"And now to the verdict."

The room was empty except for a big screen and a couple of unused chairs in front of it. He was standing, fists balled, staring at the screen. It showed the live feed of an almost empty courtroom. There were just the judge, two uniformed guards and the convicted.

"Accused 7034, stand up," the judge ordered, all white wig and black robes like a ghost of the past. The man in question obeyed. His face was turned away and not visible on the screen.

"I hereby sentence you to a life-long penalty, without any possibility of probation, for the near-deadly assault on victim FKLN1825. The sentence is equal to that of second-degree murder, because of the severity of the crime. Although the victim is technically still alive, FKLN1825 is in a coma with little to no chance of ever waking up again. We also took into account the fact that the shock of learning of FKLN1825's fate, her father, already ill, suffered a fatal heart attack. Accused 7034, although you were under the influence of drugs at the time of the crime and keep claiming that you don't remember anything, the fact remains that you are responsible for the end of two lives. This court is closed."

The hammer was slammed onto the wooden desk with a dull thud, and the guards stepped forward to escort the accused out of the courtroom. His face was visible on the screen for only a moment. Dark hair, blurred features.

He stared at that figure on the screen, burning its vague shape into memory for all times.

"I'll find you." A whisper, tense and hoarse. "I swear I'll find you. You can't hide from me."
The screen went dark, and a moment later, a door behind him was opened.

"Sir, it's over. Shall I take you home?" A familiar voice. It belonged to a tall man in a black suit, his imposing figure framed by the harsh light of the corridor beyond.

"I can't go home." He didn't turn around. "I don't think I can ever go home again."

Hesitation. "Sir, what about your father? The funeral..."

He kept his voice calm and cold, although he knew he was visibly shaking. "Father is gone. I can't do anything for him now except following and punishing that bastard. This is far from over."

"Follow him? Sir, you can't..."

"Don't tell me what to do!" He turned toward the door. "Take me to the lab. I need to make some preparations."

Without waiting for an answer, he took a few quick steps to leave the room.

The man standing in the door frame obediently gave way. "As you wish, sir."

Another whisper, a promise. "There's no way he can escape. Sooner or later, I'll get to him. And she will help me."

The door to the empty room closed behind him with a sound of finality, like the lid of a coffin.

* * *

Alastair sat up in bed, gasping for air. The room was only dimly lit by the light of the gutterin street lanterns streaming through the cracks of the wooden shutters. A small room, smelling slightly of dust, with no real comfort except for the narrow bed. It had been rather astonishing that the old furniture had withstood the activities of the last hours and afterwards accommodated two and not exactly small men.

Alastair took a few deep breaths. It had only been a nightmare, and certainly not his worst one. And he was still here, in a room above the Undead Sailor Inn in Llanos, waiting for the innkeeper to finally get the mysterious message to him. Of course Crazy Jack hadn't been able to pass any secret note in public, so renting a room had been a perfect opportunity. Sharing it with someone hadn't been exactly Alastair's plan in the first place, but as he had said, he had wanted to get at least some enjoyment out of the evening.

Alastair looked down at the sleeping man beside him who had still flung an arm over Alastair's waist and thus kept him from getting up completely. Black hair had fallen over the eyes, softening the chiseled lines of the tanned face. He was a bit too tall and broad-shouldered for a typical Caletian although he spoke the language accent-free and introduced himself as Nico Ordano in the two or three seconds before they had started to rip each other's clothes off.

Slowly, Alastair pushed the arm aside to free himself and got up from the bed. His britches and boots had landed underneath it while he had somehow managed to leave his shirt on. Alastair pulled his sleeve further down over the bandage he was wearing around his left hand and wrist. He was usually wearing gloves, hiding the bandage completely, but tonight it would have been unfitting for the little role he had been playing. With a few, quick movements, Alastair tied his hair back after he had found the black ribbon somewhere. Nico had pulled it out, combing through Alastair's hair with his calloused fingers before touching it to his lips in a strangely reverent gesture.

A quick look though the shutters told Alastair that it was about to dawn outside. He wouldn't wait much longer.

Someone knocked softly on the door. Alastair quickly put on his britches, pulled the tiny dagger from the hidden pocket in his left boot and went to the door, opening it just a crack.

It was Crazy Jack. He leered at Alastair's still rather disheveled appearance. "Now a good time to talk?"

"Yes, and do it quickly," Alastair whispered back.

Crazy Jack scratched his bald pate. "Me was actually expectin' some of them gentlemen of fortune to collect that letter, but oh well. I guess you'll get it to that certain ghost captain, aye? You and him are special friends, I gather?"

"Yes, I work for him. The message?"

Crazy Jack fished a crumpled letter from the pocket of his dirty apron and held it out. "Breakfast be ready in an hour, sir." Then he was gone.

Alastair looked over to the still form on the bed to make sure that his companion was still soundly asleep before he opened the wax seal. It held again no sign of its sender, but the note was written in the same handwriting as the first one.

"Captain Blake, I'm sorry for being so mysterious, but I wanted to make sure that you receive this message far away from the prying eyes of the other council members. I also know that you won't say in Luckytown. While I'm writing this, I fear that I already know what Admiral Heron will tell us once we gather for the extraordinary council meeting. If I'm right, I'll get the message to you as soon as the meeting is over. The fact that you are reading it now means I am right.
And I also know how you think of the Albians. There can be no peace with them. You know how they oppress Caera, and I know how they use my home country's internal conflicts to weaken them. As long as Jeraine is split into its five duchies, each with their own agenda, it will never be a strong, united force. There is talk, however, that Duke Roual of Devris will soon announce his engagement to Lady Arlette, daughter of Duke Pachel of Ilron. This will form a permanent alliance between Devris and Ilron. Before long, Duke Roual will use these new ressources to make himself Grand Duke and rule over all of Jeraine. Empress Valory surely won't sit around and wait for this to happen. Before she tackles Jeraine, however, she wants to get rid of us once and for all.

You and I both know that we can't fight Albia on our own, and even if all the pirates would stand with us, Albia has too many ships and resources. Our strongest weapon is secrecy, but once we lose that, we are lost. I recently made the acquaintance of a former, high-ranking Albian Navy officer who is now trading for his own account. Admiral Heron hasn't allowed him yet to come to the Fortune Atoll, so if you're interested in what he has to tell you, you can meet him in Juna. He'll be there for the next few weeks. Ask for Damien Harris. I'll also contact anyone from the council who will be for sure on our side as well, and we can all meet up in Juna to discuss our next steps. Together, we might stand a chance.

Your servant, Cptn G.L.

PS: I would love to repeat our little rendez-vous from two years ago. Maybe we can get a moment or two alone the next time we meet?"

Alastair suppressed a sigh. Captain Gean Lavertine was a handsome man and it had been fun, but back then, Alastair had just been Admiral Heron's first mate. He would never keep up any private relationship with one of the other council members - or anyone, for that matter. Playing the slightly bedraggled Caeran prostitute was the perfect way to find some nice companionship he never had to see again afterwards. It was just another role he was playing, like the infamous ghost captain. And maybe one day, he could just be himself again.

For a second, Alastair felt the cold dread of his nightmare run down his back again and forced himself to think of his mission. The main part of the letter was worth giving some serious thought. If this defected Navy officer had some serious Albian secrets to spill, it could change everything and give them a real chance. He had to talk to Evangielle about this as soon as possible.

As soon as Alastair had put the letter and dagger back into his secret boot pocket, something moved on the bed.

"Evan, you up yet? Was there someone at the door?" Nico asked, voice deep and a little hoarse from sleepiness.

Alastair smiled slightly. Evangielle was always teasing him about using half her name for his secret escapades and why he didn't just wear half her wardrobe as well, if he was at it?

"Good morning. That was the innkeeper about breakfast." Alastair replied and stepped over to the bed, leaning down. "I thought about our little arrangement from last night."

"And?" Nico pulled him back on the bed and on top of himself, fumbling with the fastenings of the hastly put-on britches. "How much am I in your debt? Can I work it off somehow?"

Alastair pulled back to take off his pants properly again and then climbed back on the bed. "No, I still think I have to pay you. We have one hour left."

* * *

There had been no chance whatsoever for Nicolas to ask Evan if he knew something about the pirates. Nicolas wasn't regretting it, because the time until breakfast had been spent very well. His hope of eating together, however, was crushed because Evan had said goodbye with a quick kiss on the cheek and left the inn, vanishing into the dawn like a ghost.

Nicolas dressed, shaved and tried to think of his next steps and not of that incredibly soft, crimson hair. This little intermezzo hadn't been in his plans at all, and he was neglecting his mission already. But there had been something about this man that he couldn't quite name. He wasn't even Nicolas' preferred type since he usually liked petite blondes of both genders. And he had been in some fights as the old scar on his face and what was probably a fresh wound under the bandages around his left hand and wrist indicated. But something in those eyes, that haughty gaze that kept Nicolas at arm's length in a way that had nothing to do with the real physical closeness... Maybe it had been the professional's way, not forming any attachments. There had been no kisses on the mouth, either, although Nicolas had tried a few times. But Evan had clearly set the rules of their encounter without saying one word.

Would he ever see him again? Nicolas hoped so.

The tap room was mostly empty this early in the morning when he came down the stairs. Crazy Jack served him a sound breakfast consisting of bacon, fried eggs, and grog, grumbling something about customers running away on an empty stomach.

"And you, sir, what are you up to?", he asked Nicolas, putting a second helping of bacon on his plate. "Will you be stayin'?"

"I'm looking for work at sea," Nicolas replied. "Some merchant ship, perhaps, that needs sailors who can fight as well. I'll take on anything to get paid decently." He had decided last night that it was too risky to openly approach any potential pirates on land. If he got some of them on the wrong foot, he might get a dagger in his back in the next dark alley.

Crazy Jack grinned. "Well, a nice little trader called Cygnia came in two days ago. You'll find more than enough work there. The merchants are all afraid and hire fighters now. But I'd look elsewhere if I was them."

With this ominous hint, Crazy Jack left Nicolas eat in peace.

After leaving a nice tip, Nicolas shouldered his luggage and left the inn to take a closer look at the trade ships in the port. His attention was drawn to a beautiful Albian ship that was just being loaded up with crates full of Caletian wine, spices, and precious cloth. On her bow, the name Cygnia was written in golden letters. An anxious-looking, portly little man with golden rings on his fingers was standing next to her on the footbridge and argued loudly in Albian with another man in a salt-water-lined coat and weathered hat.

"... don't care what you say. These goods need protection! You know that those outlaws are out there, waiting for us. We need more men to protect us!" the little man shouted as Nicolas stepped closer.

"Sir, a hundred men won't do us no good against them. I'll say we take another route to be safe," the other man, no doubt the captain, replied calmly.

"But it will take too long! I have obligations to fulfill. What will my business partners think If I show up weeks later? My credibility will suffer!"

"Excuse me, sirs." Nicolas decided to mix a slight Caletian accent into his flawless Albian. "You gentlemen looking for mercenaries?"

"Indeed we are!" The little merchant beamed at him. "That is, if you're not a navy deserter."

"No, sir. I served some years in the Albian navy, but decided to quit and try my own luck," Nicolas told his cover story meant for any official ear. "I can show you my references. Where are you going?"

"Jeraine, duchy Shaldré, the direct route. There might be some trouble along the way." The merchant shot his captain a warning look not to argue again. "We'll hire another handful of men and then leave this forsaken place as soon as possible."

"Where do I sign?" Nicolas asked. "If you gentlemen will have me, of course."

"Captain, check his papers and then hire him for the usual fee - plus a bonus if we reach Jeraine safe and sound," the merchant ordered. "And no more nonsense about taking detours. I want a report in an hour."

Then he turned around and boarded his ship, huffing a bit as he climbed up the board connecting the vessel with the footbridge.

His captain watched him go and then turned to face Nicolas again. "Give me your papers. I'm Captain March of the Cygnia. And let's hope I'm wrong."

Nicolas pulled the waxed leather wrapping with the false papers from under his coat and gave them to the captain. "Wrong about what, sir?"

Captain March's face darkened. "About the pirates, lad. They're roaming these waters. If we take the direct route as Mr Trelling ordered, we're likely to run afoul of them. And as I said, it won't matter how many soldiers we have aboard then. It's that damn ghost captain, I tell you."

That was exactly what Nicolas wanted to hear. "I heard stories about him, but I can't really believe them, sir."

"Believe them, lad, and pray to the Sea Goddess that she won't lead her illbegotten children to us," Captain March grumbled as he checked Nicolas' papers. He finally nodded and gave them back. "Alright, I'll hire you, because Mr Trelling said so. We leave port with the flood this afternoon."