Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His shoulders ached.

Actually, everything did. But his shoulders were what ached the most right now.

“Come on Nate. Up…and…AT ‘EM!”

Feeling less like a man approaching middle age and more like he’d been let inside and was now languishing in the lobby of middle age, Nathan Drake hauled himself up the sheer edge of the rockface, knees scraping against its craggy surface, ears pricked up for the sound of gunfire. He prayed nothing had happened to Sam.

Brilliant light shone down through the thick greenery all around, illuminating the damp haze that hung in the air.

The jungle had certainly been no feeble opponent. Nate’s fingers, arms and neck all bore the marks of a hundred tiny nicks and stings inflicted by the plant and insect life of this place. And that was before you even tried to count how many Shoreline bullets had grazed him.

He reached for a handhold–

–Slipped.

Nearly fell.

“Oh crap!”

He hung there by his fingertips for a moment, acutely aware of the plummet beneath, before recovering his grip and continuing upward.

The rest of the climb was just as unpleasant. Every inch of it. Right until – many inches later – he made it to the top.

‘Nearly…there. Just one…more…jump – WOAH!’

Having thrown himself perhaps too eagerly at the promising flat ground above, Nate felt something drop into the pit of his stomach, legs dangling beneath him. He knew exactly how long a way down it was.

He scrabbled for purchase, fingernails digging into the unyielding jungle floor. With a mighty effort, he swung one leg up and forced himself over the top, panting, grateful to have at least put one danger behind him.

There was a rustle in the bushes.

Orphanage bullies never warned before attacking, so if you wanted to survive in there, you learned to watch and listen for all the warnings they didn’t give. It was a hard skill to lose.

Footsteps. A dark shape in the steaming light. The click of a pistol hammer – loaded.

Nate’s eyes flicked up slower than his body did. He was halfway into a forward charge, ready to throw the man to the ground, one hand already on his gun, when-

“Nathan!”

A face, wide-eyed before him. Lean, lined, just slightly reminiscent of another man’s face, a man who’d once abandoned the two of them a lifetime ago, though Nate would never, ever bring this up.

Dark, receding hairline. Birds in flight across his neck.

“Je- sus! I coulda shot you.” Samuel Drake lowered the gun, relief flooding his face. He wiped away sweat from his brow and brushed a hand on a beaten-up blue shirt.

Nate smiled, his entire body relaxing (relatively speaking), gratefully annoyed that he had found his brother alive. It was weird; Sam had a way of slightly annoying you even when you were gladdest to see him. Then again, it was possible no one felt that way so strongly as Nate did.

“Kidding me?” he said. “You’re a slow draw, Sam. Just be glad I didn’t get you first.”

Sam holstered his weapon. “How you holding up, little brother?”

Nate pointed down into the jungle up from which he’d climbed. “Not so great. I ran into more Shoreline goons down there. Had to duck and cover.”

“Lot of them?”

“A lot more than King’s Bay. I think Nadine called in the heavies. And not just for Rafe’s protection anymore, they’re really out for blood this time. We’re being hunted.”

Sam smiled dirtily. “But we've been holding our own against ‘em so far, right?”

“Yeah. So far.” Nate scratched the back of his neck.

“Okay. Soooo…we better get moving before they catch us up then.” His brother began heading off into the trees, pushing thin branches aside with his arm.

“Sam, wait.”

Nate looked at the brother he loved. The brother he thought he’d lost. “Hold on, wait a second.” Sam was half-in, half-out of the greenery.

“Don’t you get the feeling we might be missing something?”

The older Drake’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I don’t like to say it Sam, you know I don’t–”

“And yet it sounds like you are–”

“–But so far, I haven’t seen much evidence of a lost pirate colony. Have you? I mean sure, we made it all the way here; we followed all their clues but…look…how do we know Avery and his crew didn’t just camp out on the island for a month and then move on someplace else? Or, hell, maybe they all went nuts and then turned on each other? What if we’re chasing after a bunch of skeletons laying at the bottom of the ocean?”

Sam stared at him. Nate kept going.

“This isn’t like back in the day when it was just you and me. Rafe’s in this thing now, with Nadine Ross and her whole private army behind him.”

The doubts were mounting with every word. “Sam, the people we’re up against aren’t gonna quit until they’ve all gotten killed too, or until whoever’s left gets their hands on that treasure, if it even exists. Is going down that same road really worth our lives?”

His brother’s reply was slow but steely. “Nathan, if you’re confused about what we’re doing here, then you can go home. By all means. But I will search this island, leaf-by-goddamn-leaf if I have to, ‘cause I’m not walking away without our treasure.”

“Come on…” Nate could feel his heart sinking. “Listen to me!”

“You know what kept me going,” said Sam, “for fifteen whole years in prison? Every night and morning in that pissant cell, lying there picturing the Gunsway haul. Our prize. Tracking it down and staking our claim to it, like we were always meant to do. That’s the only reason I’m still breathing.

“I waited for this. I paid for this. This is not a choice for me, brother; either I’m gonna fulfill the only dream of mine that’s ever meant a thing, or I’m gonna die trying.”

“Stop it!” Nate yelled. ‘Don’t you talk like that! You’re not dying in this stupid jungle, not after I already lost you once. For Pete’s sake, you’re not the only one who had to give up on a dream.”

“Nathan–”

“Don’t ‘Nathan’ me! This isn’t a game Sam, it’s–”

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders. “Shut up,” he hissed, “Someone’s coming.”

The two of them scrambled into the brush and flattened themselves low to the ground. Nate swept aside a horned black beetle to leave space for his elbows; the little animal righted itself and crawled away indignantly.

There were voices approaching from some nearby direction: indistinct but highly animated.

The brothers pressed their chins against the wet earth, taking shallow breaths so as not to give away their presence. It was another legacy of a childhood spent in St. Francis Boys’ Home, although attempts at hiding under those old-timey hospital beds, more often than not, ended in disaster. Nuns were smarter than bullies, after all.

“How many you thinking?” whispered Sam. Nate listened intently. 

“Two,” he said, “only two.”

“What’s the play? We stay outta sight and hope they leave, or–”

“–Shh!’ Nate held a finger to his lips. The voices were close enough that he could make words out.

It sounded like they were arguing.

Chapter Text

“...already told you no.”

“Alright then. How about you only use one hand?”

“Same answer.”

“I can’t open it by myself Lana, this thing’s shut tighter than the minibar.”

“Once again,” said the woman, “that was a safe. Whose repair we now have to pay for.”

“How is that my fault? I mean Jesus, you crowbar a three-inch metal door open, the least you expect is half a bottle of Toaka Gasy, not some Tunisian guy’s passport.”

“Right, right, which – remind me. Why did you bring that with you?”

“Well he’s obviously not going to need it now, is he, idiot? Frankly Mister…hold on–” The man paused, reading the passport details aloud, “–excuse me, Doctor Abdurrahman Khamiri should’ve got rid of this passport years ago. Seriously. If I had a monobrow this bad I’d wear a bucket on my head. Or, y’know, maybe invest in a pair of tweezers – OH!”

Nate and Sam exchanged looks.

“Nadine’s people?” Sam whispered, puzzled.

“Don’t think so,” Nate whispered back.

“Lana!” said the man, “Pass me your pocketknife, quick!”

“Why?”

“It has tweezers and toothpicks and shit so it’s gotta have a corkscrew attachment, right?”

“Archer, the target’s already ashore, up to his neck in firepower and flanked by a cadre of extremely dangerous fellow Shoreliners whose base we still have to find. Would it kill you, for once in your life, to focus on a mission while it’s happening?”

“Uh, would it kill you to stop being so selfish with your knife? This thing won’t uncork itself.”

“That bottle is hundreds of years old and probably full of fermented pirate piss.”

“Right? I bet this stuff could power a lawnmower! And I’m not going to drink it all Lana, just enough to black out the memory of killing a poor defenseless orca – which I’m not super stoked about doing by the way – and which I will be totally unable to do if I don’t get this goddamned bottle open, so for the last time would you kindly GIVE ME THE–”

“Wait wait wait, hold it. Do you think…?’ The woman gave an extremely long and exhaustedly patient sigh. “Do you think we came all the way here, to an island off the coast of Madagascar, to kill an actual orca?”

“No, I think we came all the way to an island off the coast of Madagascar to ruthlessly murder an innocent and noble creature. They’re endangered, Lana. Their breeding population is barely in the tens of thousands. Believe me, I tried to talk Mother out of taking this one but–”

“The target’s name is Orca, Archer. We are here to assassinate a rogue war criminal currently running with the Shoreline PMC, whose last name is Orca. You complete ass.”

“Oh.”

“Yup.”

“So…pocketknife? Please?”

“Archer-”

“He asked, NICELY?"

“Archer, shut up.”

Deliberate footsteps came closer to the foliage among which the Drakes were hidden, betraying a lethal assertiveness that could have passed for calm (if you’d never been on the other end of it). All the while, Sam’s hand reached silently for the gun at his hip. Beads of sweat rolled down Nate’s face. He didn’t move at all.

A black boot flattened the leaves next to his head…

…and before he’d had time to get up, Nate found that the boot had kicked him over and was now pinning him to the ground by his chest, while a much higher-caliber weapon than his own was aimed squarely between his eyes. Sam had managed to draw his gun but the woman called Lana had been even quicker, and the TEC-9 in her other hand (she was double-wielding) was pointed at his head.

“Don’t move,” said Lana, sounding like she’d caught two kids rummaging in the cookie jar. Nate squinted up at the woman with the sun blazing behind her.

She was tall – a near match for his own height – smoothly muscled, and her dark hair was tied behind her head in a high ponytail. She wore a black combat vest and fatigues and looked about as worried by the sight of Nate under her boot as if he were a slug.

“Hey,” she called to the man behind her who was tugging on the cork of the bottle between his knees. “Anytime today would be nice.”

Nate squirmed, trying to free himself. Lana blinked, apparently amused, before pressing down harder, driving the wind out of his lungs. It hurt. A lot.

“Your base,” Lana said, “Where is it?”

“Eat shit, lady,” Sam growled.

“Gee, how’d you ever get hired? Archer! Come on, seriously!”

She shook her head. “Let’s try again. I would like to know where Shoreline’s base of operations is on the island, and I figure unless you want me to water this jungle dirt with your brains, you’d better tell me.”

“Oh you can go right ahead,” said Sam, “cause we’re not telling you a damn thing. We’re not with Shoreline.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?”

“We’re not,” Nate gasped. He couldn’t breathe. His vision was clouding.

“They’re not,” said the one called Archer, followed by a loud SMASH. It sounded exactly like a three century-old glass bottle being hurled against a tree.

He walked up beside her; a blue-eyed, stupidly chiseled man in peak condition, similarly decked out for jungle warfare, all of which was somewhat offset by his nonplussed expression. “Shoreliners all wear the same dumb uniform. These two don’t. Look at them, they’re like…the world’s shittiest pirate hostages.”

He swirled the lower half of the bottle whose neck he had broken off, picked a few shards of glass out, then began swigging with an aplomb proper only to the truly dedicated alcoholic.

“You know-” Lana began.

He held a finger up, still drinking.

“I hope you cut your tongue off,” she sighed. “And wait a second-” She narrowed her eyes at Sam. “Are you American?”

He grinned uncouthly at her. “Red Sox Nation, baby.”

Surprised, Archer spat out the last gulp of foul-smelling alcohol and chucked the remains of the bottle over his shoulder. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed.

“Him too?” Lana gestured with her gun at Nate, whose face by now had turned purple.

“He’s my brother.”

“So…you’re really not Shoreliners?”

“As it happens, they’re trying to kill us,” Sam said flatly. “Speaking of which, mind taking your boot off Nathan’s chest?”

Lana obliged, and the younger Drake heaved in a huge lungful of air, spluttering as he rolled gingerly onto one side.

“Gun,” Lana said to Sam. It wasn’t a request. Sam relented and laid his pistol on the ground, where Archer picked it up. Nate offered his gun without a fight, still coughing.

“I thought you people didn’t use these,” Archer said, holstering both guns.

“What?” Sam asked, confused.

“Ugh. Your tribe then. And no offense, but since you’re obviously incompetent and your outfits suck, I’m guessing you’re with…ODIN? Wow. Way to stick it to the colonizer, buddy.”

Sam was now even more confused. “What? No…… What?”

“Ignore him,” Lana said. “We were talking earlier about our mission. How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough to guess you’re probably not working for Shoreline either,” Sam said, getting to his feet, “Which is fine by us, believe me.” He helped his brother stand up. Nate’s head was swimming and his chest hurt.

Elena’s gonna kill me. Well, either her or my doctor.

“So if you’re not Shoreline and you’re – probably – not ODIN,” said Lana, "what are you doing here?”

The brothers looked at each other. No words had to be said; each could practically see the other’s thoughts mapped out, all options being weighed up in an instant.

“We’re treasure hunters,” said Nate simply.

“Looking for a lost city,” Sam added.

This wasn’t the type of thing the Drakes often had to reveal out loud, usually because whoever they were speaking to was either after the same treasure as they were, or was someone so far removed from their own walk of life that the notion of treasure hunting was pointless to even explain.

“No shit,” Lana said, surprised.

“Oh come on!” said Archer.

“What?”

“Don’t say it.”

“What, Archer?”

“Jesus Christ, how ‘amazing’ it is that they’re treasure hunters and how you ‘never would have expected’ it. Maybe it’s their passion, Lana? Ever think about that? You shouldn’t patronize people.”

She looked baffled. “You’re lecturing me about patronizing people? You?”

“God knows you need a lecture. How many Native American treasure hunters are there? Eight? It can’t be many. And you, John Charles Frémont, nearly shot two of them! That’s like killing two unicorns! Or sacred coyotes, or whatever.”

“Archer, these two are clearly not-” Lana looked at Sam, “-I mean, not to judge a book by its cover, but you’re not Native Americans are you?”

“Nope,” said Sam.

“News to me,” said Nate.

Archer was confused. “Then why-”

Lana groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh. My. God. ‘Red Sox Nation ’. He meant the Boston Red Sox, Archer. They’re a baseball team.”

“Uh hello? Washington Redskins, much?”

“Different sport.”

“Well excuse me for finding the whole ‘appropriating Indigenous cultures’ thing a little tasteless!”

She snapped, “You couldn’t just cut your tongue off when you had the chance, could you?”

Archer stepped towards Nate and Sam, smiling ingratiatingly. “Hi there. Sterling Archer, world’s greatest secret agent. This is Lana Kane, my associate and former girlfriend who’s still madly in love with me.”

Lana glowered at him. “You know…”

“I’m Nate,” said Nate. “Nathan Drake. This is my brother Sam.”

“How you doing,” Sam said, nodding curtly. Archer looked him up and down, thoughtfully.

“You got a problem, big guy?” Sam asked.

“Oh it’s nothing, just…does the name Slater mean anything to you?”

Sam blinked. “Eh, maybe? I think I knew a Teddy Slater, once.”

“I honestly have no idea what his first name is. But he looks like you. Kind of. I don’t suppose you own more than one shirt?”

Lana gripped Archer’s arm. “We’re wasting time, dipwad. Let’s move it.”

“What? Lana, Shoreline’s after these guys.”

“All the more reason to not stand here yakking before they get the drop on us.”

“But we can’t leave them,” Archer said, pointing at Nate and Sam. “They’ll get shot!”

Lana looked at him quizzically. “Am I missing something? Since when do you care about civilian lives?”

“I care a shit ton if the lives belong to treasure hunters, Lana! That’s gotta be the second most awesome job in the world! Y’know, right after Secret Agent. Even if they’re not Native Americans, letting them die would still be like letting two helpless animals get shot. Because in case you weren’t listening, they are in actual danger of being shot by vicious South African mercenaries – excuse me – vicious white South African mercenaries. Who are, like, the second most evil white people, after Russians. And we just took away their guns. So unless you want to leave them here, totally defenseless, waiting to be slaughtered for their rare and beautiful nature–”

“Once again, shut up.” Lana looked at the Drake brothers. “You two. You say you’re trying to find a lost city?”

“Libertalia,” said Sam, not completely able to hide the excitement that rose in his voice simply from saying it.

Archer gasped, “The legendary pirate utopia?!”

“How could you possibly know that?” Lana asked.

He frowned. “How could you not?”

Nate butted in before a fresh argument could start. “That’s the reason Shoreline are coming for us,” he said, “The man they work for is searching for Libertalia too, and he’s willing to cut down anyone who gets in his way.” He exchanged a glance with Sam. “He and us have…call it ‘bad history’.”

Nate looked at Lana. “If it’s some asshole Shoreliner you want, we can point you straight in their direction. Heck, you take one of them out, you’d be doing us a favor. One less gun aimed at our heads.”

“Really? Hmm. In that case,” the woman said, before holding up a picture taken from a mission dossier. “Rudi Gerhardus Orca, Ross’s right hand man. Wanted on almost every continent for war crimes; Rwanda, Croatia, Cambodia, Yemen-”

“-Literally none of those are continents,” Archer remarked.

She carried on, heedless. “Even for a career mercenary, this guy’s bad news. He’s got a rap sheet the size of a beach towel.”

Nate peered at the grainy picture. The image was of a beefy, tattooed man in kevlar, sporting Oakleys, dark muttonchops and a shaggy mullet, who gripped his Colt 701 like an overly possessive lover.

“Yep, that’s your guy,” he said. “He’s come after us a couple times now.”

“Damn, I thought I got him in Scotland,” grimaced Sam. “Musta just grazed him. Guy’s wicked tough.”

“Maybe he was shitfaced and didn’t notice,” Archer suggested helpfully. “Or maybe you suck at shooting.”

“Why would a ruthless killing machine get shitfaced on the job?” Nate asked.

“I dunno; why did my cordwainer waive his last fee in exchange for a foot rub?” said Archer, “Some of us are just built different.”

Nate stepped closer to Lana, hoping to seem cooperative. “If Orca’s anywhere, it’ll be with Rafe and Nadine,” he said. “We washed up here after Shoreline ambushed us at sea maybe fifteen, sixteen hours ago, so they haven’t been on the island for long. My guess is Shoreline’s base will be somewhere coastal, but the leaders are already deep in the jungle somewhere. Orca too.”

Lana considered this. “You’d bet on that?”

“Well it’s unlikely they’ve stumbled on Libertalia already,” Nate said. “Not to brag, but we’ve kinda got the edge when it comes to treasure hunting. If Sam and I haven’t found the place yet, then let’s assume-”

“You were probably looking in the wrong places,” Archer butted in.

“Pardon me?”

“For Libertalia. It’s only a mythical lost haven for eighteenth-century plunderers for which little actual evidence has ever surfaced. How hard could that be to find? Oh, I’m being sarcastic by the way.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” Nate replied. “But believe it or not, we actually have evidence. Lots of it. Avery left clues behind for those he was recruiting. That’s what led us here.”

“Avery? Henry Avery? The Gunsway haul guy?”

“Yeah.” Nate was surprised. “You’ve…heard of him, clearly.”

Sam looked suspicious. “You know a thing or two about pirates, huh Archer?”

“More than two things,” Archer said, without a trace of humility. “For a while I was a pirate king.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t as great as it sounds. Granted, my subjects did learn to love lacrosse and all their women got to have sex with me. But this whole ‘Blue’s Clues with Henry Avery’ deal sounds way cooler. Which is why it’s a shame you’re making such slow, incompetent progress.”

Sam’s arms were folded. “Wow. You make all your friends this way?” he sneered. At this, Lana smirked. He winked at her.

“Hey, if you’re going to be petty about it…” Archer beckoned the group to follow him back along the path he and Lana had come from. A few minutes later, he crouched by a large moss-covered rock and pointed emphatically at the glyph carved into its surface.

“See?”

It was, unmistakably, an arm grasping a cutlass.

Chapter Text

The Drakes leaned in closer to examine the carving.

“That’s–” Nate began.

“–Tew’s sigil,” Sam breathed.

“Duh,” said Archer.

Sam was excited. “This has gotta be it! Nathan, Libertalia could be right round the corner!”

Lana peered over their shoulders. “You got all that from a picture of some guy’s arm?”

“She’s always like this,” Archer whispered, loudly enough that the others would hear. Sam turned to face Lana.

“You know what, this isn’t fair to you Lana. Lemme fill ya in–”

“Phrasing!”

Sam ignored it. “–My brother and I thought, for years, that we were chasing after treasure stolen by one Henry Avery. Big bad pirate lord, one of the worst of his day. But following this trail he left us, we figured out that he wasn’t acting alone. Avery, Adam Baldridge, Christopher Condent, Thomas Tew, all the greatest pirates of their day, all of ‘em working together to build something great. Their stronghold, and whatever treasure they stashed there, have got to be somewhere in this jungle.”

“We’ve been literally all over the map trying to find this place,” Nate added.

“Fifteen years of which I spent locked up in the joint in Panama,” Sam said grimly.

“And we’ve got a ticking clock,” Nate said. “Alcazar, the guy who broke Sam out of jail, is after that money. He’s coming to collect any day now.”

Lana frowned. “I know that name… Alcazar… as in Hector Alcazar? The Butcher of Panama?”

“Let’s get moving Nathan,” Sam urged, looking uncomfortable.

“I thought that guy died,” Lana said, puzzled.

“This sigil has gotta mark some kind of entrance,” said Sam hurriedly. “If we look around here, maybe we’ll find it. It won’t be out in the open, so keep your eyes peeled, Nathan.”

He trod further into the bushes, ducking beneath a nearly fallen tree, searching. Nate followed him, Lana followed Nate, and Archer sped ahead of the pair of them, announcing that he was in charge, and ordering Sam to “fall in line, squaw”.

“Is he usually like this?” Nate asked Lana.

“You have no idea,” she said wearily.

And, somehow, that single groaned acknowledgement – under which years of frustrations were clearly-but-not-that-clearly swimming, like the murky outline of a shiver of sharks in rough waters – was all their little group needed to solidify into a unit.

🎭

“Line!”

From atop his unusually tall director’s chair, a beige-suited, brown-booted Dr Krieger growled with frustration through his unusually large director’s bullhorn. His magnified voice echoed throughout the ISIS HQ meeting room that had been hastily turned into a rehearsal space (mostly by piling chairs on top of tables).

“GOD- DAMMIT WOMAN! FOR THE LAST TIME! SILKE TURNS TO HER HUSBAND IN TEARS AND SAYS, ‘EMMERICH, I AM WITH CHILD.’”

“Oh, right.” Cheryl, wearing an ostentatious ballroom gown (in the role of a supposedly hysterical soon-to-be dowager), turned to her stage husband and intoned, “Emmerich, I am…” Her face went blank.

“Followup question,” she said, looking back towards Krieger, “do I have to, like, imagine this child, or are we actually hiring a sprog actor? Because I refuse to look a baby in the eyes.”

“WHAT? NO, YOU’RE-” The doctor sighed, lowered the bullhorn and pinched his nose, “-It means you’re pregnant.”

Cheryl gasped. “Oh my gosh. I am?”

“Wrong again, lickbag,” said Pam, fiddling with Emmerich’s enormous double-breasted jacket, which she had been ordered to put on by the play’s costume designer.

Said designer was, as it happened, also the play’s lighting designer, stage manager, composer, props manager, dramaturg, sound designer, head of marketing, playwright and director; the set designer (Pam) and producer (Cyril) had volunteered and been coerced, respectively.

“We talked about this,” Pam continued, “You’re not pregnant. Only your dumb character Silke is.”

“Ew. Gross.”

Pam squeezed her own double breasts beneath the double-breasted jacket with redoubled pride and interest. “What’s gross is why the hell aren’t Emmerich and Silke making out already?” she said, to the entire room.

“Because shut up, Emmerich!” snapped Krieger. “And also because it would completely undercut her suicide from strychnine poisoning at the end of the scene.”

“Wait,” Pam said, “You said I’m jumping out the window three lines from now! So Cheryl dies right after?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Krieger, visibly annoyed, “Silke kills herself and the baby immediately after you do, Emmerich. We’re staging a tragedy . Did nobody read my script all the way through?”

A manservant-uniformed Cyril piped up. “I did, actually. And I’ve got to be honest-”

He was promptly slapped in the face by Cheryl. “ OW! Hey!”

“The help forgets itself,” she said, pointedly.

“And also the drinks, for the gazillionth time,” added Pam. “Pretty sure I asked for six shots of Killepitsch, Winfried! Make ‘em snappy!”

“I,” said Cheryl daintily, “would like a glass of Clamato.”

Cyril rubbed his cheek and winced. “As I was saying Krieger, I think it’s very commendable that you wrote a play. Especially such a…long and convoluted one.”

Krieger beamed. “Thank you Winfried.”

Cyril said, “But to put on something like this requires, y’know, actors. As in, human beings who can act.”

“Eh, you’ll get the hang of it,” said Pam.

“Even if the three of us didn’t collectively have zero dramatic ability whatsoever,” Cyril continued, “I’m actually talking about that thing.”

He indicated the six-foot-tall mechanical arm at the centre of their little tableau, positioned between Cheryl and Pam. It was another of Krieger’s inventions. At certain moments during their rehearsal, it had turned and looked meaningfully, with its single articulated three-pronged hand, at one or other of the characters.

Said hand was also currently gripping a violin that Krieger had sourced from…somewhere. It looked uncannily similar to the one Cyril’s great-uncle had once played as First Chair with the Chicago Philharmonic, and which he, a bachelor, had bequeathed to his beloved and only great-nephew. The resemblance was striking. It even bore Eugene Figgis’ identical signature on the back.

The arm – wearing a little bowtie – was playing Emmerich and Silke’s son, Jakob. Jakob was the play’s central character. A charismatic young man, a lover of the arts, a violinist, a dreamer; the sole thread of hope linking together his parents’ disastrous marriage. He had more lines than anyone else in the script.

Cyril (and only Cyril) was bothered by this.

“You will address your costar by his character’s name, Winfried,” said Krieger flatly. “And while you rude mechanicals are giving life to my vision, I expect total, unflinching dedication to the role, from each of you.”

Cyril scoffed. “What? You want me to memorize my whole two lines using the Strasberg Technique?”

“If that’s what it takes!” cried Krieger. “Your job – all your jobs – are to make Jakob shine.”

“What’s the Strasberg Technique?” asked Cheryl.

“If it’s what I think it is, I got way into it during my juice cleanse,” said Pam.

“Was that when you kept doing kegels on a ferris wheel?”

“Yeah. I was real lightheaded towards the end.”

“Whether or not we make Jakob ‘shine’,” said Cyril exasperatedly, “he’s still a robot, and completely unable to talk.”

“He’s holding the shit outta that violin though,” said Pam approvingly.

“Way to go Jakob,” added Cheryl with enthusiasm.

Jakob’s hand buzzed upward a few inches. Then back down.

Krieger stroked his beard. “Hmm. No. I’d play it more distressed than that.”

The robot moved again. Its three metal fingers clenched with sudden force, splintering the violin’s neck. Cyril winced.

“Oh Jakob, you tease…” breathed Cheryl, flushing.

Dr Krieger clapped his hands together. “Places, meine schauspieler! Every minute that we waste, the magic trickles away. Jakob, keep doing what you’re doing. Emmerich, I want more volume. Silke, please just remember your damn lines.

“And Winfried-” he pointed at Cyril, “-go wait in the wings and prepare to come onstage with a tray of brandy for your – surprise! – newly deceased employers.”

Cyril saluted and clicked his heels sardonically. “Jawohl Mein Direktor, at once.”

Krieger picked up the bullhorn. “UH, THAT’S DOCTOR MEIN DIREKTOR TO YOU, AND LESS OF THE SASS PLEASE.”

“Don’t forget the Killepitsch!” Pam called.

“Or my seltzer water,” added Cheryl.

“Didn’t you want Clamato?”

“I’ve realized Silke’s a very indecisive soul, Pam. I’ve decided to go Strasberg on this biatch.”

“GOOD,” said Krieger. “YES! USE THAT. THAT’S… ACTUALLY A GOOD IDEA. BUT REMEMBER SHE’S NOT INDECISIVE ABOUT HER SUICIDE.”

“So Silke…” Pam asked Cheryl, “are ya kegeling right now?”

Cheryl pointed back at her. “ …Yes.”

☠️

Sam, Lana, Nate and Archer stood in awe before the vista which spread for miles below and around.

Well, three of them stood in awe.

One was sort of slouching. He slouched in… not awe, but not quite boredom either. 

Here and there, a multitude of modest houses, huts and cabins lay nestled among the green, and between them roads and pathways were just still visible, cobbled streets half-buried beneath the creeping lichens.

Besides these smaller dwellings there were things more magnificent: a manor house – no – two manor houses, a fortress, a colossal building in the fashion of a basilica, its mighty dome caved in on one side. Birds flew in and out of the crumbled yet elegant structure that was left behind.

The whole place was still; placid, in the thick hazy light.

It was… well, there was no other word for it, it was breathtaking .

Lana said, “Is that really…?”

Nate murmured, “I’ll be damned…”

“It’s Libert-” began Sam breathlessly. He didn’t get to finish.

A very loud belch shattered the moment’s dignity, and Lana glared over at her colleague.

“You doing okay there?” she asked, in tones that made it plain she didn’t feel any particular sympathy for Archer.

“Ugh, not really,” he replied, bent double with one hand on his stomach. “The rum’s not sitting so well, for some reason.”

“Wow, I wonder why that could be.”

“I’m coming up short. Oof.” He fell to his knees. “Rum doesn’t go bad, Lana, especially aged rum, it’s basically pure ethanol.” 

“Not even close.”

“I think I might have a parasite,” he groaned.

Lana casually reloaded her gun. “Aw, maybe it’ll make friends with the millions crawling on your junk.”

Nate and Sam crouched by each other and took in the view. Each of the brothers could sense the other’s excitement. They had followed the trail of pirate sigils, which were carved in places only a dedicated seeker would have found, and sure enough, it had led them to this wondrous sight. Even Lana and Archer’s bickering behind them couldn’t dampen their enthusiasm.

“Okay,” said Archer, “A, the clap is caused by bacterial transmission, not the incubation of a parasite-”

“-Which makes it sooo much better, obviously.”

“-Yes obviously that’s better – also shut up – and B, I’m on like an Olympic dose of ceftriaxone right now Lana, so even if whatever’s currently chewing on my insides is a freeloading bug that hates me, it’s literally the only one. Otherwise, frankly, I’m a picture of health.”

“Can you believe it?” Sam asked, quietly.

“Kinda hard to believe they dated,” Nate replied, “but hey, who am I to judge?”

The other chuckled. “No. I’m talking bout this. We did it, little brother. We actually did it.”

Samuel Drake’s impish grin, unchanged since childhood, persisted over the noise of Archer violently throwing up.

“I’m okay!” the ISIS agent called, weakly, in tones suggesting he was anything but, and moreover that he did not intend to be corrected about that, or about anything else he did, ever.

(The brothers Drake were past masters at deducing such fine points of a person’s character via their throwaway exclamations; it was yet another orphanage legacy).

“We’ve got a ways to go still,” said Nate, tracing a preliminary path through the ruined town below with his finger in the air,

“What do you wanna bet that building there was the seat of power? Pirate parliament maybe?”

“I’m thinking there mighta been more than one liegedom on this island,” Sam said. “Pirates weren’t exactly known for their faith in the democratic process. We know Avery, Tew and the rest brought their crews here, but we don’t know how long those crews stayed together. They woulda needed some serious collateral to pull that off.”

“Fair point,” Nate said.

“For all we know,” continued Sam, “that building might be a Treasury.”

Nate nodded. He hadn’t even thought of that. Even now, with Alcazar’s knife never far from his mind, Nate couldn’t deny the thrill he got from working the hunt with his brother, just like the old days.

A brief argument followed which, but for Archer, would not have turned into an argument at all, before the group finally decided to go with Sam’s suggestion and head directly for the large building in order to get their bearings.

Nate and Sam figured that once there, if their hunch was correct, they’d be able to take stock of which Gunsway treasures had been pooled and which yet needed claiming. Once inside such a central hub, they’d likely be better positioned to sketch out a rough map of Libertalia’s terrain.

Nate even had a hope, as they walked, that somewhere in the remains of the city they might find a compass, sextant, or perhaps a map that had miraculously survived the centuries. It was an unlikely hope. But tracking down Avery’s treasure with the brother he thought he’d lost fifteen years before had been unlikelier still, and yet here they both were, on Avery’s island.

Lana had listened intently to the plan before adding that she and Archer would escort them safely there, and together with the brothers she could ascertain their position relative to Shoreline’s and triangulate possible routes of both attack and retreat, as well as a possible ambush.

The foursome trod through the ruins of downtown Libertalia; Lana at the front, Sam behind her, Nate behind him, and Archer bringing up the rear. The younger Drake occasionally had to pause and wait for Archer to finish vomiting, but the ISIS agent didn’t slow their progress down overmuch. Mostly he just complained.

“I gotta admit,” Lana said softly, “This place is really beautiful.”

“The views ain’t bad at all, huh?” Sam said.

She smiled over her shoulder at him. “You spend a lot of time on deserted pirate islands?”

“Oh I’m not talking about the scenery,” Sam said, far too roguishly to be an accident.

Lana Kane did not blush. Not even slightly. However, it was possible that some residual part of her teenaged ecology-nerd self, which despite everything still dwelled somewhere inside her, was feeling a little blushy.

Nate rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

☠️

The facade of the building had partially caved in, and it took all the group’s combined efforts to shift what fallen masonry they could, so as to clear themselves an entryway.

A half-hour later there was just room enough to squeeze through. Sam was the first to go. He nudged himself carefully through the narrow aperture, then the others lost sight of him.

“You make it through?” Nate shouted after him.

“Yeah…” Sam’s voice echoed back. He sounded odd, as though he’d seen something…

“Keep tight, I’m coming!’ Nate said, preparing to follow where his brother had gone.

Archer butted in front of him, “Phrasing. Jesus, Nate, try harder. I can’t be picking up this much slack.”

“Can you move aside, dude?” Nate asked, carefully controlling his patience. The skill had never come naturally to him. Somehow it came even less naturally in Archer’s company.

Archer raised an eyebrow. “Um, no?” And with that, he began squeezing through the tight gap, grunting and making some sort of innuendo about the situation that Nate was only too pleased he couldn’t make out.

“Ladies first,” he said to Lana, half-smiling.

She put one hand on her hip. “Thanks Nate, but you don’t need to do that. I’ll cover us.” She gestured for him to go through.

Nate felt a little abashed, and suddenly in his mind’s eye Elena appeared before him. Standing in their motel room in King’s Bay, staring him down, the weight of her glare too much suddenly for Nate’s shoulders to carry.

How’s the Malaysia Job going, Nate?

Her deep brown eyes, usually so full of sparkling life, had fixed him with a gaze of tremendous hurt, confusion and, most of all, betrayal. It had run clean through him like a bayonet.

The image of it was buried, quite unlike treasure, below the surface of his mind. 

Nate began shimmying through the narrow passage. He did not want this day ruined by thoughts of betrayal.

He had tried not to think about Elena’s last words to him, and since arriving on the island he had been too panicked to dwell on anything else, but they were there all the same. Scratching at him, close enough to break up and through, if he lost his grip.

Once through to the other side, he saw what had made Sam trail off mid-sentence.

Chapter Text

The interior of the room was filled with treasury cases, both those collapsed by time and others still semi-intact. The high walls and ceiling bore sumptuously designed reliefs that, even with the centuries’ worth of weathering, boasted a masterful artisanship. More than half the roof was collapsed, letting in sky, birds and wind.

But there was–

“No treasure?!” Archer exclaimed. “Are you shitting me?”

“Apparently not,” said Sam grimly. “And from the look of things, I’d say this place has been abandoned for a while.”

He turned to his brother. “Nathan, what do you make of it?”

Nate went up to one of the empty cases and ran a thumb along the wood. A thick layer of dust came off. He creaked open one of the heavy doors and saw a spider inside scuttle away from the light. 

One of the door’s hinges was barely hanging on. The shelves inside the enormous case were bare and broken, warped by damp. Nate swung the door shut and it immediately collapsed, crashing from its ruined hinges onto the tiled floor, which were similarly cracked.

“Not abandoned,” he told his brother.

“It was ransacked.”

“Who do you think did it?” asked Sam.

“My money’s on pirates,” Archer volunteered.

“A mutiny?” mused Lana.

Nate gazed up at the ceiling. There was a map painted on it of all Libertalia’s territory, and his eyes couldn’t help wandering to the stately homes painted in the remoter regions further inland. Below these, across the walls hung portraits of the colony’s founders: Tew, Condent, Baldridge, Avery, and more. Someone had marked each with the word THIEF in tall, angry letters.

Were they trying to reclaim what was theirs? He wondered.

One of the maps bore the legend ‘New Devon’. Every mansion painted on it bore the sigil of a legendary pirate.

Avery was from Devon, England.

Nate shook his head. “The pirates set up a functioning society on this island; for that they needed smiths, coopers, engineers, plus a whole lot of livestock and even more workers for their husbandry. Pulling that off logistically requires a huge number of people to remain very loyal to you, for years. We all saw the kind of wealth that built the towns out there, not to mention the wealth they produced themselves. Their plan worked. Not forever, clearly, but it still worked.” He frowned. “So what would cause these happy prosperous folks to suddenly turn on their leaders? It doesn’t make sense.”

“What if it wasn’t sudden?” said Sam eagerly. “I mean sure, the first generation goes right ahead doing everything as planned. They’re pioneers. Not a lot of time to iron out the little stuff when you’re busy building homes in the new nation.

“But after a decade, when every guy’s got a house, nice little garden, maybe a pet lemur, y’know…once he’s had some time to put down roots, raise a few kids, watch Libertalia turn into something not too different from the old country – maybe, just maybe, Joe Schmoe and his pirate neighbors start wondering what they busted their balls for all those years when Avery and Pals are living like kings. Suppose they’re all bearing a grudge?”

Sam spread his hands out, inviting the others to consider it. “Whaddaya think?”

“Plausible,” nodded Lana.

“I stopped listening after ‘pet lemur’,” said Archer.

“And suppose again that all of ‘em come and storm the Treasury at once,” Sam said, “Knowing they had the numbers advantage. Hell, they could outgun their leaders easily. There’s gotta be an armory in town somewhere, and even a bloodthirsty son of a bitch like Tew’s only got one hand per pistol. Get enough angry former pirates together, give ‘em weapons and a gameplan…”

Sam seemed more convinced by the minute. “I’m telling ya Nathan, this building wouldn’ta been hard for them to take.”

Nate had to admit his brother was making sense. Despite the building’s advantageous location, the barricades down in the courtyard below could never have withstood the fire- and manpower of an angry populace. The organizing structure of Libertalia might easily have been overturned in a single, bloody afternoon. But if that was the case, then…

“Bodies,” he said, abruptly.

“Uh…what?” said Sam and Lana at the same time, in almost exactly the same way.

“Where are all the bodies?” Nate asked. “Even if they were completely outmatched, you think a bunch of pirate lords would give up, just like that? No way, not without a skirmish. Not without blood. This place should look like a battlefield, not a crime scene.”

“Now that you mention it,” said Lana, “It is weird that there aren’t many skeletons here.”

Nate’s big brother opened his mouth to object, but his sinking expression made it clear he hadn’t considered this.

“There’s one,” said Archer, pointing at a crumbled pile of bones next to a rusted cutlass.

Nate carried on hurriedly. “There’s still something to your idea though, Sam. This place is where the treasure was supposed to be, but it’s all gone. And unless Nadine and Rafe got the miracle they’re clearly wishing for, I don’t think it was them who took it.”

Lana chimed in, “Which can only mean everything was either reclaimed by the townspeople, or…”

“…Avery and Co decided to empty the vault themselves,” Sam said.

“It was a mutiny,” Lana said, “But from the top down. The rulers turned on their people.”

“That’s technically not a mutiny,” interrupted Archer, interruptingly, “At most it’d be misfeasance. Maybe cappabar.”

Lana scowled at him. “Whatever we call it-”

“Oh! What about zabernism?”

“Whatever we call it-” she repeated, doggedly.

“Are we open to calling it zabernism, Lana?”

“SHUT! YOUR! FRICKIN’ RUM-GULLET!” she screamed at him.

“Wow, calm down…um – shit, I had something for this, uh-”

Lana looked at the Drake brothers. “Hi there, sorry,” she said pleasantly, angling her TEC-9 at her fellow agent’s face, “Would either of you mind if I shot him right now, in front of you?”

“Aha!” Archer cried, “Fletcher Kane-stian! Huh?” He looked at his companions. “Anything?”

“I do not get what’s happening,” Nate said, truthfully.

“I think I do,” Sam said. “Was that a Bounty mutiny pun, Archer?”

Archer punched the air. “Yes! Finally, thank you!”

“And I also think,” Sam continued, “That if that treasure’s gotta be anywhere, it’s New Devon.” He pointed at the same map on the ceiling that Nate had noticed, then indicated the treasury’s watch tower, which was visible through the great hole in the roof, looming above their heads.

“Whaddaya say we climb up that tower there, get our bearings?”

🌴

🐚

Getting up to the top of the watchtower was not difficult.

Sighting New Devon, and plotting a rough course towards it was no great obstacle either. Nate dropped back down a floor and joined the group scaling their way down the outside of the tower.

“Should be a couple more miles, but I don’t think Shoreline have got there yet,” he said. The other three rapelled beneath him, the sun at their backs.

“I don’t like it,” said Lana.

“Oh? Do you ever like things?” said Archer.

“They could already be in the city by now,” she continued, “and knowing Shoreline’s history, I’d say Orca’s already leading his own detachment. It’s not impossible he’s figured out we’re after him.”

“Not likely,” Sam called up to them (he was lowest). “We’ve been keeping ‘em on their toes since Italy. Rafe and Nadine are pretty rattled, trust me. They’ll be keeping that Orca dude close by.”

“Hah!” Archer snorted. “Rafe. Real scary name for a mercenary boss. What is he, a shitty dressage rider?”

“We can’t be so sure about that, Sam,” said Nate, “After King’s Bay? They won’t be predictable anymore. We know Nadine’s tough as old boots, and Rafe’s merciless. The last thing we can afford to do is underesti-WOAH!”

BANG!!

The entire tower shook from the explosive force. Its turret wobbled and then partially collapsed over the side, fragments of brickwork narrowly missing the foursome still clinging to the outside by their ropes.

“Oh shit!” said Lana, alert.

“Oh crap!” said Nate, agitated.

CRASH!!

Another explosion. A tremendous cloud of dust erupted between Lana and Nate, and Archer and Sam, as a hole was ripped right through the tower.

“Guys?” coughed Sam, exposed.

“WOO!” said Archer, happily.

………CRREEEEeeeeaaaaaaaak………

The whole structure groaned as it began, slowly, to topple.

Shoreline had, indeed, caught up to them.

Chapter Text

The tower split in two. The four people went tumbling towards the ground.

“AAAAHHH!” Screamed everyone, at various pitches.

Quite improbably, if not miraculously, Archer caught Nate by the arm, and the younger Drake found himself suspended no more than ten feet from the cobbles. He winced at how close he’d come to being a paté of himself.

“I gotcha!” said Archer.

“Thanks!” Nate cried back.

“Nate? Damn it, I thought you were Lana.”

“Aw,” said Lana, from further up, “I’m almost touched.”

While Archer’s other arm had them dangling from a wooden beam jutting out from the tower, Sam had managed to stop himself in the branches of a neighbouring tree, one sinewy arm aloft, his nimble hand around the branch above.

Lana had caught onto him (or he had caught her) and at the present moment her hands were clasped together behind Sam’s shoulders. They were almost face-to-face.

“You okay, girl?” Sam asked.

“I’m doing just fine,” she responded, with a smile that couldn’t have been mistaken for innocent.

“Real mature, you two!” shouted Archer.

“Can you hook me onto the beam?” Nate asked, passing his grappling hook up to the ISIS agent. Archer obliged, and the two of them rappelled to the ground. Archer was using a grappling gun, the sight of which provoked a little jealousy in Nate. The tower’s collapsed half was blocking them from the worst of the gunfire, but it was still close by.

“How’d they find us so fast?” Archer grumbled. Sam and Lana ran over to them, having also descended from the tree. The group ran down the sloping terrain. 

“Could be they followed the sound of your voice,” said Sam.

“Gee thanks Sammy. Or hey! Maybe they caught sight of your giant forehead,” retorted Archer.

“You know what?”

“Bzzt ! Paging Dr Hairline! Dr Reece Eding Hairline!”

Bullets whizzed past them. Lana led the group down a sharp right turn, through a narrow street where derelict buildings lay either side. “This way!”

“God you’re a dick,” Sam said.

“Buddy, I hear Turkey’s beautiful this time of year-”

There was an almighty crash at the end of the street, and a fresh hail of bullets began raining down on them. The brothers Drake and the ISIS agents dove in separate directions to avoid them.

Flat on the ground, Nate looked over the crook of his elbow. “No goddamn way…” he said, weakly.

A black armored truck was descending towards them, firing incessantly from its roof turret. The cobbles crumbled uselessly under its weight.

Lana shouted, “We need to get to higher ground!”

They scrambled quickly up a flight of creaky wood steps jammed into the rock face.

“Okay seriously Sam, I’m sorry,” said Archer, “I forget sometimes that not everyone is blessed with hair as lustrous and full as mine.”

“Wow, you only forget sometimes?” said Sam, hopping over a rotted plank.

“It’s not like I’m always thinking about it! I mean, if I’m seeing my barber then sure. Vito’s literally broken clippers on this stuff.”

Above them was another steep cliffside, but the edge of another building could be seen atop it. Nate glanced over his shoulder. The truck’s guns were swiveling this way and that, like huge black antennae. “Uh, guys?” he said.

“Too bad you don’t have any clippers now,” said Sam, “I woulda liked to see Orca lose that stupid mustache after he caught you.”

“After we caught him, you mean.”

“Eh, sure.”

The guns fixed upon their location. “Guys,” Nate repeated, with urgency.

Lana fired her grappling gun and began ascending. Sam followed with his hook, then Nate with this. Archer remained behind on the ground.

“Seriously?” Lana shouted, “What, do you need to puke again or something?”

“Archer, get up here, now!” Nate called, “That thing’s about to-”

“Shut up!” Archer frowned, staring down at the turret, which had not yet resumed firing. He paused.

“Three hundred and eight,” he said firmly. “Wow. Thought they’d have more than that.”

Sam looked across at Lana as they walked vertically upwards. “The hell is he talking about?” he hissed.

“He’s counting the bullets,” Lana said simply, staring ahead.

Both the brothers took a moment to chew this over. They were nearly at the cliff’s edge.

Nate began saying “How does someone even learn to-” but was cut off by the turret’s fire from below. A grappling hook shot past his ear.

“CRAP!” he shouted, startled.

“Hi everybody,” said Archer loudly, to no one in particular, striding up the wall with astonishing speed, “My name’s Sterling, and I’ve been clean from Standing-On-A-Wall-Like-An-Idiot for ten years now. Honestly? I feel great. With a little focus and discipline, you too can get where I am.”

He had already overtaken the three of them by the end of the sentence, and swung himself over the clifftop. He reached an arm down to pull the others up as they reached him.

“One step at a time, friend,” he said to Nate.

“I believe in you,” he said to Lana.

“Tell it to your mother,” she snapped back.

“Come on Sam,” said Archer encouragingly, “It’s never to late to turn your life around. Be the wall climber you know you can be!”

“Buddy,” said Sam flatly, “I’ve been patronized way worse than this. If you really wanted to hurt my feelings, you’d tell me to-SHIT!”

“I…doubt I would do that,” Archer replied. Sam clutched his bicep with one hand. Blood was streaming between his fingers.

Archer blinked. “Oh. Did you get shot?”

Sam gazed furiously up at him. “What does it look like, asshole?!”

“Like Slater got shot. Agent Slater. Do you seriously not know who I’m talking about?”

Sam screamed through gritted teeth, and said, “Can you just frickin’ pull me up, please?”

Archer did so. Nate and Lana rushed to Sam to inspect the wound. The bullet had entered through the back of his arm and gone straight out the other side.

“Hold on, Sam! It’s gonna be okay!”

Lana took gauze from a medical kit in her pouch and wrapped it securely around Sam’s bullet hole. He grunted as she tightened it.

“Damn…” he wheezed, “You’ve had a lot of practice, huh?”

“We’re out of range here,” Lana said, “Get your strength back, Sam. We don’t have to move on right away.” She stroked the side of his face.

“Jesus, woman! Have you no shame?” Archer stomped past them.

“Excuse me?”

“Going to this length just to make me jealous is pretty creepy. A man should not have to get shot for that.”

“I,” said Lana, with enormous restraint, “Did not. Shoot him.”

“Well you shot me, Lana. In the heart. And also in whichever organ is responsible for pity.”

Nate and Lana helped Sam sit up. “Pretty sure you were born without that,” Lana said.

“Sam, talk to me,” Nate said softly, “How is it? How d’you feel?”

The older Drake looked at Lana. “Girl sure knows what she’s doing,” he said approvingly. “I’m just glad we’re not stuck alone with Archer. We’da been shot dead already.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Nate said.

Sam glanced at him. “Sure it does.” He struggled to his feet, his good arm over Nate’s shoulder. “We’re still headed in the right direction. New Devon’s not that far. If the Treasury map was anything to go by, there’s some serious architecture over there.”

They had climbed up to a lookout post at the end of a dirt track. Beside them was a squat hut with a few tools and desiccated provisions. Archer was disappointed at the lack of rum.

There were no streets here, but there was a dirt track leading into a new stretch of forest. Lana and Archer went ahead this time, while the Drakes walked closely behind, Nate still supporting his brother. “Who’s to say that’s not what they sunk all their money into?” he said. “I think Avery might’ve liked the idea of living out his last days in style.”

Sam snorted. “C’mon little brother, you know I’m right. Our treasure is still there. No pirate who pulled off the Gunsway robbery would turn it into assets. Not even most of it. I’m telling you, that treasure is intact. Every jewel, every trinket, every god damned doubloon is still on this island somewhere. I can feel it.”

 “Oh great, well as long as you can feel it.”

Meanwhile, up front, Lana nudged Archer.

“What’s the name of the Shoreline leader again?”

“Lana, I’m not in the mood to play Trivia.”

“It was in the dossier,” she hissed.

“Which I think we both know I did not read.”

“Well, I lost the dossier when we fell out of the tower, so-”

“So this is all your fault, correct?” 

Lana checked her six. The brothers were talking.

“They’ll know. I’m gonna ask Sam.”

“Gee, and maybe after that you two can swap horoscopes. I bet Sam’s a Virgo.”

“Sam?” Lana asked. “Who’s in charge of Shoreline?”

“That would be Nadine Ross,” Sam said. “Real fun lady. I hope to never meet her again.”

“Wait,” said Archer, “The commander’s a woman?”

“Lemme guess: you have a problem with that?” Lana asked.

“Ha ha Lana,” he said sarcastically, “your attempt to rebuke my supposedly sexist attitude is as wrongheaded as it is embarrassing. I was gonna say we had wrong intel. The picture in the dossier was a dude.”

Lana was indignant. “Wha- You said you didn’t read the dossier!”

“I didn’t. I looked at the pictures,” Archer said.

“Right. I forgot you’re a visual thinker.”

“I’d say I’m more of a visual learner. For example-” he bent down and picked up something shiny and metal which had just dropped in front of him. “-This looks to me like a grenade pin. And since I don’t see a grenade attached to it, that means one of two things is going to happen now.”

A grenade came sailing through the air between two nearby trees. It landed near Archer’s boots.

He said, “And now, one of one things is-”

BANG!

☠️

Thick clouds of smoke billowed everywhere. The grenade had only been meant to stun them. Nate and Sam had dived immediately out of the way and were shielded from the worst of it, but still they coughed and struggled to stand. Nate drew his gun.

Lana had also secured decent cover behind two trees. She was already on her feet, TEC-9s aimed into the slowly dissipating fog.

Archer had taken a lot of the blast. He was on his knees, one finger in his ear.

Figures were approaching in the haze. Many of them. All armed.

“Oh shit,” coughed Sam.

Her face stoic, Lana said, “Is that?”

“Shoreline,” Nate nodded.

“Mawp,” said Archer. “Mawp mawp mawp.”

A woman emerged into view. Fatigues, boots, a tank top. She was as muscled as Lana, if not more so, and her expression was equally as humorless. She wielded a submachine gun with practised indifference. Shoreline soldiers flanked her on either side, with more behind. Her gaze was pointed straight at Nate and Sam.

“You boys have got to learn that running your big mouths gets you into trouble,” she said.

“Come on Nadine,” said Nate, aiming for cheerfulness, “when have we ever stopped running our mouths?”

Nadine looked at the ISIS agents, and the barest flicker of surprise registered on her face before vanishing. “What’s this, your backup? Needing help with treasure hunting too, eh?”

“Mawp, mawp,” said Archer, getting to his feet and suddenly noticing Nadine in front of him. “Hey,” he said, in what he undoubtedly thought was a suave and effortlessly charming tone, “how’s it going?”

Nadine cocked an eyebrow. “Until now? Better than you, I’d say.”

Archer rubbed his head. “I’m having an off day.”

“Archer, stay back!” called Sam, “You can’t trust her!”

Lana glanced at him. “Sam, I’ve got it. But seriously Archer, get back.”

“Archer?” said Nadine.

“Sterling Archer. World’s greatest secret agent. And yes, I’m currently single.”

“Secret agent? You mean you’re a spy?”

“Obviously that’s what I mean, yes,” said Archer. “I’m with ISIS. So’s Lana back there. She and I used to be an item.”

“Wow,” said Nadine, both baffled and unimpressed.

“You have no idea. But since that’s over now, what say you and I go check out the Libertalia bar scene? I hear they have grog. Actually, I hope not, since grog is just watered down rum, and pirate rum is not that great, but-”

A new voice rang out through the air. A sharp, precise, unmistakably WASPish voice that – you could sense without being told – had demanded to see many, many managers over the years.

“Oh. My. Goodness,” the voice chuckled, and the man it belonged to stepped out beside Nadine. He was about her height, brown-haired, wore no armor though he did have a very expensive watch, plus a gaze that would have made a shark uncomfortable.

“I can’t believe it,” said the man. “I cannot fucking believe it.”

Archer stared at him, stunned.

Rafe Adler was laughing so hard he doubled over. Nadine looked over, confused. Even the Shoreline agents seemed taken aback, though they did not shift from their spots, and their weapons remained pointed at the foursome’s heads.

Finally, Rafe straightened up, grinning like a child.

“Just what the hell are you doing here, Swirling?”