Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Upon a Painted Ocean ❯ Kindred Spirits ( Chapter 9 )

A/N: Sincerest apologies for the delay! ^_^

Some geographical notes:

The Straits of Gibraltar: In ancient times, this place was known as the Pillars of Hercules. A narrow passageway composed of Northern Morocco and Southern Spain, all ships had to pass through here to gain access to the Mediterranean Sea, making it a strategic spot during naval wars.

Marseilles (or Marseille), France: I'm not too familiar with the layout of this port city so please excuse any errors I may have made in describing it. My guess is that the Old Port (ou le Vieux Port, si vous préfèrez) was not called that during the time of this story, but I left it as that since I do not know what else to call it. It was and still is the hub of activity in Marseilles, being the main port for all sea bound traffic. It was not until the nineteenth century when a more modern port was built to handle the overwhelming traffic and larger steamboats. Canebière, once a market/shoppin district, was not called thus until the seventeenth century, but I've used some poetic license and made it exist during this time. Incidentally, the name Canebière came from the Provencal word, canèbe (hemp), for a rope factory that once existed in the city. During the Middle Ages, the local factory wove the hemp, collected from the drained marshes at the end of the Old Port, into rope for rigging the ships using the port.

Upon a Painted Ocean

Chapter 9: Kindred Spirits

The unnatural warmth of the Atlantic had somehow seeped into the dark hold, raising the humidity in the confined space to an almost uncomfortable degree. Taking in a stifling breath, Ran tightened the grip on his sword - his grasp of the weapon becoming tenuous at best with his sweat-covered palms - and reasserted his defensive stance.

Eyes intent on the crazed blonde, he spoke as calmly and as firmly as he could. "I'm not your enemy, nor am I here to hurt you."

Deep down, Ran knew his opponent wouldn't hear him, or his rational tone. He knew from those blazing green eyes that reason and sanity had long been removed from the equation. And he knew without a doubt that words and deliberation would never reach his enemy's mind. But he had to try nonetheless, the urgency of his situation becoming clearer every moment he dallied in the bowels of a so-called 'ghost ship'.

As Ran's intuition had predicted, the blonde ignored the redhead's words and charged, cutlass raised and throat growling. A flash of steel and a blur of movement were all the warnings Ran had of the imminent attack. He barely had enough time to react before he felt the jarring vibrations of his own sword as it blocked a sideswipe of a blade intended for his throat. Stumbling back a few steps to regain his balance, he wondered amazingly at how a wounded man could still posses such strength. Yet, as his eyes delineated the now shadowed outline of his attacker, he understood that clear thinking and endurance were on his side, seeing as how that head wound would eventually begin to hinder the blonde. All he had to do was bide his time. Locking his wrists and sword back into his defensive stance, he stood, braced in anticipation for the next attack.

And the blonde complied. With movements more based on brute force rather than finesse, the injured man continued to lunge and swipe at the redhead, his actions becoming increasingly unpredictable and erratic as the fight progressed.

Ran was hard pressed to keep the other man's sword from connecting with its target. He could feel his own perspiration begin to blind him as it rolled irritatingly into his eyes and fatigue began to set in. He marveled at his opponent and his ability to keep moving without faltering all this time.

The thought had no sooner entered his mind than the latest slash from the blonde forced his back up against one of the large wooden crates that littered the hold.

This was it.

This was his chance.

Narrowing his eyes in an attempt to better discern the other man's blade, he could literally feel his heart jump out of his chest when he saw the flash of steel swing lethally toward him in a downward stroke. Reacting with the lightning speed he had perfected from years of raiding and pillaging enemy ships, Ran ducked and upon hearing the dull crack of his opponent's cutlass embedding itself into the wood behind him, he struck from his crouched position.

His left fist connected with the other man's midsection, the hit accompanied be a soft cry from the blonde. Ran had no doubt that the other fighter must have felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him, but before the man could recover, the young captain attacked again. Reversing his sword so that the blade pointed toward himself, the redhead quickly brought his right arm up and struck the blonde on the side of his head with the unyielding metal of his hilt. Ran regretted taking such a drastic action against an injured opponent, but he saw no other way of incapacitating the man.

Almost immediately, he felt the blonde sway toward him, knees bucking and pained grunt indicating a slip from semi-lucidity into unconsciousness. The redhead dropped his sword and caught the man as he fell, his overexerted muscles protesting loudly at the sudden deadweight in his arms. But he didn't let go. This man seemed to be causing more questions in his already confusing journey as it was, but in all conscience, he couldn't abandon him here in the middle of nowhere.

Shifting the heavy body he was supporting, Ran straightened and looked curiously down at the blonde's blood-obscured face. That crazed fire in those ephemeral eyes … that incredible strength and desperation in those dangerous attacks … the young captain wondered what the man had seen to have brought him to such a state. To lose all grasp of reason and to not hear the rational words he'd spoken meant that the blonde must have been exposed to something worth forgetting. And to be on this ship alone …

Ran brushed the questions aside. He had things to do, a ship to command, … and Ken to find. He would ask the unconscious man later what had happened. Unanswered questions and enigmatic puzzles were something he could never let alone. But first … first, he had to collect his men and head back to the Redemption. Once there, he would decide his next course of action.

(***)

"Was it worth it?" Ken's words broke the serene silence that had descended over the empty deck, the boards devoid of human presence save for him and the tall, slim man leaning against the railing. He casually walked up to stand beside the redhead and looked over at the man, patiently waiting for his question to be answered.

The afternoon sun shone lovingly down on him, highlighting the strands of burnished crimson atop his head with an intensity that was enough to take Ken's breath away. But it wasn't the striking features of the man that truly captivated him; no, it was the confidence in his bearing, the arrogant tilt of his head that awed the brunette. Even now, after all he'd been through, Ran still managed to exude a regal grace in his every action, its intangible quality surrounding him like an enduring mantle.

Seeing that the young captain was not going to answer, Ken turned his head to observe the endless blue horizon with the man. To call the ensuing moments uncomfortable would be a mistake. On the contrary, as he stood there with Ran, soaking in the vast openness of the world around him and the warm presence of the man beside him, he could never remember feeling so much at peace. And that scared him. Thus, he forced himself to break the silence and spoke.

"Was it worth the fight to win all this back again?" His gaze never left the sea, subtly letting the redhead know to what he referred.

Ran did not respond immediately, instead, choosing to let his attention linger on the unpredictable patterns of the lapping waves. Then, he nodded slightly in agreement.

Ken looked over, but despite his prior experience, he still had a difficult time trying to read the implacable set of the older man's face. After a few moments of quiet scrutiny, the brunette finally looked away and returned his eyes to the sea, accepting the fact that he would never really be able to understand the enigmatic captain. Having settled once more into the encompassing silence, he nearly jumped when Ran's steady voice broke it.

"What happens now?"

He didn't need to turn to know that Ran was staring at him, expecting a response he didn't want to give.

"What happens now, Ken?" the redhead repeated. "You go your way and I go mine?"

Ken felt something inside him clench at what he was planning to say, but he knew that the stubborn captain would not relent unless he answered.

"Yes," the brunette replied quietly, but firmly, eyes closing in a futile attempt to block out whatever reaction would arise from his companion.

"So you're planning to leave all this behind, to just walk away and forget about the ship, the crew …" Anger slowly wound its way into those words, and as loathed as Ken was to have been responsible for it, he knew it was inevitable.

"Say it, Ken! Say that you can just leave all this behind without any regrets … say that you can walk away without looking back … say that you can forget about me …"

"Yes!" Ken whipped his head around to look directly into the blazing violet fire of the captain's eyes, his own anger - unknown in origin - coming to the fore. Perhaps it was what Ran had just challenged him to do that had caused it. Or perhaps it was the fact that he was afraid of what would happen if he did say those things. He didn't know.

"This is a dream, Ran," he said sharply. "And I can't have that! I want to survive, but I can't do that without forgetting all this." He threw his arm out, and gestured toward nothing in particular, but at the same time, toward everything. "Don't you understand? I can't have dreams!"

The redhead's expression softened somewhat, as did his voice. "But is that so bad? Not just to exist, but to have a dream, to have a wish, to have something to aim for?"

Now it was Ken who remained quiet, although the contradicting denials running rampant within him fought to make it otherwise. Unable to respond rationally, he turned away, hoping to hide the doubts and insecurities that were doggedly trying to confuse him.

<Stupid fool … not me> he wanted to say. <I can't have dreams…>

"Wouldn't it be worth it?"

Ken stiffened as his own words were thrown back at him, their connotation exacerbated by the calm, rational tone of Ran's voice. But he didn't turn around. He refused to look back at the redhead and expose all his weaknesses to the man, or anyone, for that matter.

All of a sudden, he felt a slight pressure on his shoulder, the light contact initiating a wave of heat that languidly snaked its way throughout his whole body. If he had been endowed with any less willpower, he would have easily leaned into the touch, or perhaps into the other man's secure embrace altogether. But as it was, he stood resolutely still, every muscle tensed as Ran spoke once more.

"This is it then?"

No answer.

Without warning, the hand was removed and Ken almost cried out at its absence. Yet, he forced himself to stay as he was. He couldn't turn around … he couldn't …

"Goodbye, Ken."

He knew the redhead had started to walk away, knew that this would be his last chance to stop the course his life had taken …

Then, Ran's dull footsteps paused, and he felt an inexplicable spark of hope ignite somewhere inside his chest.

"But let me tell you something, Ken: if you leave, if you walk away right now and forget about everything you have here, then you're the biggest hypocrite I know." And with that, Ran was gone, the creaking of the boards fading away to nothing at the redhead's departure.

Yet, it was only then that Ken turned around, soulful brown eyes reflecting everything he had wanted to say but didn't. Subconsciously, he knew why he had stayed silent, knew why he had let it all just slip away.

He was selfish. To have stopped the older man, to have agreed to everything that had been verbally thrown at him would have taken more out of himself than he ever dared to risk. He was afraid, afraid of what would happen if he let himself go, afraid of the potential happiness that could easily become part of his life. He had done that once, and he had promised himself that he would never again feel the shattering pain that followed when it was all taken away.

But still … the young captain's parting words lingered hauntingly in the air.

Looking longingly at the spot where the older man had just stood, he let out an almost inaudible whisper.

"Ran …"

(***)

"Ken."

Someone was shaking him, annoyingly and persistently shaking him and he didn't like it.

"Ken, wake up."

Slowly and reluctantly, Ken opened his eyes. The stark walls of the ship's hold greeted him, driving into his mind the hopelessness of his situation as awareness began to reassert itself. Rubbing the fatigue from his face, he pushed himself up against the wall of the makeshift cell, all the while ignoring the condemning clink of his shackles.

So it had been a dream: the Redemption … and Ran.

Dreams were such dangerous things.

Even if the redheaded captain had been but an image conjured up by his sleeping mind, he could still feel a knot form inside his chest, twisting and tightening to the point where he was sure he'd suffocate.

He had to forget it all, he reminded himself. How many times did he have to force the stubborn presence of that man from his mind? Nothing good ever came of wishing for something one could never have. All it would cause when everything was said and done was pain … a pain that he knew he was feeling at that very moment, although he was trying his damnedest to deny it.

"Who's Ran?"

Ken stiffened at the name and stared wide-eyed at Omi's innocent face. "H-how do you know that name?" he asked as he tried to keep his voice steady. He quickly peeked over at the other two sleeping boys in the hold to make sure they wouldn't overhear what was being said before returning his attention back to the blue-eyed blonde.

Omi smiled sympathetically at his sudden discomfort. "I don't. You were just mumbling it in your sleep."

"Oh." The single syllable escaped the brunette's lips like a relieved sigh. "Sorry if I disturbed you."

"Don't worry about it." The blond boy shook his head to emphasize his statement. "So who is he? You don't have to answer if you don't want to but you seemed so agitated while you were sleeping that I thought talking about it might help."

Omi spoke so warmly and honestly that Ken was loathed to lie to the boy. Ever since he'd been so unceremoniously dumped into this floating prison, he had been anything but unkind. In fact, Ken had found it rather refreshing to be near the newest arrival. Tim and the other frightened boy, who had yet to disclose his name, had spoken only when spoken to, but Omi … Omi remained an endless source of energy and optimism. Despite their bleak and uncertain circumstances, the blonde seemed to exude a lightness of attitude that had kept them all afloat in a fathomless sea of despair that could have easily consumed them. Ken appreciated this and was secretly thankful to the younger man for simply being.

"Thank you for your concern, but I'd prefer not to talk about it," he said quietly. "Ran was a man I once knew and let's leave it at that."

The smile Omi gave him then was somewhat sadder than his usual cheery one, as if he could see the pain Ken was trying so desperately to ignore. "If you wish," he replied just as softly, instinctively knowing that his new friend would talk to him when he was ready.

The brunette was grateful for the subtle tact of his companion and relaxed against the wall behind him, glad to let the subject drop. That was until he heard some unfamiliar shuffling and shouting above deck. Straining to make out what was going on, he didn't notice Omi stand up and appraise the sealed hatch.

"That's another reason for waking you up," the blonde said. "It sounded like something was happening and I couldn't tell what." He glanced across the candlelit room and then, back at Ken. "And I didn't want to wake the others seeing as how they had finally managed to fall asleep."

Ken nodded in agreement. Their two quieter cellmates had had a more difficult time adjusting to the predicament than he and Omi: being ripped from one's comfortable and familiar surrounding, thrown into the hold of a ship without a by-your-leave, and kept unaware of one's own fate was enough to scare anyone. Ken had been able to cope with the upheaval only because this had been his way of life for the past several years. And Omi, … Ken didn't know what Omi's story was or why the younger man took everything so casually, but he wouldn't question it.

It took a few more moments of concentration before Ken figured out what was happening. The difference in the ship from when he'd fallen asleep and now was so obvious that he silently berated himself for not realizing it sooner. The lull and rhythm of the ship had changed, now somewhat more subdued and less dramatic.

"We've docked," Ken stated plainly as he stood and stretched his cramped muscles, his chains clinking a mocking tune as he did so. "But whether this is our destination or not, I don't know."

Omi acknowledge his observation, and returned to stare assessingly at the closed hatch. "How high do you think that is?"

Ken stared up and shrugged. "I'm not sure. Perhaps eight or nine feet. Why?"

The blonde turned to give his companion an enigmatic smile, cerulean eyes sparkling. "I think we can escape."

"How? There's no way to get up there unless they drop the ladder and even then, we have the crew to deal with."

Hope was something Ken refused to entertain. Even now, when the determined set of Omi's face sparked the beginnings of the wretched feeling, he fought valiantly to quell it. Self-preservation was his main concern.

"When was the last time they fed us?" Omi continued to mentally measure the size of the opening.

"I don't know. A while ago but what you're proposing, it's not possible. There's no way of getting up there without - "

"I can do it," the blonde cut him off with a serious tone. "But I'm going to need your help."

Ken shook he head, disbelief apparent on his face. "How? How are you going to get up there? And if you do, what are you going to do about our captors?"

The younger man turned his clear blue gaze at the brunette then, and for a fleeting moment, Ken felt the unwanted hope flare inside his chest.

"I'll show you what you have to do. And if what you say is true, if we're really docked then most of the men up there will be on shore leave. I can easily take care of the ones left on board, and drop the ladder down for you and the others."

"But Omi, you can't - " The pessimism in Ken's tone had the younger man riled.

"I can do it, Ken. I'm stronger than I look." The obstinate set of the blonde's jaw was enough to quiet any more objections.

Could Omi truly do it, Ken wondered. But what would it accomplish? If life had taught him anything, it was that Fate was a fickle fiend, and that escape always meant re-capture, no matter how hard he tried or how far he ran. In the end, it was never worth the effort - pain, and anguish being the only products he had ever been left with. But that gleam in Omi's eyes … the determination on his face … it was almost enough to sway him. He hated this decision he had to make, but looking around at the two sleeping bodies and at Omi, he realized that it wasn't solely his freedom at stake.

"Fine. I'll wake the other and you can tell us your plan."

(***)

The rocks of Gibraltar had always been a stunning and impressive sight, the brown-red structures standing bold and proud as they timelessly guarded the entrance into one of the prized jewels of Europe - the Mediterranean Sea. The phenomenon itself was said to be natural, the stones placed like giant sentinels along the narrowed strait on a geographical whim, but to Schuldich, it looked as if the hand of some god had reached out and fashioned the makeshift guardians atop those cliffs. He vividly remembered the first time he had sailed through here three years ago, standing on the very deck he was on now and feeling the cool Atlantic breeze caress his face as it had back then. That time, they had been sailing in the opposite direction, away from Europe and into seas unknown, away from his home, and away from everything he had been. It felt rather strange now to be coming back so many years later to the place where it had all began.

Moving his gaze away from the nearby scenery and his thoughts from the unwanted memories, he turned his attention to the dark-haired captain lingering near the rail. They had set sail almost immediately after Schuldich had returned with his tidbit of information, the Valiant apparently having been ready to cast off for a while. If nothing else, Crawford was definitely efficient, the redhead gave him that much. But still, he couldn't understand what all this fuss was about.

"Why are we chasing him?" Schuldich asked - almost insolently - as he approached his captain.

Crawford didn't even acknowledge his presence as the redhead moved to stand beside him. "Does it matter?" he countered in a flat tone.

The former stowaway affected his usual air of nonchalance, and waved off the other man's rebuttal. "No, just curious." And yet, as the words left his mouth, he suddenly had a feeling that he'd asked out of more than just curiosity. Not wanting to explore that avenue of thought, he quickly changed the subject. "Where are we headed?"

"Marseilles."

"France," Schuldich whispered under his breath. So they were going back to where it had all began for him, back to the port where he had snuck aboard the Valiant three years ago. It seemed as if everything had come full circle, only this time, he wasn't half-starved and desperate. "How do you know if that's the right place? Or if he really came this way at all?"

Crawford finally spared his crewman a glance. "I don't," he answered simply. "But I know that I will find him. He belongs to me."

The conviction with which those words had been spoken was enough to silence the inquiring redhead for a while. Staring once more at the majesty of the cliffs, Schuldich let the scene take away the awkwardness that had settled somewhere inside him. Sturdy, stalwart and true, those stones stood, knowing nothing of the deadly betrayals and evil machinations of humanity. How he envied them … No, he didn't envy them. He … he never envied anyone or anything.

Finding his unconcerned voice again, he decided to drown out the direction of his musings by speaking. "Have you ever considered another possibility, Captain? Have you ever considered the fact that your Ken might already be dead and this whole trip is a fruitless - "

Schuldich never even saw it coming. One second he was talking and the next, he was reeling from a backhand across the face. But the stinging on his cheek barely had time to register before instinct took over and he returned the hit. Crawford's head snapped back from the force of impact, and yet he brought his gaze back to the redhead once the moment passed, eyes piercing and face devoid of all emotion.

Schuldich rubbed his stinging face as he stared stonily back, his usually detached mask effectively covering the disbelief that was slowly spreading through his body. And the captain … the very nothingness of the man's response was enough to cause something akin to fear to bloom in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, Crawford leaned toward him, prompting the redhead to take a reflexive step back. In a tone that was cold enough to turn his blood to ice, the older man said, "He isn't dead, Schuldich, because he wouldn't die on me. And even if he desired it, I wouldn't let him."

With that, the dark-haired captain moved away, leaving the redhead to dwell on his own recent actions and those words.

(***)

/**

"Where are we going, Youji?"

"I'm going wherever my feet take me."

"You're running away again, aren't you?"

Pause. "I never run. I swagger."

"That's not what I meant …"

**/

He recognized the voices for the dreams they were, but leaving the warm, comforting void where they echoed so musically was the last thing on his mind. Reality was always harsh, abrupt, and unforgiving. Why would he want to return to that when he could easily bask in this for eternity?

/**

"But you promised you wouldn't run, Youji."

"Promised?"

**/

A promise? Made so long ago, made so recently, made so often …

Yes, a promise. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't run. He couldn't abandon the sorry existence that had become his life. He had promised.

Opening his eyes had to be the most singularly difficult task he had ever had to perform. And when the wooden boards above him finally came into focus, he seriously wished he hadn't dragged himself back into consciousness. His head pounded with an intensity that almost defied description, as if a dozen gold miners had been diligently digging through his skull and had yet to find their fortune. And he was thirsty; God, was he ever thirsty.

With no small amount of effort, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and barely managed to stay upright when a disorienting dizziness assaulted him. A quick check of his head told him it had been tightly bandaged but even that couldn't stop the debilitating discomfort he felt. Taking in deep cleansing breaths, he braced his arms on the feather mattress until the vertigo lessened to a bearable level and finally took in his surroundings. Elegantly detailed wood furnishing and chests were scattered neatly throughout the moderately sized room, their polished richness and indisputable taste enhanced beautifully by the setting sun that filtered in from the large window behind the grand oak desk.

He was on a ship then, he concluded as he watched the gentle swaying of the scene in the window. But whose ship was it?

Forcing his aching body into motion, he swung his legs onto the cold floor and realized he was completely naked. It didn't take long for his eyes to fall upon a pair of loose breeches and comfortable cotton shirt on the chair beside the bed. He reached out and grabbed the anonymously offered clothing but paused when he noticed his cutlass leaning casually against the said chair.

Curious.

Whoever had brought him here was either extremely trusting or a complete idiot. It took several painful attempts before he managed to get himself into the breeches, but as he reached for the shirt, he heard approaching footsteps outside the cabin. His hand quickly veered and clutched his sword instead, physical discomfort forgotten and survival instincts taking over. He wasn't strong enough to stand, but he could use the bed to push off of and hope his one lunge would be enough to knock over his opponent.

He heard his heart beat heavily in his ears with anticipation, annoyingly exacerbating the pounding in his head, but he consciously forced the distraction to the back of his mind.

Pain was immaterial. His pain was immaterial.

He barely had any time to dwell on that thought before the door finally swung open. Not bothering to look at the newcomer, he pushed off the bed and charged toward the stranger, his muscles screaming at the unthinking abuse. He must have moved too slowly or the new arrival must have had quick reflexes because he missed his target entirely, and tumbled ingloriously to the ground, sword clattering harmlessly onto the wooden boards.

"Finally awake, I see," the stranger said as he bent down to retrieve the discarded weapon.

He looked up from his demeaning position on the floor and froze at the sight above him. A young man stood in the doorway, face shadowed by the dying sun that shone through the entrance and hair glowing crimson as the already red-tinged illumination danced off the bright strands. He had always prided himself on being a good judge of character and the feeling he received from this man was fairly unthreatening.

"Who are you?" he asked in a hoarse voice as he accepted the help the newcomer offered and stood.

"My name is Ran Fielding. This is my ship, the Redemption, and you're in my cabin," the redhead stated as he escorted the injured man toward the bed.

Letting out an involuntary sigh as he lowered himself onto the mattress, the blonde assessed his helper. A captain, then. The man looked too young to be a captain. But then again, he, of all people, knew there was no such thing as 'too young'.

"Captain," he acknowledged in the way of greeting. "How did I get here?"

Ran sat down on the neighbouring chair, threw the shirt that had been its previous occupant onto the bed within easy access of the blonde, and placed the cutlass back into its original position. "We found you on board a completely unmanned ship and brought you here."

Unmanned ship? How had he ended up on an unmanned ship? And then, a deluge of unwanted images came crashing through his mind, forcing upon him a pain that more than drowned out the pounding of his head.

"W-was I the only one you found?" he asked, his voice shaking of its own accord.

"Yes," the redhead responded, violet eyes focusing intently on the blond man. "We checked the whole ship and found no one."

The bandaged head nodded. "And how long have I been unconscious?"

"A little over two days," Ran explained. "But I don't know how long you were on that ship for before we found you."

The injured man didn't say anything to the veiled inquiry, his green eyes staring at some fascinating spot on the floor.

"Our next port is Marseilles," the young captain said in deference to the blonde's unwillingness to provide information. "If you'd like, we could drop you off there."

"Yes, that'd be fine," the other man replied, silently grateful to the redhead for leaving all the questions he must have had unasked. He needed time to sort and analyze what had happened before telling anyone what he remembered.

Ran nodded and rose. "We should be there tomorrow. Until then, get some rest." So saying, he walked the short distance to the exit and left the cabin with a click of the door.

And he was left alone again.

The blonde looked down at the shirt on the bed and decided to put it on to ward off the sudden chill he felt as his familiar friend, emptiness, settled itself inside his chest. It seemed that no matter what he did, he always ended up alone. One would think that he'd learn the futility of trying to change Fortune when the lady herself had demanded that a solitary existence was always to be his fate.

(***)

They had done it.

Ken couldn't believe it as he and his three fellow captives darted through the crowded marketplace in hopes of putting as much distance between them and their prison as they could. Odors of overcrowded humanity and fresh fish mingled obtrusively in the air, leaving Ken to breathe through his mouth to avoid smelling the stench.

A fish market. A fish market in the port city of Marseilles, Ken had been told by Omi, who had asked one of the residents during their madcap dash from the ship.

Ken still could not believe how well the young blonde's plan had worked. He had done as the boy had instructed and given Omi a boost to jump through the hatch the moment it opened. If he didn't know any better, he would have guess that Omi was some sort of acrobat with the way he moved. The captors hadn't expected such an aggressive action by their young prisoners and were taken by surprise when Omi easily dispatched them. Not long thereafter, the blonde had thrown down keys to their shackles, and lowered the ladder, allowing the rest of them to escape. As they had predicted, most of the crew had left the ship but when the four young captives had made it onto the gangplank, the few sailors still on board had discovered their escape attempt and were now giving chase.

"Ken, we're in the Vieux Port right now. Just keep going, and we should be into the Canebière. We'll lose them there for sure." Omi's voice held such confidence as he directed them through the cobbled streets. The blonde had been here before, Ken had deduced, but what he was unsure of was if the younger man's knowledge of the city was enough to help elude their captors.

The brunette nodded and glanced back to see how Tim and the dark-haired boy were doing. The former was keeping up with his and Omi's pace easily, but the latter … Ken was beginning to lose sight of the smaller boy.

"Omi!" Ken got the blonde's attention and gestured toward the lagging member of their quartet. The younger man had no sooner received his friend's silent message than a muffled scream reached his ears.

"Ken," Tim yelled breathlessly. "They got 'im."

Damn.

"Over here," Omi said loudly and led them into a nook nestled between two fish stalls. The space was small and reeked of days old fish, but it was dark and allowed them a fairly clear view of the street without being visible so it would have to do.

"You two wait here," the blonde boy stated. "I'll go see if I can rescue him."

Ken's mouth dropped at the preposterous idea. "Omi, that's just crazy!" He grabbed the younger man's arm as he turned to leave. "There's no way you can help him!"

A calm smile met the brunette's angry expression. "Don't worry. I'll be fine," he soothed and pulled his arm free. "I don't like to run from problems, Ken. It's something I've always lived by. You would do well to remember that too." And with an enigmatic sparkle in his eyes, he ran off before Ken could stop him.

The brunette cursed a blue streak as he was left alone with Tim. Eventually, he began to cool down, his anger slowly becoming worry as the two of them watched the streets from their hiding spot for their missing companions. Ken wasn't too sure how long they stood there for, waiting to discover the fates of the others in a city they knew nothing about, but when he saw the familiar shrinking figure of the frightened dark-haired boy moving slowly down the street, Ken's heart almost jumped into his throat.

"Ken," Tim said to get his attention.

"I see him." The brunette peeked out further to check for pursuers and when he didn't see anyone, he ran out and dragged the boy into their obscured nook.

"Where's Omi?" Ken demanded immediately.

Wide brown eyes stared back at him, their unnatural sheen probably a result of tears that had yet to fall. "T-they t-took him," the boy stuttered.

Damn, damn, damn!

Ken straightened and ran a tired hand through his brown locks. Now what was he supposed to do? Being the oldest, he felt partially responsible for leading these two boys but he had no idea where he was, and the very people they were trying to get away from had captured the only person who knew anything about this town. Looking into the apprehensive faces of his companions, he finally came to a decision.

"Tim, take this." Ken reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the fake ring Crawford had tossed at him what seemed like years ago. He had kept it on a whim but parting with it now seemed like a good idea, especially since it was made of gold. "If I don't come back, use it to find passage back to England."

The boy looked questioningly at the brunette as he took the ring. "Ken, you aren't goin' to - "

Tim didn't finish his sentence. The older man had left, moving through the thinning crowd in search of a head of golden hair. He skirted around vendors and customers, heading in the general direction of the docks, but as time passed, he was beginning to doubt he'd find Omi without going back to the ship itself. Eventually, he decided to stop to take note of his position and catch his breath.

"Well, well, isn't this nice? The prey has decided to return to the hunter," a voice said behind him.

Ken didn't know that he had been spoken to but then it occurred to him that the words have been said in English, not the local French.

The first thing he noticed as he turned around was a slumped figure hanging lifelessly from a burly sailor's shoulder, the gold strands of hair falling to obscure half of the unconscious boy's face.

Omi.

Ken vaguely acknowledge two other sailor-looking types standing beside their companion as his attention traveled to the man who had spoken to him. Black hose, black doublet, and a black beard … the brunette recognized him. Knowing now who stood before him, Ken took in a fortifying breath and raised his eyes to meet the dark gaze of his once benefactor and now captor - Nikolai Markhonen.

End Chapter 9