Spirits of the Earth

Ainu

Ewan did feel a little guilty over the Wavethresher, though it was partially the captain's fault. The man kept badgering him to use his sorcery to conjure some apples. It worked fine. But, some of the apples carreid a nasty worm which made short work of the Essryni rugs due for Connlaoth. Suffice to say the was no longer sailing on the Wavethresher. He even resorted to tears (Ewan wasn't quite sure if it was an act to gain sympathy or real). The captain pointed him toward a man who paid children to collect shellfish and left him on the dock.

Yoreiqi, of course, did not pay in coins. A good meal and ripe mango was his reward. A taller boy had also taken a liking to his clothes and snatched them while he was in the ocean; kindly leaving behind a colorful loincloth. Private property was anathema in this strange communal isle; the concept of coinage new even to its most cosmopolitan port. The best Ewan could hope for was passage back to La'raana, he thought ruefully as he ate his mango in the corner of a groghouse.

A particularly eclectic, and rowdy, Le'raanian crew was drinking and dicing. From what little he could pick up of their boasting they planned to sail up the Tuor ocean near Niahi. Ewan didn't quite get the gist of what their cargo was (or that they were pirates) but it was at least a way back home.

Finding the ship amidst Ainu's sparse docks wasn't difficult. The boy just followed a smaller sailor who couldn't hold his liquor. The ship was the Poison Storm. It was a sleek and well-looked afer vessel. That was reassuring. By then the sun had set and the posted sentry, a great mountain of a man smothered in kraken tattoos, was busy giving one of the locals flirty looks. It wasn't hard for someone small and quick to scamper aboard.

After that it was just a matter of finding the store room. Surely the boy could find a hiding place and nick what food he needed. Or try his hand at conjuration. And if he were caught, well, he was just a kid. Surely they'd not throw him overboard while in transit! It hadn't occurred to him how fanciful his ideas about stowaways were. Nonetheless, Ewan found a suitable hidey hole behind some barrels of salted pork. He laid out a blanket and prepared for the journey back to Le'raana.

"Gangway!"

"Hoist the mainsail!"

"Mizzenmast!"

"Anchors away!"

"Aye, Captain!"

Isabeau smiled, a hard, thin smile, and took the wheel. "Hard to port," she called, and the order was passed through the ship with a few quick shouts. The Poison Storm pulled away from Ainu and into open water, her captain standing resolute at the helm.

At least until the first crises hit. Two newbies they'd picked up in port were squabbling on the deck. Isabeau sighed, snapping her fingers at her acting first mate, a massive man covered in ink who went simply by "Crag". He nodded and stepped forward to take the helm while she went to deal with the argument.

"What's the problem here?" she asked, not even bothering with the steps that led down to the main deck and instead simply swinging herself over the rail, landing briefly in a crouch before she straightened up, folding her arms and glaring.

They two new sailors- young men perhaps a few years older than her- seemed to be clashing over some sort of bet that they'd made. Some idiotic drinking contest that had left them both staggering back to the ship in the wee hours of the morning. Fed up, Isabeau ordered one t swab the deck and the other to work on cleaning barnacles off the side of the ship.

That dealt with, she'd barely turned when another of her crew, a tall lanky midshipman most of them called "Tiny", needed her attention. Something about the supplies, the cabin boy they'd had in charge of counting had jumped ship at port, so they weren't sure how long their rations would last.

Isabeau groaned. This really wasn't captain's work, but everyone else had a job to do getting the ship through the choppier waters close to port. Dismissing Tiny, she made her way down into the storeroom.

"Gods damned tourist," she muttered to herself, weaving her way through the barrels and crates. "Not a fucking cruise boat, we don't give free rides-" Her voice choked off and her eyes went wide as she peered around behind some barrels of salted pork.

Then she frowned. "Oi! What the hell do you think you're doing here, lad?"

Ewan's peaceful sleep was interrupted by loud, angry shouting. With a frightened yelp the boy scrambled to his feet, tangled in the scratchy blanket. A snarling girl towered over him. She might not have looked so scary if not for the mossiac of tattoos and piercings, and the big hat. This probably wasn't a sleepy merchant ship.

"I-I'm sorry! All my coins got taken!" Ewan raised his hands defensively, as though trying to calm an angrily dog. he felt quite naked. Probably because of the Yoreiqi garb. "I just need to get back to Le'raana. I'm really sorry. I'll go back to the dock!"

He didn't know they'd cast off.

With a frustrated noise that was basically a growl Isabeau reached forward and grabbed his arm, yanking him to his feet.

"I've half a mind to make you do just that," she spat at him, "But I'll not have you make a child killer out of me." And gods knew making him swim back to port would certainly be the death of him. Damnit.

"Alright." She glowered at him. "Who are you, and the hell are you doing on my ship?"

"I'm Ewan. Ewan ap Rhys." His mind raced, there needed to be a plausible explanation for all this. That he was hunting for the mischevious faerie who'd made him eternally young, albeit too young, wasn't quite plausible. So he lied, averting his eyes and trying to look as cute, innocent, and sympathetic as possible. "I-I'm a sorcerer's apprentice. My uncle, um, my master and I were in Kishahn but he's sent me home to La'marri.

"I Just overheard you were going there. I need to get home and I... I hadn't much choice!" he chewed his lip, "I'll not eat much and I won't be in your way."

Isabeau wasn't buying the innocent act. She'd been a port urchin herself once, and knew from experience that children even younger than this boy would say and do just about anything if they thought it would get them passage on a ship.

"Uh-huh," she scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. Tightening her grip, she turned around and started yanking him through the storeroom toward the stairs that led back up to the deck. "Where'd you hear we're headed to La'marri? And what else did you hear?" she demanded.

So much for his natural defense. Isabeau was likely dwarfed by most of her crew members. But her grip may as well have been steal as far as Ewan was concerned. (He didn't want to know how she managed to keep her rough-around-the-edges crew in line.)

"It was in that Groghouse! I don't know the name. I didn't hear nothing else. I'm not a spy!" he yelped indignantly as she pulled him along. "I said I was sorry! Where're you takin' me?"

She didn't bother to answer, dragging the little urchin up on deck and shoving him out in front of her while maintaining her vice-like grip on his arm, casting her eyes around the deck.

She gave a sharp, piercing whistle that had each and every member of her crew wincing to some degree or another. "FALL IN!" she bellowed, the sheer volume of her voice utterly at odds with her near dainty stature.

The crew scrambled to obey, those who could leave their work doing so to cluster around her in a semi-orderly mob. Their eyes fell on the boy and she saw some of the brighter ones begin to work things out.

"Seems we have a stowaway, lads," she told them conversationally when everyone was assembled. She drew the boy in front of herself, ruffling his hair in a way that would have been affectionate in any other situation. "And what I'd like to know..." Her eyes narrowed, scanning through the crowd. "Is which of you utter eejits let him slip past you last night, hm?"

Silence.

"You, lad." She shook his shoulder. "Point to the lout who was on guard last night." She knew very well whose job it had been, she'd put only two men on guard last night, but she wanted to see which of her men the child had actually made an effort to sneak past.

Ewan shrunk from the gaze of the motley crew, cringing as his hair was ruffled just a bit too hard. Was it really such a surprise he slipped by these... these roughnecks. But gods, he didn't want to get anyone killed! Rven if the failed sentry lived he was liable to have a rough tike aboard the ship. Ewan's gaze fell briefly on Crag. Was it him? He was big and inked.

"Well he was big... uh, dark hair...?" Ewan murmered vageuly. "It was night. Didn't see his face."

"Me, Cap'n." Crag spoke up but didn't step forward. "I take responsibility for it."

Isabeau nodded sharply. "Gally duty, one month," she told him, and he nodded, a flash of relief showing in his eyes. She gave a hard smile. "He seems to be a slippery thing, can't entirely blame you."

"What're you gonna do with 'im then, Cap?" That came from Floren, a man who was near ancient for a pirate- almost thirty- with salt and pepper hair and a face weathered by wind and sun.

"That's an excellent question," Isabeau said. She took the boy by the shoulders and turned him to face her, eyeing him in a calculating sort of way.

"We got a plank that never gets used," someone offered from the back of the crowd, and there were a few chuckles. Her own lips twitched slightly, but she ignored it.

"Tiny," she said abruptly, "Our last cabin boy jumped ship back in Ainu. I'd say that leaves the position open, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Captain."

She grabbed the boy's chin lightly. "Hear that? Fair's fair, lad. No free rides here- you work hard enough, maybe I won't toss your ass overboard. We clear?"

It was the the best Ewan could hope for, but from what he knew of sailors their lives were grueling. He was sure things wouldn't be comfortable at the bottom rung. The boy chewed his lip nervously as Isabeau leaned closer. "I'll help out. You're awful kind to give me a chance miss, um" he chattered nervously, "-Captain. Though I'm afraid I don't know much about ships. Or being a cabin boy. Or what to call you."

"Captain Isabeau, lad," Crag gave a feral grin. "Lip my boots clean. Swab up Floren's vomit when he don't make it to the rail. And we'll be throwin' you to the kraken if it comes looking for tribute."

Ewan gave a sour look, not quite daring to roll his eyes he turned to Isabeau, "Just tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it."

"Oh-ho! Gonna be lickin' my boots with that enthusiasm, kid," Crag jeered, the rest of the crew letting forth a low chuckle.

Isabeau spared a brief, hard smile for her crew's ribbing. "For now, lad, you can start swabbing the deck," she told him briskly. "Oi, Finn, Neal, bring the new cabin boy a mop and a bucket and show 'im how it's done."

She gave Crag an arch look as the junior members of her crew leaped to obey. "I wouldn't be such a smartass if I were you," she said mildly. "The lad managed to sneak past ya easy enough."

A few of the men chuckled at that, but she ignored them. Looking down at the boy again, she told him, "While you're on this ship you will call me Captain or ma'am, clear? You got any questions- bother someone else with them."

"Yes... m'am." he hated being so servile but had no choice. Ewan scowled down at the Yoreiqi garb. The boy really did look like a dock rat in it. Though he regretted the stupid question immediately as the answer was surely no. "Do you got anything better than this to wear?"

Finn effortly lifted a hefty bucket of brine and a mop, setting them beside the boyas the rest of the crew resumed their duties. He looked about Isabeau's age; tall and strong but not yet weathered by the sea. Ewan figured he'd either be sympathetic toward the next youngest crew member; or meaner and lacking the paternal drive of an older man. "Suppose you know how to use this kid?"

"Its a mop," he replied dully. He never had to mop anything in his life, really, but how hard could it be?

"Don't get smart," he clapped a rough hand on Ewan's shoulder, making him flinch. "You've gotta be thorough. Get the salt and birdshit off the deck. Wet the planks with brine so they don't rot. Reckon you'll lose that baby fat in no time, runt."

Ewan spent much of the morning swabbing the deck. The wet mop was heavy, and his arms were small. He supposed the job was originally Finn and Neil's, as the rambunctious recruits spent a good hour arm-wrestling under the pretense of supervision, until one of the seasoned raiders set them to work. They were pirates, that much was plain, though more disciplined than he'd expected. The crew deftly navigated the sails and rigging trying to catch the calm breeze. Neil shouted at him for stopping too long. He was already sweaty.

By midday most of the crew had migrated below deck to break. Ewan's work wasn't done, but no one else was around to notice. It was probably good enough. Besides that, a cold fog was beginning to roll in. It was an unusual thing for the Yoreiqi tropics, more suited to Niahi's and Connlaoth's shores, but the youthened-adult wasn't an expert in maritime weather. The boy wandered below deck to find the crew crowded around a long table. He skirted the room in search of a seat.

Isabeau watched the new cabin boy with interest every so often as she made her way around the ship, taking care of her various "Captain-like" duties. Around noon she made her way down into the gally where the ship's cook- affectionately called "Cookie"- was preparing some sort of lunch.

The first few days at sea were always the best as far as food was concerned, and soon most of the crew was below decks, talking and eating and roughhousing. At the head of a long table, Isabeau simply watched them, shaking her head once in a while.

Her position afforded her a good view of the whole room, and her eyes caught on Ewan when he crept in. "Oi, cabin boy." Her voice wasn't necessarily loud, but it carried. "You finished up top then?"

Before he could answer, a muffled clanging sound echoes through the ship. The crew went quiet for a moment- then everyone stood, moving toward the stairs that led back up on deck as the clanging of the warning bell continued.

Sighing, the captain rubbed the bridge of her nose. Gods, what now?

There were no seats at the table. So the cabin boy had to settle for a barrel in the corner.

"I, um-" Ewan chewed his lip; certainly not as invisible as he thought. And three hours seemed far too long to mop the sleek deck, "-it's almost done, m'am."

Before Isabeau could admonish the boy a bell sounded above deck. The men rose in unison, clutching knives, cutlasses, and falchions. Ewan toddled after the mob which filed above deck.

The mist was cold and thick, blotting out the sky. It made Ewan shiver.

"Captain! Ship off port! Don't look friendly!" a wiry sailor bellowed from the crow's nest.

The silhouette of a longship, intricately carved into a serpent, loomed out of the fog. A hulking figure stood at the helm of the ship as it approached Isabeau's vessel. Was he preparing to board? Parley?

Following her crew up on deck, Isabeau immediately sensed something unnatural about the fog that seemed to have so quickly settled around them. Her hand went to the cutlass at her hip and she shot the lookout a quick glance.

Shouldering her way to the port side of the ship, she peered into the gloom. Her eyes widened a bit. She'd never seen a ship like that. "Ahoy!" she called. "You there? Do you mean to come aboard?"

Dropping her voice, she murmured to Crag- who'd appeared at her side somewhere along the line- "Man the guns, and get the lads on guard." He nodded with a grunt and slipped away.

The fog had allowed the longship to slip beneath the range of all but a few guns as the crew scrambled to re-position them.

Ewan could smell sorcery in the air. It was a primal sort of magic, not the alchemy and parlor tricks of mortals, but eldritch power involved by faeries and found clinging to artifacts from Fell. Could this rowdy crew possibly prevail? He tugged at Crag's tunic, the nearest sailor who seemed to know what he was doing, at least, "There's sorcery at work here, you know. It feels powerful."

But that was surely obvious.

The crew of the approaching ship was pale and silver-haired, wearing hide and scrimshaw. They carried blades forged of a strange, many-hued metal; many held grappling hooks. at the helm stood their captain, grizzled and cruel, wearing a dragon's skull. "I am Gulbrannd! Thane of Hoarspeir! I seek the daughter of Idunna the thief and traitor!

His milky eyes met with each and every man, "Bring her to face judgment and your lives are your own. Stand against us and die."

Even if she hadn't been the woman currently on board the ship, Isabeau would have known they meant her. Idunna. It had been a long time since she'd heard her mother's name- neither she nor her father spoke it expect in rare moments of reverence to her memory.

But...thief and traitor? What the hell was he talking about? Her mother had been a good, kind woman, a simply seamstress.

Mouth twisting in a snarl, she stepped up onto the rail and drew her blade, holding onto the rigging with her free hand. "And what justice would you have me face?" she called down to this Gulbrannd. "What crimes does Idunna stand accused of, and who are you to bring them against her daughter?"

Crag gripped Ewan's shoulder and put the boy deliberately behind him, muttering, "Take cover, lad. Things are going to get ugly."

"The guilt lies in the blood since Jarl Audunn was named unworthy." Thane Gulbrannd was stony faced. "My eyes do not lie. You are hers and you return in chains.

"OR NU'THUN!" he bellowed. The most grew so thick the longship seemed to vanish.

There was a dull clank as a half-dozen grappling hooks gripped the rail. The Poison Storm was being boarded.

Ewan rolled his eyes at Crag's recommendation. All the same he danced back toward the cabin in fright.

"FIRE!"

The guns went off, hopefully hitting the enemy ship. They'd been aimed in that direction when they could still see the other ship, anyway. Leaping backward off the rail, Isabeau started barking orders to ready for attack, dashing toward the wheel.

Pistols and cutlasses were drawn and the pirates gave warning shouts. Sprinting up the stairs that led to the upper deck, the captain didn't even pause as she grabbed Ewan's shoulder and towed him with her, tossing him into the small space under the wheel with a curt, "Keep your head down, hide here."

Gripping the wheel, she gritted her teeth and put all her strength into a turn, trying to bring them about to starboard, put some distance between them and the enemy. All the while she was murmuring softly under her breath, a nonsense chant to the sea and sky, begging their aide.

It wasn't much, but a small swell rose up between the two ships and the mist lightened a bit. Just enough to make out shadows in the gloom.

The cannon fire was met with a series of loud splashes. Whether something was hit was anyone's guess. The sharp turn to starboard, however, was answered with screams of rage as some of the boarding party splashed into the sea. There was now a fair distance, now, between the Poison Storm and the longboat.

"Ow! Hey! I can help! LOOK!" Ewan yelped indignantly, giving Isabeau a surly look as he was crammed into a hidey-hole. He uttered an old sylvan poem in demonstration. It was meant to conjure forth an angry spriggan, but here wasn't very much life at all to manipulate aboard the ship. There was a faint nimbus of green and a nearby barrel twisted itself into a tiny, thorny humanoid. It shrieked horribly before collapsing into a mound of rot and detritus. The boy turned red. "This' more than some weather spell. You've gotta get OUT of the fog!"

As Isabeau cleared the mist she could see some of the raiders made it aboard. There were three of them, taller than her biggest sailor, and twice as burly. Judging by their arms they were a proper war party. The Poison Storm's crew danced about the trio though none dared get in reach of their cruel-looking blades. Neil, a younger sailor whose burly frame made him cocky, lunged with a falchion. There was a scream as a shield smashed his head and a sword was driven into his belly.

With a wordless cry of rage, Isabeau jerked the wheel again. Reaching out with her magic, she called to the sea around them. They suddenly lurched forward as a current that hadn't existed before caught them up. The men on the deck staggered and she pulled away from the wheel.

"Oi, little mage," she glanced down at him, drawing one of her pistols from the holster at her hip. "You wanna make yourself useful? Take the helm, get us out of this damned mist. And don't get killed."

Without another word, she leaped over the rail and down onto the main deck, blade and pistol raised. "Farren, Colt, get Neil out of here!" she shouted, praying silently that the young man was even still alive.

Glaring at the invaders, she bared her teeth. "I'm the one you want, leave them out of this," she hissed.

"A bit late to lay down your arms, girl! I will lay you low before we take you," the shield-bearer growled, and advanced toward Isabeau. Perhaps he did not fear the pistol; or thought his shield would stop it.

To the left a gaunt swordsman faced off against three of the crew, swinging his greatsword in wide-arcs; a blow would surely mean death or dismemberment. One had already fallen. Two the right a younger, spry mist-raider fought Crag, two axes in hand.

"I'll try," Ewan cringed and gripped the wheel, trying to steady himself. A current tilted the Poison Storm back toward port... back toward the Longship. Ewan threw his weight onto the wheel to maintain a steady course. He was, however, just a bit too heavy. The ship spun starboard with a jolt.

The deck rocked beneath her feet and Isabeau stumbled back a step, cursing. She knew the Storm though, knew every roll she could make, and she found her footing more easily than the invaders.

"Lay me low?" she taunted, brandishing her cutlass and downplaying the presence of her pistol. "I'd like to see you try." Her face set in a snarl. "Come and get me then."

With a snarl the shield-bearer lunged at Isabeau. The rocking of the unfamiliar ship made it a rather clumsy charge, however.

In the distance came below of a warhorn. Pinpricks of light illuminated the misty sky, as flaming arrows rained on the helm of the Poison Storm. Ewan yelped and ducked into the hole Isabeau stuffed him into earlier; wood splintering all around him. The mist and seaspray dampened most of the pitch, but one arrow ignited a nightby coil of rope.

If he wasn't barefoot Ewan might have stamped it out. His eyes darted around for something not-wooden to smother it with, but there was nothing... except the mop mucket! Ewan scampered down the stairs. Heft the bucket with a grunt. His ascent was much slower as he struggled with the heavy bucket, "Fire! Help!" the boy shrieked.

With the boy no longer at the wheel, the ship began to veer toward Gulbrannd...

Easily dancing out of her opponents reach, Isabeau used the rocking of the ship to her advantage. Taunting him, trying to get him to overextend or leave an opening she could exploit.

Then she heard Ewan's scream and she whirled around, eyes flicking from the fire to the unmanned helm. She gritted her teeth and cursed, lunging out of the way as the shield-bearer made a move for her back.

She didn't have time for this. "Crag!" she shouted, calling for the massive pirate to distract her opponent as she leaped for the wheel. She barely cast a glance at the boy tucked away in hiding, gripping the wheel and clenching her jaw as she strained against the pull of the sea.

She managed to get the Storm straightened out, but they were still far too close to Gulbrannd's boat. "Cabin boy, get below deck," she barked out, not looking at him, all her attention focused on piloting the ship. There was a set of stairs from the upper deck, he wouldn't have to brave the fighting. "Get some water from the gally and take care of the fire!"

The shieldbearer missed Isabeau entirely. Slamming into a nearby crate. It smashed to pieces, spilling canvas meant to patch the sail every which way.

"Aye Captain!" the axeman swung for Crag. The sailor was quicker, though, and raised his harpoon like a boar spear. The axeman sank his weight onto it and was down. And without skipping a beat, the hulking sailor slid a falchion from his belt and leapt toward the shieldbearer.

A second went flying overboard in a spray of blood; the gaunt swordsman slew him with a deft pivot. Farren was above deck now to replaced at least one of the fallen men.

Ewan dumped the mop brine onto the rope. It drenched part of the deck and coil. The boy scrambled down the stairs and toward the galley. He paused on the landing amidst the frey. The mist raiders were inhuman. Surely another spell woudln't hurt? He'd do something simpler and get it right. He uttered another verse; in a flash of green a pair of crabs sprung from his palm. He scowled. It was supposed to be bees!

Swearing colorfully, Isabeau jerked the wheel, shouting to anyone who was listening, "Reload the guns and fire!"

Keeping one hand on the wheel, her eyes flickered over the chaos on deck and she hefted her pistol, took aim, and fired.

Damn! She hadn't managed to kill the swordsman, but she at least clipped him in the shoulder.

With a cry of pure anger and exertion, she threw her hand out toward the sea, raising a wave between the Poison Storm and the longship. The ship rocked beneath them but she held her ground and pulled, forcing them further away.

The swordsman bellowed in pain as the bullet grazed him; Floren used it as a chance to rake a harpoon across his back. The mist-raider spun like a wounded bear and backed toward the bow of the ship, severely weakened. Meanwhile Crag and the shieldbarer were dueling. Crag was a good fighter, but had little choice but to hack at the shield with his heavy blade. The shieldbarer rushed forward, shield out, and slammed Crag, unwounded, overboard.

Ewan searched below-deck in a panic.  Nothing was labeled, likely because no one could read. And the other sailors were tending to Neil or at the guns. He turned the tap on a nearby keg, rum, that wouldn't do. He tried another; more rum. Finally, he reached the drinking water. It was better than nothing and a lost bucket-full was better than burning to death. The newly minted cabin boy lugged the bucket to the upper deck. His arms ached and he was panting as the last of the fire was quenched. "S-sorry I'm late. Do you want me to steer... again?"

With some distance between the Poison Storm and the Longship the canons were lined up to fire. Sure enough, one shot clipped the mast and tore off the sail. There would be no pursuit at least! In the distance Gulbrannd could be seen waving his hands... the mist seemed to retreat and thicken around the vessel - obscuring it.

"Aye," Isabeau grunted, beckoning him forward. "Put all your weight in it, lad, keep us on course."

Without another word she swung herself over the rail and back to the main deck. He took aim with her pistol again and let off another shot. This one lodged in the shieldbearer's shoulder, but she didn't wait to see what became of him.

With a snarl she lunged toward the bow, cutlass raised and slashing at the swordsman, driving him back step by step with a fierce clanging of steel against steel.

Ewan gripped the wheel again. The subtleties of the rudder below were unfamiliar. The ship zigzagged slightly as he put his weight against the pull of the current, practically hanging off the wheel at times.

Tight-lipped and stealy-eyed the swordsman fought Isabeau hard. He stepped back, to the very edge of the ship, and raised his weapon high to bring down. There was no way the captain would be able to parry such a tremendous blow... but he missed, leaving himself wide open.

The shieldbearer was surely the toughest of the three. Even with failing strength he was formidable. Shield-dropped from his wounded arm, his face twisted in pain, he fought off two crewman who broke off from the swordsman. He managed to land a brutal cut across Finn's left shoulder and the boy fell back with a scram. The mist-raider was unable to finish him off, however, as Floren pierced his chest with a harpoon from behind.

"Oi! Man overboard!" Floren belowed, rushing to the edge where Crag had fallen minutes earlier.

How do you stop a ship? Ewan pondered. There were no reins to pull. He gave the wheel a hard spin to the right and the vessel jolted.

Isabeau knew she'd gotten lucky, but she wasn't about to question it. She lunged forward and drove her blade through the mist raider's side, the force of the blow driving him back against the rail of the ship.

"Go to hell," she hissed, jerking her cutlass back and planting a foot in his chest, toppling him overboard.

She spun to observe her crew, feeling a flash of relief as the shieldbearer was dispatched.

But Crag was still in the water. And the cabin boy didn't know how to steer- or stop- a ship. "Bring her about!" she shouted, racing back across the deck toward the helm. She reached out with her magic at the same time, bending the currents around them to spin and slow the Storm.

"I'm trying!" Ewan kept his weight on the wheel, scowling a bit as he was shunted aside.

The ship made a hard turn, creeking to a halt as it lost momentum and the ocean stilled. The mean gathered ropes and nets to toss overboard toward Crag, who bobbed up and down the calmed sea. The misty silhouette of the longship seemed to fade.

"We're getting Craig out now, Captain," Floren ascended the steps, spitting a wad of blood from his mouth. "Got two wounded. Two goners. Gonna rummage the last bastard and tosss 'im overboard. Less ya want his ugly mug to mount.

Relief and good spirits settled over the crew as the mist raiders were vanquished. But there was confusion in the air; they were used to boarding, not being boarded, in the lawless Tuor oceans.

Isabeau nodded tiredly, finally moving forward to take the wheel. "Let the sea take him," she told Floren tiredly. "Get the wounded below decks. We will honor the dead when we've got that ship far to our aft end."

Her eyes flicked back to the receding mist. Without looking wat Ewan, she said gruffly, "Not bad, cabin boy. You hurt?"

"Snails! Who were they?" his tone grew more gentle. He supposed even pirates, privateers, or whatever Isabeau was had mothers, "And's your mother in danger from them? Is she like you?" Passage back to Serendipity, and jumping ship at port, seemed a dim possibility.

Cabin boy. He wrinkled his nose at the title.

"And I'm fine. I just almost got shot, is all..." Ewan replied, peering onto the deck with a shiver. Maybe it was some inborn jumpiness, or being smaller than everyone, but violence never ceased to be frightening.

"I have no idea who they were," she muttered, still glaring at the band of fog in the distance. Then she stiffened a bit and looked down at the boy.

"My...mother is beyond harm," she said gruffly. Tilting her head, she gave him a quick look up and down. "Well, as long as it was almost," she muttered.

With a sigh she ran her hand through her hair. She wanted to check on her wounded crew, but she couldn't leave the helm. "Get below deck," she told Ewan. "See how my injured are holding up and report back."

Ewan nodded and turned to go. Then the boy paused midstep, asking with hesitation. "Do you have a healer on board?" Might not be scrubbing decks if I can prove useful. "My, um, my spells work better when no one's trying to kill me."

She stared at him for a moment. "If you think you can help, do it," she said briskly, returning her attention to the sea. "I don't want to lose anymore of my crew today."

Ewan toddled down to the lower galley where Neil was splayed across a table, moaning. Bloody linens were wrapped about his midsection. Floren had given him liquor to dull the pain; the older pirate sat in silence.

"The captain sent me to help. " Ewan sidled near the pair. The wound to Neil's gut was deep. A good healer might stitch it well, but even then it might turn if it wasn't washed; it'd be a miracle of this lot remembered to heat the needle. Ewan felt officious enough on the matter of wound closure to dispell his usual shyness, "You should wet the cut with some rum."

"Ain't stupid, kid, I know that. Go make yourself useful"

"Well, I know some sorcery, you know. I could fix him. Is he stitched?" the boy replied haughtily. Could he heal him?

Floren just grunted in bemusement. The boy stepped forward and peeled back the linens, crusted to Neil's skin. He wondered if there would be a fountain of blood, but rags and rum wouldn't do here. The odor was horrible. Just then, Neil stirred, making Ewan recoil in fright. "I don't meant to hurt you! I can do a spell to- to make your skin grow back. It'll close up properly! I promise!"

Meanwhile Crag, recently hauled from the ocean, climbed to the upper deck. "Men want to know if you're going back in for the kill, Captain. Though I reckon we can't handle a sorcerer," Crag laid a hand on his knife-hilt. "Though we'd ought to return the favor. Lost my damn sword! Funny thing is I think they got the wrong ship. Lady they describe don't sound like your ma."

"Orders?" the big man straightened his posture, wincing at a wound.

Isabeau was silent for a long moment.

Eventually she murmured, "They'll be back, we don't need to hunt them down." Somehow she was sure of that. Setting her shoulders, she watched the sea ahead with flinty eyes. "And next time we'll be better prepared."

Glancing at Crag, she considered for a moment then said, "For now we stay the course. Find a place to make port, resupply, let the wounded recover." She looked away again. "Cabin boy's below decks with Neil. Go see if he's actually making himself useful."

She needed to be alone, needed to think.

Ewan gently pealed the crude bandages away, already crusted to Neil's skin, and loose from the notions of his body. The boy grimaces at the odor of the wound. Fresh blood still oozed from it. Hopefully nothing vital was hit. The boy's transformation weakened his magic; there was no denying it. But life magic was predicated on the manipulation and movement of animus. That meant blood, and there was lots of it here. The boy chewed his lip and set to work.

It was a messy business. Normally Ewan would have used a brush, but all he had was his fingers.  The blood was smeared into a series of knotted glyphs over the body.

"O-okay. This ought to work..." he began to mutter a rhyming nonsense verse.

Floren grunted dubiously as he watched; Neil murmured in confused protest. "W-ai..."

Crag nodded and set off to do as he was told. Left at the helm, Isabeau simply stated out at the ocean.

Her mother. She hasn't given much thought to the woman in years- it was too painful. But a traitor? To people like that? She shook her head with a small sound of confusion and frustration. Her mother had been a dressmaker, not a warrior.

Ewan ignored the cries and reached for a jar of paste he kept in his pack. The boy smeared a stinking paste around the wound. Neil's stomach convulsed and bloated. His skin turned green and mottled; like a salamander's or a troll's. The man groaned. And then, as if it were clay, the gaping wound began to fuse...

Ewan cracked a smile at his handywork. Unpashed by the strange transformation. "There!"

"What the bloomin' hell?!" Floren grabbed the boy's shoulder and jerked him back, staring at his friend with wide eyes before switching to glare at Ewan. "What'd you do to him?"

"Everything alright down here?" Crag's gruff voice suddenly sounded out as he descended below decks, eyes sharp as he took in the scene.

Back at the helm, Isabeau passed the wheel off to another member of the crew and began making her rounds, checking out the damage that had been done to her ship.

"Wait!" Ewan tried to jerk away from the pirate's firm grip, pointing emphatically to "He's healed now, see? But I've got to stop it or he'll be changed!"

The green flesh began to creep outward from Neil's wound. The youth skittered back across the table and Ewan twisted in Floren's grip.

"Let 'im go," Crag said quickly when Floren opened his mouth. "He can hardly make things worse."

With a grunt, the pirate released Ewan and muttered, "You'd better fix this, cabin boy, or its your own skin."

Isabeau found the Poison Storm largely intact. The grappling hooks had splintered some wood and the pitch-dipped arrows marred the upper deck, plus the lower deck was a bloody mess. Fortunately, nothing vital was lost. Several of the crew were gathered around the fallen shirldbearer.

He was a giant of a man, skin pale and hoary, an anamoly amongst sailors. Running from his chest down his right arm was a tattoo of a two-headed serpent; both sets of jaws locked around a star. Most unusual were his weapons and armor... for they had begun to melt in the sun.

Ewan stepped forward and muttered a gutteral phrase, wiping the last of the paste from Neil's abdomen. The amphibian flesh ceased spreading. "Well he is fixed! Wound gone, see?" The boy huffed, sounding more indignant than intended. "It will wear off... um... soon."

Ewan gulped. Well, he's sort of fixed. The boy used Neil's dissipating life force to fuel his magic. Now there wasn't any fuel.

Floren didn't seem entirely convinced, but Crag gavve him a sharp nod. "That'll do, lad. Get topside an' see if Captain needs sommat else from you, aye?"

Isabeau was staring at the raider, eyes cold and face expressionless. Several of her crew had restrained the man, bound his wrists behind his back. "Who are you people?" she demanded. "why'd you attack my ship? Real answers now, none of this bullshit about my mother."

Neil sneered in disgust at the salamander flesh which grown over his sculpted abdomen, prodding it. "He made me a freak!" the young pirate sputtered.

Ewan chewed his lip to stop from laughing. He decided to backpedal out of the galley before things get worse. Help the captain, the boy grumbled inwardly, I just healed her crewman and that oaf wants me scrubbing decks!

"I fixed him! Um- Captain!" Ewan cheerfully announced as he reached the upper deck, like a child showing off a drawing. He fell abruptly silent when he saw what they were all crowded around.

The mistraider coughed up blood as the crew sat him up. A spear point was lodged in his chest. "You need not the binds. My time is short.

"Thane Gulbrannd spoke true. We are of the Misty isle Hoarheim," his lips curled into a smile. He coughed agained. "A harsh land for harsh men. It is the will of the Mist you be returned."

Snapping her fingers at Ewan to call him to her side, Isabeau arched an eyebrow. "How the bloody hell do you expect me to return to a place I've never even heard of, much less seen?" she demanded, kneeling in front of the man.

Vindictively, she reached out and twisted the shaft the spear, lips pulled back in a snarl. "And do you really expect me to forgive your Thane for this? I lost good men today. Now talk! Why this ship? Why me?"

Ewan gave Isabeau an uncertain look, sidling closer. He didn't ask why. He rather hoped the fallen warrior was a distraction...

The mistraider let out a low chuckle. "The Mists demand blood. Your's. Your mother's before you. Your grandfather's. That is why we bring you home..." he gave a tired grunt, shutting his eyes. "Favors for favors and blood for blood. The answers are yours, woman. Now do you give me what I seek?"

Her heart sank and a strange tingle ran up her spine- like fear, but somehow more familiar than that. "Where is your island?" she hissed, tightening her hold on the spear and jerking sideways.

Ewan cringed as Isabeau twisted the spear, prancing backwards a step at the scream.

The Mistraider howled in pain. "Going to be that way then, eh?" he gritted his teeth, making a noise between a sickened cough and a laugh. With a groan he slumped down and the light left his eyes.

With a noise somewhere between a growl of frustration and an exasperated sigh, Isabeau stood abruptly. "Get rid of the body," she snapped at her surrounding crew.

Turning to Ewan, she grabbed his shoulder and walked him a few paces away. "How's Neil?"

There was a loud sploosh as the mist raider's corpse met the ocean. It bobbed up and down in the waves, slowly drifting away.

"He's fine." Ewan shrugged with a smile. "My spell fixed him up perfectly. Not even a scar."

But the boy's eyes widened when he saw Neil's stomping up the stairs, looking rather cross. "Captain," he scowled and pointed at the mutation, "He... he did some kinda black magic! Look!"

Isabeau's eyes widened fractionally and she shot the cabin boy a look. "C'mere, Neil," she ordered, beckoning him closer with one hand and clamping the other down on Ewan's shoulder so he couldn't escape.

Arching one eyebrow, she said mildly, "Are you sure it was black magic, not just a mistake? He is only a lad, seems to me he probably just fu- screwed up his spell." She tilted her head at her crew member. "Does it hurt?"

"Don't know shit bout magic, Captain," he pointed an accusatory finger at Ewan. "Said he'd change me back when its done! All I know is I'm a damn lizard."

"And it don't hurt. But its slimy and weird as hells."

"It was the only way to make your skin grow back!" Ewan retorted angrily, instinctively trying to wriggle from Isabeau's grip. "You were squirming and I couldn't counter it soon enough! It... it should wear off..."

The captain gave him an arch look. "Should?" she repeated, tightening her grip a bit. "And how long until it should?"

"A day? A week? A month?" Ewan looked down guility. "I put a lot of effort into making it work properly. My magic hasn't been so good lately... I used to be a lot stronger."

"He's not bleeding anymore, you know."

Well. He had a point. "As long as you're alive, Neil, I wouldn't be complaining," Isabeau said briskly.

Pulling Ewan with her, she moved a little way away from the rest of the crew and bent to be at eye level with him. "What do you mean, used to be?" she demanded.

Ewan flushed red. The hadn't wanted to make a scene; he owed these pirates nothing and it'd be much easier to just keep his head down. At the very least it would have been best to hold his tongue. The crew was unsympathetic already; his real identity wouldn't exactly improve things.

"its hardly important," he muttered in a poor attempt to change the subject "I'll- I'll be your cabin boy till the next port. I won't cause any trouble. Won't work anymore spells."

"Oh no no no." She glowered at him. "You don't get off that easy, lad. Spill." Folding her arms. She leaned back on her heels to give him an up-and-down look. "And you'll be using magic when we need it. Just- try not to turn anymore of my crew into lizards, alright?"

"You're probably not going to believe me, anyway." Ewan sighed, looking sheepish. "I'm fifteen years older than I look. I was trying to create a youthening spell. It works; just a bit too well. I was just coming back from Kishahn. I thought someone there could help perfect it."

The sorcerer pursed his lips. Waiting for a look of disbelief.

She blinked at him. "You know, yesterday I would have called bullshit. But after what just happened..." She sighed and dragged a hand through her hair. "Gods, can today get any stranger?"

(OOC: Slight retcon. Let's say he's returning from Kishahn!)

"Well, sorry to be of trouble. I just wanted to reach some family in Serendipity; need a place to stay while I make a new plan," he sighed. "But I Suppose we're not going anywhere near there."

The boy cracked a faint smile, relaxing a bit. "I'd offer to rejuvenate your crew as payment but I don't think they'd make very good... um..." he didn't want to say pirates. He'd hoped they weren't. And the less he knew the better; being killed or kept prisoner weren't very nice prospects.

Isabeau glowered. "Oi, like I said, lad- or whatever. No free rides on this boat." She sighed and glanced away, then muttered, "But...if we pass by Serendipity, we can drop you off."

"You're the first person to believe me at least. But my spells are mostly to do with living things; they'll nor be of much use to a ship. So I don't know how I can help--" the boy looked up at Isabeau and it dawned on him.

"--I'm still the cabin boy aren't I?" he sighed softly, trying not to sound like a spoiled brat. "What do you want me to do?"

Off in the distance the skies were clear and there was no sign of the hamstrung vessel. It simply... vanished.

Her lips twitched up on one side. "You catch on quick, lad." Hands on her hips, she jerked her chin in the direction of the bloodstained deck. "You can start by scrubbing that up, before the gulls are on us."

"Fiine..." Ewan stalked off and grumbled, flushing red as some of the crew laughed. The boy fetched his bucket, filled it with brine in the galley, and scrubbed the deck for a second time; scrubbing the dried blood proved an annoying affair. This wasn't helped by some of the fighters who took to dicing and sparring to blow off steam, though they were quite unwilling to move when it came to cleaning.

"Don't see them doing any work..." Ewan muttered under his breath in passing to Isabeau. His arms ached.

The sun was low in the sky and it was time for supper. The air oozed anticipation and uncertainty; words were expected from the captain.

The captain snorted at his comment. "They've all had their turn. Quit your bitching." She felt less inclined to watch her language knowing that he was older than he looked.

As the evening wore on, she moved down to the galley with the rest of the crew, only picking at her food instead of really eating. Looking around for Ewan, she beckoned him over when she caught sight of him.

She was pretty sure the crew were going to be riled tonight, and mage or not he didn't exactly have a sturdy body. He'd be lucky to escape with only an accidental broken bone or two.

Ewan was inconspicuously perched on a barrel between two large sailors. They seemed content to pay him little mind. The boy scoffed down the remainder of his jerky and scurries off toward Isabeau who was beckoning. "I suppose you want more rum or something?"

The table shen shook. Finn and another young crewman slammed their biceps on the table and the crew started jeeriing. Apparently it was over the same tavern wench.

Tiny, a quiet and wiry sailor, rose with a bored stretch and climbed to the main deck.

Isabeau smirked at the boy. "Not exactly, lad. See that?" She gestured to the crew. "That's only gonna get worse, and I don't want you caught up in it. Even if you could get your magic to work properly, chances are someone would snap you in half because he wasn't paying attention. Come on."

She stood and moved toward the stairs, laying a hand on his shoulder to bring him with her. Her grip wasn't quite as bruising as usual, almost more protective. "Let them work out the aggression. We've had a stressful day, they need to blow off some steam." She'd address it in the morning. For now, she needed to do some planning.

Ewan flushed at Isabeau's remark, allowing her to guide him along. He was so pliable lately. Maybe the other side of manhood did that to you; no more fire and defiance.

"I'm not that fragile, you know. But I guess it'd be a shame to get my little button nose broken, seeing as its brand new," the boy cracked a smile. He looked over his shoulder as they reached the main deck. "Its funny. You think you parents look at their children, when they're small, wondering if they'll grow to be covered in scars and missing teeth before half their life's gone? Odd to imagine they looked like me once. But I wasn't expecting you as their captain, neither."

"So what am I supposed to do up here? -um, Captain?" Ewan hastily added and ooked around. It seemed almost a ghost ship now. Only Tiny was visible in the moonlight, leaning over the bow.

Isabeau snorted softly at his chatter and said without thinking, "More than half their life is gone, lad. A pirate's lucky if he makes it to thirty." Glancing down at him, she added with an arched brow, "And what's that supposed to mean, didn't expect me as their captain?"

It was a rhetorical question, really. She knew she was young, and rather small, not to mention the only woman on board currently. From an outsider's perspective she supposed it would look rather odd that the crew obeyed her.

With a sigh, she moved toward the helm, snapping her fingers at the man who'd been left on duty and walking up to take the wheel as he scurried away below decks. "I don't care what you do, Ewan," she said bluntly. "I just wanted you out of that nonsense below."

Ewan's eyes momentarily darted to a flicker of light on the horizon, then back to Isabeau. "Well would you expect a pirate captain to look like yourself?"

"How did that happen anyway?" he perched on a crate nearby as she steered.

She stiffened. "It's...a bit of a long story," she muttered after a moment. "And not really any of your business." A beat of silence, then she added with a sigh, "Suffice it to say I inherited the position from my father."

"He must have been quite a captain. More the type to piss off mystical sea raiders..." Ewan replied. He must have also been quite a captain for no one to have seized command from his daughter.

"And I guess its not my business. Though what else do you do but talk when all the work's done?" an impish smile crossed his face. "Unless you've got a library down there. Or someone my size to arm-wrestle."

She chuckled a bit at that. "I'm afraid the only books you'll find on board are in my cabin," she told him. A quick glance in his direction and she added, "Which is off limits without permission, by the way."

Shrugging, she turned back to her task as she considered what he'd said. "My father was a good captain, yes. One of those few pirates who managed to live past thirty, so he must've been good at it." Of course, that was also sort of her curse. She knew there were members of the crew that whispered about her behind her back, claiming she was simply riding Abraham's coattails.

"Reading doesn't seem the sort of thing you learn growing up on a ship. Did he teach you?"

Tiny, positioned at the bkw of the ship looked over his shoulder. With a yawn and stretch he casually strolled below deck. The two were left alone save the lookout in the crow's nest.

The boy offered a cheeky smirk. Even he wasn't sure if it was serious. "So can I have permission?"

Isabeau snorted, casting a quick look in his direction. "If you're really as old as you say? Hell no," she told him with a wry, crooked smile.

Eyes flicking back out over the ocean, she added after a moment. "I didn't grow up on the ship. Not 'til I was thirteen, at least. My mother taught me to read." An edge entered her voice, a subtle warning not to pry.

"Your mother who they want? Was she a pirate t-" Ewan bit his lip and let it drop.

Ewan flushed with embarrassment and stuck his tongue out. "As far as I'm concerned girls are boring and germ-covered. Most grownups, uh, adults wouldn't want this sort of eternal youth.

"Unless they're hoping to spend it wrestling in the mud, playing tag, and swabbing decks."

Brushing off the instinctive tensing when he'd started to ask about her mother, Isabeau found herself laughing at him. "So it's more than just your body that reverted in age?" she asked, glancing over. "You've got the mentality of a child too?"

"Well that makes me feel stupid," he sighed, kicking his legs back and forth. "I can still read and write; even do sorcery. But its hard to sit still; fighting scares me more than it ought to, way more than it used to. Maybe its part of being small?

"When I was big I might've had a better plan to get home. Could've worked up a better a deal? Used a charm?" he kicked himself inwardly for not trying either.

An arch of her eyebrow. "Intriguing," she murmured. Shooting him a smirk, she added, "Oh, lad, doesn't matter how big you are, you stow away on my ship and you're gonna pay for it." She shrug. "In fact, if you'd been a grown man I may have just thrown you overboard."

"Well if I was grown I'd not have stowed away! I'm a powerful sorcerer, you know."

Ewan gave a small smile and peered down at himself; it was hard to imagine being anything but small and scrawny "I guess being cute has some advantages. Suppose your being a willowy young girl's disarmed people too?"

She snorted. "Who're you calling willowy?" she demanded with mock outrage, twisting and folding her arms to emphasize her bust. Another huff of repressed laughter and she turned back to the wheel.

"It's not being a young girl that I've found most useful in pulling the wool over people's eyes," she said blithely. "Show enough cleavage and suddenly nobody's paying attention to your hand going for their coin purse."

Ewan averted his eyes. "Like I said... immunity to those charms is another little perk. Or a curse."

It was so easy to forget these pirates might've tried to rob him in another life, charming as they were. There was the matter of forced servitude but he couldn't blame them for that either.

The boy leaned back and peered up at the stars. "So where are we headed next? Never heard of Hoarheim."

A frown stole over her face. "Well, we're sure as hell not going wherever that is," she muttered. "I've never heard of it either, but from now on I plan to avoid it like the plague."

She glanced at him. "Said you needed to get back to your home, right? We can dock in Cerenis, resupply, get you a step closer to where you need to be."

"Y-you'll take me back? Awfully kind of you!" Ewan perked up, and a smile crossed his face. Then the reality settled in a bit, as he realized the true distance. But beggars can't be choosers "...its two months just to La'marri isn't it? Let alone rounding the tip of Kishahn to get to Ceranis. That's a year at least."

"I guess I'll have this job a while," he smile bemusedly. He couldn't hide the fact he was a bit glum over the circumstance. "How do I get your crew to not hate me for that whole, um, salamander thing...?"

Isabeau- trying to think of a way to be comforting and failing miserably- laughed at that. "Pray that it goes away," she chuckled. Tilting her head, she mused aloud, "Or, you know...magic up some ale or something, that'd probably do it."

"One trick I don't know. I dont hold liquor very well anymore," he cracked a smile and peered down toward the deck. There was a loud crash and rauckus cheer below. Ewan winced.

"...so why'd the last cabin boy jump ship?"

She shrugged carelessly. "Hell if I know. Probably got sick of hanging around pirates. Most cabin boys only stick with us as long as it takes to get where they want to be, then skip out." Her tone was simply blunt, not accusatory at all.

"It's just how it is out here. We don't really hold grudges for things like that."

"And I was feeing all guilty you'd get attached...

"When I was an actual child I used to hear pirates would throw boys overboard to placate sea gods," Ewan narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. "I'll remind you I'm much too useful for that."

The murmur below began to die down. It was late now. And he was afraid to ask, "So, um, what sorts of accommodations do I get?"

Chuckling, she looked him over quickly. "Well..." Isabeau mused after a few moments. "I suppose you could sleep in my cabin. On the floor." Her lips twitched. "Might keep the crew from tossing your little ass in the water to "appease the gods"."

Honestly, she was a little worried how well he'd fare if left to the crew- he had given one of them salamander skin, and pirates weren't exactly known for being a forgiving lot. They held grudges.

"Y-you would? I don't know what to say! And I guess I'd be sleeping on the floor of the cabin anway. No snoring drunks, though."

"Have you got a blanket for me?" he gave her a shy look as they went below deck. He wasn't sure if he was being earnest or putting on a show. Being cute and pathetic was as good as a woman showing skin, sometimes. Though it wasn't time to gloat. Superstitious pirates probably would toss his little ass overboard.

"Take one off the bunk," Isabeau told him, moving about the cabin and unbuckling the belt that held her sheath and holster to her hips, then kicking off her boots with a relieved sort of sigh.

"So this is what being a pirate gets you, huh?" Ewan peered around the cabin. It was more plush than the rest of the ship. The boy recognized Essryni rugs, fine Serenian furniture, and oddly-shaped Thanati swords decorating the wall. Not to mention books.

He snatched a fur blanket and wrapped himself in it, settling into the far corner of the room. It seemed unobstrusive enough. The boy had meant to take one of Isabeau's books... but he was tired and ached all over. Without another word he curled into a fetal position, teetering between sleep and the waking world. "G'nigh..."

Despite the warm an odd chill came over Isabeau. The exhaustive cold of midwinter, where all there is to do is huddle beneath blankets and furs and dream...

(Hope I didn't take too many liberties with the cabin description!)

[It's all good!]

Smirking a bit and muttering, "Kids," Isabeau gave him a quick nod and lazily replied, "Night."

She waited until we seemed to be asleep before stripping down and getting into a nightshirt. Child he may currently be, but she still wasn't interested in changing in front of him.

Finally allowing herself to relax, she climbed into bed with a heavy sigh. It was already after midnight, and she'd have to be up at dawn with the rest of the crew.

Isabeau finds herself in a row boat. The water is calm, but a shroud of cold mist obscures her surroundings. She presses forward because its the only thing to do. But if she squints hard enough she can make out figures in the haze; they're male and female, frail and emaciated, old and young. They eye her with timid hunger, like an urchin boy uncertain if he's getting a handout or a beating.

A cold hand strokes her back. Another combs through her hair. A third grips her arm, this time it won't let go. Teeth rake over exposed shoulder. Another bites her forearm. It draws blood this time...

Ewan awoke at dawn in a tangle of blanket. He slept pretty well, all thing sconsidered. Across the cabin Isabeau was tossing and turning. The boy was tempted to wake the young captain. It seemed the right thing to do as the crew was stirring outside. But he wanted to sleep in, especially with the realization it was probably his job to clear the table last evening.

So instead he plucked a book on Yoreiqi gods from one of Isabeau's shelves. Ewan didn't know what sort of fur the blanket was made from. It was wonderfully soft.

Waking with a sharp gasp, Isabeau shot up, jerking the dagger from under her pillow and looking around wildly.

Nothing. No danger. "What the hell?" she groaned, letting the blade fall to the mattress and rubbing her temples. Must have been one hell of a dream.

It was only then she remembered that she had a guest and she glanced around again, finding Ewan curled up with a book. "Oi. Cabin boy. How long you been up?"

The sun had been up a few hours by now. In a day or two they' reach Faran' s Rock. It was a small port used by smugglers and freebooters. It was smaller than Ainu, but had a rougher crowd. It would be a good place to procure replacements for the fallen crew and supplies to repair the damage. It would be business as usual afterwards.

"I don't know. Uh, since dawn?" the boy looked up from his book, but didn't close it.

"Don't suppose your old cabin boy left any clothes behind? Some Yoreiqi boys took my clothes," Ewan wrinkled his nose and looked down at the colorful loincloth left behind. "I look like some savage little dockrat."

"Dawn?" Isabeau groaned, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. "Fuck. I've got to..." She moved toward the door, then paused at his question.

"Maybe. C'mon, I'll see if I can find something after my rounds."

Ewan offered a small smile. "I didn't rise at down to one-up you. I had to piss. That and you were talking in your sleep." He thought it was best not to mention the muffled cries and thrashing; probably just nightmares.

The boy toddled after Isabeau as she made her rounds. No one told him to do anything so he didn't. They passed sailors adjusting the riggings, though Ewan hadn't the faintest clue of what they were doing. Briefly they passed Neil, with his still-discolored abdomen, who gave the little sorcerer a dark look.

"You recovered fast," Ewan muttered in a small voice, trying to sound cheery.

Rolling her eyes, Isabeau clamped a hand on the boy's shoulder and gave Neil a quick nod. "Check those knots, lad, doesn't look like they'll hold."

Steering Ewan away as she continued on her rounds, she thumped the back of his head lightly before she dropped her hand. "Eejit," she muttered. "Word of advice? Don't engage pirates unless they talk to you first. Especially not the ones you've royally pissed off."

"Ow!" Ewan yelped and muttered ruefully when they were out of earshot "What? I'm to be seen and not heard? "

And he still should be grateful.

"Captain," Crag's voice boomed. The man stood at the bow of the ship, shoulder cauterized with gunpowder. He beckoned Isabeau over with some urgency. "Need a word. Private."

The boy trotted behind her without thinking.

Isabeau paused when she was within reach of Crag, glancing down at her little tail, then back up at the pirate. "Private as in just me? Or do ya think the lad could stand to hear it?"

She honestly didn't want to leave him on his own just yet, a little worried that he might get himself into some more trouble.

"Shouldn't he be workin?" Crag snorted and offered a queer half-smile. "Not that a dock rat... or whatever he is... would know much bout this business."

The sailor beckoned the two close. Ewan sidled between Crag and Isabeau; he only came up to the waist of the former. The boy felt an odd swell of pride to be wrapped up in the intrigues of the ship.

"Caught a glimpse of lights on the horizen last eve, captain," the pirate dropped his voice. "Flickering ones, if you catch my drift. Lookout didn't catch 'em. Or didn't think anything of it..."

Isabeau rubbed at the bridge of her nose, sighing. "Wonderful." She could already feel a headache coming on.

Shaking her head, she ordered briskly, "Tell whoever's up in the nest to keep an eye out for anything unusual. Don't be specific if you don't want to. You see something else, you report to me immediately, understood?"

"...so another ship is signalling someone on this ship?" Ewan whispered, pointing to the deck for emphasis.

The boy scanned the deck. He knew little of the crew, and only a handful by name, but there was a tension in the air. He swivelled back to Isabeau and Crag. "Well... I have a good alibi at least."

The captain put her hand on top of the boy's head, urging him to hush. "No one's blaming you just yet, lad," she muttered, brow furrowed in thought.

She shook her head. "We can't do anything about it right now. Like I said, keep an eye out. You see anything odd, report it to me, but be discrete. If we have a sellout, the last thing we need is to tip him off."

"Aye, captain." Crag gave a curt nod and lumbered off down the deck. "I'll keep sharp."

Ewan gave Isabeau the think-eye as she hushed him, patiently waiting for Crag to stride off. "So who do you think it is? The ones who just joined don't look very bright..."

The boy doubted Finn or Neils really knew anything about signals. Both seemed to be dumb muscle who menaced merchants for drinking money. But they could tie knots and rig sails, too, so maybe there was more to them than met the eye.

"Don't judge by looks, lad," Isabeau muttered. She shook her head. "I don't know who it could be, so keep your guard up with everyone."

"This sort of thing happen often?" the boy perched on a nearby crate, swinging his legs. He supposed it must. Unscrupulous types were surely unscrupulous among each other, after all!

Ewan regretted asking. Her authority was probably questioned enough without talk of betrayal. He offered a sympathetic smile. "Sorry. Maybe its nothing."

Isabeau could have read his mind just then, and she arched an eyebrow at him. "Do you mean, have a been betrayed by my crew before? Yes. This sort of thing happens. A lot."

She shrugged, leaning against the rail of the deck and looking out at the sea. "Normally it's the sort of thing that gets nipped in the bud though. Haven't had a whistle blower on the Storm since I shot the last one."

"Hauling cargo seems safer."

Ewan lay back and watched the ocean in silence. He'd be on this boat for quite a while before he reached Le'raana and there was a lot he didn't understand. The boy was roused, however, by an angry bark.

"Oy! Cabin boy! Got to clear up the galley after meals; left a right mess down there last eve."

"But I-" Ewan chewed his lip and looked to Isabeau. Do I have to do this?

The captain chuckled, nodding. "You heard him, cabin boy, hop to." She smirked. "Report back here when you're done."

"You'd be fawning over me if I didn't say what I was..." the boy grumbled to Isabeau as the cook, Tully, lead him off. Tully was had a way about him that seemed almost too gentle for a pirate, but a prickly sort of pride when it came to the galley.

Scrubbing plates was certainly easier than an entire deck. Although the remnants of last night's dinner was arguably less pleasant. Ewan worked wordlessly and Tully seemed to prefer it that way. He also didn't work very hard. He left the plates reasonably clean, but not spotless. There were better things to do.

The boy ducked away quietly. He meant to return to Isabeau, but it was then he remembered he left his satchel, with all his books and wands and ointments, in the galley someplace. But where was it? He began searching high and low...

More worried by the idea of a whistle blower in their midst than she wanted to let on, Isabeau spent a majority of the morning making her rounds in contemplative silence, barking the occasional order but otherwise making not a sound as she ghosted her way over the ship.

Crag seemed to be doing the same job as Isabeau. Florent was watching the sea, the weathered pirate more somber than usual. Neils and Finn were loafing on the deck by mid-morning; the two youths were still green and impressionable for all their bravado - probably rattled from the fight. Tiny worked dilligently and spoke little as always.

Ewan slipped away from the galley to continue his search. Did he leave it in the stores? That's where he first slept but it wasn't behind the barrel!  Frustration and panic were beginning to build as he scurried around the ship.

Catching sight of Ewan bolting along the deck, Isabeau sighed and rubbed her temple. "Gods preserve me," she muttered, then called after him, "Oi, cabin boy! What the hell's got your knickers in a twist?"

"My pack is missing!" Ewan crossed his arms. He supposed he shouldn't address Isabeau so rudely but he didn't care. "I won't be able to do a thing without it."

"Its just a barlap satchel. I thought I left it in the hold. Or maybe the galley. Would anyone have, um, taken it?"

She sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Calm down, lad. Of course someone may have taken it, you're a ship full of pirates."

She shook her head. "Take another look around. If you still can't find it, come and tell me, alright?"

"I know how to look for things," Ewan muttered in a voice pouting voice. "I don't even know what they could do with a sack of books. They can't even read can they?"

Shoulders sagging with exasperation the boy stalked off again. He looked over the galley, though there was only water and salt-pork to be found. Then he peered into the cabin. It was mostly tightly bunched hammocks and a few foot-lockers. Ewan wondered how many of them saw the fruit of their plunder. Isabeau had her cabin and Crag had his bejeweled falchion - but would any live long enough to retire comfortably?

He crept through the cabin... rummaging through the clothes, discarded weapons of various quality, and seemingly other personal keepsakes.

Shaking her head at him, Isabeau moved to the helm and took the wheel, waving off the crewman who had been manning the helm.

Left alone to her thoughts- for the most part- the young captain stared out to the water before them, brow furrowed against the sun glinting off the waves.

"Captain," a gravelly voice spoke up. It was Florent. Though nearly thirty a mixture of scars, malnutrition, and premature graying left him looking quite a bit older. He didn't look his usual hardened and dutiful self; he was contrite, almost paternal.

"Three dead yesterday got me thinkin' I won't be around much longer to enjoy the spoils, as it were. Luck's got to run out sooner or later. No point in our plundering without a chance to enjoy it."

***

Ewan searched every inch of the cabin. There was no sign of his pack. A frustration at the injustice of it all, grown men stealing from a child (well, what they thought to be one anyway) welled up inside him. He set off for the helm of the ship.

Isabeau blinked, tilting her head at the man. "You want to retire," she murmured, a little taken aback. Aside from her father, she'd never actually heard of a pirate managing to do that.

With a small smile, she nodded at him slowly. He'd been with the Storm longer than she had, and it would be strange to see him go, but he was right.

"Will you jump ship in Cerenis then?" she asked quietly.

"Ceranis is months away. Was thinking of ducking off in Faran's rock," the pirate tisked, hooking his thumbs around his belt. "You'll get some more hands there. Won't be missed."

That part was at least true. The tiny port was favored by less respectable traders who stopped by Yoreiq. It would be crawling with unscrupulous sailors in search of a boat.

Ewan nearly barged in on their conversation, but stood on the stairs to the helm - looking sullen and cross as ever.

She gave him a small nod. "You've served this ship almost as long as I've been alive, Florent. Of course you'll be missed." She shrugged. "But I won't stop you leaving. You've earned a life of your own."

Ewan's arrival had her glancing down and she beckoned him tot he helm with a brisk nod. "Any luck, lad?"

"Much appreciated, cap'n," Floren extended a gnarled hand, gripping Isabeau's firmly in a business like handshake. His grip lingered just a bit before he trudged to the main deck, quietly resuming his duties as though nothing happened.

"No," Ewan's shoulders sagged. He felt genuinely defenseless now; an ordinary kid.

Isabeau bit her lip, looking at the boy- man- whatever. He looked like he needed a hug. "Alright. C'mere." She beckoned for him. "I'll make an announcement tonight. We actually do have laws rules on this ship about taking personal belongings, even if no one really pays attention."

"Thanks. I don't mean to be trouble..." Ewan mumbled and shuffled forward. The boy's cheeks were red, not very proud of the tantrum at all.

"Tell 'em I'll, uh, pay somehow." surely there were all sorts of favors a wizard could do for them. Teeth straightening, scar erasure... the salamander thing was just a flule after all.

The captain chuckled, correcting their course slightly as she did and then leaning against the wheel to smirk at him. "Lad, I'm not sure a single one of my crew would trust your payment at this point," she snorted.

"It was a little mistake." Ewan stood in silence for a few minutes, feeling guilty. Ordinarily he'd never volunteer for stupid chores, "What else do you need me to do?"

Perhaps it was the angle of the afternoon sun but a sudden glint caught Angel's eye. It was something at the helm of the ship. Metal? Glass? Liquid?

Isabeau shrugged. "Head back down to the galley,see if anything else needs cleaned. Floors and such." It was hard to keep good hygiene at sea, but she knew what a dirty kitchen could do to a crew. "If that's done, report to Crag. He may have something to keep you busy."

The boy gave a sharp nod and scurried to the galley. He nearly bumped into a pair of sailors ascending the stairs, but managed to slip between them prompting cries of surprise. Tully the Cook, wiry and bird-like, was hunched over a counter and chopping away. It didn't seem appetizing despite the man's pride in his work.

Ewan chose to quietly sweep the room. the boy probably could've lazed about and no one would've noticed, but it didn't feel right. It only took a few minutes. He emptied the dust-bin and darted around the deck in search of the first mate...

In the distance Isabeau could make out the jagged shoals of Faran's rest. They'd be there by morning.

Isabeau eventually relinquished the helm and took another circuit of the deck before becoming too restless even for that.

Glancing around once for the new cabin boy and spotting him approaching Crag, she nodded to herself and started climbing the rigging, making for the crow's nest. Raven- a slight, wiry, and rather aptly named young man- gave her a nod and a murmured, "Cap'n," when he saw her.

"Anything?" she asked, climbing into the wooden bucket alongside him.

He shook his head. "Faran's rest up ahead. Nothing but that for miles, far as I can tell."

She nodded, patting his shoulder absently. "Take a break, lad. I'll take over for an hour or two."

Raven nodded again. "Yes, ma'am."

Isabeau's stint in the crow's nest proved uneventuful. Important as the job of lookout was, even with a motivated person could fall asleep with nothing but blue in all directions. As she sat there, mind-wandering, she couldn't help but notice the wispy cirrus clouds above taking odd shapes... first it was her late mother, warm and beautiful as Isabeau remembered. Then it was the three young who died yesterday, looking like frightened boys in their final moments. She saw the dead Mist Raiders too, snarling and proud. And finally came her father's face...

But this wasn't a trick of the light or hypnosis. The face lingered even when she blinked, even whens he pinched herself.

***

Ewan saw the imposing sailor leaning on the rail. He'd never done anything to Ewan one way or the other, but the man's size alone seemed to instill a primal sort of fear in the boy. He tip-toed beside the first-mate, asking in a small voice. "Um, Isabeau said I was supposed to ask you for work to do..."

[Hope I didn't take too many liberties!]

Frowning, Isabeau began to climb down from the nest, shaking her head to rid herself of fanciful thoughts. She needed to focus.

Several sailors on break lounging against the rail and shipping rum, Crag among them. Ewan scurried over, clutching three tankards. "Here," he thrust them over, sullen as usual.

"There's a good lad. Don't need you workin' no fancy spells. Do as your told and you'll live good here.

"Service with a smile would be nice though, aye?" One ruffled his hair. Ewan rolled his eyes with a petulant sigh.

As Isabeau descended the mash she stepped on something. It was a silver mirror, for shaving, with the monogram F.

"Gods damnit," Isabeau muttered, wincing as she bent to look at the mirror. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Well, someone would probably be peeved with her about this.

Ewan had enough of the pirates roughhousing. And with the rum delivered, he padded over to Isabeau who was examining a cracked mirror. The boy skirted around the glass dust, though months of traveling barefoot had toughened his feet to shoe-leather.

"I'll clean it up in a minute," Ewan sighed, but then paused and stood on his tip-toes for a better look. "Wait. Crag said someone was using a signal mirror..."

She sighed, shaking her head. "I know," she murmured. Handing the glass over, she said softly, "Think you can fix it?" A very rough plan was forming in her mind.

"Besides effectively being some dirty little dockrat without my book, I don't do that kind of magic," Ewan shook his head. "Mine just works on living stuff. I'd need paste or glass blowing lessons to fix it."

A pensive look crossed his face, "What have you got planned?"

Isabeau shook her head, turning the glass over in her hands. "Don't worry you're little head about it. It's- ah!"

Distracted, her finger had slipped and opened a long, shallow cut on the broken glass. Gritting her teeth, she muttered, "Gods all damnit," as she lifted her hand away in an effort not to bleed on the mirror.

"If you got a plan maybe I can hel-- Oh!" Ewan bit his lip and dances away from the remaining bits of glass as they slid from the mirror. Dark blood oozed from the wound. It was superficial, but jagged glass never heals pretty.

The boy reached out a grubby hand with a small smile, "That I can fix. Won't make you a frog. I promise."

She started to shake her head, muttering, "Just a scratch, it'll heal on its own-" then she paused. If she let the boy heal her, it might go a ways to repairing the damage he'd done with Neil, at least in the eyes of her crew.

She thrust her hand out with a sigh. "Alright then."

"Y-you're sure?" Ewan perked up briefly at her request, though his shoulders sagged at her reluctance. "It should be pretty simple, anyway."

A grubby hand tugged her toward the helm of the ship, and the boy began to lecture officiously. "Sorcery's just a matter of describing how the world ought to be in a language it can't ignore. Details and syntax and tone and... all that stuff are important."

"Its hard to describe how someone's innards and skin and muscle are all going to be woven together and not mess it up. Much easier to say they're just part newt," he flashed a smile. "Jagged cut ain't so hard."

"I'll take your word for it," Isabeau muttered, arching an eyebrow. She'd always felt that her own magic was more instinctive than that, but perhaps that was just because she'd never been properly trained.

Ewan pursed his lips, unhappy his long-winded explanation was cut short. Her fingers entwined in his, he whispered a rhyming verse.

Crag gave her a cock-eyed, are you crazy? look.

"See? Its getting better!" Isabeau felt her hand tingle as the ruined skin grew and tightened. It also turned a faint shade of green....

The captain's eyes narrowed and she started to tug her hand back. "Ewan..." she growled dangerously, "if you turn me part lizard I swear by whatever gods you worship I will toss your tiny ass overboard."

"Hold still. You're going to ruin it!" he tugged at her hand with both of his, refusing to let go for fear of breaking the spell. The boy clutched her hand for dear life. Within seconds, the jagged cuts and scrapes from the glass simply vanished leaving smooth and supple skin in its place. Eventually, the the green faded leaving behind a pale hand -- ever so slightly mismatched from the rest of her, as though years of tanning had been undone.

"See! They're almost new!" Ewan let go and dusted his hands with smug satisfaction, "And I'm too cute to have my little ass thrown overboard."

"So you'll make them give my book back at dinner, right?" the boy looked at her hopefully, "...and maybe not run around serving rum all night?"

Isabeau huffed. "You overestimate yourself, kid."

Glancing at her hand, she shrugged. "But I suppose I'll keep you around a while longer. And yeah, I'll get your book back, don't whine."

He wasn't really, but she had to act captain-y sometimes.

"Thanks. I feel naked without it," the boy couldn't help but smile. The sun hung low in the sky and the pair sauntered down to the galley, on the tail of the rest of the crew save Tiny who took Raven's position in the crow's nest.

"So which F do you think? Floren? Farren?" Ewan whispered as they entered. Floren was seated in the usual spot amidst the crewman, looking wistful, and quietly drinking. Farren - a wiry Yoreiqi covered in tattoos, was drinking and laughing.

Ewan could see the cook angrily beckoning him. The boy sighed ans rolled his eyes.

Isabeau had her suspicions, but she kept quiet. "None of your business," she told the boy quietly, but the customary bite to her tone was lacking. "Go on, hop to, lad," she added, nodding to the cook.

"I can help-" Ewan was cut off and was promptly yanked toward Tully. He was tasked with serving food and keeping mugs full. It involved a lot of scurrying As usual the boy bristled at being ordered about, though it made the hawkish cook ever-more demanding.

The Poison Storm was in higher spirits with its wounds licked. It was the insurmountable invasion, not the death, which set things off kilter. There were cheers and boisterous talk of raiding the fat galleons hauling goods from the jungles to Adela. No one dared mention revenge on the Mist Raiders.

"Just wanted to say," Crag slammed a heavy fist down on the table. "Been damn fine sailing with ya these past years, Floren."

Several of the men, most of whom were taught or mentored in some way by the older pirate, slurred congratulations on his 'retirement' from piracy. Floren gave a bashful smile at the accolades; he was never much for words. Eyes turned expectantly to Isabeau. Ewan met her gaze, too, but reprimand for a petty theft was sure to dampen morale (not that he cared.)

The captain had been practically raised by the older members of the crew. One hand went to the cracked mirror in her pocket as she gave Floren a small smile and a nod.

"To the pirate's life," she said quietly, lifting her cup. "A short one, but merry. Our Floren seems to have beaten the odds there."

Her eyes flicked to the obviously anxious Ewan and she gave him a subtle shake of her head, hoping he'd get the message. Be patient.

(Sorry for the long wait!)

The crew replied with raucous cheers. Isabueai's subdued enthusiasm lost, perhaps.  Crag poured from a blue Thanatossi liquor he'd been saving; the big man had never out drank Floren. A glass was slid to Isabeau as a courtesy. Supper went on in high spirits... they'd read Faran's Rest tomorrow -- where there'd be ample supplies, crewman, and entertainment.

Ewan scurried to the head of the table to collect plates from the ranking crewmen. He sidled beside Isabeau and asked in a hushed voice, "You didn't forget, right?"

"You can take more than three dishes at once, whelp!" squawked Tully from across the galley.

Ewan stared daggers... at both.

"No, I didn't forget," she said quietly. "I'm waiting until they're a little more drunk." She smirked and nodded to the cook. "Go on, get to work, lad."

"I'm sick of doing stupid chores. I can do so much more with my book!" he gave a petulanr whine, stomping his foot in anger.

Ewan paled when he saw Tully's expression; the cook didn't look happy or sympathetic...

Isabeau rolled her eyes. "And you claim you're not a kid," she snorted.

"Come on! You gave to understand how important that book-" Ewan turned red at Isabeau.

"Sorry captain. Little whelp will get a swat if this keeps up," Tully growled apologetically. The cook grabbed Ewan's arm and tugged the him away from Isabeau amidst a stammer of 'buts.' The boy sullenly marched about the galley, collecting cups and plates for scrubbing... and murmuring unkind things under his breathe.

The celebration had begun to wind down and the crew began crawling off to the bunks. Crag could barely keep from slumping over. Some of the less inebriated stopped to shake the old pirate's hand. Floren steadily set down his tankard and rose with a sway. "Farewell's almost got me guilty over leaving, Captain," he gave a warm half-smile, marred by a healing scar. "But I reckon its time. Ain't much point in riskin' your hide if you can't spend the coin, yeah?"

"Of course." Isabeau smiled and toasted him. She'd only had a few sips of her drink, so her mug was still nearly full.

Her eyes flicked to Tully and Ewan. "Say, Floren. You wouldn't happen to have seen one of the lads wandering around with a book that seemed...well, out of place?"

"Book?" Floren snorted. "Didn't think anyone besides you and me could read. Hah! Reckon I'll have more time for it now. Think one of yours got nicked?" the man's brow furrowed

Tully dumped water over the coals of his brazier and looked to Ewan. "I'm turning in, boy. Ye best get the rest of this cleaned up by morn" The hawkish man strutted from the galley wthout another word.

The table could use cleaning and the floor could use mopping, but Ewan didn't much care. The boy padded over to join Isabeau and Floren. "Didja find it?"

"Not one of mine, the-"

Isabeau was cut off by Ewan and she rolled her eyes. "The lad's," she told Floren with a nod in the boy's direction.

Near-bouncing on the balls of his feet, the boy crossed his arms "Couldn't you have asked your crew when they were actually here?"They were her crew after all. She could make them, couldn't she?

"Nice thing about books is you can always get another copy. Wager it'll turn up. Ain't like they know where to sell it." A slight grin crossed the pirates face, "Suppose I'll be collecting my share come morning, eh? Hate for it to be nicked."

Floren gave Isabeau and the cabin boy a nod good night, and turned to leave the galley. It was quite late.

Ewan chewed his lip newvously. He was cross with Isabeau but needed her help if he was to ever get it back, "Wh-what if they sell it when we dock? I-I'll never be able to another!"

She arched an eyebrow at him, ever calm in the ace of his agitation. "The loot we sell goes through me. Sure, I'll let some things slide, but if I'm keeping an eye out for your book you'll get it back. Relax."

"Thanks," Ewan gave a smile, shrugging off the mess. Tomorrow they'd make port, sell off the loot, and he's get his book back. "I guess we'd ought to turn in?"

Ewan was eager for sleep, and a bath, he was getting ripe from working in the humid air. The ship wasn't rife with angry drunks tonight, but he'd hoped Isabeau would kindly ignore the lack of danger... It was peferible to a room of snoring pirates.

Isabeau glanced at the boy and gave him an almost sympathetic smile. "You know what, why don't you take the rest of the night off?" She ruffled his hair. "If Tully comes after you I'll distract 'im."

He bristled a bit at having his hair tousled.

"You just keep on giving, don't you?" he cracked a tiny smile, tip-toeing to the stores to grab an orange and a generous helping of salt pork. The boy wolfed it down as they climbed to the deck. The stars were out now, and the deck was deserted save Tiny in the crow's nest. The many lights of Faran's rest blazed in the distance.

"So you're gonna get crewmen and sell loot. Then what? Go and... look for ships?" he chewed his lip distastefully. It was easy to forget they raided ships for gold here, especially with how nice she'd been to him...

"Pretty much." She glanced down at him an arched an eyebrow. "Problem, lad?" There was the tiniest hint of a threat to her voice.

"...and then you sink them?" Ewan squeaked out. He really didn't want to know, though he'd done his share of theft and trickery in pursuit of magic. "And I haven't got a problm! I just, um, wanted to know what we'd be up to."

Better to change the subject.

"Faran's Rest will be dangerous I suppose," the boy approached the rail to peer out over the ocean, silver and frothy in the moonlight. "Do I get a weapon? I know I'm better off lookin' inconspicuous. But I'd hate to wind up enslaved by someone worse than you," a tiny smile crossed his face.

"That depends." She tilted her head at him. "Can you actually use a weapon?"

"Nope," he grinned, "but what's that matter? Its a pointy bit of metal to stick people with. Anyone can do that."

She just stared at him for a long moment.

"Well D that's what you think, you're more likely to be a hindrance than a help in a real fight," she snorted. "Sure, kid, I'll give you a weapon, but only if you prove to me you're not gonna be an idiot with it."

Ewan folded his arms and rolled his eyes, "Do you think I'm going to run around playing with it? We're in a dangerous place and I'd ought to have a- a sword or something!"

The boy's shoulder sagged. She seemed oddly serious. "Fine. What do I gotta- need to do?"

"I'm gonna teach you," she said with a shrug. "I can live with giving you a dagger. C'mon." Isabeau tugged a lock of his hair and moved toward her cabin.

When they reached Isabeau's cabin, Ewan dog-shook his hair into place with a scowl, "Always messing up my hair."

The boy looked around the cabin and all its plundered finery: Essrynni carpets, Kishahni idols, and ancient Serenian silverware (probably a family heirloom once upon a time). He fixed his eyes on a smallsword with a golden dragon-shaped hilt, set with a ruby. Ewan snatched it from a shelf and gave it a clumsy swing.

"Well this is about as valuable as my book, can I have it?" His arm began to tire from the weight.

Isabeau sighed. "No." She took the blade from him with a dry look. "Maybe if you prove to me you're worry the thing, alright?"

She pulled a small dagger from under her pillow, hunted around for a sheath that would fit, and handed them over. "You can have this."

"You know I'm not going to prance around and toss it in the ocean..." Ewan rolled his eyes with a smirk. The boy wriggled into the dash and knife-sheath Isabeau produced. Between the sash being too big and being dressed only in a loin cloth he looked ridiculous.

"So's anyone actually tried to off you in your sleep?" He held up the blade in an awkward fencing stance. "Haven't done this since I was... a kid."

Isabeau answered the question honestly. "Yes. Four times."

She rolled her eyes and moved to correct his stance. "It's a dagger, lad, not a kitchen knife. You've got to be clever to use one of these, yeah? A strategic fighter, not one of these big louts swinging around anything with a pointy end."

"So what do I do? Just jump in close before I get my head cut off?" Ewan squinted at the little knife. He'd probably need it some day. His magic wasn't very good at fighting anything off. Though between the size of him and the knife he wasn't very threatening. He whined, "And how do you parry without getting your hand chopped?"

The scrawny kid wasn't much good no matter how hard Isabeau tried to correct him. His grip on the dagger was weak, and he flinched too easily.

The captain sighed and rubbed a hand down her face. "The idea if to not need to use it. But if you have to, be fast, and be sneaky. Use your size to your advantage, duck under an opponent's guard."

They danced around each-other some more. One time the boy did manage to weave beneath her reach with the dagger, wrapped up to prevent injury. His face lit up with smug satisfaction, "There! See?" Of course on the next two tries he was subsequently tripped then knocked flat on his button. He growled up at the pirate, "Well now you're just showing off!"

It was quite late now and Ewan was tired and sweaty. He set the knife down on a nearby desk and slumped against the wall. "I guess we'd better sleep for tomorrow. Can I, uh, stay here again? I mean I don't think your crew wants to throw me overboard but..."

The floor of Isabeau's cabin was a lot more comfortable. And hopefully looking cute was enough to dredge up sympathy.

Hardly even breathing hard, Isabeau rolled her eyes. "Oh- why not. Grab a blanket," she muttered, turning away from him to strip out of her salty, sticky blouse and breeches.

"If I trip over you in the middle of the night you're out on your ass," she tossed over her shoulder.

(We can back track if there was anything missed. Figure we've milled about the boat for a while now.)

"So you don't watch where you step and I'll have to sleep on a splintery floor?" he flashed an impish grin and snatched a nearby blanket, curling up in in the corner of the room. The boy briefly averting his eyes from Isabeau; girls hardly had the same allure for him these days. Thoughts of losing his magic book, and how he'd really be some smelly little dockrat without it now, staved off sleep. He decided not to complain since Isabeau was probably sick of hearing of it.

The captain's own dreams were troubled. She was on a raft in the ocean amidst the flotsam of a shipwreck. Her crew called out from the water around her, begging to be rescued, but the fog was thick. Each time she paddled to drowning sailor something would drag him screaming beneath the waves... she would wake in a cold sweat.

The morning after was fortunately uneventful. Isabeau walked the deck. Crag had the men lower the sails and prepare for docking. Ewan scurried about swabbing the deck and running errands. swabbed the deck and cleaned the galley surprisingly well when Tully put a scare into him.

By noon Faran's rest was in sight. It was technically part of Yoreiq but so tiny and remote from the archipelago it was never inhabited. Now, it was a shanty town sporting a few orchards in the scrubby highlands.There was no proper lord or chieftain, though a former captain called Snorri Darkfisher collected tribute from residents in exchange for protection. There was an understanding between crews that peace was to be kept, at least while dockside.

Ewan Sat perched on a barrel at the helm, while Isabeau guided the Poison Storm onto the dock.

Isabeau glanced at the boy as she guided the ship into port, calling orders to her crew. "Here, make yourself useful." She tossed him a length of rope. "Go help Neil tie up the sails."

"Neil's?" Ewan cringed and looked toward Neil, shoulders sagging. The spell was starting to fade from the sailor, the texture returned but the flesh was still greenish.

The burly sailor lept down from the mast with a thud, laying out the sail. Close to Isabeau's age and more a bky than a man he wouldn't have been horribly intimidating if not for being enormous.

"Isn't there anyone else I can help" Ewan pouted.

She arched an eyebrow. "Don't back talk me, lad. Besides-" She jerked her head in Neil's direction. "If you can get him to like you, you've got nothing to worry about on this ship. Now get moving."

She grabbed his shoulder to turn him and gave him and little slap on his lower back to get him moving.

"Ow! What was-" Ewan looked Isabeau up and down giving her the stinkeye. "Yes catain." The boy sighed and trotted odd toward Neil's, rubbing his bottom for show.

He approached Neil's and gulped, standing up to the pirates waist. "It's wearing off. You're less green and-" he chewed his lip with hesitation. "-do you need any help with the sail..?"

Meanwhile Crag approached Isabeau, balancing a dagger on his palm. "Reckon we'll need four to five more. Floren and the three who kicked off, plus one or two always vanish at Port." The big man's voice dropped, "haven't had luck with the signals. How bout you?"

She shook her head with a sigh, pulling her eyes away from the cabin boy to look at her first mate. "Nothing. And it's making me edgy. Only a fool really trusts pirates, but feeling like any one of my crew could have turned on me is driving me mad."

Isabeau dragged a hand down her face. "Here. Take the helm, I'm gonna go help the lads with the cargo." She need to do something to distract herself.

At Neils' direction, Ewan scurried off to get the far edge of the sail and begin rolling. The boy dusted his hands and cleared his throat,



"Anyway, um, I'm sorry," he awkwardly extended a slim hand, "thought I could save you from an ugly scar but I messed up."

***

"Don't hurt to remind 'em you're one of 'em," Crag nodded in approval. "Wouldn't want anyone gettin' bad ideas on account of a mutineer. 'specially with new crew coming."

The crewmen picked up the pace unloading the cargo (an assortment of whatever quality goods were aboard the Poison Storm's prey). The habit of letting a woman do lifting died hard for some, even at sea. Several mules and a hooded merchant sat on the docks to relieve them of their loot.