tell from the way the man stood—solid and unyielding—that he was someone they could rely on in a crisis.
Garrett's gaze then moved to another man, this one leaner, his skin a shade lighter, with sharp features and a distant look in his eyes. His hands were scarred, and his clothes, though torn, still bore the faded remnants of a uniform. He looked less like a dockhand and more like someone used to holding a sextant, navigating by the stars rather than the shore.
"He says his name's Amahle," Garrett said. "Worked as a navigator before his ship was taken off the coast of Barbados. Knows how to read the sky, Captain. We could use someone like that, especially if we're sailing to ports where maps can't guide us."
Amahle didn't say much, but there was a flicker of something akin to hope in his eyes. Like the others, he had been a man of skill before being reduced to a life of servitude. And now, he was being offered a chance to reclaim what he'd lost.
Jacob grinned, but his expression darkened as he surveyed the rest of the former slaves. "And the rest?"
Garrett shrugged. "Some strong enough to hold a blade or a rope, but nothing special. Most are too broken to be of any real use. Some just want to return home if we can find them a way."
Jacob raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on the group of women who stood slightly apart from the men. They were no less worn, their wrists and ankles raw from chains, but there was a different kind of strength in their eyes—one that hadn't been crushed by their captors. "The women?" he asked, his tone casual but direct.
Garrett hesitated, clearly unsure of how to answer. "Well, Captain, it's... none of them asked to join. Figured they wouldn't be interested in—"
Jacob cut him off, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You didn't ask, did you?"
The crew stirred, unsure of where this was going. One of the older pirates, a grizzled man with missing teeth, barked a laugh. "Women on a ship, Captain? Ain't that bad luck?"
A ripple of uneasy laughter followed, but Jacob wasn't laughing. His voice cut through the chatter like a blade. "Bad luck, is it?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I twist fate right in front of your eyes—turn men into corpses with just a glance—and you're going to stand here and tell me that a woman on this ship is more dangerous than I am?"
The crew fell silent, the gravity of Jacob's words hanging in the air. His eyes swept over them, daring anyone to speak up.
"I asked you lot a fucking question!" Jacob barked, his voice like a whip.
A few muttered responses came from the crowd, barely audible over the sound of the waves lapping against the hull. Jacob's eyes flashed, his voice dropping to a growl. "I can't hear you."
This time, the murmur grew louder, more voices joining in, though no one seemed eager to push their luck against the captain. Jacob grinned, but it was a cold, dangerous smile.
"Good," he said, his voice now calm but commanding. "Because I don't care what superstitions you've been raised with. A woman who wants to fight, to pull her weight aboard this ship, will earn her place the same as any of you sorry bastards. Equal effort, equal treatment. And if any of you have a problem with that, you can take it up with me."
Garrett nodded, the weight of Jacob's words sinking in. "Aye, Captain. I'll ask."
With a glance toward the group of women, Garrett moved to speak with them. Two of them stood out immediately. One was tall, her dark skin marked by a series of intricate tribal scars that ran down her arms, evidence of a life lived at sea. She stepped forward without hesitation, her chin held high.
"I am Adwoa," she said, her voice strong and clear. "Before they took me, I was a fisherwoman. I know the sea, and I know the work."
Jacob nodded, impressed by her confidence. She had the build of someone who had spent her life hauling nets, her arms thick with muscle, her hands rough from the salt of the ocean. She looked at the crew, not with fear, but with defiance.
The second woman, Yaa, was shorter but no less striking. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, her posture tense but steady. She didn't speak, but there was something in her silence—a quiet strength, a resolve that spoke louder than words ever could. The other freed slaves had watched her closely, as if waiting for her lead.
Jacob looked at them both and smiled grimly. "Good. Let's see if you've got the fight in you."
Turning back to the crew, Jacob's voice took on a more serious tone. "Let this be a lesson to you lot. Strength isn't measured by the size of your arms or the depth of your voice. It's measured by what you can endure, by the blood you're willing to spill. So if you think you're better just because you've been at sea longer, I suggest you take a hard look at yourselves. I don't care where you came from, who you are, or what you've been told. You pull your weight aboard The Abyss, and you're one of us."
The crew murmured amongst themselves, but the objections were muted. They had seen what Jacob was capable of, and they knew better than to challenge him outright. For now, they would accept his decisions, even if they didn't fully agree.
With the new recruits sorted and the plunder divided, Jacob's thoughts turned to the next step. La Fortune was still floating nearby, a battered but valuable prize. It was a sturdy ship, larger than The Abyss, and if they could tow it back to a friendly port, it would fetch a hefty sum.
"Garrett," Jacob said, turning to his first mate, "what do you think of towing La Fortune back to port? Can we sell her off for a decent profit?"
Garrett rubbed his chin, considering the proposition. "Aye, we could. Pirates have sold captured ships before. It'll fetch a decent price if we get her to a friendly port, but it's risky. If we're spotted towing a merchant vessel, we might attract unwanted attention."
Jacob frowned, weighing the risk. "What about the damage? Can we patch her up enough to make it worth the trouble?"
Garrett shrugged. "She's beat up, but nothing Old Wood can't fix temporarily. The hull's solid enough to get her to port, though she won't be winning any speed races."
Jacob nodded, satisfied. "Then do it. Have Old Wood patch her up but have Kofi go with him he will make a good second to our existing shipwright. I want La Fortune ready to tow by first light. We'll get her to a friendly port and sell her off. The extra coin will make it worth the risk."
Garrett saluted and turned to give the orders, leaving Jacob alone with his thoughts. The battle had been won, the plunder divided, and the crew—both old and new—had been galvanized under his command. But this was just the beginning. The sea was vast, and The Abyss had many more ports to plunder before Jacob was done.
As he gazed out over the dark waters stretching before him, Jacob felt the weight of his new responsibilities settling on his shoulders. He wasn't just a pirate anymore—he was a captain, a leader, and his legend was only beginning to grow.