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Of course Aplegatt knows of the dangers that befall the sea. He is fully aware of the threat pirates are to the sea and to the business of respectable men. He just never saw the need in being afraid of them. He is a messenger, he doesn’t carry anything of worth to a pariah on the sea. Hell, he is just as poor as them most of the time.
When black sails appear on the horizon, he thinks nothing of it. Many ships have black sails. When the sailor in the crow’s nest shouts in fear, that is when he starts to have his doubts about what he thought pirates to be like.
You see, Aplegatt is not the youngest anymore. He has a family, he’s a messenger with an arse of iron and a heart of gold and a damn good memory and the tendency to drink one beer too many in a lively tavern. This ship’s captain had allowed him to come on board just because he’d flashed him his Royal permit. Aplegatt does not really like using his privileges that come with his occupation, but he sure does it when he has to.
Their ship is fast, but the pirate ship is faster. Soon, they’re side by side, and Aplegatt wonders if there is any chance they might make it out unscathed, when the captain orders the guards that travel with them for this very reason to fight.
There is a lot of fighting, and even more blood. Aplegatt hides behind a heavy crate and waits for it to be over. It is not over for a long time. From his hiding place he can see the deck through a slit between the planks, though it is mostly light and a boot. Much worse is what he hears. The sound of steel hitting steel, the occasional shot being fired from a pistol, the shouts of men fighting and men dying. Aplegatt curls up further and prays for it to be over soon.
They come for him like he had realised they would a long time ago, but his mind had tried to convince him that there was a chance, no matter how little, that the guards could have won. The pirate bares his teeth at Aplegatt, laughs when the messenger flinches, and drags him up into the fading sunlight.
“Buttercup! I found this one hiding in storage!” The pirate grins once more and spits at his feet.
“Thank you, Lambert dear. Bind him with the rest of them,” says the man called Buttercup. Aplegatt is roughly shoved into the direction of the bow and then bound with raw rope that chafes the skin on his wrists. There’s less survivors than he expected. Almost all guards are dead. The captain’s head lies only a few feet from where Aplegatt sits. The cook is injured, the new boy has a shiner. With horror Aplegatt realises that he is the only one who is uninjured.
Buttercup is not very imposing. He stands before the group with a pleasant smile on his face, his chestnut hair bound back at his neck in a low ponytail. He wears an ornate white shirt, the ties wide open to reveal his chest. Of all things jewellery, it’s a simple gold ring and a tuning fork that lie between his pecs, gleaming in the red light of the dying sun.
“Now,” he says, playing with a knife in his hands, “I’m here to negotiate with you. Since, unfortunately, your captain is permanently incapacitated, I need someone with diplomatic experience to lead the talk.” He grins wolfishly, obviously enjoying this. He is wearing the captain’s shoes, Aplegatt realises. Then it hits him like a cart on a busy London street. He is the only one with any kind of diplomatic experience. He goes white as a sheet. He cannot negotiate with pirates.
“You know,” Buttercup continues, “you really do not want to have to deal with my captain when he’s in one of his moods.” He looks fond at that. “So, which one of you is going to talk to me?”
With dread Aplegatt finds that his own mouth is opening to talk. Shit.
“I am,” he hears himself say. Buttercup claps his hands excitedly. “Wonderful!”
Negotiating with Buttercup, who he soon learns is actually called Jaskier, turns out to be less jarring than he thought it would be. The pirate is still terrifying, with his wide smiles and open demeanour on the front, and the hidden threat and dangerous movements of a predator underneath. It does not help that after half an hour of back and forth, Jaskier’s captain—the White fucking Wolf—storms into the cabin, expression stormy. He winds his arms around the gesturing pirate, and instead of flinching, Jaskier leans into it with a chuckle.
“You big softie,” he says, fondly petting the White Wolf’s hair.
“Are you unharmed?” the feared pirate captain rumbles quietly. Jaskier turns around in his embrace and lays his arms around the White Wolf’s neck.
“Aww,” he says, “were you worried about me?”
“I told you to wait for me and Yen.”
“And I told you that you were taking too long. They would have gotten away.”
“Jaskier,” the White Wolf growls, almost threateningly. Aplegatt holds his breath and realises that he is concerned for the man’s health. He shakes his head. Jaskier and his crew killed the majority of the people on this ship. Whatever happens to him now that he has made his captain angry, he deserves it.
But Jaskier just looks into the White Wolf’s eyes, comfortable as ever, and says, “Geralt.”
To Aplegatt’s astonishment, the White Wolf huffs, but lets it go. Jaskier smiles brightly and presses his lips to the White Wolf’s—who has the mundane name Geralt—unshaven cheek.
“I’m flattered that you’re worried about me, love,” he says kindly. “But I have gotten way better at boarding ships. There is no need to be a mother hen. I’m not even hurt.”
“That’s because I forced you to take actual fighting lessons with Eskel. Your swordsmanship was so flashy it would only have impressed the king’s left arse cheek.”
“Rude,” Jaskier informs him with indignation. “I’ll have you know that all Eskel’s sword lessons did was…improve my already great skill, thank you very much.”
The White Wolf snorts, and gathers the young pirate close again. Aplegatt realises he is third wheeling at his own capture.
“Did you bring the witch?” Jaskier asks. The White Wolf glances towards the door, where a beautiful raven haired woman stands. She is tiny, but just as terrifying as the two men in front of Aplegatt.
“Witch,” Jaskier says in greeting.
“Viscount,” the woman says, a glint in her eye.
“I got you a ship,” Jaskier says. “This ship.”
The woman looks around and nods approvingly. “It’s a good ship. But I don’t need your help in getting my own.”
Jaskier shrugs. “Then I’ll drive it to the bottom of the ocean.”
“As long as you go with it.”
“Oh you wish.”
“Yen,” the White Wolf interjects. “Jaskier. You’re giving me a headache.”
Aplegatt clears his throat and says, “excuse me?”
Three pairs of eyes land on him. “I just wanted to know whether we could finish the negotiations?”
Aplegatt sighs as he leans against the palm tree of the uninhabited island they have been abandoned on. The other sailors don’t talk to him, mostly because he agreed to give the ship away, but what could he have done?
“At least we’re alive,” he’d said, and that had been enough to make the sailor shut up.
Three ships sail away from the island, their names no longer visible, though Aplegatt got a good glimpse at them when they were rowed over to this miserable place. Their own ship, now under the black flag, with a name the pirate lady had proudly exclaimed to be Djinn, then having to suffer an argument with Jaskier over the fact that djinns apparently were elementals of air, and that as a pirate it would be better to name the ship Maride, which according the pirate were the elementals of water. Yen had threatened to cut off his balls, which led to Jaskier running from her, laughing. Dandelion is the name of the second ship, led by a crew fiercely loyal to both Jaskier and the White Wolf, it seems. And of course the last ship, the Roach, feared across all seas.
Aplegatt tears his eyes away of the three ships, wondering if this is the start of a truly terrifying ruling of the seas. He finds that he does not care much, as long as he gets back home to his family. Maybe a ship will see their fire signal. He goes back to where the sailors are debating the next steps. They’ll make it off this island somehow, he’s sure of it.