They’d celebrated at the end of grand tour of the Spitfire with a meal at the ship’s mess. The seating area inside the forecastle was decidedly rustic, with planks jutting from the walls for tables and upturned wooden crates for seats. It made up for the rough appearance with warm smells of roasting fish shot through with the tang of salt and citrus.

A simple brick platform surrounding a sand-filled firepit made up Evie O’Breen’s cooking area. A grill, cooking pots, or a large cauldron could be suspended over the hot coals in the pit. Fixed chopping boards, a selection of small knives for cutting or filleting, and a handful of spice jars took up an adjoining wall.

Caleb noticed several buckets of seawater placed next to the stove as a way to put out anything that caught fire. The fresh-water barrel and a ceramic vessel holding room-temperature tea were both located nearby. Next to them sat a stack of wooden cups and pairs of dipping ladles.

The meal consisted of chunks of fresh pan-seared tuna and a starchy side of something called zampa. Caleb didn’t know what Evie had added to the tuna except for salt and pepper, but if he’d been able to add a dash of soy sauce he’d have sworn that he was eating ahi at a five-star Japanese restaurant.

Caleb recalled eating grill-kissed fish caught right off his yacht. He remembered taking a pair of colorful bluestripe snappers with his speargun and hauling in his catch. Then sharing it at sunset with a lover who filled out a bikini quite admirably. But the details of the memory danced just out of reach.

Shaw gulped down his triple-sized portion with a will. To Caleb’s surprise, Tavia ate a few chunks of fish as well. When asked about it, the mare simply said, ‘A unicorn makes do with what she has.’

Still, she mostly stuck to the zampa. This turned out to be a glutinous, apricot-colored porridge made from toasted flour, mashed boiled carrots, brewed tea, and salted butter. It tasted like wheat porridge leavened with carrot puree and toasted sticks, but no one complained about it.

As far as Caleb was concerned, the next order of business was getting out of the sweaty Guardsman’s clothes and into a bath. At Evie’s insistence, he had two bucket’s worth of fresh water heated up to blood temperature over the fire. One bucket, a bar of soap, and a pair of sponges went to the main deck, where a pair of women gave Tavia a scrub down.

Shaw turned down the identical offer. As he explained, “The ocean keeps mine own body and soul clean enough.”

So Caleb had second bundle of bucket, sponge, and soap sent up to his great cabin. Once inside, he stripped and washed away the dungeon’s grime with a will. Skin tingling, he dried off with the rough towel supplied and started going through the wardrobe.

He started by selecting what looked like a set of loose-fitting boxer briefs. Caleb wasn’t sure what the material was, but it chafed a heck of a lot less than what he’d stolen off a clothesline back on Irongrasp. He followed that up with a set of dark blue trousers and matching jacket. Both items were classic Sea Viper attire, and the silver trim marked it as belonging to a Komtur.

Three more items brought a grin to his face. The first was a brand new belt, one which had specially tooled areas for three pistols, a brace of tiny pockets, and a new cutlass. Caleb selected the best-balanced one of the three swords in the wardrobe rack and sheathed it at his side.

The second was a pair of piratical-looking leather boots that came up almost as high as his knee. The interior was soft enough through hard previous wear and fit reasonably well. A scored pattern decorated the sole, and the toe had been reinforced with a hard point made from the scales of some kind of reptile.

Finally, he found a cream-colored shirt with puffy sleeves, a broad, open collar, and a hint of ruffle at the cuffs. It slipped on like it had been tailor-made for him. He put the jacket over it for a moment and looked at himself in the wardrobe door’s built-in mirror.

I look like a captain in the Sea Vipers, he admitted to himself. But if this outfit was black, and I had the right kind of mask...I suppose I could give the Dread Pirate Roberts a run for his money.

He paused for a moment, thinking of the Potential Debuff to his new Character class.

Potential Buff / Debuffs: Corsair abilities shall slowly decrease or be revoked by an individual who does not conduct himself properly or wear appropriate attire for extended periods.

But he didn’t feel any different with this new outfit. Either the Debuff involving his clothing was too subtle to feel, or he’d found an outfit that hit some kind of equilibrium. Caleb then set aside a couple sets of clothes, the jacket he’d selected, and the remaining pair of boots.

He came back out on the quarterdeck, carrying three sheathed cutlasses in his arms. Two were the remaining blades from the wardrobe, while the third was the weapon he’d picked up while in the dungeon on Irongrasp.

Donal was at the helm, talking quietly with Sienna. She ruffled his hair affectionately and turned to see Caleb as he approached.

“By Lir and Danu,” she breathed, as she gave him an appraising look from head to foot. “You clean up surprisingly well, Caleb Ledger.”

“Aye,” Donal added. “It does look like we have an official Captain now.”

A new message popped up in his Quest Window.

Beginner's-Level Quest: Attempt to blend in with the local Jaladrian society. COMPLETE

Lir and Danu’s Helpful Hints:

This quest has been completed surprisingly late after your arrival in Jaladri. However, it must be acknowledged that your current attire would allow you to blend seamlessly into some subcultures in this world.

Warning: The rank of Komtur in the Sea Vipers is required to become one of their captains, though they are outranked by a Guardsman Komtur. If you are recognized by a faction antagonistic to the Myrkur, you will inspire confrontation and violence. This usually results in death, and we continue to recommend that you avoid dying.

Caleb finished reading the text and moved it aside.

“Thanks for the compliments,” he said. “Sienna, I’ve got more blades here to add to our total. Also, I just set aside what I plan to keep for clothing. There’s also a second pair of these kinds of boots I’m wearing. They’re yours if they fit, and you want them.”

“Aye, that I do! Here, let me trade you pistols for swords. I’ve got the last pair below.”

Sienna took the blades, while Caleb took her pair of firearms to set in his new belt. One of the holsters still sagged empty, but with the shortage of weapons, two would have to do.

“I want you to assign someone to take the rest of the clothes and divvy them out to the crew members who need them the most,” he said. “But keep the Guardsman’s outfit together, and give it to someone you trust with our limited stock of firearms. It still might come in handy if we need to bluff our way in somewhere.”

“I’ll see that it’s done, Captain.”

Under Sienna’s management, the main deck gradually assumed a sense of order and cleanliness, in part by assigning a team to scrub it down. Shaw continued to bring in a supply of freshly killed fish while Tavia enchanted either a barrel of a pair of casks full of water to keep their supplies stretched out as far as possible.

The weather continued to cooperate, at least for now. A zephyr of a breeze switched around from the north to the north-east. The sun dazzled them at noon as it reflected off the myriad of ocean swells. The nights remained warm enough for Shaw to remain comfortably on deck, sprawled out and rumble-snoring like a gigantic ginger tabby.

Once the triple moons set, Caleb went up to stand on the afterdeck and watch the stars. He knew none of the constellations, but the stars were brighter and even more vivid than on Earth. Eventually, his eyes were drawn to the Dreamsicle-colored band that swirled across the heavens between the bright points of the stars.

When he finally retired, he was careful to close the door to his great cabin quietly. He would make his way silently over to his bed so as not to disturb Tavia. The unicorn continued to sit close to his bed, either softly chanting to herself, or deep in meditation.

The islands he saw in his mind grew sharper and more detailed. The closest one was small, but with a single peak and a sharply notched bay. Shaw hadn’t spotted the island yet during his time aloft, but Caleb expected it to show up over the horizon at any time.

One morning, when the wind had lulled practically to a dead calm, he arrived on deck to see that the mainsail had been taken down. Instead of being furled, the mass of canvas had been spread out along the deck.

“Morning, Captain,” Donal said, from his ever-present place at the helm. “As you can see, the mainsail had to have a lay-to. The patches we put on were coming off like a scab on an old wound. And the remaining tears were starting to lengthen. Lir save us, it wasn’t a good situation at all.”

“I agree,” Caleb said. “Only this leaves us pretty vulnerable.”

“Sienna and I talked it over, then made the decision before dawn,” Tavia said, as she trotted over. “We took the appropriate precautions. Shaw ascended as high as he could at sunrise. He spotted no ships within sight, off any point of the horizon.”

Caleb frowned. He looked towards to the only clouds in the sky, which lay dead ahead. The dense, gray mass clung to the skyline to the south.

“You did the right thing, but I would prefer you consult with me in the future,” he said, as he pointed out the weather on the horizon. “I don’t think Shaw will be able to see through those.”

“It’s a calculated risk, yes. But the Myrkur have been chasing us from the north. It’s doubtful that any of them passed us in the night. And we have Shaw back aloft, so we’ll have advanced warning of any ship’s approach.”

Tavia and Sienna made the right calls, Caleb thought to himself. But something about this just gives me a bad feeling. Sets my stomach on edge.

He leaned over the quarterdeck rail to watch the work being done. One group held the edges of the mainsail taut, while a second group moved to either re-stitch the lengthening tears, or to redo the makeshift patches. Caleb noted that once again, the groups were a mix of men and women.

I’ll give this to the Arrenmar. They don’t differentiate chores between genders. They just pick whoever can get the job done.

Once the patching was complete, the crew began the process of hauling the sail back up. The groups broke up into smaller teams, who each took up a heavy rope. Caleb came down from the quarterdeck and grabbed onto one, to the surprise of the team.

“Captain,” one man acknowledged, with a quick bow. “Glad to have you, sir.”

“Glad that I can pitch in,” Caleb replied.

Sienna looked over from the team next to his. “Aye, be ready to haul on the right verse.”

“Verse?” He threw her a puzzled look. “What verse?”

He got a feminine chuckle in reply. “Oh, you’ll like what we came up with.”

As one, the Arrenmar around him began to hum. From off to one side, Ronan Murray, one arm still in a sling, stamped the deck with a bare foot. He began to sing in a clear, deep voice.

It's a damn rough life, full of toil and strife, we Arrenmar undergo

And we don't give a damn when the dungeon's flown, how hard the wind does blow

'Cause we're homeward bound from Irongrasp sound on a fast sloop ‘fore the gale

And we won't give a damn now that we’re free, we’ll all make the Myrkur wail!

The rest of the crew sang in response, hauling in time. Not only did Caleb find the beat, he found himself singing along with the chorus from the second repetition onwards.

Make the Myrkur wail my boys, then we damn their Komtur’s lash

Make the Myrkur wail my boys, make Delacroix’s shark teeth gnash!

Oh, we're homeward bound from Irongrasp sound on a fast sloop ‘fore the gale

And we won't give a damn now that we’re free, we’ll all make the Myrkur wail!

Ronan’s voice soared over stamping feet and the slithery sound of sail canvas raising into place. He finished off the last verse with a flourish just as the task was complete. The group burst out with a final Hurrah! as the sail bellied out with a fresh breeze.

Those close to Caleb gave him a quick two-fingered Jaladrian salute or a quiet Captain as they broke up and returned to their assigned chores. For his part, Caleb wiped the sweat from his brow. Sienna did the same as their eyes met. A smile blossomed on her face, and he couldn’t help but mirror the expression.

Suddenly, a violent downdraft of wind made him take a step back in surprise. Shaw landed on the deck nearby with a massive thud and scrape of talons. The griffin furled his wings and spoke to Caleb in his usual gruff voice.

“Thou hast a ship approaching from the southwest,” he reported. At that, a worried murmur ran along the crewmen still on deck. “‘Tis a pity that I could not spy her earlier, but the weather blocked my sight.”

“That’s all right,” Caleb said. “What’s done is done. Can you describe the type of vessel?”

“‘Tis certain that the ship’s the same size as the Spitfire. It looks much like us, to be sure. Save for an additional mast.”

“Two masts?” He pondered that for a moment. “Which mast was taller? The mainmast or mizzenmast?”

The griffin looked unsure. “Thy terms are not known to me, Captain.”

“Sorry. I keep forgetting which world this is. Was the forward mast taller, or the aft mast taller?”

“‘Twould be the forward one, then. Also, mine own eyes did not spot any guns on deck.”

Caleb considered a moment. “Shaw, I may send you aloft again shortly. But right now, I want you and Sienna to join me on the quarterdeck.”

Sienna and Shaw followed him up the stairs without comment. Caleb disappeared into the great cabin for a moment, then emerged with his spyglass. He walked over to the steerboard side of the quarterdeck and then put the instrument to his eye.

“The vessel approaching us sounds like it could be a ketch,” he said. “That might be a good thing.”

“Perhaps it might,” Tavia allowed. “What type of ship is that?”

“It’s a two-masted vessel, similar in size to a sloop,” Sienna answered. “They’re not fighting ships.”

“Aye,” Donal put in, from his position at the helm. “In the Arrenmars, they were used by small-time island traders.”

Finally, Caleb spotted the vessel through his spyglass. At this distance, all he could make out was the white pinprick of a sail. He chewed over his options.

“What are you thinking, Caleb?” Sienna asked. “I mean, Captain.”

“I’m thinking it might be a good time for us to start being pirates. If that’s a civilian vessel, we might be able to obtain some badly needed stores from her. If it’s a Myrkur ship, I’d say we practically have a duty to pillage her and deny her to the death cult. On the other hand...”

“Yes?”

“It’s curious that we’d see a ketch out here. Like Donal said, they’re used by small-time traders. Island hopper. In my world, they’re strictly coastal vessels. So why is this one out in the open ocean?” He let out a breath. “I need some opinions from my three ranking officers on this one. Do we close and attack this ship? Or do we simply let it pass us by?”

Everyone was silent as they composed their thoughts. For a moment, the only sounds were the creak of the ship’s boards and the rush of wind as the breeze began to pick up. Finally, Tavia was the first to speak.

“I vote that we let this ship pass us by,” she stated. “We’re not in prime condition to take on another ship in battle. Even one that’s our size. We’re short on swords and firearms. Our crew is still underfed and understrength from their time in the dungeon. If we need supplies, perhaps that island in your vision will provide what we need, without a fight.”

“Whilst I respect thy opinion,” Shaw said gruffly, “I say that we go on the attack, with all due speed!”

Tavia rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Captain,” Shaw insisted, “the unicorn is too modest. She and I could take on this rival ship by ourselves! But we must think of thy crew’s morale too. ‘Twouldst be prudent to allow them to join the fight, in order to share the danger and the glory.”

Caleb looked over to Sienna. “What do you think, quartermaster?”

“Lir and Danu as my witnesses, I’m of two minds,” she admitted. “Tavia’s right, we’re hardly close to the best fighting shape. I’ve managed to scrape together enough people to form a single gun crew, yet we haven’t even tried firing the cannon yet.”

“So you’re saying we should pass on attacking this ship?”

“Na’ae, I didn’t say that! If anything, the crew’s champing at the bit for some payback against the Myrkur. But tell me this first: Do your senses tell you anything about that island coming up?”

“Only that it’s got a single peak and a bay.”

“Aye, then we don’t know if there’s a freshwater spring, animals, plants, what have you. It could just be a pile of rocks.”

“Fair enough.”

Sienna spread her hands. “Then it might be wise to gamble on a fight. No matter why that ship’s out here, I think we can take her. She doesn’t even have cannons to her name. But the ultimate decision is yours, Captain. The crew will follow whatever you command.”

As if to underscore the moment, two new entries popped up in the Quest Window.

New Adventurer's-Level Quest: Attack and board target ship as a Corsair for the first time. Accept New Quest? YES / NO