When Nella awoke, she knew instinctively that the following day was going to be just a pain in her behind. The middle of the week was widely known as the slowest and the most ill-mannered of the many gods' creation.

Nella opened her eyes and held herself back from hissing like a cat at the sun beating in her eyes. She lifted to her feet, hair falling over her eyes, trying to save her from the mid-morning sunshine.

She walked down the hallway, the dread growing with each taken step. Her father's fishing rod was leaning against the wall outside her parents' room, the nets spread haphazardly on the front porch, which Nella could see because someone had left the front door open. Nella wondered who of her useless parents could do such a thing, and decided that one was no better than the other.

Nella shook her head, causing her thick mane of hair to whip into the nearest painting and strike it down. The painting fell, cracking apart as it hit the floor.

"What are you doing out there?" Her mother bellowed. "It's way too early in the morning for this."

"Well, somebody's got to keep food in our bellies," Nella shouted back. "Because you hardly seem concerned with feeding your children." And so she grabbed the fishing rod, a nearby bucket, and like a whirlwind, made her way out of the house.

"Food? Niels, I thought you said you made her breakfast," said Nella's mom, poking the sleeping giant next to her.

"Huh?" The man groaned, words muffled by his beard. "I did. Left it on the table."

"Feeding your children? Did she forget she's an only child?"

Nella took off her shoes and dropped them on the lone hedge at the edge of their lawn, enjoying the feeling of grass tickling at her heels, and a little later on, the sand. She made her way to a lone rickety dock that pocked out from the sands. It was built by her grandfather in one of his "Idea" phases, where he wanted the family to become a fishing company with him as a fat, suit-wearing, top hat-having, rich man. Although the fishing stuck for the family, her grandfather had gotten bored quite quickly, as usual. The last time she saw him, he was waving at her as he sped away on a steam engine on which he had added wheels.

Adding bait and casting her line, Nella sat down, shoved her head into a big straw hat, and set to wait for any particularly dumb fish that would be fooled. But today, she had company. She cupped a hand around her right eye, which she decided it was sharper than the left.

Nella saw a fishing boat, off the coast, adrift, swinging wildly in the waves. She could see figures running all over the boat, agitating its rhythm even more.

"Bah, competition," Nella said. A whirring sound bounced on the water from the right, where she saw a large ship making its way, the engines on each side turning the water into a fine mist as it was sliced by the bright metal blades. Its sails were lifted and the giant ship moved slowly, only stopping when it put itself between the land and the fishing vessel.

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Nella felt the excitement in the air, the insects and the bird growing quiet, everybody waiting for something to happen. Deciding that the fish could wait, she ran for her grandfather's old inventing workshop, an eyesore of an addition at the back of the house filled with her grandfather's knick-knacks that the man had left behind. She found the spyglass, with only some dust covering it and a few minute cracks in the lens.

Bearing left over to the lone tree that grew on their little island, she deftly climbed it as high as she dared, and put the spyglass up against her eye.

The big ship, now she could see the cannons along the sides, and the many sailors running around the ship like little ants, had its cannons pointed at the harmless fishing ship. She could see one of the figures on the fishing vessel wave a white flag, perhaps improvised from one of their shirts. In response, the warship fired a cannon shot above their heads.

The fishing vessel turned towards the shore, whatever engine they possessed coughing out black clouds. Another warning shot from the warship came, and yet the boat did not change course.

Nella waited for the fishing boat's destruction, and she did not have to wait long. The figures in the fishing boat jumped out on each side seconds before a cannon bass smashed the vessel into little pieces of wood. The faulty engine belched out a black soot cloud and exploded, throwing water high in the air.

The warship's engines came back to life with a buzz, and they began cutting at the water.

Nella turned as the shadow fell over her, to see her father, a worried look on his face.

"Gather your things. We need to go into town."

The ferry to the mainland was busy that day. A lot of people wanted to find out news about the warship and all of them already had their ideas of what it was doing there.

"Maybe it's going to Livingston, get resupplied with guns and such. Don't they make guns there?"

"Gunpowder too. Bah, they should come here, give our trade a kick in the ass. Not like we couldn't use any more money."

"Did you see them blowing up that boat? What's that all about?"

"Rebels I bet. The King is squeezing in on those ratty nobles, finally. Should have put an end to that kind of talk months ago."

---

Patrick sat beneath the stairs leading down into the ship and cradled the injured dog. The currently asleep animal was healing well, but the nightmares were something a bit too much for him and he could tear at his bandages. The boy could relate as he had his own injuries to deal with, and not just from being beset upon at the bridge. He hated to think about what happened there, the doctor, the horse, but Patrick held no contempt for the dogs, as they just did as they were trained.

Unfortunately, his rest was interrupted when the ship's cook came to find him. "Heard the Admiral's on the prowl again."

"He won't find me in here, won't he?" Patrick asked.

"Already asked you by name." The cook responded. "Hurry up now, I'll try and find some ice for you later. With the engines running, we can't get rid of the damn thing too quick. Guess I could always dump it overboard."

Patrick set the dog down as carefully as possible, without awakening him. "See you later, boy."

On the deck, he could see that they were approaching a small town, one of the many fishing towns on the neighboring coastline, a few hundred miles away from Livingston.

"Finally." Van Bahn said. "I thought we had a deal. You practice with me, and I don't toss that mutt overboard. I was just about to come looking for it."

"No need, sir," Patrick said. He looked around until he found his wooden practice sword. The handle was spotted red from previous training sessions and Patrick's hands fared no better.

As the Mastiff threw off its anchor, the sound of the wooden swords clashing together filled the docks. Townspeople were gathered alongside it, watching curiously and awaiting the news, be they good or bad.