Chapter 69: Ninety Fate and a Little Something Extra
The voyage back to Pensacola took some easy days under sail. Both ships now flew Spanish colors, though the Black Fortune wore hers about as convincingly as a wolf wrapped in a sheep’s fleece.
The moment both anchors hit bottom, repairs began in earnest. Sailcloth covered the shot holes, rigging was spliced back into something a sailor could trust, and Cudjoe kept both crews working hard enough that there wasn’t much time left for complaints, no matter how many men tried.
James claimed some idle time at the harbor, doing nothing more productive than admiring what he’d managed to achieve.
Two ships.
One belonged to him by right. The other belonged to him by explosion.
Both looked entirely too plain for vessels that had earned far better.
Gray canvas, he thought. Or maybe crimson. Something that would tell every harbor exactly whose ships these were before anyone bothered asking.
He still hadn’t decided. There would be time for that once people stopped trying to kill him long enough to let him shop properly.
The daydream ended when he noticed soldiers moving along the docks with far more purpose than Pensacola’s garrison usually managed. Harbor traffic was being quietly redirected, merchants and sailors shuffled elsewhere without quite understanding why.
James had only just pieced it together when Juan crossed the wharf toward him, his coat buttoned all the way to his throat despite the heat. The strain in the man’s posture caught James’s attention immediately.
"Juan." James spread both arms toward the Black Fortune. "Come to admire the proof, have ye?"
Juan watched the captured corvette from bow to stern, his gaze traveling over her like working through figures he already knew he wasn’t going to like.
Then, he replied sternly, "That is a French warship in my harbor, Captain Calloway, flying colors that will not survive close inspection from anyone who knows what to look for."
James shrugged, "You run this town tighter than a sailor’s arse at the gallows, Juan. I doubt there’s a soul in Pensacola who’d dare look twice at anything you haven’t already decided they can see."
Juan remained silent.
For a man who weighed every word before speaking, silence carried plenty of meaning. James didn’t need anything else to know something was wrong.
"Has word reached you yet? Of Mobile?"
"It has."
Juan kept his hands folded behind his back. "Governor Bienville will now spend this season to rebuild a fort and restock warehouses. You have bought me more room than I paid for."
James pressed a hand against his chest and smiled.
"Was that a compliment, Juan? From you?"
"It was an observation of fact. Compliments require warmth."
His expression never changed.
"I have none to spare today."
The silence lingered for a moment before Juan spoke again.
"Few of the French civilians died, by what has reached me. Fewer than I expected. I doubt that was your intention."
James answered with an easy shrug. Once the powder and supply depots had caught fire, he’d barely spared the town another thought. He hadn’t gone looking to shell the houses beyond the fort, either. Whatever sort of pirate these last weeks had turned him into, he wasn’t the kind who burned a town simply because he could.
"Aye, well."
He grinned, dismissing the thought before it could linger. "Wasn’t plannin’ on makin’ enemies of folk who never did me any wrong. Save that for the ones who deserve it."
James rubbed his hands together.
"Now then. My guns, Juan. Four cannon and a mortar, as promised."
"They are waiting nearby and will be delivered within the hour."
Business returned to Juan’s voice. "I would ask that you leave Pensacola the moment they are aboard. Immediately, Captain Calloway."
"Aye, I’ll leave."
James nodded without argument. "Soon as ye’ve lent a hand gettin’ the Fortune properly seaworthy first."
Juan blinked.
"What?"
James grinned, "The corvette, Juan. She’s mine now, and she’ll need proper hands on those repairs before I trust her in open water."
Juan let out a slow breath through his nose, sounding as though patience had become an expensive luxury.
"Fine. Whatever hastens your departure, Captain Calloway."
Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the wharf, the soldiers falling in behind him.
James watched him leave, the grin still on his face, when something else stole his attention.
⚓ [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Quest Complete : A Diplomatic Misunderstanding
Reward : 90 Fate
Reward : Unique Equipment
It is always fascinating to watch a newly transmigrated individual cling to the belief that he remains fundamentally a good person. You will find that conviction grows lighter with every difficult decision.
"If I ever stop arguin’ with myself, that’s when you ought to start worryin’."
Ninety Fate. His balance was now Ninety-Five.
It dropped into his account cleanly, more than he’d ever held at once by a wide margin. He let himself enjoy that for a moment before looking at the part that interested him even more.
"What’s the little something extra, then?"
The space before him rippled into a pale haze. It thickened, shimmered, then slowly became solid.
A cutlass appeared first.
Simply there, as though the world had overlooked it until now.
Its polished steel caught the sun and threw it back in a cold white glow. Every instinct James possessed insisted the weapon belonged in someone’s hand. Preferably his.
Beside it rested a flintlock pistol.
Larger than the navy pistols he’d seen, its dark metal flowed into polished brass with a precision no gunsmith ought to have been capable of. Four hammers sat neatly along the lock, each waiting its turn.
🏴 [ITEM ACQUIRED] — Verdict
Forged from flawless argentsteel, with a blade engraved in flowing script from ricasso to tip. Light enough to dance, heavy enough to kill, and sharp enough that most men never feel the wound until they see daylight through it.
🏴 [ITEM ACQUIRED] — Counterargument
An exquisite four-shot flintlock whose four independent locks fit together with impossible precision. Every spring, tumbler, and sear bears the touch of a master who valued elegance above sanity. Reloading remains as slow as any other flintlock, but it is rarely necessary.
James swept the cutlass through a slow practice slash, feeling the balance for himself, then turned the pistol over in his hand.
"That’s surely a way to entertain a man’s fantasy of epic duels."
Pensacola could spare some quiet time before the next voyage. The wounded deserved proper treatment instead of hurried bandages. The rigging needed more than quick repairs.
A crew that had exploded an entire fort had certainly earned a break to drink rum they hadn’t stolen at gunpoint.
After that, they’d put to sea again.
This time they wouldn’t be chasing someone else’s plans.
There was a reef beyond Andros waiting for him, one he’d already bought without ever seeing it.
James looked beyond the harbor mouth toward waters hidden over the horizon and grinned. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t sailing toward somewhere he had to be.
He was sailing toward somewhere he actually wanted to go.