Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The last day before a voyage is always bittersweet.

Most of the preparations are done, supplies are loaded and secured. All that remains are the final checks and double checks to ensure the Harvest Moon is ready for whatever lies ahead. Jack prefers to make this last pass alone, inspecting the boards and testing the knots as a meditation, letting the ship herself tell him what she needs. The deck rolls gently beneath his feet and says she needs her crew. The rigging creaks above his head and says she needs her freedom. A splinter catches his hand as he runs it over the railing and says she would appreciate a bit of sanding. Jack is of the opinion that any captain who doesn’t love his ship like she’s a living, breathing thing doesn’t deserve to have one, and he loves the Moon so much it aches. She’s as much a goddess as he can ever worship, and this is his time of prayer.

Even in this moment of peace, though, he looks up to the towering skyline of Leviathan and feels the first pang of what will become a deep and abiding sickness for home. In the quiet of the landless sea, he will long for the noise and bustle of the city, for the myriad tastes and smells she offers, for the people who form the heart of her. His crew is his family and his preferred company, but he has friends whose companionship and counsel will be sorely missed as the voyage goes on. In this moment of melancholy anticipation, he can admit that there is one person he will long for beyond all others. Every time he leaves is just a little bit harder than the last.

Raised voices pull his attention to the docks below, and he looks to see a small group of men barreling through the crowd. They appear to all be Human or Elven, a lone Dwarf keeping pace with them, all wielding a variety of ropes, pipes, and clubs. As they move closer, he begins to catch some of the words they’re shouting.

“...fucking rat!” “...drown the fucking...” “...filthy animals!” “...up here! Go back to...”

Only then does Jack see the Ratfolk boy racing and darting through the crowd ahead of them.

He’s small and quick, keeping low and trying to put obstacles between himself and his pursuers, but the crowd instinctively parts for the band of shouting, armed men and lets them gain ground on their quarry.

Jack waits for the boy to pass before he leaps from the rail of the Harvest Moon and lands heavily on the dock, directly in the path of the small mob. His aging joints twinge in protest, but it’s worth it to watch the men’s bloodthirsty grins change to abject terror as he rises to his full height above them.

In a deep, rumbling voice that has struck fear into the hearts of more hardened men than these, he growls, “What was that about drowning rats?”

The lot of them take a step backward. He hears one whisper his name, and another audibly squeaks. The tallest man, a blond Human who can’t be much older than the boy they were chasing, opens his mouth to say something, but his fellows tug urgently on his sleeve, pulling him back. Jack places one massive hand on the hilt of his sword to emphasize that running away is indeed the wisest course of action. With a few furtive glares and grumbling murmurs, they turn and slink back the way they came. The blond Human is slowest to depart, and he gives Jack one last look of disgust before jogging to catch up with his comrades. As they go, Jack sees that those wearing blue jackets have an unfamiliar symbol of a rising sun painted roughly across their backs.

A few bystanders have stopped to watch this scene play out, but they cough and go about their business at a glance from Jack. It doesn’t escape his notice that not a one of them stood up to lend support.

Jack turns around, half expecting the Ratfolk boy to be long gone, and instead finds him standing close by, staring up at Jack with wide eyes. He can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, with the awkward lankiness and mottled brown fur of youth, but there’s a sharpness to his face that says he’s not a child, if he ever really was one. One of his ears is notched, like a piece was cut out of it, and there’s a small scar across the top of his muzzle. His threadbare clothes have been patched and mended well past the point that they should have fallen apart, and the pants are desperately cinched with mismatched pieces of string to keep them from falling over his thin hips. Across his shoulders is a coil of rope, clearly worn with weather and use but still sturdy, the ends held in place with a small brass clip.

As he meets Jack’s eye, he clears his throat and stands up straighter, his head barely the height of Jack’s chest. In a thick Bilge brogue, he declares, “I could’ve got away.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Sure you could, lad, but I’m curious why they were chasing you in the first place.”

The boy’s whiskers rustle. “I’m a Rat.”

“Aye, I can see that,” Jack says patiently. “That’s not a reason to chase someone with ropes and clubs.”

“Reason enough for the likes of them,” the boy replies. “I been chased off the last three days.”

There have always been dirty looks and snide remarks, and Jack recalls a cautionary tale from his own youth about a Ratfolk man who was beaten to death for daring to chat up an Elven woman. That’s still a far cry from armed gangs publicly targeting people in broad daylight.

The boy goes on, “Not just Rats, neither. Tabaxi fella got tied up and tossed in the drink ‘bout a fortnight back. Seen a couple of Goblins strung up. Heard about folks’ tails and such gettin’ cut off.”

“Why keep coming here if it’s so dangerous?” Jack asks.

The boy shrugs. “Dock and the Maw are the only spots for decent work. Either I come here and risk drownin’ or stay away and risk starvin’. Least drownin’s quicker.”

His logic is grim but sound, and it speaks volumes about his circumstances. Before Jack can think better of it, he asks, “You had any work today?”

“Not that I been paid for,” the boy grumbles. “Some of the captains get that lot to come run us off before we can collect.”

Jack makes a mental note to get the names of those captains and pay them a visit. “I could use a hand with a few things, if you’re interested. Bit of coin and a decent meal when it’s done.”

The boy is nodding before Jack has finished speaking. “Aye. Whatever you need. Scrub the deck ‘til it shines, if you like.”

“The deck’s plenty clean, but the rails could use a good sanding,” Jack says, leading him back up the gangway. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Danny.” He doesn’t offer a surname, and Jack doesn’t ask.

“Pleased to meet you, Danny. I’m Jack.”

Despite being obviously starving and dead on his feet, Danny sands the railing to silken smoothness, working carefully around the various runes and symbols that Cheese has carved into the wood over the years. As he works, Jack continues his own review of the ship’s stores and fills a small sack with food.

By the time Danny’s finished, the last red of sunset has faded to deep blue, and he's more than earned his keep. Marcid usually hires the dockhands, when they’re needed, so Jack has only the vaguest idea what the going rate is. He pays Danny double what he thinks it might be, and the boy’s squeak of surprise tells him it’s more than enough.

“How’d you feel about steady work that’s not likely to get you drowned?” Jack asks.

Danny’s ears perk up with interest, then draw back, uncertain. “What kind of work?”

“Kind that pays and keeps you out of trouble. Mostly cleaning and odd jobs, I’d expect. Nothing dangerous.”

“Oh. So not... not whorin’ or nothin’ like that.”

“Whoring’s as respectable a profession as any other, and frankly a good bit more respectable than piracy,” Jack says evenly. “But no, nothing like that.”

“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just askin,” Danny grumbles.

Jack sighs. “Right. Well, come with me. I’ll get you sorted.”

“Where we goin’?” Danny asks, trailing after him down the gangplank.

“Galleyard.”

“What’s in Galleyard?”

“The Gold Gardens.”

Danny stops dead in his tracks and has to jog to catch up as Jack strides ahead. “Are you daft? They don’t let Rats in there.”

“Is that right?” Jack chuckles. “Who told you that?”

“Everybody knows that,” Danny insists. “Might make an exception for you, but I’d be lucky to get scraps at the kitchen.”

Jack shakes his head. Nothing keeps people down quite as effectively as the stories they tell themselves. “Only folks not allowed in the Gardens are those that cause trouble. Garthy would never turn away someone looking for help, Rat or otherwise.”

“Who’s Garthy?”

At that, Jack can’t help but smile. “You’ll see.”

He tries not to think about gangs intent on drowning Rats as they make their way through the darkened docks, but he keeps a careful eye on the faces around him and notices, perhaps, just a few more dirty looks than usual. When they reach their destination, the warmth and bustle welcome him like a familiar embrace, easing a tension he hadn’t known he was carrying. His soul may reside on the deck of his ship, but his heart makes its home here, in the Gold Gardens.

Danny stares around in unabashed astonishment, and Jack doesn’t blame him one bit. It’s hard to believe something so rich and gleaming can exist amid the wooden wilderness of the city, especially for someone who’s likely only seen the harder parts of Leviathan. Even Jack, who’d been so much older, remembers a similar sense of wonder on his first visit. From behind the bar, Cullen gives him a friendly salute, and Jack is struck by just how much has changed since that fateful night. The place remains a beautiful beacon of comfort, but Jack himself feels like a different man entirely.

An expression of awe descends suddenly on Danny’s face, and his jaw drops in astonishment. Without looking, Jack already knows what he sees. Or rather, who.

After five years spent studying the most intimate details of their divine body, the sight of Garthy still makes Jack dizzy. They move effortlessly through the crowd, radiating power and grace, and Jack has to remember how to breathe when they flash the brilliant smile meant only for him.

Gently, he reaches over and closes Danny’s mouth. “Mind your manners.”

Garthy is close enough to hear him and laughs brightly. “That’s rich, coming from someone so deliciously rude.”

“Slander,” Jack huffs. “I’m a perfect gentleman.”

“That you are, Jacky my love.”

They drape their arms around his shoulders and draw him into a languid kiss that draws whoops of approval from a few patrons around them. Jack doesn’t always care for public displays, but he takes satisfaction in the fact that they claim him so openly. This kiss tells everyone watching that he’ll be in their bed tonight and likely many nights after.

Reluctantly, they pull back just enough to murmur quietly, “Jack, darling.”

“Hmm?”

“Question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Are you about to introduce me to a child you didn’t know you had?”

“What?” Jack blinks at them, then remembers that Danny is still standing there. “Oh! No! Gods, no. This is Danny. He... he was looking for work, so I brought him here. He’s not...”

It’s not possible, but he still turns to Danny with just the slightest edge of panic. “You’re not, are you?”

Danny shakes his head quickly, eyes wide, and Jack sighs in relief.

Garthy turns to Danny with a kind smile, one hand resting in the center of Jack’s chest. “It’s lovely to meet you, Danny. I’m Garthy O’Brien, owner of this fine establishment.”

A strangled squeak squeezes out of Danny’s mouth, and he stares at Garthy with an obvious mix of terror and awe. After several seconds with no sign of reply, Jack clears his throat.

“If the lad comes back tomorrow morning, do you think you could find a job for him?”

“Of course! I can always use more help.” To Danny, they ask, “How old are you, darling?”

Danny has to swallow twice before he answers, “Nineteen.”

Garthy glances at Jack, who shakes his head slightly. Danny might be older than he looks, but Jack will eat his whiskers if this child is nineteen. They look back at Danny and chide gently, “Tell the truth now, lovey.”

“I w- It’s…” Danny’s shoulders sag. “Fifteen.”

They reward him with a bright smile, and his ears immediately flush crimson. “Wonderful! You just go have a chat with Cullen there, and tell him I said to find you something in the kitchen, yeah?”

The boy nods without looking up from his feet. Jack can hardly blame him. Standing in this very spot, Jack had blushed and babbled his way through a similar introduction that he still cringes to remember. Garthy just has that effect on people.

“He’ll get you some food as well, if you like,” they tell Danny. “Have you got some place to sleep tonight?”

At that, Danny does look up, and he nods again, still silent and wide-eyed.

“If you’re going below decks, there’s a hatch just round the corner. Should be safe enough, if you’re careful,” Jack adds.

Garthy’s mouth tightens in concern, but the expression vanishes quickly behind their warm smile. “Right then. Cullen will get you sorted. Then you go home and get some rest, and we’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Immediately, Danny turns and takes a step toward the bar, then turns around again in a full circle to stammer, “Thank you. Really. I... Thanks.”

“It’s my pleasure, darling,” Garthy replies. They keep an eye on him and give Cullen a wave of approval as the discussion starts. Satisfied, they turn back to Jack with a soft smile. “You’re not usually one to take in strays.”

“Some men at the docks were chasing him. Waving chains, shouting about drowning Rats. He said it’s been happening all over,” Jack says. The shadow that falls on Garthy’s beautiful face answers the question before he can ask. “You’ve heard of things like that? Beastfolk and such getting attacked?”

Slowly, they nod. “It’s gotten worse, the last few months. Used to be, those little gangs stuck to their own neighborhoods, but lately... Hells, some of them have been bold enough to come in here.”

“Here?” There’s boldness, Jack thinks, and then there’s a death wish.

“They get run off the second they start anything,” Garthy assures him. “But that doesn't stop them trying to start it in the first place. One of them even called me a few words I haven’t heard in a while.”

The heat in Jack’s blood begins to rise at that. Growling, he asks, “What did they say?”

Garthy waves a hand vaguely. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I burned his tongue out of his head. What bothers me is that he dared, yeah? This is supposed to be a safe place, but they’ve been... They come in here, and they pick targets.”

“Targets?”

“Every few nights, a little group of them will come in, three or four people. They’ll sit, have a few drinks, then they find someone to zero in on, start making comments, slurs, just disgusting behavior.” Their voice is tense, and it gets quieter as they go on. “Staff knows to throw them out, but sometimes... sometimes they wait, catch people coming out. There was...”

They break off, shaking their head and looking away, but Jack sees the tears gathering in the corners of their eyes. Gently, he puts his hand over theirs where it still lies on his chest. “Garthy? Did something happen?”

Leaning into him, they take a deep breath. “You know Steech? She was a server in the tavern.”

“The Hobgoblin girl? Aye, of course.” His memory is of a sweet young woman with colorful ribbons around her ears. She always made a point to stop and chat with him.

“Those cretins went after her one night,” Garthy says. “I threw them out myself, but Steech... Gods, the things they said to her. She was crying and shaking. Once she was steady on her feet, I gave her the night off, told her to do what she liked, but she just wanted to go home. I should’ve... Fuck. Should’ve kept her here or had someone walk with her. Should’ve...”

They put a hand over their eyes, and Jack’s heart cracks. He guesses, “They were waiting for her?”

Garthy nods. “Her mum came ‘round the next day saying she never got home. Don’t know for sure what happened, but I can guess.”

Jack wraps his arm around them and thinks, selfishly, what a relief it is that Garthy never leaves the Gardens. Here, safe in the shelter of their staggering power, the most anyone can do is insult them.

Shaking off the grief like a layer of dust, they step back with a sly smile. “Let’s go upstairs, yeah? Want to make the most of every second before you go back to your ship.”

He lets himself be pulled along, following them up the familiar path to their personal suite. The two burly Half-Orc guards hold the doors open, and one gives a friendly grumble, “Evening, captain.”

“Evening, gentlemen.”

Jack hangs his coat on a rack beside the door, but when he goes to add his belt, Garthy gestures to him. “Give me your sword, lovey. I want to work on the enchantments.”

Unsheathing the heavy blade, Jack takes a moment to admire it as he hands it over. Like its maker, the Garden’s Point is a thing of fearsome beauty, sharp and shining, etched with delicate runes that seem to shift with each movement. Most people would struggle to even lift it, but Garthy takes it easily and swings it in a controlled flourish to test the balance. Jack has never seen them wield a sword in battle, but he has no doubt that they could, if needed.

They settle onto a low sofa and lay the blade across their knees, tracing a finger over the complex inscriptions, which shimmer faintly at their touch. Jack has only the vaguest idea what the enchantments actually do, but he knows, based on an excited explanation from Cheese, that the largest array of symbols maintains the integrity of the blade. Beyond that, Cheese had been able decipher enough to tell that the connected symbols provided some kind of benefits in combat but not what those benefits were.

The runes etched on the opposite side of the blade, which Garthy is studying now, have been added in the years since. Every once in a while, like tonight, Garthy will ask to examine the sword, then return it with a new set of markings that Cheese says are so far beyond his skill level, he can’t even guess what they’re for. Sure enough, Garthy summons an ephemeral stylus from the air and begins to carve a series of delicate shapes that build and intertwine with the previous set. Jack watches them work with awe, their perfect brows knit in concentration, strong hands moving with expert precision. Spellcraft of any kind is well outside Jack’s area of knowledge, but he knows a master at work when he sees one.

While Garthy works, Jack makes himself at home, pouring a drink from the bottle they keep tucked away especially for him and eating from a tray of thick spiced bread that Marga in the kitchen knows is his favorite. The privilege of this moment is not lost on him. He knows what a rare gift it is to have these things here, to keep quiet company, not with the effervescent host of the Gold Gardens, but with the arcane adept, focused and unguarded. This is the home Jack sickens for after weeks away at sea.

He sits next to Garthy on the sofa and waits until they’re finished to ask, “What’s that one do?”

They give him a curious look. “Do you know what any of them do?”

Jack shrugs. “I know there’s one that keeps it from getting nicked or bent.”

“Ah. Cheese sussed that out, did he? Clever.” Garthy turns the blade over and points to the markings as they explain, “This one essentially locks it into shape, yeah? No physical force can change it, so it never gets blunted or damaged. This bit keeps it balanced, no matter how you hold it. Here.”

They lift Jack’s hand and place the sword so that the weight is centered on his finger. Then they move it so his finger is closer to the midpoint of the blade. By all rights, it should tip and fall, but it doesn’t. Instead, the weight seems to shift, keeping it swaying gently in perfect balance.

“Now that is interesting,” Jack remarks.

Garthy grins slyly. “Ever try throwing it?”

Jack frowns. “You can’t throw a falchion.”

“You can this one.”

“Huh.”

He tosses the sword lightly in the air, meaning to catch the hilt, but Garthy grasps it away from him with astonishing deftness, giving him a wink as they resume their explanation. “The rest here just give you a bit of advantage in a fight, yeah? Hit a little harder, cut a little deeper, little extra sting for especially nasty enemies.”

They turn the blade over to the other set of markings. Looking at them now, Jack can see some differences between the two sides, the lettering and the angles, a combination of shapes and scripts that more closely resemble the curving lines of Garthy’s tattoos.

“These are a bit more complicated,” they tell him. “This bit says it belongs to whoever I give it to and no one else. That being you, obviously. This keeps it from cutting you, even if you grab it by the blade.”

For the sake of experimentation, Jack presses the pad of his thumb against the sharp tip. It hurts, but the pain is more from pressure than from cutting. When he pulls his hand back, there is a sharp indentation in the flesh, but no sign of a wound or blood.

Garthy arches an eyebrow at him. “Impressed?”

“With you? Always,” he says honestly, which earns him a soft smile. Touching what looks like the next array in the sequence, he asks, “What about this one?”

“That gives you a bit of healing when you’re fighting,” they answer. “This new one here just needs the finishing touch.”

To Jack’s horror, Garthy runs their finger along the edge of the blade, and a thick line of blood wells up from the cut. They smear the blood across the lines of the freshly etched runes, and the streak of red is immediately absorbed into the surface, leaving only the dark lines and unblemished gold.

“What...? Is that how that works?” Jack asks, dismayed.

“Blood’s a powerful spell component, especially Celestial blood,” they tell him, holding up the tip of their injured finger. “Kiss it better for me?”

Jack huffs, but he presses his lips to the cut as instructed. Remarkably, the skin does seem to have closed when he pulls away.

“I could use something else, but blood makes the strongest binding.” They flip the sword smoothly and present the hilt for him to take. “Now I’ll know if you get hurt.”

Frowning, Jack stands and returns the blade to its sheath. “I get hurt all the time.”

“Well, that’s less than comforting,” Garthy drawls. “But I do mean seriously injured. A few cuts and bruises won’t trigger it.”

Pointing out that serious injuries also occur with some frequency doesn’t seem wise. Instead, Jack asks, “Why would you want to know if I’m hurt halfway across the sea when you can’t do anything about it?”

“Just like to know, don’t I? It’s mostly in case something happens while you’re in the city.” They study him as he rejoins them on the sofa, the corners of their mouth turned in the way that means they’re thinking of how to say something. Finally, they tell him quietly, “I heard the part you didn’t say about what happened with the boy at the docks. You stopped them, yeah? Put yourself right in the path of those monsters. Gave them an excuse to come after you next. As if I don’t have enough reason to worry about you.”

Jack sighs, hating that they’re right, hating that he’s done anything to upset them. “If it helps, I did scare the piss out of ‘em. Whole lot turned tail and ran the second they saw me.”

“Just means there’ll be more of ‘em next time,” Garthy murmurs. “Rest assured, Jacky my love, if they’re brave enough to come for you, they’ll be prepared.”

Let them come, Jack thinks, but what he says is, “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

Garthy pokes him hard in the chest. “You better, yeah? Anything happens to you, I’ll burn down the fucking city.”

There’s an unexpected intensity in their tone, and Jack wonders if they really would. He would readily rip the limbs off anyone who dared to lay a hand on them, and it’s darkly gratifying to imagine they might do the same.

“Then I’ll be especially careful,” he says. “For the city’s sake.”

“Don’t tease, you heartless ruffian. I’m not in the mood.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He kisses the backs of both their hands. “What do you need? Whatever I can do.”

They sigh heavily and kiss his hands in return. When they look up at him, their astonishing eyes are soft. “Give me something to dream about while you’re away?”

He smiles. “I’ll do my best.”

The truth is, it’s never really been about the sex, for Jack. Mostly, it’s about Garthy’s company and moments of comfort and closeness in a life that has had so little of either. It’s about knowing that someone is waiting for him, knowing he has a reason to come back. More and more over the years, it’s become simply about them, like the thread that binds his heart to theirs has slowly woven itself into an unbreakable anchor line that keeps him tethered to wherever they are.

That being said, of course, the sex is incredible.

He lays them out gently on the low bed and kisses his way down their chest and stomach, across the beautiful tattoos and equally beautiful scars, until he reaches the thick patch of black hair between their legs.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asks, nosing and nipping at the soft inside of their thigh.

Garthy hums in thoughtful contentment and spreads their legs wide underneath him, just enough to show a glimpse of inviting wet folds. “Think I’d like it a bit rough, actually.”

Jack raises his head and arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”

They lean up on their elbows and give him a wicked grin. “What do you say, my fearsome captain? Care to ravage your helpless prize?”

“Helpless, my arse,” he mutters as he crawls back up the bed, looming over them and pushing their knees even further apart. “You could turn me to cinders in a second.”

“I could.” They lie down with their arms crossed above their head, perfectly submissive but still grinning in a way to show the tips of their small, sharp tusks. “Maybe I will.”

They won’t, but knowing that they can does add an undeniable thrill and an underlying security to the moment as Jack scrapes his teeth along their tender throat. Nipping at their ear, he asks, “How rough do you want it?”

“Give me bruises,” they groan. “I want to be raw and aching when you leave me in the morning.”

A shiver ripples up Jack’s spine, making his fur stand up and his skin prickle with need. He presses down on their crossed wrists with one hand, holding them down as he kisses them. They struggle in his grip, not nearly enough to move him and not a fraction as much as they can, and he tightens his hold on their wrists as he pushes his tongue into their mouth.

He’ll make it rough, if that’s how they want it, but he doesn’t have to make it fast.

Garthy bites down on his tongue, and he pulls back with a growl, watching them lick a tiny smear of blood off of their lips. Jack grins back at them. “Plan to leave me with some bruises of my own?”

“Darling, if you give me a chance, I’ll leave you with scars.” They strain against him, like all they need is a moment of freedom to make good on that promise. “I’ll carve my name on you so you never forget where you belong.”

As if he ever could, as if every inch of him isn’t already marked as their property, as if any amount of time or distance or other lovers could cut away the place where their hook has long since caught and healed inside him.

With his free hand, he pulls hard on their hair to bare their throat so that he can scrape the sharp edges of his teeth over their pounding pulse, leaving angry scratches in his wake. He sucks and bites until their breath quickens and the hollow of their throat is filled with the dark swell of a blossoming bruise. It’ll likely be faded before the night is over, but the sight of it now fuels a deep, primal impulse to lay claim on what’s his.

He lets go of their wrists and moves his mouth along their shoulder, biting a vicious stripe over the curves of muscle and bone. When he sinks his teeth into the meat of their upper arm, Garthy groans and squirms. They reach up to touch him, and he grabs them roughly by the forearm.

“Did I say you could move?”

For half a second, the gold of their eyes flashes in dangerous warning, but then they give him a sly smile. “You didn’t say I couldn’t, either.”

“Brat,” Jack huffs. “Oughta tie you up and teach you a lesson.”

“Well, you do know where the ropes are, love.”

“Just for that...” Jack grumbles, climbing off the bed. Instead of retrieving ropes, though, he waits for Garthy to relax before flipping them over and pressing them face-down into the bed. They give a yelp of surprise but don’t struggle as he crawls back on top of them. “There. Now I can take my time with you.”

“Yes, my darling, I’m utterly at your mercy,” they drawl, turning to grin up at him.

He grabs them by the hair again and pulls hard enough to make them gasp. “Careful or I might decide to gag you, as well.”

They have to visibly bite their lip to keep from talking back, but they manage to stay quiet as Jack pushes their knees apart and reaches down to drag a finger between their wet folds. At that, they shudder with pleasure and moan loudly, which is exactly the kind of sound he does want to hear.

“Not just yet,” he says. “Want to get you good and dripping before I fuck you.”

Garthy actually opens their mouth to respond before apparently thinking better of it and just spreading their legs further as enticement. It would be an effective strategy if Jack didn’t already know how much better it was to make them wait. This divine body is a wondrous instrument, and he has learned to play it like a master.

He runs his claws slowly down their sides, digging in just enough to leave scratches without drawing blood. His thumb and fore finger are filed down to accommodate more intimate touches, but the rest of his nails retain their natural sharpness. When he reaches their ass, he gives it a hard smack that makes them jump and cry out. Sitting back on his heels, he lifts their hips up so that he can bite down on the same spot, and Garthy groans into the mattress. He slaps and bites the other side, then presses his thumb against their cunt in time to feel the wetness seeping out of them. They grind back against him, but he takes his hand away and starts to suck bruises all over the soft swell of their backside until they’re whimpering.

“Fuck, Jack, please.”

“Please, is it? Suppose you really are at my mercy.”

It’s no small feat to haul them off the bed and hold them back against his chest, but Jack manages to do it in one smooth movement. He pulls their arms behind their back and wraps his arm across their chest, pinning them in place. With their knees on either side of his, their cunt is spread wide, easy for Jack to reach around with his free hand and brush a finger around their swollen clit. They let their head fall back against his shoulder and moan, unable to do anything but let him.

“Mmm, almost there,” he murmurs into their ear. “Let’s see how worked up I can get you before you really start begging for it.”

Jack knows from experience that it won’t take long. Once the promise of a good orgasm is in sight, Garthy’s patience starts to wear very thin. He also knows that very few people can get away with keeping them on edge for as long as he plans to.

Suddenly, they tense and lift their head, all sense of pleasure gone.

“Something’s wrong.”

A second later, a muffled boom sounds, and the building shudders violently.

The two of them share a look, then they both scramble to disentangle from each other and reach for their trousers. Garthy slides their scimitar from its place under the bed, and Jack grabs his sword belt from the rack by the door. He doesn’t bother with his shirt, which he thinks is somewhere under the sofa.

Outside the suite, the two guards are staring at each other in confusion. Immediately, Garthy tells them, “Evacuate the building. Start with the guest rooms and the staff. Anyone who c-”

A crossbow bolt zips through the air and strikes Garthy in the chest.

The guards turn quickly and move to protect their boss as Jack does the same, placing his body in the way of the attack as he pulls Garthy back into the room. There is another zip and a wet thunk as a second bolt hits one of the guards. Jack bars the doors and touches the array to activate the room’s magical defenses. Outside, more crossbow bolts land, and he hears two heavy bodies fall.

Garthy, meanwhile, pulls the bolt out of their own chest and lays a hand over the streaming wound without looking at it, their face twisted in fury.

“Are you alright?” Jack asks, but they don’t answer, expression hard and eyes distant. “Garthy?”

“I’m fine.”

There’s a flash of golden magic under their palm, and they take their hand away, leaving unmarred skin and a wide streak of fresh blood. Outside, something slams against the doors.

“We have to get out of here,” Jack says, darting to the window. He has no idea what’s happening, but he knows that the door and window are the only two ways in or out of this room and that the door won’t hold forever. The courtyard below is too far to jump down, but the windows and balconies along the wall will make an easy enough climb. People are streaming out of the buildings, clustering and staring around in confusion. Smoke rises from flames that flicker just out of sight.

Through the strange network embedded in his blood, he calls out silently, “Stimey?”

A consciousness that lives in half a dozen places answers immediately, “Aye, captain?”

“Rally the crew,” he says. “The Gold Gardens is under attack.”

“Aye, captain! I believe Miss Gainglyn is already present and ready to raise hell, but I’ll rouse the rest of ‘em right away. ”

As Jack watches through the window, a wall explodes outward with another boom, and the floor ripples dangerously beneath his feet. He doesn’t bother to mask his desperation as he adds, “Tell them to hurry.”

He turns to find Garthy unmoved, still staring at the door as it shakes with the impacts from the other side.

“Garthy?”

No response. Jack moves to stand in front of them and sets a hand gently on their shoulder, but they don’t seem to see him. Their brilliant irises are moving with magic, but their sight is elsewhere.

“Garthy, please. It’s not safe here, we have t-”

“Would you shut up for a second?” they snap, and Jack jerks back in surprise. Immediately, they let out a breath, but their eyes don’t focus. “Sorry, love. I just need to concentrate.”

Right. Of course. If something is happening to the Gardens, they can learn infinitely more through their own magic than Jack can from looking out the damn window. He draws his sword and turns to face the shuddering door. If the attackers manage to make it through, they’ll have him to contend with, first.

After a moment, he hears Garthy moving around the room, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the door until they come to stand beside him. For the second time that night, they run the pad of their finger along the sharp edge of the Garden’s Point to draw a bead of bright blood, but this time they press the cut into the engraved band of a gold ring.

“Give me your hand,” they command, and Jack obeys, offering his left hand while he keeps the sword ready in his right.

Without any hint of sex or sensuality, Garthy sucks one of his fingers into their mouth and pricks it on the tip of their tusk, adding a drop of Jack’s blood to the surface of the ring. They hold the ring to their lips and whisper a quick incantation in ancient Orcish before slipping it onto Jack’s finger. The metal is warm with both touch and magic, and Jack glances at it to see that both engraving and blood have vanished, leaving only a smooth surface that gleams like satin in the light.

“Keep that on.”

Jack nods. Gifts from Garthy are never without purpose. Whatever questions he has about this one can wait for later. “Can you tell what’s happening?”

“Bombs,” they answer tensely. “Can’t tell what kind or who planted them, but I can feel... burning.”

Why anyone would want to destroy the Gold Gardens is as incomprehensible as crushing a rare flower for the offense of being too lovely, but Jack has known far too many men who would readily break anything they weren’t allowed to own.

“If we go out the window, we can get to the street, rally up with whoever’s made it out,” Jack says, but Garthy shakes their head.

“I need to understand this, and I’d bet the people with the best answers are the ones who came after me directly.” They’re looking at the door, still shaking but showing no sign of giving way.

Jack’s instinct is to get them as far from danger as possible, which is the opposite of what they’re suggesting, but this is their home, their fight. If they need an enemy to question, he’ll deliver one to them on bended knee.

“Then I suppose we should open the door, ‘ey?” he says. “Time it right, and they’ll be falling at your feet.”

Garthy gives him a vicious grin and takes up a position beside the door, sword in hand and ready to bring down the magical defenses. Jack stands on the other side, waiting to slide back the iron bar across the handles. The strikes against the outside are rhythmic, making it easy to judge when the attackers are on a forward swing.

“One,” Jack counts. “Two.”

“Three.”

He pulls the bar as Garthy touches a rune, and two people holding a barrel hit the doors with enough force to carry them into the room and send them sprawling. Jack swings his sword and cuts the head off the closest one before either can react, and Garthy slams and bars the door again to prevent any further guests from joining them.

Both assailants are dressed in blue coats of different cuts and shades, both bearing the painted symbol of a rising sun. The dead one Jack immediately recognizes as the blond Human man who had chased Danny on the docks. His accomplice is an Elven woman, equally pale, who stares up at Jack with the same angry disgust. Garthy speaks a word, and the woman’s body goes rigid, locked in place with magic so that only her eyes track the movement as they crouch down beside her.

“Alright now, lovey, I’m going to start with the easy question, and you’re going to tell me the truth, yeah?”

At the word truth, a pulse of magic ripples over Jack’s skin, and he knows the woman won’t have a choice. From the way her eyes narrow, she knows it, too.

The question Garthy asks is, “Why?”

She spits in their face, and Jack brings his foot down on her arm. There is a sickening crunch, and she lets out a scream of agony that makes his fur stand on end. Garthy just sighs and wipes their face.

“If you can’t answer the easy question, then things are going to get much harder,” they tell her patiently. “So I’m going to ask again, clearly and politely, why are you coming after me and my home?”

“Because it’s a nest,” the woman snaps. “The city is infested with animals and monsters, and this place is the worst. We have to burn it down to send a message.”

Garthy frowns. “I don’t know what message you meant to send, darling, but as far as I’m concerned, you just declared war.”

Her answering smile is edged with the sharp light of fanaticism. “Exactly.”

“War it is, then,” they say, glancing up at Jack, and it sounds like surrender. “Why don’t you tell me who it is that I’m fighting?”

Another boom sends the room lurching, and Garthy drops to one knee, a hand over their heart like something inside them has come unraveled. Jack can hear the tell-tale signs of timbers rapidly approaching their limits as the woman on the floor cackles in manic delight.

"Don’t think we have time for an interrogation,” Jack warns. “We can take her with us, but I doubt she’ll be much use.”

Garthy looks down at the woman, and she glares back with absolute hatred. “Anything you’d like to say that might affect my decision?”

“They’re going to drag your body through the streets, you disgusting monster,” she growls. “And they’re going to drown your pet rat like the vermin it is.”

With unsettling serenity, they drive the point of their sword through the woman’s heart. She utters a soft grunt of surprise and spits up a gurgle of dark blood when they twist the blade to make sure the heart is fully rent. The magic holding her in place evaporates, and her body sags against the floor.

“Let’s go,” they command, but Jack catches their arm as they turn toward the door.

“Window will be safer,” he says. “We go through the building, we’ll run right into fire and likely more of them.”

Garthy looks like they’re going to argue, but they take a breath and nod. They perform a quick series of words and gestures that send a wash of warmth across Jack’s skin and make the air in front of him ripple.

“You planning to tell me what any of these spells do?” he asks, and Garthy flashes him a crooked smile.

“Worried I’m going to curse you, darling?”

“Worried you’re wasting magic.” He knows reserves of power aren’t limitless. What he doesn’t know is what the destruction of the Gardens might be doing to Garthy’s reserves.

“Not wasted if it’s protecting you,” is all they say in reply.

They shatter the glass of the window with a touch and step aside to let Jack climb through. Flames are licking from the windows on the lower floors, and one of the outer wings of the Gardens has collapsed completely. A lone spellcaster is in the courtyard, firing bursts of ice and water into the flames, while two allies with flashing swords defend them from a knot of attackers in blue coats.

Clinging firmly to the side of the building, Jack offers a hand to Garthy as they climb out behind him, but they swing deftly from the ledge and drop onto an iron lamp hook with ease. Jack huffs, amused and impressed, and crawls lower until he can jump down to the street. The landing wrenches his knee, but he shakes it out with a grumble as Garthy reaches the ground next to him with considerably more grace. Remarkable, given that Garthy is the same age, and their most strenuous regular activity is especially athletic sex.

In the courtyard, the spellcaster falls to their knees, and one of the figures in blue runs a sword through their chest. One of their companions lies on the ground, and the other cries out in alarm. The brief distraction gives their enemy an opening to bring a battleaxe down on their neck. Garthy speaks the sharp words of a spell and swings their sword toward the enemies. The sword’s curved edge flickers with gold fire and sends an arc of brilliant energy streaking through the night, knocking them off their feet.

As they approach, Jack can see clearly that all the figures in blue are Human or Elven, and he can make out the fallen shapes of their victims enough to see that the spellcaster was one of the water Genasi who worked in the bathhouse. A Half-Elf man climbs to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, and raises his sword. When he sees Garthy, his eyes go wide.

“Fuck! It’s O’Brien! Get the others!”

Keeping pace at Garthy’s side, Jack murmurs, “Sounds like they’ve got reinforcements.”

In a quiet voice that echoes with ancient fury, Garthy answers, “Let them come.”

There are four enemies still standing, and one of them has the audacity to call out, “You’re outnumbered! Just surrender, and you’ll have mercy.”

Garthy laughs. “Jacky my love, they think we’re outnumbered.”

“Hardly seems like a fair fight to me,” Jack drawls. As he speaks, one of the men seems to notice him for the first time and stares at him with abject horror.

“What the fuck is that?”

Jack grins. His blood is singing with adrenaline and rage. These people think he’s an animal? Fine. An animal is what they’ll get.

Snarling, Jack lunges forward. The man blocks the swing with his axe, but the force of it knocks him off balance, giving Jack an opening to elbow him in the face. There is a wet crunch, and the man stumbles. Jack kicks his knee, and he falls onto the upswing of the Garden’s Point, organs slopping onto the ground in a steaming pile.

The man who called for reinforcements launches himself at Jack with a shout, followed closely by a Human woman wielding two short swords. He overreaches, swinging a great sword that is much too heavy for him, and Jack steps inside his space to headbutt him and shove him toward the woman, who dodges out of the way. Unlike her compatriot, she seems to know what she’s doing, keeping low and landing quick strikes that Jack doesn’t have time to block. The man recovers himself and comes back around for another swing, blood streaming from a broken nose. Jack knocks the blade aside and gets a grip on the man’s wrist. With a sharp twist, the bone snaps, and the man falls back screaming. The woman takes the opening to strike a gash across Jack’s ribs, and he growls in pain.

She’s much faster than Jack, but her cuts are meant to weaken and wear down an opponent where Jack’s are meant to rend flesh and bone. This enemy is trained to win a fight, but Jack is made to end one. He takes several slashes on his shoulder that barely break through his thick fur and tough skin, then gives her an opening to strike low on his thigh so he can deflect it downward and step on the flat of the blade. The hilt rips out of her hands, and she stumbles backward, hissing in surprise and anger.

Human ages are hard to judge, but this one seems young, her eyes dark with a hatred that he wonders if she fully understands. She charges, feints, and nearly lands a blow on his chest, but Jack sees the movement and blocks, using her momentum to knock her off balance. She keeps her feet, but he’s clearly unsettled her. Either she’s not used to facing an equal opponent or she didn’t expect a Rat to be much of a challenge.

She circles him slowly, re-evaluating, and Jack matches her movement. As they turn, he sees that the summoned reinforcements have started to arrive, surrounding Garthy, who is keeping them at bay with a whirl of gold fire and flashing blades. Even that brief glimpse is the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.

The woman sees his distraction and strikes, but Jack is ready for her. Instead of blocking, he drops to one knee, letting her blade glance across his shoulder as he pushes his own sword forward into the soft meat of her belly. She gasps, whimpers, and then slumps against him. Her weight is so slight, he barely feels it.

Her body slides off his sword as he stands. The wound in his side throbs, and he can feel the blood clumping in his fur. That will need tending to, but it can wait. The man with the broken arm is still standing there, staring, struggling to lift his big sword in one hand. Jack slices open his chest with a grunt of impatience.

The ground at Garthy’s feet is littered with fallen enemies in blue coats, the deck boards wet with blood. As Jack moves toward them, they catch his eye and smile so brightly that the air around them seems to shine.

No, Jack realizes. That shine isn’t imagined. It’s real, and it becomes a blinding corona, a radiant halo of golden fire so bright that Jack has to cover his eyes. He feels the heat of it rush around him like a blast furnace, searing, scorching, ripping apart the very air. He knows that he should be burning, but the heat moves over him like he’s made of stone. On his finger, the gold ring warms and pulses like a heartbeat, and he knows what’s protecting him.

When the light fades, the enemies gathered around Garthy are... gone. Those furthest away stumble blindly backward, their skin blistered and blue coats singed, but the ones closer to the center of the circle have been reduced to ash and cinder. For just a second, Garthy stumbles, dazed with the force of whatever magic they’ve just worked, but they quickly right themself.

One of the survivors rallies enough to notice the moment of weakness and rushes forward, leaping over the bodies of his comrades. Garthy is slow to react, turning and raising their sword, and Jack knows it won’t be in time. Without stopping, he hefts the Garden’s Point over his shoulder and hurls it end over end, feeling the weight shift with the movement. It strikes home in the attacker’s chest and sends them spinning to the ground.

Garthy looks from the body to Jack with a stunned expression. As Jack wrenches the sword free, he says, “Useful trick, that.”

“You’re welcome.” Their smile weakens, and they sway on their feet.

Jack catches them gently by the shoulders, frowning. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, lovey.” They notice the blood-matted fur on his side and immediately stiffen, laying a hand gently over the wound. “Oh, but you’re not.”

“Just a scratch,” Jack assures them.

The remaining survivors have fled, leaving them alone with the carnage in the small courtyard, the Gold Gardens in flames around them. Jack feels the warm flow of magic as Garthy closes the wound, then feels the sputter of cold as their eyes drift close and they slump into his arms.

Jack’s stomach drops. “Garthy?”

Their skin is cooler than it should be. Jack is so intimately familiar with their touch that he knows they should feel warm and flushed, even in sleep, even unconscious. Until now, he never gave much thought to why, but with the seat of their power in ruins around him, it’s not hard to see a connection.

“Fuck. Garthy, love, please…”

He brushes his thumb gently across their cheek, wiping away a sheen of cold sweat, and their black lashes flutter. They blink slowly, the gold of their eyes dull in the firelight.

Jack lets out a sharp breath of relief. “Oh fine, are you?”

“Perfectly fine. Just a bit… tired.”

They keep a hand on his shoulder as they straighten, looking around at the death and destruction, and for a moment, the full weight of their grief is laid bare on their beautiful face. Their home, their life, everything they’ve built has been reduced to ashes in a single night. Before Jack can offer any kind of comfort, they put the grief away and turn to him with a look of determination.

“We should keep moving. I need to know who made it out.”

Jack nods and tries not to think about everyone on the staff who would have been a target in this attack. As he and Garthy pick their way through the burning rubble, he reaches out to Stimey, who reports that all crew members are either present or on their way, and that everyone is very anxious about his well-being.

“Let them know I’m in the courtyard with Garthy, and we’re both fine.”

A moment later, he hears Marcid call out from an opening ahead of them. “Jack!”

“Here!”

There’s a burst of shouting and swearing, then a controlled wave of water rushes over the flames, followed by a gust of wind that sweeps away the thick smoke and steam. As the air clears, Sunny appears, hopping and fluttering over the smoldering wreckage to launch herself into his arms with enough force to make him stumble.

“Easy there, lass. It’s alright.”

“The fuck it is,” she fumes as she lets him go. “Those bastards did this on purpose!”

On more than one occasion, Sunny’s parents have accused Jack of being a bad influence on their daughter. What they forget is that she was always a spitfire, but now she’s learned to swear, which is honestly more Myrtle’s doing than Jack’s. Just easier to blame the captain, he supposes. Or the Rat.

Marcid claps him firmly on the shoulder and gives him a nod of greeting. From the singed fur and the bloody streaks across Marcid’s face, it seems he’s had a hard fight, as well.

The streets in front of the Gold Gardens are crowded with onlookers and survivors, a few healers making their way through the injured and panicked victims of the attack. Bob seems to be leading that undertaking, while Myrtle and a Marid spellcaster steadily work to douse the remaining flames. Jack sees members of the staff huddled together, crying or comforting or just staring blankly in front of them. How many of them lived here? How many of them have lost their home because someone decided they didn’t deserve one?

When Bob catches sight of Garthy, she utters a shriek of joy and rushes toward them, followed closely by several others, including Trixie and two of the water Genasi siblings. Garthy is quickly enveloped in tearful hugs and cries of relief, and Jack steps aside to confer with his crew.

“You see any of ‘em that did this?” Marcid asks in a low voice.

Jack nods. “Aye. Blue coats. Talking about clearing out a nest of beasts and monsters.”

Sunny makes a sound of disgust and grumbles a curse that Jack knows she didn’t learn from him. “We saw a big flash of light, then a bunch of them ran away.”

“That was Garthy,” Jack says. “Thinking this was a kind of assassination attempt, much as anything.”

Both of their eyes widen, and Sunny sputters.

“Why would...? What...? I mean...” She gestures toward Garthy, still surrounded, gently comforting a weeping Tabaxi. “What the fuck?”

“If you're planning a big move, taking out the most powerful person likely to side against you is a good strategy,” Marcid observes. “Bold of ‘em, still.”

“Believe they may have underestimated their target, and I doubt they’ll make that mistake twice.” The feeling of Garthy slumping into his arms, cold and senseless, will stick in Jack’s mind for a good long time. Losing the Gardens has cost them more than just a home and sanctuary, but Jack doesn’t fully understand what that means, yet.

“Guessin’ they underestimated you, as well,” Marcid says, raising an eyebrow. “Especially seeing as you were, uh, interrupted.”

Abruptly, Jack remembers that he’s not wearing a shirt and coughs, feeling his ears heat. “Aye. Well. Insult to injury, isn’t it?”

Less than an hour passed between holding his lover in bed and holding them unconscious in the aftermath of battle, and now that sacred bed is in flames, reduced to vulgar kindling. All that remains is the battlefield. The moment they’re alone, he’s going wrap his arms around Garthy and stay there until they make him let go.

He tells Sunny and Marcid about the incident with Danny, adding, “One of the men chasing him came after Garthy.”

Sunny frowns. “Came after them, as in...?”

“As in waiting at the bedroom door with a crossbow,” Jack says. “Him and one other.”

Jack wonders suddenly if that’s his fault, if his interference led to any part of this. The assault on the Gardens must have been planned well in advance, but someone could easily have followed Jack from the docks, could have known that Garthy was alone and distracted. He thinks about the crossbow bolt in their chest, how easily it could have struck a different place and killed them faster than they could heal, how completely helpless Jack would have been to save or protect them.

If he lets his mind follow that path, he’ll be paralyzed, so he shakes it off quickly. They made it. That’s what matters.

“Dare I ask what became of those two?” Marcid asks.

“Dead,” is all Jack tells him.

Trixie says something that Jack can’t hear, and he sees Garthy pull back in shock. They turn to look at him with an expression of utter devastation. Immediately, he moves toward them, asking, “What? What is it? What d-”

The force of the explosion knocks him off his feet.

For a second, there’s nothing. His ears are ringing. His body is numb from the impact. Smoke and dust fill the air and fill his lungs when he tries to breathe.

He coughs, and the ache in his chest seems to remind the rest of him how to hurt. Dull pain radiates along the right side of his body where he landed hard on the ground. His head throbs, and his eyes sting. Blinking and groaning, he rolls carefully to his knees.

Next to him, someone else stirs, and he reaches out blindly to help. He feels a big furry hand grip his arm. Marcid.

“Sunny?” he tries to ask, but it comes out as a wet cough. He spits up a thick gob of something he’s mostly sure isn’t blood and tries again. “Sunny?”

“She’s here,” Marcid rasps, coughing in turn. “Out cold but okay.”

Jack’s vision is starting to clear enough to make out some of the shapes around him. What remained of the Gold Gardens has been flattened. One final blast was all it took to level the main building, leaving nothing of the sprawling campus but ruins and rubble. He sees Bob sitting up slowly, shaking her head, and Trixie grimacing and rolling over next to her. Lying on the ground, just an arm’s length beyond Trixie is Garthy, face turned away, utterly still.

He starts to crawl forward, but his knee buckles with a stab of pain. Gods, he really is getting too old for this. Slowly, leaning on Marcid for support, he climbs to his feet.

Before Jack can take a step, he feels a knife slip between his ribs.

It’s quick, sharp, in and out before he can register anything more than a sensation of sudden cold. It doesn’t hurt, but he knows from experience that such wounds rarely do, at first. The blood pouring down his side is warm. He twists around to look, trying to assess the damage, and his head swims, the world spinning as he drops back to his knees. The impact is distant, thudding with his pulse in his ears.

Loss of blood is what will kill him, he thinks vaguely. The knife couldn’t possibly have reached his heart. After all, his heart isn’t in his chest; it’s lying on the ground just a few meters away.

Bob turns to look at him and seems to realize something is wrong just as the cold takes over and everything goes black.

Chapter Text

Jack dreams of a storm.

Lightning flashes on a dark horizon. Relentless wind draws the world toward roiling black clouds. There’s no land, no ships, no hope in sight as he sinks into inky waves. The water is so cold, so cold, so...

Brilliant sunlight streams through his closed eyelids, and fingertips brush gently across his scalp. The familiar scents of his ship surround him, cedar and salt air and the potted lily he keeps in the window of his cabin, but it’s the aroma of incense and oils and night-blooming flowers that draws him fully awake.

He’s in his bed on the Harvest Moon, his head resting in Garthy’s lap. They pet him absently as they stare through the small window that looks out from the port side of the ship, listless and mournful and wrenchingly beautiful in the bright sunshine. He turns to nuzzle against them, and they look down at him with a soft smile.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.” Sitting up is an unpleasant experience, as his body reminds him of the night’s events with an ache that runs from his head to his heels. “Well, I know I’m not dead. Everything hurts too much.”

Garthy huffs out a short laugh. “Could be the torments of Hell, yeah?”

“If I was in Hell, you wouldn’t be here,” he points out, shifting to sit closer to them, and they lean against his shoulder with a tired sigh. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright? Darling, you’re the one who was stabbed.”

“Fair enough.” He takes a moment to rest his head against theirs and just... breathe. Neither of them is alright truly, but there’s work to be done. “I should check on the crew.”

“Desperate to get away from me, are you?” Garthy teases. Their tone is light, but the arm they loop through his holds him in place like an anchor chain.

What Jack is desperate for is to protect them and protect his crew, and he’ll spend every last breath in his body to do it. “Last night will have been hard for them, as well. I just need to see how they’re faring, make sure everyone’s accounted for and ready for whatever’s next.”

“And what is next for my gallant captain?” they ask, lifting their head to look at him. “You’re not... Are you still thinking of leaving?”

“Only if you’re coming with me,” he says. “Don’t plan to leave your side ‘til every last one of those bastards is dealt with.”

A flicker crosses their face that he can’t decipher, quickly subsumed by a crooked smile. “As much as I like having you close by, Jacky my love, I really am capable of looking after myself. And I’d be worse than useless as a ship’s hand.”

“It’s not your capability I’m worried about. It’s the people trying to hurt you.” They roll their eyes, but Jack goes on, “And don’t play at being useless with me. You’re at least as strong as I am and twice as clever. Plenty of ways I can put you to work.”

Their smile spreads into a filthy grin. “You can start putting me to work now, if you like.”

“See now, I think you’re trying to distract me,” he says, but he lets them draw him into a deep kiss that feels like a breath of clean air after hours under water.

“Nonsense, lovey. I’m trying to distract myself.” They slide a hand slowly down his side, smoothing over the fur where a few flakes of blood are still clinging. “I think you and I deserve a little distraction, yeah?”

Jack is suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s naked, his shirt lost and his trousers likely ruined with blood and ash. A thin cotton quilt is covering his lap, but all he’s wearing otherwise is the gold ring on his finger. There really is work to be done, and he really should see that his crew is alright. Then Garthy kisses him again, and there’s not enough willpower on this plane of existence to make him walk away.

“I suppose they can do without me just a bit longer,” he murmurs.

Garthy’s answer is to push him down gently onto the bed and stretch out languidly on top of him, pulling the thin quilt over both of them. Their thigh slips between his legs and rubs against him with tantalizing friction. He slides his hands up their back, pulling them close and savoring the ripple of muscles under their skin. They could destroy him, rip him apart with their teeth and fingers, and Jack would thank them for the privilege.

A knock sounds at the cabin door.

“Captain?” Cheese calls. “Are you awake?”

Jack mutters a string of curses that would make Sunny blush, and even Garthy looks at him in surprise. He sighs and calls back, “Aye. What is it?”

“Oh, good! We’ve got a problem. Or not a problem, exactly. I guess it could be a problem, but it’s not yet. So I g-“

“You can come in, Cheese.”

Garthy sighs and rolls off of him to flop heavily onto the bed. Jack keeps the quilt on his lap as he sits up, even if the reality of living at sea for months on end has long since stripped the crew of any sense of modesty or privacy.

Cheese darts in and quickly closes the door behind him, announcing, “There’s a man here looking for Garthy. He seems really angry.”

That gets Garthy to sit up with a frown. “Did he give you a name, love?”

“Roland Corbin,” Cheese replies, and now Garthy is the one who swears.

“Is this a problem?” Jack asks, as Garthy climbs over him to get off the bed.

“Likely, seeing as you cut off his son’s head.”

They move toward the door, but Jack catches them quickly by the hand and asks Cheese, “He have people with him?”

Cheese nods. “A couple dozen, maybe?”

Jack hauls himself out of bed, despite the protests of his joints. To Garthy, he says, “Stay here. I’ll handle this.”

“And how exactly do you plan to handle it, Jacky my love?” Garthy asks, crossing their arms. “Confess? Challenge him to a duel?”

“I’m gonna tell him to fuck off,” Jack replies. “Politely.”

“Well, at least you have a plan,” they huff.

“Just gonna talk to him. Get a read. I only know him by reputation, and I wanna see what we’re dealing with.”

His spare trousers are a bit more snug than he remembers, but he always goes a little softer around the middle after a fortnight at the Gardens. Pulling on a shirt, he remembers that his coat was another victim of the attack and feels a twinge of regret. It was a nice coat. Some thoughtful soul has cleaned his sword and oiled the belt and hung both in their place beside the bed.

“Are you sure about this?” Garthy asks as he buckles on the belt.

“No, but there’s not a lot of options.” He gives them a quick kiss on the cheek. “Stay out of sight.”

“Be careful,” they reply.

Outside the cabin, Jack murmurs to Cheese, “Wards up?”

“Not yet. Didn’t wanna tip our hand.”

Jack smiles. “Smart lad. Be ready, ‘ey?”

“Aye, sir.”

The bright sunlight of late morning casts sharp shadows on the deck. Marcid and Spaulding are standing at the railings of the ship, facing the docks, while Sunny stands at the top of the gangplank with her hands on her hips. She cuts an intimidating figure, despite her size, and her authority has apparently been sufficient to keep their unwanted guests at bay. At the bottom of the gangplank are three light skinned Humans, all wearing different types of frowns. A bored-looking man and a woman wielding a cleric’s staff with the symbol of Sol stand on either side of a tall man with thinning blond hair and an imperious scowl. Immediately, Jack sees the resemblance to the young man he so recently dispatched, the same straight nose and thin mouth.

Jack nods to Sunny as she steps aside for him, and she and Cheese take up positions at the railing on either side of him. Myrtle is nowhere in sight, likely keeping watch from the water, just near enough to listen. Bob is likely tending to the other survivors from the Gardens, wherever they ended up.

In the friendliest tone he can muster, Jack announces, “Apologies, Captain Corbin. Got a bit banged up last night, and I’m still recovering.”

“Quite alright, Captain Brakkow. These old bodies don’t bounce back like they used to, do they?” Corbin’s voice is smooth and cultured, matching Jack’s easy tone, though he stands with a hand on his sword.

“True enough,” Jack agrees. “What can I do for you and your many fine companions?”

“I’m looking for Garthy O’Brien. I understand they’ve taken refuge on your ship.”

Jack folds his arms, putting on a puzzled frown. “Is that so? Can I ask what business you’ve got with ‘em?”

Corbin’s face darkens, and he answers with a tone that speaks to genuine grief and anger. “They murdered my son.”

There’s not an ounce of regret in Jack’s heart for his actions, but that doesn’t mean he’s pleased about it or that he doesn’t feel for a mourning father. Sincerely, he says, “Damn, Corbin. I’m sorry for your loss. Truly.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you,” Corbin replies, straightening his shoulders. “Now, if you don’t mind handing over O’Brien, I can see that justice is swiftly dealt.”

It takes a tremendous amount of effort not to laugh at the irony of justice, given the circumstances. Instead, Jack asks, “You’re certain they're responsible? The Gardens was practically a warzone last night. Might’ve been anyone.”

Corbin seems to chew on his words, deciding how to answer in a way that doesn’t reveal his own complicity in the attempted assassination. Finally, he says, “He had an appointment to speak with them, and his... his remains were found in the wreckage of their chamber.”

An appointment is certainly the strangest euphemism for assassination Jack’s ever heard.

“Not to be indelicate, but there’s a number of reasons a young lad might be found in Garthy’s bedroom,” he says, and Corbin flushes crimson.

“His head was severed.”

“Ah. Well. Perhaps he didn’t meet their exacting standards.”

There is a visible battle of will on Corbin’s face as he struggles to keep his composure, and he takes a deep breath before he goes on, “Whatever the cause, my son is dead at O’Brien’s hand, and I demand satisfaction.”

Jack hums thoughtfully. He takes a moment to look around at his crew, who are all looking between him and Corbin with intense interest, except Marcid, who’s attention is focused entirely on the woman at Corbin’s side. He sees knit brows and tense shoulders, but there’s no sign of fear in their faces. They may not know what he’s up to, but they trust him.

After a moment, he turns back to Corbin and asks, “I’m curious what you think my relationship to Garthy is, exactly, and why you believe they’d be hiding on my ship.”

“Well, I...” Corbin clears his throat and glances at the man beside him, who raises an eyebrow. “It’s certainly no secret that you’re a frequent visitor at the Gold Gardens, and a, um, regular patron of O’Brien’s... personal services.”

So he thinks this is all business, that he’s the only one with a personal stake in what happens here. Of course he does.

“Our line of work requires quite the professional network, ‘ey?” Jack says casually. “Fences, forgers, brokers, and the like. Got a few I like to work with. Imagine you do, as well.”

“Of course,” Corbin answers slowly, uncertain of the point.

Jack nods. “Make a habit of selling out your contacts, do you? Because I sure as hell don’t.”

Corbin’s face darkens with anger. His temper is going to get the better of him soon, which is exactly what Jack wants. “With respect, Captain Brakkow, this is considerably more important than a business connection. This is about bringing a murderer to justice.”

There’s that word again. This time, Jack does let out a bitter laugh, and he sees Sunny and Marcid stiffen. They know him well enough to guess that this amiable front is about to drop. “Justice, aye. See, my view is that if a man comes charging into someone’s bedroom, armed and intent on doing violence, that anyone in that room would be well within their rights to stop that man by any means. It may not be justice, but I’d say it’s justified.”

“I... I don’t know what you’re implying,” Corbin sputters.

“Sorry. Did it sound like I was implying?” Loud enough for the crowd of curious onlookers to hear, Jack goes on, “I’m saying that last night your brat barged into Garthy O’Brien’s personal quarters with a crossbow, after shooting Garthy and killing their guards. I’m saying that I was perfectly justified in separating his head from his body. You want revenge? Fine. But don’t you dare try and dress it up as justice.”

The controlled expression on Corbin’s face shatters into one of blind outrage, and he snarls, “You... you filthy vermin! Someone should have fed you poison the moment you became delusional enough to think you deserved to captain a ship. I’ll kill you myself, you disgusting brute. It’s not worth the effort of dragging you to the Ramble.”

There it is. There’s the truth. What Jack knows of Roland Corbin is that he’s courteous and generous to other captains and to his men, and that he rarely hires any crew that aren’t Humans, Elves, or Dwarves. What Jack’s heard from the few Beastfolk who’ve worked for Corbin is that he’s cold, rude, and quick to anger, ready to blame them for the slightest mistake or inconvenience. The moment he had an excuse to stop speaking to a Ratfolk captain as an equal, he was going to take it.

Corbin starts to march up the gangplank, but Cheese is ready, slapping a sigil carved in the rail to bring up an invisible barrier that shimmers faintly as Corbin walks into it. Scowling, he draws a flintlock pistol and fires it at Jack’s head, but the bullet slows, stops, and falls harmlessly onto the deck with a clatter. Jack grins, and Corbin looks apoplectic.

“I’ll offer you this, you abhorrent animal,” Corbin growls. “If you and O’Brien surrender yourselves now, I’ll let your crew leave the city unharmed. Otherwise, the moment this magic comes down, I’m going to string up every last one of them as a warning to all the other monsters.”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Given what I know about you, Corbin, I believe you’d happily cut down my crew just for them being who and what they are.”

“And given what I know about you, I believe you’d do anything to stop that from happening,” Corbin shoots back. “Safe passage for them and a quick death for you and the whore, or else you all die badly together. Your choice.”

Without the wards keeping them at bay, Corbin and his people would eventually overrun the Harvest Moon. The crew would make them pay in blood for every inch of deck, but in the current circumstances, the difference in numbers would make the outcome almost inevitable. Even if they did manage to hold the Moon, Jack has no doubt they would suffer losses of their own. If it comes to a fight, his family will be decimated, and he really will do anything to prevent that. At least anything up to a point.

“Counteroffer.”

Corbin lowers his pistol. “I’m listening.”

“You agree to be bound by magic to your word, and you can have me without a fuss.”

It’s a true testament to his crew’s self-control that the only sound is a sharp gasp from Cheese. Meanwhile, Stimey reports a few seconds later, “Captain? The crew would like me to relay their, uh, very strong displeasure at that suggestion.”

Jack ignores him and waits for Corbin to consider the terms.

“I’ll agree to a binding,” he replies. “But I’m afraid I must insist on O’Brien’s surrender as well.”

“And why’s that, exactly?”

“Because I don’t know that you’re not lying to protect them, for one thing, and...” Corbin sighs. “Well, since we’re being honest, my son was meant to kill them last night, so I feel some obligation to complete his task.”

“I see. Then it seems we’re at an impasse, because I will slaughter you and everyone that stands with you before I let you harm a hair on their head.” Jack shrugs. “Since we’re being honest.”

Corbin scoffs in disgust. “The affection you paid them for isn’t real, you stupid beast. They’ll throw you over the second they find a protector with a bigger ship and deeper pockets.”

There’s so much wrong in those words, the thought of disputing it just makes Jack feel tired. Shaking his head, he turns away from the dock and back toward his cabin. “Fuck off, Corbin. Done wasting my time with you.”

“What? Where... Get back here!” Corbin shouts after him. “We’re not finished, you stinking rat!”

Through Stimey, Jack commands his crew, “Don’t talk to him. Once him and his goons have gone, conference in the cabin.”

He closes the cabin door and leans back against it with a sigh, but any momentary relief evaporates at the sight of Garthy standing directly in front of him, arms crossed, glaring at him with terrifying intensity. Reflexively, his ears lower in contrition.

“So you heard, then.”

“Oh, I heard.”

Jack ducks his head and moves past them to his desk.

“Nothing to say for yourself, yeah?” they ask. “Not a word about why you were so ready to hand yourself over for execution?”

“Figure the why is the obvious part,” he murmurs, rifling through a collection of charts until he finds a map of the northern Celestine coast.

“Is it?” Garthy snatches the heavy paper out of his hands before he can roll it out. “Enlighten me.”

“To protect you,” he answers simply. “To protect them. Death’s a cheap price for that.”

Their eyes soften, but their jaw clenches tighter. “You have to know your crew would never let you make that deal. I certainly wouldn’t.”

“I know,” he says. “But I had to try.”

Garthy’s reply is cut off by the opening door as the crew files in to take their places around the wide desk.

“Myrtle’s staying in the water for now,” Marcid tells Jack. “Stimey’s gonna keep her in the loop.”

Jack nods. “Alright. Well. Eventful morning, ‘ey?”

He’s met with stony silence and faces that range from worried frowns to angry scowls, and he rubs at his temples. “Here’s what we know, then. There’s those on Leviathan that think Beastfolk and such are lesser sorts of people, and they’ve been getting themselves organized. Destroying the Gold Gardens was meant to be some kind of declaration, which likely means things are about to get much worse. I don’t know what Roland Corbin’s part is in the larger scheme, but I’d expect he’s high up in whatever hierarchy these blue coats have. Now, he’s gunning for me and Garthy, and that’s put you lot in his sights. The way I see it, there’s two options for us. One, we split up. Easy enough to hide in the city if w-”

“No,” Marcid says immediately.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Sunny says at the same time.

“No way!” Cheese chimes over them.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Spaulding adds.

“Fair enough. Option two.” Jack glances at Garthy, who is studying him with sharp focus. “We run. Get ourselves some breathing room to come up with a plan. Maybe reach out to some friends for help.”

“Ship’s ready to set sail,” Marcid replies. “Say the word, and we’re off.”

“We were about to leave, anyway,” Cheese points out. “We’re only a couple of hours behind schedule.”

“I know that, but... things have changed,” Jack reminds them.

Before he can go on, Sunny cuts in, “The only thing that’s changed is that fucker Corbin might be chasing us. So we need to go a little faster.”

She’s right, and that’s all the more reason to get underway as quickly as possible. “Alright, then. All agreed?” Everyone assembled replies, Aye, in unison, except Garthy. “Myrtle?” Marcid nods. “Good. Make ready and cast off with all due haste. Westward heading. Miss Biscotto, the helm is yours.”

They file back out of the cabin with purpose. The door clicks softly, and a tense silence falls in the room.

After a moment, Jack says quietly, “It’s not safe for you to stay in the city.”

“I know that,” Garthy answers without expression.

“This is the best option.”

“I know that, too.”

“If you want to stay, I’ll stay with you.”

They sigh and move to lean on the edge of the desk next to him. “It’s not safe for you, either.”

“I know that.”

“And your crew needs you.”

“I know that, too.”

“So that’s it, then. No other options. Nothing to be done but sail on.” The exhaustion in their voice is expected, but there’s a terrible note of despair, as if they’re surrendering something more than just their home.

“The others will be alright,” he assures then. “No doubt Trix and Cullen have everyone sorted already.”

They give him a stricken look, tears welling at the corners of their eyes. “Cullen’s dead.”

Jack hears the words, understands what they mean, but the reality of them doesn’t register.

“The first bomb was under the bar,” Garthy tells him. “He never had a chance.”

It’s poetic, Jack thinks, that the first casualty of the attack was the first face so many guests saw when they entered, and it’s obscene that he’s just... gone.

Garthy takes a deep shuddering breath and goes on, “You’re right about Trixie, though. She’s tops in a crisis. Made sure everyone had a place to stay and turned Compass Points into a base of operations before Ayda could say a word.”

"I’d say we could try and get there, but it’s too dangerous.” Frowning, Jack asks, “If folks are staying at Compass Points, why’d you come here, in the first place?”

They give him a smile so brittle, the slightest touch would break it. “Wanted to stay with you, didn’t I?”

He blinks. “Oh. Well. Now I suppose you’re stuck with me for a bit.”

“Stuck with each other, Jacky my love,” they point out. The smile softens, but it doesn’t brighten. “You’ll be sick of me in no time.”

“The day that happens, you can put me in the fucking ground.” He lays his hand on theirs where it rests on the edge of the desk. “I’d rather be dead and buried than grow tired of you.”

They glance up at him, and he sees a shimmer of their familiar warmth. “Flatterer.”

“You know me better than that.”

“I do,” they sigh. For a moment, it seems like they might say something else, but they shake their head. “You’ve got work to do, yeah?”

“So I do.” He kisses them gently on the forehead, and their skin still feels cooler than it should be. “Get some rest, ‘ey? You look exhausted.”

Garthy huffs. “Thanks for that.”

“You could have bags under your eyes and still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he assures them.

“Darling, the day I have bags under my eyes, you can bury me.”

He laughs and kisses them again before leaving the cabin and stepping back onto the sunlit deck.

With preparations already made, the Harvest Moon is quickly underway, the towering shadow of Leviathan receding on the horizon. A northern wind slows their progress as Leviathan drops out of sight, but the weather is otherwise favorable. The sea and sky are fair in all directions, and Jack starts to breathe a little easier. Once the ship is settled on her course, the crew assembles on the rolling deck, this time with Myrtle in attendance. Garthy hasn’t emerged from the cabin, hopefully fast asleep.

“Got a destination in mind, captain?” Marcid asks.

Jack scratches his chin thoughtfully. He’s got an idea, but he doubts any of them are going to like it. He doesn’t like it. “As it stands now, we’re outmatched. Not by much, but enough that I don’t like our odds if Corbin decides to chase us down. At the moment, I’d say what we need most is friends. Preferably ones we can trust who pack a hefty punch.”

There’s a beat of silence as everyone takes that in, then Myrtle groans loudly. “Oh, fuck. You wanna go to Solace.”

“Want is a very strong word,” Jack replies. “But that’s my thinking, yes. If there’s other suggestions, I’ll gladly take ‘em.”

“We have contacts everywhere. There’s got to be somebody,” Spaulding says, looking around hopefully.

“Well, there’s...” Sunny starts, then cuts herself off. “Oh, no. She’s retired.”

“Morgan?” Marcid suggests, but Jack shakes his head.

“Not after last time.”

“Ah. Right.”

“What about that trader from Sunpeak?” Cheese adds. “He seemed friendly.”

“Dead,” Spaulding tells him. “Heard some crew from the Ironwood talking about his funeral.”

Cheese crosses his arms, and Jack waits to see if there are any other ideas.

Solace isn’t an ideal destination under any circumstances. Even aside from the legal measures against piracy, the financial cost of doing business there is enough to keep all but the wealthiest privateers away. An added complication comes from the predominantly Human populace, who tend to view foreigners in general with disdain and foreign Beastfolk in particular with suspicion. If Jack wasn’t certain that would be the safest place for Garthy, he wouldn’t even consider it.

“To Solace, then?” he asks, and is met with a chorus of reluctant Ayes. “Good. We’re likely to get stopped by the coastal Rangers once we start to get close, but we should be able to convince ‘em to let us through.”

“And if we can’t?” Myrtle asks.

“Then we head northward to Seawatch and try to contact our friends from there.”

“All this is assuming Corbin doesn’t run us down,” Marcid points out. “We have a plan for that?”

The Moon’s speed and agility are her first line of defense. If an enemy is fast enough or lucky enough to get within range, the second line of defense is an enchanted canon and three powerful spellcasters. On the single occasion that an enemy ship attempted a boarding, watching the first wave of attackers get torn to shreds by a Bugbear and a seven-foot Rat was enough to make the captain reconsider.

Roland Corbin won’t be so easily deterred.

“Working on it,” is all Jack says.

He takes over at the helm until supper, then hands it off to Cheese for the first shift of the night. By the time he makes it back to his cabin with a covered bowl and plate of bread, it’s nearly midnight, and silvery moonlight streams in through the forward window, casting long shadows on the still shape curled in the middle of the bed. Jack moves as silently as he can, setting the dishes gently on the desk and stripping off his shirt and trousers.

The moment he touches the bed, Garthy shifts and murmurs, lifting their head from under the thin quilt to blink up him, their brilliant gold eyes glittering in the pale light.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jack whispers, slipping into the bed next to them. “Just me. Go back to sleep.”

Once he’s settled, they curl into his chest with a weary sigh, and he wraps his arms around them, pressing a soft kiss into their messy black hair. There’s nothing good about the situation they’re in, but there’s also nothing better than falling asleep with Garthy held close against his heart.

If he dreams, he doesn’t remember it, and he wakes to bright sunshine and the feeling of gentle kisses on the column of his throat.

Jack hums happily. “Fella could get used to this.”

Garthy chuckles softly, their lips still on his neck. “Rather enjoying it myself.”

He pulls back just enough to look at them, and even knowing what he’ll see, even after years spent memorizing the shapes of their face, his breath still catches at the sight. Running his fingers through their sleep-tousled hair, he says softly, “I’ve seen sunrises over all the edges of the world, and I forget every one of them when I wake up to see you.”

A smile blooms slowly across their face, a real smile with squinted eyes and a hint of small tusks. Jack’s never thought of himself as having a way with words, but Garthy always basks in his praise like it’s the most beautiful thing they’ve ever heard. They pull him into a deep kiss that makes him feel dizzy, and they hook one long leg over his hip. Still locked in a breathless kiss, Jack slides his hand between Garthy’s legs and drags the pad of his finger up the length of their cunt, making them shudder and moan into his mouth. They’re not quite wet, so he takes his time, gently massaging the base of their clit as they suck on his tongue.

He feels Stimey’s awareness in his mind two seconds before his fungal crewman says, “Apologies, captain, but Miss Biscotto’s asked me to report that there’s a ship on our tail, not quite close enough to see her colors, yet.”

Garthy must feel him tense, because they draw back, frowning. “Alright, love?”

Jack heaves what might be the deepest sigh of his life. “I don’t care to think about the hypothetical sex lives of my crew, but I do wonder if some of ‘em might be less prone to interruption if they had a clearer sense of what they’re interrupting.”

“You have to go?” Garthy guesses, and Jack nods. They roll away from him with a groan of frustration and put their hands over their face. “I think I underestimated how very little time you have to yourself.”

“We are in a bit of a crisis, to be fair.” Climbing out of the bed, he tells them, “There’s some food on the desk for you. Come out and get some fresh air when you’re up to it.”

They give a non-committal grunt of acknowledgement but don’t move until he’s dressed and at the door. Sitting up, they say, “Jacky my love?”

He turns to look, and gods the sight of them lounging in his bed, blanket just barely covering their hips, is nearly enough to bring him right back. “Aye?”

“If I’m asleep when you come in, wake me up. Be creative.”

Jack is desperate to know what great thing he achieved in a previous life, because he’s certainly done nothing in this one to deserve the favor of this heavenly being. He swallows hard and nods.

The wind across the deck is brisk and biting as the ship moves through the waves, and he once again yearns for his lost coat. Marcid is at the helm, and Sunny stands behind him at the aft railing, studying the horizon.

“Myrtle spotted them at first light,” she says, handing him a spyglass. “We’ve been keeping an eye out, and they’re definitely matching our course. Spaulding’s in the crow’s nest trying to get a better look.”

Sure enough, the spyglass resolves the sharp marks on the horizon into a square-sailed ship, her bow aimed at the Moon like a levelled sword. “She gaining on us?”

Sunny shakes her head. “It’s hard to say. She shouldn’t be though, right? We should be way too fast for her to catch us.”

The Human woman with Heavensby had carried a staff of Sol, likely a cleric and likely wielding some unknown power. Jack doesn’t know enough about spellcasting to know what could make a ship go faster, but he doesn’t doubt that ability exists. “Let’s see if we can get a little more speed out of her, just in case.”

“Aye, captain.”

Corbin’s ship, the Clarion, is a galleon with a full complement of crew. The Moon’s only chance is to keep out of reach. There's few worlds in which the little caravel can survive the crush of a ship twice her size, and every scenario Jack can think of is worse than the last. The best they can hope for is to be sunk outright or have a chance to scuttle her before she can be boarded, but even then, those that don’t drown are certain to meet whatever fate Corbin has planned for them. Fighting offers no chance of winning and a high chance of capture, but Jack’s not sure he can ask his crew to do anything other than fight.

All they can do for now is keep running and pray to every god they have for a little extra luck.

Sunny manages to coax another knot of speed from the ship, making her shudder as she skims across the high waves, but Jack still can’t tell if the pursuing ship is keeping pace. She certainly doesn't seem to be falling behind.

In the early afternoon, he hands command back to Sunny and goes to check his charts for any hiding places or inspiration that might provide some advantage. He finds Garthy sitting at the desk, head resting on their folded arms, with the charts already spread out under them. The bread from last night’s supper is half-eaten on the plate, and the bowl of stew appears untouched.

“You alright?” Jack asks softly, and they raise their head slowly, scowling in misery. “Seasick?”

“Very.”

He shouldn’t laugh at their discomfort, but it’s hard not be amused at the thought of mighty and serene Garthy O’Brien brought low by a weak stomach. They catch him smiling, and their scowl deepens.

“Keep grinning like that, and I’ll make you sleep on the deck,” they warn sourly.

“It’s my cabin.”

They look up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you going to make me sleep on the deck?”

“Bit of fresh air would help settle your stomach,” he points out, circling the desk to stand next to them.

“I doubt that.” They lean their head against his side with a sigh. “I’ll be alright, love. Just don’t care for sailing.”

Staying cooped up in the cabin for too long won’t be good for them, but Jack’s not going to press the issue. Instead, he puts a comforting arm around their shoulders and tilts his head at the charts. “Seems you had the same thought I did.”

“Hiding place, yeah? Considering your hasty departure, I assume the Clarion is indeed on our tail.”

“Aye, and I don’t know enough about Corbin to know what to expect.”

“Don’t really know him, myself. His wife’s a horror. She used to hold prayer meetings at the Gardens, trying to proselytize. Dreadful woman.” They bite their lip, thinking. “So Plan A is to outrun him, yeah? What’s Plan B?”

Sighing, Jack crouches down and rests his elbows on the arm of the heavy chair. “Pray? Jump into the sea? Fight hard enough that they’ve no choice but to kill us all?”

“Can’t say I care for those options.” They scratch gently behind his ears, and he closes his eyes, setting his chin down on his crossed arms.

“Nor do I,” he admits quietly. “But the fact is, if Corbin catches us, we’re dead.”

Silence stretches for a long moment as they pet him, and he thinks that he’ll rip apart anyone who tries to take this from him, that he’d rather die than lose this. There are so few years left in his life and so few things worth living for, but these sacred seconds are worth everything he has, ten times over.

“Well, let’s make sure he doesn’t catch us, shall we?” Garthy says at last, and he has to wonder if they’re thinking the same thing.

As the two of them pore over the maps, they tell him that Ayda’s been checking in via some kind of magic messaging, and they’ve given her the gist of their predicament. There’s nothing she can do to help, but Jack takes some comfort that their allies at least know what’s happening.

They find a small archipelago just north of their current course that Jack recalls being mostly rocky atolls but tall enough to hide a small ship from view. They'll be sailing into the wind, but the Moon’s slimmer profile should give her an edge over her bulky pursuers. Even a few minutes out of sight should give them enough time to hide and throw Corbin off their tail.

Having something to focus on seems to improve Garthy’s mood until a rough patch of waves rattles their stomach again and sends them crawling miserably back into bed. There are potions and such that are meant to help with seasickness, but Jack’s never known them to be half as effective as time and fresh air. All he can do for now is let Garthy rest.

He plots out the new course and gives the command to his crew, instructing them to start brainstorming magical means of staying hidden or slipping by unnoticed. The two ships on the horizon don't get any closer, but they don't recede, either.

When Jack returns to the cabin that night, Garthy is once again fast asleep, but this time they don’t stir as he slides into bed beside them. There’s a sharp furrow in their perfect brow, as if misery has followed them into dreaming. Despite their earlier request, he doesn’t have the heart to wake them, and he kisses their forehead softly, hoping to be forgiven.

They’re still asleep when he wakes up in the morning. He tells himself it’s a good thing, that they’ll sleep through the worst of the sickness, but there’s an itch in the back of his mind telling him it’s not that simple.

By midday, the Harvest Moon is leaning hard into the biting wind, and the other ship has changed course to match. As the sun sets off the starboard bow, their pursuer drops out of sight behind them, and the knot in Jack’s chest loosens by a fraction.

He goes back to the cabin before supper, hoping to coax Garthy out for a little bit of food and company, only to find the bed empty, charts and papers scattered on the desk, and Garthy nowhere in sight. His immediate reaction is panic, that something has happened or they’ve left or...

“Garthy?”

There is a beat of awful silence, then their muffled voice calls softly from underneath the desk, “Here.”

Jack immediately crosses the room and sees them sitting in the footwell of the desk, knees tucked up to their chest, face buried in their folded arms with the thin quilt wrapped tightly around them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, lovey. Just taking a moment.” They turn just enough that he can see one eye and the corner of their mouth, the evening shadows making their face look gaunt and hollow. Or maybe It's not the shadows. “Didn’t expect you back for a bit.”

“Thought I might persuade you to join the crew for supper.” The food he left for them this morning is still among the papers on the desk, entirely untouched. Sitting down on the floor beside them, he says, “You’ve got to eat something.”

“That’s very sweet of you, darling, but I’m not hungry.”

They sound perfectly normal, if a little tired, as if nothing is amiss beyond an unusually taxing day. Jack knows better. “At least come sit at the table. It’ll lift everyone’s spirits to see you.”

“Oh, I’d be terrible company. You just give them my love, yeah?” Some of Jack’s concern must show on his face, because they rolls their eyes and sigh, “Don’t look at me like that. I really am fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Jack...”

“Even if it is just seasickness, which I don’t believe it is.” He holds up a hand and goes on before they can protest. “The best thing for that is water and air. Water jug’s been moved around, so I know you’ve been drinking. Why don’t you come topside with me and breathe for a bit?”

They give him a look of such intense weariness, he’s reminded abruptly of how old they really are. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t.”

“Door’s right there.”

“Jack...”

“Happy to carry you, if you like.”

“Stop it!” Garthy snaps, and now their voice is thin and tight, like a fine wire about to break. “Please just stop.”

Gently, Jack says, “I’m trying to help.”

“I know, I just...” They drop their face back into the folds of the quilt and let out a long breath. When they lift their head again, their beautiful eyes are shining with tears. “I don’t like open spaces.”

“Aye. I know that.”

“No. You know I don’t like to leave the Gardens,” they tell him tensely. “And I don’t. Didn’t. But in the city, it’s not so bad, yeah? There’s buildings and crowds, so it doesn’t feel so open. Out here, there’s... nothing. It’s just sky and sea, and even thinking about all that space, I... I start to panic.”

They scrub at their eyes in frustration, and Jack moves a little closer, giving them just a little less space to worry about.

“So I stay in here,” they go on. “But that makes the seasickness worse, obviously. I can't eat anything, so I’m starving. Everyone’s got work to do, so I’m alone most of the time. I can only read for so long before I start feeling sick again, and there’s nothing else to distract myself. Which leaves plenty of time to dwell on the fact that I’ve lost my home and everything in it, and that people I care about are dead or in danger. And on top of it all, there’s a racist with a vendetta bearing down on us, and I don’t have enough power left to defend myself, much less anyone else.”

It’s absolutely gutting to see them like this, miserable and struggling when they should be relaxed and glowing. Jack wants nothing more than to take them in his arms and comfort them however he can, but he has to ask, “What do you mean you don’t have enough power left?”

For a second, they stare at him like they don’t understand the question, then they say slowly, “Oh. Right.”

Suddenly, Jack has a horrifying thought. “The Gardens wasn’t your only source of power, was it?”

“No, no,” they answer quickly. “The Gardens was... Say you’ve got a gas lamp, yeah? If it’s connected to a big tank that’s constantly getting refilled, you can burn it as long and as bright as you want.”

Jack has long since given up trying to understand the complex mysteries of arcane power, but he knows enough about machines to understand the need for a fuel source. “So what do you do when you don’t have a tank?”

“Got to rely on my own reserves, don’t I?” Garthy sighs. “Which are substantial, mind you, but I’m sorry to say they’ve been emptied out and aren’t getting refilled.”

“What do you need to refill them?” he asks, hoping the answer isn’t some mystical substance from the other side of the world.

“Pleasure.”

Jack blinks. “Sorry?”

“Not necessarily sexual pleasure, though that’s generally most efficient,” they explain. “Any kind of softness or sweetness or good feelings. Doesn’t even have to be mine, as long as I can connect to it.”

It takes a second for the implication to set in, and when it does, Jack feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach. “Oh. Oh, no. You’ve been alone and miserable, and I’ve been ignoring you, so you’ve got nothing..”

“Oh, lovey, no!” They reach out to take his hand, and their touch is almost icy. “You’re the only thing making this bearable, there’s just... nothing else. Normally, if I have to be on a ship, I’d bring at least two people and enough drink, drugs, and good food to last the length of the voyage.”

“That... does put it in perspective a bit,” Jack says. “Well, there’s nothing I can do about Spaulding’s cooking, I’m afraid, and I don’t know about drugs, unless one of the young ones has something on ‘em. But...”

He pulls open one of the desk drawers and reaches far into the back to produce a large leather flask and a small glass jar. Garthy’s eyes widen as they reach for the flask and take a long, slow pull, holding the rum in their mouth before they swallow with a sigh.

“Jacky my love, you’ve been holding out on me.” Handing the flask back to him, they smile softly. “You know that’s what I drink when you’re away. Gives me a little taste of you.”

Jack’s ears heat, and he ducks his head. “Good thing I like a decent rum then, ‘ey?”

He passes them the glass jar, and they unscrew the lid to sniff delicately at the golden liquid. They dab their little finger on the surface and taste it, immediately letting out an obscene groan of pleasure. “Fuck. Is that Elven honey?”

“Aye. Always keep a bit around. Little treat for myself, when I need it.”

Garthy gives him a wicked grin. “Darling, are you a secret hedonist?”

“Only with you, and that’s hardly a secret,” he shoots back.

Calling the honey a treat isn’t entirely honest. For Jack, it’s a provision as necessary as bread and water. There are days at sea when the sky is dark and the mood is low and everything good in the world seems far beyond his reach. After too many such days, Jack starts to feel that those good things are also beyond his deserving, that to want anything soft or sweet for himself is the height of arrogance.

That’s when he opens the jar of honey.

At fifteen years-old, Jack begged, bluffed, and lied his way onto the crew of a barquentine bound for the eastern sea. During the first stop at port, he explored the local market and found a vendor selling bottles of what looked like liquid sunshine. The taste of it was a revelation, unveiling a world that contained joy and wonder beyond anything he’d imagined. He spent his last silver on a bottle small enough to hide in his hand and guarded it like treasure until the ship returned to Leviathan, where he presented it to his mother. Sugar was a rare luxury in the Bilge and rarer still for their family, portioned out carefully for only the most special occasions, so nothing was ever truly sweet. Watching his mother taste honey for the first time, astonished delight dawning on her face, was one of the proudest moments of Jack’s life.

In the dark ruin of his family home, after his parents had long since passed away and everything he owned had sunk into the sea, Jack scraped the last drop of sweetness out of a little broken bottle and knew that his life was truly over. It wasn’t until he spent a night at the Gold Gardens that he recalled the taste of honey.

He dips his finger into the jar and brings a drop of golden memory to his mouth, closing his eyes to savor it, holding the taste on his tongue until it fades. When he opens his eyes, Garthy is watching him with an expression of ravenous hunger.

Slowly, their brilliant eyes fixed on his, they take another smear of honey on their middle finger and offer it to Jack. He closes his lips around the finger, and Garthy breathes in sharply as he sucks hard. On their skin, the honey tastes like the light of heaven itself.

The moment he lets go, they surge out from under the desk and push him to the floor, straddling his hips and pinning him down with a fierce kiss. Between the desk and the heavy chair, he’s at an odd angle and can already feel his back twinge, but Jack doesn’t even think of protesting until Garthy lets him up for air. Before he can suggest moving to the bed, they stand up and strip off their trousers, sitting down on the edge of the desk with their legs wide in invitation.

Even better.

Jack rolls to his knees, ignoring the slight stiffness and aches, and immediately buries his muzzle in Garthy’s cunt. They groan in relief and grab a handful of his fur as he spreads the soft flesh with his fingers and starts to lap relentlessly at their clit. Almost immediately, bitter wetness floods into his mouth, sweetened by the lingering flavor of honey. He slides a finger inside them and switches to sucking at the swelling mound of their clit as their breath quickens into pants and moans.

He prefers to take his time, to string them out into rolling waves of sensation until they cry mercy, but that’s not what they need right now. For now, they just need pleasure, and it’s his privilege to give it to them. It won’t take long. Between their desperation and Jack’s intimate knowledge of their exquisite body, they’re already starting to shake and gasp.

With the whole night to themselves, though, he’s mulling over the question of how many climaxes he can wring out of them in quick succession, how much they’ll need before he can convince them to eat, how long before his own aching body reaches the limit of what it can provide. If one orgasm is enough t-

The confused shout of warning sounds in his mind seconds before something heavy slams into the ship.

Garthy is knocked sprawling off the edge of the desk, wrenching Jack with them, and he hears them cry out sharply in pain. There’s just enough time to disentangle from each other before another impact rocks the ship. As the deck rolls, Jack lifts his head and feels something in his neck lock in place with shooting pain. Beside him, Garthy is curled in on themself, eyes screwed shut, breathing in short, hard bursts.

He puts an arm around them, both soothing and checking for injuries. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. I’m... I’ll be fine,” they answer weakly. “The hells was that?”

Jack knows, knew exactly what it was the moment he heard it.

“Cannon fire.”

Chapter Text

“She came out of nowhere!” Marcid shouts down from the upper deck. “There was a shadow, and she was just there.”

Just off the port side, cutting a dark silhouette against the star-filled sky, looms a massive galleon, twice the size of the Harvest Moon. Her flag is a pale sun rising on a field of stark white, bright enough to be seen in the darkness.

Cheese is already swinging the Moon’s single deck cannon around, and he sends a shot directly into the Clarion’s helm as the rest of the crew comes scrambling onto the deck. Spaulding takes one look at the situation and dashes for the main mast where his rifle is stashed, sniping three enemies on the other ship’s railing in quick succession. Sunny sends a blast of rippling magic into each of the starboard cannons

Myrtle immediately dives over the rail, and Stimey reports a moment later, “Miss Myrtle says we’re not taking water, but another hit will cripple us, Captain.”

Jack goes to the helm and stands next to Marcid, who has one hand on the wheel and Alycon in the other, a grim expression on his face.

“This is bad,” he murmurs quietly.

“I know,” is all Jack can say.

The cannon hits took out the tip of the Moon’s bow, and Jack’s heart breaks to see his beautiful ship injured. She’ll still be able to limp along, but she can’t run. Marcid is doing his best to keep her turning and out of boarding distance, but the Clarion’s height means she won’t have to get much closer. In minutes, they’ll be overrun.

He makes sure everyone can hear him when he barks, “Haunted House. Marcid, lock the wheel. Go.”

There is barely a second’s pause before they scatter, and Sunny is the only one who hesitates as the others go below decks. “You’re staying up here?”

“Try to thin ‘em out for you.” If he can bottleneck them at the steps, he’ll stand a good chance of slowing them down and putting a decent dent in their numbers before they overwhelm him. Close-quarters fighting isn’t ideal for him, either, but they won’t be able to get past him until he’s down.

Sunny knows the plan, and her frown tells him exactly what she thinks of it. “I can st-”

“You have your orders, Miss Biscotto.”

He says it gently, but she still flinches. “Aye, captain.”

The Moon is still in motion, the wheel locked into a sharp turn that keeps her just out of the Clarion’s reach. With the enemy cannons down, thanks to Sunny, he’s got a minute yet before enemies start dropping onto the deck. He moves toward the deck cannon, but Garthy’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“Is the plan for everyone to hide while you fend off a small army by yourself?” they ask. “Because, darling, that’s a terrible plan.”

Jack turns to see them leaning in the door of the cabin, not quite out in the open air. The light of a heavy moon reflects on their many facets of gold, making them shine like a fallen star. His one selfish hope in this moment is that he can die defending them and not have to witness what comes next. He turns away to watch the Clarion edge closer because if he keeps looking at Garthy, something inside him is going to break. Sharp pain shoots down his neck with every movement.

“Best way to fight numbers is to make ‘em come at you one at a time,” he explains. “Rest of the crew’s getting in place. My job’s to cut the numbers down as much as I can.”

The silence at his back is so much louder than the shouting enemies and crashing waves. Finally, they say softly, “Jack…”

No. No, he can’t listen. Even the sound of his name in their mouth is crumbing his resolve.

“Go back in the cabin,” he tells them. “Block the door. Take cover behind the desk. There’s a revolver in the center drawer. Use it. Use magic. Just use everything you’ve got to stop them getting through that door.”

There’s another beat of silence, then, “Jack, look at me.”

He can’t. He just fucking can’t. “Not much time for conversation, just now.”

“Doesn’t seem like we’ll have much time after, yeah?” Garthy huffs. They let out a long breath. “Gods, you really do cut a stunning figure.”

It's impossible that someone like them could look at him and find something to desire, but somehow they do. All he can think to say is, “Orc heaven’s sort of an endless battlefield, right? Not sure I’d care for that.”

They make a quiet sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Oh, not for you and I, Jacky my love. For Zajiri and their Favored, it’s an eternal victory feast. All celebration and debauchery.”

Favored. Such a small word for such an extraordinary promise. “That sounds much better. Though I suppose I wouldn’t mind spending every day in battle if it meant spending my nights with you.”

“Let’s not start planning the next life just yet, yeah? Still got a bit left in this one.”

There is a series of thunks as several grappling hooks hit the deck of the Harvest Moon, dragging back to catch on the railing.

Jack risks a glance over his shoulder to see Garthy still in the doorway, still radiant in the silver light, watching him with a sadness deeper than the sea. “Get inside. One way or another, I’ll see you soon.”

He turns back to face the deck and hears the door click shut behind him.

There’s a deep shadow just beside the cabin door, at the top of the steep stairs that lead to the lower deck, and that’s where Jack waits, crouched in darkness, listening as dozens of unwelcome boots begin to land on the deck of his ship.

Of the many strategies his crew has developed over the years, the Haunted House has been one of the most used and most effective. He doesn’t remember how it started or who named it – probably Cheese – but the idea is to force the enemy into a series of deadly chokepoints. They’ve never had to use it to defend their own ship, but he can guess where they’ll be. Marcid and Spaulding will be at the end of the narrow corridor between the bunks, lined up to shoot anyone who comes into view. Sunny will be in the galley, likely with some effect in place to lure the enemies into a kill box. Cheese will have laid and activated magical traps in every passageway and will be hidden somewhere in the cargo hold, preparing more spells. Myrtle, meanwhile, is in the water, sabotaging the Clarion, dispatching any sailors who happen to go overboard, and generally wreaking havoc out of sight. When a chokepoint is overrun, the crew members fall back to the next one, making their enemies pay dearly for every inch of ground.

Jack’s place is always at the entrance, the first defender, both because he’s the captain and because fighting alone against ten men in a closed space is what he would call a mild challenge. He’s done this dozens of times, standing on the front line to buy time and space for his crew. The only difference tonight is that he doesn’t plan on falling back.

The first assailant who rushes down the steps is dead before he can make a sound. Three more follow, and only one of them manages to let out a cry of alarm as the Garden’s Point slices through his belly. The next five are prepared to meet resistance, but Jack dispatches them just as quickly. He raises his sword to block a high strike, and his neck spasms so badly that he nearly lets the blade slip. Should have got that healed before the fighting started, but he’d prefer the others save their magic. Jack’s no stranger to fighting through pain, and an aching neck won’t kill him.

One clever pirate fires a flintlock at him from around the corner and manages a few shots before Jack can reach out to cut off his arm. The steps are slick with blood and piled with bodies, making it harder and harder for the attackers to get at him. Some of them manage to get a line of sight to shoot at him from further away on the deck, but it’s easy enough for him to duck behind cover. He’s barely winded, with only a few cuts and scrapes, by the time the cleric appears.

He sees her on the deck, sees her raise her staff, but he doesn’t hear the word she says before he’s suddenly... somewhere else.

A flat field of lush green crops stretches out on either side, the impossibly straight rows vanishing into the distance against a sky of uncanny blue. The sun above is blazing bright, but there’s no heat. The air is mild and still, without wind or sound. Jack takes a step forward and meets an invisible barrier, not a hard surface but a gentle resistance, like a hand pushing him back into place. He tries a different direction and encounters the same thing. He’s still holding his sword, still aching in all the same places, no different than he was a few seconds ago, just in an entirely different place. Or rather, non-place.

The fucking cleric banished him.

Jack roars in frustration, and the sound falls dead in the empty air. Every second he’s out of the fight is another enemy he can’t stop, another sword going after his people, his family. Red hot rage simmers in his blood, and he readies himself for the moment the spell ends. It was a smart move on the cleric’s part, getting him out of the way, and he’s going to kill her for it.

This time, he feels the faint shift in equilibrium as he pops back into existence on the companionway, and the unfortunate pirate in front of him shrieks in surprise and horror before Jack puts a golden blade through her heart.

The bodies have been cleared away, and a burly Dwarf is in the process of splintering the cabin door with a heavy axe. As Jack watches, the Dwarf pries away a piece of the door and puts his face to the hole to peer inside. Immediately a shot rings out, and the Dwarf falls back with a bullet hole through one eye.

Garthy found the revolver. Good.

He can hear the sounds of fighting below, but he has to trust the others to handle themselves. There are still enough enemies for him to deal with here. The next two men that come at him are armed with fishing spears, trying to stay out of his reach, and one of them manages to gore him in the thigh. It’s enough to slow him down, but not enough to stop him, and he traps the second spear between the wall and his shoulder before cutting both attackers throats with one swing. He has to take a second to snap off the spear in his leg and pull it through, and then another second to breathe through the dizziness. The wound is bleeding heavily, and he knows he needs to get it wrapped or blood loss will take him out before he’s finished.

Peeking out from cover, he sees the cleric on the deck, healing a woman who seems to have narrowly escaped one of Myrtles aquatic attacks. Jack takes aim and hurls the spear. A shout of warning sends the cleric diving out of the way, and she instantly aims a flash of blinding light in Jack’s direction. It’s warm, like it should be burning, and the ring on Jack’s finger pulses with a magic forged in blood and devotion. When she realizes the spell did absolutely nothing, the look of outraged astonishment on the cleric’s face is a thing of true beauty. Jack catches her eye and grins before ducking back out of sight.

He rips a shirt off one of the dead men at his feet and hastily wraps it around his thigh, but another round of attackers comes before he can tie it. It’s getting harder to put his weight on that leg, especially with the slippery blood coating the deck.

Someone gets wise, because the next assailant to come down the stairs is a Human man with shoulders as wide as Jack’s and a pair of long sword-breaker knives. He looms in the narrow stairway and stops in a ready stance, waiting for Jack to come at him.

“Finally, a challenge,” Jack grumbles, and the man grins.

“Captain’s offered quite a prize for your head, Rat,” he says. “Thinking I’ll be the one to take it.”

So Corbin wants him dead and doesn’t care who does it. Good to know. “Not with those toothpicks, you’re not.”

“Maybe I’ll use that fancy sword of yours, ‘ey? Bet that’ll cut clean through your thick hide.”

“This? Nah, old thing’s duller than a letter opener,” Jack drawls. “Come here and let me show you.”

The man lunges, knives crossed in front of him, and Jack parries with the flat of his sword. The wicked breaker teeth on the knives won’t damage the Garden’s Point, thanks to Garthy’s ingenious enchantments, but he still doesn’t want it getting caught in them.

Oh. Unless maybe he does.

Every attack the man makes is with both blades, which means his strategy is based entirely on disarming his opponent and using superior size and strength to end the fight. A sound approach, but Jack is just as big, just as strong, and wielding an unbreakable sword. On the next attack, Jack angles the blade to be caught between the teeth of both knives. When the man twists to deliver the breaking blow, Jack wrenches hard in the opposite direction, snapping one of the knives in half and tearing the other out of its owner’s hand.

The expression of astonishment is the perfect opportunity for Jack to drive the point of his fine sword into the man’s open mouth and through the back of his head. His body falls back with a heavy, wet thud, and Jack kicks it to lean against the cabin door. They’ll have a hell of a time getting that bulk out of the way.

“That all you got, Corbin?” Jack bellows.

As expected, there’s a lull in activity on the deck, and Jack hastily ties the makeshift bandage around his thigh. He’s starting to feel winded with effort and blood loss, and the pain in his neck is getting worse. The most he can do is buy himself a few moments of respite.

After a pause, Corbin calls back, “I’ll admit I’m impressed, but I don’t think you’re in a position for bravado. After all, I have your ship, I have more men…”

Corbin goes on, but Jack stops listening when he hears Garthy’s voice hiss through the hole in the cabin door. “Jack?”

He bends down to the opening, keeping out of sight of the deck, and whispers back, “Aye. I’m here.”

Garthy swears in relief. “Are you alright? I heard th-”

They’re cut off by Corbin shouting, “Brakkow?”

“What was that? You’re so dull, I must’ve dozed off.” He’d much rather talk to Garthy, but he needs to keep Corbin occupied.

“I asked if you’re ready to surrender.” Corbin voice is close, somewhere above him. “If you’re getting tired...”

“Gonna kill us either way,” Jack shoots back. “Rather die on my feet.”

The ends of Garthy’s long fingers curl through the narrow gap in the door, just enough for Jack to reach out and hook his first two fingers around theirs, a fragile guideline in a raging storm. The silver lacquer on their nails has started to chip away at the ends, and a flake of metallic color sticks to Jack’s hand. He feels a small rush of warmth, and the wound on his thigh closes as the worst of his pain subsides. As much as he wants them to save their magic for self-defense, the longer he can stay on his feet, the better chance they have.

Corbin calls down to him. “I’ll offer you the same terms as before. You and O’Brien in exchange for your crew’s lives.”

“And I’ll give you the same answer,” Jack shouts. “You can have me, or you can have nothing.”

“Jack, please,” Garthy murmurs, and he squeezes their fingers gently in reply. He’ll cut out his own heart before he lets them come to harm.

There’s a beat of silence, then Corbin says, “Very well.”

A sudden rain of pistol fire sends Jack scrambling back into the cover of the companionway, and a second later, two men armed with harpoon bolts rush down after him. Behind them, the cleric appears, just close enough to be seen as she gestures with her staff and spits, “Sinner!”

Vague fog floods Jack’s mind, and his limbs grow heavy. He shakes his head to clear it, but whatever she’s done to him clings fast, his entire being weighed down with terrible despair.

One of the men strikes. Jack blocks, but not fast enough. Instead of its intended target in his chest, the harpoon punches into his side, just below his ribs. The second man lunges and jams his bolt into the muscle of Jack’s shoulder, shoving hard enough to make Jack stumble backward on the steep, blood-slick steps.

For a second, Jack thinks he can catch himself, but his wounded leg is still weak and buckles under his weight. The harpoon in his shoulder makes his arm useless, and all he can do is claw franticly at the wall as he falls down the companionway and lands with a crash in the narrow corridor below. The bolt in his side is ripped out by the movement, tearing open a ragged wound that immediately begins to pour blood onto the deck beneath him. His head slams into the wall, and the breath is knocked out of his lungs, leaving him momentarily stunned and still.

At the end of the corridor, there is a blur of motion as Marcid vaults over a makeshift barrier and comes sprinting toward him. Beyond that, he catches a glimpse of Spaulding’s face, small and pale, spattered with blood, staring at him with hopeless horror.

Without hesitation, Marcid takes Jack’s place on the steps, skewering the two men and using their bodies on the end of his trident to drive the cleric back. She retreats quickly but manages to aim a blast of brilliant magic into his face. While the heat of it passes harmlessly over Jack, Marcid growls in pain and stumbles.

No. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Jack tries to sit up, but the harpoon is still lodged in his shoulder, the long shaft swaying comically in the air. With his free hand, he grips it near the point to try and force it through, but everything is slippery with blood. Gods, there’s so much blood. It can’t all be his, can it?

Spaulding dashes to his side and helps lever him up into a sitting position, and even that small movement makes his vision grey around the edges. He’s got nothing left, but he can’t stop fighting. He can’t give up until his family is safe.

Holding the harpoon shaft in both of his small hands, Spaulding asks, “Ready?”

He doesn’t wait for Jack to nod before he shoves hard, forcing the sharp head through Jack’s shoulder with a sound of wet, rending flesh. Jack’s cry of pain is distant as the world spins and goes black.

It comes back into focus slowly, flashes of sound and color.

All he can smell is blood. The harpoon is gone.

Beside him is the steady rhythm of a rifle. Click. Bang. Click. Bang..

Shapes appear in a puddle of silver light, then fall back with each bang.

Then one click is followed by another click, then another, and the shapes pass through the silver light, rushing toward him with bright swords.

Spaulding swings his rifle like a club and smashes one of the attackers in the knee, but it’s no use. He’s half the size of these men, and two of them quickly scoop him up, kicking and thrashing as they haul him back up the steps. Jack lifts his hand to grasp at them, but he’s too slow, too weak. The Garden’s Point lies beside him, gleaming through the streaks of scarlet on the blade.

Moonlight catches on the blade of an axe as it comes down on the cabin door.

Jack drags himself forward, reaches with his one working arm to claw his way back into the fight. He has to stop them. He’s still breathing. He can still do something.

A figure comes down the companionway and kicks him in the head, knocking him hard against the wall. He can’t see, can’t hear, but he snarls and swings a fist wildly. The figure kicks him again, and that’s all there is. The fight is over.

He wakes up to a scraping feeling inside his head.

It feels like fire and screaming, like something being scoured away. Then it’s gone, and he knows that Stimey is, too. There’s a scar in the place where there should be a voice.

The tip of an immaculate leather boot pokes at his nose.

Reflexively, Jack draws back, snuffling and shaking his whiskers. Someone laughs, and he looks up to see that the owner of the boot is the Human man who had accompanied Corbin on the dock, still looking just as bored. With a final tap at Jack’s muzzle, the man turns and calls out, “The Rat’s awake.”

Jack resists the impulse to bite his ankle and instead looks around the deck with a sinking stomach.

Marcid and Spaulding are sitting beside each other with their hands and feet bound and gags across their mouths, both of them bruised and bloodied and looking to him with tense desperation. Sunny is lying next to Spaulding, wings and arms bound flat against her sides, with a bag tied over her beak like a muzzle, and she’s covered in blood, feathers sticking at odd angles and patches where they’ve been ripped out entirely. Only the fact that they’ve bothered to tie her up tells Jack that she’s still alive. Cheese and Myrtle are nowhere in sight, and there’s no telling whether that’s cause for hope or despair.

Garthy is kneeling away from the others, likewise bound and gagged, with one man holding them still by the hair while another uses a pair of heavy shears to cut off their jewelry. Jack feels for the ring on his finger, only to find that’s gone, too. Their beautiful face has been beaten into a mess of swelling bruises, and Jack can see the shadow of more bruises blooming across their ribs. They open their eyes slowly and turn toward him, but the man gripping their hair jerks them roughly back into place.

Jack takes a moment to memorize the men’s faces so he knows which ones to rip limb from limb.

Several pairs of hands haul him to his knees, and every inch of him throbs in pain. The ropes around his wrists and ankles cut into him as he moves, but there’s no gag or muzzle on him. He takes advantage of this fact by spitting in Corbin’s face as the man leans down in front of him.

Immediately, something heavy slams into his temple, and sparks explode across his sight. He blinks and shakes his head, but a black corona lingers around the vision in his left eye. Corbin wipes the spit and blood off of his face with a blue silk handkerchief, which he then hands off to one of his crew.

“Well fought, captain, I must say,” he drawls casually. “I admit I underestimated you and your little band of misfits.”

“We’re not quite finished,” the other man says, likely Corbin’s first mate. “That little sorcerer is still giving us trouble.”

“Wizard,” Jack corrects him automatically. Cheese worked hard for every ounce of power he has, and he deserves respect. “Cheese is a wizard, and he’s a child. Him, his brother, and the young Aarakocra, they’re hardly more than babes. You in the business of slaughtering children?”

The mate huffs, but Corbin gives Jack a thoughtful frown. “Can you convince him to stand down?”

From the corner of his eye, Jack sees Spaulding sit up straighter. If he can still save the youngest of them, then he hasn’t failed completely.

“You guarantee the three of ‘em safe passage to a decent port?”

Corbin looks over at the bound and bloodied crew members. After a moment, he says, “I’ll agree to spare the young Gnome. The rest of your crew is forfeit.”

Jack wants to argue and beg for all their lives, but he’s got nothing left to bargain with. If he doesn’t agree, it’s only a matter of time before Cheese is overrun and slaughtered by Corbin’s men.

“Swear it,” he says.

“I swear on my ship and the lives of my crew.”

Jack laughs. “Considering how many of your crew are lying dead on my ship, I’m not sure how much that’s worth to you.”

Marcid snorts loudly, and the pirate guarding him knocks the side of his head. Jack flashes him a sharp grin and receives a nod of approval in reply.

Corbin narrows his eyes, then calls out, “Frida!”

A moment later, the cleric emerges from the companionway. As she approaches, Corbin gestures for her staff, and she holds it out to him. He lays his hand on the symbol at the top and says solemnly, “I swear in the name of Sol and his children that the Gnomish wizard will be brought to safe harbor unharmed.”

“That seems excessive,” the cleric murmurs, and he turns to her with a raised eyebrow. “You gave this monster every chance to save his crew, and he refused. Why relent now?”

“She has a point” the first mate puts in. “He's desperate. Probably lying to spare as many as he can.”

“And you don’t see any nobility in that?” Corbin replies, looking between them. “You don’t see anything worth honoring in what these beasts have done?”

The other man scowls. “There’s nothing honorable about vermin defending their nest.”

“Brakkow alone killed fifteen of our people,” the cleric points out.

“Is that all?” Jack grumbles. “Seemed like more.”

Corbin ignores him. “And he’s going to pay for that. He’s also repeatedly offered his own life in exchange for his crew’s and now uses his last moments to ask mercy for them. Vermin or not, the intent is honorable.”

It's a strange feeling, to be shown respect and contempt in the same breath, but Jack doesn’t care what psychological song and dance Corbin needs to justify his actions, so long as even some of his crew is safe.

The cleric frowns, and the mate shakes his head in disgust. With the discussion apparently over, Corbin turns back to Jack. “You have my promise. Now do your part.”

Jack sighs. “Tell Cheese I said the colors are struck. If he asks why, tell him it’s the storm. He’ll cooperate.”

Corbin raises an eyebrow, then nods to the first mate, who heads for the companionway with a roll of his eyes. “Interesting phrases. How do I know you’re not ordering him to sink the ship or some such?”

“Suppose you don’t, do you?” After a moment, Jack adds quietly, “You’ll want to get him off the ship fast. Once he figures out he’s the only one getting spared, he might raise a fuss.”

“Understood,” Corbin replies in the same quiet tone.

Two souls spared, assuming Myrtle is still lurking below. Better numbers than Jack expected. Much better than his first crew.

Barely a minute passes before Cheese is marched across the deck, hands and mouth tied. He looks to Jack, who nods and tilts his head toward the Clarion. He turns toward Spaulding, who gives him the same response. Devastation is writ in every movement of Cheese’s small body, but he doesn’t struggle as the enemy crew lifts him onto the larger ship. Jack is proud of him for that.

The first blush of dawn is glowing on the eastern horizon, and Corbin turns to Jack with a serious expression.

“Now, unfortunately we’ve reached the grim conclusion of our business, and a number of things are going to happen. First, of course, I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to hang your body from the forward mast and hang your crew one by one on either side of you. Once all of you are dead, I’ll hand your whore over to my men for entertainment until we reach Leviathan, where I’ll put their body on a spike in the ruins of their little garden.”

Jack’s heart stutters to a stop. He looks across the deck to see Garthy staring back at him with swollen eyes, stripped of all their gold and power, straining with helpless fury. For the first time in all this terrible mess, Jack begs.

“No. Corbin, please. That’s... that’s torture. They don’t deserve that.”

“Perhaps they’ll enjoy it. I understand they have a rather excessive appetite.” Reaching into his breast pocket, Corbin pulls out the plain gold ring and holds it up for examination. “I did find this rather curious. Strange enough that you’re wearing a wedding band, but Frida tells me it’s enchanted with O’Brien’s magic. Which leads me to believe you’re something more than just another customer. Hmm?”

There’s no answer Jack can give in the moments he has left. There’s nothing he can say that will change things or ease the cold knot in his stomach. All he can do is keep his eyes on Garthy and hope they know how sorry he is, how desperately he wishes things had been different, how grateful he is for everything, how much...

“That would explain your loyalty, though it does raise a number of other questions,” Corbin goes on. “But I suppose there’s no accounting for matters of the heart. In any case...”

He holds up a hand, and two pirates approach, one carrying a length of rope with a noose and the other dragging the Garden’s Point, its heavy tip gouging the deck. From point to pommel, the sword is the height of Corbin’s shoulder, and he grunts at the weight as it drops into his grip, looking from the blade to Jack with a hint of surprised admiration.

“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d have said no man could wield that, even a brute like you.”

“Maybe you’re just weak,” Jack drawls.

Even Marcid, who has nearly a foot of height over Jack, said the great falchion was too heavy for his liking. The only other person Jack has ever seen lift it with any ease is Garthy. He’ll be surprised if Corbin can get it off the deck.

“Any last words, Captain Brakkow?”

Jack keeps looking at Garthy, still and tense and so far away. If they’re the last thing he sees in this world, he’ll die a lucky man. “Not for you.”

“As you wish.”

Two men grab Jack by the shoulders and force him forward. He tenses, then forces himself to relax. This will be better if he’s relaxed. With an impressive effort, Corbin manages to heave the Garden’s Point over his head and bring it arcing down onto Jack’s neck.

For anyone else, this would be the end. For Jack, it just hurts.

He twists away enough that the force of it doesn’t snap his neck, but the impact still wrenches every muscle in his spine. Finding no purchase in his flesh, the curved blade glances off of him and embeds itself in the deck.

This is his sword, gifted and bound to him by Celestial blood, and it can’t cut him.

Jack is dazed with pain, but he still recovers faster than Corbin and his men, who are staring in slack-jawed shock. He dives for the sword, slicing the ropes around his wrists and reaching for the hilt before his enemies can react. His neck spasms as he tries to wrench the blade free, and that slows him down enough for one of the pirates to kick him in the ribs and shove him back. His hands are free, though, and that’s all he needs to fight.

A shout of alarm comes from across the deck as Marcid knocks the pirate guarding him off her feet and scoops Sunny into his arms. Jack takes advantage of the distraction to throw off one of the men holding him and rake his claws across Corbin’s belly. At the same moment, Garthy surges forward and wrenches a dagger off the belt of the nearest enemy.

Garthy dispatches their guard with a quick stab. They pull the gag out of their mouth and reach their bound hands toward Jack. He doesn’t hear what they say, but he feels the warm breath of magic restore some of his strength. He’s still aching and exhausted, but it gets him closer to fighting shape. Even that small bit of magic is too much for Garthy, on top of what they’ve already expended. Jack sees them sway and pitch forward, barely catching themself before their face hits the deck.

Desperately, he pulls at the sword again, rolling with the movement so the blade comes free in a wide arc and slices one pirate nearly in half. With another swing, he cuts the ropes around his ankles and climbs to his feet.

He looks to Marcid and Spaulding and shouts, “Go!”

Marcid doesn’t hesitate, diving over the railing with Sunny cradled against his chest. Spaulding pauses for just a second, glancing up at the unseen deck of the Clarion, but he quickly follows Marcid.

Jack rushes across the deck toward Garthy. A bullet hits his shoulder, and he staggers but doesn’t stop. Two pirates run at him, and he barrels through them. Garthy is still on their knees, fighting off a burly man, wrestling for control of the dagger. If Jack can get to them, he can pull them up and get both of them over the side.

He’s nearly within reach when the blast of magic bowls him over. It feels like the wind off a wildfire, like concentrated sunlight burning through him. The same energy that washed harmlessly over him before is now a scorching blow without the protection of Garthy’s ring. He stumbles, still moving forward. Garthy jams the dagger into their attacker’s hip and jerks the man off his feet, bringing the blade swiftly down into his heart, then looks frantically toward Jack.

A heavy weight crashes into Jack’s back and sends him sprawling onto the deck. The Garden’s Point falls out of his hand and slides out of reach. Enemies surround him in seconds, forcing his arms behind him. He can’t see Garthy anymore, but he hears them start a spell, only to be cut off by a sickening crunch.

“Enough games,” Corbin spits. “String him up.”

Jack roars, struggling against the bodies holding him down. A noose slips around his neck and tightens, choking. The rope pulls taught and slowly begins to drag him across the deck.

His first captain liked to say there were two types of hangings: the proper way, in which the victim drops suddenly so the rope snaps their neck, and the pirate way, in which the victim is suspended and slowly strangled by their own weight. There are certainly worse ways to die, but Jack has always preferred to dispatch his enemies quickly, not like this.

It takes a full minute for Corbin’s crew to haul Jack to the forward mast, and he fights like a madman every inch of the way, kicking and flailing and screaming until one of them ties his mouth shut with a makeshift muzzle. The rope around his neck is bruising, biting, crushing his throat so only the barest gasps of air get through. He keeps fighting, even as a sickly gray haze starts to creep into the edges of his vision. The pirates heave, lifting him up to sitting, then standing, then his feet leave the deck, and what little breath he could still manage is gone.

The rope slips. Jack is just high enough in the air that falling back to the deck snaps his ankle with a sickening crack. There’s a muffled howl of anguish, but it doesn’t come from him.

More hands join the effort, and they pull him back up.

He’s still fighting, weak and breathless, until there’s a sharp pop in his spine, and he can’t move anymore. He can still feel his body, feel his lungs burning, but his limbs hang cold and useless in the stinging wind.

On the deck below, some of the pirates laugh. There’s shouting and jeering, the words drowned out by the rushing in his ears.

The sound fades. The pain fades. The light and colors and creeping dawn melt into darkness. For a moment, there’s nothing but himself, floating peacefully in a starless sea.

Then, there’s nothing at all.

Nothing.

Did any of it matter?

The darkness resolves into a vast plain, a shadowed prairie beneath a sky of unmoving storm clouds.

A voice calls out behind him. Familiar. Pleading. He turns.

Jack snaps back into his body with a jolt. He draws a breath and coughs, his throat raw. Everything hurts. He can’t move.

“Shit! Oh, thank fuck. Okay. You’re okay.”

It’s Myrtle’s voice, but he doesn’t see her. He tries to speak, but he just coughs again, wracking his body with pain.

“Fuck. This... This is bad,” Myrtle says. “You stay here. I’m gonna go help get our ship back. Please don’t move.”

He can't draw enough breath to tell her that his back is broken. All he can do is stare up at the brightening sky and towering mast, listening to the sounds of pitched battle as what remains of his crew tries to retake the ship.

It doesn’t take long, but it feels like hours before Jack hears a rush of water approaching and feels a cold hand touch his face. A wash of magic flows through him like a cool wave and pushes the pieces of his spine back into place. Everything still hurts, but now he can at least roll to his side and spit out a gob of bright red blood.

“Gross,” Myrtle mutters. When Jack looks up at her, she gives him a wry smile. “Would this be a bad time to tell you that I quit?”

He huffs out a laugh that turns into another wracking cough, accompanied by another splatter of blood.

Myrtle’s face falls. “I’m out of spells. There’s nothing else I can do. I’m sorry.”

Shaking his head, Jack waves off the apology and gives her hand a firm squeeze. Forcing air through his shattered throat, he manages to whisper, “Thank you.”

The bulk of Corbin’s people were on the Clarion, and the dozen remaining on the Moon are now either dead or tied up and sitting in a line in front of the main mast, guarded by Marcid and Sunny. The Clarion is a short distance away, her bow angled gently toward the sky as her stern sinks slowly beneath the waves. Meanwhile, the Moon is limping away from the scene as quickly as she can with Spaulding and Cheese and the wheel and the wind at her back.

Leave it to his crew to get things sorted on their own.

Garthy emerges from the cabin wearing one of Jack’s old shirts and apparently nothing else. They cross the deck to kneel beside Jack and lift his left hand. He feels the rush of warm magic as they slide the ring back into its place on his finger. Their beautiful face is streaked with blood, nose broken and lip split, one golden eye swollen shut. The wrongness of it rends Jack’s heart, but they’re alive. That has to be enough for now.

Gently, he brushes his fingers along the rise of their unmarked cheek. They lean into the touch with a sigh and place their hand over his. The rope burns around their wrists make his stomach twist.

For a moment, Garthy just stares at him, intense and unreadable. Then, carefully, they lean forward to give him a tender kiss. He can feel the magic in it, the flow of heat and energy like a warm wind rippling through his fur. Has it always been like this, and he never noticed? Or is something different, now that the source of their power has changed?

As the magic does its work, closing wounds and mending breaks, the kiss deepens until it holds all the force and frustration of the past few days. When they finally part, breathless, the swelling on Garthy’s face is gone, but the fading darkness of the bruises remains.

“Ugh. Get a room,” Myrtle teases.

“We’ve got a room,” Garthy grumbles in reply. “Keep getting interrupted.”

Jack wants to promise an end to the interruptions, that he’ll be all theirs for a little while, but that seems impossible. The way things are going, he’ll be lucky if he gets any sleep, much less a moment for pleasure. Considering the abysmal failure he’s just suffered and the state he’s in now, it’ll be a wonder if they still want him at all.

“Help me up,” he rasps. It still hurts to speak, but at least the sound is intelligible.

Garthy and Myrtle lift him to his feet, both frowning in concern. The world spins, and he has to grip their shoulders to keep from falling right back on his ass. His wounds are healed, but his body has taken too much punishment to keep going. He takes a step, and his leg twinges, the muscles still cramped and weak. His step buckles into a limp, and he bites back a grunt of pain. Immediately, Garthy slips their arm around his waist to help support him.

“Come on, love. Let’s get some rest for my gallant hero, yeah?”

“Starting to think I’ll rest when I’m dead,” he grumbles. Garthy doesn’t say anything to that. “Let me deal with this lot, then I’ll have a seat.”

By nature, Jack is not a violent man. He’s always found more satisfaction in quick thinking and cunning, and now, in the fading autumn of his life, he craves comfort and softness more than anything that can be bought at the tip of a sword. Violence is the language of piracy, though, and Jack is brutally fluent.

First things first.

“Get ‘em on their feet,” he commands, and Myrtle and Marcid quickly haul the seven prisoners upright. Slowly, Jack disentangles himself from Garthy and stalks toward the cleric. He’s pleased to see her shrink back in fear. “Where’s her staff?”

Marcid tosses it to him, and he snaps it in half across his knee. The fear turns to fury, but whatever curse she spits at him is lost behind the gag. He grabs her by the throat and leans in close to make sure she can hear him as he growls, “Tell your god he needs better followers.”

The sharp crack of her neck breaking makes the men on either side of her jump. Jack lets her body fall to the deck and tosses the broken staff on top of her. When he looks up, the remaining prisoners have gone pale with terror, and one of them has pissed himself.

Corbin glares at Jack with indignant rage, but his voice shakes when he says, “That was hardly necessary.”

Jack has decided that he can handle fanatics, and he can handle spellcasters. A fanatical spellcaster is just a step too far. “Didn’t hear you pleading for her.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Not likely.” Jack gestures to the four remaining members of the Clarion’s crew. “Care to speak for the rest of ‘em?”

Corbin narrows his eyes. “I don’t employ children or whores, so I’m not sure what I might say to sway you.”

“Just make your own child into an assassin, ‘ey? And paying for pleasure’s distasteful, but raping a prisoner is just your right.” Jack has to force the words through his ravaged throat, but it’s a point worth making. To the others, he says, “Hell of a captain, you’ve got here.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a short, dark-skinned woman says, “Fuck him. He’s a twat.”

The man next to her bumps her with his shoulder and hisses for her to be quiet, and Corbin turns to look at her in shock.

“And fuck you, too,” she spits at her fellow pirate. “Fuck the lot of you. I don’t wanna die for your fucking crusade.”

“Shut your mouth, you ungrateful bitch,” one of the others snaps.

She ignores him and says to Jack, “I only been on the Clarion a few months. Heard Corbin was a decent captain. I never signed up for... for whatever this is.”

Jack crosses his arms and considers her. She’s Human, as far as he can tell, but her short, square build suggests she may have some Dwarven ancestry. Her black hair is done up in small braids and decorated with bits of metal and shells. She stares right back, like she’s giving him the same evaluation. Jack turns to look at Sunny with a raised eyebrow, and she shrugs.

Finally, he asks the woman, “Name?”

“Bex.”

“Bex,” he repeats. “Could use the extra help, if you’d like new employment.”

For a moment, she blinks at him, then she turns to look at Myrtle where she’s hovering next to Marcid. “How is he? Really?”

Myrtle considers the question before she answers, “Honestly? This is about as intense as it gets. Most of the time, he’s a sweetheart.”

Jack rolls his eyes, but Bex nods, apparently satisfied. “Alright.”

“Traitorous cunt,” the man next to her mutters as she steps out of line, and Jack punches him square in the mouth.

“Gonna give the rest of you a choice,” Jack goes on.. His voice feels like gravel. “Jump over the side, maybe live long enough to get rescued. Or get locked in the bilge ‘til you starve. Up to you.”

He steps back, waiting, and Corbin glares at his four remaining men, as if daring them to move. The one who pissed himself looks back and forth between his fellows and Jack for several seconds, then sprints for the side and tumbles over the rail.

Jack looks at the other three, eyebrow raised, waiting.

The one he punched spits a bloody mouthful onto the deck and squares his shoulders. The others make a similar attempt at bravado, but keep casting sidelong glances at their rather defeated-looking captain. Jack gives them another second, then tilts his head to Marcid, who grabs the three pirates by their collars and marches them below decks.

“What about him?” Sunny asks, nodding to Corbin in disgust.

“Tie him to the mast. Too tired to deal with him now.” As he says it, Jack feels the exhaustion in the marrow of his bones. Adrenaline and necessity have been keeping him upright, and he suddenly realizes how desperately he needs to lie down. To Bex, whose bindings have been untied by Myrtle, he says, “Take the wheel. Straight course. Everybody else, cabin.”

His leg buckles again, and Garthy helps him gingerly down the steps into his cabin, where he sinks into the big captain’s chair with a groan. He’s much too old for this, and every fight feels like it ages him another year. Or maybe they just make him feel his age. Garthy gives him a quick scratch between his ears and stands to the side as the others join them.

“Prisoners secure?” he asks and receives nods in reply. “Good. Which of you’s the least dead on your feet?”

“I’m doing okay,” Myrtle answers.

“Rest for an hour, then take the helm. Give the new recruit a job. Follow the wind for now.” He takes a breath and adds, “Nobody talk to the prisoners. Aye?”

They all murmur assent, and Jack waves them off to their work and sleep. As soon as the door clicks shut, Jack slumps down in the chair, feeling the weight of all that remains to be done.

Stillness falls in the cabin. For a moment, there’s no sound but waves and the creaking of wood. To Jack, it’s the sound of his ship weeping, aching to be whole again. He rubs his foot absently on a smooth spot in the floor, soothing.

In a voice that trembles with the same kind of ache, Garthy says quietly, “That was too fucking close.”

“You’re telling me,” Jack huffs. With a great cracking in his joints, he hauls himself back to his feet.

Garthy is in his arms before he can take a step, wrapping him in a warm embrace that feels like coming home at the end of a wretched day. He holds them with his whole body, bending his entire being around them like maybe that will be enough.

“You’re alright?” he asks, because he has to. “They didn’t...?”

They draw back, shaking their head. “No. That awful mate was ready to try, but he couldn’t get his dick up.”

A laugh and the attendant cough bursts out of Jack before he can stop it. Wheezing, he gasps, “Sorry, sorry. Not... not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Garthy says. A soft smile creeps across their face, and Jack thinks of the glorious sunrise. "Never been a problem for you, yeah?”

He’s so damn tired, but there’s no degree of exhaustion that can dim his desire for them. Pressed close as they are, he can feel the lines of their body, feel the strength and power that has no source outside their own self. Wearing his threadbare linen shirt, they smell like the cedar and dried rosemary of his locker, muting the scent of sweat and seawater. Only the barest trace remains of their own incense and nothing at all of night-blooming flowers.

Wrecked as he is, though, he’s sure any attempted lovemaking would be a disappointment, at best. He shakes his head and sits back in the chair with a heavy sigh. Undeterred, Garthy leans against the desk in front of him and places his hand on their thigh, just below the hem of the long shirt.

He tugs at it gently. “Got spare trousers, y’know.”

“Didn’t have time to put on a whole outfit, did I?” Parting their legs with a sly grin, they ask,” Are you saying you don’t like this?”

Jack drags his eyes slowly over the full length of them, drinking in the sight like a rich wine. “Not saying that.”

They shift to sit on the desk and brace their feet on the arms of his chair, then lean back on their hands and give him a wicked grin. The fabric of the shirt pools between their legs, just barely covering them in a way that is somehow more obscene than base nudity. Other acts might be beyond him in this moment, but this he could do in his sleep. On one very memorable occasion, he did.

Trailing kisses along their inner thigh, he savors the taste and softness of their skin, savors the hum of satisfaction they make as he gets closer to his goal. Most of all, he savors the familiar scent of their cunt, the first sharp hint of arousal that makes him salivate in anticipation. As he reaches the edge of the hanging fabric, he pauses to look up and finds them watching him with parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes.

“Alright?” he asks. They’ve done this more times than he can count, but after the day they’ve had, it seems right to check in.

“Perfect, darling. Absolutely perfect.”

With a last kiss on the inside of their thigh, he pushes away the shirt to reveal the patch of thick black hair and a thin slip of that divine flesh. Holding the folds apart with his fingers, he drags the flat of his tongue up the length of their cunt and revels in the heat and bitter taste of it. They moan and scrape their fingernails across his head as he rubs his nose against their clit.

Even now, when there should be plenty of time, every second feels fragile, like glass that has only just cooled from the fire that formed it. If another interruption is imminent, he’s going fill this moment with as much pleasure as he can.

He alternates between tonguing at their entrance and licking their clit until they start to shudder and gasp, lying back on the desk to spread open for him further. When he moves to sucking on their clit, they moan loudly and tense under his mouth, closer and closer with every breathe.

It's the soft scrape of his teeth that pushes them screaming over the edge. A flood of wet heat soaks into the fur on his chin, and all their skin flushes hot. He keeps sucking until their moans turn to keening cries and the throbbing in their clit starts to stutter. Slowly, he eases back, letting them come down in gentle waves, and blows softly on the sensitive flesh as he pulls away.

For a moment, they just lie there, panting and trembling, then they take a deep breath and let it out slowly as they sit back up. All trace of bruising is gone from their face, and their golden eyes glitter with renewed brightness. When they slide off the desk to lean over him, he can feel the familiar heat of them surround him like a cloud of soothing steam, and their kiss sends sparks through his veins. With one good orgasm, Garthy is more themself than they have been in days, and Jack is ashamed he didn’t understand sooner how much they needed this.

“Get on the bed, and I’ll return the favor,” they murmur against the corner of his mouth.

The promise of having their mouth on him sends a shiver through his body, but that just reminds him how worn out and aching he still is. Some of their healing must have spilled into him, though, because it doesn’t feel like swallowing glass when he says, “Not sure I can do much else.”

They hum thoughtfully and bite gently on his lower lip. “You don’t have to do anything, sweetheart. Just let me take care of you.”

“Want to make sure you’re taken care of, first.” Even if his cock cooperates, he’s not sure he can accept their care after how he’s neglected them.

“Tell you a secret, Jacky my love.” Grinning, they lean forward and whisper in his ear, “I enjoy giving just as much as receiving.”

Jack snorts. “If that’s the case, then I’m not as good at that as I thought.”

“Oh, you are exceptional at that. Prodigious, even,” they assure him, taking a step backward and pulling him out of his seat. “But I like it more because I know how much you love doing it.”

He really does love it. His teenage years included many hours spent servicing the neighborhood girls who were thrilled to learn he would gladly do what their boyfriends wouldn’t. They went right back to their boyfriends when he was finished, but the boys were smart enough to look the other way, even the ones who weren’t getting their own service from Jack on the side.

He takes a step forward, and his leg buckles again. Immediately, Garthy reaches to catch him.

“Fuck! I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t be playing. Let’s get you lying down, yeah?”

“If I lie down, I might not get back up,” he grumbles, but he lets himself be led and eased down onto the bed.

Garthy tugs off his shirt and pushes him back gently to pull off his trousers. He’s filthy from fighting, but Garthy removes the evidence with a wave of their hand, repeating the gesture to wipe the blood from their own face. The entire assault might have been nothing more than a nightmare, if not for the lingering pain and exhaustion. Once Jack is settled comfortably on his back, Garthy climbs on top of him and straddles his hips, stripping off their borrowed shirt so he can finally see them in all their glory, all rippling muscles and shimmering tattoos.

“No interruptions this time,” they tell him, sliding their hands up and down his chest, mussing the fur and then smoothing it. “Nothing is getting you out of this bed ‘til I’m good and done with you.”

“I’m all yours,” Jack says. “I’m always yours.”

They lean down to kiss him fiercely, roughly, teeth bared like they might devour him, hand on his neck like a collar. Everything he is outside of this bed disappears. All that remains is what Garthy wants him to be.

Pushing his legs apart, they move down the bed to kneel between his thighs and massage his sheath until the pink tip of his cock starts to peak out. They lick it, making him gasp, and give him a feral grin as their lips close around him. Sucking relentlessly, they slowly draw out more and more of his length. He has to twist his fingers in the bedclothes to keep from grasping their hair when he reaches the back of their throat, and they swallow him down. That exquisite pressure whets the edge of his desire, cutting through the exhaustion and uncertainty until all he feels is want and need and adoration for the beautiful being that has blessed him with this.

Eventually, with a slow, wet drag of lips and tongue, Garthy pulls off of him, and he lets out a desperate whine as his aching cock falls back against his stomach. Crawling back up the bed, they give him another deep kiss that tastes like his own flesh.

“I... Fuck. Wasn’t sure I could... could get it up,” he pants.

“Well, your cock and I have an understanding, yeah?” they drawl, sighing as they rub their wet cunt up and down the shaft. “Just needed the right encouragement.”

Jack can’t think of any better encouragement than their perfect lips and eager tongue. He would defy the laws of nature for the promise of their beautiful mouth.

They lift themselves up and position his cock so they can start to sink back onto it, and he quickly reaches out to hold it steady. The first inch feels like it takes forever to fit into them and has them sweating with effort. When there’s enough of his cock in for them to start moving, it’s all Jack can do to keep still and not bury himself inside them, even as they push him deeper and deeper. By the time he reaches their limit, they’re moaning and dripping wet around him, and he’s shaking with tension.

“Alright?” he asks, brushing a lock of hair away from their furrowed brow.

Garthy nods, breathing heavy and hard as they give themselves a moment to rest their head against his chest. “You?”

“Perfect.” He rolls his hips carefully and groans at the sensation as they gasp and tense around him. “Definitely not gonna last long, though.”

“Good, good,” they murmur, bracing their hands on the bed above his shoulders. “Fuck me, then. Wanna feel you.”

His cock is too long to fit all the way inside them, so he keeps a hand wrapped around the base to keep it from going too far as he thrusts upward. Garthy cries out, and he feels fresh wetness coat their entrance. Planting his feet on the bed, he starts to fuck them at a brisk pace, the first pulses of his orgasm already quickening low in his belly. With his free hand, he presses the pad of one finger against their clit, both to cushion the impact of his fist and to rub gently as he moves in and out of them. They moan like they’re dying and clench around him, trembling with the rise of their own second climax.

From there, it becomes a race against himself, chasing both his pleasure and theirs, knowing that harder and faster will get them both to the edge but not which of them will make it first. Then Garthy cants their hips to make his cock hit the right place inside them and comes with a sound of ecstatic anguish, gushing and shuddering around him.

Jack is seconds behind them. A few more rapid thrusts have him spilling inside them, crying out much more loudly than he means to. It feels like his body is tearing open, giving every drop of himself in offering on the altar of their sacred sex.

Garthy moans as his cock retracts, sliding out of them with a wet drag, his spend leaking down their thighs. They’re still so tight, clenching like they don’t want to let him go and wringing the pleasure out of every last second until the tip finally slips out, and they sink down to sprawl across his chest, panting. Jack wraps his arms tightly around them as they tuck their face into the curve of his neck. It’s unpleasantly hot and sticky with sweat and sex, and there’s nowhere in the world he would rather be.

He doesn’t realize he’s started to doze off until Garthy whispers, “Jack?”

“Hmm? Oh. Sorry, just...” He tries to stifle a yawn as they roll off of him, and he feels the familiar tickle of magic clearing away the mess. “Just a bit tired.”

“Can’t imagine why,” they tease gently. “Do you need anything before you drift off, darling?”

He rolls to his side and curls instinctively toward them as they pull up the thin blanket to cover him. The heat of sex has faded, and now his body wants nothing but softness and warmth. This is what it means to be a Beast, the thing that Humans and their like miss in their estimation. The basest animal impulse isn’t to consume but to share. To share pleasure and warmth and rest, to be curled in perfect peace with a trusted body, to share the safety of home.

If he manages to answer the question, it’s probably not intelligible. His thoughts and wants are vague shapes in his mind, obscured by the soft haze of exhausted contentment.

As the last of his awareness fades, he hears Garthy tell him softly, “Rest well, Jacky my love. You’ve earned it.”

Chapter Text

Jack dreams of drowning.

He wakes up gasping, clawing, nothing to hold onto, nothing...

There’s a heavy weight holding him down and a voice calling his name.

“Jack, stop! It’s me. It’s alright.”

His heart is pounding hard enough to bruise, and he can’t get enough air into his lungs. He’s not drowning, but it feels like he’s dying.

“Breathe, love. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

Garthy is kneeling on his legs and has his arms pinned to the bed. He stops struggling. He didn’t realize he was struggling. They immediately let go of his arms and bring their hands to his face, stroking gently.

“It’s alright. You’re safe. You’re alright,” they soothe. “Everything’s alright, sweetheart. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

It takes real effort to force a breath into his aching chest. Everything is slow and distant. But he’s breathing. He’s breathing, and the world is slowly coming into focus.

The first thing that really registers is Garthy’s beautiful eyes, golden irises moving frantically.

“Jacky my love? Back with me now, darling?”

He has to swallow several times before he can rasp out, “I… I’m here. I’m alright.”

They visibly relax, but they keep touching him, running their hands over him like they need to make sure he’s truly present and whole. “You stopped breathing. You were just thrashing about, choking like you w-“

“Drowning,” he says. “I was… was drowning.”

It’s a familiar nightmare. Once, drowning was a nightly occurrence. For years, he would wake flailing and cling to that piece of mast like it could save him all over again.

Garthy is still hovering over him, looking worried. He catches their hand and lays a soft kiss in the center of their palm.

“Just a bad dream.” There’s a shaking his in his voice that belies the assurance. “Hasn’t been that… that bad in a while.”

They let out a heavy breath and sink down next to him, resting their hand over his heart. “Not really surprising, yeah? All things considered.”

“Suppose not.”

Jack feels hungover, head throbbing, throat dry, mind moving through a haze of recollections and awareness, and he needs to piss. Yesterday... yesterday started with a brisk wind and a plan of escape. Now, the gold of late afternoon streams through the port window, and he has a ship with no bow, nearly died, and is headed to a destination where welcome is uncertain, at best. Oh, and there’s four prisoners to deal with, plus a dubious new deckhand, and his glorious lover, who he adores beyond measure and who he absolutely does not deserve, needs a certain amount of pleasurable stimulation to keep up their strength.

He just woke up, and he already feels tired.

With a groan, he rolls to his side and curls into Garthy’s arms, but the painful pressure in his bladder makes him immediately roll away again and climb out of the warm bed. Once he’s seen to his functions and turns to hunt for the water jug, he finds Garthy watching him with a crooked grin.

“What?”

“You’ve got bedhead,” they tell him, delighted. “All over the back of you.”

“So do you,” he points out, and they gasp in horror.

“Do I?” They run their fingers through the tangled flop of hair with a frown. “Oh hells. It really is a mess.”

“Think it’s rather fetching, myself.” He doesn’t know what their usual routine is, but it’s clearly past time they would normally do something with their hair. It’s started to curl in odd directions and lie flat in others, with a halo of frizz all over, and Jack has never seen anything more perfectly charming.

They roll their eyes. “Darling, I believe I could dress in a burlap sack and cover myself in dirt, and you’d still tell me I was beautiful.”

“Aye,” he agrees. “And you would be.”

The water jug is rolling lazily around the footwell of the desk, dribbling weakly around the cracked cork. As Jack reaches down to pick it up, he sees the jar of honey, lying in a sticky puddle, empty but for a fine gold film along the side. It’s a small thing, easily replaceable and easily cleaned up, but he can’t help feeling a pang of loss and wondering if this is some kind of omen, a sign that sweetness will soon be in even shorter supply. Maybe, he thinks grimly, it’s a warning of how very little time he has left to savor the good things that have been granted to him. With that at the front of his mind, he crawls back into bed and kisses the very best of those things until growling stomachs drive both of them to admit that it’s time to leave the sanctuary of the cabin.

As a testament to the improvement in their mood, Garthy accompanies Jack to the galley, where supper is just getting underway. The fact that they’re once again wearing nothing but Jack’s old shirt passes without comment, though Spaulding does blush crimson and look pointedly at his food when they step over the bench to sit down. Bex, on the other hand, stares openly, but Jack can’t tell if she’s shocked by the indecent clothing or fascinated by their very presence.

Marcid has the decency to let Jack get most of the way through a bowl of stew before he says, “We may have a bit of a problem, once we reach port.”

“Expect we’ll have a few,” Jack grumbles. “What in particular should I be worried about?”

“Money,” Marcid answers flatly. “Seeing as our coffers are now at the bottom of the sea with the Clarion and her crew.”

Jack stops with the spoon halfway to his mouth and stares at Marcid for a second before he says, “Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

“Fuck.”

“Loaded out every valuable they could find, including anything with any trace of magic on it,” Marcid goes on. “Seems all our private purses were hidden enough for safety, so we can cover the harbor fees for a few days. But unless you’ve been lying about your take, we’ll have nothing left for repairs or supplies.”

The irony is that Jack hasn’t been entirely honest about his cut of their profits. At the beginning, every member of the crew, including himself, received an equal percentage of any treasure they acquired, but Jack has taken less and less over the years, putting most of his share back into the ship’s coffers. His personal expenses are minimal, his tastes are modest, and he’d rather reinvest in his ship than hoard wealth he doesn’t need. The dishonesty wasn’t intentional, he just never bothered to mention it. Though he suspects that Marcid, who is very good with numbers, has some idea what he’s been doing.

“Fuck,” is Myrtle’s contribution to the discussion.

“So what does that mean?” Cheese asks anxiously. “What do we do?”

Before Jack can respond, Garthy says lightly, “Don’t worry about money, darling. I can get that sorted.”

All eyes turn to them, but they continue picking delicately at their food without elaboration.

After a moment, Myrtle remarks, “Well that was... cryptic.”

Garthy just gives her a wink, and Jack frowns. “Much as I appreciate the drama, I would like to know where you plan to get that much gold.”

“Do let me keep a bit of mystery, love,” they reply, leaning into his shoulder. “You just get us to port and get me a crystal, and I can solve a whole host of problems.”

Jack shares a skeptical look with Marcid. He’s going to have to know, eventually, but he’s not about to start an argument at the table. “That’s settled, then. Anything else come up?”

“Besides you?” Myrtle mutters under her breath, and Marcid snorts. Jack gives her an unamused look. “Listen, your cabin is right under the wheel, and those deck boards do not block sound.”

He gives Garthy a look, and they smile back at him without any hint of apology. Not that he cares, if he’s being honest. He can hardly be blamed for taking his lover to bed after they so nearly lost each other. Perversely, he does rather hope Corbin heard at least enough to be scandalized.

Jack finishes his meal quickly and gathers food to bring to Sunny. On his way out, he tells Marcid, “Bring some scraps and water to the three below.”

“So you’re not going to let them starve to death?” Bex asks, frowning. It’s the first words she’s said since he sat down.

“Course not. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” He knows the pain that comes after days without food, and he’d rather sink into the sea than slowly waste away.

“Corbin would,” she observes, and Jack shrugs.

“Aye, well. I’m not him, am I?”

A brilliant sunset of deep reds and soft purples greets him off the port bow, and a cool breeze sweeps across the quiet deck. On the upper deck, Sunny gives him a thin smile and takes the bowl of stew gratefully, while he keeps a hand on the wheel.

“You’re looking a sight better,” he says, and she is, despite a few bald patches where her glossy feathers have been ripped out.

“You, too.”

He lets the silence settle. The others will make him ask how they’re faring, but Sunny just needs a moment to collect her thoughts before she says, “I’m worried about my family.”

“Aye, I know.” He sets a hand gently on her shoulder. “Vee’s a clever lass, and your folks are smart enough to listen to her. They’ll be alright.”

“I hope so.” She slurps at her stew and shuffles her feet on the deck. “I’m worried about us, too.”

He wants to reassure her, shrug it off, tell her that of course they’ll be fine, but he respects her too much to lie. “Me, too.”

She snorts. “See, now I know we’re in trouble.”

“Believe the immediate danger’s passed, now that bastard’s sorted,” he says, jerking his head toward where Corbin is tied to the forward mast. “Still think Solace is our best chance, for the time being, but after that... I don’t know.”

Another moment of silence passes, filled with the sound of sails creaking and waves beating like a pulse against the hull of the ship. Finally, Sunny asks, “Are you okay?”

That, Jack thinks, is a very complicated question. “Don’t have enough to worry about, ‘ey? Gonna worry about me, as well?”

“A good captain looks after the well-being of their crew, and a good first mate looks after the well-being of their captain.”

He’s lost count of the number of times she’s said that to him over the years, but the burden of his well-being always feels too heavy to place more than a fraction of it on her shoulders. She’ll bully him into eating and sleeping and hit him with healing spells when he insists he doesn’t need it, but he doesn’t like to tell her more about his mental state than she needs to know. She probably knows more than he tells her, but that can’t be helped.

“I’m alright, lass. Just old and tired.”

She gives him a hard look. “Jack, you died.”

The sudden memory of the noose digging into his neck is so visceral that for half a second, he can’t breathe. “Was rather a close call, I admit.”

“It wasn’t close, it happened. You were fully dead for nearly a minute. A few more seconds, and...” Her feathers ruffle in agitation, then smooth down as she takes a deep breath. “We've had close calls. This was different.”

It is different. Jack’s fought plenty of enemies that wanted to kill him, for one reason or other, and some that came damn close, but he’s never faced someone that wanted to kill him, personally. It doesn’t help to know that there’s a whole host of people who’d like to be rid of everyone who looks like him, as well, which feels just as personal.

“Might be about time for me to retire, when all this is done,” he admits.

“Oh, thank fuck,” she sighs. “I thought we’d have to trick you into staying home.”

“Myrtle said the same thing,” Jack huffs. “Starting to think you lot don’t want me around.”

“We do want you around! That’s the point. We want you to live long enough to enjoy being around.”

She’s so near the beginning of her long life, she can’t possibly understand how near he is to the end of his short one. “That’s nice, but don’t hang me out to dry, just yet. Had quite enough of that, lately.”

“Don’t even joke. That was fucking awful,” she groans.

“Woulda been worse if he’d cut off my head,” Jack points out, and she gives him a look of such genuine horror that he immediately regrets it. “Sorry, sorry. Something that bad, you’ve got to laugh about it, ‘ey?”

“Would you laugh if it was me?”

The thought sobers him so fast, it’s dizzying. Even from the safety of the present moment, he knows that watching his indomitable first mate thrash at the end of that rope would’ve killed him. Contritely, he admits, “No, I wouldn’t.”

“That’s what I thought,” she grumbles, shooting him a pointed look. “Oh shit, how’s Garthy?”

That is an even more complicated question. “Better, now we’ve had a bit of breathing room. They’re in the galley having supper.”

“You left them alone with the rest of the crew? You know they’re all gonna be talking about you.”

“As long as they’re not plotting a mutiny, they can say what they like.”

Jack has always thought of himself as a competent lover and a decent captain, but the past few days have demonstrated how woefully inadequate he is on both counts. The crew will likely breathe sighs of relief when he departs. He just hopes Garthy will give him a chance to make up for his failures.

Wearily, he sighs, “If you’re good here, I’d better go tend to our guest.”

Sunny scowls. “Have fun with that.”

Truth be told, Jack has no idea what he’s going to say to Corbin. What can he say to someone who tried to torture and murder his crew? What possible conversation can he have with someone who thinks he’s a lesser form of life? At the very least, he has to bring food to his prisoner, so he might as well try to talk.

There’s a petty satisfaction in seeing how miserable Corbin looks. His pale face has been burnt by sun and wind, and his clothes are damp and stained from the salt spray. He’s been tied up facing the bow, so the setting sun has been directly in his face for hours, leaving his eyes bloodshot and bleary as he blinks up at Jack. All his imperious authority is gone, stripped clean by one day with no shelter from the elements and no company but his own thoughts.

Jack sticks a flask of water in his bound hands and leans casually against the mast above him. He blinks at the flask, then looks back up at Jack with a questioning frown.

“It’s water,” Jack tells him. “If I was gonna kill you, I wouldn’t bother with poison. Too expensive.”

Tentatively, Corbin uncaps the flask and sniffs at the opening, then takes a cautious sip. Apparently satisfied that the contents are nothing more than clean, tepid water, he drains it greedily and hands it back to Jack.

“Thank you,” he rasps. Jack replies by dropping a chunk of stale bread in his lap. Corbin stares at it, then fixes his eyes straight ahead on the setting sun. “I’ll eat when my men do.”

It’s easier to have principles after one’s thirst has been slaked, obviously. “Your men are being fed as we speak.”

That seems to catch him by surprise. “You... Oh. I see. Of course.”

Whatever he thinks he’s figured out, it’s enough to make him start gnawing on the hard bread, and Jack has to wonder if this man has ever gone an entire day without food. Any other time, with anyone else, it would be peaceful to linger here in the forecastle, watching the sky darken with quiet company, but that just makes it worse that Jack has to spend this time with him.

Halfway through the hunk of bread, Corbin says, in a tone that’s not nearly as light as he thinks it is, “I assume you intend to interrogate me.”

“Thought about it,” Jack tells him. “Couldn’t really think of anything to ask.”

Corbin scoffs. “And here I was starting to think you were clever.”

“Never claimed to be.” Jack moves to lean against the railing where he can watch Corbin’s face from the corner of his eye. “No, I figure I already know anything useful I might get out of you, so there’s not much point.”

“Is that right?” Corbin drawls, a hint of that imperiousness returning. “And what is it you think you know? If I may ask.”

“Well, I know there’s some kind of plan to drive Beastfolk out of Leviathan. Seeing how that started, I’m guessing step one is to scare as many as you can into leaving of their own accord, then you’ll probably start clearing out neighborhoods, rounding folk up. With the scale of it, you’ve got to have a friend in the Ramble to keep the elders from interfering. Somewhere along the way, you’ll probably make a run at the Ruction, just to keep things official. How’m I doing so far?”

As Jack speaks, Corbin’s face slowly goes slack in disbelief. Jack never claimed to be clever, but he’s certainly not stupid.

“There is one thing you could clear up for me,” he goes on. “I’m curious to know who it was that sent your son after Garthy.”

Corbin flinches, and there’s just a fraction of hesitation before he replies, “He volunteered.”

“Did he now? No doubt trying to make his old man proud.” This is just speculation, but it’s a question that’s been hanging in the back of his mind. “The attack on the Gardens was pretty well-coordinated, though, so someone must have had final say. I figure, if you’re the one that made the call, then all this is more guilt than grief.”

The flicker of devastation that crosses Corbin’s face answers the question long before he manages to speak. The slight crack in his quiet voice underlines the truth of it. “I loved my son. I wouldn’t... He wasn’t ready. I told him O’Brien was dangerous, but he...”

It’s easy to call this man a monster, but it’s hard to blame a father for becoming monstrous in his grief. Jack can have mercy now because his crew - his family - is alive, but he knows how bloody the revenge would be if Corbin had taken any one of them away from him. There’s a column of patched over holes through every deck of Leviathan as a testament to the fury of Jack’s revenge.

“It wasn’t your decision,” he says gently, and Corbin shakes his head. “Whose was it?”

That gets him a bitter laugh. “You’ve got salt water in the brain if you think I’m going to give you names.”

“Fair enough.” To be honest, Jack’s much less interested in the who of it all than the why. “I do have to wonder if you may have been set up, though. Or at least, your son was.”

“What in Sol’s name are you talking about?” Corbin asks sharply.

Jack shrugs. “Just seems strange that whoever put all that work into organizing the attack would drop the ball on something that important. I mean, they knew enough to plant explosives where it’d bring down the buildings and time things so Garthy would be occupied, but they didn’t make sure the people sent to assassinate them could get the job done?”

Corbin bristles. “My son was perfectly c-”

“I’m sure he was a decent sword hand,” Jack says. “But sending two young people with simple weapons and not a scrap of magic between them to kill a powerful spellcaster isn’t what I’d call a sound strategy.”

“O’Brien didn’t kill Reginald. You did,” Corbin reminds him. “As you rather pointedly stated.”

“Aye, and that’s another thing that troubles me.” The more Jack works through the details, the less sense they make. “I coulda snapped both those two in half without breaking a sweat, and anyone at the Gardens could tell you I’d be in the room with Garthy. So either the person in charge didn’t know what they were sending their people into, which seems unlikely, given all the other planning. Or they did know, and young Reginald was meant to fail from the start.”

There’s a beat of tense silence before Corbin says, entirely without conviction, “That’s absurd.”

“Maybe. ‘Cause what’d be the point? Except that getting slaughtered in their own bed might make Garthy a martyr, whereas being killed by a grieving father tells a different kind of story.”

Jack stands up from the railing and stretches his back, which cracks loudly. Only a faint trace of pink remains on the horizon, and the night sky has begun to glitter with a blanket of bright stars. Corbin scowls at him, but he guesses the anger is reflexive, directed at him in the absence of a better target.

“In any case, you’re probably right, and I’m just talking nonsense,” he says casually. “After all, what do I know? I’m just a dumb Rat.”

With that, he leaves Corbin to contemplate the serene darkness and whatever thoughts might come with it.

Back in his cabin, Garthy is seated at his desk, penciling notes on a detailed map of the coastline. They glance up as he comes in and give him a warm smile, then look back down to finish whatever they’re writing.

“Saw you visiting with our honored guest.”

“Aye, and I’m glad to trade his company for yours.”

Looking around, he realizes the cabin is just a bit tidier than he left it. The papers and charts that were scattered during the chaos have all been put away, and the bedclothes appear to have been shaken out and straightened. The aft window is open, letting in a soft sea breeze and filling the room with the scent of salt water and the potted lily, which is wilting sadly from neglect. On the floor beside the desk, there’s no sign of the spilled honey.

“Did you clean in here?”

Garthy laughs. “You sound surprised.”

“No, just... Well, yes actually.” In all the time he’s known them, the only cleaning he’s ever seen Garthy do is magically whisking away the fluid byproducts of sex, which requires nothing more than a wave of their hand.

“I do know how to clean, lovey. Don’t make my staff do everything.”

“If you say so.”

Every version of them is lovely to him, but he’s reminded that the aspect he sees now is a sacred privilege. They’re at ease, settled, offering no affect or performance, just their beautiful presence and staggering intellect. For years, Jack has felt that their home was his, but this is the first time it’s seemed like maybe his home might be theirs, too.

Finishing their note, they put the pencil away and ask, “Did Captain Corbin have anything interesting to say? Or was it just slurs and threats?”

“Oh, I’d say it was plenty interesting.”

He relates the conversation, and they listen with a deepening frown. At the conclusion, they say thoughtfully, “I’d assumed Corbin was a leader in this little uprising, but you’re suggesting he’s just a pawn.”

“Maybe not a pawn, exactly, but clearly not calling the shots,” Jack says. “I’d guess a knight or a rook, if we’re using chess metaphors.”

“Darling, you know I don’t play chess, but I take your meaning.” They sit back, drumming their fingers on the arm of the chair. “There’s only four elders at the Ramble that fit the racial profile, as it were. I wouldn’t put it past any of them to back something like this, but I doubt they’d risk being involved directly.”

“Plausible deniability, if things go wrong.”

“Exactly.”

Jack sits down on the bed with a sigh and a slight creak in his knees. “Most pressing thing on my mind is if they’re gonna send someone else after you once they figure Corbin fucked up.”

“I doubt it. Exile’s much cleaner than execution,” Garthy says. “And do recall, Jacky my love, it’s not just me they’re after.”

Jack frowns. “Corbin wants me dead, but that’s personal. No reason for his superiors to care about me.”

“But they clearly do, yeah? Or have you forgotten the knife in your side?”

“Oh. Right. Suppose I did.” Of all the harrowing things that have happened, it’s telling that a near-fatal stab wound feels like a footnote. “Figured that was just one of the soldiers getting in a last hit. That, or they knew they’d need me outta the way to get to you.”

Garthy purses their lips. “Maybe. Either way, let’s assume we both have targets on our backs and plan accordingly.”

“Aye. That seems wise.” He studies them for a moment, their furrowed brow and set jaw, golden eyes unfocused in thought. “If you don’t mind me saying... I know I tell you all the time how beautiful you are, but I don’t say enough that I think you’re brilliant as well. I’ve known plenty of canny pirates and clever folks, but I’ve never met anyone with a mind like yours. Not even sure I’m smart enough to truly appreciate how much of a genius you really are.”

They blink back at him, stunned. For a second, he thinks he might have said something wrong, that for some reason their intelligence may be the one thing they don’t like having mentioned or praised. He’s about to apologize when they reply quietly, “You have the most remarkable gift for saying exactly what I need to hear.”

His ears heat, and he ducks his head. “Don’t know about that. Just say enough nice things, some of ‘em are bound to come at the right time.”

“You do say an awful lot of nice things,” they admit. Their tone is amused, but there’s a shadow of sadness over their smile.

“What’s troubling you?” Before they can brush off the question, Jack adds, “Don’t say it’s nothing. I know better than that.”

“So you do.” They sigh and move to sit beside him on the bed, resting their head against his. “Just feeling a bit helpless, I suppose.”

He turns to kiss their temple. “You might not be in top form, but I’d hardly call you helpless.”

They lean against him in silence for a long moment. Finally, they murmur, “Do you know how long it’s been since someone put their hands on me without permission?”

Jack’s heart falls. He should have known something was wrong and taken care of Garthy long before the problem became dire. They should have had enough power to fend off an entire crew of attackers, not the meager scraps of energy Jack provided. If Jack had been able to hide his feelings better, Corbin might not have encouraged his crewmen to have their way. The list of ways in which he’s failed Garthy is dizzying in length, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to make it right.

“It’s been decades,” they go on, quiet and tense. “And the last man that did died for it.”

“Did you kill this one, at least?” Jack asks, and they sit up, nodding.

“Doesn’t change that it happened, yeah? Doesn’t change that I couldn’t stop him waving his limp cock at me. Couldn’t stop the rest of ‘em tying me up and cutting off my charms. Couldn’t stop them h-“ They break off and look away with a shudder of remembered rage and fear.

Jack gives them a moment of quiet space. When they don’t say anything else, he asks softly, “What do you need right now?”

Garthy breathes out a small laugh and bumps their shoulder against his. “My gallant captain.”

He’s feeling anything but gallant, overwhelmed with that same sense of helplessness. The difference is that Garthy went from having so much power to having so little, whereas Jack has never had much power beyond brute strength and steady wits. Neither can help him with this.

He puts his chin on their shoulder and swishes his whiskers against their neck to make them snort and squirm. They push him away with a hand on his face, but instead of taking their hand away, they let it rest against his cheek, smoothing down his fur with the pad of their thumb and studying him with a soft expression. Even after years, he still doesn’t really know what they see when they look at him, but it must be something worth wanting. With a wistful smile, they kiss the top of his muzzle then place another kiss on his forehead.

It feels like absolution for his failures and grace for all his faults. There’s no magic in it that he can feel, but it heals something in him, all the same.

“Could I just hold you for a while?” they ask.

Jack nods. “I’d like that.”

Lying naked in bed, they spoon around him, idly tracing the lines of his shoulders with their fingertips and gently rubbing his ears. The two of them talk quietly into the deep night, stories and nonsense and errant thoughts. Eventually, Jack drifts off to sleep, cradled between the warmth of Garthy’s body and the cool sea breeze from the open window.

He dreams, again, of drowning and wakes with a start, gasping and coughing.

Garthy rubs his chest and murmurs that he’s safe until his breathing settles. It’s less visceral this time, less violent, but it’s the same terrible dream.

“I should take over on the wheel,” he sighs, once he’s fully awake. Judging by the light, it’s already mid-morning, and whoever took second shift last night will be past ready for relief.

“Bex is already on it, darling. Sunny stuck her head in earlier to let you know,” Garthy says, pulling him over to face them. “You’re still mine for a bit.”

It feels like a dereliction of duty, but what sweeter duty is there than seeing to his lover’s needs? “I suppose I am, then. And what part of me would you like this morning, your royal highness?”

“Oh, Jacky my love, you know I always want all of you.” Thoughtfully, they add, “I suppose I could do without the bull-headed self-sacrifice.”

Jack snorts. “Part of the package, I’m afraid.”

With an exaggerated sigh, they drawl, “Alas. I’ll just have to look after you, then. Make sure you don’t throw your life away, or some such.”

“Dreadful work, that.”

“Worth it, though.” Grinning, they kiss him softly. “Worth every moment.”

He doubts that very much, but he knows better than to argue. Instead, he kisses them back, lazy morning kisses, careless and messy, like this is all there is in the world. After a minute, they roll to pull him on top of them, still kissing without any sense of urgency or need. This is the heaven he dreams of, an eternity with their kiss.

Between gravity, friction, and the simple aphrodisiac of touching this divine body, his cock starts to peek out of its sheath. He barely notices until Garthy reaches down between their bodies and positions the tip at their entrance. The wet heat on his sensitive flesh immediately draws more of him out, and both of them gasp in unison as it pushes against their tight cunt.

They wrap their legs around his waist and roll their hips in slow, deliberate waves, letting the pressure work them open until his tip breaches them, bringing a fresh flood of wet arousal. Jack’s hips jerk on reflex, and he pushes into them much faster than he means to, hitting their limit with one thrust. They cry out and cling to him, breathing hard against his neck, and he freezes.

“Fuck! Sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” He lifts up enough to see their face, brushing back their hair and searching for any sign of pain or discomfort.

“It’s alright. It’s... Gods, I love your cock,” they breathe. Rather than pained, they look incandescent, radiant with the rush of pleasure. “I’m good, love, just take your time. Want to keep you inside me as long as I can.”

He huffs out a sigh of relief and relaxes, letting his weight settle back down top of them, trailing apologetic kisses down the side of their neck and savoring their hum of satisfaction. Now that he’s inside them, the impulse to move is present but distant. He’s content to kiss and touch, running his hands lazily over every inch of them.

Every once in a while, one of them will shift their hips and spark a jolt of sensation and groaning, but it’s the tensing of their muscles around his cock that sharpens his desire. When the pressure becomes unbearable, he grinds down against them and is rewarded with a sharp moan. He twists his hips so that his cock moves around inside them, and they clench down hard, shaking and wet.

Inching down the bed just enough to make sure he won’t accidentally push all the way inside them, he starts to make slow, shallow thrusts, just enough for a little bit of friction across the tender spot at their entrance and just enough to make them shudder with every movement.

They groan. “Could you just... just lift up a bit, so I can...”

He pushes himself up so they have space to reach down and rub two fingers against their clit with a moan. The touch translates into pressure against the top of his cock, and he has to pause, panting, while they work themselves just a little bit closer to the edge.

“Don’t... don’t stop. Please,” they keen breathlessly.

“So impatient,” he grumbles, nipping gently at their throat. “You always appreciate my stamina and restraint ‘til you start getting close.”

They give a thin whine and press their heels into his back. “Oh fuck, I do. I love it. But gods I just want you to fuck me.”

“Thought you wanted me to take my time.” He pulls out most of the way and pushes back in slowly, dragging a moan from deep in Garthy’s chest.

“You don’t have to go fast, love. Just keep going.”

As if anything less than their holy word could make him stop.

He resumes a slow, steady pace as they work their fingers, and the tensing that signals their rising climax begins almost immediately. When they tip over the edge with a soft cry, Jack doesn’t pause. He fucks them through rolling waves of orgasm until the gasps on every thrust turn to sobs of intense pleasure, until their whole body trembles with overstimulation, and still they urge him on, their long legs tight around him, dragging their fingernails down his back.

His own climax builds like a gathering storm, heat and pressure creeping up inside him, every movement like a lightning strike in his blood. By the time Garthy starts to come down, Jack feels like he’s holding back a hurricane.

Desperate, he pants, “I... I need to... Please...”

Garthy moans low into his ear, “Yes, love. Come for me.”

And that’s it. He pumps his hips rapidly, and the storm bursts into a downpour so intense that every other sense in his body shuts down. There is no sight or sound, just the pounding pleasure pouring out of him until he collapses, spent and shaking.

When he rolls to his side, Garthy rolls with him so the two of them are face to face and held close together. He doesn’t know how long they lie there, wrapped in each other, shuddering through the aftershocks. It could be hours, and it still wouldn’t be enough time. They’re never going to have enough time.

Eventually, reluctantly, Jack climbs out of bed and puts himself to rights as best he can. He’s never cared much about the quality of his clothes, but he’s down to his second-string trousers and his third-string shirt, both spotted with persistent stains and wear that even the most adept magic can’t repair. Without his coat to cover the flaws and his bright gold sword at his side, he feels disheveled and unkempt, more like an old deckhand than a seasoned captain.

Garthy remains lounging in the bed, gloriously naked and watching him with a smoldering stare. “Jacky my love, you are a terribly attractive man.”

Jack snorts. “That must be the afterglow talking.”

“You look like a dashing rogue about to ravish a young maiden,” they tell him, grinning.

“Well, the ravishing’s done,” he points out. “Suppose you might call me a rogue, but I’m hardly dashing. And you’re neither young nor a maiden.”

They roll their eyes with a sigh. “For fuck’s sake, lovey, would you learn to take a compliment?”

“Is that what that was?” He leans over them, close enough to kiss but not touching. “Thought you were just trying to get me back in bed.”

“Two things can be true,” they murmur against his lips. “Come back to me soon, my beautiful captain.”

“Soon as I can,” he promises with a quick kiss.

Thick white clouds are drifting across the blue sky, casting sharp shadows on the deck as the sun approaches its zenith. As he climbs to the upper deck and takes over the wheel, Bex regards him with a strange combination of ease and uncertainty, like she’s reasonably confident he won’t hurt her but has no idea what he’s going to do otherwise. Good. That’s about where she should be.

“Wind started shifting a little while ago,” she reports. “Marcid thinks we’re getting close to land.”

“Aye, that’s a coastal wind, alright,” Jack agrees, scenting the air and stiffening his whiskers. “Best prepare for the welcoming party, then. Tell the others we’re running Innocent Bystander.”

He half expects her to ask what that means or to inquire about her former captain and the prisoners below, but she doesn’t. Either she doesn’t care, or she’s decided it’s in her best interest not to ask questions.

Innocent Bystander is one of the more daring entries in the Harvest Moon’s playbook, not because of the danger involved, but because it relies on selling an elaborate lie to people who are rightfully suspicious. They’ve successfully pulled it off once, with Bob and Sunny playing the captain and first mate. This time, Jack is hoping the damage to the ship will support the story, and that he can convince Corbin to cooperate. With Garthy’s help, they might actually have a chance.

The sun has just started on its downward slope toward the horizon when the first glimpse of land comes into view, soon followed by the approach of a white Solesian ship about half the size of the Moon. While the others take their places, Jack goes to run up the red flag and have one last word with Corbin.

“I’ll do you the courtesy of letting you know that it’s in your best interest to play along with what happens next.”

Corbin looks even worse than he did the night before, his face nearly unrecognizable through the sun blisters and blood-shot eyes. Jack offers him another flask of water, which he drinks greedily before even trying to speak through his cracked lips.

“What happens next?”

“We’re a simple cargo ship. You’re pirates. You attacked us,” Jack explains. “You can spin whatever details you like, but that’s the gist of it. Make it convincing, and you’ll spend a few years in a comfortable Solesian prison.”

“How is th-” Corbin breaks off to cough and clear what sounds like chunks of salt out of his throat. When he continues, his voice is a slightly louder rasp. “How is that in my best interest?”

“Because the moment you leave that prison, you’re a dead man,” Jack tells him. “You escape, get released, take a trip somewhere. Doesn’t matter. I’ll know, I’ll find you, and Garthy O’Brien is going to kill you.”

Behind the flush of sunburn, the color drains out of Corbin’s face. He blinks at Jack for a moment, thinking through his options. Finally, he says flatly, “Terribly rude of us pirates, attacking a defenseless little cargo ship.”

Jack gives him a grin full of sharp teeth. “Smart man.”

When the two Solesian rangers come aboard, they’re greeted by Garthy, now fully dressed in Jack’s shirt and trousers borrowed from Marcid, wearing a wide-brimmed hat to help mitigate the anxiety from the open sky. Sunny stands at their side like a dutiful first mate.

Garthy responds to the initial questions with quiet grace and describes an unprovoked attack by bloodthirsty pirates. They credit the Moon’s narrow escape to the crew’s courage and cleverness and explain that sheer dumb luck allowed them to capture the pirate captain and a few of his men, but that the prisoners were so hostile, there was nothing to be done but lock them up and stay away. The two rangers, both Human men, listen with increasing wonder, easily taken in by Garthy’s performance.

One of the rangers, a light-skinned man with sandy brown hair, taps continuously on the surface of a flat device. At one point he shows the device to his companion, who clears his throat and turns back to Garthy.

“How long have you had this ship?”

They answer casually, “Not long. A few months or so. Why?”

“Well, uh, it’s been tied to reports of pirate activity around Seawatch,” he says. “You don’t happen to know anything about that?”

“What? No! You’re sure it’s this ship?” they reply with such genuine shock, Jack thinks they might really be surprised.

“Yes, m- ... Um, yes.” He takes the device from his companion and reads, “Double-mast caravel, flag shows a white circle on a navy field bisected by a gold sword. Captain described as a male Ratfolk of, uh, unusual size.”

At that, both rangers look over at Jack, who has been standing quietly to the side, playing the part of a grizzled old deckhand. He puts his ears down sheepishly under the sudden attention and reflexively tries to make himself look smaller.

Garthy turns to him with an expression of utter dismay and demands, “Is your brother a pirate?”

Immediately, Jack understands. “Well, no. He’s retired.”

“Retired from piracy?” Their voice gets louder, and the two rangers glance at each other uncomfortably. “Were you going to tell me that you bought a pirate ship?”

Jack shuffles his feet, murmuring, “Not a pirate ship no more, is it? Just a ship, now.”

Garthy sighs in exasperation and tells the rangers, “My husband got the ship under the table from his brother, who is a retired pirate, apparently. I can assure you I’ve never been involved in anything like that, and I’ve never even been to Seawatch.”

“Would you happen to know the name of the previous owner?” the light-skinned man asks. “Your, uh, brother-in-law, I guess?”

If any part of this story is hard for the two men to believe, it’s clearly that someone who looks like Garthy would be married to someone who looks like Jack. Garthy ignores their understandable suspicion and calls back to him. “Jacky my love, what’s your brother’s name?”

“Matthew,” he answers immediately. He had four older brothers, but Matthew was the one most likely to steal food from the younger pups.

“Matthew Brakkow,” Garthy says. “Dreadful man. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he pawned off his ship on poor Jack just to get us in trouble.”

The ranger takes the device back from his companion and taps for a moment. “And your name is Garthy... Stonehammer?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you familiar with a pirate named Garthy O’Brien?”

Jack’s heart seizes, but Garthy doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m not familiar with any pirates, lovey. At least, I didn’t think I was.”

They shoot an acid look at Jack, who hangs his head dutifully in apology.

“They’re described as a non-binary Half-Orc with gold tattoos,” the man goes on.

Garthy raises an eyebrow. “And?”

Dressed as they are, most of their tattoos are covered, but a few shimmering lines still peak out from the cuffs and collar of the shirt. The man gives looks at them deliberately and says, “Same name, similar description. Kind of a weird coincidence.”

Jack flexes his hand, mind racing, itching for a sword. Killing Solesian Rangers will make them fugitives. Running isn’t an option. Letting themselves get arrested goes against every instinct he has, but it might be their only choice. If this goes tits-up, he’ll have to step in before anyone does anything stupid.

With an air of bemused irritation, Garthy crosses their arms and stares down at the man, who is a full head shorter. “Don’t know many Orcs, do you?”

The man’s pale face flushes, and he sputters, “I don’t... I... I have friends who...”

“Then you know that gender’s very flexible in Orcish culture, so what you call non-binary is more common for us than Humans. You might also know that Gartha Gravebreaker is a famous folk hero, so variations on that name are common, as well. You certainly know that our tattoos often have religious and cultural significance, yeah? Since you have Orcish friends.”

“I wasn’t... I didn’t mean...” The ranger looks helplessly to his companion, who shakes his head in disbelief. “I was just asking.”

“Gods, Steve, just... stop,” the other man mutters, then turns to Garthy with an apologetic smile. “We can tow you to the nearest port and take those pirates into custody. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Garthy lets out a sigh of relief that Jack knows is genuine. “Thank you, lovey. And I’m sorry for being so prickly. Just a bit on edge from all this, yeah?”

“Perfectly understandable. We just have to be thorough, y’know?” He touches a small device on his collar and speaks into it. “Get out the tow lines. We’re gonna bring them to Port Hawthorn.”

A tinny voice acknowledges the order, and the two rangers turn back toward their boat. Under his breath, the light-skinned man hisses, “I was just asking!”

“You’re gonna get written up again,” his companion warns.

“You have to admit it was weird.”

“Well yeah, but I wouldn’t have said anything. You better hope they don’t file a complaint.”

Once the two men are out of sight, Garthy’s shoulders slump with a shudder, and Jack steps up beside them. “Alright?”

“Fine, love. Just need to get inside.”

“Go on, then. Shouldn’t need you again ‘til we’re docked.”

Mouth tight, they squeeze his arm silently and disappear down the steps into the cabin. Jack watches them go with a pang in his chest.

The Solesian crew is small but efficient, and the mechanical boat has enough power to easily pull the Moon along behind it. As soon as they’re underway, he goes to check on Garthy and finds them trying to adjust the fit of the oversized trousers with a dark scowl. The shirt is in a crumpled pile on the floor, evidently thrown aside in frustration.

“What happened to your trousers, anyway?” Jack asks.

“Thrown overboard,” is all they say.

They cinch the waist tight with a piece of rope, but something about it must be wrong, because they immediately untie the knot and kick the trousers off with a growl. Standing naked in the middle of the room, they look absolutely miserable, and Jack’s arms ache to wrap around them in comfort. He knows better than to approach an angry animal, though, and this seems like the worst possible time to touch Garthy without permission.

“Sure you’re alright?” he asks gently.

“Said I’m fine,” they snap. Immediately, they close their eyes and let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Just a bit out of sorts. I’ll be alright. Really.”

Jack takes half a step forward, moving slowly into their space. “You sure put that fella in his place.”

“That was rather satisfying,” they admit with a thin smile. “I mean, he was right, but still.”

“Was any of that true? About Orc culture and such?”

“It’s all true, lovey. Gartha Gravebreaker’s my ancestor.” Sighing, they collect the discarded clothes from the floor and sink onto the bed. “Do you really have a brother named Matthew?”

“I did. Been dead about ten years, now.”

“Oh! Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Jack waves off the sympathy and sits down beside them. He was the last born of nine pups, and now he’s just the last. His one remaining sister passed away right before the Late Bloomer’s doomed voyage, and his various nieces and nephews have never wanted much to do with him. There are times when he misses them, when he longs for the company of other Rats, but he’s always been an outcast among his own people, even among his siblings.

“When we get to port, I’ll have Cheese fetch you a crystal,” Jack says. “Once the money’s sorted, we’ll see about getting some clothes so you won’t have to smell like an old Rat no more.”

Their smile softens, and they lean in to kiss his cheek. “The smell’s the only part I like, yeah? Smells like you.”

He presses his nose against their neck and breathes in deeply. There’s a lingering hint of rosemary and cedar from his clothes, but mostly what he smells is sweat and the salt water they’ve used for bathing. He snuffles down their side, and they lean back, laughing as his swishing whiskers tickle them.

“Well, you certainly smell good with the clothes off.”

“Nobody smells good after a week at sea, lovey. Not even me.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles. “Do you need anything for now?”

“No, darling. I’m alright. You go,” they sigh.

He gives them a brief kiss and tries to fill it with every word of care and apology he doesn’t know how to say. He’s going to fix this. For Garthy, for his crew, he’s going to make things right. He has to.

Chapter Text

The low skyline of the town resolves into a small harbor filled with pleasure craft and fishing boats, flanked by red brick warehouses on one side and a long wooden boardwalk on the other. Curious shopkeepers have already started emerging to watch the Harvest Moon limp up to the end of the wide dock. She’s easily the largest ship here and obviously not Solesian, likely making her quite the oddity in this seaside hamlet.

Once the docking lines are set, Jack becomes essentially obsolete. Sunny and Marcid handle the official business of docking fees and off-loading prisoners, while Spaulding and Cheese set out in search of a shipwright for repairs and a crystal for Garthy. Once the flurry of activity has settled, Bex puts her head tentatively into the cabin to let Jack know that she’s leaving.

“Marcid pay you for the work?” he asks, and she nods. “Good. What’s next for you?”

“Seems to be some fishing trade here. Thought I’d see who needs a hand,” she answers. “Make my way back to Leviathan eventually, but... Well, not for a bit, I expect.”

Jack thinks that’s probably a wise move, all things considered. “Best of luck to you, then. We’ll likely be here for a few days, at least, so if you need somebody to vouch for you, come find Sunny.”

“I will. Thanks.” She hesitates, then turns to Garthy. “There was, uh, a girl who worked at the Gardens. Arakocra dancer named Leda?”

Garthy nods. “I know Leda.”

“Is she... Do you know if...?”

“She wasn’t there, lovey,” they tell her gently. “The night of the attack, Leda wasn’t working. As far as I know, she’s perfectly fine.”

Bex’s shoulders sag in relief. “Good. Alright. I... Thank you. Thanks.”

She leaves with another nod, and Jack and Garthy share a look. Whatever happens next, he hopes she lands on her feet. He really does.

When Cheese returns with a cheap crystal in a clear package, the first call Garthy makes is to whoever handles their money in Solace, and their side of the conversation is entirely incomprehensible to Jack. He hears his own name once, but he misses the context of it completely. Otherwise, he tunes out until Garthy asks suddenly, “Would Myrtle like a room, do you think? Or would she rather stay in the harbor?”

Jack stares at them, uncomprehending. “A room?”

“At the hotel.”

“At th- Are you getting hotel rooms?”

“Well, yes. Do y-” They pause to listen to the person on the other end of the call. “Lovely. That sounds perfect.” Looking back to Jack, they ask, “You don’t normally stay on the ship, do you?”

“Not necessarily, but w-”

They cut him off with a raised finger and speak into the crystal, “Let’s say four rooms, yeah? I can ask about accommodations when I check in.”

With a degree of exasperation, they tell Jack, “Jacky my love, I can’t stay here. I need to eat a proper meal and sleep in a proper bed under an actual roof.”

“I understand that, b-”

“Oh, that would be ideal, darling, but I’m not particular,” they say into the crystal.

Jack waits for another pause before he says emphatically, “Do you know how much Solesian hotels cost?”

Garthy just rolls their eyes and carries on with the impenetrable conversation, leaving Jack to pace restlessly until they finally end the call and tell him, “No one’s obligated to use the rooms, lovey. I just thought it’d be nice to have them.”

It’s generous and extravagant and exactly the kind of thing they love to do. Jack sighs. “Just worried about the money is all.”

“I did say not to, didn’t I?” They stand up from their seat on the bed and drape their arms around his neck with a kiss on his nose. “I’ve got it covered, darling. I promise.”

“You’re sure?” he asks, uncertain. “With the Gardens gone...”

Their easy smile turns just a little bit brittle. “The Gardens was home, but it wasn’t my only source of income. Don’t keep all your eggs in one basket, yeah?”

Jack is starting to think Garthy has a lot more eggs and baskets than he realized. “If you’re sure it’s not too much.”

“It’s not. Really,” they assure him. “Are you going to join me, or do I have to sleep in that big, soft bed all by myself?”

“I doubt you’d have trouble finding someone to fill it for you.” He only means it as an observation, but they frown.

“Would you prefer that?”

“Of course not,” he says, honestly. “Just want to make sure you get what you need.”

Their furrowed brow softens. “What I need is a hot bath and food that doesn’t taste like salt. What I want is to spend several hours fucking you through a king size mattress.”

Jack pretends to consider his options. “Hmm. A bath does sound nice.”

“Doesn’t it?” they sigh happily. “So you’ll stay with me?”

“Suppose I did say I wasn’t planning to leave your side.” And he won’t. He can’t. Not until he’s certain they’re safe, or at least strong enough to face whatever might come for them. He’s let them down enough already.

The next call Garthy makes is to Ayda, but they make some kind of recording instead of speaking with her directly. They end the call with the same distant expression that always appears at the mention of Ayda, a look Jack recognizes but has never learned the meaning of.

It turns out Myrtle is delighted by the prospect of staying in a hotel, claiming that the coastal waters “feel weird”, and even Marcid seems pleased to be offered better accommodations. Feeling like he’s lost what little status he had left, Jack lumbers along with the others as they disembark and make their way into the streets of the little town.

As soon as they set foot off the ship, Garthy presses themself close against Jack and draws his arm around their shoulders, walking with their eyes fixed on the ground and a frown of concentration. He tightens his arm around them and presses a kiss to their temple. They thread their fingers through his and breathe out just a little bit of tension.

The hotel is easily the nicest place Jack has ever been, and based on the murmurs and exclamations from his crew, the same is true for all of them. A blue Tiefling woman with a friendly smile checks them in and answers several questions about aquatic rooms that make no sense to Jack but leave Myrtle looking both startled and pleased. Everything about this place makes Jack feel unfit and unwelcome, a feeling that’s reinforced when he notices the Tiefling woman look at him and her bright smile falter. He hopes that the quiet and privacy of the room will help settle him, but that hope is dashed when he sees the size of it.

All things considered, he shouldn’t be surprised that Garthy booked a full suite, but it’s still jarring to find himself in such plush surroundings. Garthy, on the other hand, is entirely in their element, making themself at home without a second thought. There’s a crystal on a desk in the corner, which they immediately use to order what sounds like an absurd amount of food. Then they disappear through another door and do something that starts a vague thunderous noise. All the while, Jack’s still standing between the bedroom and the sitting area, afraid to touch any of the pristine surfaces.

Getting used to the simple luxury of the Gold Gardens took him years. There’s no way he can get used to this.

He’s half convinced himself to just go back to the ship when Garthy reappears in the doorway, stripped naked and haloed in stark white light, grinning like a cat with its sights on a delicious canary.

“Come here, you beautiful man. I want to clean you up before I get you filthy.”

Uneasy as he feels, Jack isn’t about to refuse that summons. He follows them into a large private bath and finds that the thundering sound is... water.

There’s hot water pouring out of a steel pipe into a massive tub. The suites at the Gardens had things like this, but not like this. He’s never heard of a pump that could move liquid with that much force, and he's had drinking water that wasn’t half so clear or clean. The steam rising from the bath suggests that it’s nearly boiling, and he wonders at the feats of magic or engineering that could keep the water so hot.

He only has a second to marvel before Garthy is tugging off his clothes and drawing him toward the tub.

“Get in and tell me if it’s too hot,” they command, and Jack obeys, sinking carefully into the filling basin. The level immediately rises several inches, and Garthy turns a knob to lower the pressure pouring from the pipe.

The heat is just barely short of too much, seeping into his aching joints and soothing his itching skin. He reclines back in the tub with a groan. “It’s perfect.”

Garthy beams at him and kisses the top of his head. “Good. You just relax there, lovey. I’ll join you in a moment.”

They busy themself around the room, gathering a selection of small vials, one of which they pour into the bath, turning the water pink and filling the room with the smell of lavender. Jack ducks his head under, letting the sweetly scented water rinse away the days at sea. He keeps himself clean enough, even without amenities, but there’s nothing like a proper bath to wash the salt out of his fur.

Finally, Garthy pushes him forward in the tub and climbs in behind him, letting him lean back against their chest as they both relax into the water with a sigh. Whatever complaints Jack might have about the hotel and its cost, he can’t deny that this moment is worth a little extra expense.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, he asks, “Feeling better?”

Garthy hums happily. “Infinitely.”

“Good.”

He wonders how often they do this for themself, if a quiet soak is a special treat or part of their regular routine, if this is just one more pleasure they’ve had to do without while trapped on the Harvest Moon. For all that Jack intends to stay with them for as long as they’ll allow, he’s not sure he could live in a place like this. He knows that no place he would choose could ever provide all the comforts Garthy needs.

“I can feel you thinking,” they whisper suddenly in his ear.

Jack chuckles. “You reading minds, now?”

“Don’t need to. You’ve got a muscle right here...” They dig their thumb hard into a knot between his shoulders that makes the tips of his fingers twitch. “...that tenses up whenever those brilliant wheels start turning.”

“Ah, gods,” he groans. “Keep doing that, and I promise I won’t think anything ever again.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to think, darling,” they tell him, rolling their knuckles back and forth over the tight muscle. “It’s that I want you thinking about nice things. Like how lovely and relaxing this bath is or how wonderful that bed is going to feel on your back while I’m riding you.”

“Those are certainly - ah! - nice things to think about. Oh fuck yes. Right there.”

“My goodness. You’re not nearly this vocal during sex,” Garthy teases, focusing pressure on the center of the knot.

“I’d say you’re loud enough for the both of us,” he points out.

They make a twisting motion that unlocks something in his shoulders and murmur into his ear, “The way you make me come, it’s a wonder I don’t scream my throat raw.”

Jack sags under their touch as they switch to broad, firm strokes with the blade of their hand. “Done that myself once or twice.”

“I can think of a few memorable occasions.” Satisfied that they’ve eased the worst of his tension, they take one of the vials and start to work a light lather of soap into his fur. “Those delightful little clamps were especially effective.”

“Oh, I remember.” He remembers being too tender to walk after he came hard enough to forget his own name. Twice.

“Loud’s not the same as vocal though, yeah? Like you to tell me how things feel, sometimes.”

Their fingers rub small circles across his back, slowly moving around to his chest as he reclines in their arms, feeling boneless and heavy. “I can tell you this feels incredible.”

They cup they hands to pour water over him, gently smoothing down his fur to push out the soap. “Tell me what you like about it.”

Everything, but that’s probably not the answer they’re looking for. “I like you touching me. Always like you touching me.”

“I love touching you,” they tell him, running their palms over his shoulders and down his arms. “So strong and soft. You’re exquisite to touch.”

Garthy is the only person in the world who would describe anything about Jack as exquisite, and then only because it’s a word they use often enough that it barely means anything. He still appreciates the sentiment.

“I like the bath,” he says. “I like being with you, nothing else going on, just quiet and easy.”

“Me, too.” They kiss him behind his ear and wrap their arms tight around him, laying one hand spread over his heart. The tips of their fingers twitch restlessly, rubbing patches into his fur.

“I can feel you thinking too, you know,” he says softly.

They huff out a short laugh. “Now you’re the mind reader?”

“Aye. Got a little magic of my own.” He lays his hand over theirs, and the restless motion stops. “What’s got your wheels turning?”

“You, Jacky my love,” they answer. “Nothing on my mind but you.”

“Is that right?” He lifts their hand and presses a kiss to their palm, and their skin smells of mint and lavender. “Must be the thought of how handsome and charming I am that’s got you tensing up and undoing the hard work of this lovely bath.”

That earns him a more genuine laugh. “Well, you are distressingly handsome.”

He kisses their hand again and threads his fingers through theirs, letting the joined hands once again rest over his heart. “In that case, I’m sorry to have distressed you.”

“Just distressed that I can’t have my hands on you constantly,” they tell him, gently nipping the edge of his ear. “Distressed that I can’t tie you to my bed and just take you whenever I want.”

“Now that, I think we could negotiate.” He’s already bound to their bed in every way that matters, and all of him is already theirs for the taking. “Just let me move about every now and then, and you can put me in shackles.”

They let out a deep groan. “Gods. As soon as we have enough time, I really am going to tie you up, and I’m going to get my cock and fuck you ‘til you can’t walk.”

It’s Jack’s turn to groan at that. “I’ll take the cock, if we don’t have time for the rest.”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t mind.”

There’s a pause, then an abrupt tickle inside his ass that makes him jump. “Damnit, Garthy. Warn a fella.”

“Sorry, love. Just a quick bit of cleaning.” They sound at least a little apologetic. “Ready to get out, or would you like to soak a little longer?”

How to choose between one heaven and another? Outside the tub, though, there’s also the promise of food, and Jack is starting to get hungry. His joints creak as he hauls himself out of the water, but the usual aches are lessened. Once he’s toweled away most of the water, he shakes himself off, sending a spray of droplets around the room.

Garthy yelps and pulls on his tail. “Ugh! You’re a menace.”

He leans down to kiss them, then shakes his head again, spattering water in their face. They give him a playful slap and push him away. “Go on then, you brute. I’ll just be another minute.”

Chuckling, Jack wraps a towel around his waist and heads back into the suite to find a table of food laid out in the sitting area. There are baskets of bread and platters of meats and cheeses, but what catches Jack’s attention is the fruit. It’s fresh. All of it. Vegetables, too. He’s had fresh produce before, but never in this quantity or variety. Tentatively, he picks up a large grape, dark purple and perfectly firm, and pops it into his mouth. The burst of crisp, sweet flavor on his tongue is enough to make him close his eyes and sink onto the low sofa with a hum of delight. Is this the type of luxury reserved for expensive hotels, he wonders, or is this simply how Solesians live?

The thought dims his mood but not his hunger, and he spent too long starving to leave good food untouched. He’s eaten nearly half of it by the time Garthy emerges, wrapped in a soft white robe and looking much refreshed.

“Oh, good! I was hoping the food would be here.”

“Suppose I shoulda left a bit more for you,” Jack says sheepishly. There’s still a fair amount, but he’s seen the way Garthy can eat.

“Plenty more where that came from, lovey,” they assure him. “I’ll show you how to use the crystal so you can order as much food as you like.”

Jack already knows he won’t take advantage of that knowledge, but he smiles and puts his arm around them as they sit down beside him on the sofa. He hopes the rest of his crew are having just as restful an evening. They’ve more than earned it.

Once the food is gone, Garthy takes a moment to teach Jack the basic functions of the room’s crystal, as well as the hand-held one that Marcid picked up for them. The smaller one is considerably more complicated, which seems counterintuitive, but the process of sending and answering calls is reasonably straightforward. They try to show him how to send written messages, but his fingers are too big to hit the tiny letters on the screen.

“Whole damn country’s built for Humans,” he grumbles, setting the device on the table with a glare.

“Certainly seems that way, sometimes,” Garthy agrees. “But there’s space for us, as well.”

For them, maybe. Based on the current surroundings, he suspects their experiences in Solace have been very different from his. It’s not a discussion worth having, though, so he just draws them close and nuzzles at their neck. They still smell of lavender from the bath, and he finds himself missing the earthier scents of incense and other flowers.

“Long as we can be safe here for a bit, I can put up with Human nonsense,” he says.

“We’re safe, love,” they tell him, and their voice sounds so much like home, he can’t help but believe it.

They swing their leg over to sit straddling his lap and pull him into a deep, breathless kiss that tastes like savory spices and sweet fruit. Slowly, Jack unties the knotted sash of their robe and runs his hands up their thighs and chest, feeling the solid muscles shift under his palms. As he starts to push the robe off of their shoulders one of the arms gets stuck, and they sit back to untangle it with a laugh.

There’s an unexpected wrinkle in the skin beside their left eye, and Jack smooths his thumb over it to see a thin, stuttering scar that he’s never noticed before. “Didn’t know you had a scar there.”

At first, they blink like they don’t know what he’s talking about. Then they put a hand to their face, running a finger over the uneven line of the scar, and their expression falls. “Oh. Right. I expect you’ll be finding quite a few flaws, without my charms.”

Jack frowns. “Charms?”

“My jewelry,” they explain, but Jack shakes his head, confused. “Every single piece of that gold was enchanted.”

It’s not uncommon for successful pirates to wear gold as a sign of status. The amount that normally adorns Garthy has always seemed consistent with their place in the nebulous hierarchy of Leviathan, but he should have realized much sooner that it also served a functional purpose.

“Enchanted to do what?”

Their hand goes to their bare throat, reaching for the wealth of missing magic. “Protection, mostly. Minor enhancements. The odd glamour here and there.”

There were certain things they never took off, even in the most intimate moments, which Jack assumed had some sentimental significance. Now, he has to question what power was in those specific items, what guards and illusions they kept in place every moment of every day. At best, they never felt comfortable letting him see their face without a veneer. At worst... What? What worst-case did they fear from him, of all people?

“You’ve been wearing glamours this whole time?” he asks, dismayed.

“Only little ones. Just to cover a few blemishes. Not enough t-” They start to move their hand toward the long scars across their chest, then stop and put their arms around Jack’s neck instead. “Well, obviously I can’t hide everything.”

“Why would you need to hide anything?”

No amount of scarring could make their face any less stunning or their body any less alluring, and the few marks he can find are minor to the point of invisibility. Even without whatever glamours they think they need, they’re still the most beautiful being Jack can imagine.

“Got to keep up appearances in my line of work, yeah?” They study Jack’s face like they’re looking for a sign that something has changed. “Disappointed?”

“With you? Never. I just...” I don’t know why you didn’t tell me, but he does know. In a twisted way, he wonders if Corbin might have been partly right. The affection is real enough, but maybe it isn’t rooted quite as deep as he thought. “I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Forgive me?” they ask with a sultry pout.

“Nothing to forgive,” he says honestly, pulling them close against him. “Of course, now I’ll have to hunt for all the lovely little details I’ve been missing. Got to check absolutely everywhere.”

He runs his hand down their back and skims a finger through the crevasse of their ass, making them hum and arch against him. “I do quite like the sound of that, but tonight I’d rather make good on my promise to fuck you through that mattress.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to argue with that suggestion.”

They give him a kiss that somehow tastes like consolation. “Think I saw some oil in the bath. You go fetch it, and I’ll join you in the bed, yeah?”

Thankfully, the vials are all labeled, though it takes him a minute to decipher the blocks of miniscule text to find the one best suited for the current purpose. By the time he comes back into the bedroom, Garthy is sprawled in the middle of the bed, lazily stroking their long, thick cock.

It’s not a difficult piece of spellcasting, as far as Jack can tell, but it’s one they’re only rarely in the mood for. Jack has never cared what he gets, as long as it’s theirs, but he does enjoy these occasions.

Tossing aside the towel around his waist, he sets the oil on the nightstand and crawls onto the bed between Garthy’s legs, kissing his way up the inside of their thigh. When he swipes his tongue around their balls, the soft skin tastes clean and new, as ephemeral as the magic that made it. He licks a broad stripe along the underside of their cock, and Garthy groans when his lips close around the tip. They rest a hand on his head as he starts to suck, and the slowly swelling cock gets heavy in his mouth.

“You do love that don’t you, Jacky my love? Just love having a nice big cock to suck on.”

He does. Fuck, he really does. He loves the feeling of being forced open and filled up. As the flesh swells in his mouth, his own cock creeps out of its sheath, brushing against the bedspread with maddening lightness. By the time Garthy is fully hard, Jack’s cock is half-extended. He pulls off with a wet slurp, panting and drooling like a starving animal. He must look wretched, but Garthy sits up and hauls him forward into a fierce kiss, like they’ve never wanted anything more.

“On your back?” they suggest, and he nods weakly. He’ll bend over a chair in the hotel lobby, if they want him to.

They get up so he can settle in the center of the bed, and they put pillows under his hips to help lift him up. The position feels awkward and exposed, but he knows his joints will be grateful, later. Garthy kneels between his spread legs with the vial of oil and echoes his earlier actions, kissing and nuzzling along the inside of his thigh and swiping their tongue around his balls. Instead of moving up to his cock, though, they shift down to lap at his hole, making him twitch and gasp.

They lift their head to ask, “Alright, love?”

“Aye. Good,” is all the answer he can muster.

Garthy gives him a grin that makes something inside him fracture and goes back to work, teasing his ass with their tongue, slowly working him open. By the time the tip of their tongue reaches past the tight ring of muscle, Jack is sweating and struggling to stay still. They push in further, and he lets out a pitiful whine. It’s too much and not enough, and it’s so damn good.

“Suppose that means you’re ready for me, yeah?”

Ready is a strong word, but he wants it bad enough to beg. “Please.”

He can’t see much over the rise of his hips, but he hears the cap on the oil open and smells the sweet, herbal scent. They give a low groan and rest their forehead against Jack’s knee as they spread the oil over their hard cock. The anticipation is painful, the creeping escalation of tension until Garthy finally shifts into place, and Jack feels the blunt head press against his entrance.

His muscles tighten reflexively, and Garthy runs a soothing hand along his thigh. “Easy, love. You’ve got to relax for me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, forcing himself to breathe, to unclench and lean into the pressure.

“It’s alright, darling.” They give him a soft smile. “Been a minute, hasn’t it?”

“Suppose it has.” One year, two months, and some odd days. They put him face-down with a ring around his balls and fucked him until he cried. It was incredible.

They wait for him to settle, then say, “Deep breath.”

The two of them breathe in together. On the exhale, Garthy pushes, and the head of their cock breaches Jack’s ass.

He yelps and grits his teeth, and Garthy stills, waiting for him to adjust. For the first few seconds, it just hurts, but the pain quickly fades into discomfort, which then becomes an intense feeling of fullness. Jack clenches and relaxes in succession, letting his body remember how to do this, how much it loves this. When the single inch inside him starts to feel like it’s not enough, he nods to Garthy.

Again, they breathe together, and Garthy pushes on the exhale, their thick cock sliding in with aching slowness. Then they pull out by a fraction and push back in further, more and more on each thrust until Jack feels like he’s going to break. When their hips finally press flush against his ass, he thinks he might shatter. This is the only thing in the world that makes him feel fragile. Broken bones and torn flesh are just failures in his strength, but allowing another person inside his body reminds him how easily he can be rent and unraveled. For all the jokes about how sweet and soft he is, this is the only thing that makes him think that softness will be what kills him.

Garthy is panting, their fingertips digging into Jack’s thighs like they need to hold themself back. They shift to adjust their position, and even that small movement makes Jack gasp and clench around them.

“Fuck! Gods, Jack, you...” They run their fingers around the stretched skin where their cock goes into him. “You’re so damn tight, sweetheart. Are you alright?”

“I... I’m good,” he manages. “I’m good, Garthy. Please.”

He barely knows what he’s asking for, if he wants them to move or stay still or promise not to ruin him any more than they already have.

“Patience, lovey. Don’t want to hurt you.”

The softness, Jack thinks, is almost certainly what will kill him.

They roll their hips and drag a deep moan out of his chest. Slowly, much slower than they need to, infinitely slower than Jack wants, they start to move. They are the sea, the beautiful sea, pushing and pulling him on crashing waves of sensation, and he is caught helpless in their tide. Once they strike an even pace, the thrusts get harder, pounding into him with brutal force. He’s lost in it, nothing in his mind but the perfect ache and the insistent heat gathering low in his belly.

As much as he teases them for their impatience, there are times he’s not much better. Now, he’s caught between the longing to make this last and the need to come immediately. He grabs his cock in one dry hand and pumps roughly in time with Garthy’s thrusts.

“Do the... the thing,” they say, huffing with effort.

Jack’s brain is so hazy with ecstasy, it takes several seconds to realize what they want. “Th- Oh. Fuck. Really?”

“Please?” they beg breathlessly. “Please, it’s so... You know I love it.”

There’s very little Jack can offer that other lovers can’t. There are things he’s good at and things he likes that might be out of the ordinary, but his one unusual ability, which drives Garthy inexplicably wild, is that he can suck his own cock. All Ratfolk can. It’s more of a silly trick than a way to get himself off, but he knows exactly why Garthy wants him to do it right now.

Groaning, he draws his knees up, and they brace their hands on the backs of his thighs to hold him in place. He’s not as limber as he used to be, but an athletic sex life has certainly kept up decent flexibility. It’s a strange sensation to close his mouth around the end of a hard cock and feel it in his own flesh, but overstimulated as he is, it feels incredible.

Garthy moans and fucks into him faster, harder, pushing his cock in and out of his mouth as theirs moves in and out of him. It’s a different angle, and it hits differently. When it strikes the place inside him that sets all his nerves on fire, his cock pulses, and he tastes the first drops of his own spend. Another thrust hits the same spot, he keens low in his throat, and the vibration of the sound puts a sharp edge on his approaching climax. Garthy adjusts their position so that nearly every movement connects, driving Jack closer and closer.

The orgasm sweeps like wildfire through his entire body, burning from the inside out. It’s beyond pleasure, beyond physical feeling into pure sensation, a white-hot flood in his veins. His cock stiffens and shoots come against the back of his throat, making him cough. Thick spend spills out of his mouth, dripping over his lips and running along his chin, and more trails down his chest as his cock slips out of his mouth, still pulsing and spurting. Garthy speeds up, forcing burst after burst across his nerves until all he can do is shake and whimper.

Just as the feeling starts to sharpen from pleasure into pain, Garthy’s hips stutter, and they cry out like something is being ripped out of them. They drive in once, twice, their fingers digging into Jack’s thigh’s hard enough to bruise. Their eyes are fixed on his face when they come, intense and feral, and he wonders if a thing can be so beautiful that it strikes a person dead. They sag against him, shuddering, and there’s no sound in the room but ragged breathing.

Jack is floating in a haze, anchored to reality by Garthy’s glittering eyes. They only look away to watch themself slowly pull out of him, and Jack moans at the change in pressure as wet heat trickles down his backside. He feels boneless and empty. They let go of his legs and ease the pillow out from under his hips, letting him settle flat on the bed before they crawl on top of him and lick a patch of sticky semen from his chin.

He manages a breathless laugh. “Never understand why you like that.”

“There’s just something about you with come on your face,” they reply, kissing along the edge of his jaw. “Drives me absolutely mad.”

“Not your strangest kink, I suppose,” he admits.

They magic away the worst of the mess and stretch out next to him, propped up on one elbow with a leg draped over his. “Mmhm, and which of us likes a particular type of roleplay?”

Jack cringes. “Promised you wouldn’t bring that up again.”

“Just making a point, darling.” They give him a soft smile and gently massage the tender spot on his ear. “You know I love it when you ask for things.”

He does know, and it does make the asking just a little bit easier. “All I’d ask right now is a bit of rest before the next round.”

“Actually, I was thinking we m-”

A musical chime sounds from the sitting area, and they scramble quickly off the bed. The chime repeats until it’s cut off by the sound of Garthy’s voice. “Ayda?”

They come back into the bedroom holding the crystal to their ear and frowning, evidently struggling to get a word in edgewise. “Well, hello t- ... I know, lovey. I’m alright. It’s b- ... You don’t have t- ... Port Hawthorn, at the Silver Beach Hotel. I don’t recall the room number, but it’s the seventh floor.”

That must be the end of the conversation, because they take the crystal away from their ear and tell Jack, “You should clean up and get dressed.”

“Ayda on her way?” he asks, hauling himself toward the bath.

“Probably already in the hall. She seemed... agitated.”

Jack will have to take their word for it. He’s never been able to read anything from Ayda’s tone or expression other than a general sense of intensity and frustration. Every conversation he’s had with her has ended in awkward silence and a blank stare that he assumes is meant to communicate how unbearably stupid she thinks he is. Any time their paths cross, Jack tries to stay politely out of the way.

He dresses quickly while Garthy calls the rest of the crew, and he manages to make himself presentable just in time for them to open the door of the suite and immediately be enveloped in a full body embrace of long arms and massive wings.

“You should have come to the library,” Ayda says accusingly.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry to worry you.” They say something else, but their voice is too muffled for Jack to hear.

She steps back to look at them, frowning. “Your charms are gone.”

“Ayda,” Garthy says, warning.

“You're wearing a bathrobe.”

“Don’t.”

“You look... wrong. I don’t like it.”

They heave a heavy sigh. “Not too pleased about it, myself.”

“What happened?”

“That is a long and rather harrowing story.” Smiling, they look past Ayda as Fig appears in the doorway, and they pull her into a hug. “Figueroth, darling!”

“Hey, Garthy,” she says warmly.

Ayda finally seems to notice that Jack is hovering nearby and gives him a curt nod. “Captain Brakkow.”

“Miss Aguefort.”

Fig and Garthy both roll their eyes, and Fig moves toward Jack with a broad smile and open arms. “Hi, Jack.”

“Hello, lass. It’s good to see you,” he says, wrapping her in a tight hug, and she hugs him back with surprising strength. “I heard the new record.”

She gives a squeak and pulls back to look at him, eyes wide. “And? Good brain scratches?”

He nods. “Very good brain scratches.”

Jack understands exactly nothing about music. Fig’s combined Solesian and Infernal influences put her songs even further outside his frame of reference, but it’s the only music he’s ever heard that he genuinely likes, beyond just being vaguely pleasant sounds. When he first tried to express how much he enjoyed it, he told Fig it was like the music scratched an itch in his brain, which she seemed to think was the highest possible praise.

“Okay, but what about the last track?” she asks. “’Cause I was trying to do something different, but it’s n-”

“Beloved, we have more pressing subjects to discuss,” Ayda interrupts gently.

“Right! Yeah, okay.” In an undertone to Jack, Fig asks, “Talk later?”

“Love to.”

For all that Ayda is an impenetrable wall to Jack, Fig feels like a familiar soul. Her warmth and wild charm make it hard not to like her, and her sharp wit and exuberant ambition remind him, with only the slightest pang, of himself as a young man. She once described him as a cool, weird uncle, and nothing has ever pleased him more.

As the four of them take their seats, Ayda says, “Captain Olagawe has been looking for you.”

“Can you get a message to him? Let him know where we are?” Garthy asks, and she nods. “I’d feel a bit better having another ship to watch our back.”

“Likewise,” Jack agrees. He doesn’t know Olagawe personally, but he knows the Ironwood isn’t a ship to be trifled with.

Fig looks from Jack to Garthy, frowning. “So what happened? Why didn’t you come straight to Elmville? And why do you look like you aged ten years overnight?”

Garthy makes a face at that, but Jack answers simply, “The people that were chasing us caught up.”

Between the two of them, they recount the events of the past few days, leaving out the more gruesome details. What they do tell, though, is enough to inspire growing horror on Fig’s face and darkening anger on Ayda’s. The other crew members begin to arrive near the end and listen in stony silence. Somehow, the telling of it makes Jack’s skin crawl worse than the memory.

“What’s the situation back home?” Sunny asks Ayda.

“Bad,” she says. “There have been incidents of racial violence in every district, and the destruction of the Gold Gardens appears to have had the intended demoralizing effect.”

“We’ve been getting people out through Compass Points,” Fig adds. “We’re doing the best we can, but...”

Ayda goes on, “The refugee situation is becoming a concern. Resources are limited. My father is attempting to acquire assistance from the Solesian government, but the response has not been encouraging.”

“Can’t imagine they want to welcome a bunch of poor Beastfolk from a pirate city,” Jack grumbles.

“That is an accurate assessment,” she admits.

“My family lives in Rigaba,” Sunny says. “The Biscottos. Do you know if...?”

“Oh! They’re at Seacaster Manor,” Fig says, and Sunny’s shoulders sag in relief. “They’ve been asking if we’d heard anything about your ship. They’ll be really happy to see you.”

“We can leave when you’re ready,” Ayda says, but Garthy shakes their head.

“My lawyer’s coming in the morning. Need to stay put for at least another day to get things sorted.”

Fig brightens. “Oh! Hagur’s coming? Tell him I said hi!”

Marcid looks at Jack, who replies a quick glance to indicate that this development is news to him. The existence of a lawyer is new information, to say nothing of his imminent arrival or his familiarity with Fig. Jack’s not entitled to any information about Garthy’s life beyond what immediately concerns him and his crew, but it’s starting to feel like even that is only being shared reluctantly. Hopefully, this is the last surprise for the time being.

“Do you have a long-term plan?” Ayda asks, and it takes Jack a moment to realize the question is aimed at him.

“Well, I can’t speak for everyone else, but sooner or later I’d like to go home,” he answers honestly. “Things being as they are, that’s gonna mean a fight. We came to Solace with the hope that you and your friends might be able to offer some help in that regard, but it sounds like you’ve already got your hands full with helping people.”

“We’re definitely down to fight,” Fig tells him. “Everybody’s ready to kick the shit out of some racist pirates.”

Marcid frowns. “Who, exactly, is everybody?”

“Everybody,” she repeats. “The Bad Kids and company.”

“Any idea of numbers?” Marcid prompts, and Fig appears to do a bit of math, counting off on her fingers.

“I don’t know. Like, thirteen?”

“Thirteen people?” He looks to Jack in disbelief. “We could hire twice that off the streets.”

“That number consists entirely of professional adventurers and powerful individuals,” Ayda points out. “Including myself and my father.”

“No,” Garthy says sharply. All eyes turn to them, and they sigh heavily. “Ayda, sweetheart, I’m delighted you’ve worked things out with your old man, but I will regrow my tits before I let Arthur Aguefort set foot in my city.”

Spaulding snorts loudly, and Cheese chokes on a laugh. Ayda just stares. After a second, she makes a gesture with her hand and tilts her head like she’s reading some unseen text.

“Oh. You either dislike or do not trust my father. Why?”

“Later, lovey. For now, let’s say it’s both dislike and distrust and leave it at that, yeah?”

She scowls. “I don’t think th-”

“If it’s no, it’s no,” Jack cuts in. “For the same reason we don’t wanna hire people off the street. Hard to fight next to someone you don’t trust.”

He has no idea what objection Garthy has to Arthur Aguefort, but he knows they wouldn’t discount a possible ally without good reason. Ayda turns her scowl on Jack, and he meets it with steel. He’s a reasonable man, always willing to discuss and negotiate, but once a member of his crew says no, the discussion is over.

“Later, Ayda. Please,” Garthy says. To Marcid, they add, “She’s right, though. One Solesian adventurer is easily worth ten ordinary pirates."

“So are we,” Sunny points out.

There’s an unmistakable note of pride in her voice, and rightly so. Their little crew has faced impossible odds and come out on top. If these Solesians are half as tough, a dozen of them should be formidable.

Jack gives Sunny an approving nod and says to the others, “Hard to know what numbers we need without knowing what numbers we’re facing. As it stands, I’d rather have a handful of good friends than nothing at all.”

“More specifically, we will need to determine the number and power of the enemy spellcasters,” Ayda says. “As you seemed to have difficulty with a single low-level cleric.”

Whether or not she means it as a dig, it still stings, and Cheese makes an indignant sound. Before he can say anything, Jack replies evenly, “I admit she gave me a bit of trouble, but I’ve got about as much magic as a sharp stick. The rest seemed to deal with her pretty handily.”

That seems to placate Cheese, but Spaulding puts in, “You had enough magic to make some of her spells not hit you. That made her mad.”

For a second, Jack doesn’t know what he’s talking about, until Garthy puts their hand on his and runs their thumb over the plain gold ring. “Ah. Right. Just a bit of borrowed magic.”

Garthy gives him a soft smile. “I’m just glad it worked.”

Ayda stares at the ring without expression, while Fig beams.

Sunny, meanwhile, points at Spaulding and exclaims, “Ha! I fucking told you! That’s a silver piece, you owe me.”

Spaulding makes a face and fishes a coin out of his pocket. Myrtle shakes her head and tells him, “Warned you not to take that bet.”

“What bet is that, darlings?” Garthy asks.

“The boys thought you got secretly married,” Sunny answers. “I said it was probably a protection charm, or something.”

“Coulda been both,” Cheese grumbles.

“They would’ve told us if they got married.” Sunny turns to Jack with a sudden frown. “Right? I mean, that’s kind of a big thing, so you would tell us?”

“Of course I would,” he assures her. “But that’s about as likely as the Celestine drying up overnight.”

There’s a silent conversation happening between Garthy and Ayda, betrayed by a slight twitch at the corner of Garthy’s mouth. Jack turns his hand over so that it’s palm-to-palm with theirs and says to the otthers, “Ayda’s right, though. We’ll need to account for spellcasters and others that might present an extra challenge.”

“Think our friends in the city can find that out?” Marcid asks Fig.

She nods. “Oh, for sure. Cathilda’s got some kind of spy network going. She’s probably already got some idea how many people they have.”

“We’ll need to know allies, as well,” Jack adds. “If there’s any organized pushback, or...”

“There’s not,” Fig says immediately. “Nobody really knows what’s going on. From what we’ve heard, there’s not even that much fighting. The blue coats just show up and start burning shit down.”

“Pirates aren’t exactly known for working together,” Myrtle points out.

“Aye. And ordinary folk don’t stand much chance against armed militias.” Jack sighs and scratches the top of his muzzle. There’s too many questions, too many things they still don’t know. He should have tried to get more information out of Corbin while he had the chance.

“I can give you some names to reach out to,” Garthy tells Ayda out loud, apparently finished with whatever private discussion they were having. “Captains, community leaders, and the like.”

Ayda nods. “What message would you like conveyed to them?”

Garthy looks at Jack and, one by one, so does everyone else. He considers for a moment, then says, “Tell them we have a plan. If they’re interested, we’ll set a meeting soon. If not, they should keep their head down ‘til it’s done.”

“Do we have a plan?” Marcid asks.

“We will,” Jack promises. He’s got the stirrings of an idea, but there's a lot more to figure out before he’s ready to pitch it. He suspects it’ll be a hard sell, even to his own crew. “Meantime, we need to know what we’re up against and who we can count on.”

“Cool. Yeah. We can work on that,” Fig says. “Plus getting all our friends rounded up to help.”

“Thank you,” Jack tells her sincerely. He never truly expected Fig and Ayda to turn them away, but he knows things would be infinitely harder if they had.

When Ayda and Fig teleport back to Elmwood, they’re accompanied by Sunny, Cheese, and Spaulding. As much as Jack hates splitting up his crew, Sunny is anxious to see her family, and the three of them may be able to do some good. Jack winces to think of the expensive hotel rooms left unoccupied, but he doesn’t mention it.

Once everyone has gone, Garthy wastes no time dragging Jack back into the bedroom and stripping off both their clothes.

“Insatiable, you are,” he teases.

They give him a sly grin and push him down on the bed. “Yes? And?”

And he’ll gladly submit to their every whim until his body and soul are wrung dry. “Just an observation.”

“Too much?” they ask, lying down next to him. “I’m feeling better, so I don’t need quite so much attention, if you’d rather n-”

He cuts them off with a kiss. They make a soft sound of surprise, then relax into him as he pulls them close. Quietly, he says, “Remember I said I’d rather be dead than tired of you?”

Their smile dims. “That strikes a bit different, considering recent events.”

“At least I didn’t stay dead,” he points out.

Garthy sighs and shakes their head. “You’re much too quick to joke about that, lovey.”

He thinks about Sunny asking whether he could laugh if she’d been the one hung from the mast, and he imagines Garthy... No. Not possible. There’s no scenario that his mind is willing to conjure. It’s unthinkable. Unbearable. He can’t bring himself to picture it, much less laugh about it.

“Sorry,” he says meekly, tucking his nose under their chin. “Don’t mean to upset you.”

“What upsets me is th-” They break off with another sigh. “Doesn’t matter. It’s alright. Just promise me you won’t be throwing yourself into danger for a bit, yeah?”

“Not for another week, at least,” he promises, but they give him an unamused frown. “Well danger’s gonna find us when we get back to Leviathan, won’t it? Can’t do much about that.”

“You can let someone else be on the front line, for a change,” they point out archly.

“Oh, aye. Just send the young ones in first, shall I?” he scoffs. “Sure Cheese can throw off a few spells before somebody bashes his skull.”

“Jack!”

“Would you rather it was Bob getting hit? Or Sunny? Marcid’s tough enough, it’d take a while for him to get put down.”

Garthy sits up with a scowl of disgust. “Stop it. You’ve made your point.”

He’s not certain that he has, actually. “No, please, tell me which one of my people I should put in harm’s way.”

“Your crew is more than capable of defending themselves and each other,” they snap.

“Aye, I know that, b-”

“So it’s not that you have to be the martyr, it’s that you choose to be.”

Jack blinks. “The fuck does that mean?”

They glare at him for a moment, then let out a slow breath, their face softening. “Nothing. Never mind. Done is done, and we’ve got time to plan for the next round of danger, yeah?”

“We do,” he agrees. Garthy nods sharply and looks away, drawing up one knee to rest their chin on it.

The long line of their back is a tense curve, and the bright light from the bedside lamp shines on even more marks that Jack has never seen before. There’s a tapered scar around their side that he recognizes as the result of a blade across the ribs. Below that is a patch of pale, uneven skin that must once have been a gruesome knot, smoothed and faded over many years. It’s not all violence, though. There’s a mole on their lower back and a cluster of golden freckles on their shoulder, all unfamiliar to Jack, who has joyfully studied every inch of this beautiful skin.

He lifts a hand to touch them, then thinks better of it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s alright.” They turn back to look at him with a sad smile. “No more serious talk tonight, yeah? Enough of that coming up.”

“Aye. Dirty talk only.” He does put his hand on them then, resting his palm on their fever-warm skin and running his thumb over the mark on their back. “Can find all those freckles you been hiding from me and tell you how lovely they are.”

That gets a short laugh from them. “Where exactly do you think those freckles are, lovey?”

He sits up and kisses the constellation on their shoulder. “Well, there’s some there, and I believe they might be the loveliest freckles I’ve ever seen.”

They roll their eyes with a huff, but they lean obligingly as he moves to inspect the other shoulder. Sure enough, there’s another cluster of marks like flecks of copper shining through a green patina. Jack kisses them reverently.

“And here as well, even lovelier than the last.”

As he kisses his way down their arm, they murmur, “I honestly can’t tell if you’re teasing.”

“A bit,” he admits. “Just think it’s silly to hide things that only make you more beautiful.”

There’s no reply, and they’re silent long enough that Jack lifts his head to find a distant expression on their face.

“Do you want me to stop?”

It takes a second for their thoughts to come back from wherever they had drifted, and they give him a warm smile. “Maybe for now, yeah? I’ve got other plans for tonight.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

The smile brightens, and they drop a kiss on the top of his muzzle. “I’ll be right back.”

They climb out of bed and disappear into the bath, closing the door behind them. Jack takes a moment to stand and stretch out his joints, though the aches in them are considerably improved. A relaxing soak and a thorough fucking can do wonders for a person’s health, even if the knot between his shoulders still tenses up every time he thinks about the obscene luxury of this place.

The big picture window in the bedroom has a spectacular view of the harbor, brilliant in the moonlight and dominated by the graceful silhouette of the Harvest Moon. Looking out at the sea and his beautiful ship should give Jack a sense of peace, but the memory of her ruined bow stings his heart. The dark waves of the Celestine stretching out from an unfamiliar shore remind him that he’s an exile, far from a home that has cast him out.

When Garthy returns, their cock is gone, and they’re holding a soft-bristled hairbrush and yet another of the little vials from the bath. Jack understands what they want, now, and his aching heart melts.

“Oh.”

They hold up the brush and vial, questioning. “Alright?”

“Of course.”

He rejoins them on the bed and curls up on his side so they’re sitting in the hollow formed by his body, baring his back to the air in a way that would feel much too exposed with anyone else. Starting at the nape of his neck, Garthy draws the brush down the full length of his spine, and an itch he hadn’t noticed immediately starts to settle.

It took him a full year to work up the courage to ask for this the first time. Not because he expected judgement or disgust, but because it’s such a personal thing and because he’d have to explain what the fuck he was talking about when he asked them to brush his fur. Instead of confusion, the request was met with immediate understanding. Garthy explained that a Tabaxi courtesan at the Gardens once told them Beastfolk clients often asked to be groomed, that the sailors who were disconnected from their own people needed this kind of intimacy as much as any other.

The rhythmic motion of the brush is better than any massage as Garthy works their way across his shoulders and down his sides, smoothing every inch with meticulous care. It’s not sexual, and it makes him feel vulnerable in a way that sex rarely does. He feels like a child, warm and safe and cared for, and it’s comforting to think Garthy wouldn’t make the effort if they didn’t think he was something worth caring for. It might not mean as much to them as it does to him, but he has to believe it means something.

Garthy works steadily down his back and onto his legs. They don’t stop until they’ve brushed his entire body to perfect softness, and he is a boneless puddle of comfort. Finally, they set the brush aside and curl their own body around his, just as he’s starting to drift off.

“All this pampering, a fella might think he was getting buttered up for something,” he says with a yawn, settling into their arms.

“Maybe I just like to pamper you.” They press close against his back and wrap an arm around his chest with a soft kiss behind his ear. “And why would I need to butter you up? Suspect you’d let me skin you alive if I asked nice enough.”

“Probably,” he admits drowsily. “Gonna kill me anyway.”

They laugh softly into the back of his neck. “Did you just say I’m going to kill you?”

“Not on purpose. Just gonna hurt,” he mumbles. He’s lost track of what he’s saying. He might not be talking at all.

“What’s going to hurt, lovey?” Garthy asks, quiet like they’d rather let him sleep than hear the answer. “Not me, yeah? You know I’d never hurt you.”

“Not on purpose,” he says again, but he’s not sure the words come out.

Jack dreams of darkness and the smell of rot. Stimey tells him jokes, but all the jokes are about death. He laughs because he has to. He is dying, after all.

Chapter Text

The spread that Garthy orders for breakfast is even more extravagant than supper, including a selection of pastries and pitchers of fresh juice and coffee. There’s also a bottle of vodka, which Garthy adds in liberal quantity to the juice.

When the two of them have put a substantial dent in the food, Garthy takes Jack’s hand and says quietly, “Jacky my love, I’ve a dreadful favor to ask.”

What dreadful thing could need doing in this quiet hamlet, he doesn’t know, but he’ll do it. “Aye?”

With unusual sheepishness, they ask, “Would you mind terribly going to buy me some clothes?”

Jack blinks. “Clothes?”

“I know it’s silly, but I’m feeling rather out of sorts. I understand it’s a bit out of your wheelhouse, as it were, so if you’d rather not...”

“I don’t mind,” Jack says. “Just not sure I’d know what to look for.”

“Oh, I can tell you what I need, darling,” they assure him quickly. “Nothing complicated, just some things that fit a bit better, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises

They give him a sweet smile and a kiss on the cheek. “My gallant captain.”

The clothes they borrowed are still in a pile in the bathroom, partly hidden by discarded towels, since Garthy has been either naked or wearing the hotel robe while in the suite. They do get dressed to accompany him down to the lobby, and the change in their demeanor is noticeable. Their strong shoulders are just a little bit slumped, their warm smile just a little less bright, and their easy grace is interrupted by constantly pushing at the rolled shirt cuffs and readjusting the oversized trousers on their hips. That, more than anything, tells Jack how important this really is.

In the lobby, they consult with the blue Tiefling woman at the front desk, whose name is Nessa, and she marks two shops on a simplified tourist map, saying that she’ll call ahead so Jack can have the purchases charged to the hotel. She gives him a friendly smile and asks, “Will you be shopping for yourself, as well?”

As much as he needs new clothes, it’s hard to justify paying Solesian prices when what he has is perfectly serviceable, if a little threadbare. He tells himself Nessa is just being helpful, not commenting on the sorry state of his appearance. Before he can politely decline, Garthy says brightly, “Oh, you should, darling! Replace that lovely coat you lost, yeah?”

Damn. He really does miss that coat. “Suppose I could look, at least.”

Nessa beams at him and marks another shop on the map. “Awesome! You’ll definitely want to stop at Silver’s, then. They’re the only one that really caters to diverse body types, unfortunately, but they have a great selection.”

Inwardly, Jack flinches at the phrase diverse body types. He’s heard that before and found that diversity doesn’t always include him. He gives the woman what he hopes is a pleasant smile and says, “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

Garthy writes a short list of the items they need and tells him to get a few different things, just in case. They hand it to him with a quick kiss on top of his muzzle and say, “I really do appreciate this, lovey. You’re an absolute angel.”

He ducks his head and murmurs, “It’s no trouble.”

As he approaches the door to the hotel, he hears Garthy tell Nessa, “Sweetest man that ever lived, that one.”

Jack’s face heats, and he hurries out of the lobby before he can hear her reply.

It’s a short walk to the high street. A brisk wind whips off the sea, bringing with it the smell of fish and the faint scent of a storm gathering beyond the horizon. All the visible clouds are soft and white, but Jack knows in his bones that there are gray ones building up just out of sight, following the wind toward land. According to Nessa, it’s the off-season for tourism, so the street is mostly empty, with a few shops temporarily shuttered. The wide, quiet boulevard is unnerving to Jack, accustomed as he is to the crowded bustle of Leviathan, and the absence of other pedestrians means all the shopkeepers notice him as he walks past. Some of them smile and wave while others openly stare. There aren’t many Ratfolk in Solace and fewer still who would come to a place like this.

The young human man at the first shop is friendly and helpful, answering his questions with patience and only a hint of condescension. At the second shop, he’s assisted by an older Earth Genasi woman who has more questions for him than he does for her, apparently curious about the circumstances that bring her such an unusual customer. Haltingly, he explains that he and his partner lost their home in a fire, and the two of them were travelling to stay with family in Solace when their ship was attacked by pirates. When he tells her that his partner, who is beautiful beyond his capacity to describe, has been stuck wearing his clothes and feeling less like themself, she nearly bursts into tears and sells him everything for half price. He’d feel guilty about it, except that he knows what the mark-up is like in these little tourist towns. Every word he told her was technically true, though he’s not sure Garthy would like being referred to as his partner.

The third shop, Silver’s, is at the far end of the street, just before the brick boulevard turns onto a smoothly paved road. It’s a larger shop front with high double doors, clearly meant to accommodate more sizeable clientele. The proprietor is a slim Dragonborn, just slightly taller than Jack, with scales the color of burnished pewter, dressed in a brown leather vest and wide cotton trousers that swing gently around their ankles.

They greet him with a warm smile and offer their hand. “Good morning! You must be Jack. I’m Tavan.”

“Pleasure,” Jack replies, returning the firm grip.

“Nessa said you were in the market for a coat and maybe some other basics?” They run their eyes over Jack’s clothes, but the look seems to be more calculating than judging.

Jack clears his throat. “Aye. Nothing fancy. Just like to replace some things.”

Tavan nods thoughtfully and asks, “Sailor?”

“Aye.” As if it wasn’t obvious.

“A lot of my customers are sailors and workers, so everything should be comparable to what you’re used to. None of that flimsy, overpriced beachwear for the tourists.” They wave a hand in dismissal, then gesture to the various racks of clothing. “Shirts are here. Pretty self-explanatory. Pants are on that wall, arranged by length. The seats are cut to allow for custom tail placement, so if you find something you like, I can get it tailored right on you in about a minute. Fitting room is right over there. Once you’ve got your basics picked out, coats and jackets are on the other side of the shop. And... yeah. I’m happy to help with whatever you need.”

It’s... a lot. It should be simple. Shirt, trousers, coat, done. There’s not even an overwhelming amount of options, but Jack suddenly feels foolish.

New clothes won’t solve anything or deflect the stares of Solesians who’ve never seen a Ratfolk before. Dressing well won’t make him a better captain or a younger man or any of the things his crew needs him to be. Even a new coat won’t do much more than keep him just a little bit warmer. What does he need a captain’s coat for, anyway, if he’s planning to retire? This whole exercise is a waste of time and money. He should just apologize and be on his way before he embarasses himself.

Without a word, Tavan pulls two shirts and two pairs of trousers from their places and hands them to Jack, smiling. “Here. Give these a try and we’ll go from there.”

Jack nods dumbly and goes into the fitting room.

Once he starts trying things on, it gets a bit easier. He still feels self-conscious, but Tavan’s cheerful efficiency takes the edge off his nerves. After a few combinations and some intimate magical tailoring around his tail, he winds up with an outfit that is just the slightest improvement on his usual clothes, with a little more structure and a few more pockets, made from marginally better materials. It makes a difference, though, and Jack has to admit the result is nice to see.

Tavan crosses their arms and taps a foot for a moment, then asks, “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Please.” They seem to know what they’re doing, so Jack is inclined to trust their judgement. He’s only a little worried their suggestion might be that he should stop trying and just leave.

“I know the white shirt is pretty standard, and it’s a good look,” they say. “But you’ve got such gorgeous grey fur, and I think the light color is washing you out. How would you feel about trying some different colors?”

“Oh. Alright. If you think it’ll help.” Jack’s not sure a different color will do much good until Tavan touches his shoulder, and the soft linen changes from natural white to heathered black.

“Now that is a look,” Tavan says approvingly, and Jack has to agree.

They touch the shirt again, and it changes to a rich navy, then to chocolate brown. After cycling through what feels like a muted rainbow of colors, they finally settle on a deep plum that makes his fur look soft and silvery.

“That’s the one,” they declare with satisfaction. “I still like the black, too, but this color really suits you.”

“Aye,” Jack agrees absently. It’s been some time since he truly looked at himself in a mirror, and he’s a bit surprised to find he doesn’t hate what he sees. “Thank you.”

Tavan gives him a brilliant grin. “My pleasure. Now let’s get you that coat. I think I’ve got one you’re gonna like.”

They sort through a tall rack of long jackets and eventually turn to hand him a wool captain’s coat in dark hunter green with heavy brass buttons and black suede trim. It’s a beautiful piece of clothing, much too fine for Jack, but he shrugs it on and lets Tavan make a few magical adjustments to the fit.

After a moment, they stand back with their hands on their hips and look him over with a satisfied smile. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but hot damn.”

Facing the mirror, Jack sees a version of himself he thought was long since lost. As a young man, when he pictured himself older, with the distinction and confidence of his hoped-for accomplishments, this is the vision he saw. In the flattering clothes and dramatic coat, he looks distinguished, even dashing, like a proper old captain with great deeds to his name. In this moment, with his ship in pieces and his crew in danger, it feels like cheating to buy his way into this image, and he lifts his hands to pull the coat off his shoulders.

What stops him is the ring on his finger. If Garthy has to be seen with him, they deserve to have him look his best. There’ll be a chance for him to earn back his pride and the right to look like a captain. In the meantime, he can at least try not to embarrass his crew by looking like the cursed man he used to be.

Tavan is already folding his old clothes into a paper shopping bag, along with a second pair of new trousers and a black version of the same shirt. “I thought you might like to wear that out of the store.”

Jack’s face heats, and he ducks his head. “Is that alright?”

“Of course!” they assure him brightly. “And I’m throwing in a couple of undershirts. Good for layering, and they’ll help the overshirts last a little longer. They’re also nice for a stripped-down, casual look, if you’re feeling frisky.”

A sharp bark of laughter escapes before Jack can stop it. “Don’t know that I’ve ever felt frisky in my life.”

“Try it. You might like it.” Tavan hands him the bag with a wide smile. “Thanks for stopping by! Tell Nessa I said hello.”

“I’ll do that. And... thank you. For your help.”

“It was genuinely my pleasure,” they reply, and they wave cheerfully as he departs.

The brisk wind is less bracing as it catches the edges of his new coat, but the smell of impending rain is just a little bit stronger. On the furthest edge of the horizon, the thick white clouds have begun to darken. Jack studies the clouds from the corner of his eye with trepidation. So far, it looks to be nothing more than a small storm front, a minor nuisance for any ships that pass through it and a gentle autumn rain once it makes landfall, but he knows how fickle storms can be.

He walks back on the opposite side of the high street, giving the rest of the shopkeepers a chance to gape, and he nearly trips over his feet when a flash of gold suddenly catches his eye. One shop window is lined with narrow shelves of glass containers filled with rich, golden honey. Jack goes into the shop before he can think twice.

The shopkeeper is a young Elven man with a thick dusting of freckles who answers Jack’s questions about the origin and quality of the honey with enthusiasm, happily offering samples and descriptions of every product in the store. It feels like a reward for passing some unknown test, a counterpoint to the honey spilled on the cabin floor. There is yet some sweetness to look forward to in his life.

Tempting as it is to buy the largest jar possible, he chooses one small enough to keep in his pocket, like a precious charm against despair. At the counter, the young man is wrapping the jar in a protective layer of brown paper when Jack catches the familiar scent of night-blooming flowers.

He whips his head toward the smell so fast, the young man jumps in alarm. “Is everything okay?”

Jack sniffs around the counter, trying to zero in on the source of the scent and knowing that he probably looks insane. “Flowers. There’s a... a certain flower. I don’t know what it is, but I can smell it.”

“Oh! Yes, the farm that makes the honey also makes small-batch perfume oils,” the man explains, bending down to pull a small box from behind the counter. “They just sent me some, but I haven’t had a chance to put them out.”

He lifts the top of the box to reveal a collection of carefully wrapped glass vials, and Jack immediately points to one tucked along the side. “That one.”

The man extracts the vial and unscrews the cap, offering it up for Jack to smell. “Jasmine and honey. Not the best seller, but it’s one of my favorites.”

It’s not exactly right without the earthy note of incense, but it’s the same rich floral scent that drifts through all Jack’s sweetest memories. He has to swallow back a rush of emotion before he can ask, “Could I get that as well, please?”

“Absolutely!” The young man takes another piece of brown paper to wrap the vial and puts it in a small fabric bag with the honey. “It's amazing you could pick it out like that.”

“It’s... My... partner wears something like it,” Jack says, knowing he can’t possibly convey what that scent means. He’s not even sure it has the same significance for Garthy that it does for him. “They... they lost it. There was a fire. Hoping this’ll help make up for it.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s... really thoughtful.” The man frowns like he’s trying to think of something and can’t quite get it. After a second, he shakes his head and resumes his friendly smile. “Alright, that comes to thirty eight gold, five silver.”

Jack’s stomach drops. He assumes he can’t charge this to the hotel, like the clothes, and he only has thirty gold in his pocket. The rest of his coin went into the pool for harbor fees and a deposit on repairs, since they still need Garthy to work whatever proverbial magic is required to get actual money. The only reason he has any gold at all is because Marcid insisted everyone put in an equal share, punctuated with a sharp glare at Jack.

“Ah. Um. How much apiece, then?” he asks, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up his ears.

“Ten for the honey, twenty-five for the perfume, plus tax,” the young man answers in the perfectly neutral tone of someone who is doing their best not to show judgement. Helpfully, he offers, “The sample size of the honey is six gold.”

Which would be thirty-one, plus whatever the tax rate is. Fuck. He hates Solace.

“Right. Just the...” He can come back later. They’ll be here another day yet, and there’ll be time. It’s a small thing to ask for, even if it’s too much right now. He can come back. It still hurts more than he expects to say, “Just the perfume, for now. Please.”

The shopkeeper actually looks surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Aye. Thank you.”

He leaves the shop quickly, head down and ears hot with humiliation, three gold and five silver in one pocket and a glass vial of sense memory in the other.

Back in the hotel lobby, Nessa compliments his new outfit and asks if he found everything alright. He chats politely and passes along Tavan’s greeting until she tells him that Garthy went upstairs with their guests just a little while ago.

Right. The lawyer.

In the quiet privacy of the lift, he closes his eyes and breathes. The disappointment and embarrassment from the shop are meaningless feelings that he doesn’t have room for, and he pushes them aside. His irritation at not being told about the lawyer or given any information or insight about the money is warranted, he thinks, but now’s not the time for that. He has to trust Garthy to handle the things in their purview and tell him what he needs to know, even if they don’t tell him quite as much as he’d like.

His mood isn’t improved by reaching the suite and finding he’s forgotten to take a key. There’s voices and laughter inside the room, and he has to knock loud enough to be heard. Garthy opens the door with an expression that cycles through delight, confusion, and concern in a matter of seconds.

“Forgot the key,” Jack grumbles as they step aside to let him in.

The chairs in the sitting area are taken up by two Half-Orcs, a good-looking man and a nervous-looking young woman, both wearing Solesian business clothes. The man stands as Jack enters, and the woman follows a second later.

“Captain Jack Brakkow, meet Hagur Stonehammer, my personal attorney, and his assistant, Marta Crusher,” Garthy announces brightly, ushering Jack toward the sofa.

Hagur gives Jack a warm smile and a firm handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain Brakkow.”

He pronounces it the way Garthy does, with the emphasis on the first syllable, and Jack is almost feeling petty enough to correct him. That would mean admitting that Garthy has been mispronouncing his name for years, though, and there’s really no point in bringing it up.

Marta’s handshake is just as firm as her boss’s, but her smile is shy as she says quietly, “Captain.”

“Mister Stonehammer. Miz Crusher.” He tries to put on a friendly expression as he takes off his coat and hands the shopping bags to Garthy.

“Jacky my love, you’re a gem!” they exclaim, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be right back, darlings. Need to put myself to rights.”

They sweep into the bedroom, leaving Jack to hover awkwardly with the two guests. Once they resume their seats, he realizes he should sit down, as well, and he sinks onto the sofa, suddenly feeling a bit too big for the room. There’s small plates and glasses of wine on the table, plus several stacks of papers with excruciatingly fine print. Jack wonders if he should have had Marcid deal with all of this, since finance is far outside his area of expertise.

As if to emphasize the point, Hagur hands him a small sheaf of documents and says, “Alright, captain, this is the paperwork to get you added to the account. We just need a few things filled out and signed.”

Jack skims over pages, which mostly consist of blank lines and blocks of text that seem to be simple legal waivers. “What’s this do, exactly?”

“This will make you a joint owner of Garthy’s primary bank account,” Hagur explains. “You’ll have access to all their financial assets in Solace and be able to move things around or make changes, if you need to.”

Don’t worry about money, darling. I can get that sorted, they’d said. At no point in any subsequent conversation did they mention putting Jack’s name on anything or giving him direct access to any more than what he needs for the ship.

Some of his shock must be evident, because Hagur frowns and asks, “They didn’t discuss this with you?”

“They did not,” Jack confirms. He knows money works differently in Solace, that most transactions go through banks instead of using physical coin, but he can’t think of any reason he’d need control over Garthy’s money. He shakes his head, trying to focus on the important details. “Sorry. Just catching up. How much is in the account?”

Hagur hesitates, either confused as to why Jack doesn’t already know or uncertain about sharing the information. After a second, he turns to his assistant, “Do you have the high-level summary sheet?”

She flips quickly through a folder and hands him two sheets of paper. He glances at them and passes one over to Jack, explaining, “The money is distributed across a network of credit unions, but the accounts are all tied together. It looks more complicated than it actually is. The total is there at the bottom.”

The sheet is a list of a dozen financial codes corresponding to varying large sums, each with a note in what looks like legal shorthand. At the bottom of the list, adding all the sums together, is the single largest number Jack has ever seen written down.

His jaw drops, and he looks up at Hagur in astonishment. “That can’t be right.”

With surprising chagrin, Hagur says, “Garthy is... extremely wealthy.”

It’s enough to buy half the upper deck of Leviathan. It’s enough to feed every soul in the Bilge for a year. It’s enough to rebuild the Gold Gardens ten times over and still retire in luxury. It’s fucking staggering.

Before Jack can even think of a follow-up question, Garthy rejoins them, now dressed in dark khaki trousers in the same style they usually wear and a fitted black shirt with no sleeves. Admittedly, they do look much more themself and seem more at ease as they lounge languidly in the center of the sofa.

“That’s better.” Noticing Jack’s expression, they ask, “Everything alright, lovey?”

He’s not about to have this conversation in front of strangers, but they are going to have it. Withholding details is one thing but blindsiding him with major financial decisions is a step too far.

Calmly, he answers, “Aye. Just making sure I understand it all.”

He fills in the blank lines on the papers and reads every section twice before he signs it. Meanwhile, Garthy resumes chatting with their guests, asking after Hagur’s family, who he reports are all doing well.

“Of course, when I tell mom I saw you, she’s going to ask if I asked, so consider this the obligatory invitation,” he says lightly.

The pause that follows is long enough to make Jack look up from the paperwork to see Garthy’s brow furrowed in thought.

Hagur sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Okay, now I’m concerned. That’s always been an immediate, no thank you.”

“Well, things have changed, yeah?” Garthy glances at Jack, who turns back to the papers like he’s not trying to puzzle out what’s happening. “Seems likely to be some fighting soon, and I’m not exactly in top form. My temple’s gone, but visiting another one isn’t the worst idea.”

“It’s your temple, too,” Hagur points out gently. After a second, he adds, “You know Dajmila’s in a few days.”

“Oh, I know, darling. Believe me.” They let out a long breath and lay one arm along the back of the sofa so their hand comes to rest on Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”

Jack signs the last line of the page and hands it back to Hagur. “Best double check it. Not sure I did everything right.”

Hagur passes the documents to his assistant, who looks through them quickly and gives him a short nod. From another stack of papers, she produces a blank envelope, which she holds out to Jack. Inside is a folded piece of paper and a small rigid card with his name and a series of numbers.

“That’s all the account information and your bank card. It’ll be activated pretty quickly, but give it about an hour before you start using it,” Hagur says cheerfully. “And now that business is done...”

He produces a square-bottomed wine bottle from a shoulder bag beside his chair and presents it to Garthy with an air of deference. The glass is painted opaque in a pale olive color, with silver lettering that looks like it was done by hand. Jack can’t read the script, but he knows enough to tell that it’s Orcish.

Garthy takes the bottle with a soft gasp and turns it over in their hands. “I thought they’d closed down?”

“New owners took over about a year ago,” he replies, pulling a small metal cup from the same bag. “This is from their first batch, so I can’t vouch for the quality.”

“Doesn’t have to be good, lovey. Just has to be strong and sweet.”

Jack has seen them open more bottles of wine than he can count, always with a sense of savoring the experience. This time, they wrench the cork out with their teeth and spit it across the room, swallowing a mouthful straight from the bottle like it’s plain water. With a sigh of satisfaction, they lift the bottle in a salute and say something in Orcish that makes both their guests snort in amusement.

“That bad, huh?” Hagur laughs.

“Oh darling, they tried,” Garthy says. “But it’s sweet, and it’s definitely strong.”

Learning languages has never come easily or been of great interest to Jack. He’s picked up enough Elvish to know when he’s being swindled and enough Infernal to intimidate anyone who doesn’t understand what he’s saying. The bits of Orcish that he’s learned mostly pertain to business matters, piracy, and sex, which has proven surprisingly useful even outside the Gold Gardens, though he’s been told he speaks with a comically thick Leviathan accent.

Garthy takes another drink from the bottle and stands in front of Hagur. They say something that has the tone of recitation, but the only word Jack came make out is sweet. Hagur replies with what is clearly a ritual response, and they lean down to give him a gentle kiss on closed lips.

They repeat the exchange with Marta, who’s response is slightly different and who visibly squirms in her seat when they give her a long, open-mouthed kiss. Jack watches with detached curiosity, interested more in the meaning of it all than anything else, and is a little startled when Garthy turns to offer him the bottle.

“Take a drink and say, From my lips, devotion,” they instruct, and the other two glance at each other in obvious surprise.

It feels like he’s committing some kind of sin, but Jack does as he’s told. Strong and sweet, it turns out, is a meager description for whatever this drink is. He can practically taste the proof of the alcohol, and he intense sweetness is undercut by an herbal bitterness that is just shy of unpleasant. It’s the closest he can imagine to drinking magical fire, with a slightly citrus aftertaste.

“From my lips, devotion,” he repeats, and Garthy beams at him.

They take another swallow of their own and reply, “From my lips, favor.”

He doesn’t think he’s imagining that the kiss he receives is deeper and longer, and he knows that the hand cupped under his jaw is just for him. In Garthy’s mouth, the bitterness and burning of the wine is gone, leaving only the sweet flavor and citrus aftertaste, which has changed to something almost floral. It’s a pleasant experience, even if he has no idea what it means.

When Garthy pulls away, they’re smiling so tenderly, it takes tremendous effort not to draw them down into another kiss. They sink back onto the sofa, now pressed close against his side, pouring some of the wine into an empty wine glass and offering it to Jack. It seems to get better with every taste, but he’s not sure if that’s a feature of the drink or a side effect of the circumstances. Taking the cup from him, they drink for themself, then pass it to Hagur, who is regarding Jack with focused curiosity, as if some new information has come to light.

Meanwhile, Marta is flushed to a dark green, sitting forward in her chair and gripping the hem of her skirt hard enough to tear it. She might be nervous or uncomfortable, except that Jack can smell her arousal and see the way she’s staring at Garthy’s lips. If they kiss her again, she might just come in her seat.

“Still alright, Marta darling?” they ask gently, and she startles at being spoken to.

“Oh. Yes, I’m... fine. Th-thank you,” she stammers, flushing even darker. “Just, um... excited.”

The smile they give her is at once soft and smoldering, and she visibly melts under their gaze. “Changed your mind at all? It’s perfectly alright if you have. There’s no pressure.”

She shakes her head emphatically. “No, no! I... I’m ready. Please.”

“Glad to hear it, lovey.” They give Jack a kiss on the cheek and say, “Jacky my love, I’m going to take this beautiful young woman in the bedroom and give her the time of her life. We’d be delighted if you’d join us.”

Jack looks down quickly to avoid seeing Marta’s response to that suggestion. He’s never been opposed to being a third wheel in bed, or even a fourth or fifth, but this situation is too unexpected and strange. Besides, he suspects that the beautiful young woman might be less delighted than Garthy imagines.

“Don’t think so. Not this time.”

“As you like, love.” If they’re disappointed, it doesn’t show. Standing, they hold out a hand to Marta, “Shall we?”

She takes their hand and follows them into the bedroom. Once the door is closed behind them, Hagur runs a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“Right. Well. We can sit here awkwardly, or we can go get a drink,” he says. “Up to you, captain.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “Think I’d prefer the drink, if it’s all the same.”

Hagur grins. “Me, too.”

Just off the lobby, the hotel bar is empty, except for a Halfling bar tender who serves their drinks and goes back to watching some sporting event playing loudly on a mounted crystal screen. Hagur chooses a booth that is just far enough from the bar to give them some quiet and privacy.

He sips thoughtfully at his beer for a minute before he sits back and says, “Alright. Fuck it. You seem like a man who prefers plain speech to polite conversation. Am I right?”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Aye.”

“Cool. Let’s talk plainly. I’m curious what you were told going into that meeting.”

This man is a stranger, as far as Jack is concerned, and he doesn’t care to discuss his personal business with someone he doesn’t know. On the other hand, Garthy seems to trust Hagur with their money, at the very least, which means something. “You’re assuming I was told anything.”

Hagur frowns. “I mean, you knew we were coming, right?”

“Knew they’d talked to someone about getting some coin,” Jack replies wearily. “Found out late last night that their lawyer was coming for a visit. Which is also when I found out they had a lawyer.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Shit.” Hagur takes another sip of his beer, apparently chewing on that. “So you probably have some questions.”

“A few,” Jack admits, and Hagur gestures for him to go on. “For starters, I’d like to know for certain that young woman wasn’t coerced into what’s happening. She seemed pretty pleased, but I don’t know that you’re not the sort of man who tells his assistant to spread her legs and smile.”

Hagur looks genuinely shocked. “What? No! Of course not! She’s been looking forward to this since she started working for me. I thought she was going to combust when I said we were coming to meet Garthy.”

“Full service legal firm, ‘ey?” Jack drawls, and Hagur snorts.

“Considering the stories I’ve heard about some of the firm’s other clients, this is nothing,” he says. “At least anything Marta does with Garthy is consensual, legal, and documented with HR.”

From context, Jack takes that to mean there’s some measure of oversight to make sure no one is being taken advantage of, which does put his mind a bit more at ease. “Not trying to accuse you of anything, just...”

“You don’t know me. I get it. I had questions about you, too.”

“Suppose that’s reasonable,” Jack says. “Wealthy client tells you they want to share all their money with a pirate you’ve never heard of.”

"Not just my client.” Hagur hesitates for a second before he continues, “I’ve known Garthy my whole life, and I’ve worked for them my entire career. I owe them my career. They’ve done a lot for me, so I’d feel a sense of personal loyalty, even if they weren’t a religious figure.”

There is a beat of silent confusion before a dozen disparate pieces start to click together in Jack’s mind. “Because they’re Aasimar.”

Hagur nods. “Descendents of the Zajiri are revered in Orc culture, and there’s maybe one that manifests every few generations. The fact that Garthy is also a Paladin who’s dedicated their life to the Zajmat makes them essentially a living saint.”

On some level, Jack thinks he already knew that. He certainly feels it, in his own way, and he’s seen the adoration of the Orcish folk who came to the Gold Gardens, like they were on a pilgrimage to a holy site. “So you working for them...”

“It’s a religious practice,” Hagur finishes. “Serving them is a privilege, for me and for Marta.”

Jack chews on that for a moment before he asks, “Mind telling me about the wine?”

“Ah. Right. I guess the short version is that it’s a kind of liqueur used in rituals? There’s specific rules for how it’s supposed to be made, so it’s really hard to get outside Orekral. It’s generally reserved for religious and cultural leaders.”

“Like Garthy.”

“Exactly.” Hagur adds, “The only reason I can even get it is because my mother is a cleric of Gruumsh.”

“That why you nearly fell out of your chair when they gave the bottle to me?” Jack asks.

For the first time, Hagur looks uncomfortable. He coughs and shifts in his seat. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be rude, it just caught me off guard.”

Jack shakes his head. “No, that’s fine. I thought they might have done something wrong in giving it to me.”

“Not at all. As long as they drink first, they can share with whoever they like,” he explains. “I just didn’t realize you were Favored.”

“Favored?”

“Husband? Spouse? Primary partner? I don’t know what you prefer.”

A sharp bark of laughter bursts out of Jack, loud enough to make the bar tender shoot him a brief glance. “Is that what that meant? I hate to tell you, but they must have fucked something up.”

Hagur gives him a puzzled frown. “Why do you say that?”

“Pretty sure they’d rather eat glass than get married, and they don’t have a primary partner, me or otherwise,” Jack says. “I’m just the one that happens to be around right now.”

He knows that’s not entirely true. He knows Garthy has kept him around longer than most lovers, that he enjoys privileges that aren’t afforded to others, but that doesn’t make him primary anything. He’s not first or foremost, just one among hundreds.

The frown deepens. “I see. They’re usually pretty careful with things like that, but you know your relationship better than I do.”

How many days has it been since Jack stood on the darkened deck and heard the word favored? Was that meant for him, or was it a name for something he couldn’t be in a context he didn’t understand? It’s hard to judge the weight of it now, without the press of imminent death, but it certainly didn’t mean… that.

“Sorry,” is all he can think to say, but Hagur waves it off.

“Honestly, that’s between the two of you. It’s… Well. It’s probably worth a conversation.” He raises his hands. “My opinion. The last thing I want to do is interfere.”

“Appreciate it,” Jack says. “The advice, I mean.”

Hagur lifts his glass in salute. “Any other mysteries I can shed some light on?”

It might not be intended as a loaded question, but it feels that way. Jack considers carefully before he asks, “Suppose I should know a bit more about how this banking nonsense works. A bank on Leviathan is just a locked vault with armed guards.”

“In some ways, that’s probably more secure,” Hagur admits.

He gives an explanation of the Solesian financial system that Jack mostly follows, but the key information is that the small card in the envelope can be used to buy things and get physical coin, with the added understanding that, because Garthy is so obscenely wealthy, it’s virtually impossible for the money to run out.

“Which isn’t something I’d normally tell someone, but Garthy was pretty emphatic that you should be able to get anything and everything you could possibly need,” he adds.

What Garthy thinks Jack might need beyond repairs to the ship and a few supplies, he has no idea. Even when he tries to think of extravagant expenses he might incur in this little port town, he can’t come up with anything more outrageous than whatever Garthy’s paying for the hotel. The tiny bottle of scented oil in his pocket is already more of a luxury than he can imagine ever buying for himself. If he can go back for even the smallest jar of honey, he’ll be content.

“Is there anyone else that can use it?” Jack asks, partly for the information and partly so he knows if this is actually a unique privilege.

“Ayda Aguefort has discretionary access and power of attorney, but her trust is a separate account,” Hagur replies. “I assume you’re familiar with Ayda and their relationship?”

“Aye. I know Ayda.” Jack doubts she’ll be pleased to learn that Garthy has given Jack any kind of control over their wealth, given her opinion of his intelligence. When Hagur doesn’t continue, Jack prompts, “Is that all?”

“That’s all,” Hagur confirms. “Like I said, I had questions.”

“Understandable.” Jack leans back in his seat, turning his barely-touched glass of rum on the table. “Did you get your answers, then?”

“For the most part.” He studies Jack for a moment, then says, “I had Marta do some digging, but the only official record she could find with your name was an arrest report from forty years ago.”

Jack snorts. “Ah, right. Forgot about that.”

His first time in Solace, at the shiny age of eighteen, he’d been arrested for shoplifting on the Bastion City docks, despite the fact that he hadn’t stolen anything. Over several hours of questioning, he’d sussed out that the police had seen a Ratfolk sailor and immediately assumed – rightly, to be fair – that he was a pirate. They’d further assumed – wrongly, obviously – that he’d be either stupid or cowardly enough to turn informant and give them some kind of grounds to search his ship. Failing that, they beat the tar out of him and dumped him back on the docks, since he hadn’t actually committed any crimes. His fortitude earned him a promotion and modest praise from the crew, and his bruises earned him a great deal of fussing attention from his lover at the time.

“It’s impressive, honestly. Most career pirates have at least a few run-ins with the law, but it seems like you just had one instance of bad luck,” Hagur goes on. “But then Marta started looking into the Harvest Moon, and that turned up some very interesting results.”

“Oh?”

Hagur crosses his arms with a smile. “Turns out there are dozens of reports from people who ran into one kind of problem or another, only to be rescued by a small pirate ship with a very polite crew and an improbably large Ratfolk captain. The passengers of a stranded cruise ship had some particularly interesting stories to tell.”

Jack groans, and Hagur chuckles.

“Apparently, you went out of your way to make their voyage home as enjoyable as possible, including telling stories to small children,” he says, obviously enjoying himself. “And you were very popular with the older ladies.”

“I’ll have you know I did nothing to encourage that,” Jack grumbles.

“No, by all accounts you were a perfect gentleman and made no advances toward any of the passengers. Much to their disappointment,” Hagur teases. “And that was just one incident. In all the reports, every person described the captain as being gruff but very kind, and a surprising number made a point of adding attractive to that description.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “These soft mainland folk get rescued by pirates, and they all think they’ve stumbled into a romance novel.”

“Marta said the same thing.” Lowering his voice, as if he doesn’t want to embarrass his assistant, Hagur adds, “Honestly, I think she developed a little crush from reading about all your adventures, so I guess even she wasn’t immune to the romance of it all.”

“Reality must have been a terrible blow, then.” Whatever dashing hero the young woman pictured, Jack can’t imagine his tired old face measured up. He’s not homely, by any means, but he’s hardly romantic material, despite what some old woman and occasionally Garthy might say.

“Maybe.” Hagur shrugs. “In any case, those stories gave me a pretty good idea what kind of person you are, and so far nothing’s made me second-guess my conclusions.”

“Glad to hear it, I suppose. I assume that conclusion was generally positive, since you let Garthy trust me with their life savings.”

“I mean, yes, obviously it was very positive, but that’s not nearly their life savings,” Hagur replies. “The Solesian accounts represent maybe half their total worth, prior to losing the Gold Gardens, which they did have insured.”

It takes a second for Jack to parse the meaning of that. “Sorry, did you say half?”

“Their assets in Highcourt and the Baronies are mostly real estate, but yeah. Average value of those properties, plus the estimated worth of the Gardens, comes out about the same as their total monetary assets in Solace,” Hagur explains, which answers the one question but raises so many others.

Jack opens his mouth to ask a follow-up, then shakes his head. “Right. Fine. Not even gonna try and get my head around those numbers.”

“It’s pretty mind-blowing,” Hagur admits. “Thankfully, they’ve got other representatives in those countries, so I don’t have to deal with it. Hell, it took three years for them to even tell me about those assets.”

It’s hard not to laugh and impossible not to feel a little validated. “Not exactly forthcoming, are they?”

Hagur starts to say something, then chuckles to himself. “Well, I was gonna say you have no idea, but I guess you probably do.”

“Aye. Been a bit of an issue lately, if I’m honest.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

There’s an opportunity here, Jack thinks, to get more of the information he’s missing. Hagur seems to think Jack’s entitled to know whatever he likes, at least when it comes to Garthy’s money and status. It’s less about the knowing, though, and more about wanting Garthy to trust and respect him enough to just fucking tell him. He trusts and respects them enough to not try and find things out behind their back.

Instead of the thousand other questions in his mind, he asks, “You said you’ve known them your whole life?”

Hagur nods. “Technically, we’re cousins.”

Any more surprises, Jack thinks, and his heart’s just going to give up. Flatly, he repeats, “Cousins.”

“They’re my... second cousin once removed? I think? My great-grandfather was their grandmother’s brother. Right?” Hagur goes through some mental calculation. “Yeah. It’s... It’s complicated.”

“Do they...” Jack hesitates. The only family Garthy has ever mentioned is Ayda, the one they raised and the one who raised them. Jack always assumed they either didn’t know or were cut off from any blood relatives. If this is another part of their life they don’t want to share with him, then he’s not going to push. Instead, he just shakes his head and says, “This is a lot to take in.”

“I can imagine,” Hagur says sympathetically.

After a moment, Jack asks, “Out of curiosity, how long have you worked for them? You said your whole career.”

“Just over ten years.” Hagur smiles. “The second I finished law school, they started putting things on my plate."

Ten years. Longer than Jack has known them, likely longer than the time he’ll have with them, when all’s said and done. Hagur probably knows more about them than Jack ever will. Sitting across from this handsome young man who provides Garthy with service and kinship far outside Jack’s capacity, he wonders if there are others with the same merits, who are trusted and valued above others. There must be a few, at least, and all Jack can offer is pitiful devotion.

Hagur’s crystal chimes in his pocket, and he takes it out to glance at the screen. “Okay, they’re all done. Based on the typos, I think Marta is very well done.”

“Can’t really blame her, ‘ey?”

“Not at all,” Hagur agrees. “I’m gonna go check in with her since, y’know, she literally just had a religious experience.”

Jack nods. “You go on. Gonna finish my drink and contemplate my place in the universe.”

He’s not joking, but it gets him a short laugh as Hagur types a reply to his assistant. “I’ll leave you to it, then. It’s been a pleasure talking to you, captain.”

“Likewise.” Jack offers his hand, and Hagur gives it a firm shake, then strolls away toward the lift.

There’s not much left in his glass, but he stretches it out across another twenty minutes. The only sound in the bar is the game playing on the crystal screen, with occasional commentary from the bartender, who seems to have forgotten Jack’s presence. It’s strangely peaceful, a far cry from the crowded taverns of Leviathan and the perpetual buzz of the Gold Gardens. The brief solitude doesn’t give him any clarity, but it does give him a moment to breathe.

When he returns to the suite, once again having forgotten the key, he has to knock to be let back in, and Garthy greets him with a fond smile, dressed in nothing but their new trousers and puffing on a slim mechanical pipe. Even in his poor mood, Jack’s breath catches at the sight of them, with their shimmering radiance and effortless beauty. They pull him into a slow, languid kiss that tastes of ritual wine and gorgenfern. He wants to enjoy it, but his mind is too heavy for even this to lift his spirits.

One thing for which Garthy can always be relied upon is knowing when someone isn’t enjoying themselves, and they draw back, frowning. “Are you alright, lovey?”

Aye, of course, is immediately on the tip of his tongue, because that’s the only answer he’s ever given to that question. It’s harder than he expects to actually admit, “Ah, no. Not entirely.”

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” they ask with such genuine concern, Jack nearly regrets saying anything. “It’s not about Marta, is it?”

“No, no. Of course not. I’d never be cross about that,” he assures them honestly. “It’s just... See, I understand you not telling me about the money. And I understand not mentioning that your lawyer was coming. But if I’m gonna be putting my name to something, I think that merits a conversation.”

Their frown deepens as they step away. “Didn’t Hagur explain it all?”

“Aye, he did. I mean a conversation with you,” Jack replies. “Preferably before I’m being handed the paperwork.”

They wave off the complaint with a huff. “Darling, this financial business is so dull. I barely understand it.”

“You understand a good sight more than I do, but that’s beside the point.” He doesn’t add that he’s watched them going through the books for the Gardens and knows the extent of their financial acumen, no matter how dull they might find it.

“And what is the point, Jacky my love?” they sigh, apparently bored with the discussion before it even starts.

“The point is you keep not telling me things.” His voice rises, and he takes a steadying breath before he goes on, “There’s been some things I would’ve liked to know sooner than I did.”

“Such as?” They lounge back on the sofa with a glass of red wine, and Jack knows they’re just trying to keep a casual tone to the conversation, even if it’s hard not to feel dismissed.

“Such as you not being able to go outside. Or that you needed certain things to keep from being sick,” he says. “The fact you been wearing glamours and protections every minute I’ve known you. Or how you’re apparently a revered religious figure.”

At that, they roll their eyes. “Oh, gods. What did Hagur tell you?”

“A hell of a lot more than you have,” Jack shoots back, crossing his arms. “For instance, what exactly does Favored mean?”

A brief flash of discomfort crosses their face, but it vanishes quickly behind an easy smile. “Just means I like you, yeah? It means you’re special.”

“Not feeling terribly special, at the moment,” he huffs. “Seeing as I’ve learned more about you in the last five days than I have in five years.”

“I’m entitled to a bit of privacy, lovey,” they reply with a touch of tension.

“Aye, and I’ve respected that. I do respect that. But if there’s something that affects me or my crew, I need to know about it before it becomes an issue.” He’s trying to hold his temper, but now that he’s given an inch to the anger, it wants to swallow him whole.

Garthy finishes the wine and sets aside the glass with a bitter frown. “I should have warned you about the paperwork, and I’m sorry. But I fail to see how the rest of that is anything other than my personal fucking business.”

“You fail to see how you being too sick to fight might be something I should know when there’s people trying to kill us?” Jack shouts, incredulous.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. I w-”

“You were curled in a ball under the desk,” he cuts them off sharply. “You hadn’t eaten in two days. And I still had to drag the truth out of you.”

“Fine!” they snap, bristling. “I was sick, and I didn’t tell you. Gods forbid there be one detail on your ship that escapes you.”

Jack blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means maybe the issue at hand is that I won’t submit to your micromanagement.” They rise from the sofa and stalk toward him with a scowl. “I’m not on your crew, and I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.”

The last bit of his restraint snaps. “No, I suppose you don’t, do you? Fuck me for thinking you might trust me with something besides warming your bed.”

“Yes, obviously I put my life in your hands because I don’t trust you,” they drawl acidly.

“Right. Well. Glad I could be of some additional use to you,” he growls. “I’ll just be grateful you saw fit to give me a bit of coin and affection in exchange for my services.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that apparently nothing I’ve done entitles me to so much as a fucking conversation!” He’s yelling loudly, and he’s beyond caring. “That nothing I’ve done is enough to make you trust me any further than you absolutely have to.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jack! Of course I trust you!” Garthy yells back. “Just because I don’t think to tell you every little th-”

“You don’t think to?” Jack repeats. “So it’s just fucking carelessness? It’s not that you’re even choosing not to talk to me, it’s that you don’t care enough to bother?”

They sputter angrily. “That’s not what I said!”

Either they don’t trust him or they don’t think it’s worth the effort, and Jack honestly doesn’t know which is worse. One way or another, the fact is that he simply doesn’t merit any real discussion, which, honestly, he should have already known. The anger drains out of his body in a rush, leaving him sick and aching.

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighs. “Can scream about it ‘til my heart gives out, and you’re still gonna do whatever you fucking want. No reason you’d take me into account.”

Of all the things he’s said, that seems to be what gives them pause. “I... That’s n-”

“Save it,” he says, but his tone is more weary than harsh. “Unless you’ve got something new to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

Jack takes his new coat. This time, he remembers to put a key in his pocket before he pulls the door gently shut behind him.

Chapter Text

The smell of the distant storm is stronger, the cluster of darkening clouds spreading like a shadow at dusk. There’s still no cause for concern, as far as Jack can tell, but that could change in minutes.

Numbly, he finds his way back to the little shop with the honey. He hopes to use the strange bank card to get something small for himself before he hands it over to Marcid for ship repairs, but a CLOSED sign hangs in the window. Of course. It’s still early in the afternoon, so the shopkeeper has either left for lunch or simply closed for the day. Either way, it feels like one final insult to the injury of this entire miserable day.

At the harbor, Marcid is talking with the shipwright, a red-headed Dwarf woman, who surveys the unfortunate ship with a deep frown. As Jack approaches, Marcid waves him over and tells the woman, “Miz Sanders, this is Quartermaster Jack Brakkow. If anything comes up, you can consider his word as good as the captain’s.”

Anyone who thought Marcid the Typhoon didn’t have a sense of humor had never been the butt of his jokes, Jack thinks, as he shakes the woman’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Trusting you to take good care of our ship.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll treat your lady right,” she replies amiably. “Couple of days, and she’ll be good as new.”

“Happy to hear it.” To Marcid, he says, “Like to step aboard and check some things, if I won’t be in the way.”

He has no doubt that Marcid hears the subtext of, I hate this place, and I need to hide on my ship. Receiving a short nod of assent, he climbs the gangplank and feels something settle in his gut as the familiar deck rolls beneath his feet. His beautiful ship creaks and cries, pained by her injuries and lonesome for her crew. In moments of hubris, Jack likes to think she misses him most of all, but he doesn’t think she draws that distinction. As long as some capable sailor is there to look after her, she’s content. Bitterly, he thinks Garthy probably feels the same.

The captain’s cabin is just as tidy as he left it, but he takes a moment to shake out the quilt on the bed and give a bit of fresh water to the potted lily, which has certainly seen better days. Finally, he pulls the flask of rum from its hidden place in the desk drawer and sinks into his chair with a heavy sigh. He’s had more alcohol than food today, but that just means he might actually manage to get drunk without downing an entire bottle. In the peaceful stillness of his private sanctuary, the argument with Garthy reverberates through his mind in vivid detail.

Fuck.

It’s not long before Marcid joins him, settling into the opposite chair as Jack offers him the flask.

“You look like a man with interesting problems.” Marcid takes a drink from the flask and hands it back.

“I have to say today’s problems are relatively mundane,” Jack says, and Marcid gestures for him to go on. “Had an argument with Garthy.”

“May I assume the argument concerned the sharing of information?” he guesses. Jack gives him a tired look, and he snorts. “I’m sure I don’t know the whole of it, but there’s certainly been some things that might have been volunteered sooner.”

“Aye, and I said as much.”

“And?”

“And apparently their business is none of mine.”

It’s rare for Marcid to be surprised by anything, but he seems truly taken aback. “Honestly?”

Jack nods. “They’re not on my crew, and they don’t have to tell me a damn thing. Accused me of micromanaging.”

“Well, that might be a fair judgement.” At Jack’s look, he holds up a hand. “Done entirely out of care and pride, but you could stand to step back, once in a while.”

“Alright, I’ll take that,” Jack allows. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to know about things that might affect my crew.”

“Did you get answers about the money, at least?”

He takes the envelope with the bank card and account information out of his pocket and hands it to Marcid. “Still not clear how all this works, but that should be what you need to pay for repairs.”

“Eh. I’ve worked with Solesian banks,” Marcid says, studying the contents of the envelope. “Any idea how much is in the account? Or where it came from?”

“A little afraid to ask where it came from, if I’m honest,” Jack replies. “As to how much... Well, I’m about to say something I’ve never dreamed of uttering in my life.”

Marcid raises one furry eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Spare no expense.”

The other eyebrow goes up. For a second, Marcid just stares like he’s trying to decide if Jack is joking, then shakes his head and puts the envelope in his own pocket. “How’s it feel, saying something like that?”

Jack sighs and takes a drink from the flask before he answers, “If I think too much about it, I’ll start feeling sick. Just glad I’ve got you to handle the money.”

Marcid gives a salute of acknowledgement. When Jack doesn’t go on, he prompts, “How’re you feeling about the other thing?”

“Other thing being the argument?” He nods, and Jack slumps down in his chair. “I dunno. Been finding out some personal things about ‘em, as well. Nothing bad, mind. Certainly nothing I’m entitled to know. Just things that... Well, it stings they didn’t tell me.”

“Understandable.”

“Aye. Maybe.” Absently, Jack twists the gold ring on his finger. “Not sure I’ve even got a right to be raw about it.”

Marcid frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, there’s been no promises made, have there? No understandings, no arrangements. There’s nothing they owe me. No reason for me to know anything more than anyone else.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Marcid asks, “Do you honestly believe that, or you trying to convince yourself that’s the case?”

Jack looks up slowly. “Come again?”

“Just seems to me you might be acting like the two of you aren’t as close as you really are because that’s easier than holding them accountable.” Marcid shrugs. “Not that I’d blame you, if they ain’t been clear on where you stand, at least in so many words. Don’t know if you’ve had any kind of conversation about that, but knowing you as I do, it doesn’t seem likely.”

There’s something both gratifying and unsettling in having it laid out so plainly, in having himself seen so clearly. Jack puts his ears down and shifts in his seat, which earns him a sharp grin from Marcid.

“Hit the nail on the head, have I?”

“Closer than I’d like,” Jack admits. “Doesn’t answer the question, though.”

“Which is?”

“Is there any reason I should expect them to share personal details with me?” Immediately, Jack’s instinct is no. Whatever he might be to Garthy, he’s not a confidante, even if they’ve always been one for him.

“I'd say so,” Marcid answers without hesitation. “Exactly how personal might vary, but five years of friendship ought to at least get you more than none of your business.”

“That’s… fair. I suppose.”

“Imagine I suddenly told you I’ve got a penthouse in Bastion City,” he goes on. “After five years sailing together, I expect you’d be a bit shocked, ‘ey?”

Jack snorts. “A bit, aye. Times that would’ve been useful.”

“Probably wonder why I didn’t tell you sooner. Seeing as we’re friends, you might even feel a bit slighted.” Leaning in with a sly grin, Marcid adds, “And you’re not sleeping with me.”

“Ugh. No. Fuck. Why would you even say that?” Jack shudders, and Marcid huffs in offense.

“Hey, now!”

“You’re a very handsome man, Marcid, but… no.”

Marcid rolls his eyes and swipes the flask out of Jack’s hand. “I’m making a point, mate. Not coming onto you.”

“Didn’t think I was your type, anyway,” Jack teases.

“Oh, you’re very much not,” Marcid coughs around a swallow of rum. “That being said, this new look is rather flattering.”

Jack’s ears heat. “Kind of you to say.”

He tells Marcid about the shop, Silver’s, since finding clothes fit for a Bugbear’s stature is even more of a challenge. Marcid makes a non-committal noise, which means he plans to pay a visit as soon as possible.

The conversation turns, then, to the business of the ship, and Jack relaxes into the familiar cadence of maintenance and plans. This, he understands. Sometimes it feels like his ship is the only thing he understands. She speaks to him in a language he knows in his bones, while everyone else talks in a tongue that he struggles to follow.

After a while, Marcid asks, “You staying shipside tonight?”

Jack sighs. “No, I’ll head back in a bit. Got an apology to make, don’t I?”

“What’ve you got to apologize for?”

“Wasn’t exactly a civil conversation,” he admits. “Spoke a bit more harshly than I meant to.”

Marcid shakes his head. “Never thought there was such a thing as being too much of a gentleman, but you put that to the test, mate.”

“Nothing wrong with being polite,” Jack grumbles.

“Fair enough.” Marcid hesitates, then says, “Observation?”

“Please.”

“The Moon’s your domain. You’re here, you expect a certain amount of deference.” He holds up a hand as Jack opens his mouth to protest. “You trust the crew to tell you what’s what and follow your lead. Aye?”

“No more than any other captain.” Jack’s had plenty of captains that demanded blind obedience and very few that cared for the opinions of their crew.

“But it’s your ship, and you’re in charge. From what I’ve seen, Garthy takes a similar approach to running the Gardens, aye?”

“Suppose so.”

“And when you’re there...” He hesitates, then goes on, “Well, I don’t want to make assumptions about your private dynamic, but I figure you defer to them for the day-to-day things.”

For everything, honestly. “Aye.”

“So how long you think it’s been since they was in a position where someone else was in charge?”

Understanding clicks, and Jack thinks the answer, realistically, is most of their life. Not since they built the Gold Gardens, certainly. “Been a while, I expect.”

They said they felt helpless, but it’s not just about the loss of power. It’s about the dizzying shift from being the ruler of their own little empire to being a refugee in someone else’s home. Jack has always been a body in their orbit, but for the past week they’ve been stuck in his. What a miserable experience that must be.

Marcid watches his expression as he processes. “See what I’m saying?”

Jack nods. Keen insight is one of the many qualities that make Marcid a valuable crew member, and one of the many reasons Jack is grateful to have him as a friend. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

“Not an excuse for them being obstinate, mind. Just something to consider.” He shrugs and hands back the flask.

“Obstinate might be a touch strong. Guarded, maybe.”

“Incommunicative,” Marcid suggests. “Close-lipped. Secretive. Bit of an asshole.”

“That’s enough,” Jack grumbles. “I appreciate you being supportive, but there’s no call for insults.”

Marcid lifts his hands in surrender. “Right you are. Sorry.”

“Nah. I know you don’t mean nothing by it,” Jack says, waving off the apology. “Just don’t like hearing ill spoken of ‘em.”

“Listen, you know I’ve got nothing but respect for Garthy O’Brien,” Marcid tells him. “But you’re my captain. Lines get drawn, I’m on your side.”

If lines were drawn between he and Garthy, Jack’s not even sure he’d be on his own side. “And what’ll you do if I’m wrong, ‘ey?”

“Tell you so.” Marcid grins. “Between me and Sunny, we’d beat some sense into you.”

Jack snorts. “Glad to know someone would, I suppose.”

“What’re friends for, if not giving you a good slap when you need it?”

“You slap me, and we’ll have a problem,” Jack warns lightly.

“Leave that to Garthy, shall I?” Marcid teases. Jack gives him a look, and he grins back, unrepentant. “Just be sure to have a real conversation before you get to the make-up sex. They say communication is the key to a lasting relationship.”

At that, Jack barks out a laugh. “Don’t need lasting, do I? Just need their interest in me to stay alive exactly one day longer than I do.”

Some indecipherable calculation crosses Marcid’s face, and Jack realizes this is one of those things that seems obvious to him but never occurs to anyone else.

What he has with Garthy is a beautiful sandcastle, and all he can do is stay with it until the tide takes it away. In another life, if he’d been a different man, then maybe it might have been wood and stone, maybe there might have been a proper foundation and time to build. But he’s a broken old pirate trying desperately to keep something that will crumble in his hands if he holds on too tight. There’s nothing lasting, here.

“Well. I’d say the odds are in your favor,” Marcid replies, after a moment. Unexpectedly, he turns and calls over his shoulder, “Am I right about that, Garthy?”

Jack’s stomach clenches as Garthy steps into view around the door frame, looking unusually sheepish. “Of course you are, darling. And remind me never to try sneaking up on you.”

“Don’t feel too bad. There’s not many could get that close without me knowing.” Standing up from his chair, Marcid gives Jack a nod and a smile that’s all teeth. “Leave you to it, then. Gonna go fish Myrtle out of the hotel pool.”

“Give her my love, yeah?” Garthy says, stepping aside to let him pass.

“Aye.” Marcid stops at the door and jerks his head toward Jack. “Be good to the old man, ‘ey? Think he might be sweet on you.”

Their expression melts into a fond smile. “I’ll do my best, lovey. Promise.”

Marcid gives them a friendly pat on the shoulder and closes the door behind him. Jack waits for the sound of footsteps to recede up the companionway before he tells Garthy, “I was gonna come back.”

They huff quietly as they sink into the chair vacated by Marcid. “You know, I’m never sure? Every time you leave, I wonder if that’ll be the last time, by choice or otherwise.”

As if anything on any plane of existence would make him choose to stay away from them. “Every time I come back, I’m never sure if you’re gonna let me in.”

“Oh, sweetheart, always,” they assure him. “Couldn’t shut you out if I tried.”

With all his heart, he wants to believe that’s true, and he does believe that they mean it. What seems impossible is that the door will be open indefinitely, that the day won’t come when they change their mind or only allow him entry with begrudging tolerance.

There’s no use pressing that issue, so he says, “I’m sorry I shouted. I was frustrated, and I lost my temper. There’s no excuse for me raising my voice to you like that.”

He takes a small, crumpled paper bag out of his pocket and places it on the desk in front of them. Frowning, they pick it up and begin to unfold the layers of packaging. “What’s this?”

“Nothing, really. Didn’t get a chance to give it to you earlier,” he explains as they take out the small glass bottle and look back up at him.

They open the bottle delicately and breathe in the scent, immediately flinching back with wide eyes. “That’s... Where did you get that?”

“I know it’s not exactly right,” he says quickly, suddenly unsure. “It’s got the right flowers, at least, but if you don’t like it, I can take it back. The fella at the shop was nice enough, he might exchange it for something you prefer. Or maybe Bob would like it. Or I c-”

He breaks off as he realizes there are tears glittering in their astonishing eyes, staring at him with an emotion he can’t quite identify. Fuck. Of course he managed to fuck up something as simple as a gift. The scent is almost certainly a reminder of what they’ve lost, and now he’s made everything worse.

Before he can apologize again, they breathe out softly, “Gods, you really are the sweetest man that ever lived.”

Jack ducks his head, face hot. “Just thought you might like it.”

For a moment, they don’t say anything, turning the bottle over in their hands and watching Jack’s face like they’re trying to read some secret message. Finally, they tell him, “I owe you an apology, as well. You called out a bad habit that I know I have, and I got defensive. You were right, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He forgave them completely the moment he saw their face. It’s not even a choice.

The smile they give him is as soft and sorrowful as the brief glimpse of sunset after a storm, and it fades quickly into clouded thought. Jack waits patiently while they gather the threads of whatever it is they want to say, content to be near them, studying the curve of their muscles under the tight black shirt and the wrinkle of a thin scar on the back of one hand.

“There’s things you learn living on the street, yeah? Survival instincts. Things so ingrained, you never really unlearn them,” they begin slowly. “Don’t keep all your valuables in one place. Never tell anyone the whole truth. If you’re hurt, hide it. If you’re really hurt, find somewhere to hole up so no one can find you.”

They take a deep breath and keep their eyes fixed on the wooden desk as they go on, “I was sick as a kid. Not much pleasure to be had when you’re homeless and starving, yeah? Spent a lot of time hiding. Once Ayda took me in, I figured out what I needed and did what I could to make sure I never felt that weak again.”

“Then the Gardens burned,” Jack says quietly, and they nod, looking up at him with a weariness that makes him want to gather them in his arms and let them rest.

“Then the Gardens burned, and suddenly I was that sick, helpless child all over again,” they sigh. “I never meant to hide anything from you. Didn’t even know I was doing it ‘til you found me under the desk, and I... I realized there were quite a few things I hadn’t told you. Some of which were suddenly very relevant to the situation.”

There’s some relief in knowing they were hiding out of habit and not from him, but there are other questions and uncertainties tugging at Jack’s mind. “And after that?”

“After that... After that, we were attacked, yeah? And you...” They shake their head, denying whatever thought is trying to force its way in. “I’ve been trying to shake it all off. Just wanted to be with you and recharge and not think about any of it. You’re always so patient and understanding, and you’ve never pressed me about anything, so I thought... I thought I could just say as little as possible, and you’d go along without question.”

Jack flinches. “Not sure I appreciate that.”

“I don’t mean any insult, lovey,” they add quickly. “It’s just that... Well, I don’t think you’ve ever disagreed with me before.”

“Disagreed plenty. Just never saw much use in arguing,” he says. They hold out a hand, as if to say that he’s just proven their point, and... “Oh. I see. Guess that’s fair.”

They draw a foot up into the chair and rest their chin on their knee. “It wasn’t you shouting that bothered me, yeah? It was when you got quiet. Like you’d given up. Like you decided it wasn’t worth it anymore.”

“Well, it wasn’t, was it? Would’ve just kept going in circles and getting meaner ‘til one of us said something we couldn’t take back.” He doesn’t believe they would ever say anything cruel, even in anger, but certain careless truths from their mouth would rend him irreparably.

“Would you?” they ask, frowning. “Take any of it back?”

If he said anything truly unkind or untrue, he can’t recall, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. “Would’ve found a better way to say it, to be sure. Few things I might not have said right then.”

They give a thoughtful hum and tell him, “Think I’d like to take back a few things, yeah? The suggestion that it’s none of your business, for starters.”

“That did sting a bit, if I’m honest,” he admits.

“I know, love. I’m sorry.” They make a face like the whole ugly conversation is replaying in their memory. “Fuck. I was an absolute cunt to you, wasn’t I?”

“No, no. Not so bad as that,” he assures them quickly. With a small smile, he adds, “Bit of a brat, maybe, but you can’t help that.”

That gets him a startled laugh and a wry smile. “In that case, I’m rather disappointed. Being a brat usually gets me something much better than an argument.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises.

The wry smile turns mischievous, and they give him a hungry look that never fails to make his skin heat. “I should be making it up to you, yeah? Give you a proper apology?”

After such a strange day, it’s tempting to let the familiar cadence of sex and distraction take over, to sink into comfortable habits and accept whatever they offer, but there’s still a raw spot on his heart that hasn’t healed. There will be more reminders that his place in their life is only a little bit closer than arm’s length, and he’s not quite ready to pretend otherwise.

“Maybe later,” he says, and Garthy’s smile falters.

“That’s twice today you’ve turned me down, Jacky my love,” they point out. “Once more, and I might start to take it personally.”

“Just prefer food and conversation for now,” he replies. “With you, obviously.”

They smile again, pleased. “That sounds wonderful, darling.”

As they climb up to the deck, Garthy shudders in the open air, and something occurs to Jack. “Did you walk here by yourself?”

“Oh no, lovey. I hired a cab,” they answer, eyes fixed downward, relaxing incrementally when he puts an arm around their shoulders. “Thought about walking, yeah? Thought it would be a meaningful gesture, but I wasn’t entirely sure I’d make it.”

“A gesture?”

“Making an effort, putting aside my needs for yours, accepting a little punishment,” they explain. “Decided self-flagellation's not really my style, though. And me having a panic attack on the way probably wouldn’t make you feel better.”

“It would not.” He tightens his hold around them and kisses their temple. “Appreciate you coming to get me, though. Still means something.”

He’s not sure what, exactly, but it does mean something. They’re quiet for a long moment, leaning into his shoulder, then they say, “I do take you into account, yeah? Maybe not as much as I should, but I do. Just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” he answers, and most of the time it’s true.

“Are you?” they ask softly. “Sometimes you get this look...”

“I’m happy being with you,” he says, and that’s almost always true. Whatever look he gets must be in those moments that he grieves the inevitable loss of that joy. For half a second, he thinks about telling them so, but there’s no point. They both know this will only last as long as Garthy wants it to, and Garthy doesn’t need to know how broken Jack will be when it ends.

“Good. Me, too,” they tell him, and he thinks they probably mean it.

They wrap an arm around his waist, and the two of them walk along like real lovers on holiday. An observer might mistake them for a happily committed couple enjoying an autumn stroll, though Jack is sure that closer inspection would immediately reveal them for what they are: obviously unequal and painfully mismatched. Right now, he doesn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise, but he can enjoy the brief interim where it doesn’t matter.

By the time they get back to the hotel, Jack’s knee has started to twinge painfully with every step. He’s used to being on his feet, but the concrete and cobblestones of this town are much less forgiving than ship decks and sand. It’s the same leg that got a fishing spear through the thigh, followed by a broken ankle, apparently damaged more deeply than simple healing could handle. Without a word, Garthy pulls more of his weight onto their shoulders, and the pain lessens to a trembling in his muscles as he limps along.

In the hotel lobby, he’s startled to see the Dragonborn tailor, Tavan, and the Elven man from the honey shop standing at the front desk, chatting with Nessa. When Tavan sees Jack and Garthy enter, they quickly slap the Elf on the arm to cut off whatever he’s saying and give Jack a broad smile.

“Looking good, sailor,” they call cheerfully, and their companion snorts.

Jack’s whole body flushes hot with embarrassment, and he forces out a gruff, “Afternoon.”

Garthy looks at him with a curious frown, and Jack shakes his head slightly. The last thing he wants to do is stand on his aching leg and make small talk with people who were obviously gossiping about him.

Nessa’s friendly smile immediately turns to concern when she sees Jack limping. “Are you okay? What happened?”

When Jack doesn’t immediately answer, Garthy replies for him, “Just an old wound acting up, lovey. Nothing to fret over.”

“Oh no! Do you need anything?” she asks. “I can get a doctor or s-”

“No,” Jack says quickly. “Thank you.”

“Bit of rest and attention, and he’ll be right as rain,” Garthy assures her.

“Okay. Just let me know if you need anything.”

As Jack and Garthy turn the corner, he sees Tavan turn to whisper something to Nessa, who shushes him quietly. Once the desk is out of sight, Jack hears another rush of whispering and a stifled giggle, confirming that he was the subject of their previous conversation and suggesting that the tone was probably less than flattering.

In the lift, Garthy lets him lean against the wall and asks, “What was that about?”

“The young Dragonborn sold me the coat and such,” he grumbles. That had been one of the few positives in his day, until now.

“Oh! Then I should thank them, yeah? ‘Cause, lovey, putting you in that outfit is like a personal favor to me.” They sweep their eyes over him in a way that sends a frisson of warmth across his skin.

That, at least, is gratifying, but it doesn’t soothe the burn of humiliation. “Glad you like it.”

The door to the lift opens, and Jack pushes off from the wall before Garthy can move to help him. Frowning, they keep pace with him down the hall toward the suite and ask, “Don’t you?”

Honestly, he does. He did. If anything, the whole experience has just emphasized that clothes and confidence will do nothing to change who and what he is, and they won’t make him any more at home in a place that doesn’t want him. “Just clothes, aren’t they? Doesn’t matter how they look, long as they’re comfortable and keep me covered.”

“You don’t seem particularly comfortable at the moment, darling,” Garthy points out.

“Aye. Well. That’s not because of the clothes, is it?”

In the hotel room, he strips off his coat and drapes it over the back of the sofa as he sits down with a heavy groan. Garthy sinks down next to him and pulls his aching leg across their lap, gently massaging his ankle.

“Something in particular got you unsettled? Or just...” They wave a hand vaguely in the air. “All of it?”

“Getting laughed at by townies certainly didn’t help,” Jack huffs, rolling his shoulders to try and shrug it off. Not the first time he’s made a fool of himself in front of strangers, and it likely won’t be the last. “It’s this place, mostly. I feel like stale bread on a gold plate.”

Garthy’s eyes narrow. “Did someone laugh at you?”

If they didn’t notice the whispers and snickering that followed the two of them out of the lobby, there’s no sense calling attention to it. Nessa’s been nice enough, and he doesn’t want to get her and her friends in trouble just for being a little rude. “Doesn’t matter. Just be glad when the ship’s fixed, and we can leave.”

They study him in silence for a second, then ask gently, “Is it really so bad? You and I relaxing in a nice hotel? Not so different from the Gardens, yeah?”

Something tight in Jack’s chest softens at that, and he sighs, “Only reason I ever felt at home in the Gardens is because it was your home. This is… It’s different.”

“Would it help if I bought the hotel?” they suggest, smiling slyly, and Jack wonders what they would do if he said yes.

“Really don’t think it would.” With a half smile of his own, he adds, “Seems like a lot of trouble, anyway.”

“Worth it for you, Jacky my love. Anything for you.” Something flickers in their expression, as if they said something they didn’t mean to. Jack takes it in the spirit with which it’s intended, limitations understood.

“Ah, well. In that case, I think I’d like a second ship. Stipends for a crew of, say fifty? House in Poop City would be nice. Expect I’ll be needing a cane soon. Something gold, ostentatious, with… either emerald or ruby. Can’t decide.”

“Let’s get you both, yeah? One for day and one for night.” Making a face, they ask, “Do you really want to live in Poop City, though?”

“Suppose not. Bit fancy for my taste.” It’s been years since he dreamed of living anywhere but the Gold Gardens, so he has to consider the question. “Crows Keep, maybe.”

“Oh lovey, I can’t live in Crows Keep. Much too open,” they tell him sadly.

For a second, he doesn’t understand why that would matter, why where he lives makes a difference to them, if he’s not taking up their space. If they can have whatever they want in this fantasy hypothetical, why would they choose to be with him? “Well where do you want to live, then?”

They give a thoughtful hum before they answer, “Always liked being in Galleyard, right in the middle of everything, but I could be persuaded to other locales. Been thinking belowdecks might be an option.”

“Belowdecks?” Jack repeats, surprised. “You mean Cannoncourt?”

Garthy shrugs. “Or the Bilge.”

“The... Have you ever even been to the Bilge?”

“Darling, I’ve lived on Leviathan for a half a century. I’ve been everywhere,” they reply. “Used to spend a lot of time in the Bilge when I was a kid. Good place to hide. People don’t trouble you. I always rather liked it, to be honest.”

“You liked it? You don’t like getting crumbs on your hands, but you liked being surrounded by rot and filth?” It’s impossible to imagine their shining self in the rotting corridors and creaking tenements. They’d be like a bright star caught in a shipwreck.

“I liked being surrounded by solid walls and kind people,” they answer simply. “It felt safe.”

Jack’s never been ashamed of where he comes from, but he’s got no illusions about it, either. The Bilge is dark and smells of a hundred different dead things. He’s never met anywhere who lived there by choice. For a lonely child afraid of the sky, though, the narrow passageways must have been a welcome refuge, and the people who kept a cursed man fed and working are nothing if not kind to those in need.

“Can understand that, I suppose,” he admits. Garthy doesn’t reply and moves from massaging his calf to gently working the muscles around his knee, lost in some thought Jack can’t begin to guess. After a moment, he says, “I’m just teasing about the house and things, ‘ey? I don’t actually need anything.”

“Yes you do,” they shoot back immediately. “You need a home and comfort, just like everyone else. You just don’t always think you deserve it.”

Jack winces. “Right. Well. Let’s not get into that, just now.”

With a fond smile, they shift their position on the sofa to lean against him, their head resting in the curve of his shoulder like it was made to be there. “What would make you comfortable while we’re here? And don’t say you don’t need anything. Just tell me honestly what you think would help.”

Despite the warning, it’s on the tip of his tongue to say that he’s fine, there’s no reason to change anything, it’s only a few more days. Instead, he thinks about the myriad things that have left him unsettled throughout the day and answers, “No more surprises, for starters. If somebody’s coming or something’s changing, I want a little warning.”

Now it’s Garthy’s turn to wince. “I’ll do my best, love. I promise.”

“Good enough for me.” He settles a little more into the sofa and puts an arm around them. “Think I’ll feel better just going between the hotel and the ship, as well. No more shopping and the like.”

“Have I said how much I appreciate that?” they tell him earnestly. “I know it seems silly, but I just...”

“You need things to help you feel settled, as well. I understand.” He doesn’t fully know what it was about wearing his clothes that troubled them, but he knows that they’re more at home in their skin now than they were this morning. As far as he’s concerned, that’s all that matters.

They sigh in contentment and drape an arm across his chest. “No more errands. We don’t even have to leave the room, if you like. Just room service and relaxation.”

“Now that does sound rather like being at the Gardens.”

“The food here is better,” Garthy remarks. “Not to disparage my own business but supplies on Leviathan aren’t always ideal.”

Jack hums noncommittally. The fresh food is nice, but he’d still rather be in the Gold Gardens than anywhere else in the world. Not for the first time, he feels a sharp pang of loss at what’s been taken from him and a bitter swell of relief that the most important part of that place is here in his arms, safe and whole. Instinctively, he tightens his hold around them, and they relax into him with a soft sound of happiness.

It must be the thoughts of home and the Bilge that bring his father to mind, and it strikes him suddenly how much Malcolm would have liked Garthy. Jack doubts his parents would have approved of anything else about this relationship, but his dad would have loved Garthy themself for their generosity and easy nature. They’d have adored his father’s sense of humor and kindness and graciously deflected awkward questions from his mother about marriage and children. The grief wound from his parents’ death is long-since healed over, but it’s never really stopped aching, some days more than others.

His stomach lets out a long growl, loud in the still room, and Garthy laughs. “Speaking of food, yeah?”

“Been a minute since breakfast, I suppose.” Now that he’s thinking about it, he really is hungry, but he’s had a lot of practice ignoring hunger.

“A feast for my dashing captain, then,” they declare, sitting up to kiss him on the cheek. “Food, first. Then we feast on each other.”

“Nothing on that menu’s gonna taste better than you,” he says, and they kiss him again.

“And I’ve never tasted anything sweeter than you, Jacky my love.”

Supper is a selection of things Jack has never tried before, and he savors the experience of finding new flavors as much as he enjoys the flavors themselves. Not everything is to his liking, but even learning that is worthwhile.

When he can’t eat any more, Garthy hauls him into bed and strips off both their clothes with the slow deliberation of discovery. Naked, the two of them lie there, tangled up and trading slow kisses while Garthy plays idly with his tail. Privately, he counts the newly revealed marks on their divine skin, touching each mole and scar like a prayer bead. Every one of them is a secret he was never meant to learn and a reminder of the inviolate boundary he always knew was there.

“You’re doing it again,” they whisper softly in his ear, punctuating the statement with a slow, firm pull on his tail.

He hums in pleasure and nuzzles the side of their neck. “What’s that?”

“Thinking.” They rake their fingernails up his back, against the fur. “As much as I love your brilliant mind, I do think it’s best to turn it off, sometimes.”

“Afraid that’s easier said than done,” he sighs. “Rather a lot of things spinning in my mind, just now.”

“Well, that’s the point of sex, yeah? To get your mind off" they point out. “Among other things.”

“Might be a tall order tonight, even considering your exceptional skills,” he tells them. All the worst parts of the day’s conversations are still playing in his head, interspersed with repetitions of all his worst thoughts. Sleep and relaxation may be hard to come by for the foreseeable future.

“That does sound dire.” They pull back just enough to prop their head up on one hand, studying his face. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s got those lovely shoulders in a knot?”

You. The thought is so immediate and so clear, he almost says it out loud.

Garthy has never been a source of anything other than goodness in his life, but so much of his uncertainty in the past week is centered on them. There’s concern for their safety but also a sense of waiting for the next thing to go wrong, the next thing that’s going to hurt. In the halcyon sanctuary of the Gold Gardens, there were no needs or expectations, only the peace and joy of being with them for a little while longer. In the cold air of reality and crisis, they are just as warm and radiant, but their light doesn’t seem to reach as far, leaving Jack to shiver just outside its halo.

“How much of my chat with Marcid did you hear?” he asks.

“Well, I heard him call me an asshole,” they answer. “Which would have hurt my feelings if I didn’t know he was saying it out of loyalty to you.”

“He didn’t mean it. Marcid’s a tough nut, but he loves you. They all do.”

“Not half so much as they love their captain, yeah?” They sigh and run their hand gently down his arm. “And he wasn’t wrong. I was rather an asshole.”

“Aye, but I don’t like him saying so,” Jack says, and Garthy pokes him in the ribs. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just teasing.”

They give him a fond smile and scratch between his ears. “Didn’t really catch anything before that, though. Why?”

“Just curious. He had some good points to make.”

“Such as?”

“Well, he agreed with you about me micromanaging.”

Garthy winces. “Forgot I said that. I’m sorry, lovey. Think I was just annoyed about the times you ran off to check on things and left me... well, certainly not dry, but you know what I mean.”

“Aye, I know.” So many problems could have been avoided if he’d just fucking paid attention. Or if they’d just told him what they needed. “I’m sorry.”

“Darling, I think you’re done apologizing to me, alright?” They hook a finger under his jaw and gently tilt up his face to kiss the top of his nose. “At least let me catch up on apologizing to you.”

“Nothing left to apologize for,” he tells them. “Even if there is, it’s all forgiven.”

“But not forgotten, yeah? There’s something bothering you, yet. I can tell.”

This, more than anything, is what makes the distance ache. They know him, know his moods and mind better than his crew, at times even better than he knows himself. He’s never tried to hide anything from them, but he’s certain they’d know in an instant if he did. They know everything about him, down to the very bedrock of his soul, and they still couldn’t show him their face without a veneer of glamour, couldn’t be near him without a layer of armor.

He shakes his head and gives them a thin smile. “It’s nothing, truly. Been a long day, is all.”

They regard him silently for a long moment, then they reach for his hand where it rests on their waist, drawing it up to look at the gold ring on his finger. Running their thumb along the smooth surface, they say quietly, “It’s not just for protection. It’s a binding. You feel the heartbeat when it’s working, yeah? That’s mine.”

Jack blinks, startled. “Yours? Your heartbeat?”

“An echo of it, at least. If it ever stops, you’ll feel the ring get cold” Touching a place near the center of their chest, they add, “I feel yours too, right here. If your heart stops, mine goes cold.”

Horrified, he asks, “Permanently?”

“No, no, just for a minute. Just to...” They break off, shaking their head, and press a kiss to the metal band. “I just like to know you’re alright, yeah? Always rushing into danger.”

A binding, a magical manifestation of the chain that holds his heart to theirs, an anchor that tethers their divine self to his wretched mortality. “Can you break the connection, if you need to?”

Garthy frowns. “No. Why would I need to? I mean, you could take it off, yeah? But I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Never,” he says automatically. “Not unless you tell me to.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” they huff. “I put a lot of work into that little trinket, and I expect you to at least appreciate th-”

He cuts them off with a kiss, and they make a sound of surprise before relaxing into him. Whatever distance they need to keep him at, they’ve still chosen to be tied to him. Even if the day comes when they ask to be cut free, for now he has an echo of their heart to carry with him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against their lips. “Didn’t get a chance to say it before, but thank you.”

“I wanted to do more,” they admit softly. “Wanted to make you a shield against everything, but... Well, I ran out of time, didn’t I?”

He kisses the back of their hand that’s still holding his. “It’s perfect. More than I could ask for.”

“Now that’s a low bar, yeah? You never ask for anything.” Before he can protest, they add, “You ask for sex things. Sometimes food. Never anything else.”

What he wants most is so far from possible, it doesn’t even register as a desire. He’d certainly never ask for it. Short of that, they’ve already given him almost everything he could dare to want. “To be fair, I did ask for a bit of transparency, and you said you didn’t have to tell me a damn thing.”

Garthy freezes. “Oh.”

“Don’t mean to harp on it,” Jack says quickly. “I know you didn’t mean it like that. Just...”

“No, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right.” They thread their fingers through his and wriggle closer, hooking one leg over his hip. “That’s not gonna happen again, yeah? I promise. You ask me for anything short of the moon, and it’s yours.”

"I don’t want the moon,” he answers. “Or a house, or a ship, or anything else. Just want you, as much as you’ll give me for as long as I can.”

They kiss him softly, a fragile brush of lips and heat, and whisper into his skin, “I’m all yours, Jacky my love. I’m always yours.”

For the first time that day, the tension in his shoulders starts to ease. The weight of it all is still very much present in his mind, but he can set it aside for a little while.

Time disappears in the slow rhythm of easy kisses and idle touches, interspersed with quiet conversation and contented stillness. Minutes or hours pass, and the kisses become deeper, the touches more fervent. Still there’s no urgency, no rush. Jack could spend days running his hands and lips over every inch of this holy flesh and still hunger for more. Weeks and months and years of this would still not be enough. He could dedicate what remains of his life to the intimate exploration of Garthy’s perfect body and still feel there was more left to discover.

The edge of need sharpens so gradually, Jack barely notices until they shift against him, and the momentary pressure on his cock makes him gasp and shudder. They groan in reply and roll their hips so that he feels both the same exquisite pressure and the heat of their cunt against his thigh. Soft sighs begin to give way to breathless moans, and gentle touches start to feel electric. Slowly, he eases his hand downward and runs his fingertip lightly around their entrance, immediately feeling the barest drop of wetness as they shiver in his arms. He keeps his hand moving in gentle circles until they’re keening quietly, fingers digging hard into his muscles.

“Please,” they murmur into his ear. “Fuck, Jack, please.”

His finger slips easily inside them, and they let out a breath of ecstatic relief that turns into a gasp as he curls his finger to press into the sensitive spot just past their entrance. They bury their face in his neck and draw their leg up higher on his side as he works the spot gently, coaxing out more wetness and soft whimpers of pleasure.

After a minute, his hand starts to cramp, and he reluctantly pulls away, making them groan in protest. “Sorry. Just getting a bit uncomfortable.”

They draw back to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and a smile of hazy contentment, so inexpressibly beautiful that his heart stumbles in his chest. Humming happily, they kiss the side of his mouth and roll onto their back, stretching all their limbs with a satisfying creak.

Jack sucks the slick off his finger and lets his eyes drift over the sensuous curves of their muscles and shimmering tattoos, lingering on the lovely wrinkles of scars and the thin lines of stretch marks where they’ve lost weight during the week at sea. It’s gratifying to learn that reverence for this sacred form is codified into their culture, that what has always felt like worship to him is part of a tradition in which his adoration affords him a place of status and envy. He thinks he understands the fervor that drives religious wars. He would gladly raze a continent for their sake.

“See something you like, Captain Brakkow?” they purr, lounging languidly on the bed, regarding him with an expression like a predator watching its next meal slink closer.

“Certainly like everything I see.” He runs his hand up the inside of their thigh, and they let their legs fall open in invitation, tempting despite the stiffness in his fingers and wrist.

“Anything in particular catch your interest?”

“Ah. Well, this bit is a perennial favorite, obviously,” he says, lightly cupping their cunt before dragging his palm up over their soft belly to the rise of their chest. “But I’m rather fond of this general area as well.”

They give a short laugh and arch into his touch. “Classics, of course.”

“Though I’d have to say my personal favorite... is this here.” He draws his hand up to cup their beautiful face and runs the pad of his thumb across their full lower lip. “Especially when it’s smiling.”

The reward for that is exactly the smile he loves most, wide and unabashed, making lovely crinkles around their eyes. They push him back onto the bed and roll on top of him, kissing him like they’re starving for the taste of his mouth. They kiss him until he can’t breathe and pull away panting, both their chests heaving against each other.

“Aye. Definitely my favorite part,” he says breathlessly, and they grin brightly.

“Would you like to know my favorite part of you?” they ask. Jack grimaces, and they laugh. “What’s that face for?”

“Suspect I can guess the answer,” he grumbles. There are only so many things he can offer, after all.

“It’s not your cock,” they tell him. “Though I do appreciate it quite a lot.”

“In that case, I’m at a loss,” he admits.

Gently, they kiss the corner of his mouth and run the pad of their thumb along his lower lip. “This here. Especially when it’s saying lovely things. Or eating me out. Both.”

Jack laughs. “Fair enough. Hard to do both at once, though.”

“If anyone could find a way, Jacky my love, it’s you.” With a sigh, they sprawl across him, resting their head on his chest. He lays his chin on top of their head and folds his arms around them, breathing in the scent of lavender, now overlayed with beloved jasmine and honey.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but the peaceful warmth and the quiet rhythm of their breathing lull him slowly into slumber. He dreams of summer rain in a lush forest, the sound and smell of the sea somewhere just beyond the tree line, the wind rising steadily in advance of a terrible storm.

What wakes him up is the shaking. The world comes slowly into focus, and he realizes that the source of the movement is Garthy, sporadically trembling and twitching at his side. They’ve slid off his chest and are curled against him, murmuring frantically in their sleep, brows furrowed in what looks like pain.

Gently, Jack brushes his hand across their cheek and says softly, “Garthy?”

They come awake with a start, eyes suddenly wide and glittering in the dark. For half a second, they stare at him without recognition, body tense like a bow line about to break, then they let out all their breath in a huff and relax into his arms.

“What is it, love? What’s wrong?” they ask wearily.

“Should ask you that,” he says. “You were having a nightmare.”

Garthy blinks at him in confusion. “What?”

“You were shaking and muttering. Seemed like a bad one.” He brushes the stray locks of hair away from their forehead and finds it damp with cold sweat. “You alright?”

“Oh. Oh no, lovey, I’m fine,” they reply with a weak smile. “Sorry for waking you. I don’t... don’t normally talk in my sleep, do I?”

“No, you don’t. At least not that I’ve noticed,” he agrees, frowning. “What were you dreaming about?”

They roll away and sit up on the bed, shaking their head and rubbing their eyes. “It’s nothing, darling. Really. Just ordinary stress dreams.”

The tremor in their voice could just be the remains of sleep, but Jack sees the tension in their spine for what it is. Sitting up with them, he kisses the base of their neck and sets his chin on their shoulder.

Quietly, he says, “It’s not nothing. Don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to, but I know it’s not nothing.”

For a long moment, there’s no sound in the room but their uneven breathing, like their body is still struggling to recognize that it’s safe. Finally, they sigh and lean their head against Jack’s.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright.”

They place a quick kiss on his temple then slide out of the bed, disappearing into the bath with a quiet click of the door. Jack stretches out his stiff limbs and lies back on the too-soft mattress. He has no idea of the time or how long they’ve been asleep, only that the sliver of sky he can see through the heavy curtains is still the black of deep night. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to fall back asleep, but he’s not even going to try until he’s sure Garthy is settled.

When they come back, some of the tension has eased, and the smile they give him is soft and genuine as they climb on top of him, straddling his hips with clear intent.

“Well, hello,” he says lightly.

“Hello, darling.” They press him down with a deep kiss and grind lazily against him. “Is this alright?”

If this is what they need, he’s certainly not going to complain. “Aye. Just might take me a minute to get going.”

“No worries, lovey. Got all the time in the world.”

In the middle of the night, in the liminal space of a hotel room on a foreign shore, that’s almost easy to believe. With their fingers running through the fur on his chest and the heat of them flush against his cock, he can forget that morning will bring with it all the same threats and doubts. Breathing in the familiar smell of sex and night-blooming flowers, he can pretend that time isn’t a resource in increasingly short supply.

In the dark room, their eyes and tattoos shine like a mirage. They look like a vision from another world, like a creature that has crept out of some strange realm to prey upon mortal desires. Perhaps Jack will wake in the morning to find that all of this has been a dream, that some stretch of time has been nothing more than feverish delirium or the subconscious frustration of months at sea. In some terrible reality, he will wake up in his rotting hovel, cursed and alone, tormented by the dream of a world in which he had something more.

Garthy kisses him again, and he is nowhere but here, present in this beautiful midnight moment. He runs his hands up their thick thighs, feeling the muscles shift as they roll their hips and groaning as the heat and pressure start to wake his lethargic flesh.

The moment his cock starts to swell out of its sheath, they lift up to position it at their entrance and sink down onto it with a moan that sounds like it starts in their toes. It’s all Jack can do not to buck up into them, letting the sudden sensation wash through him with a bone-deep shudder of pleasure. Without wasting a second, they start to ride him at a desperate pace, fucking themself on his cock like it’s all they’ve ever wanted, adjusting position as it extends inside them. Jack just plants one hand on their thigh and steadies his cock with the other, and he lets them take what they need.

Moans quickly turn to frantic whimpers. They work their hips harder, dragging their dripping cunt up and down on his shaft. They drop forward and reach one hand back to rub at their swollen clit.

Immediately, all their muscles tense, and they come with a sob, pressing their face into Jack’s chest as they pulse and gush around him. He’s shaking with the effort of keeping still, fingers digging into their thighs while they squirm on his cock. They keep working their hand between their legs, and they keep coming until he knows they must be raw and wrung out. Finally, they collapse onto him, hot and panting, their cunt still trembling around him.

Jack runs his fingers through their hair, petting gently as they start to come down. “Don’t need me for much, ‘ey?”

They huff out a laugh and kiss his chest. “Can’t exactly do that by myself, yeah? Need your big, hard cock to sit on.”

“Happy to be of service,” he drawls, still stroking their sweat-damp hair. “Feeling better?”

“Much.” With a groan, they lift up onto their hands and knees and clench tight around him, making him gasp and jerk his hips. “Your turn now, lovey.”

Slowly, they slide off of his cock and sit back on his thighs, their wet cunt pressed against his balls. They wrap both hands around the shaft and bring the tip to their mouth, working one hand up and down while they suck. He’s caught in a column of furious heat as their grip moves faster, aided by the lingering slick and the saliva running down from their mouth. He wasn’t close, but he’s getting there quickly.

“H-harder,” he pants. “Tighter.”

They oblige, tightening both hands and sucking hard enough to make him see stars. It’s just on the edge of painful, a fraction shy of too much, and it’s exactly what he wants. Nothing can compare to being buried in their glorious cunt, but the heat of their mouth and the rough slide of their hands are still heaven.

His climax creeps up, increasing sparks of ecstasy accompanied by sharp spurts of come that dribble back down to add further lubrication. They let go with one hand and work the other hard along the full length of his cock, drawing out more and more bursts of pleasure until he comes completely undone. His back arches, his toes curl, and a moan comes out of his chest as a growl.

They keep going until he’s dry and twitching, and his cock starts to withdraw. Finally satisfied, they flop down on the bed beside him and throw one arm over his chest with a sigh.

“Nothing like a good orgasm to soothe the nerves,” they observe brightly.

Jack opens his mouth to reply but instead releases a jaw-cracking yawn. The hazy comfort of afterglow is rapidly giving way to exhaustion, and he’s not inclined to fight it.

Garthy laughs and kisses his cheek. “I’m sorry for waking you, darling. Go back to sleep, now.”

“You’re alright?” he asks blearily. “Got what you needed?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” they assure him gently. “Being with you is all I need.”

Jack mumbles something in the affirmative and almost immediately succumbs to blessed rest.

What wakes him this time is the noise.

The crystal chiming in the other room grows louder and more insistent until Garthy eventually hauls themself out of bed with a curse to go and see to it. The light peaking between the curtains has the thin glow of early morning, barely past dawn, and Jack thinks vaguely that something must be wrong for someone to be calling this early. The chime stops, and Garthy comes back to plaster themself against Jack’s back, still holding the crystal.

Jack makes a questioning sound, and Garthy mumbles in reply, “Ayda. Missed it. If it’s important, she’ll leave a message or c-”

It chimes again, close enough to Jack’s ear to get him closer to awake, and he rolls over sleepily to face Garthy as they answer, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

Whatever Ayda says turns Garthy’s frown from vague exasperation to sharp worry. “What? ... When? ... You’re sure?”

There’s a longer pause, and Garthy sits up in the bed, listening intently. Their alarm immediately dispels the haze of sleep in Jack’s brain, and he sits up with them. Something’s happened, and it’s not good.

Finally, Garthy says, “Alright. Let me talk to the others. I don’t ... Yeah. I’ll let you know.”

They tap the crystal screen and let it drop to the bed, running both hands over their face with a sigh.

“What is it?” Jack asks. “What’s wrong?”

Garthy looks at him with an expression like grief. “The blue coats took the Ruction.”

Jack’s stomach drops.

Attacking the Gold Gardens was a big move, but moving on the Row and Ruction a week later means they’re escalating much faster than he would have expected and likely to do much more damage. Controlling the Ruction means they have the power and backing to make sweeping changes and turn their ideals into law. The blue coats are now officially making the rules on Leviathan.

“Well,” he says slowly. “Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Once Jack has updated Myrtle and Marcid on the situation, he returns to the suite to find Garthy packing up the small collection of items they’ve accumulated.

“I was thinking I might go back to Bastion City with Hagur and Marta,” they explain. “There’s a sort of event at the temple that... It’d be good for me to go. I might be able to recruit a few more adventurers.”

It feels like a door closing gently in his face. “That’s the thing Hagur mentioned?”

Garthy nods. “Dajmila. It’s a ritual to honor the Zajiri.”

“Figured as much.” Afraid as he is of the answer, Jack asks, “You want me to go with you?”

“Want? Yes, always, but…” They bite their lip, thinking through some explanation that Jack can’t begin to guess at. After a moment, they say, “It’s a closed practice, yeah? You’d likely be the only non-Orc there. You’d also… If you go, it’d have to be as my Favored, which I know we haven’t really talked about, but it means you’d probably be treated with a certain amount of… reverence.”

He grimaces. “Don’t think I’d care for that.”

“I didn’t think you would,” they admit. “As much as I love the thought of people fawning over you, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, especially since it tends to involve a lot of sex.”

Adventurous as he is, Jack’s never truly enjoyed being intimate with strangers. There’ve been various exceptions, throughout his life, but having a regular partner and a few open-minded acquaintances have made him even more hesitant to bed anyone he doesn’t already know. The prospect of intimacy with unknown persons who mistakenly think he's some kind of low-level religious figure makes his whiskers stand on end.

“Don’t care for you going alone, either,” he says

Garthy gives him a fond smile and drapes their arms around his shoulders. “In a guarded stone temple full of pleasure-drunk Orcs, including a warrior cleric who’d consider it her sacred duty to protect me? Think I’ll be alright, love.”

“Well, when you put it like that...” He hesitates, then asks, “Suspect I know the answer, but would you consider staying there? Least ‘til things have settled a bit?”

They pull back, frowning. “Are you seriously suggesting I might hide in Solace while everyone I love is off fighting?”

“Not suggesting anything. Just had to ask,” he assures them. “My job to look after you.”

With all his heart, he wishes he could leave them somewhere safe and distant, like a hidden treasure to be retrieved when fine things can be enjoyed again, but he knows they’d never agree to it. He also knows, even with less than their full strength, they’ll be the most powerful magic user in the battle.

“We look after each other, Jacky my love,” they reply. “That’s why I’m going to the temple. Fill up the tank, as it were. Get myself in top form so I can keep you from getting yourself killed.”

“Oh, I see. You’re gonna be worshipped and serviced for my benefit, then,” Jack teases, but they don’t laugh.

Quietly, they answer, “For everyone’s benefit, yeah? Not much use if I pass out every time I cast a spell.”

Strength always comes with the responsibility to wield it, no matter what the wielding of it costs.

“Question for you.” He puts his arms around them, holding gently, drawing them just a little bit closer. “I won’t try and sway you, one way or the other, but I want the truth. Are you doing this ‘cause you want to or ‘cause you think you have to?”

They take a second to think before they tell him, “Both? I’m not dreading being the center of attention at a festival of debauchery, but it’s... It’s intense.”

“Say the word, and I’ll come with you,” he says. “Discomfort be damned. If you need me, I’ll be with you.”

They meet his eyes, and he can see the weight of every option behind their raw gold irises and oil-slick sclera. Gods know what they see in his eyes, but he’s never tried to hide anything from them. His entire tattered soul is there for them to take, and all he can show them now is naked devotion.

The consideration takes longer than he would have expected. Finally, they sigh, “No. Won’t enjoy anything if I’m worried about you, will I?”

“Suppose that’s fair.” He kisses their temple and takes a second to breathe in the scent of them, jasmine and honey and skin and sex, savoring it while he still can. “Just have to give your favor to someone else, ‘ey?”

It’s supposed to be teasing, but their brow furrows. “That’s not... Doesn’t really work like that, yeah? It means something.”

Immediately, he regrets bringing it up, even as a joke. “Just means special, you said. Somebody else can be special for a bit. I don’t mind.”

“Jack...”

The last thing he wants right now is to have this conversation. They’re going to gently tell him all the things he already knows and put him back in his place, and that’s their right. He just needs them to wait a little longer, let him get through the nightmare before he has to face the harsh light of day. When all this is over, if he survives, then they can break his heart.

“We’ll talk later,” he says. “No sense putting a pall on your day.”

Their frown deepens, but they don’t press. “Alright. Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself, yeah? Need you in top form, as well.”

His top form is many years past, but he’s in as close to fighting shape as he can get. “You just enjoy yourself. Don’t spare a thought for me.”

Their fond smile returns as they kiss him softly, and Jack is overwhelmed by the heat and scent of them, like a garden in high summer. If they’re a garden, then let him be buried there, bound to the soil that feeds them.

“Lovey, all my spare thoughts are for you. Nothing to be done about that.”

“Well at least make ‘em good thoughts then, if you can.”

“Can think about what I’m going to do to you when I get back,” they purr, barely an inch from his lips. “Might pick up some new toys, while I’m in the city.”

A shiver of pleasure ripples down Jack’s spine. The last time they got a new toy, he used it to make them come continuously for several minutes. “Something to look forward to.”

With Garthy’s plan to depart, Jack suddenly finds himself in the awkward position of wanting to be in multiple places and not being needed in any of them. He’s inclined to join the rest of his crew in Elmville, but there’s nothing he can do there that isn’t already being done. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving his ship injured in a strange port, but Marcid and Myrtle are more than capable of looking after her and will give her all the attention she requires. All things being equal, he’d prefer to stay with Garthy, but there doesn’t seem to be a place for him in what they need to do. The thought of staying alone in this lavish hotel room makes him want to tear his fur out, though, so Elmville it is.

He wonders, abruptly, if this is what retirement will be like. His crew will carry on, his lover will move on, and he’ll be left with nothing to do and no one to need him. If that’s what he has to look forward to, he’d rather die at sea.

He’s deliberately not paying attention as Garthy and Hagur sort things out at the front desk, unwilling to meet Nessa’s eye after yesterday’s awkwardness. No doubt the gossip mill of Port Hawthorn will get plenty of grist from the lumbering old Rat who tried to act like a civilized person.

“Jack, darling.”

He looks up and realizes Garthy is holding out a small paper bag and giving him a curious smile. Inside the bag, to Jack’s surprise, is a jar of honey and a note written in a crisp, sloping hand that reads, “Romance should be rewarded!”

Frowning in confusion, he turns to Nessa, and she explains, “Lyari wanted to make sure you got that. He didn’t know if you’d get back to the shop before you left, so he had me put it on your bill. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is, lovey,” Garthy assures her, still watching Jack. “Though I’m desperate to know what the story is, there.”

“Oh! I...” Nessa glances between the two of them, suddenly uncertain. “He said Mr. Brakkow stopped by yesterday and was interested in getting some honey, but...”

Garthy turns their attention back to Nessa, and Jack feels his ears start to burn. He knows where this is going, and he doesn’t know how to stop it without looking like more of an ass than he already does.

“But what, darling?” Garthy prompts gently. When she hesitates, they add, “Listen, if my sweet Jacky did something romantic, I want to know about it, and he’s certainly not going to tell me.”

“You might ask me, at least,” Jack grumbles, but Garthy shushes him and grins at Nessa.

She recounts the incident from the honey shop in excruciating detail, apparently having been told everything by her friend, Lyari. Garthy listens raptly, occasionally glancing at Jack with a glowing fondness. Their approval might have made reliving the incident more bearable, if not for the presence of Hagur and Marta, who seem equally invested in the tale. Just when Jack thinks Nessa has reached the end of the story, she keeps going.

“Then Lyari starts thinking about the last time he did something romantic for Tavan and figures it’s been way too long, so he closes up for the day, gets some flowers and chocolates, and walks down to Silver’s to surprise them. But he also saw that Mr. Brakkow had a bag from Silver’s, so he was kind of hoping to get a little more info, too. They compare notes and figure out if they want the really juicy gossip, they have to talk to me. And I don’t normally talk about guests like that, but... I mean, honestly, you’re just such a cute couple, and once Lyari told me about the honey and the perfume, I just... I’m so sorry. I kind of told them everything you told me, about the fire and the pirates and how he saved you and... I’m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have spread your personal business like that.”

“No, lovey! It’s alright. Makes for a good story, yeah?” they tell her brightly. “Is that what you were chatting about when we came in yesterday?”

“Yeah,” she admits sheepishly. “I was trying to get them to cut it out, but once they saw you, they demanded to know everything.”

“Understandable,” Marta observes, and Garthy laughs.

“Just have that effect sometimes. Don't I, Jacky my love?”

Jack grunts in reply, and they roll their eyes. It was bad enough thinking these young Solesians saw him as a penniless lout, but now they also know that he’s blindly devoted to someone so far beyond his station as to be laughable. Worst of all is the calculating look Hagur is giving him, clearly weighing this romantic gesture against everything he knows about Jack’s place in Garthy’s life.

Hot with shame and frustration, Jack has to fight the impulse to throw the jar of honey on the ground. He puts it safely in his pocket, instead.

“Anyway, Lyari just thought the whole thing was so sweet, and Mr. Brakkow seemed so disappointed; he asked me to pass that along,” Nessa says, looking from Garthy to Jack.

“That’s very kind. Please give him my thanks,” he manages to answer politely. To Garthy, he says, “We should get going.”

"So we should,” Garthy sighs. “Nessa, darling, it’s been an absolute delight. Thank you for all your help.”

Her cheeks flush purple and she waves them off. “It’s really my pleasure. I just… You’ve been through so much. I hope everything works out okay.”

“Oh, we’ll be alright. We’ve got each other, yeah?” They take her hand and give it a light kiss. “Take care of yourself, lovey. You’re a star.”

They tap something into their crystal as Hagur and Marta carry their bags out to a waiting car. A moment later, a young Elven woman with pale features and a friendly smile appears in the lobby.

Garthy gives her a warm smile and a brief hug. “Adaine, my darling! You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hi, Garthy! It’s good to see you, too.” Her accent is distinctly Fallinel with a hard slide into Solesian. She offers her delicate hand to Jack, and he’s a little surprised when her grip is strong and callused. “Adaine Abernant. You must be Captain Brakkow.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Abernant,” he says. “You’d be Miss Aelwyn’s sister, then. The Oracle.”

“Yeah, I’m the nice one,” she sighs. “Aelwyn said nice things about you, though. Which she does not do.”

Jack snorts. “I expect she appreciates anyone who doesn’t make a fuss in the library.”

“Well, yeah. That,” Adaine admits. “And returning books in one piece. Or returning them at all.”

“Rather a low bar, ‘ey?”

Prickly as she is, Jack has always liked Aelwyn. She’s honest, intelligent, and utterly unfazed by nonsense of any kind. He’s seen her reduce hardened killers to tears and subdue rowdy patrons with nothing but a sharp look. She appreciates Jack because he respects the books, but he thinks she likes him because he laughs at her cutting jokes, even if they’re directed at him. When he returns to the library after a voyage, she always has a new recommendation for him.

“Compass Points is basically an immigration center, right now,” Adaine says. “If Aelwyn doesn’t murder someone soon, Ayda might.”

“If someone’s messing with the books, they deserve it,” Jack replies, which earns him a bright smile.

She claps her hands together cheerfully. “Ready to go?”

Jack nods, and turns back to Garthy, who pulls him into a long, gentle kiss.

For one wild second, he thinks that they could just leave. The two of them could run inland to the Baronies or across the sea to Aisen, find somewhere safe and quiet, and live like ordinary people for a while. They won’t. The loyalties that bind both of them to Leviathan are stronger than what ties them to each other. But, just for a second, Jack lets himself wonder what that would be like.

“I’ll see you soon,” they tell him. To Adaine, they add, “Look after him for me, yeah?”

“Will do,” she promises, holding out a hand to Jack. When he takes it, she speaks a phrase in Elvish, and the world blinks out of existence.

The hotel lobby is replaced by a forest clearing. The tile floor is suddenly grass. The still air is suddenly wind. The quiet is suddenly filled with voices. The pleasant neutral scent is suddenly a cacophony of grass and dirt and trees and people.

Jack closes his eyes and grits his teeth, waiting for his stomach to settle. There’s no actual physical sensation associated with the teleport, but the abrupt assault on his senses is disorienting.

Beside him, Adaine asks, “Oof! Are you alright?”

“Aye. Fine.” He shakes his head and blinks into the bright sunlight. “Never cared for magic travel.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a lot, if you’re not used to it.”

As his vision clears, Jack looks around and realizes, first, that the forest clearing is littered with gravestones, some recent and others crumbling with age. Then he sees the people.

There’s a small cluster of Hobgoblins with two Firbolgs nearby, and just beyond them is a family of Kobolds huddled around an egg in a makeshift nest of blankets. Other groups are scattered across the lawn of a spindly house, all various sorts of Beasts and all staring at Jack and Adaine with everything from shock to hope to blank exhaustion. Some of them are whispering to each other. Others don’t even bother to whisper, and Jack hears his name spoken amid exclamations of surprise and wonder.

Whatever reception he expected upon arriving in Elmville, it certainly wasn’t this.

Fig and a red-haired Human girl are moving around the lawn with a small cart piled full of bottles of water and wrapped sandwiches, offering them to the people, who Jack realizes must be refugees from Leviathan. She waves cheerfully and points toward the house, calling out, “Go through the front door! The kitchen’s packed.”

Adaine leads Jack around the front of the house to a rickety porch littered with mismatched chairs. A flag of brightly colored stripes flutters from the eve, and a pair of massive leaded glass doors sits ajar to let in a breath of crisp autumn wind.

If the activity outside was overwhelming, inside the house is absolute madness. A line of worried-looking Beastfolk leads down the broad staircase to an unknown destination in another part of the house, many of them families and some with crying children. Other people dash back and forth around the house in all directions, carrying supplies and notes, carefully avoiding crashing into each other and politely cutting through the line of refugees. The runners are a much more varied group, including Solesians and residents of Leviathan of all different races.

“Welcome to Mordred Manor!” Adaine declares, gesturing to the chaos around them. “This is pretty much what it’s been like all week. People come in through Compass Points, we put them on the list, figure out what they need, and find somewhere for them to stay. Right now, most of them are going to Seacaster Manor or Aguefort, but there’s some families that are willing to put people up. We don’t want to make people stay in tents, if we can help it, but we’re kind of limited on space.”

A rush of whispers travels along the line as some of the refugees start to notice Jack. He hears several people express astonishment that he’s alive and at least one person mutter that it’s about fucking time. What anyone expects him to do about the situation is a mystery, but he intends to do something.

As Adaine leads him up the stairs, Jack feels a slight tug on the sleeve of his coat, and a small voice says, “Captain Brakkow, sir?”

He looks down to see a Ratfolk man with ragged whiskers and a fresh black eye staring up at him hopefully. The man is of average height, which means he stands around chest-high on Jack, and he seems to shrink back under Jack’s attention, flattening his ears and clasping his hands. Behind him, a petite Ratfolk woman is holding a sniffling child, while three other children gather anxiously around their parents’ feet.

“Begging your pardon, captain. We was just hoping you could tell us where we might be sent,” the man says meekly. “The ladies at the library didn’t seem to know, and everyone here's been in such a rush.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much, myself,” Jack replies. He glances at Adaine, and she shakes her head.

The man’s face falls. “I see. Thank you, sir. I wouldn’t trouble you, it’s just... Well, there’s talk that Ratfolk aren’t allowed in Solace, saying we might be shipped off or sent back to Leviathan.”

“What?” Jack says sharply, and one of the children bursts into tears.

Immediately, Adaine steps forward. “That’s not going to happen. I promise. It might take time to find you a place, but no one’s getting shipped off.”

“Oh. I... Yes. Thank you, miss.” The man looks between Adaine and Jack uncertainly, and Jack knows that taking the word of an Elf might be a bit difficult, at the moment.

Slowly, Jack sinks down on the stairs until he’s at eye level with the crying child, who is clinging to his father’s leg and sobbing. In the softest voice he can manage, Jack says, “I’m sorry, little one. Didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

The little boy hiccoughs and sniffs, staring at Jack with wide eyes as the crying starts to subside.

“Been a hard day, hasn’t it, lad?” he asks, and the boy nods. “Aye. For me as well.”

The other two children edge forward to gather around their brother, and a little Goblin girl further down the line is peeking around the skirt of a pink Kobold with the same rapt attention. A hush has fallen over the whole stairway as even the adults pause to listen.

“I can’t promise you it’ll be easier, at least not for a bit,” Jack goes on, still speaking softly. “But I can promise you’ll be safe here. There’s good folks looking out for you, and they’re gonna make sure you’re taken care of. And if anyone tries to push you around, you just tell ‘em you’re a friend of mine, ‘ey?”

The three children nod emphatically, and Jack gives them a quick salute as he climbs back to his feet with a creak of wood and joints. Their parents’ expressions have softened, and those in line around him all seem just a little more relaxed.

“You’ll be treated fairly here.” Jack speaks to the Ratfolk man, but he makes sure everyone listening knows that his words are for them, as well. “And if you’re not, they’ll have me to reckon with.”

The man’s eyes are shining with emotion, and he stands up straight. “Thank you, captain. That... that puts my mind at ease.”

There’s so little Jack can do to help these people, but if he can give them just a little peace, he will. “What’s your name, cousin?”

“Chebek, sir. Finn Chebek,” the man answers proudly. Gesturing to the woman behind him, he adds, “My wife, Rosie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Chebek. Ma’am.” Jack offers the man his hand and is met with a trembling grip. He starts to turn away, then adds, “I know our Solesian hosts might seem a bit strange, but they’re a good lot. You can trust Miss Abernant, here, and anyone she vouches for. You’ve got my word on that.”

Chebek nods and gives another nod to Adaine. “Thank you, sir. If you trust ‘em, then so do I.”

As Jack continues to follow Adaine up the stairs, there are more murmurs of thanks and nods of acknowledgment. Things must be worse than he thought if a few comforting words can mean that much.

She leads him to another set of stairs on the second floor where they have to squeeze carefully past the line of people. On the third floor, she breaks away toward an imposing wooden door that opens into a small study. Mismatched chairs and sofas have been arranged around a wide desk covered with maps of Leviathan. Sunny is perched on a stool across from a Goliath woman Jack doesn’t recognize. Between them, standing in the desk chair, is a familiar Halfling woman dressed in black who greets them with a broad smile and a satisfied clap of her hands.

“Finally! That’ll put those nasty rumors to rest,” she exclaims.

“And what rumors might those be, Mrs. Ceíli?” Jack asks.

“That you’re both dead,” the Goliath woman answers. She stands and offers her hand. “Captain Daamia Roothauler. Pleasure to meet you, Captain Brakkow.”

“Likewise. Your ship’s the Windrunner, aye?” Jack asks, and she nods. “Beautiful vessel. Quite a sight to behold.”

Roothauler’s chest puffs up with well-earned pride. In a harbor filled with wide sails and round hulls, the Windrunner is a sleek creature, made to brave both the open sea and coastal rivers, with slim sails complimented by oars. The vibrant sea serpent painted on her sides makes her a stunning vision whipping through the waves.

“Well, thank you. My crew and I take a lot of pride in her,” she says graciously. “As you clearly do in your ship. The Moon’s a real gem.”

“She’s a modest lady, but I’d not trade her for the world. Her or her crew.” He smiles at Sunny, who ruffles her feathers happily. “I take it this is the war room?”

“Such as it is,” Cathilda sighs. “Some of our allies lost their nerve when they heard the Ruction was taken. Others are laying low ‘til there’s a proper call to action. The Ironwood and Bajat are on their way.”

Jack lets out a breath of relief. The Bajat is a great beast of a ship, crewed entirely by pirates of Orcish blood, and a powerful friend in a fight. “Garthy’ll be glad to hear that. They’ve known Brunur Wildfen for years.”

Cathilda shakes her head sadly. “Brunur and some others were trying to clean up the Gardens when the blue coats surrounded ‘em. His first mate gathered as many of their folk as she could and set sail.”

The first time Jack met Brunur Wildfen, the man threw a drink on him just to see what he would do. Apparently, standing up slowly and saying, “Gonna assume that was owed to me. Do it again, and I’ll return the favor,” was an acceptable response, since it got him a hearty laugh and a fresh drink without explanation. Given what he now knows about Garthy’s status among other Orcs, he wonders if there was more to that exchange than one captain testing the temperament of another.

After a moment of silent respect, Jack asks, “Any word from the Vagrant? Salvius would take on the blue coats by himself, given the chance.”

Roothauler answers, “Miss Aguefort got the message to him, but the Vagrant was docked at Crescidelai. It’ll be two weeks at least before she can make it back to Leviathan.”

“Ayda talked to a lot of people who can help,” Adaine adds, still hovering to the side. “But it seemed like most people just want to know there’s a plan.”

All eyes turn to Jack, and he shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He’s got ideas but nothing that yet resembles a plan. “Aye. Well. Like to get a better sense of what’s going on, first of all. We’ve only heard bits and pieces.”

“Sunny told us about the attack on your ship,” Cathilda says gently. “Dreadful business.”

“It could have been a lot worse,” Sunny replies.

It would have been a lot better if Jack was ten years younger and quicker on his feet, if he’d had a plan for being boarded, if he’d accounted for the damn cleric, if he’d gotten Garthy’s strength up, if he was stronger and smarter and a different man entirely. It would have been better if his crew had the kind of captain they deserve, and it wouldn’t have happened at all if they’d had any captain but him.

“Did what we could,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “Would you mind catching me up on the situation back home?”

“Changing,” Roothauler says. “Last word is that the blue coats have started forcing people out of their homes and making an example of anyone who fights back. No official rulings from the Ruction, just yet, but I expect it’s a matter of time.”

“They’re also insisting that Roland Corbin sank the Harvest Moon with all souls aboard,” Cathilda adds. “Some versions of the story include keelhauling and rape.”

Jack and Sunny exchange a heavy look, but there’s no sense describing how very close to the truth that might have been. Instead, Jack tells them, “The Moon took some licks, but she’s still sound.”

“That’s what we’ve been telling folks,” Roothauler says. “Miss Biscotto’s been setting the rumors straight, but I think it’ll do them good to see you for themselves.”

“They just want to scare people,” Sunny puts in. “Tell people they’ve killed all the heroes so they look tougher.”

“Heroes?” Jack repeats. “Think that’s a bit much, ‘ey?”

Sunny rolls her eyes. “You do know we’re famous, right?”

“Infamous, maybe,” he grumbles.

“Everybody here certainly seemed happy to see you,” Adaine observes, leaning against the wall and typing absently on her crystal. “Why do they call you Golden Jack?”

She must have heard some of the hushed murmurs from the crowd outside. “Got a gold sword. Which that fucker Corbin did send to the sea floor.”

“I thought it was ‘cause of Garthy,” Sunny says, and Jack’s ears heat.

“Aye. That, too.”

Once, in a fit of irritation, Jack complained about the epithet to Cullen, who told him he had Garthy to thank for it. Apparently, they’d referred to him as their golden captain, and it stuck. Jack always suspected Cullen had his hand in spreading it, though. He thinks of Cullen, of the broad smile and quick wit ripped out of the world, and his whole body aches with grief.

Cathilda brings him up-to-speed on the blue coats’ locations and movements to date. Throughout the day, reports continue to come in from a small network of informants on Leviathan, saying the blue coats have stepped up efforts to clear out homes and started setting up blockades and armed checkpoints to contain the unwanted populations of the city. A large Goblin family arrives in the late morning and reports that the Bilge has been sealed entirely, every entrance blocked and guarded and only blue coats themselves allowed in or out.

For the first time, Jack speaks aloud the seed of an idea that has been germinating in the back of his mind since the Gold Gardens burned. It’s small, and they need more allies and information to even have a chance. But it’s a start. Once the Ironwood and Bajat arrive in Solace, Cathilda will call a meeting of those willing to fight. Until then, and until the blue coats make their next move, Jack is once again an unnecessary figure in an unknown place.

When the others have left for the night, Jack remains.

Jawbone, who Jack only knows by reputation, brings him a pillow and blanket, telling him to bed down wherever he likes and help himself to the kitchen if he gets hungry.

As night draws on, the house carries the sound of voices and wind in a soft symphony of murmurs, friends and family and lovers all offering what comfort they can as the old trees whisper secrets in the night. Jack stays in the study, poring over maps and plans, feeling restless in the stillness. Even if he wanted to sleep, he’s not sure he could.

He’s marking the checkpoint locations in Aftward when the door opens slowly, and a young Goblin man creeps into the room. At the sight of Jack, he freezes with a small squeak, like he’s been caught in the middle of a minor crime.

“Evening,” Jack says mildly.

The young man clears his throat and straightens, closing the door quietly. “Evening.”

“There some reason you’re not meant to be in here?”

“Why would you think that?” he scoffs. Jack raises an eyebrow, and he sighs. “Fine. Yeah. I was supposed to go home and sleep, but I don’t really, y’know, sleep. Not when there’s stuff happening. So I’ve been coming in here to try and... I don’t know. Help?”

He hops up on the stool Sunny has been using and offers a hand. “Riz Gukgak, private detective.”

His hand disappears entirely in Jack’s grip. “Captain Jack Brakkow. Pleased to meet you.”

Satisfied that Jack’s not going to chase him out, Riz looks down at the scattered maps on the desk and asks, “What are you working on?”

Jack sighs. “Just trying to suss out a puzzle.”

Riz’s ears visibly perk up. “Puzzle?”

He has a kind of frenetic energy that reminds Jack of Cheese, the sense that he can solve any problem if he just tries hard enough. If he’s half as smart as Cheese is, he’s probably right.

Pointing to the neighborhoods that have been closed off, Jack tells him, “The blue coats have herded folks into these areas, saying they need permission to leave. Some of the nicer parts of the city, they’ve got these checkpoints, more worried about who’s coming in than going out. But the Bilge is just off-limits, nobody in or out except them. Why?”

“Because they’re doing something they don’t want anyone to know about,” Riz answers immediately. A second later, he asks, “What’s the Bilge?”

Jack leans back in his chair with a sigh. “You’ve been to Leviathan?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.” Riz hesitates, then adds, “It didn”t seem very... welcoming. To me.”

“You go below decks at all?” Jack asks, and Riz shakes his head. “Course not. Most of the city’s on the upper deck. Second deck down is Cannoncourt. Below that’s Jetsam, then back toward the stern is the Bilge, the lowest part of Leviathan in every possible sense.”

“What’s down there?”

“Darkness and rot. People that don’t have anywhere else to go.”

There were people that lived their whole lives with rotted timbers on all sides, never seeing the sun or open sea, and it was the fear of that fate that drove Jack to climb and run and get away as high and fast and far as he could until the inexorable gravity of it dragged him back down.

“Every Rat I’ve ever met grew up in the Bilge. Most of the Goblin-kin, too,” he says.

Riz’s brow furrows, chewing on that information like he’s not surprised at the bitterness. “Is that where you’re from?”

“It is.”

Jack’s been accused of arrogance, of thinking he was too good for the place and people that raised him. The truth is that he believes everyone is too good for it. No living creature deserves to be trapped in squalor, to be forced into a crumbling, lightless maze when those born elsewhere have their fill of air and sunshine. He knows that while he was clawing and scraping his way upward in the world, a hundred better Rats died without ever gaining a foothold. He knows that a hundred young people like the boy he saved at the dock will starve or drown without anyone ever standing up for them, and the fact that anyone accepts that as a foregone conclusion makes white hot rage ripple under his skin.

Riz is quiet for a moment, unknown wheels turning in what is obviously a brilliant mind. Finally, he says, “They’re hurting people. They must be. If the most... undesirable people are in the Bilge, then things must be worse down there than everywhere else.”

“Or everyone’s already dead.” Once the words are out of Jack’s mouth, the horrible possibility of it strikes him like a slap. It’s well within the realm of possibility that the blue coats have already quietly and efficiently exterminated every soul in the Bilge without anyone in the upper city knowing or caring.

“Or... that,” Riz agrees, reluctantly. “But the problem is you don’t know, right? So you need someone to go in there and see what’s going on.”

Jack shakes his head. “Too dangerous. Somebody gets caught or stuck, we’d have no way to know what happened to them.”

Without a word, Riz takes the crystal out of his pocket and puts it on the table. Jack looks from him to the device, suddenly feeling foolish.

“Oh.”

“You know they can record things too, right? Pictures and video and stuff,” he says. “And I’d bet there’s plenty of people on Leviathan who’ve never seen one, so they wouldn’t know what it was if your infiltrator got caught.”

“Best to send someone who knows how to use it, then,” Jack points out. “Which narrows it to someone from Solace, which means they won’t know the city, or someone from my crew, which means they’ll get spotted in a second.”

“I can do it.”

“Absolutely not.”

Riz’s eyebrows go up. “Excuse me?”

“You thought Goblins were unwelcome before, what do you think it’s like now? Never mind the fact you’d be sneaking through barricades with armed guards, and y-”

With a snap of his fingers, Riz vanishes before Jack’s eyes.

For half a second, Jack thinks he’s just... left, that he got tired of the discussion and transported himself somewhere else. The scent of sweat and coffee lingers, though, and there’s a soft sound of breath.

Jack sighs. “And how would you find your way around, ‘ey? There’s no maps of the Bilge.”

Riz blinks back into sight. “Why not?”

“Because no one goes there if they don’t have to. Only reason there’s maps of the city at all is because someone commissioned ‘em, and they didn’t bother with the Bilge.”

After a moment’s thought, Riz picks up the crystal and starts tapping in a pattern Jack has come to recognize as sending a message. As he does, he explains, “Crystals have mapping functions, too. I’m just asking Gorgug if he thinks it would work that far down in the city. He knows more about this than I do.”

“Mapping how?”

“The simplest version just keeps track of where you are, but there’s ways to track where you’ve been, too.” He shuffles the papers on the desk so the map of the upper city is clear and stands on his stool to hold his crystal over the center of it. The device makes a soft click, then he repeats the process with a map of Cannoncourt. “Do you think you could sketch out something from memory?”

It’s been years since he set foot in those shadowed corridors, but Jack is certain he could walk them blindfolded. Riz’s plan is clever, and it’s viable. That doesn’t make it any less dangerous.

“Still don’t like the idea of sending anyone down there, not knowing what you’ll run into,” he says. “And Fig’d never forgive me if I got one of her friends killed.”

To his surprise, Riz gives him a sharp-toothed grin. “This kind of thing is what adventurers do. And recon is what I do. Believe me, Captain Brakkow, I’m the right man for the job.”

He’s got a point, there. Jack studies him for a long moment, thinking through all the ways this could go wrong. He’s certainly young, but he’s got the kind of self-assurance that can only have come from proving his own competence a dozen times over. If the job’s to be done at all, Jack is convinced that Riz is the best choice to do it.

“Alright. I’ll agree to it, if you can guarantee that little doohickey will keep you from getting lost, and if Mrs. Ceíli agrees, as well.”

Riz nods. “Understood. If you can give us a rough map, I bet Gorgug and Unit can figure something out.”

It takes the better part of the night and touches on some memories Jack hasn’t thought of in nearly a decade, but he’s able to provide a sketch of the Bilge as he remembers it. The most important thing, and what he recalls most clearly, is the pathways to get out. There’s irony, he thinks, in the fact that Garthy once sought refuge so far below decks, since Jack always found his sanctuary above.

He falls asleep on a small sofa some time in the small hours, once Riz has finally left. He dreams of climbing the side of a ship, the railing never drawing closer as he clings desperately to the sea-slicked hull, too high above the waves to let go.

The next day begins with a whirlwind of introductions to at least a dozen people whose names Jack has probably heard once before and that he might remember later.

Where Port Hawthorn had been full of strangers, Elmville – or at least Mordred Manor – seems to be populated by people who all know Garthy to one degree or another, and Jack finds himself in the position of making polite conversation with a wide range of people with whom he has only the barest connection and no common experience. Unexpectedly, they all seem to know quite a bit about him, adding an extra layer of awkwardness as he struggles to remember who everyone is and how they’re connected to each other.

“Don’t feel bad about that,” Riz tells him when he admits to confusion. “Even just the O’Shaughnessy-Faeth-Seacaster family tree is nuts. If you factor in everybody that’s dated, it’s impossible to keep track.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a diagram,” Jack grumbles.

“I do, actually,” Riz replies. “Fig says it’s creepy, but I don’t think I could explain it without visual aids.”

This young man is rapidly earning a high place in Jack’s regard. “Like to see that, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll send it to you.” He pauses. “Wait. Do you have a crystal?”

Jack’s still not sure he could work the damn thing if he did have one. “No.”

“Okay. I could send it to Garthy, then.”

“That’s alright,” Jack says quickly. “Don’t know that I’ll be around long enough for it to matter.”

Riz gives him an odd frown. “You mean around, like, here in Elmville, right? Not around, like... on the mortal plane.”

Mostly, he means here in Solace, but he doesn’t know how long he’s got left in this world, either, or how much longer he’ll have any connection to this patchwork family. "Got a fight coming up, so who knows.”

“That’s... bleak.”

“That’s reality, lad. And I’d say you’ve seen enough of the world to know it.”

He doesn’t know much about Riz, other than being one of Fig’s adventuring companions, but he knows enough about what that lot have been through to be certain they’re all painfully aware how brief and fragile life can be. Riz’s thoughtful silence suggests he’s right.

Their destination for the morning is Seacaster Manor, and seeing the great ship looming over a sloping grass lawn is at once a wonder and a sacrilege, like seeing a whale in a tank. She’s a majestic creature held captive far from her native home, as much a refugee as the people she now welcomes. The sight of her makes Jack’s heart ache.

He remembers the last time the Hangman set sail from Leviathan. For a legendary pirate like Bill Seacaster to retire was notable enough. For him to make a deal with the Solesian government and leave the city in favor of pastoral family life was the biggest scandal in Jack’s lifetime. Every nest and balcony was crowded with people fighting for a glimpse of the ship as she disappeared over the horizon, even those who said Seacaster was spitting in the face of piracy. If anyone had asked Jack’s opinion, which they didn’t, he’d have said a person was entitled to live their life however they saw fit, though the appeal of moving inland with a wife and child was rather a mystery to him, personally.

A massive tarp has been affixed to the ship’s port side, stretching out over the lawn and creating a shelter for rows of mis-matched tents and other small structures. A line of long tables sits underneath the outer edge of the covering, and dozens of people are milling about, many of them waiting patiently to receive one of the small paper bowls being handed out by a blue ice Elemental and a young Half-Elf wearing an eye patch.

As they approach, the Elemental waves cheerfully and calls out, “Riz, my friend! I hope you’re here to help.”

“Sorry, Basrar. We’re just looking for Gorgug,” Riz calls back.

The Half-Elf young man waves vaguely toward the house. “He’s in the basement. If he’s done fixing the heaters, tell him to start bringing them up.”

Riz gives him a salute and turns in the direction of a large patio. “Will do!”

Walking past the crowd, a number of people greet Jack with nods and murmurs of Morning, captain, and others talk amongst themselves, watching him with open curiosity. He only stops when he feels a sudden tug on his coat and looks down to see a young Rat pup trailing beside him.

“Hello there, little cousin.” He crouches down so he’s closer to eye level with the child. “You’re the little Chebek boy, aren’t you?”

The boy nods happily, clutching a paper bowl that’s nearly too big for his hands, his whiskers stuck together with drops of its sugary contents.

“What’s that you’ve got there?”

He holds out the bowl, full of an off-white substance that smells of vanilla and appears to be rapidly melting into creamy soup, and announces with a proud squeak, “Ice cream!”

“Ice cream, is it? That’s quite a treat.” Jack’s heard of ice cream, but the sweet slosh in the bowl bears only a passing resemblance to the confection that was described to him. On Leviathan, fresh dairy and anything frozen are the sole purview of people who can afford to have such things imported.

“Liam!”

Jack looks up to see the boy’s mother rushing forward with an apologetic smile. Her four other children and their Goblin friend are following behind her, and a thin Goblin man holding an infant brings up the rear.

“I’m so sorry, Captain Brakkow. He darted off before I could catch him.”

“It’s no bother, ma’am,” Jack replies, staying crouched to keep from looming over her. “Glad to see the little ones doing well.”

“Well enough to be causing trouble, that’s for sure,” she sighs.

Jack looks at the boy, Liam, from the corner of his eye. “Is that true, little cousin? You been making trouble for your ma?”

He shakes his head emphatically, and his siblings follow suit. The little Goblin girl shakes her head along with them.

“Just hard keeping track of ‘em, is all. Even with help.” She gestures to the man beside her. “Captain, this is Ojat Meekknuckle. His family lived down the way from us in the Bilge.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Meekknuckle,” Jack says. “Pardon my manners. My friend here is Riz Gukgak, one of our Solesian hosts.”

Hands are shaken all around, and the Goblin girl stares up at Riz in fascination. He gives her a bright smile and a wave, and she immediately ducks behind her father’s legs, giggling with one of the Ratfolk girls.

“We owe all of you a great deal,” Meeknuckle tells Riz in a reedy voice that carries just a hint of an upper deck accent. “We never expected this kind of generosity.”

Riz flushes dark green and shifts on his feet. “Oh. I mean, I just wish we could do more.”

“A big lovely tent, green grass and sunshine, plenty to eat, and ice cream!” Mrs. Chebek shakes her head. “The little ones think we’re on holiday.”

“Well, you can thank Fabian for all that,” Riz says, pointing to where the young man is still busily handing out bowls of ice cream.

“We have, profusely,” Meeknuckle assures him. “Never expected the son of Bill Seacaster to be such a gracious young man.”

Mrs. Chebek swats him on the shoulder. “Hush, now. Don’t speak ill.”

“To be fair, us pirates aren’t generally known as a gracious lot,” Jack admits, climbing to his feet with a loud creak of his knees. “Or generous, for that matter.”

“Present company excluded,” she says pointedly, and he ducks his head at the compliment.

“I’d best be on my way before I prove you wrong, then. Give my best to your husband.” To the small throng of children, he says, “You lot mind your folks, ‘ey? Don’t be running off and making trouble.”

They all nod, and Liam and one of his sisters throw up clumsy salutes. Another of the Rat pups chimes, “Aye, captain!” then dissolves into shy giggles.

“Thank you, captain,” Mrs. Chebek says kindly. “Please take care of yourself.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

As they move away from the crowd, Riz asks, “Did you know Captain Seacaster?”

Jack snorts. “Hells no. Old Bill wouldn’t have had two words for the likes of me.”

“Really? It seems like you’re kind of famous.”

“Oh. No. Got a bit of notoriety in recent years, is all.” When he was a cursed man, everyone knew him, but no one spoke to him. Whatever he is now, at least people don’t avert their eyes when he walks by.

Riz hums thoughtfully, but he doesn’t say anything else.

They pass through a set of sliding glass doors into what is easily the most opulent building Jack has ever seen. The hotel in Port Hawthorn was a modest inn compared to the ostentatious luxury of Seacaster Manor, with its polished flagstones and vaulted ceilings.

Jack is beginning to wonder if anyone in Solace lives in an ordinary home.

Inside, there’s a tense buzz of activity. Tables and chairs are scattered around a large parlor, filled with people eating and talking. A buffet along one wall is covered with large platters that must have recently been piled with fruit and pastries, now picked over and mostly bare. A Harengon man with a missing ear is consolidating and clearing the platters, chatting amiably with a Tortle in a nearby chair.

Conversations falter as people catch sight of Jack, then resume in hushed tones. He ignores them and tries not to gawk at the decor as he follows Riz through the house.

The basement is just as luxurious as the ground floor, but the plush carpet and warm wood make it feel much cozier and more inviting. Here, a billiards table has been covered with a sheet of plywood and converted into a workspace where a gangly Half-Orc with large goggles is tinkering with a squat cylindrical device. Across from him is a bronze cube with a flesh eye in the center of one side, its spindly mechanical arms whirring as it taps on a large crystal screen.

The Half-Orc looks up, his eyes comically large behind the lenses of his goggles. “Oh, hey.”

“Hey," Riz replies. “Fabian says to bring the heaters outside, if you’re done with them.”

“Just about.” Pushing the goggles up onto his forehead, the young man offers his hand. “You’re Jack, right? I’m Gorgug. This is Unit.”

The bronze cube waves one of their arms pleasantly, and Jack nods in return as he grips Gorgug’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Yeah, same.” To Riz, Gorgug says, “So I think the GPS on your crystal will work inside Leviathan, but Unit wants to soup it up a little, just be sure. And they’ve got some ideas about the map stuff that they wanna try out.”

“Cool.” Riz climbs onto a stool next to Unit, setting his crystal on the worktable. The cube makes a series of beeps, and Riz laughs. “Seriously though.”

Gorgug turns to Jack, brow furrowed in thought, and asks, “Hey, you’re a barbarian, right?”

Jack’s fur bristles. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s an adventurer’s term,” Riz puts in quickly. “It’s just a type of fighter. Not an insult.”

“Yeah. Shit. Sorry. I just meant... Like, when I’m fighting, if I kind of go into a rage, it makes me a little tougher and stuff,” Gorgug explains. “Fig said she thought you might be the same way.”

“I suppose so.” The rage that fuels Jack isn’t a source of pride or honor. It’s just a thing that lives inside him, something to be contained and controlled until it’s needed. “Why?”

“Okay, so there’s some barbarians that can use their rage to channel, like, elemental powers. Which is so cool, but it takes this insane training to be able to do it. So I’ve been working on a way to sort of fake it.”

As he talks, Gorgug rummages through a leather tool bag until he produces something that looks like a large wristwatch with the face removed, showing bulky gears and a small opal that glows softly in the center.

“It works, but it doesn’t work the way I expected, so I need more data points,” he goes on. “Wanna help me with a little experiment?”

“Doubt I’d be much help,” Jack says uncertainly. “Magic and mechanics are both rather beyond me.”

“Oh, I just need you to be a lab r- a guinea pig. Just put it on and go into a rage, so I can see what happens.”

Unit issues a series of warning beeps, but Gorgug waves them off.

“I know. We’ll go outside.” To Jack, he says, “I promise it’s totally safe, and it’ll only take a minute.”

The little device looks harmless enough, but Jack’s seen smaller things do considerable damage. He shrugs. “Aye. If it’ll help you.”

Gorgug beams. “Awesome! Here, just put this on your wrist. I’m gonna finish this heater quick, and we can head up.”

He hands the device to Jack, then turns back to continue tinkering with the cylinder on his worktable. It takes Jack long enough to figure out the strange strap and buckle that Gorgug is finished working by the time he has it secured. Gorgug points him to more of the cylindrical heaters, and the two of them haul a small collection of them out of the basement.

As they leave, Unit beeps mournfully, and Riz snorts. “Nah, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Jack doesn’t stop to ask what that means.

Outside, Gorgug places the heaters strategically throughout the large tent, setting a series of dials on each of them. Unable to do anything but carry weight, Jack stands idly by, chatting with the refugees who are brave enough to approach him. Most of them aren’t.

Once the heaters are set, Gorgug leads Jack to an open patch of lawn, safely away from both people and structures, and pulls down his goggles before he commands, “Okay. Now... rage!”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

“Y’know... rage. Get mad. Aargh! Come on!”

Gorgug waves his arms as if to indicate an aura of anger, but it’s hard to imagine anything less rage-inducing than the dappled sunshine and smell of fresh grass, sounds of conversation and laughter carried gently on the crisp autumn breeze.

“Don’t know that I can just... turn it on.”

“Well then... I dunno. Think about something that makes you mad,” Gorgug suggests, crossing his arms. “What about when you thought I insulted you? That didn’t piss you off?”

“A bit, but you didn’t mean nothing by it.” If anything, this entire moment is more embarrassing than enraging.

“Maybe I did, huh? Maybe I meant to say that you’re... you’re uncivilized. Huh? And dumb! And... Nope. No, that’s mean. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

Honestly, Jack is feeling rather dumb at the moment. He’s been given a simple task that’s apparently beyond his ability, and he’s not sure how to help the situation. His anger isn’t native to his body. It was put there by circumstances, naturalized and beaten into him, and he doesn’t have the benefit of adventurer’s training to wield it as anything more than a blunt instrument.

“What about all this?” Gorgug gestures emphatically toward the tent. “People are getting chased out of their homes! They have to stay in tents on some rich guy’s lawn because a bunch of assholes think they’re not good enough to live on a... a giant sailboat! Doesn’t that make you mad? ‘Cause it makes me fucking furious.”

Something hot sparks in Jack’s chest, and he growls, “Aye. It does.”

“Good! It should, because it sucks!” Gorgug exclaims, evidently getting himself worked up, as well. “It’s bullshit! And it’s not like it’s a bunch of pirates beating the shit out of each other. It’s normal people who just wanna live their normal lives, but they can’t do that because they’re not the right kind of people. And there’s kids! There’s so many fucking kids!”

An image of young Liam Chebek pops into Jack’s mind, the grinning boy with ice cream in his whiskers overlaid with the frightened child crying on the stairs at Mordred Manor.

“You wanna know what I’ve been doing for the past week?” Gorgug demands, relentless. “I’ve been building wheelchairs and crutches and shit for people who got hurt so bad that we just don’t have the healing to fix them. And some of this stuff is just... it’s so small. Like, I had to make a brace for a little Tabaxi kid who got picked up by their tail and fucking drop kicked.”

A Rat boy running in terror from a mob. Sunny lying still and bloodied on the deck. A Hobgoblin girl with ribbons around her ears.

Gorgug shoves Jack hard in the chest and seems a little surprised when Jack doesn’t move. “So what are you gonna do about it? Huh? These evil assholes are taking over your home and running around hurting people, and you’re just gonna stand there? You’re just gonna stay cool, take some calming breaths? Or are you gonna grow a spine, get pissed, and fucking do something about it?”

Jack roars.

Red hot fury rises in his blood, but the heat that rushes through his skin is different, like an open furnace radiating in all directions. A corona of blinding golden light bursts out from him with enough force to send Gorgug tumbling backward and scorch the ground around Jack’s feet. The radiance dissipates quickly, like the discharge after a lightning strike, leaving behind the wildfire of his own rage as the ring on his finger pulses with a familiar heartbeat.

“Holy shit!” Gorgug is lying on the ground, his face blistered like he’s been sunburned. “Holy shit!”

“Are you alright?” Jack pants, trying to steady his breathing. His heart feels like it’s going to burst.

“I’m great! That was amazing!” Gorgug says as Jack pulls him to his feet. “What did it f- Oh! Fire! Burning!”

He rips the device off of Jack’s wrist and tosses it to the ground where it sparks and sends up a sullen puff of smoke, leaving a ring of singed fur around Jack’s wrist.

“What did I do?” Jack asks as Gorgug prods the little thing gingerly with his toe. “Didn’t break it, did I?”

“No, no,” Gorgug assures him. “I mean, you did. But, no. It just wasn’t built to handle radiant energy.”

“What the hell are you doing?” a voice calls out, and Jack looks up to see the young Half-Elven man striding across the lawn toward them.

“I brought it outside!” Gorgug shouts back.

“It’s fine if you and Ragh want to zap each other with that thing, but you can’t be experimenting on the guests.” The young man gives Jack a friendly smile. “Hello. Welcome. Fabian Seacaster. You must be Captain Brakkow.”

“I asked first!” Gorgug protests. “And he’s fine! You’re fine, right?”

“Aye.”

“See? He’s fine. We’re all fine.”

“Tell that to my lawn,” Fabian grumbles.

The two of them continue bickering as they head back into the house and down to the basement. Keeping track of the conversation is difficult enough that Jack largely ignores them. Likewise, when Unit explains, via translation from Riz, how the crystal will keep Riz from getting lost in the Bilge, all Jack really understands is that it works. WIth Cathilda’s blessing, all that remains is for Riz to pass through the door to Compass Points and make his way into the depths of Leviathan.

Back at Mordred, they find Cathilda in the upstairs study, talking intently with Ayda and Fig.

“Quite a brave thing you’re doing, young man,” Cathilda tells Riz.

He shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “Just trying to help.”

“It’s not like it was the last time we were all there,” Fig warns him. “Things have gotten pretty rough.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

She reaches out to tap his forehead, and the air around him ripples like heatwaves from a fire. His appearance changes into that of a young Halfling with similar features, dressed in ordinary deckhand’s clothes.

Satisfied with her work, Fig nods. “There. That should let you move around the city and save your invisibility until you have to sneak past the guards.”

“Cool. Thanks.” He takes a deep breath and looks around. “Well. Time to get going, huh?”

“I’ll bring you to the library and show you where to go,” Ayda says, standing. “According to Captain Brakkow’s directions, there is an entrance to the Bilge near the lower lift station.”

Riz turns to Jack with a wry smile. “Wish me luck.”

“Best of luck to you.” As Riz moves toward the door, Jack adds, “And, Riz? Most important thing is you coming back safe. Aye?”

His smile brightens, and he tosses off a salute. “Aye aye, captain.”

Fig snorts. “You’ve been waiting for a chance to say that, haven’t you?”

“Yup.”

Once they’ve gone, Fig sits back with a sigh. “Shit. I wonder what he told his mom.”

Jack looks at her in horror, and Cathilda sets a comforting hand on his arm.

“Not to worry, now. Riz is a very capable young man,” Cathilda assures him. “Why, he’s the one that snatched the crown right out of James Whitclaw’s greedy fingers.”

“Aye, I know.” Jack’s heard that story and a dozen others from Fig. He knows that she and her friends are clever and competent, but that doesn’t erase the fact he might have to tell a mother that he’s sent her son to his death.

The flow of refugees seems to have trickled from a steady stream to just a few groups arriving every hour or so, allowing the chaos to calm. As evening draws on, a quiet stillness settles over the house. The remaining refugees have been given places to stay, and no one new has come through in hours. Everyone in the house has been caught up in managing intake and running errands for more than a week, so they immediately seize the opportunity to disperse for a much-needed night’s sleep. Jack once again spends the night in the upstairs study, making notes and shuffling papers, feeling the weight of his responsibility like a heavy piece of mast across his shoulders.

Chapter Text

When the first blush of sunrise starts to stream through the narrow window, Jack allows himself just a moment to think about Garthy. He hopes their time is being filled with wonderful pleasures and, selfishly, that they’ve also spared a moment to think of him.

The day begins in earnest later that morning, with the unexpected arrival of a motorbike bearing Fabian and a delighted-looking Sunny.

“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” she asks Jack immediately. “It’s amazing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” The only Solesian transportation Jack has experienced is riding in a car, and he can confidently state that he does not care for it.

Before he can say anything else, Sunny announces, “We’re going to Hell!”

“I’ve been keeping papa apprised of the situation on Leviathan,” Fabian explains. “When I mentioned we had a paladin of Jane Wren in our midst, he insisted that I make an introduction.”

Jack shakes his head. “Sorry. You said you’re going to Hell? To meet Bill Seacaster?”

“I mean, you have to come, too!” Sunny tells him, vibrating with excitement. “Come on! An infernal confab between legendary captains. You have to come!”

“I don’t...” He looks helplessly at Fig, who shrugs.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” she says. “I mean, it’s kind of hot, but other than that...”

“Is it safe?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“You’ll be fine. The kids go down there all the time,” Sandra Lynn assures him.

She and Jawbone are seated at the kitchen table, making a shopping list to restock the kitchen after a week of feeding thousands of unexpected guests. Jawbone’s been asking Jack about his favorite foods, so a trip to Hell sounds like a welcome distraction.

“If anything happens, I can get us out fast,” Fig adds. “And Bill’s kind of the top Devil, so nobody’s gonna mess with us.”

“You know, meeting so-called heroes can be rather disappointing,” Jack tells Sunny, and she rolls her eyes.

“Captain Seacaster’s not my hero. He’s just a significant figure in pirate history, and I can’t pass up a chance to meet him.”

“Suppose that’s fair.” He’s not going to let his first mate descend into the Pit alone, even with Fig and Fabian to escort her, and he’ll admit to a little curiosity of his own. “Right then. What’s the, uh, protocol for interplanar travel?”

Fig takes a switchblade out of her pocket and cuts the tip of her finger, letting a drop of blood fall on the floor. Immediately, the blood bursts into brilliant red flames that curl upward into the shape of a door. She gives Sunny a wink and steps through, vanishing into the fire.

Fabian gestures to the door with a shallow bow. “Ladies first.”

Beaming, Sunny leaps through the burning door and disappears. There’s no screams or smell of singed feathers, which seems to be a good sign.

Turning to Jack, Fabian says, “After you, captain.”

Jack shoots one last look at Sandra Lynn and Jawbone, who wave cheerfully, and he steps into the flames... emerging into a long crimson corridor, its vaulted ceilings decorated with baroque carvings of twisted bodies. The air is hot and thick, like a windless summer day before a storm finally breaks. Sweat instantly soaks his fur, and he can see Sunny ruffling her feathers in discomfort.

“I’m gonna check in at the studio. Come get me when you’re done,” Fig says, breaking off toward a set of massive double doors.

Fabian leads them in the opposite direction, toward a spiral staircase that looks like it was constructed from bones, and up to a wide balcony, giving them a sweeping view of the first circle of Hell.

The sky is a sea of roiling fire. A swirling whirlpool in the flaming sky rains flailing figures into a massive pit that looks like it was punched through the ground by some colossal fist. A flat expanse of black sand stretches out in all directions, broken only by the scattered shapes of jagged boulders and dead trees. All of this is secondary, though, because moored in the center of the balcony is a towering ship with a hull carved from the body of a great gold dragon, its leathery wings lashed into place as sails and its tail rigged up to act as a rudder. The beast’s head is bound with hooks and chains, but it swivels one glinting eye toward them, dark with malice and hate.

“My darling boy!” a voice bellows, echoing with the force of infernal thunder.

Jack knows for a fact that Bill Seacaster was a Human man, taller and broader than most, perhaps, but still thoroughly Human. The figure that stands at the edge of the dragon ship bears only a passing resemblance to any Human Jack has ever seen, with legs that end in clawed talons like those of an eagle. He has a second set of bulging crustacean arms bursting out from his sides, the claws capped with wicked hooks. His warm brown skin is cracked and blackened, and fire erupts from his eyes. A miasma of ash and smoke pours from his body like streams of water from a drowned corpse.

“Papa!” Fabian rushes up the rope ladder and hugs his father tightly, dwarfed by the towering Devil.

As Sunny and Jack ascend after him, Fabian announces, “Papa, may I present Miss Sunny Biscotto, Paladin of Jane Wren and First Mate of the Harvest Moon.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain Seacaster!” Sunny thrusts her hand upward, and Seacaster takes it in a grip that covers part of her forearm, bending nearly in half so that he can look her in the eye.

“Article nine of the Pirate Code,” he demands.

Sunny doesn’t miss a beat. “Always be honest with your crew.”

“See a ship flying the white with no colors. What do you do?”

“Steer clear. It’s a trap.”

“Where should a pirate’s loyalty lie?”

“Crew first. Captain second.”

“How many men have you killed?”

“Stopped counting after the first one.”

Seacaster roars with laughter and gives Sunny a clap on the shoulder that almost knocks her over. “Welcome aboard, Miss Biscotto! Any friend of the Shining Ones is a friend of mine.”

Sunny’s feathers fluff with pride, and Jack can’t help but fluff a little, himself. He wouldn’t be surprised if she turns out to be a legend greater than any of them.

“Thank you, captain! It’s an honor to be here,” she chirps, beaming.

Seacaster releases her hand and turns to greet Jack with a broad grin. Suddenly, he stops. His smile vanishes into his thick beard, and his heavy brows furrow in concentration. One long stride brings him crowding into Jack’s space, towering overhead and sniffing intently as if Jack has brought something foul onto his ship.

Jack freezes. He keeps his attitude calm, not threatening but not afraid, waiting while Seacaster scents out whatever it is that’s caught his attention.

Finally, the fiendish captain puts his face square with Jack’s and says, “You’re not Celestial.”

“Ah. No?”

Seacaster gives an aggressive sniff, then snorts it out in a huff, his breath rank like rotted wood and burning flesh. “Then why do I smell it on you?”

Slowly, Jack raises his left hand to show the plain gold ring on his finger, the only thing he has that might have some trace of divine energy. Seacaster grabs his wrist and sniffs the ring, then licks it with an unpleasantly dry swipe of his tongue. He spits in disgust, smacks his lips thoughtfully, then licks it again. Jack glances at Fabian, who looks equally confused by this display.

Still gripping Jack’s wrist, Seacaster snarls, “Not a lick of magic on you but that little trinket. Where’d you get it?”

“It was a gift.”

“From who?”

“Garthy O’Brien.”

An expression of blank astonishment crosses Seacaster’s terrifying visage as he draws back in surprise. “And who the fuck are you to be wearing Garthy O’Brien’s ring?”

Jack has asked himself that question every day since they put it on him. For lack of a better answer, he says simply, “Just an old Rat.”

Seacaster blinks. After a moment, he chuckles, then the chuckle grows into raucous, full-bellied laughter, and he finally let’s go of Jack’s wrist, leaving what will undoubtedly be a massive bruise.

“Biggest Rat I ever saw!” he crows. “Must have a cock to match, if you’ve got Garthy’s interest.”

“They seem generally satisfied,” Jack replies, and Sunny gives him a mortified look. Seacaster just cackles.

Utterly unfazed, Fabian says, “Papa, Captain Brakkow is being modest. His crew saved the city from a plot to destroy it, and I understand he and Garthy are, uh, quite serious.”

Jack opens his mouth to politely correct that claim, but Seacaster scratches his head with a frown.

“Brakkow, is it?” He turns to an unnaturally muscular Dwarf with one reptilian eye who’s been hovering close by. “Where’ve I heard that name?”

The man thinks for a moment, then answers in a voice that sounds like it was scraped from the sea floor, “The new lad said he was killed by a Jack Brakkow.”

Seacaster looks back at Jack. “You kill anyone recently?”

“Killed a lot of people recently,” Jack says. “Fella wasn’t wearing a blue coat, was he?”

“Matter of fact, he was,” the Dwarf replies.

The slightest flicker of rage ripples through Jack as he says evenly, “Captain Seacaster, I don’t want to overstep the bounds of your hospitality, but I’d like very much to have an unpleasant word with that particular crewman, if you don’t mind.”

Seacaster gives him a grin filled with vicious delight. “Why, Captain Brakkow, I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

At a nod, the Dwarf disappears belowdecks and soon returns with a scowling Elven man in a tattered blue jacket. Jack doesn’t expect to recognize him, but the sunburn blisters on his face and the clean wound in his chest mark him as one of the few Jack very specifically remembers killing.

“Let go of me, you brute! I know w-” The man sees Jack, and his bloodshot eyes widen. “You.”

With all the menace he can muster, Jack stalks slowly forward. “Aye. Me.”

“Y-you’re not supposed to be here,” he stammers, stumbling backward. “Only Captain Seacaster’s followers come here. You should be down in the Pit with the other vermin.”

“That may be so.” Jack grabs the man by the throat and lifts him off his feet, snarling, “But I’m not dead, yet.”

If there were any blood left in the coward, it would have drained out of his face. Any other fluids would have left him completely as he whimpers and wriggles in Jack’s grip.

“I’m a guest of your captain, and he’s graciously allowed me to have a moment with you,” Jack growls.

“N-no. No. Captain Seacaster!” the man calls out desperately. “This monster murdered his first mate in cold blood! He’s no friend of yours!”

Seacaster looks at Sunny with a raised eyebrow.

“Previous first mate. Betrayed the crew for an insurance pay out,” she explains, and he nods understanding.

Jack tightens his hold on the sniveling man and asks Seacaster, “Would you like to know why I killed this one, as well?”

“I’ll admit to some curiosity on that score,” Seacaster says, crossing his arms. Fabian stands beside him, watching the scene with a stoney expression.

“Because he was trying to kill Garthy. I personally watched this man raise his sword to strike them down in a moment of weakness while him and his fellows burned the Gold Gardens to cinders.”

Even smiling, Seacaster’s fiery face is a frightening sight, but sudden fury twists it into the stuff of nightmares. His booming voice rumbles and cracks with every ounce of rage in the nine Hells as he curses in a language born of torment that claws at the inside of Jack’s ears. The words are foreign, but the meaning is abundantly clear.

“Now what I’d like to know,” Jack goes on calmly. “Is who planned that attack.”

The man gurgles, choking, and Jack throws him at his captain’s feet in disgust. He gasps and coughs up something too thin to be blood and too black to be saliva. After a few wheezing breaths, he rasps out the name, “Corbin.”

Jack and Sunny share a stunned look. Jack asks, “Roland Corbin?”

Weakly, the man shakes his head. “His wife. Betsy. She... She’s been planning for years. Her and the others.”

“What others?”

“They have a... a prayer circle. That’s how it started. Sol spoke to them, told them how to... to take back the city.”

Take back the city. As if Leviathan is a thing to be owned and not a home that belongs to everyone she carries. “What’s the end game, then? Force out as many as they can and keep the rest in cages?”

“Extermination,” the man spits. “Every last one of you filthy creatures, dead and gone.”

Jack wants to be surprised. He wants to be shocked, horrified that so many people would support the wholesale slaughter of innocents, but he’s just... not. On some level, he always knew that was the blue coats’ aim, and now he’s just tired.

Sunny, on the other hand, is clearly shaken. In a quiet voice, she asks, “But... why?”

“So we can finally have some fucking order!” The Elven man rises to his knees, sneering at Jack. “You beasts used to know your place, but then people like you come along and start giving ideas to the damn Rats, of all things. Never mind your boar-faced slut and their f-”

Seacaster brings his massive claws together and crushes the man’s head.

Flecks of bone and viscera spatter Jack’s feet as viscous old blood oozes from the shattered flesh. The body doesn’t fall, and a terrible rattling sound comes from the throat. It takes Jack a moment to realize that the sound is screaming from vocal cords that no longer have a mouth. The man is already dead, so there is no death to release him.

Sunny puts a hand over her mouth to keep from being sick, and Fabian turns to look elsewhere. Jack just looks at Seacaster, whose furious scowl turns to a cringe of apology.

“Oh. Suppose you had a few more questions for him, ‘ey? Give us a moment, and we’ll find another head to put on him.”

“Quite alright, captain. Think I got enough to go on,” Jack assures him, shaking bits of brain matter off his foot. “Mighty obliged to you for letting me speak with him.”

“My pleasure! Love a bit of excitement.” Secaster claps his hands, grinning gleefully. “Now, then. A tour of the ship for our guests!”

The great dragon-ship, called the Goldenrod, is as majestic as it is macabre. After a minute, Sunny seems to shake off the confrontation with the blue coat and follows along in fascination, peppering Seacaster and the crew with questions about the ship’s mechanisms and the details of sailing through the skies of Hell. Jack listens and chimes in as he’s needed, but his mind is elsewhere, adjusting plans and considering options.

By the time goodbyes are being said, Sunny has spoken to nearly every person on the crew and has a list of ideas to improve the Harvest Moon. Jack tells her she’s the captain now and can do whatever she likes, which earns him a brilliant smile.

Shaking Jack’s hand with a crushing grip, Seacaster asks, “Wonder if you’d mind passing something along to Garthy for me?”

“Not at all. What w-”

Seacaster plants a kiss squarely on Jack’s mouth.

Jack has experienced more than a few lackluster kisses in his life, but this is the only one that’s ever been downright unpleasant. It’s all teeth and tastes of rot and ashes, and it lasts just a second longer than any kiss should.

When Seacaster lets him go, there’s a moment of stunned silence before Jack says, “I’ll make sure they get the message.”

Old Bill is still laughing himself silly as the ship pulls away, leaving Jack, Sunny, and Fabian standing on the balcony.

“Whatever else might be said about him, you have to admit he’s not boring,” Fabian remarks, smiling.

There’s no argument with that.

They collect Fig from her studio, where a group of identical bloody imps are shrieking and destroying instruments while a goat-headed devil adjusts dials on a massive board, a black cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. Either the terrible cacophony is meant as some kind of torture, or Jack truly doesn’t understand music.

That night, with all threads set to converge the following day, he makes a genuine attempt to sleep.

He’s been given a small bedroom on the second floor that looks like a cell in a sanitorium, complete with padded walls and chains, decorated with the unmistakable taste of a Solesian teenager. Posters and photographs have been pinned to the walls, including portraits of an unfamiliar Human girl at various stages in her life, presumably the room’s usual occupant. The same multicolored flag that is mounted to the front of the house hangs across the window. Jack has seen the flag on other homes and shops in both Elmville and Port Hawthorn, as well as on various pieces of clothing, but he still doesn’t know what it signifies.

He manages a few hours of fitful rest before the itch in his mind won’t let him lie still any longer. With a weary sigh, he hauls himself out of the borrowed bed and lumbers down the stairs to the study, careful to avoid the floorboards he’s learned will creak the loudest.

Halfway through the study door, he stops. Enough pieces of Leviathan have made their way into this room over the past week that a lingering scent of seawater hovers in the air, but the odor of damp wood and oily smoke swells in his senses like a familiar ghost. He doesn’t just smell Leviathan; he smells the Bilge.

Inside the room, there is the faint sound of snoring, and Jack looks around to find Riz sprawled in an armchair, fast asleep.

Standing to the side so he’s not looming, he gently touches the boy’s shoulder. “Riz?”

Riz sits bolt upright with a snort, glasses askew, hair wild. He blinks up at Jack with bloodshot eyes and rasps out, “Morning, captain.”

“Not quite morning yet,” Jack tells him. “When did you get back?”

He looks around at a dented brass clock on the mantle that reads just past one o’clock and runs his fingers through his hair to smooth it down. “Just a little while ago. Everybody was asleep, so I figured I’d crash in here and make my report first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t you have a home to sleep at? Or a bed, at least?”

“Yeah, but I th-” He interrupts himself with a jaw-cracking yawn. “I thought you’d want the update as soon as possible.”

“Aye, but you don’t...” Jack shakes his head. “Go back to sleep. We’ll talk once you’ve had a rest.”

“I mean, I’m awake now, and it doesn’t look like you’re planning to sleep any time soon.”

He’s got a point, there. Jack sighs and ambles over to the desk. “Right. Well. Make your report, then, Mr. Gukgak.”

Riz climbs onto the stool and opens his mouth to speak, then pauses, suddenly hesitant. After a second, he says slowly, “Okay, well, it’s... Uh. It’s bad.”

Jack snorts. “I did warn you.”

“No, I mean it’s really bad.” He shuffles through the papers on the desk to find the rough map of the Bilge, pointing as he talks. “I didn’t check all the entrances, but the ones I saw weren’t just closed off, they were collapsed. All the stairs and ladders were busted, and the buildings were torn up. The only one that’s not completely wrecked is here, where the blue coats are going in and out.”

“Makes sense. Saves them having to put guards everywhere,” Jack says. “Did you manage to get in?”

Riz nods. “It took a while. This whole passage is messed up until about here, where the...”

Again, he hesitates. He puts both hands flat on the desk and takes a deep breath before he goes on.

“When I got there, the blue coats were clearing out... I guess it was some kind of apartment building. They were dragging people into the street, throwing stuff out of windows, and chasing people off. There was... One of the guys who lived in the building was Human. Maybe Half-Elf? I don’t know. I couldn’t tell. But the blue coats gave him a gun. Then they put this Rat lady in front of him, and they said... they said he could leave if he shot her. They kept saying... Fuck. They said all kinds of... just really gross shit. But he wouldn’t do it. He told them to go fuck themselves. So they... There was this one person who seemed like they were in charge, and they took the gun back and shot the woman in the head. Then a couple of blue coats beat the shit out of the guy and just... left him. He was lying in the street next to... next to the body. I could hear him crying.”

Jack listens in silence.

There’s an island chain in the eastern sea called the Black Tears. It’s a beautiful place, covered in lush forests and obsidian cliffs, with peaceful lagoons ringed by beaches of black sand. Rising gracefully from the largest island is the caldera of an active volcano. Jack has only been to the Tears once, for a few days in the bright summer of his life, during which time the great mountain grumbled restlessly and sent thin plumes of smoke into the sky. The locals seemed confident there was no danger, but the visiting pirates eyed the mountain with dread. Jack remembers the ground shuddering beneath his feet, like a breath being drawn before a massive roar. He remembers feeling like the island itself was alive, thrumming with fire and power, its molten blood flowing through primordial veins.

What he feels now is an echo of that restless mountain, the heat and pressure of primal rage simmering under stone, the surface of him shaking with a fury that will shatter everything around him when it finally erupts.

He breathes in slowly, holds the anger in his belly just long enough to ache, and breathes it out. He motions for Riz to continue.

“Once the people were cleared out, the blue coats started tearing up the building. It looked like they were taking stuff that was useful or valuable, but everything else they either piled up to block the street or just set on fire. The people I talked to said they’ve been going block by block, doing the same thing.”

Jack sits up in his chair. “You talked to people?”

“Yeah. My invisibility ran out, and I had to hide for a minute before I could cast it again. This family let me in their house.” He pauses, frowning. “I think it was all one family. It was a lot of people in a tiny house, mostly Ratfolk, and they definitely acted like they were related.”

A rush of memories sweeps in. Jack’s mother had two litters close together, and there was a period of time when the house was wall-to-wall with piles of Rat pups playing and fighting and sleeping and generally getting underfoot. When the older children started marrying and adding their spouses to the crowd, the situation became untenable. None of the couples could afford homes of their own yet, so it fell to Jack, twice the size of any of them and hence twice the burden on the family, to be the first out of the nest.

Unaware that he’s sent Jack spiraling into memory, Riz goes on, “Based on what they told me, it seems like the blue coats are forcing everyone in one direction, toward the middle of the city, but they weren’t sure why.”

With the word extermination still echoing in his ears, Jack knows exactly why. “The Break.”

“The what?”

He points to the map where the central corridor of the Bilge sits below the Ramble. “There’s a hole busted in the deck, right around here. Acts like a sort of underground pond. Folks use it for fishing, and the like. Call it the Break.”

They call it Brakkow’s Break, because he’s the one who made it, but Riz doesn’t need to know that.

“But why push everybody t-” Riz breaks off, looking up at Jack in horror. “Oh. Fuck.”

Drowning Rats, it seems, is a popular pastime among the blue coats and their leadership. “Fuck, indeed.”

The weight of understanding settles on both of them, and they stare at the map in silence. Every crudely drawn line represents rows of homes, some of them now in ruins. Every empty space is a street where countless feet have walked, where paths have crossed and lives have been led. Jack can mark the place where his family home sits crumbling, where he got into his first fight, where he had his first kiss, where he met a Gnomish boy carrying a cursed piece of stone. The Bilge is home to thousands of souls, and, if his plan fails, every last one of those lives will end in the icy sea.

“I told them help was on the way,” Riz says, after a moment. “I told them to hold on a little longer and be ready to fight, if they can. I don’t think they really believed me until I said that you sent me.”

Jack snorts. “Surprised to hear I was alive, were they?”

“Well, yeah, but... I don’t know. It seemed like they started listening once they heard your name.”

“Ah. So no pressure, then. Just a nice Rat family waiting for me, personally, to come and save them.”

“I mean, isn’t that the plan? I know there’s other parts to it, but I figured you’d wanna take back your home turf.”

“That’s the plan, but...” Jack shakes his head. This isn’t the time to air his doubts. “Aye. I’ll be leading that particular charge.”

“Cool. I’m coming, too.”

“No. You’re not.”

“Watch me.”

“Why? After what you saw, why would you want to go back?”

Riz narrows his eyes, calculating. After a second, he says, “We have slums here too, y’know.”

That makes Jack pause. He’s seen enough to know that even the brightest places have dark corners in which to put the things that are easier forgotten. He’s seen some of those corners in Solace, as well.

“My family was lucky,” Riz continues. “We lived in one of the better shitty apartments. My mom had a good job, so we mostly had enough to get by, even after my dad died. A lot of the kids in my neighborhood weren’t that lucky, especially the other Goblins.”

He’s calm, voice steady and face still, but there’s a bite of anger on his tongue.

“You’ve got nothing to prove, lad,” Jack tells him gently. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

With a sharp-toothed grin, Riz replies, “I disagree. I’d like to prove conclusively to those assholes that they can’t get away with this shit.”

Try as he might, Jack can’t really argue with that. “Fine, then. You’ll be with me when it’s time. For now, you’d best get some rest. Planning to meet with you and your friends later.”

Riz shrugs and hops down from the stool. “Naw, I’m good. Gonna make some coffee. You want some?”

Jack opens his mouth to object, but he knows it’ll be pointless. Instead, he just sighs. Coffee does sound good, and he suspects that Riz makes it strong. “Aye. If it’s not too much trouble.”

The coffee is very strong and tastes much better than the flavored coffee and herbal tea Jawbone has been providing. Somewhat refreshed, Jack and Riz set their minds to strategy and using the information captured by Riz’s crystal to build a much more detailed map of the Bilge.

During a lull in the discussion, both of them focused on their individual tasks, Jack looks up. “Do you mind if I ask a rather stupid question?”

“I’ll try not to give a stupid answer,” Riz replies. “What’s up?”

“Keep seeing this flag around, four-color chevron on six-color paly. I know it’s not the Solesian flag, and it seems too common to be a family crest.”

Riz mouths the description to himself, trying to visualize. “Oh! You mean the pride flag?”

“The what?”

“You’re talking about the rainbow stripes with the triangle, right?” he asks, and Jack nods. “Yeah, it’s the queer pride flag. People use it to celebrate their identity and show support for the queer community.”

One of the first lessons Jack learned about Solace was that certain words mean different things. A crystal, for instance, is a type of rock anywhere else in the world, but in Solace, it’s a type of device. He recently learned that barbarian also has a different meaning. This seems to be another example.

“Second stupid question,” he says. “What’s queer mean, in this case?”

For some reason, that takes Riz by surprise. “Oh. Okay, um... It’s kind of another word f- Oh, no, you wouldn’t know that, either. Uh... So it’s like... Hmm.”

After a moment’s thought, he tells Jack, “I can’t really think of a good explanation that’s not gonna sound a little condescending? It’s not a stupid question, just kind of... culturally specific, I guess.”

Jack waves for him to continue. “Condescend away.”

“Cool. So, you know how most people are sexually and romantically attracted to people of a different gender, and their own gender matches their biological sex?” Riz curls his fingers in quotation marks around most and biological. “We call those people straight and everybody else queer.”

“That’s an awfully broad category,” Jack observes.

“That’s just kind of the overall community, all of us together,” Riz explains. “There’s other terms and flags for, y’know, men who like men, women who like women, people who like everybody, people who don’t like anybody, people who used to be one gender and switched to another. All that stuff.”

Jack has heard different terms used as shorthand for certain preferences, but he’s never heard of anyone flying colors. “Seems strange to be advertising your personal business like that.”

Riz shrugs. “I mean, it’s less about advertising and more about... just finding each other. Knowing what places are safe. Showing solidarity.”

“Is there some kind of fight going on?” Jack asks. “Between our side and the... What did you call ‘em? The straights?”

“No. Well, there kind of used to be, I guess. There were laws against some of it until about a hundred years ago.”

“Laws?” Jack repeats, disbelieving. “About who folks can bed? That’s mad.”

“Oh, it’s completely insane,” Riz agrees. “But the church of Helio still has a lot of influence here, and they’re not exactly open-minded.”

Jack shakes his head. “No offense, but I fucking hate Solace.”

“Honestly? That’s fair.”

Even exceptionally strong coffee is no match for Riz’s exhaustion, though. He falls asleep on the sofa just after sunrise and only snorts awake some time later when there’s a rapid knock on the door, followed immediately by the entrance of Jawbone, wearing a floral cooking apron and a brilliant grin.

“Good morning, fellas!” he say. “Who wants pancakes?”

"Hell y-” Riz interrupts himself with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Hell yeah!”

Jack asks, “What’s pancakes?”

Jawbone and Riz share a look of shock, then they both look at Jack as Jawbone’s expression turns to one of absolute delight. “You are in for a treat, my friend. Come on!”

The meals Jack has eaten at Mordred Manor have all been delicious, but they’ve mostly consisted of sandwiches and other light fare, consumed absently at the desk in the study. Despite Jawbone’s insistence that he make himself at home, Jack has tried to stay out of the kitchen and eat only what’s offered. Between the size of the household and the meals they’ve been making for the refugees, he can’t imagine how much this family is spending on food.

Instead of the kitchen, Jawbone leads them into a formal dining room dominated by a massive wooden table that is loaded with large dishes full of eggs, sausages, and potatoes. The onslaught of smells makes his stomach growl loud enough to be heard even in the cacophony of lively conversation. Around the table is a collection of young Solesians, most of whom Jack recognizes, along with the younger members of his crew and Sunny’s sister, Vee. Riz immediately squeezes in between Fabian and an unfamiliar Halfling girl and starts piling a plate with pieces of some kind of flatbread. The one empty seat is at the head of the table, between Fig and a red-haired Human girl Jack has seen at various times around the house.

Fig gives him a bright smile as he sits and says, “Hey! Have you met Kristen and Bucky?”

The red-haired girl waves cheerfully and grins around a mouthful of food. On her other side, a skinny boy with the same strawberry hair and freckled face waves a little more shyly.

Jack nods in reply. “Not officially, no. Pleased to meet you.”

“Here we go!” Jawbone announces, setting two plates in front of Jack. One is piled with equal portions of scrambled egg, sausages, and potatoes, while the other has a stack of the flatbread that Jack assumes is called pancakes. “Now, most people like to put syrup on them, but you should take a bite and see what you wanna add. I’m partial to a little peanut butter, myself.”

“You’ve never had pancakes?” Kristen asks, shocked.

“Never heard of it.”

Delicately, Jack cuts a small piece from the top layer and puts it in his mouth. The bread is so soft and light, it dissolves almost immediately, leaving a taste on his tongue that’s mostly butter. He takes a larger bite, and now the flavor of the bread comes through, rich and airy and just a little bit sweet. It reminds him of the dense potato cakes his mother would make on especially cold days, but this plate alone probably has more butter on it than his family could have afforded in a year.

Everyone at this end of the table seems to be waiting for his verdict, so he swallows quickly and tells Jawbone, “That’s delicious. Thank you.”

Jawbone beams and claps him on the shoulder. “My pleasure! You should experiment with the fixings. See what you like.”

“Okay, but syrup first, though,” Kristen says, reaching for a bottle filled with thick colorless liquid. “Gotta start with the classics.”

“That’s corn syrup. Maple syrup is classic,” Fig corrects her and sets another bottle beside the first, this one with brown liquid of similar viscosity.

“It’s okay to just have them plain, too,” Bucky adds helpfully. “That’s how I like mine.”

“Yeah, but you’re weird,” Kristen tells him. He sticks his tongue out at her, and she responds in kind. If Jack wasn’t already certain they were siblings, he is now.

From further down the table, Sunny pipes up, “Here, give him this.”

An open glass jar with a spoon in it passes from hand to hand down the line until Fig offers it to Jack, saying, “Oh, this stuff is really good. Some friends of ours make it.”

It’s the same honey from the shop in Port Hawthorn, in a much larger quantity than what he chose for himself. Sunny couldn't possibly know about that humiliating saga, but she knows him well enough to know what he likes.

Jack looks up, and she tosses him a salute. “I’ve got you, captain.”

“Thank you kindly, Miss Biscotto.” Gods bless her, she really is a gift.

He drizzles half a spoonful of honey on the edge of his plate and dips his fork in it before taking another bite of the pancake. It’s just short of being too sweet and just enough to make all the flavors balance perfectly. A sigh of contentment escapes before he can stop it.

Jawbone returns to bring him a cup of coffee and gives him another pat on the shoulder. “Enjoy!”

Conversation around the table turns to the availability of certain foods on Leviathan and what Solesian delicacies everyone needs to try. Fabian announces that he’s treating everyone to something called pizza for supper, which leads to a surprisingly heated debate about acceptable ingredients. The young pirates listen with fascination, and Jack is pleased they’ll have the chance to experience so many remarkable things, even in such terrible circumstances.

“Is this everyone that’s volunteered to help?” he asks Fig.

She nods. “Pretty much. There’s some people that couldn’t make it and a few that’ll be around later.”

“Still more than I would’ve expected.” He remembers thinking they could count on two of Fig’s friends to help, and even those weren’t guaranteed. The dozen young adventurers seated around the table, not including his own crew, are practically an army. “Are they all spellcasters?”

“Oh. Uh...” She looks around, then leans back and calls out, “Hey, Katja! What’s your magic situation?”

A Half-Orc girl seated on the far side of Sunny holds up her wrist to show the same type of device that Gorgug tested on Jack. “I’ve got one of these now. Does that count?”

“Oh shit! Right!” Gorgug says suddenly. He rifles through the pockets on his vest and produces another of the devices, tossing it to Jack over the heads of his friends. “You’ll wanna test it again, but it won’t catch fire this time. I think. Probably.”

Instead of the strange synthetic pieces of the first one, this iteration sits on a sturdy leather strip, dyed dark green, with a light steel buckle. The brass setting is wider and less bulky, and the arcane clockwork is now covered by a piece of heavy glass reinforced with gold bands.

“Beautiful work, that. Really beautiful,” he tells Gorgug. “Do my best to get it back to you in one piece.”

Gorgug frowns. “Why? I mean, it’s cool if you don’t want it, but it’s not like anybody else can use it.”

Jack’s ears heat, and he clears his throat. “Oh. Well, I... Something that fine, just assumed it was on loan. Thank you.”

With the gold ring on his finger, Jack’s hand looks like it should belong to someone else, someone who wears fine things and receives fine gifts, not a broken old pirate hanging on the coattails of his betters.

“That is so cool,” Kristen marvels. To Gorgug, she says, “Hey, can you make me one?”

“You can already do magic.”

“Yeah, but it looks cool,” she whines. “You could make me a watch.”

“No.”

“A magic watch?”

“No!” He pauses. “Okay maybe I could, but I’m not.”

“Can’t you just buy a watch?” Bucky points out.

“But then it wouldn’t be all special and handmade.”

Reasonably, Ayda observes, “It is possible to purchase a handmade watch, magical or mundane.”

Kristen sighs. “Okay, yes, I know I could just buy one, but it’s not the same!”

Jack shares a look with Fig, who smiles and rolls her eyes. “Anyway. So yeah, most of the people here have a little bit of magic, and they’re all super badass.”

Life on Leviathan requires at least some degree of competence in combat, especially for professional pirates, but spellcasting is a rare skill. Those that study wizardry typically leave to seek their fortunes elsewhere, and the few clerics and sorcerers don’t often progress beyond whatever they need to serve their own purposes. Warlocks are few and far between, outside of Bill Seacaster’s little cult, and are generally disinclined to join any kind of cause. Paladins are all but unheard of. There are exceptions, obviously, some of whom are sitting at the table with him. The blue coats have a few exceptions of their own, but he doubts they have anything that can rival even one of the spellcasters in this room.

If the day is to be won, Jack thinks, this is how they’ll do it.

Fig has already heard parts of the plan, but he walks her through what he has in mind for her and her friends. Slowly, the rest of the table falls silent as the others stop to listen. They have questions, but none of them balk at the challenge. Once Jack has spoken his piece, they quickly turn to strategizing amongst each other, coordinating skills and making suggestions.

The younger residents of Leviathan are able to field questions about the city itself, so once everyone understands the plan, there’s little for Jack to do but finish his meal in silence. When he’s done, he rises quietly and brings his dishes to the kitchen, thanking Jawbone sincerely for the food.

“Hey, hospitality is the glue that holds civilization together,” Jawbone says sagely. “I took a hiking trip over around Thyst, and they consider it rude if you pass by somebody’s campsite without stopping for a bite. Course, you gotta be careful what you eat, ‘cause there’s a lot of Fey that hang out in those woods. Almost got myself in trouble a few times, but fairies’ll let go of pretty much anything if you drop acid with ‘em.”

He offers Jack a fresh cup of coffee, smiling like he hasn’t just mentioned partying with drug-fueled Fey in a dangerous magic forest. Sandra Lynn, leaning against the kitchen counter with her own plate of breakfast, gives him a fond look and shakes her head.

“Can I help with the washing up, at least?” Jack offers, but Sandra Lynn waves him off.

“Hell no. We make the kids do that.” She holds up a finger. “In fact...”

On cue, Kristen, Fabian, and Vee come into the kitchen, each carrying a stack of dishes. With no pause in conversation, they put the stacks in the large sink and immediately start the process of clearing and cleaning, Vee following the others’ instructions cheerfully.

Sandra Lynn shrugs, smiling. “They’re good kids.”

“I’d say they are, at that,” Jack agrees. He once again feels rather useless, but he knows better than to interfere with the efficient running of a household.

Before he can make a polite exit, he feels a slight brush of cold against his hand and looks down to find a small, spectral rat hovering in the air beside him. He’s been told that the house is haunted, but this piebald little creature, clearly the spirit of a beloved pet, is the first evidence he’s seen. It stares up at him with wide eyes and quivering whiskers, curious and expectant.

“Well, hello there, little one,” he says. It draws back in alarm at being addressed, then drifts closer, scenting the air around him. He holds up his hand, and, after a moment’s hesitation, the ghostly rat settles in his palm with the cold lightness of a snowflake.

“That’s Edgar,” Jawbone explains. “He’s normally pretty shy, though. He must like you.”

“Probably ‘cause they’re both rats,” Kristen says. At a sharp look from Fabian and a cough from Vee, her eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Is that racist?”

“Not the worst thing I’ve heard recently,” Jack grumbles. A bit of well-meaning rudeness barely even registers, and she’s probably right, anyway. The few small rats on Leviathan tend to congregate in the Bilge because they know the big Rats won’t hurt them, and this little beast has certainly never dreamed of a Rat as big as Jack.

“There you are!” The spectral figure of a pale Elven boy floats into the kitchen, frowning at the rat in Jack’s hand. “Sorry. I was in the dining room, and he just zoomed off.”

“It’s no bother. He’s a darling little thing,” Jack assures the boy, presumably Edgar’s owner.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cute. I think he thinks you’re like a demigod, or something?” the boy says. “I’m Zayne, by the way.”

“Jack Brakkow.” Jack holds up the small rat and tells it gently, “Sorry to disappoint, Master Edgar. I’m nothing special.”

Edgar perks his ears up to listen and wiggles his whiskers, then he darts up Jack’s arm, leaving a trail of icy footfalls. At Jack’s shoulder, he stops to sniff and look around before he settles down and curls into a contented ball.

Zayne sighs. “Okay well, I guess he’s sticking with you for now. He’ll probably fall asleep and vanish in a few minutes.”

“He’s welcome as long as he likes. I don’t mind.” The small cold spot on Jack’s shoulder is strange but not unpleasant. He doesn’t fully understand how things like sleep and comfort would translate for a ghost, but Edgar certainly looks cozy.

The errant rats that come to Leviathan by ship don’t often survive more than a few days. Most get caught and eaten, either by people or other animals, and those that make it to neighborhoods where food is less scarce typically end up poisoned or killed by traps. It’s no wonder some people regard Ratfolk with such disdain, if they see little difference between the big Rats and the small ones.

Edgar remains in place for the better part of an hour, occasionally lifting his head to sniff or chitter contentedly. Jack has never understood the appeal of keeping animals as companions, but the little creature’s presence is unexpectedly comforting.

There is a lull after breakfast, but activity begins to increase as the day flows into afternoon. The adventurers break off into smaller teams to discuss strategy and make preparations. Cathilda arrives just after lunch, bearing a massive platter of chocolate biscuits and accompanied by a stunning Elven woman who introduces herself, to Jack’s astonishment, as Halariel Seacaster.

“Oh, I spent a great deal of time on Leviathan. Ran rather wild in my youth, you know.” Everything she says sounds haughty and bored, but Jack suspects that’s simply her affect.

“It’s much appreciated, ma’am. A legend like yourself standing up truly means something.”

She brushes off the compliment, but he catches a slight, pleased smile. “Well, it’s not entirely altruistic, is it? I would like to have my house back. Not that I mind being charitable, but two weeks of exile in Fallinel with Gilear and the children has begun to try my patience.”

Jack thinks two weeks in Fallinel would try anyone’s patience, but he just nods sympathetically and assures her that the refugees will be going home soon. Assuming they still have homes to go to.

Later in the afternoon, other allies begin to come through Compass Points. The Goliath captain, Daamia Roothauler, is first to arrive, followed by a towering Dragonborn woman with skin like glittering beetle wings who is presented as Madame Emerald, owner of the Buried Treasure brothel. She takes a moment to study Jack in a way that makes him feel thoroughly dissected before humming thoughtfully and turning her attention elsewhere.

The next arrival is the odd pairing of an elderly, sour-faced Goblin and an utterly beautiful Triton man who come through the door bickering over the hypothetical value of certain artifacts in the library. The Goblin, an artificer called Codger Stubgut, grumbles a greeting to those assembled and heads directly for the tray of biscuits. Jack has met them a number of times over the years and still has no idea if Codger is their given name or a nickname inspired by their age and general presence.

The Triton, meanwhile, approaches Jack with a predatory smile and offers one perfectly manicured hand. In a voice like moonlit waves on silken sand, he says, “You must be the famous Jack Brakkow.”

His skin is soft and cool, and Jack is suddenly very aware of his own callused fingers. “And you’d be the infamous Pendleton Reed.”

“Infamous? I love it!” Reed chuckles. He holds onto Jack’s hand just a second longer and adds, “But my friends call me Penny.”

He smells like salt air and fresh sails and some sweet herb that Jack can’t recall the name of. Jack has to swallow before he says, “Pretty Penny, isn’t it?”

Reed raises an eyebrow. “It is.”

“It’s well suited.”

The smile turns to a delighted grin, and Reed loops his arms through Jack’s, laughing. “Oh, I like you.”

Flirtation is always unexpected and novel, but Jack knows enough about Reed to doubt his advances are sincere. He’s one of the most well-known and well-connected fences on Leviathan, and the one most likely to cheat his customers and clients. Having met him now, Jack understands how he gets away with it.

The upstairs study is too small to host the expected gathering, so the dining room table is stripped of its breakfast settings to become the seat of counsel. There’s still a significant amount of food, though, as Fabian follows through on his promise to provide pizza for everyone.

In the early evening, with the gravestones throwing long, sharp shadows in the orange sunset, two vehicles pull up to the front of Mordred Manor. The first is a small blue car with rust spots around its wheels, and a young Half-Orc man leaps out of the passenger seat before it has fully stopped. From the round of exuberant shouting and hugs that follow, Jack gathers that the young man’s name is Ragh and that the air Genasi boy who emerges more demurely from the driver’s side is Ragh’s boyfriend, Brennan.

A minute later, a boxy vehicle follows, driven by a beautiful Hal-Orc woman. Ragh immediately rushes to retrieve a folded wheelchair from the back of the vehicle and helps her disembark into it. From his attentiveness and the clear resemblance, Jack would guess this is his mother.

A door on the side of the vehicle slides open to emit a haze of sweet-smelling smoke, and a stout Half-Orc woman with thick black lines tattooed across her cheeks and large gold-capped tusks climbs out. Close behind her is a dark-skinned Human man in a beautifully embroidered jacket, his long dreadlocks pulled back from his face and dyed in every possible shade of blue. The two of them reach back into the van and offer their hands to Garthy, who steps out gracefully, coming through the smoke like a sunrise burning away the morning fog.

Gods, Jack could die at the sight of them.

Their hair has been trimmed and adorned with a crown of small white flowers, and ornate swirls of gold and silver make-up shine around the curves of their face. New necklaces hang on their bare chest, from long strings of painted beads to a heavy gold torque that sits close around their throat. Bracelets of every kind are stacked on their wrists, silver bangles and gold chains and braided strings of freshwater pearls. With their fire and power restored, they are once again the most radiant version of themself and so beautiful that Jack might go blind from looking.

At the sight of Jack, Garthy’s smile brightens into something warm and glowing, and they drape their arms around his neck with a happy sigh. “There’s my dashing captain. Did you miss me?”

“It’s only been a few days,” he points out, and they pout at him. “Obviously, I’m pleased to see you, but I’m just saying.”

“Well, I missed you terribly.”

“Oh? Inconsolable in the midst of all your worshippers, were you?”

They give his ear a sharp pinch. “Is that all I get from you? Teasing and sarcasm?”

“Aye, for now.” He’s tried to distract himself from missing them, but now that they’re here in his arms, all he wants is to kiss them senseless and never let them go. In their ear, he whispers, “One good thing about you leaving is you coming back and taking my breath away all over again.”

Garthy hums happily. “That’s more like it.”

They draw him into a deep kiss that lasts long enough for someone to give a pointed cough. Jack pulls away quickly, ears hot, and looks over Garthy’s shoulder as another figure climbs out of the hazy van.

As the Orc woman stands to her full height and stretches her cramped limbs, Jack has the uncommon experience of having to look up to see her face, which is surprisingly soft and bears the lines of graceful aging. Her iron-grey hair is scraped back and explodes into a puff of wiry curls, forming a kind of silvery halo around her head. She’s wearing even more jewelry than Garthy and in a greater variety of materials, including a pendant that appears to be a bird skull wrapped in copper wire and bracelets of plastic beads. In her hand is a tall, gnarled staff topped by a mass of twisting thorns that form the shape of a vicious battleax. All of this is in contrast to her clothes, which are distinctly Solesian, including a pair of what Jack has learned are called sweatpants and a pink shirt with the words “Cool Grandma”.

Garthy takes a step back and claps their hands. “Right! Introductions. My darling, Captain Jack Brakkow. Ekome Samesh, captain of the Bajat. Amos Olagawe, captain of the Ironwood. And the lovely Igna Stonehammer, cleric of Gruumsh and my oldest and dearest friend in the world.”

The Half-Orc captain, Samesh, gives Jack a nod as Olagawe hauls a large duffle bag out of the van. He crouches down to open it, and Jack’s jaw drops in surprise when he pulls out the gleaming golden blade of the Garden’s Point. Laying it flat on his hands, he presents it to Jack with a brilliant grin.

“We found the wreck of the Clarion,” he explains, his voice deep and rich. “I sent divers down, and they recovered a few things I thought you might like to have back.”

As Jack’s hand closes around the hilt, burnished smooth from years held in his grip, he feels like a missing piece has been restored to him. Maybe it’s the magic inscribed in the blade or maybe he’s just sentimental, but after so many days spent unsettled and out of his element, there’s something healing about holding his sword again. From the corner of his eye, he sees Garthy watching him with a soft smile, and he knows they understand.

“Thank you,” he says, because that’s all he can say. “I… Thank you.”

Olagawe grins and gives him a friendly clap on the shoulder, stepping aside to make room for the Orc cleric as she steps forward.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Jack.” Her voice and smile are filled with warmth and crackle gently with age. “Garthy’s been telling me all about you.”

“Don’t believe a word of it,” he says automatically, which earns him an offended gasp and a poke in the ribs from Garthy.

“Are you calling me a liar, Jacky my love?”

“I’m saying you might be prone to exaggeration, is all.” To the woman, he adds politely, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well, Cleric Stonehammer.”

She beams in delight. “Gosh, you are a sweetheart. Please, call me Igna.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, which seems to delight her even more.

The assembled residents of Leviathan all seem to have some connection to each other, so some time is spent on greetings and asking after friends that have been affected by the turmoil. Garthy gives the Dragonborn brothel owner a warm hug, which she returns with surprising tenderness, and the two of them exchange a few quiet words in Draconic. Everyone else receives a friendly kiss on the cheek, and Penny Reed takes the opportunity to whisper in Garthy’s ear. It must have something to do with Jack, because they both turn to look at him with lascivious smiles.

Jack’s ears flush so suddenly that Sunny notices and looks between him and his two admirers with a scandalized expression. Garthy whispers something back to Reed that makes his grin widen, and he gives Jack a wink. Whatever they’re discussing, Jack has a feeling it’s going to turn out well for him.

The last to arrive is Bob, who comes through the Compass Points door and nearly tackles Garthy with a hug.

“Oh my gosh! Garthy, I missed you so much! I woulda been here sooner, but me and Trixie have been really busy. There’s just a lot of people that need help right now, y’know? But Ayda said you were okay and that you were really busy, too. So I figured I’d just wait ‘til I could see everybody at once, and then it would be extra exciting! Then Ayda said I should come to this meeting thing, because people will listen to me, and I said that’s silly, because people listen to you, too. But then she said Jack was gonna be the one talking and needs all the help he can get, which is pretty silly, too, because I think Jack’s really good at talking and getting people to listen. But I wanted to come anyway, because then I get to see some of my favorite people! And I’m really glad I did, because you look different but also really good, even though you always look really good, on account of just being so handsome and stylish and stuff. But maybe I’m a little biased, since I’m just so happy to see you!”

Garthy laughs and closes their eyes, hugging her close with a sweet smile. “I missed you too, Bobby.”

The hug she gives Jack is just as enthusiastic and comes with a kiss on the cheek, but all she says is, “Hi, Jack! You’re gonna do great!”

“I hope so,” he sighs, but her encouragement does make him feel a little better.

Once the flurry of activity starts to settle, Jack stands at the head of the table and clears his throat. “Alright, then. We all know who we are and why we’re here, so let’s cut to the meat of it, ‘ey?”

He expects to have to fight for attention, but a hush falls over the table as all eyes turn toward him. Garthy and Sunny are to his left and right, while the other members of his crew, including Bob, stand behind him.

“Some of us have put our heads together and worked out a plan for dealing with the blue coats,” he continues. “Everything goes right, we won’t have to deal with them or others like them ever again. Or not for a good long while, at least.”

“Thought it was your plan,” Codger sniffs from the opposite end of the table.

Before Jack can answer, Cathilda replies pleasantly, “Captain Brakkow deserves the credit, but there’s been plenty of minds working on this puzzle.”

“I’d say you deserve a lot of that credit yourself, Mrs. Ceíli,” Jack points out, and she gives him a polite nod of acknowledgement. “Now then, there’s a lot of pieces, so we’ll go through it bit by bit. First two priorities are taking back the Ruction and getting rid of the damned checkpoints. Our friends from Solace are gonna be leading teams to take care of the checkpoints and see to the people that need help. We’ll need the bulk of our people at the Row and Ruction, but if there’s those that feel strongly about liberating a particular neighborhood, they can speak to Miss Faeth, here, or Miss Abernant at the library.”

“You’re counting on a bunch of soft-bottomed land-lovers to save us?” Codger scoffs. “Didn’t think we were that desperate.”

In a gentle Baronies accent, Madame Emerald adds, “That does strike me as a gamble.”

“These aren’t Solesian tourists, darling,” Garthy chimes in. “They’re trained adventurers, and I promise they’re more than a match for the challenge.”

Codger spits on the floor. “Adventurers, is it? So they'll be saving folks with one hand and burning their homes with the other.”

“Hey!” Fig snaps.

Sunny cuts in sharply, “Our homes are already burning. The people here are the ones helping us.”

“And doing so outta the goodness of their hearts, I’m sure,” Codger grumbles. “They’ll present us with a bill, when all’s said and done, just you wait.”

“I’ll be sure and address it to you, personally,” Fig replies acidly.

“Entertaining as this is, can we please get on with it?” Reed sighs. “Captain Brakkow, you’ve mentioned two priorities. May we assume there’s a third?”

“There is indeed, Mr. Reed. Thank you.” Altogether, this is going much more smoothly than Jack expected. “Think I speak for all present in saying I’d rather not have to deal with this nonsense again, so the third priority is getting the bastards off Leviathan and making sure no one like them can get a foothold in the future.”

“That’s a pretty tall order,” Igna remarks, and Jack can’t tell if she’s skeptical or impressed. The other faces around the table are definitely leaning toward skeptical.

“Aye, it is, and that part of the plan has a bit more to it. First, we don’t want any of ‘em making a run for it and rallying to come back in force, so we’re gonna take their ships.”

There are murmurs of surprise from the other captains, and Jack lets them settle before he goes on, “Mrs. Ceíli has kindly identified the ships currently docked that are sympathetic to the blue coats. The night before we make our move, those ships’ll be marked, and some of our stealthier fighters will move in and take control without anyone the wiser. Marcid the Typhoon will be leading that endeavor, so if you’ve got anyone that might be of use, direct ‘em to him.”

Predictably, Codger speaks up, “And who lays claim to those ships, then? Gonna take ‘em all for yourself?”

“The fuck would I want with that many ships?” Jack huffs. “Got enough to worry about with one.”

“Might like to get yourself a new one, ‘ey?” they point out. “Replace that little rowboat you been mucking about in.”

Sunny’s feathers ruffle indignantly. She keeps her mouth shut with visible effort and looks to Jack for guidance. Jack’s never cared much for pirate posturing, but insulting a ship to her captain’s face is an offense that requires an answer. He doesn’t know if Codger is deliberately testing him or just being contrary, but he knows that how he responds will set a tone for the rest of the meeting.

He takes a steadying breath and says evenly, “Seeing as I plan to retire at the end of all this, I’ll defer to Captain Biscotto on this subject.”

A flicker of surprise crosses Sunny’s face, but it shifts quickly into pride as she turns back to Codger. “And I’ll say, if you wanna talk shit about the Moon, you and I can step outside. If not, then shut the fuck up, and let’s get back to work.”

Codger grunts in displeasure, but they don’t say anything else. The other captains give Sunny nods of approval, and Cathilda flashes her a bright smile. From the corner of his eye, Jack sees Garthy watching him with a furrowed brow.

“Second,” he goes on, as if the interruption never occurred. “We have to deal with the blue coats’ leadership. The foot soldiers can jump into the sea, for all I care, but those that instigated this need to be handled permanently.”

“Any idea who that might be?” Olagawe asks.

Thanks to the fast work of Cathilda’s informants, Jack is ready with a list of names. “Temael Lalos has been keeping the elders at the Ramble from getting involved. Ayella Fallpride and Carlo Strix are overseeing checkpoints and movements in the city. There’s at least two clerics that’ve been telling folks they’re doing Sol’s bidding. One of ‘em’s dead, but we’ve not been able to track down the other. The ringleaders seem to be Davin Fallpride, Zindi Decker, and Betsy Corbin. Corbin’s the one responsible for the attack on the Gold Gardens.”

He turns to look at Garthy and watches their brilliant eyes widen in shock, then narrow to sharp slits of flashing gold. Part of the privilege in seeing them at their most unguarded is that, on occasion, Jack has also seen them angry. It’s rare, but there have been moments over the years when he’s watched the mask of unfailing patience fall away behind closed doors to reveal genuine irritation and disquiet. Very few people have witnessed their real anger, but Jack has.

He’s never seen anything like the lightning strike of fury that splits their beautiful face.

“That fucking cunt.”

“Oh. Yikes. Big feelings,” Fig mutters.

“Betsy Corbin sat at my table and ate my food while she and her sanctimonious cronies plotted to have me killed.” Their voice is pure acid, and their eyes, sparking and splintering with primal power, stay fixed on Jack’s. “I’m going to rip her fucking throat out.”

The Half-Orc captain, Samesh, growls in agreement, and Madame Emerald says simply, “That seems reasonable.”

“I’ll hold her still for you,” Jack promises quietly. He’ll put every one of them on their knees at Garthy’s feet, if they ask him to. To the rest of the room, he goes on, “Once this batch of bastards is gone, we’ve got to make sure nobody else gets the same idea. To that end, we’ll use our hold on the Ruction to put it into law. Captain Roothauler has drafted a statement th-”

“And I expect you’ll be the one making it,” Codger cuts in.

Jack sighs. “I’d rather put out my eyes with a tin spoon, so no. It’ll need to be someone who’s well-known and well-respected.”

“I mean, that does kinda describe you,” Sunny points out.

Olagawe shakes his head. “Any captain doing it will look like a power grab,”

“Well, that would be Cathilda then, yeah?” Garthy says.

Laughing brightly, Cathilda replies, “That’s very sweet of you, dear, but I was rather thinking it should be you.”

Garthy makes a face. “Oh no, lovey, I don’t do politics.”

“It would be correct to say that you’re both well-known and well-respected,” Ayda puts in. “And a public statement from you is unlikely to be seen as an attempt to claim power precisely because you have generally avoided political involvement.”

Halariel, who Jack hadn’t been sure was even listening to the discussion, speaks up, “Having such an obvious personal stake in the matter would help allay speculation about ulterior motives, as well.”

“There’s something to be said for putting a charismatic face in front of your cause,” Igna chimes in.

Garthy turns to Jack in disbelief, but all he can do is shrug. “Be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of it.”

“Won’t take the power yourself, but it suits you just fine if your lover takes it,” Codger sneers.

At that, Garthy rolls their eyes. “Codger, I’ve slept with half the people at this table, including you.”

“Besides, you old twit, Captain Brakkow didn’t nominate them. Cathilda the Black did,” Reed points out. “I trust her judgment, as well as my own. I say aye.”

One by one, those assembled repeat aye, until Codger crosses their arms and huffs. “Fine, since there’s no better options. Aye.”

Finally, Jack looks at Garthy as he says, “Aye, but only if you’re willing.”

For half a second, he thinks they’re going to say no, and he prepares himself to shut down anyone who tries to push the matter. When they meet his eyes, though, their expression softens, and they let out a slow breath. “Well, alright. If the council insists.”

“Y’know, a council’s not a bad idea,” Fig suggests. “You could keep this going, make it official, do some good.”

“No,” Jack says immediately. “Soon as people get put in charge, they’ve got a reason to rig the game so they stay in charge. We do the work, get this done, and get on with it. No kings, no councils.”

To his utter astonishment, Codger raises their fist in support. “No kings, no councils!”

At least they finally agreed with something.

Chapter Text

The rest of the meeting is spent on details and logistics. By the time everyone begins to disperse, midnight is fast approaching. As the various guests return to Leviathan and Seacaster Manor, accommodations are offered to those remaining at Mordred. Samesh insists on keeping watch at the front door, and Igna politely replies that there’s no piece of furniture in the house built for her size, then cheerfully produces her own magical shelter on the front lawn. Olagawe flops onto the largest sofa he can find and falls asleep in less than a minute.

When the two of them are finally alone, Garthy pulls Jack into a kiss that tastes of foreign spices and feels like it lasts for days.

Breaking away, they ask, “Are you really going to retire?”

“Seems like a good time, assuming we win this fight,” he says. “Make a nice end to the story, as it were.”

A flicker of something crosses their beautiful face, but it vanishes quickly behind a warm smile. “End to the chapter, yeah? Not the whole book. You’ve got a plenty of life left.”

“Enough for an epilogue, I suppose.” The oldest Rat he ever knew lived to sixty-four. Most are lucky to reach sixty, and Jack is nearly there. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do with it, though.”

“Relax? Read books? Let me pamper you?” Sliding their arms around him, they suggest slyly, “Give lessons on the proper performance of cunnilingus?”

Jack laughs. “Had some disappointing devotees, did you?”

“Listen, enthusiasm goes a long way, but it’s no substitute for technique. You’ve spoiled me.”

“Happy to be of service.” He traces the whorled lines painted on their cheek, their skin once again hot with Celestial power. “All that debauchery seems to have done you good, in any case.”

Garthy smiles and leans into his touch. “Expect I look quite a bit better, yeah?”

“Not better, just... more like you,” Jack says. “It felt like you weren’t quite fitting in your skin, before. Now you look like you’ve settled back into it.”

“Might say the same to you, lovey. Leadership suits you.” They run their hands slowly over his shoulders. “So confident and commanding. Like to have ravished you right there on the table.”

“Certainly would’ve made for an interesting meeting.”

“Some of them might have liked it. Penny Reed would have, at least.”

Jack’s ears heat, and he clears his throat. “Aye. Well. He seems like a friendly fella.”

“Oh, very friendly,” Garthy says, grinning. “He asked if I was willing to share. Told him I want you to myself tonight, but I thought we could make some arrangements.”

The memory of both beautiful faces with their hungry smiles is vivid in Jack’s mind. He imagines them kissing each other, their smooth skin pressed together in a tangle of blue and green and gold, their hands reaching out to pull him closer. Just the thought sends a ripple of pleasure down his spine.

“Wouldn’t object to that.”

Garthy gives him a knowing look and slips one leg between his, their thigh just barely flush against his groin. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d let the two of us have our wicked way with you ‘til you’re all used up.”

What better way to spend a night than as the sexual plaything of two such stunning creatures? “I would.”

“Penny will be delighted to hear it.” Garthy pushes against him, and the pressure on the base of his cock makes him gasp. “But for now, you’re mine.”

They press hard enough to make him see stars, and it takes a conscious effort not to rut against their thigh. He has to swallow hard before he can stammer, “Thought you’d be... worn out.”

“Still got a bit left in me.” They draw back, relieving the pressure, and Jack feels like he might fall over if not for their hands still on his hips. Gently, they ask, “Is this alright? If you’d rather not or you want it softer...”

“No, no. This is good. Like it when you get bossy with me,” he assures them. He has no idea what’s put them in this mood, but he’s going to enjoy every second of it.

They give him a sweet smile and a quick kiss, then step back and command, “Clothes off. Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

Jack obeys as quickly as his limbs will allow. He lets his head rest on his folded arms, leaving his backside raised and vulnerable to whatever Garthy has planned. They retrieve a small pouch and a bottle from their pack but move out of sight before Jack can see anything else. He can guess what’s coming, but he still gives a startled yelp when something cold pushes into his ass.

“Quiet,” Garthy says sharply, and Jack tucks his muzzle between his hands, breathing hard through his nose.

Whatever they’re putting in him widens gradually until it feels like he’s being impaled. He’s shaking with the effort of staying silent, trying to relax his muscles as the thing forces him open. It feels bigger than Garthy’s cock, bigger than any man he’s been with, bigger than anything he’s taken. Right as he thinks it’s going to be too much, on the very edge of real pain, the widest part of it slips inside him, and his hole tightens around the narrow stem with the flat base flush against him. He’d cry with relief if he couldn’t feel every inch of the thing filling him up.

Garthy runs their hands gently over his haunches, petting and soothing. “Alright, sweetheart?”

Jack grunts affirmative. They told him to be quiet, and he’s not going to speak until they say so.

“Alright. I’m going to turn it on now, but remember, not a sound.”

He doesn’t have time to wonder what turn it on means before they touch the base of the toy, and the whole thing starts to vibrate. The sensation is so intense, he has to hold his jaws shut to keep from howling, and he can’t stop the thin, desperate whine that that comes out of his throat.

Garthy comes to lounge beside him on the bed, now wearing nothing but jewelry and looking deeply pleased with themself. “Say what you like about Solace. Arcano-tech sex toys are a game-changer.”

All Jack can do is keen quietly into the mattress.

“Think you can turn over for me, lovey?”

He nods quickly, and they get back up to give him space. The toy shifts inside him as he moves, like it’s burrowing deeper and carving him out. By the time he’s on his back, his cock is half-extended, and he feels like he’s going to break.

Gently, Garthy takes his hands and buckles the padded restraints around his wrists. The chains are long enough to let his arms rest on the bed above his head but too short for him to reach Garthy as they straddle his hips and sink smoothly onto his cock with a satisfied groan. Three days of fucking Orcish men have stretched them out enough that Jack can feel the difference, and that thought just makes him swell further into them.

“Did say I wanted to keep you chained to my bed, didn’t I?” they murmur, grinning as they grind down against him. “Could just leave you like this, yeah? Take my time with you. Let that little toy drive you mad ‘til I decide to let you come. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jacky my love?”

He would. He’d love it. He’ll stay like this for hours, if they want him to. His whole body feels like it’s rattling into pieces. He presses his face against the side of his arm, breathing hard through his nose.

“Look at me,” Garthy commands, and Jack raises his eyes. Gently, they lift his chin and turn him to face them, studying him with an expression he doesn’t understand. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Reflexively, he tries to look away, but Garthy holds him firmly in place.

“No. I want to see your face. I love your face.” Quietly, they add, “You’re always trying to hide from me.”

He’s not. He can’t. There’s nothing left for him to hide. They’ve seen all the awful, ugly parts of him. They know all the dark places inside him that try to pull him back in. Their fingers have traced every scar and fracture and ragged edge he has. They could crack open his chest to reveal his beating heart and find nothing he hasn’t already given them.

With excruciating tenderness, they lean forward and kiss him. It’s soft and sweet and entirely at odds with how ripped-open and raw he feels. The gentle press of their lips only makes him more violently aroused.

“Please,” he murmurs into their mouth. “Please, please.”

He feels the curl of their smile as they answer, “Begging already, lovey? Thought you could hold out longer than that.”

If they start riding him, he’ll come in seconds, but he’ll stay suspended in this agony for hours without something to push him over the edge. He doesn’t know which he wants.

“I tell you what, darling,” Garthy says. “I’m going t-”

There’s a sudden crash from the floor above, then shouting, running. The next instant, an explosion shakes the house.

The spike of adrenaline and Garthy suddenly tensing in surprise makes Jack come in a blinding rush. They wait just long enough for him to finish before they scramble off of him, spending dripping down the inside of their thighs.

They’ve got their trousers on by the time Jack’s head clears enough for him to shout, “Garthy, turn it off!”

“Fuck! Right. Sorry.”

They tap the base of the toy, and the vibration stops. There’s no time to take it out safely, but at least he won’t have to face whatever’s happening with a massive erection and something vibrating in his ass. The restraints take longer, and the sounds outside grow more and more frantic.

He’s still fastening his trousers as he stumbles after Garthy into the hallway, sword belt hanging over his shoulder. He nearly collides with the Half-Orc boy, Ragh, who comes sprinting out of the next room, barefoot and carrying a massive ax. Sandra Lynn is standing at the stairwell to the third floor, ushering along Trixie and a Water Genasi woman.

Trixie catches sight of Garthy and Jack, and calls out, “They got into the library!”

Garthy doesn’t hesitate, racing past her toward the stairs. They reach Sandra Lynn just as another explosion sends a blast of fire down the stairs, sending them both diving for cover. Smoke and flickering light fill the stairwell. The house groans as its ancient boards begin to crack and catch fire.

Before Jack can catch up, Garthy rushes up the stairs, disappearing into the smoke. He barrels after them as fast as he can.

At the top of the stairs, he finds the third floor on fire. Flames lick at the walls, making the antique wallpaper bubble and curl. The smoke is thick, but Jack can see shapes moving. A figure appears in the door to the study, taking aim with a pistol, and Jack charges forward. His sword runs straight through the man’s chest, and his momentum carries him into the room, where three more men stumble back in surprise. One of them screams, and Jack shoves the body of his compatriot at him. Both man and corpse tumble backward over the sofa as the other two men raise their swords.

Jack parries the first swing and kicks the attacker hard in the chest, then catches the second man’s blade in his hand, slashing the Garden’s Point across the man’s belly. The first man rallies and lands a strike on Jack’s shoulder before Jack brings his own blade arcing around to slit his throat.

The man who was shoved to the ground regains his feet and darts behind the big desk. Jack rolls his eyes and flings the Garden’s Point like a dagger across the room, pinning the man to the wall.

Retrieving the sword, Jack darts back onto the landing and sees Bob waving a small knot of people out of another room. Singing a wavering note, she waves her hand sharply, and a burst of shimmering water douses the flames in her path.

“Get downstairs!” he shouts to the people, pointing to the stairwell.

Once they’re out of sight, he follows Bob back into a soot-blackened bedroom with a grand piano upside down on the ceiling and a curtained doorway from which acrid smoke is billowing. He pulls aside the curtain to reveal the familiar atrium of the Compass Points library, engulfed in towering flames.

His heart cracks, but he doesn’t let himself mourn the lost books. There’s still work to be done.

Ragh is holding off a throng of blue coats while Kristen showers water in all directions, trying to douse the flames. Garthy is likewise guarding Ayda and Fig as they fight back the fire and throw books into a large leather sack. Aelwyn has her back against the main entrance, which flickers with silvery magic while she fends off more attackers with a pair of daggers and bursts of arcane light. Adaine lies unmoving on the floor nearby.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Bob, pointing to the still figure.

Bob nods and lifts the young woman easily. She rushes back toward the curtain as Jack slices one of the men nearly in half before any of them notice his approach. As the rest whirl to face him, Aelwyn turns her attention back to the door and continues casting her spell without a glance of acknowledgment.

Five pirates charge him at once, weapons raised, and Jack’s mind sinks into the sharp-edged clarity of instinct. He knows how to fight, knows forms and strategies and techniques, but he doesn’t need to know anything for this. He’s seven feet and twenty stone of muscle, claws, and rage; he was made to brawl.

Of the dozen blue coats that surrounded Aelwyn, only two of them are still standing when the nearest bookshelf starts to crumble. The lower shelves splinter in the crackling flames, and the top, far overhead near the vaulted ceiling, begins to sway. Jack sees it. The blue coats don’t. Aelwyn doesn’t.

He barrels past the two enemies and scoops Aelwyn off her feet seconds before the flaming stack of books comes crashing down against the door.

She looks at the wreckage, stunned, then looks at Jack. Her thin face is filthy with soot and sweat, her pale hair streaked with blood. There are cuts and stains all over her satin pajamas, and her fuzzy white slippers are soaked in red. She opens her mouth to speak, but Jack cuts her off.

“I believe the library’s closed, Miss Abernant.”

A wicked grin spreads across her fine features, and she cackles in delight.

Kristen and Ragh have fallen back behind the main desk, and Fig is calling to Ayda, who is still gathering books. The handful of blue coats remaining have taken cover and are firing pistols, ducking down as magic is fired back at them. Aelwyn throws up a spectral shield to block a bullet, and Jack pulls her back between two shelves that haven’t fully caught fire.

They need to rally. The blue coats are spread out enough to pin them down, and Jack doesn’t want to find out whether bullets or magic will run out first. He sticks his sword out, and a musket ball immediately hits the shelf beside it. Now he knows where the nearest ones are.

Aelwyn seems to follow his thinking. “If you draw their fire, I c-”

The door of the library explodes inward with enough force to send debris flying in all directions. This time, Aelwyn throws up a shimmering dome of magic as the shelves collapse on top of them.

There’s a crash of breaking glass, then another and another as flaming bottles are thrown through the shattered opening, stoking the flames into an inferno. More gunfire joins the cacophony, and the sporadic strike of bullets becomes a hail. Jack and Aelwyn share a look, and he sees his own grim understanding reflected in her face.

Compass Points is lost.

“Apologies,” he says quickly, and she yelps in surprise as he scoops her into one arm and sprints for the door back to Mordred Manor.

The bullets and fire don’t slow him down, but his bad leg buckles when he steps on an uneven board. He drops Aelwyn and stumbles against the doorframe. She catches herself in time to keep from colliding with Kristen, who is also racing for the exit. They disappear through the curtain and Jack turns to look for Garthy.

Thick smoke chokes the air. It’s getting hard to breathe and even harder to see. He takes a breath to call out and immediately coughs, eyes stinging. He can see figures starting to climb through the hole where the main door was. It's time to go, but he can’t leave until he knows everyone else is safe.

A great burst of flame billows toward him through the smoke, then resolves into the shape of a fiery horse galloping through the air with Fig and Ayda on its back. It dissipates into sparks as it touches the ground, and they both rush through the curtain without breaking stride. Jack holds his breath, waiting, listening as the shouting gets louder, feeling the flames get hotter. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like years before Garthy comes sprinting out of the haze.

They barely pause, dragging Jack through the doorway after them. His leg gives out, and he trips, tumbling into a heap on the other side. Once Jack and Garthy are through, Ayda performs a quick series of gestures, and the door vanishes, leaving behind a blank wall.

Silence falls. There’s no sound of fighting or flames from the hallway, and the smoke in the air is thin and stale. Jack can hear movement and activity elsewhere in the house, but the crisis seems to be over. He rolls onto his back and stares up at the scorched ceiling. Garthy sits down heavily on the floor beside him, dripping with sweat. They put a hand on his chest, and he lays his hand over theirs. For a long moment, no one speaks, all struggling to catch their breath.

Suddenly, Garthy looks down at him and says, “That’s twice, now.”

It takes him a moment to understand what they mean, but when it hits him, he bursts out laughing. On two separate occasions, the two of them have been wrenched out of an intimate moment by explosions and fire. Then something occurs to him, and he gasps out, “It’s... It’s three. Three times. The... The cannon.”

Garthy frowns in confusion, then their eyes widen, and they start laughing, too. “Fuck, you’re right.”

Jack just laughs harder. All of this is such madness, he doesn’t know what else to do. Their one foothold on Leviathan is gone. The three ships in Solace will have to carry everyone back, which means more planning and supplies that he hadn’t accounted for. The laughter makes him cough, but he can’t stop. He knows he looks insane, knows this is shock and hysteria. He’s lost the Gardens and the library, given up his ship, been driven out of his home, and the only hope he had of holding onto whatever’s left is falling apart before it even has a chance to take hold. And the crowning insult in all this absurdity is that there’s still a plug in his ass.

“I fail to see how this situation is humorous,” Aya says flatly.

“It’s... It’s not, sweetheart. It’s really not,” Garthy replies through their own laughter.

Theirs is subsiding. Jack’s isn’t, and now Ayda’s going to hate him even more than she already does. He can’t breathe enough to tell her that he’s devastated, that he loved the library. He can’t breathe at all, and his whole body hurts.

With a heavy sigh, Fig says, “Let’s go downstairs. I need a drink.”

“You need water,” Sandra Lynn chides.

“Vodka has water in it,” Kristen points out.

The others leave, and Jack is still laughing, coughing and shaking. He feels like he’s dying, feels the noose tightening around his neck, pulling him into the air.

“Jack?” There’s concern in Garthy’s voice.

He wants to say that he’s fine, but his lungs are seizing. He rolls to his side and hears them gasp sharply. The worst of his injuries are probably on his back. It must be a mess. He must be a mess. Maybe this will be the thing that finally shows them how useless he is. All their plans are falling apart, and Jack is rolling around on the floor in hysterics. A warm wash of magic flows into him, soothing the stings and aches, and he spasms with the impulse to throw it off. They just got their power back, and now he’s making them waste it.

“Jack, breathe.”

He can’t, though. He’s trying. He just can’t stop fucking laughing.

There’s another wash of magic, and it settles over him like a blanket, soft and heavy, holding him gently as the manic edge draws back like a knife being taken away from his throat. Slowly, the laughter dissolves into coughing, until his lungs relax enough for that to stop, too.

“That’s it, love. You’re alright,” Garthy says softly, petting his hair like they’re soothing a child.

Distantly, he thinks he’ll be upset about this later, angry at the compounded waste of magic and humiliated by his own behavior. For now, for a minute, he just breathes.

Ayda tells them the blue coats snuck into the library while everyone was asleep. Aelwyn says she doesn’t know how they got past her wards, but they did it quickly and quietly. No one knew what was happening until the fire started. There had been a dozen people taking refuge in Compass Points, mostly survivors from the Gold Gardens who wanted to help fight back. There are five of them now, huddled in the sitting room of Mordred Manor. The Water Genasi woman is sobbing quietly in Trixie’s arms. Her name is Maya. Jack doesn’t remember the names of her siblings.

“What happens now?” asks a Tabaxi man perched on the arm of the sofa. He’s a new addition to the Gardens, and it takes Jack a moment to recall that his name is Harbor.

All eyes turn to Jack, who hasn’t said a word since his fit of manic laughter. He’s been grinding his teeth on that very question, responding to everything else with nods and grunts. Part of him hoped he might disappear into the background for at least the rest of the night. With the fighting done, he has nothing else to offer, and he’d prefer to be ignored until everyone forgets that he broke down in hysterics in the middle of a crisis. He’d also like a moment of privacy to get the toy out of his ass, which is getting harder to ignore.

He straightens his back and answers in a voice that sounds like burning timbers, “Now, our ships are gonna be carrying a few more passengers, and some of our people will have to leave a bit sooner than expected. Otherwise, the plan hasn’t changed.”

“I should go back to Bastion City as soon as possible,” Olagawe says. “We’ll need to prepare supplies.”

“Likewise,” Samesh adds.

“I should get back, too,” Igna says. “The volunteers from our congregation will be anxious for an update.”

“I can bring you back in the morning,” Ayda tells them. “I believe neither Adaine nor I have enough magic available, at the moment.”

In the meantime, blankets, food, and water are distributed to the new arrivals. Mordred Manor is reaching capacity, and the regular residents are puzzling through sleeping arrangements for the night. A Kenku that Jack doesn’t recognize has already created a nest for herself in a large armchair, but the larger folk will need a bit more space.

When Jack offers to give up his place in their borrowed bed, Garthy cuts him off sharply.

“Absolutely not, darling. You need sleep.”

They’ve wiped the sweat-streaked make-up and soot from their face, and Jack thinks suddenly of the morning after the Gardens burned. How many mornings have passed since then? How many times has Jack failed them? How much worse will things get before it’s over?

He should have known the blue coats might find the door in Compass Points. He should have prepared for this.

“I can sleep on a sofa just as w-”

“No. You can’t.” They give his shoulder a gentle push toward the stairs. “In fact, I think it’s time you get back in that bed until you’ve had a good few hours.”

“That seems wise,” Ayda agrees. Instead of leaving it at that, she adds, “Irrational mood swings are often a symptom of exhaustion.”

Jack honestly doesn’t know if she’s trying to be helpful or insult him. Either way, she’s right, and the comment stings. He’s been leaning heavily against a wall, trying to stretch out his bad leg, and he stands up with a sigh. The moment he tries to put his full weight on the leg, it buckles again, and he falls heavily to his knees before he can catch himself.

Garthy is at his side in a second, checking him for injuries they missed. “Jack? Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“It’s the useless fucking leg,” he growls. “Oughta just cut it off and be done with it.”

“Let’s try a bit of rest before you get the bone saw, yeah?” Garthy suggests, a surprising hint of acid in their tone.

“What happened to your leg?” Aelwyn asks. “Is that why you dropped me?”

Everyone still in the room has leaned in, waiting to see if Jack needs help. Or if he’s going to fall apart again. He feels all his skin flush hot under the attention.

He gives Aelwyn an apologetic glance. “Sorry about that. Got messed up in the last fight. Should’ve been more careful.”

“I suppose I can forgive you, seeing as you saved my life,” she says, crossing her arms with a scowl. “Perhaps next time, you’ll let me run on my own, instead of carrying me to safety like a helpless damsel.”

“Aye. Next time, I’ll do that.”

Garthy pulls his arm over their shoulders and wraps their arm around his waist. “Alright, Jacky my love. I think you’ve proved my point.”

With great effort, they haul him to his feet and practically drag him out of the room. When they reach the stairs, he shoves them off and leans on the banister as he limps slowly up the steps. Garthy grunts in annoyance, but they let him inch his way to the second floor in silence, keeping pace beside him as if he might keel over at any moment.

“Can do it my damn self,” he mutters, and they heave an exasperated sigh.

“I know you can, lovey, but you don’t have to.”

Yes, he does. If he can’t walk on his own, then how is he supposed to walk when there’s no one there to help him? It’s not worth arguing, though, so he just grits his teeth and keeps going.

By the time he makes it to the bedroom, his leg is trembling at the slightest pressure. Garthy has been walking a half step behind, but they come around him to open the door, their lovely face tightened into a scowl. They stand aside to let him shuffle into the room and shut the door as he drops heavily onto the bed with a loud creak of the wooden frame.

He manages to wriggle out of his trousers without assistance, but the toy in his ass is another story. Helplessly, he looks at Garthy, who rolls their eyes and pushes his legs apart as he lies on his back.

“Ought to turn it back on and punish you,” they grumble.

“Would that be punishment?” Jack asks, then groans as they grasp the base of the toy.

Garthy arches an eyebrow. “Do you want me to turn it back on?”

“No! No,” he says quickly. “Please. Just... just get it out.”

Getting it out, practically speaking, is only marginally different than fucking him with it. Gently, they work the toy in all directions until his muscles are loose enough to let it slide out, leaving him empty and raw. If he was twenty years younger, he’d be hard again. As it is, he just feels overheated and wrung out, and he has to fight the impulse to curl needily against Garthy’s side as they lie down beside him.

They’ve both cleaned themselves as best they can, but the smell of smoke lingers. There’s no jasmine and no honey, just the oppressive haze of burning books.

“Did you sleep at all while I was gone?” they ask.

“Of course I did,” he answers. They raise their eyebrows, and he sighs. “I tried. Honestly. I’ve just been... restless.”

Frowning, they start to massage the tender shell of his ear. “When’s the last time you had a full night’s rest?”

“Well, I...” He has to stop and think. This is the fourth night at Mordred Manor, and he’s been up at all hours since he arrived. They spent two nights in Port Hawthorn, the second of which was interrupted by Garthy’s nightmare and cut short by Ayda’s crystal call. “That first night at the hotel, I suppose.”

Garthy sighs and reaches over to pull a small mechanical pipe. “Here. Try this.”

“What’s in it?”

“Gorgenfern.”

Jack makes a face. “You know I don’t like that stuff. It makes me s-”

“Sleepy? Yes, lovey I know. That’s the point.”

It makes him sleepy, yes, but it also makes him slow. It makes him stupid and careless. If there’s another emergency, he’ll be more useless than he already is. Even if there’s not, he’s likely to start running his mouth, and he has no idea what might come out.

Before he can object again, Garthy says, “Either you try this, or I’m using a spell to make you sleep. Your choice, darling.”

He takes the pipe. They’ve already spent too much magic on him. Sullenly, he breathes in the herbal vapor, which admittedly tastes better than the dried leaves he’s smoked before. Garthy watches him like he’s a child being made to take medicine. When they’re satisfied he’s not pretending to inhale, they shuffle the bedclothes until the two of them are tucked comfortably under the soft blanket and resume massaging the sensitive spot on his ear.

“Better?”

Begrudgingly, he sighs, “A bit.”

What feels better is being with them, feeling the heat of their body and the touch of their fingers. What keeps the restless itch moving under his skin is knowing that they’re still not safe, that even this refuge, far from Leviathan and surrounded by family, can still be violated. What makes him want to get up and do something is the fact that all he can do is put an end to the threat, once and for all.

Still rubbing his ear gently, Garthy lays their other hand over his heart. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Thinking.” They pull back slightly and prod his shoulder. “Roll over. You sleep better on your side.”

He’s irrationally irritated that they’re right, but he does as he’s told. Once he’s settled, they spoon around him, and he remembers the first night he spent in their arms, waking up rested and hopeful and hungry for something more than the scraps of life he’d been living on. He wants so desperately to be that version of himself again, but he feels more and more like the man he was before, broken and cursed, beaten down by the weight of his own shame.

“Sleep now, love. I’ve got you,” Garthy tells him softly. “The world can do without you for a little while.”

The world might do better without him, he thinks. He doesn’t think he says it out loud, but he’s not sure. Right. That would be the gorgenfern. Or the exhaustion. Either way, he’s asleep in a minute.

He dreams of the Gold Gardens, and everyone is laughing at him. His crew, his parents, his brothers and sisters, Fig and her friends, all cackling in derision. Garthy is kissing Penny Reed and laughing. Jack is ten feet tall and dressed in rags. He tries to tell them he’s doing his best, but he can’t breathe.

When he wakes up, Garthy is gone.

As a general rule, they prefer not to leave their bedmates sleeping alone, and Jack can only recall a few times over the years when he’s woken to find them absent. He tells himself they probably just wanted to let him sleep a little longer, but the doubt scratching at the back of his brain wonders if it’s something else, if they’re getting tired of him, if the benefits he provides have finally been overpowered by the trials of dealing with him.

It’s mid-morning, later than he would have liked to sleep but earlier than he feared. He takes a moment to pack his things, since he’ll need to leave as soon as possible, and realizes that Garthy’s pack is gone, as well. The house is quiet. For a moment, he wonders if everyone simply decided the fight would be better won without him and left. He doesn’t think his crew wouldn’t leave him stranded in Solace, but... But.

There’s a ring of laughter from downstairs, so someone’s still here, at least. He finds Garthy at the kitchen table with Trixie and the beautiful Half-Orc woman, previously introduced as Lydia, regaling them with a story and assisting with what appears to be an assembly line of sandwiches.

“...looks at me with those big brown eyes and says...” They break off as Jack comes into the kitchen. “There’s my lovely captain!”

They’re wearing the fitted Solesian shirt again, with the collection of new necklaces layered over it, smiling in the way that he loves and so effortlessly perfect that Jack nearly forgets to reply.

He clears his throat quickly and mumbles, “Morning,” as Jawbone hands him a plate of scrambled eggs smothered in cheese, several thick sausage links, and a buttered scone drizzled with bright gold honey. Just the smell of it makes Jack’s stomach growl.

“Mr. O’Shaughnessey, no doubt you’ll be glad to have us out of your fur, but I’m sure as hells gonna miss your cooking.”

Jawbone fluffs up in delight. “Shucks, man. Next time you visit, I’ll pull out all the stops.”

All things considered, Jack doubts there’ll be a next time, but he appreciates the sentiment. He looks up to find Garthy watching him fondly and gives them a soft smile in return. Lydia and Trixie glance between the two of them, then look at each other and snicker. Garthy gives Trixie a light slap on the shoulder, and she slaps them right back with a grin.

Jack clears his throat again and stares down at his plate, saying, “I should go over to Seacaster Manor, try to rally some volunteers for the fight.”

“Oh, Sunny already did that,” Trixie tells him cheerfully. “Bob said she gave an amazing speech. Very inspirational.”

She dusts off her hands and pulls a small notepad out of her breast pocket. Her checked flannel shirt must have been borrowed from Fig, though Trixie has it unbuttoned nearly down to her navel. Going through the notes, she continues her report.

“They’ve got twenty-one volunteers so far at Seacaster, and nine from the people that are staying at different houses around town. Bob and Sunny are going over to talk to the people at the school. Adaine sent a message to Captain Roothauler to give her an update. Ayda got back this morning and said the ships are still getting ready, but the Ironwood can take about fifty people, plus her crew. Marcid wanted to know if he could still use that bank card for supplies, and Garthy said it was fine. Fabian and Gorgug are trying to figure out how to get everybody from here to the ships, but Fig said they’ve got an idea. Riz had a question for you... Oh! No, Cheese answered it, never mind. Um... What else?”

She flips a few pages, reading to herself, then puts down the notepad with a cheerful smile. “Nope, that’s it!”

Jack blinks at her, stunned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it!” she repeats. “You can relax and enjoy your breakfast. Everybody’s gonna start leaving around noon.”

Well, they didn’t leave without him, but they certainly don't seem to have needed him. “This might be the most efficient group of people I’ve ever met.”

“Adventurers get shit done,” Lydia answers proudly. She waves Jack over to the table. “Take a load off. Give that leg a rest.”

He doesn’t like to sit idle while others are working, but he’s not going to argue with a beautiful woman. Most of the table is taken up with sandwich preparations, so he balances his plate on his coffee as he sits in the chair next to Garthy, who smiles at him warmly. He’s trying to think of anything that still needs doing, but it sounds like everything is well in-hand. He might have slept ‘til noon, and no one would have missed him.

Throughout the morning, reports continue to come in as their allies rally. The transportation problem is solved, though Jack’s not entirely clear on how. The three ships have more than enough capacity for all the souls they need to carry and will be ready to get underway by midafternoon. Between their crews, the refugees who’ve volunteered, and the adventurers who’ve joined them, Jack reckons they’re nearly two hundred strong. Based on earlier intelligence from Cathilda’s spies, the blue coats number closer to two thousand.

It has to be enough. It has to be.

As they’re preparing to leave Mordred Manor, Jack finds a private moment to ask Garthy, “What’s your plan for the voyage?”

They frown, puzzled. “What do you mean, lovey?”

“I just mean you’ve got your pick of ships. Pick of companions, as well,” he says. “The Bajat’s full of folks who’d love your company, and she’s bound to be more comfortable than the Moon.”

“Oh. Well, I’d prefer to be with you, yeah?”

They’re in the big dining room, the table now strewn with a variety of weapons and arcane implements as the adventurers take stock of their equipment. The room is otherwise empty, though the rest of the house is bustling with activity.

“Is that gonna be enough?” Jack asks. He’d planned to have Garthy go through Compass Points, but now he has to make sure travelling by ship won’t sap too much of their strength. Again.

“Between you and the many substances I plan to consume en route, I should be alright.” Their brow furrows, and they ask, “Do you want me to go with someone else?”

What he wants is to wrap himself around them like armor and fill every day for the rest of his life with the scent and touch and sound of them. “Just want you to get what you need.”

“I know, love.” They slide their arms around his waist and lean into him, their beautiful face softening. “Feels like I’ve been asking a lot from you, lately. Everybody has.”

Jack’s heart falls. He’s doing everything he can, and it’s still not enough. “I’m s-”

Abruptly, Fig sticks her head into the room. “Hey. Oh, sorry. We’re just about ready to go.”

"Aye. We’ll be right there,” he tells her, and she ducks away with an apologetic smile. To Garthy, he says, “Whoever you spend the voyage with will be the luckiest soul on the Celestine. What matters most to me is that you’re comfortable and taken care of, and I trust you to choose for yourself.”

They kiss the corner of his mouth with a smile. “Already made my choice, Jacky my love. It’s you, every time.”

He doesn’t understand why they would want to be with him when they could spend the time lost in a haze of drugs and drink and beautiful worshippers, but he’s never going to turn them away.

Adaine teleports a group of ten from the front lawn of Mordred Manor to the docks of Bastion City, including herself and Aelwyn, Jack, Garthy, Bob, Sandra Lynn, Ragh, and the three survivors from the Gold Gardens still able to fight. The sudden shift from dappled shadows to the blazing midday sun gives Jack an instant headache, and the rush of smells from both city and seaside turns his stomach. He closes his eyes and grips Garthy’s shoulder as they press close against his side. Going from the relative cover of tall trees to the open walkways of a city harbor probably isn’t pleasant for them, either.

When he opens his eyes again, though, the sight that greets him is a welcome one. The familiar bow of the Harvest Moon curves out of the water, healed from her wounds and patched so seamlessly that only an expert eye could see where the new wood begins. Jack can see, of course, but he still thinks she’s the most beautiful ship to ever sail.

She sits in the shadow of a towering galleon on her port side and a graceful carrack on her starboard. The carrack is made of the dark red wood from which she takes her name, and her flag bears a twisting tree circled in blue. The galleon, meanwhile, has made no effort to hide the places where she’s been patched, bearing her scars like the proud warrior she is. Her flag is a tusked skull with a starburst inside one eye, crowned with a circlet of sharp leaves. Jack has never seen the Bajat up close, but he immediately understands why those pirates who have are either dead or smart enough not to cross her.

With Garthy beside him, Jack makes his way up the Moon’s gangplank. The moment his feet reach the deck, he feels at least seven different muscles relax. She looks like hardly more than a dainty sailboat between the two big ships, but she’s his, at least for a little while longer.

“You really are a born sailor, aren’t you?” Garthy says quietly.

Jack huffs. “Only thing that ever came easy. Only place that ever really felt like home.”

They don’t reply, but he can feel them looking at him as he turns to greet Marcid and Myrtle on the upper deck.

Ayda arrives a few minutes later with another group, including the rest of the Moon’s crew, and it strikes Jack suddenly that this will truly be their last voyage together. He’ll retire to whatever kind of life awaits him. Bob will likely go back on tour while the Gardens is being rebuilt. If Sunny decides to claim one of the captured blue coat ships, then even the Moon herself will be moving on. This might well be the last time they’re even all in the same place.

Jack shakes his head. There’ll be time for sentiment later. For now, he has a ship to tend to and guests to get settled.

On an open stretch of concrete nearby, the Abernant sisters have been hard at work, drawing large circles of runes in chalk. After arrival, Ayda and Cheese quickly move to assist them. Overseeing them is an unhappy-looking Dragonborn in the uniform of a harbor official who seems to be mollified by the assurances of Sandra Lynn and a dark-skinned Human woman Jack doesn’t recognize. When the wizards are finished, six identical circles have been drawn in a line across the ground, each about ten feet across and three feet apart.

“What’s that about?” Jack asks.

Garthy is standing beside him on the bow, wearing his wide-brimmed hat that seems to make the open space more bearable. They squint at the circles, the gold in their irises shifting as they scan over the arcane writing. After a moment, they break into a wide grin. “Oh, that’s very clever.”

“What is? What are they doing?”

One by one, the outer edge of each circle begins to glow with shimmering purple light. Ayda calls for everyone nearby to step back as the runes inside all light up at once.

“Wait for it,” Garthy tells him. “This is an impressive piece of magic.”

There’s a sparkling flash of light and a loud pop like the finale of a fireworks display. Suddenly, each circle is filled with a small knot of people huddled together in the center. Some of the Leviathan residents appear delighted by whatever’s just happened, but most look absolutely terrified. Jack doesn’t blame then.

Another flash of light and puff of lavender smoke reveals a small, dark-skinned Human man in a violently purple suit, and Jack feels Garthy tense.

“Something wrong?”

They sigh. “Depends what kind of mood he’s in.”

“That fella there?” Jack nods toward the man in the purple suit. “Why? Who is he?”

“Arthur Aguefort,” they answer acidly. “The most powerful wizard in the fucking world.”

Jack knows enough about powerful men to see why that alone could be cause for dislike, and he can think of many reasons Garthy might not be fond of Ayda’s formerly estranged father. “If he becomes a problem, we’ll deal with it.”

They give him a look of mild alarm. “Don’t. Jack, please. This man moved the sun just to see if he could. He's unpredictable and irresponsible. The best thing to do is ignore him.”

“If you say so,” Jack grumbles. The only difference between irresponsible power and malicious power, as far as he’s concerned, is that irresponsible people get to say they didn’t mean any harm. The harm gets done, either way.

All the passengers have been assigned to different ships, and a surprising number of the new arrivals move to board the Harvest Moon. Most of their Solesian allies will be travelling on the Moon, in addition to her crew and a few others, putting her near half capacity, and Jack expected the rest to be divided between the two larger ships. About a dozen of the volunteers make their way onto the little ship, though, and Jack is doubly surprised to see the kind face of Rosie Chebek among them.

“Mrs. Chebek, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve half a mind to send you right back the way you came.”

Her friendly smile turns into one of bemusement, and she crosses her arms in a way that reminds him sharply of his own mother. “And why’s that?”

“Because I know you’ve got four young pups that’d be heartbroken if anything happens to you,” he says. “And I can’t guarantee that nothing will.”

“Would you say the same to my husband, if he were here?”

“Yes, ma’am, I would.”

“Then I won’t bother telling you about the years I spent hopping ships on the northern sea before I settled down,” she says, swishing her whiskers proudly. “I’ll just say that leaving my pups motherless is a worthy risk if it means them and my sweet husband can live safe and free in their own home. And I’ll add, respectfully, that it’s my choice to make, not yours.”

The other volunteers seem to be watching this exchange with interest, some clearly supporting her defiance and others surprised that she’s speaking to Jack with such familiarity. Most of them are Ratfolk, with a few Goblinkin and other smaller Beasts among them.

“That’s well-said, ma’am, and I apologize if I’ve given any offense,” he tells her. “Welcome aboard.”

He offers his hand, and she gives it a firm shake, smiling warmly. “Thank you, captain.”

As Sunny steps forward to welcome their guests and get them settled, Ayda also climbs the gangplank, accompanied by her father and Fig. Jack glances at Garthy and finds them wearing the smile they typically reserve for especially difficult customers.

When Aguefort catches sight of Garthy, his eyes widen behind his spectacles. “Good gravy! You’re still alive!”

Garthy takes a deep breath and says pleasantly, “Yes, Arthur, I’m still alive. Likely for many more years.”

“I doubt that." Aguefort points to Jack and adds, with entirely too much enthusiasm, “He certainly won’t be.”

Jack clenches his fists, and Garthy lays a hand on his arm as he gowls, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Aguefort grins at Jack in delight. “What a beautifully resonant voice! Your shanty renditions must be positively haunting. Tell me, when you squeak, is it a little rat squeak or a big, deep squeak?”

“Squeak,” Jack replies flatly, and Fig snorts out a laugh. Garthy pushes his hand open and threads their fingers with his, squeezing gently.

Noticing the gesture, Aguefort’s grin widens into an almost manic curve. “Ayda! You didn’t tell me your guardian had a paramour!”

Ayda looks back and forth between all of them like she has no idea what’s going on. Jack’s not sure he does, either. To her father, she asks, “Is it necessary for you to receive that information?”

“Of course not!” he exclaims. “I just think it’s interesting.”

“Very well. I will endeavor to keep you apprised of future changes in their relationship status, though that may occur more rapidly than I’m able to report.”

Garthy rubs a hand over their eyes and sighs. “Ayda, sweetheart, your father’s not entitled to any information about my personal life, and I’d generally prefer you didn’t discuss it with him.”

“But I’m so intrigued!” Aguefort protests. “The romance! The drama!”

“Are none of your business,” Garthy snaps.

This time, Jack is the one to squeeze their hand. Politely, he says, “Pardon me, Mr. Aguefort. There’s quite a bit to be done before we cast off, and it’s best if only the crew and passengers are aboard, at the moment.”

“My word! That’s the nicest way of being told to fuck off I’ve ever heard.” Aguefort turns on his heel and struts back down the gangplank, calling, “Come along, Ayda! I want to look at the scary ship!”

“You’d best go with him, lovey,” Garthy tells Ayda. “Someone’s likely to stab him if he gets underfoot.”

She nods solemnly and dashes to catch up with her father, who moves surprisingly fast for such a small old man. Fig watches them go, then turns to Garthy with a curious look. “What was that about?”

“Nothing, lovey. Just never got on with old Arthur.” Their shoulders relax, and they let go of Jack’s hand, reaching for Fig with a smile. “Come on, now. I’ll show you to your bunk, yeah?”

Further preparations continue uneventfully. The Moon is ready to depart in record time, thanks to the assistance of her surprisingly industrious passengers, all of whom seem to know their way comfortably around a ship. When Jack remarks on it, Sunny tells him that sailing experience was part of the criteria.

Jack frowns. “How do you mean?”

“Well, a bunch of people wanted to be on our ship ‘cause we’re famous,” she explains. “Fabian thought we should pick randomly, just to be fair, but I said it would be helpful if we had people who could pitch in, since our crew’s so small. Then I figured people who don’t take up as much space might be more comfortable. Rosie had some friends who fit the bill, and that’s how come they're all from the Bilge.”

“Rosie? You mean Mrs. Chebek?”

“Yeah! She was really helpful, and she seems super nice.” Sunny elbows him and adds in a stage whisper, “She said she wants to take care of you, ‘cause you remind her of her dad.”

That gives him an unexpected pang, both sorrowful and sweet. He clears his throat and grumbles, “Well. Her old man must’ve been a miserable old cuss, then.”

Sunny rolls her eyes. “You know everybody sees right through your grumpy old man act, right?”

“I know, but I’ve been doing it too long to drop it,” he admits. “Any case, that’s a good bit of organizing you did. Good instincts.”

“I know,” she says casually, but she fluffs under the praise and gives him a bright smile. “Guess I had a good teacher.”

Jack snorts. “Lass, I might’ve taught you a bit about sailing, but I didn’t teach you how to choose a crew. That’s your own good judgment.”

She’s a better judge of character than he’s ever been, and her friendliness and charisma will make her the kind of captain that any crew would follow through the Hells. Jack considers it an honor to have given her even the smallest help along the way. When the tale of her adventures is written, he hopes there might be a favorable footnote dedicated to him.

The four captains, Sunny included, meet one last time on the pier to confirm the details for departure. The Rajadi is the slowest among them, and her new captain, a sinewy Half-Orc called Karg Bloodhollow, agrees to lead the course and let the smaller ships keep pace in her wake. By the time they get underway, the sun is setting at their backs, turning the skyline of Bastion City into a dark silhouette against the brilliant sky. A fair wind pushes them eastward into the Celestine, and a clouded night falls like a veil around them as the lights of Solace disappear over the horizon.

Jack doesn’t watch the lights fade. His eyes are fixed forward, to the darkened waves that stretch endlessly beyond the bow of the ship, to Leviathan, and to home.

Chapter Text

Supper is an unusually rousing affair. The crew and guests are gathered on the deck, under the glow of magic lights that shine with the unique colors of their casters. There are songs and stories, some Jack knows, some he doesn’t, and some that have taken on new meaning in the years since he last heard them.

He doesn’t catch the comment that prompts it, but he hears Garthy say, “That one’s a bit heavy, yeah?”

“It’s so good, though!” Ragh replies. “Dajmila’s not really my thing, but I love that story.”

“Really? I find it to be very dry in comparison to other Orcish legends,” Ayda remarks.

Laughing, Fig asks, “Wait, what story is this?”

“Ooh! Does Garthy have a story?” Cheese pipes up, which gets the attention of everyone else.

An expectant hush falls as all eyes turn toward Garthy, who seems taken aback by the sudden interest. They glance at Jack, but all he can give them is a curious frown.

“Alright, fine. But it’s a long one, and I’m telling it the way I learned it,” they announce with a sigh. Clearing their throat, they sit up straight from where they’ve been lounging at Jack’s side, under the shelter of an overhang, and take a deep breath before they begin.

“A thousand generations ago, the Zajiri walked the worlds. There are many stories told of pleasures taken and favors granted, but this is the last story and the one we know is true.”

This prompts a rush of murmurs from some listeners, who are quickly shushed by the rest. Garthy smiles and goes on.

“On a small island, near a peaceful village, on a quiet beach, the angel who is Crowned With Stars came upon a fisherwoman called Gartha. The angel asked, as they always did, what things brought Gartha pleasure. Gartha said, ‘There’s no greater pleasure than to share a hard-earned meal.’ So she taught the angel how to catch and clean fish and how to build a cooking fire on the beach.

“When they’d eaten, the angel asked again what other things brought Gartha pleasure, and she said, ‘There’s no greater pleasure than to host a gracious guest.’ So she brought the angel to her home and offered all the comfort and hospitality she could provide.

“The next day, the angel asked the same question again, and Gartha said, ‘There’s no greater pleasure than to be joyful with friends.’ So she brought the angel into the village for everyone to meet, and the whole community celebrated, because the Zajiri always bring good fortune.

“A week later, when the festivities ended, the angel asked again, and Gartha said, ‘There’s no greater pleasure than to take a beautiful lover.’ So they...”

Garthy hesitates, thinking, then says something in Orcish to Ragh, who shrugs. It’s a phrase Jack has heard at some point, but he doesn’t know the meaning.

“Right, so there’s an expression in Orcish for when you have really incredible sex with someone you’ve been waiting to sleep with, yeah?” Garthy says to the group at large. “It doesn’t translate properly, but you get the idea. They finally fucked, and it was good.”

There's a ripple of laughter like a sweet breeze across the deck. Jack thinks of returning to the Gardens after the Moon’s first voyage, of the relief and ravenous need when his hands were finally free to roam Garthy’s skin. They give him a warm smile, and he wonders if they’re thinking of it, too.

“Anyway, time went on. Every day, the angel asked the same question, and every day, Gartha shared something she loved. Finally, a year and a day after they first met on the beach, Gartha said, ‘I’ve shown you everything that brings me pleasure in this world, but you’ve experienced things beyond my understanding. What is it that most pleases you?’ The angel answered, ‘I’ve known sensations that no mortal body can withstand. I’ve danced with gods and laid with devils. Yet now I find there’s no greater pleasure for me than to be here with you.’ So the two of them lived in happiness for many years, and Gartha bore three children who were marked with the gold of heaven.”

Again, Garthy pauses, shifting in their seat and absently spinning a gold chain around their wrist. They might be holding for dramatic effect, but Jack has a feeling they just don’t want to tell the rest of the story. After a moment and another glance at him, though, they continue.

“Word spread across the tribes, and people came from all over to ask for blessings and give honor to the angel and their Favored. One of those who came was the chief of a large clan, and he courted the angel as if for marriage. He offered them fine gifts and promised them great wealth and power if they would leave Gartha and grant their favor to him, instead. The angel refused gently, saying that nothing was worth more to them than Gartha. Then the chief begged, weeping and declaring he would give all he had if the angel would lie with him for one night. The angel refused firmly, saying that by asking a second time he'd shown himself to be... basically a dirtbag.”

Fabian snorts. “Is that a literal translation?”

“The literal translation is something like mud-fucker,” Garthy explains. “Essentially, it’s someone who’s so bad at sex, they can’t get any without begging or threatening.”

“So like an incel,” Kristen says.

Garthy frowns and shakes their head, but Ayda replies, “Yes. Based on my understanding, I believe both terms refer to the same type of person.”

“Learn something new every day,” Garthy mutters. “Anyway. Incel, mud-fucker, dirtbag. Not a good person. Rubbish in bed. Yeah?”

“And probably not happy about getting turned down,” Fig prompts.

“Oh, lovey, he was furious. He’d brought some of his warriors with him, and he threatened to burn down the village if the angel didn’t do what he wanted. This time, the angel said nothing. With a wave of their hand, they sent the chief and his warriors to an empty wasteland on the other side of the world. It took the chief years to make his way back to Orekral, and many of his warriors died. On his travels, he met a foreign wizard with the power to bind the angel and force them to submit.

“When he returned to the little village, he brought the full might of his clan, and his warriors slaughtered all those who stood against them. The wizard trapped the angel, so they were helpless to protect their family as Gartha and two of her children were killed. The youngest child ran into the mountains to hide, but they stayed close enough to watch what unfolded.”

“Holy shit,” Riz mutters, and Garthy gives him a sad smile.

“I did say this got a bit heavy, yeah? For five days, the angel was at the mercy of their captors. They called out to their siblings for help, but Gruumsh forbid the others from going, afraid the wizard would trap them, too. When Gartha arrived in Acheron, she heard the angel’s cries, and she pleaded with the One-Eyed God to let her return to life long enough to save her beloved and kill the men who had violated them. Gruumsh agreed and granted her the power of the greatest warriors in history.

“When Gartha’s soul came back to her body, the force of her rage was so great that the ground beneath her cracked open, and the blood of the island drowned the invading warriors in lava. With the golden ax of Legrik Stormstrike, she split open the chief’s belly and laid his body on a flat stone. Then she did the same to the wizard, who shared the same guilt. With the caster dead, the spell ended, and the angel was free. Since Gartha’s task was finished, she returned to the feast hall of Gruumsh, to the place kept for the Zajiri and their Favored.

“The angel would have remained in the mortal world to care for their child, but Gruumsh called them back, saying that none of his attendants would ever again be allowed to leave Acheron. He decreed that the descendants of the Zajiri should be given the same honor as their celestial forbearers and should be the keepers of the Zajmati. So Gartha Last-Favored, called Grave-Breaker, and the Star-Crowned angel smile on their children from the great feast hall, surrounded by their kin and all the pleasures of heaven. This was told to me, and the teller claimed it was true.”

“Wait, I thought you knew this was true,” Kristen says.

“That’s just how you end a story. Like, happily ever after, the end, or whatever,” Ragh tells her. He looks to Garthy for confirmation, and they nod.

“So that’s your ancestor, right? That’s who you’re named after?” Sunny asks, and Garthy nods again.

“There were other lines of descent from other Zajiri, but they’re all lost, now,” they explain. “The Gravebreaker clan’s the only one left.”

Jack recalls Hagur saying that someone like Garthy was born every few generations, at most. He thinks of that frightened child hiding in the mountains as their family was slaughtered, and he wonders how many of those gold-touched people have been dealt tragedy because of their gifts. He also wonders why a child who was supposed to be honored like an angel was left alone and starving on the streets of Leviathan.

“Does that mean you’re, like, it?” Kristen asks. “If you don’t have kids, then... poof, no more?”

Garthy grimaces. “No way to know without tracking genetics, yeah? But... probably.”

Kristen turns to Jack and opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off quickly, “Whatever you’re about to ask, lass, don’t.”

Slowly, she closes her mouth and sits back. Her brother snickers, and she elbows him hard in the ribs.

There’s no way in the nine hells that Jack is discussing inter-species reproduction in front of an audience, mostly because it’s private and partly because he’s long since taken steps to avoid any accidental children. From conversations over the years, he suspects Garthy has done the same.

“Well, that’s my story, lovies,” Garthy announces cheerfully. “Someone else’s turn.”

The Tabaxi courtesan, Harbor, borrows an instrument from another passenger and begins a bawdy tavern song that immediately has his audience laughing and cheering. Freed from the attention, Garthy leans back against Jack’s side and draws his arm around their shoulders, relaxing into him with a sigh that feels like relief. He kisses their temple and holds them close, savoring their warmth in the cold sea wind.

Another song passes before they whisper into his ear, “Take me to bed.”

He nods, and they rise gracefully from the deck. It’s impossible to slip away without being noticed, but the only person who comments is Fig, who says in a sing-sing voice, “Good night!”

Jack shoots her a look, and she grins back with an exaggerated wink.

The moment the cabin door is closed, Garthy pushes him back against it and traps him in a long, deep kiss that leaves him aching and breathless. They bite his lip playfully as they pull away, their eyes shimmering softly in the shadowed room.

“That was quite a story,” Jack says.

Garthy makes a face and steps back with a sigh. “It’s a tragedy, yeah? I don’t like tragedies, and I’d rather not think about it, anymore.”

“Right, sorry.” He can see why they might not care to be reminded that their family history is rooted in cruelty and violence. “What would you like to think about?”

Smiling slyly, they keep moving backward until they’re leaning against the desk. “Tell you what I’ve thought about every day since I set foot in this cabin.”

“What’s that?”

“This lovely desk,” they say, trailing a finger along the wooden edge. “And you bending me over it.”

Jack swallows hard and takes one slow step toward them. “Admit I’ve had the same thought, myself.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. After a month at sea, the imagination gets... vivid.” He’s dreamed of them and woken with his cock leaking. He’s sat in that chair and taken himself in hand with visions of their perfect body writhing in his mind.

“So you do miss me when you’re away,” they murmur, standing up from the desk as he gets closer. “Miss you, as well, yeah? When you’re gone, it’s like an itch in my veins. Doesn’t matter what I do to scratch it, nothing makes it stop but you.”

It’s exaggeration for the sake of foreplay, but Jack doesn’t care. In the lonely moments when there’s nothing else to occupy him, he feels the chain that binds him to them stretched tight across the leagues, pulling him back toward his anchor. They could call for him from any shore, and he’d swim the breadth of the Celestine to reach them. If they think of him at all while he’s out of their sight, that’s enough.

They turn and press their back against his chest, pushing the soft curve of their ass into his groin. He reaches into the front of their trousers and slips one finger between their soft folds. They moan loudly, and he closes his other hand gently over their mouth.

“We’ve got guests,” he reminds them. “You start screaming, folks might get the wrong idea.”

Or the right one. He’s so certain that would be their reply, he can almost hear them say it. Instead, they answer with a short nod and lean their head back onto his shoulder.

They moan again when he starts to move his finger, but it’s barely audible. His palm fills quickly with the soft sounds of their pleasure as he rubs their clit with slow, firm circles. He dips the tip of his finger inside them, and they shudder in his arms. Their breath quickens, catching on every stroke, until they’re gasping and shaking. He can feel the heat of their body rising to a feverish burn, as if he’s holding the sun itself. Trapping them against the edge of the desk, he uses his knees to push their feet apart and spreads their soft flesh so that he can massage their swollen clit between two fingers. They cry out against his hand and grasp desperately at his sleeves, opening their legs for him as much as they can.

They’re close, getting closer by the second. Jack can smell it, taste it in the air, feel it in the shivering tension of their body. He wants to make them come before he fucks them. He wants them dripping and boneless with pleasure before he bends them over the desk and makes them come again.

He gets his wish. It’s a small climax, compared to the ones he’s wrung out of them before, the first wave of a crashing tide, but it’s enough to make them spasm sharply in his arms as wet heat floods between their legs.

They keen softly as he slips his hand out of their trousers. He takes his other hand away from their mouth and lays it over their heart, holding them gently until their pulse starts to settle.

After a moment, Garthy lifts his hand and places a soft kiss on his palm, then leans forward to stretch out across the desk. Their fitted black shirt is rucked up to reveal their lower back and the twisting gold tattoos that run along their spine. They rest their head on folded arms and look back over their shoulder at Jack with an expectant smile. He runs his hands up their back, pushing the shirt up further, savoring every inch of their perfect skin. Garthy sighs happily at his touch and closes their eyes as his hands move back to push their trousers slowly over their hips.

He crouches down to slip off their shoes and let them step out of the trousers, then kisses his way back up their inner thigh, pausing to drag his tongue slowly over their cunt and making them groan. Briefly, he considers staying here and lapping at their clit until they come again. They asked him to bend them over the desk, but they didn’t specify what they want him to do now that they’re there.

It’s tempting, but he stands and takes a moment to appreciate the sight of them, spread out and waiting like a feast. Drawing his finger down the curve of their backside, he asks, “Where do you want it?”

“Mmm. Let’s say dealer’s choice, yeah?”

Perfect. “Oil?”

“In my pack. Side pocket.”

With the little vial in hand and his coat hung by the door, he returns to give them a sharp slap on the ass, and they yelp in surprise. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t apologize, lovey, just warn me next time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teases. He leans over them, pressing them down against the desk, and whispers in their ear, “Want me to do it again?”

“Yes, please.”

Still holding them down, he obliges with a harder slap on the other cheek, and they gasp.

“More?”

“Yes! No. Fuck,” they groan. “Gods, Jack, just fuck me. Please.”

He won’t make them ask twice. Standing up, he uses a scant bit of oil and the hem of his shirt to wipe clean the end of his tail, then coats it with more oil. Garthy’s eyes are still closed, and they breathe in sharply when he slides the narrow tip of his tail into their ass.

“Oh, fuck. What...? Is that your tail?”

“Aye. That alright?” It’s been a while, but he recalls them being rather pleased with this little trick.

“Yes, love, it’s perfect,” they groan. “Gods. I forgot you could do that.”

Jack chuckles, just a bit pleased with himself. His tail isn’t fully prehensile, but it’s got enough dexterity that he can hold it in place and make small movements. He unfastens his trousers and wraps an oil-slick hand around his aching cock with a sigh of relief. It quickly swells to its full length, aided by Garthy’s soft sounds of pleasure as his tail slowly works them open. When he starts to push into their cunt, they bury their face in their arms to muffle their moans.

With one hand on their backside and one on his cock, he pumps his hips in shallow, rapid thrusts. Garthy gasps and spreads their legs as far as they, their feet barely touching the floor. In this position, they have no leverage and no freedom to move, placing themself utterly at Jack’s mercy. The angle lets him see their tender flesh stretching around his cock, lets him watch as each thrust gets them just a little bit looser and just a little bit wetter. When he has them gaping and soaking and sobbing with pleasure into their folded arms, he pushes all the way and stops. Still holding them down with one hand, he moves the other hand to his tail and starts to work it in and out of their ass.

Garthy makes an anguished sound that Jack knows to be a sign of almost painful arousal. They’re still quiet enough that no one outside will hear them, but he doesn’t trust them to stay that way. He stops to tug his shirt over his head, and they groan in desperation.

“Don’t stop! Gods, Jack, please don’t stop.”

He rolls up his shirt and leans forward to slip it under their head. The movement pushes both his cock and tail further into them, forcing out a sharp cry.

“Just making sure you can keep quiet,” he says.

When he moves his tail again, they immediately bite down on the shirt to muffle their sobs. He can feel the shifting pressure on his cock as his tail presses deeper. With a foot’s length of tail inside them, Jack shifts his hand to hold both cock and tail together and moves his free hand to the small of Garthy’s back. The first few thrusts are slow, tentative, making sure he can keep his grip and that the combined penetration isn’t too much for Garthy. From the instant rush of wet heat and the stifled moan of ecstasy, he gathers they’re still enjoying themself. He swaps hands to hold onto himself with the one less slick with oil. Then he fucks them hard.

Garthy reaches out to grip the opposite edge of the desk, wailing quietly into the makeshift gag. Both their holes are loose and slick, trembling helplessly as Jack slams into them. As his speed increases, Garthy’s whines become more desperate, and the flood of wet heat becomes continuous. He gives them a hard slap across the top of their ass, and their whole body shudders. He slaps them again, harder, fucking them at a brutal pace. Again and again until they’re shaking, clenching, gushing around his cock.

He doesn’t stop. He fucks them through wave after shuddering wave, relentless. His own climax is so close he can taste it, feel it coiling like a spring in his belly. His rhythm falters, but he braces his hand on the desk and keeps going. Almost, almost, almost...

His vision goes gray around the edges when he comes. He bends over the desk, holding Garthy down and rutting like an animal while his cock empties inside them.

Dizzy, he rests his head on Garthy’s back and waits for the world to stop spinning. The scent of jasmine and honey is made thick by the feverish heat of their skin, mixed with the sharp smell of sweat and sex. Jack breathes it like sacred incense and holds it in his lungs as if it carries a whisper of their bright divinity, as if it might leave the slightest shimmer of celestial gold inside him. He breathes out slowly, reluctantly. Any gold that touches him can only ever be borrowed.

Leaving a kiss on the curve of their spine, he straightens and steps back, carefully drawing his tail out of their ass. No longer pinned, they stand up slowly on trembling legs and turn around, sitting on the edge of the desk and stretching their arms overhead with a satisfied groan. They pull Jack back toward them for a kiss and sigh as they wrap their legs around his waist.

“Good as you expected?” he asks.

“Better than, lovey.” They hum happily and run their fingers through the fur on his chest. “The tail was a nice surprise. And the spanking.”

He ducks his head in apology. “Suppose I should have asked first.”

“By now, I’d say you have blanket permission for most things, yeah?” they tell him, tilting his chin up to place a kiss on his nose. “You know what I like, and I trust you.”

The limits of that trust still linger in the back of his mind, but they trust him to provide pleasure, at least. He has no right to ask for anything else.

Outside, the sound of laughter and voices carries through the door. Jack nods toward it and says, “Sounds like things are still carrying on, if you’d like to join ‘em.”

A frown flickers across their face, but it softens into an easy smile. “Only if you want to, love. Probably best if we both get some rest though, yeah? Long days past and longer ones ahead.”

“Just don’t want you feeling cooped up. Sure some folks would be happy to come in here, if you want more company.” This voyage is starting on a better foot than the last one, but Jack is still going to do everything he can to keep Garthy comfortable. He’ll have no trouble finding volunteers to serve and service them, if needed.

“Right now, the only company I want is you, darling.” They drape their arms around his neck, trailing kisses along the edge of his jaw. “I’m not quite finished with you.”

He can’t help but close his eyes and lean into them. “What happened to getting some rest?”

“Short rest,” they reply, grinning. “Then I’m going to sit on your beautiful face.”

Jack shivers at the promise. If he’s what they want, then he’s theirs, body and soul.

They drag their fingernails across his shoulders and whisper in his ear, “When you’re ready, I’m going to suck your cock so hard, that keen mind of yours shuts off. Then I’m going to brush your lovely fur until you fall asleep in my arms.”

“Well. Not gonna argue with that, am I?” he huffs, and Garthy rolls their eyes.

“Jacky my love, I think you’d argue with the wind itself if you thought it was being too favorable.” They give him a quick kiss and add, “But I’m very glad you’re not arguing now.”

Once they’re both cleaned up and naked in the bed, Garthy instructs Jack to lie on his stomach, then gives him a sharp slap on his ass. He grunts in surprise, but they just grin and straddle his hips, leaning forward to massage the tense muscles in his neck.

Their strong hands work gently, soothing and kneading the heavy knots. The bracelets on their wrists jingle with the movement, like soft bells in the stillness, and they hum a quiet tune that they once told Jack was a lullaby, though he’s never heard the words. Even in this peaceful moment, he has to make himself relax. Letting himself be cared for has never come easily, but it feels impossible with all the worries crowding his mind and the gnawing sense that he’s never deserved tenderness less than he does now.

Garthy digs a knuckle into the knot between his shoulder blades, and his whole body twitches. He groans in pain as much as relief, and they ease up, rubbing firmly with the heel of their hand.

“Don’t see how you can be this tense after sex,” they mutter. “I’m starting to take it as a personal offense.”

Jack thinks that an orgasm strong enough to make him truly relax would probably give him a stroke. “Suppose you’ll just have to try again, ‘ey?”

“Oh, I plan to, lovey.” They press down hard on another knot, and he groans again. “Just want to wear you out a bit, first.”

Worn out is an apt description by the time they decide he’s had enough. His back and shoulders are sore like he’s spent the day hauling rigging, but at least some of the tension has been worked away. Before they let him up, Garthy gently kisses the patch on his right shoulder where the fur grows just a little bit thinner, worn away by the rough wood of a broken mast. He flops gracelessly onto his back and gives all his limbs a good stretch.

Garthy waits for him to settle before they ask, “Ready for me?”

Already salivating, he nods, and they swing one leg over to straddle him again. With a knee planted on either side, the width of his shoulders forces their legs apart, so all they have to do is lift up and lean forward to place their cunt perfectly over his mouth.

He noses delicately at their soft folds. They gasp and sink reflexively lower, bracing their hands on the wall. This is an easy position for him, but it will be harder for them to hold as they get closer to climax. Efficiency is called for, so Jack immediately pushes his nose against the underside of their clit and slides his tongue into them, lapping at the sensitive spot just past the entrance. Garthy moans, and wetness floods into his mouth. He rubs his tongue hard over that spot inside them until the flood comes again, then he begins to lick the length of their cunt with firm, broad strokes.

With every pass, he pauses longer on their clit, pressing and circling his tongue, feeling it swell and throb as their breath comes faster. When he glances up to see them biting down on their own arm to keep quiet, he starts to suck on their clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

In less than a minute, they’re shaking, moaning, gushing, grinding down onto his face. He keeps sucking and licking, keeping their legs spread and his muzzle buried in their sopping, shivering cunt.

Finally they sob, “Mercy! Mercy. Please. I can’t... Fuck, I can’t.”

Jack gives one last gentle lick, then ducks his head out of the way as they fall backward onto the bed with a huff, leaving one leg draped heavily across his chest. He rests his hand on their ankle, running his fingers lightly over their shin while they catch their breath. There’s an ornate gold flower tattooed on the top of their foot and a short jagged scar on the bottom. The tattoo is familiar; the scar isn’t.

All he wants to do is soak in the contentment of this moment, to savor the taste of their pleasure in his mouth and listen to them breathe. All he can think about is the girls in his youth who only wanted him for one thing.

Breathless, Garthy says, “I would like that, every day, forever. Please and thank you.”

Jack snorts. “Happy to oblige.”

“Seriously, lovey. I’ve got all sorts of delicious plans for your retirement, several of which involve that lovely mouth.”

“Well, I’ve got no plans, so I’m entirely at your leisure.”

Once, he imagined he’d spend his twilight days haunting a corner of the Gold Gardens, but even then, he never gave it much thought. The idea that he’d live long enough to retire seemed like a fantasy. Now, with the Gardens gone and a battle looming, anything beyond the next few days feels lost to shadow.

Garthy tucks their legs against his side and props themself up on one elbow, smiling. “I like the sound of that.”

He can’t help but smile back at them. Honestly, he says, “So do I.”

Their promise to suck his cock is deferred by the limitations of his body, but they insist on brushing him. The brush is new, and the oil has a warm smell that wraps around him like a hearth fire. They hum the same lullaby, their bracelets jingling softly.

Jack thinks of his parents, grooming each of their pups quickly before bed. As the youngest, he always went last, so any disruption in routine often meant that he went without. When his siblings were old enough to groom each other, his mother started giving him extra attention, which earned him mockery as mama’s little baby. He remembers his first love, a young Tabaxi sailor, and the rare nights at port when they could be alone and take time to care for each other. Garthy is the only other person he’s ever asked to do this for him, and he’s still astonished when they offer.

He falls asleep with tears in his eyes and dreams of a fire on a beach.

The next day dawns silvery gray, with a soft fall of cold rain that grows in intensity as the morning draws on. The wind is blustery, but not unfavorable, and the three ships keep steady on their course, despite being tossed about on the waves. As the cold rain soaks into everything, the mood aboard the Harvest Moon remains surprisingly cheerful. The sailors are accustomed to unpleasant weather, and the passengers gather in groups belowdecks, keeping each other entertained. The good spirits are aided by Garthy, who drops seamlessly into their familiar role as host, making sure everyone is comfortable and having a good time. Even their presence is enough to ease tensions and lighten hearts. There’s no telling what morale would have been like without them, and Jack is infinitely grateful for their ability to put everyone around them at ease. He suspects that feeling a little more in their element also helps to fend off their own discomfort and seasickness.

Though the storm itself is mild, the heavy rain sweep across the deck with driving force. Jack limits topside shifts to an hour at a time to keep the crew from getting sick. With the extra hands aboard, everyone has plenty of time to rest and dry between shifts.

Jack takes a double shift on the wheel in the afternoon, and every part of him that isn’t protected by his coat is soaked through in minutes. After two hours, his hands are numb with cold, and his bad leg has cramped to the point of immobility. Ayda relieves him with a look that probably doesn’t mean anything but still feels like judgment. He nearly slips on the stairs leaving the upper deck and has to catch himself awkwardly on the railing. He doesn’t turn to see what kind of look Ayda gives him, then.

In the relative warmth of the cabin, he hangs up his wet clothes and dries off as best he can before pulling on a clean shirt and curling up in the bed, shivering. Barely a minute passes before the door opens with a soft creak, and Cheese slips quietly into the room, holding a large steaming tankard.

Jack sticks his nose out from under the blanket to ask, “Everything alright?”

Cheese stops, startled. “What? Oh! Yeah, everything’s fine. Ayda just thought you might need something to warm up.”

He must have looked truly pathetic to make Ayda send help. The steam from the tankard carries an aroma of rich spices and sweet herbs, with the slightest hint of honey and rum. Just the smell of it makes him feel warmer. Without sitting up, he reaches one hand out to take it, murmuring, “Thanks.”

Instead of leaving, Cheese hops onto the foot of the bed while Jack sips the unfamiliar tea. Despite his size, Jack has never thought of Cheese as small. His energy and personality are big enough to fill any room and meet any challenge, but now that expansive aura feels like it’s been shrunk down into two feet and ten inches of uncertainty. He looks around the room in the restless way that means he has something on his mind.

“How’re you faring, lad?” Jack asks.

“Fine,” he answers automatically. “I mean, not really fine, I guess. Everything kind of sucks, but I’m doing okay. Better. It’s a lot.”

It is, indeed, a lot. “Aye.”

“Nothing’s really happened to me, though,” Cheese goes on. “All the really bad stuff has happened to you or Garthy or Ayda, but I still feel kinda messed up about it. I keep having nightmares, and stuff keeps popping into my head, and... I don’t know.”

He trails off, shaking his head and pulling his knees up to his chest.

Jack thinks for a moment before he says, “I think sometimes it’s easier to get your head around the bad things that happen to yourself than things that happen to people you love. Couldn’t tell you why, but that’s been my experience.”

“So what do you do?” Cheese asks. “How do you get your head around it?”

“Time, mostly. Things tend to get easier with a bit of distance.” It’s not the best answer, but it’s the only one he has. Time is the only reliable balm Jack’s ever had. The wounds it hasn’t healed have at least scarred over.

“Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” Cheese takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I wanna be a pirate anymore.”

The change in subject is so abrupt, Jack can’t stop himself from saying, “Good.”

Cheese looks at him in surprise. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Well, not mad, I guess, just... unhappy.”

“Unhappy Sunny won’t have you helping her out, maybe,” Jack says. "She’ll be hard pressed to find ten crewmen with half your grit.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda scared to tell her,” Cheese admits, wincing. “I mean, I was really scared to tell you.”

“Why?”

He shrugs and stares down at the toes of his shoes. “’Cause you taught me how to be a pirate, but now I don’t wanna be one, so I thought you might be, y’know, kinda disappointed in me.”

Jack sighs. He sets down the mostly empty tankard and sits up, keeping the bedclothes gathered around him. The shivering has stopped, but he’s still freezing. “Cheese, I could never be disappointed in you. You’re brilliant, and you’re gonna be brilliant, whatever you do. Don’t matter if you’re a pirate or a poet or a... a damn politician.”

Cheese laughs, tears welling in his dark eyes. “I don’t think I wanna be a politician, either.”

“Don’t blame you for that,” Jack replies. He tries to smile, but the weight of his thoughts turns his mouth back down. “Wherever you go, they’ll be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks.” Cheese sniffles and clears his throat, wiping his eyes before he asks, “So what are you gonna do once you’re not a captain, anymore?”

That really is the question, isn’t it? “Oh, I’ll figure something out. Recent events threw a bit of a wrench in my plans.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess so.”

They both fall silent for a second, recalling how much has changed in just the past few days. Even if the coming fight is won, there’ll be a scar left on the face of Leviathan for many years yet. There may not be any place left for Jack, but he’s going to make damn sure his family still has a home.

When Cheese leaves, Jack curls back up under the blanket. There’s a bit of time before supper, and he’s still chilled and exhausted. A quick nap will do him some good.

It feels like he’s barely closed his eyes before he wakes to the scent of jasmine and honey and the feel of a warm hand brushing gently over his forehead. He opens his eyes to find Garthy crouched beside the bed. Their beautiful face is lit by a soft smile and seems to glow with their own internal radiance. Jack’s breath catches, and his heart aches with adoration. If he could ask any blessing in the world for himself, it would be for this sight to greet him every day of his life.

“Hello there, darling,” they whisper sweetly, still petting him. “You missed supper.”

“What? No, it’s...” Jack turns to the window over the bed and sees that the dim gray sky has gone inky black, though the sound of rain persists. “Fuck. Didn’t mean to sleep that long.”

He hauls himself upright with a groan, but Garthy lays a hand on his chest before he can get any further. “You can sleep as long as you like, love. Everything’s calm and quiet.”

“Shouldn’t be lying about while there’s work being done,” he grumbles, but he stays sitting as Garthy retrieves a plate of food from the desk. “Shoulda helped with supper, at least.”

“You were certainly missed, but your crew took the opportunity to tell stories of your exploits.” They hand him the plate and move to lounge across the foot of the bed while he eats. “Even told a few tales, myself.”

Jack looks up at them in horror. “You didn’t.”

“Nothing lascivious,” they assure him. “Well, not too lascivious. I did praise your oral abilities in great detail and confirm a rumor about the size of your cock. I think some of your guests might be keen for a ride.”

“Right, well. Just won’t show my face for the rest of the trip, then,” he sighs, already anticipating the whispers and giggles.

Garthy rolls their eyes. “Then I’d better not tell you all the other lovely things that were said, yeah? You might throw yourself overboard.”

“I might, at that.” Frowning, Jack asks, “Myrtle didn’t happen to mention someone called Morgan, did she?”

The grin that spreads across their face answers the question. “She most certainly did, you little homewrecker.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know either of them was married, much less married to each other.”

“My poor darling. You really do have awful luck with lovers,” they say with genuine sympathy.

“I’d say I spent my luck on you,” he points out. “Doesn’t get luckier than that.”

Their smile softens. “Both got lucky, didn’t we, Jacky my love?”

If anything, he thinks he’s been a bad penny in their pocket since the day they met, but he’s not going to argue.

When he’s finished eating, Garthy returns the empty plate to the desk, then they undress and slide under the blanket beside him. He lies down with them, and they relax into his arms with a contented sigh. All the bad luck in his life is nothing next to this.

As much as he wants to hold them as long as he can, he warns them, “I have to be back on the wheel at dawn. Might need to bed down elsewhere, if you want a full night’s sleep.”

“Absolutely not, darling. Early morning’s a small price for a night with you.”

“If you say so.”

They wrap their arms around him and hitch one leg over his thigh. The heat of their body immediately banishes the persistent chill from his bones. It soaks into him like sunshine and wraps around him like velvet. He lets out a slow breath and holds them close, clinging to peace and comfort while he can. He has to remind himself not to hold on too tightly.

Morning comes much too soon.

Garthy murmurs and reaches for him as he climbs out of bed, and he kisses their hand softly. “Just getting up for a bit. Go back to sleep.”

They mumble something that sounds affectionate and burrow into the warm hollow left by his body in the mattress. Their face softens, relaxing back into sleep, and Jack’s breath catches in his chest. For a moment, all he can do is stand there, paralyzed by adoration. He could spend hours meditating on the gentle curves of their lips and cheeks, the regal lines of their nose and brow, the velvet shadows of their hair and lashes, and he’d still never get his fill of looking at them.

The moment passes. He shakes himself out of reverie, pulling on his shirt and trousers and padding silently to the door. There’s still work to be done.

The cold rain is still coming down when Jack returns to the upper deck, but he can see the edge of the storm shadow and the thin rays of dawn reaching toward the bow. He spends his shift soaked and freezing, but at least there’s clear skies ahead.

This time, the person who relieves him is Riz, outfitted in a bright yellow slicker and large goggles. He gives Jack a cheerful salute and hops up on the standing block that lets the shorter crew members see over the wheel. Jack makes a mental note to speak with Sunny about extending Riz an offer to join the crew. If he’s decided to add sailcraft to his already impressive repertoire of skills, he’d be a valuable addition.

The rest of the day is a flurry of activity. As the three ships get closer to Leviathan, the Ironwood will break away and aim to make port under cover of night. A mid-sized ship with a Human captain will draw less attention than the distinctly Orcish Bajat or the well-known Harvest Moon. Once she docks, a few small teams will quietly secure the ships belonging to the blue coats and their allies, which should be marked in advance. If the ships aren’t marked, or if their enemies know that Captain Olagawe has a connection to Garthy, the entire operation will become infinitely more difficult.

The shadow of failure looms heavy in Jack’s mind. It was his idea to cut off the blue coats’ escape and his suggestion that Marcid take the lead, and it will be his responsibility if things go wrong. Moreover, the stealth teams will also include Myrtle, Cheese, Spaulding, and Riz, leaving him with a sick feeling of worry in the pit of his stomach.

With the sunset blazing at their backs, word comes down from the towering crow’s nest of the Bajat. Leviathan is in sight.

For the last time, Jack calls his crew together in the cabin.

“All set?” he asks.

Marcid nods. “Everyone that’s going is getting in place on the Ironwood. Olagawe figures she’ll be docked by midnight. Should give us plenty of time to clear the way.”

“Good.” Jack takes a deep breath. “I won’t keep you. Just wanted to have a quick word while we’re all still here.”

“Are you gonna make a speech?” Bob gasps in delight. “You give such good speeches!”

“Oh no,” Myrtle groans. “If you get emotional, then we’re all gonna get emotional.”

“I dunno. I think a few inspiring words seems appropriate,” Spaulding points out.

“I’m already emotional,” Cheese adds.

Sunny just stands quietly with her hands on her hips and her beak trembling, obviously struggling not to cry, while Marcid is characteristically inscrutable.

The absence of Stimey suddenly strikes Jack like a sharp blow. The one member of his crew that should have been safest is the one who’s gone. His only friend through the worst years of his life, and Jack has barely spared him a thought. It takes a moment for Jack to collect himself enough to speak again.

“You all know I’m not usually one for sentiment, but seeing as this is my last voyage as captain, I’m hoping you might indulge me for a moment.”

“Oh, you’re very sentimental,” Myrtle says.

“You are rather a soft touch,” Marcid adds.

Jack sighs. “Right. Fine. I’m a sentimental old salt, and I’d like to say a couple words to mark my retirement. Alright?”

The crew murmurs assent, and Jack takes another breath. This is harder than he expected.

“I just want to say it’s been a privilege sailing with you and an honor knowing you. Every one of you’s extraordinary. You’re the finest people I’ve ever met, and the... the best friends anyone could ask for. Don’t have words to tell you how grateful I am for everything you... just for everything. I’m gonna miss you, and, ah... and I love you.”

Sunny bursts into tears and throws her arms around his waist. Cheese and Spaulding are right behind her, both sniffling loudly. Bob is crying her beautiful golden tears as she hugs him tightly around the neck. His arms aren’t big enough to hold all of them, and he wishes he could. He wishes he could wrap each of them in a protective embrace and shield them from the worst things in the world, but he’s already failed that a hundred times over. After today, he won’t be able to protect them from anything.

He manages to hold back his own tears until the four of them step back and Myrtle moves in for a hug of her own, her face scrunched up with emotion. She lets out a soft, ragged sob into his shoulder, and that’s more than Jack can take. Hot tears force their way out of his eyes and soak into his fur, and he hugs Myrtle tight enough that her bubble of water sloshes onto the front of his clothes.

“Fuck, Myrtle,” he chokes out. “Now who’s sentimental?”

“Ugh, stop it.” She laughs wetly and pulls back, dabbing at her eyes. Taking his hand, she fixes him with a stern look and adds, “Please don’t die again.”

“I’ll do my best.”

As the others start to file out, Marcid hangs back, jerking his head toward the door when Cheese gives him a curious look.

Jack waits until everyone is gone before he says, “Don’t you start, too.”

“Don't worry. I’m not gonna hug you,” Marcid grumbles. “Just got a few words to say, myself.”

He takes a second to clear his throat before he goes on, “I’ve worked for a lot of bad men, done a lot of unsavory things. Some of it I’m ashamed of, some I’m not. Only thing I’ve ever really been proud of is sailing with this crew, and you’re the only man I’ve ever been proud to follow.”

Jack nearly falls over in shock. “Oh. Well. I...”

“Just keep that in mind, ‘ey?” Marcid finishes. He opens his mouth to say something else, then closes it. With a sharp nod, he turns toward the door.

“Marcid,” Jack says. Marcid stops. “Good luck.”

“You too, mate.”

The door closes, and Jack is left alone in the cabin. There’s no relief at having said any of it, no sense of having accomplished something. It just feels like one more step toward the grave.

He scrubs roughly at his eyes and puts himself to rights before making his way out onto the deck. There’ll be plenty of time to feel sorry for himself later. For now, there’s work to be done, and they’ve officially run out of daylight. At least it’s stopped raining.

As the Ironwood slips ahead through the night, the Moon and the Bajat trim their sails. If the wind holds, they’ll reach Leviathan just after sunrise, hopefully with a clear harbor and allies waiting to meet them. The Moon is a silent ghost in the shadow of the larger ship, but the deck of the Bajat is alight with celebration, everyone preparing for battle in their own ways.

Jack is preparing by making notes for Sunny. He keeps thinking of little pieces of advice that either never came up or are things he wished someone had told him when he was a young sailor. There are some things she already knows, but he thinks it might be useful to have a written reference, as well. That way she doesn’t have to keep it all in her head, and it might feel a little like he’s there with her when she needs it. He wants to get it all down before he forgets and in case... Well. Just in case.

Midnight is fast approaching when Garthy returns from the Bajat, bringing with them the rum-soaked scent of smoke and sex. They’ve lost their shirt again, and the number of necklaces and bracelets has doubled. They lean back against the door, loose-limbed and languid, a thick curl of hair flopping carelessly into their face.

In a low voice, rough with drink, they purr, “There you are.”

Nothing in the world will ever be as beautiful as this perfect creature. The angel that sired their ancestors might compare, but Jack is certain no mortal being has ever come close.

"Here I am,” he says. “Party finished already? Figured they’d go ‘til she hits the dock.”

“Oh, they will. If they do things properly, the festivities will just roll over into the fighting.” Grinning, they stalk slowly forward and lean onto the desk. “But I got what I needed, and now I want what I really need.”

Jack frowns, puzzled. “What’s that?”

“You.”

“Oh. Well.” He clears his throat, ears hot. “Give me just another moment, then I’m all yours.”

They circle the desk and crouch down beside him resting their arms on the side of the chair. “What are you working on?”

“Just some notes for Sunny. Want to get it all down while it’s on my mind.”

He runs his fingers gently through their hair, and they lean into the touch with a sigh. “Hurry then, yeah? I might get tired of waiting.”

“Almost done,” he promises.

For a moment, they don’t move, closing their eyes as he pets them. They might get tired of waiting, but he’ll spend eternity in perfect patience for the promise of moments like this.

Finally, they stand up slowly and drop a kiss on the corner of his mouth before they move to flop on the bed. Jack returns to writing, though regaining the thread of his thoughts is more of a challenge with Garthy sprawled against the pillows.

Peaceful quiet settles in the cabin, filled with the scratching of Jack’s pen and the gentle creaking of the ship.

A minute passes before Garthy says suddenly, “Love is madness, isn’t it?”

Jack looks up, frowning. “What?”

“It’s madness,” they say again. “I mean, all love is really, but romantic love is just the worst, yeah? It’s this feeling that only exists for one other person. Or multiple people, but I’m not sure that’s better. That’s just more people to worry about and break each other’s hearts. Don’t see why anyone would want that. I certainly never did.”

Before Jack can catch up to the conversation, they go on, “When you love your friends, it’s mutual, yeah? That’s how friendship works. If you’ve got a child, you love them, and if you’re not a complete twat, they’ll love you back. It makes sense. But if you fall in love with someone, you’re helpless. If it’s not mutual or they leave or something happens, you can just be stuck with this feeling that makes no sense and has nowhere to go. Why would anyone choose that?”

The only response he can possibly think of is, “Pretty sure most people don’t get much choice in the matter.”

“But isn’t that worse?” they counter. “Even if you want it in the abstract, you still don’t get to choose who you fall in love with, much less when or how. It just happens, and you have to suffer the consequences. And if you don’t want it, and it happens anyway, then what?”

“Suppose you just hope for the best, same as anyone else.”

Garthy sits up on the bed and studies him intently. “Did you choose it?”

“What?”

“Times you’ve been in love, did you choose it?”

“Well... no.”

“Would you?” they ask. “Knowing everything that came after, if you could go back and do it again, would you still want to be in love?”

He hesitates. His first love left him without a word after nearly two years together. His second love was a brief and unremarkable reprieve from loneliness that ended in mutually amicable disappointment. His third love just went on an unprompted tirade against the very concept of romantic love.

“Aye, I would.”

Garthy tilts their head in surprise. “Really?”

Jack nods. “It was worth it.”

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

They lie back against the pillows with a thoughtful frown, apparently baffled by the notion that there could be anything worthwhile to falling in love. Jack knows not to take it personally, and he tries not to let it sting. He knows they’ve never been interested in anything other than friendship, with him or anyone else. Even if he got nothing else from them, their friendship is worth it.

He shakes his head and tries to focus back on the note he’s been writing. After a moment, he asks, “Somebody get married on the Bajat? Got you thinking about the madness of it all?”

“Lovey, Orcish weddings last a week. This little fête is a quiet salon by comparison,” they tell him. “No, I was just thinking, yeah? Had a chat with Igna. Put me in a mood.”

“Well, with any luck, you’ll never descend into that madness, yourself,” he observes.

They lift their head to look at him with a furrowed brow. “What do you mean?”

“Just mean if you don’t want it, then I hope you don’t get stuck with it.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

Jack pauses, suddenly uncertain. They’ve told him about lovers who held particular significance, but he’s sure they never said anything about love. Whoever it was seems to have been more trouble than they were worth. “Oh. Sorry. You just never mentioned anyone... special. Not that kind of special.”

Garthy sits up again and stares at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I don’t... What?” He’s clearly missed something. “What are you talking about?”

“Jack, I’m in love with you.”

For a second, the words don’t process. Once they do, it still doesn’t make sense. “You what?”

“I’m in love with you,” they say again with an exasperated sigh. “Obviously I never wanted to be. It’s terribly inconvenient, but you didn’t give me much choice, yeah? Just kept coming back with your broad shoulders and your big brown eyes. Nothing I could do about it.”

Every word they’ve said in the past few minutes echoes back through his mind. Madness. The worst. Helpless. Stuck. Inconvenient.

“I really thought you knew,” Garthy goes on, frowning. “I just assumed... You look upset, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

In a voice so quiet he can barely hear himself, Jack says, “You don’t want to.”

He thought they couldn’t love him, and he understood. If they’d said they could and simply didn’t, he’d have understood that, too. To hear that they can and do and don't want to is... It’s too much.

Shaking and dizzy, he stands up. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’ll just... I’ll go.”

“What? Why?”

They rise and move toward him, one hand reaching out.

“Don’t touch me!”

If they touch him, he’ll melt or fall apart or throw up. He steps away, putting the desk between them.

Garthy freezes. They stare at him in stunned silence.

“You said you don’t want to.” If he repeats the words enough, maybe it will start to hurt less. “You said you never wanted to. That I didn’t give you a choice.”

Their beautiful eyes widen, as if they didn’t even realize what they said. “That’s not... I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Is it true?”

They can say no. They can take it back. They can tell him it was a joke, that they don’t really love him. It’s too much to hope that they might love him without caveat.

“Jack...”

“Would you choose it?” he presses. “If you could go back and do it again, would you choose... would you change things?”

Garthy hesitates. He waits. He gives them longer than he took to answer the same question. Finally, they admit softly, “I don’t know.”

How much of a burden has he been to them that it outweighs anything good? How much was he ever worth to them if they can’t think of a single thing to keep?

He feels like he’s dying as he says, “I wouldn’t change a second.”

Bright tears well up in their eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just forget I said any of it, yeah? Let’s start over. Let me say it right.”

They reach toward him again, and he recoils, shaking his head.

“Jack, please. I’m sorry. I love you, yeah? That’s the important part.”

His heart crumbles in his chest. His stomach clenches. The air in his lungs turns sour.

“But you don’t want to,” he says. “That’s pretty fucking important.”

Garthy draws back. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s misunderstood. He’ll accept any explanation that means he’s not a burden.

“I just meant it’s... it’s complicated, yeah?”

“Complicated.”

“Well, I never wanted that with anyone, did I?” they sigh, wiping their eyes. “You just threw a wrench in things. Fucked with my sense of self.”

What’s left of Jack’s heart sinks into nothingness. “I’m sorry for that. For all of it.”

“Not your fault, lovey. Just how it is, sometimes.”

They take another step toward him, and he flinches back. They stop, frowning.

“I’m sorry I messed things up for you,” he says quietly. “Sorry for forcing something on you that you didn’t want. Never meant to cause you any trouble. If I’d known it was a problem, I wouldn’t have kept coming around.”

Maybe that’s not true. Maybe he would have found something more to offer them. Maybe he could have been worth the inconvenience.

Their beautiful face falls. For a moment, he sees a flicker of devastation that reminds him of the night the Gardens burned. It’s gone so quickly, he might have imagined it, covered by an easy smile that doesn’t reach their eyes.

“Don’t like the thought of that. I always looked forward to seeing your handsome face.” The tone is light, but their voice is thick with lingering tears. “Why don’t we forget this whole conversation, yeah? Reset the scene. You go back to your notes, and I’ll go back to waiting for you to ravish me. How does that sound?”

There’s a version of this in which Jack agrees, in which he puts it out of his mind and pretends that nothing has changed, but the thought of going to bed with them knowing it’s not really what they want makes his skin crawl.

“I can’t.”

Garthy’s smile dims, but they keep it firmly in place. “We can skip the ravishing, if you like. Just cuddle, maybe talk a bit. Is that alright?”

He imagines lying in the comfort of their arms, listening to them breathe, with the words it’s terribly inconvenient playing over and over in his mind.

“No. I... I think I’ll go up top for a bit. Need to clear my head.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you need.” They sway like they’re going to step forward, then stop themself. “You’ll come back though, yeah?”

“Not this time.”

There’s a finality to it that feels almost like relief. Garthy doesn’t stop him as he leaves, and he doesn’t turn to see their face as he closes the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Even in the best of times, the question of where to sleep has been a fraught subject for Jack.

At port, the crew tends to scatter. Myrtle, of course, has her shop, and Bob kept her suite at the Gold Gardens. Marcid maintains an apartment in Aftward that none of them have ever seen, and the young ones all bunked with the Biscottos until they found a place of their own. For the first few years, when not otherwise occupied, Jack slept on the ship.

He told them he preferred it, that it was comfortable and familiar, and he didn't see any point in paying for a room he’d barely use, which was true. What he’s never told anyone is how terrified he is of living alone.

Most of the time, he feels far removed from his haunted days, but there is a creeping fear that waits for the moments of quiet isolation to remind him how easy it is to be alone. In a private room in the depths of the city, he could lock himself away and fall back into the darkness that is even more familiar than his ship. Rationally, he knows that someone would eventually come looking for him, but that gets harder and harder to believe the longer he spends alone. On the ship, at least, it was never truly quiet and never truly still, and the bright sun streaming into the cabin kept him from losing too many days.

Now that he’s given up his ship, that refuge is gone. The Gardens is ashes, and even his hovel in the Bilge is ruined beyond repair. He’s got no money of his own and no skills to speak of. Even if he can scrape together enough for a flat, there’ll be no crew to look in on him and no library to visit for books and company.

Garthy was the last tether he had any hope of clinging to, and now that line has snapped. Once the fighting is done and no one has any more use for him, he’ll be adrift. Five years of his life will leave him with nothing but the memory of everything he’s lost.

He spends his last night aboard the Harvest Moon curled up in the crow’s nest, trying to sleep and trying not to think about what the fuck he’s going to do.

When the eastern horizon turns red with the rising sun, he climbs down slowly, his bad leg cramped and aching. The dark silhouette of Leviathan looms close against the brightening sky. For the first time in his life, Jack isn’t glad to see her.

Sunny is on the wheel. As he joins her, she asks, “What were you doing up there?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds wretched. He clears his throat, trying to shake lose the tight knot in his chest, but it doesn’t help. “Thought you might let me bring her in one last time.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course.” She steps aside immediately, letting him take the wheel without question.

As his hands settle on the wooden grips that his own touch has worn smooth, he waits for the familiar feeling of rightness to wash over him, but it doesn’t come. The Moon isn’t his ship anymore, and she knows it. Sunny would give him a place on her crew if he asked, but he won’t. That wouldn’t be fair to her, and the humiliation would be more than he could stand.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

Jack sighs. “Getting a bit tired of people asking me that.”

“Maybe if you were okay, they wouldn’t have to ask,” she points out. When he doesn’t answer, she pushes gently, “But like, are you? Because you look kinda rough.”

“Worse than usual, you mean?” he huffs.

“I mean, usually you look...” She strikes a pose with her hands on her hips, chin raised, staring intently into the distance. “But now you just look blah.”

He probably looks like he spent the night crying and freezing in a wooden bucket with barely enough room to sit. He probably looks like a sad old man who’s wasted everything good in his life. He probably looks broken.

“I’m fine, lass. Just a bit tense.”

Sunny hums like she doesn’t believe him, but she drops the subject.

After a moment, he clears his throat again and says, “I know I spoke my piece to the crew, and I’m not gonna belabor the point. I just... I wanna say that I’m proud of you. I don’t know if that’s worth anything to you. No reason it should be. You learned everything I had to teach you, and you learned twice that without any help from me. You’re a remarkable young woman, and I’ll be damned if you’re not gonna be the greatest captain of your generation.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He blinks at her. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” she says, smiling. “You always act like you’re proud of me. When we met Captain Seacaster, you were pretty much glowing.”

“Oh. Well. Good.” There are some benefits in being an open book, he supposes.

“And I know I’m gonna be great, because I had two great mentors,” she goes on. "Between you and Tulwar, I probably know more about being a good captain than most actual captains.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Jack chuckles. After a second, he adds, “Just remember to be your own kind of captain, ‘ey? Don’t try to be like me or anyone else. What’s gonna make you great is you being you.”

Her smile widens. “I mean, I have to be a little bit like you. Take care of my crew, listen to my ship, don’t pick fights I don’t have to, be patient, stuff like that.”

A feeling of warmth washes over Jack’s heart, soothing some of the ache. “Lass, if those are the only lessons I taught you, then I’ve done enough.”

The notes he was writing for her are left unfinished, but it doesn’t matter. She has everything she needs.

As their destination draws closer, people begin to emerge onto the deck, clustering toward the bow, some chatting nervously while others watch the looming skyline in silence. Sounds of revelry are still drifting down from the Bajat, but the shouts have taken on a vicious edge. It’s almost time.

When the sun sits midway over the horizon, Jack steps away to prepare himself. At the cabin door, he hesitates, chest tight, before he gives a soft knock.

A moment passes, then Garthy’s voice calls out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Jack.”

The door opens a few seconds later, and Garthy stands aside to let him in. “You don’t have to knock on your own door, lovey.”

There’s a wan cast to their face that, for a second, makes him think they might be sick again. The impulse to put his arms around them is like the need to breathe after too long underwater. Knowing that he’s the reason for their unhappiness is the only thing that stops him. That, and the fact that Bob is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking effortlessly elegant and uncomfortably cheerful.

“Didn’t know if you’d have guests. Hi, Bob.”

“Good morning!” she chimes. “I was just keeping Garthy company ‘cause they were so upset about you guys fighting last night. I told ‘em it was gonna be okay, though. You’re the sweetest couple in the world, except for maybe Fig and Ayda. So you could never stay broken up. It just wouldn’t be right! People that love each other sh-”

“Bob,” he cuts her off gently, before she accidentally carves out his heart. “Would you give us a minute?”

“Oh! Right! I’ll get outta the way so you can kiss and make up!”

She gives them each a kiss on the cheek on her way out, and Garthy smiles sadly.

“Thank you, darling.”

Once Bob is gone, Jack and Garthy are left standing in silence. They study his face like they’re searching for some magic word that will undo the night before. For all Jack knows, such a spell probably exists, but they’re not going to find any magic in him.

“Just need to get ready,” he says finally, skirting carefully around them toward his locker. “Be out of your way in a minute.”

“You’re not in the way,” they sigh. For a moment, they just watch him as he moves around the room. Then they ask, “Where did you go?”

He’s not about to admit that he spent the night in the crow’s nest. “Doesn’t matter.”

From the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees Garthy flinch, but he might have imagined it. “Did you get any sleep, at least?”

“A bit.”

“Good.”

He changes his shirt and re-ties the wraps around his ankles and wrists, then fastens his sword belt and pulls on his coat. He retrieves the watch-like device Gorgug made for him, tucked carefully in a pocket of his duffle. As he places it on his wrist, he catches sight of the plain gold ring around his finger. When he reaches to pull it off, Garthy stops him.

“No. Please. It’s yours.”

They lay their hand over his, warm and soft, standing close enough for Jack to smell jasmine and honey. He can see the faint scar under one eye and the constellations of freckles on their bare shoulders.

Quietly, they say, “I know there’s not time now, but I’d like to continue our conversation, yeah?”

“Think you made you point well enough.” It comes out more harshly than he means, and he feels Garthy’s hand pull away by just a fraction of an inch. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I just mean... I understand I caused you trouble, and I don’t intend to cause any more. Seems the best thing I can do is take my leave.”

There’s a point at which pain stops. When he was still a young sailor, aboard his second ship, Jack fell from the mainyard onto a broken rail and impaled himself on a post. He remembers tearing, scraping, wrenching pain that felt like it was happening to someone else. The pain he feels now is just as wrenching and just as distant.

“Lovey, that wasn’t my point at all,” they tell him. “Please just promise me we can talk later, yeah?”

He wants to believe that he’s wrong, that he misunderstood somehow, but every word of the conversation is still sharp and clear in his mind. It’ll be easier if they just let him go, and he doesn’t know why they won’t.

Gently, he slips his hand out of their hold and steps back. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

Their hand stays hovering in the air, like they might reach for him again. “Jack, please.”

For five years, there’s been a hook set in his heart, sinking deeper and healing over until it’s become a part of him. It rips apart everything inside him as he pulls it out.

“Loving you has been one of the best parts of my whole life. Most you could say about loving me is that it’s complicated. Don’t really know what else there is to talk about.”

Garthy stares at him blankly. They open their mouth to speak, then close it slowly as gold tears well in the corners of their beautiful eyes. There really isn’t anything else to be said.

Outside the cabin, the deck is crowded with people and lit with the amber glow of dawn. Jack stands in the shadow of the companionway and takes a deep breath. There’ll be time later for hurt and despair. For now, he has a job to do. Sunny and Bob are on the upper deck, and they stand to either side of him as he brings the Harvest Moon home for the last time.

Once the ships are docked, things move quickly. The stealth teams were successful and suffered no losses, leaving a single stripped-down barque with a collection of bloodied blue garments fluttering in place of a flag. The smaller strike teams depart as soon as the members can rally, and the rest of the fighters begin marching into the city, following the direction of their various leaders toward the Row and the Ruction. Jack holds back while the others get underway, and those that will join him in the Bilge wait with him.

At the back of the larger force is Garthy, who stops beside Jack to offer a soft, “Be careful.”

He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and murmurs, “You, too.”

Even in the the throng of people, they seem to glow like a beacon, and Jack’s eyes stay on them until they’re swept out of his sight.

“Alright,” he says at last. “Let’s go.”

His team consists of Riz, Adaine, Rosie Chebek, a Kobold woman named Agate, and an exceptionally hairy Hobgoblin called Futz. Jack leads them through the city, steering away from the pockets of fighting that have already broken out. Just past Gibbety Square, two stray blue coats catch sight of them and recognize Jack, but Rosie and Agate cut them down before they can raise their weapons. The rest of the journey is punctuated by residents calling out to ask what’s going on, though some seem not to have known there’d been any change in the political landscape of the city.

The passage Riz used to sneak into the Bilge wouldn’t have room for Jack to get through, and there’s no need for stealth, this time. Instead, they use the entrance near the Brig that the blue coats have kept open. Jack means to use their own strategy against them: cut off their only route of escape and force them into a kill box around the Break. He’s counting on the people of the Bilge to help fight back, but there’s no guarantee.

Adaine waves a hand to extinguish the lanterns hung along the ceiling. Almost immediately, they hear sounds of confusion as a group of blue coats come around a bend, with several Humans following blindly behind an annoyed-looking Elf. On seeing them, the Elven man turns on his heel and runs back down the passage, abandoning his companions.

“Think you can catch him?” Jack asks Riz.

Riz gives him a wide grin and dashes after his quarry. There are two loud cracks of gunfire, which send the baffled Humans into a panic, waving pistols and swords wildly. One of them stabs another, and the shout of alarm sends the rest into a frenzy. Adaine throws up a magic barrier to deflect stray bullets until only two enemies are left standing, clinging to each other and calling out for their fellows. Agate and Futz dispatch them without issue.

“This lot really aren’t the brightest, are they?” Rosie remarks.

“Expect there’s enough clever ones to make up for the rest,” Jack replies. “But I don’t think their bar for recruitment is very high.”

They move past the carnage to find Riz standing over the Elven blue coat, whose knees have both been shot out.

“He says there’s about sixty of them down here, and they’re mostly sticking together,” Riz reports. “Sounds like some of the locals have been using guerilla tactics to keep them on their toes.”

“Very kind of him to be so helpful. Well done, Mr. Gukgak.”

“What do you wanna do with him, captain?” Futz asks in a deep, gravelly drawl.

“Leave him,” Jack says. “If any of his friends escape, maybe they’ll help him. If not, we’ll kill him on the way out.”

The man groans in despair and pain, but Jack ignores him, continuing along the dark passage.

They descend past the ruins of homes and businesses, gutted and burned, all of them marked with the crudely painted symbol of a rising sun. The deck is marred with gouges, stained with scorch marks and blood. There’s a pile that looks like burned clothes until they get close enough to see the shapes of bones among the ashes. Futz retches, and Agate puts an arm around him in comfort. No one says a word.

As they get closer to the central corridor of the Bilge, Riz goes forward to scout and reports that the blockade is just ahead. Jack nods to the others, and they break away, moving silently down the passage. He follows after them until he can just make out the glow of lanterns, then he waits. After a minute, the lantern light blinks out.

Now it’s his turn.

There’s a song that haunts him. It echoes in his memory and dogs his steps. He hears it unexpectedly, spilling from the doors of taverns and springing from drunken mouths. Nearly every pirate on Leviathan has heard it, and they all know who it’s about.

In a deep voice that booms down the passage and cuts through the shouts of alarm, Jack sings, “Unlucky Jack is a cursed man, the one the gods forgot. Don’t meet his eye, but just give thanks that poor Jack you are not.”

The shouting falls away as some small magic makes Jack’s voice drift eerily from all directions. In the silence that follows, there are frantic whispers, quickly hushed, and Jack makes no effort to hide the sound of his footsteps, heavy on the deck. One of the blue coats manages to re-light a lantern, and the trembling light falls on Jack, standing not five meters away.

He shows them his sharp teeth as he grins. “Time’s up, lads.”

This time, the rage comes easily. Molten gold rushes through his veins as the device on his wrist heats up. Brilliant sunlight bursts outward from the surface of his skin, searing the enemies that have rushed to surround him, and the ring on his finger pulses with that beloved heartbeat. The Garden’s Point flashes like a lighthouse in the dark. He swings it up and slices open one man’s chest, then swings it back through the neck of another. A blade bites into his shoulder, and Jack sends the wielder flying back against the wall.

Blasts of shimmering blue magic strike two blue coats on the other side of the blockade, and a third reels backward with bullet holes in his chest. Another buckles to their knees under a hail of blows from Rosie’s club, while Agate and Futz harry the rest with crossbow bolts and throwing darts.

Some lucky soul manages to drive her sword into the meat of Jack’s belly, and he returns the favor, wrenching the Garden’s Point upward to cut her nearly in half. One of her comrades slips on the blood, and Jack plunges his sword through the man’s heart and into the deck. Three of the others stumble backward in fear, staring wildly around at the chaos.

A skinny Half-Elf boy clumsily loads a flintlock and aims it at Jack’s face, hands shaking so badly that the barrel jerks in every direction. Jack snatches the gun away without effort. The boy stands frozen to the spot, eyes wide with terror, his hands still raised as if he doesn’t know his weapon has been taken. There’s a strong smell of piss, but Jack doesn’t know if the boy’s soiled himself or if it’s just the poor bastards dying around him.

Slowly, Jack leans forward and stares into the boy’s watery eyes.

“Run,” he snarls.

The boy doesn’t need to be told twice. He stumbles past Jack and sprints toward the exit as fast as he can. Maybe he’ll stop to help his injured fellow on the way, but Jack doubts it.

“Fall back!” a voice calls out. “Fall back to the Break!”

The remaining blue coats scramble to obey. Nearly half of them lie dead or dying on the deck, and Riz and Adaine take down a few more as they retreat. One takes cover to fire a pistol, and a bullet strikes Futz in the chest before Adaine can raise a shield to deflect it. Jack scoops him off his feet and carries him behind the corner of a burned-out storefront. Riz’s arquebus replies to the pistol with a single thunderous crack, and the shooting stops.

Jack opens his mouth to call for a healer, but Adaine is already there, handing Futz a small bottle of thick red liquid. He downs it in one swallow and leans heavily against Jack as his wounds start to close. When the potion has done its work, he spits out a thick gob of blood and hands the bottle back to Adaine.

“Much obliged, miss,” he says in a shaky voice.

Clapping Futz gently on the shoulder, Jack calls out to the others, “Everybody in one piece?”

“Aye,” Agate calls back.

“Hale and hearty,” Rosie says.

“Not a scratch,” Riz chimes in.

Adaine offers Jack another of the healing potions, but he shakes his head. “Best save those as much as you can. There’s like to be need for ‘em later.”

“Oh, we brought loads. And, um...” She gestures to the gash in his belly. “You’re kind of bleeding. Like, a lot.”

“I can take a few hits,” he assures her. “And I expect the locals will need whatever you can spare.”

Instead of putting the potion away, she tucks it deftly into the breast pocket of his coat and smiles. “In case you need it.”

With any luck, he won’t, but he gives her a smile and nods. “Appreciated.”

As they move into the wider corridor, the group splits. Riz and Rosie break away toward the buildings on the left wall, while Adaine, Agate, and Futz take the right. They can move faster and more quietly than Jack can, so they’ll get into flanking positions around wherever the blue coats are gathered. Meanwhile, Jack will go straight up the middle, drawing attention and fire away from the others. If there are any allies to be rallied, hopefully the sight of him marching unafraid down the street will provide some inspiration.

He thinks of Garthy saying that he cuts a striking figure and of Sunny imitating him with a dramatic pose. Somewhere in the depths of the Bilge, there’s a frightened Rat family who think he’s coming to save them. Shaking the weight of doubt off his shoulders, he straightens his back and raises his chin. He’s no hero, but if that’s what people need, he can at least try to look the part.

At first, the walk is quiet, punctuated by shouts and the occasional crack of gunfire ahead. From the sound of it, Riz is continuing to pick off the retreating blue coats and drive them further into the Bilge. After a minute, though, Jack starts to hear movement in the buildings around him and hushed voices whispering in his wake. A round Rat face appears at a window and quickly ducks out of sight. A door cracks open and two Goblins peer out curiously. He hears his own name trailing behind him, louder and louder, until someone shouts from an upper balcony him, “It’s Golden Jack!”

Doors and windows start to open all along the street. The lanterns are still lit, here, and Jack can clearly see the haggard faces brighten with hope as he passes. He fights the impulse to hunch his shoulders and shrink away from the attention.

Instead, he calls out, “If you’ve got a mind to fight back, now’s the time.”

Scattered cheers go up around him, and pattering footsteps quickly join him in the street. He glances over his shoulder to see a handful of Ratfolk armed with broken boards and cooking pans, and his heart aches.

“Keep to the sides,” he tells them. “Don’t cluster up. Find cover where you can.”

“Aye, captain!” they chorus and immediately break to the right, following him through the shadows of buildings and rubble. If they don’t get themselves killed, Jack will call that a success.

The Break sits just off-center in a small plaza where several winding passages converge on the central corridor. The holes in the decks above have all been patched over, but the last hole formed by the plummeting body of Clive McDoon has been turned into a kind of community pond. The broken deckboards have been removed to form a wide, misshapen rectangle, and a few rough benches have been fixed around the edges. Jack heard a rumor that some residents suggested adding a plaque, but he doubts anything ever came of it.

He barely catches a glimpse of the Break itself before the blue coats spot him and open fire.

They keep shooting as he dives for cover, and he waits. One second, two, three, then the shots taper off, and he hears the sound of a dozen pistols reloading. Now.

The closest blue coat is still fumbling for his powder when Jack slams into him. The lights in the plaza all go out, and the crack of the arquebus rings out in several quick shots. Chaos descends and Jack roars.

Adaine, Agate, and Futz will be aiming for the handful of blue coats who can actually see in the darkness while Riz and Rosie strike and retreat to sew confusion. Jack’s task is to cut through the dark-blind fighters, whose wild shots and swings hit each other more often than they hit him. Some of them do manage to hit him, of course, but he shrugs it off, even as the blood starts to soak into his coat.

He sends a large Human man sprawling to the ground, and a group of Goblins descend with clubs and tools. Dozens of residents have joined the fray wielding makeshift weapons. From the corner of his eye, Jack see a familiar Ratfolk boy swinging a length of heavy rope like a club.

A sudden burst of pale yellow magic fills the space with daylight. All the combatants blink in the sudden brightness before a rallying cry goes up from the blue coats.

The information from Cathilda’s spies suggested there was at least one other cleric among the blue coats’ forces, but Jack expected them to be at the Ruction, not here. They’ll be no match for Adaine and Riz, but every spell they cast will be a new complication. Even as Jack thinks it, the blue coat in front of him straightens as that same pale yellow magic glows around the wound he put in her chest.

Fuck.

She strikes at him with her sword. He parries, but the dagger in her off hand buries itself in his side. With a snarl, he grabs her sword arm and pulls hard, wrenching it out of its socket. She shrieks and lets go of both blades as she stumbles backward, giving Jack enough room to swing the Garden’s Point and sever her head.

He looks down to find the dagger still lodged between his ribs, and the gush of blood as he pulls it out is... concerning. The healing potion is still in his pocket, but the situation isn’t that dire. Not yet.

Now that all of their enemies can see, they’ve lost a major advantage. The residents of the Bilge are fighting tooth and claw, some of them literally, but they’re disorganized, starving, and armed with scrap. A few have picked up swords from fallen enemies, but it’s not enough. He watches two blue coats flank a small cluster of Lizardfolk and cut through them like paper. A Firbolg woman reels from a blow, and a Human man shoots her in the face with a musket.

“Push ‘em to the Break!” he bellows, and he kicks a Halfling man square in the chest toward the makeshift pond.

The Ratfolk boy, Danny, tosses one end of his rope to another Rat, and they charge forward, using the rope to shove three enemies backward and knock them off their feet. Fighters who had been scattered in the thick of the fray fall back to the edges until the blue coats are nearly surrounded. Slowly, the circle starts to shrink.

There’s a faint splash and a cry of alarm as the first blue coat goes tumbling into the icy waters of the Celestine.

Jack grabs a Dwarven women and throws her into a Half-Elf man, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The movement wrenches his bad leg, and it buckles. He catches himself, but a wave of dizziness washes over him as pain and blood loss start to catch up. As he reaches for the healing potion in his pocket, a flash of yellow light strikes him, and his ring pulses under the harmless wave of heat.

Snarling, he whirls to see a Human with short, white-blond hair holding a tall staff, their hand reaching out toward him. They open their mouth for another spell, but a blast of sparkling blue magic hits the side of their face. They sputter angrily, turning just in time to block Adaine’s sword as it arcs down toward them. Jack dashes forward, slashing their arm as they send a beam of light into Adaine’s chest. Unfazed, Adaine points her sword, and the cleric is briefly enveloped in a corona of blue light that sizzles on their skin like acid. They scream, and Jack uses the distraction to shove them backward toward the Break. His bad leg shakes with the effort, but he stays standing.

The cleric grabs Jack by the wrist, and he feels a thin current of magic slither into his mind. He shakes his head, but the magic spreads, filling him with a wet, prickling heat like the air of a dense jungle. His limbs feel heavy and weak, his sword hanging limply at his side. He tries to lift it, but the impulse seems to drown in a layer of stagnant water just under his skin. The cleric sidesteps out of his reach, and there’s nothing he can do to stop them.

Immediately, Adaine seems to realize something’s wrong. She punches the cleric with a spectral blue fist and turns back to Jack. “Can you shake it off?”

“I’m trying,” he says. He takes a step forward, moving toward the cleric, but he still can’t raise his sword. His heart is still pounding with rage and adrenaline, beating inside his chest like it’s trapped. He focuses on the rage, trying to burn the magic out of his head, but nothing changes.

The cleric smirks. “Cursed again, you filthy rat.”

Jack strains to strike out at them, but all he can do is keep moving, trying to crowd them. As soon as he’s in reach, the cleric touches him again, and spikes of pain rip through him. There’s no wound, but it feels like his flesh is splintering and dying.

“Cursed! Right. Thanks for the tip,” Adaine says cheerfully.

She sets a hand on Jack’s shoulder, and her magic fizzes through him like soda water. The feeling of heaviness dissolves, and the magic drains away with an aftertaste of vanilla and aluminum.

The cleric takes advantage of Adaine’s distraction to hit her with a swirling stream of light that tightens around her and locks her in place. With another gesture, they summon an ephemeral sword from the ether and run it through her chest. Adaine grunts in pain, struggling uselessly against the faint bonds. Jack swings the Garden’s Point, and the cleric dodges. He swings again, and the blade glances across their shoulder as his leg buckles. Instead of striking back at him, they turn toward Adaine, still held in the coils of pale magic, blade raised to run her through again.

Without a second thought, Jack charges, lifting the cleric off their feet and barreling toward the Break. He makes it most of the way before his leg gives out, and the two of them go sprawling in a tangled heap. The Garden’s Point drops out of his hand, clattering to the deck. A flash of light erupts from the cleric’s hand into Jack’s face, hot and blinding, but the magic passes over him as the ring on his finger pulses.

The cleric scrambles to their feet, but Jack drags them back down. They try to pry him off with their staff, but he holds fast. Inch by inch, they struggle until he finally hauls them over the edge and into the Break.

Years of conditioning keeps Jack from gasping at the shock of hitting the icy water. Other blue coats are thrashing nearby, and those who manage to climb out are almost immediately knocked back in. There are bodies floating and more that have been dragged under the edge. The cleric kicks wildly, trying to get away, and he digs his claws into their leg, letting his weight drag them both down into the inky black.

The outer hull of Leviathan bristles with patched-on pieces of ships. Jack pushes the cleric up against the hull and wedges the top of their staff into a gap between two protruding planks. He pins them with the staff across their chest, bracing himself against a broken mast to keep it in place. They thrash against him, struggling desperately to get away, but Jack uses every ounce of strength he has to hold them fast. His muscles cramp with cold and strain, and he begs whatever gods might be listening that the cleric’s lungs give out before his do. He sees their lips move to form the words of a spell, but all it does is let icy water into their mouth.

A minute passes, the thrashing slows, stops, and the cleric’s pale face finally goes slack, eyes staring sightlessly into the deep, dark sea.

Jack lets go, and the body drifts in place. There’s not enough current to pull it away and not enough angle for it to float back up toward the Break. This probably isn’t the only corpse to be lost in the crevasses of the city’s skin.

The Break is a beacon in the darkness, and Jack makes his body reach for it. His limbs are leaden and numb. His lungs are empty and burning. Inch by inch, he claws toward the patch of light, and inch by inch, it seems to draw further away. Gray haze creeps into the edges of his vision until the light is only a memory. He keeps reaching, knowing it’s too late.

In the moments after the light leaves him, as the pain and cold fade away, his mind fills with memories, faces, sounds, smells. Jasmine and incense, the first sight of Garthy’s face, Bob singing, Cheese and Spaulding with identical grins, Marcid’s scowl, Myrtle hugging him, Sunny’s feathers fluffed up with pride, salt and cedar, clear blue skies, leather and paper, the thrum of Fig’s bass, his mother’s hands, his father’s laugh, Stimey telling jokes in the middle of the night, Clive as a young man, Kiara, Arrom, River, Lark, a wooden railing under his hand, rum, bread, butter, honey, sex, skin and fur, the shimmer of gold, touches, heat, silk, sighs, sunlight, kisses, rest.

The ring on Jack’s finger gives one last pulse, then stills. Far above, in the swaying net of the Ruction, Garthy’s heart stutters in their chest and goes cold.

Chapter Text

A shadowed plain stretches out in all directions. Tall grass sways with a sound like thousands of voices whispering, but the air is still. The sky above is filled with thick, billowing clouds that sit as if frozen at the very moment of storm-break. A tall mountain rises in the far distance, its peak lost in the clouds. In the opposite direction, the horizon is lit with a faint red glow, like a great fire is burning beyond the edge of a cliff.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?”

Jack turns to find a Ratfolk man standing beside him, dressed smartly in a simple waistcoat, with a cap tucked between his ears. He’s younger than Jack ever saw him in life, and the two of them stand at the same height, which was only briefly the case in Jack’s youth. The broad smile that spreads across his handsome face is unmistakable, though.

“Dad,” Jack breathes.

“Hello, Jacky. It’s good to see you.” Malcolm chuckles and gestures at the dark prairie around them. “Suppose the circumstances could be better though, ‘ey?”

It takes a moment for Jack to understand, then he remembers the cleric and the Break and the cold, dark water. “So I’m really dead this time.”

The smile softens. “Aye, son, you are.”

With the memory of his death, Jack suddenly remembers what he died for.

“The fight,” he says frantically. “I have to go back. I have t-”

“Easy, lad,” Malcolm soothes. “The fighting’s all done. Your people won the day. Those you love survived.”

“Oh.”

As quickly as it came, the panic subsides, and he’s left with a feeling of both emptiness and relief. It’s over. They really don’t need him anymore. Jack looks around at the vast emptiness of this unfamiliar place, lost.

“It’s a lot to process,” Malcolm tells him gently. “Take your time. Ask your questions. I’m here for you.”

Of all the questions he wants to ask, there’s really only one thing he needs to know. “Did any of it matter?”

“Oh, Jacky, of course it mattered!” His father takes his hand, and Jack feels the calluses that guided him through his first steps, that gripped his shoulder when he left home, that hugged him in joy and grief and heartache more times than he can count. “You mattered. You changed the lives of people you never met. And the people you did meet, the ones that got to know you and love you, every last one of ‘em is better for it.”

There’s clarity in this quiet place on the far side of death. He recalls his life as it was, without the distorting veil of being in it, and the weight of understanding hits him square in the chest.

“Fuck.” Tears sting his eyes and catch in his throat. “ Fuck. I didn’t... I didn’t know.”

The grip on his hand tightens, and Malcolm’s soft eyes are also bright with tears. “It’s hard to see those things, sometimes. Especially if you think you don’t deserve the good that comes to you.”

How much time did he waste dwelling on his faults and mistakes? How much happiness did he turn away for no reason? How much more could he have done if he hadn’t doubted every choice?

He sits down heavily on the grass and sobs out one last, “Fuck.”

Malcolm sits down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, a calm presence in the stillness. Whatever come next will come in its own time.

After a minute or an hour or a day, Jack says quietly, certainly, “I did my best.”

“I know, lad.”

“Was it enough?”

“Would you want to know if it wasn’t?”

“Suppose not,” Jack admits. “Too late to do anything else, anyway.”

“You gave everything you had for the people you love,” Malcolm says. “That’s enough.”

“Well. When you put it like that.” Another endless moment passes, then he asks, “Will they be alright?”

“The future’s a bit beyond me,” Malcolm replies. “All I can tell you is they’ve got each other to lean on, heartbroken as they are. I expect most of ‘em will be alright, eventually.”

“Most of them?”

For the first time, Malcolm hesitates before he answers, “Grief is a hungry thing. It’ll gnaw on you your whole life, if you let it. Sometimes, it bites off a piece that won’t grow back, even if the gnawing stops.”

Jack knows all too well the gouges grief can leave. He just hopes the people he’s left heal easier than he did.

“Was it worth it?” he asks.

“I think that’s for you to decide, isn’t it, lad?”

His life was hard. With the clarity of this place, he knows there was easily more hardship than joy. But some of that joy was extraordinary.

“It was worth it,” he says.

Malcolm smiles. “Good.”

They sit in silence for another stretch of unknown time. The fiery red glow is visible on the horizon, and Jack thinks he understands what potential destination lies beyond that unseen cliff.

“What happens now?”

“Normally, there’s a sort of standard process. The souls that are damned for whatever reason go on to get sorted out by the Hells, the followers of certain deities and traditions go to their separate realms in the outer plains, and the folk that aren’t bound for any particular place have their pick of various generic hereafters. There’s also reincarnation, but the waiting list is rather long, so folks still have to choose a place to cool their heels.”

“Never took much interest in the gods,” Jack says. “And I don’t recall anything that’d get me damned.”

Malcolm scratches his chin. “Well, see, you’re a bit of a special case.”

“What does that mean?” Jack sits up straight, suddenly concerned. “I’m not bound for the Pit, am I?”

“You’re not damned,” Malcolm assures him. “But, as a friend of two high-ranking Devils, you’d be welcomed as an honored guest in Hell, if that’s where you choose to go.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask why anyone would choose Hell when he recalls Fig opening a doorway with nothing but a drop of blood. “Folks could come and visit, couldn’t they?”

“Aye, as long as Miss Faeth lets ‘em in and out.” Malcolm pauses, then adds, “Most of ‘em could, at least. Aasimar can’t go to Hell, even by invitation.”

The gold ring is still on his finger, simple and unmarked. He wonders if Garthy will take it back, now that he’s gone, if they’ll keep it as a remembrance or melt it down out of grief. If the physical ring is removed from his body, will the one here vanish?

“Which, as it happens, is related to the other unusual option available to you,” Malcolm goes on. “Since there’s a seat being held for you in the feast hall on Acheron.”

Jack looks at him in surprise. “What? No, that’s... It’s a mistake. It must be.”

“No mistake, son. You’re Favored. As long as Garthy wants you there, no one less than Gruumsh himself can turn you away.”

“But they... they don’t. They said...”

The words of that conversation echo in his memory, but now he sees everything that came before, all the moments that spoke the same truth over and over in a hundred different ways without ever saying it out loud.

“Oh.”

“Not for nothing, but I rather like Garthy.” Malcolm says. “Your mum always hoped you’d settle down and have a few pups, but I’m just glad you had someone who saw how special you are.”

From the very first, they saw him. They saw comfort and peace and desire when he thought those things had been carved out of him forever. They saw all the jagged cracks inside him and spent years filling each one in with gold.

“They really did love me, didn’t they?”

Malcolm gives him a sad smile. “They really did.”

“Fucked that up,” Jack sighs.

“You had a bit of misunderstanding, there, but that wasn’t entirely your fault.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t.”

It’s strange to feel annoyed in this peaceful place, but he does. He’s annoyed at Garthy for not being clear and annoyed at himself for being so dense. More than anything, he wishes there’d been just a little more time, just one more chance to sort things out.

“Don’t think I wanna go to Acheron,” he says eventually. “Not yet. Not without them.”

His father nods. “Fair enough. There’s no rush.”

Now that time’s run out, he has all the time in the world.

“Your mum and I have a place up that way,” Malcolm continues, gesturing toward the tall mountain. “Little seaside village, nice and peaceful. Your brothers and sisters are there, and your grandparents. Well, except your brother Matthew. And Grandpa Sam. They’re…”

He nods toward the distant red glow. Honestly, Jack’s not terribly surprised.

“We signed up for reincarnation, of course. Tradition, and all, but it’ll be a bit. Expect it’ll be a shorter wait for you, though, since you’ve got some heroic deeds to your name,” Malcolm tells him.

Jack scoffs, but... it’s true. Somehow, he stumbled into a remarkable life, and he did a lot of good in the end.

“I’m not sure I want to go around again, either,” he says. “I just... I’m so tired, dad.”

“I know, son.” Malcom puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You’ve earned your rest. There’s no need to choose now, if you’re not ready.”

As much as Jack wants to see his parents, eternity in a little village with his entire family doesn’t sound terribly restful. Finding some other corner of the afterlife, even one filled with lost friends, doesn’t sound much better, not yet.

“Could I maybe have a place to myself? Just for a little while?”

“Of course you can.” Malcolm points to the empty horizon that sits between the mountain and the cliff. “Walk that direction ‘til you get where you’re going. It’ll be a nice space in between, and you can take as much time as you like. When you’re ready, just walk back, and you’ll end up in the right spot.”

“What’s over there?”

“Whatever you need.”

Jack’s not entirely sure what he needs, but maybe he’ll figure it out when he gets there. For now, he just enjoys the silence with his father. In life, his parents’ time had to be divided among all the siblings, and meaningful conversations were invariably cut short. To sit in silence, with no pressing needs and no one else clamoring for attention, is nothing short of miraculous. Jack didn’t know how much he wanted it until now.

When he’s ready, he climbs slowly to his feet. There’s no familiar creak of aging joints and no ache in in his bad leg. Abstractedly, he knows that his body isn’t really here, and everything he feels is a detail filled in by whatever remains of his consciousness. He wouldn’t put it past himself to subconsciously bring all his little pains with him, though, so he’s grateful that’s not the case.

Malcolm stands with him and pulls him into a tight hug that, for just a second, feels like all of reality is bending to embrace him.

“I love you, Jack,” his father says. “I’m proud of you.”

It hits like a punch every time he hears it. “I love you too, dad.”

He’ll see his parents again. He knows that. For now, he starts walking.

The shadowed plain extends unchanging ahead of him. The grass is soft under his feet. The storm clouds hang heavy and frozen overhead. The only sign that he’s moving is the mountain and the red cliff slowly receding out of view.

He doesn’t know how long he walks before trees start to appear. They’re small, nondescript things, at first, barely more than shrubs dotted around the landscape. Slowly, they become taller and closer, crowding around his path to form a young forest. As the canopy closes above him, the light changes. Dappled sunlight filters down through green leaves, and glimpses of blue sky begin to appear. Birdsong grows so gradually, Jack doesn’t notice until it’s all around him. He sees insects darting between flowers, smells the aroma of a thousand growing things. A soft breeze rustles gently through the trees, carrying with it a scent of salt air and cedar smoke.

The forest ends at the edge of a narrow beach that curves around a broad lagoon. Crystal clear water laps gently at silvery white sand, and a campfire burns near a large hammock strung between two thick palm trees. At the mouth of the lagoon, framed against the cerulean sky, sits a proud carrack, her flag waving in the gentle breeze. She’s too far away to read the name painted on her graceful bow, but even with only one brief voyage together, Jack would know the Late Bloomer anywhere.

It’s perfect and peaceful, and he immediately lies down in the hammock for a nap.

He doesn’t sleep. Or maybe he does. He closes his eyes and listens to the murmur of the waves and the crackle of the fire. When he opens them again, it feels like time has passed. The sky is alight with a flaming sunset, the ship silhouetted against streaks of umber and carmine.

As the sun sinks slowly into the sea, a wealth of glittering stars blinks into view around a golden moon. Jack traces the shapes of constellations and watches comets streak across the velvet black. The fire on the beach continues to burn, a soft glow in the gentle night. After a while, lulled by the whispering wind and steady sway of the hammock, he closes his eyes again.

Time passes, but strangely. He watches sunsets and sunrises and nights and days in more or less the right order. He roams the beach just for the joy of walking and exploring. He picks up shells and stones and holds then for minutes or hours until something inside him comes back to center. He eats fruits and nuts from the edge of the forest, not because he’s hungry, but because he wants to. He sits by the fire and watches the sparks rise.

Time passes, but it doesn’t matter. He swims out to the Late Bloomer and lies on the sunny deck to dry. He runs his hands over every inch of her, just like he did the day he bought her. He sleeps in the cabin where he spent so few nights. In the desk, he finds the book he meant to read on the Harvest Moon’s last voyage. With it, he finds a bottle of Gravalvian rum that he tasted once and a small jar of clear, golden honey. He curls up under the desk and cries until he doesn’t need to anymore. He forgives Clive. He climbs to the crow’s nest to watch the sun rise. He forgives himself. Softly, the ship whispers that she never blamed him.

Time passes. There are little things that give the scene away as unreal. Flowers from different parts of the world bloom side by side. Inland birds trill sweetly in the branches of coastal trees. The sun rises and sets on the same horizon. Constellations that mark different times of year circle together. The fire burns down but never goes out. It doesn’t matter. He’ll go mad if he stays here too long, but, for now, all he wants is rest.

Time passes. He feels like the best version of himself. He feels soft and quiet, one with the wind and tide. It’s nice.

Time passes.

He’s sitting by the fire, watching the sunrise blossom across the dark sky, when he hears something crashing through the forest. Alarmed, he stands and turns in time to catch Garthy as they stumble out of the tree line.

Their beautiful face is streaked with dirt and dried blood and. They drop their bloodied sword into the sand and stare at Jack with wide eyes, like they’re just as startled by this turn of events as he is.

With a tone of desperate relief, they breathe, “There you are.”

The peaceful quiet fractures. He didn’t know how hungry he was for the sight of them, how desperately he needed to be near them again. At the same time, he knows something is wrong. His father assured him that everyone he loved survived the fight. Even if... if they’ve left the mortal world, they should be in the feast hall of their ancestors, not in Jack’s temporary corner of the universe.

“Garthy? What happened? What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you.” There’s a trembling edge to their voice, and they grip his arms like they’re afraid of falling.

“Looks like you went through Hell to do it. Let’s get you cleaned up, ‘ey?” Gently, he pulls them toward the edge of the clear water. They let themselves be led, staring around blankly at the tranquil beach.

“I went to Acheron,” they tell him. “You were supposed to be there, but you weren’t.”

Their voice cracks, and Jack’s heart breaks. He pulls of his shirt and dips it in the water, wiping away the grime on their face. “I know. I’m sorry. I just needed a bit of time to process.”

“I had to fight my way out,” they go on, tumbling through the story in a daze. “I met Riz’s dad, ‘cause I had to use one of Riz’s Celestial gadgets to get here, but he said I couldn’t... that there was a cost. We worked it out, but then he couldn’t find you either. He brought me to your family, and they were just... just lovely. You look so much like your mum, and your dad... Suppose I know where you get that sweetness from, yeah? He said you were someplace between the planes. He told me how to get here, but I just kept walking for... I don’t know. I think it’s been days. I thought I was lost ‘til I heard the sea.”

Jack squeezes cool water over their shoulders, letting it run through the tangled necklaces. He wipes the blood gently from their arms and hands. The lacquer on their nails has chipped away to ragged patches, and their knuckles are rough with healing scrapes. When one hand is clean, he raises it to his lips for a kiss.

“You’re not meant to be here,” he says. “But I’m glad to see you. I missed you.”

Garthy’s face crumples into misery. “I’m so sorry. I was scared and stupid, and I said everything wrong. We should’ve had a real conversation years ago, and it’s my fault we didn’t. I was so worried about putting any pressure on you that I made you think I didn’t love you, but I do. I love you, and I want every second I can get with you.”

It takes his breath away to hear it, even if he already knows.

“I’m sorry, too.” He runs his thumb gently over the thin scar under their eye, brushing away one gold tear. “If I’d got my head out of my ass for half a second, I’d have understood what you were trying to say. Even if I didn’t, I should’ve given you a chance to explain. Like to think I’d have come around, if not for...”

He gestures around at the peaceful setting. Some terrible madness must have gripped him to think he could find any happiness in the afterlife without Garthy.

They cover his hand with theirs and give him a shaky smile. “Got another chance, yeah? But we have to go. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Ayda could pull me back at any second.”

Jack frowns. “Pull you back?”

“Kristen tried a resurrection spell, but it didn’t work. It couldn’t reach you,” they reply. “There were only a few days left to get you back. I knew time would be strange once I got here, so I gave Ayda a way to wake me up if I couldn’t find you fast enough.”

The explanation seems nonsensical until something clicks in Jack’s mind. “You’re still alive.”

Garthy gives him a puzzled look, then understanding dawns on their face, as well. “Oh! Yes, love, I’m still very much alive. Would’ve been easier to find you if I wasn’t, yeah?”

“You... you came to get me,” he says, disbelieving.

Their expression softens into a gentle smile. They must have looked at him like this a thousand times, and it seems impossible that he never saw the adoration in it.

“Of course I came to get you. I’m not done with you yet.”

From the Prime Material, through Acheron, across the Upper Planes, to a far-flung corner of nothingness, just because they want a little more time with him.

“You said there was a cost,” he remembers. “What cost? What do I have to do?”

The gentle smile falters for a moment. “Nothing, lovey. It’s paid. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Well, now I’m definitely worried.”

A flicker of pain cross Garthy’s face, and Jack immediately knows that he’s right to be concerned.

“Garthy, what did you do?”

“What I had to,” they reply quietly. “We can talk about it later, yeah? It’s nothing I can’t live without.”

In another world, if he’d been the one kicking down the doors of Acheron to retrieve them from beyond, Jack would have gladly sold his soul to the first entity who promised even a hope of getting them back. Garthy has always been a keen negotiator, but he recalls what his father said about the ravenous hunger of grief.

“Jack, please,” they beg him. “Please just trust me.”

“Is it gonna hurt you?” he asks. When they hesitate, he presses gently, “I’ve got a right to know what it costs.”

“Why? So you can say it’s too much?” they counter sharply. “You don’t get to decide what your life is worth to me, yeah? That’s my choice, and I’ve made it.”

There’s something tragic in the fact that, even in the afterlife, they still want to keep things from him, and there’s still a part of him that believes any loss to them is too steep a price to pay for his sake. The heart of it, though, is that they’re both just trying to protect each other.

“Alright,” he says.

Garthy blinks. “Alright?”

“You’re clever enough not to get swindled, no matter what plane you’re on. If you say you paid a fair price, then I trust you.”

For a second, they just stare at him, stunned and uncertain.

After a moment, they say, “I have to ask you something. It doesn’t... If the answer’s no, that’s alright. I still want you to come back. Just... it seems like a good idea to ask now, before reality starts getting in the way, again. And I think I know, but in the interest of clear com-”

“Garthy,” Jack cuts them off gently. “What is it?”

They bite their lip and let out a slow breath before they ask, “Do you love me?”

He laughs. “Really?”

“Listen, I have my insecurities, too,” they grumble. “I was so sure, but then the way you reacted... Even before that, it felt like you were pulling away.”

“I was,” he admits. “Didn’t mean to, but... I always felt like you and me were something fragile. Started getting it in my head that it was gonna break sooner rather than later. So I tried not to put any more weight on it than I had to.”

Their arms tighten around him. “Take a lot more than heavy feelings to break us apart, Jacky my love.”

“I know. Sorry I didn’t know it sooner.”

All the pleasures of this private paradise are nothing next to the warmth and strength of their body pressed against his. The birdsong seems shrill beside the sound of their voice. The brilliant sunrise is a muted background with Garthy in his sight.

There’s a beat of silence, and they give him an expectant look. “So...?”

“So... Oh! Damn, Garthy, of course I love you. Been a little bit in love with you from the moment I met you.”

Less than a year after that first meeting, with a small group of friends, something made Garthy laugh. It was the first time Jack had seen them really laugh, eyes closed and mouth open. They laughed so hard, they snorted and wheezed, and that was the moment Jack was lost. The smile they give him now is an echo of that laugh, with crinkles around their eyes and the tips of their tusks showing, and Jack falls a little bit more in love, just as he has with every smile since.

He drops his shirt into the water, and cups their face in both his hands, crowding in close against them. Whether it’s been days or weeks or years, he’s spent too long not touching them.

“You’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met,” he says. “And still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

They both lean forward at the same moment and collide in a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. Jack feels like he’s been away at sea for months, starving for the taste of them, aching for that nameless thing he can only get from them. This is the eternity he wants. There is no heaven but this.

Time passes, seconds or minutes, and Garthy wraps their arms around him, pulling back just enough to study his face.

"We have to go,” they tell him. “Are you ready? I expect it’ll be quite a shock.”

The soft serenity of death has put the details of living out of his mind, but he recalls certain realities of his life with stark clarity. He’s found so much peace and healing here, and he’s suddenly not sure if any of it will keep.

“Will I remember this?” he asks. “This place, this... time?”

Garthy’s smile fades, and they shake their head. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Do you want to?”

He looks around at the quiet lagoon, at the hammock that fits him and the fire that never goes out, at his lost ship silhouetted against the morning sky. Slowly, he says, “Couldn’t see my life clearly ‘til I was out of it. Couldn’t see myself. Now that I can... If I go back, if I forget all this... Hells, even if I remember. I’m afraid I’ll just go right back to... to not liking myself.”

A shadow crosses Garthy’s face, but it settles into resolve. “If that happens, we’ll sort it out together, yeah?”

“Could take some work,” Jack warns. “Bit of a persistent problem.”

“Then we’ll come up with a persistent solution.” Frowning, they ask, “You do want to come back, don’t you?”

For just a second, Jack hesitates, but there’s really no question, in the end. “Be awfully rude of me to stay put, after you came all this way to get me.”

That same beautiful smile blossoms on their face, and Jack resolves to make them smile like that every day for the rest of his life. They kiss him gently, slowly, like they’re savoring the moment. Finally, they draw back and tell him, “Alright. I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, but just hold on tight, yeah?”

“Never letting go of you again,” he promises.

“If this doesn’t work...” Tears well up in their eyes, and they go on in a thick voice. “If it doesn’t work, I’m gonna keep trying, yeah? Just go to Acheron so I can find you easier, next time.”

Jack nods. “See you soon. One way or another.”

They pull him close and begin to murmur the words of a spell. As they speak, he hears an echo of their voice from beyond the horizon. The echo gets louder, drowning out the sound in his ear. He feels a pull, like an anchor line caught in his heart.

The quiet beach shatters. The two of them are hurtling through nothingness, clinging tightly to each other. Then Garthy is wrenched out of his arms.

Jack slams back into his body with a force like falling from a great height.

Everything hurts.

He rolls to his side and retches, coughing up rancid seawater and thick gobs of black blood. His head swims, and he lies back down with a groan.

Slowly, he forces his eyes open. The warped ceiling of the Bilge hangs low overhead. For a second, he wonders if any of it was real. Maybe someone fished him out of the Break in time, and his vision of the afterlife was a product of his air-starved brain. Then he feels a warm presence stir at his side as Garthy sits up and leans over him, frantic.

Worry immediately gives way to relief, and the two of them stare at each other in stunned silence.

It was real. They came for him. He remembers.

He lifts up to meet them in a kiss that feels like something new. Both their mouths taste terrible, but he doesn’t care.

A loud cheer goes up around them. Jack breaks away, startled, and finds himself surrounded by a crowd of people. His crew is sitting close at hand, all of them beaming and hugging each other happily. Fig and Ayda are on the opposite side, flanked by their friends. Beyond them, other people are sitting, standing, climbing to their feet. Some of them Jack knows, but most of them he doesn’t. At his feet, an oil lantern sits beside overflowing piles of paper flowers, bits of sea glass, and other small trinkets.

There’s no large meeting places in the Bilge, so everything important happens in the crossroad plazas, including funerals for beloved members of the community. He has a vague memory of his grandfather’s death, of the mourners gathered in one of the smaller crossroads, leaving paper flowers and trinkets at his feet. Mostly, he remembers his mother’s face fixed into a gracious smile while she gripped her husband’s hand hard enough to leave marks. She’d be pleased to know that the offerings left for her youngest son put those left for her father to shame.

He looks back to Garthy, still leaning over him, their beautiful face lined with exhaustion. Close as they are, he suddenly notices that the shimmering gold of their irises has turned to flat silver. The tears caught in their lashes are clear, nothing but saltwater and simple joy. The Celestial spark that filled them with gold is gone, and Jack knows that they traded it for him.

His lungs are still remembering how to breathe, and his throat feels like a cracked riverbed. Later, he’ll tell them that he understands and he’s sorry and he loves them and the truth of their divinity is inexorably carved into his bones. Later, they’ll talk.

For now, he just kisses them again and breathes in the soft, perfect scent of night-blooming flowers and honey.

Chapter Text

Rebuilding is slow, but Leviathan is no stranger to calamity. Wounds become scars, wreckage becomes new homes, and loss becomes memory. The facts of the conflict are told and retold, expanded and exaggerated into tales and songs. Men who weren’t even in the city claim to have fought shoulder to shoulder with Golden Jack himself, and everyone has a friend or cousin or crewmate who was in the Row when Garthy O’Brien put Betsy Corbin in shackles.

A year after the Battle of the Break, as it comes to be called, a small group of blue coats attempts to rally renewed support for their cause, but they’re run out of the city in days.

The Gold Gardens evolves, both by necessity and by choice. Garthy buys sections of the decks below, building the new concert hall on the Cannoncourt level and the bathhouse on Jetsam, and dedicates part of the upper level to a healing clinic. With the help of their Solesian friends, including a few willing druids, the rooftops become a terraced garden of perennial foods and herbs. An intense Firbolg woman spends a year establishing a colony of honey bees and training apprentices to care for them. Gorgug and a small team of engineers outfit the entire complex with electricity, efficient plumbing, and a beautiful brass elevator.

There’s still magic built into the place, channels to promote the flow of peace and comfort, wards to protect against ill intent, but now the magic moves around Garthy, instead of through them. It aches to be cut off from something that was once the center of their existence, but there’s relief, too. They never realized how heavy the burden was until it was lifted.

They try other means of wielding magic. Ayda gives them a spell book. Bill Seacaster offers them power at a discount. They pray and worship and perform rituals that have been part of their entire life, and even the simplest cantrip remains out of reach. The loss hits them hardest in the moments they forget that it’s gone. They wave a hand to clean up a mess or touch a bruise that won’t heal, like reaching out with a limb they can still feel the shape of. Jack holds them and kisses them and thanks them over and over and over, and there’s no resentment or regret in their grief. It’s worth it.

After five years, things have settled. Trixie, now a part-owner of the Gardens, has taken over most of the day-to-day management, leaving Garthy to handle entertainment and events. On this dreary autumn afternoon, the most pressing event is Cheese’s wedding, six months away and already a source of stress. They’re suddenly very glad that Fig and Ayda chose to elope and save everyone a headache.

The elevator opens, and the sound of familiar laughter tumbles out.

Jack is leaning heavily on his cane as Rosie Chebek, nearly spherical with pregnancy, toddles at his side. His fur has gone from silvery gray to dappled white, with dark streaks in his whiskers, and there’s a softness to his big brown eyes, like they’re not fully focused. His broad shoulders are just as strong and straight as ever, and his deep, rumbling laugh is just as rich.

“You said no such thing,” he chuckles.

“I did!” Rosie insists. “You should have seen her face. Couldn’t have been more shocked if I’d slapped her with a dead fish.”

“Lucky she didn’t slap you right back,” he tells her, shaking his head. He looks up, and his soft eyes focus like Garthy is the only thing he can see. His warm smile wraps around them like a soft quilt on a cold morning.

Whatever weight Garthy carries is suddenly lighter; whatever they’ve lost is bearable. With Jack, everything is easier.

He greets them with a kiss and props himself onto a bar stool, grimacing as he stretches out his bad leg.

“Hello, sweetheart.” They put a hand on his shoulder, wishing they could give him some relief from the pain. “Rosie, darling, you look like a mother goddess.”

“That’s good, because I feel like a damn cannonball,” she grumbles cheerfully. “If these pups don’t get out soon, I’m gonna serve an eviction notice.”

“Serve ‘em right, the little freeloaders,” Jack agrees.

“You say that like you’re not gonna spoil ‘em rotten.”

She gives him a knowing look, and he rolls his eyes with a huff. There’s a Solesian account set aside to ensure that the Chebek family wants for nothing and that all their children have every opportunity they could ask for. Rosie knows about the account, but Garthy doesn’t think she knows just how big a safety net Jack has given them.

Rosie stretches her arms over her head, and her spine gives a small crack. “I’d best be off. Got my check-in with the midwife.”

“You know she can come to you, lovey,” Garthy reminds her. “No need for you to trek all the way up here.”

“I know, but the walking’s good for me.” Smiling at Jack, she adds, “And I get a good bit of gossip.”

She waves as she trundles off toward the clinic, promising to stop again before she goes home. When she’s gone, Garthy runs a hand gently along Jack’s thigh, frowning.

“Not sure the walking’s quite so good for you, yeah?”

“Sitting still’s no good, either,” Jack points out. There’s an audible creak as he extends his knee, and he grunts in pain. “Though walking to the other end of the Bilge and back might be a bit much.”

“Could get you a brace,” Garthy suggests. “Or one of those little hover scooters.”

He laughs, but the laughter quickly turns into a wracking cough, and he covers his mouth, shoulders shaking. Reflexively, Garthy lays a hand on his chest, feeling his heart and lungs as he struggles to regain his breath. Slowly, the coughing subsides, and he gives Garthy an apologetic look.

What started as a minor cold the previous spring turned into something worse. Jack recovered after several substantial healing spells and nearly a month of bedrest, but the cough has been persistent.

Garthy answers with a smile that hopefully shows more fondness than concern. “Go get comfy, yeah? Put your feet up properly. I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

In a voice like worn-out sandpaper, he asks hopefully, “Don’t suppose you’d make it rum?”

They sigh. “Tea with whiskey and honey.”

His soft smile makes them want to give him everything he could ever ask for. It always has. “Deal.”

As Jack shuffles over to the booth against the wall, Garthy turns toward the bar to ask for the tea, only to find Danny already spooning honey into a steaming cup.

“Started making it when he got in,” Danny explains. “Figured he’d need it.”

“Lovey, you are an absolute gift,” Garthy tells him, and his ears flush crimson. "Got a bit of lemon, as well?”

Danny puts the teacup on a small tray with the jar of honey and a plate of fresh cut lemon. “Anything for you, boss?”

“Not right now, darling. Thank you.”

Where most of the tables in the new Gardens are surrounded by low cushions for lounging, Garthy’s personal booth is dominated by a large curved sofa, tall enough for Jack to sit and stand with minimal effort. He’s relaxing comfortably against the plush red velvet, feet propped up on a matching ottoman, arms stretched out across the back. His eyes seem to be closed until Garthy gets closer and sees him watching them from beneath heavy lids.

“Come here, you gorgeous creature," he growls, sending a shiver of pleasure up Garthy’s spine.

“Are you talking to me or the tea?”

They set the tray down and sink onto the couch beside him, and he leans into them with a soft kiss to their throat.

“The tea, obviously,” he teases. “Never seen a lovelier cup.”

Garthy laughs. “I’ll pass along the compliment to Danny.”

“You do, and he might have a stroke.”

“Five years working here, and he still gets flustered,” they sigh. “Can barely have a conversation without him turning pink.”

Jack cradles the cup in his hands and sips delicately. “Can’t fault him for that, ‘ey? Still get flustered m-”

He breaks off in another fit of coughing, and Garthy takes the cup from him before it can slosh. The coughing settles quickly, but his breathing remains ragged as he leans back on the sofa.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jack says, soft and gravelly.

Garthy forces a smile. “Like what, Jacky my love?”

“Like I’m dying.” He runs his fingers up the back of their neck and grins. “Still got plenty of little deaths to look forward to.”

“Two so far, this morning,” they murmur, sliding their hand along the inside of his thigh. “Might like another this afternoon.”

“I’d oblige here and now, but, uh...”

Jack tilts his head toward the handful of patrons around the bar, some of whom are studying their drinks in a way that suggests they’re trying very hard not to stare. Garthy catches the eye of a pretty Dwarven woman, giving her a wink, and her entire face turns violently red.

“Nothing they haven’t seen before, yeah?” They press a kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth. He smells like rosemary and incense, like a sacred fire burning at the heart of a wild shrine.

Sex is different, now. It’s messier, slower, softer. Age and the absence of magic have imposed unexpected limits, but there’s pleasure in learning to navigate those constraints, in trying new things and laughing at the absurd fallibility of their own bodies. Garthy still craves novelty and sensation, a variety of lovers and experiences, but there’s nothing and no one they crave more than Jack.

They’re kissing the side of his neck, thinking about hauling him away for a quick tumble, when he says suddenly, “Garthy.”

“Hmm?” They look up to find him staring straight ahead, eyes wide with astonishment. Frowning, they follow his gaze toward the front door, and their heart stops.

Framed against the arched entryway is the tallest Orc Garthy has ever seen. Their limbs are bare, showing soft muscle and skin that shines like a silver pearl. Heavy silks hang around their shoulders and hips, covering just enough for decency, and a multitude of bracelets are stacked on their arms and ankles. Delicate chains hang from caps on their long tusks, connected to rings in their ears and nose, crossing over the bright gold patterns tattooed on their broad face. Hair the color of a starless night hangs to their waist in thousands of tiny braids, each woven with silk cord and decorated with beads of crystal and bone. On their head sits a crown of flowers with blossoms in the shape of small white stars.

The Zajir looks at Garthy with a brilliant smile and moves toward them, jewelry ringing softly like chimes in a temple garden.

Garthy stares back at them in shock.

Jack hauls himself to his feet as the beautiful being approaches. A second later, Garthy does the same.

The Zajir traces Garthy’s brow with the tip of their finger, drinking in the sight as if Garthy is something they’ve waited a lifetime to behold, instead of the other way around.

“My beautiful child,” they breathe in awe. Their voice is soft and warm, with the lilting accent of Orekral. “So many generations, yet I still see echoes of my beloved in your face.”

A dozen different emotions tangle together in Garthy’s throat. After a moment, they choke out, “What are you doing here?”

The Zajir’s smile softens. “I have come to speak with you, last of my beloved Zajre, and to meet your Favored, whose life has been so dearly bought.”

They turn to look at Jack, who seems startled at the acknowledgment. He clears his throat and nods in greeting. “Hello. Welcome. Captain Jack Brakkow. You must be, uh, one of Garthy’s relatives.”

It’s such a mundane statement in the middle of this surreal moment that Garthy snorts in surprise. The Zajir reaches out to clasp Jack’s hand between theirs, the ring-covered fingers eclipsing his completely.

“I am Rayani, called Star-Crowned. It is a great joy to meet you, Jack Brakkow, called Golden, Favored of my honored child.”

Jack’s ears flush pink, and his whiskers bristle with embarrassment. He glances at Garthy for guidance, but all they can give him is a helpless stare.

“Not really sure what the protocol is for... this,” Jack says uncertainly. “Can I get you something to drink? Food? Anything?”

As a general rule, Jack hates playing host. Even small social obligations will make him sick with anxiety over what he might be doing wrong. Garthy knows he’s only stepping up now so that they don’t have to, and it makes their chest ache with love and gratitude.

“What would you offer to an old friend, deeply loved and long absent?” Rayani asks.

Jack puzzles over the question for a moment, then he smiles broadly. “Got just the thing. Back in a moment.”

The click of his cane as he takes a step snaps Garthy back into years of habit, and they say automatically, “I’ll get it, darling.”

“I can walk to the bar and back,” Jack assures them gently. “You two sit. Talk. I won’t be a minute.”

He shuffles off toward the bar and Danny, who is watching all of this unfold with nervous fascination. Several patrons are sneaking glances at Rayani, while others are staring openly. All Garthy can see is Jack, his broad shoulders and slow gait, and the sweet smile he throws back over his shoulder.

“You can’t take him,” they blurt out.

The Zajir frowns and tilts their head curiously.

“You can’t take him,” Garthy says again. They have no hope of fighting a Celestial being, but they will. “That power was mine to do with as I pleased, and I made my choice. I don’t care what you or Gruumsh or anyone else has to say about it. He’s mine, and you can’t... you can’t take him back.”

Rayani regards them in silence, studying their face with a sorrowful expression. Garthy holds their gaze, unwavering even as their stomach clenches. Finally, they sink gracefully onto the sofa, reaching for Garthy’s hand. “Sit with me, little one. We have much to discuss.”

The air around them is warm, scented with flowers and spices that Garthy has only smelled once, standing in the feast hall of the one-eyed god. Their hand is heavy and soft, covered in tattoos of geometric flowers and ancient symbols.

“Long ago, my siblings and I walked the worlds. When mortal sages showed they had the power to do us harm, Gruumsh One-Eye decreed that we should be confined to the safety of Acheron. You know this, yes?” they begin, and Garthy nods. “This confinement does not please us. We are bereft of new experience, and we have watched our children suffer in our absence. After much strife, Gruumsh agreed that we might return to this world when the last of our precious Zajre, who bear the blessing and burden of our divine light, came to join us in the great hall.”

“Ah. Expect I put a wrinkle in that, yeah?”

“Indeed. You have done a thing which should not have been done, and heaven is changed because of it.”

Garthy’s heart drops. Their mind races through ways to avoid whatever punishment might be planned for them. The Zajiri are creatures of pleasure, and the Gold Gardens is filled with delights to distract Rayani, maybe even dissuade or bribe them. If necessary, Fig can hide Garthy and Jack in Hell until they think of a better option. There are always other planes to explore and ways to stay hidden from the sight of gods.

Before they can reply, Jack returns with Danny, who sets down a tray of food. The Gardens’ most popular selections are represented, but there’s also a plate of the heavy spiced bread that Jack loves and a dish of the chili-dusted fruits that no one but Garthy seems to like.

Rayani gives a nod of thanks and a warm smile to Danny, whose ears are already bright red. He practically runs back to the safety of the bar.

Jack is carrying a bottle of wine, which he offers to Garthy for approval. It’s the finest drink they have and probably the most expensive bottle of alcohol in the city, miraculously salvaged from the ruins of the previous Gardens. They planned to finally open it next month, to mark the anniversary of Jack’s resurrection. This was meant to be for them, for him, a memory of the first bottle they shared together.

Seeing their hesitation, Jack’s face falls. “Figured it’s the best we’ve got. I can find something else, if you want.”

“No, sweetheart, that’s perfect. Thank you,” they assure him quickly.

“You’re sure?” he asks anxiously, still standing. “There’s a bit of that Gravalvian rum left.”

“I’m sure, lovey. Just relax, yeah? You’re meant to be resting.” They pull him gently down onto the sofa beside them and press a quick kiss to his hand, hoping he can hear the unspoken appreciation.

Rayani watches the two of them with a sad smile, but they say nothing until after the wine has been poured. They taste it with their eyes closed, visibly savoring the flavor, and sigh with pleasure when they swallow.

“Dynasties have risen and fallen since I last tasted something new,” they say wistfully. Turning to Jack, they ask, “Tell me why you chose this.”

The story behind that bottle isn’t interesting, but it’s one Garthy holds close to their heart. Jack does, too, and he gives them a glance full of fondness and memory. They thread their fingers through his as he answers.

“Well, it’s the best there is, ‘ey? Best I’ve ever had, at least. It’s made in Thyst, supposedly with some kind of berries from the Feywild. Got a case of it off an Aisenese freighter some nine years back. I don’t know much about wine, so I brought it to Garthy. Figured if they didn’t want it, they could tell me a fair price to ask for it.”

“Of course, he admitted later it was an excuse to come and see me,” they add. “Told him he was welcome anytime, no excuse required.”

“The two of us finished off a bottle of it that night,” Jack says, smiling at Garthy. “Worst hangover I’ve ever had. Worth it, though.”

“Absolutely worth it,” Garthy agrees. They remember lying in bed, curtains drawn against the morning sun, gently massaging Jack’s ears, basking in an unfamiliar sense of peace.

Rayani takes another slow sip of the wine, as if understanding its history will change its flavor. Maybe it does. They set the glass down with a smile and tell Jack earnestly, “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Jack flushes and ducks his head, mumbling “It’s no trouble” into his own glass.

Outside, a soft rain has started to fall, and the bar is becoming livelier as people take refuge from the weather. The dinner crowd will be filtering in soon, and there’s an evening show that will need Garthy’s attention. Life doesn’t stop for the whims of angels.

Quietly, in Orcish, they tell Rayani, “I won’t let you take him.”

Rayani’s heavy brows furrow, and they study Garthy with a frown. “You have lost so much already. How could I bear to take anything more?”

“Then what do you want?”

Over the years, Jack has picked up a scattering of Orcish phrases and can read it well enough to struggle through simple texts. He likely knows that Garthy has said something in reference to him, but nothing else.

He leans in close and asks like he’s afraid of breaking something, “Do you want me to go, so you can have a bit of privacy?”

“Absolutely not,” they answer immediately. They squeeze his hand and give him a pleading look that they hope communicates how much they need him here for whatever happens next.

Without a word, he meets their eyes and nods. Now that he’s been assured, Garthy doubts any mortal force could make him leave their side, and they’ll do everything in their power to make sure nothing else tries.

Still in Orcish, Rayani says, “What I want is to correct what has been done.”

“What do you mean, correct it?” Garthy asks in Common, and their grip tightens on Jack’s hand. “It’s done, and even if it could be undone, I wouldn’t want to, because it was fucking worth it.”

Jack frowns in confusion, but he’s clever enough to figure out what they’re talking about. Rayani, meanwhile, smiles gently.

“I can see that,” they reply. “But the light should not have been taken from you, just as we should not have been taken from the world.”

“Right. Fine. I broke the rules. What’s the penalty for my cosmological crime? Is there a fine to pay? Shall I make a public apology? Prison sentence in the Pit?” A lifetime of dedication was answered with silence. It figures that Garthy would finally get divine attention for doing something wrong.

Rayani sits back, startled. “Crime? No. You do not... The fault for this lies not with you but with those who left you to bear this gift alone.”

“Well, darling, that would be you, yeah?”

“Among others, yes.” Rayani unfastens a small pouch hanging from one of their many necklaces and sets it on the table beside Garthy’s untouched glass of wine. “Justice must begin with restoration, and it is my pleasure to restore that which you have lost.”

Garthy looks from Rayani to the pouch, feeling like the deck is pitching beneath their feet. Cautiously, they pick it up with one hand, still clinging to Jack with the other. The leather is warm in their hand, the contents heavy and thrumming softly with familiar energy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a living creature cradled gently in their palm, and Garthy breathes in sharply, understanding.

“What is it?” Jack asks softly.

“It’s the light. A piece of it, at least.” Garthy turns to Rayani for confirmation, and they nod.

“It is not within my power to make right the things which have passed, but I offer this fragment of heaven that you might once again be whole.”

Jack leans forward, eyes wide. “Does... does that mean you can have it back? Your magic? All of it?”

Garthy nods slowly. They feel the contents of the pouch pulling at them like gravity, like all they have to do is let go, and everything will be like it was before. Their blood will once again burn with power and desire. Their senses and needs will be heightened. They’ll be honored and adored. The Gold Gardens can be a temple again. Those who turned away from them in disappointment can return in joy. They can provide more comfort, greater pleasure, deeper healing.

They look at Jack, who is watching them with anxious hope. His big brown eyes are soft and warm in his pale silver face, ears tilted forward attentively. If age has done anything to diminish his good looks, Garthy hasn’t noticed.

For another long moment, Garthy holds the heavy spark of divinity in their hand, then they set it gently back on the table.

“I appreciate the offer,” they tell Rayani. “But no.”

Rayani’s mouth falls open in surprise, but they collect themself quickly. “I understand the weight of this choice. If you wish for time to consider...”

“I don’t.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Jack sputters. “Why would y-”

He breaks off in a fit of violent coughing, pulling away from Garthy to cover his mouth, his whole body shaking with the force of each wracking breath. Garthy holds onto his shoulders, helpless.

Immediately, Rayani moves to sit in front of him and lays one large hand on his chest. There is a rush of magic like a desert wind through the space around them, and Jack takes a deep breath. He breathes again, like he’s surprised that he can, and relaxes into Garthy’s arms.

“Thank you,” he sighs.

Rayani keeps their hand on his chest, frowning. “You are in pain.”

“It’s not so bad.” He takes another cautious breath and clears his throat. “Better now.”

This happens at least once a week. Whether it’s the cough or his leg or some other ailment, if a friend with healing ability is nearby, they will quickly reach out to provide Jack some relief. Sunny will fire off spells like a gunslinger the second he shows any sign of discomfort. The one time he grumbled about wasting magic, she gave him a look of such intense disappointment that he immediately apologized and never mentioned it again.

It’s all just dressing on a wound that will never heal. What Rayani’s done will help for a few hours, maybe even a few days, but it won’t be long before Garthy is once again lying awake, holding him and praying that each struggling breath is followed by another.

They turn to find Rayani watching them closely, eyes gentle with understanding.

“Ah. I see,” they murmur. “It is too much to be alone after such brief happiness, yes?”

Once, at the height of their power, in the healing embrace of the Gardens, Garthy could have added years onto Jack’s life, just by having him in their bed every night. At the time, they made a point not to think about what would happen when the years ran out. Now they know. Now they’ve suffered his death twice, and they know exactly what it will feel like when he’s gone for good. Regaining their magic could buy him more time, but it will be two or three years against the two or three decades it will grant to them.

Jack looks between Garthy and Rayani with a puzzled frown. "What’s that mean?”

“Means I’d rather enjoy what I’ve got, yeah?” Garthy replies, taking his hand again. “Don’t need any complications.”

“Don’t do that,” he says wearily. “You don’t have to tell me, but don’t be glib about it.”

Garthy sighs. They take a moment to think before they answer, “I miss it. I do. But it’s a lot, yeah? It’s not just magic. There’s other things that come with it. I miss it, but… but it’s a bit of relief, not having to carry it all. I rather like being retired.”

Jack’s face softens. “Garthy, you didn’t retire, you lost a limb. Heavy as it is, I know it hurts you not to have it. If all it costs is a bit of weight on your shoulders, isn’t that worth it?”

“Not if I have to carry it alone, lovey.”

“Expect you’ll have a bit more divine support, going forward.” He gives Rayani a meaningful look. “Won’t they?”

“This is true,” Rayani replies. “Yet I believe it is not the strength of heaven they require.”

Jack huffs in frustration and turns back to Garthy. “Right. Fine. What do you need, then? Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

“I need you, Jacky my love,” they tell him gently. “I don’t want another thirty years of cosmic responsibility without you. And I don’t want to waste time being distracted and hungry and unsatisfied. I just... just want to enjoy what I’ve got, yeah? I don’t need power or magic or slightly more spectacular orgasms. I need you.”

In the beginning, time alone with Jack was worth more than being surrounded by other lovers. When the Gardens burned, staying with him was worth more than the safety of Compass Points. In the uncanny quiet of the afterlife, the promise of having him back was worth more than the Celestial piece of their soul. The contentment they have now is worth more than anything they’ve ever owned.

He draws back to study their face, brows furrowed in thought. They can see the arguments cycling through his mind, and they steel themselves to answer whatever self-deprecating rationale he lands on. After a moment, though, he just smiles sadly and presses a kiss to the back of their hand.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Truly sure?”

“I’m sure, love.”

Jack nods once, and kisses their hand again. “Alright, then.”

He picks up his cup of tea and settles into the sofa, resting his arm along the back. From the tilt of his ears and the way his good leg is planted, Garthy knows he’s not as relaxed as he seems, but his tension is that of readiness, not anxiety. There will be another conversation later, but for now, he’ll defend their decision, if needed.

Everything is easier with Jack at their side. Everything is simpler. They lean against him, and he drapes his hand over their shoulder, warm and steadfast.

Rayani looks between the two of them with an expression of gentle sadness. Slowly, they pick up the pouch, cradling it like it might shatter at a touch. Quietly, they say, “This is a loss to all the world.”

They give a deep sigh of resignation and look up at Garthy with a smile. “I honor your choice. I understand it. My sorrow pales beside my pride in you, fiercest of my children. May our people sing of you eternally, Garthy O’Brien of clan Stonehammer, called Grave-Breaker, called Heaven-Cleaver, Star-Crowned champion, last of the Zajre."

“Gonna put that on my business card,” Garthy mutters, and Jack snorts loudly into his teacup.

Considering certain people’s reactions to their retirement, they doubt any songs about them will be recorded by the keepers of Orcish culture, but it doesn’t matter. Leviathan has a long memory and songs of her own.

“What happens now?” they ask Rayani.

“Now, an age has ended, and we must begin anew.” Rayani looks down at the fragile piece of heaven in their hands. “I will herald the return of my kin to this world, and we will bring a new light. The light that was will be no more.”

“Could you give it to someone else?” Jack suggests. Garthy and Rayani both turn toward him, and his ears shrink back. “Just seems like a shame to waste it.”

Rayani shakes their head and answers, “The fire burns too hot for mortal bodies to bear. Perhaps there are those who might be granted this power, but most would perish or go mad.”

What suddenly occurs to Garthy is such a simple solution to the problem, they really should have thought of it immediately. “Could we share it?”

Now, Jack and Rayani turn to them, both frowning.

“Could you split the power between me and Jack?” they ask Rayani. “Give us both an equal share?”

Ryani’s brow furrows in thought. “I... do not know.”

“Are you serious?” Jack says in disbelief. Garthy nods, and he sets down his teacup with a sigh. “Listen, I don’t understand half of what’s going on here, but I know that...” He points to the leather pouch in Rayani’s hands. “...isn’t for me. I’m not Aasimar. I’m not even an Orc. I’m just an old Rat.”

Garthy opens their mouth to object, and he cuts them off gently.

“I’m a very accomplished, very lucky old Rat,” he goes on. “But an exceptional life doesn’t mean I was born special, not like you. It’s a fine thought, but that’s not for me.”

The most pronounced change in Jack, after his resurrection, was that he began to accept comfort and compliments without argument, but the suggestion that he might be given station or status has always been met with incredulity. When he was offered a room at the Ramble, he laughed until Cathilda pointed out that he very clearly met the requirements, being a successful pirate captain who had retired with the respect of his crew. Then he declined the offer until Garthy reminded him that the two of them needed a place to live until the Gardens was rebuilt. It still puzzles him when young pirates come to him for counsel.

Narrowing their eyes, Garthy asks him, “Because you don’t want it, or because you think you don’t deserve it?”

“Because it’s not possible,” he counters. “You heard ‘em. It’d be too much for me.”

“I heard that all of it would be too much for most people. Seems like half power would be reasonable for a life-long fighter who can channel divine rage, yeah?”

Jack scoffs. “Not exactly in peak physical condition, am I?”

“I believe strength of body will be of less consequence than strength of will,” Rayani puts in. “Should you choose to make this attempt.”

Garthy ignores Jack’s grumbling and turns back to Rayani. “Is it possible?”

“There is nothing in the laws of heaven or nature to forbid it, but it is a thing which has not been done. I do not know.”

“You remember how upset folks were that you gave up your power for a Rat,” Jack tells Garthy. “What are they gonna do if you share it with me?”

“Well, lovey, I expect they’ll die mad about it.”

Of the four targeted attempts on Jack’s life in the past five years, two were made by Orcs who believed that killing him would return Garthy’s power, and both would-be assassins did, indeed, die mad. Jack only knows about the first one. The second didn’t even make it to Leviathan.

“Just means less pressure, anyway, yeah?” Garthy presses. “We don’t have to follow any traditions or meet any expectations. We do what we like, be something new. If it’s a burden, at least we get to carry it together.”

“It’s not the weight I’m worried about,” Jack says softly.

“You don’t have to sleep with anyone you don’t want to,” they assure him. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. There’s a hunger to feed, but you decide how to satisfy it. If all you want in the world is to read novels, drink rum, and lick my cunt, that’s enough.”

His ears flush, and he ducks his head in embarrassment. “That’s mostly what I do now.”

“But you could do it for another decade, and you could do it without pain. You could heal yourself, any time you need it. You could take nice long walks with Rosie and help Vee with the bees. No more limping or coughing or pretending your eyesight’s not getting worse.”

“Eyes are just fine,” he mutters, but they both know he’s lying.

Garthy doesn’t know how much he might be restored, but they know he won’t be sick anymore. They know all the things he loves will bring even more pleasure and healing, and they know that sex, which has always been incredible, will be a revelation.

“I’m not gonna make you, yeah? We can talk about it, or you can take time to think. Whatever you need. But if there’s a chance we can have more time together, I want it.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Quietly, he adds, “What if it kills me?”

“It won’t,” they reply, because it can’t. Because if this is the thing that takes him away, it will leave them in pieces too jagged to mend. After a moment, they tell him, “You can say no, but say it because this isn’t what you want. Don’t say it because you think this isn’t something you’re supposed to have.”

Jack stares at them, frowning, thinking. They hold his gaze in silence and imagine his soft brown eyes with a corona of gold, a warm sheen to his fur. He’s always been easy to read, and they can see all the conflict and uncertainty in his face. Gently, they take his hand and run their thumb over the smooth gold ring around his finger. There’s no magic in it, anymore, but he’s never taken it off.

Finally, he lets out a long breath and says, “Alright, then.”

Garthy sits up straight. “Really?”

“Few more years of good health does sound rather nice.“ He gives them a sly smile. “Admit I’m curious to take a crack at that magic nonsense, as well.”

It’s going to work. It has to work. It’s essential to the turning of the worlds that Garthy spends the rest of their life fucking this beautiful man senseless. They reply with a bright grin and kiss him soundly. “Jacky my love, I adore you.”

“You just like getting what you want,” he teases, and they kiss him again.

“All I want is you, lovey.”

They turn back to Rayani, who appears lost in thought, pondering the little leather pouch. With a quiet hum, Rayani holds out their hand and offers the pouch back to Garthy. “I believe what you wish is possible, but I do not know how such a thing is to be done. I will give what guidance I can, but the discovery must be yours.”

The fragment of divinity seems to burn even hotter in Garthy’s palm, thrumming in time to their pulse, calling out with a plea that echoes in their blood. Jack’s hand closes over theirs, pressing the spark between them. He breathes in sharply, and Garthy knows it’s calling to him, too.

“I think we can figure it out, yeah?”

Jack smiles. “Aye. I think we can.”