Barbossa practically stumbled into the muck of the shipyard, his velvet coattails dragging in the filth. Behind him, only three or four loyalists remained, men whose loyalty was likely born of a fear of the dark rather than a love for their captain.
When Barbossa saw Hanson and his veterans standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Gibbs and Billy, laughing and sharing a skin of rum while wearing the simple, sturdy linen of The Explorer's crew, his eyes turned a violent, bloodshot red. It was a hue born of betrayal, the panic of abandonment, and the growing madness of the Aztec gold.
"Hanson! You treacherous dog!" Barbossa shrieked, pointing a trembling, ring-laden finger at the older pirate. "Have you forgotten who pulled you from the gallows? Who filled your belly with silver and your cup with the finest Jamaican gold?"
Hanson faced the accusation with a flicker of old habit crossing his face, but it was quickly replaced by a hard, unwavering resolve. He stepped forward, looking Barbossa directly in his wild eyes.
"We haven't forgotten, Captain," Hanson said, his voice deep and resonant. "But we also haven't forgotten who, after finding the treasure, tried to take ninety percent for himself and treated his brothers like fools. We haven't forgotten who locked himself in a cabin to talk to shadows while his ship rotted beneath him."
Hanson's words were a heavy hammer, echoing the sentiments of every man who had crossed the dock. "We're pirates, Hector. We risk our lives for a future, not to go mad in the dark with a man who's lost the wind."
"You... you..." Barbossa's face turned a sickening shade of purple. He spun around, his gaze locking onto Hugo, who was slowly descending the gangplank of The Explorer.
"Hugo! This is your doing! You seduced them with my gold! You whispered poison in their ears!" Barbossa roared, sounding like a beast driven into a corner.
Hugo stopped at the base of the ramp, his expression as calm as a deep-sea trench. "You can eat whatever you like in Tortuga, Hector, but you should be careful with the words you spit. Do you really have no idea why they chose me?"
Hugo walked toward him, his presence dwarfing the frantic captain. "Following you, they saw a man who had become a slave to a coin. They saw a dead end. Coming to me, they see a warship that can outrun the Navy, a clear target, and a leader who keeps his word. Water flows to the sea, and men follow the light. It's the simplest truth in the world."
Hugo spread his hands, looking across the shipyard. "I didn't steal them. They chose a ship that was actually sailing. I can hardly be blamed for welcoming brothers who want to win."
"You're full of lies!" Barbossa trembled, his hand twitching near his sword hilt. "They are my crew! My property! You will give them back, or I'll burn this yard to the ground!"
Before Hugo could even respond, Billy stepped into the light, his massive boarding axe resting on his shoulder. He looked at Barbossa with a sneer of pure disdain.
"Give 'em back? Barbossa, you're still dreaming. Look at the sorry state of ye, then look at Master Hugo." Billy spat into the mud. "Your men don't even know where their next meal is coming from. Following the Navigator, we're about to take on the Royal Navy and win. They'd be idiots to go back to a ghost ship."
Billy's words were the final spark. The veterans stood behind Hugo, their stances shifting into a united front. The awe they once held for Barbossa was gone, replaced by a mixture of pity and distance. Barbossa looked at the line of seasoned killers and realized his authority had crumbled.
"Hugo... I'll see you in the Locker for this!" The humiliation finally broke Barbossa's sanity. He let out a primal roar, drew his jewel-encrusted scimitar, and lunged at Hugo.
But the blade didn't even reach the apex of its arc.
Click. Click. Click.
A series of crisp, rhythmic metallic sounds echoed through the shipyard. Hanson, Billy, Gibbs, and every sailor on The Explorer's deck raised their flintlocks in unison. Over thirty dark muzzles, from the dock and from the ship's rail, were aimed squarely at Barbossa and his few remaining followers.
Barbossa froze. The tip of his scimitar quivered in the air. He looked at the men who had once been his lifeblood, now pointing cold iron at his heart, and the realization finally hit him. He was a solitary figure in a velvet coat, a king with no kingdom.
"The tide has turned, Hector," Hugo said quietly. "Put the steel away before the men decide to settle the split early."