Captain Joonmyun “Suho” Kim sails a sinking ship into harbor.

It’s not a metaphor—his boots almost get wet as he steps onto the pier, to the astonished dockhand’s amazement. The underpaid, sunburnt man looks at his bottle and must think he’s had enough to drink–it is only mid-morning–and is about to pour the remnants into the ocean when Captain Kim snatches it from his hand.

“Thanks, mate.” He tips his hat. “Keep an eye on my ship, yeah?”

The dockhand leans over the water. It’s clear enough to see the boat sitting on the bottom. No one’s about to steal it without diving gear.

Of course, the local port authorities step out from their post, shoulder-to-shoulder, and demand a tax for using the harbor. Captain Kim shrugs, tucking the bottle behind his back. “No ship; nothing to tax. I just wanted to admire the view with my friend there.” Dipping between them, he mingles with the crowd before he can be identified. His reputation sometimes precedes him.

Not that he has all that much to worry about. His exploits on the high seas are largely ignored, favoring pirates with fancy names and dramatic looks. In a way, he’s grateful, because it does usually mean less bother; it’s just a little hurtful, because he is still a charming and talented pirate deserving of some acknowledgment.

He does not, however, relish the thought of going to the scaffold or hanging in a cage to greet port visitors while his corpse is picked at by hungry birds.

Freedom is one of the most important things to any sailor.

Followed by money, then rum, then women. And if he can raise a crew, he can at least promise one of those things, as long as they help him take back his ship.

Resting in the shade of the prized fort overlooking the water, he wipes his brow and squints at the crowd gathered atop the stone building. Looks like a lynching; he can see the wooden pylons and crossbeams. The people look shrunken, sunlight bleaching their features, but he imagines lots of gentry and posh officers. If it was a pirate hanging, it would be public, so everyone could enjoy it.

Seabirds wheel in the sky, diving at townspeople to steal food more accessible than the ocean’s bounty. A drunk swings a meaty fist at one, missing spectacularly and falling on his face. His companions roar with laughter, slapping one another and pointing at the drunkest of them, more humiliated than hurt.

The mood shifts with murmurs and few high screams. Captain Kim looks up at the fort again in time to see a body plummet from the wall. From such a height, they have a marginal chance of survival, but that numbers slips to zero if they remain underwater.

He gestures with his head, asking the gathering crowd, “Any of you going to help?” Most shake their heads, too stupid or stunned to move.

“I can’t swim,” an old-timer remarks.

“Right.” The pirate shrugs out of his coat and tosses it over the old man’s arm, piling his pistols, cutlass, knives, and hat atop it. “Don’t lose these.” He bolts to the water’s edge and dives into the sun-warmed waters, swimming out to the base of the fort. There are no more ripples or bubbles when he reaches the spot where the person fell, and he dives.

They’re awake but stunned and confused, struggling to tread water when Captain Kim hooks an arm over their chest and hauls them to the surface. Heavy brocades and laces drag them down, however, and he pulls the ornamental closures loose and lets it sink to the bottom.

Thus lightened, they break through the surface and shake the saltwater from their hair. Coughing and sputtering, the fresh air wakes the young man somewhat, and he pulls through the water with Captain Kim’s guidance. A couple men reach for them to help lift them from the water. The crowd pushes forward to surround them curiously, chattering and shouting the odd praise and remark about the governor’s son, Kyungsoo Do.

On dry land once again, Captain Kim shakes the young man’s shoulder. “You alright, lad?”

“Yes,” his voice is low and soft. He nods his head and bows. “Thank you, sir.” A medallion hung from a gold chain slips from his shirt. Captain Kim catches it, turning to watch the sunlight play across its embossed, familiar features.

“Where did you get this…?”

Wide, round eyes meet his own, and he recognizes cautious fear—the man knows exactly what he’s wearing—before hearing the shouts and stomping boots. Police arrive, quickly whisking the man to a safe distance and leveling swords and muskets at Captain Kim.

“Stand down; do not shoot him!” The young man stares down the armed soldiers even while hurriedly bundled in an older man’s coat. Due to looks alone, they appear to be father and son, making the older man governor and effective ruling body of the port town. “This man rescued me.”

“Be that as it may, Mr. Do…” A flamboyantly dressed officer sashays through the parting crowd—shoving those who don’t move on their own—and scowls down his nose at Captain Kim. Lifting the hair falling across his forehead reveals a scarred P, and the commodore yanks his hand back as though burned or touching something disgusting. “He is still a pirate,” he spits, looking across the docks. The drunk dock worker ducks his head, holding his new bottle of booze close. Lower, he adds, “There’s no honor among your lot.”

Captain Kim stands, feeling water slosh in his boots. The right one leaks slowly. “Honor isn’t worth a lot.” When his coat and hat are at him, he dresses before holding out his arms for the waiting manacles. “Take good care of my effects for me; I’ll want them back later.”

“You won’t be needing them anymore.” Waving a hand, muskets poke into the misplaced captain’s back to urge him forward, but the governor’s son intervenes again with his father anxiously on his heels.

“Commodore, I must protest. Pirate or not, he saved my life! I insist on a stay of execution. At least give him a fair trial.”

“One good deed does not erase a lifetime of evil.”

“It is enough to hang a person, though.” Captain Kim glances at the horizon. The wind’s changed.

“There must be something that—” A collective shout rises from the crowd as he throws his arms overhead and catches the young man across the throat with his manacles.

“My effects, Commodore—and my hat!” Unwillingly but obligingly, they pass the weapons and hat to Kyungsoo. “If you don’t mind…” So close, Kyungsoo can only comply. Between the muskets and pirate, he’ll also be short or run through with an overconfident blade.

He makes his soured feelings known by tightening the belts around Captain Kim’s waist a couple notches too tight.

Topped with his hat, he smiles and bows his head a little. “Thank you very much, and I do apologize.”

Kyungsoo’s frown lifts with confusion, but he’s kneed in the gut and shoved back into the officer and police, nearly bowling them all into the water.

Captain Kim takes off down the docks and into the crowd. Friend or foe doesn’t matter; inhabitants of the port town enjoy seeing the upperclass pushed around like commonfolk and jeer at the commodore's attempts to reorganize. They ignore commands to move and make room, standing immobile like stubborn cattle.

A tavern with chairs and tables spilling outdoors offers obstacles to the unathletic; the pirate hops on and tips chairs to leap table to table, kicking a few over to roll across whatever empty space.

He makes it nearly across the waterfront shops and pubs, but Lady Luck has been fickle, lately.

The same drunk who tried to pick a fight with a bird falls over himself taking the last table from beneath Captain Kim’s feet. They tumble together, and he’s immediately collared and bodily hauled to a nearby jail.

It’s not turning out to be a good day.

Parted from his effects once again, he’s pushed into a cell. The straw across the floor doesn’t offer much comfort, but he’s been in worse and sits without comment.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Captain. Your time will come sooner than you think. The gallows are eager.”

The pirate doesn’t reply. Let the gallows get their blood elsewhere; he’s breaking out as soon as possible. Once the police leave, he holds his arms apart and pulls, but the chain holds firm. He can’t squeeze his hands from the manacles, either, unless he had a lot of animal fat or wanted to break his hands to splinters.

Annoyed but not discouraged, he looks at the cell itself. Furnishings are sparse, consisting of a wooden bedframe and mattress with most of its stuffing on the floor and a chamber pot missing its lid. A barred window is set deep in its stone and full of dirty spiderwebs. There are some scratches suggesting some poor soul tried to dig the bars free at some time in the past.

All that remains is the way he came in. The jail is solid but old. Maintenance isn’t a high priority. Hinge pins, even when rusted, can still be lifted given the proper tools.

A sturdy metal chamber pot and a rotting bedframe are all he needs.

The wooden bedframe breaks apart with some yanks and kicks–he hefts pieces at the wall until left with a sole plank. It sits on the chamber pot with one end beneath the metal door.

Peering down the hall, he doesn’t see any guards.

Gathering himself, he jumps and lands his full weight on the plank, launching the opposite end up into the door. It lifts, and he trips. Thankfully, no one’s around to witness the blunder, but they would be too stunned by his brilliance, anyway.

The door is loose. Getting hit by the makeshift lever lifted the door and its