Hidden Island Chapter 32, part 1 of 4

Hidden Island
Chapter 32, part 1 of 4

The crew began rousing themselves around noon. It was just too hot to sleep comfortably any longer. The shipwrecked survivors moved slowly and gingerly, trudging through their tasks with stoic determination. There was a lot to be done. The ramshackle camp was mostly just strewn hammocks and bedrolls at the lagoon's edge. There hadn't been time or energy for much else, so the day's priority was to set up a more organized campsite. Nearly half the crew, led by Mister Reeve, were off in the nearby woods gathering firewood. The sounds of hatchets rendering branches and small trees rang out from around. Mister North was directing traffic, balancing a clipboard on his wounded hand and scribbling notes as he told people where to put the crates being brought down from the gangplank and the incoming wood piles.

Nearby, the Kestrel's cook was running his small crew around the three cookfires like a frustrated jester who just found out he had to pretend to be the king. His leadership style was precisely the opposite of that of the serene and organized quartermaster.

"No, no, salt in that pot, flour in that one, bones in that one!" the cook shouted, one hand pressed against the side of his head. "First pot is lunch! Second is dinner! The third is for making glue! You salt it again, and you're going to eat it!"

Will sat on a stump before the sailcloth awning Doctor Kalfou had claimed as a medical tent.

Nearby was a series of cots laid out for the severely wounded. Crew members lay in them miserable, recovering from broken limbs, puncture wounds, and amputations. All that could be done for them had been. Now, it was up to time.

The Doctor herself was finishing rebandaging Will's hand, making sure the bite wound hadn't begun to decay. It was inflamed and quite swollen, but Friday was sure it was from bruising, not infection. The good doctor had made the mistake of not keeping her footlocker locked when she was out of the room, and when the crew had retrieved it from her room, it had opened, dumping most of her possessions into the remaining dirty water that had not finished draining from the hold. So, the clinic was surrounded by ropes tied between trees, drying every article of clothing she had. The only things that had been cleaned were the outfit she had been wearing on Bar Cola and her laboratory coat. Amid the dirty sailors trudging through the jungle and wading through the shallows, Doctor Kalfou was resplendent in white and rather unhappy about it. Will, on the other hand, was enjoying the view.

"It's warm enough. You'll have dry clothes in an hour or two,' Will shrugged. He couldn't help but smile as he looked down the valley of her vest while she leaned forward to work on his hand. He pretended not to notice, and she pretended not to notice him seeing. Neither was fooling the other.

Friday took a deep breath and sighed dramatically, fully aware of what that did to her chest.

She casually looked herself over. "Know how much this outfit cost, you? It is white. Blood or grass stains will ruin it forever. Besides, my shoes do not match at all." She half-laughed, aware of how ridiculous she sounded.

"I noticed that," Will deadpanned. "It was the first thing I thought when I went through the shipwreck camp to check if my hand was rotting off. Black flats with white trousers? What were you thinking?"

She finished his new bandage and gave his hand a squeeze that was just a little harder than she needed to. "The hand will not rot off. Today," she said archly.

"Thanks, Doc. We really should stop meeting like this," Will smiled.

"If you wish to spend time with me, you do not need to keep injuring your hand. Your last wound has barely healed," Friday smirked back.

Will tested the movement of his bandaged hand. "Am I that transparent?"

"Switch to a different limb next time. It was the repetition that gave you away,' Friday teased.

"I'll keep that in mind," Will grinned.

"Now, what about the rest of you?" Doctor Kalfou asked.

Will winced a bit, not wanting to admit how badly he was hurt but knowing he should. With an apologetic look, he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. Doctor Kalfou's brows raised as she saw his legs. His thighs were covered in ropey bruises where the grindylow's tentacles had wound around him and squeezed. He raised his chin so she could more easily see the bruises around his neck where he'd been strangled.

"Seen so many of those," Friday said sadly. "Not much I can do. They will fade."

"I figured," Will nodded. "Other than that, it's just the rope burning on my palms."

"I can do little about more. I have balm, but others need it more," the doctor shrugged. Keep the burn clean, and come to me if it swells or fills with fluid."

Will pulled up his pants. "Yes, ma'am."

"Shoo," Doctor Kalfou said, waving her hands at him.

Will buckled his belt and headed off to find Jack.

"Sterling!" a voice called out. Will turned his head, surprised. The cook was waving him over.

He changed course, wondering what the cook needed from him. They'd only briefly met.

Unlike most crew members, a ship's cook was nearly always away from everyone else. The crew rotated galley duty, helping as cook's mates, but ship's officers were exempt, so Will barely spoke to the man.

"Stewpot," Will said as he approached. "What can I do for you?"

"Stewart 'Stewpot' Kees was a slim, dark-skinned man with a slight pot belly. Currently, his right arm was bandaged so thickly that only the ends of his fingers stuck free. Will had heard the crew joke that Stewpot didn't own any shirts. He had aprons instead. He was intense, quick to yell at mistakes and laziness, and constantly smiling and joking.

"A bunch of the food stores was lost in flood," Stewpot said, not bothering with the niceties that usually came with casual acquaintances. "Mister North saved as much as he could, but I have some stuff I need to use before it turns. Here." The cook pulled the cover off a slightly dented serving tray and offered Will a confection baked in a bread tray.

Will's brows rose. The top was a lattice of sugared pie crust with delicious-smelling filling seeping from within. It looked slightly burnt at the edges and would have been rejected by nearly any bakery, but it was far more decadent than Will ever expected to see onboard a ship, much less a jungle island after a shipwreck.

Will took it with slack-jawed surprise. It was still warm. "Stu, how did you... why?" Will shook his head. "Is that peach cobbler?"

"Aye,' Stewart grinned and handed Will a fork. "Picked up the sugar and peaches on Bar cola.

It was supposed to be a big thing for the whole crew in about a week, but only a bit of it made
it through last night. It isn't much, but I wanted to say thanks. You saved all our asses. If you see Miss Webber and Mister Quinn, tell them I have one for them too."

Will took a slow bite, rolling his eyes in pleasure as the taste flooded his mouth. "Damn, Stu.

This is amazing. You made this on a campfire?"

Stewpot tilted his head and grinned, thumbing over his shoulder. "Naw. Ship's right there."

"Oh. Right. I guess the oven still works," Will chuckled, feeling stupid. "Thanks, this is too much."

"Like hell!" The cook held up both hands in protest. "We'd all be dead if not for you."

"I don't know about that," Will shrugged.

"Well, that's what the crew thinks." Stewpot insisted. "Look, I've been with the Captain a while.

I signed on because she's a living legend. Every story about her is some combination of damn fool-crazy and unbelievable nonsense. I wanted to see if the stories were true, so here I am.

There's been enough scrapes and wonders over the last few years that I thought I was ready for anything, you know? I mean, there's a reason I stuck around when she said she was going after the Drifts. All of us who've been with her a while are like that. Whatever she's a part of, we want a front-row seat.

Last night, though... we have never seen anything like that." Stewpot lifted his injured arm, then pulled his apron aside so Will could see the mass of bruising around his ribs and chest.

"While you were on that thrice-damned ship, I took one of their tongues in the wrist. It dragged me in like a damn fish and started crushing the life out of me. I thought I was a goner. It would have been, too, if not for Mister Reeve. I was laying there on my back trying to figure out how to breathe again when the blast went off, and you three came diving off that wreck back to us. I don't think you could see the other ship, right? Whatever you did made it jerk away from us like it was being yanked by the hand of the Warden herself. As soon as it was gone, the rest of those damn monsters jumped back into the drink. We all went from fighting for our lives to standing around like idiots in about ten seconds.

The three of you ended it. The least I can do is make you a pie."

"Well, I appreciate it," Will said, unsure what to say. "I'm glad you aren't going to lose the hand."

"The new Doc saved it," Stew smiled. "She says healing will take a long time, but that's better than a hook. She's mighty impressive."

"Aye," Will said, talking around another bite of cobbler. "Most of us would be a lot worse off today without her. Fresh wounds and jungles are a dangerous mix."

"I'll take your word for it," Stewpot said. "Gotta get back to yelling at these amateurs. If I keep on them, lunch will only be two hours late."

Will laughed and waved Stewpot as he left, then headed off again to find Jack. He found her having a conversation with Danica North.

"That's essentially what I had in mind anyway," Jack said. "Just make sure no one wanders into the jungle before I can talk to them."

"Aye," the First Mate nodded. Her usual smile was missing at the moment. "What about Morant's men? They seem to know what they're doing, but I don't know if they're reliable. The whole crew knows they stayed below deck through most of the fight, and the tensions are already ratcheting up."

"Wonderful," Jack sighed. "As if this situation isn't tense enough already."

"Exactly. Coleman and I are still working out how to handle it," Danica said. She noticed Will and gave him a curt wave before returning to her discussion.

"They aren't going to go anywhere unless Morant tells them to, and he's going to keep them close," Jack said, offering Will a glance of greeting mid-sentence. "They're all trained survivalists, but you're not going to be able to use them for scouting."

"I guess that will be all on you," Danica sighed, clearly frustrated.

"Him too," Jack nodded in Will's direction.

"Him too," Will agreed around a mouthful of cobbler.

"You do jungles?" Danica asked, impressed.

"Once or twice. I'm not as good as she is, but I probably won't die right away," Will shrugged.

"Sounds better than the rest of us," Danica's smile returned momentarily. "So, what about Morant's men?" she asked Jack.

"Link them up with your husband and have them help him organize the base camp. That will keep them close to Morant but also make them useful and might help diffuse the tension with the rest of the crew," Jack suggested.

Danica nodded slowly. "That's a pretty subtle way of dealing with many problems simultaneously."

"I have my moments," Jack said dryly.

"Her dad's a diplomat," Will said with a smirk in Jack's direction. "You'd never know it from how she usually handles things, but she's pretty good at this stuff."

Jack tipped her hat in Will's direction.

"Did you see if the Doc was free yet?" Danica asked Will.

"Well, she has the infirmary up and running, but I think she's done treating everyone, so now it's just looking after the ones who are bad off," Will answered. "If you need to talk to her, now is a good time. You wounded?"

"Not badly." she shrugged. "Scrapes and bruises mostly. I have some burns from where a spotlight blew up on me." She gestured to her chest area.

"Burns are very prone to infection," Jack said, suddenly concerned. "In a jungle, that will kill
you."

Danica looked surprised, then sighed. "I already hate jungles." She stomped off toward the medical tent.

Will offered Jack his half-eaten peach cobbler. She raised an eyebrow at it and took it as if she thought he might be pulling a prank on her. He waited. She took a fork, and her eyes widened.

"Where? How?" She took a bite, and her eyes rolled back in pleasure. "What devil did you make a deal with?"

"The terrible demon, Stewpot," Will grinned.

"Stewpot is a ridiculous name for a demon," Jack said, taking another bite.

"A pretty good name for a ship's cook, though."

"Oh, is that his name?" Jack asked.

"You've been on the ship longer than me and still haven't learned the cook's name?" Will asked pointedly.

Jack looked at the cobbler thoughtfully. "A mistake on my part."

"You forgot what I told you about ships," Will chuckled.

"You've told me many things about ships. Most of it is not useful," Jack took another bite.

"The most important people to know are the cook and the quartermaster," Will reminded her.
"Mmm," Jack said, swallowing. "Did you come to find me just to give me folksy sailor wisdom?"

"I thought you might want your machete back," Will pulled her sheathed blade from his belt.

Jack eyed it, then passed the cobbler back and took the weapon. She removed his sword from her belt, passed it to him, and fixed her blade in its usual place at the small of her back. "What happened to your pistols, anyway?" she asked. "I noticed you don't carry them anymore."

"They're back at the lighthouse. I stopped wearing them because I'd miss or misfire as often as I hit my target," Will said around another bite of cobbler. "The last straw was when I missed a shot, and the bullet ricocheted into a lantern, set the ship on fire, and ended up snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. After that, I hung them up. Too unreliable."

"That's awful." Jack winced. Then she looked guilty. "I'm-"

"Sorry, I know," Will nodded. "Things are already awkward enough with us without you feeling bad every time I talk about anything that's happened in the last few years."

"It really shouldn't have..." She scowled. "It makes no sense."

"I guess you don't understand it as well as you think," Will shrugged, handing the cobbler back to her so he could hang his sword correctly.

She gave him a flat stare, her arrogant nature flashing instantly but softened immediately. She nodded. "You're right. I don't. It's infuriating."

Things between them were tense. They both dealt with it similarly by pretending it wasn't there and trying to behave normally. Still, it simmered beneath the surface of everything, coloring every interaction with layers of doubt, worry, second-guessing, and bitterness. They were both used to that and expected it. It had become the background noise of their new relationship, so in the rare moments when it suddenly stopped, the emotional silence was deafening. Jack admitting she was wrong was something Will wasn't sure he'd ever get used to, and now she was doing it again.

Will took a deep breath, finished fixing his belt, and gave her a half-hearted smile. "We both know more than we did a few weeks ago. It's a good start."

"Now, who'd being a diplomat?" Jack asked, returning his half-smile and the last of his cobbler.

They looked at each other with so much left unsaid, for now, but they both noticed that it was starting to feel more straightforward to be around each other. The situation was tense and frightening, but something about being bickering while shipwrecked on an unexplored island felt like home for these two.

Captain Vex sat against the wall in her cabin. She hated how still her ship was. It was lodged against a sandbar at the edge of a lagoon to keep from sinking. Gone was the comforting rocking of the waves and the creak of the timbers. The Kestrel felt dead.

Captain Vex wished she was. She sat motionless, limply holding her silver flask. Her red-rimmed eyes stared at the shelves on the opposite wall. She knew every knick-knack. She could track the arc of her career on that wall. Places. Adventures. People. They were her trophies. Her treasure. They were the life she'd worked so hard to create.

The top shelf was lined with delicate white plates and cups, beautifully painted with images of trees with blooming pink petals and squarish arches with swept tops. Only a few were fully intact, and most had cracks or chips. They were all old, recovered from scavengers. Of all the legends of the seas, they represented the one Captain Vex loved the most. They were relics of a lost people.

The Kami.

No one knew who they were or where they had gone. They'd vanished, leaving behind incredible art, craftsmanship, and architecture unlike anything else. Adventurers and archaeologists had discovered some of their history but had yet to learn about how they had learned to make such strange and wondrous crafts or what had happened to them.


to be continued