“Here,” A young marine passed a small tray of food and water through a gap in the bars, “Your rations.”

The prisoner, whose face was covered by long, shaggy brown hair, took it wordlessly. He didn’t even look up as he parted his hair to allow room to eat his food. It tasted horrible, but he supposed that was simply how it was in the brig. Regardless, it was a relatively hearty meal, all things considered, and he knew he’d need his strength for the days to come.

“Oh, and a letter.” The sailor said, slipping a small, nondescript envelope to him.

To my friend, Jeyro - You’re on board the Iron Maiden, correct? By the time you read this letter, I will be underway to that ship. Once I get there, I’ll only be able to maintain the gate for three minutes. Make sure you slip out of your restraints and exit by that point, or I’ll be unable to save you.

Hearnah.

That damn old fool, Jeyro thought, chewing his food angrily now, Always meddling in my business. He would never admit it, even to himself, but he was grateful. He came here to steal a certain something from the ship’s captain, an R. H., but she was far too vigilant and well-guarded to attempt it. He’d been caught impersonating a recently enlisted man, and was summarily thrown in the brig.

A cannon shot rocked the ship, although its thicker iron hull meant it was little more than turbulence against the floating fortress. Assuming that was who he thought it was, he supposed he had less than an hour until he was expected to depart. He took a piece of bread and bit down on it as he produced a small blade, thanks to his gift, and started sawing at his ankle.

“Hey!” A voice, meek and small from the adjacent cell, sounded out, “Are you escaping?” Jeyro didn’t answer, instead focusing on not screaming out due to the white-hot pain he was experiencing. “If you don’t answer me, I’ll call a guard!”

He groaned, stopping his self-mutilation, “Yes, dammit! I’m escaping, now keep your voice down.”

He was about to continue, when “Then take me with you!” interrupted his machinations.

“And how will I do that?” He asked, hoping his logic would silence her. In response, she quickly stepped through their wall. “Why didn’t you do that at any time to escape?” He continued sawing.

“And do what? Fall into the drink?” She asked, her cat ears twitching in irritation.

At last his foot came off, and were it not for the cannon fire, his scream would’ve at least been heard by the guards. He handed the blade to his new compatriot, who grimaced at the thought of cutting someone’s foot off. Still, she persevered and took a different approach, whacking repeatedly until the other foot was removed.

“Agh!” Jeyro shouted, as he used another gift to regrow the lost appendages. It clearly extracted a heavy toll, as his forehead was as drenched as the side of the ship, and twice as pale - which looked odd on his naturally coffee-like complexion.

“So, what’s the - ” A small viewport appeared on the wall of his cell, showing the deck of the other ship which was currently engaged in battle with the Iron Maiden, “ - Plan.”

The duo stepped through, and a man dressed in a well tailored suit gave them a reverential bow, “Welcome, Jeyro, and miss…?”

“Parkna.” She responded with an awkward curtsey.

“Miss Parkna.” He started with a flourish, “What were you arrested for?”

She was hesitant for a moment, “I tried to steal the captain’s log…” She rubbed her arm in shame, “I wanted to see where they’d taken my brother.”

“Well did you?” Hearnah, as she deduced, asked.

“I did,” She said in a tone that either meant she was lying or hiding some other piece of information, “But the only issue is he’s in Yuyonia.”

“That is an issue,” The older gentleman commented, “But, we were going around that area after we went through Ashland.”

The various members of the rigging crew set about unfurling their sails to their max length, doing so with great efficiency. After it was done, a few men used their gifts to put wind behind them.

“You really left it up to fate this time, Hearnah.” Jeyro opened up for the first time in a few minutes, “The damage is already done, let’s pray we can escape.”

“Well I couldn’t leave my son to go to prison, could I?” He pinched Jeyro’s cheek, much to his son’s chagrin.

“Whatever.” Jeyro rolled his eyes, silently praying that they might yet make it out alive.

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Over at the railing, Hearnah tied a small pocket-watch to a line of fishing wire, as he’d heard in an old sailor’s tale. Within a minute, a mermaid snatched up the trinket and brought them underway.

—

“So, run me through the plan again?” Garland said, trying in vain to cut through what must’ve been the toughest meat she’d ever been served.

Paracelsus himself was having difficulty, whacking away at the “rock-skin shark steak” he’d prepared, “You’re going to get us a meeting with him, Serpacinno here will keep his personal guard occupied, I will keep your boss occupied, and you’ll get the documents he keeps in his office.”

“And then what? He just gives up?” Gareland questioned, starting to lose faith.

“No, we just need to buy enough time for me to grab a certain box he has in his possession.” He replied, at last making a cut into the steak, “And then, once we have everything we need, we use it as leverage in negotiations.”

“What will we negotiate, again?” She raised an eyebrow, having found less success than her captain.

“You’ll control his businesses and reap the majority of the profit, he’ll get one share for every nine you have, and Boulliard keeps the casino.” He pointed with his fork, in an uncharacteristically ill-mannered move.

A silence hung over them, the plan understood to those three. However, the fairy still picked at her food uneasily, but no voicing whatever concerns she’d had. She clearly hoped that someone would probe, but no such convenient relief was found.

“I don’t know the first thing about running businesses.” She piped up, grinding her canines into the steak in hopes of finally getting a bite.

“Then hire someone,” He said, as though it were that simple, although her deadpan stare betrayed that it might not have been that simple, “Or…” He trailed off, hoping the gorgon might give him an answer, “Cut Boulliard in. He already manages one business.”

“You don’t know anything about running businesses, either?” She asked, which was absolutely true, “You can’t just assume he can run multiple.”

Before there were any more deliberations, the three of them heard the tell-tale sign of another ship approaching - the groaning of a hull under great pressure. With no voice to make their presence known, it must’ve meant they meant to approach silently, only betrayed by the lapping of the waves against their hull.

Paracelsus rushed above deck, and saw them hoist colors to their mast, colors of the Union. But they couldn’t be Union, they would’ve announced themselves; that, and they weren’t even wearing uniforms, just simple outfits composed of the rags one might have if they sailed aboard a private vessel for a prolonged period of time.

“Pirates!” He shouted, the vessel now less than two miles away. He chastised himself for his carelessness in not assigning a lookout.

Looking at the ship, he tried to analyze the situation. He saw the captain on the quarterdeck, a mean-looking old sailor who was as broad as he was likely to kill them. His first mate stood at his flank, showing him a chart, or perhaps a map, not that it really mattered. The crew on deck numbered at least thirty, with as many as forty additional men below deck.

He pulled out a speaking trumpet, “We don’t need any assistance, good sirs!” He tried to give them pause, at the least.

“Are you sure?” The captain replied, his voice as rough as gravel, “You don’t look so well-manned, lad.”

It was both a ruse and a silent threat. Let us on, or we’ll kill your measly crew, he left unsaid. He chewed his lip, deep in thought, trying to find some way out.

“You’re right,” He shouted back, “We were just robbed, twelve of our men died trying to fight back.” At that moment, he turned to Serpacinno and put his trumpet down, “Please, go below deck and spread some fake blood around, make it look like there was a battle.”

“Your deck looks remarkably clean for a massacre.” The captain replied.

“They tried to fight off the invaders below deck, but we severely underestimated their forces.” He closed his eyes, praying that this was a bad dream.

“Prepare to be boarded!” He heard, not like there was much choice. There was no way for his small, two sailed vessel to outrun his adversary’s. He had no more valuables to give to a mermaid, and even if he did, the pirates might see him doing so and decide to sink his vessel and recover what loot they could.

“Alright.” He replied, raising his sails to slow down. Within ten minutes, there was less than two hundred yards between the ships. Then he noticed it, the weakness that might allow him to slip away: the stays on the mast were frayed, and barely held up under the weight of the mast.

It would be risky, but if he could manage to fire a musket, and take down the rope, their mast would fall, and seeing as they were not yet in range of a broadside, their preoccupation with saving the ship might allow them to give them the slip. But what if he missed? Sure, he might be able to fire off a shot or two more, but he would immediately be attacked by whatever marksman they could muster.

“Gareland,” He tried to communicate subtly, “Do you think you can hit the rope holding up their mast from this range?”

“I might be able to, but why don’t we let them board? We don’t have anything.” She asked.

It was a fair point, but he didn’t want to run the risk of them taking what little food they had, and cutting his trawl just for the hell of it, “Nevermind that, can you hit it?”

She pondered, arriving at the same conclusion Paracelsus did about the consequences of failure, before throwing caution to the wind and nodding. She was quickly handed a musket, and zeroed in her eyes at the rope. One hundred fifty yards, she brought it to her shoulder; one hundred thirty, she pulled the hammer back, and just five yards later she pulled the trigger.

Silence, or near silence, reigned. She missed, and they saw the pirates smirk as they pulled out their weapons and hoisted their true colors - black. “You have one more chance.” Paracelsus said, putting his hand on the musket and loading it. She took a quick breath, bracing the rifle against her bones, and fired again.

This time, the dominant noise was the thwip of a rope being pulled against wood. The other stays, without the critical support of the main one, soon followed, snapping as their ship took an abrupt swing to starboard. The two on the deck of the Gale quickly unfurled the sails. They were now susceptible to a barrage of cannon fire, which would have quickly holed them if not for the quick thinking of the captain, who converted their starboard side to iron to minimize the damage.

The last thing the alchemist saw as the enemy ship faded from sight was the toothy grin of the captain, who was either impressed at his resourcefulness, or confident they would meet again. Regardless, they had won this battle, and by a change in tacking, he ensured the two ships would not meet for some time, at least.