The Chaplain of the Black Diamond #3
A Pirate Needs a Crew
Read part 2 here, or start at the Prologue
Recruitment
The tavern roof leaked in five places, the fire smoked more than it warmed, and the ale had a faint taste of mildew—but Elias had been in worse places. At least the music was decent.
He sat in a corner booth beneath a rusted cutlass nailed to the beam above his head, hands wrapped around a pewter mug that steamed faintly in the chill. Rain streaked the lead-glass window beside him, distorting the silhouette of the Black Diamond at anchor in the cove beyond.
Rygar dropped into the seat opposite him with a sigh and a shrug.
“No luck?”
“They all saw what happened,” the old sailor muttered, pulling off his sodden hood. “Word’s out. Our lads jumped ship and joined the devil. Even the drunkards don’t want to crew up with you.”
Elias flinched. Not at the insult—it wasn’t meant as one—but at the truth in it.
He took a slow breath. “We don’t need men,” he said. “We need sinners.”
Rygar raised a brow. “We had those already.”
“We had pirates,” Elias said. “Now we need the damned. The ones nobody else will take. The ones who’ve got nowhere left to go.”
Rygar grunted. “So… a recruitment drive in hell, then?”
“No,” Elias said, draining the mug and rising to his feet. “Just the usual taverns.”
The Seven
Jorah the Glutton
They found her in the soot-blackened back kitchen of a wrecked portside inn, cooking for no one. Her ladle doubled as a cudgel. She’d once fed three pirate crews from a single pot, and she never threw away a scrap.
“Food’s love,” she said, gesturing to her bubbling stewpot. “And I’ve been starving for years.”
She signed on before the pot finished boiling.
Calvarr the Greedy
A failed smuggler with more rings than fingers and no ship to his name. Elias found him fleecing sailors at cards in a dockside den, sharp-tongued and slick.
“You offering coin?” Calvarr asked.
“Something better,” Elias said.
The man laughed. “Not likely. But I’ll bite.”
He came aboard for profit. He stayed for something he didn’t have a name for.
Mara the Wrathful
A scar split one brow. Her fists could pound iron flat. She’d been tossed from five crews for turning mutiny into bloodsport. They met her outside a fighting ring, cracking her knuckles and grinning.
“You planning to kill anyone?” she asked.
“Only if we fail,” Elias replied.
That got him a handshake and a place at the table.
Vey the Temptress
Soft-spoken and sharp-eyed, Vey had a voice like candlelight and eyes like spilled ink. Elias found her whispering poetry to the waves, high as a gull on sea-dust and praise.
“I’m good at distractions,” she said. “Very good.”
“You won’t charm your way out of a storm,” Rygar muttered.
Vey only smiled. “No, but I might talk the storm into loving me.”
Timo the Sloth
They dragged him out of a hammock behind a warehouse. Literally.
“Don’t you want purpose?” Rygar asked.
“I want a nap,” Timo replied, yawning.
He was brilliant at navigation, insufferable in conversation, and claimed the stars whispered secrets when he was only half-awake.
He signed on because walking away sounded harder.
Linn the Envious
Tall, sharp, coiled like a spring. She’d served on twenty ships, led on none. Wanted command so badly it showed in her spine.
“Why follow me?” Elias asked.
She shrugged. “I’m not. I’m watching. Waiting. One day, I’ll be better than you.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
And Elias the Proud
He gathered them. Taught them. Failed them, more often than not.
But it wasn’t until much later—too late—that he realized he’d brought his own sin aboard from the start.
Lessons in Salt
The Black Diamond set sail with creaking timbers, patched sails, and a crew that barely looked at each other. Discipline was loose. Tensions ran hot. Vey kissed Mara. Mara punched Vey. Calvarr lied. Timo napped through his shift. Linn nearly challenged Elias in front of everyone.
It didn’t go well.
He called them to the deck at dawn one morning, the sky still bruised with the night’s clouds, and threw a rope coil at their feet.
“Today, you learn to save each other,” Elias said.
“We’re pirates,” Calvarr muttered.
“Not anymore,” Elias said. “You’re something else. Not yet holy—but not damned either.”
They trained in knots. In silence. In rescue drills. They practiced hauling each other from waves, patching sails, cooking on rationed supplies.
And they failed. Every day.
But something shifted in the quiet hours. Mara laughed. Jorah sang. Timo drew constellations on the mast. Rygar muttered that it was a madhouse—but he smiled when no one watched.
The Dream
Some nights, Elias dreamed of his old crew.
Familiar faces, half-lost to memory, grinned from the deck of the Crimson Covenant—sun-browned skin, crooked teeth, voices like home. They laughed and called to him, raising mugs in mock salute.
One tipped a bottle of rum. No liquid spilled.
Another plunged both hands into a heap of gold. His fingers passed through it like smoke.
Their laughter faltered.
Eyes darkened. Smiles withered.
They began to look around, confused. Afraid.
As if waking up inside the lie.
And then he saw them—his parents—kneeling at the helm, chained in salt and shadow. Silent. Hollow-eyed. Their faces drawn with weariness deeper than death. They didn’t speak. Didn’t beg.
They simply stared, as if waiting for him to understand.
The sea burned white all around the ship—flames without fire, heat without warmth.
From those flames, Malphas stepped forward.
Cloaked in black, eyes molten, voice as smooth and cold as deep water.
“You failed them,” the devil said. “You’ll fail the next crew too.”
Elias turned away.
“You don’t have to carry it,” Malphas said, gently now, almost kind. “The guilt. The weight. Come aboard. I’ll give you back your pride.”
Elias didn’t answer.
He woke with a shudder, breath ragged, sweat chilling on his skin. The Black Diamond creaked softly in the dark, rigging humming like a low warning.
He rose and walked to the bow.
Rygar stood there, staring out at the starlit sea. Silent.
“I failed them,” Elias said, voice raw. “The ones before. I wasn’t enough.”
Rygar didn’t turn. Just nodded toward the sleeping deck behind them—where seven misfits sprawled in tangled hammocks and snoring heaps.
“Then be enough for them.”
Interesting choice -- trying to fight the devil with the seven deadly sins.