The atmosphere in the shipyard grew heavy, a suffocating silence settling over the docks as Hugo's words hung in the air.
Everyone watched Barbossa, waiting for the explosion of rage that usually followed such an insult. The former crew of the Sea Serpent, now standing firmly on the deck of The Explorer, felt a chaotic swirl of emotions. They wanted to see Hugo humble their old master, yet a part of them feared what a man like Barbossa might do when pushed to the precipice of total ruin.
Barbossa's face cycled through a dozen shades of red and ash-grey. His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. He was a cornered beast, wrestling with a pride that had sustained him for twenty years and a terror that had taken root in only a few days.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to spit on the deal, reclaim his steel, and sail the Sea Serpent into the sunset. He could find a new crew; he had the gold. But the moment he closed his eyes, the logic of the world vanished. He heard the dry, rhythmic whispering of the coins. He felt the cold, hollow void where his heartbeat should be. The curse was a tether he couldn't cut with a blade.
He needed Hugo. Without the Navigator, Barbossa was just a dead man waiting for the moon to rise.
"What... what are your terms?" Barbossa finally managed to choke out. The words were like bile in his mouth, thick with humiliation. When he spoke them, the pirates on deck knew the era of the Sea Serpent was officially over.
Hugo didn't gloat. He simply walked to a table covered in blueprints, picked up a fresh piece of parchment and a quill, and began to write with a steady, clinical hand.
"Starting today," Hugo said, his voice carrying clearly to every man in the yard, "our two vessels form the 'Explorer Fleet.'
"My ship, The Explorer, will serve as the Flagship. I will serve as the Fleet Commodore.
"Captain Barbossa, you will serve as Vice-Commodore. Your Sea Serpent will act as our Frigate and auxiliary scout. All tactical movements, navigation routes, and engagement orders will be decided solely by the Commodore. You retain the right to counsel, but I retain the right of absolute veto."
Every stroke of the quill was a fresh scar on Barbossa's ego. Flagship? Vice-Commodore? He was being demoted on his own pier, forced to follow the wake of a boy he had fished from the sea. Barbossa's fists were clenched so tight the jewels on his rings bit into his skin.
Hugo didn't look up. He continued to write, the scratching of the nib the only sound in the shipyard. "As for the distribution of the spoils...
"In the upcoming operations, specifically Port Royal and Isla de Muerta all treasures, bounties, and ransoms will be divided as follows:
"The Explorer and her crew will take seventy percent of the total haul. You, and the skeleton crew of the Sea Serpent, will take thirty percent."
"Seventy-thirty!" Barbossa roared, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. "You've reversed the count, you treacherous whelp! You'd take the lion's share and leave me with the scraps?"
Hugo finally looked up, his gaze as cold and indifferent as the deep Atlantic. "Captain, let's perform the math of the current age.
"My ship has thirty-four men, eight twelve-pounder British cannons, and a reinforced hull that can weather a frigate's broadside. Your ship has six men left, a rotted mainmast, and a hull full of wormholes. In the battles to come, whether we face the Royal Navy or the horrors guarding the Chest of Cortez who do you think will be doing the bleeding?"
Hugo leaned forward, the lantern-light catching the sharp planes of his face. "My men risk their lives on the front line; they take seventy percent. Your men follow in our wake and pick up the leavings; they take thirty. It is a fair wage for the risk involved."
Barbossa had no answer. He looked at the veterans behind Hugo, men like Hanson and Silas who were nodding in agreement. They weren't looking at Barbossa with loyalty; they were looking at him with the cold assessment of businessmen.
"If you find the terms unacceptable," Hugo added, the finality of his voice echoing off the stone walls, "the cooperation ends here. You may keep your gold and your curse. I will take my ship and find my own fortune. Choose, Hector. The tide is coming in."
Barbossa looked at the parchment, then at the three coins he still felt whispering in his pocket. He realized he had no leverage. He was a passenger in Hugo's world now.
"Give me the pen," Barbossa whispered.
He snatched the quill and scrawled his name at the bottom of the "unequal treaty" with a frantic, desperate hand. After signing, he didn't wait to be dismissed. He staggered away from the table, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. He didn't even stop to pick up his jewel-encrusted scimitar where it lay in the mud. He looked like a man whose very soul had been hollowed out.
Hugo watched him go, then picked up the signed contract. He looked at the ink, then at The Explorer.
In the corner of his eye, the System pulsed with a steady, blue light.
[Fleet Formation Confirmed: The Explorer Fleet.]
[Command Authority: Absolute.]
[Advancement Progress: 70% toward Medieval Integration.]
Hugo looked out toward the dark horizon. He had his ship, he had his crew, and he had his fleet. The age of the Navigator was no longer a dream, it was a reality.
"Gibbs! Raise the anchor at first light!" Hugo commanded. "We sail for Port Royal!"