Black Sail

The expressions of the sailors in the dimly lit passageway were all uneasy, to have someone die on the second day aboard wasn't a good omen.

Mika pushed through the crowd to get close and touched the corpse's skin, which was already completely cold and rigor mortis had set in. They hadn't set sail yet, and there wasn't a watch rotation, so he must have died in the middle of the night while everyone else was sound asleep.

"I found this."

A sailor picked up a piece of paper off the ground, weighed down by two empty wine bottles, both drained clean. He moved the bottles and pulled it out.

"Give it to me."

Mika ordered, and the sailor quickly handed it over.

Mika quickly glanced over it, honestly not knowing what sort of expression to put on.

At that moment, Liszt, Fen, and Ox also arrived, looking at the body still swinging from the doorway's lintel, all wearing unpleasant expressions.

Quite a few people had died on the ship, but not many during the mooring period; today, there was one more.

Liszt was about to ask for details.

"This is for you."

Mika handed the paper to Liszt.

Liszt, with a blank look, took the paper and began to read it, thankfully the man wasn't much educated, so there were no obscure words.

[To the esteemed Black Sail Captain:

I am aware that you are a man of benevolence and had shared the wealth of the Blue Bay Port's Lord with the local townsfolk.

My head is worth eight Golden Dragons; please trouble yourself to cut it off, take it to the Judicial Hall for the money, and post it to Antilicia at Mapleleaf Town in the northern Beima Duchy.

I shall repay your great kindness in the next life.]

The content was brief, with no signature, and it was uncertain who Antilicia was, but it was likely a woman's name.

Liszt felt an immense headache coming on. So doing good deeds comes back to bite you. If only I'd known, I wouldn't have shared it. Was that my own choice? Leaving it to the townspeople would give the Admiral an excuse to take the Lord's money from the commoners, cycling it once was as good as pocketing it; it wasn't stolen directly from the Lord's house. If it wasn't dispersed, wouldn't they relentlessly pursue me? The commoners could keep a bit in their hands, I earn a little, the Admiral earns a lot, we do business with each other, it's harmony that breeds wealth.

"Fuck, really knows how to pick a spot, to trade a good life for money."

Liszt lit up a cigarette and started smoking, wondering how the caveman could think that way.

Mika said, "This man came to me last night to treat his leg, but the wound had already completely turned gangrenous, necessitating amputation. He probably thought that even if he survived, he would be a cripple, so he took his own life."

Mika couldn't help thinking of that prostitute's husband from the other day; in this world, missing limbs with no one to take care of you was as good as being sentenced to death.

"So the case is closed now, this man committed suicide."

Fen was extremely indifferent, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding sailors. Luckily, it wasn't a big deal, with little negative impact; these laborers would get over it after calming down with a big drink.

Liszt instructed them to pass the paper around to each sailor, to let them understand what happened and not to guess wildly.

After all the sailors had read it.

An exceptionally eager, bald man with a skull tattoo said, "That's a real man, a true tough guy! Captain! Let me cut off his head for him."

With those words, the tattooed tough guy picked up a scimitar and approached the corpse.

"Hold it right there! What are you meddling in?"

Liszt stopped the bewildered lad. What was he helping with? Wasn't this just causing trouble? He figured that after Brother Sha demonstrated his power yesterday, he had shown a liking for putting the newcomers through their paces. Next, he had to consider the importance of initiative; good work brought rewards, and only then could one have hope for the future and auspicious living.

The tattooed brute froze, thought for a moment, and said, "Look at my pig brain. Us pirates go into the Judicial Hall, wouldn't that be like walking into a trap? Better to just toss him into the sea."

Liszt's eyelid twitched, wanting to kill someone. This man had initiative, all right, but he was foolish.

"Just rest," Liszt said as he took back the man's last letter, carefully folding it and placing it inside a pocket in his clothing. "Although he was only aboard Black Sail for a day, since he trusted me and was willing to hand over his life's earnings, then he's one of us. As the saying goes, 'Laid to rest in the earth brings peace.' Let's carry the guy up the mountain and find a high spot with a nice view to bury him. For his eight Golden Dragons of settling-in fee, I'll cover it."

Liszt was sucking on his smoke, certain this was the best solution. Plus, this fellow had indeed been a man's man; only, it was unknown whether the woman named Antilicia was worth his sacrifice.

In the passageway, a bunch of sailors also sighed. In the underworld of the Western Continent, any significant power had the concept of a settling-in fee. On the lawless high seas, it shouldn't be necessary. No pirate ship ever had such a rule, truly, Liszt was a man of righteousness.

Fen knew Liszt was winning hearts by spending those eight golden dragons for a measure of loyalty, and it was worth it. It at least demonstrated that anyone who died a worthy death, willing to throw themselves into their work wholeheartedly, would have their final affairs taken care of—just go ahead and sell your life.

Ox, eternally poker-faced, saw that the Beima Duchy was now plagued with bandits, the court powerless, the Great Nobles with hideous faces, on the very brink of collapse, just needing one final push.

Boatswain Rein was the last to arrive, asking about the situation.

"What bad luck. You lot, take him and get him buried. Don't skimp on it, make it decent. Today at noon, let's have our chief cook Archer slaughter a few sheep. Back in the day, that old man was a court chef, with skills ranking high on the Western Continent. Let's have a good meal to dispel the bad luck, something auspicious. Stop your moaning. That guy died a righteous death; at sea, it's considered a happy funeral. Alright, disperse, all of you go scrub the deck. Before lunch, I'll come to inspect. If I find a speck of dust or grease, forget about having lamb."

Rein was barking orders, eager to get the matter settled, and seeing that some new kitchen assistants were recruited yesterday, Archer could start cooking soon.

Liszt was speechless. Only you could blow it up like this, a happy funeral, huh.

The sailors, hearing about the sheep, their eyes widened; a court chef no less, that's real nobility treatment indeed. Truly a happy funeral.

The group, excited, kept shouting 'awesome' non-stop, feeling the blessings of the man, and merrily headed up to the deck.

Leading the group, the tattooed brute and a few men untied the hemp rope from the doorway, lowering the dead man. They found a stretcher plank from the shared sleeping quarters.

"Be careful, don't bump the man. These are the best conditions we can manage on this ship, but let's do our best to send him off grandly."

The tattooed brute was at the front, shouldering the most weight, carrying the body up the mountain above the secret port for the burial.

Ten minutes later.

At the end of the weather deck in the navigating room, Black Sail's middle-aged recreational card-playing room.

Archer was busy with the new kitchen assistants preparing lunch, while Rein and Morison supervised outside.

The rest wore gloomy expressions.

Although Wolman had a degree in mid-level history, the cultural toxins of the marshes weren't easily shrugged off; he was relatively the most superstitious person on the ship.

"Someone's already died before we set sail. That's not a good omen," Wolman hesitated and added, hating all nobles, "Could be an ominous sign. We should quickly grab whatever sailors we can and set out to sea. As for the 'big job,' better forget it. With the money we have on the ship, we could live comfortably for quite some time. As for the privateer license, not even the big shots at Heaven Port could manage it. In my opinion, we should focus on longevity."

Ox dismissed the idea, "Everything can be neglected, except for the crew. Even if they're only underlings, if we encounter combat at sea, if those who should manage the sails can't, if those who should man the guns can't, the weak and sick will simply collapse from fear, and we'd all go down with the ship."

Swan had more ambition than Wolman, effectively Fen's mouthpiece, and put it plainly, "The loot I snuck out is on the ship. We're wealthier now than the big shots at Heaven Port. What's a pirate overlord good for? We should aim for bigger things."

Everyone was shocked by Swan's words. The usually silent thief, when he did speak, it was explosive, set on getting this job done—a vision for lofty accomplishments.

Even Liszt was unsure, a materialist warrior at heart, but admittedly, the bad luck was too much, and the details of Lord's big job were still unknown.

Suddenly Haywood opened the door, surveying the sullen faces inside, and cheerfully announced, "Surprise! Earl's sent a gift, says he wants to treat us well, to improve the brothers' lives. The carriage is filled with boxes, who knows what's inside."

Shadi slapped his forehead. Rein had hit the nail on the head, no point waiting five days; someone had arrived now. Indeed, it's a big job—was it an assassination of Emperor Aran or something else?