Caertonn awoke, as he always did, with the dawn. He sat up and saw pink skies through the porthole of the window. He lit the hurricane lamp next to his bed and gathered his items, leaving his room as quietly as he could and making his way to the mess hall.

There were several people passed out at or on the tables, one even draped precariously across a chandelier. He was wondering if there were a library somewhere when he heard the sounds of plates scraping together. He looked around the corner and saw the chef busy at work.

“I didn’t think anyone would be up,” Caertonn said.

“Ah, yer up early, laddie,” he said. “What’ll it be? I can whip up some cuttlefish balls in no time.”

“Uh, I was thinking of something more…pastoral. Like some bacon or an omelet.”

“I can make an omelet! Would you like lobster or shrimp?”

“I’ve never really developed a taste for seafood.”

“Hmm,” he said, stroking his chin while two of his other hands were on his hips. “How about tuna? It’s the least fishy fish there is.”

“Okay,” he said and the chef grinned. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, ‘Chef’ or ‘Cookie’,” he said, turning around to grab his ingredients. “I answer to either. Pull up a chair! I know it only be five in the mornin’, but we can start on yer education.”

“I…sure,” he said, grabbing a chair from Yancy’s table. He remembered Little John’s advice from the previous night. “Well, I have classes soon.”

“Which did ye sign up fer?” Caertonn could hear the sizzling of frying egg and smelled the hearty aroma.

“I didn’t. Should I have?”

“Go into the udder room and grab the books that be on the counter.”

He went back to the atrium where he had signed his name and grabbed everything available, returning just as Cookie finished up his meal.

“The red book, laddie. Open it up and find what classes ye want and put yer name down. You’ll be wantin’ the Cabin Boy classes.”

“Cabin Boy?” he asked.

“It’s what we be callin’ the levels up to fifteen.”

He shook his head and looked at the list. It gave a title, synopsis, length of class, and expected increase in stats. “Why is everything ‘101’?”

“Just be meanin’ it’s an easy class. Better than a 404, right?” He laughed.

“’Seafaring 101‘?” He looked up. “Like, actually on a ship?”

“At the top of the hall, laddie. They’ll be teaching ye about the names of things, mostly, and dozens of knots.”

“’Introduction to the Management of Property Procurement and Re-acquisition of Ransacked Resources‘.”

“Back in me day, we called that ‘Raping and Pillaging’.”

“Oh. I think I’ll skip that one based on principle.”

He checked off several others: A Course on Corsairs, Sea Shanties and You, The Real Reward Isn’t the Treasure but the Journey, and The Art of Escaping From a Crowded Room. “That’s a full day, laddie. Good fer ye fer jumpin’ right in.” He clinked four small glasses on the counter with half of his hands. “Now, ’bout yer other class.”

“Oh, right. Well, I wouldn’t want to participate in my classes drunk, so maybe when-”

“Nonsense! Ye’ll be takin’ little sips o’ each and not much more. Plenty o’ time afore yer classes.”

Caertonn’s shoulders slumped. “Well, okay.”

“Now, what kinds o’ beer have ye had afore?”

“Um…just what they serve in taverns.”

“Likely stout, then. Let me be tryin’ ya with some o’ the lighter ones first.” Cookie picked the glasses up one at a time and filled them below the counter. When he placed them back up, each was filled with pale liquid more in the lemonade shade of yellow than gold. “These be IPAs. This one,” he said, pointing at the lightest, “is brewed with Cascade hops from the mountains south o’ here. It has a sharp taste, a bit bitter, but it be floral with a hint o’ citrus.”

Caertonn took a sip and winced. “That’s really bitter.”

“Okay. You should be tryin’ this one,” Cookie said, pointing to the next. “This be called Portland Tile and it be brewed with Mosaic hops from the Goldrose region in Exiga.”

Another sip and another wince. “Still bitter.”

“Did you taste any of the fruitier notes? Many say they get peach o’ pear.”

“No, not really.”

Cookie pulled the last two glasses back and hope gleamed in Caertonn’s eyes. “I’m thinkin ye should try something middle-o’-the road. Let’s be workin’ on those lambics and dubbels and maibocks.”

“How many beer flavors do you have?”

“About o’ dozen.”

“Oh!” Caertonn said, brightening.

“…per style. There be about seventy-five styles. I brew me own!”

“Oh,” Caertonn said flatly.

Those drinks, proceeded by another shot through stouts, both imperial and not, were followed by browns, barley wines, porters, then back to the lighter witbiers, lagers, sours, wheats, blonds, and once through again to saisons, reds, ryes, weizenbocks, browns, chocolates, and coffees. “Don’t worry, laddie. We’ll be finding the beer fer ye. Now, let’s be tryin’ pilseners and amber lagers next…”

“Ahoy!” a man yelled, stomping into room. Several of the sleeping corsairs at the tables raised their heads to look at who was speaking, then went back to sleep. “Who is the jackanape knave who signed up for A Course on Corsairs at seven in the bloody mornin’?”

“That…be…me,” Caertonn said, raising his hand and belching loudly.

“Right. And coming drunk to me class, ye landlubber?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Come along, laddie,” the man said, grabbing him by his scruff and tugging him out.

“Thanks…for…beer,” Caertonn said, waving lazily at Cookie.

Once they were out into the hallway, the man let go of Caertonn’s shirt and took his arm to put his shoulders. “Sorry ’bout the class.”

“Don’t worry. Classes don’t be startin’ ’til nine. I be told someone needed a rescuin’ from Cookie.”

“That…be…me.”

“Yeah, I be smellin’ the beer on ye breath. And shirt. And maybe yer pants. How many beers did ye drink?”

“Uh, three plusss eight carry the two…I lost count.”

He walked with Caertonn into a lounge and he helped him lie down on a couch. “Can’t hold yer liquor, huh?”

“I don’t know. Never drank before. No, no,” he said, holding his finger in the air, “I’ve had some wine and a liiiiiitle bit of moonshine.”

“Probably afore ye fondled the neighbor’s daughter fer the first time. I’d offer ye some Sober Soda, but we run through it like piss on a mountaintop. Sleep it off and I’ll be gettin’ ye up afore the first class.”

But Caertonn was already asleep, a dreamless respite from the golden liquid that he awoke from an hour and a half later with another golden liquid in mind. He returned from the bathroom and noticed a pitcher of water on the coffee table and instructions to the basement classrooms.

“I see we’re faring better, laddie,” the man from earlier said. He had put on his coat, hat, and eyepatch viewer so he appeared much more corsair-ish. There was a man sitting across from him, middle-aged and wearing drabs.

“Yes, thank you,” Caertonn said. He introduced himself to the other man.

“Like the things you hang in windows?” he asked.

“Cay-er-ton. Call me Curt,” he said, slumping into his seat.

“My name is Guy,” the man said.

“Like the butter?” he retorted, feeling a headache coming on.

The man paused, then said, “Well-played.”

“If ye girls are done powderin’ each other’s noses, we can begin early. I be Jack Clarke. I be a level forty-two corsair. Once I captained the Night’s Bounty, until retirement from adventuring found me a few years ago. Now, I be teachin’ classes here and I be sleepin’ on a big pile of treasure in me home.

“Before we start, I’d like to know why ye two landlubbers have decided to join us as corsairs.”

“I’m an accountant,” Guy said, a remarkably plain man with only a dark mustache to bring interest to his face. “It pays well, but it’s not exactly swashbuckling, you know? So, I got it in my head that being a pirate would be a great idea. I can do it part-time in the evenings and on the weekends, bring in some extra revenue, set both of my boys up for an apprenticeship and my daughters with good dowries.”

“Ah, yes, well…Guy. First, we be corsairs, not pirates. Slight difference, but an important one. And secondly, ye do be realizing Metraft be twenty miles east of the nearest coast, which also not be a booming hub of commerce. It might be difficult for a man such as yerself to be making a living amongst the plunder and plunderin’, if ye catch me drift.”

“I’ve thought of this,” Guy said. “I have accumulated enough vacation and sick time to take several three-day weekends.”

“Uh-huh, well, best of luck to ye.” Jack turned to Caertonn. “And how ’bout ye, laddie?”

“My teammate already picked bombardier, so I couldn’t be a ranger.”

Jack sighed. “Between ye, me, and the Assaulti Sea, mebbe ye don’t want to be tellin’ other corsairs that this was yer last choice.”

“Um, I like finding treasure.”

“There we go! Now, I want to be showin’ ye two somethin’. Go ahind those curtains o’er there and change into the clothes I be settin’ out fer ye.”

Caertonn went into a small changing room with a dark velvet drape covering the entrance and stripped out of his clothes. Groping mostly in the dark, he pulled the different pieces on, guessing as to what they were and where they went. Finally, he stepped out and looked at himself across the way in the full-length mirror.

“Wow,” he said, genuinely impressed by the display. He cocked the bicorn hat forward a little and adjusted the crisp, white, ruffled sleeves of his shirt. In the outfit he looked like Yancy, but with slightly different cuts and colors. The coat flared at his waist and was a red-dyed leather with gold frog fastenings. His shoes were a high-polished black, his shirt and socks bright white. Even his belt, merely a sash of navy-dyed linen, was improved with a red silk tie and thin leather belts that crossed his waist.

“I see ye got the posturin’ down,” Jack said. “Most important part o’ bein’ a corsair.”

Caertonn and Jack waited for Guy, who was also as impressed, if not more, by his reflection. He stared, turning, adjusting, preening, for a solid five minutes.

“Aye, mebbe that’s a bit much, even fer us. But, good enthusiasm.”

“Being a corsair is all about looking good?” Caertonn asked.

“O’ course not! Ye signed up fer different classes, did ye not? Did ye think we were goin’ to be prancing ’bout all day long, strutting on the street and in bars?”

“Well, kind of…”

“Don’t get me wrong. A fair bit o’ bein’ a corsair is the struttin’.”

Caertonn’s shoulders sagged. “So, we don’t do anything but pose?”

“Ach, yer missin’ the point, laddie. Corsairs are about bravado, pomp, and dashing. This gives us heart.” Jack pounded his chest with his fist. “Pull down yer viewer and look.”

Caertonn fumbled with the cheap felt piece of cloth, now out of place, and looked around. Below his spirit bar was a thin silver one, only slightly filled. “Oh, we have a…heart bar?”

“Heart, well, we call it ‘confidence’. Ye get a boost to yer success and critical hits when yer bar is full. Try it. I want ye to get yer confidence bar up to the tip-top.”

This was not an easy task for Caertonn. While he noticed it rose slowly the more he walked (and didn’t trip), it didn’t rise as quickly as Guy’s did. “Try sauntering,” the accountant advised. “Pretend you’re walking up to a pretty girl at a dance and you want her to see you as a man, not a boy.”

He remembered Gawk doing this years past at the Rose Day celebration in the village. The lumbering oaf had wanted to dance with Tennedi, and had puffed out his chest and almost stomped across the hall, but she had eyes only for Caertonn. He pretended she was across the room from him and did what Gawk had done.

“What’re ye doin’ there, laddie?” Jack asked, his arms crossed.

“Pretending to ask a lady to dance.”

“Ah, good on ye. Now, think of somethin’ ye know and pretend to teach her about it.”

He cleared his throat. “Miss, you shouldn’t plant tomatoes before the last frost, preferably after April. The frost can kill your crop in one night.”

“Aye, that’s great, laddie. Keep it up.”

“It’s essential to grow your crops in the correct kind of soil. Sugar, wheat, and cotton grow well in loamy soils while while chalky soil is great for beets, spinach, and cabbage. Fertilizer from manure works well at adding nutrients that are needed.”

“Mebbe don’t lead with that, but keep goin’.”

“Oh, your favorite flower is a rose? Do you know that most varieties are hard to grow because the soil needs to be perfect?” He ended it with a wink and a side-mouth click at the imaginary girl.

“And look at that!” Jack said, clapping. “Yer bar is full. Now, I want both o’ ye to get on top o’ one o’ those barrels and jump to another.”

There was a swelling of excitement in Caertonn’s chest. He didn’t even hesitate to jump on top of the barrel, set his sights, and leap the distance to the other. The barrel wobbled with his weight, but he pushed down at the lifting edge and it settled. He opened his arms in a gesture to Jack and grinned.

Jack gave a booming laugh. “Wonderfully done, laddies! That be what bein’ a corsair is about!”

“I’m so…pumped up!” Guy said. “I want to jump to something else!”

“Well, there is a chandelier above you, but you need-”

Guy jumped up as high as he could, his fingers just brushing the bottom of an arm. The barrel wobbled and tipped over and he landed without purchase, his legs flying up horizontally. He landed with an audible crack, followed by a wheezing groan.

“Laddie, ye hurt yerself pretty badly. Yer not dead, so there’s that, but ye came close. There be a trick to the confidence bar. Ye need to refill it two more times after usin’ it for a ten minute ‘high mettle’ boost. Then ye’ll be able to do some moves like swing’ from the chandeliers.”

“Ohhh,” he said, the syllable falling into a moan.

“What if you can’t get your confidence up?” Caertonn asked, gently jumping off the barrel.

“Ah, performance anxiety. Happens to the best of us, laddie. That’s why some o’ us usually keep one o’ these around.” He pulled a small flask out of his boot. “Now, I be wantin’ ye to know that this isn’t something to be relyin’ on. It’s tricky fer the most seasoned o’ us. Too little and it don’t be workin’. Too much and it leaves ye useless to yer group, in the moment and overall.”

“Like upstairs.”

“Exactly. If ye wind up like those lazy louts, slowly peckin’ away at Roquefort or mebbe The Copper Mine, then know you’ll never be a captain. Ye need discipline to achieve greatness. Now,” Jack said with a grin, “onto that greatness. We be havin’ our confidence, but we be needin’ the moves to back it up. Foils out.”

Caertonn slid out his foil. Guy did his best to just stand.

“Now, it be a good idea to do it with a bit o’ flair. Ye know ye did it right if it makes a nice ‘shhng’ sound. Go on and try it.”

The two fledgling corsairs inserted and removed their blades from their sheaths a dozen times trying to create the sound of a perfectly executed draw. Jack watched them patiently for a few minutes before interrupting.

“Ah, now, I’m going to be givin’ ye some tips that took me awhile to learn. Right foot forward, chest out, and twist yer hips with the draw.” His foil went “shhng” as it left its sheath and both Guy and Caertonn clapped enthusiastically. “Practice it on yer own time. Not too often; I’ve heard ye can go blind from it.

“Aye, now that ye’ve drawn yer foil, what’re ye plannin’ on doin’ with it?”

“Stabbing things,” Guy said.

“Good! Ye’d be surprised at how often that be escapin’ people. I be seein’ the blond laddie here has been playin’ with his sword already. Show me yer form.”

Caertonn shoved the foil forward.

“Not bad. That be a classic ‘thrust’ and it be one o’ yer most used melee attacks. It be hurtin’ yer opponent on a fairly regular basis. Now, if he be comin’ at ye like he be a dog and ye got a meat necklace, then ye be doin’ a feint, somethin’ to scare ’em off or trick ’em. Ye can move to the side in a dodge. And me personal favorite, be what the fanciest of us call ‘corps-a-corps’, is when you toss yer foil into yer other hand and beat the shit out o’ yer opponent. ‘Course, ye should choose wisely, there. Ye don’t won’t to be slammin’ yer fist into an oread or a stone golem.”

They spent a fair chunk of the hour practicing each of those moves. Jack assured them that when they fought, the moves would come naturally to them. “It not be like a spell where ye have to think ’bout what yer doin’ and who yer shootin’. Ye just wail on ’em.

“Speakin’ o’ spells, we got a few ourselves. At yer level ye have three: Shark Frenzy, Distraction, and Nimble Fingers. The first be a boost to yer attack stats, strength, stamina, agility, and integrity. The second be pretty self-explanatory, though it would be base o’ me if I didn’t mention that ye can only use it once per ten minutes, and every time ye be usin’ it, yer target gets fooled less. And Nimble Fingers, sure, it be good for pickin’ pockets, but it also be good fer other things. We can be mean lockpicks, if we put our minds to it, and some o’ the other skills benefit from a Nimble Finger boost.

“Now, on to our next class. Hmm, blond laddie, ye didn’t sign up fer ‘Introduction to the Management of Property Procurement and Re-acquisition of Ransacked Resources’.”

“Cookie said that was ‘Raping and Pillaging’ and while I’m not keen on the second, I’m really not okay with the first.”

“Bah,” Jack said. “Cookie be givin’ us a bad name. No, mebbe back a hundred years ago, when Yancy was just a wee monkey, they did the rapin’ part. But, we don’t be doin’ that anymore, laddie. Ye steal a diamond, ye can return a diamond. Ye go ’round doin’ the rapin’ and ye get a big target on yer back. May as well fly the Jolly Roger in harbor.”

“They’re fancy words that mean ‘stealing and re-stealing’, basically,” Guy said. “Not much different than accounting.”

Caertonn squinted. “How is pillaging like accounting?”

“Accounting is just legal stealing and redistribution. For example, if my client doesn’t want to pay taxes on the money he has on hand, then he can create a fake charity, put his money in there, and parcel out expenditures on the cost of running the charity when he needs to pull funds. And he gets offset on other taxes because he gave so generously to a charity. Set up a dozen or so and move the funds monthly and it’ll appear like you’re donating to twelve charities every year, so that you can continuously reap the benefits.”

“Is that so?” Jack said.

“Oh, yes. I know hundreds of little loopholes and evasions, all legal.”

Jack began to speak, then rubbed his chin. “Tell ya what. You teach us, if yer interested, laddie, some o’ yer stuff and I’ll teach ye quickly me stuff and we’ll have a nice exchange o’ information.”

Caertonn added himself to the roster. Jack went over the basic tips on how to steal, when to steal, and whom to steal from. Then, they both sat back and learned how to take any assets made from said stealings and turn them into a hefty profit.

“Most of these tips are done best over time,” Guy said to finish. “Think of it like baking or drawing a bath. You can eat a raw cake or clean yourself with just a little water, but both are actions done best when time has had its chance.”

“Fascinating stuff,” Jack said, clapping. “When we be finishin’ today, I’d be awful grateful if ye could go over ‘compounded interest’ again. Fer now, we must move on to other things.”

Jack went over several sea shanties, which were another way to boost your confidence bar, albeit much more public than a few swigs of rum. He laid out several maps for the second course, teaching a relieved Caertonn how to read one as well as go over likely spots to find treasure, both in a dungeon and outdoors.

They broke for lunch and Caertonn was delivered a message in beautiful calligraphy. “M’lord, we will be checking in tonight at five in the evening to discuss plans at The Squealing Pig. -Breithart. P.s. If it’s not too much trouble, could you buy two recipes entitled ‘Jerk Chicken’ and ‘Beer-Braised Bratwurst’. I will recompense your funds. ” He should have thought of getting his group together. With the extra time, he signed up for a few open practice sessions on the foil, marksmanship, and a beginner’s course on Physicality.

But, before those was the class Caertonn found to be his favorite, The Art of Escaping From a Crowded Room. “First ye must assess yer situation,” Jack instructed. “Locate yer escape, note yer obstacles, then figure out how yer goin’ to get through, around, under, or above the second to reach the first. Follow me.”

Jack walked the two fresh corsairs down the hallway to a new training room. He opened the door to a quaint, but to-scale version of a bar room. The wooden bar was to the left and took up most of the wall. There were several round tables in the middle and a few booths against the wall opposite the bar. In the back was a staircase with a broom closet underneath.

“Either of ye do a dungeon yet?” Jack asked, walking inside a small atrium that was neither in the hallway nor in the barroom.

“I’ve done a grotto,” Caertonn said.

“Same thing. There be many kinds o’ dungeons. Some created themselves, some were created as somethin’ else and warped into a dungeon. And some were created. This be a training-grotto with no bosses. When ye stand on a certain mark, mooks form and ye have three minutes to escape.”

“Can we use anything or only our weapons?”

“Anythin’ yer heart desires.”

Caertonn let Guy go first, to observe how this played out. “Right here?” Guy asked, standing in the center of the room, and was answered with the materialization of ten men and a bar wench. Guy spun around, taking in the conversations, drinking, laughter, and actions of the patrons. Everything seemed jovial, until a man formed in front of Caertonn and Jack and yelled, “Stop! Thief!” and pointed at Guy.

Guy’s eyes widened. Several patrons slammed down their drinks and stood. “Eyurkeh!” Guy yelled, or something like it, and he ran to the closet. He closed the door behind him and there was an audible ‘click’ as he locked it.

Jack looked at his pocket watch. “Four minutes and forty-five seconds.”

“Is there a hidden staircase or back tunnel in there?”

“I can’t give ye any hints, laddie. What do ye think?”

“I would guess it’s unlikely and I wouldn’t have tried it.”

“If ye ask me, I don’t think he’s ‘tryin” anythin’.”

For the remainder of the time left in the practice, they watched as the men of the bar pounded on the door to the closet while Guy yelled “Go away!”.A loud ship’s whistle pierced the smoky room and everyone disappeared. A few moments later, the door to the closet unlocked and Guy walked to the atrium.

“How did I do?” he asked.

“Well, the room do be givin’ ye a score, fer testin’ purposes at later levels. It says ye got a ten.”

“Ten!” he said, grinning.

“Out of a hundred.”

“Oh.”

“Ye didn’t piss yer britches and ye didn’t get captured. That be garnerin’ ye two positive marks. Ye need to at least leave the room in order to be getting fifty percent. Ye savvy?”

“Yeah,” Guy said, dejected.

“Don’t be worryin’. Yer score don’t count against yer class today. And ye can stop by and practice whenever ye be likin’. Okay, laddie, it be yer turn.”

Caertonn swaggered to the center of the room, just off the box. From this angle he was able to survey the room better and noticed several things. He looked back at Guy and Jack, who nodded encouragement to him before stepping on the square.

The same people popped up mid-drink and speech. He was surprised he could smell the beer and sausage in the air. The barman was eyeing him suspiciously when a man came down the stairs. “That man slept with my daughter!” he yelled.

Caertonn was so drawn in that he almost argued with him. A few patrons laughed and one yelled, “Good on ya!”. It was only when the man said, “He got her pregnant and he’s trying to skip out of town!” did the men in the bar stand menacingly.

He immediately stood on a chair, then the table, jumping up to reach the chandelier. He kicked a man in the face as he tried to latch on to his leg. Back and forth he swung before propelling himself onto the bar. Normally it wasn’t a move his Physicality was high enough for, but he had spent the moments watching Guy pumping up his confidence bar. “Let me tell you about the best ways to foal a calf!” he yelled. The barman began moving down towards him. He kicked a tin mug smack dab in the middle of his eyes, sending the burly man careening.

“Never pick and eat wild berries and mushrooms, unless you know exactly what you’re doing! No rule is absolute and you may get sick or die!” He jumped off the bar and landed on a table nearby. He kicked the two occupants in the teeth before they grabbed him, then jumped for the corner of the room. He was almost at the window when a dark shape stood from the tiny table in the alcove.

“Leaving so soon?” he said, drawing his foil.

Feeling the men begin to crowd his back, Caertonn drew his foil with a satisfying “shhng”. He engaged the cloaked man, hoping that the other mooks would give them distance if they fought. They did. He dragged the fight out past the doorway to the other side, stepping back while taking the occasional feint or attack when an opportunity presented itself. He was sorely outmatched, but he didn’t plan on winning, just stalling.

“Oh, no,” he said, looking past the man. He didn’t take the bait until Caertonn used Distraction. A loud bang happened with a flash of light and smoke. As the man turned to look, Caertonn jumped up on the other table, then dove through the window.

After a few moments, he heard the ship’s whistle. The broken glass that had stuck to him disappeared and he climbed out of the dark, featureless cubby on the other side of the window.

Jack was in the room helping him down. “Laddie, that be…extraordinary! I’ve never be seein’ a fuckin’ thing like it from a Cabin Boy! Well done!”

“I did well?”

“There be level twenties that can’t pass that! Ye got a 91 on the test!”

He smiled at the praise. “What did I do wrong?”

“The test be takin’ a point of fer every thirty seconds. And ye didn’t kill anyone, so that be five points. But, please, don’t be hard on yerself. I’ll be showin’ the ghost o’ this to Yancy and some o’ the other higher levels. Will ye be stayin’ here tonight?”

“I believe so. My group is doing Roquefort and I also need to do Sehrazad.”

“Good. I’ll be seein’ ya then, laddie.”

He finished his day with his practice courses and left the hall with a spring in his step. He thought to himself that maybe being a corsair wasn’t as bad as he had once thought.