The Disgraced Damsel’s great cabin sprawled out in an ungodly mess. The sleeping area lay rumpled amidst a collection of empty rum bottles. Chunks of half-eaten food and marks that looked disturbing like bloodstains spattered the cabin table’s surface.

However, several parchments lay amidst the debris. Some were covered in chips of purple wax from broken seals, while others appeared to be lists of delivered goods. Caleb took the expedient step of simply finding an empty cloth bag and tossing each document into it.

The door opened and Sienna joined him. She had a leather satchel in hand.

“Captain,” she said. “We’ve just about completed our inventory of the Damsel. And I wanted to finish checking on you.”

“I’ll just go see Tavia when I’m done here,” he replied, as he cinched up the bag. “Which I am.”

“Aye, that may be, but Miss Morningstar’s busy in the infirmary. And unless you have a magic-based wound, then I can handle you rather better than a mare. Though some might say nay, or neigh as the case may be.”

Caleb threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine, if it will make my Quartermaster feel better.”

“It shall make your Quartermaster feel better,” Sienna agreed, pointing to one of the room’s intact chairs. “Now, if you would, please sit, Captain.”

He did as instructed.

Sienna knelt next to him and opened the satchel. She explained that she’d gotten a store of clean bandages and healing balm from Doc Harper. Then she started by treating the cut that had re-opened on his leg. Her hands were gentle and warm. But the gel stung, so he spoke to keep his mind off of it.

“This seems ridiculous to waste time on,” he grumped. “There’s got to be people more badly hurt than me.”

“Aye, I’m afraid so,” she said, as she shifted to the cut on his arm. As with the leg, his clothing had been torn enough for her to access it and then add a bandage wrap. “Two more for Doc Harper’s bunks. And one that’s returned to Lir and Danu’s arms. Lee Scullion took a shot from a pistol at close range, then a cutlass slash to the neck. Died before hitting the deck, that one.”

“I suppose that it’s too much to hope, taking a Myrkur ship without paying some kind of price.”

“By Lir’s beard, we got off light! This wasn’t some merchant crew with white bellies and soft palms,” she reminded him. “These were hardened Guardsmen or veteran Sea Vipers, and they were equal to our numbers. Your strategy worked a treat, Caleb. Once we had all the Myrkur’s swords raised against us, Shaw came in on their blind side and tore them to pieces. He only had to put down a half-dozen or so before the rest lay down their swords in terror.”

His mind went back to Grimshaw’s character sheet. Specifically, the line that identified the griffin’s class, as well as its specialties.

Name: Grimshaw of the Reyka Pride, Reykajar Aerie Class: Barbarian Barbarian Sub-Specialties: Persistent Rage, Intimidating Presence, Unarmored Attack

Caleb chuckled grimly. “I’ve been around Shaw for so long, it’s easy to forget how terrifying he is to those who don’t know him.”

No joke, his mind added. I remember, even Tavia was intimidated by the drake the first time they met.

“All right, Captain. Let’s get your shirt off.” Sienna instructed.

Caleb blinked, bringing his mind back to the present. “You want my shirt off? Why?”

“Malum Kane gave you a nasty cut to your side, so I need to wrap a bandage around your torso.” She gave him a mischievous look. “What, did you think I meant country matters?”

“Uh, no,” Caleb said, recalling that Avalonian euphemism for all things sexual. He shrugged off the shirt and let her hands roam.

She dabbed healing balm along the cut, making him wince. Her warm hands rubbed along the long muscles leading down from his shoulder blades, while her breath tickled his chest. Their eyes met for one breathless moment.

“You’re being more than thorough,” he chided her.

A blush colored Sienna’s cheeks as she finished tying the bandage. “It’s within my responsibilities to keep the Captain as healthy as possible. I had to ensure you had no wounds anywhere else. I’m no Doc Harper, but I’d say you’re quite healthy. And well-conditioned. For a man, that is.”

He squeezed Sienna’s hand gently, redoubling her blush. Caleb considered pulling her in for a kiss, but he thought better of it. He still wasn’t sure if Avalonian society approved of relationships between a Captain and a subordinate.

What’s more, he remembered Sienna leaning in lovingly against Donal. Their words had been quiet, but he’d sensed that they were intimate ones.

Caleb chose to clear his throat and shift the conversation onto safer ground.

“I think I’ve lost weight and gained muscle since coming to your world. Everything on Avalon uses manual labor, and there’s less in the way of junk food to put on the pounds.”

“I know not what a ‘junk’ food might be, but I’m just grateful that we’ve always had enough to eat aboard the Spitfire. Your Captaincy has been good for many of us.”

“Those who haven’t met their end because of it,” Caleb sighed, as he looked at the torn, bloodstained shirt and set it aside. “It seems that our adventures have been hard on my clothes.”

“We’re done with the plunderin', Captain. We’ve taken this ship’s stores, we’ll be able to find more garments among them.”

He made a disgusted sound. “More Myrkur wear. It’s affecting my abilities as a Corsair, and I’ve got to find a way to change my fortunes on that subject.”

She stifled a laugh. “Lir and Danu as my witness, I’d never thought that you were so fascinated with haberdashery!”

“I’m no slave to fashion, as we’d say back on my world. But believe it or not, my actions and clothing impact my use of Corsair-related abilities.”

Even as he spoke, Caleb turned one of the Quest window’s screens at the edge of his vision to look at the warning he’d seen earlier.

Existing Buff / Debuffs: (Corsair-related abilities restored to 75% for the next three days, after which they shall begin to decline.)

Sienna’s expression turned troubled. “Ah. You speak of the ‘Gaming’ aspects of our world. As if our survival is one giant competition for you and others to play at.”

“That’s not quite how I see things,” he said quickly. “We need to talk about that sometime, it’s important.”

She shrugged it off, though Caleb could tell it bothered her.

“And mayhap it is not. Coins and cordwainers, all of no consequence. Now that I’m sure you are not due for meeting Lir, Danu, or Myr, I need to give you my after-battle report.”

Caleb sensed the finality in her voice. So he let her change the subject as he put on the ragged remnants of his shirt. He’d find whatever he had left in his cabin wardrobe later.

“First off, we’ve gathered up a bit more than four hundred and fifty silver coin off the Damsel,” she began. “Tavia and Shaw told me that they’d like to surrender their shares of the booty to you, which comes out to a single gold piece. It’s a pittance, but this was a slave transport. The value came from the human cargo it was carrying.”

At the mention of the cargo, she turned and spat into a dark corner.

“We’ve brought a fair amount of replacement sailcloth and ship’s stores. Clothing, spare timber, paint, and extra gunpowder. Almost nothing in the way of food or water.”

That surprised him. “No extra food or water? On a slave vessel? The Roshannon did look thin, and dirty. But they didn’t look as if they were starving.”

“Oh, we found stores. But Evie O’Breen wouldn’t have them The flour had weevils and the water was barely drinkable. Whatever we took came from the crew’s mess. The best news is that since the Damsel’s a near-twin to our ship, we’re replacing the two cannon we tossed overboard with identical guns.”

“So we’ll be a six-gun sloop again,” Caleb said, with some satisfaction. “And we might have enough crew to man them.”

“Oh, aye! We took forty-two Roshannon off this sloop, and you’ve convinced all of ‘em to sign on with us. With the one casualty we took in the battle, that brings our crew to eighty-one, an’ every one of the newcomers are men of fighting age.”

“Better and better. What about the Damsel herself?”

“She’s a total loss, at least when it comes to taking her as a prize.”

“You’re kidding! We barely touched her, above or below the waterline.”

A shake of the head. “We blew off most of her rudder before the battle. The rest of it sheared off when we collided with her. She’ll be impossible to steer.”

Caleb’s Quest Window blinked once more.

New Adventurer’s-Level Quest: Dispose of the sloop Disgraced Damsel before the Myrkur’s Sea Vipers can recover her and return her to fleet service. STATUS: ONGOING.

“Then we’ll have to send her down to Lir’s cellar. I’m not taking the chance that the Myrkur might find and restore her to fighting trim. Is Shaw back yet? And is Tavia still with Doc Harper?”

“As far as I know, they’re both still occupied.”

He let out a breath as he got up, grabbing the bag holding the parchments as he did so. “Good. Much as I care for the two of them, it’s best that they don’t see what I have to do next.”

She gave him a curious look at that. But she followed her Captain as he made his way from the cabin out onto the main deck. He approached the two men guarding the prostate Myrkur prisoners. One was the old Noack Miley, who cradled a rifle in the crook of his arm, while the other was Decklan Patrick, who now sported a cloth sling to cradle his wounded arm.

“Captain,” Noack said, as he made an Avalonian salute. Patrick noted the older man’s movement and immediately followed suit.

“Any problems with the prisoners?” Caleb asked.

“Nay, though one wouldn’t expect it,” came the reply. “They’re pretty badly cut, or shot up.”

He turned to Sienna. “Has anyone interrogated them?”

She shrugged. “I spoke with them. They don’t seem to know anything we’re interested in.”

“As Lir’s my witness, you won’t find a damn new thing from them,” Patrick declared. “I had the ‘privilege’ to sail with these pieces of filth. They’re all Guardsmen or deck hands, and they either tortured my companions, or laughed as they threw their soul-drained bodies overboard.”

“No officers among them, then?” Caleb asked.

Patrick shook his head.

“All the officers are dead, and you slew the Komtur. Apparently, Malum Kane had some skill as a Sailing Master, so he acted as the Captain of the Sea Vipers.”

“Right.” Caleb turned to address the half-dozen or so men who lay together, chained on the deck. “Any of you have anything to say in your defense?”

“Go find your own way to Lir’s Blue Cellar, pirate scum!” the closest man spat. “I don’t regret sacrificing any of your kind’s bodies to Myr! I’ll always be his loyal servant!”

Caleb’s expression hardened. “Then don’t let me stand in the way of your meeting him.”

He put his foot on the iron ball at the end of the prisoners’ long chain. He shoved it overboard with a grunt. The ball hit the water with a sploosh, followed by the jingle-jingle of the chain as it ran overboard.

The prisoners who were still conscious noted the sound, but they didn’t make any more of a fuss. Instead, they resigned themselves to what was to come next. The chain went taut, and then pulled each in turn over the side.

A single yelp! came from the last one as he disappeared below the gray, storm-tossed waters. Caleb turned towards where his own sloop still lay tied against the Damsel’s railing. Patrick spoke up once more as he did so.

“Captain, did you gather up the parchments in the great cabin?”

“Yeah, I did,” Caleb said. “I’ll be looking through them, and I’ll call you to my cabin to discuss what I’ve found. In the meantime, I want you and Noack back on the Spitfire. We’re going to send this damned slave vessel to the bottom, and good riddance!”