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smokeys-house · 3 months

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⭐️Also available on ao3!⭐️

💫 sequel to TCKD 💫

⭐️ Art by @miranagi, writing by @smokeys-house ⭐️

The Cane King's Daughter: A Story for Another Time

"Ah, Miss Puukko, I thought I'd find you here!" Moominpapa arrived through the kitchen door of Moominhouse, finding his wife and an old friend cooking in tandem for the evening's dinner to come. "The children said they saw you coming down the mountain not too long ago. It's been a while since your last visit!" He smiled, dusting off his hat before placing it right back atop his head. He looked as though he'd been in a hurry to get here.

"Aye, that it has." Puukko was squinting as she struggled to dice vegetables, the counter was quite low for her, and the kitchen quite small. She ducked underneath the stove's hood in order to add them to the pot. She wasn't terribly large, but she'd gotten quite used to living in a house her own size. She was happy to help, albeit much happier when the help was getting something down from up high.

Moominmama chuckled softly at the sight of the large moomin stooping in her kitchen. "Why don't you help papa set the table? I can finish up in here." The pair left Moominmama to her cooking as they brought dishes and silverware into the dining area. Moominhouse was calm, quiet, and now filled with the aroma of a nearly ready home cooked meal.

"Miss Puukko, forgive my er, uh, impatience, but uh, I do believe last time you were here you had said you had a story for another time." Papa began organizing each table setting.

"Aye. I believe I did."

"And it would appear, er, uh… that it is another time. Isn't that right?"

"Hmm… I'm thinkin' ye might be right. Can't be sure. Now what was it?" She playfully rested her snout in her hand with her arm crossed beneath it, striking as contemplative a pose as she could muster.

"I believe you were telling us about how you got caught. After Marion had joined your crew." Mama said, entering with a steaming tureen of stew, and setting it upon a potholder on the table.

Puukko eyed the other table settings. "I'm afraid that one's a bit impolite. Mightn't be good fer the young ones."

"The children are out camping this evening, I've just seen them off before arriving." Papa said, taking his seat. "They won't be back for at least another two days, if the weather holds."

"Then why'd we set the whole table and cook all that extra stew?" Puukko asked.

"It'll be nice in case they come back early. If they get rained out I'm sure they'll want some stew to warm them up." Mama smiled as she sat at the head of the table adjacent to her husband.

"I see… It's still not the nicest o' stories I fear. I think it can wait fer after dinner at least." Her reticence was apparent, as she idly fiddled with her utensils. She was seated across from Moominpapa, next to Moominmama.

"Nonsense, go right on ahead! No need to spare us the details, we're all adults here." Papa said. He was eager to hear the rest of the story, his repeated encouragements were evidence of that enough.

"Well… I s'pose ye earned it after sittin' through the first part. Ye know where it all started, but some time after that…"

–

Years had passed since Captain Whetstone had become legend in Marseille. Stories and songs alike featured a fearsome and dashing rogue doubly wounding a wealthy rum purveyor. The Cane King, as he'd taken to calling himself, had grown rather fond of his reputation after thoroughly scrubbing it of any misgivings. Each version of the tale was told a bit differently, but Jules Cartier, the man himself, was eager to remind the public of his own sanitized version.

There was always a pirate by the name of Whetstone. She was often depicted as devilishly handsome, and highly capable. Just as often, though counter to the first, she was depicted as monstrous, or drunk and oafish. Regardless, one thing was certain: she'd steal off with the Cane King's daughter. The fight that occurred at Cartier Manor was witnessed by many, though few spread the truth of Jules' cowardly actions following his defeat in the duel that day.

In the time since, Captain Whetstone and her now first mate; Marion Cartier, had plundered many ships associated with the Cartier family business. If there was a crate with the Cane King's face on it, the crew of The Honeyed Word was not far behind. Despite this brazen and rampant piracy, the age of swashbuckling sailors seemed near an end. Those that still engaged in the splendors of piratical adventure hung their hats in Nassau, living a free life off stolen coin. Legends had risen and fallen just like the waves they'd sailed upon, and yet few remained afloat.

"Cocoa?" A fillyjonk woman with a soft voice knocked at the door of the Captain's cabin. She entered just after.

"Ah, no thanks. I'm afraid it doesn't mix well with pipesmoke." Captain Whetstone replied from her seat at her desk.

"No, I mean as in the last bit of your name. Ko-Ko. It's cute. It makes for a good nickname." Marion was, as always, earnest to a fault. "I've just seen the quartermaster, he and I feel we've taken on all we can for the time being. That last haul was a big one!"

"Aye…" Whetstone said, taking in a deep breath before continuing. "Don't ye be callin' me that where the crew can hear, lass. Not but one knows me by Puukko these days. And that'd be you."

"But Whetstone's no fun for nicknames, cap!" Marion teased. She never seemed freer than when dressed for a day's work aboard a ship. Despite having her life upended all those years ago, it seemed she'd finally found where she belonged. She'd long since abandoned her garish trappings, finding herself far more comfortable in clothes fit for salted air.

"Nassau." The captain stood from her chair, smoke gently drifting from atop her pipe. "That's why we're sailin' fer Nassau. Dump the lot on the usual friendly faces." Her voice had grown raspy and deep over the years, but not without charm. She approached Marion, casually resting her paw upon her lover's cheek as she cleared the hair from her face. She took a moment to look into her eyes. Sapphire blue, and bright like stars. For all the time she'd been hardened as a pirate, she'd thought nothing could make her feel quite so soft again.

"Captain?" Marion stood awkwardly, blushing brighter with each passing moment. She beheld the captain's face, rugged, yet kind. Jules had given her quite the scar, a large streak bereft of fur stretched across her left eye.

"Marion.. I been doin' some thinkin'. Ye been talkin' of want fer t' see the world, and I been thinkin'... maybe I could be the one t' show it to you." She hesitated a moment, searching for the right words. "Whaddaya say after we clear the haul, you n' I find somewhere’s quiet fer a while. We could be t-"

"Crosstrees, captain!" Shouts erupted from the top deck. "Nigh on in range!"

Captain Whetstone tensed, balling her fists. Both her and Marion made for the top deck. Whetstone retrieved her spyglass, extending it to view a ship fast approaching.

"Pirate hunters." She said, laden with disdain. "I know this lot. Spanish privateers." She collapsed the telescope, turning to face the crew. "Full sail! Catch as much wind as she's able! We make fer Nassau!"

The crew got to work with haste. Every member of the crew knew exactly what they were to do, and did it fast.

"More and more of them these days, it seems." Marion said with a sigh, taking up a position near her moomin companion. "Do you think there'll be anyone taking patrol up near Nassau?"

"I'm countin' on it. Maybe a ship 'er two out 'n about. If not, well… it'll be fireworks fer the lot of 'em if they end up close enough to that ship old Hornigold beached."

"They ought to know better than to sail into these waters. They're getting bolder."

"I fear ye might be right." The captain took up the helm, stern and stalwart. The wind was fast and favorable, and The Honeyed Word took to it, sailing fast as she could. Several loud thumps forced their way through the humid air as smoke billowed like rain clouds from the gunports of the hunter ship, sending cannonballs hurtling toward their target.

"Git down!" Whetstone shouted a warning to all that could hear. Everybody laid still on the deck, covering their heads. Within seconds the sea was shattered into fine mist against the shot, narrowly missing the hull.

"No hits captain! Just out of range!" One of the crewmembers came up from the gundeck.

"Prepare to return fire, but hold! We're makin' a run fer it! Man the rear swivels!"

The hunter ship closed in on the port side, narrowing the time left for an escape. They fired another volley. Cannon after cannon fired near in unison, the majority just barely missing their target. Wood splintered violently as the iron round shot disrupted its shape, tearing through railings and walls above the waterline of Whetstone's ship.

"Booble's beard! I think she means t' board us!" The captain shouted as she got back to her feet once more. "Give 'er all we got, lads!" The crew fired on the hunter ship as it came within range, blasting the hull in several places.

"Good hits, Cap'n! But she's still on us!" A young man from the gundeck shouted.

The Spanish ship was gaining on them, and the Honeyed Word's cannons would not be ready for another volley until after the privateers had time to close in for a broadside. Whetstone's crew rushed to load their cannons as fast as they could, while others scrambled to get to their weapons and prepared to be boarded. The two ships were rapidly approaching the waters near Nassau, both focused on one another rather than their course. The hunter ship began firing grappling lines in high arcs in an attempt to catch the railings of their quarry.

Pff! Pff! Pff! BOOM!

The comparatively lesser blasts of the boarding guns were interrupted by the sound of over fifty cannons firing almost simultaneously. Captain Whetstone watched in awe as the ship that was just chasing her was sundered in a matter of seconds. The ship was there one moment, and then in its place lie only flotsam. The grappling lines that hung from the railing went limp, falling into the sea. Everything was for a moment, silent, save for the rolling of waves beneath. They hadn't gotten within range of Hornigold's safety measures, and yet their attackers were dealt with all the same. She looked ahead, utterly confused to see a Man O' War of the king's navy anchored just outside what she had known to be the haven of all pirates.

"Strike the colors, boys!" The captain shouted in disbelief. She looked around and took in the scene. "Hoist the white flag. This ain't a surrender, but I'll be damned if we get blasted t' smithereens like those fellers did."

The crew sailed slow to their destination, and were not fired upon. The Man O' War was too big to slip between the sandbars and would run aground if it sailed any closer. The Honeyed Word anchored a careful distance from shore further in than the hulking giant of a ship that had nearly shot them down. Several of the King's smaller ships were anchored nearby and otherwise sailing the area, but none of his men were seen immediately ashore save for a party of three now discussing something with a pirate down on the beach.

"Marion, I think it likely fer the best if you and the crew stay aboard fer the moment. We might be in an awful hurry t' get outta here afore ye be knowin' it." Whetstone eyed the conversation through her spyglass. The tension was high and visible in all those involved, but had yet to boil over.

"What are you planning on doing?" Marion asked.

The captain checked one of the pistols in her brace before tucking it right back in. "Just gon' ask a few questions is all. I'll be back before supper, worry ye no'."

"Just be careful. Ruth won't be here to save you like in Marseille."

"There ye'd be right, but there ought t' be at least a few dozen what sail a black flag still ashore. Can't 'ave all been shot down on the way in." She shrugged.

A short while later, the captain had arrived on shore as the tender her crew had brought her in on made its way back to the ship. The conversation she witnessed had come to its conclusion seemingly without a fight. She wandered into Nassau proper, aiming to avoid the eyes of the King's men. The veritable shanty town that encapsulated and surrounded the proper buildings of Nassau were usually alive with scores of merchants and merry-makers, instead they were filled with a tentative silence. Great change was coming, and its harbinger was anchored just on the horizon.

Canvas covered tents and makeshift shacks led onward into the heart of town, and it remained just as quiet. Captain Whetstone trod what once felt a familiar path in caution, an uneasy feeling in her gut as she took in the emptiness.

"If yer here fer nonsense, you'll assuredly find it this day." A voice like tumbling stone called out from a hammock tethered between a post on a house's porch and a palm tree.

"Calico Jack." Whetstone sighed in response. "I'd have thought you busy with yer own brand o' nonsense as usual. What in blazes is goin' on here? Where's everyone gone? Why's there a behemoth of a ship skulking outside Nassau?"

"Like I said. Nonsense. The King's come a'callin' fer a pardon. Any pirate that's wanting fer an out can get back into the good graces of his majesty, loot untouched. Everyone's holed up or arguing amongst themselves about where to go from here. Seems too good t' be true, but old Benji boy seems quite taken with the idea." Said Rackham. He gave himself a push off the ground with his foot, swinging his hammock a bit. "And them that don't sign their name?" He dragged his thumb across his throat.

"Hornigold? Ain't he practically the founder o' this place? Why give it up? We've got real freedom here."

"Founder and mayor, or so he thought himself. Among others I s'pose. The King's seen t' that, too. You be knowin' a man by the name Woodes Rogers? Failed privateer or some such. He seems to know you."

"Aye, I know of him." She thought of the moomin in the powdered wig at Cartier Manor. She chose not to bring it up.

"That'll be yer new mayor. Appointed by the crown and everything." Jack seemed as carefree as ever despite the news, his arms thrown behind his head. "Hornigold seems to think the place he built up on stolen gold could grow into something proper. I think he's gone dotty in his age an' just wants fer a statue of himself." He coughed out a coarse laugh, wheezing a moment as he wound back down.

The Captain's mind began to wander. If it was true, she could get the quiet life she wanted with Marion, away from the rigors of life at sea. She'd be free, but would Marion consider it freedom? She'd been too nervous to ask her, after all, it was Marion's dream to sail and do as she pleased. A pirate's life suited Marion better than it ever had herself, and her stint as a pirate had only just begun. Retirement had been Whetstone's goal until she met the fillyjonk she loved, but could she do so without the guilt of clipping her wings? Could she give her the freedom she'd always wanted without the risks of swashbuckling and seafaring? Each of her thoughts peppered her mind, the circular nature of it causing her to lose focus.

"You should go see Hornigold. Make of all this what y' will with yer own peepers. I'm going to take a very long nap… to clear my head." He placed his hat over his face.

"Where's he supposed t' be?" She asked. In response, Jack loudly pretended to snore. The captain tapped the underside of the hammock with her foot. "Rackham. Where's Hornigold at right now?"

"I'm sleeping!" He shouted as he turned over. The scent of booze surrounded him as he shifted. Whetstone kicked him again, harder this time. "I'm sleeeeeeping!" He sat up and sang loudly. A pewter mug flew out the top floor window of the building he was anchored to and struck him squarely on the head. He yelped, covering his head as he lay back down in his hammock.

"Damn it, Rackham, you lout! I know you ain't do much of it, but some of us is tryin' to think!" A woman with dark hair in a green waistcoat leaned out the window. "If yer looking fer Hornigold, he's up at the old fort overlooking the shore. Seems to spend an awful lot of time there these days. Nice seein' ye by the way, Whetstone. Wish it were under brighter circumstances."

"Thanks, Mary. Glad t' see some folks still got their wits about them." Whetstone said, happy to see a familiar face with some thoughts behind it.

"Careful up there. He's like to have Rogers with him. Don't let him force ye to sign something you ain't thought about."

Captain Whetstone had never really been to the old fort save for wandering by, but she had always seen it on her way in. Last she'd seen it, the fort was mostly dilapidated and deserted. It hadn't seen use since before Nassau was Nassau, and the defenses that had been put up focused primarily on the inlets rather than the surrounding sea. It seemed as though it had been worked on recently, with new bricks having been laid in some areas and a few spare cannons brought over. Supplies, crates, and tools were strewn about the fort, and new doors had been placed on a few of the scant interiors. Men of the King's navy armed with rifles lined the walls, closely and silently watching the captain as she searched around. She tucked her paws into her pockets as she walked, uneasy in the open space surrounded by unfriendly eyes.

"Hornigold?" She knocked on the new door, pressing her ear against it to listen.

"Enter." A voice said from within.

Whetstone pushed open the door, revealing that the interior had been decorated, although sparsely, with furniture and the trappings of an office. A stone spiral staircase led down on one side of the room, and a closet mirrored it on the other. Daylight poured in through the gaps in the window's impromptu cabinet doors, highlighting the peeling paint on and splintered wood within.

An older snork man sat in a chair behind a desk. He had short brown hair combed neatly to the side, fitting just between his ears, atop pristine white fur. His frock coat was gray and well maintained, beneath it was a clean and spotless white shirt. He removed his reading glasses and set them aside, before clearing his throat and folding his paws on the desk.

"Captain Whetstone I presume. A pleasure to meet you, I'm Governor Woodes Rogers."

"I knew that bastard hired a phony Rogers…" Whetstone thought aloud, just below speaking volume.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothin'! Nothin' important anyway. Ain't I supposed t' be the one beggin' fer a pardon?"

"No, I mean, I don't know what you just said."

"So there isn't a royal pardon?" It was almost never clear if she was joking or not.

"There…There is, yes. Sit down, please, and we can discuss matters further." He was clearly already very tired of dealing with pirates. The captain sat down, not wishing for any misunderstanding with several armed men just outside.

"His majesty has decided to extend his grace to any who have committed acts of piracy, they need only sign their name, give up their ways, and they are free to go. Any who do not accept this offer are to be brought in as criminals and or hanged given the severity of their crimes. No tricks, no games. We've enough trouble with the war as is, and needn't have the constant fear of pirates alongside enemies of the crown."

"So it's be pardoned or get blasted to bits by that Man O' War on the way out, is it?"

"No. Everyone's free to leave. They've all got till the fifth of September to turn themselves in, and after that they'll all be hunted down." Rogers spoke sternly and plainly, but not unkindly. "You, on the other hand…"

Just as Rogers finished speaking, Benjamin Hornigold rose from the stairwell, a flintlock pistol in his paw. His round hemulic silhouette was cut short by the sharp angles of his coat, and the broad shoulder pads within it. He pointed his gun right at Captain Whetstone, who immediately stood and reached for hers.

"Still as a sandbar, Whetstone! Don't get grabby with anything shooty 'er sharp." Hornigold pulled back the hammer on his pistol. He entered the room fully, but just beyond the range of being tackled to the ground. He'd seen much and done much in his day, and moved with purpose.

"What in blazes are ye doin' Hornigold?!" Whetstone raised her paws in the air. She eyed her surroundings as best she could, not taking her focus off her supposed ally. Rogers remained completely unfazed, sitting calmly at his desk.

Hornigold whistled loudly. "Right, boys! Kindly relieve Miss Whetstone of her belongings. She won't be needin' em much longer."

Two of the navy men from outside answered the call, entering and slowly approaching the captive captain. They flanked her on either side, while Hornigold kept his aim on her.

"Why are ye doin' this? There's a pardon, Hornigold! We can be free again!" Whetstone said. While not committed to the idea yet, her renewed hopes were being dashed before they had a chance to grow.

"Because we cannot have you roaming free anywhere in a civilized world. Most of these men became pirates out of a loyalty to country or kin, and can be reformed. You fight for nothing. You work for nothing. You do nothing but take for the thrill of taking!" Woodes Rogers slammed his fists on the desk as he stood. "I was a privateer… I traveled for five long years around the globe. My own brother was killed at the hands of scum like you. Do you know what happened to me upon my return? I was sued by my own crew for lost wages." He paced the room, the tension was palpable as he did so. The men that had arrived to disarm the captain had not yet made an attempt, instead listening to Rogers' story.

"I was badly wounded the day they took my brother. I had barely recovered by the time I arrived home. I had praise for my accomplishments, to be certain… but I was destitute and alone. Some time later I hear of some… would-be folk hero pirate– who showed up in France and stole away with some pompous fool's daughter." His composure was beginning to break as the volume of his voice began to rise. "My exploits are many, and yet no songs are sung of me. No plays written after me. My legacy exists only in a book I penned myself! I've fought to be remembered. And you… some lazy, layabout nobody… you've captivated the hearts and minds of countless men, women, and children. Tales are told about you and your purported skills and the things you've allegedly done. Doubtless riddled with lies. And to top it all off, you've roped me into your shenanigans by placing me at your duel in Marseille. You billed me as a coward and a buffoon." He turned his back to her as he paced, paws folded behind him. "You are a pox! Upon this world! A blight on the name of sailors everywhere!"

The man to the captain's right reached for one of the pistols in her brace, slowly removing it. Just then, she struck the man to her left with her elbow square in the nose, knocking him unconscious. He grunted hard as he fell to the ground. She took the other man's neck in her raised right arm, spinning him to her front as she drew her other pistol.

tst-BOOM!

Hornigold fired at the captain, instead wounding the man she captured in his shoulder. She tossed him aside and went to rush Benjamin as the navy man stumbled to regain his footing. Hornigold threw his spent gun at her, deftly backstepping as he readied a second pistol from the small of his back. Whetstone fired back, missing by a hair as she batted the thrown gun aside and sprinted toward him. He managed to bring his second gun to bear before she reached him, stopping her in her tracks.

"Enough!" He shouted. "Don't make me shoot you, Whetstone." His voice betrayed a hint of regret.

Several more navy men poured in from the door after hearing the shots. They pointed their rifles at her in practiced formation from the rear.

"Nassau's future depends on this! We can't win a war with the crown. I won't be givin' up what I've built here after so long!" Hornigold tightened his grip. "Just give it up. Please. I want a part in Nassau's continued growth. Rogers won't let that happen if yer still knockin' about."

The captain balled her fists as she growled. She was surrounded thoroughly, with no chance of escape.

"You are to be taken to England and hanged as an example. An omen to those who'd fly a black flag rather than accept the pardon and live as honest sailors. If the legend of Captain Whetstone is to be told with me in it, it will be told with a definitive end." Woodes said, sitting back down in his chair. "Your crew has already been captured, overpowered by mine and Benjamin's men. They'll be tried, and likely hanged as well. Take her away."

–

Puukko took a moment from her story, and along with it a sip from her glass. She'd hardly touched her stew, despite its enticing aroma. She found it hard to speak about those days beyond the stories worth telling. The rest of it ate at her all these years, her piled regrets folded neatly like so much laundry. She scanned her hosts’ faces. She hadn't reached the grim parts of her tale, and yet already she'd felt she'd cursed the valley with recountings of such hot blood. Neither Moominpapa nor Moominmama seemed to be put off by the story so far, each listening attentively as they ate.

“Spent weeks aboard Benji's ship. I were tied down below deck with nothin’ but me fur and a scarce bit o’ food n’ water here and there. Spent the whole time dreamin’ up revenge plans while I rotted away, but by the time I'd been brought into a private cell somewheres, I'd given up hope. M’ crew’d all been held someplace else, somewhere they usually hold pirates afore their trial I s'pose. I was put in some guarded camp with a myriad of small outbuildings, probably cells in each of ‘em. Pirate after pirate took pardons, and it were as close to the end of the golden age as you could put a point on. Word got out of my capture and soon-t’-be execution ‘round England. Sounded like the bells were tollin’. Spent maybe a day ‘er two in that cell starin’ at the moon through the bars too high fer me t’ reach. Just sat there hating myself for what I'd done to Marion. The sentence I'd sold me crew and t’ her most of all. Head was full o’ hate. Hate and fear and sorrow and all sorts of other things…”

Puukko set her spoon delicately atop the thick stew in her bowl, the surface tension holding it a moment. She watched it sink. Her eyes were distant, heavy with the fog of memory. She continued once again.

“Rackham and Read had taken the pardon. First thing they did with their new found freedom was t’ pinch a crate o’ hand grenades. Weren't sure if that part were part o’ the next bit, or if they were just feelin’ like celebrating with a bang.” She chuckled a little, though in a somber, almost mournful manner. “Anyhow, they tracked me down an’ blew the cell wall out. Quite the jailbreak. Mary took a bullet to the calf fer me then, on the run out. Not sure how we pulled it off, but after we'd made it out she'd spilled her beans about how she were fixin’ t’ save me crew, too. Whole lot, Marion included. Trouble was, she were part o’ that plan, but now she'd been shot she weren't able to do nothin’ and the execution was just a few days out. She gave me all she knew about Rogers and comp'ny an’ who what where an’ why, but it would be up t’ me to pull it off. Plan was half-baked at best, but then again I never was good at followin’ a plan.”

–

“I have had enough of fancy manors an’ fancy folk.” Whetstone said, crouched behind a hedge alongside Calico Jack. The evening air was taught and cold, but thick with the sound of a dinner party from within a mansion across the way. Similar large houses dotted the area, sprawling out from the city.

“Least you won't have to do any running tonight, missy. If ye can stay quiet, that is. You look like a bear, and smell like one, so I'm hopin’ ye can climb like one. Anyway, dear captain, I fear I've work to do! See you on the other side of all this mess.”

“Thank you, Rackham. Give Mary m’ best. In case I don't be seein’ ye.” Despite the tense atmosphere, she couldn't help but wonder just how Jack of all people would know what a bear smells like. She shook the thought out of her head.

The original plan Mary had laid out involved fine clothes and playing at being high status to get into the manor, but without Mary's wit and relatively unrecognizable face, they'd have to make due. Jack wandered off into the street, feigning a drunken stupor. He approached a duo of guards stationed at the gate, bottle in hand. Each were stout looking hemulens with constable attire and billy clubs to match.

“Oh, don't ya just hear the old man say? Goodbye fare ye well! Goodbye fare ye well!” Jack sung slurredly, now stumbling directly in front of the guard on the left side of the gate. The captain watched in quiet anticipation from her hiding place.

“Make tracks, piss-pot! This ‘ere ain't another pub for you to crawl into!” The guard shouted as he shoved Jack back into the street, nearly toppling him.

“What’s is he sayin’? That he don't… that he dun’t like my song?” Jack pouted looking over at the other guard, who was clearly bored with his duties. Rackham began singing again, practically shouting. He wandered straight into the open gate, scanning the area as he sang. “Oh don't you hear the old man say! Hurrah! Me boys! We're homeward bound!”

“Invite only! Back to the bars with you!” The constable dragged Jack out from his shirt collar, tossing him into the street.

“Meet ya there, mate!” Jack rose up from the ground, and wound up his arm comically far before slapping the guard that shoved him right across the snout, then cackled as he began to run.

“Oy!” The guard clasped his paws over his nose, recoiling from the sting of the slap. “Get ‘im in irons!”

Both guards began chasing him, clubs raised high and shouting. About halfway down the street, Rackham threw his bottle toward the guards, intentionally missing them. It landed hard, shattering and scattering glass throughout the street and an echo through the air, signaling the waiting Captain Whetstone that both guards were after him, and the courtyard empty.

Whetstone ran as quietly as she could past the gate, heading off to the side before anyone could come out to investigate the ruckus. The manor house was tall and elegant, a symbol of status gifted to Nassau’s new mayor, the man poised to put an end to the golden age of piracy. The occasional shrill shriek or boisterous laugh could be heard from inside on the main floor, the dinner party was as raucous as could be for the wealthy and the powerful. Whetstone looked around for a way up and in. Mary had scouted the place well enough, but her plan had them entering as guests.

Sparks glittered against the night sky following shortly behind a cigar tossed from the rear balcony. It tumbled into the cool grass, smoldering into darkness. The Captain couldn't help her eyes being drawn to it, she traced its path up and to the balcony railing. It stretched out and round hovering above the rear garden, pillared over the patio. The pillars themselves cornered about the perimeter, and stopped nearest to the ornate blackened metal archways supporting numerous decorative flowers which bordered the courtyard itself. She made sure the dagger Mary and Rackham could spare for her was tucked firmly within her belt, over her coarse linen shirt and borrowed slops. She tested her footing on the ironwork, climbing up and over toward the balcony's edge. She pulled herself up as far as she could muster, peeking in to ensure none saw her climbing over the railing. Despite her size, she was quite agile.

The doors were unlocked, allowing guests to enter and exit as they pleased. She snuck in and began checking rooms, hunting for Rogers’ office. She listened carefully, pressing her ear to each door as she passed them. Her heart beat loud in her ears, contested by the creak of each floorboard and the rattling of each doorknob. Her normally steady paws shook just so. The upper floor consisted of several rooms arranged along a boxed hall, each ending in stairs leading down to the main foyer. She'd checked every door alongside the balcony, and had only the riskier side halls to go. She peaked around the corner down the hall, waiting a moment to listen. When she felt it was clear, she slinked around the bend, heading straight for the first door she could see. Just then, a slender young fillyjonk abruptly exited the room nearest the stairs. He wore a hat obscuring the top half of his face, and a white dress shirt with suspenders. He held a cut cigar in his paw, and was heading straight at Captain Whetstone. She tucked herself against the wall around the corner, her heart pounding in her chest as she listened to hear if he'd noticed her.

She heard his footsteps continue at pace. Whether he saw her or not, he was still approaching, and fast. Whetstone's mind raced, she thought of heading back to the last room she checked, but her feet wouldn't move. She froze in place. She felt a pang of guilt run through her, and struggled to figure out why. The thought finally hit her, in seconds that felt like hours. The man approaching looked just like Marion did the night she met her. It was too late to turn back now, he was almost on her. She fumbled a moment for the dagger beneath her sash. The sound of its sharp edges running against the soft leather of the sheathe made her stomach churn. She was all too familiar with the violence it would wreak, but never on someone so unsuspecting, unarmed. Never in such cold blood. Never on a man who simply turned the wrong corner at a party. She'd taken lives before, but never callously. It was not something she did easy, but tonight, it would have to be.

The fillyjonk's arms appeared first, clutching a borrowed table lighter in one paw and his cigar in the other. Then his nose, whiskers drooping just slightly off his face. The captain raised her arm, dagger pointed down from on high. She felt wrong in every inch of her body. Every follicle of each individual hair in her fur felt like a thousand needles. His foot stepped into the hall just past the corner, and in an instant she began swinging down in a forceful arc.

“Henri!” A voice came from just atop the stairs. “Henri, where are you going? We're going to smoke in the parlor, not on the balcony! It is far too cold for a young damsel like me!” A drunken woman with a heavy French accent shouted in an almost flirty tone.

Whetstone's arm stopped hard just after building momentum, her muscles nearly collapsing from the sudden stop. Her arm felt like a ship breaking up on the rocks. Her eyes went wide, and she pressed her empty paw to her mouth to hide the sound of her pain and the sudden wave of guilt and relief that washed over her. Her eyes began to well up with tears.

“Coming, dear! I told you to bring a coat. You don't listen to me as often as you should, you know.” The man said smugly as he turned about face, back down the hall, completely unaware that his life was nearly cut short.

The captain's gut wrenched, she began breathing heavily as she slumped against the wall, tucking the dagger back into its sheathe. A few moments passed before she regained her composure, pushing the thought out of her mind as the reality of her task set back in.

The second door she tried after her encounter opened into a wide, unlit office space. It was Rogers’ study, she was sure of it. Decorated neatly with his accomplishments, and with a massive painting of himself hung center behind the desk. The room was fit for a lounge, with chairs, a table, a globe that was open revealing within a small bar, and taxidermy animal heads lining the walls. She opened a small door beside a display case and found a closet with several coats and hats hung within. She tucked herself inside, and began to wait.

She sat alone with her thoughts. She grieved the man she'd almost killed as though she'd done so, and grieved her crew as though they'd already hung. She grieved the pirate named Whetstone, the legend she'd created and become. Mostly, she grieved the life of freedom she'd stolen from the woman she loved. She pressed her claws into her palm one by one, the urge to pace pulling at her legs. It reminded her of the times when she would hide from her parents when she'd felt she'd done something wrong. It reminded her of the agonizing silence when she tried to speak to them as a child, her voice too quiet to escape her body. She remained trapped in her mind, the past few weeks a near uninterrupted onslaught of memories and regrets.

The door to the study creaked open, and heavy footsteps rolled in. A snork gentleman sighed contentedly as he lit the sconces about the room and the lantern at his desk. Woodes Rogers pulled his chair back from his desk and sat down. Puukko had not even noticed that the party had ended, but the silence from below confirmed it. She steadied herself, ready once again to play the part of fearsome pirate captain.

“Woodes Rogers.” Whetstone stepped out from her hiding place, dagger in her paw. She flipped it idly as she walked to the center of the room, turning to face him at the end of her stride. Woodes scrambled to open the top drawer of his desk.

“Ah! I wouldn't do that.” She said, laughing low and gravelly just after. Woodes pulled a flintlock pistol from the drawer, pulling back the hammer and leveling it at Whetstone. “How much you had to drink tonight at yer little soiree, Woodes? Think ye can kill me in one shot? Even if ye do, a whole lot more folk than jus’ you or I are gonna die if I don't make it outta here ship-shape.” She smiled a wide, toothy grin and held her arms out.

“If it isn't the famous Captain Whetstone.” Woodes sneered bitterly and sarcastically. “Shouldn't you be rotting in a cell before your execution?”

“Yup. Nothin’ left to lose, saw to that one yerself. Been real lonely since ya captured me, y'know. I'm just itchin’ fer a conversation. And I don't know about you, but I find it much easier t’ talk without a gun pointin’ at me.”

“What is it you want?” Woodes set the pistol down on his desk, within reach. “Not one step closer.”

“Just what I'm owed, Woodes. Not more'an that. I come a'callin’ fer an act of grace.”

“Ah! Hahaha!” Woodes doubled over in laughter. “It's a bit late for that now, your execution is already scheduled! Not to mention the crimes of escaping custody and breaking into my home. You've gone completely mad!”

“I'm assuming you can write those last two in there, too. Get yer pen out. Ye got one of them pardons stashed away in yer desk?”

“It's not one per pirate, it's one large document all involved parties sign. Even if I had it here, you'd need to sign it in court, buffoon.”

“Figures. Well let's talk about what we can do here ‘n now, th–”

“I could shoot you. Or you could rot in a different cell from your last one. Or both. I hardly care for the details.”

“Yer fergettin’ abou–” Before the captain could continue, Rogers reached for his gun once again. She flipped the dagger in her paw, gripping the blade before sending it sailing through the air. Just as Rogers readied the gun, the dagger embedded itself into its wooden frame, knocking it out of his paw. She closed the distance, lunging over the desk to tackle him. She gripped his throat, and with her other paw, rested her claws just against his neck. He stopped struggling as soon as she'd had the upper hand.

“Those things are awful noisy, Woodes. I'd prefer if ye could hear what I'm about t’ tell ye.” She pulled up, forcing him to upright himself, then she held him against the wall. “Say, do ye remember the Man O’ War Hornigold beached in front of Nassau?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, mouth closed.

“You were a privateer. How much powder d'ye reckon it takes fer a full broadside from her? All the guns shifted t’ the one side as it were. And how many times do ye figure she were fit to fire before taking on more powder? Bein’ a warship an’ all.” She tightened her grip. “and how much more powder ye think were… donated… to Nassau and her many pirates?”

“You're bluffing!” Rogers' eyes went wide as he put the pieces together. He slackened, and Whetstone let him free to sit atop his desk.

“I wish I were, Woodes!” She bluffed. “You could either be the man who captured and executed the legendary captain Whetstone, or you could be the man who's failures brought the newly civilized Nassau to ruin. And I'll do it again, too. Panama. Curaçao. Anywhere. And it'll be in your name. There‘re folks with torches lit jus’ waitin’ t’ hear that I didn't make it out of here. Or that I did, and that you couldn't work it out. The choice is yers.” She retrieved her dagger and the pistol.

Rogers sat and thought for a while before speaking up. “Wait, captured and executed?”

“Still a few days afore the execution. Plenty o’ time to come up with somethin’. Ye get t’ be a hero, so long as I get to walk. Ye can announce at me crew's trial that the King has shown ‘unprecedented grace’ towards his people and decided to spare them the grisly gibbet, and send them mean ol’ pirates off somewheres else. Sentenced to transportation.”

“And you? I fake your death? And then what, you skulk about England free as a bird to hop back on a ship?”

“Poof! Gone. Forever. A puff of smoke from yer pipe soakin’ into the curtains.” She gestured dramatically.

Rogers began putting pieces together in his head once more, the details fitting together neatly in his mind. “I'll charter you a ship. You're to be taken somewhere else, NOT along with your crew, mind you. No… You'll be sent a world apart from them. And if the ship's captain reports you did not show, there'll be no trial for your men. If I ever see your name or hear of someone that looks like you on a ship ever again, I'll know where to find your people. And I'll have their pardons revoked. They'll be summarily executed.”

–

"Soon after that, Marion an' me crew got sent off to Australia or thereabouts. Sent me o'er t' North America. Figured I'd just cause trouble if I went wherever else they send criminals, so I got shipped out t' the wild west. Did some gunslingin' and highwayman shenanigans. Were a gun fer hire fer a bit. Not at first, though. After I'd lost everything I figured I'd hit the straight n' narrow, work as an honest blacksmith again like I did afore I were a pirate. Didn't get very far, figured I was only good at bein' an outlaw. I were a legend brought low and vanished, a ghost of a person… Hardly anyone recognized me out that way, despite it all. Thing about it is, weren't too much use fer swordsmanship nor sailing in the mainland, and the guns o' the time were a bit harder t' manage fer an old salt like me. Bein' a highwayman an' bandit meant stealin' from folks what ain't deserve it most days, an' bein' a gun fer hire meant gettin' in fights I ain't got a stake in fer a coin. I weren't much good at it neither. At sea, there's miles an' miles o' water 'tween you and thems that know yer face and can do somethin' about it. When ye make too friendly with some feller's wife, er rob the wrong folks, well… small towns. Lots of wide open, sure, but the folk all know yer name and who done what. Us moomins cut a pretty recognizable silhouette I reckon, so I got chased out of near every town I found myself. 'Stead of pushin' further west like most folk o' the day, I kept heading east. Kept runnin' an' runnin' and eventually I realized I weren't bein' chased no more. I spent a lot o' time thinkin'... got real down on m' self. Felt I weren't good fer nothin' and felt I ought t' cut out alone somewheres. I'd been bad, and I'd done lots of wrong. Did a whole lot I ought t' regret. Heard tell of a place called Moominvalley. Set out and hunkered down alone in the mountains. Took a long time 'fore I ever came down into the valley itself… And the rest is history." She sighed and took a moment to collect her thoughts.

"When I met Marion, my only fear was losing her. As soon as I lost her, my only fear was seein' her again... Fer all I've done and fer who I've been, I'm scared. Scared I won't be able t' face her again. I thought of apologizin' an' all kinds of other things. It's the one thing I'm not sure I'm strong enough fer. I spend most of my days living a new life, and it's a life I love. But there are days I think about it all, and think about her. And what she's like now. And what became of her." She idly tore bits of bread apart, setting them in her bowl of stew and watching them swell and sink around her spoon. She hadn't raised her head to look at her hosts since around halfway through her tale.

For a moment, the room was silent. No one ate, no one said anything. The cool breeze halted and the wood of the house dared not settle nor creak. They simply sat, enduring the reality of her story. By now, most of the valley knew she'd been a pirate, but few thought more of it than the romantic stories they've heard over and over. The truth of who Puukko once was and who she became were laid bare. It was hard for the Moominparents to believe that the friend they'd come to know, the eccentric and often grandmotherly blacksmith living in the mountains had once led such a life. She was an outlaw, and a killer, and there wasn't any taking that back.

"I'm too old now to believe that only the good die young. But I sure seem t' have lived an awful long time…" The silence became too much for her to bear. She stood up, pushing in her chair. "I think it's time I got on."

Moominmama stood and grabbed Puukko by the paw with both of her own.

"I'm not sure what brought you to Moominvalley. But I'm glad you ended up here." She smiled, in a reassuring way that only Moominmama could manage. “Whatever you did back then, all we can do is make up for it by living here and now, the best we can.”

"You know…" Moominpapa scratched at his chin. "We visited the wild west once. The whole family, in fact. It's quite the story, if you've got the time! Sit back down, I'll tell you all about it! They used to call me Two-gun Moomin!”

“Dear, I believe only you called yourself that.” Moominmama chuckled softly.

Puukko smiled, returning to her seat. The Moomins had a warmth about them that she couldn't shake, and always seemed to know exactly what their guests needed. They were strange, but they were kind. It'd been an age since she felt that someone truly knew her. She felt a lump in her throat, and a sense of acceptance she'd not felt in a long, long time.

#Puukko #moomins #moomin oc #moominvalley #ao3 #first mate Marion #moominpappa #moominmamma #whetstone's whispers

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