"What did we step into this time, Captain?" Anita asked.

Vincent's right hand was resting on the hilt of his rapier, a nervous tick he remembered doing in the hours before combat. His other hand had already patted his coat for a third time, checking to see if his pistol, extra shots, and bundles of powder were still in his pockets. "It seems Drummond's Spite has a fantastic economy in corporate-sponsored piracy. And the Sunward Matilda's captain didn't pay the 'membership dues' that are normally expected of reputable ships to help sponsor the safety of the skies," Vincent said.

"Huh?" a clerk asked. The young man was sitting at a large desk, searching through a thick ledger.

"That's officer speak for 'the Sunward Matilda didn't pay the bribes he was supposed to, and now pirates are chasing after them," Anita said. "Could have told you that much from the fuel purchases. The Sunward Matilda bought either enough fuel for a one-way trip fifteen days long, or a round-trip six days from here."

"Curious," Vincent said, stopping to try and envision his charts. "There's little out this way except The Reach and Freeman's Hold. And a Volante chartered ship wouldn't detour to the far end of Olencian skies to make the trip."

"Also, captain, at least a dozen other ships bought fuel within hours of the Matilda's departure."

"Two dozen," the clerk agreed. "Local skiffs, cutters, rafts, a couple of small sloops."

"Pirates who hide behind the local chapter of the Merchant Marine," Vincent concluded. "All of whom are acting like carrion birds. Hopefully, we can just follow the smoke from all those engines and find the Matilda. Anita, time to head back to the ship."

"Right with ya, Captain," Anita said. She followed him to the door, but stopped to give a quick salute to the clerks. "Much obliged, gentlemen. And so far as I can see, you have the most civilized community on this island."

Vincent lead them back up the stairs to the main floor. He marched to the front entrance, very nearly drawing his pistol as the dandyish fop that met him earlier. "Captain Locklear! Captain, the opportunities in carrying that cargo we discussed, are you not interested?"

"Afraid I'm a little pressed for time," Vincent said, as he pushed the door open. "Your local thugs have made my job quite a bit more difficult."

Vincent had expected the dandyish fop to abandon him at the door, and so he was surprised when the man followed Anita out, reaching the top of the stairway in front of the Chapter House just as Vincent made it halfway down. "Captain Locklear, I'm afraid I can't just leave it at that," the man said.

The preening sycophancy vanished like a wisp of smoke in a gale. Vincent turned back to see the man's uncomfortable smile vanish, his posture straighten, and a hand dip to a pistol hidden in the man's coat.

Vincent's own hand moved with practiced precision, and his weapon was pointed at the man's chest long before the other man had pulled it out of his pocket. "Any sudden moves, and I put a hole in your chest." Vincent announced, loud enough to draw the attention of the crowds around them.

Gasps and screams rose up in a chorus, and people shied away until a wide circle was formed around them. The dandyish man held his arm in his coat, and held still until the crowd settled. "With two fingers, draw your gun from your coat, and extend it towards the woman beside you," Vincent ordered, pointing with his other hand towards Anita. "Miss Hoffman, take his gun."

Reluctantly, the man extended the gun as far as his arm would allow, dangling it between his finger and thumb. Anita snatched it away, and slipped it into her pocket.

"Now, apologies that I never did catch your name, but that might work in your favour," Vincent said. "My ship and I are leaving. This will be reported to the Admiralty, and that is attention that you do not want. Now go back inside and drink your smuggled Calmoori gin until the navy comes along and sets up a customs and inspections house."

"You haven't heard the end of this, Mister Locklear, I promise you that," the man said, but he backed towards the doors with his hands in the air, and the eyes staring at Vincent's pistol were wide open.

Vincent turned around and made his way towards the edge of the crowd, Anita following just behind. They passed through the throng of people gathering around the entranceway, and Vincent put the building out of his sight as quickly as he could.

"Spit and grease, Captain, that was close," Anita said, as they rounded a corner. But Vincent didn't hear whatever Anita said next, as the sight up ahead stopped him from putting his pistol away.

Six people stood in the path, each standing a few feet apart from each other. All of them wore loose fitting clothes, slightly dirty and worn, with somewhat flamboyant colours on bandannas and belts. Red belts on each one, and all six carried cudgels and clubs.

"Well well," a woman with leathery skin said, as she took a step forward. She smiled a crooked, dilapidated smile, a smile that was missing both teeth and warmth. "Seems we've come across a pair of sailors in poor relations with the Charterhouse. And it's by the patronage of the charter that the skies around here are safe for sailors."

The others chuckled, and the woman hefted her cudgel. "That don't bode well for the two of you."

Vincent drew his pistol, shifted it into his left hand, and drew his sword. "Miss Hoffman, would you give them a warning shot? Straight up in the air. And don't worry about the bullet falling back down, Drummond's Spite doesn't have the pull for that."

"Aye, cap," Anita replied, and the relief in her voice was so pronounced her words sounded more like a sigh. She pointed the pistol straight up, and fired.

The people around the gap-toothed woman flinched. One of them even stepped backwards, flinching in fear.

"Bilge scum, that shot's going to attract attention. We kill them now!" The woman cried, and pointed her cudgel at Vincent. Vincent cringed, pointed his gun at her, and just as the six of them charged, pulled the trigger.

The woman spun in the air, kicking her feet out, and fell with that peculiar sluggishness unique to islands as small as Drummond's spite. Her companions managed more than a half-dozen steps before she finished falling.

"Damn," Vincent muttered, and holstered his pistol. "Anita, run for the market! I'll be right behind you!"

Anita turned and ran, stumbling a little as she began. There was trick to running on an island with such weak pull, but Anita only needed a few heartbeats worth of time before she was throwing herself across the distance. Vincent followed, sword in hand, with the other five pirates close behind.

"Move, move!" Anita cried out as she ran, waving frantically at the crowds ahead. They screamed, pointed, and threw themselves to the sides of the street. The screams grew more frantic when the crowd saw the unsheathed sword, and the thugs in pursuit. Adults grabbed children and threw themselves behind merchant stalls, others ran into side alleys, and others tried to press themselves against the buildings, hoping to stay out of the way.

"Anita, make for that balcony, the one above the bar!" Vincent shouted. Anita looked back as she ran, and Vincent pointed to his right. "Stop by the corner, I'll boost you up to it."

Anita turned sharply, and skidded to a stop in front of the bar. Vincent stopped beside her, let go of his sword, and linked his hands together. He held them palms-up by his knees. Anita, without hesitating, set her foot in his hands, and leapt up into the air just as he yanked her foot up as hard as he could.

Which, on an island as small as Drummond's Spite, is surprisingly far.

Anita flew up, past the second storey windows, and grabbed the balcony rails in the firm grip of someone used to holding tools. One-armed, she pulled herself the rest of the way up, kicked her feet out, and landed on the balcony.

Vincent whirled about just as one of them closed. The cudgel started to swing just as Vincent snatched his still falling sword. A flick of his wrist and the blade knocked the wood aside. Vincent pushed off with his leg and punched with the sword's guard into the man's face.

The man's face sounded like dry wood cracking as Vincent's metal guard broke teeth. The man's head snapped to the side, and he whirled in place, his feet leaving the ground. Vincent stepped backward, and swung his sword into a nearby washing pole, cutting it near the base. He held the stick in one hand, jumped up into the air, and shoved the pole into the ground as hard as he could.

He threw himself just above the second storey, and reached out to grab Anita's outstretched hand. She pulled him the rest of the way up, until he was firmly on the balcony.

Vincent breathed a sigh of relief, and looked back down. The man Vincent had pinched with his sword was sprawled out on the ground, and the other four were staring up angrily.

"Is there a way up to the roof?" Vincent asked. He sheathed his sword, and drew his pistol to reload it.

"There's a ladder built into the wall," Anita confirmed. "But Captain, looks like they've found friends!"

Vincent looked down as he pushed the shot into the pistol, and cringed. There were at least nine thugs down there, enough that one of them was willing to check on their injured comrade. "We keep running. Hopefully, we can keep to the rooftops until we reach the ship. Take the ladder."

Anita didn't respond, but the sound of boots clapping against metal was answer enough. Vincent in the meantime watched two of their pursuers set their hands out, preparing to launch someone else up to the balcony.

A smaller man set his foot onto their hands, and was launched up into the air. Vincent sprinted to the end of the balcony, and just as the man popped up into view, kicked the man hard in his chest. The man screamed and waved his arms as he flew back and down, slowly, towards the ground.

Vincent spun around and followed Anita up the ladder. Someone else was climbing up a ladder on the side of the building, but Anita lobbed her stolen pistol hard enough to crack the pirate's head back. Anita followed it up by shoving the ladder hard, sending it tumbling away.

"Anita," Vincent called out as he looked around. He used his sword to point to a line of wire that stretched to another flat-roofed building. "Use that clothesline to get across."

"What about you, captain?"

"I'll follow once you're across," he called out, shouting as he spun around. He faced the sharp clap of wood striking stone, as another ladder was set in place. Vincent threw himself across the roof, and reached the ladder just as someone climbed to the top of it. Vincent lunged, thrusting his rapier, and punched the tip clean through the man's shoulder.

The man screamed, stumbled on the ladder, and clutched his shoulder with his other hand. Vincent yanked the sword out and turner away, content to let the wounded man stay on the top of the ladder and block its use.

A glance over his shoulder revealed that Anita had reached the next building. Vincent dashed over to the clothesline and leapt off the side of the building, reaching out with his free hand. He grabbed it a moment later, and began to pull himself across the gap.

He was halfway when two of his pursuers reached the end of the clothesline. One of them drew his knife, wearing a dark sort of smile on his face.

Vincent fired his pistol. The smile disappeared as the man spun around and stumbled backwards, but his companion drew a cutlass and swung at the line.

Vincent pulled hard on the line just as it began to go slack, and the force of his pull was almost enough to carry him to the ledge of the next building's roof. Except the other end of the line snapped, and the pull of Drummond's Spite pulled him down just a little. Enough that he crashed into the wall, and couldn't reach the roof.

Other pirates ran towards where he was falling. Vincent twisted in the air, pointed his sword into the wall above his head, and shoved hard. With the extra push he fell fast enough to make it to the ground before the first pirate rushed him.

Vincent extended his rapier, and the woman charging at him panicked as she tried keep from throwing herself onto the blade. She leapt to the side and crashed into the wall. Vincent followed it up with a punch to the side of her head with his sword's guard, and shoved her now limp form into her approaching compatriots.

Vincent baked up as a half-dozen more thugs approached, glancing warily from one to another, when a swift black shadow passed overhead. Vincent looked up with a smile as a woman in a dusty grey coat and a hat with raven feathers shot down to the ground like a bullet, and hit the closest thug in the head with a long metal rod.

The rod was a favourite weapon among Wayfarers. A people used to doing everything in the weak pull between the isles, including fighting, the rod was as much a tool as a weapon. It had several hooks, and was reinforced on both ends for catching and pulling. And in the weak pull of an island like Drummond's Spite, Mercy was in her element.

She hit the ground and bounced back up into the air. She flicked her rod out, struck another man in the face, and shoved herself further up into the air as she pushed him backwards. Her rod snagged a nearby windowsill, and she hurled herself up over their heads.

Vincent charged the others, and wounded one with a jab of his rapier while she was looking up. The other three whirled to face him, and weren't watching as a man the size of a lifeboat smashed into all three, knocking them off their feet and shoving them halfway across the alleyway.

Which was a mercy, considering the weapon Leslie was using. The beastly thing was as tall as he was, nearly as wide at the base, and was made of the leftover steel sheeting that had made the Ravens' Child's hull.

"Hey, captain," Leslie said, as he he dug his toe into the ground and spun the weapon in his hand. His boots had two-inch long wedges at the toes, so that he could hold himself in place, in case the momentum of his absurd sword launched him off his feet."See you're making friends with the locals."

"Mercy, glad to see you," Vincent said, looking up at his lieutenant. "But why does Mister Madrigan have a piece of my ship's hull, instead of a sword?"

"You're just jealous that mine's bigger," Leslie retorted.

"You sound like Commodore Nottle," Vincent shot back.

"Now that's deeply offensive, captain," Leslie remarked, as he pointed that massive slab of steel at the small gang in front of them. "You wound me like I'm about to wound them.

Leslie rested the piece of ship hull on his shoulder, while Vincent reloaded his pistol. Mercy scuttled along the wall, her cutlass in her other hand, and waited nearby. Their pursuers, many of them wounded, banded together a dozen feet away, and looked at each other.

Vincent aimed his pistol at the thugs, and gestured with his rapier at the street behind them."You can always run away," Vincent suggested.

And to his profound shock, they took him up on his suggestion. Almost as a single body, they turned around and ran in the other direction. Some of them even tossed their weapons as they ran, scattering between alleyways and taking ladders to climb up and away.

"Captain," Leslie said. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide, as if he had just watched something fall up. "You ever see local knuckleheads gain that much good sense?"

"No," Vincent agreed. Suddenly suspicious, he turned around, to see a dozen men in dusty green uniforms running towards them. The first few scattered to nearby cover, and trained their weapons on Vincent and his companions.

"What's our play, captain?" Mercy asked.

"Sheathe weapons," Vincent ordered, and emphasized his point by holstering his pistol. "Unless I've missed my mark, this is the local constabulary."

Mercy pushed off the wall, and let herself fall to the ground. "They don't look much like a police force," she said.

"No," Vincent agreed. "They look more like Volante's frontier infantry. The rangers."

After several of the green-clad soldiers had taken positions, three of them marched forward. All three still had their weapons pointed at Vincent and his companions. A quick glance from one to the next, and Vincent realized that all three of them looked extremely nervous.

"Captain Vincent Locklear?" The woman in the middle of the approaching trio asked. "Former captain of the Hood?

"That would be me," Vincent replied, as he sheathed his sword.

"Lila Abercrombie, Sheriff of the Constabulary of Drummond's Hold," the woman in the lead said, and she shifted her rifle to rest on her shoulder. "You and yours will accompany me to headquarters. Your ship's been impounded, and you're all under arrest."