Once was a captain from Sheyflie

Who sailed upon the sea,

And he loved a dark-haired maid,

To that we all agree.

He took his ship to sail

Besting the foul fleet of Ledley

He caught the eye of Olysa

A siren did tell me

"O my dear Sheyflie Captain,

Come sing and dine with me!"

And Olysa took the Captain

Deep beneath the sea.

- scribbled in Madam Zhao's lodgebook

After they crossed that particular nautical border it was smooth sailing, and Jori could distract himself by cooking in the galley. He always did this before a grand heist, it was better to think properly when one could scope out the area quickly before the actual event than think too deeply about the upcoming event and lose sleep over it. Besides, he could always resort to dressing like a proper gentlemen, or a cook. It was impressive how many doors opened to you when you don the right uniform.

It was one of the first things Amard taught him. 'Clothes are like a second skin,' his father had said, adjusting the cravat that Jori had clumsily tied. That experience had served him well in his brief stint in the Sun King's kitchen. He just looked the part of someone who knew what he was doing, so when something went wrong it was not his head that they pointed fingers at. Then he'd taken that particular knowledge to the banks to get himself a loan for the tavern, and again when he went to the higher courts to get himself a license to sail the Plucky. Now he kept all of the 'skins', just so he could play whatever role it was. A merchant, a low born Captain, a high born aristocrat, a gambler, a thief, he had all of them and more.

He was ready to do anything to keep the plan moving forward, and any deviations was unacceptable. Alez was one of them, and he tried not to be irritated at the man, he really did, but he did not plan to divert the Plucky. Though when he pointed that out to Giersa he was accused of loving the sound of his own voice, so he had stormed off in a huff. His mood did not improve, because Ralphye and Perre said the same thing, except phrased differently. So he was a storm cloud, and his sailors, sensing a storm, all kept away as Jori busied himself cutting and measuring flour in the galley. The only one that dared to join him was Alez, so most days it was just him and Alez in the tight space. The other man was still phrasing his sentences like he was asking questions, even if he didn't have anything to ask. It drove Jori batty, and that was saying something considering he willingly step abroad Madam Zhao's ship.

Now she was a character Madam Zhao. Supposedly she was the only woman in the entire of Yichan who could call herself a pirate leader. Jori had no intention to disbelieve it, but when he saw her he was taken aback. Madam Zhao was elderly, and the wrinkles on her face was in contrast to the neatly pressed robes she wore and the sharpness of her eyes as she surveyed Jori and his crew. He had been there to ask her if she had seen his father, and he had not worn any of the finery that he had been suggested to wear. This must have amused her greatly, because she had waved a hand for the doors to close and a translator to be hustled over ot her.

'I have not seen Captain Amard in a while,' Madam Zhao had said through her translator. 'But it is not every day a son takes after his father. Come, dine with me.'

Ralphye and Giersa had stared dubiously at the food that was served to them but Jori dug in with an enthusiasm. They used difference spices in Yichan, the cinnamon, star anise and cardamon that he had associated with the rare holiday cakes back home were served to him stuffed in ducks and flavoring soups. The desserts were magnificent as well, little cakes stuffed with bean pastry and stamped with Madam Zhao's own signature. He had been told by the translator this was an affront to the Emperor, and that the Madam took great pleasure in doing such when she was informed. So baking was some sort of rebellion, Jori had thought, and liked her all the more for it.

He had been loathed to leave her harbor. But he had to, because she could not offer him anymore information on the whereabouts of his father, and he had not liked the look she had given him. Jori may have been young then, but he could recognize the look of someone who wanted to collect him for their personal enjoyment. Maybe it was the look Olysa had given his father before the Goddess dragged Amard to the deep. So the Plucky had left the harbor in the dead of night, and that had been that for his trip to Yichan.

But he still remembered their recipes. He could not make all of them, there was no way he could get his hands on glutinous rice flour, nor did he have the equipment or time to try to find a substitute. Today he was recreating something he ate at her table, a chicken served with plum jam, orange and honey. It would have been duck, but he had no ducks onboard the Plucky. Alez hovered curiously over his shoulder, and he stopped himself several times from sighing in irritation.

If Alez wanted to help, why did it sound like he was asking how to fry an egg every time he spoke? No, forget that, there were many ways to fry an egg, that would have been a good question. Though perhaps Alez did himself a favor by not asking Jori how one goes about frying an egg, the last time someone on Plucky had asked, the poor soul had spent a good three hours with Jori. It was a great three hours, there was nothing Jori loved more than reminiscing about how absolutely massive the Sun King's kitchens had been.

It was a nice two weeks he spent there, before he decided serving the King wasn't for him. There were just too many dishes you had to cook and at some point you just had to throw in your towel and accept your skills were for naught, everything was displayed not properly appreciated. The money was good, but it wasn't gold Jori was after. He wanted a cozy fathering, a toast among friends, a well-lit fire. He did not find that in the palace, even among the most well kept fireplaces. For all their grandeur the Sun King's palaces were cold and grey.

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"You're decent in the kitchen you know," he finally said, struggling to hold back pulling Alez's hand away from where he was poorly kneading the dough. "Stop questioning yourself and have some pride in your work."

He meant to say yourself, but he didn't want to bring the wrath of his mother down upon his kitchen for his blatant rudeness. Mina valued politeness and kindness in a person, though there were intricacies to the whole politeness matter. Nobles, his mother had told him, said they liked genteelness, but didn't particularly care to act like such when it didn't suit them. It was like how they'd go shouting at a maid or a kitchen boy or a stable hand for doing exactly as they'd asked. So they'd like the appearance of being nice, young Jori had offered and to which she had smiled and cut him an extra large slice of pie that night. His father had not been there for Jori to turn to him and give him that secretive grin whenever he understood a new 'grown-up' concept.

He paused, and stared at Alez from the corner of his eye. Some men would refuse to admit they were wrong but in the course of searching for his father there were days where he had to accept that he was wrong. This made it easier to admit he was wrong about other things, such as Alez's arrogant air. If he had been like the nobles Jori thought he was then Alez would have no doubt retreated to some corner of the ship, and found himself a makeshift a fainting couch. But Alez had gamely tried, which was more than what he'd expect of someone who'd shown up on a ship with those delicate hands and milk-pale face. He wasn't the only one surprised. Jori wasn't sure who discovered it, perhaps it was old Hari, or Robaus, the irritable surgeon they'd picked up recently, or Ciolo trying to gamble the last of his coin, maybe even Perre extending a friendly hand to the newcomer. But Alez was exceptionally good at cards.

Whoever it was that learned it first, the entire crew soon learned as well, because there was only so many ways you could entertain yourself on a boat. Anyone who teamed up with Alez was sure to get whatever was put in the pot, which was usually alcohol. The lucky partner to Alez could even count getting the man's share because Alez was either a light weight or did not care for the sailor's beverages. Which was fair in both cases, Jori did not drink after a certain time at sea either. There was nothing worst than throwing up your stomach contents and having your head spin with alcohol.

So he didn't play cards most nights with the men, but he did sit with them and watch Alez from the corner of his eye. He knew most of the sailors did as well, all trying to gauge Alez's poker face. But Alez revealed nothing, though he would smile about it, especially if he thought no one would see. It was subtle, and you had to really look closely in the moon and candlelight but the corner of Alez's eyes crinkled when he was about to play a card he knew would get the most incredulous or outraged reaction.

But they weren't playing cards now and Alez had resorted to hovering awkwardly over him. "How are you so good at cards?" Jori said, to break the awkward silence.

"I played with the other wives," said Alez, shrugging, "it's a talent, I think, to lose?" He gave Jori a hesitant grin, as he scattered flour over the cutting board for Jori to roll the dough over. "Can't win against your bet— elders after all." A dark sort of cloud came across his face but he forced a cheery smile to replace it.

Well then, all of Alez's wins were long overdue, Jori decided. "How do you do it?" Jori insisted, letting go of the dough with a thump on the wooden board, "It's not beginner's luck. You look at the cards that they all throw in, but you've got a method. You do, don't you?"

"Why? You want to play cards? It's not that interesting to win all the time." Alez's brows were wrinkled in a frown.

Now this sounded different, Alez was entirely confident and full of himself. What a change, Jori smirked, "Oh, so you can ask a question. No, I'm not interested in playing cards, I've no interested in what the sailors are betting on. I'm just curious how you go about doing it. Did you do it all in your head? Like Hari does sometimes, when he even bothers playing?"

"Ralphye suggested I try," said Alez.

Jori blinked in surprise. Of all the men on board, Ralphye was the last he'd expected to talk to Alez, or even to play cards. Ralphye only liked to play when he knew the odds. "Ralphye?"

"Is that… wrong?" There was that question again, and Jori sighed internally before deciding he ought to just ignore it.

"No." Jori filed that thought away to ponder over later.

He gave up after he fell into the very familiar thud thud pattern of kneading dough. This was very different from the strict disciplinarian Ralphye could be on the ship, why did he make an exception for Alez? Maybe it was Alez was such a sad looking duck that Ralphye took him under his wing like the man did with any injured creature he found, food rations be damned. Yes, that was an easy explanation, to Ralphye Alez was like a stray cat that wandered upon the ship and needed to be looked after. Maybe the other man had even shared his rations with Alez. It was rare for someone to look better after a couple of weeks on a ship, but in Alez's case the time on the Plucky made him look less sickly. There was more color to his cheeks and he didn't look like a breeze would knock him over. Even if his hair weren't as well kept as when he'd boarded. Alez looked more alive, if Jori had to define it.

"Do you mind if I make something for my sisters before we dock? Something small?" Alez spoke up suddenly. "I don't… I don't know what they like to eat now but we've always had—"

The last time Alez had offered a modification of a recipe based on something someone had taught him it had turned out well enough. "Why don't you try out the recipe first now?" Jori suggested.

He told himself it was more to satisfy his own curiosity, and not anything more. Alez smiled, again, and started describing something small that could served onto a platter with tea.

"Biscuits," Jori offered but Alez shook his head.

"No, biscuits are too buttery." Jori opened his mouth to argue that it was the entire point of biscuits, they were filled with butter but Alez stopped him and began to describe a type of spice cookie.

So it was that Jori found himself putting the dough to rest while he assisted Alez in recreating this childhood memory. Alez did not remember all the specifics of the dough so Jori drew on what he recalled of his mother and her kitchen and nodded in satisfaction at the result. Alez looked skeptical, but when Jori was able to find most of the spices he grinned excitedly.

"My father was an accountant for a spice merchant," Alez said, carefully shaping the cookies into little sheep. "Sometimes the merchant couldn't pay us yet because he hadn't gotten all his ships back. So he'll pay us temporarily with spices. If we didn't have any pressing bills we would have these cookies. I remembered nutmeg."

They had no nutmeg on the Plucky, so Jori had produced ginger, and when Alez shook his head, reluctantly parted with the cardamom. Alez looked like he knew what he was doing so Jori stepped back and let the other man shape them into what looked like little sheep.

"Sorry, I promise I won't use all of it." Alez said quickly, "I know I can use ginger but the cardamom's for the eyes, you see?"

Sheep did have dull looking eyes, Jori reflected, "Perhaps you could use the ginger and shape them into cats." His mother hadn't bothered shaping cookies into animals, she'd simply roll them and pat them down into circles. They did not have the money to spend on spices so she had used butter. Dipped in milk they were the most delicious cookies Jori had ever tasted or will possibly ever taste. Sometimes, if a fruit merchant had passed by their house, she'd even grind lemon peels on top of them before plopping them into the oven.

"Do you think," Alez began, swallowed, then said, "do you think you can come with me? I don't think they even remember what Edmund looked like, and well, I'd rather not say that I…"

It was rather impressive how good looking a sheep Alez could make from dough. Jori half-expected the animal to bleat if it was life-sized. "No need to explain," Jori nodded solemnly, "I murdered my husband makes for perfect dining room talk."

Alez did have a nice laugh, Jori observed. It was a shame that he strongly suspected that Alez's longed for visit home wouldn't be as he so desperately dreamed of.