Three-Streams. The jewel of the continent. A city of glamour and slums, of fineries and scum. It was one of the greatest airports in the world, according to both the records he'd read in the Skyflight archives and the stories that the other officers would tell him. There was so much to see, so much to do, so many new and exciting things for him to explore! It really was as though he'd stepped into a whole new world of opportunities!

And yet somehow it had taken less than four hours for him to be sat in a pub with his friends playing card games. How very typical of them all.

"Three of a kind, twos."

"Well I've managed a full house with three two's and two aces. Anyone got a better hand than that?"

A series of grumbles met Cooke's cheerful proclamation. The man wasn't exactly good at cards, and seemed to win more through luck than anything else, but that didn't mean it was rare to see him rake in large amounts of chips. There was a great deal to be said for luck in games such as this. Some people actually called them games of chance, but Archer knew better. Chance had its place in such card games, for sure, but chance was far from the most important factor. There were a great many ways that one could throw off an opponent, hone one's own concentration, keep track of the cards played. It was not a game of chance, but of concentration.

And as luck, or his lack thereof, would have it he was finding it very hard to concentrate right now. Three bottles of fine red had found their way down his throat, and twice now he'd had to rather blushingly turn down offers of 'company' from some of the ladies of the night in the bar. Given how they seemed to be talking with one of their male colleagues and glancing over at him, he had no doubt that they would be trying another angle to try and get some sterling off of him soon enough. Archer didn't want that, though. He just wanted to enjoy his night with his friends, his first night in a foreign port.

Not that the aforementioned friends had been of any help in either of the previous situations. Lawrence had drank one and a half bottles of fine red, and given his low tolerance for alcohol that had resulted in him basically pressing his head against the table and groaning while Talon gently rubbed his back. Neither of them were much use helping him communicate to these fine women that, no, whilst their offer was very kind he wasn't looking for any company of that sort at the moment please and thank you, as a result. The two Rickards were deep in their cups and had done little other than laugh the whole time, and as for Talwynn? She'd simply marched over to where the courtesans were gathered, paid for a man and two women, and buggered off into a private room. He was fairly certain that she was intending to 'make the most of her time ashore' in a rather different way than the rest of them, but he couldn't blame her; she'd not exactly hidden her intentions when they'd left the ship, and had at the very least had the courtesy to spend a few hours walking around the city and getting drunk with the rest of them first.

"Archer?"

"Hm?"

"Your hand, Archer."

"Oh, right. Nothing good, I can tell you that much. I've got a pair of sixes."

He chucked his cards into the middle and forced down another gulp of wine.

"How'd you talk me into this again?"

The younger of the two Rickards shrugged while smiling.

"Getting pissed on expensive booze is sort of how navy personnel unwind. I mean, we've all got months of pay that we haven't been able to spend on anything, so we may as well splash out a bit when we go portside. It just so happens that you never noticed how fast you were drinking those first few hours. Don't worry, it happens to the best of us; we've all reached for a bottle before now that was supposed to last an hour and found it empty after ten minutes."

"God, I am going to hate myself for this tomorrow."

Cooke gave him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder as he allowed his head to fall into his hands.

"Well, hey, I know one or two remedies to help alleviate a hangover!"

"Really? I thought you didn't drink much?"

Talon smiled sweetly at him. It was true; the man was still barely into his third glass whilst Archer was nearing the end of his third bottle.

"Well, I might not drink much, but I have been drunk before. Hungover as well. Besides, the amount of times I've needed to help one of these fine people out with a hangover has made me quite adept at preparing such remedies."

Archer turned to look at the Owens, raising an eyebrow. The two men just shrugged.

"I don't know what you want us to tell you. He ain't lying, if that's what you're worried about. Trust us, you'll be in good hands tomorrow. Well, assuming you make it that far."

That earned a round of chuckles from around the table, including a muffled laugh from Lawrence who was still face-down on the table. Archer turned to him.

"Oh, thank goodness you're still there. I was beginning to worry you'd fallen asleep."

Lawrence grumbled a bit, and Cooke stifled a giggle behind the back of his hand. In response Lawrence turned himself on the table to face Cooke, mock anger on his face.

"Traitor."

Talon giggled again and gently ran a hand through Lawrence's hair.

"Sorry Lawrie. He's right though, you look ready to fall asleep any second."

"I will if you keep playing with my hair like that. Isn't my fault anyway, alcohol isn't exactly my strong suit as you well know."

Talon let out a sigh that held more than a little yearning, and Archer cursed himself for not taking advantage of that betting pool whilst he'd had the chance.

"Well, I should probably see you to a room before you end up drinking any more. Archer, Owen, Owen, have a pleasant rest of the night. I'm going to take Lawrence to a room and look after him."

The two Owens exchanged shit-eating grins when Talon spoke, resulting in the man going red in the face as he realised what he'd just said.

"No, not like that!" He squeaked out, Lawrence being held up against his shoulder. "I didn't mean-"

"Talon," Archer interrupted, "you're blushing."

His friend immediately froze in place before hurriedly trying to hide his face behind his free hand.

"You're all terrible to me!"

The three men seated at the table laughed good-naturedly as their friend took his leave, off to inquire about room prices for the night. Archer shook his head mirthfully at the situation; Talon might have been a prince, but he held himself no higher than the rest of them. In fact, Archer was fairly certain that his command to be taken home was the only time he had used his status to get anything from anyone since the secret had come to light.

"Have a good night, Talon!"

The man looked back at him and gave him a little smile and parting wave before walking out of the main room of the public house and into the adjoining corridor which led to the rooms. Archer turned to look at the two Owens, both of whom had ingested a truly impressive amount of alcohol at this point yet seemed none the worse for wear.

"What now then?"

The sergeant rubbed his chin, grinning as Archer struggled to stop the floor from spinning beneath his feet.

"Well, me and my nephew here are gonna head back out for a night on the town. I happen to know there's an underground boxing ring not far from here, and I'm not one to miss out on a bit of sportsman-like violence. You're welcome to join us if you'd like, but you look like you're about to keel over."

"Don't let that stop you though," the man's nephew chimed in, "after all, we've all gotten hammered before and still decided a night out was a good idea."

Archer laughed at that, as did the sergeant. It didn't take much imagination to picture the two of them getting themselves into a variety of dubiously safe situations as a result of alcohol and the desire for a fun night out, and as such ending up with a scar on their skin and a story to tell.

"I'll take your word for that, Corporal. Thank you for your kind offer, but I think I should probably start seeing myself off to a room as well. Preferably one with a jug of ice water, good bedding, and absolutely no company whatsoever."

The two men laughed at his response, and then again when he stood up and barely stopped himself from loosing his footing immediately.

"Yeah, that's probably for the best. You probably wouldn't be able to follow a boxing match like that."

Archer scoffed.

"I'm too drunk and too tired to deal with rapid movements like that. Besides, there's no way they're going to allow someone as drunk as I am into anything like that. Well, not unless they want second-hand red wine over the backs of half of the crowd."

The sergeant guffawed and banged a fist against the table, the proposed motion seeming to amuse him greatly.

"If that's the case we've got to get you to come with us! Come on, you never wanted to puke on one of these republic-types before?"

Archer shook his head and held his hands out in a motion of mock surrender.

"Oh-ho-ho no. Not me. I'm not getting involved in a fight against a crowd of boxing fans for your entertainment, thank you very much. No, I'm headed off to bed. Even so, please do enjoy your night and let me know the scores come the morning."

"Will do, friend. Sleep well."

At that he nodded and went to inquire about hiring out a room for the night. Sleep sounded good right about now.

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Well, this was certain to be a shitshow. How long had it been since they'd set out from Three-Streams? A week, a week and a half? How the hell had one of Greyfax's scouts happened upon them this early?

"Ready the carronades! I want that thing blown down from the sky, and as soon as possible as well! It's only a tiny vessel, one good shot should disable the majority of its systems!"

"I can't get a good aim from here, Lawrence. We're too far for any of the guns to have effective reach!"

Lawrence cursed at Talwynn's words.

"Blighter. Try and score a hit; I'm not expecting success, but if one of your carronades can score then we'll likely be home free until Occsa."

Talwynn gave Lawrence a strange look, somewhere between a grin and a grimace, signalling that whilst she would relish the challenge she had almost no hope of success.

"As you say, sir! Crail, trace your target and fire at will!"

"Aye ma'am!"

The gunner, Crail, waited for the Sunbird to manoeuvre around a little to get a better view of his target, tilted the carronade as far as it would go, and fired. The shot was a good one, and for a moment after the thunderous shock had rolled though him and turned his bones to jelly he thought they might have gotten lucky after all. Alas, the shots went wide due to the small corvette providing far too small and far too nimble a target for the Sunbird to hit at so great a distance.

"She's running, sir! Do you think she'll be back?"

Lawrence sighed, grimacing.

"It won't be her that comes back, but one of her older sisters. Within the hour, I'd wager. Petty Officer Trenholm, I want your men ready for duty at a moment's notice! The foe will be back , and with reinforcements."

The man's voice dropped, and when he continued to speak it was so quietly that Archer was fairly certain he was the only person capable of hearing the man.

"God, I hope Greyfax's flotilla isn't nearby. We aren't nearly ready to face them all yet."

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The next forty minutes passed with agonising tension, but Lawrence had been right. One of the corvette's larger sisters, a destroyer if Stefan was to be believed, was now steadily steaming towards them. Archer had been a little worried, but Lawrence had breathed a sigh of relief.

"One ship we can take. She's our equal on paper and far worse in reality. We can take her."

Archer watched as his friend, his captain, took one last deep breath and then began to speak to the assembled crew on deck. When he began to speak all present fell silent and paid their attention to him, not out of obligation or surprise save one or two people, but seemingly a genuine respect. Lawrence's gaze swept over them all in a cold, analytical way, before some sort of fire seemed to light itself behind his eyes and in his throat, resulting in the man becoming a true leader of men.

"I don't know why you signed on with the navy, and I don't know what you believe in, but there's one thing I know for certain! You're all stalwart patriots of Albion, aye, and Ewyng too, and as such you hate these rebellious bastards just as much as I do!"

The men murmured their assents, an electric energy seeming to build amongst them as Lawrence continued to speak.

"Remember men, these are rebels! Whether they call themselves Jacobins, Levellers, or Anarchists, they're here to kill our prince! What do we call them!"

Lawrence waited a beat for the crew to respond, a resounding cacophony of insults aimed squarely at the rebels. Archer did his best to drown out the dozens of choice names that the crew slung at the rebels, instead trying to focus on the words coming out of his friends mouth. Words of war, of righteous fury, of zeal for a cause he truly believed in. When Lawrence spoke Archer found that he believed it as well.

"SCUM!" Lawrence roared out. "VILLAINS, WHOREMONGERS AND MURDERERS ALL! We're going to fight them, and we're going to bloody well win! Do you understand!"

"Yes!"

The crew shouted back as one, almost as loud as Lawrence himself had spoke. Lawrence looked over them all, and it took Archer a moment to realise he'd joined in with the chorus as well.

"Do you understand!"

"YES!"

This time the wave of sound seemed so solid that he was sure that his friend would be bowled over, but Lawrence remained standing with a stoic expression on his face that looked almost like cold fury.

"Then move to your stations and rain fire on my command!"

The men moved deftly to their positions, assured in their purpose and their victory. The ship facing them now may have been a little larger than their own, since it was a full-scale destroyer, but that did not mean it was any more powerful than their heavy-frigate was. The Sunbird, whilst ageing, was a purpose-built warship, with all the advantages that such a status entailed. Whatever nameless rebel vessel faced them now was not purpose-built for battle, but seemed to be just a civilian trading vessel gutted and refitted with carronades. With any luck, extremely outdated and rusty carronades that were prone to misfiring and blowing up on deck. Hopefully.

Yeah, he wasn't feeling as though luck would be on his side for that side of thing. Bloody fate, never giving him a small favour every now and again.

"With me, Assistant Engineer. You have a job of your own, but it's to run repairs after all is said and done. You and I will be very busy after this, most likely anyway, but this might give you the opportunity to experience some combat aboard an airship. I mean, that's probably part of the reason you signed up, am I correct?"

Archer nodded, but made a so-so motion with his hands.

"Yes, but not because I wanted to see combat. I only knew that I was boarding an airship of the RAN, and if we didn't see combat for the full five years of my service then that could only be because we'd spent that time grounded. At least this way I know I'll be getting the full airman's experience!"

Lawrence chuckled a little.

"Well, I'd say you've covered that already. Near-death experiences, mutiny, and conspiracy. You'll certainly go home with a tale or two to tell."

"Captain, you've missed out one of the core parts of my journey so far!"

Lawrence cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"Card games. Lots and lots of card games."

Lawrence chuckled mirthfully again.

"Yes, Assistant Engineer. Lots of card games."

Archer smiled and enjoyed his friend's quiet company in the last moments before the battle begun. Nearby the First Mate called out directions to the helmsman in the background, and from somewhere behind the lot of them he heard the distinctly bloodthirsty voice of Talwynn barking orders at the poor buggers under her command, who he knew she had been training with extreme intensity since Cooke's revelation had come to light. He did not envy them.

Speaking of the prince himself, Archer happened to know that he was currently in the mess tending to a few men with injuries as a result of a particularly spectacular bout of drunken stupidity in Three-Streams. Archer hadn't been present, but he knew it involved a lot of very questionable choices and some very shaky translation between the native inhabitants and the visiting Albionic crewmen. Some things stayed the same the world over, it seemed.

Still, it spoke well for his character amongst the crew. Talon had likely treated almost every man aboard the ship of at least one ailment since he'd boarded seven years ago, and the knowledge that the man tending to their injuries was the one they were fighting for seemed to instil a sense of pride in the crew, a sort of esprit de corps that may have been there when Archer had joined, certainly, but it felt far stronger now than it had back then. No man, woman, or anyone else besides, wished to see harm come to their prince. Be it for love, for duty, or for money, the crew were invested in seeing him home to his family.

"Two miles and closing, Captain!"

Lawrence nodded at the aide to his side, and gestured for the young boy to stay until he'd received a response.

"Send word to the Gunnery Officer to open fire as soon as we are within acceptable ranges as laid out by the West-Albionic Naval Academy's doctrine. She'll know what that means. A full broadside for our friends over there, with permission to disregard boarding and seizing protocols. Understood?"

The young boy nodded whilst saluting, then scampered off to find Talwynn and give her Lawrence's orders.

"Stand fast, Archer. Soon enough you'll hear cannonfire for the first time in your life. You may wish to press your hands to your ears when I give you the word, if you're sensitive about loud noises and the like."

Archer felt a strange churning in his gut as they began to close the distance between themselves and the rebel destroyer. He didn't know why his nerves hadn't begun to fray before this point; seeing as they were going into battle and there was a very real possibility that people he knew may be killed, hell, he might even be killed, he figured that he probably should have been feeling far worse than he had been feeling up until now.

"Lawrence? I must confess to feeling rather anxious about the coming hours."

His friend turned halfway to facing him, eyes still looking at the destroyer ahead.

"I don't blame you in the slightest. I'm anxious as well. So are the Rickards, Talon, and most of the crew. There are very few people who are truly dauntless as they go in to battle, Archer. Most people who claim otherwise are liars, and the few who aren't lying are usually those who relish chaos and death. There's no shame in feeling fear, Archer. Just make sure you don't let it overcome you in the moment, and no-one will think any less of you for it."

Archer nodded, taking a deep breath. Don't let it overcome you. That seemed to be good, if obvious, advice.

"Understood, Captain. Standing by for the show, as requested."

Lawrence turned his head to look at Archer properly and smiled, letting out a single chuckle.

"One mile and closing!"

Lawrence didn't even look away from the rapidly approaching destroyer even once.

"Shouldn't we be firing?"

"Not quite yet, Assistant Engineer. Our carronades are still out of effective range. If they don't have very good discipline aboard, then-"

There was the sound of thunder suddenly about them, and Archer leapt down onto the deck and covered the top of his head. Lawrence nudged him gently with his foot, smirking down at him.

"If they don't have very good discipline aboard, then they'll fire off a volley far too early."

Archer scrambled back up to his feet.

"How do you know they haven't hit us?"

Lawrence shook his head and gave a soft laugh.

"Trust me, my friend. You'll know when they hit us. You'll feel it very keenly, on that much you can be certain. Never mind that for now. I believe you may wish to cover your ears very soon."

"How soon?"

The voice of an aide called out again.

"Five-hundred metres and closing!"

Lawrence gave him one last sideways glance before planting his feet evenly apart and clasping his hands behind his back. Despite the fact he had turned away Archer could still just about make out the smirk on his face.

"Very, very soon. Now, if I were you."

Archer hurriedly slapped his hands over his ears, just in time for a series of deafening roars to overwhelm all that he knew. It was an almost apocalyptic sound, and he was almost certain that when he looked there would be great cracks in the valleys and hills around them. Both of the thirty-two pound carronades on the forecastle as well as the five on the larboard side had fired on the foe with what seemed to his unfamiliar eyes like pinpoint accuracy. Three gaping holes had appeared in the rotten bow of the rebel ship, and even as Archer was trying to comprehend what had happened he heard the rattling noise of the puckle-guns firing at their damaged adversary. The rebel ship did seem to be loading their own carronades for a second volley, but the rapid-firing guns were raking the decks of the crewmen on the guns. As a result the rebels were only able to fire off individual carronades at the Sunbird, which seemed far less effective than a full volley.

Still, rebel ship was now within proper range, and so one of their surviving gunners must have gotten lucky; the Sunbird shuddered as a cannonball collided with one of the upper decks, sailing through the ship and splintering wooden walls as it went. It was a lucky shot, but one which had done very little real damage to the Sunbird. It was not enough, and both sides knew it.

"Captain, permission to finish her off?"

Talwynn's cheerful voice cut through the fog of his thoughts, helping him to ground himself whilst thunder continued to clap around him. Lawrence's voice helped as well, the calm and yet satisfied tone of the man further bringing Archer back into his body.

"Granted, Petty Officer. You may fire when ready."

For ten seconds there was silence, and then the final blow was struck to the foe. A full second volley of carronade fire lashed their sides, and with a great groan the ramshackle destroyer began to slowly tumble away to the ground.

"Well, there you are Archer. Your first battle. Less than an hour long and almost completely one-sided."

Archer grimaced.

"Do you think Commodore Greyfax will take this spit in his eye without reacting?"

Lawrence's smile fell, and he turned to face back out over the battlefield.

"No. He won't. But we'll be ready for him."

Archer nodded, barely registering the men behind him congratulating one another on a successful engagement. He was far too focused on what Lawrence had to say to do anything else.

"I hope so, anyway. We have to be ready. The prince is relying on us, Archer."

There was nothing more for either of them to say or do, and so the two of them simply stood and looked out over the place where the rebel ship had once been. Some may have called it brooding, but if there was ever a time that he needed to brood and gather his thoughts then it was now.

God, he needed a drink.