One century is a very long time,

Goodbye, fare-ye-well,

One century is a very long time,

Goodbye, fare-ye-well.

Gold float and emperors fly

Goodbye, fare-ye-well,

I don't believe it, no, not I.

Goodbye, fare-ye-well,

Men can tame and rule the sea

Goodbye, fare-ye-well,

You can believe it if you please.

Goodbye, fare-ye-well.

- as sung by sailors in Yichan

He said they were going to Byhill, but one didn't simply just waltzed into King Hamund's sea without showing the proper papers and looking decent. Even before they entered the officially charted territories a ship flying King Hamund's flag was there to greet them. Or extort, it was all the same. King Hamund kept his navies in tip-top shape, though the morale of his officers and ship inspectors were debatable. They were, in theory, supposed to stop ships and check paperwork, making sure such and such form were filled out such so. In theory they were supposed to stop lawlessness.

This net was cast quite widely under King Hamund. It could fall to anyone, a merchant who had angered the wrong rich man, a captain who did not pay his dues, a vessel that flew a flag that wasn't bright enough. The latter he had personally witnessed, a ship so bedraggled that it was a miracle it was still sailing, the crew no doubt relieved to be finally back home. Only to be stopped by a cheery inspector with a full purse and demands for them to pay up for disrespecting the King.

Jori scoffed. The law was only followed if you couldn't pay up the coin to break it. So if you had the coin and could smile nicely enough the inspector would let you pass. Speaking of inspectors, there was one sailing up to the Plucky now. It was always easy to tell these ships, the wood was fresh and new, the paint shiny and you can just smell the grandiose coming off the men on the vessel. They had such important jobs, Jori thought, signaling for the Plucky to slow down so that her entirety could be searched and inspected.

The man that boarded was familiar to Jori, not because he wanted to know the man, just that it made things easier if he said the right words to Reder.

"Good morning, Captain Reder," said Jori even though Reder was not a Captain.

The inspector gave him a once-over, flipping over his notebook and frowning at whatever notes he must have taken the last time he was onboard the Plucky, "Captain Jori," he said finally, "of the Plucky. Have you resolved the stink in the Captain's cabin?"

"I'm afraid not," Jori said, flashing the paperwork that theoretically should allow him free pass. Reder merely blinked at this, languidly, like a cat that expected more milk poured, so Jori slipped a purse full of coins on top of the inspector's notebook. It was quite obvious he did it, and from the half-frown on Reder's face, the man expected more.

Jori groaned, and braced himself for the Plucky being search for longer than necessary. But he had a face for this sort of occasion, a gritted teeth and a bow as as the clown King Hamund's red colors walked up and down Plucky, poking his head in at every nook and cranny. No, he wasn't just a clown, he was a fool tailed by an entire circus, the inspector and the men that followed him. They produced more than one little notebook, and a stack of papers that the inspector held up to every sailor's face. They contained sketches of criminals, and Reder made it a point to take his sweet time. It was entirely necessary, Jori did not harbor criminals.

The only reason why it was taking so long was that Jori refused to pay up, and had simply shown the man the paperwork that allowed Jori free pass. At Perre's look he had added one silver, but no more. He refused to bribe the good-for-nothing anymore than he had to keep the man from peeking in and putting his grubby hands over the things in his father's cabin. No, the inspector can shove his greasy fingers up his own—

There was a hand on his shoulder and a reassuring squeeze, "Just bribe him some more," whispered Perre in Jori's ear. "I thought you normally would…" he trailed off at the look on Jori's face.

"They'll keep raising the fee if I do it!" Jori hissed. "Didn't you see him and his little notebook?"

"Of course, Jori," Perre said, patting his back. He made to open his mouth and say something more, no doubt suggesting how much he ought to give up to the conman in red, but instead he frowned, narrowing his eyes.

Jori followed his gaze and found the irritating inspector eyeing up Alez.

"I thought you hid him!" he whispered angrily.

He had warned Alez of this hadn't he? How some inspectors liked to look at more than just goods on the ship. It was why no Captain sailed with women that weren't disguised. Inspectors did their fair share of unwanted sampling.

"I thought you did!"

The only port that did not have such at thing was the ones controlled by Madam Zhao, and for one moment he wished that he was sailing to Yichan instead of Byhill.

"Never mind!" Jori shook off Perre's hand to stride over to where the inspector was leaning dangerously close, his trimmed mustache a mere finger's breath from Alez. Credit where it was due though, Alez was unfazed by the man's stare; though perhaps it was more out of naivete at what the man was up to. "Are you very done, sir?" said Jori, smiling so hard his teeth hurt, "I can offer you a drink or two for your trouble."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

But it did not distract the inspector from flipping through more wanted posters as he gazed upon Alez. Well, Alez would not match the waif the inspector was looking for. He had tanned considerably during the short time he'd spent on Plucky. He'd tried to help, several times, but each time had ended rather disastrously. But to Jori's bafflement, Ralphye, who usually was the first to shout and curse a man, never raised his voice. When Jori had seen that he'd given Giersa a confused look, to which Giersa had responded with an eyeroll and refused to answer. Then Perre had assigned Alez to help Hari, and wasn't that a nice turn of events, the old sailor having a captive audience. The old man didn't hold back his praise at whatever Alez helped him with, and Jori had to conclude that Alez was good with numbers. Hari certainly didn't trust any of them to do the math. It was paranoid of him, Jori knew how to do math, what fool of a cook didn't? But every sailor on the ship had some oddity or another and if Hari could tell precisely where they were going by mumbling to himself and holding out his fingers, then who was he to tell him off?

Jori had patience for his crew. He could even extend courtesy to Alez. But he had none left for the inspector, "Are you satisfied?" Jori said again, louder. When the inspector refused to answer him, he stepped between Alez and the other man; a rather hard task considering how close the man was leaning in. "Please, inspector, if you do not find anything illegal on my ship I suggest you enjoy your afternoon as soon as possible."

King Hamund's men had very stiff collars with wide ruffles. It made every one of the King's men looked like a swan crossed with a frilled lizard. Maybe it was fitting, Jori could see the tally on the inspector's note and the man has been making quite a shiny penny of late.

At Jori's question the inspector puffed himself up to his full height, which wasn't as intimidating considering any man could be tall wearing the inspector's ridiculous boots."Is that a threat?"

"A suggestion," Jori said, pleasantly. He motioned furiously behind his back for a bottle of rum, which was swiftly placed into his hand.

As the bottle was deposited into the inspector's hand, he smiled, oily and serpentine, "You do have such pretty sailors on your ship, Captain."

Jori refused to grace him with an answer met the slimy gaze with a glare of his own. The very glare he gave to dough that refused to rise. He was quite an expert in this field, and after a few moments, the inspector turned away. However, he and his lackeys took their sweet time leaving the Plucky, and it was nearly noon when the last boot left.

"They're going to raise the toll aren't they?" he said miserably to Giersa who snorted.

The men were quick to disperse after that, all except Alez, who gave him what Jori could only describe as Goatsby pretending she didn't taste several hats in succession.

"I'm sorry," Alez said in his usual rush, "I wasn't sure, maybe if I hid and he found me then it would be trouble for you because it would be strange, wouldn't it, if he found someone hidden? I thought he wouldn't notice but he did and—"

"You should have kept your scarf around your face like Giersa suggested," Jori said, and deciding he ought to make the whole matter clear. "There are many men who see you as a great dinner platter, to be served to a circus or whoever'll pay up. Understand?"

"Yes?" Alez squeaked.

"Stop ending your words with a question!" Jori snapped, exasperated. "Why does it sound like you want to question yourself at every single turn? Hari clearly thinks you're good with something, pretend you're good at everything else as well!"

In another world, one where Jori really did became a chef, he would have found the rapid fluttering of eyelashes to be charming. But he didn't have time for such foolishness now.

"Yes?"

"I'm done here!" Jori spun on his heels and left Alez to stew on the matter.

He stalked towards the galley, and shooed whoever it was—Ralphye— out of it. Olysa what on earth was he cooking? Jori sniffed the air, disgusted, and stared at the pot's foul contents. They weren't running too low on rations, what on earth possessed the fool to cook this slop? Ralphye clearly wanted them all to run to the privy, the sadist. But he had to admit he wasn't thinking straight these last couple of days, and it had shown in the food he served. The sailors were all too nice to tell him there was something wrong with the roast. He knew it was a missing spice, it was always a missing spice, it couldn't be the temperature, he made certain to hover over the bird when it was inside the oven.

The door swung open softly and a voice came through, "I think you're missing cardamom."

"What?" He snapped, irritated at this turn of events. Was it not clear to Alez that every time Jori retreated it meant he was busy?

But Alez made his way to Jori and rolled up his sleeves. The shirt wasn't Giersa's, and definitely had seen better days but Alez did not seem to mind, even though it hung loosely over his petite form. "You're brining the chicken, aren't you?"

For once, he wasn't peeved by the question. "Yes."

"You have to put cardamom in the brine mix. And it ought to be chilled, not warm, when you put it in." Alez kept his hands to himself, thankfully, Jori would be beyond peeved if the other man stuck a finger in.

"I knew that," Jori muttered, irritably. The water was slightly warm, but that was because he wanted to dissolve the sugar properly! He scowled, and slammed the lid of the pan down harder than necessary.

"Can I help?"

The galley had a small door, and Alez blocked most of it, even with his small figure. But Jori guessed that if he bothered to peer behind the other man's back, no doubt Alez was being cheered on by the sailors who wanted Jori to finish, as he'd heard them put it 'experimenting'.

"These questions are better," he said finally, moving aside so that Alez could stand next to him.

He had long come to a conclusion that Alez was jumpier than a rabbit, and it was confirmed when the other man flinched as he brushed pass him. Not to mention the full body jump when Jori slammed the galley door shut. But he gave Jori a small, hesitant smile when Jori threw him a clean rag and told him to wipe his hands.

"I used to help Belia in the kitchens," he said, and as usual, it was in a rush, like he'd expected Jori to interrupt. "She is very good with roasts, and I thought I could… well, I thought I could impress him one day with one..."

Jori was too busy scowling at the mess in the galley to look properly at Alez but he could very well guess Alez wore the very sad, very disappointed look on his face. As Goatsby did, whenever he told her off for attempting to climb something she shouldn't.

"And he wasn't impressed?"

"No."

Some husband then, Jori thought, to have something so coveted but not appreciated it. No, scratch that, someone. His mother wouldn't stand to stay with such a man, and he supposed, maybe Alez grew tired of it as well. But he wouldn't praise the other man for running off on his marriage and hopping on his boat. Besides, it was a principle of his mother to never hand out praise before the pie had been out of the oven, so he decided to work in silence instead. In the stillness, Alez was the one talking to fill the silence, but he stopped adding the irritating lilt of a question after every sentence. Alez had many stories it would seem, with this Belia of his; who appeared to be a cook in the house he used to live in. She accompanied him to the docks apparently, she had a good family of her own, she was going to leave the employment of Alez's very dead former husband. Maybe that was the catalyst, Jori mused, but he didn't care for unwanted speculation, that was rude. So he watched from the corner of his eye as Alez took over cleaning the pots and then starting peeling and cutting the vegetables.

The roast, when it was finally out of the oven, was met with delighted cheers. However Belia figured that cardamom was the missing spice and taught it to Alez, Jori didn't know, but he would very much like to send his congratulations her way.

"Your dearly departed husband truly is missing out," Jori said, smiling appreciatively as the juices melt in his mouth. "You are good with roasts."

"Thank you?" said Alez, and then, with the confidence that surely must remain somewhere in the man's head, "Thank you!"