I've never seen a rich man sweat nor toil on his own

But they hold their purse strings tight as can be

But when they find themselves lost on the sea

Every man's equal, every man's free

- compiled by the Captain Iges aboard his Tiva

There were many things one had to sit through while being a Captain of a ship. Meetings were one of them, they were a necessary bureaucracy, just so every sailor on board understood what was to be done. It would be a horrible day that a rope that was not tended to snapped, for example. But he couldn't help but let his mind wander because this was not one of the meetings that required his competency, just his presence. He'd made up his mind already, but this meeting was a formality, a politeness you must respect when you live in civilized society.

His eyes fell on the portrait of the Sun King behind the Governor and recalled a happier occasion. When Jori was twelve his father was granted an invitation to the aforementioned King's courts and he found himself taken along for the carriage journey. The trip itself was nothing to speak of, at twelve, carriages were just a place you slept in while the adults talk around you. Which was what he did, until it stopped in front of the golden gates and he beheld the palace. 'A cultural education', his father had put it, grinning at Jori's gasp of shock and awe. Until he walked in and found all the courtiers with their fans and painted facings, all vying for the attention of the ma in the center of the room just eating away.

It was disappointing to say the least. Jori had expected musicians, singers with the best songs and voices serenading the Sun King. Until his father had pointed out that even the best singers could not keep up with how long the meals were and how mercurial the Sun King's temper was. 'Best just play for His Majesty in the concert halls,' his father had explained, 'that way, you've got a place to retreat, see?'

So what culture he took from the Sun King's court was the food. What skill the King lacked in balancing books, negotiating treaties or maintaining the peace he spent it all on the meals he ate and then left for his courtiers to descend upon. It was a veritable stampede, and he was only lucky to reach the table because of his small size. There, amidst the chaos and scuffling of scented sleeves and finery, Jory discovered what true bliss was.

Happiness was the pheasants decorated with a rainbow of thinly cut feathers from vegetables, the pâté served on exquisitely thin crusts, all served in geometric patterns on the massive table, making diamonds and squares and triangles. When he had first walked in with his father, Jori thought that would be all. But no, the King had barely finished that round before he waved a bejeweled hand and more plates were brought in. The servants hurried to fill such an important man's order and what came out of the door nearly knocked him over with how good it smelled. There were roasts of chicken, duck and capon, pies of beef and lamb and oysters arranged on silver plates. Perhaps they had all been decorated with leaves of real gold as well, to match the cutlery the King was using. At that thought he'd turned to his father and whispered that it was such a great party they'd gone to, and to thank him for taking him in, surely no one at court wanted a child in their midst. But his father had merely shook his head and held a hand to his lips.

Out of all the men and women that came to the Sun King's court that day, Jori had been certain that his father did not join in the crowd to partake of His Majesty's leftovers. It had puzzled him, even as he laid in the carriage in a blissful haze. 'The King eats like this everyday' then something had flickered across his father's face he'd smiled grimly and told Jori not to talk about what he just said. It had confused Jori then, as they trundled along in their carriage. It was not like his father to not explain things, no matter how silly or stupid Jori thought the question to be.

But he could understand those emotions now as he stared at the rum Governor Berter offered to him. It shone in the brass cup, rich and inviting and honey bright. The privateers he'd come with had all taken a drink, and in the case of Ralphye, gone straight for the bottle, courtesy be damned. As Jori recalled that was the best shirt Ralphye had, and now there were splashes of alcohol along with sweat stains because unlike the Governor who had slaves to fan him, Jori and his crew did not partake in such banal evils. Ralphye could drink his weight in alcohol no doubt, and who could blame him to take advantage of the Governor's hospitality?

But Jori wasn't interested in the rum or the offering of peace that came with it. A rigged die he can handle and accept as a trade, for he could calculate the games to be played with it, but he would not sign any contracts with Governor Berter of Port Regate. They weren't worth the paper nor ink they were written on, for he knew the words to be sugared and poisoned, like the Governor's port. No doubt some of his crew might call him out on his exaggeration, of Port Regate's sweetness. But he wasn't referring to women, it was the sugar cane grown there and the rum and riches that came with it. Of course, if one had a plantation, then one must have the workers for it, and why pay a man fairly when one can simply own said man?

Some of the Captains in the room with him came here for Port Regate's treasures. Pirating and privateering became a blurred lines sometimes, but Jori drew the line at what was being traded, even as he knew it was money to be made and not morale that drew the rag-tag group to his cause. He caught the eye of Giersa who shrugged. No doubt Giersa was bored of the whole charade, and was ready to start firing upon the port and only held back shooting the Governor because it was not polite to shoot a man in his office.

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He resisted the urge to rub his temples, or lean back to far on the chair. It made protesting noises already when he sat upon it, its legs seemingly carved for more decorative than actual use. So he turned his eyes towards the other thing that hung on the wall, the very abridged map of the world. There was Mainvoie, and if he looked to the north, then he could make out that bit of land where one of the rivers met the sea. There would be his childhood home, and the inn that he had built for himself before... before everything. His lips twitched and he clenched his fist, turning his attention back to the rest of the map. To the south he could made out bits of Yichan, with the camel trade routes running through the mountains. Up North was the frosty lands of Viribyr, and here the cartographer was truly struggling. Jori sniggered softly, you could fool someone who had no idea what Viribyr looked like by painting mountains where there weren't any. But he had wandered there, and mountains were few and far between. The artist did well enough on Westone though, he'd even made a tiny illustration of King Hamund's seat, and the splendid city with gates of silver and gold. It had built, it was said, to rival the Sun King's own palace. Jori knew this because of the various bards and singers that told of how high the gates were and how many beautiful women were supposedly carved into it before the church had stepped in to interfere with artistic vision. Truly so much was lost to appease the egos of the powerful, he thought idly wondering how much the Governor paid for this particular map. It was at least ten years out of date, there were new trade routes and islands discovered since the map's commission.

He took in a deep breath and decided he'd had enough. "I'm giving you until sundown to hand over the following people," he said, interrupting whatever conversation or negotiation the Governor was having with Waltin. The other man was too polite and decent to last long as a privateer. Maybe he should pack up and just return to whatever nice cold climate he came from and settle down with a woman instead of trying to do a fool's task of swaying the unmovable and unfeeling.

As for himself, Jori had taken one look at Governor Berter, dressed in a wig too hot for this weather, his powdered face and dismissive flick of the hand to a trembling slave and knew that this was a man not worth the powder he spent on his cannons. Except it wasn't white powder, like the man's face and wig. He bit down a laugh at that thought and it earned him an eye-roll from Giersa. He didn't see why Giersa couldn't connect the dots, his first mate was usually quick to pick up on Jori's humor. Maybe he ought to explain it when they left the office, his jokes were normally very much appreciated. Besides, what else do you do when you're forced to go through pleasantries? How else do you go about entertaining yourself against the urge to just reach for a pistol and challenge the Governor to a duel?

It wasn't as if he wanted to be here in the first place, this was proving to be an unusually beautiful summer evening. This would be a perfect time to try that recipe he learned from a barkeep, she had told him off for using too much salt and covering the pig up for too long in banana leaves. Something about drying out the meat. The barkeep had a cheerful smile on her face and had glanced at him several times while helping him turn the roast. Giersa had laughed when he had recounted the tale but he couldn't understand why. So what, he was getting some advice on how to cook a thing, so what if the barkeep wanted him to spend money at her tavern later? They all had to eat right? They had stocked up the Plucky for once he could cook something decent tonight. A meal that wasn't preserved in salt or hard as nails, now that was something to look forward to. But he was getting ahead of himself, he shook himself out of his dinner plans and waited patiently as the Governor slowly read the list of names presented to him. The man was taking his sweet time, just as poisonous as the rum that flowed out of his port. His trigger finger was aching to just reach for his hidden pistol. But that was unwise, a shoot out here would mean every one would start reaching for their hidden weapons and he didn't want his own crew to be caught in the crossfires.

So he took a deep breath and waited. Governor Berter slowly reached for a handkerchief to wipe delicately at his mustached mouth, "I'm afraid that I can't hand over the property of the various merchants in Port Regate," said the man.

"I understand completely," said Jori grimly, standing up. "We're done here. See you at sundown Governor." It was deliberate, the chair scraping across the pristine wooden floors and it took all of his self-control not to grin at the grimace on the man's face. He strode towards the door, Giersa and Ralphye quickly following behind him.

The Governor was wise to not pursue them as they left. That was all the wisdom he could congratulate the man on. He jumped down the gangplank and stalked back to his own ship, more than happy to breathe in air that didn't smell sickly perfumed. As the very familiar silhouette of his father's ship came to view, he found himself breathing easier. It was still there. Sometimes he had a feeling the Plucky would just vanish, exactly like her Captain had done.

Perre was first to spot them and it was his voice that cheerfully called out to the crew, "Looks like the parley's off boys! Load the starboard battery!"

Giersa raised a dark eyebrow. "You are a violent man, sir," Giersa remarked, "I saw you reach for your pistol."

"Men like him aren't worth the powder," Jori replied irritably, climbing up the ladder to board his beloved Plucky.

He resisted the urge to go into his father's cabin and check if everything was were they were supposed to be. Of course they were, no one came into that cabin except him. But the nagging thought was there that if he didn't check— no, he had more important things on his mind, which was making sure that the Port Regate and its Governor got what they deserved.

So he cross his arms and took his spyglass, looking through the view to wait if the others would follow his lead. It didn't take long for the other privateers to depart the Governor's ship. Now that was a relief, most of them did not agree with why Jori wanted to bombard the port, they all agreed on a good round of looting. Soon the sound of cannon fire began to descend upon Port Regate.

"What a perfect night for a roast," he said out loud. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, and the roar of flames righteously descended upon that cursed Port and its Governor.

"We ain't got no pigs or chickens, Captain," said Ralphye. He hiccuped, and wiped at his mouth, but his eyes and hands were steady on the ropes.

"Add them to the list of demands for the morning," said Jori and when Raphye threw back his head to laugh, let out a chuckle of his own as well.