image [https://i.imgur.com/un6WtSZ.png]

Valgur and his contingent rowed out to Ye Ol’ Marigold as she sat docked along the coast of Freebarrel, the closest barrier island to the coast of Karobos. They could hear the fighting before they could see it. Then, a plume of smoke confirmed what their ears warned them of.

“Ship’s under attack,” said Grit.

“Don’t worry captain, we’ll light ‘em up,” said Atrocius, his characteristic sharktooth grin stitched itself across his face.

“Blast,” said Valgur, and he let loose a slew of curses. “Bring us alongside. Hail Silvertime.” But Silvertime, the ship’s navigator, had spied them from afar with his telescope and was already at the rail.

“Captain, we need to push off now. It’s more of Bucannon’s men,” said Silvertime.

“From the sea?” Valgur asked.

“From land,” said Silvertime.

“Then let up the anchor and prepare t’make way.”

“Already done, captain. We just need to cut the lines.”

“Well cut the blasted lines then,” said Valgur from the oarboat. The group was pulled aboard and the oarboat was left at the mercy of the surf.

Picaro scampered up the rigging and looked out at the fighting taking place on the dock. Ye Ol’ Marigold was under heavy fire. He saw the bodies of a few of his crewman among the slain. Bernard, Gregory, and Meech. Men that wouldn’t be missed, he thought.

Ye ‘Ol Marigold cut its tether from the visitation dock and the ship made its way out into the current. Picaro could see many figures on the dock brandishing pistols and grappling hooks. They had even wheeled up a cannon in their attempt to besiege the ship.

“Give ‘em a taste o’ iron,” said Valgur to Atrocius from the rails. The brigadier-general grinned, shouldered Jaws and let fly a vicious volley from Jaws. The dock seemed to shake as if from a small explosion, shrapnel spewing everywhere. There were confused cries as men took cover.

“We must mind the reef carefully,” cried Silvertime over the din as Ye ol’ Marigold struck a course out into deeper waters.

“Word travels fast,” said Grit to Valgur. “Buccannon must not’ve taken too lightly that we stole from him.”

“Like I care. Look at ‘em. The stinking, yellowbelly liverlickers,” said Valgur, laughing loudly.

“The chase isn’t over, captain. Look starboard,” cried Silvertime. Indeed, a ship had pulled out from the island and was crashing into the surf, keeping an angle in time to cut them off before they had left view of land behind them.

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“Bring the cannons alongside. Fire on my mark,” cried Valgur in return. Men wheeled cannons into position and prepped the gunpowder, minding the sights. Buccannon’s crew was the first to fire, a cannonball just missing the prow. Valgur waited until he could make out Buccannon’s mark upon the sail, then told his crew to fire. Seven cannons let off with uniform precision, and after several volleys they heard the crack of wood as one of their projectiles rocketed into the enemy’s rigging. There was a heavy creaking, and one of the front masts of the pursuing ship began to droop.

There were cheers from aboard Ye ol’ Marigold. “Aha, we got ‘em captain,” said Atrocius.

“That’s not the only one,” said Grit. Indeed, another ship had just lifted anchor and was in pursuit as the men who had besieged them from the dock made way. Ye Ol’ Marigold held the lead on it, but for how long, the crew was not certain.

“Cannons to stern. Let them have another volley,” said Valgur. Men got themselves back into position. Again, Valgur waited for the target to present itself. “Fire,” he roared.

But the cannons could not find their mark, for their target was smaller and moving swiftly.

“She’s gonna overtake us,” said Silvertime.

“So what if she does,” said Valgur.

“Broadside’s already taken some damage, captain. Not certain we can risk a full-on conflict.”

“Blast,” Valgur cursed. He paused for a moment. “Take us south by southwest.”

“But captain, that’ll take us into the Tormented channel.”

“Aye, t’will,” said Valgur.

“What makes you want to try those cursed waters?”

“We have no choice. We are already headed for the Far Reaches, and there’s no quicker route than south. Y’think she can hold us through that passage?”

“What’s a bit o’ water, anyhow?” said Silvertime, grinning, and he leaned Ye ol’ Marigold into its new course. “Loose the topsail,” cried Silvertime. With swift precision, the extra sail was loosed and the ship caught an extra breadth of speed. The pursuing ship kept chase as the game of cat and mouse dragged on for some time. All the while, the pursuer was gaining ground.

Then, Picaro suddenly felt a mighty swirling from beneath the belly of Ye ‘Ol Marigold, almost as if the sucker of a great octopus was attempting to pull them under. The current had switched. The ocean was having an argument with itself, and they were caught between two currents. The ship would either be spat out or spun completely, left to stall in the waters. It took just enough leverage, just enough of an angle, and just enough speed to pull through and properly sail into the Tormented Channel, that antagonizing waterway. Picaro felt the opposing forces with acute sensitivity. He heard the mighty groaning of wood, and what seemed to be a grinding noise as if the water would churn them into sawdust and scatter them to the wind.

Silvertime swung the ship’s wheel with a heavy hand, changing their angle, trying to ride its line. The ship lurched dramatically, turning as if dragged, and men nearly fell. Picaro grabbed ahold of the rigging, his stomach turned inside out. Then, popped like a cork from a bottle, they were free and shooting out across the surf. Behind them, the pursuing ship was not prepared for the abrupt shift in the ocean’s direction and was rightly rejected. Picaro saw them spinning lazily back out from the channel’s border.

Valgur laughed heartily, waving animatedly from the rail, his long trench coat caught in the wind. “Thank Buccannon for me. Baha. We’ll see ye when we see ye. Now let them eat our surf.”

On the deck of the pursuing ship, Wade stood at the rail, watching his quarry become a small dot on the horizon. “Man’s either got iron for a jockstrap, or a death wish,” he said, shaking his head.

Ye Ol’ Marigold, triumphant, roared a chorus above the waves. They were en route to The Far Reaches, the skeleton key leading them to new adventures in previously unmarked parts of their nautical maps.