“Can I speak to you for a moment?” Tariq asked Lonceré by tugging on his sleeve.

  “Huh?” Lonceré replied, pointing at himself, “Me? I’m eh… busy, cooking.”

  “You’re waiting for the water to boil.” Tariq pointed out.

  “Fine,” Lonceré always hated kids, “What do you need?”

  “Paracelsus told me you’re good with women,” The younger man said, “I was hoping you might have some advice.”

  “Oh?” The cook perked up, matters of the heart being the way to his, “Who do you have your eye on?”

  “Gareland,” Tariq said shyly, rubbing the back of his head and averting his eyes, “After everything that happened in Cartesia - I just thought I might regret it if I never told her.”

  “Can you play an instrument?” Tariq shook his head, “Ask Parace to teach you guitar. He’s quite good at it.”

  “And you think she’ll like it if I can play guitar?” He asked.

  “Women love instruments!” Lonceré said, cutting onions, “I’d teach you - but we don’t have a piano.”

  “Alright, I’ll do that.” Tariq said with a toothy grin, “Thanks, Lonnie.”

  “Don’t call me that!” The cook shouted but Tariq had already left.

  —

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Gareland snarled, clutching her sword, “No one came to pick you up, pup?”

  “Oh please,” LJ rolled his eyes. Ironically, he was a much more competent sailor than his sister, “I know we’ve had our differences, but why the hostility?”

  “Differences?” She shouted, “You’ve tried to kill me!”

  “But you never died,” He argued earnestly, “And besides you’ve tried to kill me before.”

  “Why were you looking for me anyway?” Gareland huffed, turning her cheek and pouting.

  “Signore wanted me to deliver a message,” The fairy’s ears twitched involuntarily upon hearing that name, “We’ve got a date for the Black Night - the thirteenth of September.”

  I completely forgot about that! Gareland blanched, her face still turned, before she realized she was stewing in her own thoughts for an awkward amount of time, “Right, then. September thirteenth, got it. But why not send a letter? And why you?”

  “I volunteered - and he wanted to reduce the chance of your Captain seeing it.” LJ said casually, examining his nails. When he saw Gareland’s face turn back to him, shocked, he said, “What? You thought he didn’t know?”

  “I suppose I should’ve seen it coming.” She muttered under her breath, “But I’ll have you know - Paracelsus has an ingenious new way to grow tobacco. He’s no threat.”

  “I’m sure he does.” He replied, completely uninterested.

  —

  “Parace?” Serpacinno knocked on the door, an abashed look on her face, “Can I ask a favor?”

  “Of course,” He looked up from his journal, “What do you need?”

  “Well, it’s embarrassing to say,” She trailed off, tapping her chin, “But my snakes are molting. It’s always a pain to do it myself.”

  “Sure, but I’m not quite abreast of the latest snake-molting techniques.” He warned, placing a chair behind the one she sat herself in, “And don’t worry - I won’t ruin the tough, independent image you curate.”

  “Why do you talk like that?” She asked, wincing as he brought the alcohol rag on Curly.

  “You’re not the only one who curates an image.” He replied cryptically.

  “I guess I’m asking why you do.” The swordswoman replied, “And I guess I’d like to know what the real you is like.”

  “The real me?” The Captain asked, “Perhaps this image is simply another facet of who I am, no less real than anything else. Take, for instance, your hard exterior - I doubt when you’re alone that you’re nearly this tough. But does that mean you aren’t strong?”

  “I guess that’s fair.” She said, albeit with a soft, reserved, almost disappointed tone.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “How about this -” He started, “Ask me whatever you like, I’ll answer completely truthfully, as best as time will allow me.”

  At that moment there were an almost infinite number of answers she wanted to ask. A million dodged questions, a thousand strange coincidences, but above all, there was one lingering doubt.

  “What’s your endgame?” She asked, “With Kósmeidi?”

  He paused at rubbing down her snakes, stopping at Shirley, presumably pondering, before responding, “Now, bear with me, this will sound like a lie, but I swear it’s the truth - I really don’t know. I don’t know much of it, except that the Union fears it. And this is the kicker - once I’ve collected it, I’ll release it to your custody.”

  “What?” She whipped her head around, no doubt irritating her snakes who were quite enjoying the lavish treatment, “I thought I’d have to fight you for it.”

  Her partner laughed good-heartedly at that, resuming his ministrations once she’d turned, “A fight I would no doubt lose. But no, it’s all yours. Of course, I do sincerely hope you’ll cooperate with me further, but it’s your choice.”

  “And the crew?” She asked.

  “That I’m unsure about,” He paused again, this time out of what Serpacinno assumed to be fear or trepidation, “I mean, Lonceré I anticipate riding until the end. Probably the same with Tariq, but Gareland and Sally I’m less sure of. And Gru’lya, well I don’t know how much you can trust the word of a mermaid. It hurts me to say,” He sucked in a deep, mournful breath, “But I’ll probably have to replace them at some point.”

  Now, Serpacinno may not have been an educated woman, by any regards, but she was far from stupid. His tone, and the way his breath caught in his throat, suggested that this was a difficult topic. A silence hung over them, not awkward, but rather pleasant, as she was tenderly cared for, a sensation unfamiliar but welcome to the tough woman.

  “All done.” Paracelsus informed with a smile on his face, “Any particular… ritual to dealing with the dead skin?”

  “Just toss it in the ocean.” Serpacinno replied, patting her partner on the shoulder, “Thanks for the help.”

  “Anytime.” He said, after his partner had left the room. He was only vaguely aware of his eyes lingering on the door after she exited.

  —

  “All hands! To the main deck!” Paracelsus shouted, his crew leaving their posts to join him.

  In particular, Lonceré had come up, carrying with his mind and his double, a feast and barrels of liquor. Everything set up, the Captain took his place on the quarterdeck, leaning on the railing, and bore a wide, merry smile on his face.

  “What’s happening?” Gareland asked, looking around, “We’re not under attack, are we?”

  “No!” He shouted, realizing it was unwise to shout rather than simply descend down the stairs, especially now that Gru’lya had joined them, “I’ve decided we could use a party. That, and I’d like to make an announcement, if I could have your ear for a little bit.

  First - I’d like to acknowledge all that you’ve done for me, for the crew, all on faith. I truly, truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for everything you’ve given and all the sacrifices and risks you undertook for our sake.

  Second, I’d like to give you a bit of clarity. There is a very specific reason I’ve assembled, and will continue into the foreseeable future to assemble, this crew. I’m hunting for a legendary sword of great value, known as Kósmeidi. I have it on good authority that at the center of each shell lies a fragment of this treasure, and that in gathering them, we may reforge it.

  And last, but, as the old adage says, not least, I’d like to express why, I believe, we’ve all come together. We are, all of us, outcasts, dregs of society, losers, and the scorned. But I believe that none of us shall remain that way, I believe that all of us wish to find family, and connection where we’ve lost it, and I sincerely hope, and if you’re religious I hope you pray, that we all find it.

  That being said, dig in!”

  And so, the festivities began. They ate, digging voraciously into the meat, potatoes, soup, and other assorted foodstuffs Lonceré had been so kind to cook, and for most, save the ever-abstinent Serpacinno, the maraschino - a personal favorite of the Captain’s - they’d had in the kegs. The Captain even had the foresight to summon a guitar, strumming a tune to go with his sea-shanty.

  “So, Tariq…” Gareland came up to him, brushing her hair behind her ear, “I was just wondering - do you have a girl waiting back in Ghazal?”

  “Me?” He panicked, sputtering, “No, why -” He coughed into his hand to try and will his voice to deepen, “Why do you ask?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She was just as nervous as the younger man, she was simply better at hiding it, and less inhibited with the alcohol in her system, especially as she ran a finger over his collar, “I thought you might meet me at my hammock later tonight.”

  “Really?” The helmsman dumbly asked, his cheeks growing flushed and his breath growing hot, “I mean - of course! It’s just, I had this whole plan -”

  Gareland, before he could embarrass himself any further, pulled him in, kissing him on the lips, much to the hooting of the other crew, “You idiot! You’re not Parace, you don’t need a plan to ask a girl out. Just keep growing that mustache, I like it.”

  “Of course!” He said excitedly, goofily feeling his mustache as Gareland floated away to rejoin the others.

  “Excuse me! I’d like to say something!” She tapped her glass with a spoon, gathering everyone’s attention, “I’m no good at speeches, so I’ll make this quick. I just wanted to say that I’ve come to care about you all, and so, if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay on the crew more permanently. At least until we see my brother.”

  Of course Paracelsus raised his glass in affirmation, causing her to tear up a little with joy. No longer abated by any news, the merriments continued, with notable highlights including Lonceré trying (and failing) to hit on the mermaid, who had only surfaced for the music and fish, and Sally coercing Serpacinno to share a surprisingly innocent dance.

  Of course, all the festivity brought the married couple up from the hold, apparently having their “alone time” interrupted by all the noise. They were invited to eat as well, seeing as the only bits left were going uneaten otherwise. Eventually the topics of conversation became duller and more tired, until one-by-one, the crew began packing it in for the night. Except for Sally, due to her sleeplessness, who simply climbed up the crow’s nest with a comfortable jacket.

  “That’s a nice sword.” Serpacinno, who was about to sleep, said, not implying anything.

  “It is,” Xenepol agreed, “I’m something of a collector.”

  “I’m sure it’s nice.” She replied, in a tone that said she was now very much implying something.

  “Excuse me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, splitting his sword and showing his collection to prove his point, “I’ll have you know, I’ve had all - err, most of these swords inspected. I have the certificates to prove their quality!”

  “Interesting,” Serpacinno started laying swords, all conveniently and impossibly hidden in her pouch, on the ground, “Never been one to care for certificates, I suppose - but we can both agree I’ve got more.”

  “I will admit - the size is impressive,” He argued, butting heads with her, “But mine are clearly of a higher quality! You know what? Let’s wager a sword each.”

  “I get to pick yours when I win.” She stipulated.

  “No - when I win, I’ll be picking one of yours.” He agreed, “First to touch?”

  “First to touch.” She agreed.

  “It’s rather silly, seeing them play with their toys like this.” Paracelsus said from the sidelines, “Endearing, in a way, but silly.”

  “I find it lovely!” Rian argued, “I mean - it’s something he’s really passionate about.”

  “To each their own.” He said, letting the issue drop.

  Then, both the sword-fighters took their positions some ten feet away from each other, each with a wooden dummy sword, about three feet in length, held aloft. Serpacinno took the first step forward, closing the distance inch by inch, until they were just outside of each other’s range.

  A thick, heavy silence hung over the deck, and Xenepol took the initiative in breaking it, aiming high and coming down to her shoulder, which Serpacinno blocked without much hassle. She returned with a thrust of her own, lower and aimed at his midsection which would’ve worked, had she not intended it as a bait for which her adversary fell. When he stepped back, he inadvertently gave the advantage to Serpacinno, who swept his leg, aiming her “blade” at his neck when he fell over.

  “I can’t believe it,” He said, rising to his feet, “Who would think to aim for their opponent’s feet?”

  “You never specified where I had to touch.” Serpacinno asked, looking at his reluctantly offered collection.

  Her eyes passed over the group, and what a group it was, containing well over a dozen items, each with their own luster and allure. There were swords of all shapes and sizes, the smallest being a dagger and the largest being a rapier that measured nearly five feet, by her estimations. Eventually though, she settled on a gladius with a shimmering, prismatic finish.

  “What’s the certification on this one?” She gloated.

  “That, I call Circubeu,” He explained, closing up shop, “It’s a nice sword, small, light, but with enough reach to get the job done. Try using it after it rains, I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”