In one moment, the storm was no longer their greatest worry.
Thatch had been in dozens of storms like it, sometimes on lesser vessels too. He trusted the Redress with his life, of course, and all she needed him to do was to avoid making godsbedammed foolish mistakes that would see her dead.
That was his only job.
He'd heard about sea monsters wandering these waters. A few even used the storms to their advantage, folks said, and rose from the depths to drag vessels down that were already being battered by the sea. He hadn't expected to learn the lesson to not doubt the voices of caution, but there he was, struggling to keep control of his ship. Some great beast was climbing on from behind and it had caught the rudder to stop it from moving, which effectively negated any control he might have had over the vessel.
No one did that. Not even the mightiest of sea monsters.
"Draw yer weapons, lads!" the captain roared over the storm that lashed the vessel. "You'll have more to fight than treacherous winds and a little rain this night."
"We came on board this ship so experienced sailors would do the work."
He turned and narrowed his eyes as he searched out the culprit. One of the thieves he'd allowed aboard his ship was complaining. The man certainly looked miserable, drenched from head to toe while he struggled to keep his balance as the Redress was rocked repeatedly, no longer from the waves.
"Are you plannin' to die this day, you whining slug-brained idiot?" he snapped as he advanced on the man.
"Your people think they can pass the work off on us and—"
The mercenary’s voice was replaced by a loud gurgling sound and the captain felt warm blood mix with the ice-cold rain. It flowed from his dagger blade and onto his hands as the man dropped to his knees and clutched his throat.
"Right then!" He looked at the other men on deck. "Do any others think they don't need to carry their weight in this time of need?"
There were no other takers and he waited for a moment while the rain washed the blood from his blade and hands.
"Then fling this worthless bag of meat overboard and we can get back to the battle of survival."
His men jumped into action immediately. Two of them took hold of the dead man's hands and legs and tossed him over the side of the ship.
The other mercenaries made no clamor about not wanting to work through the fucking storm and it was for the best. Thatch felt as though he didn't have the patience to deal with the rest of them. He didn't even have the time to hunt for Samor and drag him out to do his part as well.
Like it or not, the self-glorifying little asshole would probably kill any sailors who tried to make his pansy hands do any hard work.
He turned to the helm, grasped the wheel, and tried to force it to turn. The vessel had begun to be forced around parallel to the waves and if that continued, it wouldn't be long before it capsized and they were all dead.
Worse still, he could see more of the damn tentacles slither onto the deck. They reached out for his sailors, who already struggled to either bail the water that poured in, tighten ropes, or shift anything from the deck into the hold where it would act as something of a ballast.
A few had their weapons out and attempted to attack the tentacles as they swished from side to side, but it was clear that the monster was merely probing. It couldn't see what was happening on the deck and it used those appendages as eyes so that it didn't need to rise from the water.
His crew were hard workers, all having earned their place on his ship, and even the mercenaries now put their backs into the work when they could. More than a few still hadn't acquired their sea legs and found it difficult to remain on their feet.
This was only the beginning, of course. Once the sea monster had a mind to rip the ship apart, the main tentacles would make an appearance with suckers powerful enough that they were capable of tearing planks off of the ship’s hull.
Thatch suddenly froze in place when something painfully sharp dug a little too hard into his back. For a moment, he thought it was Samor trying to make a statement about him killing one of his men. He liked to do that himself if the reputation spread about him was to be believed.
But a quick look behind him told a different story. A massive, hulking beast of a man was mostly hidden in the shadows and yet clearly not a part of either of the crews he'd brought aboard his ship.
"Hello there, Graves," a deep, gravely, and painfully familiar voice rumbled through his ears. "I hear you're calling yourself Thatch these days."
It took him a moment to link the voice to a face and a name but once he did, it all started to make a little more sense.
"Fucking, shitting, tit-sucking hells." The captain laughed as he turned and was only warned against any further reaction when the knife dug into his chest. "Is that you, Scourge? I did not think I would see you on a ship again. They said you only had legs for solid land. You're a sight I never wanted to see."
"Things change. I believe you and I need to parley for a moment."
Graves looked around the deck of his ship. "Does now strike you as the best time to have a pleasant conversation?"
"It gives me the most leverage, so yes. We can talk about the old days over a bottle of rum once the threat has been dealt with. For the moment, you need help to keep the Redress afloat."
"That does…sound accurate. What will you do?"
"I'll rid you of the creature."
Any other mortal would balk at the challenge of facing a sea monster. Graves would have laughed in the face of most who said that, thinking they were mad, drunk, or both. Probably both, in all honesty. Drink only served to emphasize the madness that was generally hidden beneath layers of civil discourse.
"This is a parley," the captain reminded him. "You're offering to deal with a threat to me ship and me crew. What would you have of me—unless you think to help us out of the kindness of yer heart?"
"Now what kind of business sense would that be?" The giant shook his head. "I'll need your crew to get rid of the thieves and mercenaries who currently infest your deck."
"They're doing a damn fine—well, a decent job of keeping the ship afloat."
"Do you think they could kill the monster?"
The barbarian made a good point.
"Fair enough. But the leader will be a little more difficult. Blademasters are tough shits to crap, and this one is the prickly kind who won't go without causing pain to any asshole who fights him."
"I'll kill him. I owe him a long, painful death once the storm and threat passes."
"And if you can't?"
"Then I'll be dead and your ship will likely sink, with you and your crew painfully consumed by a monster of the depths."
They were running out of time. The sweeping tentacles grew more aggressive when the men tried to fight them. It wouldn't be long before the creature moved in for the kill.
"Make it so," Graves answered with a mad grin. "Parley done. We'll rid the seas of the useless slime-suckers. Fish feed is probably all they were good for anyway."
The knife was quickly withdrawn and the barbarian's eyes gleamed as a flicker of lightning crossed the sky. Time had driven the captain to forget how terrifying it was to stand across from the man when he had murder on his mind.