HMS Vespera
February 3rd, 1768
Sirius couldn’t wake up, or more precisely, he didn’t want to.
It was like a violent chase: his own fatigue against the miserable reality of his situation. The pain in his shoulder hadn’t fully left yet, not even with the syrupy medicine still tasting on his tongue, and so he was forced to twist his neck into an odd angle for the pain to be tolerable. Lying there, he did his best to live with himself.
Every time he closed his eyelids, it was yesterday all over again. It was Bella and Rodolphus and the rest of them hunting him on the rooftops, laughing manically as they came closer and closer - expect now, if he made the mistake of looking back, his relatives had turned into unrecognizable shapes made of shame.
For the first hours he had spent alone in the dark sickbay, he had tried to come up with a plan. A plan that would save both his brother and his best friend – let James keep his ship, his position, and his life , and get Reggie to a place where no one could lay a hand on him. But Sirius’ head was as empty as it could be, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. Maybe it was the tranquilizers, maybe the soothing sway of the ship. Maybe the fact that he couldn’t even start solving the puzzle, for every time he even regarded the pieces, his stomach sank in a way that made him nauseous.
“Mon étoile,” Walburga had begun the night when everything has changed. Sirius had always hated the nickname he was called by his mother: my star, like she owned him. But that time was different. She was towering over him, cold as usual, but her eyes had a satisfied sparkle. And everyone knew that Walburga Black’s complacency meant far, far worse things than her hatred. “There’s a task parfaite pour toi.” Perfect for you.
A lot of tasks were perfect for Sirius – not in his opinion, but for him to execute. He was far more skilled and deadly than he ever should’ve been, and he remained silent as Walburga spread open a parchment. A majestic, sunset-red ship was drawn on it. “Remember that pathetic friend of yours?”
Putain de merde.
His mother waited.
“Oui, maman,” he whispered after a long while of nothing, and gulped as a wicked smile took over Walburga’s face.
“Très bien, mon étoile. Your brother shall take your place on Fierté.” She examined his face with a hungry gleam. Her next words were said so neutrally that it made them purely terrifying. “If you wish for him to live, return with the thing I want. I have two sons for a reason, Sirius.”
I’ve untangled worse messes, Sirius decided and nodded.
The confidence, however, had vanished the second, he was chased out his childhood mansion. It was all for the dramatics, to make his so-called eviction more believable, but Bella’s anger had looked so... real. Like she wasn’t out for his blood just for show. Sirius’ first plan had been to let James know everything, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Prongs had regarded him with such warmth, such care, as if Sirius was still innocent despite all his actions, not a monster with a deadly name. And so Sirius had decided that there had to be a way for him to solve this without James knowing that after all the things that Sirius’ mother had done to his son - and what she had forced him to do - he was still her puppet.
Every inch of Sirius’ body felt so dirty that his skin needed to be torn apart. He was too proud to do it himself.
So, he tried to win himself as much time as possible by sleeping the reality away, and it worked all fine ‘til the morning sun rays lit up the dim hallway to the sickbay. The medic – Weaselby or whatever his name was – couldn’t leave him alone for a damned second. Every time Sirius had finally started to drift into the blissful blur of sleep, the assertive steps startled him awake for stupid, no-good reasons.
There were questions. Thump, thump, thump.
“Are you dizzy, sire? Can you see the light over there clearly?”
And also commands. Thump, thump, thump.
“Drink this glass of water, every last drip. And please stay still as I change the bandages and check your bleeding.”
First, Sirius obeyed simply out of hope: maybe the surgeon would leave him be if he was good enough, but after a full day of constant harassment, the odds started to seem too unlikely. He always came back; a thump, thump, thump was followed by another, always too soon, and always uncomfortably loud. Wasn’t he supposed to be resting?
The seventh time he heard the first thud out of three, he let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes shut. “Leave me alone, for fuck’s sake! I’m not a bloody kid, I can handle myself!”
He should have, however, listened to the rest of the thuds, because this time the steps had been lighter than before– precise, but a little careful, like the one walking was used to making themselves smaller. He hadn’t heard those paces before.
“For an apparently deadly pirate, you seem an awful lot like a bloody kid,” a new voice deadpanned back at him. Sirius’ eyes snapped open, and his blurry gaze was quickly met with a peculiar-looking man. He was tall and lanky, dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt and brown pants. There were scars running across his face and arms, but otherwise he gave off a meticulous feeling: his sleeves were rolled up neatly and boots laced with such care that Sirius would’ve never had the patience to do so. He couldn’t spot a single crinkle in the man’s clothes.
He stopped next to Sirius’ bed. “Do you do anything else but whinge and complain?” He had to duck in order to not hit his head into the ceiling.
He was quite handsome, to be fair. Not in the traditional way – at first, his features appeared overshadowed by the scars, rough even – but if you looked a bit closer and a bit longer... well. Sirius wasn’t going to let it affect the situation.
He kind of wanted it to affect the situation.
“I’m hurt.” Sirius’ responded, completely alert. Now, he wished more than anything that he hadn’t spent the past dozen hours rotting in bed – his hair was all over the place, unflattering prints of his pillow on his cheeks. There was most likely drool on his chin.
He cleared his throat. “I need rest.”
The stranger shook his head. “Actually, the medic finds your recovery quite praiseworthy – unheard of, even. He says the problem might not be physical.” The right side of his lip curled up slightly. “Am I correct, Sirius?”
Good God.
Sirius’ stomach did a fluttering flip, but it was quickly turned into panic as the man’s words sunk in. Had he... had he just called him by his first name? The crew knew, already? If they had guessed – or if James had been stupid enough to tell them, Sirius’ mission on the ship would be nearly impossible to complete; he might as well have marched straight into Dumbledore’s office with a gun pointed at his own head.
Come on, come up with something. Be a fucking Black.
Regulus had always been better at straight-up lying, but Sirius’ charm was his strength. Just like before, he decided to rely on the good old over-confidence. “A little birdie told you my name already?” he pretended to bat his eyelashes innocently. “I love meeting fans.”
Hopefully the other man didn’t see the tenseness of his smile. If the crew was aware that James was hiding a wanted pirate... It couldn’t end well. It would be so easy to report him to the Navy once they reached a new port.
There would be blood. There would be a hanging tree and an enormous crowd yelling monstrous things. Sirius heard his heartbeat roaring in his veins.
“Captain asked me to watch over you,” the stranger answered. “But see it however suits you best.”
Oh. A safety measure – that's why he knew who Sirius was. He thanked the stars for James’ brain, even though a personal babysitter was going to complicate his own mission by a mile.
“Are you ready?” the strange man asked at the same time as Sirius demanded: “What’s your name?” They stared at each other for a moment. God, he has a golden earring, Sirius thought, and then, why didn’t I notice the faint freckles before?
The other gave up before him. “The crew calls me Locke. I’m the sailing master.” He shrugged. “Draw maps and navigate the routes and such. Occasionally help the purser.”
Maybe it was the eye contact that was becoming more distant, but somehow Sirius got an odd hunch that Locke didn’t enjoy reciting his professions – an impressive list of merits, to say the least. Of course, Sirius knew what a sailing master was; he bloody had his own. The man might have been shy, but then... he hadn’t even told Sirius his real name. Or even more suspicious: he hadn’t shown a sign of reservation in spite of giving orders to the Black heir.
Too careful, too neutral; Locke’s scars told a story of much more than a mere navigator, and Sirius loved a good puzzle. He lifted a finger to his chin and pretended to ponder. “Locke’s a nickname. I asked for your name.”
This was what he liked: getting on top of the situation. A slow grin spread to his face.
Locke didn’t react, he just eyed Sirius calmly, maybe a bit more warily than a moment ago. Sirius could almost physically feel his eyes on him, measuring him, and he straightened his back just to show off. There was a twinge in his shoulder that he ignored.
“I can keep a secret, too, I promise. You already know mine.”
“It’s not a secret,” Locke grunted. His eyes were defiant. “Locke’s short from Gilderoy Lockhart.”
Sirius couldn’t keep the laugh in. Who the hell hates their child enough to name it Gilderoy? Funny enough, Locke seemed to agree, because the man closed his eyes for a long second and let out a deep sigh. Sirius tried not to notice the way his lashes brushed his damaged cheeks.
He leaned closer as well as he was able to without getting off the bed. The pain sent a shudder down his spine. “What would you do if I called you Gilderoy? Or Gildy?”
Locke raised his eyebrows in a faint surprise. “I’d ask you not to.”
“And if I don’t obey?”
“I think Arthur Weasley still has some sedatives left.”
His tone was serious, but when Sirius burst out laughing, Locke couldn’t help but snort too. It was the first time the strange man had let down his shield during the whole conversation, and a more relaxed expression suited him: softened out his features and brought up a surprisingly endearing smile. Sirius liked a challenge, and he made a mental note to see more of that side of Locke.
Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could take this strange man’s company for a while.
“Are you ready to get up, now?” Just like that, Locke was back to his normal, proper self again. “Or should I return later?”
“Screw you, I’m going.”
With that defiance in mind, Sirius began the process of sitting up, and he knew he should’ve done it much, much slower, but Locke was calculating his every movement and somehow that made Sirius want to prove himself. He worked his legs to the side, rested his bare feet on the cool planks and tried to think through the pain. He was feeling marginally better, if the headache and puncture wound were ignored. Whatever the Weasel man had fed him, it had worked.
Observing the bandages around his chest, he tried to crane his neck to look at his back. There was some blood, but not quite as much as he had expected. Carefully, he tried to move his shoulder. Just a bit, just to get a feel. He needed to know how well he could fight if the situation went awfully wrong.
All he felt was mild discomfort. Might as well jump right into the deep end, Sirius thought and began wrestling himself onto his feet.
The nausea came so quickly that he didn’t even get the chance to try to fight it. His nerves were on fire, the fresh wound pulsing in a sick way, and as the pain travelled straight from his shoulder all the way to his fingertips, Sirius doubled over to the floor.
“Jesus fuck!” he hissed, cradling his arm to his chest. Every movement added to the pain, the world spinning around him.
Locke had leaped to him in seconds and wrapped his lean, but surprisingly muscular, arms around him. “Shit. Should I get...”
“No! Putain, j’peux-” Shouting sent another shockwave of excruciating pain through him, but now Sirius was able to stay still, almost on his feet if Locke’s support didn’t count. He gritted his teeth together. He was familiar with pain – with both experiencing it and causing it to others – and even as a little boy, he had been skilled with hiding it. This time was different, though: the medicine had taken the pain away for too long, and he had got used to a world without a constant ache.
As his head cleared up, Sirius realized two things.
First, Locke was much taller than he had first seemed– he was constantly lowering his head to stop it from hitting the ceiling, and even though Sirius was in no way tiny himself, his eyes were just faintly above the other man’s shoulders.
Second, Locke’s hands were not the hands of a mapmaker; the skin on his fingers was rough against Sirius’ arm when he held him for support. Despite Locke’s sophisticated clothing, he had once been a man of physical labour – a sailor, maybe, or another kind of worker. Not a private school bastard like most of his kind.
Sirius started to gain back his balance and carefully allowed more weight on his legs – the wave of nausea seemed to be washing away, just like after you first got up in a terrible hungover. If it had been James that Sirius was leaning on like that, he’d been embarrassed, muttering a line of apologies. He was, however, pretty content with the way Locke had obediently rushed to help him and was more than happy to take a couple extra seconds of support.
“Better?” Locke asked and examined Sirius’ covered wounds with his gaze – Sirius could feel it on his bare skin, and it might have been his imagination, but he was sure that the other man lingered a little bit longer just to analyse his tattoos. Locke’s voice was calm. “You need a shirt.”
“Didn’t know the Navy’s just a bloody monastery.” Sirius rolled his eyes (it was a mistake; he had to bear through another shudder of nausea) and scanned the room for a shirt. His own was nowhere in sight – probably thrown in the sea, from how bloody and dirty it was – but there was one on the floor not too far from them.
Sirius didn’t need to submit into asking help: Locke followed his gaze and quickly crouched to get the white garment. It wasn’t as fancy as the ones Sirius was used to wearing, but he anyways had always liked a rougher look.
“You’re not going to button it?” Locke asked once Sirius had tossed the shirt on.
“No.” With the help of his quite creaky and unstable bedpost, Sirius took a step towards the door. Locke followed. “Looks better this way. Or do you disagree, love?”
The other man stared at him for a second before clearing his throat. The wood beneath Sirius’ fingers felt unnaturally warm. “Follow me.”
The first thing Sirius noticed when stumbled up the stairs and stepped through the door was the warmth of the sun. It was a sunny day, the crew around him in constant motion, some without shirts (not a monastery after all!) and Sirius squinted up at the bright sun. They were practically flying. Even Fierté couldn’t go quicker than twelve knots an hour, and Vespera was at least nearing that speed, maybe even going as fast. Everyone seemed to think this speed was normal: no one batted an eye when a gust of wind so hard that their masts creaked filled their sails out of seemingly nowhere. With a yelp, Sirius lurched forward and had to grab the wall next to him to remain upright. The pain in his shoulder made itself known again, but Sirius ignored it the best he could. The motions all over the main deck continued, as if nothing had happened.
Locke turned back to eye him with an amused look. Sirius huffed, dusting his lapels and straightened his back. He laid his hand back on the railing, his fingers studying the fine details scattered there.
“Oak?”
Locke hummed noncommittally next to him, and Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This sort of craftsmanship should be appreciated. Vespera was a masterpiece.
“They say it took ninety trees to make her.”
Sirius believed him and did his best to not look too impressed. Hell, Vespera was a navy ship. Sure, she was well-known for her talent for getting out of tight spots remarkably well, but she was still a navy ship. Built to lock people like him up. And even though Sirius knew he could trust James, the truth of his situation shouldn’t be forgotten: yes, James took a giant risk for letting him stay on Vespera, but so did Sirius by trusting him. Especially if his mother’s words had been true.
“Vespera is the Navy’s best pirate-catching ship – that’s where you’ll go,” she had informed as Sirius inspected the drawing. “And find out what makes them so invincible.”
What makes them so invincible.
From a quick look, Vespera seemed like a majestic ship, but Sirius couldn’t find anything that... special about it, whatever her mother was raving about. A weapon, maybe? Or some kind of a sailing tool?
Locke had started walking again, and Sirius quickened his steps to stay at his speed. Up the wooden stairs (no doubt oak too, those rich bastards) and past the rigging. The wide planks of the deck were getting cleaner and cleaner the closer they got to the helm.
Smile crept on his face when he noticed James ahead, talking with the redhead from the evening before, her hands resting on the helm. Next to James stood a man with his back facing Sirius, but his blond mop of hair gleaming in the sunlight was recognisable anywhere. Peter Pettigrew. The two of them had never been as close as James and Sirius, but they had had their fond moments. Locke had to clear his throat a few feet from them to get their attention, and all three of them turned around with equally guilty expressions.
“Planning to take over Dumbledore?” Locke asked in a serious tone, but there was a twinkle of humour shining in his eyes.
The redhead nodded briskly, a half-smile on her lips. “Well, he seems incapable of handling things as of lately. We were simply considering our options.”
“Not to question his orders, though!” the blonde boy added. Peter had always been a bit obsessed with following rules – it was relieving to see that some things never changed.
Locke inclined his head and stepped aside, revealing them Sirius who was just trying to decide what to do with his hands. He knew these people were important to James, and also to him if he wished to stay alive – a good impression had to be made.
Pete was, well... Pete, and was too scared of the Blacks to be Sirius’ worry, but Sirius was rueful to see that the redhead’s smile faded quickly.
“Pads, you’re alive!” James exclaimed, face lit up, and practically leaped to crush Sirius with a hug. Mid-attack he seemed to remember that Sirius did, indeed, have a serious wound on his shoulder, and settled to gently wrapping his hands around him instead of trying to choke him to death. Sirius wrapped his healthy arm around James and rested his head on the other man’s shoulder. The feeling of finally being home after a long time was so overwhelming that Sirius had to squeeze his eyes shut to try and stop the tears.
He felt his shoulders relax and the pain subsided. It had always been like that with Potter, he was the best of them. Always too bloody good for anyone, especially Sirius.
Sighing, James pulled back and solemnly examined Sirius’ face. “We thought you’d die a miserable death! And you know, I’m terrible at picking out flowers, so your funeral would’ve really-”
This. This Sirius had missed more than anything. “Oi! You barnacles, I’m badly injured, not a bloody-”
“Barnacle?” Pete quipped.
James sniggered. Sirius tried to whack Peter, but he dodged, his red cheeks crinkled with his smile.
The redhead eyed them with pursed lips. She was almost as pale as Sirius, her hair looking like a true flame in the sun. Sirius cleared his throat as she met his eyes without flinching. James noticed, and immediately took a step towards her.
“Pads, this is Lily, Lily this is-”
“Sirius Black. Yes, I’ve been made aware. Pleasure.” she nodded at him briskly, her mouth a firm line. Across from them, Locke looked incredibly amused. Placing a hand on her sword, she looked at James and cocked her head.
“If there is nothing else, me and Peter have important matters to discuss,” and when James opened mouth to no doubt object, she continued, “Matters that can only be discussed in a trusted environment.” With a pointed look at Sirius, she took Peter by his arm and started to drag him towards the stairs. Peter waved at the others as he started to descend with Lily marching ahead.
Locke was clearly trying to fight off a smile. “I’ll check our course,” he murmured, excusing himself.
Waving his hand at Locke, James took his place behind the helm. “Lily’s bloody great once you get to know her,” he said, sounding apologetic. Sirius almost wanted to assure him that he very much agreed with Lily’s thoughts of him.
He didn’t. Instead, he studied James’ face.
He looked the same. Sure, there was a slight moustache now and a few more smile lines around his eyes, but it was still Prongs. His eyes were the same shade of dark brown. His unfocused gaze wandered around the main deck, searching for something. After a few minutes, Sirius realised he was deliberately avoiding his face. He sighed. “Spit it out.”
“She- Lily, I mean, is worried that something will happen because you’re here.”
Sirius’ smile dropped. Right. The guilt was immediately there, stretching its taloned fingers into Sirius’ heart and ripping long, bloody cuts right across the front of it. How could he have forgotten what he was there for?
“I told her that you can be trusted. You wouldn’t hurt us.” James smiled at him, and Sirius couldn’t meet his gaze.
Turning away from Prongs he squinted his eyes and stared at the bright horizon. The sun was starting to set, the first hues of red and pink visible ahead. The ripple of the waves against the hull of the ship was both familiar and discomforting.
Fixing his glasses, James turned to look at the horizon, too. “It’s beautiful.”
“Aye. Looks the same as every day, though.” Sirius took a deep sight. “And Prongs, if it... if it helps you at all, I think I’m in more danger than you are. You could be taking me to court this very second!”
James tensed up. “I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, but you could.” Sirius let out an unamused laugh. “So, if I can get you hung, so can you.”
“No one’s getting hung.”
Sirius didn’t have to turn around to know that Prongs’ face had morphed into a sorrowful expression. Desperate to ease the mood of the situation, Sirius asked the first thing his ship-oriented brain could come up with: “So, what’s the pecking order here?”
James seemed to be equally relieved with the change in the subject. “Pete’s the purser, and Locke helps him. You remember him?”
Sirius nods. How could I forget?
“He multitasks quite a bit, but he’s a treasure. Lily’s the lieutenant and very fond of the helm. When she’s taken, our gunner Alice takes over.”
“Who’s the quartermaster?” Sirius asked and when James shook his head no, Sirius’ brows shot up. “Dumbledore lets you do it this way?”
James smiled an angelic smile, dimples in full display. “We don’t tell him. In the official records, it’s-”
As he was speaking, a slender woman with brown hair appeared behind James. He nodded at her, and she took the helm. “Potter,” she said with a clear voice.
“Fortescue,” he replied- only to be kicked in the shin by the very woman. Sirius’ smile died. If someone did that to Walburga or Orion, they’d be marooned or thrown overboard. Instead of ordering a painful death to the woman, James just laughed and started walking towards the stairs to the main quarters.
“What was I saying? Oh yes, man named Jörge Prongs is our official quartermaster. Related to Lily and hired at the same time. They’re both from Denmark, although one is real, and one is...” James smirked, “very much not real.”
Sirius snorted. “How the hell did she end up in the bloody Navy anyway? Shouldn’t she be, I don’t know, pillaging towns in Sweden or something?”
James flicked him in the back of his head.
Whacking him back, Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You trust your crew way too much.”
“Not every single person is out to betray you, you paranoid bastard.”
Just as the words had left his mouth, a scream rang out.
“Ship in the starboard! Ship sighted!”
And then.
“It’s coming to us! The ship’s coming to us!”
James’ head snapped up, as did Sirius’. Immediately the woman with chopped brown hair, Alice, abandoned the helm and ran for the cannons. Sirius turned towards the main deck just in time to see Vespera come alive. It was like the ship had been sleeping before and now was its time to wake up. Not only did the wood seem warmer, but he also spotted a frantic seaman lift up a pistol that had materialized from seemingly nowhere. The lights of the candles around them flickered.
Lily appeared behind them, and ran to the helm, her sword bouncing with every step. As she passed them, she threw James a big piece of red cloth. James caught it mid-flight and winked at Lily.
“Thank you, flower!” As he shrugged the piece of clothing on, Sirius realised it was a coat. The coat of the captain, that was mandatory for the person in position to wear in battle.
As he looked further, he noticed that Lily was also wearing her blue coat, the lapels gleaming in the evening sun.
Down at the gun deck, Alice was shouting orders at her gunners, somehow sporting the main gunner’s uniform. The whole deck was in motion as the crew prepared for a fight, some ran towards the lower gunports to load the cannons below the main deck, and some started loading their pistols. The seamen in their white shirts scurried towards the weakest spots, fortifying Vespera. The sound of swords being drawn ricocheted all over the ship. The lookout was climbing down rigging, agile hands finding something to hold on to with dizzying speed.
James strode to the helm, flipping out a telescope. He frowned.
“What?” Sirius asked, limping towards his friend. He heard Locke’s footsteps approaching but didn’t bother to turn around.
“Odd. I don’t see a flag. They’re not flying any colours.” James’s expression was serious, his brows furrowed and mouth in a thin line. It was odd seeing James like this, being an active captain. He looked older, the responsibilities settling on his shoulders like a cloak. He turned to say something to Locke but stopped. “There he is.”
A tall, dark man was approaching them. He was older than all of them, his face solemn and calm. His heavy footsteps thudded against the planks.
“Captain, sire.” he nodded at James and then at Locke. He eyed Sirius warily but said nothing.
James nodded at him. “Kingsley, evening. I don’t know about you, but I can’t see any colours. I do not wish to attack an innocent ship, so do not fire until we can be sure of who we are facing.”
Sirius frowned. “If it’s pirates, they’ll get the upper hand if you let them get closer. You should-”
“And if it isn’t, then the Navy attacked an innocent ship.” Locke interrupted, looking at him sternly. “Let James lead the ship.”
Sirius eyed the man angrily. “It’d be classified as self-protection. According to the Navy’s-”
“According to the Royal Navy’s guidebook, attacking without knowing whose side the opponent is on is classified as possible treason. Which could lead to the removal of an ill-fitted captain.”
Sirius opened his mouth to argue further and let the asshat taste his own medicine, but James stopped him.
“Quit it, both of you. Fire a single warning shot, and make sure that it does not hit the vessel. We want no trouble if it can be avoided.” James said to Kingsley, putting his telescope back into his beltloop.
The man nodded. “Understood. I’ll convey the message to Alice.”
“Thank you, Kings. If they do decide to fire back, you have the permission to fire.”
Kingsley saluted and disappeared down the stairs.
Turning to look at Sirius, James smiled. “That was our boatswain, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was a boy under my mom’s command years ago, and he got to continue on Vespera on my wishes.” As he was speaking, he walked towards the mizzen mast. He touched the wood there and whispered something.
Turning back around, he smiled at Sirius’ quizzical look.
“Just a precaution. I do that before every battle. It’s something my mom taught me, to bring luck to our Vespera.”
Sirius was about to make a joke about his friend’s superstition, when a strand of his hair came loose. It floated in front of him, swaying in the wind. Then another, and another. In front of him the sails were taut, splashes of the sea flying to the quarterdeck. Soon, the wind was whipping his hair so strongly that he needed to face the other direction.
How had Vespera gained such speed?
Lily was gripping her tricorn with her left hand. She was smiling, with all her teeth visible. Her hair was also flipping wildly in front of her, but she wasn’t bothered. James was next to him, assessing the situation, as the first boom of their cannon sounded. It rocked the ship, but the crew roared and loaded another. James raised his hand to hold the fire.
“You can’t stay here.” Locke’s gruff voice said right next to his ear. “I need to take you underneath.” The man’s warm hand wrapped around his bicep, tugging him toward the stairs.
Sirius shook him off. “Oi! I fight better than anybody else on this ship! You’d be dumb to take me away!”
Locke levelled him with a flat gaze. “But you’re Sirius Black.”
“Exactly!” Adrenaline was starting to pulse in Sirius’ body: he was ready. “I’m the best swordsman on this bloody sea! Give me a chance to hel-”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Locke snapped, a strange accent coming out as he got angry. “You leave this deck when I tell you to.”
Sirius was so surprised by the outburst that he let the man grab his wrist and drag him back down the stairs. Even from there, he could hear the shouts and screams: Vespera was getting ready for a fight.