Nicolas caught himself turning around again as the long-boat made its way from the HMS Valiance back to the port. The Empire's flag ship was such a huge vessel that she seemed to take up all of the vast bay Landfall was located by. The other ships anchoring here, even ships of the line like she was, looked small next to her. The Valiance was about 77 yards long with six decks, armed with a hundred cannons and a crew of about 850 men. Well, one less now, as Nicolas officially was no longer her second lieutenant. His meager belongings had been packed hastily into his chest as he didn't want to waste any time or even begin saying goodbye to all the crew members which would have taken all day. Nicolas knew that he was rather popular among the crew because he treated everyone fairly and with respect. Under his watch, there had never been brutal disciplining measures. First Lieutenant Theobald Gatsby had told him time and time again that he was too lax and friendly with the deck hands, but Nicolas had learned from experience that people were much more willing to follow orders if treated decently. Gatsby for sure was a fellow officer he wouldn't miss.

Another matter was the man waiting for him at the quay. Now freshly promoted to replace him, Second Lieutenant Finnis Donal grinned at Nicolas as he disembarked off the long-boat.

"Ready to head off?" Finnis asked in his broad Caeran accent. As always, his orange hair had escaped the ponytail underneath his hat. He looked a bit too young to be a commanding officer with his freckles and boyish features, but Nicolas knew him to be only a few years younger than himself.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Nicolas replied. He gestured the sailor unloading his chest to put it on a waiting handwaggon. He would have to leave everything reminding of the Albian navy behind, so there wasn't enough left to fill a chest. It would be stored until he came back. He had already earned a few curious looks from the sailors when he had left the ship in civilian, plain clothes and not his uniform. Only a small duffel bag and his weapons would accompany him.

No one except Admiral Morton knew of his mission, and he hadn't told Finnis anything, either, but Finnis wasn't stupid and had of course guessed that this was something important and secret, not just a shore leave to visit the family or, worst of all, a dishonorable discharge.
"Whatever you plan on doing, you'd better be careful," Finnis said, holding out his hand. "And do come back in one piece. I won't give up my new post again, mind you, but you could replace Gatsby."

Nicolas took it, and they clasped hands around each other's wrists for a moment. "I'll try my best. And you take good care of the admiral and the Valiance in the meantime."

Finnis nodded and let go. "Blessings of the Sea Goddess to you." He stepped into the long-boat that would take him back to the Valiance.

Nicolas turned and left the footbridge with brisk steps without looking back.

 
This was the beginning of his new life now. He was no longer Nicolas Gordon, son of a noble family and a navy officer. He was Nico Ordano now, raised in Calez by an unmarried mother who had been seduced by an Albian sailor. He had been working at sea all his life, mostly on various trade ships, and gotten some education due to the help of some well-meaning captains. He was looking for more in life, however, and would take up any offer he would get from someone promising freedom, riches, and equality past all social status.

That last aspect of his new identity Nicolas was still coming to terms with. The pirates were rumored to treat everyone according to their abilities, not their heritage. They elected their captains with even the smallest cabin boy having a vote as important as the first mate, and the captains elected seven of their own to form the atoll council, with the legendary Admiral Heron as their chairman. That dreaded, cunning old pirate hadn't been seen for some years now, but his name was still feared. Albian mothers even used to tell their children that Captain Heron would come and get them if they didn't behave.

But what Nicolas needed now was fresh news, not some old stories. If he really wanted to sign up on a richly laden trade ship that had the greatest chance of being captured, he had to know more about recent attacks. And if he was really lucky, he could find a way to get in contact with some pirates on land. They were tolerated at some ports in Calez, but he had no idea were exactly. But Nicolas knew whom he could ask.

* * *

The Spyglass Inn's taproom was so completely filled with smoke that Nicolas needed a moment to find his bearings as he entered. Even now, in late morning, dozens of sailors sat around drinking, smoking pipes, and shouting at each other to make themselves heard over the general noise. Nicolas slowly made his way through the closely standing, packed benches until he reached the bar.

Behind it stood a tall, broad, bald man with tattooed arms, and polished some glasses. He was called Lazy Jack, although he was anything but lazy, a former navy sailor and old acquaintance. He had been quartermaster when Nicolas had started his service as cadet. Over the years, they had often helped each other out, and when Lazy Jack had left the navy to become an innkeeper instead, Nicolas had lent him some money he had not wanted back so far.

Lazy Jack looked up when he saw Nicolas approach and was about to shout some friendly greeting, but Nicolas quickly gestured him to stay silent. He sat down on a stool at the bar and pointed at the big barrel of rum behind Lazy Jack. When Lazy Jack put a full glass in front of Nicolas, he leaned close and said as softly as his rumbling voice allowed, "Anythin' else, sir?"
"I need your help," Nicolas replied under his breath and took a gulp of rum. It was awful, as always. Nicolas had never understood why sailors loved this horrid brew. "And I'm here as a private man."

Lazy Jack nodded and returned to polishing glasses, but stayed close to Nicolas so they could talk in relative privacy. Thankfully, none of the customers were interested in the least in their conversation.

"You get all kinds of customers in here. Did you ever hear from one of them meeting up with some... unsavory seafaring folks in, say, certain Caletian ports?"

Lazy Jack furrowed his bushy black brows. "Aye. I heard some talkin'. Some of me customers swear up and down they met real gentlemen o' fortune at the port of Llanos and drank with them. It be the smallest and southernmost of the Caletian islands." He stopped as if trying to remember. "Them mentioned a tavern called the Undead Sailor, me think. Unlucky way to name a place, aye."

There it was, a real first hint. "Did they hear who is capturing the most ships at the moment? Did someone step up to claim Admiral Heron's infamous legacy?"

"Seems like the ol' navy isn't on top o' things no more if you have to ask me," Lazy Jack replied with a grin. "There's a lot o' talk. Didn't you hear about our tradeships Veronica, Dolphin, and Lady Ellis? Them got captured in the last three months or so, and it was always the same ship. A small, fast brigg, them said, no longer than 30 yards, painted in the color o' mist. The bastards sneaked up from behind in a foggy early mornin' and destroyed the helm and the shrouds with a few perfect shots from a swivel gun. The ships were helpless like birds with them wings cut. There was almost no fights." Lazy Jack leaned closer to Nicolas. "The ship's name was Siren's Call, them said, and aside from the odd paint, it looked a lot like Admiral Heron's famous old ship, the Siren. She was rumored to be the fastest vessel ever built, a one-of-a-kind. The captain, however, wasn't ol' Admiral Heron. The sailors who saw him were terrified, and that means somethin' for an Albian salt!"

"Why?" Nicolas asked.

"Them said," Lazy Jack murmured and looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, "that the captain was a ghost."

Nicolas had expected anything, but not this. Despite the grim topic, he stifled a laugh. He knew how terribly supersticious sailors were, but it was usually talk of bad omens like an albatross on deck or the ship's cat behaving oddly. Some even swore they had seen a real siren, although it was usual just the fin of a dolphin or a shark. But a ghost, commanding a real ship, capturing real other ships, was something new.

"I don't suppose this ghostly captain introduced himself to them?" Nicolas asked, trying to make a straight face again.

Lazy Jack gave him a look. "Of course not! Them said he didn't say nothin'. He had only one eye, but he stared at them in a way that made them bones frozen. His first mate did the talking. She and the rest of them crew was normal living people."

"She?" Nicolas had heard that the pirates took on women as crew members and even captains, but had, so far, never met one of those enterprising ladies.

"Aye." Lazy Jack's grin came back. "An' a real beauty she was. A Caeran, with reddish hair and all. Armed to the teeth, them said, and keeping order like the toughest of navy officers. She told them to give up them cargo without a fight or sink them all down into the Sea Goddess' embrace. After taking everythin', them left and vanished into the mist." He hesitated. "Five of me customers told that same yarn, and swear up and down it be true. And those stories go back a year now. Only the attacks on our ships gotten so often, them sailors admitted that them saw the ghost captain months and months back already."

Nicolas just nodded and took another sip of his rum. He had a lot to think about. Of course he was sure that this mysterious captain was no ghost, but a very cunning man with an excellent tactic. No one had ever thought of painting a ship to hide it in the usual morning fogg, although the attack on a ship's helm and shrouds to disable it was something Admiral Heron had been famous for. Maybe he had given his ship to a successor, someone adamant on building as terrible a name as the old admiral. And then there was the fact that Nicolas hadn't heard all of this so far, although this mysterious captain was haunting the oceans for about a year already. Usually the navy was a cauldron of rumors, but obviously the supersticious fear of this seemingly ghost had kept the sailors from mentioning it to their superiors. But one thing was clear: that man, whoever he was, was extremely dangerous.

* * *

Nicolas hadn't expected the passage to Calez to be this quick and uneventful. There had been no pirate attack, but the fast, small trade ship he had taken hadn't been loaded enough to be worth the bother, so he hadn't really expected it.

He took his duffel bag and walked down the footbridge where the ship had landed at sunset. Llanos looked like a typical port town from what he could make out, although it didn't seem to be a very wealthy settlement. Most of the buildings lining the quay were made of wood, some with dangerously crooked roofs. Lights were lit everywhere as night fell much quicker than Nicolas was used to in Albia. There, half the day it was either dusk or dawn. It was much warmer here, as well. Nicolas was wearing only a light coat and no vest over his shirt, but he was already sweating.

The Undead Sailor Inn was just a few more steps ahead. It was one of many unsavory looking taverns located in a ramshackle hut with a sign over the door. Despite the flaking paint, Nicolas recognized the caricature of a skeleton in sailors' clothes, dancing with a skantily-clad woman. Nicolas hesitated only for a moment before he pushed the door open.

At first, the interior looked and smelled like The Spyglass Inn or any other tavern he had visited, but the clientele was slightly different. Nicolas needed a moment to realize that there were a lot of well-dressed customers among the usual sailors, and also some rather rough-looking men with scars on their faces and pistols and cutlasses at their sides. He had never been eye to eye with a pirate, because no pirate ship had ever dared to attack the Valiance, but he had heard enough stories and seen enough hanged corpses drying in the sun at the executioner's dock in Landfall to know how proper pirates looked like. He had come to the right place.

Nicolas was roughly shoved aside by two men entering the tavern. "Don't stand there blocking the damn door!" one of them snarled at him in Caletian. Both of them were heavily armed and richly, but tastelessly dressed. "Never seen a tavern before?"

"Watch your mouth, you landlubber!" Nicolas realized too late what he had said, although, thankfully, it had been in Caletian as well. His hand was on the heft of his cutlass already.
The men just roared with laughter, slapped him on the back and passed him by. Nicolas watched them join two other equally adventurously-looking men at a table. Although they seemed promising, he had to learn more first. Nicolas went over to the bar. The man behind it looked like Lazy Jack's twin, only with a huge black mustache. Even the tattoos showed exactly the same pictures of crooked hearts, anchors, and sultry-looking mermaids. Nicolas blinked, the smoke watering his eyes.

"Rum or grog?"

"Rum." Nicolas didn't want any of the doubtlessly home-destilled poison, but he had no choice if he wanted to be taken seriously here. He stopped staring at the bartender and took a seat.
"For me a double rum with three green lemons and extra sugar." Nicolas turned to look at the person who had just joined him at the bar with such an extravagant order.

It was a young man, probably in his mid-twenties, dressed in a white shirt with ruffled sleeves that hid most of his hands, embroidered crimson vest, and matching britches. His hair, colored like the priceless red wine in the empress' antechamber, was tied to a loose ponytail that went down his back, reaching his belt. His face was pale, not even freckled, betraying an indoor life. Although the coloring had already given him away as Caeran, the man's accent was proof enough.

"I don't have that fancy stuff," the bartender grumbled. For a second, Nicolas thought there was a flash of wariness in the man's eyes, but then he was just leering. "But I could rent ye a nice room upstairs for a good price. If ye want to set up... business."

"I'll think about it if you give me at least my double rum. And I think you forgot this gentleman here." The Caeran turned towards Nicolas. His face was aristocratic, all clear lines and high cheekbones, the perfection only marred by a thin, vertical scar running through his left eye and brow.

"I'm in no hurry," Nicolas replied. "I just arrived here."

"Me as well. Not my usual standards, but beggars can't be choosers." Misty blue eyes like the sea at his home shores seemed to assess Nicolas from head to toe. "Do you have plans for this evening?"

"No, not really until now." Nicolas grabbed the glass the bartender had placed before him and took a big gulp. It tasted awful, as expected, but the heat warming his stomach was reassuring since the strange man's gaze was a bit unnerving. Nicolas had never picked up any strumpets at the taverns like the deckhands did when on shore leave, but had usually accompanied his fellow, mostly unmarried officers into elegant establishments. The ladies and gentlemen there had been well-spoken, refined, and, above all, clean. This Caeran was, no doubt, from one of those establishments and now down on his luck.

When Nicolas put his glass back on the table, he noticed that the Caeran was just emptying his double rum with a disgusted face. "Hey, good man, where do you get this? It tastes like old boots."

The bartender grinned. "It's rum, what do you expect? No one knows were it comes from. Maybe it be brewed in old boots after all? And the name is Crazy Jack, if his Lordship wants somethin' else."

"I'll pass. But I'll take that room," the Caeran replied with another glance at Nicolas. "If it's not too expensive."

"Three silvermoons, or if you only have that filthy Albian currency, five silver rials. Ten for a week."

The Caeran fished three tiny silber orbs from his pocket and let them roll over the table toward Crazy Jack who in return gave him a rusty key. "I'll tell you tomorrow if I stay longer."

Nicolas had debated with himself whether to ask this bartender if he really had a doppelganger in Landfall, but decided not to. It was just a strange coincidence. If he thought about it, a lot of bartenders he had seen in his life had looked and sounded more or less the same. Much more interesting was the young man next to him. And aside from the obvious, whores were usually very well-informed and loved to gossip.

"I think I'll stay the night here as well," Nicolas said and took another sip of rum.

"Sorry, sir, but that was the last room. But you can share, of course. I won't charge double." With a wink, Crazy Jack went to the other end of the bar to serve some customers there.

"I don't mind sharing," the Caeran said and shoved the empty glass away from him, looking at Nicolas again with a slightly tilted head. A lock of red hair fell over his marred eye, giving Nicolas the sudden urge to reach out and push it back from his face. "Do you?"

"Problem is, I can't pay," Nicolas admitted truthfully. A big purse might have given him away, so the few coins he had with him were fitting to his new role.

There was the ghost of a smile tugging at the Caeran's lips, softening the cleanly cut lines of his face in invitation. "Don't worry. I'm just enjoying my evening. And if I'm enjoying it enough, I might end up paying you instead."