“Just wasn’t sure,” the captain confirmed.

“Where did you suppose we come from?” asked his first mate.

“I don’t suppose much.”

The two hardly needed whisper, Fugger realized, loud conversations echoing from below deck relentlessly. It’d fast become evident the knights who boarded the vessel soon believed it empty. Fugger made a move to investigate downstairs, but Bellhound grabbed at his button up and drew the captain back.

“What are you doing?” whispered Bellhound.

“Investigating.”

“They’ll spy and hang you,” the ship’s navigator warned.

“Hang us,” corrected his captain.

“No.”

“You gotta plan?”

“No,” Bell repeated.

The two broke their shared gaze as Fugger faced back towards the stairs. Bell exhaled sharply.

“Must’ve found the... ‘terminal’.”

“And our wine,” mused a crestfallen Fugger.

“Good thing the ship’s stores are so plentiful then,” repeated Bellhound in a mock hiss. His captain gazed at him strangely, then smiled. Fugger slipped the lids off the barrels he and his first mate had sought cover behind. Their insides were a mix of lumpy sacks, flour, various seeds, and two bottles of drink. These last items Fugger drew from the guts of the thing with his wide white grin then stretched ear to ear, Bellhound’s eyebrows raising in response.

“At a time like this?”

“These are exciting ones. I’ll make ‘em more. Where’s your knife?”

Bellhound looked blankly. Fugger waved and crossed his hands, the bottles carefully laid back in place..

“Making jokes, Bell. I’ll fetch your little dagger.”

Fugger drew over to the corner he saw caught the blade within its encompassing shade. He bent himself down and felt along the floor, unable to visually identify the tool. His palms too stayed empty. After some time, Bellhound crept over hissing his incredulousness. But the captain only shook his head.

“It’s not here.”

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“What?”

“Look. Or feel,” said Fugger. “It’s gone.”

Behind Bellhound a blade drew up to hug his neck. Handling the knife, plated gauntlets bounced white light around the deck. Fugger froze as he digested the situation, Bellhound alarmed but upset versus scared, he noted, considering his own role in the hostage situation unfolding before him. Neither spoke, and for a great while the knight too held still until at last a somewhat boyish voice slipped through slits in the helmet.

“By order of King...”

The voice trailed off. Fugger noticed the dagger tremble. Bellhound did too, bashing his skull backwards into the assailant, iron reverberating throughout the halls and down its stairs. Fugger seized the moment and leapt atop the knight, gauntlets letting loose Bell who in turn rolled to re-equip himself with the weapon only momentarily his opponent. Fugger revealed his saber as he yanked on the helmet’s plume and drew out from her sheath the girl underneath, bringing the steel close to her throat in time for her brothers to mount the stairs and face the unfolding crisis. One made little attempt to negotiate as he drew a handheld crossbow, Fugger in turn hurling the girl’s helmet out, it smashing into another, the sound of iron once more filling the deck. He fell. The rest of the armors remained still and awaited their leader, Fugger supposed. Quite some time passed, however. To both pirate’s surprise, the knights struck up talk as if their presence had been forgotten.

“What do you supposes taking ‘em so long?”

“You know it. Come now, fool.”

“I peeked myself for loot and couldn’t find any,” a third chimed in.

“Did you now? Perhaps I let the captain know,” one responded back.

“W-would rather you not.”

“Har har! Cries like a baby, doesn’t he?”

“Yes sir!”

“Hahaha, yessir.”

And several more sans the one who clutched at his head from the floor. Off the heels of the last title, the knights’ captain rose from the stairs and took in the hostage situation for himself.

“All this business seems rather unnecessary, isn’t it, gentlemen?”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir!”

“Huh-uh,” came from Fugger flatly. “No choice.”

“Yes...” started the decorated chestplate. “I see you believe that.”

The ornate knight removed his own helmet to reveal bountiful grayed hair bundled in bunches sprouting from scalp, face, and ear. His mustache revealed a careful and intentioned trim, his beard well brushed, the hair from his head long and curling. He grabbed at all this in apparent thought.

“You understand this constitutes a crime on His majesty’s seas, you see?” began the unmasked captain. “So wisely, I request you let go of the brother--disgraced woman she may be,” he added lastly with further pause. Fugger felt his hostage flinch. He reaffirmed the saber against her skin, but something in him panged sympathetically. He decided to redirect the argument.

“Tell me what you lot’re all doing on this--my ship.”

“Your ship, you say?” the aged knight asked, a half smile having crept over him.

“I’m its captain. And I want to get drunk, too. So... you should take your leave, um. Sir,” Fugger managed, feeling a half remembered embarrassment.

“Yes...” started the captain opposite. “I see you as a man of thirst. Those necks poking out past the barrel there wouldn’t happen to be the means, would they?”

Fugger gulped. The taste was bitter.

“Careful what you threaten,” he warned.

“Hmm,” thought the ancient aloud. “Corton, should the gentleman across from us refuse the release of our brother in the next five...” he withdrew a watch. “... May you paint the good captain’s wood with wine.”