SWNOVELXO Chapter 20: Redbeard
The waves were moderate, and the wind just right. The sails of the Siren ballooned proudly, trailing a crisp white wake behind the stern. Nick had tried to nap on the forecastle platform but felt uneasy, so she moved up to the crow's nest on the mast—still no rest.
At fourteen or fifteen, she was growing fast; she was either starving or sleepy, often both. Midday naps were vital. But none of her usual spots allowed her to close her eyes in peace. Puzzled, Nick observed closely and realized why—almost everyone aboard was staring fixedly at her.
The story of Captain Nick's cross-dressing had spread through the fleet since the landing, becoming the most shocking gossip of the year on the Red Lion. Once the most rugged, fiercest leader of the charge, she now seemed transformed in the eyes of the pirates. For a lifelong sea raider, she looked far too pale and soft; her voice carried an odd sharpness, especially since she'd never been seen changing clothes in public before.
Was the captain really "he" or "she"? The captain said nothing, and naturally, no one dared ask directly.
Nick scratched her head in frustration and slipped into the captain's cabin. Hayreddin was bent over a desk, calculating with a compass and ruler, beside an open thick Latin tome. Peeking over, Nick saw strange symbols and diagrams across the pages.
"What's that book?"
"Trigonometry."
"Math," Nick clicked her tongue. Beyond counting gold coins, she understood nothing of this science. "What good's that? Can it boost your fighting skills?"
"Not yet. I'm still learning." Hayreddin swapped out the calculation sheet, tossing a stack of heavily marked drafts into a box nearly a foot deep. "Math and astronomy are essential for navigation, especially in vast unknown seas."
"I thought you were already a master navigator," Nick said. "Never seen you carry a map before."
"This is the Mediterranean—ancient routes traveled for thousands of years. Experience and old sayings guide us to land." Hayreddin pulled a parchment map from the desk, faintly outlining the New World's coasts, while unknown waters were filled with imagined sea monsters.
"The world is far bigger than you think. The age of pure experience is over. Those bookish scholars, armed only with a simple quadrant and a pen, know the land better than I do."
Returning to his calculations, Hayreddin resumed his practice. Nick rested her head on her arms, watching him draw triangle after triangle.
"Captain, did you ever go to school? I always thought you just popped out of the womb with a full cabinet of knowledge." She'd heard him speak French, write war declarations in Spanish, and now use Latin to calculate sine functions.
Hayreddin glanced at her tilted head and smiled helplessly. "No, it's all self-taught over time."
"Self-taught? What about before that?"
"Before… many brothers, a poor home, too busy just trying to fill my stomach." He raised his eyebrows, summing up his past with one sentence, clearly uninterested in elaborating. "Stop pestering me here. If you're bored, go find Victor or catch some rats in the hold. These furred little devils are about to eat through our stores."
Kicked out of the cabin, Nick went off grumbling to find something else to do.
She didn't stay bored long. Once they entered the waters near Algiers, the air shifted. The scent of sulfur and saltpetre embers floated on the breeze; broken wood fragments and debris drifted across the sea.
The lookout nervously scanned the horizon. Fighting so close to base was never a good sign. Hayreddin had taken most of the fleet to France; though the harbor was under lockdown, an enemy sneak attack now would be disastrous. The Siren signaled other ships with flags; the entire fleet formed battle lines, gunners took their positions.
Soon, the current brought a clearer warning—a corpse in a blue uniform floated nearby. The boatswain sent a few men in a small boat to identify it. The body showed no decay, only a terrified grimace frozen in death.
"Spanish!" the boatswain shouted. "Dead less than two days!"
Hayreddin stared toward Algiers, silent. His forces were still too few. This was expected, but unsolvable.
One body after another drifted by. Most were Spanish, but one dark-skinned man with a full beard stood out, his white turban and robe soaked in blood.
"Haul him aboard!" Hayreddin ordered. A rope was lowered; the men on the boat secured the body and it was pulled up. Though he resembled a North African Moor, the turban style and curled boots marked him as Turkish.
Hayreddin's expression softened slightly. "If my guess is right, we're lucky."
The fleet entered Algiers harbor without the anticipated attack, but the unfamiliar Turkish ships with their sharply upturned bows moored at the docks. Hayreddin fired a blank salute; the other side raised their flag.
A black pirate flag with a white skull appeared—its skull sported two exaggerated red mustaches.
Then a man with neat red beard strode aboard, laughing loudly. "Hey, Reis! You owe me big time this round!"
Barbarossa Isaak, known as Redbeard, was the original bearer of the Barbarossa name. The eldest of four brothers, nearly forty, he was still robust despite years of heavy drinking and wealth. His head wrapped in white cloth, curved sword at his waist, gold hoops glinting in his ears—like a sultan from a far-off land.
They looked like twins—broad shoulders, long legs, bronzed skin, and piercing blue eyes beneath thick red hair. Seeing Isaak was seeing Hayreddin ten years in the future.
The brothers stared at each other for half a minute, then embraced fiercely, slapping each other's backs as if a vampire were clinging there.
"Long time no see, brother. Seven—no, eight years? I thought you'd be an old codger by now," Hayreddin smiled.
"Nonsense! This is a man's prime!" Isaak punched his brother's shoulder hard. "Still reckless as ever, running wide open doors looking for food."
"Shows I've got a younger mindset than you."
They linked arms and left the dock, both knowing that the Spanish attackers had been stopped by Redbeard.
Back at the white castle on the hill, Hayreddin opened six barrels of king's rarest wine to entertain guests. The aroma filled the room where two fiery men gathered, their surroundings dull in comparison. Isaak took two drags from a water pipe and praised his brother's lair. Then he waved for attendants to bring in a stunning short-haired horse, bred for desert heat.
"Her name's Lily, pure Arab bloodline. I wouldn't sell her even for a brand-new giant ship." Isaak stroked the horse's neck fondly, then scanned the room expectantly. "Where are my dear nephews? They'll be overjoyed with Uncle's gift!"
"Smoke your pipe, Isaak, there are no nephews here," Hayreddin said bluntly.
"No sons?" Isaak looked disappointed. After a pause, he summoned servants bearing ornate jewelry boxes, clearly full.
"Well then, nieces are fine." Isaak rubbed his hands with anticipation, preparing a lively greeting. "They must all have fiery red hair, right?"
Hayreddin shook his head, serious. Isaak's smile froze.
Long moments passed, with no children coming forward. Redbeard's expression turned desperate.
"My God! Not a single child? What have you been doing these eight years? Got your balls shot off?!"
Before Hayreddin could answer, Isaak's gaze shifted to the silent boy behind him.
"Could it be… could the rumors be true? I laughed them off back in Turkey..." Isaak shouted in disbelief, "Reis, you really like little boys?"
The door slammed behind them, kicking Nick and the others out. From the room drifted angry shouting—pirates, rumors, Mediterranean gossip, childless heirs… fragments of overheard words left everyone exchanging glances. Nick caught Lily's eye, pulled a dried fig from her pocket and fed it to the horse, then they slipped away to play.
The brothers exchanged blows in frustration, leaving the room a mess, their quarrel unresolved.
Isaak threw down his gold-inlaid water pipe; a startled sparrow fluttered from the bushes.
"My eldest grandson's taller than a cannon now! Second and fourth brothers gone, you're nearly thirty, don't you want your own bloodline? I know you like kids, but never thought you liked this kind of kid..."
In this era, a thirty-year-old man without a family (except for the poor who couldn't even support children) was either ill or mad. Isaak's beard twitched recalling the grayish boy beside Hayreddin.
"Stop imagining things," Hayreddin said grimly. "Kids are a burden right now. Besides, with you around, the red-haired little ones won't all die out. Mind your own business."
Seeing fists didn't help, Isaak lowered his voice and pleaded. "Reis, you're unmarried, want to try everything new—I get it. But having women and kids is rewarding. Listen, my third wife's cousin is almost of marriageable age; women in her family are great breeders..."
"Enough!" Hayreddin barked. "Isaak, last time I say this—if you have ears not stuffed with camel hair, listen well. First, I don't like men or boys or any other male creatures; second, Nick is a girl, but not mine—I have my own women."
Isaak interrupted, "Then why do you always keep her close?"
"Because she's my charge captain!" Hayreddin rubbed his temples, annoyed by the endless misunderstanding. "I don't want to argue anymore. Isaak, you didn't come just to talk about this, did you? If so, I doubt you're really my brother."
He locked eyes with Isaak's striking blue ones. "How is Sultan Suleiman?"
The fussy look vanished from Redbeard's face, replaced by a meaningful grin and beastly white teeth. "A little overweight, otherwise healthy. He asks after you too." Isaak pulled out a parchment and handed it to Hayreddin. "Gifts for my nephews only; yours is from the Sultan himself."
It was a map well known to North Africans—Djerba Island, a key link between the eastern and western Mediterranean.
"No longer wandering alone, fighting Europe's powers isolated—Ottoman Empire offers you stability." Isaak said. "There's nothing like having a home, Reis. Think about it."
Isaak paced the winding corridor, then noticed small hoofprints in the muddy yard. Following them, he found Lily calmly nibbling fresh shrub shoots in a secluded corner. Nearby, a boy poked a fat toad with a stick, causing it to croak but not flee. The boy was having a blast.
Flat-chested, narrow-hipped, small-bottomed—she looked nothing like someone who would bear many children.
Isaak's face darkened in frustration.
What should a charge captain look like? Like Fariseh on his ship—a towering two-meter giant, broad and muscular as a bull. Women should be curvy, seductive... how could neither be true?
After pondering silently, Isaak said, "In Turkey, stealing someone's horse is as bad as stealing their wife."
"I didn't steal her—she came with me," Nick pulled out her empty pocket and showed it. "And ate all my dried figs."
"What's your name?"
"Nick."
"Rude!" Isaak's face darkened, scolding like an angry king. "If you want to survive at sea, you need to know the rules. When a captain asks, you give your full name!"
"My full name is Nick." She stood up, brushing dust off, sensing the hostility.
Isaak stared coldly, his dark scowl intimidating even seasoned sailors. Nick held her head high, expressionless.
Isaak reached out; Lily rubbed her muzzle against his palm. He spread his fingers, casually stroking the
mane.
"At sea, many things you hear aren't true. Rumors, legends, overestimated charge captains defeated by incompetent subordinates..." Isaak suddenly drew his curved sword and slashed at Nick with lightning speed. Nick had been wary—she drew her sickle swiftly, the blade clanging against the blade in her cloth wrap.
Lily whinnied softly and stepped aside to watch.
"Seems the Siren's legend isn't entirely made up," Isaak said, withdrawing his shimmering blade.
"Redbeard's nickname is well deserved," Nick replied dryly.
Hearing her childish reply, Isaak smiled faintly. "How much does Reis pay you monthly?"
"Thirty gold coins," Nick answered honestly.
"I'll double it." Isaak patted his jewel-encrusted Damascus sword at his waist. "Fine horses, good wine, and food—you'll have whatever you want if you come back to Turkey with me."
"No thanks." Nick refused without hesitation.
"Heh, loyal to the boss? Don't you love gold?" Isaak asked with interest.
"I do. But you'd probably toss me to the sharks halfway there," Nick said flatly. "There's a difference between someone who really pays and someone who promises and then disappears."
Like deciphering a hidden secret on a treasure map, Isaak studied her for a long moment before speaking seriously. "Looks like Reis picked you well."
"I didn't pick the boss either," Nick said seriously. "Captain pays on time every month."
Redbeard laughed heartily, his broad chest rising and falling, the faint hostility evaporating. Nick's fingers, white from gripping her sickle, finally relaxed.
"Nick, huh? Likes dried figs?" Isaak chuckled. "Come, sit in the corridor. I'll tell you a story about the four brothers."