Chapter Text
Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than those you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from safe harbor. – Mark Twain
There were worse places to hide fearing for your life than amongst rice barrels, you decide. The discarded sacks made for somewhat of a seat cushion, and the sweet jasmine scent nearly overpowered the brine of the sea outside. If you closed your eyes and let the ship’s movement rock you like a nursemaid with a babe, you could almost pretend that everything was okay.
You had lost track of time, but it felt like hours since you had stolen aboard the Destiny in the dead of night. No doubt your family had realized you were gone by now, interrogated the mansion’s guards, raising hell throughout the city looking for you.
Or, perhaps not. This might be the perfect solution to their little problem. A runaway is better than a scandal. Quieter, easier to explain away. You could see your father now, laughing at a dinner party with a champagne flute in his hand, an eager audience of neighborhood gossips gathered around. “Always so flighty, that one,” he would say with just the right amount of wearied exasperation. “Decided to study abroad! Can you believe that…more wine, anyone?”
But they’d have to tell Gok Byeonjil the truth. You shudder, hugging your arms tightly to your chest. All the soldiers in the city of Aurora couldn’t drive you to marry that conniving snake of a man.
There are some fates worse than death.
Footsteps clattering down the ladder from the gun deck break through your introspection; you shrink back and pray to look like a barrel.
“Maybe breakfast isn’t late, you’re just fuckin’ early!”
You hear an indistinct reply from above, and the closer voice laughs – a high and squeaky giggle that would’ve entertained you if it weren’t for the dread pooling in your stomach.
“Don’t mess with the cook right before they make your damn food, cheonjae.”
Your blood runs cold. Of course. How could you have been so stupid? Instead of hiding in the dustiest, most untouched crevice you could find, you were now a sitting duck behind a rice barrel right before breakfast.
Still, there was a chance. He didn’t have to come this way, you reason, it was only the beginning of the journey, certainly they didn’t need their reserves alrea-
“Holy shit.”
A bright light shines through the darkness and you throw your arms up to shield yourself, unconsciously driving your feet against the floor to cower against the wall. This was it. You had escaped Gok Byeonjil only to get killed by a crotchety ship cook. The shame of it was almost too much to bear.
“Yo, sorry.” The light dims, and you blink spots out of your vision. Now that you can see, the cook looks hardly more than a boy. He has the hollowed, chiseled face of a man, but a softness to his eyes, nose, and lips that carries a more childlike quality. His hair, patterned in black and white shades, is pulled back in a ponytail. It puts you the slightest bit at ease that he isn’t some hulking brute.
“You are not supposed to be here,” the cook states matter-of-factly.
You swallow hard. “I’m a passenger. Just got lost is all.”
“A passenger?” he scoffs. “Do you know what ship you’re on? The Destiny doesn’t have passengers.” He grins puckishly. “’Cept you, apparently, which means you gotta meet the captain.” Shoving a barrel of rice out of the way, he extends a slender hand to you.
“We could have an arrangement,” you say quickly, taking his hand to come to your feet. “I have money, enough to keep you quiet. This could just be our secret, Mister…”
“My name’s Wooyoung,” he asserts, amused. “And no amount of don is worth pissing off the captain.” With a speed and elegance that tells you he’s done this a hundred times before, he leverages your weight to bring both of your hands behind your back and ties them neatly together with a rice sack. You have a distant thought to fight it, but the idea of sprinting through the ship’s dark underbelly full with Kaiq knows what keeps you meek.
“It’s not anything personal,” Wooyoung explains as he pushes you forward out of the galley. “We’re on high alert, you see. Even though you’re not wearing white, you might still have a little metal under the skirts, if you catch my drift.”
Ducking underneath a sheet of canvas hanging to separate the space, you are now in what seems to be a storage space for spare sails and rigging. Leaning on his shoulder for support, you navigate the cluttered floor and venture a question. “Why would my wearing white matter?”
“Because it’s after All Hands Day, obviously.” You stare at him, confused, and he laughs that high-pitched laugh again. “Only teasing. No, but really, we’ve had all kinds of trouble. We were supposed to take up in Aurora but clocked a gleam and had to weigh anchor while most of us still had three sheets to the wind. This Cromer business is a real bitch, no disrespect to present company, if you’ll forgive me.”
Between his rapid chatter and his unfamiliar verbiage, you feel like you’re hardly comprehending a word. “What’s a Cromer?”
The cook whirls to face you, mouth dropped open. “Yo, I was not supposed to say that. You’d do me a favor by forgetting I did. I can’t shut up, everybody knows it.”
You both arrive at a ladder leading upwards to what you guess is the berth. A square of grey morning light at the top indicates that this access point reaches all the way to the main deck. Before you can ask anything more, Wooyoung shushes you, untying your hands and nudging you to climb the ladder.
“Shh, now,” he whispers, “some of the oranges are still sleeping.”
You have no clue what that could even begin to mean, but comply regardless. Climbing to the midpoint on the gun deck, you discover a row of six hammocks. At least two are occupied, and someone is snoring softly. You bite back a chuckle. Maybe it’s an orange.
Wooyoung taps your shoe, shoving your skirts out of his line of vision to scowl at you. “Never scaled a ladder before? Want to move at all faster?” His whisper is harsh and you wonder if he think he’s being quiet.
“Letting you enjoy the view,” you toss back cheekily, and are pleased with yourself when he’s too startled to respond. Now closer to the top, you realize there is a large metal grate placed over the cargo access barring your path.
“I can’t move up-“ But you break off as the lithe young sailor passes you going up the other side of the ladder, carefully placing himself to avoid touching you, and reaches the grate in seconds.
“Yeah, I got it,” he hisses. He presses a hand to the grate and it pops open with a hollow clunk. You try to hide your surprise. A hidden key mechanism, perhaps?
He swings his body smoothly out of the hatch and looks down at you. “Come on!”
“You forget that I’m not exactly in a hurry to go to my death,” you retort, but what little salty breeze sweeps through the hatch feels glorious on your sweaty face, and the sounds of men shouting and the rippling of canvas sails sends a jolt of exhilaration through you. You were really at sea. Gone from Aurora.
Not free, but a hope of it.
Wooyoung shakes his head. “Captain’s no killer, but Jongho will be if breakfast is late.” He enunciates his next words clearly. “Move. Your. Ass.”
It’s hard to stop a smile from crossing your face as you finish your ascent. There was something delightful about being spoken about like a near-equal, not treated like a porcelain doll or some cast-off social plaything. If they used honorifics out here, you had yet to hear them.
The sunlight is terribly bright, and the cook covers your eyes with a hand before you can get a good look of the deck. All you can see is the wood beneath you – the distinct copper hue of the Destiny.
“Aft,” Wooyoung says simply, and guides you towards the stern. You, near blind, have little choice but to follow. “Your eyes get used to those kinds of changes eventually.”
A youthful male voice whoops from somewhere above you. “Woo, as pretty as she is, she is not breakfast.”
“Shut up, Sannie!” Wooyoung yells back.
“Didn’t think we were picking up passengers this go.”
“Don’t think we was!”
“Be kind, you don’t know a thing.”
“We were supposed to leave all our jewels in Aurora.”
“A stowaway?”
The final voice is much closer than the others, much calmer, much gentler. You hadn’t thought yourself afraid of men, but being jeered at by people you couldn’t even see made your skin crawl. This voice, though, settled your nerves.
Wooyoung’s response: “Found her in the galley, hyungnim.”
So this was somebody of authority. The captain, perhaps?
“I’ll take her to Hongjoong. Thank you, Woo.”
Not the captain. Wooyoung’s hand disappears from your eyes and you hear a door close behind you, suddenly recognizing you must have walked into a room off of the main deck. You blink at your newfound sight.
“This isn’t normally the way we like to meet passengers,” says the man before you. He has a kindly expression and a soft tone that give you comfort immediately, even as something dragonlike lurks in the almond shape of his eyes and the narrow point of his nose. Unlike Wooyoung, who was dressed in only breeches and a loose white buttoned shirt, this new encounter is more put together in a vest and wire spectacles. The cabin you find yourself in must be his, comfortably furnished with a bed, desk, and multiple chests. A door against the back wall, you can only assume, leads to the captain’s quarters.
“This isn’t normally the way I like to meet the crew,” you return without malice.
He nods. “You must forgive Wooyoung, he breeds an unmerited familiarity. Although I will say he neglected to offer your name.”
You take a deep breath, considering your options, and decide to play it coy. “Haven’t received yours yet, either.”
The man bows. “Of course. Park Seonghwa. Quartermaster of the Destiny.” Seonghwa fixes you with a curious look. “It’s quite the ship to select for your adventuring.”
The hair on the back of your neck prickles. Between some of Wooyoung’s stranger comments and now Seonghwa’s admonishment, you couldn’t tell what you had gotten yourself into. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
He hums. “Indeed.”
“I must say, you hardly seem surprised by my presence here,” you note. “Do you expect stowaways aboard the Destiny?”
Seonghwa’s expression is unreadable, but strange. “It’s time for you to meet the captain.” He crosses to the back door and taps out a rapid, 8-knock rhythm.
“Bring her in.”
You struggle to suck in a deep breath in an attempt to steady yourself. Seonghwa opens the door and indicates for you to enter.
The captain’s cabin is twice the size of the quartermaster’s, with sprawling tables and bookshelves that prevent you from noticing the captain at first. In many aspects, he perfectly fulfills what you thought a pirate king should look like. Tight black breeches and a black waistcoat hug a muscular but slight form, and a tri-cornered hat sits above a wave of dark hair. His earrings and jewels chime softly when he turns to face you, a guarded smile on his face made dangerous by the stripe of black painted in the center of his bottom lip.
“Hello, ‘tiny.” The captain bows but doesn’t break eye contact, much like how one would treat a wild animal. You give a small curtsey, hoping your legs don’t give way, unable to escape his intense gaze.
“What makes you think you belong on my ship, hmm?”