Rum, Moonlight, and Missteps
Back aboard the boat, the evening settled with a warm sunset over
the sea.
Bonny stood in the small galley, humming softly as she cooked the scent of herbs, onions, and grilled meat rising into the salty air. The crew gathered around, their faces brighter now than they’d been in days.
Plates full, bellies empty, they feasted beneath a golden sunset.
Bonny passed around tin cups of ale, smiling as each man raised his in thanks.
As the Captain devoured his share, she leaned in close, a cheeky sparkle in her eyes. “I got us more rum for later, Captain,” she said, her voice low and playful.
He grinned. “You’re a fine woman, Bonny. A real keeper.”
Night crept in slow. The moon rose, silver and proud, glinting off the water.
One by one, the crew vanished into their bunks, until only the Captain and Bonny remained under the stars.
Bonny returned with two glasses and a dark bottle, setting them gently on the deck beside them.
She poured, then raised her glass high.
“Aaarr,” she said with a wink, “this is nice.”
The Captain laughed. “You’re turning into a real pirate, Miss Bonny.”
He leaned over, slid an arm around her shoulders, and kissed her soft, simple, warm.
She smiled.
But soon, the sparkle in her eye shifted concern creeping in.
“What about the note?” she asked. “The stone? Crow? It’s all getting a bit… confusing, Captain.”
He said nothing for a moment.
Then: “Hush, Bonny. I need to think.”
She nodded, and he reached into his coat, drawing out the folded parchment. He held it in the moonlight, staring down at it in silence.
The stillness stretched.
Bonny, restless now, slipped her phone from her pocket and angled it toward the note, zooming in. Her thumb tapped at the screen. Then again. Then again.
She sipped her rum, frowned at the results. Typed something new.
Then suddenly she jumped to her feet.
The glass of rum in her hand sloshed wildly spilling across the Captain, the parchment, the deck.
“BONNY!” the Captain roared, leaping back. “What in the bloody blazes are you doing?!”
“Sorry, sorry!” she gasped. “But listen!”
The parchment now dripping with rum, edges curling. The Captain shook it dry, grumbling like thunder.
Bonny held up her phone, wide-eyed.
“I think… I think I know what it means!”
He narrowed his eyes, dripping. “Out with it, woman.”
“It’s not gibberish,” she said, breathless. “It’s a port. A real place. Nassav Nassau Port. In the Bahamas.”
The Captain stared at her, his face unreadable.
“We must go to the port,” she said again.
He stood slowly, set the parchment down to dry, and rubbed his temple.
“Let’s sleep,” he muttered. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Bonny watched him disappear below deck.
She looked at the note once more, then out across the water where the moon hung bright and round, watching them like an old eye that never blinked.
Bonny drained the last of her rum, letting the warmth settle in her chest. The sea murmured gently outside, but sleep tugged at her limbs like the sea drawing her under.
She slipped below deck, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath her bare feet.
Inside the cabin, the lantern flickered low. The Captain was already asleep, lying on his back, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, one hand resting over his coat pocket where the stone still lay.
Bonny watched him for a moment. There was something about the way he slept not peaceful, but exhausted. As if the weight of the sea still pressed on him, even in dreams.
She stripped quietly, slipped beneath the blanket, and curled up against him. Her head rested on his chest. His body shifted slightly with her warmth, a soft grunt rumbling from his throat.
Then silence again.
And deep, heavy sleep.
But in the hours before dawn something returned.
Darkness. Fire. Earth.
The Captain’s breath caught in his sleep.
In his mind, the vision twisted into place vivid and close, as if he stood among them once more.
Crow.
Alive.
Speaking to his crew in a tongue muffled by distance and dream.
The Captain tried to listen but the words were lost, carried away on the wind.
Then… images.
Men digging graves. Six of them.
Their faces hard, resigned.
Crow standing above, one fist clenched tight.
“PICK!” he barked.
One by one, each man stepped forward and drew a straw from Crow’s hand.
When they were done, he shouted: “SHOW ME.”
The straws lifted. One was shorter.
Crow pointed.
“You will stay.”
The chosen man swallowed hard. Crow ordered the others to give him all their gold rings, necklaces, pouches of coin. A mountain of wealth glistened before the man’s feet.
Then came the goblets.
“GIVE US THE POTION.”
The man passed them down. Each crew member held a cup.
“DRINK,” Crow commanded.
They drank.
“To your fates,” Crow said. “Lay down.”
The men crawled into the freshly dug graves.
One by one, they lay still.
One by one, their eyes closed drawn into slumber like a curtain pulled across them.
Crow stepped to the last man the one left behind.
The one still standing.
“Give me the potion.”
He drank it.
Then lay down.
He looked up at the man above him.
“You’re a good man,” Crow whispered. “Cover me.
And live a full life.”
Then silence.
Crow’s eyes drifted shut.
The dream darkened.
Faded.
“HE’S ALIVE!”
The Captain jolted upright, gasping for air.
Bonny shot up beside him, eyes wide, heart pounding.
“What? What is it?!”
“He’s alive!” the Captain shouted, breath ragged. “Crow. I saw him. I saw him, Bonny!”
She placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him. “Captain says to Bonny”
“We must go. Now. Get dressed. Wake the crew.”
Bonny hesitated only a second before throwing the blanket aside.
The Captain was already on his feet, boots half-pulled on, eyes fierce and distant.
“I know where he is,” he muttered. “I know where to begin.”
Sad Tides
The boat pulled away from the grave site at first light, drifting past the silent tavern port once more but this time, the Captain did not look back.
He stood at the helm like a carved statue, eyes set not on the sea, but somewhere deeper somewhere no map could point to.
There was fire in those eyes. And something else.
Frustration.
Rage.
Restlessness.
Bonny sat nearby, watching him.
“So… what’s the plan, Captain?” she asked carefully.
The Captain didn’t look at her. His jaw clenched.
“My plan,” he growled, “is foiled. I can’t do what needs doin’.”
Bonny stepped closer. “What is it you need?”
“I need to get to the Bahamas,” he muttered. “The islands. I know those waters. I know he’s there. I can feel it in me bones.”He finally turned, eyes blazing. “But this boat” he spat the word like poison, “is too small to master them seas. My ship is lost. My hands are tied. I can’t get to Crow. And that’s just how he wants it.”
Bonny felt the fury behind his words.
And the despair.
But she didn’t back down.
“If I could show you a way,” she said, calm but firm, “would you listen to me?”
The Captain shook his head. “Bonny… unless you can get me a ship, there’s nothing we can do.”
He turned away, fists tight.
“Crow is at large. And I’m powerless.”
Bonny stared at him a long time, heart pounding.
“Do you trust me?” she asked softly. “I mean really trust me?”
He didn’t answer.
Just kept his eyes on the sea.
“You talk,” he muttered, “to a man with important business in a faraway place that he can’t get to. Why should I trust you? Or anyone?”
Bonny stood silent. Hurt flickered across her face playing with her bracelet her mother gave her on her last birthday.
In her head, she thought: He’ll never see past himself. I need to show him a thing or two.
She squared her shoulders. Raised her voice.
“Captain!” she barked. “I have a plan. And you are going to listen to me. Do you understand? Or I’m jumping off this boat RIGHT NOW!”
The Captain turned, scoffing.
He laughed.
A deep, mocking, bitter laugh.
“Funny woman, Bonny,” he chuckled. “Funny woman. Get back in the galley where you belong.”
Bonny froze.
Something in her cracked wide open.
She stormed up to him, eyes blazing, and without warning slapped his face. Hard.
Then she spat.
“You PIG!” she shouted.
And before anyone could stop her…
She jumped.
“BONNY!” the Captain shouted.
He ran to the rail, scanning the surface but all he saw was water.
“BONNY!”
She was gone.
“MAN OVERBOARD!” he roared, turning the wheel hard.
The crew scrambled up onto the deck, wide-eyed and confused.
“WHERE IS SHE, CAPTAIN?!”
“She’s gone over!” he shouted, voice breaking.
The boat cut sharp across the waves, circling wide in figure eights. The Captain called her name again and again nothing.
The water was too vast.
The waves too calm.
No sign.
No shadow.
No sound.
Hours passed.
The sun began to fall behind the clouds.
The sky turned pale.
Then gold.
Then grey.
The Captain stood at the helm, soaked in salt water spray nothing but silence.
He turned to the crew.
“Call off the search,” he said.
His voice was quiet. Like a man breaking.
They said nothing.
They turned back toward shore.
The Captain stood alone at the stern, a single tear carving its way down his cheek.
“We lost her, crew,” he said, staring at the sea.
“We lost her.”
