Chapter 8 Maximus #2
As I turned to leave, Sage pulled a copper pan from the drying rack, turning it in the dim light. “Ghost did the dishes again last night.”
I frowned at him. “How can you tell?”
“Look.” He pointed at the dishes. “Everything’s arranged by size, stacked neat as pins. Boy’s got a system.” A rare smile crossed his face. “And he actually scrubs the bottoms. Half the crew just splashes water around and calls it done.”
I squared my shoulders, keeping my expression neutral. “As long as he’s doing his duties.”
“Doing more than that.” Sage paused, dark eyes narrowing. “You know, he’s been asking about your favorite foods.”
My heart stopped. “Has he?”
“Mentioned something about repaying you for giving him a chance.” Sage’s knowing look sent a prickle shooting across my neck. “He won’t stop going on about how you saved him from becoming monster bait.”
“Just doing my job. We need all the hands we can get.”
“Mmm,” Sage hummed. “He’s also noticed you don’t always come and get your meal on time. I’ve had to stop him from bringing it to you twice.”
“Right, then. I’ll be off. The captain needs to know about these.”
“Right.” Sage’s tone carried a hint of amusement. “See you later.”
I escaped into the corridor, clutching the box of stones too tightly, trying to calm my racing pulse.
I couldn’t allow any of the crew—even Sage—to notice my growing soft spot for Ghost. Not only would it make my job more difficult, but it could be downright dangerous for him.
I was sure Butcher wouldn’t mind carving into him, just to torment me.
Viper would certainly raise an eyebrow if he found out I’d gotten attached to our little stowaway, to say the least.
The wooden steps creaked under my boots as I climbed to the upper deck. The box of dead fluxstones weighed heavy in my arms—or perhaps it was the thought of facing Viper that made everything feel heavier.
I slowed my pace as I approached his quarters, studying the intricate carvings on his door.
Dragons wrapped around each other, their tails forming an endless knot.
My fingers traced the worn wood, remembering the first time I’d stood here, fresh from my military disgrace, half expecting to be thrown overboard for one thing or another.
Instead, Viper had seen something in me. Maybe it was the way I’d handled myself in that first raid, or how quickly I’d learned the crew’s dynamics. Within a month, he’d promoted me to first mate—though most days, that felt more curse than blessing.
Maintaining our united front exhausted me.
The crew needed to see strength at the helm, not division.
Every morning brought a new performance: standing shoulder-to-shoulder during inspections, backing his decisions even when they made my skin crawl, pretending his casual cruelty didn’t sicken me.
The memory of yesterday’s flogging—of little, eighteen-year-old Willy of all people—still turned my stomach.
I was still unable to decide if I wished it was me who’d done the flogging rather than Butcher so I could have gone easier on him.
Viper wasn’t stupid. He must have known I disagreed with it.
I raised Butcher’s behavior as a problem at least once a month with him.
He knew I disagreed with half his choices, just as I knew he kept me around because I made his job easier.
I handled the day-to-day headaches, kept the crew in line, made sure everything ran smooth as silk.
The Reaper kept the peace so the Viper could wage war.
At least with Viper, I knew exactly where I stood.
He was honest in his dishonesty—a snake who never pretended to be anything else.
Not like Eric, who’d manipulated me into loving him, all for his own gain.
The name still burned unspoken on my tongue even after all these years.
Viper might be cruel, but he’d never hidden his true nature behind promises and sweet words.
There was a strange comfort in that kind of honesty.
My hand still hovered over the door. What had Viper really seen in me that day?
A broken man with nothing left to lose? Someone desperate enough to do whatever it took to survive?
Or perhaps he’d recognized a kindred spirit—someone who understood that power came from fear as much as respect.
My Imperial training had taught me that lesson well enough.
I squared my shoulders, pushing aside the ache in my hip. Time to do our familiar dance again.
I knocked twice.
“Enter.” Viper’s growl carried through the heavy wood.
I pushed open the door, my gaze going, as it always did, to the hydra fixed to his wall.
The beast’s glass eyes seemed to track my movement, four sets of razor-sharp teeth frozen mid-strike.
That middle head always unnerved me most—jaws spread wide, tongue curled, ready to snap shut on whatever fool wandered too close.
The trophy dominated the wall, leaving the quarters feeling half their actual size.
It didn’t help that monster parts crowded every surface. Tentacles coiled in jars of preservative fluid cast strange shadows across the floor. A kraken beak served as a paperweight. Dragon scales lined the shelves, and what might have been a basilisk’s eye floated in murky liquid on his desk.
Viper hunched over his charts, his oversized tricorn casting his face in shadow. Papers scattered across his desk—shipping manifestos, patrol schedules, cargo lists—all marked with the royal seal of Sunada. His network of informants earned their coin well.
“More dead stones.” I set the wooden box on his desk, careful not to disturb his organized chaos of documents.
He didn’t look up, just traced a line across one of the maps with his finger. “Merchant vessel. Twenty days out of port. Carrying textiles and…” A gold tooth flashed as he smiled. “Anchor-grade fluxstones.”
The coordinates he pointed to showed a common trading route between Sunada and Asteris. Perfect hunting grounds for a ship like ours.
“Captain, about these stones.” I tapped the wooden box. “We need to replenish before any more raids. The galley’s running low, and several cannons—”
“Hmm.” Viper leaned back, his chair creaking. He stroked his massive beard, eyes fixed on the hydra above. The silence stretched until I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
“We’ve also got a deadline, remember? With respect, Captain, you’ve been talking about picking up that waterweaver your contact told you about for months. If we’re late to Gearhart, we might miss him.”
Viper’s massive beard quivered with frustration. “Fine.” He slammed his palm on the desk. “Set course for Duskwater Harbor.”
My stomach twisted. That cesspool of a port, where every transaction came with a hidden cost, and half the “merchants” were really assassins-for-hire. Where the air stank of piss and rotting fish, and you couldn’t walk ten steps without someone trying to pick your pocket or slit your throat.
I opened my mouth to suggest anywhere else, but stopped.
Duskwater Harbor made the most logical sense, location-wise.
I’d simply support Viper with his transactions, then head straight back to hide on the ship, like I always did.
Until I cracked and left my cabin to check that the younger members of the crew were safe.
“We can sell what’s in the hold to make more space for what’s to come. And I need to see Old Harvey, anyway.” Viper’s grin widened, showing off that gold tooth. “We can kill all our birds.”
I nodded, already dreading the crowds of desperate souls who’d try to join our crew, the back-alley deals that always ended in bloodshed, and the constant vigilance required to keep our own crew from getting robbed blind or stabbed while deep in their cups.
But we needed those fluxstones, and Duskwater Harbor, for all its faults, was the safest port for ships like ours.
“I’ll inform the crew we’re adjusting our course.” I grabbed the box of dead stones, eager to escape the stuffiness of his quarters and that hydra’s unblinking stare.
As I left, it occurred to me I hadn’t found Hawk-Eyes yet to deliver a very important message.
I found her on the gun deck, her telescopic goggles pushed up onto her forehead as she peered down a cannon barrel. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, checking the mechanisms and noting readings in her logbook.
“How’re they looking?” I approached, boots echoing against the wooden planks.
She snapped to attention. “Sir. Two more dead stones since yesterday. Cannon Four’s showing signs of wear on the loading mechanism.” She gestured to the marks in her book. “Might need maintenance before our next engagement.”
“Good catch.” I leaned against the wall. “About your shift on tonight’s watch—”
“I’ll be there, sir. Clear skies should make it easy to spot anything coming our way.” She tapped her goggles. “These beauties haven’t failed us yet.”
“Actually, I’ll be taking your shift.”
Her hand paused mid-motion. “Again?” The word slipped out before she caught herself. “I mean, of course, sir. Whatever you need.”
I kept my expression neutral. Hawk-Eyes had earned her name during her first week aboard, when she’d spotted three patrol ships through a storm that would’ve caught us completely off guard. Since then, she’d become our most reliable lookout, especially during the night watch.
“I need to swap everyone around,” I lied. “But the result is that you get the night off.”
“Thank you, sir.” She hesitated. “Though I really don’t mind the night shifts.”
“I’m aware, Hawk.” I straightened up, adjusting my prosthetic. “Keep me updated on those cannons.”
“Yes, sir. And… thank you.”
I nodded and turned away, hoping she hadn’t noticed how quickly I’d changed the subject. These excuses to take the night watch were getting flimsier, but I couldn’t stop myself from creating these moments where Ghost might find his way up to the crow’s nest again.