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Chapter 13
Sunny Beach
She had a drink in her hand. She had her toes in the sand. She was a beautiful girl. She was also losing her mind.
“How you doing over there, Red?” a shovel full of gravel rattled down her ear holes. “Can we get you anything?”
Renekton leaned as far down over the arm of the lifeguards chair as he could. Probably trying to get a better look down the front of the white and blue one piece swimsuit she that had been forced on her. For a non-mammalian, he was surprisingly interested in female anatomy. The attention didn’t really bother her. She was comfortable in her own skin. The suit didn’t lend itself to commanding respect though and would be ridiculously impractical in a fight. Which was where she really wanted to be at the moment.
“Can you fetch me a magic portal back to my ship? Pretty please?” she used her best flirty tone of voice. The damn croc shook his head and chuckled. “Then I guess I’m fine as I am. Thanks, anyway!”
She went back to surveying her surroundings, her sharp eyes shaded below a wide brimmed straw hat. There wasn’t much to see that was obviously helpful. There had to be something she was missing though. These people couldn’t live on coconuts and rum laced drinks forever. For that matter, where did the rum come from? Distilling alcohol was a complex process, she hadn’t seen the equipment for that anywhere around.
“Time for some exercise” She called up to the beast in the chair, “I’m going for a swim, Ton-Ton!” She had adopted the nickname the others used. She figured it wouldn’t help to stand out in any way if she wanted to sneak off. She stood up and headed toward the line where the sea met sand. Normally, she would have put a bit of sway in her hips. She knew the toothy whistleblower had both eyes on her as she walked away. This time though, she would prefer that he lose interest sooner rather than later.
Renekton, or "Ton-Ton", was indeed watching with a mixture of suspicion and admiration. His eyes, cold and reptilian, missed nothing, but he seemed convinced by her casual demeanor. She felt the weight of his gaze on her back and resisted the urge to look over her shoulder.
The waves lapped at her feet, cool and inviting. She took a deep breath, feeling the sea breeze fill her lungs. With deliberate slowness, she walked into the surf, feeling the pull of the ocean against her legs. Once the water reached her waist, she dove forward, her body slicing through the waves with practiced ease. She swam out past where most of the others were casually bobbing in the surf and turned parallel to the shoreline.
Her plan was to stay in the trough between waves so that she couldn’t be seen from the shore. Every thirty seconds or so, a strong kick and dive below a wave crest took her into the following trough to stay more or less the same distance away from land. For once, she actually gave thanks for the swimsuit they had forced on her. This task would have been nearly impossible in the tricorn hat and knee high boots that were her custom.
Being around the sea her whole life had gifted her with strong swimming skills, but even so, reaching the far point where the curve of the bay met the tree line was no easy piece of work. The sun was halfway between full noon and sunset as she drifted onto the sand, a good portion of a mile from where she had gone into the surf.
As she dashed to the shelter of the palms, she listened for any outcry or sounds of a search party from down the beach but all seemed quiet. Picking a way in bare feet through the increasingly rocky terrain beyond the sand was the next obstacle.
“A girl doesn’t become captain of a burly pirate crew without learning to be a little tough,” she chuckled. “Now where do they get that rum?”
After an hour of dodging palm trunks and razor sharp rock outcroppings, the bump and rolling sounds of barrels being loaded and unloaded filtered through the darkening evening. A bright point of light shown off to the left and she changed course to investigate.
“Some cuts and bruises are a worthy price to pay for the ability to walk without making a sound, I guess.” Her determination stifled a groan caused by a sharp rock underfoot. “It looks like I hit the jackpot!”
She watched from behind an ancient sea pine with gnarled roots and a swollen trunk. A small crew of 3 men were unloading wooden kegs of rum from a small airship grounded a short distance from a Hex gate.
“My way out of here!” she thought. “Those things link to Piltover and from there, back to Bilgewater!”
Her mind was racing through the possibilities and almost missed the last cask rolling off the vessel. She looked over to the opposite side of the loading area and found the expected stack of empty barrels waiting for a return trip.
“Those are way too small to hide inside of,” she wryly admitted, “but if I time this right, I can stowaway in amongst the stack just before they finish loading.”
She all but held her breath and slowly picked her way around the edge of the clearing until she was just behind the airship and waited for the workers to load enough kegs for her to hide behind. When the moment came, the three men walked off the ship to get the next load and she slipped behind their backs and into a cramped space between the empty drums and the hull.
“Now, just gotta stay quiet and wait,” the thought of finally getting back to her ship made her want to smile but she didn’t even dare in case a stray glint off her teeth would betray her location.
Thirty minutes later the small airship was sluggishly ascending and maneuvering toward the Hex gate.It moved like a pregnant cow and Fortune’s patience started losing out to her eagerness to return home. Unconsciously, her left foot started tapping against the smooth planks of the bulkhead.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” She looked up to see one of the cargo tenders peeking over the stack of barrels. The of her nervous foot taps must have been louder than she thought. He gave a gapped tooth grin as he tried to squeeze his bearded bulk through the narrow space. “The boss don't let us go anywhere near that beach party. Never thought a pretty little bit of it might come to us!”
Sarah's hands automatically dropped to her waist looking for her guns.
“Oh, right, swimsuit.” she sighed internally, “different battle, different weapons.” Her pistols, Shock and Awe had stayed behind in their rack on the Syren.
She squared her shoulders and stood up. “You found me so I guess you get the prize, sailor.” She flashed him her most inviting smile and looked him dead in the eyes. Her gaze was just as accurate as a double tap from her guns and almost as powerful. He stopped in his tracks for a full second until his endocrine system overrode his good sense and he stepped forward enthusiastically. He took two steps and the emerald stare focused on his face turned into a ruby-red wreathed headbutt.
Whatever fantasies his simple brain had been imagining collapsed in on themselves and went black. Sarah pulled his limp frame fully into her hiding place and lodged herself comfortably on his backside.
“Sleep well, cupcake. You’re my assigned seat for the rest of this flight.”
She didn’t have to wait long. Piltover’s Hex gates cut distances as vast as continents down to virtually nothing and the ship soon shuttered with the impact of arrival at its docking berth.
Before her human armchair’s buddies could come back to find their crewmate and unload, she jumped out the rear hatch onto the dock and strode away with an air of nonchalance that she had found deflected most people’s curiosity. In a short time she had found the berth of a vessel bound for Bilgewater and was instantly recognized by the crew who welcomed her aboard happily. She caught a few snickers from some of the braver sailors, which faded to silence with a withering look. The commander graciously agreed to set off immediately and she settled into a properly upholstered seat and closed her eyes.
She was finally going home, hopefully not to a pile of smoking ruins crawling with Noxian occupiers.
Chapter 14
Paying Back Cesar’s Things
As the ship approached the Bilgewater Hexgate tower, Sarah could see the familiar silhouette of her ship, the Syren, already embroiled in a running gun fight with the Noxian’s front-line ships.
“Thank God, I’m not too late.” Her ship was giving more than she was getting, even without her hand at the wheel. “Either Cesar is swinging way above his weight class today, or I’ve trained my crew really well.”
“Which god ya prayin’ to there Cappen?” A youngish, fuzzy faced midshipman had tiptoed up to watch the sea brawl at her side.
“Any of them and all of them, kid. Can you hop over to wherever you can do the most good in getting us disembarked?”
She didn’t like being short with him, he seemed decent enough. She didn’t have to worry though he just beamed at her, saluted and zipped off to make her order into reality. There was barely a whiff of unwashed reefer jacket and a stray straw from his hat fluttering down left behind.
Before she could make her way down the gangplank, a loud, jovial shout echoed across the dock. "Ahoy, Miss Fortune! Need a lift?"
She turned to see Gragas, seated on what could only be described as a beer-powered jet ski. The contraption sputtered and burped with frothy foam as he steered it towards her, his grin wide and welcoming.
"Gragas, you always know how to make an entrance," she said with a smirk, hopping onto the jet ski behind him.
"Only the best for you, lass," Gragas replied, revving the engine. "Let's get you back to your ship!"
The jet ski roared to life, powered by Gragas's signature brew, and they zoomed across the water towards the Syren. The spray of the sea and the scent of hops filled the air as they sped towards their destination.
—------
Cesar leaned against the railing of the Syren’s quarterdeck, eyes narrowing.The ship was without a captain, drifting toward battle, and no one so much as glanced his way.
“That changes now!”
Brow furrowing deeper, he surveyed the scene. “The cripple and the two freaks ran and hid. Cowards, all of them.”
“This ship’s mine.”
He adjusted his cuffs, the motion deliberate.
“I’m done playing boy-toy for that redheaded daydreamer. She thought playing dress-up made her a captain? Please. I was made to lead this crew. They’ll see that soon enough, now that they aren’t blinded by hormones.”
He signaled to the bosun to sound attention. He got a smirk and a middle finger. Both disappeared under the iron sights of his pistol.
“I said…Sound attention…immediately!” A stiff smile hid nothing of his clenched teeth. “If you please, Mr. Bosun.”
The sharp tone of the whistle cut through the smoke and sea spray. Faces turned to the helm. One or two crew members took steps but Cesar cocked the hammer of his pistol.
“No,no,no.” He wiggled the index finger of his other hand. “Is this how you treat your First Mate, seconds before we go into battle?” The sailors looked at each other, unspoke questions flying like invisible cannon balls.
“You all know how… close… Sarah and I have been,” (He somehow made the word ‘close’ sound like it was dripping honey.)
“The good Captain and I have had many ‘deep’... conversations… about the organization of this vessel and we both agreed. She needs a break. Which she has obviously taken.” (Again he changed his tone as he said ‘deep’. The word tried to blush as it slid out of his mouth.)
“This is a pirate ship, mate!” Someone shouted at the rear of the pack gathered below him. “We vote on ANY senior officer changes!”
Another voice, a couple feet behind him and dangerously female growled, “All in favor of this jumped up parrot losing a testicle say… Aye!”
Cesar spun around and almost impaled his nether regions on a razor-sharp cutlass. The callused but manicured hand that gripped it was attached to a murderous glare in a crimson cloud.
A thunderous “Aye!” drowned out the sounds of battle for a glorious second.
“Motion carried.” Captain Fortune’s scowled out of lashes that looked like sharpened spears. “Keep your sticky fingers off my ship…mate. And me. In fact, go somewhere and make yourself useful while you still have fingers.”
A silence hung, awkward and thick until the bosun stepped behind the would-be captain, slow and grinning.
“You’re right, sir,” he said. “You’ve been real close to the Captain. Fairly cheek to cheek.”
Before Cesar could smirk, the bosun grabbed the waistband of his trousers and yanked.
“‘Bout time you separate all them cheeks!” The bosun’s guffaw had plenty of company as the crew snapped back into motion.
“BATTLE STATIONS, boys!” Sarah called out. “Let’s go earn ourselves the next round!”
