Episode 3- “Laws of the Tide”

Heat: Warm

Content Warnings: Violence, Mature Themes

Director’s note: Episode three cools the fire of the last and reveals the discipline that holds the Silent Tide together. This story shifts from surrender to structure, showing how loyalty, routine, and quiet conviction define life aboard the ship. Thomas finds order here, but every rule comes with its own kind of danger.

Chapter 7

The beating sun pierced Thomas’ shirt highlighting his newly acquired “A” with a dull ache. A visibly hungover Thomas sat up to regain his bearings in the open air. The most experienced crew was already diligently removing any sign of the night's escapades. However, much of the newly acquired crew mates still lay strewn about the deck. The smartest of the lot were rising and finding a way to make themselves useful. Others relieved themselves of last night's sin over the edge of the ship, while others yet remained in a wakeless slumber.

This was their first test and several failed, returning to shore with the courtesans they had enjoyed the night before. The leaders of the crew operated with shrewd discipline and they expected it of all those who would sail under them. If you couldn't handle the good times, there's no way they could risk their life next to you when things became perilous, especially when such perils are unavoidable.

A shadow passed over the quickly recovering Thomas. “Quartermaster Finneas, go now. You'll find him below deck.” The grubby man that had grabbed him the night before was once again guiding Thomas’ next adventure. In the morning light, Thomas could tell the man was older and plumper than most pirates. His face was hardened from years of surviving, but his demeanor was a mix of jovial and a well earned seriousness. The cook! 

“Thank you–” Thomas paused to get his name. “Frank”, the chef grumbled. “Thank you Frank, I'm Thomas” he replied, a bit too posh for the cook’s liking. “The ladies left you in one piece, that's a good sign, but you're nothing here until Finneas says so. Best be going.” Thomas maintained his polite grin but heeded the warning promptly. 

Below deck the sunlight leaked through much more than Thomas had presumed. A large hold was undoubtedly the quartermaster's keep. Stepping into it Thomas was surprised by their stores and its precise structure. Pirates weren't known for their efficiency, but this was meticulously structured, even by Thomas’ standards. Toward the back of the keep lay a more fortified door with two keyholes. Thomas was drawn to it, a puzzle he was compelled to examine. 

A sharp tip of metal pressed into his back. A thick accent questioned his presence. “I track every person and good that comes aboard this ship… you aren't on my list”. Thomas found himself helplessly lost without explanation. Start simple he thought to himself. With practiced calm he slowly spoke “I'm Thomas, Frank sent me down here to meet you.” He paused to let his brain catch up. “May I turn around?” 

“Slowly” Finneas huffed, reducing the pressure of his sword ever so slightly. Thomas turned to face his new interrogator. Indeed it was Finneas. His 6’3 frame looked even larger close up. Thomas knew any struggle would be futile. “And how did you get on my boat?” Finneas demanded, ready to run through Thomas at any ill movement.

“A dinghy, just after midnight.” Thomas held his arms up pleading for calm. A set of boots echoed closer. 

“He's just a merchant boy, Finneas.” The captain rounded the corner. “Can't you tell by his clothes.” Finneas looked him up and down before lowering his cutlass. “Aye, I can tell.” The captain and quartermaster stay looking at Thomas who began to relax. “What's your name, merchant boy?” Finneas asked. “Thomas”.

“I meant your full name. Who's your family?” the quartermaster pressed on. It was much too soon for Thomas to reveal his identity, but the peering eyes in front of him would accept no lie. “Thomas Goldhair.”

Finneas sighed of stress, dropping his arms and rolling his eyes to the under informed Captain. She looked to him for more. “The Goldhairs. Runners of Brinemarch’s underground. The smuggler’s royalty Goldhairs! Send him back with the drunks, slighting his family will do us no good.” Finneas spoke strongly, but not absolutely. His opinion was welcomed by the Captain, but her call was final.

“We can't do that. Thomas show him your shoulder” she commanded. Finneas’ disbelief grew as Thomas gingerly revealed his scabbing “A”. 

“He bears our mark!?” Finneas snapped. “Yes, he earned it. And besides, I thought you could use the help.” 

She did little to hint back at last night's escapades, nor did Thomas expect her to. She was the Captain and any intimacy they shared would be an agreement of shadows. 

They stood for a moment, Finneas taking in his new scenario. “Very well” the Captain concluded, walking away to other more pressing duties.

Finneas broke from his disbelief to measure up Thomas. “Does anyone else know you're here?”. Thomas paused. This was a secret he best kept, and one he thought he could manage, “No, no one.”

“Good, let's keep it that way, Thomas Middlenight.” Finneas wagged his eyebrows to confirm understanding. 

“Now, what do you know about inventory?” “Everything,” Thomas confidently replied. “Good man, then let's get to work. We have to take stock of everything given last night's shenanigans. There is a system here, you will learn it”. 

They would spend the rest of the day meticulously counting every ration, every good, and every piece of contraband. Finneas had an elaborate, but incredibly efficient system that crudely placed storage, distribution, and accuracy above all else.

A quarter of the way through inventory the ship surged forward escaping the bay of the only city Thomas had ever known. Even in the belly of the ship its speed was palpable. Thomas knew not where they were headed, but for the first time since leaving Nadine, he felt safe. The shadow of his family lay with the city and in the dim cargo hold, he felt the light of his own journey shining down on him. The fortune in his boot lay safely, its heat dissipating for the journey ahead as if it approved.