Chapter Text
Darting past street vendors, dashing down alleyways, Lizzie ran to the dock as quickly as she could. She left a trail of gold pieces behind her, falling from the half-open sack she carried at her hip, and cursed herself for not bothering to close it properly. Buildings, vegetation, people all blurred together: all Lizzie focused on was the bay before her and the distant shouting of naval officers at her back. The sun sunk slowly behind her, setting the sky on fire.
Usually she didn’t get in trouble this late in the day.
“The one with the eyepatch!” The Navy officers shouted gruffly. They were getting closer. “Get back here, pirate!” Lizzie always chuckled to herself when they said that. What pirate would surrender that easily?
As she turned onto the next street, Lizzie noticed the crowds were becoming denser and would be harder to navigate. Ignoring the pounding of footsteps hot on her trail, she slowed her pace and took a moment to assess the situation. Rows of market stalls lined the streets, all with colourful tarpaulins pulled taut over wooden beams. The question was, were they strong enough?
The footsteps grew nearer still, and Lizzie made a split-second decision, committing to her new and potentially flawed plan. Using the nearest bystander’s shoulder as a boost, she leapt onto the tarpaulin. After quickly testing it with her foot, she was relieved to find it could just about support her weight, and she resumed running towards the docks.
From below, she could hear the shouts of the Navy officers as they pushed their way through the crowded streets, trying to catch up with her. She sniggered to herself and took a moment to watch their failing attempts, before a gunshot convinced her to continue forwards.
“Is it really necessary to shoot at me?” Lizzie called out, half sarcastically, half annoyed. Gunfire didn’t make her plan impossible, but it was certainly irritating.
After hopping across three or four stalls, the docks were closer than ever, and she could even see her ship, the Sunset Chaser: a small merchant’s boat that she’d commandeered from a man who’d tried to scam her. A flag of the classic skull and crossbones, with an added eyepatch on the left socket, waved in greeting from the mast. Lizzie grinned back, and sped up, eager to set sail.
A bullet whizzed past, just above her head, as she leapt down from the final market stall. She couldn’t quite make out what the vendor said, but she assumed it wasn’t anything positive. The sound of waves moments away, Lizzie dashed out onto the open docks. Just as she did, half-a-dozen naval officers, all dressed in red coats, stepped into view, surrounding her, and each training their gun on her. She backed up into the street she’d just emerged from, only to bump into the officers who’d been chasing her. Before they could grab her wrists, she darted forwards, into the middle of the circle of officers.
“Surrender, or die,” Announced the officer just in front of Lizzie, a woman with blonde hair pulled into a ponytail.
“Or,” Lizzie replied, her eye hurriedly darting around, looking for an out. She spotted a swinging sign of a tavern, which read ‘The Drunken Sailor’ and hung just above where an officer stood. It looked within reach. “I could pick the secret third option: escape.”
In a second, she pulled her gun from its holster, shot the officer in the knee and jumped over them, using the sign to swing out of reach. She ran in unpredictable diagonals, avoiding bullets left and right, though a few barely missed and clipped her limbs. Somehow, in a wild turn of events that even she hadn’t expected, Lizzie was practically unharmed by the time she reached her ship.
As soon as she hopped aboard, she raced to the helm, pulling on ropes and muttering “Full speed a-fucking-head” to herself as she went. Within moments, the ship was moving, though she wasn’t out of danger yet. Whilst she left the harbour, she spotted the Navy officers boarding their own much larger and much more impressive ship, complete with canons and multiple sails.
The Navy ship may have fancy upgrades, but the Sunset Chaser was small and speedy, much like its captain. Lizzie knew they would give chase, they could never let anyone else win, so she didn’t bother choosing a destination or consulting her newly stolen map. She simply picked a direction at random and took off.
Some may have thought it difficult to sail a ship alone, especially under pressure, but Lizzie had never known it any other way. She’d never had a crew – she’d never trusted anyone enough – so all the extra work she had to do just felt like regular work. She knew when it was okay to leave the wheel and focus on the ropes, how long it took her to reach the other end of the ship, and at what point she was allowed to let the ship drift instead of actively steering. To an outsider, it may have seemed complicated and stressful, but to Lizzie, it was just how things worked.
Because of her head start, and the Sunset Chaser’s ability to quickly cut through the waves, it only took a few hours before the navy ship was completely out of sight. Knowing the trade as she did, however, Lizzie continued in the same way for an extra two hours or so until she felt comfortable drifting. She scanned the horizon and cautiously abandoned the wheel, turning her attention to her spoils.
Grabbing the bag of coins, that would’ve been slightly heavier if she’d tied it properly, and the Navy map, Lizzie sat on a barrel near the helm, ready to jump to action if she needed to. She counted fifty gold pieces and twenty silver, mumbling to herself that there could’ve been more. It was enough to last a little while longer, at least. But the money hadn’t been her main goal. It was common knowledge on the Royale Ocean that no one made maps like the Navy. Being too poor to buy even a cheaply made map, Lizzie had been allured by the rumours and thought that she may as well steal one. She’d thought no one would miss it – surely they must have a few spares – but evidently she was wrong.
Lizzie tied the bag tight and secured it to her belt, before unscrolling the map. Smiling, she saw that the rumours were true. It was beautifully crafted, with artistic flair yet incredible accuracy. However, upon closer inspection, her eye was drawn to the marks in red ink. Certain areas in the middle of the ocean were circled, with notes written beside them. At first, due to the scruffy handwriting, she assumed it wasn’t in Common, but eventually she could make out a few words: ‘Undersea’, ‘negotiate’, ‘Elders’, ‘union’.
The mention of the Undersea stood out to her, and Lizzie tried to remember what little Finn Tidestrider had mentioned about his homeland all those years ago. She couldn’t remember much, and he hadn’t spoken of it often anyway, at least not around her, but it confused her that the Navy would be interested in some sort of meeting with the Undersea. Either way, she understood now why they were so keen to keep hold of that map, and that only made her want it even more.
The evening went on and the sky grew dark, a thick mist covered the surface of the waves. Lizzie lit a lantern beside her to let her continue studying the map. She’d noticed one circle in particular, the one with the most notes around it, had a slit in the paper in its centre, as if pierced by a blade. It was all very confusing business, and she'd need more time to study it before she had any idea what was going on. Lizzie folded the map into a small square and stashed it between her corset and undershirt, out of sight from any potential thieves.
Just as she was planning to take a short nap, a large dark shape began to emerge from the fog. She squinted, trying to get a better look. It hurtled towards her ship, and she realised too late it was a cannonball.
"Shit!" Lizzie cried out, dropping her bag of gold and racing towards the wheel.
As she swerved the ship away, the cannonball made impact, bursting through the deck but missing anything vital. The wood splintered and the small boat groaned in agony. The Sunset Chaser wasn’t built for battle.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
From the mist, a humongous Navy ship appeared, decked out with black and gold accents. If she wasn’t in immediate danger, Lizzie might’ve taken time to admire the vessel’s impressive design but, as it was, she was busy trying to save her own life.
The wind picked up, sweeping around the scene and bringing with it dark grey clouds. The very air sung with energy as heavy rain began weeping down upon them. Lizzie’s heart began to thump fearfully, as it did every storm since that night, and her skin crawled with anxiety. Her hands shook. It took every fibre of her being to fight against the urge to freeze up. Now wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the time.
Perched on the Navy ship’s bow was a young woman with fiery orange hair pulled into a tight bun, the kind that looked painful. Her red coat blew in the building wind as she called out, “I believe you have something of ours, pirate.” She spat the word as if it were poisonous, disgust and determination clear on her face. “Hand it over, or face our wrath.”