Snippets

Blood running in rivets, swiftly wiped away.

The damp cloth held in Zach’s left hand moved quickly and efficiently over the metal claw that served as a crude replacement for his right, cleaning up the remnants of their last battle. Redness spilled from the gut of a rival pirate captain who had gotten close – too close – to disembowelling Zach himself.

It had been Jerald, yelling hoarsely over the din, who alerted him to the unseen danger. Zach had become a blur of sharp metal and flying yellow scarf, turning upon the other man so fast that it wasn’t even possible to see the rage on his face until things settled down.

Afterwards, Jerald had checked on him. He always did, first and foremost in the wake of particularly brutal fights.

Zach had been withdrawn, his rage dissipating once he ascertained that no threats remained on his ship. He’d barked out an order to the others, telling them to throw the bodies overboard and mop the pools of blood off the deck. Those who weren’t injured scurried to obey him, somehow fearing their leader more than the pirates who’d tried to gut them.

“You hurt, Cap’n?” Jerald’s voice, hoarse from shouting battle-cries and warnings in equal measure, had rumbled out softly in concern.

Zach had said “No”, and then ordered Jerald to bring him a pail of water and a rag.

Now he sat in silence atop a wooden box on the side of the deck, cleaning the blood off his hook. Jerald lingered nearby to watch, partly out of concern and partly out of morbid fascination. Zach’s one remaining hand moved deftly, utterly in control of itself. It was easy to imagine that if he hadn’t lost the other one, he might have become a skilled pianist or guitarist, or found another hobby that required quick and clever fingers. Such wasted opportunities. It was hard to spin any positives on Zach losing his hand – but if nothing else, the steel hook he’d chosen as a prosthetic was an absolutely brutal weapon.

“And you?” said the captain, breaking the silence and somewhat startling Jerald. Not wanting to have to ask Zach to explain himself, he quickly dug through his memories of the last few minutes to find the root of this question.

“...Nah, no injuries here. Can’t say the same for the guys I fought, though.”

“I would expect so, considering what total amateurs they were. If you couldn’t beat them without getting injured, I’d have kicked you off this damn ship.”

Jerald allowed a smile to creep up the corners of his mouth. “So, ya pleased with my performance, Cap’n?”

“If you’re just fishing for compliments, go and talk to Saul.”

“Nah, don’t want t’ encourage the kid’s hero worship. But anyway, I’m glad you ain’t injured either, Zachary. They might’ve been amateurs, but there were a lot of ‘em. Things got scary for a while there.”

He could tell from the way Zach’s movements briefly stopped that he knew what Jerald was referring to. The rival captain sneaking up on him. The yelled-out warning that might have saved his life.

“...I had the situation under control.”

“Yeah, course you did,” said Jerald easily. “Good job, Cap’n. You nailed the jerk.”

Zach dropped the bloodstained cloth into the water sitting beside him. “Take this away,” he ordered.

As Jerald was walking away with the bucket, he heard a faint shuffling sound coming from behind him, followed by a hesitant few words.

“Thank you, Second. Your warning was… not necessary, but appreciated.”

Jerald couldn’t help but grin over his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Zachary.”