Don't Swim Against the Current [Archive]

[DragonSong]

Sailing the Poison Storm up the system of rivers that would get them deeper into Connlaoth took some doing, but they managed alright. Docking the ship at a small, riverside town that Isabeau didn't even bother to learn the name of, the captain disembarked as soon as she was able and set out.

She had some errands to run, and the ship would be in good hands with her first mate. The pistol at her hip was in dire need of some maintenance, not to mention she had to hire someone to repair the broken rail of the Storm. And maybe someone to do a routine check on the rudder. And the guns.

Gods, her poor girl was a mess.

A sign that proclaimed "gunsmith" caught her attention, and she didn't bother to read the rest before marching into the little shop. May as well get one thing checked off her list."Hello?" she called, looking around for the proprietor. 

[Cambie]

"Thirty ingots of pure silver a month, Perry.  I need you to get that contract for me, and nothing less.  You're the only one who can get it done."

Fletcher exhaled softly and took a sip of the burgundy wine before him as he sized up the local gunsmith.  The glass goblet was probably the cleanest thing in this entire back room, and the front of the gunsmith's store had not been any cleaner or more inviting. But Perry's cousin was foreman of the nearby silver mine, and he needed that ore.  The quality was unlike any other in Connlaoth.

"My Lord de Villiers," Perry said as he sat across from the master gunsmith, "will my utmost respect, you ask too much of me! My shop would go out of business if they ramped production of silver! Where would I get my metals for my own guns?"

"Look, Perry, I'm offering you a very good price here as the middleman, and you know I have the money to back it up. I need that silver. The money I'm paying you will cover at least a portion of your losses."

Perry sat unmoving, brows furled, and so Fletcher leaned in. "Your son Isaac.  He has been apprenticing in your shop for years, and he's almost of age.  What if I put in a good word for him, get him into the College and Uthlyn?" 

That sparked a twitch in gunsmith Perry's eye as he looked at Fletcher with incredulity as he continued, "You do fine work here, but the College has the greatest gunsmiths in the world. Just do this one favor for me, and I will repay you in kind."

Perry opened his mouth to say something, when a voice echoed from the front of the store.  He stood from the table and shook his head. "Let me think of it while I go tend to this customer. With the war going on, it's been... busy around here."

Fletcher also stood and followed Perry out, wine in hand, as the elder gunsmith stepped up to the counter.  It was a lady in the storefront, but clearly not a Connlaothian.  Regardless, coin was coin these days.  "How can I help you, miss?" Perry asked as Fletcher leaned against the doorway of the back room, watching casually.

[DragonSong]

Isabeau eyes both men with a long practiced, calculating look before addressing the one who seemed to be running the shop. "You do maintenance?" She drew her pistol to show him, tilting it so the wear on the weapon was visible.

"If your work is quality, I'll pay for it," she said easily. Pausing a moment, she added, "And how are you with bigger guns? Like a ship's canons?" Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone.

[Cambie]

"Aye, the finest gun work in the country!" Perry exclaimed proudly before shooting a glance over at Fletcher.  Boy, was that an understatement.  "At least west of Uthlyn."

The mention of cannons brought a furrow to his brow. The gunsmith new smaller arms, but cannons and the like were beyond him. Indeed, she would be hard pressed to find anyone who knew the intricacies of larger artillery pieces outside of the colleges.

His eyes drifted toward Fletcher. "This man can help you."

Wait, what?

Fletcher immediately set down his goblet on a sawdust-covered table and opened his mouth to protest, when Perry muttered out the side of his mouth, "You know cannons are expensive maintenance. I need the gold.  Give me half of what you charge her, and the other payment we agreed on. And Isaac.  Get him into the colleges, and you will have your contract."

Fletcher was left standing between Isabeau and Perry, mouth agape as he looked between them.  Did this man just strong-arm him?  HIM!  Fletcher de Villiers, who was called upon by lords and Dukes to craft their firearms! He didn't have time -- nor the patience -- to take care of some third-grade cannons.

But the silver contract.  He needed that.

Fletcher grit his teeth together and scowled mightily at Perry, pointing at him as though his finger somehow bound the man to his word.  Then he turned to Isabeau with an awkward smile and nodded. "I can do both, and my work is impeccable."

[DragonSong]

She gave him a brief, slightly forced smile. Her face wasn't used to the expression. "Wonderful," she said sincerely. Holstering her pistol- if he could do both, as he claimed, she saw no reason to leave it here- and turned to face him and held out her hand.

"My name's Isabeau," she said briskly. It seemed clear to her by the men's interactions that this gunsmith didn't really want to be working on her ship, but as long as he got the job done and done well she didn't care. "My ship's at the docks- how soon can you come take a look at her?"

[Cambie]

Fletcher's handshake was soft, the way an artisan's would be.  And brief.

He glowered at Perry one more time before replying, "A pleasure, Lady Isabeau. If you have the coin at your ship, we can go this instant. I have a carriage outside waiting."

If this trip landed him that silver he so badly wanted, then a detour of a day or two was worth it.

[DragonSong]

A carriage? Lady? Giving him a wry, lopsided smile she said, "Just Isabeau is fine, sir. Or Captain, if you feel you must give me a title."

She turned to leave, nodding her thanks at the other man. Over her shoulder she threw back, "What's your fee? Or is that something you're going to have to wait to tell me until you've seen just what it is you've got to do?" That's what she would do anyway, wait until she saw the scope of the job before she set a price.

Although she got the distinct feeling that this man, with his carriages and his smooth, airy handshake, was not very much like her.

[Cambie]

He looked at her oddly. You didn't find many women captains in Connlaoth -- not that he was judging.  With a nod, he echoed, "A pleasure, Captain. I am Fletcher de Villiers."  No title needed.

And indeed there was a carriage waiting outside for them, though it certainly looked like no carriage around these parts. It almost looked... armored. Thick paneled walls, iron spokes beneath.  The driver gave a nod to Fletcher.  He had several guns on him, and looked ready for war.  Another man sat on the back also with a loaded weapon.

As Fletcher opened the door for the Lady, he replied, "Very astute, captain. I'll have to see what I'm working with before I assess a fee. I must warn you, I charge more than the average gunsmith for my time. Believe me, I am worth every copper."

[DragonSong]

Isabeau gave a low whistle at the sight of the carriage, one eyebrow arching up fractionally. Which was a pretty intense expression of emotion for her. "Not bad," she murmured.

Nodding as he opened the door for her, she flashed a quick smile. "I'm sure you are, Mister Fletcher." She settled herself onto the seat of the carriage and looked around curiously. "You design this?" she asked bluntly. If that was the case, he really would be worth the money.

[Cambie]

"Yes, I did," came the reply as he climbed inside and shut the door behind him.  With a lurch, the onerous vehicle began rolling forward toward the docks at the other end of town.

The interior of the carriage looked very much as utilitarian as the outer panels. While the seats were cushioned in velvet, the rest of the cabin looked more like a workshop than anything.  Indeed, there was a small bench set up right in front of where the two sat, and all along the walls were the gleaming tools of a craftsman, each impeccably clean and resting on metallic racks.

"It can take gunfire, anything short of a blunderbuss or a cannon," he explained, though he left out the part where he'd had to learn that lesson the hard way.  In times of war, he found himself increasingly paranoid -- and for good reason.

"And," he added after a moment, gesturing to the bench, "sometimes on these long journeys I like to get some work done.  Speaking of which, how about we take a look at that pistol of yours?"

[DragonSong]

Another low, appreciative whistle as she looked around and murmured, "Impressive."

Shaking her head, Isabeau glanced at him and replied with a quick, "Oh, yeah. Sure, thanks," reaching for the pistol at her hip and handing it over.

"I do the best upkeep I can," she said with a little shrug. "But you know how it is- enough wear and tear and eventually you just need a professional." She flashed him a quick, crooked smile.

[Cambie]

Fletcher gave her a smile back.  He was most certainly a professional.

His brow furrowed slightly as he inspected the piece from all angles, and then peeked down the barrel. 

"The wheel shaft is slightly bent," he remarked even as he reached across her (with an apologetic "excuse me") to snatch a thin metal rod off the rack of tools. "and the bore has widened significantly.  The barrel will have to be replaced, and it will take time." 

There were also several design flaws he immediately noticed, though he kept those to himself.  After all, for the most part whoever had constructed this weapon had done a fine job.  Nothing that a little work couldn't remedy... or improve.

He glanced up at her. "You've clearly fired this a lot.  Merchant ship, I'm guessing?"

[DragonSong]

Her most charming smile lit up her face and she leaned back in her seat, folding her arms just under her chest. "Something like that."

Biting her lip, she let out a huff of air through her nose and her eyes flicked from his face to the weapon. "How long is "time"?" She asked.

She probably shouldn't be surprised that it was going to need more than a polish and a few tweaks- the damn thing was practically as old as she was, a gift from her father before he'd handed command of the ship over to her.

[Cambie]

Fletcher was back to fiddling with the pistol, using the little rod to pry and prod at every nook of it.

"At least a day," he replied, head still down. "And if you truly have cannons that need to be examined, it'll be much longer."

For all they talked of cannons, it didn't even occur to him that a merchant ship wouldn't have blackpowder and cannons on board.  Outside, the carriage took a gentle turn down a sloping road and toward the water.

[DragonSong]

Isabeau sighed, dropping her chin onto one hand, but gave a small shrug. "Yeah. Guess I shouldn't expect anything faster, not if I want the job done right," she murmured, glancing away as he brow furrowed in thought.

"Ah- just so you know," she said as a thought suddenly struck her. "My crew...well, they're simple merchants you understand. Don't think they've seen the likes of you often, so they may be a little...standoffish."

[Cambie]

While he didn't look at her just then, his brow raised slightly. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine, but I suppose I could stay out of their way as much as possible."

A knock came from the front of the carriage just as it lurched to a stop.  The driver opened a sliding hatch and peeked in.  "Which ship is yours, milady?"

The bustle of the docks carried on all around them, oblivious to the carriage. People around these parts didn't have time to stop and stare.

[DragonSong]

"It's called the Poison Storm," Isabeau replied to the driver, leaning forward a bit in an attempt to see the docks through the small hatch.

"A frigate, looks old but sturdy, and she's got dark gray sails. The name's painted in gold. And her figurehead's a mermaid, one arm reaching up toward the bow." She sat back, arms folding just under her chest and tapping her fingers distractedly on her ribs.

[Cambie]

The dockside was small enough that it didn't take the driver much longer to find the right pier.  He opened the door for his two passengers and Fletcher stepped out, still examining the pistol and oblivious to his surroundings.

Until he almost walked into a burly tattooed sailor loading barrels up the gangplank and onto the ship.  With a fierce scowl, the man gave Fletcher a gold toothed snarl and said, "Watch yer step, pretty boy. Next time, ye be swimmin' in the wharf."

Fletcher could only blink and stare for a moment as the man lumbered past him.  "I see what you mean," he finally said to Isabeau, eyes locked on the sailor's back even as he absentmindedly handed the gun back to her.

[DragonSong]

She took her pistol back with an apologetic half-smile. "Excuse me one moment, sir."

Taking a breath, she turned and shouted at her sailor's back, "Crag! Mind your manners around our guest, or it's your ass I'm hauling up the mast the next time I say fly the colors, ya hear me?"

The pirate stiffened, nodded quickly, and went about his business.

Isabeau turned back to Fletcher with and innocent smile and a bright, "Shall we?" gesturing to the gangway with a wave of her hand.

[Cambie]

Fletcher watched blankly as she reprimanded the sailor who must've been at least twice her size. His eyes widened even further as the man, taught his lesson, scurried off like a mouse who'd lost his cheese.

"Uhh, sure thing," was all he could muster as they proceeded up aboard the ship.  The entire way up, all he could smell was brine and wood wax.

As soon as he stepped on deck, the ship rocking slightly back and forth with the gentle lapping waves, he stopped.

"I... have a small request," he said to her back. "I have several chests in the carriage.  My belongings, and I would like them close at hand if I am to work upon your cannons. They're better off by my side than off in an inn somewhere."

Especially considering the staggering value of their contents.