Navy!England x Reader | Pursuit of the Blue Ch.7

I watched the Captain beckon at Allistor and stride away. Peter continued chattering by my side, not noticing my attention had wandered. Although there was one terrible moment where he asked for my surname and I did not have an immediate answer, I was still in awe from just exchanging a few simple words with him. A captain. The Captain of this beautiful, powerful vessel! I might have well just met the King of England!

“Are you afraid of heights?” Peter asked.

I brought my gaze back to the foremast towering before me. It was the second tallest of the three masts; the tallest being the mainmast in the middle and the shortest being the mizzenmast at back.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. The next moment, I couldn’t help but grin, welcoming a rush of recklessness inside me. “Shall we find out?”

Peter returned my grin, pleased by my boldness. “Let’s climb to that platform,” he suggested. He pointed to a projection at the tip of the lower foremast where the ropes led from the deck ended and where a second set of rigging to the upper masts started.

With practiced ease and calm, he grabbed hold of the ropes and leapt to the edge of the ship so he could climb up. I shakily followed his example, belatedly realizing how risky it was. One misstep and I’m a dead stain on the deck below. I strictly commanded myself not to look down and started to climb. As we went higher, the ratlines narrowed until we had to go in single file, Peter being in front. He crawled onto the platform effortlessly and helped me up until I sat, panting and tired but incredibly relieved to still be alive. There was still another two-thirds of the foremast I had yet to cover to reach the very top and I groaned inwardly.

From this height, it was like watching an ant hill as the crew scurried across, above and under the main deck. “Weigh anchor!” echoed through the ship and the capstan was wheeled by a group of grunting men straining to heave the hefty anchor above water. Free, the ship began to shift and I felt myself sway.

“Be careful!” Peter yanked me down so I was crouching next to him. “Small movements like this won’t feel like much on deck, but when you’re high up, it gets worse. Standing up here is one of the best places to get seasick, too. Even the strongest stomachs roll when they’re up here in a storm. Trust me, I know.”

It was true. My stomach was already churning from the dizzying height and rocking motion. Peter suggested we rest and let me collect my bearings before we continue. I sat cross-legged on the top, admiring how the sails swelled in the wind.

Kirkland…

I was absolutely sure I have seen that name while sifting through the library. But what were the Kirklands doing in these decrepit documents that belonged to my family’s company? If I remember correctly, some of those logs were positively at least two hundred years old.

“Peter, can I ask you something?”

The boy straightened his shoulders, looking at me curiously. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

“The Kirklands, I’m sure I’ve heard of your family somewhere before. Do you have any idea why I would’ve caught wind of you and Allistor’s family before?”

“Well, there’s a reason why Arthur’s called the P-”

I held up a hand, interrupting Peter for clarification. “Hold on, Arthur who?”

He blinked. “Arthur Kirkland. The Captain. He’s my brother.”

My jaw immediately hung slack. I guess I should’ve inquired the Captain’s name before boarding his ship, but it was a little too late for that. Peter sure had his brothers in high places; one the head surgeon and the other the captain.  

“Right,” I said, recovering from the shock that had come in like slap in the face. “Please continue, Peter.”

“Okay, so there’s a reason why Arthur’s called the Navy’s Pirate. Allistor and Arthur told me our family and the Navy goes back ages. We Kirklands used to be the most feared pirates in all Europe and everywhere else we raided. Our treasures and command of the fleet of pirate ships were passed generation to generation. The Navy tried to wipe us out many times and they eventually nearly did.

“I think it was in the late sixteenth century when the Spanish Armada came around and the Navy needed ships actually made for war, not just armed merchant vessels. Our family at that time was desperate to secure the family from vanishing forever struck a deal with the Navy. He offered them the might of his fleet in exchange that if England won, the Kirklands were pirates under the Navy’s protection.  The Navy agreed, but they weren’t very happy, of course.

“We chased off the Armada. It was all good for a while but, well, it didn’t work out. The Navy kept attacking our ships, saying we pirates had to be disciplined, and they often accused us of this and that then threw us into jail when we did nothing wrong. Most of us gave up on the family and wanted to do other things without the Kirkland name tainting their reputation. They left, made new names, and in the end, only Arthur, Allistor, and I are the last to keep the surname. Allistor and Arthur says we’ll always be seen by the Navy as descendants of pirates, and hence Arthur’s nickname.” Peter paused for a moment and then lowered his voice. “He hates it. Absolutely hates it. He says he doesn’t want to be known for something he never wanted to be, but he also won’t be as weak and shameful as to give in and change his name like the rest of the family.”

The roiling sensation in my stomach was utterly forgotten as I sat, engrossed by Peter’s story. Bits and pieces of my memory were revived and I now remember some of the accounts. There were numerous mentions of the Kirklands on age-old shipping records that resulted in heavy losses for the company. On more recent sources, the name had diminished altogether.

“Do you think you’re ready for the topgallant?”

Peter looked impatient to set off and I nodded bravely, ignoring the sinking pit in my stomach. His lithe, wiry form took the lead and scrambled up the ropes, occasionally glancing back as I followed more slowly and with more caution. Like my stomach, my heart began recoiling at the challenge. There were no more platforms beyond this point and the next stop was just two horizontal planks of wood to balance on for dear life. My legs were shaking from strain and fear by the time we reached the bottom of the topgallant, and my hands were throbbing as reddened marks were starting to form on my palms. Gripping tightly on the supporting ropes, I hauled myself upon the planks and looked up.

The wind stole my breath and all exhaustion fled from my body.

This. This is what I’m living for.

An undisrupted landscape, the open sea spilled before me, rolling in the wind and glittering in the sun. I have lived all my life on a cliff, watching the seas from there, but there was always a stretch of land that obstructed the panorama. But here I was atop the foremast, the brilliant sun on my back, the salty breeze in my hair, the whole world just over the horizon and we were rushing towards it. I drank in the sight, my heart relishing the view the way a parched man relinquishes his thirst with a draught of fresh water. How could I stand by a window and ever feel satisfied again?

Peter suddenly shifted to the side, and for one heart-stopping moment, I thought he had lost his footing. He was somewhere even more delicate than my spot. Step by step, he inched across the footropes suspended from the yard. Just watching him perilously edge along the single line of rope made both my heart and stomach somersault as I fretted for his safety. I was even too scared to shout an inquiry about his intentions because of the lurking chance that I might accidently startle him and send him plunging to his death. Peter seemed to know what he was doing at least, which was a small relief. He crept to the very tip of the yardarms and began to untie an individual cord from the yard.

I alleviated a sigh when he was finally back by my side. He was twelve years old and yet he seemed to do such hazardous acts on a whim. His audacity and fearlessness were something I marveled at, and I wondered if I one day have to do the same thing as well.

“The Flemish horse is fraying.” He held up the rope so I could see the unraveling braids.

“Odd name,” I remarked.

Peter laughed, as if that little life-jeopardizing exposure had not affected him at all. “I know. Sometimes I wonder who thinks of all these silly names. Anyway, we have to find replacements before someone else has to come up here. Let’s go.”

It was a steady climb downwards and when I reached the deck, I was never so glad for smooth ground that did not make me teeter so much. Peter led me below the main deck and I was in for another awestruck moment. Canons lined the deck at even intervals like soldiers in their ranks standing for inspection. They were all massive pieces of artillery, bristling from the broadsides, and I shivered to think what it must be like in the heart of combat.

“What’s this, Peter? A new face?”

A tall, blond man strode towards me and Peter, curiosity sparkling in his blue eyes. He wore a blue frock coat similar to the Captain’s but it wasn’t as threaded with gold. Both his coat and white waistcoat were unbuttoned, and I could see specks of red on his shirt that was obviously blood. However, he seemed unperturbed by the stains and the smile on his face was cheerful as he swung around to get a closer look at me. He was slightly younger than the Captain and walked with a spring in his step. The atmosphere around him wasn’t crackling with discomfort, but was rather jaunty and buoyant.

“New, no doubt, since you’re looking at these babes with such wide-eyed wonder.” He patted a cannon as if it were a pet dog. “There are seventy of them across two gun decks, in case you’re wondering. What’s your name?”

“[b/n], sir,” I stammered. He was quite a casual talker despite the indications his coat gave about his authority on board. It was also worth noticing that his accent was plainly not British.

He stuck out a hand and after some hesitation I shook it, absolutely flabbergasted to be treated so humbly by an officer. “Third Lieutenant Alfred F. Jones,” he said ceremoniously, “pleased to meet you. I’m not much for formalities like our captain here, so feel free to drop the ‘Lieutenant Jones’ and head straight to ‘Alfred’ if you want, although a ‘sir’ now and then would be nice. Captain Kirkland’s quite obsessive about manners and proper names, and I do have to play by his rules. Anyway, what’s up, Peter?”

“Just giving a tour to [b/n]. And I also need a change of ropes from the cargo hold. This one’s falling apart.” Peter paused, glancing anxiously at the wound on Alfred’s chest. “Are you sure you’re supposed to be up? Allistor’s making his rounds soon, you know?”

“Peter, do I look like someone who could stay wrapped up in bed all day when we’re on the move? I wasn’t even invited to the meeting-”

“And there’s a good reason why I requested to leave you out, Alfred,” a voice sharply admonished from behind. It had a very distinctive accent and Alfred groaned in despair. “What have I told you about leaving without permission?” Allistor prompted, crossing his arms.

“I know, I know,” Alfred sighed, lifting both hands in surrender. “But I’m so bored, Allistor! I need to stretch my legs and breathe some fresh air every now and then. You can’t go against that!”

“I give you sufficient time outside,” Allistor argued, equally exasperated. “You could’ve at least asked to leave, but no, you slip away whenever I’m not there to keep an eye on you. I won’t take any responsibilities if you tear that wound again, Alfred, not until you learn you’ll never recover this way.” He peered at the blotches of blood seeping through the dressing, and his brow creased. “But we do need to clean that up. Peter, you’re going to cargo hold, aren’t you? Do me a favor and get me some linen, too. I’m haven’t properly stocked up on the bandages yet and this idiot,” –he clapped Alfred on the back, making the younger man yelp- “is using up all of it.”

Peter pouted slightly at the additional chore. “Alright. [b/n], let’s go.”

Peter led me to the lower decks while Allistor dragged Alfred back to his place. In the dimness, the cargo hold was a maze of meandering corridors and dark rooms. Peter briskly took a turn here and there, sometimes hesitating, and I could only trail after his heels, secretly afraid of losing sight of the boy. He entered one of the rooms and I poked my head inside to see him rummaging through a crate.

“Catch!”

My heart leapt as two objects were tossed to me. They were boots, stinking of leather and perhaps the sweat of the previous owner, but I almost didn’t mind. I was just grateful the Captain had the generous thought of lending me some durable footwear. I put it on and tested a few strides, happy I wouldn’t have to suffer more cuts and scrapes on the soles of my feet. The top reached halfway up my knees but it was adequate.  

Peter darted into another nearby room and I also went in when he called my name. Grinning, he piled rolls of thin white cloth up to my elbows, obviously intended for Allistor.

“That should be enough. Can you take those up to the sick bay for me?” he asked.

“The sick bay?” I echoed anxiously. “Peter, I don’t even know where that is!”

“It’s two decks above us, on the first gun deck. Really, it’s easy to find. You can ask around if you’re lost.”

I grimaced at the thought of interacting with other crewmembers. I was trained since childhood to converse in a mannerly fashion and any house guests I have talked to were assuredly in their best behavior. But here with men of unrefined nature, I was not so certain of myself. The men would look to me as a little fledgling and I wasn’t entirely prepared to discover how they treated the most inexperienced member of their crew.

“Are you sure? I can wait for you, you know?” I insisted feebly.

Peter shook his head, oblivious to my distress. “Nah, it’ll take too long otherwise. You go up to Allistor, give these to him, and wait for me by the foremast while I change the ropes. After that, I can continue showing you around.”

I bit my lip, troubled. He was too unaware of my predicament to change his mind without clarifying that I was unnerved, but neither did I want to voice my worries. It wouldn’t do to sound like a coward and I reminded myself that Peter won’t always be by my side. Sighing, I recalled today’s string of bizarre events that had brought me here. I have spent more than half the day alone and had, by a stroke of fortune, escaped a bandit rampaging after me. Going up two decks will be manageable.

“Alright,” I said, “where are the stairs?”