Chapter 104: By Vote, By Blade, and By Mark
"Seventh rule!"
James’s voice softened, though it never lost its certainty. "Every child in this town belongs to the care of the whole town. Doesn’t matter whose blood runs in their veins or how far they traveled to get here, they’re ours now. All of us look after ’em."
Near the rear of the crowd stood a boy no older than eight, pressed close against his mother’s skirts. He still clutched the little wooden carving he’d carried since the shallops first arrived.
He said nothing.
He did not have to.
Elena reached over and rested a hand on Mateo’s arm.
"This," she said quietly, "is more than we ask."
Mateo simply nodded.
James caught the look they shared and figured they were only a step away from someone crying all over his carefully chosen stone.
"Aye, well."
He said loudly enough for everyone to hear again, "Don’t think of me as a good man. This means every one of ye is responsible for Kit’s education now, and I’ve heard what that boy thinks more often than not."
By then plenty of people had noticed the untouched strip of stone left between the carved rules and the empty space below.
Some lad finally asked.
"What’s the place for, Cap’n? Sawyer skip a rule, or is he leavin’ room for one o’ Jim’s stories?"
James only grinned.
"Later."
That was all he said.
The crowd let it lie. They trusted there was a reason, even if they could not see it yet.
The rest of the rules came quickly.
One outlawed gambling for sums a man could not honestly afford to lose, drawing more than a few pointed looks James’s way after the small fortune he’d once won from the crew with a card he definitely had not been dealt. He accepted the joke without protest.
Another kept livestock and wandering goats off the main street after dark. Nobody objected to the rule itself, though two men fought for a full minute over whether Nassau goats deserved special mention, as if the creatures had earned a reputation worthy of legal recognition.
Another granted Doyle official authority over whatever the future distillery created, provided every batch was checked to be safe on Doyle himself first. He accepted that condition with considerably more pride than it deserved.
There were rules about noise after a certain hour, fair prices in the market they intended to build, and fishing rights in the calm waters of the bay. That last one was over quickly once Mateo stepped forward and calmly explained which waters had fish during this season and which stayed thin.
The final rule required every newcomer to leave a name or a mark upon the Code within a week of arrival, just as every sailor signed the Articles before a ship put to sea.
Throughout it all, Sawyer’s chisel never broke its rhythm. It worked steadily toward the bottom of the stone, never once touching the empty space waiting in the middle.
The moment the final rule was finished, James hopped down from the stone and landed lightly on both boots, as if the ground owed him that courtesy.
The crowd fell silent once more.
They were still waiting for the one thing he had not revealed.
"Right then."
James turned toward the untouched space in the stone and smiled.
"You’ve all been starin’ at that empty patch all mornin’ like it owed ye money."
He looked toward Sawyer.
"Time it earned its keep."
The carpenter had already climbed back onto his platform with chisel.
"Concordia."
James spoke the word plainly. "It’s Latin. Means somethin’ close to harmony, folk from every corner you can imagine findin’ a way to stand on the same patch of dirt without killin’ each other over it. Seemed to fit better than any other name I could think of."
Sawyer’s chisel met the untouched stone without hesitation. Deep, clean strokes carved the name into the center.
A rumble spread through the crowd immediatelly.
"Christ, Cap’n. Couldn’t ye have picked a word with fewer bloody teeth?"
"Ye can barely spell rum, Tommy. Don’t blame the name because yer mam dropped ye on the head."
"My mam dropped me because I bit her."
"Should’ve done it twice, might’ve knocked some sense into ye."
That set off a fresh burst of laughter, three men talking over one another before the first had even finished.
"Sounds foreign."
"Course it’s foreign, Cap’n just said it was Latin. Were ye bloody asleep already?"
"Long as the place don’t end up called Goat’s Arse, I don’t give a fuck what the captain names it."
"Goat’s Arse?" another voice scoffed. "Ye couldn’t even afford land in Goat’s Arse."
"Would’ve if Rook hadn’t cleaned me out at cards."
"That weren’t my fault, ye kept insistin’ luck owed ye a second chance."
"Luck owed me nothin’. You owed me the bloody ace."
Half the square erupted at that, while the other half started repeating the name amongst themselves, some saying it properly, others mangling it beyond recognition.
"Concordia..."
"Concorja."
"Ye thick bastard, that’s not even close."
"Close enough. Ain’t like the stone’s gonna argue."
The laughter carried on for another minute, but the complaints had already turned into ownership. Men who’d been taking the piss out of the name were using it without thinking, fighting over how to pronounce it instead of whether it ought to stay.
"Concordia."
Elena repeated slowly. "Is good name, Captain. Better than many I hear men choose for less reason."
James knelt at the base of the stone and carved his own name into it. The letters were rough and plain, nothing decorative, but they became the first mark on the Code besides the rules themselves.
"There."
He stood, wiped the blade clean on his coat, and held it out.
"First signature on the Code. Rest of you are welcome to follow."
Sawyer accepted the blade first.
He carved his own name with care, then silently passed it along.
Cudjoe scratched his name quickly and cleanly before returning to his place beside the stone, arms folding once more as though he’d never moved.
Anne stepped up after him. She carved her name deep enough, then handed off the blade without waiting for anyone’s opinion.
After that the line formed on its own.
Sailors and newcomers queued without anyone telling them to.
Whitlock remained beside the stone throughout, record book open, quill racing across the page as he recorded every signature and every mark exactly as promised.
Mark Read reached the stone somewhere in the middle of the procession.
She carved a name that revealed nothing to anyone not already looking for it, then stepped away again without making the moment into anything larger. If James looked at it carefully, it could be slightly read as Mary, and not Mark.
Mateo signed with a steadier hand than James would have expected after the morning he’d had.
Elena followed more slowly.
She carved every letter as though each one had more weight than the last.
James figured it probably did.
Then came some lad who could not read.
It was easy to call his mark a children’s drawing of a bloody gull, but it came close enough to a signature that Whitlock never even hesitated before writing the man’s name beside it.
When the worker stepped back, he looked prouder than plenty of sailors who had signed their names without a second thought.
James was still watching the stone when the space before him thickened.
🏴 [QUEST PROGRESS — FROM DRIFTWOOD TO REPUBLIC]
Milestone Reached : Cove Name Established
Reward : 1 Fate
One Fate. A modest sum for a stone, a code, and near two hundred and fifty subjects, though a fair exchange given how long you took deciding what to call any of it. The experiment notes your capacity for procrastination remains remarkably intact.
James laughed in silence.