The Right Words

Sal | She/her | 30s | foundtherightwords on AO3 Writing for Hellcheer and Joe Quinn's other characters Likes/Follows from the-quiet-chaos

[foundtherightwords]

(Click on each header to see a full list of works)

Hellcheer

Joseph Quinn's other characters

If you have any prompts, ideas, or plot bunnies, please feel free to throw them my way, though I can't promise that I will get to them all. Drop me a message if you want to be added to the tag list, or if you just want to chat, I'd love that too!

(Oh and, I only post fics once I finish writing them, so you don't have to worry about abandoned/incomplete works.)

[harritudur]

Joseph Quinn & Grace Van Dien, Fan Expo Canada 2022

[foundtherightwords]

My analysis of the magic trick scene in "A Quiet Place: Day One" made it into my school's directing textbook!

[diogojotas]

Kit Connor, Joseph Quinn and Will Poulter with Charles Melton’s baby 💗

[foundtherightwords]

Where the Sea Meets the Sky - Chapter 6

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Shalla-Bal, pirate/historical/fantasy AU

Summary: When his young nephew Franklin is kidnapped by the fearsome pirate king Galactus, Lieutenant Jonathan "Johnny" Storm of the British Royal Navy sees a chance to prove himself by capturing Galactus's scout, the enigmatic Shalla Bal. As Johnny and his family - his sister, Lady Susan Storm, Susan's husband, Commodore Reed Richards, and their friend, Captain Benjamin Grimm - chase after Galactus's ship toward the South Seas, the uneasy alliance between Johnny and Shalla ignites into something more, while forces beyond even their supernatural abilities loom ever larger, threatening to drown them all.

Chapter warning: none

Chapter word count: 3.4k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 6

The Human Torch—Lieutenant Johnny Storm, as Shalla-Bal reminded herself, she must take care not to refer to him as the Human Torch again if she didn't want a repeat of the scene in Tortuga—flew through the night, not even stopping for food or drink. Not that they had much left—whoever robbed the periagua had taken everything worth taking, which meant Storm's good jacket and the barrels of salted beef and hardtacks. At least the robbers had been considerate enough to leave them some water. When the sun appeared, first in a line of fiery red on the horizon, then lightening into softer pink and gold as it climbed the gray-blue dome of the sky, his head started to dip, his flames spluttered, and his hands slipped from the stern. If Shalla hadn't been quick enough to grab his arms and draw him into the boat, he would've fallen into the water.

"You're exhausted," she said, remembering that he hadn't slept in two days. She at least had had the benefit of the brief nap the day before. "Sleep."

His eyes, of a deeper blue than her own, darted to her face in a scrutinizing glance. It was only for a moment, and he said nothing, but Shalla understood the hesitation and doubt behind that glance. "Are you afraid that I might maroon you somewhere while you sleep?" she asked. "Or that I might steal your boat and money? Steer the boat into a trap?" He shrugged, as if to say it was a perfectly reasonable fear. "You have supernatural powers!" she reminded him, exasperated. "Even if I wanted to maroon you, I couldn't go far enough in this thing before you caught me. So sleep. Keep your strength. You're going to need it."

"Where are we?" he asked, looking around with bleary eyes.

"Must be near the Windward Islands."

"Wake me when we raise Caracas." 

Without waiting for an answer, he crawled into the flat bottom of the periagua, lay down, and was asleep before Shalla could reach for the tiller.

They were on a downwind leg now, and the sailing was a lot smoother than it had been the day before, giving Shalla plenty of time to think. She wasn't too worried about their failure at Tortuga. There were numerous ports along the coast from here to Cape Horn, where they could find a ship and crew. The real question was what to do once they reached Galactus's hideout... presuming that they made it through Drake Passage unscathed... presuming that Galactus was there... presuming both children were safe... Too many uncertainties, and she couldn't count on Storm to plan for all of them. It was clear that he had gone into Tortuga with no plan at all, and it had been pure luck that they had escaped.

No, it hadn't been only pure luck, Shalla admitted to herself. Storm had saved her. Of course, she might not have needed saving in the first place if he hadn't dragged her into his ridiculous scheme, but when it came down to it, he had not hesitated to jump to her defense—of both her body and her honor.

Shalla looked at the sleeping form by her feet. Despite the black shirt giving him a rather rakish look, he appeared even more boyish in sleep than in waking, with the thick, curly lashes over his eyes and the way he wrapped his arms around himself and bent his neck making him look strangely vulnerable. Without knowing why, without even realizing she was doing it, she folded up her old gown and wadded it under his head. He stirred but didn't wake up. Instead, he buried his face in the makeshift pillow and slept on, soundly as a babe in its mother's arms. Shalla shook her head, though it was at his oblivion or her own temporary folly she wasn't sure, and went back to the tiller.

The midday sun was hot on her uncovered head and shoulders. Shalla longed to take a plunge in the sea, but she dared not, for fear of being discovered. She had to make do with scooping up some seawater with the drinking ladle and pouring it over herself. The salt soaked into the bandage on her shoulder, stinging, but it would help to heal her wound.

Late that afternoon, the coast of Venezuela appeared as a dim band of blue, slightly darker than the water, on the western horizon. Shalla leaned down to wake Storm, but his eyes were already opening, staring into hers.

"Oh good, you're awake," she said, sitting up and turning away to hide her warming cheeks. "If you give us a push, we may make it to Caracas before dark."

With a yawn, Storm sat up as well. "We're not stopping in Caracas," he said.

Shalla stared at him. "You plan to starve your way to the South Seas?"

"Venezuela is under Spanish rule. The moment they learn we are English, they'll clap us in irons and sell us as slaves to one of their plantations or silver mines."  

"I'm not English," Shalla said before she could stop herself.

Storm tilted his head. "You sound English," he pointed out.

Damn and blast. She'd said too much. "I learned from English sailors," she explained feebly, before changing the subject. "What are we going to do about provisions then?"

In response, Storm roosted through what was left of their stock. A moment later, he let out a triumphant cry and held up a pack of hardtacks, which he opened and took one out to give to Shalla. She looked at the stale, crumbly biscuit with distaste. A small, pale creature wriggled out of a hole inside it and landed on her palm, making her recoil and drop the hardtack on the bottom of the boat.

"Have a care, this is all we have!" Storm said, picking the biscuit up and dusting it off.

"Is this how you treat all your prisoners?" Shalla asked coldly.

"You're not a prisoner," he said, nonchalant. "And besides, I gave you the one with fewer weevils." He showed her his own biscuit, which was practically squirming with those creatures. Shalla could feel the sick rising to her throat. Neptune give her strength.

With one last glare at Storm, she reached over the gunwale, dipping her hand into the water.

"What are you—" Storm began.

"Hush." She closed her eyes and quieted her breath, while the waves and the sun washed over her, and the wind and the many voices of the sea talked to her, telling her where to go, what to do. A moment later, she opened her eyes. "There, two points east," she said, pointing. "Keep that course for about five knots, and you'll find an island with fresh water and fishing."

"You learned all that from putting your hand into the water?" Storm asked, his blue eyes rounded with wonder.

She had indeed, but it would not do to tell him that. Let him continue to think her an ordinary seaman... or, rather, seawoman. "I've sailed these waters," she said. "I know them well."

Just before sunset, they reached the island, a half-moon of pure white sand and swaying, emerald green coconut palms, surrounded by a coral reef. Storm flew ahead to make sure the island was safe. Once he gave her the signal, Shalla steered the periagua through a gap in the reef and rounded to a few yards from the shore, and together, they pulled the boat onto the sand. In the hold of the periagua, Shalla found a fishing line, and she set about catching some fish, while Storm gathered coconuts and hauled water.

As darkness fell, they sat down to a scrumptious supper of roasted fish and fresh coconuts. It was so warm that there was no need to build any sort of shelter—they simply sat on the sand, around a fire that Storm had built from dry coconut husks. The island was secluded enough that he saw no danger in having a fire, and the fish, having been roasted properly, tasted much better than the salt beef scorched by his hands. Shalla would've preferred to eat hers raw, but she didn't want Storm to think she was some sort of savage.

Both were so famished that they devoured their food in mere minutes, wasting no time for idle talk. Once supper was eaten, Storm laid the remaining fish over the embers of the fire to be dried out slowly. 

"Those will not last us until Cape Horn," Shalla said.

"Of course not, you think me a fool? But these, with what we can gather along the coast, will be enough to bring us to Brazil." He placed the rest of the coconuts in the periagua. "The Portuguese Navy may be sympathetic to our suit and give us a ship."

"And if they are not?"

"We shall have to take our chance with what we have."

Shalla shook her head. "That's madness."

"I'm not stopping until Franklin is saved, or I perish," Storm said, looking straight at her.

In the dusk, his eyes shone with a bright, determined look she hadn't seen before. "You're willing to die for your nephew?" she asked.

"Of course!" he said, as if there were no questioning the idea at all. "If you or your sister had a child, you would stop at nothing to keep him safe, wouldn't you?"

Shalla turned away to watch the pale moon rising over the horizon, so he wouldn't see how close he'd come to the truth. Her hand found her sea glass pendant, caressing it. "Of course," she quietly echoed his words.

"So perhaps if you tell me what awaits us in Galactus's hideout, I might be better prepared."

Shalla sighed. "There is no preparing. Avoid a direct fight and sneak past him if you can."

"I'll not go up to Galactus like a thief in the night!" Storm said, his eyes flashing.

"If you wish to die, then it's your choice," Shalla snapped back. "But if you're willing to die for your nephew, be willing to live for him as well."

That kept his mouth shut. For a while, they sat apart on the sand, with the dying fire between them, neither speaking. The tense silence was broken by the splashing of a pod of dolphins swimming by, their sleek bodies glistening under the moonlight. It must be a family—as they leapt and pranced in the water, Shalla could see several adults surrounding a smaller one, protecting it.

"How old is your nephew?" she asked, still watching the dolphins.

"Thirteen... no, fourteen months. Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason." So young. Younger than Elmar, even, when Galactus took them both.

The dolphins were gone now, and silence descended once more, until Storm spoke up.

"I've been wondering about those ships from Tortuga, the ones that were attacked," he said slowly, as though he was thinking out loud. "If they wanted to fight us, why would Galactus attack them? They were on his side."

"Galactus wants the four of you for himself," Shalla said. "He sees any other attack on you as an insult, a theft of his glory. That is why he took your nephew, to ensure that you come to him." It was true, though it hadn't been the reason Galactus had taken the Tortuga ships. For that, he had one reason, and one only—hunger.

"You didn't know Galactus was going to take Franklin, did you?" Storm asked. "You seemed surprised when my sister asked."

Perhaps he wasn't as dim-witted as she'd thought him.

"I am not privy to Galactus's plans," she said carefully.

"I thought you were his partner. Or are you—?"

Shalla understood the implication in his unfinished sentence, and blood rushed to her face. "No!" she said vehemently. She didn't know why, but it was important to her that Storm did not think ill of her. Not in this, at least. "I'm not his whore, if that's what you meant. I was a scout."

"Did you scout those ships from Tortuga for him?" he asked. "Did you lead him to them?"

There was no condemnation in his voice, only concern. Damn him and his beguiling eyes! For a man named Storm, who could create fire, she had expected him to be dark and... well, fiery, but those eyes were as blue and gentle as a calm sea, and when they turned upon her, full of interest as they were now, she couldn't help but tell him the truth. Or at least some of it.

"I—I don't remember."

It was only part of the truth. She tried to block from her memory the men she had sent to a watery death, the ships she had helped to destroy, but it didn't work. Almost every night, in her sleep, she was plagued by their panicked screams as they were devoured, and the eerie sights of those empty ships and islands, utterly devoid of life, floated before her eyes whenever she closed them. So while it was true that she didn't remember leading Galactus to the Tortuga ships specifically, she knew too well that she was responsible for their destruction, for the ruins of poor Sancho's mind.

"How can you not? Who else have you brought to Galactus?"

"Why does it matter? They were pirates!"

"So is Galactus. So are you. What makes you better than those pirates you killed? They were men. With families."

Shalla almost shouted that she, too, had a family, but stopped herself in time. Storm wasn't even shouting. He was calm, secure in the belief that he was right, and that righteousness angered her. How could he understand the terrible choice she had to make each day to ensure the survival of herself and her daughter?

"How admirable," she sneered. "Don't pretend the four of you are any better."

"We always try to capture them alive and offer them pardons when we can."

"Indeed? And out of those men you pardoned, how many are making honest livings now? How many went straight back to piracy? Do you even care?"

"I'll have you know that Mole Man and his people are doing quite well in Subterranea," he said. Then he added, conscientiously, "Granted, Mole Man was more of a fence than a true pirate..." 

But Shalla was no longer listening. A change in the air had caught her attention. Something was different. What was it? The wind suddenly blew colder, making the fronds of the coconut palms quiver, the moon was obscured by a dark cloud, and the waves rippled in an odd but horribly familiar way, as though there was a force under the sea churning the water up. The only time she'd seen such waves was when Galactus attacked. No, no, no... Had he come back for her after all? Had he found her?

Storm had noticed the changes as well—if not in the air and the sea, then at least in Shalla herself. His voice trailed off, and he stood up. "What is it?"

Shalla didn't answer. She turned in a slow circle, straining her ears, listening for the telltale rumbles that heralded Galactus's arrival. There was nothing. The coconut fronds were still quivering, but now she wasn't sure if it was from the wind. Was the ground also shaking under her feet, or were it her own trembling legs—?

The sea erupted behind her.

Whirling around, Shalla saw a giant creature bursting out of the coral reef—not Galactus, but something else altogether. Its gray head, with a square snout and blank, beady eyes, resembled that of a great whale, except when it opened its maw, the teeth inside were bigger and sharper than anything she'd seen in a whale. It chomped through the coral and made its way toward the beach, revealing that beneath the whale's head, there were arms and legs, as thick as tree trunks, dotted with barnacles and topped with claws, and a powerful body the size of a brig, ending in a long, heavy tail.

"It's a leviathan!" Storm shouted.

A leviathan... Shalla had heard of these monsters of the depths, but had never encountered one before, even when she sailed with Galactus. Storm ran over to her, and, just as he'd done in Tortuga, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into the air with him, away from the monstrous whale. At the last moment, Shalla managed to snatch up Storm's dirk lying in the sand, where he had carelessly left it after gutting the fish, and stuffed it into her bodice.

The leviathan was now walking up the beach, making the entire island tremble. Hovering just above the coconut trees, Storm shot blast after blast of fire at it, but either his aim was suffering from having to hold Shalla steady, or the creature's hide was too thick, because it didn't react to the fire at all. With a swipe of its jagged claws, it crushed their periagua, stepped over their fire, and continued to kick at the sand, clearly searching for any sight of human prey.

"Aim for its eyes," Shalla said into Storm's ear.

This time, the fireball hit home. With a terrible roar, the leviathan reared back, clasping a clawed hand to its injured eye. The other eye swiveled around and homed in on the two of them with all the fury of a wounded beast. Storm threw another fireball, but the creature lowered its head, dodging the attack. A blast of water shot out of its blowhole, hitting them with such force that it knocked both of them out of the air.

Shalla's back collided painfully with a coconut tree, and black spots burst before her eyes. Next to her, Storm scrambled to his feet. Another leviathan appeared on the beach, and yet another, bending and snapping the coconut trees along the shore in the wake of their rampage. All three monsters opened their blowholes and spewed more water at Storm, a concentrated, relentless stream that pushed him into the wet sand and left him soaked to the bones. He got up on one knee, only to collapse again, unable to call up his flames, unable even to stand. Shalla herself could barely lift her head under the deluge. She stretched out a hand to help Storm. Somehow, beneath the deluge, he managed to grab her fingers. Straining with all her might, she pulled him out of the way of the jets of water. One of the leviathans quickly redirected the water at her. It hit her square in the chest and knocked her down on her back. It was like being hit with a giant whip, over and over again, with no break between the lashes, worse than the largest, heaviest wave she had experienced.

Two leviathans reached them. Each picked one of them up with its hands, as easily as a child picking up a toy, its claws wrapped around their middles like stocks.

"Well, well, well," said a voice. "It looks like I have captured the Human Torch."

Shalla looked up to see a man hovering just behind the third leviathan on two pairs of wings that sprouted from his ankles. Even without those wings, she could tell he was no ordinary man. The jewels in his ears marked him as a pirate, but not for him the simple gold hoop worn by most tars to ensure the price for a proper burial should they drown at sea. Instead, he wore large pieces of jade, the same of which covered the armored collar that was the only garment shielding his bare torso. His knee-breeches were also armored, leaving his ankle wings free. He had black hair and cold eyes set in a swarthy face, made darker by the sun and the wind. There was a trident in his hand, its tips glinting cruelly under the moonlight, and a spiral seashell hung from his waist.  

"Is your sister with you, Storm?" the man asked. His eyes flicked over to Shalla and back to Storm again, not seeing what he was looking for.

Storm coughed up a mouthful of water. With effort, he raised his head and blinked the water from his eyes to glare at the man.

"Namor," he spat. "We met again."

Namor is here! I couldn't do a pirate AU of the F4 without including Namor. Some of his physical appearance I based on his MCU iteration, but the rest came from the comics.

[foundtherightwords]

More Joe & Grace at Wimbledon!

[foundtherightwords]

Joe (with Grace Stephenson) at Wimbledon

[itsdancingquen]

sooo I had the biggest scare of my life where my laptop almost died, fortunatelly its alive but this old thing is very unstable and is falling a apart. which is very bad cuz my family depends on my comms income so im raising my prices a little and I have unlimited slots open so please DM me!!!

another way that you can support me is by getting me a coffee or monthly subscribing to my ko-fi

we're in a bad spot so I would be glad if yall help me by sharing this even if you don't plan on getting a spot I would appreciate it!!

(and i swear i have some new art cooking up I just been a little busy and also kinda depressed haha anyways thank youuu love u guys!! 💕)

[itsdancingquen]

my comms are still open and I have new spots open btw 💕

[djrockinrobin]

JOEL STOFFER AS WAYNE MUNSON.

Stranger Things,  04.05  —  “The Nina Project”

[kwistowee]

🔥🥵🔥 JOSEPH QUINN as JOHNNY STORM / HUMAN TORCH THE FANTASTIC FOUR: FIRST STEPS (2025)

[foundtherightwords]

Where the Sea Meets the Sky - Chapter 5

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Shalla-Bal, pirate/historical/fantasy AU

Summary: When his young nephew Franklin is kidnapped by the fearsome pirate king Galactus, Lieutenant Jonathan "Johnny" Storm of the British Royal Navy sees a chance to prove himself by capturing Galactus's scout, the enigmatic Shalla Bal. As Johnny and his family - his sister, Lady Susan Storm, Susan's husband, Commodore Reed Richards, and their friend, Captain Benjamin Grimm - chase after Galactus's ship toward the South Seas, the uneasy alliance between Johnny and Shalla ignites into something more, while forces beyond even their supernatural abilities loom ever larger, threatening to drown them all.

Chapter warning: some violence

Chapter word count: 6k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 5

Johnny stifled a yawn as he struggled to control the sheet in a larboard tack. Since leaving Nassau Harbor, the boat had been able to do, by his estimation, no more than five knots, and although the sun had risen a long time ago, bathing them first in a soft, pink light, and then in harsh, bright heat, they hadn't made much progress. He could row against the wind, he supposed, but as they were going to windward, he had had to keep one hand on the tiller and another on the sheet to keep the boat on course, and that left him no spare hand for the oar. It was not a difficult journey to Tortuga, but there were plenty of hidden atolls and sandbars on the way that might, if not damage the boat, then at least strand them for a long time, so Johnny decided that staying on course was more important than speed.  

Near the bow, Shalla-Bal sat wrapped in her cloak, impervious to the heat. She had been observing him throughout the night, and even now, every time he turned his head, he would see those strange, pale eyes fixed on him, wary, watchful, if not downright hostile, mixed with a hint of contempt, as though she was measuring him and found him wanting.

Under those eyes, Johnny became painfully aware of how lubberly he was handling the sails and the tiller, and how slow the boat was going. At this rate, Lord Evans would have time to repair the fleet and catch them before they could reach Tortuga. Why, oh why had he not listened more attentively when Ben tried to teach him about sailing? For all his love of the sea, Johnny had never been much of a sailor himself, and he had grown so used to relying on the Excelsior's propulsion that he found even a simple periagua like this difficult to maneuver. It didn't help that he hadn't had much sleep in the last two days, and the stupefying heat was luring him into Morpheus's gentle arms. His eyelids seemed to be getting heavier and heavier by the minute.

Johnny let go of the sheet and the tiller briefly, so he could lean over the side and scoop up some water to wash his face, hoping the coolness would wake him up. The moment he did, the wind threatened to blow them sideways, and he scrambled to regain his hold.

"I can help, you know," said Shalla-Bal. Those were the first words she'd uttered since she told him her name the night before. A strange name. No doubt some sort of moniker, like Galactus. "I can help with tacking," she said, pointing to the sheet, "so you can focus on steering."

How did a woman, and one so fragile at that, come to be a pirate captain sailing under such a fearsome leader as Galactus? Johnny asked himself that for the thousandth time. "And where did you learn to sail?" he said out loud, hoping for some clue to solve the enigma that was Shalla-Bal.

"You think a woman can't sail?" she retorted, lifting her chin. "You think a woman has no place on a ship—or a periagua?"

"That is not what I meant."

"I can sail as well as you." Her eyes flicked to the sheet as it trembled in his hand. "Or perhaps even better."

"No doubt," Johnny said dryly. "But I can handle this." He'd be damned if he let anyone—man or woman—mock his seamanship. "I need you to row," he added. "Some added speed would be a great help."

Obligingly, Shalla-Bal picked up the oar, turned around so her back was to him, and started rowing. For all her delicate stature, she was strong, and under her firm hand, the boat gained a steadier course. It was hard work, though, rowing against the wind, and it wasn't long before Shalla-Bal let out a strained cry, and the oar almost dropped out of her hand into the water. She barely managed to save it in time, while clutching at her shoulder with her other hand.

"What is it?" Johnny asked.

"My wound, courtesy of your friend the Governor." The hood of her cloak fell back, and her white-blonde hair blew free like spun silver around her pale face, turning it even paler.

"Let me take a look."

She went over to the stern and lifted her cloak just enough for him to glimpse a row of ragged cuts, like the claw marks of some animal, on her shoulder. Johnny cursed under his breath. He knew she'd been injured in the interrupted keelhauling, but he hadn't realized how bad it was. The guards at the fort hadn't even bandaged the wound, and the rowing must have torn the cuts open, so they were bleeding again, fresh, bright red drops mixed with the dried blood caked to the torn fabric of her gown.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have asked you to row."

"I offered," she replied with a shrug, and winced.

The wind had calmed by now, so Johnny let go of the tiller and sheeted the main sail home. He then took off his neckcloth—it was clean and would make a serviceable bandage—and asked Shalla-Bal to uncover her shoulder, so that he could bind the wound. Carefully holding the neckline of her gown with one hand to keep it from gaping and exposing her chest, she drew the injured arm out of her sleeve, grimacing as she did so. The gesture revealed a pendant dangling on a cord around her neck, a piece of blue glass worn smooth by the sand and the waves. Johnny occasionally saw similar ones buried on Nassau Beach, washed ashore from some wrecks. He had never thought much of them—it certainly hadn't occurred to him that anyone would wear them as jewelry—but now, looking at Shalla-Bal's pendant, he had to admit it was rather pretty.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, reaching for the pendant without thinking.

She shrank back, closing her fingers around the pendant protectively. "Don't touch it!" she snarled. "Don't you dare take it from me!"

"I'm not trying to take it," Johnny said quickly, raising a reconciliatory hand. "Pardon my question, I didn't mean to be intrusive."

Still watching him like a cornered animal, she tucked the pendant back into her gown. He thought she would refuse to let him go near her after that, but she sat still while he wound his neckcloth over her shoulder twice, taking care not to let his hand linger over her bare skin. A hiss escaped her as he tied off the makeshift bandage under her arm.

"It isn't too tight, is it?" he asked anxiously.

She shook her head, mouth pressed into a hard line, and shrugged her gown and the cloak back on. This would not do. The bandage might stop the bleeding, but they must reach Tortuga and find her some proper care before infection set in.

Johnny looked at the sails flapping feebly in the wind and the oar lying useless on the bottom of the boat, and made up his mind.

"Hold on to something," he told Shalla-Bal.

"What are you doing?" she asked with some alarm, as he got to his feet.

"Giving the boat some propulsion."

"Some—what?"

The periagua might not have the fancy boilers and paddle wheels of the Excelsior, but it had Johnny. He took on his fiery form and went to the stern, where he put his hands on the frame and started pushing, careful not to let his flames scorch the wood. The little boat shot forward, throwing Shalla-Bal back and pulling a muffled cry of shock out of her. Chuckling, Johnny flew on, hovering parallel to the water and pushing the boat ahead of him. He had thought of doing this the night before, but the fear that his fire could be clearly seen in the dark had held him back. Now, in bright sunshine, there were fewer chances of being detected. Though he couldn't fly at his full speed due to the weight of the boat, he could keep it fairly skimming over the waves like a dolphin, while the sandbars of the Exumas passed by on the starboard side. In just about an hour, they had covered a distance of over a hundred sea miles.

Shalla-Bal held on to the mainmast with her uninjured arm, her hair and the cloak whipped wildly about her. Her mouth moved, but the wind was blowing in Johnny's ears and drowned out her voice. He slowed just enough for the wind to die down a touch. "Did you say something?"

"When you promised I would go free if I help to save your nephew," she said, "did you mean free from the Navy, or free from Galactus as well?"

Was there a particular reason she was eager to be free from Galactus? Galactus must not be the most pleasant captain to sail under, and if she was willing to help save Franklin from him, then perhaps she owed him no fealty.

"I meant you would be free to do whatever you choose," Johnny replied carefully. "Free from the Navy, certainly. And free from Galactus as well, if you so choose." He didn't tell her that he had no idea how to defeat Galactus yet. But he'd promised her, and he intended to keep that promise, no matter the cost. "Do you choose?"

Shalla-Bal seemed to realize she had said too much and closed her mouth without answering him.

They flew on in silence for a while, only stopping for a quick meal of hardtacks and salted beef. The beef should have been boiled to remove the salt, but they only had two meager barrels of fresh water, which must be saved for drinking, so Johnny roasted the beef in his hand instead. How horrified Ben would have been if he'd seen it! The thought made Johnny laugh quietly to himself. Whenever they set out on the Excelsior, Ben never let anyone but himself into the galley, regardless of how busy he was with his other duties, and always made sure the officers and the crew had good food for the entire voyage. Johnny was not so fussy himself. He didn't care what he was eating, as long as it was edible and gave him strength. Shalla-Bal wrinkled her nose at the charred beef, but she ate her portion without complaining.

The beef, hardtacks, and water were courtesy of the Marvel, or rather, the late Marvel, for Johnny had convinced Wingfoot to let him commandeer the vessel and sacrifice it for the fire ship. He had convinced Wingfoot's men to tie themselves up as well, to make it look like he'd taken their ship by force, so they wouldn't get into trouble with Lord Evans and the Admiralty, and he'd promised them a frigate in exchange for the Marvel—that is to say, if he survived the fight against Galactus. Yet another promise he didn't know how to keep.

Johnny flew until the sun dipped low on the horizon, and they had a glimpse of the shipwrecking reefs of the Great Inagua Island on the starboard side. The wind was backing now, putting them on a broad reach, so there was no more need for extra propulsion. Johnny returned to his seat by the stern, doused his flames, and trimmed the sails, setting the periagua on a course for Tortuga.

Shalla-Bal was sleeping. Whether it was because her wound no longer bothered her and she had a full stomach, or because she was lulled by the smooth glide of the boat, or because of mere exhaustion, Johnny didn't know, but for the first time since they set out, she let her guard down. Lying there, curled up under the cloak in the middle of the boat, she looked not much older than Miss Evans. It was her eyes that aged her, Johnny decided, those strange, pale eyes, always staring, scowling, judging. Now, with her eyes veiled by long lashes that shone gold under the setting sun, her face looked gentler, less like the angry nereid he'd pulled out of the water and more like an ordinary young woman, thrown into a journey against her will. 

Her sleep wasn't peaceful, though. A frown line remained carved into the skin above her nose, and she twitched and squirmed, as if struggling against some invisible bond. Then the slowing of the boat woke her. She sat up, blinking in confusion.

"Why aren't you flying?" she asked.

"We're almost there," Johnny replied. "I thought it would be better to arrive under the cover of darkness."

Shalla-Bal glanced at the dark coast of Tortuga looming ahead of them, with only a few specks of light here and there. "That's wise, I suppose."

She seemed to be in a genial mood, so Johnny ventured to ask, "Don't you think it's high time you tell me where Galactus is? If I'm to acquire a ship and a crew, I'd like to know where I'm taking them."

A look of hesitation crossed her face. "His hideout is in the South Seas," she replied. "That is all you shall get for now."

"I could have told you that!" Johnny scoffed. "Everybody knows Galactus fled there after we destroyed his flotilla."

"Yes, but you don't know where he is exactly, do you?" Shalla-Bal said evenly. "Once we round Cape Horn, I can point you in the right direction."

Johnny tightened his grip on the tiller, trying to hide the tremble of his hand. All those names—Cape Horn, Strait of Magellan, Drake Passage—were bringing back old horrors, those that he hadn't thought of or felt in four years. Although the incident with the Fantastic had not left Johnny as overly cautious as it had Reed, he couldn't stop anxious knots from forming in his stomach at the memory of that fateful day.

Did Shalla-Bal know this? Was she deliberately trying to stir up those horrors, to trick him or frighten him away? The thought brought Lord Evans' warnings back to Johnny's mind.

"But how do I know that you're telling the truth?" he said.

Shalla-Bal shrugged. "You don't," she said, grimacing slightly as she fixed the bandage around her wound. "You simply have to trust me."

Johnny looked straight into her eyes, shining like shards of ice from an ancient glacier, and found that, strangely enough, he did indeed trust her. Perhaps not with his life, but he trusted her not to cross him or stab him in the back. He nodded. "It is as you said. We are stuck together."

By the time they landed in a quiet cove north of Tortuga, it was full dark. Johnny had chosen Tortuga instead of the more prosperous and populated Port Royal because he didn't want to be recognized—he was now as much a fugitive as Shalla-Bal was, and Tortuga, being a pirate haven, would be more willing to turn a blind eye.

"You know Tortuga well?" Shalla-Bal asked, as Johnny tied off the boat and helped her onto the sand.

"Quite well. We have been here on several occasions in pursuit of Mole Man, back when he was still running his fence business from these shores."

"Aren't you worried you might run into one of your former foes here?"

"Very few of them have seen me in my no-flame form," he said with a shrug. "Those who have, like Namor and Barracuda, aren't known to frequent even Hispaniola, let alone Tortuga."

Shalla-Bal gave him a critical look from head to toe, making him squirm. "Still, better safe than sorry," she said.

Before Johnny could ask what she meant, she was walking down the beach, toward the hulking shape of a ship in the distance, her strides purposeful. Johnny followed, keeping close to her heels. As they approached the ship, he could make out several tents set up around it, from which came the raucous sound of merrymaking. The ship itself was lying nearly on its side, lanterns swinging from the ropes anchoring it to the grove of coconut trees overlooking the beach. The ship must have been stopped here for a careening before returning home, and those were the pleasure tents that always sprang up around such a ship, whose crew was not given long enough shore leave to visit the brothels further inland.

This crew was currently so drunk that none of them paid any attention to Shalla-Bal and Johnny. Dodging between the coconut trees, Shalla-Bal approached the largest tent, from which most of the laughter and shouts and moans of ecstasy, the men's real, the women's mostly pretended, were coming.

"Wait here," she whispered to Johnny, and disappeared into the tent.

There was a brief moment of panic, then Johnny reminded himself that the beach was wide open, and unless she sprouted wings and flew away, there was nowhere Shalla-Bal could have gone. Either way, his fear was quickly assuaged when she came back a few minutes later with an armful of clothes.

"Here." She tossed a black silk shirt, a leather jerkin, and a wide-brimmed hat at him. "Change your linen shirt and jacket for these."

"What's wrong with the clothes I'm wearing?" Johnny asked, affronted.

"You might as well wear a sign that says Royal Navy on it," she said.

Johnny couldn't argue with that. He accepted the shirt and jerkin, and they retreated to the periagua to get dressed. For some reason unknown even to himself, Johnny felt rather shy at the thought of undressing in front of Shalla-Bal, even though she certainly wasn't the first woman to have seen him in such a state. For her part, Shalla-Bal displayed no shyness. She quickly and matter-of-factly stripped down to her shift and threw on a gown of dark blue damask trimmed with silver lace. When it came to the lacing, though, her hands were clumsy.

"Damn and blast these things!" she muttered under her breath, before beckoning to Johnny. "Can you help?"

Johnny stared at the woman in front of him. The gathering dusk had softened the hard glint of her eyes, and they were darkened by the blue of her gown to a clear azure. The ruffles around the neckline helped to hide the bandage on her shoulder, and she had pinned her hair back under a veil of silver lace, which rounded out the sharp angles of her face, and, when it caught the starlight, shrouded her in a soft, shimmering glow. If it hadn't been for the half-laced bodice, she would've looked quite presentable. No, not just presentable. She would've looked beautiful. She was beautiful.

Shalla-Bal cleared her throat, and Johnny remembered himself. Beautiful or no, she was the enemy... or at least someone he should keep at arm's length. He would do well to keep that in mind. Was this an attempt to seduce him? The gown had lacings down the front, and no hooks on the back—no doubt its original owner needed to get in and out of it with ease and speed—so there was no reason she couldn't manage it on her own, even injured as she was. But as he examined Shalla-Bal's face, he found no hint of seduction. She wasn't even looking at him. She was scowling at the lacings, tugging at them, and making a mess of them.

"Stop, before you tangle them up tighter than a double fisherman's knot," he said, prying her fingers from the lacings and unraveling them so he could sort them into their correct positions.

Though he had rather more experience with undressing women than dressing them, he tried his best. To tighten the bodice, he had to pull her close, close enough for him to feel the heat emanating from her skin and smell the salty scent on her hair. It reminded him of taking a dip in the sea at midday, drifting lazily on the warm current, not having a care in the world...

"Thank you," Shalla-Bal said as he knotted the laces into a bow. "I can never get used to these."

There was a touch of warmth in her voice that he'd never heard before. For a confused moment, Johnny stood looking at her, not knowing what to say. Then he realized he was staring at the low-cut neckline of her gown—or rather, what that neckline was showing. Christ, what a fool he was! One minute, he was reminding himself to be wary of her, and the next, he was gawping at her chest like some jack on his first shore leave in months. Spinning around to put his back against her, he fumbled to take off his own shirt and jacket and don the black silk. As he finished putting the jerkin on and turned around, he caught Shalla-Bal gazing at him, her eyes inscrutable.

"What?" he asked.

Without answering, she came straight at him with her arms outstretched.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking a step back.

"Loosening you up a little." She pulled at the strings tying the front of the shirt together until it gaped open, showing a good three inches of Johnny's bare chest underneath.

"For someone who has trouble tying up laces, you certainly seem handy at undoing them," he quipped.

Usually, such a line from him would earn him at least a deep blush, a fluttering of eyelashes, and a giggle. Here, all he got was a silent, withering glare from Shalla-Bal. To hide his embarrassment, Johnny turned his attention to his dirk—it was more decorative than functional, but the pirates of Tortuga did not know that—and strapped it to his belt, while Shalla-Bal looked him over with a satisfied nod. "There," she said. "Now you may pass for a pirate."

"And what would my pirate name be?" Johnny asked.

Shalla-Bal thought for a moment. "How about Black Jack, the Terror of Madagascar?" she said, indicating his black shirt.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Black Jack?" he repeated. "And why Madagascar?"

"The further our origin is, the less suspicion we raise."    

Johnny had to admit there was sense in that. "Do you think we should mention Galactus?" he asked. "Perhaps if we say we're trying to join him, it would win us some favor."

"You know the town," Shalla-Bal replied. "You do the talking."

After stowing their old clothes in the periagua, they walked into town. The borrowed garments made Johnny feel more conspicuous than ever, like a child at a masquerade. The hat rested heavily on his head, the jerkin felt hot and sticky, and he kept tugging at the open shirt until Shalla-Bal told him sharply to stop fidgeting. "You're a pirate, for Neptune's sake," she hissed. "Act accordingly!"

Flustered, Johnny tried to remember how Namor or Barracuda or even Galactus had walked and imitate their movements, though he couldn't say how successful he was.

He needn't have worried. They saw no one on their way from the beach into town. Johnny remembered Tortuga as a wild place, full of energy, excitement, and chaos, where people were either spending their latest prize or looking for the next big score, where anarchy reigned supreme, unlike Nassau or Port Royal, where there was at least the semblance of government. In the few times he had been here, the dock had crowded with ships and boats bringing in booty and supplies, the streets teeming with men drinking, gambling, and whoring away their hard-earned prizes, and women too gladly helping them with all three.

There was none of that hustle and bustle now. The main street was all but deserted. The few people they saw were slinking away in the shadows, not talking to anyone, not even looking at anyone. The whole town was quiet, most of the businesses closed for the night, but it wasn't a restful quietness. It felt strangely familiar to Johnny, and then he realized—after the attack, Nassau, too, had been enveloped in the same quietness, the quietness that came from fear and exhaustion, like that of an animal being chased into the ground. Something had happened here. Had Tortuga been visited by the same strange wave, or was it something else?

Eventually, they came upon a tavern that still opened for business, though the noises coming out of it were decidedly more subdued than those from the pleasure tents on the beach. The moment Johnny and Shalla-Bal stepped through the door into the torch-lit, smoky interior of the tavern, all eyes turned toward them. Johnny cursed inwardly. In a crowded place, they might have escaped attention, but there was no chance of it here. At least the patrons didn't seem hostile... yet.

"What'll it be?" said the barkeep, a large black man with an eye patch, who was standing behind the counter polishing a pewter tankard with a filthy rag.

"Ale, please," Johnny said, putting a coin on the counter. "And information."

The barkeep poured the ale, which looked, smelled, and tasted like piss, and went back to polishing. "Ain't seen you round here before," he said, eyeing Johnny and Shalla-Bal suspiciously. "What sort of information?" 

"I'm called Black Jack, and this here is—Mistress Sally," Johnny said, aware that the patrons around them were watching and listening closely. "We've just lately arrived from Madagascar, and are looking for a ship and crew to join us on a worthwhile venture—"

The barkeep let out a bark of a laugh, cutting Johnny off. "A shippin' crew? Here?" He shook his head. "Might as well build the ship and crew it yourself. There ain't no crew here."

"Why?" Shalla-Bal said. "Where have they gone?"

"Inland, logging. Since New Providence fell under English rule again, no one wants to be a pirate no more. Too risky."

Johnny cursed again. When he decided to stop in Tortuga, he hadn't considered how their effort to eliminate piracy might have affected the place. 

"What we offer is not without risk," he said carefully. "But the reward could be immense."

"What's the offer then?"

"A chance to rebuild an empire for the Brethren of the Coast, far away from English and Spanish rule."

At the name of the old pirate consortium, several of the patrons turned their full attention on the two newcomers with glints of interest in their eyes.

"To rebuild the Brethren, eh?" the barkeep said with a sneer. "And why would anyone follow a pup such as yourself?"

"They wouldn't be following me," Johnny replied with much more confidence than he had. "They would be sailing with the most powerful buccaneer there is—Galan of Taa. Galactus himself."

The name fell on the silence of the tavern like a cannonball. Those who had been eyeing Johnny and Shalla-Bal with mild curiosity or interest were now staring at them in full, open hostility. Some were even on their feet, as if preparing to pounce upon the two strangers at the slightest hint of provocation.

"Galactus?" the barkeep spat. "What'd you know about Galactus?"

"Only that he's back and intends to make his stand against the Four of the Fantastic," Johnny replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "We're to join him in the South Seas and—"

The barkeep threw down his rag and the tankard he was polishing. He seized the front of Johnny's shirt with an arm like a log and pulled Johnny across the counter, scattering ale everywhere.

"How'd you know where to join him?" the barkeep growled, the stench of his breath enveloping Johnny like a miasma. "You sail with him?"

"No" was all Johnny could squeak out, for he was being held in such a tight grip that it was hard to draw a breath, let alone speak. What was going on? He had counted on finding Galactus's supporters amongst these pirates, but apparently, he had been mistaken. But then again, strategizing had never been Johnny's strong suit. Sue was the strategist of the family.

Behind him, Shalla-Bal said quickly, "We only heard of his recent attack on Nassau and wish to find him and join him, that is all."

The barkeep tightened his grip on Johnny's shirt. "Anyone who sails with Galactus or wants to sail with him is no friend of Tortuga," the barkeep said. "We'd lost five ships to him. Five of our best. Sent to Brazil to recruit men and gather supplies for a war against Nassau. Ain't never returned. Five frigates and sloops. Nearly a hundred guns. Over two hundred souls. Gone."

So that was the eerie emptiness of the town accounted for.

"How did you know it was Galactus, if they didn't return?" Shalla-Bal asked.

The barkeep pointed. "Sancho there lived to tell the tale," he said, his face grim.

Following the barkeep's pointing hand, Johnny saw what he'd thought was a pile of rags, but turned out to be a man, sitting hunched over in the darkest corner of the tavern, his face covered by a filthy, dilapidated hat, shivering and muttering to himself. Johnny shook free of the barkeep's grip and walked over.

"What happened?" he asked the man, Sancho. "What did Galactus do to you? Where did he go?"

"He only knows Portuguese," said the barkeep.

"Let me try," said Shalla-Bal. Leaning toward the other man, she said quietly, "What do you remember?"

She still spoke English, but there must be something in her voice that moved the hapless Sancho, for he looked out from under the hat with one beady eye, like that of a frightened animal, and started speaking rapidly in Portuguese. Like all who had been brought up aboard Royal Navy ships as young midshipmen, Johnny knew his Latin, Greek, and French, but Portuguese was not part of a classical education. The years in the Bahamas had taught him a smattering of Spanish, and he could pick out a few words here and there amongst the man's ramble—something about eating, or consuming, or even destruction, something about a vortex or a maelstrom, and "God save me", over and over again. But he didn't need to know Portuguese to understand the fear in the other man's voice.

"Can you understand him?" he asked Shalla-Bal. "What is he saying?"

She turned around to look at him. "His mind is gone," she said, shaking her head.

"There ain't a person here who ain't lost something in that trip," the barkeep continued. "Either they lost a share in the ships, or they lost a brother. Or a son." His voice dropped, and Johnny wondered if the barkeep was talking about himself. "You ain't gonna find anyone willing to join Galactus here," he concluded.

"But we can pay!" Desperate, Johnny pulled out his purse.

The barkeep shook his head. "There ain't enough money in the world," he said. "Since you're strangers here and ignorant of our losses, I'm gonna let you leave, quiet like."

Shalla-Bal tugged at Johnny's shirt. "Perhaps we'd better go," she whispered.

"But—"

"Listen to your wench," the barkeep said. "Go. And don't ever think of finding Galactus again."

Johnny was too upset to even notice that the barkeep had called Shalla-Bal his. They beat a quick retreat from the tavern, with the barkeep and the patrons' eyes burning holes into their backs.

"Did you know anything about those lost ships?" Johnny asked, once they were far enough. "Did Galactus take them to attack Nassau?"

"Does that matter?" Shalla-Bal replied, a touch impatiently. "Where are we going to find a ship now?"

Johnny looked down the main street toward the dock. It was empty, save for a pitiful fishing vessel. The only ship they had seen was the one being careened on the beach, and even if they managed to steal it, there would be no crew to sail it. No. Their best chance would be to go further south, to Port Royal or even Venezuela. Perhaps he would be able to find a ship there.

He turned to tell Shalla-Bal so, but she was no longer by his side. For a second, he thought she had deserted him. And then he saw her—being dragged toward the entrance of an alley just off the main street. It was so dark that he couldn't see her assailant, just the glint of a knife at her throat. He moved toward her, only to find the cold tip of another knife at his back, cutting through the thin silk of his shirt.

"Give us yer purse, lad," said a hoarse voice in his ear, breathing stale rum across his cheek, "or the whore dies."

"She's not a whore," Johnny said.

There was a sharp sting as the knife pressed a little harder into his back. "Shut yer trap and give us the purse!" the voice grunted.

Johnny looked at Shalla-Bal. The other man was also pressing his knife so closely against her neck that she had to hold herself completely still, for fear of getting nicked, and there was nothing in her eyes or her expression that told him what to do. So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

"This purse?" he said, holding it up. As the man behind him reached out a hand to take it, Johnny set the purse on fire.

The fire didn't burn, of course. Johnny had mastered the art of creating fire without burning himself or his clothes, just as Reed could stretch without tearing his clothes to pieces, just as Sue could turn everything she touched invisible. The robbers didn't know that. The one trying to take the purse let out a yelp and dropped it. Johnny snatched the purse back and, with the fire still burning in his hand, ran to Shalla-Bal.

"He's the Human Torch!" the robber shouted to his accomplice. "Get him!"

The one holding Shalla-Bal tossed her aside and went straight at Johnny, knife held aloft. Johnny threw a fireball at him and wrapped an arm around Shalla-Bal's waist.

"Hold fast," he told her, and took to the air.

They landed at the beach a moment later. Men were streaming out from the town, chasing after them, shouting about the Fourand their thirst for revenge. It seemed the citizens of Tortuga were too afraid of Galactus to go after him, but they were all too happy to chase down a member of the Four.

"What are you doing?" Shalla-Bal screamed, as he dropped her on the sand. "They're right behind us!"

"I can't fly forever!" Johnny said, running to the periagua. Someone had rifled through it, but there was no time to check if anything else was missing. At least the sails and ropes were intact. He untied it and pulled it into the water.

Another shout went up from the direction of the careened ship, and more men came out of the tents, running toward them. "There! Those thieves stole our clothes!"

"Hell's fire," Johnny cursed.

Two more fireballs, and two coconut trees fell, bringing with them the ropes holding the ship to the tree line. More ropes snapped, and there was a great groan and panicked shrieks as the ship fell over, rocking the sand under their feet. Seizing the moment, Johnny took flight and started pushing the periagua in front of him again, so abruptly that Shalla-Bal lost her balance and fell in a heap in the middle of the boat. By the time she looked up from under Johnny's discarded shirt, they were already off, away from Tortuga, leaving a fiery path like the tail of a comet in their wake.

[foundtherightwords]

Where the Sea Meets the Sky - Chapter 4

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Shalla-Bal, pirate/historical/fantasy AU

Summary: When his young nephew Franklin is kidnapped by the fearsome pirate king Galactus, Lieutenant Jonathan "Johnny" Storm of the British Royal Navy sees a chance to prove himself by capturing Galactus's scout, the enigmatic Shalla Bal. As Johnny and his family - his sister, Lady Susan Storm, Susan's husband, Commodore Reed Richards, and their friend, Captain Benjamin Grimm - chase after Galactus's ship toward the South Seas, the uneasy alliance between Johnny and Shalla ignites into something more, while forces beyond even their supernatural abilities loom ever larger, threatening to drown them all.

Chapter warning: some violence

Chapter word count: 5.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 4

"It's likely that she's lying," Lord Evans said the next morning, when the Four visited him in his mansion to ask for permission to take the Excelsior out. "She either doesn't know where Galactus is, or she will give you false directions to lead you into a trap. Regardless, I cannot grant you permission to leave. You are to depart for England with the rest of the fleet, as planned."

Johnny glared at the Governor. While the people of Nassau were breaking their backs cleaning the town, repairing damages, tending to the wounded, and burying their dead, the Governor was sitting here, comfortable in his banyan robe, enjoying his morning chocolate. The previous night's attack had not touched him other than interrupting his sleep with the noise of cannons and clanking swords, and his house, being on the tallest hill in town, had escaped the wave unscathed. Yet here they were, having to ask his permission despite knowing much better what had happened and what needed to be done.

"With all due respect, my lord," Reed said, "our son is missing, possibly kidnapped. We cannot leave until he is found, and that woman is our best hope of finding him."

"Please, be assured that I shall do everything in my power to find your child. As a father myself, I greatly sympathize with your concern," the Governor said, putting a hand to his heart.

Concern! Johnny scoffed. Lord Evans made it sound as though they had mislaid some trinket.

Sue leaned across the table, and for a moment, Johnny thought his sister was going to throw Lord Evans' chocolate in his face. "If you think we're going to leave our son's fate to anyone else—" she began, but the Governor held up a hand to stop her.

"Do not vex yourself, Lady Susan," he said. "You shall have your say in the matter, quite soon."

While the Four exchanged puzzled looks, the Governor scribbled a note and had a valet deliver it to the captain of his flagship. This done, he resumed his breakfast and had his butler bring extra chocolate for the Four, ever the attentive host. Glancing at his sister, Johnny noticed a slight wavering of the air around the fists held clenched in her lap, which suggested that Sue was putting all her will into stopping herself from throttling the Governor. Johnny could well understand her anger. He was feeling like throttling the Governor himself.

The valet came back about a quarter of an hour later. "They are ready for you, m'lord," he informed Lord Evans.

"Excellent," the Governor said. "Bring me my coat, Thomas. Lady Susan, gentlemen, if you would join me at the dock."

Still puzzled, they followed him out. In the hall, they ran into Dorothea coming downstairs, looking fresh as a daisy in a pretty morning frock. It was clear that she had no idea of the events of the previous night.

"Lieutenant Storm!" she exclaimed upon seeing Johnny. "I didn't realize you called. Did I hear we're going to the dock? What—" She took in their grim expression, and her voice trailed off uncertainly. The day before, Johnny had found her naïveté charming. Now he found it as irritating as her father's officiousness.

Thankfully, he was saved from answering when Lord Evans told his daughter sternly, "This is no social outing, Dorothea. Stay home."

Ignoring Dorothea's pouts, he took the Four in his carriage down to the dock, where they boarded a launch and were ferried to the Governor's flagship. The captain, the crew, and a small detachment of Royal Marines were already there waiting, along with—

The imprisoned captain of the Silver Syren. She was still clad in her loose, grimy gown, though the manacles on her hands and feet had been replaced by ropes. She glared at the Four as they climbed aboard. What was Lord Evans planning with her?

"I am the Governor of Nassau," Lord Evans said imperiously to the prisoner. "I understand that you told the Four that you have information pertaining to the whereabouts of young Master Franklin Richards."

"Yes," the woman replied. "And as I also told them, if they want to find their son, put me on a ship, and I shall show them the way. I'm saying nothing else."

"That is your final answer?" the Governor asked.

The woman nodded, her eyes like two blades of steel. The Governor turned to his captain. "Go ahead," he said.

The captain gave a signal to his crew. At this, the woman was hauled into the air. The bindings at her hands and feet were connected to two lines, one slipped over a yardarm to keep her arms above her head, dangling her from the mast like it was a gibbet, the other holding her legs, both forming a loop that disappeared over the gunwales, like a pulley that wrapped around the ship.

That was when Johnny understood.

Keelhauling. They were going to drag her under the ship's keel, letting the sharp barnacles and wood splinters there cut her skin into shreds. Do it enough times, and the victim would either bleed to death, or the blood would attract sharks, which would come to finish off the victim. Johnny had never witnessed a keelhauling, but he had seen the aftermath of it, when they saved a merchant vessel from Captain Barracuda. Barracuda's men had keelhauled the merchantman's purser to force him to divulge where the valuables were hidden. By the time the Four found the ship, the purser was beyond help.

And now Lord Evans and his men were going to do it to this woman.

"Where is Galactus?" Lord Evans asked.

She said nothing.

"Where is he taking Commodore Richards' son?"

She said nothing, only stared back at them with those steely eyes.

With a sigh, Lord Evans nodded at the captain. "Now!" the captain shouted.

The men holding the rope heaved, and the prisoner was pulled overboard with a rough splash.

Without stopping to think, Johnny blasted a fireball at the rope, burning it through.

"Wait—!" Ben shouted, though Johnny didn't know if it was to him or to the men. He didn't bother finding out. He jumped into the water, where he found the woman thrashing under the ship with her hands and feet still bound. The keel had scraped her shoulder before he cut the line, and red bloomed in the water around her wound. Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny could see dark shapes darting toward them, drawn by the smell of blood. He grabbed her waist and pulled her to the surface, where they were met by Reed's outstretched arm, reaching over the railing to help them up.

"Lieutenant Storm!" Lord Evans said indignantly the moment they dropped down on the deck. "I'll thank you not to interfere with my questioning of the prisoner."

"You were going to torture her!" Johnny said.

"It's the only thing that works on these pirates," the Governor said inexorably.

Johnny stood in front of the prisoner, as if by doing so, he could shield her from the Governor. "And if she dies, the key to saving Franklin dies with her."   

Sue stepped up. "Enough of this!" she said, and they all fell silent, like little boys being scolded by their mother.

The air around Sue's hand shimmered, and once more, the prisoner was lifted into the air, this time by the invisible force emanating from Sue.

"I can snap every bone in your body," Sue said to the woman. "I can reach through your chest and stop your heart." Johnny stared at his sister, aghast. He had never seen her so angry or so deadly. Even Reed and Ben looked taken aback, and the hardened sailors and Marines turned positively green at her threats. But Sue paid no attention to them. Fixing her eyes on the Silver Syren captain with a hard glare matching that of the other woman, she continued, "Tell me where my son is, or I shall make you suffer."

The other woman only looked back at Sue without a flicker of fear. "Make me suffer, and you shall never see your son again."

Sue flexed her hand. Johnny couldn't tell what she was doing, but from the way the other woman strained and gasped, it was not gently done.

"Sue, no!" he exclaimed, pushing his sister's hand away. "If we do this, it makes us no better than Galactus and his ilk."

Reed was next to him, also trying to pull Sue back. "We're going to find him, Sue," he said softly. "But not like this, my love."

Reed's voice seemed to wake Sue from a trance, and she looked between them and the prisoner, her eyes widening as though she was only realizing what she had done, or was about to do. She dropped the force field. The other woman crumpled on the deck, and Sue clenched her shaky hands into fists.

A moment later, she looked over at the Governor, still pale but more composed.  

"My apologies, Lord Evans," she said. "I didn't mean to undermine your authority. Now that Nassau is under England's protection again, we must do things the civilized way."

"What do you have in mind, Lady Susan?" the Governor asked.

"Allow us to take the prisoner to London, where she shall stand trial for her crimes," Sue said. "The threat of the noose may loosen her tongue. Meantime, we trust your men to carry out the search for our son."

Why would Sue give up so easily? Johnny glanced at Reed and Ben and saw the same question in their eyes. The Governor, however, did not know Sue and found nothing suspicious in her capitulation.

"Very well, my lady," he said, inclining his head. Then he straightened up, and a cold glint came into his eyes. "In that case, I would like you to escort my daughter back home to her mother as well."

Sue opened her mouth and then closed it again. Johnny could almost see the workings of her mind, whirling and turning like the wheels of the Excelsior, as she tried to remain impassive.

"Miss Evans?" she said. "But she only recently arrived."

"I made a mistake bringing her here, I can see that now," the Governor said. "This is no place for a lady." He looked straight at Sue, making it clear that the jab behind his words was intentional. "I should warn you. If you four and the prisoner do not arrive in London at the expected time, I shall have no choice but to brand you traitors and have you hunted down. Do not, for one second, believe that your superpowers exempt you from the King's laws."

"I wouldn't dream of it," replied Sue with a tight smile.

They returned to shore, and Johnny personally saw to it that the prisoner was put safely back into her cell under the fort. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize to her for her treatment, to assure her that they were not all barbarians, but a glance from those strange, pale eyes, and he clamped his mouth shut.

He kept his mouth shut in front of Sue as well, despite still being shocked and frightened by her display of callousness. Although he had never been a parent, he knew how anxious she must be. It was natural that she would unleash it upon the only person she could. He shared those feelings, even if his were only a fraction of Sue's. 

"We're not really taking her back to England, are we?" he asked once they were in their own drawing room. He kept his voice low, even though there was no chance of being overheard in Baxter House.

"No," Sue said. "As soon as we clear the harbor, we'll throw the Excelsior into full steam and lose the rest of the fleet. They can't catch us."

Kidnapping the prisoner from under the Royal Navy's nose? Reed shook his head slowly. "No, they can't. But it's a big risk, Sue. You heard the Governor."

"It's a risk we must take," Sue insisted.

"What of Miss Evans?" Johnny asked. The girl would not take kindly to her father using her as collateral, and it would not be a pleasant voyage for them with her aboard. Still, as irritating as the girl was, Johnny didn't wish her harm.

"We can deal with her easily enough," Sue said.

"You can't be thinking of dragging her with us to face Galactus?" Reed said, alarmed.

"I'm not thinking anything," Sue said grimly. "There are plenty of islets around the Caribbean. We can simply... drop her off. The fleet will not be far behind. She will soon be found."

"And the crew?" Ben chimed in. Even though the Excelsior could be managed by a skeleton crew, or just the four of them if needs be, it would look suspicious if they set out with no crew at all.

A hint of doubt crept into Sue's expression, which was quickly wiped away by a shake of her head. "The crew is loyal to us," she said. "Anyone who feels otherwise can join the maroons."

"Is that wise?" Ben asked. "We're going to need the fleet's support." As the others turned to him, Ben explained, "If Galactus had indeed taken Franklin, then it is not for ransom. If it were money or ships he's after, he would've sent his demand by now. And if he wanted to, uh, harm the boy"—here Ben cast an anxious glance at Sue and Reed, and Johnny knew Ben meant something much more permanent—"he would have done the deed already." Sue shivered at the thought. Ben concluded, "That leaves only one option."

"He wants us to follow him," Reed said. "He's holding Franklin hostage to lure us to him. Perhaps this woman, this prisoner, has let herself be captured on purpose for that very aim."

Ben nodded. "Which is why we're going to need support from the Governor's fleet, or even the entire Navy, if we can get it. We're sailing into a trap."

"No, no." Sue's golden hair had come loose from the knot on the back of her head, but she didn't seem to care or notice. "Lord Evans would not risk his fleet for Franklin. England would not risk her Navy for one boy, not with Spain on the horizon. If we are to save him, we must do it ourselves."

Now they were at an impasse. To stay with the fleet or strike out on their own? Both Reed and Sue turned to Johnny, waiting for him to cast the deciding vote.

"Sue's right," Johnny said slowly. "Lord Evans is a politician. He has no regard for anything else save his own power and ambitions."

That decided it. Ben got to his feet. "Well, I guess I'd better see to stocking up the ship's store," he said, putting his coat and hat back on to make his way to the warehouses. "Herbie, stay," he added when the dog tried to follow him. Herbie always knew when they were preparing for a voyage. The moment Ben brought out his charts, the little terrier would start running around, full of excitement, waiting for the moment he could follow them aboard and chase the ship's rats to his heart's content. Yet even the dog seemed to sense the subdued mood in the room, for at Ben's admonition, he quickly lay back down and put his nose between his paws, instead of clamoring to follow Ben to the warehouses as usual.

Reed sighed, knowing he had been overruled. "I'll chart the course," he said, only to remember that they wouldn't know the course until the prisoner told them where to go. "Can we even trust this woman to tell us the truth?" he asked no one in particular.

"If your theory is correct," Sue said, "and she is sent here to lead us to Galactus, then I suppose we have no choice but to believe her."

"What if we go to where Galactus is and Franklin isn't there?" said Reed.

"Galactus will lead us to Franklin, one way or another," Sue replied, and went off to make her own preparations.

That left Johnny with Herbie in the drawing room. Johnny's eyes fell on the palm fronds outside the window, drooped and broken, a grim reminder of the rogue wave that had taken Franklin. He could not remember another voyage that had started in so somber a fashion, and with so much uncertainty. For all his support of Sue's plan, Johnny didn't fully agree with her. And though he was often frustrated at Reed's insistence on doing what was correct rather than what was right, he had to admit Reed had a point. Sue's plan was too big a risk, depending on too many things that were out of their control, involving too many people. The Governor's threat was still ringing in Johnny's ears. I shall have no choice but to brand you traitors and have you hunted down... That meant any crew members who followed them on this voyage into the unknown would be deemed traitors as well, not to mention the harm they would bring to Dorothea, and Johnny couldn't have that on his conscience. He couldn't drag so many innocent people into it. He couldn't drag Sue, Reed, and Ben into it, for that matter.

After they had first gained their powers, there had been a fair number of skeptics who claimed they were the Devil's disciples, accused them of witchcraft, and demanded that they be burned at the stake. The uproar had died out once they started using their powers for good, but Johnny still remembered those times too clearly. He knew how quickly society's affection and opinion could turn. What would people say when they found out the Four had turned their backs upon their country, leaving them to the threat of the Spanish, to save their own child? He couldn't force his family through something like that again.

This whole trouble, the kidnapping of Franklin, had been Johnny's fault.

"And I'm going to fix it," he said to Herbie. And then he, too, went out, leaving the little dog to whimper sadly by himself in the empty room.

***

Shalla-Bal shivered in the damp, cold air of the cell. She didn't know how long she had been in here. Since she had been hauled out of it that morning and thrown back in shortly after, she had tried to keep track of time, but it was an exercise in futility, for there was nothing here to mark the passage of the day—the prison was so deep underground that no sunlight nor moonlight could penetrate its labyrinthine corridors. The only noises she heard were from the workmen above, as they shouted to each other and dragged stone and timber across the courtyard to repair the holes left by her guns, and the quiet bodily sounds of the guards outside her door.

At some point around midday, or perhaps later, the grill in the door was opened, and a wooden bowl with some sort of pottage or stew and a piece of bread in it, along with a jug of water, was pushed through. Shalla had accepted the food and water gladly and forced them down, even though the pottage was burned and the bread was stale, knowing she needed to keep up her strength. The wound on her shoulder had stopped bleeding, but it was still smarting. Who knew what they were going to do to her next? It seemed the Four of the Fantastic were willing to let her rot here. She had counted on these people's concern for their child, hoping they would take her up on her offer for the child's sake, but perhaps she had overestimated them.

The child... That was a nasty surprise. When Galactus gave her the task of blowing up Fort Nassau, he'd only said it was for revenge. He had made no mention of a child or a kidnapping, but Shalla saw now that it had been his true intention all along. Her master often talked of finding an heir, someone to inherit his cursed throne. Could it be that he saw the Richards boy as his successor? What could be a more exquisite revenge than to make the son of your mortal enemies your heir? And as Shalla knew from personal experience, Galactus was not beneath using children to torment their parents. Her fingers closed around the sea glass pendant at her throat again. Elmar, Elmar... Why must children always pay for their parents' sins?

A commotion from above made Shalla drop the pendant.

"Fire!!!" someone shouted.

This was followed by footsteps, above her and in the corridor outside. She went to the door and put her face to the grill. Through it, she caught an acrid whiff of smoke, different from the greasy stench of the tallow-dipped torches on the wall, and saw the guards running toward the stairs. Did they mean to leave her here to die? The walls of the cell were made of stone, so it was unlikely to go up in flames, but she could very well suffocate on the smoke.

A head, covered by a black cowl, popped up behind the grill, making Shalla step back in surprise. A hand reached up to sweep the cowl back, revealing the Human Torch under it.

"Stay clear of the door," he said.

"Why?" The word was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She'd be damned if she let another man order her about.

The man shrugged. "Suit yourself." There was a sizzling sound, and the door hinges started turning red, scorching the frame. Redder, redder they went, until they turned white and melted with such intense heat that Shalla could feel it all the way from her corner of the cell. A moment later, the door was lifted off and cast aside. The Human Torch held out a dark cloak, not unlike the one he was wearing, and said, "Come, we don't have much time." 

Shalla had been expecting some form of prison break, but now, facing it, her natural distrust rose again. Where were the rest of his family? Perhaps they were getting their ship ready to pick her up, and they had decided to send their youngest member to spring her out of prison because he was the least threatening. They weren't wrong. Certainly, Shalla would not want to face his sister again.

"If you think I'm going anywhere with the man who captured me, then you're a bigger fool than I thought," she said.

"I didn't capture you so you can be tortured," the Human Torch said indignantly. "And if you recall, I saved you from a painful keelhauling just this morning."

"Only for your sister to threaten me." Shalla didn't blame the woman, though. If she'd had in her grasp someone who had helped to harm Elmar, she wouldn't have hesitated to do the same. 

He let out an impatient huff. "We can stand here debating all night, but if you wish to stay until the guards put out the fire and come back..."

 "Very well." Shalla snatched the cloak from him and threw it over her threadbare gown.

"Wait." He pointed to the broken chain still stuck around her torso. "Why are you wearing that? You're going to give us away, rattling away like a locksmith like that."

She shrugged. "I can't take it off. It's welded closed."

"Stand still." Carefully pulling the chain away from her waist, he heated it in his palm until the silver links melted and the whole thing broke apart. He threw the chain to the ground. "Come."

Shalla stared at the remnants of the chain, the reminder of her enslavement. Then, without another word, she followed him out of the cell.

The Human Torch led her down a different set of tunnels from the one the guards had taken. They followed these tunnels for a long time, with only the flames in his hand held aloft to illuminate their way. These flames were vastly superior to torches or lanterns, for they released no smoke, and when a padlocked gate barred the path, he simply turned the flames white-hot and melted down the lock, just as he'd done with the door hinges of her cell. A neat trick, that. Even Shalla had to admit it, though she had seen more than her fair share of how wondrous and terrible the world could be.

They walked in silence, for which she was also thankful. Eventually, after so many twists and turns that Shalla lost count, the path started to slope upward, and the tunnel led to a natural opening in the hill on which the fort had been built, hidden behind a large boulder. The opening was so narrow that the Human Torch had to turn sideways to slip through it, before turning back and extending a hand to help Shalla. She ignored his hand and nimbly stepped through the gap into a warm, starlit night.

They were standing on a hillside, looking down at the town, where its people were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion, the empty beach, and Nassau Harbor beyond, where ships on watch were bobbing in the water more thickly than usual. That was her doing, Shalla realized. Hers and Galactus's.

"Where is your ship?" she asked the Human Torch.

"Down there," he said vaguely, not looking at her.

"How do you suggest we get past those patrols?"

He turned to her then, a mischievous grin lighting up his boyish face for a moment. "Wait and see," he said, nodding at the harbor below.

Shalla peered into the darkness, but the starlight was faint, and she couldn't make out what it was he wanted her to see. Just as she was turning to the Human Torch in exasperation, he took her hand and pointed. "There," he said.

Ignoring the fact that his face was mere inches from hers, she looked again. Now she saw it—a ship was moving into the harbor, toward the fleet of sentries. It moved rather listlessly, like it was simply drifting on the waves. On its deck were strange, crouching dark shapes.

"What are those?" she asked, squinting.

"Guns," said the Human Torch, almost gleefully. "Double-loaded with two cannonballs each and all the powder they can hold."

She stared at him. "What are you planning?"

He grinned again. "Wait and see," he repeated. Flames engulfed his entire body then, and he jumped into the air. Almost too fast for her eyes to follow, he flew down to the harbor. Shalla saw a fiery streak through the darkness and gave up the notion of running away from him. In water, she might hope to match his speed, but on land, with these clumsy legs, she would have no chance. Just as he'd done to the Silver Syren, he threw a fireball at the drifting ship and was back by her side in a flash. 

The strange ship didn't explode, though—not right away. Instead, flames shot up all along its deck and riggings, turning the whole ship into a candelabra. And it was headed straight for the fleet at the mouth of the harbor.

"What have you done?" Shalla asked in horror. 

"Only a bit of tar and pitch," said the Human Torch. "And don't worry, there's no one on board. I rigged the helm."

On the patrol ships, the men were shouting at each other to move out of the way. "Fireship!" they screamed. "Fireship!" But it was too late. The fireship, stuck on its course, collided with the first line of the fleet, and its guns discharged with deafening booms that could be heard all the way at the fort. Some of the further ships swung about with the wind to their backs, fleeing toward the open sea, but those at the mouth of the harbor were abandoned to their fate by their crews. The candelabra turned into a conflagration as the fireship claimed several victims.

No wonder they called him the Human Torch.

"Now is our chance," he said to Shalla.

Without waiting for an answer, he seized the edge of her cloak and raced down the hill, toward the east entrance of the harbor, pulling her with him. Fumbling, Shalla pulled up the hood of her cloak to hide her pale hair and followed him to the dock. Cries and shouts of alarm went up all around them, from townspeople who were roused from their sleep and no doubt thought they were under attack again. Window shutters were tossed open, and some people even ran into the street in their nightgowns. In the chaos, no one paid them any mind.  

"Here, get in!"

He untied a small boat at the dock and all but shoved Shalla into it. Spurred on by the urgency in his voice, she climbed in without looking. He unfurled the sails and pushed the boat from the dock with an oar, and they were off, heading south, while the fleet crackled and collapsed into fiery wreckage behind them. 

Only when they were far enough from the fire did Shalla realize they were utterly alone. She had assumed the other three were waiting in the safety of the bay to pick them up, but there was no sign of another ship. On their port side, Nassau Harbor continued to burn, and ahead of them, there was nothing but the dark sea, dotted with the reflections of stars.  

"Where are the others?" she asked. The Human Torch suddenly became very interested in a patch in the sail and refused to answer her, or indeed even look at her. A horrible suspicion dawned in her mind. "Oh Neptune," she breathed out. "They're not coming, are they?"

"No," he admitted. "Look, my sister's plan to take you to England to stand trial, it's not going to work. The fleet would be on us like a hawk. This way, we would draw a lot less attention. And if anything goes wrong, I'm the only one taking the fall. Not that anything will go wrong," he added quickly. "If you help me save my nephew, I promise that you shall go free."

Free. Did he mean free from the noose, or free from Galactus as well? For all he knew, she had willingly sailed in consort with Galactus and was now eager to return to her life of piracy. She noted that he'd said "help me save my nephew", rather than "help me defeat Galactus." Perhaps he was not as foolish a fop as she'd thought, after all. Perhaps he very well knew that he stood no chance against Galactus and was only trying to save his nephew. And besides, it mattered not to her what he did, as long as he brought her to her daughter. For a brief, guilty moment, Shalla realized she might be condemning another child for the sake of her own, but she closed her fingers around her sea glass pendant again and steeled her heart.

Turning her eyes away from him, she looked at the boat more carefully. It was flat-bottomed, with two masts and a stern-mounted rudder, sleek and fast, the type preferred by pirates for stealthy raids. It would never hold up in a face-to-face battle against the Taa II, but in such a battle, perhaps brute strength would not matter as much as speed and secrecy. The only question was, would it survive a trip to the South Seas?

"You plan to save your nephew... in a canoe?" she said.

"It's a periagua, to be precise," he said, as proper as a scholar. "And no, I plan to get to Tortuga, where we can get a bigger, better ship, and a crew to sail it. This is just to get us out of Nassau."

Shalla raised her brows. "How are you going to pay for this ship and crew in Tortuga? Have you any money?"

"Of course," he said. "I'm not a complete imbecile." He took a small purse out of his jacket and jiggled so she could hear the clinking of coins inside, before tucking it back into his pocket.

"Unless that purse was filled with pure gold or gems, it's not nearly enough," Shalla scoffed. She had been around pirates long enough to have a good idea of their prices. "Have you anything else? Any leads for prizes they can score? Maps to hidden treasures?"

His face fell. "... No."

"Then what are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "There are always men who are desperate enough."

"Desperate men don't make for a very loyal crew," she said skeptically.

"I don't need them to be loyal. I just need them to bring me to Galactus."

As do I, thought Shalla. Outwardly, she sighed. "It looks like I'm stuck with you then, Human Torch," she said.

"You can call me by my name, you know."

"And that is—?"

He doffed his hood with a flourish. "Lieutenant Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm of the British Royal Navy, at your service," he said, bowing to her as best he could while still keeping his hand on the tiller to steer the boat.

Shalla refused to be impressed. "That's quite a mouthful," she said dryly. "Pray that you never go overboard, or you may drown before your rescuers know who you are."

"My friends and family call me Johnny."

"Seeing as I'm neither, I shall stick to Storm." Not the most auspicious name for a companion on a sea voyage, but Shalla had never paid much attention to the old suspicions of sailors.

"And what do I call you?" he asked.

Shalla hesitated. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to be so familiar with her. Seeing this, Storm extended a hand toward her. "Oh, come. I have saved your life twice. Surely that entitles me to your name."

Eventually, she relented. "My name is Shalla-Bal."

He frowned slightly at the strange-sounding name. "But what do I call you?" he asked. "Shalla? Mistress Bal? Lady Bal?"

Only her family called her Shalla, and she had not heard that in a long time. 'Mistress' or 'Lady' sounded pretentious, like she was reaching above her station. "Call me Shalla-Bal," she said.

"... Shalla-Bal it is."

He stretched out his hand again, and this time, Shalla understood that he wanted her to take it. Hesitantly, afraid of getting burned by the flames she'd seen shooting out from that palm, she put her own hand in it. His hand was warm, his grip strong and firm without crushing her fingers. A dependable hand. Well, she hoped the man was as dependable as his hand, for she had to depend on him now.

Chapter 5

The inspiration for both the keelhauling and the fireship I took from "Black Sails", though the fireship was something the real Charles Vane did do when he was trapped by Governor Woodes Rogers' ships in Nassau.

[kwistowee]

#sleepy boi A QUIET PLACE: DAY ONE (2024)

[foundtherightwords]

More from the Shea Stadium set!

Uh, Joe... what are you doing?!

[kwistowee]

JOHN THORNTON | NORTH AND SOUTH

For my lil’ sis @naliewoes

[foundtherightwords]

Joe, Harris, Paul, and Barry filming the Shea Stadium concert!

[foundtherightwords]

Where the Sea Meets the Sky - Chapter 3

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Shalla-Bal, pirate/historical/fantasy AU

Summary: When his young nephew Franklin is kidnapped by the fearsome pirate king Galactus, Lieutenant Jonathan "Johnny" Storm of the British Royal Navy sees a chance to prove himself by capturing Galactus's scout, the enigmatic Shalla Bal. As Johnny and his family - his sister, Lady Susan Storm, Susan's husband, Commodore Reed Richards, and their friend, Captain Benjamin Grimm - chase after Galactus's ship toward the South Seas, the uneasy alliance between Johnny and Shalla ignites into something more, while forces beyond even their supernatural abilities loom ever larger, threatening to drown them all.

Chapter warning: description of drowning

Chapter word count: 3.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 3

Shalla-Bal was drowning.

The sea, which had been her home for as long as she could remember, was now becoming her grave. Saltwater poured into her mouth, her nose, her ears, stinging her eyes, burning her lungs. Stupidly, she kept trying to draw a breath, but a massive weight was pressing down on her whole torso, as if someone was sitting on her, preventing her from expanding her chest, and either way, there was no air to be had, only more water, and now the weight was spreading to her limbs, and she couldn't move, and the weight kept increasing and increasing and it hurt, it hurt so much, not even childbirth hurt this much, and—

Her limbs shuddered in one last desperate spasm, and she opened her eyes.

She wasn't fully underwater. But she really had been drowning. She'd been lying face-down on a piece of planking, breathing in water. It was the plank pressing into her chest that gave the impression of someone sitting on her. That spasm had woken her, jolted her up, and pushed some air into her lungs. For a moment, Shalla could only remain on the plank, taking in great gulps of sweet, heavenly air between spluttering coughs that turned her throat raw, and thanking Neptune and Thetis and all the Nereids that she wasn't dead.

Once her head had stopped swimming and her heart stopped hammering, she sat up carefully and took stock of her situation. The plank was one of many that bobbed around the smoldering wreckage of the Silver Syren, and hers was one of many bodies floating in the black water. She was the only one moving, though.

Shalla looked at the dead pirates surrounding her, a tinge of guilt darkening her relief at being alive. She didn't know these men and had no love for them. Spurred by the superstition of all sailors that a woman aboard a ship was bad luck, they had been directly hostile to her when Galactus put them under her command. Some had even tried to kill her and flee with the ship, although they had been aware that they would never escape alive, had been well aware of it since the moment they were captured by Galactus. Yet she couldn't help feeling responsible for their demises, doubly so—as Galactus's scout, she had brought Galactus to them, and as their captain, she had led them to their deaths.

Shalla turned her head, and the larboard side of her face stung, from her temple down to her cheek. The blast must have scorched her. The sting reminded her that she wasn't quite responsible for the loss of the crew. She hadn't blown them up. It was the man made of flames, the one she'd heard the crew call the Human Torch. He was the truly guilty one. He and his family, for whom Galactus had derived this plan of revenge. If they had defeated Galactus like they were supposed to, none of this would have happened. She must remember that, so as not to wallow in this pointless guilt.

Was Galactus's plan a success? Shalla peered into the darkness, toward the fort that no doubt lay in ruins, but she couldn't make out anything except for a thin line of smoke curling toward the black velvet sky. Though she didn't dare move from the water, even from her spot out here in the bay, she could tell that Nassau was quiet, not the peaceful quietness of a town in repose, nor the deadly quietness of a town annihilated, but something in between—the exhausted quietness of a town that had been through Hell, somehow survived, and was trying to catch a moment of rest before picking up the pieces. So perhaps the attack had not been as successful after all. Either way, it was of no import to her. She had done her part, and she should be away now, before somebody decided to search the wreckage for survivors.

As if summoned by her thought, a voice drifted across the night toward her.

"There, Commander!" it said clearly, as if the speaker were right in her ear. "I see her now!"

The dim shape of a ship, its canvas pale in the darkness like a fleet of ghosts, appeared around the lee of the headland in front of her. The Royal Navy! By "her", did the speaker mean the wreckage of the poor Silver Syren, or Shalla herself? Could they even see her in this darkness? She clasped a self-conscious hand to her silver-blonde hair, afraid it would catch the starlight and shine like a beacon. Best not to take any chances.

Taking a deep breath, Shalla dove beneath the waves, down, down, down, the sea now welcoming again, like the warm embrace of a mother, shielding her from the scene of death and destruction on the surface. Underwater, it was still dark, but she could see shadows of the wreckage and the dead bodies, silhouetted against the faint, diffused starlight above. She stayed there and watched until the Royal Navy ship—a sloop, by the length of her keel—had gone around the wreckage twice. Once satisfied that there was no movement in the water, the ship headed for the island, no doubt to look for any souls who might have taken shelter there. They would find none, Shalla was quite certain of it. No one could have survived that blast, and even if some had, they wouldn't be able to tell the Navy anything. Galactus never left behind any loose ends.  

The thought reminded her of her own loose end. Remaining underwater, Shalla swam away from the wreckage, making her way toward Nassau. Her master loathed being away from his hideout, but the chain he'd wrapped around her torso would bring her back to his ship, the Taa II. Shalla had stopped wondering how long that chain could extend. It could probably circle the globe, if need be. It had certainly stretched halfway around the world, across an entire ocean, to bring her to Nassau. Now she only had to let it pull her back to Galactus. At least it would save her some swimming.

And once she came back to the Taa II... what then? Would she return to her life of servitude, which was no life at all, scouting for ships and islands for Galactus to take, leading more men to their watery graves, trying to tune out their cries for mercy, praying that one day, one day, Galactus would be sated at last? Such a day might never come. No matter how many ships and men he took, Galactus only kept demanding more, more, more. He would never be sated.

What choice did she have? He still held her daughter.

At the thought of little Elmar, the anxiety Shalla had been feeling after the attack was replaced by a different pain, a longing that was like a void deep inside her heart, so large it was almost as fathomless as Galactus's hunger. Oh, my darling Elmar, how long had it been since I last saw you, since I last held you in my arms? Five or six moons? Too long, too long. Have you grown much? Are you happy, lonely, or frightened? Do you miss me? She put a hand to her chest, reaching for the piece of sea glass she wore on a cord around her neck, the glass as blue as the Caribbean sky, as blue as Elmar's eyes. Elmar had been so proud when she found that sea glass, and she had given it to Shalla. Lucky, Mama, she'd said. Now Shalla pressed the glass to her chest until it turned warm in her palm, as if by doing so, she could fill the void in her heart. Perhaps... if the attack on Nassau had been a success, Galactus would be in a generous mood, and she could convince him to let her stay with Elmar for a while.

But to do that, she needed to return to his ship first. Shalla reached for her chain, tugging at it slightly to test its strength.

That was when she saw the end of the chain dangling off her waist. It must have been severed in the blast, and now all that was left was the bit circling her torso. There was nothing tethering her to Galactus. Peering into the murky water of Nassau Bay, she searched in vain for the other end of the chain. She saw nothing but the faint glow of the bay's sandy bottom, with broken bits of ships scattered here and there and corals moving gently in the current like graceful little ghosts. No sign of a silver chain, as thin as a beam of moonlight, and just as indestructible. To make certain, she even swam back to the site of the wreck and dove all the way to the bottom, thinking what was left of the chain might be there. Nothing. The chain had vanished.

Could it be that the chain was not destroyed but cut by Galactus? Could it be Galactus's punishment, leaving her stranded because she had failed? Galactus always had the uncanny ability of knowing what went on around him at all times, so perhaps he had learned of the explosion of the Silver Syren and either believed her to be dead, or decided to leave her for dead.

Could it be that she was free from him?

No, she would never be truly free, as long as Galactus still held Elmar.

A sudden fear gripped Shalla's heart, spreading cold through her limbs despite the warm water surrounding her. Galactus would never have left his valuable scout behind, unless—unless he already had a replacement in mind. And who better to replace her than her own daughter?

No, she couldn't let that happen to Elmar. It was one thing for her to serve Galactus; she couldn't condemn her daughter to such a fate. She must return to Galactus before he chained Elmar to him, just as he had chained Shalla.

The grip on her chest tightened, but it took her a moment to realize it wasn't fear this time. She had simply been underwater for too long. Her lungs, strong as they were, now demanded air. With a flick and a turn of her limbs, she moved up, heading for the starlit surface.

In her search for the chain, she hadn't noticed where she was. It was only after she emerged from the water that Shalla saw she was just outside of Nassau Harbor. Silhouettes of deserted ships rose in front of her like a line of sentries, bobbing tiredly on the water, most of them damaged after the attack. Well, with luck, people would be too busy tending to those damages to notice a woman in the—

BOOM!

Water exploded by her ear.

Shalla ducked, tucking her head between her shoulders. It happened so fast that she couldn't see where the explosion was coming from or indeed take a deep breath. Not before long, she had to surface again, and again, boom, boom, boom, like cannonballs, except they didn't sink into the water—rather, the water bubbled and seethed wherever they hit. Not cannonballs, fireballs! How hot must they be, if they could boil seawater like that?

No time to think. Ducking down once more, Shalla swam. The fireballs followed her, raining down on her shoulders and her back, scorching her skin, even singeing the hair of her head. There was nowhere for her to go, she couldn't dive deep enough, not without a good reserve of air in her lungs, and the attacker was relentless, never giving her half a moment to draw a breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she could glimpse a fiery shape streaking across the night sky like a comet, flames shooting out of it. He again! The Human Torch! Damn him! May Neptune's wrath find him! Wasn't it enough that he had destroyed her ship and killed her men? Did he have to hound her into the sea as well? 

She swam for the Harbor, intending to hide amongst the vessels there, hoping that fiery fiend would think twice before risking further damage to the ships.

The next fireball hit the bow of the ship right in front of her, immediately dispelling that notion.

Shalla spun around. Behind her, the ships she had thought were deserted were coming to life, moving close together, cutting off her escape into the bay. Belatedly, she realized she had been driven, like fish being driven toward a net. The bright firelight against the dark sky blinded her, her chest felt fit to bust, and the only thought in her mind was that she must get away, must get back to Elmar—

Another fireball blasted away at the ship next to her. A piece of debris flew out and struck Shalla on the side of her head. It didn't knock her out, but stars burst before her eyes, and she was left stunned and paralyzed for a moment.

That moment was all her enemy needed. Shalla found herself hauled out of the water by two fiery hands under her arms. Her head was ringing and her vision was blurry, rendering her helpless to fight back. She was deposited unceremoniously on the deck of a ship, where men, naval men or Marines, she couldn't tell, surrounded her. Out of reflex rather than conscious will, she lunged at them, but before she could move, manacles were clapped to her wrists and ankles. The weight of the iron was too much for her already weakened limbs to bear, and she slumped over, out of breath.

"That her?" said a voice. "Are you sure, Lieutenant?"

"Quite sure," replied another, the Human Torch's, no doubt. "I saw her. She sailed in consort with Galactus. Now, let us bring her to the fort, Commander. She should be able to tell us more about this attack."

So these savages meant to interrogate her and do Neptune knew what else to her. She'd die before she surrendered to them.

Shalla sat up straighter and looked at her captors. In the yellow light of the ship's lamps, her tired eyes couldn't see them very well—she could only make out, in a semi-circle of sailors, the two officers, one tall, thin, and dark, and the other fair, of medium height, with broad shoulders. Glancing at the fair-haired one, she realized it wasn't a lamp that was illuminating them, but the flames flickering on this man's hand and forearm, held up like a torch. So, this was the infamous Human Torch then. He was younger than she'd expected, almost boyish, and more amicable-looking. At least, he was the only one returning her gaze with some curiosity, even interest, while the rest of the men were all eyeing her with open hostility. Shalla refused to let his friendly countenance lure her into a false sense of safety. He was her enemy. And supernatural powers or no, he was still human, susceptible to her magic as all humans were.

Opening her mouth, Shalla prepared to unleash her magic on the men. But the sound that came out was rough and hoarse, her throat raw after her near-drowning. She swallowed to try again. Yet even as she did so, a cautious mental voice in the back of her mind sent out a warning, telling her to put a check on the physical voice in her larynx.

There were too many men. At least twenty on this ship alone, and who knew how many more on all those other ships in the Harbor. She couldn't enchant that many men on her own. Besides, even if she could, where would she go? What would she do? Her magic was meant only to mesmerize and distract, not to command. Some of her family had that talent, but Shalla herself had never mastered it. She couldn't even tell them to free her from the manacles. She could jump off the ship, but she would be chained still, and with those heavy irons on her, she'd drown before she could get far. And she needed to go quite far, all the way to the South Seas, to reach Galactus and find her Elmar.

As a launch was made ready to ferry her to shore, Shalla considered her position. She didn't know if Galactus had abandoned her willingly, or if he had been forced to leave her for fear of the Four's pursuit. Somehow, she doubted it was the latter. The truth of the matter was, she was stranded, and she must find Galactus, either to show him that she was still alive and ready to resume her scouting, or to retrieve her daughter from him—whichever was more feasible. And to do either, she would need a ship.

These men wanted to know about Galactus' attack, did they? She would do them one better—she would lead them to Galactus himself.

It seemed Galactus had left a loose end, after all.

***

Johnny stood outside one of the dank little cells beneath Fort Nassau, looking at the woman sitting inside. If he hadn't seen her command the Silver Syren with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed she was a pirate captain. His first impression of her, of that elfin face and small figure, was now confirmed when he looked at her more carefully in the fitful light of the torch. She appeared almost fragile, sitting there hunched up in a corner, in a too-large gown that was still damp after her dip in the bay. The gown was not adorned by a stomacher, stays, panniers, or any of the female fashion accoutrements that Johnny admired but never looked at closely, as he always discarded them as quickly as possible to reach the more admirable form underneath. It hung loose on her small frame, which only heightened her frailty. How had such a delicate woman managed to survive the blast and swim so far away from the wreckage, let alone take command of a sloop with nearly fifty men? Who was she? How had she come to sail under Galactus's black? Johnny had so many questions for her, but even as her physique intrigued him, he was discouraged by her grim silence. Since he brought her to the fort, she had not said a single word, not even to tell him her name, and had only been giving him scrutinizing looks, her eyes darting around too quickly for him to read. Even when he offered her some dry clothes, she had only refused with a shake of her head.

"My apologies for blowing up your ship," now he said, for Johnny was nothing if not courteous, even to his enemies. The woman said nothing. She didn't even look at him. Indeed, she was acting as if he were not there at all. Suddenly, it occurred to him that the woman might not understand him. Pirates came from all places, and she might have a different native tongue. "Do you speak English?" he asked. "¿Hablas inglés? Parlez-vous anglais?" Then, remembering that Galactus came from Greece, Johnny dug into his limited store of schoolroom Greek and was saying, haltingly, "Miláte—" when the woman interrupted him.

"I understand you just fine," she said in a quiet, raspy voice—her first words since capture.

"Oh, good." He brightened up. Perhaps she would be more amenable now. "It was nothing personal, you know, the destruction of your ship. In fact, I am quite sorry for having ruined such a fine specimen of shipbuilding..." She continued to say nothing, and now he was babbling. Why was he babbling? Put him in front of a demure lady like Miss Evans and he could be all suave and charming, yet somehow this sullen, sodden creature had reduced him to a mumbling schoolboy.

Thankfully, he was saved just then by a commotion in the corridor. Sue, Reed, and Ben must have received his message.

"Listen, just tell them what they need to know," Johnny said to the captain of the Silver Syren, "and I'll see to it that you get a fair trial. I promise."

"Why does it matter whether my trial is fair or not?" the woman replied. "It ends with a walk to the gallows nonetheless."

Before Johnny could answer, the others arrived. Sue had not even bothered to change out of her battle clothes. She ran past Johnny and went up to the door of the cell.  

"Where is he?" she asked. "Where has Galactus taken my son?"

The captain of the Silver Syren lifted her head and turned toward Sue. "Your son?" she repeated. There was a flash of surprise in her voice and on her face, gone in an instant.

"The attack was a diversion, wasn't it?" Sue continued. "While your ship and the men distracted us at the fort and the giant wave caused chaos elsewhere, Galactus swept in and took Franklin, undetected. Where is he taking him? What plan does he have for him?"  

Sue's own voice was in danger of cracking, and Reed had to put a hand on her shoulder. "Calm yourself, my love," he said. "We still don't know if Galactus was truly behind this or not—"

"He was behind the attack," said the woman in the cell. "But I know nothing of your son."

"You're lying!" Sue gripped the iron bars of the door as if trying to pull them out.

"I can take you to him," the woman said. "I can take you to Galactus. And you can save your son."

Sue took a step back, eyeing the woman suspiciously. "That simple? What do you wish for in return? Do you wish for a reward?"

"Escaping a dance with the hangman's noose is reward enough," the woman said with a humorless smile.

"Where is Galactus going then?" Reed asked.

The woman shook her head. "I can't tell you."

"I'll bring you my charts then, and you can show us," Ben said.

"You misunderstood me." The Silver Syren captain looked at them through the bars of her prison. In the torchlight, her eyes were pale, made paler by the dark circles around them, so Johnny couldn't say if they were blue or gray. "I'm not telling you anything. The moment I mark a course on your chart is the moment I sign my own death warrant. I'm keeping it all in here." She tapped her temple, where an ugly gash caused by Johnny's fireball was turning purple. "And if you want to find your son, you'll do well to keep me alive."

Chapter 4

Just like in my F4 one-shot, I named Shalla-Bal's daughter "Elmar", after Norrin Radd's mother. I'm keeping to the lore of the comic here - Shalla-Bal had a relationship with Norrin Radd, so it made sense for them to name their daughter after his mother.

The name of Galactus's ship, the Taa II, is also from the comic (Taa being his origin planet).