Author's Note
Please be aware that some of the content in this book is adult material and may be sensitive to some readers. Enjoy, comment, vote!

In contrast, Nebula and Kelpie were reflections of two brave races that had evolved over the last few thousand years. Nebula, with flowing white hair that-when unbraided-swept below her backside, and pink tones flecked in the sharper corners of her features, looked almost regal standing at six feet tall. Kelpie was shorter by a few feet and was round and rough skinned. His right ear looked squished against his head and the left was completely missing, a hole where it once had been was covered with a leather patch that wrapped around his bald head. His blue-ish complexion was darker and he had bumpy patches scattered across his arms and belly, which protruded from a vest he wore tightly laced around his torso. He had a waist apron hanging around the underside of his also-hanging belly.

Myles stared at the two in awe. They couldn't be more different in looks, but they both had a parental aura about them that made him uncomfortable. These were the closest "people" he had to being real parents. Sure, Captain Enigma was a guardian as well, but Myles always felt that the captain had a deeper connection to Evie. The thought made him grumble, pushing a lump of dough across the counter in front of him. He stood shirtless and barefoot in the kitchens, mounds of dough and meat and vegetables piled on a flour dusted counter. An array of cleavers and knives swayed above him from a rack. Just fall on me and be done with this wretched chore already. Myles wiped his damp hands on his waist apron, scrubbing bits of carrot juice from his calluses. They left his fingers stained orange.

Across the kitchen, Nebula leaned over the fire, peering into the large cauldron that swung gently with the motion of the boat. Brown goop lapped over the sides and sizzled in the fire below. She took a deep breath, Kelpie looming close behind her. The elf's nose scrunched and she turned away from it.

"I hope you're still working on this," she said to the cook.

Kelpie scowled and tightened his grip on the cleaver he held over his shoulder. It was as long as a serving platter and stained with rust and grime. He pushed Nebula roughly to the side and hobbled over to the pot of... whatever it was that he was making. He grabbed a spoon that hung on the hook beside the fireplace and dipped it into the slop. He shoved a mouthful in between his teeth and chomped with gusto, a few chunks falling out and back into the cauldron.

"You elves don't know good cookin," he said angrily. He tossed the spoon to the floor and made his way over to Myles. "More carrots for the stew, boy." Kelpie lifted the giant cleaver and came down hard on the body of a swordfish, chopping it in two. Its guts took flight and some of its slimy entrails splattered across the counter at Myles.

"Ugh, y'old oaf! Watch it, yeah?" he said, wiping the smelly fish rot off of his chest.

Kelpie snorted and hawked, spitting a ball of mucus by his feet. "I said get to them carrots ye mangy thing!" he hollered back. Myles peered around the ogre to offer a silent plea of mercy to Nebula, but she had slipped out leaving him unawares. The ogre began scraping a knife down the length of the fish, its scales falling effortlessly. "Nebula doesn't know what she's talkin about. My cooking is better than anyone's across the seas," he mumbled, just loud enough for Myles to hear.

"We're not eating like kings, if that's what you're implying. Can you even imagine what they eat in the city?" Myles grabbed a cutting board and knife from overhead, and slid the pile of carrots closer to him. He started chopping away at one, nearly cutting a finger off once or twice.

Kelpie pointed a fat and stubby finger at a bowl of spices and Myles stopped cutting to hand it to him. The ogre began ripping the guts from the fish and replacing the hollow spaces with spicy herbs and salty leaves. "I heard the king eats gold speckled shit. If ye want, I can certainly whip ye up a serving. Though it may lack the gold garnish," Kelpie said, bellowing. He held his belly to keep it from shaking wildly against his laugh.

Fat Tom pushed through the swinging door, arms full of stained brown glass bottles, some newly corked, some unopened. He stepped carefully each time, afraid to trip over his messy surroundings. He eased the bottles down next to Kelpie, who set a fist on his hip. "What in Fastrever's pits is that for?" he demanded.

The bumbling fat man breathed heavily, holding up a finger for a moment to catch his breath. "Damn Enigma had me bring all his best wines and rum down from his quarters. Don't he know I ain't fit for this kind of thing?" Fat Tom pulled up a crooked wooden chair, and sent it creaking underneath him.

Kelpie grabbed the neck of one of the bottles and ripped the cork out. He sniffed at the rim and let out a breath of appreciation. "Hmm," he hummed quietly. "What's all this for, then?" he asked Tom, who was already falling asleep in his chair.

"Oh! Uh, the captain says its so that his guest tonight won't be stealin any of his drink. He ain't worried about his treasures so much as his rum, I guess," the man replied, folding his hands on top of his stomach.

"You," he jerked his chin at the younger pirate. "go get the rest then so this lump can sit on his arse."

Myles pushed the cutting board away happily enough and dashed out the door and up the steps. Above, Prickly Pete manned the helm. He looked serene as the wind rustled his barely-there hair. Minnix mopped the bow where Merin the Mighty had just vomited violently from a chugging contest between he and Jonos the ship's designated dwarf. The small man had out-drank many of the full-sized men, and none of them had ever quite understood that logic. Surely his liver was only half of what the others had and his stomach the same.

The boy draped an arm across his brow, and tilted his head toward the crow's nest. No sign of Evie hiding away up there from what he could see. Their black flag whopped triumphantly in the wind and it made Myles' heart pound. Just below it, another flag decorated with two horns in the shape of an upturned heart and a longsword down the center was weaving through the breeze. It was the sigil of Captain Enigma's ship and crew. When their enemies saw that flag through their scopes, they would turn and try to outrun the vessel, only to turn the chase into a sport for the pirates.

Myles was about eight when they allowed him on his first raid. He had been given a light iron dagger, from Enigma's own collection, and he had used it only once that day. The Hollow Rovers overtook the small trader's ship, Grace's Glory, and rounded up its sad band of men aboard. They had been traders of sheepskin, wool, Wendigo pelt, crocodile hide, and other plunder that proved useful. They even discovered chests full of chainmail and newly forged helms and tempered steel longswords. They were spoils of a shipment ordered by a household in Ofund and Gruuthar; a prominent family indeed. What the men aboard had failed to mention, however, as the Hollow Rovers transported their goods back to The Siren's Song, was that they were also harboring a knighted man of the household's guard.

Unfortunately, Myles was the first to encounter the knight as the boy accidentally came upon him in his sleep and tried to rob him. The decorated swordsman took the youngster hostage and tried to bargain for the release of Grace's Glory and its plunder and crew in return for the pirate child's throat uncut. He had not accounted for, however, the possibility that Myles was armed as well. Myles could still remember the convulsion of the burly man behind him as he jabbed the dagger into his ribcage. Again, he stabbed him, just below the navel. And once more, in the crook of his leg beside his groin. The knight died and The Siren's Song sailed off with the new armor and treasure to split amongst themselves. Captain Enigma had let Myles have his first drink of ale that night as well, and Evie, who was ten or so, even gave Myles her share. It had only been a new waistcoat that she had found amongst some robes and other dressings, but she told him it was a reward for his first raid and insisted that it would look better on him anyway.

He strolled over to the captain's doors and gave a quick rap before entering. He slid through and stood in one place, careful not to touch anything. The room was always a clutter, but it was such a magnificent and glowing clutter that it made Myles nervous to move about freely in fear of knocking something out of place.

Captain Enigma sat at a mahogany desk, his locks tumbling around his face. He lacked the horns that most satyrs adorned, but with his hair unrestricted like this, you could see the small shaved down trunks where they used to be. Nebula once told him that the captain was punished in his youth for bedding someone from a prominent family in the great city, and that the woman's father took his horns to shame and torture him. He wouldn't have made it out alive were it not for the maiden, who released Enigma from her father's capture. Since then, Durward was keen to wearing his hair back and braided, stumps covered with a tricorn. He looked almost completely human, were it not for his hooves that peeked out from under the desk.

The captain massaged at the side of his neck, and sweat pooled at his temples. He had a quill in his left hand, and his pistols sat above the parchment he was staring at. Many moments passed before he realized that Fat Tom was not moving about the cabin grabbing more bottles, and he glanced up to see Myles in the fat fool's place. His brow relaxed and he leaned back in his chair.

"Ah, it's you," he said, setting the quill down. He rolled the parchment quickly and tucked it into a drawer in his desk.

"Captain, Kelpie released me of my kitchen duties so I might help with carrying down your expensive wines," Myles explained.

The satyr smiled weakly and gestured to the open space in front of the desk. "Come here, son," he beckoned. Myles wiped his hands anxiously between his apron and did as was told. "Actually, grab that bottle of whiskey from the armoire. And a pair of glasses as well," Enigma ordered. He pulled at a thin strip of leather from around his neck and revealed a necklace heavy with keys of all colors and sizes. He tossed it to the boy. "It's the little one with the brass and crimson coloring."

Myles caught the fistful of keys and went to the glorious armoire, laden in shining waxed wood, and a heavy lock with a tiny key hole. He found the brass key and wriggled it open. Inside the shelves were anything but bare. This couldn't have been where Fat Tom had gotten all of the other bottles. There was hardly any space for a bottle, except for the lone one that stood dusty off to the right. Next to it was a nicked music box, and on the same shelf, an assortment of pocket watches and chains. Each one looked older and more worn than the last. On the shelf below sat a necklace in an ornate glass case, with a carved set of hands shaking, and a teensy diamond set between the hands. Then there were ripped pieces of fabric, purples and dull yellows with patterns of flowers and golden stitched feathers all over their surface. And then a hanky, folded neatly with the letters A & D embroidered in indigo. Everything was lacking even the smallest trace of dust, leaving behind the impression that they were used and cleaned often.

"Quickly before I die of thirst," Enigma said at once, jolting Myles back to life. He grabbed the whiskey and scrambled for two glasses, which were hidden behind the bottle within the cabinet. He set it down on the desk where Enigma still sat in a relaxed manner, though now had pulled his hair back in its usual braid. Myles poured the glasses about half full and slid one carefully around a snowglobe and a scattering of rubies over to his captain.

He waited until Enigma took the first drink before reaching for his own glass. Durward took a mouthful and held what remained up to Myles, and the boy quick grabbed his glass and they toasted. The clink of their silent toast hung in the air. Myles threw more than a mouthful down the hatch and felt a bitterness run to the tip of his nose.

"Thank you, Captain," he saluted, tossing the rest back. "Who are we hosting tonight?"

Durward stared into the empty abyss that was his whiskey. "Captain Thatcher will be dining with me tonight. We've a couple things to discuss in private."

Well, that explained the booze concealment. Thatcher was a notorious drunk. Myles hadn't spoken or seen the man much in his life, but the times he had, the man was thoroughly intoxicated and almost always passed out or stumbling through horse shit.

"Does it have to do with the council meeting?" he asked. He knew at once that he was speaking out of turn, so he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Captain. It's none of my business. I just... get curious is all," he apologized.

Enigma stroked his goatee and raised a brow. "No, no, it's alright. You may one day be on the council, so I understand the intrigue."

Be on the council? Myles wondered. Does he mean to name me successor of The Siren's Song? He couldn't possibly...

"The matters we are to discuss are nothing need you concern yourself with just yet. In due time, you'll learn the contents of said discussion, I swear it." Durward reached over and poured himself some more whiskey. "I'm glad you came up in place of Fat Tom. I have a favor to ask of you."

Myles could feel the muscles in his stomach tighten and behind his knees he was sweating profusely. This is it. No, it can't be... but it has to be. He could invision himself a captain already, ordering the likes of Kelpie to cook him his gold speckles shit and having a different maiden in his quarters each time they made port. He stuck his thumbs in the band of his apron and suddenly felt silly in his attire. He should really take a note from Evie and learn to wear a shirt now and again, and some shoes.

"You may ask anything of me, sir," he said finally, the lump in his throat growing. Again, he felt the familiar thumping in his heart that would come every time he looked upon their black flag.

"When the time comes, and the time is near..." Enigma trailed. He looked almost as if he changed his mind.

"Anything," the boy urged. Myles felt silly, but his pride and excitement overwhelmed his body.

Durward stood from his chair and pulled at the lapels on his coat and cleared his throat.

"Myles, when the time comes, I'll need you to rally your alliance against our enemies, who will be exposed to us very soon. And I'll need you to stand behind our very own, Miss Evie Knox." Durward came around to sit on the edge of his desk, pushing a mound of parchment to the side.

White knuckles instinctively clenched around his apron and a flash of heat rushed up his neck and to his forehead.

"Captain... you mean me to stand behind Evie?" he asked, disbelief present in his voice.

The satyr took notice of the boy's uncomfortable stance and tried to muster up something to say, but instead he fell short. His brows pulled together in the middle and he folded his arms across his chest.

"I know this seems confusing to you now, lad, but in time things will make sense. I need your word on this Myles. It is very important that you fulfill this duty I request of you," he said finally.

Myles had never before felt so enraged and so full of disappointment. His proud thudding heart ceased to a slow pattern that he did not even recognize. Sure, Evie Knox had been raised since near birth aboard this ship, but she was a traitor's daughter and unfit, to boot. Her wild impulses and womanly handicaps would make it impossible for her to captain a crew such as this. And Myles was just as skilled, if not better than she, with sword and sailing alike. He had no one, it seemed, since the day they found him wandering below deck. There was nothing special about Evie, except perhaps the way her hips swayed when she trudged about the deck with Cuinn wrapped around her neck. Or, the way she fearlessly spoke out of turn. No, not even her charms are enough to be given this honor, Myles decided.

But still, he was no traitor and no coward, and he removed a kitchen knife from a pocket of the apron, wiped it clean on his thigh, and stuck out his palm. "Aye, Captain. For the Hollow Rovers and The Siren's Song. I'll do as you ask," he said, slicing an 'X' across his hand. Blood trickled and he put it to his chest, just over his heart. "A pirate's oath," he added, feeling the warmness of his own fluids soak his bare skin.

Captain Enigma forced a weak smile and lifted the whiskey bottle. And with a sigh of relief, he saluted Myles. "Good boy."