"I guess you all wanted to know why I called you for this council on such a short notice. We do have a problem," Admiral Robard Heron declared. His sharp gaze wandered over the two women and five men at the huge, round oak table. The large assembly room had no windows and was only dimly lit by some lanterns lining the stone walls and a chandelier right obove the table. In its light, all the faces of the council members present were clearly visible.

Heron finally fixated on the man sitting opposite. "And you, Alastair, are right in the middle of it. You captured three Albian trade ships in the last month. The Empire will retaliate for sure, and we'll all have to deal with the consequences. I didn't give you my ship to start a war!"

For a second, the room stayed quiet, but then the atoll council members, leaders of the free pirate nation, started to talk all at once. Six voices, some calm, some agitated, declared six or seven different opinions on the matter. The addressee of these accusations, however, kept quiet, returning Heron's admonishing gaze with only one steady, cold eye, the other one hidden beneath a white, embroidered eye patch.

"Order on deck!" Heron finally bellowed and slapped his hand on the table, making the half-empty glasses on it shake. "Alastair, do you have to say something?"

Captain Alastair Blake leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why should I? You already made up your mind - Dear ladies and sirs," he said, looking around the table. "You all captured or sank an Albian ship at least once. Often enough, it was for self-defense because they've become more aggressive by the year. I merely decided to take the fight to them. The war that our dear admiral fears so much has already begun - and the Albians did start it, not me."

For a moment, it seemed as if everyone present was about to say something again, but they kept quiet. One by one, their eyes wandered from Alastair to Heron.

"Yes, Albia is trying to expand its influence over the seven seas," Heron allowed. "This is nothing new to us. Emperor Edwin III. decided to make his little island the center of the world some decades ago, and his daughter, Empress Valory, is even worse. People shouldn't hold that much power when they're still young enough to have a need to impress everyone." That glare at Alastair was back again. "We can't change Albia's political course. But we can lay low for a while."

"Captain Blake is right," said Captain Shian Fu, her dark, slightly slanted eyes blazing combatively as usual. She was a small, slim woman in green and violet silks, but the authority in her dark, accented voice was compelling. "Sooner or later, Albia will try to eradicate us once and for all. It doesn't matter how many of their ships we sink. So I suggest we sink as many as possible to weaken them. Maybe it'll be enough for their little empress to decide we aren't worth the bother."

"And if she decides to form alliances with other nations?" Johnston Bellwether, the owner of the trade outpost, replied, stroking his beard. Next to the wiry, muscled pirate captains, he always looked downright common in Alastair's eyes with his portly figure and serious merchant's clothing. "Calez and Jeraine have big fleets as well. What happens if all of them decide to hunt us?"

"Calez is a country of merchants, and we have our arrangements with them," Captain Ruiz Realdo said, as usual the voice of reason, although his black wig and crimson coat made him look menacing. "And the five Duchies of Jeraine are far too busy fighting among each other. The only duchy with good ships is Ilron, but on their own they are almost powerless. I think all of this is a waste of time. Captain Blake, I agree with Admiral Heron. Let's leave the Albian ships in peace for a while, and everything will be back to normal in no time." A metal hook, replacing his right hand, clanked on the table for emphasis.

Heron waited for a moment, but no one else spoke up. Lissa Evans, who ran the Monkey Inn, Luckytown's biggest establishment, was a peaceful soul, so her position in those matters was always clear. She just pulled nervously at her long brown braid. She was Caeran and should be having stronger opinions on the matter of Albia's expansion.

Captain Gean Lavertine's handsome face was as usual a smug smile, as if this was all a private joke to him, but he kept silent as well. The last of the captains, Jaka, wore his usual unreadable expression underneath his turban. Alastair knew him to be a fierce fighter, but it was impossible to tell how he saw the matter.

"Vote, everyone," Heron ordered. "Who of you says aye to leaving Albian ships in peace for, let's say, six months?"

One by one, hands and hooks were raised, until it was four to three. Aside from Alastair and Captain Fu, Captain Lavertine had voted for the continued fight. But he was a Jerainian and held no love for the Albians, so it wasn't that suprising to Alastair.

"It's decided then," Heron said. "Alastair, this is a decision of the council. I expect you to follow it."

Alastair took a look around, grabbed his glass of rum and gulped it down in one move while the other council members got up from their seats and left the hall.

Admiral Heron hadn't moved. He still sat opposite Alastair, combing with his fingers through the long braids in his beard. There were a few more silvery strands in it than a few weeks before when they had last met, and they were Alastair's fault for sure.

It was silent for a moment before some rustling noises and the little shriek of an animal came from under the table. Heron's embroidered vest holding his ample middle moved, and finally a familiar, small brown head with a tiny tiara on it appeared between two locks of Heron's long beard.

"Valory, where have you been, you evil little thing!" Heron's grumbled. "Found something to eat under the table again, hm?"

The little female monkey fully appeared, gathered up the hem of the blue doll's dress she was wearing before she sat down on the table. She grabbed Heron's glass and started slurping the rum like she always did when no one stopped her.

"Do you really think that the Albian empress is as stupid as your little pet?" Alastair pointed his gloved finger at the silly monkey. "Just give her some little treats, and she will behave? Admiral, you know how highly I think of you, and I've always respected your decisions. But this is a grave mistake." A fatally stupid and dangerous one, actually - why couldn't Heron realize this?

Heron sighed. "And you always know better, right? Damn it, I really thought that being captain would soften you a bit, let you feel the weight of responsibility. What about your crew? Do you really want to lose them to some Albian cannons, or worse, to an Albian executioner?"

Heron really should know him better than that. This wasn't about personal glory at all. "I didn't lose a single man or woman during the year I captained the Siren's Call! And I don't intend to start losing people now."

"That's another thing!" Heron snapped. "This beauty was called the Siren, and you should have kept the name. It's bad luck to rename a ship."

Alastair laughed. "If I remember the stories correctly, she started out as a Caletian ship called Halcon before you captured her, made her yours, and renamed her. That would have meant bad luck for you as well, right? But we're both not the superstitious type, so please."

"It's not the same! Pirate ships need proper names, and I don't like the sound of Caletian. It twists my tongue."

It was their old dispute again, and it was getting them nowhere as usual. Alastair had his reasons for renaming the ship as well as altering her appearance after taking over as captain, but Heron would never fully understand despite his experience. Alastair stood up. "If there is nothing else, I'd like to return to," he emphasized the next two words with full intention, "my ship. I'm sure there are some profitable Caletian ships out there to catch. If you don't mind."

The monkey gave a little burb and put the glass down. Heron quickly pushed her away from it which made her stumple and lose her balance. With another shriek, she rolled over the table.

"Just make sure they don't belong to our allies in Calez," Heron said. "The last thing we need is angering them as well. The Caletian free port is invaluable for our business. Do you hear me?"

The free ports they had were indeed essential for trade and information, and against Albia, the pirates needed any allies they could get. Did Heron really think he was that stupid?
Alastair just turned around and left the assembly hall.

* * *

In contrast to the dim candlelight of the assembly hall, the day outside was almost painfully bright. From the little hill the assembly hall, a huge stone building, was located on, Alastair could overlook almost the whole town that stretched out before him, right down to the harbor. The town was a chaotic mass of houses made of wood, stone or bricks surrounded by some small fields, Left and right was the jungle that covered most of the island. The bright blue ocean beckoned beyond the harbor. Alastair squinted with his remaining eye at the glaring sun and took a moment to get used to it again. He put on his hat and followed the small paved way down from the assembly hall into Luckytown.

It was time to return to his ship. He didn't like crowds too much, and Luckytown was bustling with hundreds of people milling about - farmers, merchants, and of course a lot of sailors. It could have been a typical seaside town in Albia or Caera except for the fact that there were no soldiers or guardsmen in Luckytown. The free citizens of the Fortune Atoll didn't like to be watched by authorities. And would any Albian citizen believe that there was indeed a kind of honor among thieves, keeping the pirates from stealing from each other? Certainly not. So far, it had worked well because there were no harsher disputes than a drunken brawl at the tavern.
"What took you so long?"

Alastair had reached the foot of the hill and stepped onto the dusty main street. Against the glaring light, he hadn't seen Evangielle who was waiting for him, although her appearance was nothing to be overlooked. She grinned, tilting back the brim of her blue tricorn.

"The good old admiral had some more things to discuss," Alastair replied and held out his arm which she took. Side by side, he walked with Evangielle through Luckytown's main street like a happy couple on a sunday stroll.

"You argued with him again, didn't you?" she asked. "I saw the faces of the other captains when they came out, and Shian told me about your vote. She wasn't happy with it, but the council's vote is final."

"I know that," Alastair hesitated for a moment. They had already talked about this, but now things had changed. "I can't let the Albians do as they please. They annexed Caera, they built outposts in Shawa, Qiristan, and on the Akalu islands, and one day soon, they will be standing on our shores as well."

"And how should they manage that?" Evangielle asked. She stopped for a moment to take a look at the windows of one of the many little shops selling trinkets. To Alastair's eyes, every window in this street was decorated with exactly the same six goblets, five pearl necklaces, four fake Akalu ceremonial masks, and three ugly dresses, but Evangielle loved these things. "They can't get to us. And no pirate captain or navigator will ever teach them how to use our charts. No bribe in the world will be high enough, and they'd all rather die than spill our secrets under torture."
"I really wish I could believe it." Alastair made her look at him again with a tug of his arm. Her eyes, identically blue to his one left, seemed to darken with her emotions as she listened. "We have to be careful. I don't think we can trust all the captains."

Evangielle didn't reply instantly. They continued on their way, and although she paused here and there to look at some more displays or windows of the shops, she seemed distracted. As they reached a crossing, her smile was back, and she slapped his arm as they continued on their way. "What about Captain Lavertine? Did he make eyes at you again?"

"He did. And today, he voted in my favor. I bet he wants something in return for it. He'd say I'm in his debt even if we didn't win the vote."

Evangielle's laughter was so loud that a few more people turned their heads as the pair walked by. Alastair was used to the looks he always got. People feared when he was dressed like now in what Evangielle called his "ghost captain's uniform": a silvery coat and matching white britches, chalked long wig and white-painted face with lots of kohl around his good eye. But Evangielle with at his side, who was an object of admiration with her curvaceous figure, flying cinnamon-colored curls and delicate face, people were even more kept at a distance. Three half-drunken and heavily armed sailors, however, didn't give them a wide berth like the other passers-by, and leered at them. Alastair grabbed Evangielle's arm tighter. Her muscles were already tense, her fingers just inches away from the pistol at her belt.

The sailors, however, passed by, only staring. Alastair was not keen on a demonstration of Evangielle's sharpshooter talents or the secret unarmed combat techniques of Shawa she had learned from Captain Fu. Not now, at least.

After another hundred yards, they reached the port of Luckytown. Dozens of big ships, all belonging to a captain of the council, anchored in the bay, and a handful of smaller ones, along with the long-boats, had moored at the footbridges. The noise and, even worse, the stench was incredible: deckhands loading and unloading wares and supplies, among them living stock, merchants selling and buying on the spot, dirty children running around and chasing some escaped chickens, slightly ragged-looking strumpets of both genders offering themselves to the bystanders.

"Is the ship ready?" Alastair asked and quickened his steps towards the long-boat waiting for them. "I know we've been here only for a few days, but I'm not eager to stay any longer."

"Of course. We all know that our captain doesn't like solid ground under his feet for too long," Evangielle teased. "I told the crew that we'll weigh anchor at sunset. They can sleep off their buzz then. Thankfully we have enough people aboard who will be sober. Sometimes I think we have the most well-behaved pirate crew there ever was."

"That we have. I don't need a ship full of drunkards and scalawags if we want to continue our streak of fortuitous attacks."

"Do you know where we should head to next? We could..."

Evangielle was interrupted as a dirty boy ran toward them and hastily bowed. "Sir, I have a message," he murmured and held out a sealed letter.

Alastair fished a few coins from the pocket of his coat and let them fall into the boy's grubby hands. "Thank you."

The messenger ran off, and Alastair opened the wax seal. It held no sign of its sender.
Evangielle craned her neck to take a look. "Well, what is it? A love letter from one of your many admirers?"

Alastair showed her the letter. In neat, flowing script, it read: "Captain Blake, I have an important offer to make. Go to the Undead Sailor Tavern at Llanos. The innkeeper has a message if you are interested. Tell him to give you a double rum with three green lemons and extra sugar. A friend."
Evangielle's eyebrows vanished under the brim of her hat. "You are not going, are you? This could be a trap!"

Alastair crumpled the letter to a ball and threw it into the water. "A trap?" he echoed and grinned. "From my fellow honorable pirates? Maybe. But I rather think that someone doesn't want to stick to the council's vote. And neither will I."