“Officer Taylor.” Graave gestured at the chair in his quarters, already pulled out a few feet from his desk.

“Lieutenant Graave.” Taylor replied, offering a salute - which was quickly matched and dismissed - before sitting down.

“First off, I’d like to congratulate you on your rise to Chief Petty Officer.” He poured a glass of whisky, his spirit of choice, for both of them, and toasted, “And second, I’d like to request your assistance with a personal matter.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.” The officer confirmed, trying to throw back the overly-smoky drink.

“Twenty years.” Graave swirled the drink, “Older than Peeares.” He looked up at her, “Actually, that’s what I wanted to ask. As you know, I met with Medine himself not long ago, but something rubbed me the wrong way. It’s hard to describe, but the way he spoke, is there a particular way Iralions speak of the dead?”

“Sir?” She searched through her mind, “I don’t think so; if you don’t mind me asking, is something the matter with him?”

“I’m not sure.” He admitted, downing his glass in one go, “Sorry for pulling you away from your duties for this.” He saluted, “As you were.”

“Aye sir.” She nodded, returning to her duties.

He sighed, he was probably overthinking the whole thing, but Peeares was practically his protogé. At least the next time, he’d have to bring Taylor along, if nothing else, than to confirm, after meeting the merchant herself, that Graave was worrying over nothing. His heart couldn’t take it, after all. His heart probably also couldn’t take the whisky, but that was less important at the moment.

—

“What do you need,” Serpacinno stood in the doorway of the captain’s quarters, “Captain?”

“I just wanted to check in with you, see how you were feeling about all of this.” He replied.

“To tell you the truth?” She asked, but no reply came, “I don’t trust Tariq, and I don’t think we should go along with him.”

“And why haven’t you said anything,” Paracelsus crossed his arms over his chest, “We’re partners, aren’t we?”

“I trust you and Gareland,” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder to the deck, where the fairy sat with Tariq, playing cards, “Far as I’m concerned, and this is mostly a gut feeling, she’s with us now; that makes it two-to-one.”

“Well now I feel foolish,” He chuckled, “Truth be told, I called you here because I thought that you didn’t trust me, or you thought I wasn’t exposing myself to enough danger.”

She shut the door behind her, and took a seat in front of him, “Nah, I get it; not everyone’s as tough as me.” She smirked, “If I can be honest though, I do find you a bit paranoid.”

“Paranoid?” He fell back to a tone of fake indignance, “Surely you’re joking?”

“I’m serious, you were muttering in your sleep about the pirates we ran into the other week.” She leaned in.

“You were listening to me sleep?” He shook his head, “Back to the matter at hand - why don’t you trust Tariq?”

“It sounds too good to be true. Conveniently, some disgraced prince or something or other,” She rolled her hands, “Shows up, more conveniently - he needs our help and promises us the world in return.”

“Now who’s paranoid?” He joked, “I’ll admit, it does sound like a trap, but I’m more than confident in our crew, should things go south.”

“That’s more like it.” Serpacinno laughed, and Paracelsus joined her, confident that the misunderstanding had been cleared up, “Well, if that will be all…”

As she stood up, the captain put a hand up to stop her, “Actually, I was planning on going to get dinner in town, maybe invite the others. Join me?”

Her eyes softened, ever so slightly, at the invitation. She made a noise like she was considering it, before she nodded.

—

“Shit, marines.” Paracelsus stopped in his tracks, and his three companions failed to slow down in time and crashed into his back, almost making him fly around the corner.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Why are there so many of them?” Serpacinno turned her head to look at Tariq pointedly.

“I swear I don’t know!” He held his hand up in defense after he rubbed the shock off of the back of his head, “Normally there’s none around.” With their attention gathered, he waved his hand to usher them about, “I know a side street, I doubt the marines will check.”

And so, they fled into the safety of one of the number of small, winding alleyways, looking about themselves the whole time for any sign of the Union. Luckily, there were none, and Tariq led them down the small back road until it emptied back onto the street.

“Uff, sorry.” He bumped into a woman, a marine by the looks of it, whose glasses had just fallen off of her face, “Are you alright?”

As she was squinting at the ground, Paracelsus realized his good fortune and used his boot to subtly retrieve her glasses, turning them into an extra bit of granite sticking off of a nearby wall.

“I’m fine,” Tariq beat the captain’s hand away, lest they all be spotted by this sightless soldier, “Did you lose your glasses?” He asked, as the woman groped around the road. The four of them joined in, as a show of goodwill, sweeping and patting in a very convincing facsimile of care.

“Yes, and just my luck too, outside of my father’s restaurant,” She stood up and dusted herself off, “I don’t suppose any of you found them? Even if they’re broken, I can fix them.” Made the captain more sure of his decision to not simply break them.

“Sorry, they must’ve fallen into some crevice.” Said captain nervously informed her, “By the way, I heard mention of a restaurant?”

Serpacinno shot a look at him like a wildebeest looking at its companion jumping into the jaws of a lion. In return, he lightly patted the air around her, trying to communicate his certainty. The other two of the crew either didn’t know or care what was going on with them, probably too scared by their near-miss of the law.

“Oh yes,” She beamed with pride, “I’m in the area because of work, and I thought to stop by. Care to join me?”

Paracelsus’ nose twitched, the thought of extracting some information as to the navy’s reasons for being here was as enticing as the prospect of getting to eat already, “Sounds like a plan.”

—

“Appa, I’m home!” The marine shouted, holding the door open for a few moments after the party had entered, thanks to her not seeing them pass. Gareland turned around after a few paces to notify her and lead her by the shoulder further inward.

The place was decorated thoroughly with pillows of all bright colors, seats barely six inches off the floor, and similarly low-set tables made of bright white and blue ceramics, which gave off a distinctly foreign air to the present foreigners. The walls had windows made of stained glass, which let the fair orange light of dusk pour in and bathe the room in its warm glow. What little space was not afforded to the windows housed shelves containing all manner of handcrafted goods, from fine silks to vases filled with dust.

“Farah!” Her father, a distinctly fair-skinned (and Paracelsus thought, unfitting) man embraced her and spun her round in the air, “What brings you here?” He was fat, but gave the distinct impression that it was but a thin layer over a densely weaved body of strength.

“We’re stationed in Bataine,” Tariq blanched at that, recognizing the name as the Gale’s, or Current’s - as he remembered the names were somewhat interchangeable - destination, “And I got permission from my officer to visit you for a night.” He was confused by that, seeing as Bataine was over a week by horse, and even modern inventions like steam carriages (of which, none connected the two locales) would take at least three days. So why would she come back for just one day? And why were other marines here?

Parecelsus certainly shared the latter concern, but let the issue rest for a moment, and watched as the family was reunited, “And who are these people?” The father gestured to them, a warm smile on his face.

“Customers,” The captain offered his hand and was surprised when his arm nearly came off with the handshake, “We bumped into your daughter just outside, Mr…”

“Taylor.” Was his response after he let go, “But all my customers call me Patte.”

“Well, Patte,” The captain smiled, “I’m afraid to admit, I have no idea what’s good around here.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix you something nice.” The cook replied, clapping his hands together, “Tea?”

The foureigners nodded, and he retreated into the kitchen as his daughter sat with them, “So what brings such a unique group here.” She squinted deeply, which gave them all pause for a second, “I can tell, even without my glasses, you’re not all from around here.”

“We’re all friends from college, I’m…” Paracelsus almost offered his own name but had the good sense to realize the suicidal nature of such an offering “Lican.”

“Naedriel.” Gareland offered, visually trembling.

“Sarah.” Serpacinno, considerably more calm, answered.

It was to Tariq’s great fortune that, as he offered his actual name, Ms. Taylor had not attended the meeting where it was said, “I actually am from around here.”

“Oh, my apologies,” She batted her hand, “I really am blind as a bat without my glasses.”

Paracelsus lightly elbowed the young man, as a way of chiding him, and he looked back with a face of indignation. Then, came the tea while the food was still being prepared, and although Paracelsus was far from a connoisseur, the drink was good and served to whet his appetite for the food, which had a strong, pleasant odor to it. The cook came back out with food in hand, and since there were no other customers at this hour, he decided to sit down and break bread with them.

The captain took his dish, some noodle soup, and ate it with the utmost gusto. It was a far cry from familiar, and he probably wouldn’t be cooking it, but compared to the weird jellyfish slurries and shark steaks, it was very refreshing. That was a mistake, he thought, trying to show off.

“So, Farah, why are you in Bataine?” Patte asked, indulging in his own meal of bread and some type of oily paste.

“I shouldn’t say…” She nervously chuckled, but after some prompting from her father, her foul attitude towards the secret subsided, and she continued, “Alright, alright - Lieutenant Graave has us continuing our search for some pirates, or revolutionaries; the story always seems to bend to his convenience.”

“You didn’t happen to catch their names?” ‘Lican’ asked, and all eyes immediately befell him, “Sorry, it’s just - I go to college to study crime and punishment, you see. I’m very interested in criminal minutiae.”

“No need to apologize, I was just taken aback.” She carefully picked at her food, what with her hazy vision, “They had such queer names, I believe the man was named something similar to… Patrick Ellis?”

Ellis himself, to his credit, managed this confirmation better than his companions, whose trembling nerves were only matched by the father’s obliviousness and the daughter’s blindness. His comportment was still calm and measured, although it may also have been that he suggested it.

After some more time of unrelated chattering, the skipper looked at his watch (that no one would have been able to identify on him earlier), and tapped his forehead exasperatedly, “So sorry to say, and this dinner was wonderful, but we really should be going.”

He laid out a few bills and exchanged farewells with the hosts. He wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped, but he also didn’t want to pry further for fear of seeming suspicious. It was then that Tariq, perhaps because of his relative new coming to this group, made a realization.

If the captain had a golden tooth that he used for dramatic effect, he would look very much like the young man’s frame of reference for a pirate.