The Passage Islands were lush and vibrant, as teeming with birds and flowers as the surrounding ocean was with schools of multi-colored fish and pods of dahlphins. It seemed a paradise, and sad to Slate that it had been co-opted by such villainous people. Surely it hadn't been the natural beauty of the islands that the pirates had come looking for when they chose this place for home, but its great distance from other landmasses and the reach of the law.
When the sloop set down its anchor, the real work began: a long afternoon slogging up and down the sandy beach, carrying plunder up to the safe point, out of reach of the highest tide, and from there into a deep, ferny grotto. Slate managed to stash his bag full of books during one such trip, but was sad to see Pilotte had been taken away while he was gone. He had to find him, somehow, as soon as there was free time.
After the work of unloading the sloop was finished, the men dispersed, some of them climbing up the long stairs to sleep in the camp overlooking the bay, others to the water for fishing, most to one or another of the numerous taverns on the tiny island. When it seemed sure that he wasn’t going to be noticed, Slate grabbed his bag from its hiding place and slipped away, dashing behind a wall of foliage to further explore the island, to try and find where Pilotte had been taken.
He came to a deep cave hidden behind a waterfall and flowery vines. Inside, piles of gold and treasure glittered like hot iron across the reflective striations along the stone walls. Slate was only just growing accustomed to the dimness when he heard the noise of shifting pebbles behind him. He dove breathlessly into a pile of silk.
From it, Slate watched a thin-limbed shadow on the wall reach out an arm toward the mountainous silhouette of one of the many piles of plunder. As he was looking on, Slate leaned so far forward from his hiding place that he tumbled right out of it and into a pool of light, noisily scattering a stack of goldquartz across the cave floor as he fell.
“Who is it?” the shadowy figure across the cave gasped.
Slate grunted.
“Doney? Caloran? Hey, I was just... just checking, making sure I had put all of my take from today into the store…” the intruder fumbled. “Yep, yep. Looks good,” he said nervously. “Everything looks good here, so…
What do you mean, you were just checking?” Slate asked, immediately assuming the role of prosecutor, figuring that’s how the other pirates would act in such a situation.
“Who are you, anyway?” the pirate barked. “I should ask you the same, what are you doing in here?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
The pirate scoffed. “Oh? Someone? In here?”
“I’m looking for a wulf we brought in today,” Slate said.
“What’re you looking in here for? He’s out with the other animals, near the pit,” said the pirate.
“Oh, right,” said Slate. “Of course.”
“Bloody barbaric, that,” said the pirate.
“What is?”
“The fighting. Pitting those poor creatures against each other.”
“They’re going to make the wulf fight?”
“You sure are stupid. Of course they are.”
Slate tried not to look too upset.
“But that’s what you get when you work with pirates, isn’t it?” the man said with a shrug.
“Work with pirates? Aren’t you a pirate yourself?”
“I’m my own man. I’m an independent contractor.”
“Isn’t there better work you could find?” Slate asked.
The man rolled his eyes. "Better work? Why are you here if there’s better work? Listen, we all go to different lengths to justify our behaviors. Hatty only needs to justify his actions to Hatty, see? I don’t care about what anyone else thinks at all. Which is most everyone else’s problem. Why should they care about what the other fearful, ignorant monkeys think about what they do? I could never understand.”
“It’s because they care about each other," Slate said, "Because we’re all members of the human family.”
“Oh, fart. Well, I'm no family man,” Hatty scoffed. “Everyone should follow their own path. And I’ve never stood in anyone’s way as they took theirs. I’ve taken some old lady’s jewelry, sure, I’ve threatened frightened women and children and men, and I don't feel pride about it, but I’ve never killed anyone. Never stolen from the poor.”
“You’ve stood by while others did, though,” Slate said.
“You haven’t? I can see the scarlet proof that says otherwise right there on your shirt.”
“But I have to stay alive, I cannot be detected," Slate said. "I have to make it to Proterse, it is imperative.”
“To your own survival, right?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Slate said.
“Oh, get a load of the self-importance with this one," Hatty said. "Whatever noble quest you believe yourself to be on, let me start by telling you my own vainglorious justification: Say the whole riotous crowd we call society wants to go off to war to destroy themselves. We’re going to need at least one of us to stay out of the fray, right? My apathy towards the causes of foolish men is for the sake of humanity, not against it. One of us must remain above it all, right? Who else would build the rafts when the floods come?”
“So, you believe the future of humanity to be hopeless?" Slate asked. "A lost cause?”
“Yes," Hatty answered, "I do.”
“But what if it’s not?”
“What if the clouds were made of pink sugar fluff?" the pirate asked. "Dreams.”
“Well,” Slate sighed. “I’m sorry you feel that way. But I have to find my wulf and get out of here.”
“Out of where?”
“Off this island.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“Any way I can.”
The pirate swayed in the stagnant cave air and scraped at a scab beneath his greasy, thin beard for a while, wearing a look of dull bewilderment.
“Alright, sunshine," he finally said, "Tell you what. I’ve thought about getting out of here myself for months now, taking my fair share of the plunder. But my plan needs a partner. Now, you help me, I’ll help you. But I don’t want to hear any crap about altruism, okay?”
“That’s just fine,” Slate said. “My name’s Slate.”
“Slate,” the pirate said, shifting his stance. “You better follow through, or it’ll be both our necks. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know, I know,” Slate said. “Now where’s this fighting pit you were talking about?”
“You’re not a pirate at all, are you?” Hatty asked. “This is your first time here, isn’t it?”
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” Slate said. “Where can I find my wulf?”
“On the other side of the beach, behind the viryall grove,” Hatty said. “But wait until tomorrow to go looking for him. There’s a trade day tomorrow, and it’ll be our best distraction. We’ll get up early, you’ll go get your animal, and I’ll commandeer the sloop. But you’d better make it, Slate, because if I have to stay here, you’re dead.”
“I thought you said you never killed anyone.”
“I haven’t. Yet.”
“Alright,” Slate said. “Tomorrow morning.”
Chapter 12