Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

" B loody hell." Aiden retched, coughing up seawater, sand, and half of his insides.

Every part of his body ached, each muscle screaming mutiny, as he spit out the taste of salt and sand filling his throat.

When he blinked against the misty light of dawn, everything around him spun like a ship caught in the eye of a storm. On his side, he lay still, the memory of the sea's wrath fresh in his mind, like the crack of cannon fire. Gulls screeched above while the waves lapped gently at the shore, as if the ocean was satisfied with the offering.

The storm … The Siren… All lost.

He groaned, shifting his weight to push himself up, only to struggle against the tight grip of rope tangled around his legs and torso. The Siren's rigging clung to him like a spurned lover.

"Saints," he muttered, the word a half-curse, half-prayer as he reached down, fingers fumbling for the hilt of the knife in his boot. His hand trembled, whether from cold or exhaustion, he couldn't tell, but at last, he touched the familiar worn leather grip. With a grunt, he yanked the knife free, blade gleaming dully in the pale light.

As he sawed through the ropes, Aiden peered over the dune, senses sharpening with each passing moment. The beach looked unfamiliar, though not entirely strange. Tall sea oats swayed in the breeze, and though he was certain that this wasn't Nassau, something about the lay of the land tickled at the edges of his memory as if he had been here before.

Once free of the ropes, he sheathed the knife and rolled onto his hands and knees, breathing heavily, throat dry and scratchy. He was alive. By some miracle, he had survived the storm, only to find himself shipwrecked here.

But where was here ?

There wasn't a single sign of his crew as Aiden scanned the shoreline. No bodies, no debris from the Siren other than the rope wrapped around him, nothing to indicate anyone else had made it to shore. A gnawing sense of loss settled in his chest. The sea had claimed his ship, his men, and nearly his life. What remained?

Unsteady, he staggered to his feet, swaying for a moment as he took in his surroundings.

Aiden shook his head to clear the fog from his mind. Why wasn't there a single bit of wreckage from the Siren? Where were the splintered planks, the torn sails, the bodies of his men?

He trudged along the water's edge, eyes darting back and forth, looking for survivors or any evidence of the Siren's fate. But the beach was pristine, unmarred by debris or the grim aftermath of a shipwreck. A cold dread settled in his gut as a terrifying thought struck him.

What if he hadn't survived at all?

What if the kraken, or some other foul beast of the deep, had dragged him down to a watery grave? Was this some sort of purgatory?

Aiden pinched himself hard, wincing at the pain. "Felt that," he muttered. "So not dead. Unless..."

He scanned the horizon, half-expecting to see ghostly ships or sea monsters rising from the waves. But there was only the endless expanse of the sea, looking much as it always had.

Yet something was off. The air smelled different, cleaner, somehow, but with unfamiliar scents he couldn't quite place. And in the distance, he could swear he heard a low, steady hum that didn't belong to any natural sound he knew.

"By all the saints," Aiden breathed, confusion growing with each passing moment. "Where in the bloody hell am I?"

An angry meow interrupted his thoughts, drawing his attention to a scraggly black tomcat that padded toward him, tail held high. The cat's fur was plastered to its body, its large head and enormous paws giving it a comical appearance despite the gravity of the situation.

"Inky?" Aiden rasped, disbelief coloring his voice. The rat catcher from his ship had somehow survived. The cat approached, rubbing its head against Aiden's knee before sitting back on its haunches, regarding him with wide, green eyes.

Relief flickered through him. If the cat had survived, perhaps there was hope yet. He reached down to scratch behind the beast's ears, the gesture grounding him in the midst of his confusion.

"Aye, somehow we escaped the clutches of the sea."

When he straightened, Aiden winced, his body protesting the movement. He adjusted his coat, tugging at the sodden fabric that clung to his skin. Miraculously, his weapons remained strapped to him, the weight of the cutlass a familiar comfort. He glanced down at Inky, who now sniffed at the sand, seemingly unconcerned by their predicament.

The brief moment of relief was short-lived. His hand shot to the inner pocket of his coat where the treasure map should have been safely stowed, carefully wrapped in oilcloth. His breath caught as his fingers met nothing but damp fabric. Frantically, he patted himself down, searching every fold and seam. Panic rose in his chest.

"No…"

The map, and his only hope of finding the treasure, was gone. The sea had claimed it, stolen from him in the violent thrashing of the storm.

His heart pounded, the weight of the loss settling like a stone in his gut.

Some other way, then. He would not be so easily defeated.

"Come on, then. Let's see what manner of place we've washed up on. We'll commandeer a ship, sail back to Nassau where we'll put together a new crew and hunt for the greatest treasure of all time."

With the cat trotting by his side, Aiden walked, each step more solid than the last, the dizziness receding as he strode along the sand. The beach stretched out before him, curving gently to the left, and in the distance, he could make out the faint silhouette of a man standing at the water's edge. As he drew near, one hand went to the cutlass in his belt, the other he kept loose at his side.

The man wore odd attire and held a small, bright yellow object in his hand. The man's back was to him, but a low murmur of conversation reached his ears, though no one else was in sight. Frowning, he crept closer, keeping to the dunes.

The man laughed aloud, an odd, high-pitched sound, and Aiden's frown deepened. He watched as the man lifted the object to his ear as if listening and then began speaking to it. Aiden shook his head, trying to make sense of the scene before him. The man's clothes were unlike any he had seen before.

He wore loose-fitting short trousers that stopped well above the knee, the brightest orange like the sun before it fell into the sea, made of some strange fabric. His shirt bore no buttons or laces, but instead had a peculiar design on the front. It took Aiden a moment to read the words.

"Sun's out, buns out."

He had seen his fair share of outlandish attire in the taverns of Nassau, but this was beyond peculiar.

"What the bleedin' hell?" Aiden muttered as he checked his weapons. The man turned slightly, and Aiden caught a glimpse of his face. The man was clean-shaven, with short rust-colored hair slicked back, pink skin like that of a young piglet, and eyes covered with black glasses unlike any Aiden had ever seen. The man continued to speak into the object, his tone casual, almost bored.

Something was terribly wrong. He took a step back, heart pounding, the sand shifting beneath his feet as Inky let out a soft hiss, as if sensing his unease.

As Aiden stumbled down the dune, Inky slinking along behind him, a strange cry reached his ears. A sound both panicked and … was that amusement?

He crouched low, peering over the top of the dune. Now the man gesticulated wildly, face contorted in frustration. As Aiden crept closer once more, the man's words became clearer, though they made no sense.

"No, no, no! I told you, the marlin was this big!" The man held his hands a ridiculous distance apart.

The truth hit Aiden with the force of a broadside cannon. The man wasn't talking to himself, but rather was talking to that … bright yellow thing.

A shiver, colder than the sea itself, ran down his spine as he struggled to make sense of what he was witnessing. He had heard tales of far-off lands where magic and strange customs prevailed, but this... this was beyond anything he could have imagined. The man continued his animated conversation with the yellow object, oblivious to his presence.

"Witchcraft," Aiden muttered under his breath, his hand tightening on the hilt of his cutlass. "Or madness. Neither bodes well for us, eh?"

The cat, as if in response, let out a low meow and began to groom itself, seemingly unperturbed by the bizarre scene unfolding before them.

No matter where he looked, searching for anything remotely familiar, Aiden's confusion only deepened as he spotted a group of people lounging on brightly colored blankets spread across the sand. Their attire was even more shocking than that of the man with the yellow object.

Women, at least, he assumed they were women and not sirens, lay about in various states of dishabille, their bodies barely covered by scraps of fabric that left little to the imagination. One of the lassies who had rolled over onto her stomach displayed her entire arse with naught but a thin bit of bright green cloth up the crack of her generous backside. He winced, thinking how uncomfortable it must feel.

Men walked among them, chests bare and legs exposed, carrying strange containers that glinted in the sunlight.

"Merde," Aiden shook his head, talking to the cat. "Have I stumbled upon some manner of open-air brothel?"

He'd seen his fair share of wenches in his time as a pirate, but never had he witnessed such brazen displays of flesh outside the confines of a bawdy house. These women sprawled shamelessly on the sand, their bits barely covered by triangles of cloth no larger than an eyepatch.

As he stood gaping, two young women sauntered towards him, hips swaying in a way that made him arch a brow.

"Oh my God, Becky," one of them giggled, eyeing Aiden up and down. "He's so hot!"

Her friend nodded enthusiastically. "Totally! Love the pirate costume. Bit early for the festivities."

Aiden frowned, perplexed. "I beg your pardon, poppet? I assure you, I'm quite cool with this wind. And this is no costume, but my usual attire."

The girls exchanged amused glances before the first one spoke again. "Well, whatever you say, Captain Hook. You're welcome to come hang with us if you want to warm up."

She pushed her arms together as her breasts threatened to pop out of the tiny white bits of cloth.

Aiden took a step back, overwhelmed by their forwardness. "I... I thank ye for the offer, but I must decline. I fear I'm not myself today."

As the women shrugged and walked away, giggling, he muttered under his breath, "What manner of place have I found myself in?"

Certain he must be hallucinating, Aiden rubbed his eyes. Perhaps the sea had addled his wits, or this was some strange fever dream brought on by his near-drowning. But the sand beneath his feet felt all too real, and the salt air stung the cuts he had sustained when his beloved Siren split in two.

"Come along," he said, voice low and urgent. "We must find shelter, gather our bearings. Surely there must be some explanation for this madness."

As he and the rat-catcher made their way down the beach, he didn't know where to look. Odd smells, sounds, and music assaulted his senses. The strange music seemed to come from the sky, a woman shouting how she could buy her own flowers.

"What have we here?" He stopped to watch several men tossing a brown, oblong object back and forth. As the oddly shaped ball sailed through the air, one of the men leapt up, catching the ball with one hand before crashing into the surf. His companions cheered, slapping him on the back as he emerged, grinning.

"I'm losing my wits," Aiden muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "This can't be real." He went down on one knee, panting.

Once the dizziness subsided, he forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly. With each passing moment, the possibility that he had died, and this was some treachery courtesy of the Fates seemed more and more likely.

"If this be hell," he said to Inky, who was stalking a bit of sea grass, "then the devil has an odd sense of humor indeed."