Part II

  The next 20-odd hours were pure misery for Darren, watching the time vanish from his quest while there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

  The first thing he’d tried to do was open his inventory, but it was locked while he was in the cell. Access would only be restored upon leaving. Same for using skills. So he’d been left with nothing to do but think.

  He had a half dozen half-baked plans, but for the first time in his career, he couldn’t see a way to twist the system and pull out a win. Being stuck at level 5 amidst people four times his level was leaving him uncomfortably aware of his own weakness.

  It was also reminding him too much of his own life; always stuck beneath the thumb of someone more powerful.

  Every time he ran up against a wall while scheming, his mind went on a lovely little spiral.

  He was sorely tempted to try and wrangle a basic class from Poseidon—or from any AI who’d listen—just to get his levels back and be on a more even playing field so he could rescue Wilson.

  He just hoped the little coconut was okay… The one reassurance Darren had was that he was still in a party with both Wilson and Samantha, so he could see their status on his HUD. They were both at full health and had remained that way since he’d last seen either of them.

  Regardless, Rod was going to pay dearly for kidnapping Wilson.

  Then guards arrived, and Darren was frog-marched from his cell and into the blistering heat of the noonday sun. They shoved him through town, through the port, and to a frigate berthed there. Darren caught sight of its name on the bow. The HMS Sea Dagger.

  The ship was a good 45 metres long and, at a rough count, was a 40-gunner. Darren knew from prior experience that a ship that size had a crew of nearly 300. The majority would be Classless minions like himself, but there would probably still be 50-70 NPCs with classes. All the officers, most of the marines, and maybe a handful more.

  In other words, an overwhelming number of enemies.

  Well, Darren reflected as they pushed him up the gangplank before the gawking gazes of a growing crowd, they’re subject to Rod, but they’re not necessarily enemies.

  He’d heard from NPCs that being press-ganged into service on ships was very common in Isle of Pirates. Which meant there’d be more than a few disgruntled crew onboard the Sea Dagger. The question was whether he could do anything with that information.

  At the top of the gangplank, they paused while the soldiers handed him over to the ship’s marines.

  Darren looked back, craning his neck, trying to peer over the heads of the soldiers and see if he could spot Samantha in the crowd. He could see across the port to the little sloop they’d arrived on. Four figures stood on deck, watching, but he couldn’t make out who they were.

  A moment later, a marine grabbed his arm and shoved him toward a steep set of stairs heading below deck. They moved down through the gun deck, the lower deck, and into the hold. He was led aft along the narrow orlop deck that ran along the hull, flanking the large pit of the hold, which was stuffed full of shot and provisions on top of a heavy ballast of stones.

  They reached the stern of the ship, where things changed a little from a traditional frigate. The game devs had taken some liberties—this ship was not historically accurate. Instead of a bread room for flour, etc, that was all stored in inventories, and the space housed a cramped brig.

  Without ceremony, the marines shoved Darren into a cell, and the door clanged shut behind him.

  Huzzah, another iron cage with… He tried to pull his sword from his inventory. Nothing. Yup, locked inventory. Though he knew the answer, he also tried to summon his swivel gun. Again, nothing but a notification alerting him of abilities being blocked.

  With a sigh, he sat down, back against the thick hull. It at least smelled marginally better than the fort’s dungeon. Not quite so much acrid blood and old turd and piss stench. Or at least, the odour of gunpowder, tar, and mould buried those smells.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The ship gently rose and fell in the slight swell of the port, the movement soothing, all things considered. He let his head thud against the rough wood and closed his eyes. The sounds of the crew getting the ship underway filtered down through the decks. Officers yelled, ropes and wood creaked. Somewhere toward the bow, a sea shanty kicked off in earnest.

  No one had asked Darren yet where the island they were heading to was, so he imagined someone would be down soon enough to get said information.

  For now, he’d play along. He wasn’t inclined to stuff them around at this point and invite more trouble.

  So he waited, dozing.

  Sure enough, as the ship settled into a steady rhythm as it pushed through the swell of the open ocean, he heard talking in the hold and opened his eyes. Two marines marched along the orlop deck, displaying the perfect balance of practised seafarers despite the ship’s motion. Darren remained seated, ankles crossed and fingers laced, watching the man and woman approach.

  “On your feet!” the man, a short, stocky marine with an unkempt swath of fiery red hair, snapped as he reached the brig and hunted for the right key on a large brass keyring.

  The woman stood a few steps back and to his side, a flintlock in hand. Her steady gaze was locked on Darren as he stood, dusting his trousers off.

  “Nice accommodation,” Darren said. “Solid six out of ten, I think. I may just extend my stay.”

  The man glowered at him as he finally found the key, unlocked the padlock, and pulled the iron door open.

  Darren took his time stretching until the woman lifted her gun, aiming at Darren. “Alright, alright!” Darren said, raising his hands in surrender as he left the brig.

  The man led the way, gesturing for him to follow. He hesitated just a moment, and the woman gave him a sharp kick behind the knees.

  Darren hissed in pain as his knees slammed onto the deck.

  Short-n-stocky walked up to him and planted himself, feet wide, just inches from Darren, leering down at him. “You like it on your knees, pretty boy?”

  “Wanted to help you feel tall.” Darren knew it was a stupid thing to say, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Crack!

  Short-n-stocky’s fist connected with Darren’s jaw, knocking him onto his arse. His health dropped by a whole ten points. Darren groaned. “Worth—”

  A boot slammed into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. Darren curled into a fetal position, wheezing as he tried to recover the breath that had been ripped from him.

  The two, unarmed, casual hits had already reduced his health by half.

  Short-n-stocky crouched beside Darren’s head and said, his words sotto voce, “Give me more lip, boy. Make my day.”

  Darren clenched his jaw, not making eye contact with the marine.

  “That’s what I thought,” Short-n-stocky said, standing. “Get up.”

  With a hiss of pain, Darren climbed to his feet, still unable to straighten or breathe properly with the pain radiating from his lower ribs.

  Every ounce of him wanted to keep goading the marine as he followed the man along the orlop deck past the hold, but he held his tongue.

  By the time they reached the stairs to the lower deck, the pain was already starting to fade, and he once again issued a silent thanks to the system for dulling pain so quickly. He managed a glance around the lower deck as he was ushered to another steep set of stairs leading to the gun deck. The lower deck currently held probably a third of the crew, sleeping in hammocks, eating, gambling, staring into the void. All the usual off-duty shenanigans of sailors.

  They reached the stairs and climbed up into the gun deck.

  The guns were currently all stowed, sitting up against the hull, perpendicular to their gun ports.

  The ship’s cook was busy in the galley fore of the gun deck. The smell of baking bread and watery stew mixed with the odour of sweat and gunpowder. The marines pushed him aft towards the captain’s quarters and great cabin.

  Feet thudded along the deck overhead, accompanied by plenty of swearing, and the rhythmic crashing of waves breaking on the bow.

  He stumbled as they hit a larger wave. And he mused that it probably wouldn’t hurt to put a few points into dexterity if he wanted to spend much time sailing…

  By and large, the crew ignored him; only a few idle glances were thrown his way. A glare from the marines deterred open stares.

  A few seconds later, they entered a narrow corridor. It had a door on either side to cabins and a larger door at the end to the great room. Darren knew from experience that these walls all folded up onto the ceiling during combat to allow for the full complement of cannons to be readied.

  The lead marine rapped on the door to the great room and stepped back, waiting.

  It opened a full minute later, and Darren was shoved inside.

  The richly adorned cabin spanned the width of the ship. Windows covered the entire stern from the waist up and wrapped around the sides for about a metre. A row of cabinets sat beneath a bench that ran under the windows. Two cannons sat in the room, one on each side, parallel to the ship’s hull like the others on the gun deck.

  A large table sat in the middle of the room with a hologram of the ocean hovering above it. Currently, it was zoomed in on Isla Cascadora, and he could just make out their frigate slowly moving away from the 3D rendition of the island.

  Three men and two women decked out in officers’ uniforms stood scattered around the room. All five of them inspected him, earning him a couple of furrowed brows alongside the swath of notifications. Doubtless, they were trying to work out what all the fuss was about.

  The two marines saluted and left.

  Darren stood by the now closed door and waited.

  “So you’re the one running around with that rat, Vane,” the man in the centre, wearing the shoulder insignia of a captain, said. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t keelhaul you right now?”

  Expect: [Modern vs Fantasy, Guns vs Monsters, US SOF in another world, applying science to magic]

  Recommended for fans of Stargate and GATE: Thus the JSDF Fought There!