Captain's Cabin, The Sea Serpent
Seated along the long beechwood table were two rows of senior crew members—the first mate, second mate, boatswain, armorer… Among this crowd of hulking, scar-faced pirates, a pale, slender youth stood out sharply. And yet, this very boy now sat properly in the first seat to the captain's left—the most honored position, equivalent to the captain's right hand.
At the head of the table sat Hayreddin, relaxed as he introduced the newcomer.
"You've all seen him already. This is Nick, our newly appointed assault squad leader. From now on, you'll be working together. Get along and help each other out, alright?"
Silence.
Though the captain emphasized "getting along," it wasn't really necessary. This kid, who fought like a demon out of legend, terrified even this band of ruthless killers. Unless one had a death wish, who'd dare mess with him?
Everyone greeted Nick politely, then kept their heads down and mouths shut, focusing on their riches.
Hayreddin, unsurprised, signaled the cook to serve the meal. Food on a pirate ship was usually plain—even senior officers rarely got more than the occasional delicacy. But today was special: not only was a significant new member joining, but the captain had promised "the best." Finally, the chubby cook had a chance to shine.
Dish after aromatic dish appeared—Mediterranean oysters, scallops, and cod with rich seafood sauces; lamb, beef tenderloin, and quail in thick gravies; cloves, pepper, cinnamon, and cardamom—exotic spices from distant India more valuable than gold, far beyond a commoner's reach. Garnishes included golden egg tarts, olive oil-fried onion rings, and soft goat cheese. Ruby-red wine gleamed in crystal glasses.
Algiers cuisine, blending Mediterranean and Middle Eastern flavors, was elevated here to a feast for the senses.
Nick, a boy from poverty, had never seen such splendor. His eyes widened, mouth watering as he stared at the plates. Hayreddin gently pushed a full platter of honey-glazed lamb toward him.
Nick shook his head."I don't eat meat.""Oh? Are you Catholic? Protestant? Muslim?" In this food-scarce world, refusing meat usually meant religious fasting.
"No religion. I just don't like the taste. Do I have to join a faith to be aboard?"
Hayreddin chuckled. "Suit yourself. I'm an atheist."
Luckily, land meat and seafood were well-separated on this ship. Nick happily devoured the sour cod and pickled scallops, cheeks bulging with food.
White bread—once a rare festival treat—was now in unlimited supply! What luxury!
Nick ate quietly but furiously. The stack of empty plates beside him grew alarmingly tall, shocking the crew. One teen eating more than three grown men!
The captain sipped wine with amusement, watching the boy's pouty lips as he chewed with surprising fascination.
"Slow down, there's plenty. Don't wipe the plate with your bread… Want some wine?"
Cough cough! "No thanks… got any sour jujube juice?"
Hayreddin laughed. "This is a pirate ship. It's wine or water—no kiddie drinks."
Nick reluctantly accepted light beer—barely alcoholic and the only safe drink, since freshwater spoiled quickly at sea.
After the main courses, the cook brought dessert. The pirates hooted drunkenly.
"Dessert's for girls! Trios, get that girly stuff outta here!"
Nick, stuffed but still eyeing the unfamiliar treats, pouted again at the thought of them being taken away.
"Leave them," Hayreddin said, barely hiding his amusement. "Our little guest might enjoy them."
No one dared mock the new squad leader for wanting sweets. Thus, Nick alone enjoyed almond pudding stuffed with raisins and peaches, honey-drizzled fruit pies with hot apple filling oozing onto his plate.
In an age when even sugar was a luxury, this was a feast most people would never taste. For the first time, the cold black eyes of the boy sparkled with a glimmer of youthful joy.
From then on, the word "Captain" in Nick's mind would forever carry the scent of gold and fruit pies.
After the feast, everyone departed. Only two remained at the long table.
"Full now?" Hayreddin asked.Nick nodded eagerly."That was a welcome banquet. Don't expect this every day." Seeing the boy's hint of disappointment, he added, "But I promise—your rations will always be the same as mine."
Nick nodded, satisfied. Eating like the boss—good enough.
Hayreddin cleared the dishes and laid out two pieces of parchment. "Ship contract. Want me to read it for you?"
Nick declined politely. "I can read."
He unrolled the parchment and read each clause:
The captain's orders must be obeyed without question.
Spoils are divided by rank and contribution. When water and food are low, everyone gets an equal share.
Gambling, stealing, and fighting are forbidden onboard. Disputes are to be resolved ashore. Violators will be flogged.
At no time may women be insulted or assaulted. Offenders will be executed.
Desertion or betrayal in battle means exile on a deserted island.
Everyone must keep their weapons clean and in good condition.
Leaving the ship is permitted.
When Nick joined the Sea Wolves, he was only told to obey the captain. In contrast, the Red Lion's rules were strict and well-organized—more so than the Spanish Navy. Yet pay and freedom here were far greater, with a chance at overnight fortune. No wonder people flocked to join.
"Only the first rule has no punishment listed," Nick said. "What happens if I disobey the captain?"
The red-haired man smiled, leaning back like a king on his throne.
"That depends on what you do. But let me sincerely warn you…"His voice echoed, low and dangerous."Don't test me lightly."
Nick signed both copies with a flourish, pressing a red handprint. The captain and he each kept a copy.
"To your fortune," Hayreddin raised his crystal glass. Nick imitated him, sipped, and tucked his copy close to his chest.
"Before heading to your room," the captain said, "go to the infirmary. Doctor Victor wants a word."
Nick blinked. "I'm not injured."
"You're not now, but you will be. Standard procedure—it'll benefit you."
The captain's tone left no room for argument. Nick slung his scythe, wrapped in coarse cloth, over his shoulder and left.
Once alone, Hayreddin took up Nick's parchment, scrutinizing it with interest.
Beside the round fingerprint was surprisingly elegant handwriting. For a supposed ragtag street rat, Nick had neat script and impeccable table manners—his corner of the table spotless.
Who exactly was this child?
Hayreddin chuckled. The mystery of this treasure only deepened his curiosity.