The Otohime's Revenge
Part One
Saeki came to when he was dumped onto a deck, none too gently, and someone's foot nudged him in the ribs, rolling him over. Safe, he thought groggily, and opened his eyes, blinking at the bright sunshine.
A grinning face leaned over him, teeth white against skin burned dark by the sun. "I dunno about this one, Captain. Might need to throw him back until he gets bigger."
Saeki blinked up at him, dazed and slow to take in the ragged, mismatched clothes of the men standing around him. "Nnngh?"
"Get him some water." A pair of bare legs moved off, and another set, clad in tight breeches and high boots, replaced them. "Get out of the way, Bane."
Bane gave him a last grin, and pulled away. The owner of the boots leaned over him, studying him. Saeki stared up at him in return, taking in the battered hat, the gold hoops in the man's ears, and the cool grey eyes studying him, deciding what to do with him—and behind him, the flag snapping merrily on the salt breeze, a white skull and crossbones on a black field.
"Oh," Saeki said, as the pieces clicked together. "You're pirates." And since that was the perfect end to what had been a very trying sort of morning, it seemed perfectly reasonable to choose that moment to slide back down into unconsciousness.
When he came to again, he found that he'd been slung into a hammock—in the crew's quarters, by the look of it—and he was being watched by a disinterested sailor (no, pirate) who was perched on a barrel and whittling with a wicked knife. "Oh. You're awake again." The man hauled himself to his feet. "Cap'n wants to see you."
Saeki stared at him. "He does?"
"Yep." The man tucked his carving away, and gestured with the knife. "Your choice whether you're walking or I'm dragging you."
Judging from the way the man hulked, he probably didn't care which option Saeki chose. "I can walk." Saeki rolled himself out of the hammock, and was very grateful to his knees for only wobbling and not betraying him by spilling him to the deck.
The pirate snorted, and gestured the way out, still with that evil knife, and Saeki threaded his way through the crowded quarters and up to the deck, and the afternoon's sun.
One of the deckhands—pirates—looked up from the sail he was mending. "About damn time he woke up. Captain was threatening to send someone down with a bucket of cold water." He grinned, showing off several teeth that glinted gold.
"Could've slept all day for all I care," his minder grunted. "Keep moving, you."
"Where am I supposed to be moving to?" Saeki inquired, suddenly very angry with everything from the loss of his ship and shipmates to the peremptory tone of his captors (for the love of God, pirates!).
"My cabin will do, I think," someone behind him said, sounding very amused. "Thank you, Akutsu. I think Dan can use a hand on the aft deck."
His minder—Akutsu?—grunted and slunk away, while the pirate mending sails saw that the amusement was at an end for the time being and returned to his work.
Saeki turned, slowly, to find himself face to face with the ship's captain—only a captain could stand with that kind of assurance, wearing a grin that only made Saeki's anger run hotter. "Well?" he said, cocking his head. "Are you just going to stand there?"
Saeki's hands curled into fists, and that only seemed to amuse the pirate further. "Come on," he invited, lifting his chin. "We might as well get this part out of the way."
"You think this is funny?" Saeki demanded, and charged him—or tried to charge him, at least, but the pirate stepped neatly to the side, and there was an outstretched boot in front of Saeki's feet and a hand around his wrist, helping him fall and twisting his arm behind his back.
Saeki hit the deck hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs, and then there was a knee in the small of his back and a voice in his ear, low and dangerous. "You're angry, fine. You're grieving for your ship, and that's as it should be, but don't go making the mistake of blaming me for what's been done to you. I could have left you for shark bait, and it's my sufferance that's going to keep you from getting pitched over the side by my crew, because I can tell you now that they're not going to be best pleased with this little stunt of yours." The pirate twisted his arm a little tighter, and Saeki grunted with the pain. "You owe me your life. Don't forget it."
The pressure on his arm tightened until Saeki cried out, and then the pirate released him, rolling to his feet. "Now get up. You're not hurt."
Saeki pushed himself to his feet, slowly, arm folded in close to his chest and throbbing painfully, and became aware that there were half a dozen or more hostile pairs of eyes fixed on him. The sail-mender had put down his sail, and was trimming a fingernail with a knife that glittered, long and dangerous, in the sun.
The pirate captain let him soak that in, and then jerked his head. "Follow me," he said, and turned on his heel, striding for the cabins at the aft of the ship.
Saeki weighed his options—the retreating back, the crew watching his every move, the odds that he could move fast enough to accomplish anything—and followed after the man, promising himself that there would be other opportunities.
The captain's cabin was roomy, for such a small ship as this one, and better appointed than Saeki had expected, given the general shabbiness of the crew and even the captain himself, with his battered hat and ragged frock coat, and the fact that they were goddamned pirates.
The other man slung himself into a chair as Saeki slid the door shut behind him, and took off his hat, setting it on his desk amid the clutter of maps and books. Saeki was struck, suddenly, by how young he looked without it. The pirate gestured at the other chair, snugged up to the table. "Now, let's see if we can't have a civilized conversation, hm?"
Saeki shook his head. "I'll stand."
"Suit yourself." The pirate captain leaned back in his chair, sprawling his legs out and relaxing. "What's your name?"
"Saeki."
The pirate raised an eyebrow. "Just Saeki?"
"Just Saeki," he repeated, firmly, from between gritted teeth.
"Feisty one, aren't you?" He grinned. "But fair enough. I'm Yuuta, captain of the Dancing Heron."
"Never heard of you," Saeki told him, evenly. "Or your ship."
Yuuta blinked at him, and then laughed. "No? That's just the way I like it." He grinned. "Now sit your ass down, you stubborn bastard. I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you." He pointed at the other chair, imperious.
Unwillingly, scowling, Saeki sat, and folded his arms across his chest. "I don't know what the hell you want—"
"What I want is very simple." Yuuta leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk and folding his hands under his chin. "And you can give it to me without any trouble to yourself." His eyes were dark, and intent. "I want information."
"And what happens if I don't know what you want to hear?" Saeki countered.
"I very much doubt that will happen." Yuuta's mouth curled. "Everyone knows something."
"And what happens if I don't want to tell you the something I know?" Saeki shot back.
Yuuta's mouth thinned. "I think we would both regret that, very much."
"Me more than you, I don't doubt."
Yuuta snorted, settling back in his seat, hooking an arm around the back of his chair. "What, aside from defending myself against a mostly-unprovoked attack, makes you think that I have any interest at all in harming you?"
Saeki couldn't help the short bark of laughter. "Aside from threatening me just now?"
Yuuta waved an impatient hand. "Immaterial. There's little benefit in rescuing someone just to kill him."
"What about killing someone after he's told you everything he knows?"
Yuuta laughed, short and harsh. "A waste." He sighed, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. After a moment's thought, he seemed to reach a decision. "We were caught in a squall, a week ago. I lost three good men to it. We've been running shorthanded anyway, and I need all the hands I can get." He looked up, eyes serious. "Fill one of those spots, until I can put ashore and find replacements for my men."
Saeki recoiled. "What are you, insane?" If nothing else, he couldn't fault the man for his nerve.
"If it eases your conscience, think of yourself as having been press-ganged," Yuuta snapped.
"I refuse," Saeki said, cold and flat. "I will not be a pirate."
"Damn it, man!" Yuuta slammed his fist down on the desk. "What makes you think—" He stopped himself, and took a deep breath, nostrils pinched and white with anger. "Saints preserve me from blind men and fools," he growled.
"Keep your saints busy, do you?" Saeki inquired, politely.
"Hmph." Yuuta glared at him. "I won't give passage to a man who can't pay his way, and refuses to work for it."
"Then I guess we have a problem, don't we?" Saeki bared his teeth in a grin that felt reckless.
Yuuta growled at him. "I have half a mind to put you back over the side—"
Someone knocked on the cabin door. "Captain?"
Yuuta straightened himself in his seat. "Come in."
One of the pirates sauntered in, bare arms covered to the shoulders with tattoos, and he saluted Yuuta with a lazy grin. "Looks like you two are enjoying yourselves," he noted.
Yuuta's mouth twisted. "If you want to call it that. What is it, Shishido?"
Shishido slanted at a look at Saeki. "Found something in the salvage." He dropped a box on the desk in front of Yuuta. "Damnedest thing I've ever seen. Can't figure out how to get it open—"
"You bastards!" Saeki was lunging forward, reaching for the box even as Shishido moved, catching him around the arms and holding him fast. He struggled, anger lending him strength in spite of his ordeal of a day, and Shishido swore in his ear, angry. "Give me that—you have no right—"
"Looks like you did find something interesting, Shishido." Yuuta picked up the box, turning it over his hands, bringing it up to peer at closely while Shishido struggled with Saeki. "Hmm." He prodded at the box, pressing at the whorls of the wood grain. "Excellent craftsmanship—ah. There we go." He pressed at the corners of the box, and the hidden catch gave way, letting the lid swing open.
"What is it—would you settle down, for God's sake—Captain?" Shishido asked, wrestling Saeki back into his seat.
Yuuta looked into the box, face gone still. After a long moment, he closed the box again. "It's nothing we need to concern ourselves with, Shishido." He looked up, meeting Saeki's eyes. "Personal mementos." He slid the box across the desk. "Better left in our passenger's care than ours, I think. Let him go, Shishido."
"Captain—" Shishido began to argue.
Yuuta's voice cracked like a whip through the air. "Do as I say, Shishido."
Grumbling so quietly that Saeki could barely hear him, Shishido released him and stepped back, eyeing him mistrustfully.
Slowly, breathing hard, Saeki reached out and took the box, eyes fixed on Yuuta.
"Was there anything else, Shishido?" Yuuta asked, holding Saeki's stare.
"...no, Captain." Saeki could feel the man's gaze flicking back and forth between the two of them.
"Return us to our original heading, Shishido."
"Yes, Captain." Shishido shuffled out, and closed the door behind him with a soft snick.
The silence drew out, thick and heavy, before Yuuta spoke again. "That belonged to your captain?"
Saeki's fingers tightened on the box. "Yes."
Yuuta nodded, mouth thinned to an angry slash. "Then you served on the Otohime."
"I was her first mate," Saeki said, lifting his chin, proudly, even though now he was first mate of nothing but scattered wreckage, and to a dead crew and a dead captain.
A muscle jumped in Yuuta's jaw. "Damn it," he said, softly. "God damn it." He stood, and turned away from Saeki, staring out the windows at the Heron's wake.
Yuuta's reaction made no sense, unless... Saeki frowned, slowly. "You knew the Otohime." Not a question, but a statement of fact.
"I knew her captain. He was a good man." Yuuta drew a deep breath, and set his shoulders straight, and turned back. He gripped the back of his chair and leaned over it. "Whose ship did you meet this morning, Saeki?" His eyes were hard, and angry. "I need to know."
Saeki looked at him, long and hard, before slumping in his chair. "I can't say for sure. She was on us before we knew what was happening. She was big, and fast." Saeki closed his eyes, remembering. "I never got a clear view of her name, but her colors—they were black, with a rose." The hiss of a breath drawn sharply made him open his eyes again. Yuuta had gone still, but his eyes were burning. "Do you know who—"
"Oh, I know exactly who," Yuuta breathed. "Who else would be able to take Tachibana and the Otohime, but Yukimura and the Iron Rose?" He slammed his hands down on the desk. "Fuck! Damn it, Kippei."
Saeki stared at him, feeling his brow starting to furrow. "...who the hell are you?"
Yuuta gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Just another pirate, Saeki. Just another goddamned pirate." He moved, dropping himself into the chair and flipping open a book. "Now, as precisely as you can, tell me what happened this morning." He reached for a pen and uncorked a bottle of ink, and looked at Saeki, waiting.
Saeki frowned. "...funny sort of pirate to know Tachibana well enough to call him by name. Well enough to know him by a painting of his sister."
"Your point is well taken." Yuuta drew a breath. "But calling me a pirate is good enough for now." He shook his head. "I'll put you ashore next port we put into, but I can't tell you when that will be."
"...that's fine."
"It'll have to be," Yuuta told him. "Now. Tell me about their attack."
Saeki nodded, and settled back into his chair to arrange his thoughts, and make sense of the chaos at dawn. "The sun was just coming up, and it was foggy." His mouth twisted, remembering. "That's how she got so close, so fast, without us seeing her. Most of the crew was still asleep when they started firing on us."
Yuuta had been writing steadily as Saeki spoke, and looked up when he went quiet. "Not you?"
"I was on watch." Not a very good one, obviously. Saeki scowled at the memory of that ship, looming up big and sudden out of the fog, deathly silent until the first round of cannons boomed out over the water.
Yuuta's eyes were narrow and considering, looking at him. "I see."
Saeki looked away, eyes traveling over the room, studying the shelves with books and the clutter of personal items. "One of their shots was lucky, hit our hold and took out the powder. The whole thing exploded. I don't remember much after that. Too busy trying not to drown." To what purpose? The ship had still gone down, and no one else had survived.
"Probably not as lucky a shot as you think. At least one of Yukimura's crew is a genius for crippling other ships." Yuuta wrote busily for a moment, and then looked up. "Anything else?"
"They headed east, when they were done."
Yuuta made a note of that, as well, and continued writing. Saeki watched him, exhausted again by the retelling. "Anything else?" Yuuta asked again.
"No. Not that I can think of."
Yuuta sighed, and corked his ink, blowing on the page to dry the ink. "Thank you."
Saeki bowed his head over his hands, white-knuckled on the box. "There's nothing worth thanking me for."
Yuuta reached out and closed a hand on his shoulder. "Stop that," he ordered. "There's more to thank you for than you know."
Saeki looked up at him, and started to ask what there could be, but someone rapped on the door.
Yuuta sighed and released him. "Come in."
The door opened, and a boy peered in. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the cook wants to know whether you're eating in your quarters tonight or with us."
"With the crew tonight," Yuuta said. "Let him know, Dan."
"Yes, sir!" The boy closed the door, and they could hear him scampering away.
Yuuta sighed, and picked up his hat. "Let's see about finding a spot for you in the crew's quarters. Come on." He settled the hat on his head, and smoothed out his face until he was nothing more than the swaggering pirate captain.
Saeki stood, and nodded. "After you..." He hesitated, and added, "Captain."
Yuuta gave him a quicksilver smile, and led the way.
Saeki, standing behind Yuuta, eyed the long table, crowded around as it was with the rag-tag crew, and wondered where he was supposed to sit, especially with the flat, unfriendly looks he was getting.
"You made quite the impression on them," Yuuta muttered to him, out of the side of his mouth. He put his hands on his hips. "All right, boys, make room for our guest." There was a rustle of feet shuffling, but no gaps appeared in their formation. Yuuta huffed, impatient, and leaned forward a bit. "His name's Saeki, and he was first mate on the Otohime." His voice went low, and quiet, cutting through the sudden silence. "And I said to make room for him."
After a moment, a burly redhead with wild hair nudged his neighbor, who scooted down the bench. "He can sit here, Captain."
"Good." Yuuta surveyed the room. "I don't want any trouble. Understand?" The crew mumbled its assent. Yuuta studied them, and then nodded. "Good." He dropped himself into the chair at the head of the long table.
Saeki moved down to that open spot and slid into it, and the noise level picked up again as the cook's boys moved down the length of the table, dishing out the evening's stew.
"Amane," the redhead told him, under the slowly-rising din. "Friends call me Davide."
Someone leaned around Davide and introduced himself. "Kurobane."
Saeki looked at him. "...Bane."
The man grinned. "So you weren't as out of it this morning as you looked."
Saeki shrugged, and leaned back to let the cook's boy drop a ladle of stew onto his plate. "Not entirely."
"You were better off than I would have been," his other neighbor muttered, digging into his stew. "Yanagisawa," he said, around a mouthful of food.
Saeki picked up his fork as his stomach growled, reminding him that it'd been since last evening that he'd eaten, and tore into the stew.
"Good appetite," Davide noted.
"Hard day," Saeki grunted, between mouthfuls.
Bane leaned around Davide. "What happened to the Otohime?" he asked.
Saeki stared down at his plate. "Yukimura," he said. "The Iron Rose."
Beside him, Davide let loose with a soft string of expletives, and Yanagisawa's fork clattered to his plate. "You poor bastards," he said.
Saeki made himself shrug, again, and continued eating, chewing mechanically.
"Huh. No wonder the captain's keeping you around." Someone leaned across the table and snagged the bread off Davide's plate. Saeki looked up to find another redhead grinning at him. "Sengoku."
Saeki nodded, while Davide growled and demanded his bread back and Sengoku laughed in his face, and wondered just what sort of people he'd fallen in with, and just who the hell Yuuta was.
Saeki had never been on a ship as a mere passenger before; he found himself at loose ends, watching the crew work from the vantage point he'd found in an out-of-the-way corner on the aft deck.
It was easy to see, now, that the Heron's general shabbiness was due in no small part to the squall her captain had mentioned—a larger part of the crew's duties seemed to revolve around making small repairs, mending sails and performing acts of minor carpentry. No one seemed to begrudge him his leisure, either, as they worked around him; he had been expecting at least a few nasty looks on that account, but apparently Yuuta's edict that there be no trouble held, even for a passenger who couldn't pay his own way—
"Penny for your thoughts." The coin landed in Saeki's lap, startling him, and he looked up to see Yuuta leaning on the railing, studying him.
"You have a disciplined crew," Saeki said, picking up the coin and flipping it through his fingers.
Yuuta snorted. "They ought to be, considering. I like a tightly-run ship."
Saeki studied the activity on the main deck—Davide and Bane, tidying away some mended sails; another sailor, whose name he'd forgotten, swabbing the deck. "So did my captain."
"I know." Yuuta's voice was quiet enough that it only barely reached Saeki's ears. "Waste of a fine crew, and a fine man."
Saeki looked back at him, and it was on his tongue to ask him just who he was, to speak so familiarly of Tachibana. Instead he made a noise, agreeing. "I didn't ask, yesterday. You said it would be some time before we put into port. Where are we bound?"
"To meet someone," Yuuta said, with a vague gesture.
"Heading south?" Saeki frowned, ransacking his mental charts of the waters ahead of them. "There aren't any ports in that direction, not for days."
Yuuta's mouth quirked. "So?" he asked, and pushed away from the railing.
Saeki tried to protest that non-answer. "But—"
Yuuta waved a lazy hand as he went to relieve the man at the helm.
"Don't go expecting to get a straight answer out of him." Saeki looked down; Sengoku set the barrel he'd been carrying down, and perched on it. "He keeps secrets for the fun of keeping secrets."
"I've been getting that impression." Saeki tilted his head. "Do you keep secrets for the sake of keeping secrets?"
Sengoku grinned at him. "Sometimes. Sometimes not. Depends on what you want to know."
Saeki took a deep breath, and another, and bit down on his temper. "Do you know where we're going?"
"Can't say." Sengoku's grin turned even wider. "The captain doesn't tell me these things."
Saeki couldn't quite repress the growl, and didn't care to besides. "Do you have an idea of where we might be going?" he gritted out.
"Probably shouldn't tell you," Sengoku said, grinning even harder.
"...you're kind of a bastard, aren't you?" Saeki asked him, slowly.
"When I want to be, yep." Sengoku hopped down from his barrel and swung it up onto his shoulder as Shishido approached. "Back to work for me, then. Better luck next time, Sae." He strode off, whistling.
Shishido paused on the deck below Saeki and looked up at him. "Been at you, has he?" he asked, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. Saeki didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded, quick and sharp. The Heron's first mate surprised him by laughing. "It's his way of being friendly. Try not to let it get to you."
"You don't ask for much, do you?" Saeki growled.
Shishido just grinned and walked away.
Saeki growled again, wordless, and wondered yet again whether it wouldn't have been more of a mercy to have drowned.
His second day aboard the Heron found him wandering below, still at loose ends and bored, until he came to the galley. The cook took one look at him, shook his head, and sat him down with a bushel of potatoes and a knife to peel them with. It was a measure of how bored he was that Saeki accepted the work meekly, peeling potatoes and listening to Nomura. The constant conversation, bouncing from topic to topic, kept him distracted. It was even possible, if one listened carefully, to pick out interesting facts from the stream of chatter, as Nomura touched on the captain's moodiness lately and how long it'd been since they'd been ashore and of course he couldn't be expected to produce decent food without fresh ingredients, so at least it wasn't his turn to host things—and then he shut himself up, changed the subject, and wouldn't be steered back no matter how carefully Saeki asked his questions. Eventually, Nomura retreated to the other end of the galley, muttering among his pots and pans, and that left Saeki alone with his thoughts and the potatoes.
"You've got a brain, Koujirou, so use it," he said to the potatoes, and frowned at them as he worked, and thought, and turned over the pieces of his puzzle. The ship was heading south, to meet someone—there wasn't much to the south worth speaking of, unless a person counted the countless unnamed islands, too small to support anything but scrubby bushes and the occasional smuggler—oh. Oh.
He dropped his knife into the pile of potato peelings and had to fish it out. Smugglers. That made more sense than pirates, didn't it? It still didn't make the fact that Yuuta had known Tachibana and respected him make any more sense—hell, it didn't make the crew make sense, either—but it went further than anything else had. And if they were heading towards a rendezvous, that made the cook's mention of hosting make sense, too.
"Are you going to stare at that potato all day long, or are you going to peel it?"
Saeki shook himself out of his reverie. "Sorry." He bent back over his potatoes.
"You're an odd one," Nomura remarked, and returned to what he was doing.
He found that the crew's quarters tended towards the boisterous in the evenings, between the games of cards and dice, the occasional argument, and the boasts being traded back and forth. The Heron's crew welcomed him into the uproar easily enough, but in spite of the rough welcome, he couldn't help feeling like an outsider—especially after spending a day doing practically nothing—the tasks Nomura gave him barely counted—while the rest of them worked. After a pair of awkward evenings, he escaped the noisy atmosphere below to spend his third evening on the Heron's deck. The evening watch ignored him, and it made a peaceful end to the day.
He liked it well enough to repeat the experiment the next evening, and the next, making his way to the stern and nodding to Davide, who was at the wheel, who returned the nod with an affable wave, and settled himself at the stern, dangling his legs over the side and resting his chin on the railing. The last of the sun had already slipped below the horizon, and the sky was turning dark rapidly. Saeki sighed, and watched the colors change, and let himself think about nothing at all.
A voice interrupted him. "Company below not to your liking, Saeki?"
Saeki looked at the knees just visible in his peripheral vision. "It's a good place to be."
"Mm." Yuuta dropped himself to the deck, an arms-length away, and mimicked Saeki's posture. Only then did he look at Saeki. "You mind?"
Saeki rolled a shoulder up in a half-hearted shrug, and looked out over the water. "It's your ship."
Yuuta snorted; Saeki could feel the eyes on him. "I'm going to take that as a yes," he said, finally, and started to swing himself back to his feet.
"You don't have to," Saeki said, with another one-shouldered shrug. "I'm just not very good company."
"I hadn't noticed." But Yuuta settled himself again, and folded his arms on the rail, and quiet settled over them. Saeki half-expected him to say something that would break the silence, but Yuuta just stared at their wake, a frown wrinkling his forehead.
This was the first time Saeki had had the chance to study him, so he made the most of the opportunity. With him at rest, it was easier to see what Yuuta's general flurry of activity kept obscured—that he was young, probably younger than Saeki himself (if he was any judge)—and handsome, too, with even features that were finer than Saeki would have expected from an ordinary sailor.
Yuuta startled him by turning suddenly and meeting his eyes. "I puzzle you, don't I?"
"You don't fit," Saeki told him, surprised into candor.
"I don't?" Yuuta lifted an eyebrow at him.
Saeki took that as an invitation to expand on the subject. "You don't." He waved a hand, the gesture encompassing the whole ship. "Nothing does, really, but you fit even less than the rest of it does. You're not pirates—" Just following the conversations between the other crewmembers had confirmed that much for him. "You're acting like smugglers—" Yuuta's other eyebrow went up. "—what, I've been in the hold, I can see that it's full of rum, and there's nothing but smuggler's islands where we're going. I'm not stupid."
"I can see that you're not," Yuuta agreed, gravely enough, although the corners of his mouth were twitching slightly.
Saeki narrowed his eyes at him. "It still doesn't fit," he said. "You don't fit. You're not—" He paused, searching for the right way to put it. "—Not rough enough around the edges."
"Maybe I'm just the black sheep of an upstanding family," Yuuta suggested, with a grin that was crooked. "Ran away to sea when I was a boy, breaking my dear mama's heart and causing my father to disown me, the despair of my family's honor and the talk of the town to this very day. Eh?"
Saeki frowned. "All that, just to become a smuggler?"
"What, you think that runaways get to become captains in the navy?" Yuuta's smile was still crooked. "Or do I just seem to be that kind of lucky?"
"I don't know what you are," Saeki retorted, "other than a damn riddle."
"And that's as it should be." Yuuta turned his gaze back to the horizon, which was falling into darkness fast. After a while, a question floated through the gathering darkness. "What about you? Why are you at sea?"
"It's the family trade. My father was a sailor, and his father before him... as far back as any of us can remember."
"A fine tradition," Yuuta murmured, and it was too dark to be able to tell by his expression whether that solemn tone was genuine or just teasing. "You had some schooling, by the sound of it."
"Enough." His mother had insisted that her children should know more than just the sea, which had led to long seasons in the classroom, away from the open water.
"Always a good thing, that." Yuuta shifted himself, and rested his chin on his folded arms. "I hear that Nomura appreciates the extra help he's had, these past few days."
"It passes the time," Saeki said, carefully.
Yuuta lifted a shoulder, half-shrugging. "I suppose it does. I'd get bored pretty fast."
"Potatoes aren't known for being challenging, no," Saeki agreed.
"Mm." When Yuuta spoke again, Saeki could tell that he was choosing his words with care. "If a person wanted something a little more challenging, I expect that he could ask, and Shishido could find something or another for him to do. Just to pass the time, of course."
"It's been my experience that most officers can do that," Saeki murmured, finding it hard not to smile. "A person would do well to remember that."
They lapsed into silence again, until it was too dark to see anything but the stars glittering above them. Presently Yuuta sighed, and swung himself to his feet. "Good night."
"Good night," Saeki murmured.
Yuuta paused, as if he was going to say something, but didn't; after a moment, Saeki could hear his boots striding away over the deck, and Davide's cordial good evening to him. Not long after, the light from his cabin windows spread out across their wake, warm and golden.
Saeki didn't think any more of it until the next morning, when he hesitated between the galley and the decks, and chose the decks. Shishido put him to work without comment, and Saeki retired to his spot at the stern after a day of satisfyingly hard work. Yuuta joined him again, settling himself next to Saeki without a word as the sun went down, but didn't offer to make conversation. They sat together, quiet, until darkness had fallen and Yuuta bade Saeki a pleasant evening and went below.
He was already there when Saeki came up the night after, and Saeki hesitated a moment before swinging himself into his spot next to Yuuta. Yuuta didn't acknowledge him any more than Saeki had acknowledged him the night before, leaving Saeki to wonder about the odd company Yuuta offered him.
"You're not happy on this ship, are you?" Yuuta's question was sudden, and unexpected.
Saeki turned his head, looking at Yuuta's profile; the captain was staring at their wake, expression unreadable. "Not especially," he said, finally.
"What will you do, when we put you ashore?" Yuuta sounded mildly curious.
Saeki turned his gaze back out to see, and rested his chin on his forearms. "Find Tachibana's family, so I can return what's rightfully theirs, and let them know what became of him. And after that, find a new ship." And maybe, somehow, find a way to avenge the Otohime.
"That's very admirable of you," Yuuta murmured.
"It's the least I owe him."
"It's still admirable," Yuuta said, quietly. "You must have thought highly of Kippei."
"He was a good man, and a good captain." Saeki slanted a glance at Yuuta. "How did you know him?"
Yuuta's jaw tightened in the fading light. "I sailed for him, a long time ago."
Saeki found that he was staring. "You did?"
Yuuta shrugged. "I did. He was much kinder to a runaway brat than I had any right to expect. Gave me my start." He sighed. "That was when he was captain of the Cormorant."
Saeki frowned, trying to fit this new puzzle piece into place. It certainly made Yuuta's reaction to the Otohime's loss make more sense. "I... hadn't realized."
Yuuta's mouth twisted up. "I hadn't said."
"You don't say much," Saeki muttered, and that provoked a bark of laughter from the captain. "It's true."
"I wasn't going to argue the point." Yuuta shook his head. "How long did you sail with him?"
"Two years," Saeki murmured. "He promoted me to first mate when Kamio took a ship of his own."
"Ah. You were with him for some time." Yuuta lapsed into silence.
Saeki studied the water. "Not long enough."
"Nothing lasts," Yuuta told him, and surprised him by reaching over to grip his shoulder. "All you can do is enjoy what you have, while you can."
Saeki held his gaze. "Wise words."
Yuuta's mouth quirked. "Kippei's, not mine," he said, and swung himself to his feet. "Good night."
"Good night."
Yuuta moved away, passed a few words with Davide at the helm, and retired to his cabin. Saeki studied the fading light.
"Captain's really taken a shine to you, hasn't he?"
Saeki twitched as Davide's comment floated through the gathering darkness. "You make a habit of eavesdropping?"
"Nope, but if you're going to talk in front of me, I can't help what I hear." Davide's chuckle was rusty. "Or am I wrong?"
Davide had an unfortunately good point, and Saeki huffed to himself. Davide's laughter rolled through the darkness, rich and amused. "You're tetchier than Akutsu on short rations, aren't you?"
"Only when I'm being made sport of," Saeki told him.
Davide laughed again. "Lucky for you that you're not going to be signing on permanently, then. Pity for the rest of us."
"You'll find someone to replace me, I don't doubt." Saeki levered himself to his feet and ambled closer to where Davide was minding the helm.
"Oh, probably. There're plenty of sailors out there." Now that he was closer, he could see Davide's dismissive gesture. "Fewer good ones." He paused. "None that I can think of that he's so free with."
Saeki peered at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I think..." Davide's voice was quiet, meditative, "that it's a hard business, being the captain. Kind of a lonely one, too. Especially for him, more than most." He shrugged. "And it's been a while since anyone caught his interest. And right now, he could use a friend, more than you know. That's all."
"Why are all of you so hell-bent on being cryptic?" Saeki asked, with a crossness he didn't really feel, shying away from what common sense had already told him—that Yuuta was showing an unusually active interest in a sailor he'd rescued from drowning.
"Because you're an outsider," Davide said, calmly. "There're things you can't know until you're one of us, and things that're worth our lives if the wrong ears hear them. Don't get me wrong, now," he said, as Saeki stiffened. "Who you are and who you served with, that goes a long way with the captain, and that's good enough for the rest of us, but if he doesn't want you knowing the rest of it, not a one of us is going to tell you a damn thing. And that's just the way it is."
"I see."
"No, you probably don't, not yet. Stick around a while and you might," Davide told him.
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