Dujo, the [i]Dusk Skate’s[/i] quartermaster, was running upon only an hour or so of sleep, and he was still yet far from his next appointment with his hammock. He had been up and down the dock shops of Port Royal like a man possessed, trying to outfit the [i]Skate[/i] for her impromptu voyage. It was a task that would be nigh impossible for most men, but thankfully for Captain Thomas Lightfoot, Dujo was not most men. 

Having just left the Ship Chandlery of Mr. Edward Hartley, Dujo crossed yet another set of supplies from his mental list. He had secured deliveries of everything from pitch to whale oil, and even all the lengths of rope and sail cloth the [i]Skate[/i] would require for the coming voyage. It had cost him many a favor, and even more in debt shares for the Captain. 

[i]Luckily the Captain has God’s own reputation in matters or credit, or we’d be riding at anchor for a long while yet, no matter the coming endeavor and its promised prize,[/i] Dujo thought.

All that remained on the quartermaster’s list was the equipment for the cannon. The Captain had said to prepare the ship for iron, and Dujo intended to do so in spades. Though the [i]Dusk Skate[/i] was a formidable ship, the Spanish still possessed the lion’s share of sea power in the Caribbean. Their ships of the line were among the most feared in all the oceans of the world, and thusly Dujo never took the matter of armament lightly.

He rounded southwest at the intersection of Lime Street and Tower Street, turning towards Chocolate Hole, and the armory of Mr. Nathaniel Geddes. Geddes’ armory was the sole supplier of shot and powder for the privateer ships in Port Royal, and having such a valuable enterprise, the man had been wise to house it beneath the deadly reach of the guns of Fort Charles. 

Dujo looked to the imposing fort as he walked down the muddy street, squinting in the afternoon sun. Though Fort Charles had been built to protect the harbor of Port Royal, and all the privateer and naval ships that called her home, the inner pirate in Dujo couldn’t help but itch with apprehension in the blanket of her shadow. Soldiers could just a soon send a pirate to the gallows of High Street as protect them from the Don. Dujo scoffed at the thought. More than likely it would be the pirates saving the asses of the soldiers in the event of an attack, and not the other way round. 

As he neared the stoutly constructed armory, Dujo decided without much thought that he would change his route to the alleyway just northeast of the armory, and forego any more scrutiny from the coralstone walls of Fort Charles. Entering from the harbor side would allow him to hopefully catch Mr. Geddes by surprise as well, and possibly grant him the upper hand for the coming barter. 

Skirting the row of heavy carts that lined the alley, Dujo was just about to round the corner into the armory’s rear entrance when a name reached his ears through the din and bustle of the boardwalk. 

“…You say the [i]Crimson Feather[/i] put to sea this morning?” Came a rough voice, quieted to a whisper, from within the armory. Unfortunately for its owner, the copper lined walls of the structure reflected even the softest of sounds powerfully, and Dujo heard every word as he halted just beyond the doorway.

“Aye,” said a second voice, one that Dujo recognized as that of Geddes, the armorer. “After the fight with Lightfoot’s lot in the Boar, I heard that ‘er captain was visited by one of the Governor’s men, and as soon as she was fit to sail, the [i]Feather[/i] put out with the tide this morning.”

Though Dujo had not been in the Black Boar during the deadly encounter, he had certainly heard of it from his crewmates. His black eyes narrowed.

“What in all hell could make them do that? Certainly they put out without the proper fitting? The [i]Feather[/i] had only just arrived three or four glasses before the [i]Skate[/i] only a days past, had she not?” said the first voice.

Geddes replied in a voice that even with the favorable acoustics of the walls, Dujo had to strain to hear.

“Well, the word I’ve heard is that the man from the Governor’s mansion had information about a wrecked Donnish galleon somewhere in the Windward Passage. The promise of gold would be the only reason I could see to make the [i]Crimson Feather[/i] risk such a voyage without waiting to be refitted.”

At this, the quartermaster’s eyes widened, and without a moment of hesitation, Dujo spun upon his heels and bolted as fast as his short legs would carry him. 

Cannon shot would have to wait. The Captain needed to know all he had heard.