6 A Tall Tale #6

As I approached the quartermaster, frustration building within me, I couldn't resist questioning the purpose behind our sudden performance. "Care to shed some light on that little show we just put on?" I inquired, my irritation evident in my tone.

"Coming up with a song on the fly wasn't exactly a walk in the park," I added, my annoyance seeping through.

The quartermaster turned toward me, a knowing glint in his eye. "Don't be glum, lad. Yer performance wasn't half bad..." he remarked, his tone laced with amusement.

My frown deepened at his response. "But why the theatrics?" I pressed, eager for answers.

With a chuckle, the quartermaster shifted his gaze to the vast expanse of the ocean before us. "Tsk, youngsters these days... so impatient..." he mused, his words tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "You can't even take a moment to partake in the small joys of life, can you? But fine... if ya want to know that badly, I'll tell ya..." he added, his tone softening.

I sighed, my frustration momentarily giving way to curiosity. "So, what was the point of that little performance?" I asked, my interest piqued despite myself.

The quartermaster flashed me a wry grin. "Simple, really. I wanted the crew to take notice of ya, give'm a better impression of yer sorry little hide, that way you'll get around without hiccups..." he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his cryptic response. "Without hiccups huh? And here I thought you were just trying to embarrass me," I quipped, unable to resist a touch of sarcasm.

The quartermaster chuckled, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh, that too, lad. That too," he admitted, his grin widening. "But more importantly, you'll be better able to assist me if the fellows on the ship aren't so guarded against ya..."

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his words. "Assist you? I don't recall agreeing to be your sidekick," I retorted, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "Well, I don't suppose I have any choice anyway... but I have to ask are you with the captain or the first mate?"

The quartermaster waved off my protest with a dismissive gesture. "Details, details," he said nonchalantly. "As for my allegiance, I'm neither with the captain nor the first mate. I'm my own man, always have been," he explained. "And that makes me your best option. After all, neither of them would want to make an enemy out of me," he concluded with a smirk.

Intrigued by the quartermaster's motives, I couldn't shake off a sense of skepticism. Sure, aligning with him offered some protection from the captain and the first mate's power struggles, but I doubted his intentions were purely altruistic.

"So, what's in it for you?" I probed, my tone laced with suspicion. "You don't strike me as a charitable soul," I remarked.

The quartermaster's laughter echoed across the deck. "Charity? Ya won't find any of that crap here," he retorted, his words dripping with cynicism. "No, what I gain from this arrangement is a reliable ally... well, a convenient little helper more like..." he continued, his gaze piercing.

'Somehow I get the feeling this old fart is even more dangerous than the first mate and the captain combined...' I couldn't help but feel a chill run down my spine. "A helper in what, exactly?" I pressed, my curiosity piqued.

Without missing a beat, the quartermaster's grin widened. "In keeping the captain and first mate at odds, of course," he explained, his voice tinged with mischief. "In days gone by, the ones calling the shots didn't need to be wary of an old timer like myself. But with tensions running high and lines drawn in the sand, I find myself in a precarious position," he added, his eyes glinting with cunning.

"Ya see, whoever wins, be they the captain of the first mate, they wouldn't settle for anything less than absolute loyalty..." The quartermaster explained with a hint of certainty. "In other words, they'll turn against me once they're done with each other..." He concluded in a matter-of-fact tone.

"And how do I fit into your grand scheme?" I asked, my skepticism growing by the second.

The quartermaster leaned in, his expression shrewd. "Simple, really," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "You'll be my eyes and ears, gathering intel, assessing the crew's morale, and occasionally spinning a tall tale or two to keep the pot stirring," he explained, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

With the quartermaster's candidness surprising me, I delved into a barrage of questions, and to my amazement, he entertained each one with a willingness that was unexpected. I pressed him for further details about his motivations behind orchestrating the spectacle, and he revealed two additional reasons.

Firstly, he intended for the display of his dagger, now snugly at my side, to serve as a clear signal to the crew that I was under his protection.

Secondly, he confessed to using the communal revelry to temporarily ease the tensions between the warring factions, saying that a good song and a bit of drink was enough to make pirates forget their own parents, let alone some grudges.

I didn't waste time questioning the quartermaster's enigmatic actions; instead, I asked him directly about the contradiction in his intentions. Moments earlier, he admitted a desire to stoke the flames of discord between the first mate and the captain, but now, he's advocating for a truce of sorts.

His response was as cryptic as ever—he claimed that a brief respite from the tension would lull the crew into a false sense of security, making it easier for him, or rather, for me, to navigate the treacherous waters of pirate politics.

Furthermore, he said the few days of peace to come would allow him to teach me the things I needed to know so that I could help him.

Honestly, at that point, I could only nod and agree with him, not that I understood all that complicated maneuvering, but he seemed sure enough of himself, which should count for something. Right?

I then prodded him further, seeking to understand the underlying causes of the feud between the first mate and the captain—a tale that proved to be rather too simple.

It appeared that the animosity between the captain and the first mate was born from a fundamental difference in perspective. While the captain harbored ambitions as vast as the ocean itself, driven by an insatiable hunger to conquer the treacherous waters of the Grand Line, the first mate, by contrast, found contentment in the familiar confines of the North Blue.

Initially, the first mate had been willing to cede ground to the captain's ambitions, adopting a more passive stance. However, as the captain's schemes grew increasingly audacious and reckless, the first mate's reservations began to mount.

The tipping point came when the captain's thirst for notoriety led him to embark on a spree of aggressive actions, targeting Marine vessels with reckless abandon.

His aim was twofold: to demonstrate the might of their crew to gather more pirates under his flag and to stockpile the necessary resources for his envisioned grand pirate fleet, poised to dominate the Grand Line upon its conquest. Yet, despite the captain's bravado, the Marines had turned a blind eye to his transgressions—until fate intervened.

It was the ill-fated assault on a particular Marine supply ship, unwittingly carrying a high-ranking royal's kin, that ignited the powder keg of conflict.

Incensed by the loss of their loved one, the influential royal pulled strings within the echelons of power, compelling the Marines to unleash their full might against the crew.

In response, Marine Headquarters dispatched a formidable Marine Commodore, leading a vessel filled with elite soldiers from their headquarters, set on taking the heads of the Cuthroat pirates and using them to appease the enraged royal.

Amidst the turbulent seas of their journey, the crew encountered their first major setback when the relentless pursuit of the Commodore finally closed in on them, plunging them into a harrowing battle.

Though the pirates managed to slip away from the clutches of their pursuers, the toll exacted was steep: thirty-four souls lost, their brigantine vessel reduced to splinters, and a considerable cache of resources and provisions left to sink into the bottom of the sea in the wake of the conflict.

Even as the Commodore's presence dwindled with a summons back to Marine Headquarters, his indelible mark on the pirate crew remained—a scar of adversity that refused to fade.

The rift between the captain and the first mate, however, had long been festering, the clash of their ideals now reaching a fever pitch. With the first mate's patience worn thin by the captain's unbridled aspirations, defiance became the order of the day, fueling the flames of discord that threatened to engulf them all.

As the quartermaster's tale reached its conclusion, I couldn't help but marvel at the twists and turns of fate that had brought them to this precarious juncture.

"That's quite the tale," I remarked, a sense of awe mingling with the furrow of my brow. The quartermaster, ever the pragmatist, wasted no time in reminding me of his impatience.

"Wasted quite a bit of me time too. Had enough of my storytelling, have ya?" he quipped, a wry grin dancing across his weathered features.

"That's all, but there's one thing you've overlooked," I interjected, a lingering question tugging at the fringes of my curiosity. "Your name—what might it be?"

The quartermaster's response was a moment of bemused contemplation, followed by a hearty chuckle. "Aye, it seems I've neglected to make proper introductions," he conceded, offering a friendly nod. "The name's Barnabas, though the crew knows me as Old Barn, for reasons that ain't hard to discern."

...

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