The great cabin was jam-packed around the modular table, forcing Sienna and Donal to sit on the bed. Caleb stood across from them, ducking his head under Tavia’s horn as he spoke. Shaw curled up as best he could on his side of the room, keeping his lion’s tail curled so that Decklan Patrick could stand just inside the closed door.

Caleb sensed that Daffodil was still in attendance, though she remained in hiding. Decklan Patrick’s presence guaranteed that. Breena on the other hand simply decided to make her way to the top of one of the bookshelves and remained above the fray, continuing her daily grooming with her pink tongue.

“I must say that I’m impressed,” Tavia said, as she looked over the mass of documents. “This is quite a bit. And a great deal of it seems to be scarcely legible.”

“Well, I had a bit of luck,” Caleb said. “Breena happened to knock off the right document when she jumped off the table.”

“A bit of luck, indeed. She did the same thing when we were trying to figure out how to use the crystal panel to listen in on the Myrkur.”

Tavia looked up and eyed the cat suspiciously. For her part, Breena simply ignored the unicorn’s gaze and went on with her grooming.

“Yes, but I found out something interesting,” Caleb said, pushing aside the mare’s concerns. “We didn’t only intercept the Disgraced Damsel while she was transporting slaves. We caught her on only the first of two slave pickups. The second cargo is fifty more Arrenmar slaves. They’re being held for pickup within the next few days at some island called Matagorda.”

Patrick looked down and nodded to himself at the news. He rubbed his bandaged hand and kept silent for the moment.

In contrast, Donal and Sienna traded an excited glance, then began speaking over one another.

“Captain, we have to rescue these people!”

“Aye, now there’s a mission we need to take on!”

Shaw thumped a paw on the floorboards as he chimed in.

“‘Tis well within our abilities to free those captives! I say that we find yon isle of Matted Gore-das and do battle!”

At that, everyone’s eyes went to Tavia. The mare shifted uncomfortably on all four hooves before she spoke.

“My instinct as a paladin agrees with all here: There are captives that need to be freed, and we must answer the call to help the helpless. Yet we know not where this island may be, nor its defenses. For all we know, it could be a major Myrkur stronghold. I would be loath to blindly risk eighty lives for fifty.”

Patrick cleared his throat and raised his head.

“Matagorda’s not a Myrkur stronghold,” he said calmly. “It’s the name of the island as well as the protected neutral port there. But make no mistake, it’s a major provisioning and repair center for the followers of Myr. And as for a rescue, it’s damn near as tight as an unbeaten drum to get in. Or out.”

Caleb took a moment to digest the information. He rubbed his chin in thought as the others in the room murmured amongst themselves.

“You seem to know great deal about this place, Decklan. And you were the one who insisted that I look through the Damsel’s documents. Explain.”

The man nodded and brushed a curly lock off his face.

“Gladly, Captain,” he said. “I’m afraid that it involves piracy. Hopefully this doesn’t shock anyone here as much as, say, discussing country matters.”

Caleb chuckled. “I’m shocked. And appalled. In that order. Go on.”

“Many years ago, I got into a dispute with the mayor of the Roshannons. The matter was a pitiful small one, over some fish I’d brought in – but it resulted in my givin’ the man a bunch o’ my fives. In the face.”

Bunch o’ my fives? Caleb looked over to Sienna for help. She held up all five fingers, made a fist, and then pantomimed being socked in the jaw.

“So I went on a longline run, and never returned,” Patrick continued. “It happens often enough, as Danu’s my witness. I sailed south and east, eventually joinin’ up with the pirate schooner Rusty Scupper. Spent a few years picking the pockets and emptying the holds of wealthy merchants out of the Leeward and Windwards. Traveled so far out of my home waters that I visited the pirate haven of Boruta, even Matagorda. Kept on heading east, right until…”

“Until you ran into the Myrkur,” Caleb finished.

“Aye, the damned death-cultists.” Patrick clenched his hands into fists. “They took the Scupper in a running battle, and then clapped the entire crew – my friends – in irons and dragged ‘em back to Irongrasp. Soul drained each of them to mere husks. Then fed a few choice pieces to their newest initiates and threw the rest to the dogs. They’d have done the same to me, ‘cept the Myrkur are always need of skilled seamen. They’ve got Guardsmen enough to spit through their teeth, but they’re always short of Sea Vipers.”

“So you joined–” Donal began.

“By Lir’s damned beard, I did not!” Patrick thundered. “Elsewise, why would’ve you found me in chains on the Damsel? I refused the offer, figured that my death would be quick. Instead, they made me a shipboard slave. I’d been haulin’ sails as best I could with fetters on, until they sent me to cut timber up north. That’s when I met my fellow Roshannon, found out that the cultists had gone through my home islands like a plague of locusts.”

Caleb frowned. “Until Komtur Kane arrived.”

“Aye, and you know what happened next. I was tasked time to time with bringin’ food to the captain’s cabin. That’s where I saw the mention of more slaves to be picked up on Matagorda. As soon as the Myrkur learn that you’ve sunk their slave transport, they’ll take those people off to Irongrasp in some other ship’s hull. They’ll drain ‘em dry and eat their souls!”

“We know about that too,” Sienna said darkly. “All too well.”

“Make no mistake,” Donal added, “We do this, it’ll be with a fair dollop of risk. Even if this island is an easy port, it’s headin’ straight back into Myrkur waters.”

“It doesn’t sound like an easy port,” Caleb observed. “Not by a long shot.”

“Nay, it cannot be easy!” Shaw put in, with a nod of his beak. “Not if the prospect of victory is to weigh heavily in the eyes of heroes such as we. Difficulty and danger are required, if nothing else than to add spice to the mix.”

Patrick stared at the griffin. “Oh, it’s spicy enough for you, that much is sure! Matagorda’s run by one Governor Sims, and he’s as slippery as they come. He’s no friend of the Myr, but he’s more than happy to let ‘em have their way with any smuggler or civilian that docks at his port. The Myrkur are his people’s best customers when it comes to trade or ship stores, and they don’t challenge them openly.”

Caleb considered. “So you’re saying that if there’s Myrkur ships in the harbor, Sims would let them attack or board us?”

“Aye, that’s what I’m saying. Then there’s the island, which is a real kip-and-a-half on its own. Is there anything here I might put a scribble on?”

In reply, Sienna pulled out one of the parchment sheets she always seemed to have on her. She gave the man a charcoal stub to write with. Caleb cleared a space on the table for the man to work.

Patrick drew a roughly circular shape, erased the perimeter at the two and ten o’clock spaces, then drew new interior lines. The result looked like a pie with a quarter-slice taken slightly out. He then marked the narrow ‘point’ of the slice by drawing in docks and buildings.

“Matagorda’s harbor can only be reached by travelling down one of two narrow sea lanes,” he said, tracing the outlines with a finger as he spoke. “Each lane runs down a narrow canyon, and the deep-water channel is only two ships wide. It keeps anyone from bringing in an entire fleet of ships, but it’s also a great way to bottle up someone inside.”

“What about the land side of things?” Tavia used her horn to point at the pie slice with the port at its very tip.

“Sheer cliff faces all around, save for a couple tiny beach heads. Near-impenetrable jungle inland. Do-able with a small group who knows how to tell a creeper vine from a poisonous snake. Not so good for an invasion force.”

“The Lord High Captain’s got a Weathermancer with him,” Sienna pointed out. “He might have other wizardly types on his staff.”

Patrick shook his head. “None of that kind could do ‘im any good. Sims and the prior Governors of Matagorda have collected every sorcery-suppressing artifact in this quadrant of the map. It’s a magic-free zone all around the island. From what I hear, even magical creatures have problems keepin’ their wits about them when they get close. The Gilarskans claim that their dragons can’t fly within a league of the town.”

Tavia let out a snort. “That would explain how they maintain independence from the Myrkur, then. Difficult to invade, immune to magic…it makes for an interesting couple of problems to solve. A kip and a half’s worth.”

“How far are we from this place?” Caleb asked. “And on what heading?”

“Call it three days sail from here,” came the answer. “On a heading one point south of due east.”

Caleb brought up the one pertinent entry on his Character Sheet and glanced at it.

Existing Debuffs: Corsair-related abilities restored to 75% for the next three days, after which they shall begin to decline.

Patrick had continued to talk while he’d looked the entry up. Caleb flicked the screen off and paid closer attention.

“…we cannot fight our way in on land,” the curly-haired man argued. “Nor can we storm it by sea. Even if the Myrkur have no ships in port, the Matagordans are set to take any fight to an invader, for they know the value of what they hold. So I want to do something different to rescue those people held by the sons of Myr.”

“I’m all ears,” Sienna said eagerly. “I think we all are.”

“Allow me to lead an expedition of a half-dozen men inland,” he explained, as he touched a finger to a second of the outermost edge of the pie wedge. “I know of a tiny beach amidst the cliff faces, right here. It’s just large enough to hold this ship’s longboat. I can take that force through the jungle by hidden paths. The Matagordans hold most prisoners in open-air cages set outside of the town proper. We can free those found in the closest prison and bring them back with us.”

“There’s a problem,” Donal pointed out. “The longboat at best hold eighteen souls, and that’s in water calm enough to walk on. Are we planning to make four, five trips between the island and our sloop before soldiers from the town catch up with you?”

“Nay.” Patrick admitted heavily. “Bringing fifty men and women across that terrain, with guards or soldiers from Matagorda after us…it’s impossible. We can only do what we’re able, with the resources left to us. I’m hopin’ to rescue twelve at best.”

“‘Tis a piece of knavery!” Shaw declared. “One cannot abandon the rest of the captives! It…it smacks of leaving a mug of ale half drunk at the table!”

Patrick had no answer to that.

The room went quiet for a moment. Finally, Caleb broke the silence.

“We can’t leave any of the Arrenmar behind,” he finally said. “And we won’t. Because I know exactly how we can get every single one of them off that island.”