Blood Moon Castle: Legend of Green Hook, #1

By A. N. Adams

An epic tale of love, betrayal, and murder.

Green Hook had love, a family to care for, an isle to protect, a treasure trove rivaling any kingdom found in Ofroth, and most importantly joy. A feeling that has forever slipped away from Green Hook's grasp, ripped away by a demon stalking the edges of Green Hook's mind. In Green Hook's darkest hour, a beacon of hope will pierce the void as a piece of Green Hook is reaching out, desperately trying to reconnect with what was lost.

Deals will be made, oaths will be shattered, loyalties will be tested as sides are taken while Green Hook plans to bring war against those who betrayed the infamous pirate. Green Hook will claim what belongs to her or destroy everyone in her path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. N. Adams
• Release date: Jan 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386019992

Book preview

One

The storm howled, freezing rain coming down in droves. The path leading to Blood Moon Castle was treacherous, one misplaced step would mean death. The old man glanced towards the edge of the path, unable to see anything in the black depths. Shaking his head, he looked back towards the path. He would not allow himself to think of what could happen if he slipped, or what happened behind the walls concealing the castle from view.

Resuming his climb, his foot slipped. Panic filling him, he grabbed for anything in sight to keep him from falling. His frantic grasping found nothing, loose dirt and rocks filling his hands. His life flashed before his eyes, closing them, he resigned himself to his death. A hand suddenly reached out, grabbing him. Pulling back on the path, the stranger held him, keeping him from falling off the path again.

If I did not know any better, I would think you have a death wish. The stranger said a long cloak hiding their face. The old man snorted, wrenching himself free from the grasp of the person holding him, only to feel himself falling again. The hand reached out, grabbing him again. He glared at the stranger who rescued him, again. Then again, maybe you do have a death wish. The stranger said, holding him firmly. Since you are intent on trespassing.

Who says I am trespassing? He retorted, anger filling his tone. The stranger did not reply, only helping him up the path to the castle’s walls. The drawbridge was down, the old iron chains rusted. Crossing the bridge, they walked towards the only door that could be seen. The cobblestone courtyard slick with water. The heavy oaken doors swinging open as they walked closer. The inside of the castle seemed darker than it was outside.

He balked, his instincts screaming at him to run, to get away. The firm hand on his shoulder would not let him run. Walking inside the doors closed on their own. He moved his hand in front of his face, unable to see it. Panic filling him, he started hyperventilating. Suddenly, bright lights flashed, momentarily blinding him. Once his sight returned, he saw the stranger had disappeared. Frowning, he turned his attention to the dust covered surroundings.

A thick layer of dust covered every surface, except for the floor. It was strange indeed, the floor showing his reflection as a mirror. It had been a long time since he was here last. It did not appear as if anything changed since he was here last. Looking around, he saw an old wooden cane leaning nearby. Picking it up, he walked through the castle. Finding the room he sought, also covered in a thick layer of dust, he walked over to an old oak desk.

The drawers stuck as he tried to open them. Frowning, he jiggled them, pleased to feel them loosen. Opening them, he searched through the contents. Growing agitated the longer he looked, he was pleased to find it in the last drawer. Pulling out a leather-bound book he let out a sigh. Sitting down in the heavy oak chair, opened it. Pleased to see it was what he was searching for, he stood up on shaky legs. Grabbing the cane, he made his way towards the door.

It opened by itself, letting the old man back out into the storm. He placed the book in a bag, shielding it from the storm before stepping out into the storm. Had he looked back, he would have seen the cloaked stranger, watching him leave. A Macaw parrot flying, landing on the right shoulder. Are you sure it is wise letting him out with it? The parrot asked, eyeing the doors as they closed. The old man struggled back down the path, towards the town waiting below. He wanted nothing more than to get some food and drink, and he knew where he wanted to go.

The door to Ye Olde Dragon tavern creaked slowly open, letting in a cold gust of wind that chilled all the inhabitants unlucky enough to be sitting close to the door. Oye! Shut the bloody door will you! The innkeeper yelled at the old, hunched man shuffling in. The old man waved his hand indifferently. He shut the creaking door slowly before shuffling over to the counter, leaning heavily on a wooden cane.

The inn was filled with people sitting at tables and chairs in the dimly lit room. A thick layer of dirt and dust covered the mantle of the stone fireplace. A long wooden bar ran across the end of one wall, leaving a gap big enough for someone to walk through to get to the kitchen. A man stood behind the bar, wearing dirty clothes and apron over his protruding stomach. His small, beady eyes watching the people in the inn.   

The innkeeper eyed the old man, noticing his other patrons at the bar moving away from him. He did not blame them, the smell coming off the old man was too much, even for him. He let out a sigh before saying, You need to take a bath before I will serve you. The old man squinted at him, making him feel uncomfortable.

A bath would not kill you. The he said, eyeing the old man.

How do you know? He retorted, swaying on his feet.

Look, if you want a drink you’re going to have to get clean. You’re going to drive all my customer’s out, and I am not going to lose sales because you refuse to bathe. The innkeeper angrily said. The old man snorted, wiping his hand across his nose then his pants.

The innkeeper crossed his arms, a scowl etched on his face. Fine. The old man consented, knowing he would not win this fight. The innkeeper motioned for a maid to come over. The maid wrinkled her nose as she walked closer to the old man. He needs a bath before he is allowed to come back down here. The innkeeper said, eyeing the maid. The maid nodded silently, not wanting to open her mouth to taste the foul smells wafting off the old man.

She gently held onto him, leading him to the back to assist with a bath. He returned an hour later, dressed in different clothes and smelling better then when he came in. The innkeeper placed a plate of food and a cup filled with beer in front of him. He nodded his thanks and proceeded to eat. Once he finished he pushed it towards the innkeeper and picked up his cup. Taking a deep drink, he slammed the cup back onto the bar.

The innkeeper shook his head and refilled the cup as the old man let out a loud blech. Several of the patrons glared at him before resuming their quiet talking with their table mates. He looked at the innkeeper. Have you ever heard the legend of Captain Green Hook? He asked in a wheezing tone. The innkeeper glared at him in response, refusing to answer. I found a just found a journal written by Captain Green Hook. He continued, paying no mind to the innkeeper’s glare.

Let me tell you how it all began. He said, with shaky hands he pulled out an old, dry, cracked leather-bound book. The innkeeper eyed the book and shook his head, sighing. The old man opened the book. He paused at the words written on the first page.

Never forget that you will always have help.

Sometimes appearing from unlikely places.

A tear fell from the old man’s eye. He could imagine a hunched figure sitting at an old oak desk, dipping the quill in the nearby inkwell to pen these words. Wiping it away, he started to read in a gravelly voice.

Two

The sun shining high in the sky, adding warmth to the air around us. Winter will be here soon. I thought, frowning. Standing in the aft, near the helm, I kept my hands clasped behind me, watching my crew scurrying about on deck. We are heading to an isle only rumored to exist. A long-forgotten castle whose rulers were said to be cruel, and if the rumor was correct, treasure hoarders. Smiling inwardly at the thought of finding more gold to fill my coffers kept me from turning the ship around.

Captain. A voice rang out, as its owner swiftly walked towards me from amidships. Waiting until he got closer, I raised an eyebrow at his disheveled appearance. His long black hair in clumps, bags under his eyes. Wyatt Cabot, my Quartermaster, looked terrible. I wonder when the last time he slept was? I thought to myself, keeping my face calm.

What is it, Mr. Cabot? I asked, keeping my voice stiff. He faltered for a moment, swaying on his feet. I frowned, waiting for him to topple over because he could no longer hold himself up. Is he drunk? He better not be. I grimly thought.

The isle we are sailing to is cursed. He finally said. Holding onto the railing to keep himself from falling.

Of course its cursed. I snapped, leaning towards him. That is why no one goes there. Leaning back, my eyes scanning the horizon.

Nothing good can come from a visit to this isle. He said, his tone pleading with me to listen to him.

You can stay aboard the ship if you like. I am going ashore once we reach it. I dismissively replied. His face fell. Go to your berth and get some sleep. That is an order, Mr. Cabot. I gruffly said, eyeing him.

He nodded silently, turning quietly to walk down the stairs, disappearing below decks. Shaking my head, I turned my attention towards the horizon. Let me know when the isle is spotted. I ordered the sailor at the helm.

Aye, Captain. He said, keeping his gaze ahead. I disappeared inside in my cabin. My heavy oak desk sat in one corner. A heavy oak chair placed behind it. A map of Ofroth, the world I was born in sat in the middle, with steel daggers holding the corners down. An inkpot with a quill sitting nearby sat on the edge of the map, a leather-bound book placed opposite on the inkpot.

My bed placed in the center of the back wall, two windows on either side. An oak table and four chairs sat against the wall, to one side of the door. A hutch filled with china dishes and silver forks, spoons, and knives sat against the wall on the other side of the door. Shelves filled with books sat against a wall, the opposite wall held a large, glass cage. Inside the cage was a shredded coconut bedding, a bowl filled with fresh water, some branches to allow the occupant to climb towards the top, and a log cut in half, hollowed out to provide a shelter. A black pastel ball python lay curled into a ball under the log. I named him Kamenwati.

I sat down in my chair behind my desk after checking the water level in the cage. Moving the leather-bound book, I dipped the quill in fresh ink, I started writing. Once I finished, I looked at the inkpot. I am going to have to make more ink. I thought, dreading the process. Letting out a sigh, I closed the book. Three sharp raps on the door in quick succession broke the silence. Standing up with excitement building, I walked towards the door. Opening it before the crew member on the other side could knock again.

The isle has been spotted, Captain. The crew member stiffly said. I nodded curtly, watching the crew member walk away. Grabbing my worn cloak, I walked to the aft, putting it on as I went.

Where is Mr. Cabot? I asked the crew member standing at the helm.

Still under the deck, Captain. He replied, his gaze never straying from the perilous rocks around the front of the ship.

I want someone to go get him, unless he is still sleeping. I said, listening to the sounds of feet moving as a sailor went to do as ordered.

Within a few minutes, the sailor returned. I told him, Captain. I nodded my head once, looking towards the isle just as it came into view. The outline of the isle peeking out through the dense fog surrounding the isle. Wyatt climbing onto the deck, walking towards me. Stopping beside me, I gestured towards the isle. Watching as his eyes widening seeing the isle towering over the ship.

Ready the longboats! I yelled. We are going ashore. Cheering, the crew went to work.

How many of the crew are going with you? Wyatt asked.

Everyone is going ashore, Mr. Cabot. I replied, watching his reaction from the corner of my eye. To his credit, he did not show his surprise.

Aye, Captain. He stiffly replied, walking down the stairs, towards the longboats.

Mr. Cabot. I called out. Turning, he faced me. Have the crew bring supplies for an overnight stay. I said, watching as his face blanche for a second before returning to calm.

Aye, Captain. He replied, his tone a forced calm.

The longboat landing roughly in the water. My crew moving to grab the oars to row us to shore. We quickly made our way, Wyatt refusing to look at me during the ride. Once we were close enough, a couple of my crew already on shore splashed in the water to pull us ashore. Once the longboat was beached, we climbed out. The crew already heading over to assist with getting the camp ready for the night.

Mr. Cabot. You will be staying on the shoreline with the crew. I do not want to return to find them all so drunk they cannot stand. I commanded. A brief nod in response was all I received before he headed towards the crew working on building a large fire.

They better not set the jungle on fire. I thought, frowning. Walking into the dense jungle, I took a deep breath. The sounds, smells, and sights soon drove my worries away. The hot, oppressive air making it difficult to breath and walk the farther into the jungle I walked. I would not be so easily detoured. I kept walking, enjoying the solitary time and quiet. Soon I came upon a clearing with a quiet stream running through. Ruins of a castle sat in the middle of it. Moss and vines covering the gray blocks of stone, trying their best to reclaim the lost space for the jungle. Tall grass covering the exposed space, making it difficult to walk along the path to the ruins.

The remains of walls and towers surrounded the castle, crumbling back into dust. Located at the back of the castle, stood a tall tower seemingly untouched by the ravages of time. Its wooden shingles appearing weather worn and faded. A small diamond window cut into the wall near the top. It looked as if the ruins had been abandoned for centuries. For an unknown reason, I felt an unexplainable urge to explore the ruins. I slowly approached the ruins, keeping a cautious eye on the surrounding jungle. Just because it looked empty, did it make it true. I felt like someone was watching, no doubt hiding in the shadows. The air growing colder the lower the sun dropped in the sky. I frowned, looking up at the sky. Thick, black clouds starting to gather over the ruins, threatening to open the floodgates. I guess I will be camping out in the ruins tonight.

I looked around, spotting some dried branches and moss that could be used to start a fire. After spending a few moments gathering the needed branches and moss, I put them down just inside a room with a mostly intact ceiling. Just in time, I thought, satisfied as the floodgates opened, drenching everything within a few seconds. I knelt down and placed the branches and moss in a pile, lighting it.

The fire casting a warm glow in the small room. I leaned back against a cold, stone wall, enjoying the heat. I hope the crew is okay. I would hate to replace them so soon after getting them. A smirk crossing my face at the thought. The rain slowing to a steady falling. My eyes growing heavier, closing on their own accord. A pair of amber eyes appearing in the shadows in the corner closest to the door, watching me. They narrowed slightly, contemplating. Maybe. The eyes disappeared.

A blood red moon rose, peeking through the clouds still covering the ruins. A pair of blood red eyes hovering in the nearby shadows. They narrowed to slits, almost winking out of existence. The eyes moved closer, never leaving my form. Looking first at my red hair, surprised to see breasts peeking out from under the cloak. Moving it slightly just to confirm the blood red eyes was not mistaken Amber eyes suddenly appearing, startling the blood red eyes. What are you doing? The amber eyes asked.

Nothing that concerns you. The blood red eyes retorted before disappearing back into the darkness. The amber eyes narrowing before following.

Was I dreaming? Or did I really just see floating eyes? I groggily thought, still half asleep. In a few seconds darkness dragged me back under.

Are you stupid? The amber eyes asked, glaring.

No! The blood red eyes retorted, looking away in hurt.

Nothing good will come of dealing with that pirate. The amber eyes softly said.

The blood red eyes said nothing, staring out the window. The sound of rock falling woke me. I jumped up, hand on the hilt of my sword, peering into the darkness. An uneasy feeling filling me. I wonder if those eyes from earlier had anything to do with the rock. Looking outside the window, I was surprised to see a blood red moon hanging low in the sky. That is never a good sign. I better get back to the crew before something happens. Unless something has already happened. I thought. A quick glance at the fire showing it had burned itself out, leaving a pile of ash.

As I turned to leave, another rock fell, landing a few feet away. I paused in mid step, frowning. Looking behind, what little light made its way through the clouds showed the faint outline of stairs against the far wall. My gut instinct said to walk away, get back to the shore and never come back to this cursed island. An unexplainable pull trying to get me to walk up the stairs. Against my better judgement. I thought, walking slowly towards the stairs. Drawing my sword from its scabbard, I set one foot on the stairs. Nothing happened. I am getting myself worked up for nothing. I thought, walking swiftly up the stairs. The stairs circling the higher they went. Making it impossible to keep track of how many steps there were.

How many stairs are there? Damn, the tower did not look this high outside. I thought as sweat poured from my brow. Taking out a handkerchief, I mopped the sweat off my brow. I should just go back down and forget about this nonsense. I kept climbing, as if being pulled by some unseen force. It could have been a few days or only a few hours before the stairs turned into a smooth floor. This better not be another landing... I thought, silently cursing the builders of the tower. The floor curving into a large circular room. Wooden planks making the floor. A simple wooden table with two wooden chairs placed on either side were placed on the opposite side of the entrance. Dull metal cups, plates, and forks were placed in front of the chairs. Remains of rotted food were left on the plates, as if the occupants left in a hurry.

Two wooden beds with threadbare quilts covering them sat next to the right of the table. A wooden night stand with a dirty oil lamp on top sat in between them. Bookcases filled with dusty books and tomes sat on the opposite wall of the beds. Tapestries filling the available space on the walls. Thick woolen rugs covering parts of the floor. A thick layer of dirt and dust covering every surface. I frowned. The room appearing to have not been used in centuries. The darkness seeming to cling to every corner, hiding secrets from prying eyes. The air stale. I turned to leave, only to be stopped by a faint noise. Pausing, I turned around, seeing a pair of blood red eyes staring back from the shadows. I knew I was not dreaming. I thought, tightening my grip on the hilt of the sword. Malice radiating from the eyes, filling me with a sense of dread and the urge to run.

Who are you? I asked, suspiciously.

It does not matter who I am. A disembodied voice replied. My frown deepening at this response. I was suddenly thrown against the far wall, my sword clattering to the ground a few feet away. I was pinned against the wall a few feet up, unable to get down, or move. "You come into my tower and have the gall to ask me who I am? The disembodied voice continued. I should kill you right now..." The voice trailed off, as if listening to someone or something that only it could hear.

The unseen force holding me to the wall suddenly disappearing, allowing me to fall roughly to the floor. The blood red eyes disappearing for a brief second before appearing over my fallen sword. The sword floating in the air, causing concern to fill me. I should have followed my gut instinct and left before. I thought, slowly edging towards the door.

The blood red eyes suddenly looking up, glaring. I paused, a feeling of dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. The blood red eyes narrowing to slits, rage filling them before the sword slashed through the air. A burning sensation quickly followed. Pain worse than any I ever felt before ripping through my body. I dropped to my knees, unconsciously holding my left arm to my chest. The smell of charred flesh filling the air. I slowly moved my left arm, shocked to see a stump where my hand used to be. Thin tendrils of smoke wafting off my stump.

A cackle filling the air, snapping me out of my stupor. Rage coursing through my veins. I lashed out angrily, swinging my fist through the air. The laughter intensified, seemingly coming from all directions of the room. It suddenly stopped, the silence in its wake even more disturbing than the laugh that preceded it. I leaned against the wall, holding my charred stump close to my chest, my eyes tightly shut.

A few seconds later, amber eyes filling the space a few feet away. Compassion and sorrow filled them. I am sorry for what my brother has done. Let me make it right. A sorrowful, disembodied voice said. Small circles of light appearing in the direction of the amber eyes. Flying towards my stump in a straight line. Once there they slowly started circling around my stump, going faster and faster. A hook made out of see through, light green metal appearing on my stump. Finished, the lights fading away.     

I stared at the hook in astonishment. Its metal is the only thing that can hurt my brother. He took your hand, so it is only fitting you have a way to protect yourself from him. More circles of light appeared, this time making a sword appear out of nothing. The blade was made of the same metal as the hook, the hilt was made of solid gold with silver wiring wrapping around it. Precious gems appearing on the hilt. A scabbard made of black leather with more precious gems sprinkled throughout appeared.

It would seem he has also taken your sword. The voice said, amused. I slowly reached out and picked up the sword, admiring its beauty. The scabbard appearing on my belt, making it easier for me to place my sword in its sheath.

Thank you for the new weapons, but why would you help me? I asked, confused. 

With your presence here, my brother has finally been able to escape from this cursed tower. He took your hand for a reason. The voice said.

How does taking my hand help him escape? I asked, irritation showing in my tone.

Until you arrived, we were cursed to be formless by the people of this isle. My brother... my brother is not a nice man. He did unspeakable things to the people of this isle. Torture would have been nice compared to what he did. The people rose up in their rage and killed us both. We were cursed to remain formless for eternity. The only way we could revert back to our human forms was to take it from someone who is already human. The voice said.

But he did not take my body, just my hand. I replied.

Well, he never was much of one for listening. He will have a partial form, but no more than that. The voice replied evenly. Mulling it over for a few seconds, I nodded in understanding.

Where did he go then? The prospect of a hunt lighting up my eyes.

I do not know. The voice replied sadly. However, he is bound to you now. You will be able to summon him whenever you choose. His name is Gethin. Also, you can use his powers now.   

I nodded slowly, contemplating the implications of the statement. It is probably best if you go back to your crew. The voice said. If you have any further questions, you know where to find me. I nodded quietly.

I am going to have to change my name. I thought, sighing.

You know, I have always been partial to the name Green Hook. The voice said.

That is not a bad name. I thought, slowly making my way out of the tower.

My mind racing with the information I received as I walked back towards the shore. I was having a hard time accepting what just happened. Pausing in the jungle, still hiding from my crew on the shore. Looking down at my left hand, where my left hand used to be, at the hook. That is going to take some getting used to. I thought, feeling my shoulders dropping. Part of me wanting to hide it from my crew, the other part reasoning they will find out sooner or later, so why hide it?

With a heavy sigh, I left the jungle. Some of my crew was sitting around a huge bonfire, the flames licking high in the sky. Others playing games, eating, and lying in the sand. All of them drunk. Well, I did promise a night off the ship. I thought, cursing myself for thinking I would not want to leave so soon. Wyatt looked up, spotting me in the distance. Standing up, he quickly made his way over to me. Maybe they are not all drunk. I thought, still irritated with the majority of them.

Captain, it is good to see you are back. I was worried when the sun set and you still were not back. Is everything alright? I did not answer, still glaring at my crew. Captain? He asked, concern lacing his tone. Reaching out, he stopped once he spotted my hook. A look of shock on his face, he seemed to be having trouble accepting this change. Wha... wha... what happened? He stammered out, dropping his hand, taking an unconscious step backwards.

Turning my dark blue eyes towards him, I watched him cower under my gaze. It does not matter. I said. Find me some crew that is not too drunk to row me to my ship. When the sun rises, I want to see the camp being cleaned up and the crew back aboard. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Cabot?

He seemed to have lost all coherent thought for a minute before shaking his head to reply. Aye, Captain. I turned, heading towards the waiting longboats.

Wyatt headed my way with a few more crew members within a few minutes. My crew paused upon seeing my hook, a look of questioning on their face. Get the boat in the water, dogs. The Captain wishes to return to the ship. Wyatt barked out in a sharp tone. They jumped, not expecting the tone, quickly rushing to do as commanded. I nodded my thanks towards him, getting in the longboat. Sitting near the bow, my crew rowing as soon as the water was deep enough.

We quietly made our way back to the ship. Once there I climbed out, irritation coursing through me. It used to be easier climbing up the side of my ship. Blast this damn hook. I thought, slowly making my way back up the side. Once I reached the top, I went to my cabin. Shutting the door firmly behind me, I leaned against it. Tears streaming down my cheeks, forming twin trails. I felt arms around me, allowing me to cry. I wept, the pain of losing my hand finally too much for me to keep silent.

Once my tears dried, I was helped to my bed. My shoes were removed, left on the floor by the bed. My coat removed and thrown over a chair. Covers were drawn back. I laid down, curling into a ball. The covers were placed back over me. A sense of loneliness filling me as the darkness pulled me under. My ever-present companion sitting in a nearby chair, watching me quietly with tears making twin trails down his cheeks. A silent figure appeared, clenching a scroll tightly between white knuckled hands. My companion silently turning his head, waiting patiently.

The Captain is supposed to be... The figure started, trailing off under my companion’s gaze.

I decide that. Not you. He said coldly.

What about... The figure started to say before being cut off with a wave of the hand from my companion.

Are you Death? My companion asked, crossing his arms. Uncomfortable silence reigning in the cabin. "I am going to take your silence as a no. Now, stop trying to tell me what to do and get back to your assigned tasks. If I want your opinion I will ask for it." My companion said, biting off each word. The figure nodded silently, disappearing into nothing. I stirred, moaning in pain in my sleep. My companion leaning forward, concern etching in his face.

Stretching out a hand, he placed it gently on my forehead. I stopped moving, falling quiet again as sleep pulled me under again. Letting out a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. Watching me sleep until I sat up straight, clearly in pain. Lighting a nearby candle, I gasped when seeing him sitting in a chair.

Who are you? I asked, trying to remember where I placed my sword.

I am Death. He calmly replied. Frowning, I leaned back.

Are you here to kill me then? I asked.

No, I am not here to take your spirit. The opposite in fact, I want to make a deal with you. He answered.

Intrigued, I leaned forward. What kind of a deal? I asked.

He smiled in response, suddenly holding a quill and a rolled piece of parchment in each hand. That is what we are going to discuss. He said, leaning forward.

Three

My ship cut through the cold ocean water, the spray soaking my crew unlucky enough to be working near the bow. I stood in the aft, near the helm. My hand clasping my arm, which held my hook, behind my back, watching my crew working the deck. The moon shining brightly in the sky, with the stars looking like diamonds against a black velvet drop. Lanterns had been lit once the sun started to sink, placed strategically along the railings.

Wyatt slowly walking up the stairs to stand next to me. He cast a glance towards the crew member standing at the helm. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as my crew member started to sweat. He glanced nervously at us. He thinks he has done something to earn my wrath and is waiting for his punishment. I thought, amused. A small smile crossing my face the longer I watched my crew member.

I should let him go. Wyatt must have something he wishes to discuss in private. I thought, sighing. He really needs to accept my answer. Mr. Smith, you are dismissed. I will take over the helm. I said, watching relief flood his face. He quickly relinquished the helm, disappearing below decks as quickly as he could. The rest of my crew quietly followed. My worn, calloused hands wrapping gently around the spokes. For a few minutes, the only sound to be heard above deck was the sound of waves hitting the side of the ship.

Have you considered my proposal? He quietly asked, trying his