"All hands on deck! We're under attack! All hands on deck!"

The sudden cry and the ringing of the ship's bell threw Nicolas out of an uneasy sleep. For a moment, he blinked into the darkness and thought himself back aboard the Valiance, in his old hammock. But this hammock was new and stiff, and the ceiling of the deck he was located on was much lower.

A sudden shaking of the ship was enough to wake him up fully. Nicolas rolled out of his hammock with practiced ease, quickly pulled on his boots and grabbed his weapons. He had controlled his pistol the evening before, and it was loaded and ready. In close combat, it was only useful for one, well-aimed shot, because there would be no time to reload it during a fight. So he had to make that shot count - if he decided to fire it. While running toward the ladder, bumping into some other grumbling, slowly-waking fighters in their hammocks, Nicolas girded his sword belt. His trusted saber, a grudging parting gift from his father, was a reassuring weight at his hip. Since the Cygnia had departed from Calez two days ago, Nicolas had awaited this moment. He had slept in his clothes and with one eye open, ready for the fray.

He climbed up the ladder to the upper deck and looked around. It was barely dawn, the sky a misty gray. The morning watch crew stumbled around in confusion. Another shudder ran through the ship, and Nicolas lost his balance for a second. He saw Captain March behind the steering wheel, grimly trying to turn it. Something seemed to block it.

Nicolas couldn't see any enemy vessel yet, but the fog outside the ship was too thick to see further beyond about ten yards. Since there was no imminent fight, his mission was clear. Nicolas ran toward the wheel, grabbing the other side of it to aid Captain March.The wood felt like with was made of stone.

"Those damn bastards must have hit the helm!" March snarled. "Pull, man, or we are lost!"
Nicolas threw his whole weight into it, and the helm started to react at last. The Cygnia moved slugglishly, although Nicolas had known her for an extremely fast and maneuverable ship during the last days.

"Get the cannons ready!" Captain March shouted. "We have to show them we're not completely helpless!"

But Nicolas knew that it would be useless. There was no specialized gunner crew aboard, so it would take minutes to load the handful of cannons. And where should they aim?
"There they are! Fire!"

Nicolas turned around at the shout. Slowly, the shadow of another vessel became visible on starboard. It appeared in ghostly silence, its gray bow spearing through the veil of mist as if entering this world from a different realm of existence. The figurehead, a mermaid holding a tricorn in front of her as if ready to attack, was so perfectly crafted that she seemed to start moving at any minute. She was painted gray as well, just her eyes were pools of darkness. For a second, Nicolas felt as if she was looking right at him, pulling him down into her fathomless depths with her gaze. Atop the ship's foremast, a black flag was lazily moving in the slight breeze. Its sight burned itself into Nicolas' eyes: a red scull with an eyepatch on its left eye, crossed sabers behind it. The scull's mouth was open in triumphant laughter.

"Fire! Fire!"

Captain March's desperate orders were followed after what seemed an eternity, and three cannons were shot. But their aim was so off that the cannonballs flew right into the open water. Although the attacking ship was almost on top of the Cygnia, the sailors had been incapable of hitting.

Just before the bow of the pirate ship was about to spear through the Cygnia's shrouds, it heaved to and came completely alongside. Nicolas could now see the ship's name, although he had known it the moment the gray hull and the figurehead had been visible. It was the dreaded Siren's Call.

"We're getting boarded! All hands on deck and fight!"

But the captain's orders went unheard in the following chaos. All the sailors who had been running around in panic before, were how fleeing below. The other ten men who were solely hired as fighters, like Nicolas, had finally woken up and made their way on deck. at least their faces showed resolve as they drew their various weapons.

Nicolas let go of the useless wheel and drew his saber as well. The Siren's Call was now so close that some grappling hooks could be thrown with ease, and the Cygnia was pulled closer. A wooden plank was shoved over the rail. Until now, the enemy ship had maneuvred in complete silence. But as soon as her prey was secured, a terrible roaring and shouting was heard. And then the pirates came.

They ran over the plank, others using ropes and swinging themselves over to the Cygnia. Nicolas could barely keep track, but it seemed to be at least twenty men. The mercenaries immediately attacked them, but with the odds two to one, it was clear how it would end.

Since Nicolas was about to play a very dangerous gambit, he had to make sure that no pirate was killed by his hand. He threw himself into the fight, parrying and dodging the attacks with the saber in his right hand, then taking the pistol in his left by the barrel and slamming the grip into his opponent's faces. Since the pirates hadn't seen this coming, he managed to knock two of them unconscious this way. But the third evaded him and wrestled the pistol from his hand. Nicolas was shoved back, finding himself back to back with four remaining mercenaries. The pirates had surrounded them. In the corner of his eye he saw another pirate holding a sword towards the captain who held his hands up. There seemed to be not one single dead pirate, just a few minor injuries and the two men Nicolas had knocked unconscious himself. The deck was red with the blood of the six fallen fighters.

"I suggest you give up if you value your lives. The ship is ours!" shouted a female voice in Albian.

The pirates stepped aside and gave way for a woman holding a pistol and a strangely-looking rapier. Nicolas needed a moment to realize that they were indeed twin blades on a joined, intricately detailed golden grip. Those blades could be taken apart and used separately, if needed. But the weapon wasn't the only thing making Nicolas and the other men stare. The woman was wearing a blouse and a black girdle over it what looked more like armor than a piece of normal woman's clothing, with a short red skirt and britches with high boots. Lots of jewellery adorned her elegant neck and ears. Her hair, honey-colored and curled, flowed from under a black tricorn with a red feather. There was a horizontal smear of red paint over her eyes; Nicolas had heard stories of Akaluite warriors painting themselves for battle like this. But the fierce paint couldn't hide the delicate beauty of her face. Her fair skin was slightly reddened and freckled, reminding Nicolas of his friend Finnis. And she was very young, barely in her mid-twenties. As Lazy Jack had said, she was doubtlessly Caeran, although her accent was clear-cut, upperclass Albian.

The young woman stepped closer, looking from one fighter to the other. As her eyes fixed on Nicolas, he suddenly felt a bit dizzy. He knew those eyes from somewhere. They were blue-gray, like the sea at dawn. Those eyes...

"Well, do you give up? I swear by the Sea Goddess and by my honor as first mate that you won't be harmed," the woman said. "Is a fat merchant's silks really worth your lives?"

One by one, the fighters let go of their weapons. Nicolas let his saber fall onto the deck as well where it made a nasty sound as it hid the bloody wood.

"See, we understand each other. Now, you and the rest of your fearless crew will stay put as we take the cargo. In the meantime, you gentlemen," she pointed at the mercenaries with the double tips of her rapier, "can think a little about the offer we make all able men and women. If you are done with taking orders from incompetent officers and fat nobles, getting little pay, bad food and lots of beatings, you could join the crew of the Siren's Call." Her gaze was fixed on Nicolas again. "I saw you. You managed to knock out two of my men. Why didn't you kill them when you had the chance?"

Nicolas took a deep breath and silently prayed before he answered in Albian: "I knew how the fight would end and I didn't want any dead gentlemen of fortune on my conscience, mylady."
She raised her brow in slight surprise at his use of this euphemism and his polished accent. "Interesting. You're Albian?" she asked.

"Only half, mylady. My mother is Caletian, and I have no great love for either nation." He paused, looking over to Captain March who shot him a murderous look in return. "I was cashiered from the Albian navy a few years back for disobedience. As you said, I was done getting shoved around."

"You traitor!" March shouted. "I knew your papers looked odd! Damn you!" He was quickly silenced by one of the pirates hitting him.

Nicolas felt sorry for the man, but the slightly shady papers Admiral Heron had given him now payed off. This was the moment he had hoped for.

The woman smiled. "So, you are interested in joining us?"

Nicolas won a bit of time to form his answer as Mr Trelling was led on deck. The little merchant was close to tears as he saw his precious goods being taken one crate after another, but he was smart enough not to protest.

"Sir, I thank you for his generous donation to our good cause," the female pirate said, lifting her hat in mock reverence and made a bow at Mr Trelling. Then she looked back at Nicolas.

"Well?"

"I'll come with you, mylady," Nicolas answered, holding her gaze.

"Very well. The rest of you is free. Your ship's helm is only slightly damaged, so you can make it safely to the next port after some repairs." She beckoned Nicolas to take up his weapons and follow her as the last crates were taken over to the Siren's Call. Nicolas entered one of the planks connecting the ships without hesitation. He was a pirate now.

* * *

Everything went so fast that Nicolas barely had a chance to get his bearings. As soon as he had crossed over to the Siren's Call, the connections between the two ships were severed. The first mate shouted orders to set sail, and within minutes they had vanished into the fog. Nicolas had no idea how they could navigate and how the ship even got this kind of speed with barely even a breeze blowing. There were clearly no rows attached to the vessel, and it wasn't pulled by jolly-boats. The crew, however, behaved as if it was the most normal thing in the world. This was a new mystery to be unravelled.

Nicolas watched the first mate stepping over to one of the men who hadn't entered the Cygnia and softly spoke to him. Then she went to the helm. The Siren's Call wasn't a big ship at all, just a brigg of maybe 30 yards, which indicated a crew of no more than 30 men. She would have been no thread at all to any ship even remotely bigger than her, but the attacking maneuver had been so brilliant that the morale of any enemy crew was extremely low to begin with, so making them surrender wasn't hard at all.

The man the first mate had been talking to now stepped over to Nicolas.

"Welcome aboard, mate," he said in Albian with a noticeable Jerainian accent and a big smile. He was about Nicolas' age, and his dark skin and curly black hair clearly betrayed his origin from the southernmost duchy of Jeraine, Shaldré. His clothes were as fancy and colorful as the rest of the crew, complete with a red cloth haphazardly bound around his head. "I'm Lucas, called Lucky, the quartermaster. Mistress Evangielle told me to show you around."

"Thank you. I'm Nico Ordano," Nicolas replied. So the first mate's name was Evangielle. There was something very familiar about the sound of that name, but once again, he couldn't place it. "Evangielle, huh? Seems like a fierce lady."

Lucky's grin got broader. "Oh yes, she is. But not as fierce as the captain. He didn't bother to show up because we knew it was just a tiny trade vessel with few fighters aboard, and they would be scared enough as it is. Not you, of course. So, forged papers because you were kicked out of the Albian Navy? When was that?"

"Over a year ago." Admiral Heron and Nicolas had decided for this large timespan so that the pirates would not be tempted to get any current information about the Navy from him. "But it's been hard ever since. I realized working for merchants isn't that different from the Navy after all. And you won't get rich."

Lucky clapped Nicolas on the shoulder with a laugh. "If it's riches you want, then you've come to the right place. And we're a democracy. Every captain is elected by the crew. We all get our fair share of the loot, according to rank and seniority. But if our cabin boy decides to duel an, let's say, captain of an Albian warship and wins, he'll get as much as our first mate. Courage always pays off. And loyalty, of course. If you risk your life to rescue your comrades, you'll be the richest man aboard." Lucky eyed Nicolas sharply. "Treason, on the other hand, is our greatest crime. Those who betray us will be lucky if they just end up walking over the plank to feed the sharks."

Nicolas got the warning. "Seems like a fair system. I really should have tried to get to you people sooner, but I didn't know how."

"Well, a lot of us got to be pirates in the same way you just did," Lucky said. "Myself, for example. But we also have crew members we rescued from slave ships or prison transports." He pointed toward the helm.

Nicolas realized that it was a another woman at the wheel, gazing calmly ahead although she couldn't possibly see anything in the fog. She was small and very beautiful with skin almost as dark as Lucky's, but with straight, bluish black hair and slightly slanted eyes, like the Shawans. Nicolas had never seen anyone like her.

"You'll get to know all of us quickly, but let's start with M'Bato there. She is an Akaluite from one of the remotest islands and got captured by Qiristani slave traders. Never talk back to her. And our cook, John Gold over there, he was on his way to Albian labor camps in Fairisle."

Lucky waved to a middle-aged bald man with a peg leg and a stained apron who just pulled himself up the stairs from under deck. "We have a little tradition: the newest crew member has cabin boy duty for the first two weeks. So you'll help John to prepare the meals. - John! We have a new one you can push around!" Now Lucky's grin was truly evil. "If you behave well, you'll be promoted to deckhand."

Nicolas sighed. "Well, if it's the rules. It can't be worse than it has been so far." He hesitated. "Speaking of the captain: he is the ghost everyone was whispering about, right?"

Lucky's grin vanished. "If you meet him, you will behave yourself and not make any smart remarks. The captain is the sharpest, fiercest, and bravest man you'll ever know, and we're all proud to serve under him. And of course he is no ghost! That is a clever sharade to make others fear him. Always remember how lucky you are to be on his ship. And now, off you go with John!"