The sea raged outside the ship, but in the kitchen it was warm and smelled of garlic — Karina was frying something in oil, Sabo was sipping hot water, and I was flipping through a map spread out directly on the table. Half a day had passed since we set course for the next island.
— Little Garden, I think that's what it's called, — said Sabo, spinning the log pose in his fingers, checking the markings.
— But the real question is different, — Karina put down her fork and looked straight at me, — why did we take those attackers aboard? They're clearly not our friends.
I smiled, glancing at the tied-up duo sitting in the corner of the kitchen, trying to look small and invisible. One stared at the food, the other studied the seams of the hammock as if it were an ancient map.
— Extra provisions, — I answered flatly. — And labor. They need to work off what they did.
— We'll have to replace part of the planks on the upper deck, — said Sabo, lifting his gaze. — After their little "performance" there are cracks and gaps.
Karina smirked.
— Force them to work? — I said, or do we eat them?
They immediately started jerking their heads like small puppies.
Karina smirked again, picked up one of the sacks of rusks, and, without looking away from the captives, turned.
— Five meals a day — that's their payment for work, — she repeated evenly. — But money is no excuse for escape. They will work. And if they try… we go back to the "old method." Understood?
Both nodded so fast it seemed like one wrong move would erase their last hopes.
— Well then start working… and tell us who's in your gang! — I said, leaning slightly forward.
The prisoners exchanged glances, began mumbling, shaking their heads as if in doubt, then simultaneously pointed at the table.
— What do they want? — muttered Karina, raising an eyebrow.
— A sheet of paper and a pencil, — Sabo said calmly, tearing himself away from his cartographic notes.
He handed them what they needed and, with a short nod, untied them. A minute later, the two were already furiously drawing lines, as if afraid to forget a single detail. The scratch of the pencil was the only sound as we watched them.
And then the first drawing landed on the table. It depicted a woman: curly hair, dark green eyes, full lips.
— Who's that? — I thought aloud, frowning. But they didn't stop.
A few minutes later there was already a whole stack — about a dozen sheets. Different faces: men, women, strange types.
I slowly traced my finger along the edge of the paper and lingered on one picture. It was a warehouse marked Baroque Works. Under the portrait of a man with a nasty scar and a cold gaze, in bold handwriting, was written "Crocodile."
— Baroque Works… — Sabo frowned.
— But a few are missing, — I muttered, remembering. — Robin… and that woman who could change weight… and the little one with the paint. Looks like they joined later.
I flipped over another sheet and saw a strange man with scars on his face, whom I definitely didn't recall.
— Hm… curious, — I muttered.
At that moment Karina carefully placed two bowls of food in front of the captives. They couldn't resist, grabbed spoons, and began eating as if they hadn't had food in a week.
— They may not be famous, — Sabo said quietly, folding his arms, — but if they're tied to this organization and already went against us… we'll meet again. And hardly in a friendly setting.
Gin stumbled through the door. No longer red-cheeked, but with a heavy look after drinking. He froze on the spot, staring at the whole scene.
— What kind of zoo is this? — he exhaled, pointing at the captives who at that moment were gnawing at their bowls so fiercely they couldn't even speak.
— Prisoners, — I said calmly. — And our new workers.
A minute later, after a brief explanation, Gin was sitting next to them, chewing silently, demonstratively ignoring me when I reminded him how he'd yelled across the whole town yesterday demanding "five more barrels of rum."
A moment later the situation almost repeated: the door creaked, and Auger entered the kitchen. He still looked a little battered from yesterday, but his eyes were already clear.
— So what are we doing? — asked Sabo, not lifting his eyes from the maps spread before him.
— Sailing on, to Little Garden, — I replied, sipping from my mug of water.
Sabo raised his head, squinting:
— Can we bypass it? In those log poses you brought, there might be a way straight to the next island. They say it's not very…
I grinned, shaking my head:
— Nope. We're going there. I know it'll be useful for us.
Sabo sighed in annoyance but only waved his hand:
— Fine, captain. — He bent over the maps again, marking something.
I slapped my palm on the table:
— Alright! Let's head to the training zone. Everyone up!
— I'll finish these notes and keep an eye on those two, then join you, — Sabo added, nodding at our captives who were sitting in the corner with their bowls.
"I'll grab a bite," Auger said, sitting down.
The three of us — me, Karina, and Gin — headed to a small door at the end of the corridor. It led to a storage room we had converted back in port into something like a training corner.
— Good thing we took this stuff from them, — Karina remarked, surveying the rows of iron machines along the walls. Some were clearly old, but still functional.
— Yep, — Gin nodded, immediately plopping onto a bench, grabbing a dumbbell, and lifting it with one hand. — Perfect for getting back in shape.
I was just about to start warming up when I noticed Karina step back and turn toward the exit.
— Well, I'm off, — she tossed carelessly.
— Where are you going? — I squinted. — You're training too.
She froze, glanced at me, and theatrically threw up her hands:
— Oh, come on, captain! I'm a lockpicker and treasurer, not a weightlifter.
— Exactly, — I smirked, folding my arms across my chest. — So that, if needed, you can not only pick locks but also stand up for yourself.
Gin burst out laughing, still pumping the dumbbell:
— Karina, come on. Don't worry, I'll cover you… if a dumbbell falls on your head.
— Very funny, — she grumbled, but returned to the room.
Progressing in training with huge weights on a ship wasn't easy: overloading the vessel was dangerous, and 300-kg bars no longer felt like a challenge. I easily lifted them with one hand as if they were just dumbbells.
— Could switch to biceps, — I muttered, tossing the barbell and catching it. My thoughts spun in my head, but my gaze slid to Karina, who was trying to do push-ups, quietly cursing after each one.
— By the way, Karina, I have an idea to help you…