Chapter 5: The Capfrancis Fleet (1)

As soon as Claire tucked the dagger Elpian had given him into his tunic, Mary Read burst through the door.

“Yo, you’re still alive?”

She waved with a cheerful face, strolled casually into the room, and let out a playful, exaggerated sigh.

“Man, I really thought you’d be the type to hang yourself for sure. I bet half a guinea on it. I lost.”

“I am not going to die,” Claire said firmly.

Upon hearing his resolute tone, a glint of surprise flashed in Mary Read’s grey eyes. She stared at him for a moment with her mouth slightly agape before quickly returning to her grinning self.

“Your way of speaking has changed. I’m liking you more and more.”

Claire had never spoken informally to an adult woman other than his younger sister, but he felt it would be strange to show formal respect to a pirate. Mary Read patted his back in a friendly manner, as if offering advice.

“But it’s foolish to guarantee your life at sea. It’s different from the land, where you won’t die as long as you stay still.”

Muttering to herself, she linked her arm with Claire’s and pulled him along.

“Come on, let’s go. You said you wanted to get out of this room.”

Led by the self-assertive woman, Claire stepped out of the captain’s quarters. The corridor he had glimpsed the previous night stretched before him. The waxed walls and narrow hallway appeared surprisingly clean and were remarkably quiet.

“Where are we going?”

“The mess hall.”

‘A mess hall on a pirate ship?’

Claire followed her, tilting his head in confusion. Sunlight streamed through windows on the left, which seemed to lead to the deck, and there was a door at the end of the corridor on the right. Claire flinched when he spotted someone through a small window in the door.

“Hey, I brought him!”

Mary Read shouted a boisterous greeting, but Claire peered inside hesitantly.

The interior was well-lit and quite spacious. It appeared to be a combination of a dining area and a galley, featuring a workspace made of fir wood and a proper hearth. It looked remarkably like a rustic farmhouse kitchen.

Two men were there: a man with short brown hair was cooking at the hearth, and a man with curly red hair was sitting at a small table, reading something.

Hearing Mary Read’s voice, the two men—who had been creating such a pastoral scene—turned toward them. Their observant gazes fell upon Claire.

“Indeed, a face the Admiral would favor,” the brown-haired man remarked.

Claire had expected a young man based on his sturdy back, but he was surprised to see a middle-aged man who appeared to be in his early to mid-forties. He was a dignified, handsome man with deep-set, impressive grey eyes.

“Right? He’ll probably be tormented by the Admiral for quite a while, won’t he?”

Mary Read’s comment made Claire’s face flush deep red.

Given the context of the conversation, it seemed everyone was already aware that Claire had shared the Admiral’s bed. Mary Read pulled out the chair next to the redhead and plopped down. She then gestured for Claire to join them.

Claire hesitated for a moment before stepping inside and sitting across from her.

“Good morning, rookie,” the brown-haired man greeted him in a friendly tone.

Baffled by the man’s un-pirate-like demeanor, Claire gave an awkward bow. Mary Read interrupted, wagging her finger.

“Good morning? More like an eventful night. There was quite a fuss with all the crying. You could hear it from your room too, right, Miguel?”

Mary Read nudged the redhead’s shoulder, and Miguel glanced again at Claire, who was now as red as a beet. When their eyes met, Miguel made an overtly dissatisfied expression, brushed Mary’s arm away, and returned his gaze to his book.

It was a blatant snub. While Claire’s face hardened, Giltre—who had been turned toward the stove—assumed Claire was depressed by Mary’s words and offered an odd sort of comfort.

“There’s no need to worry. The Admiral’s ‘affection’ never lasts very long.”

“Eh? I think this one will last quite a while. I’ll bet half a guinea on two weeks.”

Claire winced. It seemed the betting wasn’t limited to whether or not he would hang himself. Giltre walked over to the table with a frying pan, surveyed Claire as if appraising his appearance, and accepted the wager.

“Then I’ll take three weeks.”

“What?! That would be a record! That’s longer than Miguel!”

Mary Read laughed boisterously and held out a plate to Giltre. She took a well-grilled fish, placed it in the center of the table, and turned to the redhead.

“So, Miguel, where are you putting your money?”

At her question, Miguel slammed his book shut irritably. When he looked up, Claire saw a man with pale, delicate features and narrow eyes.

“Count me out. You’re all so loud.”

Miguel scowled, clearly fed up, and stormed out. Claire flinched at the aggressive exit, but the other two seemed entirely unbothered.

“What a temper. You can read Miguel like an open book.”

“You provoked him on purpose knowing he’d react like that.”

The brown-haired man chided Mary Read, set down the pan, and sat in the chair Miguel had just vacated.

“We’ve been doing all the talking. Let me introduce myself to the newcomer.”

He extended a large hand toward Claire.

“I am Giltre Juanita. First Mate of this ship.”

The First Mate would be second in command only to the Captain. Yet, he didn’t look down on Claire—who had been brought here as a captive—and he possessed the only manners that would pass for polite society on land. When Claire reflexively shook his hand, Mary Read burst into giggles.

“Ahahaha! A handshake? Do you think this is some high-society ballroom? You guys do the weirdest things.”

Ignoring her ridicule, Giltre spoke warmly.

“If you’re a doctor, you must have gone to university. Oxford? Cambridge?”

“Oxford, actually.”

“Then we are alumni. That’s good. Cambridge graduates are all arrogant, insufferable prigs.”

“You… you went to Oxford?” Claire asked in disbelief.

Mary Read answered in Giltre’s stead.

“Hard to believe, but it’s true. This old man never gets tired of talking about university, even though he’s a pirate.”

“And you never get tired of picking on me for it.”

“I’ve been through three different pirate crews to get here, and for some reason, this place is crawling with university graduates. It’s annoying.”

Mary Read spoke dismissively and began eating the grilled fish with her hands, not even bothering with a fork. Stunned by the existence of university-educated pirates, Claire stammered out a question.

“Um, Mr. Giltre… if you went to university, then why…?”

“Why did I become a pirate? I majored in Oceanography.”

To Claire, majoring in Oceanography and becoming a pirate seemed as unrelated as studying Economics to become a thief. Mary Read once again provided the answer.

“He’s a disgraced former Navy man. Couldn’t find a decent job after being discharged, and apparently, while he was out at sea, his wife ran off with someone else. He got pissed and became a pirate.”

“Watch your tongue, or there will be no lunch for you,” Giltre growled, though he didn’t seem truly angry. Despite the age gap and their rough way of speaking, they seemed less like pirate comrades and more like a bickering father and daughter.

“Say what you will, I don’t regret becoming a pirate. As a First Mate, the pay is good even without fighting, and this ship is quite livable. They even provide private cabins.”

“Yeah, yeah. If you say so,” Mary Read mocked, scratching her ear. Giltre ignored her and added:

“It really suits my temperament. My only complaint is that my superior is a Cambridge man.”

“A Cambridge superior?”

“The man who was ‘fondling’ you all night.”

Elpian? That savage brute is a Cambridge man?

While Claire stood there with his jaw dropped in shock, Giltre went back to the hearth and brought something over, placing it in front of Claire. It was a teacup emitting a fragrant aroma.

“You look like your stomach might be unsettled. Have some tea before you eat.”

Tea time with an Oxford elite on a pirate ship—the irony was staggering. Claire couldn’t bring himself to drink immediately and muttered in a skeptical tone.

“…Are pirates usually like this?”

“I told you, this place is unique. Though even here, cases like the Admiral or this senile old man are rare,” Mary Read said, counting on her fingers.

“This old man, the Admiral, and Gregory—the one in charge of the cannons—all went to university. And that guy from earlier, too.”

“That guy?”

“You know, the one who stormed out. His name is Miguel. He’s from an upper-class background like you. I think he said his father was a judge.”

“Why on earth would a judge’s son become a pirate?”

“Miguel is a bit like you. He was captured while on a Spanish merchant ship. They were going to release him for ransom, but after he got a taste of the Admiral’s ‘favors,’ he decided to stay.”

As she spoke, Mary Read suggestively swayed her hips. She giggled seeing Claire’s face turn red.

“But once he got a taste for it, the Admiral moved on to someone else. Now he’s the embodiment of jealousy. You saw the daggers he was staring at you with, right?”

Being the target of someone’s malice for something entirely unwanted was the worst. Claire’s expression soured, but Mary Read continued excitedly.

“The guy the Admiral took in after Miguel didn’t last three days before getting caught in a battle and dying. Though many say they saw Miguel push him overboard during the fight. The one after that, Miguel had transferred to the Third Fleet, and the one after that…”

“Stop spreading baseless rumors,” Giltre interrupted, chiding her.

“What? Are you saying I’m making things up?”

“It’s true Miguel is a bit harsh toward those who enter the Admiral’s bed… but it’s best not to take her words too seriously. Most of it is just hearsay.”

“Hearsay? Did you not see his face? You’re the only doctor, so he won’t be able to pull anything obvious, but if you go wandering around the deck like an idiot, you might get ‘pushed’.”

“Hey, don’t scare him.”

“I’m not scaring him, I’m telling him to be careful. If you can’t even walk straight… oh, come to think of it, you’re walking just fine? I guess you haven’t really experienced the Admiral’s ‘full service’ yet?”

“What a loud-mouthed girl,” Giltre sighed, pinching his brow and tapping the table. “This talk of lust and loins is hardly appropriate for the breakfast table. Give it a rest.”

Mary Read pouted and fell silent. Giltre looked thoughtful as if considering what topic would be appropriate for breakfast, then turned his focus back to Claire.

“Right then, rookie. You must have many questions. Is there anything you want to ask?”

Naturally, he had countless questions. The first that came to mind was where Henry was, but asking that directly would be no different from a protest asking them to be more guarded.

Claire hesitated for a moment before asking:

“Where is this fleet headed? Are we going straight to the Caribbean after Plymouth?”

“The Second Fleet usually doesn’t leave the North Sea. We protect British merchant ships in this vicinity and collect protection fees, or charge tolls to foreign ships.”

Claire was about to breathe a sigh of relief at the news that they weren’t leaving the North Sea, but then Giltre added:

“Of course, this voyage is an exception.”

“An… exception?”

“Yes. Every two years, this fleet must go to North Africa.”

“Every two years? Why?”

“Because he is coming.”

Giltre paused for dramatic effect before speaking.

“The King of the Caribbean—Elkain Capfrancis.”