image [https://i.imgur.com/YXOjxny.png]

Not long after Valgur and Wade’s conversation began, Picaro and Scuttle were aboard the Fifty Fathoms. Royce, the man that Valgur had hailed on the dock, was the night’s watch. He stood leaning with a foot on the rail, looking out onto the path leading into town. He was beginning to wonder what was keeping the others so late, for they had agreed to keep things light and be out at first light when a faint scuffling came from behind him. There was an off-key creak of the floorboards that was not akin to the ship’s usual groaning when moored ashore.

Royce bent into a crouch and drew his dagger. He had felt something was off when he first saw Valgur on the dock. Something in the man’s tone was too happy. It wreaked of deception, and if there was ever a man Royce didn’t trust, it was Valgur.

From the shadows, there came a fumbling sound to the left of the stair leading to the lower deck. He bent his ear to it, beginning to drift cautiously in that direction when suddenly a boy stepped out from the shadows. Royce took a sharp breath in surprise, peering at the boy and wondering if he might be hallucinating. The boy was dressed like a thief enough, but he was barely into his teens. The thought made him pause to consider. Then a piece of cloth wrapped itself around his face, covering his mouth and nose. It smelled peculiar. Royce scrabbled at the hand attempting to smother him. He tried to spin or position his hand to stab behind him, but the effort only led him into blackness.

Royce thudded to the floorboards. “What ye think yer doing?” Scuttle asked in a seething whisper.

“Distracting him,” said Picaro.

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“What? I-forget it, y’blasted boy. Now help me with the body,” said Scuttle. Together, they carried the man to the lower decks.

The rogues then split up and searched the hold for several minutes, minding the goods and pocketing any gold they found to fill Ye ‘Ol Marigold’s coffers. Scuttle had a small bag of coin slung about his shoulder. Yet, to his mounting frustration there didn’t seem to be much else of interest. He went to find Picaro.

The boy was rooting around in one of the rooms at the back of the ship. It seemed to be an office of some kind, for the captain, Picaro wasn’t sure. He was going through drawers when he came across one that was double locked. He passed the first lock’s tumbler easily. But the second lock had three tumblers. The boy had never come across something like that before. All locks he had ever pried had only one tumbler. This had a failsafe as well. It became his own personal challenge.

“We have to get going,” said Scuttle as he burst into the room.

“Hold on, I think I got it,” said Picaro.

“Blast the lock, you stupid boy. I’m leaving before ye get us both caught.” Scuttle was half-turned when he heard a click.

“I said I got it,” said Picaro. The boy opened the drawer to see what prize was inside. A square object, wrapped in cloth. A sliver of it color glimmered at him in the dim light. It was like a sparkle that might refract off a wave at sea, awakening some of its majesty and mystery. He lifted it out of the drawer.

“What ye got there lad,” said Scuttle eagerly. Picaro unwrapped the item. It was a small, ornate chest that held many markings of brass that flowed like waves across its surface. A vein of gold ran across the sides of the small chest. Picaro stared at it in wonder, turning it over in his hands.

“Give it here, quickly,” said Scuttle, snatching the chest from Picaro’s hands.

“Can we try and open it,” said Picaro.

“Back on the ship. I think we got what we need. Let’s go.”