seasort with his gaze. “That is correct, Swab-mate Gregory. Our destination is indeed the island ahead,” he says.
Gregory nods his scaly head. “Well, I mean are you sure , this time? This is the third island you said that about, sir.”
The Captain is quiet a moment. The seaspray frolics across the deck. “Tell me, just who is the captain of this vessel, Gregory Gallsway?”
The seasort sighs and returns to wiping down the deck. “You, sir .”
“That is correct, and how many times did our assistant navigator turn to his dark side when charting the course?”
Gregory sighs again, glancing at the statuesque captain. “Every time, sir .”
“And how many times did I… Suddenly forget about double checking the course?”
“…Also three times, sir .”
The Captain nods. “As such, now that we have thrown Mr. Masthaven in the brig for his traitorous decisions, and I have not had a regrettable lapse in the past week on the subject of navigation, we can as such assume that this island is the correct one, and that it also contains our mark.”
Gregory nods with his brows raised in tolerance to The Captain. “Sure thing, sir. ”
A half-hour passes and the Nocturna is at the rim of the island, just five minutes away. Most of the sailors have lined up across the railing to look over their destination: Ketman’s Keep Island. It is a vast, verdant swamp island, its trees an impenetrable fortress from every direction but the single town on the island. Alien, feral sounds come from the swamp within, but when overlooking the sizable town there is nothing but laughter and joviality emanating from it.
“What’s ya’ think they celebratin’?” One seasort asks to his human friend.
“Could be anything,” he answers while scratching his dark chin, “maybe a holiday.”
A few Crew members exchange fanciful theories while The Captain, as mysterious and impenetrable as the swamp, approaches with his officer’s cap straight and in perfect condition.
“Gentlemen,” he nods to the large crowd men, fish men, and probably also fish. “Mademoiselles,” he nods again to two young ladies, one dressed as a cook, Grancis Vereyrty, and the other, an enthused Colette Ketiere, having just finished dawning expedition gear. He starts trotting to the side of the group. “As you all know, our charge for this mark is to find the ancient, supposedly magical book of the great witch Vuuya. It is said to grant wishes, and while we all have heard that one before-”
There’s a knowing guffaw shared between some of the sailors.
“-It is still our job to chase such wild dreams, and the O.E.L. will pay good money for it. Very good money; your paychecks for the next three months good money. And so though it is late in the day, I find no need not to initiate the expedition immediately and send our away team.”
Nods and agreements are given from a multitude.
“I have decided that this team will consist of myself as I am The Captain, Dunklestein the Daring should beasts or the locals prove to be a problem, Colette Ketiere for she desires experience in adventure and arms, and finally… Jim-”
An uproar overflows on the deck as concern and disapproval abounds.
“Gentlemen, please,” The Captain says quietly. The yelling continues and people bombard him with questions. The Captain cracks his knuckles, a sound that every sailor on the ship has been trained to be alert to, and the yelling quiets to a disgruntled muttering. “Very good. I have chosen Jim because he is among the best adventurers we have, and honestly I would rather him off the ship in the advent of his turning, especially on an empty moon, which is tonight-understand?”
While most of the crew is silent, some do nod their heads and generally agree.
“Very good, feel free to remain in port and go on shore leave as you see fit-Just remember if you hear the rifle, get the ship ready,” The Captain says, patting the strange, dark rifle strung around his