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Lo and behold! A frickin' New Year miracle (yes, I know it's March already...), Chapter 3 is finished
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A Fine Line – Chapter 3 (part 2)
Foggy business



Anton blew out a quiet sigh and turned his eyes towards the room's decorated ceiling once more. Artistically, it was a fairly well made painting and the scene, portraying the heavenly realms where the Elevated Souls would spend the eternity at God's side was, despite it's message, more acceptable to him than the other mural in the room. This one was depicting a naval battle. Based on the ships' insignia, most likely the battle of Cape Beaufort between the Wellesley fleet and Carvecian irregulars. However, no matter how skilled the artist who made it obviously was, the whole painting was obnoxiously wrong and inaccurate, both technically and historically. Whoever made the “heavenly” painting above could at least excuse possible inconsistencies by referring to various, equally inconsistent, passages in the scripture or by simply stating nobody could tell what the heavens 'really' look like, before getting there themselves. There could be no such excuse for the other painting. If he had a brush and paint with him, he probably wouldn't be able to contain himself.

Anton sighed again and swept his gaze across the room. The Captain was standing at ease near the wall, his back to the “naval” painting, no doubt so he wouldn't have to look at it. Sarantani, dressed in a formal gown in blue, was sitting on a small sofa at his side. Both wore a blank expression, seemingly lost in thoughts, just bearing with the long wait. Sirbi, on the other hand, was pacing impatiently at the opposite end of the room, occasionally snorting in discomfort. He would no doubt be more vocal about his thoughts on the matter, were he not still suffering from the after-effects of another drinking bout the night before combined with some unpleasant waves they encountered on their approach to the port.

Anton considered himself a forbearing and patient man, but they were left here to wait for more than an hour already and there was little for them to occupy themselves with. With a weary blink, he glanced outside the thick-paned window at the slightly distorted outlines of the buildings beyond. Korstom was more of a trade town than anything else, much of it's production focused around the port and nearby market and their needs. As such, the town itself didn't boast any 'magnificent' architecture and splendour, more common in regional centres further south. The governor's mansion tried to make up for it with bright blue and white plaster and gilded decorations on the outside and richly coloured murals on the inside. Similar, yet less considerable effort was shown by the surrounding houses, belonging to high ranking clergy members and whatever pedigree families, that chose to, or were forced to, stay here. Along with nearby residences of better-off merchants, some of which were no doubt aiming for buying a title for themselves. Anton didn't get to see the other, less wealthy parts of the town, inhabited by craftsmen, less successful tradesmen, trappers, furriers and amber miners and collectors who built their simpler timber houses on the outskirts. And he didn't intend to. Most of the business dealings usually took place in the port itself anyway, or in the guildhalls, marketplaces and taverns close to it. That part of the town was the most lively throughout the year and the only one worth visiting in his eyes.

Aside from a few blacksmiths and carpenters, hardly anyone stayed here all-year long and during the winter the town's population would often drop to only a quarter of it's normal size. The governor himself would travel to his country manor more to the south or to the Capital for the winter. For that reason, they were worried the baron might not be there when they arrived and they would have to wait for him or deal with an authorized representative. Apparently though, he had already returned from his winter residence, since the spring was already in full swing even here in the North. They could have felt it for themselves, while still on the sea, when the weather had improved considerably and a favourable wind had brought them to Korstom much faster than they had originally anticipated.

A strange sound, somewhere between a moan and a frustrated sigh, broke Anton from his reverie. “This is taking forever. How longer do we have to wait?” Sirby grumbled quietly and rubbed his temples. “We already told them this was about Rybakov, didn't the baron had a grudge or something?”

“You should know that better than any of us, since you made us chase after him in the first place,” Anton replied with a weary sigh. “But I suspect they only make us wait to make a point about who's in charge here.”

“Is that so?” the leopard retorted with an unpleasant smirk and a strange glint in his eyes.

Anton cursed in his mind. Initially they didn't intend to have him around for the audience, instead opting for Orsini to try and add at least some semblance of seriousness and professionalism to their little group. But while the segugio turned out rather reluctant about that idea, Sirbi insisted on coming to the point of being even more obnoxious than a back-alley whore. In the end they relented, first making him swear he will dress and act appropriately, but even though he made some visible effort and went so far as to bathe and groom himself, the cat was a liability. Why he insisted on coming along, despite everyone's efforts to dissuade him from getting anywhere close to local high society was still a bit of a mystery to Anton. Usually he didn't want to have anything to do with these sorts of people and the fox knew Sirbi well enough to dismiss the thought, that he merely didn't want to be left out of whatever deal would be made. He rarely cared about his payment, as long as he got enough to cover his eating and drinking expenses, and by now he trusted both Anton and the Captain to treat him fairly.

This had to be something personal. Probably he was just concerned about his wife's cover, but that still didn't explain why he needed to be here. They had as solid story as they could get, one Ostermann shouldn't be able to see through unless something went horribly wrong. But the cat's presence at the audience could be just that something, and he had to know it. He wasn't dense and he knew well about his own shortcomings when it came to delicate negotiations contra uninhibited rowdiness. If he were to lose his temper and compromise them somehow...


Finally, there was a click of the knob and the door of the antechamber opened before a greying wolf. Despite his apparent age, he moved about with a vigour and certain confidence. Together with the sabre at his side and a gorget visible over the livery of the baron's household, it was obvious this used to be a professional soldier. Now most likely retired and acting as the lord's personal guard. He shot a quick silent glance at them before bowing slightly. “I am Lech Vladimir Makiewicz, the baron's aide. I apologize for the wait, there were some... issues that needed to be addressed as a matter of priority. The baron will see you now.” And with that he gestured to the open door, waiting for them to pass by him into the salon.

Or a private office, as it turned out. The room was smaller and less lavishly decorated than a state room or a drawing room would be, with the central piece of furniture being a large mahogany pedestal desk. And there was the baron. The borzoi himself looked younger than Anton imagined he would. By all accounts, he should had been already past his fiftieth year. Unlike the wolf, he also seemed to be a bit 'out of shape', though not as much as most pedigrees inclined to sedentary life Anton had met so far. He only spared them a brief glance before the wolf announced in an official tone: “The Right Honourable Alexander Ostermann, lord of Korstom. My Lord, these are Captain Lionel James Alden and the officers of the Amurescan privateer Esca... .”

The baron gave them another expressionless look while they bowed in unison and then spoke with a derisive sneer. “Amurescan privateer! Good God, is this the best the Crown can offer these days?!”

Anton could tell it was a bait, a test of composure. The hound was waiting for their reaction so he could evaluate what kind of people he was dealing with, which was probably better than being outright disregarded as common rabble, but also potentially more disadvantageous.

And he got his reaction.

“Your Lordship, to hunt down some filthy mongrels in barely seaworthy rowing boats..., we are good enough,” the Captain spoke up and bowed again.

Anton sighed mentally. Maybe Sirbi was not the one he should have been worried about. The baron managed to put up a surprised look, as if he wasn't used to 'lesser' people reply to his rhetorical questions and stared at him for a moment. But eventually the borzoi barked out a short laugh. “Hah! Well said. Those little runts didn't deserve to be brought down by a real man-o'-war. And now I also suspect why you got fired from the Royal Navy.”

“I left voluntarily,” the Captain countered with a mild smile, “I found out I value my freedom of speech too much.”

“Freedom of speech, my derrière!” the dog spat out. “Why not go all the way and join the Carvecian ninnies instead?!” There was a moment of silence before the baron continued. “What was your name again? Alden? I've known a few Alden families, you know, and you don't look like any of them, so I can't really place you. Now I am quite curious, Captain Alden. What's your heritage, hmm?” The baron tilted his head slightly and gave the Captain an appraising look.

The Captain paused, as if considering the question, before looking straight back at the borzoi. “Does it matter? It's not my father's lineage, but my mother's that is of relevance... and she was no pedigree, if that is what you're asking about.”

“So that's how it is, eh?”

“My Lord,” the wolf stepped in impatiently, “maybe we should more focus on the matters at hand...?”

“Right you are, Vlad,” the baron replied with a nod. “So. You lot claim to have put an end to that bastard Rybakov, is that right?”

“No, My Lord, we only put an end to his raiders,” the Captain said. “Apparently he was already dead by the time we reached them.”

“Well, isn't that convenient?” the dog raised his eyebrows. “I suppose you don't have anything to prove his death, do you?”

“No, My Lord, only the word of what's left of his crew. But that these men are of his crew, that we can confirm.” He gestured at Anton, who pulled out Rybakov's flag from under his coat. “They flew his colours,” the Captain continued, “and we managed to drag one of his ships back here with us. It's all yours to scrutinize it all you want.” Of course, he didn't brought up, that they had already scoured the ship for loot and took the most valuable and hardly re-traceable items for themselves. Still, they left a reasonable and convincing amount of cargo on the longship, from which they expected a cut in prize money.

The wolf approached them and took the banner from Anton to inspect it more closely. The borzoi stared at him expectantly, until Vlad handed him the flag with a nod. “It's authentic. And I would recognize his ships if I saw them up close, we can easily tell if this was truly his band come morning.”

“Very well,” the baron said thougtfully, “but what happened to Rybakov? How did he die?”

“From what his men told us, there was a mutiny after you raised the reward and they lost many men to bounty hunters. One of his officers killed him and took over. We found them shortly thereafter,” the Captain replied.

“Killed by his own, hah? Serves him right!” the baron said with a content grunt. “And this 'officer' that killed him? Who was it, the black bear fellow? Or the wolf? What's his name... you know which one I mean, Vlad.”

“Skaarenor.”

“Yes, yes, that one. Or was it someone else?”

The Captain was about to answer, when another voice suddenly barged in. “It was a snow leopard, Your Lordship, just like me, by the name of Nergüi Khenbish.” To Anton's dismay, Sirbi did not follow the advice to hold his tongue and rather not speak at all and did exactly what he feared he would. He stepped forward and stood next to the Captain.

“And you are?” the baron asked in a tone, that indicated, that he didn't bleeding care.

“Asudai Sirbi, Your Lordship, at your service.” The cat replied with a formal smile ...followed by a surprisingly elegant and well done bow and scrape.

“Nergüi Khenbish?” the wolf said with a frown. “That doesn't sound like a real name. What family does he come from?”

“She. As to what family she was born into, I have no idea. But she's been an outcast ever since the first time I heard about her. Guess that explains her name,” he added with a shrug.

“Criminal alias,” the wolf nodded. “You know her then?”

“I ran into her only once before, but she was a notorious horse thief and bandit around the parts where I'm from.”

“You said you are an Asudai. ...Of the Badashar?”

“That's right,” Sirbi broadened his smile a little. “You heard of our clan?”

“Rumours mostly,” the wolf said reservedly. “You're quite a long way from home and your people usually stay away from the sea.”

“I go, where there's work to be done and paid for,” Sirbi shrugged. “She probably thought the same. The cat just got desperate and picked a wrong band of ruffians to join.” Anton tried not to show any surprise in his features when he realized he wasn't really able to tell, how much was Sirbi making up and which parts of his account were true. They had known the leopard for a few years now and they were so used to him being bluntly honest at all times, nobody would really expect him to be able to lie without giving himself away easily.

His chain of thought was broken by Osterman himself, who was following the last part of the conversation only with an amused shake of his head. “Undone by a woman! Hah, how fitting,” he chuckled but quickly got a thoughtful expression again. “But you are certain he is dead, right? Couldn't his crew just cover for him, while the bear is hunkered down somewhere, hiding?”

“I really don't see a reason why they should,” the Captain decided to get back on track. “From what we've heard, their morale spiralled downwards quite rapidly these last few weeks and starting to kill one another was to be an expected outcome. Not to mention anybody from the captured crew could just divulge his hideout, hoping for a pardon. Or even a reward.”

“True,” the baron nodded. “Well, it appears the bear finally chose the wrong kind of harlot to warm up his bedsheets, eh?” he scoffed, looking in Sirbi's direction.

“If he's rather sleeping with the fishes now, I don't suppose she was much of a catch anyway,” Sirbi replied all too cheerfully, playing along.

The borzoi roared with laughter and even went so far as to slap his thigh. “Capital!” he barked out. “She doesn't happen to be among the captives you brought, does she?” he added with a bit more poise.

“Ah, about that... ,” the Captain begun with an awkward squirm. “We had her, but then she tried to escape and we had to take her down along with a few others.”

“Hmmm... shame that,” the baron said frowning, “I might have found some use for her before putting her to the gallows. If you catch my drift.”

I doubt she would be very cooperative, Anton thought sourly, glancing again at Sirbi and wondering how much was he holding back the temptation to murder the dog. Maybe there was no such temptation at all, since he didn't seem to be on such good terms with her himself, but if he came here only for her sake... .

Vlad rolled his eyes for a moment, then leaned down and whispered something into the baron's ear, who dismissed him with a wave of hand, retorting: “No, I haven't forgotten about her!”. When the wolf leaned down and whispered something again, he only sighed and waved his hand again. “That can wait too.”

“Shame indeed,” the leopard agreed, when they had Osterman's attention again, “there was a bounty on her head back home. Enough to make the trip worthwhile.”

“A bounty you say? How high exactly?” the baron queried.

“Well, I was about to make up something slightly above whatever you're initial offer would have been. But with our hands empty, that question is now superfluous, isn't it?” Sirbi said... and grinned.

“Harrumph,” the hound frowned, “I see all Kadrushmen are the same when it comes to bargaining. No matter... .” He paused for a moment and the room fell silent in anticipation. The wolf cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at the baron impatiently. “Right,” the baron sighed eventually. “As much as I would like to sit and chitchat with you lowborns a little longer, there are still some matters I need to attend to. Imperial affairs, you see?” he waved his hand dismissively. “So, this is how we'll do this. Vlad here will take a look at that ship of yours and the captives next morning. If all is as it should be, we'll be taking those from you and you'll get your reward then. And that will conclude our business. For good, understand?” he leaned a little forward and stared intently at all of them. “You will not talk about this ever again. You can brag all you want about tracking down and killing Rybakov, the 'notorious raider' and whatever hogwash you want to embellish your story with, but you will not utter a single word about whatever you might have heard that he did here in Korstom or why did I increase the reward on his head. Is that clear?” When all he got in response was cautious silence and blank expressions, he leaned back in his chair again and patted the tip of his muzzle with a finger. “I may be a pedigree and a politician, but I am not a complete fool. Now that there is nobody left to tell otherwise, the easiest thing is to just sweep this whole mess under the rug, like nothing ever happened and dismiss any rumours of my honour being besmirched as unfounded gossip. And if you lot know what's best for you, you'll do the same. Any questions?”

“Just one, your Lordship,” the Captain nodded. “Why not today?”

“Because today,” the baron replied, pointing at his aide with his thumb, “I need him here. And we need some time to put the bounty together, prepare cells for these criminals and get on with the bloody paperwork.”

“In that case,” the Captain continued, “if I may be so bold, I would ask your Lordship for a few men from the city's garrison to help us guard these men tonight. Our crew is tired from the journey and the outlaws may take the opportunity to try to escape again, now that we're moored in a port.” Anton glanced at him, not certain at first what the real motive behind this request was, but it soon dawned on him it was merely meant to raise confidence in the baron's eyes. By allowing his men on the ship, they showed they had nothing to hide and at the same time the plea itself suggested they trusted the local militia's competence more than their own. That was likely meant to strike the baron's ego in a positive way as well and Anton wondered whether it was ultimately Sarantani's idea.

The borzoi only raised his eyebrows in Vlad's direction. “We can spare a dozen men,” the wolf replied. “For two shifts, from dusk till dawn. Anything else?”

Anton glanced around cautiously. There wasn't really anything left to be discussed, except for the bounty itself, but bringing that up could be seen as a breach of decorum at this point. He and Alden knew it well, Sarantani probably too, even though he saw her shift uncomfortably, most likely considering the very same thing. Sirbi could still blurt out something inappropriate, but for the time being, it seemed as if the smug grimace on his muzzle actually glued his jaws together.

“Thank you, master Makiewicz,” the Captain said. “And no, I believe that is all. Your Lordship?”

“Right, that's settled then,” Osterman said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Now off you go.”




Once they were out of earshot, making their way away from the baron's palace, the four of them finally breathed out in relief.

“Well, that went... differently than I imagined it would,” said Sarantani, still in surprise. “He's more sensible than his reputation implied.”

“I thought you met him before,” the Captain remarked.

“Only briefly. We were introduced and went through all the silly formalities but that was it, all my deals came through his steward. And his pocket army of clerks. This may however mean, it will be harder trying to bargain with him,” she added after a pause. “Or with the wolf.”

“Should we even bother trying?” Anton chimed in doubtfully. “If we prolong the transaction for too long, they may catch wind that something's amiss. We would be only drawing unwanted attention to ourselves.”

“The same goes if we just accept any terms they offer us all too quickly though,” the Captain replied. “We should try to raise the prize at least a little, unless it's already too generous, which I doubt.”

“Absolutely,” the vixen agreed. “The wolf seems like a no-nonsense geezer, not a gabby-blabby bargainer. I think we'll know where we stand the moment he'll open his muzzle.”

Anton slowed down a bit and joined the leopard's side, whose expression changed considerably. He now seemed much more broody and lost in thought. “I didn't know you had it in you,” he spoke to him quietly.

“Hmmm?” the feline raised his head... or rather, re-inclined it in Anton's direction.

“With the baron,” the fox clarified.

“Oh, that. I wasn't sure I could recall all the nuances and little ceremonies, but I can honestly say I've had worse performances in the past,” he said and let out a deep tired sigh. Anton arched his eyebrow. “It's been a while since I last had to use all this crap,” the cat went on with a shrug, “ but this wasn't the first Amurescan nobleman I had to deal with.”

“Care to tell me about it?”

He seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head. “One day. Maybe. But not today.”

When the silence grew thick and heavy again, the fox cleared his throat and spoke: “Well there's one thing I have to ask you now, though.” The leopard glanced his way but said nothing. “About Tsolmon. What you said there about her... when you said that she was an outcast and a criminal... . Did you just make that up, or is that part of the reason why she's out here?”

Sirbi took a moment, possibly mulling over his response in his head. “She is no criminal,” he said eventually. “She never was. Well, not until this recent mess anyway. As for the rest... for some reason she's refused to talk about why she's out here so far, and I know better than to try to force it out of her. But I've known her long enough and I think I can gather what the real reason is. And there she's right about it being a private thing, that is of no concern to anyone else from the crew. So no, she isn't an outcast neither. I wouldn't even call it a 'voluntary self-exile', though that's what she makes it sound like, but in reality, what drove her out here is more like a... wanderlust, that finally got the better of her. Actually, it was kinda the same with me, really,” he added with a mild smile.

“Alright then. Since it seems I can't expect a less vague answer from either of you, I'll just have to trust you. Just keep in mind nobody will be pleased very much if some... thing from your past turns up and causes trouble for all of us.”

“That something from our past would turn up is unlikely, and even if it did, the only trouble it could mean would be to me and her, nobody else.” At this point they were almost at the docks, but Sirbi suddenly took a step in another direction. Towards the tavern where they reserved rooms for most of their officers to stay in. “If yer planning a party, I'll join you guys later,” he announced out loud, “but right now I need some rest.”

Anton followed him with his eyes as his hard-to-miss figure disappeared in the crowded streets of the merchant quarter. The previous night must have left a high toll on him, but even so, the fox seriously doubted Sirbi actually needed any more sleep. It felt more like he just wanted to be alone for a while. Anton stood still for a few minutes, contemplating and analysing what had happened that day and how he'd known the cat since they'd first met several years ago. And for the first time ever, he considered there might be more to the snow leopard than he lets on.




“Well?” was the first thing the Captain said after the wolf emerged from below decks.

“It's them, all right,” he replied with a nod and then motioned to one of the watchmen that accompanied him.

“Don't you want to inspect their boat more thoroughly as well?” the Captain asked when the wolf joined them, while his men marched below to retrieve the prisoners.

“No need for that, I can recognize an uiskeid longboat from here. Our book-keeper is already checking on the cargo, however. I am sure you understand... .”

“Of course, we already gave him the list to cross-check. He can take all the time he needs.”

“He is quick, I assure you,” the wolf replied turning around nonchalantly and taking stock of their vessel. “'Tis a nice frigate you have,” he said out of the blue a few moments later.

“Why, thank you,” the Captain replied uncertainly.

“And where's that Badashar leopard of yours?”

“In the tavern, last time I checked,” Anton filled in. “Still fast asleep most likely.”

“Not an early bird, is he?” the wolf cocked his head, then turned his attention elsewhere. “Those two I know all too well,” he said pointing at two of the prisoners that were currently being led out on the main deck. “Put them into separate cells, I'll have a word with them soon as we finish here.”

“Yessir,” cried one of the watchmen and rushed to separate the indicated men from the rest of the rabble. They watched the procession in silence. Most of them seemed already broken in spirit and reconciled with their fate, not giving even a hint of resistance. Especially after seeing the contingent of armed militiamen the wolf showed up with that morning.

“Cutthroats, marauders, scoundrels,” the wolf grumbled mockingly as they passed by him, “menace of the northern seas, scourge of the coastal towns, these men.” He shook his head with a disdainful whuff and turned back to the Captain. “Were it not for politics, treaties and jurisdictions, I'd have been done with this lousy rabble ages ago. But judging by your report, or account, or whatever you privateers call it, you had it fairly easy with them too.”

“If it comes to melee,” Anton pointed out, “it is never an easy battle. But we managed.”

“True.”

When the last of the raiders and their escort finally left the Esca, Vlad also set out to leave. The rest of them followed him to the foot of the gangplank to conclude their dealings on solid ground. They didn't have to wait for long when the aforementioned book-keeper appeared and handed the wolf a few sheets of paper.

“Everything is in order then?” the wolf asked as he skimmed over the lists and numbers.

“Well yes, I believe so,” replied the book-keeper, a middle-aged barbet in a dark carmine coat. “Surely, we would have to carefully weight every item on the lists, the articles of highest value by weight in particular, to know the exact value of the overall cargo, but my, ah, general estimate roughly matches the one provided by Lady Bolormaa. Give or take,” he added with an insincere smile that indicated that he would, like most men of his trade, rather take than give. Sarantani returned a similar smile, one that contained about as much genuine warmth and affection as a washed up sea urchin.

“That is all I need, we can leave the weighing and counting for later,” the wolf replied and checked the final sum once more, before returning the papers to the barbet. Then he gave another signal to his men and two of them approached, carrying a heavy looking chest between them.

“Here is two thousand crowns in coins,” Vlad gestured at the chest and then pulled several sheets of paper from his coat and scribbled something in them with a pencil. “And here are additional seven thousand in letters of credit,” he added and handed the papers to the Captain.

“That is... ,” Sarantani inhaled sharply, then paused. Less than they hoped for. They eyed one another. “Surely you could spare a bit rounder number for the service we've done for you,” she started but was cut off by the wolf shaking his head.

“Don't try to haggle with me, you would just be wasting both our time, nine thousand pieces is all you get.”

“The boat with the cargo itself is worth at least four thousand in prize money,” the Captain pointed out.

“Indeed, and you dealt with the raiders properly,” the wolf replied with a nod. “But you failed to bring in the bear alive, or at least provide his body, the additional reward for his head is therefore forfeit.” They could hardly object to that. “Besides,” Vlad added after a moment, “the time for negotiations is already past due. The sum has already been cleared of any outstanding fees. I don't need to remind you that the Admirality court will demand their share in taxes, even though my lord handling this within his rights of governance and law enforcement probably saved them a bit of paperwork. Heck, they might even charge us more just because of that,” he muttered. “I swear some of those bureaucrats must love their red tapes more than is healthy.”

The Captain skimmed through the last of the letters of credit and passed them to Sarantani with a small sigh. He took a step closer to the wolf and said, “In that case, I believe there is no reason to spin this out any longer.” He raised his hand and offered it to the wolf. Vlad took it and shook it firmly.

“The town of Korstom thanks you for your assistance,” he announced formally.

“Glad to be of service,” the Captain replied in a neutral tone. The wolf gave him a curt nod, released his hand and half-turned away, but then stopped himself and turned back to face him.

“Ah, about that,” he said thoughtfully. “A word of advice? Do not linger in these waters longer than you have to. There likely won't be much need for services of the likes of you very soon.”

The wolfdog and corsac quirked their eyebrows at him in confusion. “Beg your pardon?” Anton said with a frown.

“You would learn about this soon anyway, so I can just as well tell you now,” Vlad said in a lower voice. “Just before you arrived, we got news of a royal fleet of four heavy frigates led by a ship-of-the-line dispatched here to deal with the recent raidings, they should be here in a week at the latest. Also, a new arrangement is in place with tsar Boris Orguz, in exchange for tariff cuts and 'special privileges' on amurescan amber trade, he agreed to send his own fleet of no less than a dozen turuma galleys to patrol along the coast. At the same time, several battalions of his dragoons will strike at raider bases on the land. All this is hardly a sizeable force,” he finished, “but it's certainly enough to make the local sea routes safe again. For time. No doubt they won't be able to root out all the raiders, but the survivors will hole up well and will think twice before trying anything again. Good day to you all.” And with that he turned around and walked away, the book-keeper and the remaining guards following in his wake.




“A bit of a bummer, eh?” Sarantani grumbled wryly as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Well,” the Captain sighed, “it's not like we didn't expect it. The bear was the big fish here, only it turns out that fish has been dead for weeks and nobody cares for the smell.” He bent down to pick up the chest. “Help me with this?” Anton took one of the handles and together they set out back on board of the ship.

“I also meant the royal navy coming here,” Sarantani continued, walking behind them. “Though this has been a habit of theirs as far as I remember,” she added, “to come late to the party, only to crash it.”

“The spring has barely started,” the Captain remarked in between heaving pants, “even if we find no more opportunity here, we still have plenty time to return south and look for more work there. Afterall, that was, more or less, our plan from the beginning of this venture.”

“You sound like you're quite content with the outcome,” the vixen said after a moment's pause.

“I am,” the Captain admitted as they made their way to the wardroom, ignoring the curious and covetous looks of the present crewmen. “The ship handled about as well as I expected. So did the crew, we just need to keep training and get the less experienced hands on par with the ables. And more importantly,” he added with an emphasis, “we didn't lose anyone and the ship is fine.” They put the chest on the large table in the centre of the room and finally opened it. “And we even made some profit,” he said as he ran his finger lightly over the golden surface of its contents. “True, things could have been better, but they could also have been much much worse.”

Sarantani joined his side and with a blissful smile raked through the coins with her own hand. “And here I thought you're going to spill them on your bed and roll in them,” she said with a chuckle.

Captain Alden snapped his head around and narrowed his eyes at her. “I need to get you off this ship as soon as possible,” he strained through his teeth. “You already know too much.”

“It was just a guess,” the vixen put up her hands defensively, laughing. “It's what I would do.”

Anton rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “Do you still intent to go through with your 'fair share' approach to splitting the prize?”

“Why, yes indeed, I do, as a matter of fact. I'll need to do the math properly before we leave the northern waters, but I believe that if we sell the cargo we stashed away it should cover all our expenses for the trip, the repairs and the supplies we spent so far. Another thousand crowns will be needed to resupply after the journey back. Which leaves us with approximately eight thousand crowns to be shared by the crew, one half split evenly among the officers, the other among the rest. That makes over thirty crowns per ordinary sailor and over hundred and sixty for each of the officers, counting you and Áigesárri among those,” he added, turning back to Sarantani. “I wish we could give you more, but others might object. If it's not enough, we could try to manage-”

“It is enough,” she shook her head, still smiling, “remember, I joined this venture for the excitement, not for the profit. And don't worry about Áigi, he'll be content as well. I must say, though, you are quite generous with your men.”

“I still remember when I started myself, how disgruntled, outraged even, I was about the way prize money was distributed among the crew in the royal navy. And pedigree fleets are often no different. I find this way to be more fair and a content crew is always better than a mutinous one.”

“Content, but not spoiled,” Anton chipped in. “You need to balance generosity with authority.”

“Why yes,” this time it was the Captain who rolled his eyes, “that's why I have you on board. I wish I could make it one-third for the officers to two-thirds for the men,” he turned back to the vixen, “but I know Orsini would probably want to hang me for that. And I'm not sure Anton here wouldn't join him.”

“I don't care how much who earns, sir,” Anton objected, “but they must earn it. Officers have much more responsibility than deck hands and that should be taken well into account.”

“I suppose that in this regard, you are right, but the difference shouldn't be that high as it often is,” the Captain replied. “We can discuss these things more when we're actually rich. Which, at this rate, will take some time, but for tonight,” he closed the chest, “the dinner's on me.”

“A celebration then?” Sarantani queried.

“A small one. I still need the men to be capable of doing their work tomorrow. And it wouldn't be fair to those we left out there any other way.” He glanced out of the windows and at the sea beyond. The weather was good the past few days and they were still on schedule. There shouldn't be much to worry about. “As for today... ,” the Captain continued, “Anton, I want you and Bryson to thoroughly inspect the ship once more. Make sure we didn't overlook anything during the repairs. I'll check on the local market and place the orders. Tomorrow we'll resupply and make ready to sail. At first light the following day, we leave.” Then he turned to the vixen with an unspoken question on his face.

“I'll check on Sirbi,” she said, “and tell him he can stop hiding. And I'll ask around if there are any contracts suitable for you. You're be heading straight back south then?”

“I suppose so. The wolf was right, once the other fleets get here, there won't be much more reason to hang around. Although it's also a convenient reason to leave only after a few days without raising much suspicion.”

“I'll see what I can find. In the evening, then. Gentlemen?” And with that she left them alone in the wardroom with a chest full of gold.




They left Korstom two days later, just as planned. Both foxes came to the docks to bid their farewells, although in Áigesárri's case, that mostly consisted of just a curt nod and a murmured word or two. Whereas Sarantani's approach was much more cordial. She hugged the leopard first. “Take care, you big oaf. And give my regards to that spouse of yours. You have to visit sometime, both of you, I want to hear all the stories you two share.”

“I'd... love to, but we'll have to wait and see what she has to say about that,” he replied with an awkward smile. “Goodbye Sar.”

“Goodbye Anton,” she said to the silver fox, “it was nice seeing you again. And loosen up a bit, will you? You don't have to be so grim all the time.”

“Good fortune, Sarantani. And no, thanks,” Anton replied grimly.

“Captain,” she said finally, with a thoughtful smile. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure was mutual, I assure you,” he replied in kind and kissed her hand lightly. “If I may be so bold, I would like to continue where we left, in the future.”

“Let me know when you visit these waters again. I will be waiting,” she smiled and curtsied, despite being back in her 'merchant' clothes again. As a parting gift, she managed to arrange for an escort commission from one of her former business partners; two merchant galleys were to be awaiting their company for a journey back south in a few days from now.

They set sail with the first light, leaving the port with a light but steady breeze in their back. Running before the wind, the Esca accelerated quickly and soon left the coastal city as nothing but a diminishing tapestry of distant buildings on the horizon. With two uneventful days of a steady journey to their rendezvous point, the crew quickly eased into their routine. They decided to skip gun crew trainings for the time being, since both the Captain and Master Orsini agreed they were doing well enough in their last, and so far the only, battle. The overall mood on the ship was good, though not as elated as they could have been, were their victory, or their reward, more glamorous. Still, they all knew, that as long as they would stay afloat, more chances would come up. They just needed to make sure and keep it that way.

That meant, first of all, to figure out, why when they finally arrived to the meeting point, there was nobody there.

They anchored the ship at the mouth of the fjord, close enough to see over the whole length of the narrow rocky inlet, but there was nothing to be seen. No boats, no tents, no shelters, not even fires. No signs of life or movement whatsoever.

“Where the hell is she, Sirbi?!” Anton finally growled after more than an hour of fruitless waiting. “And where are our men?!”

“I don't know, dammit,” he cried out in frustration. “It's not like she would betray us, not like this,” he shook his head trying to think of something in vain. “If she's not here like she promised, something must have happened,” he said and scanned the landscape around them frantically. Anton watched him in thoughtful silence for a while, studying his features and at the same time imagining various scenarios of what could have had possibly happened.

“You're really worried for her, aren't you?” he said at length, more placidly this time.

“'Course I bloody am! I didn't marry her for money or some such!” the leopard retorted in frustration. Then heaved out a defeated sigh with a hand behind his neck. “I shouldn't be doubting her, she can take care of herself very well. But this uncertainty, only after seeing her after years of separation... .”

“Well, maybe they're just hiding,” the Captain chimed in. “You said she mentioned hiding spots around this place, let's hope they just had to hunker down to hide from some other raiders and will show up eventually.”

“Why would they be still hiding?” Anton objected. “There's not a soul around as far as the eye can see, but us. Surely they would recognize their own ship. And we can't keep lingering here forever.”

“We can wait till next sunrise,” the Captain said, “then we'll make a sweep across the strait and if nothing turns up we'll decide what to do then depending on the weather.”

So they waited. They waited for what must have been a couple more hours, when the sun already descended low towards the western horizon, the growing tension apparent with each passing moment.

Then, finally, a cry came from above: “I see something, starboard aft, …looks like a dinghy!”

All three of them hurried to the starboard gunwales and both the Captain and Anton pulled out their spyglasses. “Wait,” came another shout from the crow's nest. “There's more of 'em. Three I think.”

“Three?” asked Sirbi in confusion and puzzlement. “What does that mean?”

“It means it's not them,” Anton answered tiredly, “or that they have company.”

“Or they just found the third boat and your wife decided to build herself a new fleet,” added the Captain in a lighter tone, trying to ease the tension.

“Yeah, that does sound like her,” Sirbi retorted wryly. “Well?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“I'm not entirely sure,” the Captain muttered, “but I don't see anyone in the middle boat. Might be they just stashed their supplies in it to have more room.”

“The cutter looks familiar,” Anton added, “and I think I see Morgan up front, but it's hard to tell with certainty. They're still too far away and the haze isn't helping much.”

“Well, that bright spot in the back does look a bit like our leopardess... ,” the Captain announced, to which Sirbi perked up his ears and grabbed for the spyglass.

“Gimme that!”

With an amused smile the Captain surrendered it to him and turned to the bosun. “Let's get closer, shall we? The winds and currents aren't exactly in their favour today. Weigh anchor and turn her to a broad reach, jibs and topsails should suffice.”

The top deck and rigging rose to life again and in a moment the ship started turning slowly. Sirbi didn't seem to notice any of that and kept staring into the brass tube in his hand, his expression slowly easing up in relief. It was them. Then Anton noticed something else. “What in the world...,” he murmured and studied the incoming boats more closely. “Mister Wright,” he said at length.

“Aye, sir?”

“Send a word to the hold, it seems we'll be loading some more cargo.”

When the Captain arched his eyebrow at him he sighed and handed him his spyglass. “It's not just the middle boat,” the fox said with a tug of his muzzle, “all the boats are packed with stuff.”

“I hope they didn't raid anyone,” the Captain said, only half-jokingly, checking at the 'stuff' for himself.

“She struck me as too smart for that. And Morgan is sensible enough to not allow it,” Anton remarked. “They might have come upon somebody else's work however, or salvaged some cargo from a shipwreck.”

“I suppose we'll know soon enough.”

The closer they got, the more it was apparent that all three of the boats, the third being an old worn pram tied with ropes to the other two, were indeed stacked with goods. The Captain's eyes got a strange glint for a moment when they noticed there were small barrels and crates, often used to transport spices, liquor and precious fabrics. Morgan was standing at the prow of the cutter, he waved at them and shouted a greeting. When the boats finally reached them and were promptly tied in with lines, he was the first to climb up the ladder to the Esca's quarterdeck. Despite his visible fatigue he straightened up in attention when he spotted the Captain approaching him and said. “Capt'n, sir. Appologies for being a little late. If you'd allow me an hour I could write the full report for the logs...”

“The report can wait for later,” the Captain interrupted him with a wave of a hand and gesturing at the cargo now being brought onboard, “but please be so kind and tell me, what is the meaning of all this?”

“Ah, it was the wolf, sir. Turns out he knows where the bear used to stash some of his loot. Apparently he had several hidden caches in this area, and, well, me and the lads were thinking... he wouldn't be needing those anymore... ,” he added with a cheerful but tired smile.

“All this is Rybakov's loot from earlier?” Anton quirked an eyebrow.

“Aye, sir. ...It's not a problem, is it?” he added after a moment, suddenly less confident.

“It most assuredly is not,” the Captain slapped his shoulder with a short laugh. “Well done, Mr. Morgan, you and your men certainly deserve more than just a few extra rations of rum. Go get some rest now, Mr. Wright will take over.” With a grateful nod, the terrier turned to do just that and left straight for the lower deck, followed by the rest of his men and the newcomers, who slowly streamed aboard and looked just as weary. And at the very end, the leopardess herself and the apparent Man of the Day behind her.

She seemed a bit nervous when she finally stepped on the deck, maybe even more than her first time. That might have been also due to the low hum among the crew that only intensified when she did so. Preventing the rumours of their true plan from spreading throughout the ship was damn well impossible. Many, however, still seemed dubious about the part of her actually joining them. Until now. She seemed a lot more skittish now as well, but Anton could guess what was behind that too. The first time, she was still very much aroused from the fight and even after that effect dissipated, she was more or less plunged into another one. Back then, she had a 'mission', a task she could focus on. Now, she appeared lost, uncertain and without purpose. Or a target. Sirbi fixed that momentarily.

“Good to see you again, honey,” he smiled as he approached her.

“Wish I could say the same,” she retorted bitingly.

“Cold,” he shook his head, his grin not diminishing one bit, and embraced her. She let him, but didn't hug him back. She looked awkward... and exhausted just like the rest of them.

“You know, I've been thinking,” Sirbi continued in a lower voice, that only she and those standing very close to them could hear. “I want to give us one more try. I still believe we can make this work, now more than ever.”

“We've been through this before, Sirbi,” she shook her head and sighed tiredly. “Several times. It always ends bad.”

”I don't care how it ends, as long as there's at least some of the good along the way. Come on, it's worth a try.”

”Ever the optimist,” she muttered bitterly.

“It's different this time,” he pointed out. “We're both here now, away and free of our old lives, aren't we? We can start anew, do things the right way... .”

They were both silent for some time, before she spoke again “I'll think about it,” she said at length in a tone as if admitting a defeat, “but right now, I could really use some rest.”

“Right, I'll show you to your room.” They were about to pass by Anton, when she suddenly stopped again and turned to him.

“Ah... um- lieutenant? Apologies for the punch the other day-”

“Don't bother trying to pretend you didn't enjoy it,” he snorted with a sneer. “You clearly did.”

“Heh, guilty,” she smiled awkwardly. “I sometimes do get satisfaction from punching men, certain types of men in particular,” she added glancing at her restored partner.

“Well I am glad we have both of you then. Are you sure you don't want to reconsider your offer to her?” Anton asked the leopard sarcastically.

Sirbi only shrugged. “I'm used to it.”

He turned to the wolf next, who was already approached by the Captain. “So I hear we have you to thank for all this... 'merchandise',” the wolfdog said to him.

“I figured you might find some use for it,” the larger canine replied in a deep serene voice with only the barest hint of kadrushi accent, “glad to be of help.”

“I take it Mr. Morgan and Miss Tsolmon already informed you about our little plan and that you are in agreement with it...?”

“So they did. And yes, count me in.”

“Welcome to the crew then, mister...”

“Alvar Skaarenor,” the wolf split his muzzle showing his large white teeth in the process, “at your service.”



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...and it only took a year or so ;-p

to be honest, I could have posted this 2 weeks ago already, but there were too many more important loose ends I had to tie first, including some technical issues with my PC, and I figured since you all waited this long, what's two more weeks, ...right?