AN: Hey, less than a week between chapters! That's in addition to a new chapter in Lords of Time and Sea as well as a bunch of progress on other writing projects of mine that can't yet be found online. Keep your fingers crossed that I can maintain plugging along at this pace, and that life is out of wrenches to throw into my gears for the time being.
He kicked open the tavern's door, darkening the entrance. His vision skimmed over the rowdy patrons, lingering a bit longer on the tables packed with men from his own ship, flickering from face to face, questing for a certain set of features.
"Oi! Captain!" Clearly too inebriated to read his mood, one of the Jolly Roger's crew rose from the bench he occupied, ale sloshing in his tankard as he made an uncoordinated, sweeping gesture with his tankard. "Finished with your lass already and come to join us? We got others!"
A hearty cheer rose from the few whose senses were too dulled to notice the darkness he ushered in, while the majority lapsed into an uneasy silence. Hook ignored the man, pushing deeper into the dimly lit hall, toward the spot of red he'd spied at last at the far end of the bar. Smee launched himself onto his feet as the captain approached, nearly toppling his cup of ale.
"Sir?" The boatswain questioned dutifully.
"Gather the men back on the ship immediately. My prisoner is missing."
"Swan's gone?"
Hook's palm passed over his face in agitation. He had neither the time or the patience for an interrogation. "That is what I said, Mr. Smee."
"Could he have escaped on his own?"
"Mr. Smee, are you unfamiliar with the meaning held by the word 'immediately?'"
"Sorry, sir. I'll round them up."
"All of them. I don't care what you have to interrupt. Get every last man assembled quick as you can."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The hem of his tailcoat swung against his boots as he marched back down the docks, taking careful inventory of the ships dotting the harbor. In his head, he listed off the names of their captains and any motivations they may have had against him in retaliation for his previous slights. Or perhaps he didn't even factor into the equation. After all, any pirate could be expected to drool at the size of the purse offered in exchange for Emma. It was possible this was all the result of a single man's greed. Whatever the reasons, whoever was behind this would pay dearly. There was no question in his mind. Just how dearly would depend on Emma's condition when he found her.
A few at a time, the crew began to appear. They all looked askance at him as they boarded, but he saved his explanations until a larger mass had assembled. Smee was the last to return. As he clambered on board, the captain performed a quick and silent headcount.
Three men were missing.
"Mr. Smee, did I not make myself clear? You seem to be facing some difficulties with interpreting the English language this evening." Hook bellowed the chastisement across the ship, indifferent to the deepening scarlet of his boatswain's face.
"S-sorry sir. I couldn't find them. I looked, I swear! I didn't want to keep you waiting."
The captain's jaw clenched tight, and from the looks in the eyes of his men, he was sure he wore his most menacing scowl. His eyes skimming over the varied faces, he took stock of whose he didn't see. O'Sullivan – most likely drunk in an alley falling wistfully head-over-heels for a pretty young lad of his own persuasion. Clark – he had a habit of making for the woods, pipe and hatchet in hand, every time they made shore. Connors – Connors? Now, that man was never far from his potential duties. Ice splashed into Hook's belly as he remembered the first mate catching that glimpse of Emma's poster. Never would he have believed that Connors would be the one to betray him over a bounty without a word.
"Alright, lads," he barked out the commands even more sharply than during some of their recent battles. "Thanks to Mr. Smee's incompetence, our search party is now in pursuit of four instead of one."
"Who we lookin' for, Cap?" One of the men slurred.
Hook couldn't help but roll his eyes. Half his men were already three sheets to the wind. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to scare enough sobriety into them for them to get the job done. "Swan. Connors. O'Sullivan. Clark. Bring them here. I will deal with each of them accordingly."
"I thought Swan was in the brig? He's not there now? Where would he go?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his short nails dig into the skin at the corners of his closed eyes. "Yes, that would seem to be the question, wouldn't it?" Sucking air into his lungs like fuel, he drew his cutlass and advanced a step as he bellowed. "Now go find me some bloody answers!"
His audience scampered away with much speed, but no coordination, leading several of them to trip over each other or even their own feet in their retreat. He sighed as his hand passed over his face. "Smee."
Smee's large back had been receding more slowly than the others, as though he'd expected to be called upon. In truth, he probably had. His posture snapped straight as he turned. "Captain?"
"With me." His heavy boots began to slam down onto the docks.
While most of the crew were triple- and quadruple-checking the packed streets and still-open shops of the village, Hook had opted to press further. Here on the fringes of the little town, the businesses had all faded away, the huts had more and more space between them. Trees and other vegetation were starting to creep in thicker around them. Not too far ahead, the point where the road became a simple forest path had become visible. Killian clomped toward the point with determination.
Where the cobblestones ended, the dirt and leaf litter took over. That would be a much easier surface to track over, if Emma had indeed been brought this way. He pushed a branch out of his path, letting it fly free behind him, his eyes trained on the ground. Smee jumped back to avoid being hit by the swinging limb, his foot landing on a dried stick with a loud snap before the sound of his steps came to a halt.
"Captain? Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Denied. Keep moving." The footfalls resumed shuffling behind him, but he could feel the gaze digging into the back of his head. After a few minutes, it became more aggravating than he was willing to continue dealing with. Stopping short, he turned his gaze to the heavens for a moment before spinning on his heel. "Fine. What is it, Mr. Smee?"
"It's just – why would anyone release a prisoner like Swan without your leave? Seems to me like an awful lot of risk without any reward."
"There's a reward, alright," he muttered sourly before beginning to pace ahead again, this time with a more measured stride. "But the reasons are irrelevant at the moment. First, we have to find her. Then we'll learn more."
It wasn't immediately apparent that he was no longer being followed. It wasn't like he was intently listening for his crewman's footsteps. Then he heard the somewhat-too-distant, monosyllabic query, with an answer that was much bigger than the question.
"Her?"
Fuck.