“I wish I was a gunner’s mate aboard a man-o-war!” Lars the shanty man sang from his post at the mainmast.

“Sam’s gone away, aboard a man-o-war,” the crew roared back as they heaved on the line to hoist the mizen top-sail.

“I wish I was a gunner’s mate aboard a man-o-war!”

“Sam’s gone away, aboard a man-o-war.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGLAHpnXgXE

Jessica Scarlet hummed the chorus as she stood upon the quarter deck of the Weather Witch, peering at the approaching coastline through a brass bound spy glass. The south easterly wind was freshening as dawn broke behind them, filling the straining sails of the twelve gun sloop as she sliced through the aquamarine waters. There was a cheer as the mizen topsail unfurled and caught the wind, dragging them slightly leeward as the lines were hauled taut.

Captain Scarlet, or Red Jess as she was sometimes called, sniffed the air, tasting the tang of salt and the green earthy smell of distant jungles. She glanced behind her at the gray and lowering sky. There would be a storm later, but she intended to be well out to sea by the time it struck. She was of average height, with an athletic figure made hard by years of clambering up and down the rigging. Her red hair hung loose to her shoulders, partially controlled by a bandana and tricorn hat. A coat of black linen with gold stitching hung around her shoulders though the heat of the day would soon force her to shuck it. She blinked her blue green eyes and squinted through the glass again, noting the point where the white caps began to form, a sure sign of shoaling waters.

“Another point a-starboard if you please,” she roared. The helmsman, a massive Lesoutan named Pelae, was only a few feet away, but the command was meant to be heard by the whole ship. Sailors liked to know what was going on and Jess tried to oblige them where she could.

“Point a-starbord, aye,” Pelae replied, turning the great oak wheel slightly so that the Witch hardened up to the wind, running nearly parallel to the coast line.

“Hands to set stunsails!” Jessica shouted, watching with a critical eye as her crew began swarming up the rigging to shake out even more canvas to the rhythmic beat of Lars’ song. Krycek, the first mate, stomped up onto the quarterdeck. The dwarf was as broad as two men and so heavily muscled that it seemed to Jess that he might break his own bones if he flexed them all at once. His head was bald for all that his thick red beard reached to his chest. He wore no shirt, but was covered with intricate nautical tattoos.

“Ye weel rip thee stick out-o her if ye keep this up,” he grumped, scowling as though Jess had embarked on a conspiracy to do just this.

“Good morning Krycek,” Jess responded as she closed the glass with a snap. She could make out the mouth of the bay that was her target now and was satisfied they were on course.

“Don’t worry, the wind will slacken as we get into the shadow of the coast,” she assured him.

“Dinnae worry she says,” the dwarf continued to grouch. Jessica grinned, Krychek would bitch if they hanged him with a golden rope. It was a fine morning with a good wind and the taste of salt on the air, and who could complain about that?

“Flash!” a top man shouted, and Jessica’s eye was drawn to the small promontory that formed the eastern arm of the unnamed bay. A puff of smoke was visible in the air, followed a moment later by a column of water lifting a hundred yards behind the Weather Witch. It seemed that the Ran-tai were as methodical as ever. There was a battery up on the headland keeping look out. This was a challenge gun, not an attempt to sink her ship, though that would come soon enough.

“Run up the colors Mr Avery!” Jessica shouted. Wheels squealed as the green and white ensign of the Serene Dominion of Ran-tai rose to catch the breeze, snapping like a coachwhip.

“A half point to starboard Mr Pelae,” Jessica instructed, “make it look like we are a merchantman shying away.” The helmsman complied, and though there were no further shots, Jess fancied she could see activity around the distant smoke shrouded battery. No doubt they were sending men to inform the locals that another ship had hove into view.

“Diya think it weel take them mor’n a minute to realize ye are flying everything by yer wee knickers?” Krycek complained. Jessica’s smile broadened. Krychek wanted to shorten sail, and so he was framing everything in a way that would lead to that opinion. She pulled a coin from a pocket and made the gold dubloon dance across her knuckles before flipping into the air with her thumb and slapping it down to reveal the crowned head of Emperor Carlos.

“I think, that if this Ran-tai princling knows a stunsail from his asshole, he will be unique in all the world,” she told her first mate. Ran-tai was a powerful nation that controlled vast swaths of territory in the northern jungles and on the heavily populated plains beyond, but they were newcomers to the sea. Their officers were of their noble classes and had little to recommend them beyond their pedigree. They wouldn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.

“Two sails!” the topman shouted down as fifteen minutes later they reached the mouth of the bay. It was broad and well sheltered, a sandy crescent where several small streams drained the low interior hills. Green lantana climbed from the sand to the low headland. Two vessels were in the process of trying to lift anchor, one was a merchantman, beamy as a butter tub with two masts studded with over wide yards, the other a three masted warship flying the same ensign as the Weather Witch. Unlike the battery on the headland, the crew of the warship was quickly realizing there was no reason for a friendly ship to come charging into the bay at nearly twelve knots. Jessica could see green coated officers shouting orders as men swarmed up the rigging to set sails. She had already cut her cables and was drifting slowly to leeward. Sloppy that, as if the wind shifted she might be driven a ground before she got underway.

“Hard over Mr Pelae,” Jessica instructed, feeling the familiar thrill of catching an enemy by surprise. She ran to the quarterdeck railing and cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Run out the guns!” she shouted down into the waist. The shanty cut off abruptly as men ran down to the gun deck. Tackles squealed as the covers were removed and the six twelve pounder guns were run out. Jessica hummed the last few bars of the shanty’s chorus.

“Run out to port!” she called and the process was repeated on the other side of the ship. Some of the newer members of the crews grumbled, but they were corrected with slaps and punches from their more seasoned comrades. Jessica’s orders sometimes seemed eccentric, but the old timers knew they were never without purpose. Jess watched the enemy ships struggle to react. It was better luck than she could have hoped for that the Ran-tai warship had anchored closer to shore than the vessel it was safe guarding. A Lesoutan ship in a similar position would have anchored in the mouth of the bay with springs on her cables so she could command the seas without ever having to set sail. Evidently the Ran-tai had wanted to be closer to shore for ease of bringing aboard supplies. Jess could make out boats pulling furiously towards the warship from where they had evidently been making camp.

“Run up the colors!” she shouted as the Ran-tai ensign came down. There was no need to clarify which colors she meant, as the black skull and crossbones sailed aloft.

“Fire as you bear!” she shouted, a heartbeat before her first gun went off. She didn’t need to tell her crew when it was time to start shooting. The Weather Witch cut across the bow of the Ran Tai warship at almost the maximum range of the guns. Greyish pencil lines sprang from the crashing discharges and stinking clouds of gun smoke. The first two shots went wide, splashing on either side of the ship before the third shot smashed the figurehead of the ship into a cloud of flying splitters. A great cheer went up from the crew as the next shot shattered the bow sprit, dropping a tangle of timber and lines into the sea. Jessica saw flashed from the Ran-tai ship as her bow chasers touched off. The heavy long guns hammered heavy shot her way and a hole appeared in the mainsail as a lucky shot howled over head.

“Reload and secure port guns! Mr Pelae, hard a-lee!” Jessica shouted, all but hopping with excitement as the gun crews sponged the guns with buckets of sea water to quench any embers still burning in the breeches before ramming fresh bags of gunpowder into place. The Weather Witch heeled over as she arrowed straight into the bay. The sails snapped as they luffed, losing some of the following wind.

“Are ye blind! Haul away ye droolin’ pond scum!” Krycek roared as men leaped to pull cables tight. The Witch was slowing, though still held a prodigious turn of speed. They were only a few hundred feet from the merchantman now and her crew were obviously in a panic. Axemen cut her cables as her first sails shook out but it was a foul wind for leaving harbor. The sun was well up now and beating down on the shore, making everything seem to glow an emerald green. A shot crashed overhead and Jess looked up with a scowl to see the battery on the headland was joining the fight.

“She’s presentin’!” Krychek warned and Jess looked up to see the Ran-tai warship turning to bring her starboard guns to bear. It was going to be too late. The Weather Witch passed behind the merchantman, at the same moment the enemy guns bore. Jessica grabbed the wheel from Pelae and turned it hard. The Witch crashed into the side of the other ship in a scream of splintering timber. Men screamed and there were a handful of shots from the merchantman as desperate sailors fired muskets or pistols. It wasn’t a smooth collision but rather a series of crashes as the hulls rebounded from one another on reflected waves. Jessica held on grimly as scantlings snapped and yards collided, ripping away. The important thing was to bleed off momentum that would otherwise carry them into the shallows. The noise was tremendous, like two forests colliding. Men on both ships screamed and several went down in showers of splinters.

“Stand to starboard guns!” Jessica bellowed as loud as her lungs would allow. The Witch had lost much of her speed in the deliberate collision, but she slipped free of the other ship no faster than a trotting horse. Jess put the helm hard over, swinging the ship in a lazy circle that pointed her loaded starboard guns directly at the stern of the Ran-tai ship. All six guns fired at once in a colossal explosion of fire and powdersmoke. The quarter gallery of the enemy ship exploded in splinters of glass and timber as all six guns raked the enemy vessel, cannonballs careening down the length of her like scythes. More importantly Jessica saw the enemy ship wobble as its rudder post was shot away.

“Clue up! Clue up! Stand for stay! Gunners reload!” Jess shouted as hands swarmed aloft to reset sails. The wind that had driven them in to the bay was a memory now, replaced by a warming land breeze off the coast, it was but it was enough to keep maneuvering way on. The Ran-tai warship had finally built up some speed, but without her rudder she had no way to maneuver. Men clambered up and down the rigging in confusion, but it was a good bet her captain had been killed by the raking which had shattered her stern castle. The ship's momentum was carrying her towards the headland with no rudder to steer her. A crack crew might have been able to get anchors away before they struck, but these were no tarry deep sea jacks and anyway, they had cut their cables, the best crew in the world couldn’t have brought fresh sea anchors up in time. Before order could be established the ship came to a crashing halt. Men who had been aloft were shaken free, the lucky ones plunged into the shallow water, while the less fortunate struck the deck, breaking bones or worse. There was a tremendous shriek of ripping timber as the foremast came away, ripped free when the rudderless vessel had run around. It toppled in a nest of rigging, dragging lines and spars down in ruin. The ship was helpless and under Jess’ guns but there was no time to finish her off. There was a crack above as the shore battery sent another ball through the topsails, they were struggling to depress the guns far enough, but that wouldn’t last. That didn’t matter, it was the merchant that she was after, not the warship.

Jess turned her attention to the merchantman who had managed to get her sails set and was picking up speed. Jess cupped her hands into a trumpet.

“Strike! Strike for your lives!” she shouted to the captain.

“Prepare borders!” Krychek yelled, louder by far than Jess and with more impact. The pennon fluttered down as the merchant ship struck. Wisely, the captain didn’t attempt to shorten sail, correctly surmising that Jess would want him to move out of the bay and away from the battery’s harassing fire.

“Pretty work, brave boys, pretty work I say," Jessica hummed.

@POOHEAD189

Stonebane bolts punched into the walls with audible, metallic bites. Three in unison, two meters apart in a vertical line from top to bottom. The connected laminated fiber was wound tight by the turning of a small wheel at the base of the crossbow, leaving a solid line of rope from the wall to their belts. Methodically, the crew attached their threads to a joint-thread, realigning it with a specialized bolt before it was loosed. The joint-thread slid along all three laminated fibers, closing them up and making them a part of a single, securely fastened three pronged rope. Galt waited until the rope was as tight as it could be, and yanked on it for good measure.

Bonnie and Steimos shouldered their crossbows as Galt vaulted over the lip of the building, taking point. He landed rougher than he wanted to, but he did his best not to cry out. Instead he cursed. Cursed himself and his Gods damned luck. He neatly leaped over some ornamental brush, silently sliding under a fence placed only for aesthetic purposes. His slide stopped right behind a walking patrolman. To Galt's credit, he didn't make a sound or even looked distressed, even as his heart banged in his years. The sheath at the watch's hip held a wicked sword, Galt had no doubts. The blades of Stauldin were infamously sharp and well forged. He only allowed himself to swallow nervously before he hopped up and slipped behind a garden wall, eyes soaking in the dim collection of foliage. Two seconds and he began to move again, finding purchase on the far wall of the building, following the line of the rope and ascending, grabbing lines and flaws in the stone of the wall. The whistling of the rope sliding through the steel ring of his belt.

Behind him, he felt the rope shudder, suggesting further weight was now burdening the line. He glanced downwards and saw the other two members of his crew following. He was glad they had followed so closely, but knew without a doubt if he had aroused the guard, they would have left him to die. Couldn't exactly blame them, but he would be far happier with more loyal friends. He cleared his throat as silently as he could once he reached the fifth floor, taking out a glasscutter and pressing his sweaty palm at the center of the window, pushing off the wall with his feet until he was standing vertically, using naught but the thread to keep him from falling. Luckily, the three bolts held up his weight.

Galt held his breath, the quiet deafening as he pressed the blade to the glass and pierced it, cutting a circle big enough for a man to shimmy through. It was slow going, the scoundrel certain it would snag and stop halfway. He almost wish it had. Bad luck could be traded in for good fortune. When everything went right, that was when you needed to be most careful. Once he was nearing the end of the cut, he dipped the blade beyond the circle of glass to tip the material toward himself, pulling with his sweaty hand in a common albeit less-than-sure trick.

He placed his cutter back in his belt and grabbed the flat edge of the glass circle. Galt's eyes flicked to inside, the darkness permeating the room obscured his vision beyond the vague shapes of bookshelves and a large desk. There were no signs of anyone inside, but Galt hesitated. Galt wasn't first in because he was brave or foolhardy. Galt wasn't a brave man; some might even call him coward. He ran from every fight he could. He let others go before him, took chances only his arrogance would allow, and he never bet on a losing horse, no matter how much he liked it.

But they had drawn straws, and his had come up short as a cold cock.

Stepping in, he let the rope swing him within until half his form was through, shifting his weight to plant his feet on the floor, finally unhooking the thread from his belt. His eyes did not linger anywhere too long, searching the room for any sign of trouble. It was an office of some kind, a book-keeper's den of little worth but much information, like as not. Unfortunately, it wasn't what they were there for. Next in was Bonnie, silently sliding in head first as Galt surreptitiously hid the glass pane under the desk.

She searched the room as if she was the first one in, Galt side-eyeing her with little patience. He let her do her thing, stepping to the door and checking for any traps, spring loaded or weight activated. As far as he could tell, none were present. He slowly gripped the handled and held his breath as he turned it, the door swinging open silently. His foot followed in its wake, placing his weight of the hall tile. It creaked ever so gently, but it wasn't loud enough to raise any alarm as long as they played it safe. Galt glanced behind him, Steimos wheeling the rope up, a grimace on his square face. Bonnie rolled her finger over and over like a wagon wheel, glaring at Galt, clearly impatient for him to move. The thief never knew what he saw in her, and regretting breaking the first rule of business.

Don't mix it with pleasure.

The corridor was rich with fine tiled wood the color of burgundy. Small lights gleamed from doorways, but any novice could tell it was the moonlight filtering in from open-curtained windows. Galt went right, and while he would have preferred to think of himself like a stalking tiger, he felt very much like a deer, instead. Quiet and frightened, ready to scream at the slightest hint of discovery. He had already been run out of his previous city, and he couldn't stand living out of garbage or stealing pocket change for another year. His stomach and psyche couldn't handle the shame.

"Pst," Galt heard, just as he was about to step into a luxurious dining room. A stolen moonlit glance showed it was connected to some sort of library, well stocked and ornate from the looks of it. A glint on the table reminded him of the silverware, and not a misleading name if their information was to be correct. The forks and knives were reputedly true silver. But he had to rip his eyes away from the delectable prize, catching Bonnie mimicking a jackdaw with her hands, subtle movements of her fingers displaying the thieves cant.

'Not that way. We stay together!' She signed irritably. Steimos was behind her, stepping out of the door and checking for pressure plates along the floor with a surgeon's precision.

'This room connects to the other' he flashed, and continued forward without bothering to wait for a reply. By the luck of the Gods, there was a carpet in this room, and he could walk about easier. The opposite wall held a large window, where the light poured in and gave the forks a glittering, mesmerizing quality. Expensive porcelain dishes were arrayed on a tall cabinet to the right, and doubtless more utensils were stacked within the drawers. By the door stood a desk, and atop it, an archaic dagger sat on a stand. Its hilt gilded and the leather sheath arrayed in silvery patterns. Galt took it gingerly, knowing it was probably useless as a weapon but dangerous expensive. He then plucked every piece of silverware he found off the table and dropped them into his belt sack. Across the way, he caught dark silhouettes moving through the small library, opening cabinets and fishing through drawers. Bonnie, or what he assumed was Bonnie, knelt by a crate, no, a safe? She began to wheel the lock, ear pressed to the steel as her rump lifted in the air.

Yep, definitely Bonnie. He would recognize that ass anywhere.

He turned back to the table, wondering if he could file off an arm of the golden candelabra at the center. Already, this seemed to be a sizeable score. The dagger and silverware alone could feed him for weeks in a comfortable inn, and he didn't have to tell Bonnie or Stiemos all that he found. Galt felt no remorse for any deceit either, because he fully expected the same of them. He had worked four jobs and been given a pittance of the split because he had no idea that's how the game was played. No honor among thieves is right!

As Galt rounded the room, he was nothing but a shadow against the wall. His black hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin helped him blend in with the dark cowl around his form. He glanced out of the window, watching something ethereal move from somewhere across the courtyard. It wasn't until the very last moment that he realized the movement was not from something outside, but a reflection of a gun barrel rising behind him, catching the light as it moved.

"Shit!" He cursed, feeling blood pumping through his veins as his heart rate spiked, the click of the gun followed by an ear-splitting crack. It was so loud Galt wasn't sure if the sound or the bullet shattered the window he dove past. Vaguely he heard Steimos swear in his native tongue, and suddenly the creaky hallway was clattering as footsteps thundered down the hall, the sound of swords unsheathing mixed with the cocking of pistols.

Bonnie threw a small sphere into the hall, smoke billowing from its pores rapidly. Steimos, stronger than the other two, pulled down a towering bookshelf, books and wooden shelves crashed to the floor, pummeling the first soldier as he rounded the corner, coughing from the smoke. Galt turned and saw the man who fired on him round the corner with a saber. He wore a tricone hat and the handsome coat of a military man. Galt kicked the chair at the end of the table into his feet, causing him to stumble just before he was to give a thrust. Rolling across the floor, Galt smoothly made it to his feet just as Bonnie shoved a case into his hands. Galt felt the expensive wood, smooth on his skin.

"What is this!?" He cried as Steimos threw a knife into a soldier's thigh, his gun firing into the ceiling. Dust and kindling fell onto his head.

"I don't know! Just get to the rendezvous poi-!" Bonnie yelled, before a bullet punched into her lower back. The woman's body hit him, and Galt felt a wave of odd emotions as she clutched his form. Fear, anger, confusion. He wasn't in love with her anymore, but did he want her dead? Should he stay and fight? Steimos took a cut to his shoulder, crying out in pain. Bonnie's hands on Galt's cowl yanked at him one last time, and he saw her look right into his eyes as she mouthed 'go, you idiot.'

Galt did just that. The window was no match for a ball of leather, cloth, and terrified thief, and as Galt plummeted toward the tall hedges, he remembered one man cry out in despair.

"He has the Map of Algorab! Find him!"

---

The bleeding on his arm had stopped, but apparently so had his luck.

Galt watched the churning waves with a new set of worries on his face. Gunsmoke and the spray of the sea filled his senses as the merchant vessel threatened to overturn. The ship was a brig, if Galt knew his ships, and truth be told, he really didn't. The ship was just not well guarded, and he had been dodging patrolmen all night. Several times he had been spotted, and like a fox on the run, he ran back and forth, doubling back to keep men off his trail as he circumvented the city, and once he felt relatively well-off, he went straight for the docks. The gates would be well guarded and roads traveled by the king's men. Apprehending a cloak from a warehouse, he had donned it and bribed his way onboard the merchant vessel just before it set off.

Now he had to deal with sea bandits as well as the law.

"Bloody pirates, just go the fuck away." He prayed, clutching the case in his hands as the battle raged on.

The merchant vessel had no choice but to strike or be boarded. The captain wisely choose the latter option, keeping on enough sail to carry him out of range of the shore battery which continued to boom out shots to drive the Weather Witch away from the crippled warship. To do otherwise might be seen as not cooperating and while merchant captains might care about the fate of their cargos the crews on whom they depended to defend them were less inclined to risk life and limb for the sake of their paltry wages. It was a quarter of an hour before Jess and her crew of boarders clambered over the bulwarks, lashing the two ships together as they continued out to sea. As Krycek had predicted the sky to the south was growing darker and the sea was rising, before the watch was out Jess wanted to have sails set and be out and away with plenty of sea room. She could feel the slap of the waves through the keel as she dropped down onto the deck. A nervous looking merchant captain stood on the deck in a fine coat, wringing his expensive felt hat in his hands, the crewmen sprawled about in drunken disorder, having taken the opportunity to break into the liquor rations before the pirates came aboard. Jessica grinned, she could appreciated stout fellows who could take the initiative.

"Listen up you lubbers!" she boomed, using her impressive chest to project her voice.

"Do as we say and you wont be harmed, make trouble, and by Yande's Drowned Pricks I'll feed everyone of you to the sharks!" it was no idle threat, but it didn't seem anyone in this bunch was inclined to be a hero.

"Strip her to the deckheads boys!" she called to her crew, "and put these drunks to work helping." She turned back to the crew.

"Any of you lads fancy a bit more excitement than hauling silk for rich arseholes, sign aboard with me, I'm Red Jess and my lads are princes at every tavern from here to Beton Bay because they sail with me!"

Galt tried to calm himself down.

He had hurriedly thrown his dark thieving clothes into one of the crew's crates and commandeered some deckhand's wardrobe. He had on a pair of workman's boots, some loose fitting breeches, a worn leather belt, and a low cut sailor's top. The thief wasn't particularly hairy or muscular, and felt a bit exposed waltzing about in the garb. He had no time to chuck his knives, specialty items, or garb overboard. He heard the boots above, and through the fixed glass porthole he saw the pirate ship not a dozen feet away. Cries of fear and dismay were heard above, and the stow away went to grab his valuables.

He took the gilded knife and kept it hidden within his sock, while the silverware was wrapped at the center of his cowl, able to pass a rudimentary inspection like as not. The only wildcard was the map, the one his comrades had died for. He wasn't particularly sad about their deaths, though an annoying melancholy had not yet left him. The projected value of the Map of Algorab quickly stole his attention from the distant grief, however. He had heard wild tales of Algorab, though he wasn't sure if that was a place, a person, a bloody language even! But images of mountains of diamonds and rivers of gold coins passed through his mind. Magic artifacts that could ensnare one's mind or give one the power to be a king. Galt wasn't a particularly power hungry or ambitious man, but his life had been pretty shit for as long as he could remember. An unimaginable treasure would be something that would definitely lighten the thief's mood.

He unlatched the brass mechanisms, and opened the case carefully, expecting some form of toxic gas to spew forth. He was relieved when nothing occurred, and found he was looking at a plain bit of rolled up parchment. It was so unassuming he was disappointed for a brief moment. Blinking, he grabbed the scroll-like item in the effort to unroll it. When his fingers gripped the parchment, he felt there was something hard hidden within. A shout above drew his attention for the moment, but he looked back down at the mysterious paper and decided it was now or never. He unrolled the map.

It was blank.

"That pisses me off." He breathed to himself, but his thoughts halted when a small bronze charm wrought in the shape of some kind of weasel tumbled out. No, a mongoose, he thought. He had seen them sold in the Bazaar in Visipirya. He plucked it out of the case, eyeing it closely to appraise the piece. Maybe he could salvage something from what was clearly a ruse for dumb thieves.

The mongoose unraveled between his fingers, and before he could move, it leaped into the iris of his eye. Galt yelped, his left eye suddenly dark. He grabbed at his face and pawed at his left eye, crying out in alarm. His back hit a crate and sent bottles of rum spilling out, rolling across the floor of the cargo hold as he panted in confusion and fear. Slowly, he pulled his hands from his face, blinking in abject surprise.

His left eye could see fine.

"What the fuck?" He breathed.

"Oh, we got a tardy crewmen, do we?" The voice of a lout asked facetiously. Galt turned, and realized a pair of pirates had already made it halfway down the stairs during his confusion. One aimed a pistol his way, and the other carried a twin pair of horrendously sharp axes, smiling as if he itched for Galt to give him a reason. Galt wouldn't, as far as he could help it. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Come on, pretty man." The pistol wielder said, indicating Galt go up the stairs. Galt did not consider himself overly handsome, but he guessed anyone without a cleft lip or a thrice broken nose was considered princely in the realm of pirates.

"Aye, aye, I'm going." He assured them, walking briskly to the top as they followed closely behind. He made it topside with a musket barrel pressed to his cheek, and he squinted from the sudden sunlight. Before him, the merchant crew were on their knees, swords, muskets, and boarding pikes aimed their way. A few were on their feet, but the rest seemed distraught or grim. The pirates were a rough assortment of ugly and burly. He noticed a dwarf among them smiling cruelly, and a woman at the center. She had thick red hair and an intelligent glint in her eyes. He took quick stock of her face and body out of instinct, and Galt might have bought her a pint at a pub if he had seen her anywhere else. Here though? He was pretty scared shitless of her, as she was obviously the captain. It took a tough as nail's woman to live among a band of odious brutes, much less keep them in line.

"Found this'un below decks! Spilled some good rum, but most of its intact." The axeman announced, and Galt felt like the woman would call for his death there and then.

"Next round at the next port's on me if I can join your crew, Captain!" Galt remarked, before anyone could really comment on his appearance.

Jessica turned to look at the new comer with a nod of approval. Few merchant sailors wanted to risk the short violent life of a pirate, seamen were a precious resource who could find employment with any merchant, or a navy if they preferred steady employment with less pay. There were some men however who preferred adventure to security. This man seemed to be the type willing to try his luck, which was fine with her.

"Welcome aboard lad," she called, clapping the man on the shoulder.

"Krycek here will get you set up with a watch... after we strip everything of value from this old bitch!"

The loot was largely food, booze and tools, but that was always what pirates needed most. There was gold to be found if you were lucky, but it was the day to day items that were most prized. Jessica kept watch on the beached warship through her spy glass. The Ran-tai sailors in a furry of activity. They had jury rigged a new rudder and were trying in vain to pull the ship off the beach with long boats. They seemed very keen to take up the chase.

"Cap'n," Krycek said as he stomped up onto the quarter deck. The last supplies were being hauled aboard now in slings fastened to the main yards.

"It's the sailor that volunteered he..."

"Isn't a sailor," Jessica interrupted, snapping her eye glass shut. The dwarf scowled, irritated to have his thunder stolen.

"How did you know?" the dwarf asked.

"No callouses on his hands," Jessica explained.

"Want me to put him over the side?" Krycek offered. Jessica shook her head and glanced to the gathering storm.

"No. Assign him to the top masts for this storm, lets see how dedicated to playing sailor he really is..."

Galt had only been on a ship once in his life, prior to this trip. He was a small boy at the time, barely remembering it other than flashes of his cabin and a friendly interaction with other children on the ship. Now, with rain and wind slapping him in the face harder than Bonnie ever did, he sort of wished he had stayed off and kept the fond memories.

The red haired captain had told him where to be with a mysterious air, something Galt now recognized as mischief in her eyes. He was sure his disguise was alright, but he supposed if she believed he was an able bodied sailor, he would be a boon up here...maybe? Galt didn't know. All he knew was it was miserable, and ever creak from below or wave that send the Weather Witch flailing, he felt his teeth and ass cheeks clenching. It wasn't the heights that got to him, he had been atop many a building. But most buildings didn't sway like a sword being waved in the air.

"Oi! Newfish!" He heard below him. Galt squinted and look downward, clinging to the wooden mast for all his life. If he survived today, he would praise the sea goddess for her mercy. He saw a man wearing a bandana in the envious position of being just seven feet off the ground, clutching the ropes like a spider on some of the square-shape rigging. "Pull the lanyard! Do it or we're scuttled!"

"What!?" Galt cried, holding his hand to his ear. His hair matted across his face, rain running down every pore of his skin. The wind howled, the ship lurching to the left and he felt the air flee his lungs from fear. Truth be told, he heard the man, but he did not know what the bloody hell a lanyard was. Unfortunately, if he didn't do whatever this seadog said, it might lead to his death.

"The lanyard!" He cried, and when Galt still shook his head, the pirate pointed indignantly. Lighting flashed, showcasing a kraken tattoo on the man's thick arm. Galt followed his finger, eyes whipping to the point of origin and finding a rope he fancied was thicker than the others. The thief decided it was the best guess, and with an energy borne of fear, Galt swung like a southern ape and reached the rope, yanking on it furtively. "Other way!" He heard the man cry desperately, and Galt redirected his stance, pressing his feet against the mast and yanking for all his worth.

A belaying pin popped, and a small fraction of the sail tumbled downwards. The heavy bar struck through the rope Galt held in his hands, and instead of letting go, his fear had him holding on for dear life, and he was suddenly sent hurtling downwards, his feet losing purchase against the mast. Galt screamed, but his dignity was kept as the storm was a bit too loud for it to be heard. Galt was flung across the breadth of the ship, and he suddenly found himself very aware of the endless ocean beneath his feet, a dark wave slamming into the bow sending sea spray up his trousers. If the rope was cut or broken, he would have plopped into the briney deep and no one would even know he had died, much less mourn him. Luckily the rope was thick, and after a few, horrifying moments, he swung back, his feet hitting the rail, which finally gave him the shock he needed to let go of the rope. The thief hit the slippery deck and rolled across the floor.

As luck would have it, his head hadn't been banged up, and no bones were broken, though his skin was likely bruised to hell. He planted a hand on the slick wooden paneling and lifted his eyes skyward, to see the captain standing over him, holding the ship's wheel and keeping her aloft.

Jess grinned down at the purported sailor white teeth flashing in the intermittent strokes of lightning. The sea was rising and the Weather Witch was canted over as the full press of sail pressed he had a-lee. Tresses of red hair flew like coach pennons in the wind as rain slated down in irregular cloud bursts. Even over the crash of the swell against the bow and the distant thunder the ship creaked and hummed as the rigging took up the strain. It was a good day for deep water and Jess had no worries that the man-o-war they had left grounded would brave the gale.
Galt tried to rise but Jess planted a booted foot on his chest, pinning him to the deck. She pulled the cork from a bottle of rum with her teeth and spat it away, taking a long pull of the fiery spirit to keep her warm against the gale.
“Clumsy for a topman,” she observed, wiping her mouth with her sleeve as she looked down at Galt with an arched eyebrow.
“Mister Kycek!” she bellowed and in a moment the dwarf was at her side, dressed in a battered tarpaulin coat much stained with tar. He had a pipe clenched between his teeth that glowed when he sucked on it. There was a rumor among the crew that the runes carved in the ancient mirsham allowed it to burn even in a downpour.
“Cap’n,” he greeted, sparing not a look for the man pinned under her knee high leather boot.
“What is the penalty for a sailor who falls from a yard due to his own clumsiness in the Esperan Fleet?” she asked with a malicious sparkle in her eye. Krycek chewed his pipestem for a moment.
“Thirty lashes and a week on bread and water when last I sailed with’em,” Krycek replied, glaring down at Galt as he warmed to the topic.
“What do you say?” she asked Galt.

“Want to take your lashes like a sailor, or would you rather tell me who you really are and what you are doing on my ship?”

"You wanted sailors! I never said I had sailed before!" Galt exclaimed, daring not to move her boot, even if it was restricting his ability to breathe. The rain falling onto his face wasn't helping in that regard. He felt he was in some weird mixture of strangulation and drowning and the only way to get out of it was to admit something that might get him thrown off the boat in general. Galt saw the captain's eyes widened in warning, and he held his hands up disarmingly. "Ok! Ok, I'll talk!"

"Get him up," Jess ordered, stepping off him and taking another swig of the rum. Galt felt the robust dwarf ring a burly arm around his and haul him up.

-------------

A cutthroat shoved him into a hard wooden chair, black hair matted to his face and his hands clapped in irons. He blinked, the rough handling and the sudden lantern light a bit jarring. The ship still creaked, but the intermittent sounds of the storm was lessened now that he was inside. The room looked to be the captain's cabin, if he had to guess. It was grander than any room he expected to see, with a hammock and treasures from across the sea hung upon the walls. A skullstaff of a witch-doctor, a golden plaque from the ziggurat primitives of the southern isles, and even a bejeweled bra from the shah's pleasure houses of the desert sands. The scarred pirate behind him left the room judging by the sounds of the door, and now the thief found himself in the cabin alone with Jess, who sat, legs up on the desk between them and crossed casually. Also planted on the desk casually was the barrel of a blackpowder musket, which Jess held lazily in her offhand as she drank more of the rum she had nabbed. Whether it was the same bottle or a second one, he couldn't tell.

"Talk," she ordered with a dangerous calm. "Who are you?"

"Love what you've done with the place," Galt remarked. She pulled the hammer back on the rifle with an audible click, which rushed his mind back to business. "My name is Galt," he said suddenly, and had he time he would have cursed himself. He always used the alias 'Jack' when not in guild business. He was really off his game. "I'm uh... OK, I'm a thief. A stowaway on that galley you ransacked. I've never met any of those people in my life and I've never sailed a day. I steal things. Money, items of a precious nature, food when I can't get anything else. I'm from the Seven Ravens, a thieves guild, and I was run out of town by the watch. I jumped on a ship, you shot at it, and I wanted to save my own skin so I asked to join."

"And why not just tell us that?" She asked, quick on the draw. Galt gritted his teeth, thinking of being dishonest for a split second, before realizing the futility of it. "I got ahold of some information many would say is too...important to keep me alive." He saw her eyebrow raised, her interest piqued.

"And why should I not help them out in this noble endeavor? What if there's a price on your head I might want to collect on?"

Galt's next words were forced out of him, but he still managed to sound convincing. Which was good, considering he wasn't trying to deceive her. "You can do that, but then you'll be killing the only person in the known world who's seen the Map of Algorab."

Jessica's finger twitched at the mention of the Map of Algorab. The hammer snapped fowrward and ignited the pan, she flicked her wrist aside in the heartbeat before the main charge went off. The musket cracked in a cloud of smoke. Galt flinched back as specks of burning power sprayed across his face. Splinters flew from the bulkhead as the musket ball buried itself in the timber with a crack. Jess took another pull of rum as one of her sailors stuck his head into the cabin to make sure she was ok. Jess arched her eyebrow at the sailor who beat a hasty retreat. Jess tossed the spent musket onto her hammock.

"The Map of Algorab?" she asked. The legend of the map was well known among the thieves and pirates of the Metramaic Sea and beyond. It's exact nature was malleable, used in stories and tall tales to add spice and adventure.

"I suppose this means that you don't actually have the map?" Jess asked, "which conviently keeps me from just taking it and throwing you over the side."

Galt didn't feel like anything was convenient at the moment. His face still stung from the powder, and the captain's mood and manner wasn't exactly welcoming. Overall he felt like if these pirates hadn't shown up at all, he would have felt entirely satisfied and convenient. As it was, he felt very much like his life had gone upside down.

"No, I don't have the map." He said, his tone not disrespectful, but it teetered dangerously that way. He brushed his shirt of sparks, wincing at the small burns, his eyes glancing up at her. "And before you ask, yes, I would definitely lie to save my own skin. Not that there was much question there. I lie a lot, actually. But I also tell the truth when it helps, and this is one of those times." He cleared his throat, shaking his hands to cool them off. "Don't believe me? Then reload that thing and let me bleed all over your floor."

He realized himself he wasn't bluffing. He knew for a fact he hadn't seen the map, but somehow the knowledge was in his head now. A vague sense of direction he could feel at the back of his skull. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but it was there. Which brought him to recalling the little miniature leaping into his eye. He guessed he did not look strange enough to comment on, but he supposed that had something to do with this innate knowledge.

"I'll give you a deal. Give me a month, and if I haven't found whatever's at the end of that road, you can keehaul me and cut me into tiny pieces. Or shoot me now, but you'll lose out on the treasure." He said, even though he really wanted to add that he himself would lose out on life, but she didn't care and he supposed he didn't blame her. Sometimes he felt too tired to keep going. Was survival really important enough for this hassle?

Looking at the gun, he decided it was.

“A month?” Jess mulled it over, laying the smoking musket down on the table. “Sounds reasonable.” Keel hauling a man wasn’t properly within a captains purview, such a thing would require a vote from the crew, as did most major decisions aboard a pirate ship, but now wasn’t the time to give a lecture on the customs that governed the Bretheren.

“Sail ho!” a shout came from the deck and Jess was on her feet, catlike and headed out the door, black coat training behind her. Warm rain lashed her as she gained the deck, Galt trailing along behind her for lack of any other realistic option.

“Where away?!” Jess demanded, cuping her hands around her mouth to be heard in the rigging.

“Three points off the starboard bow!” came the response. With the ease of long practice Jess scrambled up the ratlines, hooking an elbow through the ropes to hold steady while she pulled a spy glass from her coat and peered through it.

“Two sails!” came a cry from the topmen a moment before Jess settled on the white smudge on the darkened sky. The sails seemed to fluoresce slightly and her stomach plunged.

“Three point a’larboard! Krycek pipe all hands! Hands aloft to set royals! Hands aloft set staysails!”

“Three points a’larboard! Aye Captain!” Sevante the helmsman cried, leaning hard on the wheel and opening the angle between the Witch and the approaching sails.

“Sail ho! Three sails five points to starboard!” the topman shouted as Jess slid down the ratlines to land on the deck. Krycek’s pipes began to shrill and a moment later crewmen were swarming up the ratlines to shake out fresh canvas.

“What is happening?” Galt demanded, aware that something was wrong but without the maritime background to know what.

“Glimmers,” Jess responded tersely.

“There is no such thing,” Galt began to scoff but the words died away as he saw the deadly serious expression on Jess’ face. Exactly what Glimmers were was a matter of debate among dockside taverns and gambling dens. They appeared to be ships, partially or completely woven out of moonlight, complete with spectral crews. They seemed to come out of Shimmersea though they had been spotted as far west as the narrows. Wherever they came from they were merciless killers of any that they found.

“Can we out run them?” Galt demanded, becoming alarmed to see a ghost story being treated with absolute seriousness. Jess glanced at the sky.

“With the weather, yes,” she responded tersely.

“You don’t seem happy about it,” Galt observed.

“We will have to run with the storm into Shimmersea,” she explained, pacing back and forth along the railing.

“Isn’t that… a bad idea?” Galt asked. Shimmersea was a strange and alien place. Sometimes one passed through it just like regular ocean, other times you encountered strange and alien places. Jess had even heard tell of ships that emerged from the sea years after entering it, even though only days had passed for the crew.

“Better than the glimmers, if it pleases Yande’s cold heart,” Jess prayed.

By the grace of the Gods, it seemed as if the universe wanted Galt to get the shit end of whatever stick was beating him that current day. He would feel far better once he could set foot on land and do some solid thieving again. Perhaps he would live long enough if they survived the ghosts and the forsaken waters they were now entering. Galt clutched the balustrade of the ship shakily, eyes locking on the distant sails.

The ships, if they could be called something so simple, were closer now. Even as the pirates ran, screamed, hauled lines, Galt watched the ships like a hunting cat, or more appropriately a deer fearing for its life. Even the churning of the sea beneath him and his twisted stomach was lost to his fear and rapt fascination of their ghastly pursuers.

Galt had a sudden realization; an appreciation of the sea. Man was not meant to travel across it. We try to convert it to our purposes, and in some mad way we are successful, but at the end of the day it is an alien place with a strange purpose, one that did not care if whole cities were swallowed up beneath its bulk. As lightning wreathed the sky, he heard a crack like a whip, and yet once the bolt had dissipated, he still heard the dreadful sound. It suddenly dawned on him that it came from behind him, and he pulled his eyes away from the roiling horizon to see Jesse hanging from ratlines and cackling into the storm like a sea banshee.

"I think that's enough pirate for one day," He said to himself sardonically. He began his descent down the aft castle, only to slip after a burly pirate shoved him out of the way. Galt spun in the rain, keeping himself from the edge of the ship, but the wild flailing could only do so much for him, and he must have struck his head, for the next he knew, he now lay under the stairs, soaked to the bone. Yet the clouds were glowing with the dim light of dawn, and all was far quieter.

He blinked, grabbing at his head. Galt wanted to cough, but he kept himself quiet. Some roguish instinct kept him silent. Cautiously, he crawled forward, to just under the steps, to see if any of the crew were about, or if ghosts would be walking deck, having slain everyone else on board.

Jesse's face suddenly popped between two of steps, eyes wide. "Boo!" Galt cursed, hitting his head again, though luckily this time it was cushioned by his thick head of hair. Jesse grinned wickedly. "Still among the land of the living?" She asked.

"Apparently. And the ghosts?"

“Still with us. Yande curse them,” Jess replied invoking the Sea Goddess with the traditional globe of spittle over the side. The sea was rising rapidly as they ran for the deeper water of Shimmersea and the Witch was riding troughs that were half as tall as she was before sliding down the other side to plow her prow into the water. The foam that came off her bow glittered with the multicolored phosphoresce that gave the sea its name. At the top of each trough the topmen called the bearings on the Glimmers. The seemed to be shadowing the pirate vessel, forming two points of a triangle which prevented Jess from coming about one way or the other. Disturbingly, the ghostly vessels always semed to be riding the crest of the swell, never slipping down into the troughs.

“Shouldn’t we … put on more sails or something,” Galt asked, clearly nervous and probably miserably sick from the unfamiliar sensation of standing upon the rolling deck. It was a wonder he wasn’t casting his accounts to Yande as they spoke. Jess looked skeptical up at the rigging. The Witch was running almost directly before the wind with mainsail and topgallants set as well as a jib and storm spanker. The running rig was already fairly humming with the tension.

“If we put on any more canvas we might take the sticks out of her,” Jess explained, though she privately considered reefing the mainsail and running up royals and studding sails to better deal with the high seas. If the ships pursuing here were of normal human construction she might have tried it, but she dare not surrender even the few knots such an evolution would require.

“He is a jynx!” a hard faced man with scarring over both his arms snarled turning from the braces to glare at Galt. “I say we put him over the side!”

“Tend your line and shut your mouth!” Jess snapped as she glanced down at the binnacle compass.

“I got as much say as anyone here, and I say we put him over the side to appease the Glimmers!” the truculent crewman snarled, gripping the handle of a cutlass in emphasis. Jess pulled her own weapon free, a small sword that was longer than the fashion at sea, engraved with seashells and possessed of the slightest sweeping curve.

“I’ll not take second guessing from you Branch, not on this, or on any dammed thing,” she snapped pointing the sword at his mid section. Branch didn’t try to draw his sword, but ran his hand over a shaved head and glared. Branch was a bosun and the next senior officer after Krycek in the informal hierarchy of the ship. He had long resented Jess but while a dab hand at his craft of handling ropes and sails, lacked the skill of navigation.

“I call for a vote,” he snapped. Pirates near him began to take note, clustering around and shouting their opinions. Most weren’t even aware of what the issue was merely shouting ‘Branch’ or ‘Red Jess’ depending on where they personally lined up. Jess didn’t bother to enlighten them.

“Me or Branch?!” she demanded, not lowering her sword.

“Red Jess!” came the shout from the majority of the crew within earshot.

“Anyone for Branch?” she demanded, turning a slow half circle with the point of her blade. No one responded, even previous partisans unwilling to voice what would obviously now be a losing vote.

“Then trim the sheets and stand by to…”

“Light!” one of the topmen screamed.

“Where away?!” Jess demanded, though she was already running for the ratlines, scrambling agile up towards the dangerously swaying tops.

“Two points off the starboard bow!” came the reply but Jess, having already reached the crosstrees could see it well enough. She unsnapped her spyglass and peered at the smudge of reddish light on the distant rolling wave tops. It was bigger than the ship, a rend in the sky that crackled with red energy. A Rift. Rifts were another of the strange phenomenon of Shimmersea, like the Glimmers they were known only from tavern tales and stories told on the orlop decks in the dark. Allegedly they were portals which took you to a different place in the sea, sometimes hundreds of leagues from where you entered. Jess didn’t hesitate.

“Helm! Two points starboard!” she shrieked down to the deck.

“Two points starboard aye!” came the response and in a few seconds they were headed right for the glowing red portal. Jess slithered down the rigging and dropped to the deck beside Galt with a thump.

“Where are we going?” he demanded. Jess grinned, teeth flashing with distant lightning.

“We are about to find out.”

____

A half hour later no one needed a glass to see the rift. It towered before them, twice the height of the ship, crackling with scarlet bands of energy that rimmed a vision of a different seascape viewed as though through dirty glass. Jess was pleased that Branch had already challenged her, because otherwise the crew might well have refused to follow her order to steer straight for the portal.

“Are you sure about this?” Galt asked nervously as they rode up the swell to look down upon the glowing portal.

“I’m sure,” Jess lied, glancing behind them to where the ghostly forms of the glimmers were now hull up and closing fast. The crew had already attached lines to anchor themselves to the ship and Jess hastily added one for herself and Galt The Weather Witch plunged down the swell in a flare of rainbow water that splashed up over the deck to soak the crew, then the bow was lifting and they struck the face of the rift.


Jess blinked as she came to. She was lying atop Galt on the deck. Torn sails and parted lines snapped above her, but the wind was light and the storm was gone, replaced by a sunny sky and a gentle breeze. She pushed herself to her feet, to find they were all but drifting. Off to starboard was a large island, covered with green jungle and close enough that she would have to get a sea anchor down in a few minutes. It was covered in a beach of pristine white sand and the arms of a shallow bay extended around them. The smell of greenery and flowers was heavy on the air. All around her other members of the crew were waking up, shrugging of the effects of arcane transition.

“Are you alright?” she asked Galt.

Galt had no idea if he had been awake. One minute he had been standing there, and the next a wave of multicolored phosphorescent water hit him and bowled him over, and then light... or had there been light? He didn't know, and honestly his caring for the mystery swiftly fled him when he realized they had made it through. But he was surprised again when he came to with the pirate lord atop him. His heart began to thunder in his chest, not out of embarrassment or shyness, but he was afraid any disapproval on her part would send her small sword into his gullet.

Thankfully, she merely got up and checked their surroundings. The thief did too, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. His hair was no longer soaked, and he shook his head to get out whatever debris might have collected in it. The maelstrom they had endured was now pristine, almost picturesque. It was a small comfort, considering the ship looked to be a wreck. He ran his hands over his face to kindle his senses.

"Yeah, thought we were burnin' the ken there for a second." He admitted, drawing a curious look from Jesse. He grinned at her in spite of himself, not meaning to use the thieves cant. "Thanks, by the way. For keeping me onboard."

"Yer no good to me dead," She told him, leaning over the rail to check the waters below. The sea was as clear as glass, small fish meandering lazily beneath the Weather Witch. Seaweed billowing with every small current. She hopped off the rail as he replied.

"To think I was just starting to like you." Galt joked, peering at the island. "I'm not a sailor, but you're not bad at this." Her gambit through the portal reminded him very much like his mad dash to freedom and leap through the window, just before he had been taken by her. It brought back memories of Bonnie for a small, uncomfortable second. They had not even liked each other, but he still knew she was dead and he wasn't. Such was the life.

Jess chuckled, stepping across the deck to collect her sword. She gave him a fierce smile as she lifted herself back up, and this time his heart began to race again, for more traditional male reasons. Suddenly Bonnie was in the past. "You haven't seen nothing yet." She promised as she sheathed her sword.

Across the deck, Branch groaned. He lifted one scarred arm and grabbed at the railing above him. He missed it and hit the deck again. Galt looked around and noticed a few more crewmen coming to. He felt a small chill crawl up his spine when he realized half of the men on the rigging was now gone, as if the rift itself claimed a toll for their passage.

"Almost thought I was cleaved to the brisket!" One younger pirate complained, sitting up and rubbing his chest, blonde hair matted to his face.

Jess began to order men about, telling them to clean and repair the ship as best they could without taking it on shore. She then called for volunteers for a scout party on the island, and said by no uncertain terms Galt was coming. He was not going to argue, but at his incredulity she said: "First you can't wait to leave the ship and now you're wanting to stay?"

"Not at all, just figured you'd want to keep an eye on me."

"I am." She clarified with a glint as dangerous as it was amused, one hand on her hip. "I'm going too."

"Easy all," Jess cried as the boat neared the white spit of sand. The boat crew lifted their oars skyward and allowed the little craft to coast into a soft crunch against the sand. Jess hopped over the side, taking the coil of painter cable over her shoulder as she splashed through the thigh deep water and up onto the beach. The sand was soft and very white, idyllic in all respects. The jungle beyond was a brilliant green and echoed with bird calls and the chittering of less identifiable creatures. Jess trudged up the beach and looped the cable around the trunk of a tree that looked like a palm, save for odd discolored diamond patterns in its bark.

"Do you have a plan here or is it just a 'look for treasure' type thing," Galt asked, having stayed on the boat until the crew pulled it ashore to avoid getting his feet wet. Jess made a gesture with her head to the small peak that formed the central spire of the island, its crest peeking out through the lush jungle.

"The crew will look for fresh water, while you and I will head inland and try to climb that peak, hopefully I can get some sense of where we are from the top," she explained. Her tone wasn't hopeful, Shimmersea was a strange place and only a tiny portion of it had been mapped, an even smaller portion of it reliably.

"And we kind of take look for treasure as a given in this outfit," she concluded.

Wilderness, including beachside terrain, was not his specialty. But the guild had drilled him for most situations, and Galt was nothing if not resourceful. He trudged up the hot beach, the white sand scalding and even now seeping into his boots in small pinches. He was glad he had been given a different garb than the usual black. At the current moment he looked more like a deckhand, brown breeches and a tanned linen shirt, unbuttoned to help with the heat. He still wore his 'work' boots and kept his belt, with the clever pockets one could sequester away poisons and other, more pragmatic tools for on the job.

He was not entirely sure why she trusted him to go with her, but after thinking for a moment, he guessed it was smart for her to keep an eye on him. She was clearly a bit more clever than most of her crew, she didn't want Galt giving them the slip or undermining her in some way. He had to admit he might have thought to do either, but after the whole 'ghost' attack, he just felt glad he was traveling with mortals who could get him to the mainland at some point.

As Jess finished lashing the ropes together, Galt peered into the dense jungle. It was overgrown and filled with long shadows and bright spears of light, concealed further and further as the layers of the trees came into view.

"Is there a cutlass for me?" He asked her as she finished tying the knot. Her men had already stamped north up the beach, their laughter and guttural curses fading into the wind.

"Not on your life," She said casually, unsheathing her own broad bladed sword.

"Yeah, I suppose that is the gist of it." Galt replied, stepping aside so she had room to hack apart a vine. As the blade separated the green tendril, Galt imagined the vine coiled away as if it had a mind of its own. The thought brought him back on edge, but Jess boldly strode forward, slashing at any foliage that happened to stand in their way. He did his best to guard her flank, moving aside thicker brush and trying to keep an eye on their tails. The jungle had swallowed up the small path they had made after wading just a dozen meters in. The air was heavy and humid, tight and filled with the scent of wet plants and the pungent odor of pulped vines.

A strange ape with four limbs swung from tree to tree, eagerly trying to avoid our path as it screeched. It gave Galt the impression it was the strangest creature he might see that day, but minutes later a hunting cat the size of a large dog appeared, its fur crimson save for the loud yellow color of its tail, but Galt was unnerved by its milky white eyes. It knew exactly where Jess and he stood, and gave a warning swipe of its claws before slinking back into the wilderness.

After around an hour, Jess wiped the sweat from her brow and leaned against one of the thousands of trees. "This island is bigger than it looks. Hey, make yourself useful and climb up. See how far the mountain is." She ordered.

"Aye Cap'n," Galt replied with his best seadog impression, finally glad he could do something he was good at. The thief took no time in finding a vine and using it as a safety cable as he ascended the tallest tree he could find, climbing fast enough to put the four armed monkey to shame. Briefly he wondered if Jess was impressed, though either because she was a pretty woman or the arbiter of his very life, he did not quite know. He found the canopy and slithered up the tangle of boughs until he reached the top with a yank of his hand on the last branch.

His head poked out of the jungle, meeting the open, cloudless sky. The sun nearly blinded him, but he found respite for his eyes when her turned and almost fell out of the tree from surprise.

The peak loomed above them, just half a kilometer to the north east, bent like an old man stooping to look down on him with disappointment. Well, that was good news at least. He gave a sigh, but his mirth was soon taken from him. He squinted, spying movement along the rock. Some... some humanoid slithered along the rocks, disappearing into a a hole; a cavernous maw at the side of the peak. He felt his heart thunder in his chest, wondering what by the gods he had seen. It was a snake man, or an eel man? Maybe something entirely different, or perhaps it was too far away for him to see a regular man clearly. But then that begged the question, what in the bloody hell any of Jess's crew were doing there?

The professional rogue decided to climb down and tell her about it.

Jess listened to the report with unconcealed skepticism. She had brought the thief with her for two reasons, one - she wanted to keep an eye on him and two - it was pretty clear he would be useless for the task of heaving around heavy water butts in the hot sun. She scratched behind her ear and shrugged, shifting the bandau of black silk that was her customary garb in hot weather. Wherever they were it was much hotter than it should have been given the seas they had been in just last night, and she was more than a little nervous about what star sights might reveal once the sun went down.

"Snake men, or eel men, or whatever, they can keep the stinking island so long as we can take some bearings from it," she snapped and turned and continued through the jungle. They followed a... trail was the wrong word, it was probably a water course that collected rain from the high ground during tropical storms, but for now it was dry enough to make for easy walking. Jess was glad enough for a clear path, the jungle was lush and dense and filled with strange sounds and perfumes. Once, long ago, she had been to the Green Land south of Lhsoutu where the rainforest stretched for thousands of leagues. Men died in their hundreds attempting to pass those jungles, whether by wild life, poisonous plants, or the innumerable diseases that seemed to haunt the tropic latitudes. As they climbed the jungle began to clear and they passed through a landscape of shrubs and low rocky outcropping. Sleek black bird like things lay on the rocks, apparently sunning themselves, casting lazy unconcerned eyes at the intruders as they trudged towards the mountain peak.

As they cleared the shrub line and reached the even more rocky pinnacle the sea stretched away before them. Far below the bay in which they had come to anchor spread out in a semicircle, from this distance, the Weather Witch looked like a child's toy floating on a distant ultramarine pond. Jess wiped the sweat from her brow and took a canteen of leather wrapped glass from her belt. She unstopped it and took a long drink. Galt gave her an imploring look, and she sighed and passed the canteen to him. He took a swing and then gasped.

"I thought it was water!" he gasped.

"Cut one third with rum and lime juice," Jess told him, plucking the bottle from his hands and restoppering it. There was an old sailors superstition that if you mixed rum and juice with water there were less cases of the flux. Jess had never felt there was a particular need to invent reasons to drink rum, but she partook in the old superstition none the less. Across the distant sea Jess could make out the green shadows of other islands. She took her glass from its leather sheath and unsnapped it, taking bearings to the various points with the aid of a battered brass compass.

"Jess!" Galt called from behind her, she ignored him as she took another bearing, memorizing it rather than writing it down like a lubber.

"Jess!" Galt called again more urgent than before.

"It is Captain..." Jess turned to snarl at the thief but froze in her tracks as she saw that he had climbed higher and moved a was around the peak. She trotted up to join him and saw at once what had captured his attention. Off in the jungle was a vast stone ziggurat. It was small from this distance, but must have been as large as the largest temples in Jess' native Bettony. A great road of black green stone lead from its stairs to the base of the mountain on which they stood. Tiny figures were marching out of it. Jess lifted her glass for a moment but lowered it without putting it to her eye. Even at this range she could tell by the strange almost serpentine sway of the column, that they were not human.

"Sorry for not listening," The Captain said, though it was said so casually he knew she wasn't actually apologizing. Not that he was expecting it, anyway.

"I might be a thief, but I'm an honest thief." He said with little satisfaction. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was in a story, and he was nearing the end of the novel. Just around the time the entire band of pirates was eaten alive by the amphibious creatures below in some dark ritual to their heathen god. From this vantage point, he could see the beasts far more clearly now, though they were still quite far away.

Their heads and necks were serpentine, though it was difficult to tell if they resembled eels or some snake-like barracuda. The sinuous neck was connected to a crab-like carapace, and Galt could not tell if that was some armor they had made, or a soft shell that grew naturally on their forms. Their legs were missing, instead their large bodies were propelled by massive tails, but their arms and hands were undeniably humanoid, albeit reptilian and with four fingers instead of five, at least if Galt's eyes did not deceive him.

"We need to find the men," Galt concluded, seeing at least forty of the creatures either patrolling or... he did not know. Some congregated in small groups and conversed or chanting, it was impossible to tell.

Jess grabbed his shirt with a strong hand and pulled him down to her level by the collar, their noses touching as she glared at him. "Shut up." She said, and then pushed him away, turning to make her way over to the trail that led down the mountainside, pronouncing: "We need to find the men."

The feeling to push her off the cliff crept in his mind, but he quelled the urge and followed her. "Yes, Captain."

They made much better time to the beach than they had to the mountain, their pace enlivened by haste and familiarity with the way. Jess cursed all landsmen as she half ran half slid down rocky escarpments and clambered through the thick lantana to reach the strand. Hope was quickly dashed as they arrived. The boat still swung from its bowline in the gentle surf, but of the crew there was no sign save for dropped weapons.

"Look," Galt called pointing the the strange mix of tracks which intermingled human footprints with oddly reptilian ones, separated by the unmistakable unbroken lines of dragging tails.

"Yande's bleeding tits," Jess muttered, looking out to sea where the Weather Witch still hung at placid anchor. Had the crew aboard not seen what had happened to their comrades? Had they simply not the stomach to come to their aid? Jess had a bad feeling that Branch, that idiot quatermaster was responsible for that, Krycek would have intervened, but the old dwarf had been outvoted. For a moment she considered rowing out to the Witch, but it would be backbreaking and time consuming with just Galt and herself, the former of which, it could be depended on, couldn't hold a stroke to save both their lives.

"No shots were fired," Galt pointed out, "wed have heard, plus their would be musket wadding on the beach." Jess considered it, feeling a chill run up her spine. How in the name of all the gods had her whole crew been taken without firing a shot. Now that he mentioned it, there were no enemy dead at all? Even with cutlass and hand spike her crew should have accounted for at least a few of their attackers. Some kind of magic? The thought made her stomach tighten. If the landing party could be so overcome, then so could the rest of her crew, the only hope now was stealth and surprise.

"Come on," she instructed, leading the way up the beach in the direction of the tracks, moving back towards the ziggurat.

Galt was not tracker, but he had an eye for detail and the body to keep up with it. He and Jess hurried up the beach, the thief having grabbed a fallen cutlass and pistol from the eerie spot where the men had been taken. He hadn't asked permission, but to his surprise Jess hadn't cared. That meant she was too preoccupied in her worries or too desperate to really call him out, or perhaps both. He didn't blame her. Honestly he wondered why he was following her now, and after a brief moment of thought he judged his chances of survival with her, even going into the bosom of whatever eldritch horror that awaited, was better than waiting on the beach or rowing up to the ship of pirates who would likely look at him as a bit of sport. He imagined his legs dangling over the deck, neck broken from the heavy fall of a hanging, in the air day and night as the crew drank and took shots at his corpse.

No, he would take his chance with the woman, though doubtless he would regret it later. He had been in sticky situations before, he reminded himself. Hopefully his luck hadn't run out.

The two found a small but serviceable road cutting through the jungle, forming a yawning maw to enter like some gateway into another realm of reality. So out of place was it the thief and the pirate both looked at one another in confusion for a brief moment, unsure of what to do, before Jess casually brushed her thick braid behind her shoulder and strode forward. Galt followed close behind, weapons braced. The stones of the road seemed impossibly ancient, squared stones set together by impressively precise architects that were surprisingly clean. The symbols on the stones were mesmerizing, yet almost impossible to follow with your eyes. He found it hurt to keep looking, and so he kept his eyes ahead and around them. Jess led the way, sword held with the loose grip of a deadly swordsman. Somehow, he felt fairly confident walking with her, as if whatever monsters were ahead, he felt more sorry for them than the pirate captain.

The jungle was dense, ferns poking out from the enclosed 'walls' of foliage that surrounded them as they walked. Every now and then eyes would peer out at them, but when Galt would give a closer look, they would disappear as if they had never been. Galt kept alert, but as hoped for, the two did not run into an adversary until they reached the end of the road. In the distance, they saw the jungle parted, with two great torches alight, framing the road. Beyond them, a large mass of something half slithered, half wound past the opening. If Galt hadn't been mistaken, it held a huge axe in its hands.

"We need to get off the road and go arou-" Galt began to say, but Jess had already grabbed his forearm and pulled him into the jungle, the idea evidently coming to her at the same moment.

"Keep quiet, landlubber." She warned as Galt stumbled in. He found his footing, still not brazen enough to point out it was her yanking that had caused him to ruffle the foliage. He pulled a leaf out of his black head of hair and followed behind her, the captain move like a born skirmisher through the brush, until they both nestled behind a grove of ferns just before the treeline's ending. Beyond their hiding spot, the ziggurat loomed into the air. It dominated the landscape like a mountain, with an air of timelessness about it. If some scholar had told Galt it was as old as the sun, he might believe it.