There were more grumblings from the crew, but also a smattering of grins and laughs as the Captain directed the fancy landlubber toward the mast. It was a long climb up there, and already others were cheering Raven as he descending the rope to rejoin his comrades.
Fletcher, still a bit pale in the face and queasy in the gut, slowly maneuvered his way toward it, given occasional pushes from crewmen lining the way. At the base of the mast, he gave Isabeau a grim look -- for, really, up there was no better prison than her chambers -- and looked up. At least the afternoon sky was clear and sunny.
He looked back at her, then down to her gun. Specks of black ringed the wheel shaft. "Prime the pan with less powder," he told her in a low voice so that others around wouldn't hear. "It'll lessen the chance of a misfire, and create less wear on the gun."
With that, he let out a soft sigh and began the ascent.