The hall smelled of old wood, incense, and alcohol that had been poured generously and without regret.
Thick beams crossed the ceiling like ribs. Banners depicting the tiger crest of the Happo Navy hung proudly from the walls. Lanterns burned low, casting warm orange light over the long table at the center of the room.
At that table sat three men who, by all logic, should not have been sharing a drink.
Don Chinjao sat upright, massive arms folded loosely, his restored drill head gleaming faintly in the firelight. Every so often, his hand would rise unconsciously to touch it, as if reassuring himself that it was truly there.
Beside him sat the king of Kano Country, King Renshu, a broad-faced man with a booming laugh and a fondness for wine. His robes were loosened, crown set aside on the table as though it were just another cup.
And opposite them—legs stretched out, boots resting on a carved bench, bandages peeking from beneath his coat—sat Jack Sparrow.
Jack raised his bottle lazily and took a long gulp, wincing just a fraction too late to hide it.
King Renshu slapped the table, laughing. "Hah! You see, Chinjao? I told you! This one—this one has a sharp tongue. That joke alone is worth a year of court entertainment!"
Jack tipped his hat slightly. "I do what I can for the morale of nations."
Chinjao snorted. "You do far more damage than that."
The king wiped a tear of laughter from his eye, then leaned forward, his expression sobering just a little. "Jokes aside, Captain Sparrow… the whole of Kano Country owes you a debt."
Jack blinked. Slowly. "Ah. Then it's a very big debt."
King Renshu smiled. "Ever since Don Chinjao's decline, the effects were… noticeable. Pirates grew bolder. Tribute shipments were intercepted. Our borders felt thinner."
Chinjao's jaw tightened briefly, though his pride did not flare.
"But now," the king continued, lifting his cup, "now that his head has been restored—"
Chinjao straightened unconsciously.
"—let us see which pirate dares test us again."
Jack accepted the praise with a theatrical nod.
"I do enjoy a good restoration project."
Chinjao turned to Jack, eyes serious. "You have my thanks, boy. I have said it many times already, but I will say it again. You returned what defined me."
Jack waved a hand. "All in a day's… work."
Chinjao's lips twitched. "Now I can finally open the treasure."
Jack froze mid-sip.
"…Treasure," he repeated carefully.
Chinjao smiled knowingly.
Jack's eyes gleamed like lanterns. He leaned forward. "If that's the case… I would very much like to see your special drill technique."
The room went quiet for half a second.
Chinjao stared at Jack.
Then he threw his head back and laughed so hard the table shook. "Hah! Very well! I will show you, Sparrow. When the time comes."
Jack took another drink, satisfied.
Chinjao grew serious again. "Because of what you've done—not only capturing our rival Bege, but restoring my drill—the Happo Navy stands in your debt."
Jack blinked again. Slower this time.
"The… entire navy?"
Chinjao nodded. "And by extension, Kano Country."
Jack turned his head, glancing toward King Renshu, searching for hesitation.
The king was grinning. "Yes, Mr. Sparrow. Kano Country stands in debt to you. Call upon us when you need aid. We will answer."
For the briefest moment, something flickered across Jack's face.
Greed.
It vanished as soon as it appeared, replaced by his usual crooked smile. "Well. That's very kind of you. I'll try not to call during dinner hours."
He raised his bottle. "To our alliance."
Chinjao lifted his cup. "To the new era."
King Renshu raised his wine. "To Jack Sparrow."
They drank.
Jack flinched again as the rum burned down his throat, his fingers tightening slightly around the bottle.
The king noticed. "You're still injured, Mr. Sparrow?"
Jack waved it off. "Just a bit of discomfort. Shoulder, maybe."
Chinjao frowned. "That will not do. A swordsman's arm is his lifeline."
King Renshu nodded sagely. "You should go to Drum Island. Their doctors are renowned."
Jack tilted his head. "Rum Island?"
"Drum Island," the king corrected patiently.
Jack smiled. "Shame."
Still, he nodded. "I'll go. Might be wise."
Elsewhere in the hall, chaos reigned in a far more comfortable fashion.
Gibbs, wrapped in bandages like a poorly tied parcel, reclined against a cushion while two beauties fed him grapes.
"Ah," Gibbs sighed, chewing slowly. "This almost makes getting punched worth it."
One of the women laughed. "Almost?"
"Well," Gibbs said, "let's be real. The punch hurt a lot, but you know hurts more, you beauties denying me that grape."
The women giggled and fed Gibbs another grape.
Across the room, Pintel sat stiffly, his leg wrapped and propped up. An old woman glared at him as she shoved a sour grape into his mouth.
He gagged. "Is that even ripe?!"
"Eat," the woman snapped.
Ragetti, encased in a full-body cast, lay nearby like a mummy left out in the sun. "I feel pain everywhere," he groaned. "But worse than pain… it's itching."
Robin knelt beside him. "I can help."
Ragetti's eyes widened in horror. "NO."
Robin tilted her head. "Why not?"
"Some itches," Ragetti said gravely, "are in some sacred places."
Gibbs shot him a glare. Ragetti immediately shut up.
Augur stood near a pillar, calmly eating a carrot, rifle resting against his shoulder. His eyes were distant.
He still couldn't believe they were alive.
Or that they had made allies with a country.
He let out a small chuckle.
Pintel gasped. "Look! He laughed!"
Augur instantly returned to his usual expressionless stare.
Pintel frowned. "I liked the laugh."
Far below, in the depths of the palace courtyard, Capone Bege hung suspended over a pit of steaming water, wrapped in casts and chains.
"SPARROW!" Bege screamed. "I'LL—!"
Enoy winced. "Boss, please. You're too close."
Bege flailed. "I CAN FEEL THE VAPORS!"
Enoy tugged the chain. "Up! Up!"
As Bege rose a few inches, Enoy sighed quietly to himself.
That's karma, he thought.
And for once, he didn't feel bad about it.