Caleb emerged from the great cabin a couple of mornings later to sounds of commotion on deck. Breena lay curled up in a shady corner of the quarterdeck. Sienna stood next to Donal, who as usual was at the ship’s wheel. Both helmsman and quartermaster looked on with interest at something happening below.

“What’s going on?” Caleb asked.

“Your first mate has been newly outfitted,” Sienna said. “See for yourself.”

“Aye,” Donal added, with a touch of pride. “And with my work, Lir be praised.”

Caleb made his way to the rail and looked down. Tavia stood below, surrounded by a group of women and looking rather pleased with herself. Her palomino coat glistened in the morning sun, and the strands of her mane shone like spun filaments of gold.

The women were either brushing out the mane’s mane, trimming the ends, or carefully braiding in new brightly colored beads. He let out a breath in surprise. When he’d first met Tavia in the depths of the Myrkur’s dungeon, she’d still had a fair number of beads.

After their escape from the dungeon, the fight at the docks, and the encounter with the eldritch skeletons, her beads had been depleted to almost nothing. Additionally, her pretty mane had acquired a scraggly fringe of broken ends. Now both problems were being mended.

Caleb took the steps down to the main deck. Sienna followed in his wake. Tavia spotted him and fairly beamed as he approached. He could tell that she was trying hard not to prance.

“Good morning, Captain!” she said brightly. “After a nice grooming and a wash of my mane, it looks like I shall be fully restored to presentability!”

He held in a laugh at that. Tavia could be a little vain at times, as well as a bit ‘proper’ when it came down to it. But those were traits of hers that he found as endearing as Shaw’s enthusiasm for combat or his archaic form of speech.

“Good morning indeed,” he replied. “You look eminently presentable. And, ah, fully equipped for combat.”

As when he’d first met her, he noticed the three colors of beads in Tavia’s mane. The red ones could start fires, as she’d done back at Deephold Port. The green ones burst into noxious gas. And the blue ones exploded in an electrically charged manner.

“The beads I enchant for my weapons are potent, but have a limitation,” Tavia explained. “They have to be made out of tafann wood. Tafann is an enchanted type of tree. I hadn’t even dared to hope that Jaladri would have that species of vegetation, but apparently it does.”

It took a half-second for Caleb to realize what the mare was talking about.

“Ah, so that’s what was inside the chest we found aboard the wrecked ship. The source of the light magic. No wonder you were able to sense it.”

It makes sense, his mind added. Think of what you saw about Tavia’s powers on her character sheet.

Unicorn-Specific Specialties: Light Spells, Purification Spells, Enchant Object, Horn-to-Hoof Combat… Paladin Sub-Specialties: Dark Magic Resistance, Deep Healing, Armor Enhancement

“Even so,” she agreed. “Donal was kind enough to carve the beads out of the wood. We’ve saved the chips and sawdust as well.”

“I’ll have those scraps sent up to the great cabin,” Sienna put in. “Perhaps we can come up with something that can be used to repel dark magic.”

“Once Donal created the beads,” Tavia continued, “I was able to enchant them for specific purposes. And some of our crew’s ladies were more than kind enough to help me replace the ones torn from my mane.”

“We’re more than happy to, Miss Morningstar,” one of the older women said. “I’ve done many a young lass’ hair before. But never a unicorn’s!”

A downdraft of air and the thud of paws landing on the deck announced Grimshaw’s arrival. The griffin furled his wings and looked in surprise at Tavia’s newly styled mane. He let out a deep harrumph.

“Thy countenance has been refined, unicorn,” the griffin said, with a slight bow. Tavia returned the bow as Shaw shifted uncomfortably. “If we are to be espied in public, then I shall endeavor to improve my own looks. Otherwise, onlookers shall look at us askance.”

The griffin raised a forepaw to his mouth, licked it, and then used it to smooth out the top of his feathered head. Then he turned and started to preen the feathers at the tip of one outstretched wing.

“Hold up a minute,” Caleb said. “What did you just say about being ‘espied in public’?”

“Thou art quite perceptive,” Shaw chuckled, once he’d finished straightening out a scraggly pinfeather. “Mine own eyes did spy a large island ahead, likely our destination of Gilarska. The morning’s breeze hath picked up, so I believe that we shall arrive in a few hours.”

“Captain,” Sienna said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about how we want to approach this. Arriving at Gilarska, I mean.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think we have that many options. If it’s the most powerful of the Cordwainer Kingdoms, we’re not about to take the place by storm. Hopefully, they’ll barter for or allow us to purchase some new sailing canvas. And some more provisions, or we’ll have to ask Shaw to hunt for us once again.”

“For the love of Danu, I meant more how we want to project ourselves!”

“All right, I’m listening. What do you suggest?”

“In Jaladri, a ‘Cordwainer’ is a person who makes shoes,” she explained. “We have a saying, ‘it’s all coins and cordwainers’ when it comes to a matter of little significance. Likewise, calling someplace the ‘Realm of the Cordwainer Kings’ means that there are a lot of islands here home to petty, or small kingdoms.”

He chewed that over for a moment. “So you’re saying that each of these places will have their own rulers? A ‘King’ for each island?”

“Or a mayor, perhaps some other kind of official. The point is, there’s no overlord controlling this area, unless it’s the Myrkur.”

Caleb thought back to what Captain Campion had told him.

Most of the kingdoms out here bend to the will of Myr, and those with garrisons don’t have token ones, like in Gilarska. They’re under oath to service any Myrkur ship, so the Lord High Captain can take his frigate for a cruise, send in an entire squadron, whatever he wishes. This part of the ocean belongs to us.

“Well, the Myrkur definitely control the seaways. And there’s a token garrison in Gilarska. That implies that the kingdom here has some kind of relationship with the Myrkur. If they’re allied with Delacroix and Ravencrow, it might not be a bad idea to sail on under the Myrkur banner.”

Sienna cleared her throat. “I’d suggest an alternative. We sail on into Gilarska without a banner at all.”

“That’s an interesting idea,” Tavia observed. “Explain further, if you would.”

“Honesty is the best policy, at least this time,” Sienna replied. “We know that the Myrkur want to enslave the weak, and at the very least dominate those they can. So if the Myrkur weren’t able to install more than a token garrison, then Gilarska has an edge of some sort. Something the Myrkur don’t want to challenge them over.”

“Thou dost mean dragons,” Shaw muttered darkly, as he returned to his preening.

“Maybe. Maybe something else. But they surely know that the Myrkur sailed off in a hurry to confront someone. If it gets out that we defeated them, it might count in our favor.”

“I like the idea,” Caleb said. “When we arrive, we’re not going to be aggressive. But I do want to project a certain amount of strength. So let’s have the ship ready to convey just that impression.”

Sienna made her two-fingered salute and bow, then went off to do just that.

The main deck began to bustle with activity, so Caleb went back to his great cabin. After some thought and examination, he realized that the jacket he’d inherited was double-sided. He turned it inside-out and put it back on. The drab charcoal gray wasn’t exactly an improvement, but at least he didn’t look like a Sea Viper captain at first glance.

Noontime came, hot and with a steady wind from the northwest. A large island, green with trees and rolling hills, emerged out of the haze. The curve of a small bay opened up directly ahead of them, along with the first hints of buildings.

Caleb went out onto the quarterdeck and swept the shoreline with his spyglass. Next to him, Tavia kept a sharp look out as well. Shaw sat up and did the same with his great gold eagle’s eyes.

Sienna had made sure the main deck had been swept and scrubbed clean. The Myrkur banner had been hauled down. But the crew who remained above deck still wore a patchwork of civilian wear and Sea Viper gear taken from the crew of the Taipan.

Jaime Quinton and his gun crew took up stations in the shade of the forecastle. They waited patiently for orders to prep one of the cannon. While they wouldn’t be of much use in a ship-to-ship duel with Delacroix’s frigate, even a single cannon shot fired would prove to anyone that the Spitfire was an armed vessel in more than name only.

“Captain!” came a cry from fighting top. “There’s a fortress coming up on the steerboard bow!”

In a flash, Caleb’s spyglass back up to his eye. The right-hand curve of the bay jutted out along a steep, wooded spit of land. At the highest point sat a squat stone building. A scarlet pennant bearing a grinning black skull proclaimed the dwelling as belonging to the Myrkur.

Atop the building’s ramparts sat three squat black cannon. Wide-mouthed muzzles gaped open towards the harbor. Caleb’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he saw them.

They’ve got bombards commanding the entrance to the harbor. Not the most accurate things in the world, but they’re like mortars. Good for anti-ship artillery. Just one of those rounds plunging through the deck could crack our keel.

“Quinton!” Caleb called. “Get your gun crew over to the first cannon on our steerboard side and get it ready to fire!”

A faint Yezzir, and the crew leapt into action.

“Mine own eyes spot no movement atop yon bastion,” Shaw rumbled quietly. “Shouldst our luck hold, and no combat is in the offing, I shall be rather disappointed.”

“You might be disappointed,” Tavia pointed out. “The rest of us, less so. Our deck cannon cannot be elevated high enough to hit back.”

“Not so loud,” Caleb cautioned. “You’re right, but I want the crew active and ready for action. Even the sound of returning fire will help.”

The Spitfire sailed on, the mouths of the bombards above slowly sliding closer on the right. The atmosphere on deck grew tense as the crew got ready to fight. Caleb kept his face impassive, but deep down, his gut roiled.

Dammit, I hope Campion was right. That Komtur Ozul took every soldier they had, and left this place abandoned. We’ve only got half a working sail. It’s going to be hell to sail out of range of those guns before they sink us!

Time for a piece of Character Art: Miss Octavia Morningstar.

Name: Octavia Morningstar Class: Paladin Alignment: Lawful Good Unicorn-Specific Specialties: Light Spells, Purification Spells, Enchant Object, Horn-to-Hoof Combat… Paladin Sub-Specialties: Dark Magic Resistance, Deep Healing, Armor Enhancement Existing Buff / Debuffs: At this time in the story, none. Potential Buff / Debuffs: Oath-Related Violations will Cause Weakening of Magical Abilities.