Two days later, the clack-clack of wooden sword against unicorn horn echoed across the Spitfire’s deck. A few crew members took a break from their duties to watch as Caleb faced off against Tavia. They leaned against the rails closest to the roped-off area amidships, cheering whenever one scored a touch on the other.

At least that’s what they think, Caleb’s mind helpfully supplied, as he parried a return strike from the unicorn. Damn near every touch I’ve earned, Tavia’s given it to me.

He even knew the mare well enough to know why she’d done so without asking. One of the main differences between his unicorn and griffin companion was that Tavia had been a paladin. A knight within a strictly defined order organized around the unicorn war-god, Kirren.

As a member of a knightly order, she’d be loathe to show up her commanding officer in front of the troops. She’d be more concerned with the crew’s morale instead of winning. I suppose that’s the right call, in any case.

After nearly losing the duel with Malum Kane, Caleb had decided to try and improve his swordsmanship skills. Kane’s latest improvement had been right on the man’s character sheet, and it had chilled Caleb to the core.

Rogue-Specific Specialties: Expert-Level Duelist

To his chagrin, Caleb didn’t have anything related to dueling under his main character description. Neither was there anything in his spell list or his Corsair-Specific specialties. And most telling of all, his decision to practice with Tavia didn’t bring up anything in his Quest Window.

It was possible that he’d get that skill the next time he went up a little. But that didn’t matter. Even without an entry on a magical sheet, Caleb felt sure that a little practice couldn’t hurt.

Aside from a few raps on the knuckles and a bruise or two on his torso, he was mostly right.

“Keep your guard up, Captain!” Tavia warned, as she moved her horn to swing at him from the upper left, then right. A pair of clacks as he blocked the blows with the wooden sword Donal had put together for him. “Now low!”

Two more clacks, and he backed off half-a-step to avoid another blow. Tavia came in high once more, then shifted her attack back down. Caleb hadn’t brought his guard down quickly enough, and the unicorn touched his thigh with her horn. It wasn’t much more than a poke, but he felt it all the same.

“That’s another one for you,” Caleb said, as he lowered his makeshift sword. “You know your business!”

“More likely a lucky hit,” Tavia demurred.

“Lucky or not, what if that blow been for keeps and a couple inches to the right? I’d have to give the crew orders in soprano.”

The mare backed off a step and frowned. “In soap-rano? I don’t understand, Captain.”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just say that it would have changed my life, and not for the better.” He took a moment to wipe the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. Then brought his sword back up. “Once more, shall we?”

Caleb had asked Tavia to practice with him, as he’d observed her over the past couple of boarding actions. She was easily the best sword-on-sword, or sword-on-horn fighter among them, and second only the Shaw in terms of raw combat power. Yet he wasn’t sure of the wisdom of his decision.

Fencing with Tavia was unlike any duel he’d faced. He found it hard not to play into the unicorn’s strengths. He was able to practice his defense relatively well, as the mare had to move her whole body in order to press home an attack.

Yet the moment he moved to the offense, she could parry instantly with a flick of her head. Not only was she impossible to disarm, but in the twinkling of an eye, she’d have turned his blade aside. And he’d find her horn jabbed with the lightest of touches into his throat, his chest, or his thigh.

It spoke volumes to the level of control Tavia possessed that she’d never drawn blood, not once. But a couple dozen more pounds of pressure would be easy for a horse-sized creature to generate. And that would mean a punctured jugular, aorta, or femoral artery.

Tavia’s forehoof came down with a clack as she pressed an attack home. She swung her horn side-to-side, forcing Caleb to block and retreat once more. He blocked another swing, then ducked the return. The mare’s neck was exposed for an instant, so he drove in with a thrust, touching her at the juncture between neck and body.

The crew cheered at the feat.

“I yield, Captain,” she said graciously. “You have done exceptionally well today.”

“More likely a lucky hit,” he said, echoing her earlier words. He raised his sword and spoke to the spectators. “All right, enough spectating for today. Three cheers for Miss Morningside!”

The onlookers let out a hearty hurrah-hurrah-hurrah!

Two of the women attached to Evie O’Breen’s galley crew came up. One brought an entire bucket of fresh water over to Tavia for her to drink. The other handed Caleb a wooden cup’s worth of grog.

He took a long swig the diluted rum-and-water mixture. Part of him still missed Goddess Danu’s first-class piña colada. But the lime flavor of Evie’s brew pleasantly slaked his thirst all the same.

Sienna ducked under one of the ropes as Caleb finished his drink. His quartermaster had a roll of parchment stuck under her arm, and she had a satisfied look. The look of someone who’d just successfully completed a difficult task.

“If you two are done practicing cutting each other to ribbons,” she announced, “I’ve got some updates.”

“Let’s have it,” Caleb said, as he finished his drink and set the empty cup aside. “Tavia and I can pick things up later.”

Sienna nodded and unrolled the parchment. “You’ll be happy to know that we put the spare canvas and sail material we took off the Damsel to use. Lir be praised, everyone on board’s finally got their own hammock and a spare set of clothes. Or at least trousers.”

“And here I thought that we’d taken that sail for patchwork.”

“Oh, it’s still available, Captain. If we need a patch for our sails, whoever draws the short straw’s going to lose their bunk. Temporarily, anyway.”

Caleb chuckled, but he was aware of the ongoing clothing shortage. The Roshannon had been rescued with little more than rags on their backs. Even as Captain, he had maybe two changes of outer-and-under wear at this point. And most of his crew were still wearing the hand-me-downs stolen off the Myrkur.

“I’ve set up separate groups for each of our six cannon,” she continued. “Lucas Whelan’s gotten a promotion of sorts, as he’ll be the Chief Gunner supervising these groups.”

“Sounds good. Go on.”

“The biggest accomplishment to report is that I’ve finished divvying up the crew into larboard and steerboard watches.” She handed over the parchment for him to look at. “See, each watch is split into seven work periods, complete with fore and after-undern shifts.”

“Undurn? That must be an Andeluvian word I haven’t seen before.”

“It’s what we call the two hours before or after twilight, Captain.”

Caleb nodded and took a moment to look through the written shift changes. “This is great, though I’m wondering why we didn’t do this earlier.”

“I’d be curious to know as well,” Tavia put in, as she craned her neck to look over. “Also, I do not comprehend the reason behind the odd number of shifts.”

“Really?” Sienna gave the mare a puzzled look. “Perhaps it’s a species-specific thing. How much do unicorns have to sleep?”

“We require a minimum of three hours, two of which can be in meditation. Though even that amount can be shortened by sleeping in moonlight.”

Moonlight acts like a battery charger on unicorns? Caleb thought, amazed. Every time I think I know all about magical equines, they continue to surprise me.

“We humans need a bit more,” Sienna informed her. “Each shift is no longer than four hours, allowing us to work at peak efficiency and grab shuteye when needed. The watches swap schedules every day, so that the same crew members don’t always get stuck with the night shift. Oh, and as to the Captain’s question: We didn’t do this before because we never had a full crew. Now, we have enough people on board to man all the guns, and we only ask for volunteers for special jobs.”

“Speaking of special jobs,” Caleb said, “How’s the one I requested for our stern section coming along?”

“It should be done by now, Captain.” Sienna replied. “It might be worth a look-see.”

Caleb nodded and followed his quartermaster aft and up the larboard stairways. Tavia trotted along behind until they arrived on the afterdeck. A pair of ropes had been firmly lashed to the taffrail.

A quartet of Roshannon crewmen stationed by the ropes gave their Captain a quick salute as he approached. Caleb nodded back in return. Already, the newcomers to the crew were losing the ragged, half-starved look as Evie O’Breen stuffed them full of at each mealtime.

He heard a call from below. The men divided into two teams to take in the ropes. After a minute, they hauled up three of the crew, who were sitting astride a board that been woven into a rope harness.

The youngest members of the Spitfire’s crew, Aiden and Ethan, all but leapt off and over to the afterdeck. Decklan Patrick remained sitting in the board’s center until he could be helped on over. The fingers of his still-bandaged hand were curled around a brush. He held a couple small bowls of paint steady in the other.

“You need to see what we did, Captain!” Aiden said brightly.

“Yes, Captain,” Ethan added. “We followed your orders to the letter!”

Caleb leaned over the taffrail to take a look. Sure enough, an entire section of freshly painted lettering had been added to the hull section just below the sloop’s stern lanterns. He had to cock his head at an angle to read his ship’s new name.

DISGRACED DAMSEL