Once again, waking up on a beach with a headache. This was becoming an unfortunate pattern.
He took stock as he slowly stood. He was in a cove with a shallow beach that backed onto a cliff, probably 15 metres tall. He could just see trees overhanging the clifftop above him. The cliff wrapped around the cove, though he thought he could see a hint of a path further down.
The shrill hum of insects rang through the still, humid air. No hint of breeze disturbed the cove to offer Darren any respite from the heat.
As he turned a slow circle, he saw the carcass of poor Boaty McHouseboat. The boat was scattered along a couple of hundred metres of sand and surf, completely destroyed.
Darren started. “Wilson! Where are you, Wilson?”
He staggered and stumbled down the beach toward the path he’d seen. Where the hell was that coconut?
Then he saw the bowler hat, waterlogged and wedged between pieces of driftwood. But no Wilson.
Darren picked up the bowler and kept searching.
He glanced out of the cove at the ocean. There was no sign of the Death Bringer or the monster they’d been sailing toward. Had the two fought? No way to tell. Not unless he could find Wilson, who had maybe seen something.
After another ten minutes of searching, turning over every scrap of boat and driftwood he could spot, he found some shade and collapsed to the ground. He pulled out his water bottle and some meat and cleared the hungry and thirsty debuffs that had hit him.
While the coconut had been annoying, he still wasn’t keen to lose the little snot. It’d at least been someone to talk to.
Giving up on the beach, he trudged to the path up the cliff he thought he’d seen.
Sure enough, a narrow goat track cut its way upward, meandering through a crevice in the cliff face. Darren picked his way upwards. Sharp brush clung to the cliff face, leaving him with a thousand scratches as he climbed. Flies flocked to his sweat and blood, even trying to crawl up his nose and into his eyes.
Darren swiped at one fly set on spelunking in his nostrils and nearly fell. He snatched at the cliff, wincing as the pointed rock opened a fresh cut on his hand. “Ignore the flies, Darren, or they’ll be the death of you…”
Eventually, he made it to the grassy cliff top and sat for a moment, catching his breath. Several trees clung to the edge of the cliff, though it was mostly long grass, gently sloping down away from the cliff to a jungle.
A woman’s yell cut through the sound of distant waves and jungle, and Darren started. He wasn’t alone here!
Then a familiar Cockney voice joined the yelling. “I’m alive, you stupid woman!”
Darren leapt to his feet and broke into a sprint toward the yelling, both people hurling insults and profanities at each other. He crashed through the jungle, branches whipping at his face, and roots clutching at his bare feet.
A minute later, he burst into a clearing to see Wilson desperately clinging to a staff. A staff being swung wildly by a grey-haired human woman in once expensive trousers, shirt, and boots, now all muddy and worn.
“Put me down!” Wilson screamed at the woman.
“You were stealing my water!” the woman yelled back at him.
Darren cupped his hands to his mouth and put all his strength into a bellow, “Oi!”
Both coconut and woman froze, then turned to him.
“Darren!” Wilson said. “She’s tryna kill me!”
Shock worn off, the woman brought the staff down with a crack, with Wilson underneath. She dropped it, then brandished a knife, its blade gleaming in the sun, jewelled hilt only slightly tarnished. She snatched a canvas pack from the ground and backed away from Darren, her steady gaze locked on him.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Darren raised his hands. “Hey, I’m not an enemy. I don’t think.”
“I am,” Wilson said as he scrambled from beneath the staff, his carved face furious. “I saw some water and was gettin’ it to go wake you up when dis… dis…” He gesticulated wildly. “Human takes a punt at me with her staff!”
“Let’s all take a breath,” Darren said. “Clearly, there was a misunderstanding. Also, you were next to the ocean, why not get water there?”
Wilson glowered at him and lifted his hands, shaking them, jazz hands style. “And hold it how?”
“Fair point,” Darren said.
“You and your uncouth coconut,” the woman said, “can go mate a shark.”
Darren blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she snapped, waving the knife at him. “I want you vagabonds gone.”
“With pleasure,” Wilson said, wrestling through the long grass to reach Darren’s side.
Darren slowly lowered his hands. “Wait. Please. Maybe we can help each other? We’re all stranded here by the looks of it.”
“You messin’ wit’ me?” Wilson asked.
The woman narrowed her eyes to slits, crow's feet leaving deep etches on her weathered and tanned face. She’d clearly seen a few decades of ship life. Her clothing screamed pirate captain. Dark colours but practical, rich but subtle. Her long grey hair was braided and slung over one shoulder, draped down her front.
“I know you don’t trust me,” Darren said. “And honestly? I don’t trust you either. We don’t know each other. But we’re all here. Instead of fighting, maybe we can find a way off this island and survive the Death Bringer out there.”
The woman snorted. “She won’t be back for a while. That school of fish you fed her will keep her happy for a few days. You’re awful sailors, by the way.”
Darren blinked. Fish? They’d staked their lives on the hope that fish would fight the monster for them? Well, it worked, he supposed. He would remember those fish and their brave fight later. Raise a toast to them. “Maybe we’re awful sailors, but we’re alive. Also, you’re clearly a captain, and I don’t see your ship, so… pot calling the kettle black.”
The woman grimaced slightly. “Touché.”
“So let’s all agree that we’re not in a great place, but three people have a better chance of surviving this world together than going our own way.”
“No. No way,” Wilson said. “I’m not hangin’ round with her. You’re bad enough, but two humans? Not happenin’.”
“Please just shut up,” Darren said.
The woman studied Darren and the coconut for an excruciatingly long minute, the point of her knife never wavering. “Just what do you think I can offer you? And, more importantly, what can you offer me?”
Darren thought a moment. “If you are—or were—a captain, then you probably have a lot more familiarity with these seas. We need to get to Isla Cascadura. With three of us, we can build and sail a bigger boat that’s more seaworthy.”
“Sometimes smaller lets you get by Death Bringers and the like. They’re hungry, usually going for an entire shoal of fish or a whale. A tiny boat? Not often interested. The fact that one chased you is most unusual. Either way, we’re better off going our own ways.”
Wilson snorted. “A few shots from Summoned Swivel Gun would have scared it off, but our boat was too small for that.”
Darren doubted that. Even with the exploit it’d only deal 329 damage at the moment, and that was after gaining a full stack of Twist of Fate and charging the gun for eight seconds.
“Locals don’t waste their skill points,” the woman said, “on a skill that’s so locked to seafaring unless they’re career sailors.”
That was fair, but Darren wasn’t a local until two days ago. “Actually, I do have it…” he said slowly. He wasn’t willing yet to reveal he had an exploited version of it.
The woman’s eyebrows shot up, and Darren got a notification.
<<<<>>>>
You have been inspected by someone significantly higher level than you; all stats have been revealed.
<<<<>>>>
That was a bit rude, but he dismissed the notification and inspected the woman in turn.
<<<<>>>>
Samantha Vane
-
Level: 17
-
HP: 612
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Class: Officer (Prestige: Captain)
-
Status: Local
You are insufficient level to see more information on Samantha Vane.
<<<<>>>>
Level 17 was impressive, nearly his level before he got nerfed by an AI god. It also meant she was vastly stronger than he was. Definitely someone he wanted to be friends with right now.
“I have so many questions,” Samantha said. “Your parents were cruel to call you Biggus Bottomus. I’ve never heard a name like that.”
Darren’s shoulders slumped. This was getting old. Fast.
“But more importantly, Biggus, you’re only level 5 and wasted a skill point on Summoned Swivel Gun? I suppose at least you didn’t go Summoned Cannon…”
“First up, please call me Darren. Secondly, let’s just say that… I had some guidance of a divine sort with my current skills. I also have Shipwright.”
Samantha grunted. “The gods have been known to bless people like that.” She slowly lowered her knife then sheathed it. “Shipwright would be useful. But how do I know you won’t steal my stuff and try to have your way with me?”
Darren blanched. “Lady, there are a dozen things I want to say to defend myself, but most importantly… Do you remember my level? You could utterly destroy me the second I even sneezed wrong. Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t kill Wilson with that staff. If anything, I should be worried about what you’ll do to me.”
“Are you?” she asked.
Darren shook his head. “I feel like we’re getting off topic. I’m not going to do anything to anyone, except help us get to Isla Cascadura.”
“Fine,” Samantha said. “As far as Isla Cascadura.”
Wilson folded his arms and glared up at Darren. “If she’s goin’, I’m not. I ain’t sharin’ our quest for global dominance with some watery tart.”
“Your quest for what?” Samantha asked.
Darren sighed.