Captain Fletcher leaned casually against a stack of crates on the wharf, shielding his pipe against the sea breeze as he lit it. Taking a long puff, he shifted his focus to the ships in the harbor. He knew the name of almost every one, as well as the captain that commanded them. Save for three. They had each dropped anchor right before the storm two days back, but until dawn it’d been dumping rain in droves and nearly everyone in DaVincii port had stayed indoors. As soon as the first ray of sun pierced the clouds, Fletcher sent off one of his runners to find out what she could about the newcomers. He had never officially held the role of mayor or chief or governor or any such silly title, but he’d protected the town from the growing reach of the Crown, and he intended to keep it that way. Most leaders used power to command their people, but Fletcher preferred respect. Besides, pirates don’t take too kindly to being told what to do.
A thin girl scampered across the docks, scanning the maze of cargo till she spotted the reclining captain.
“Evening Skip. What’d you find?” He asked.
She pointed across the harbor to a slight boat, sitting low in the water. “She’s the Iron Ghost, captained by Garrett Abrams. He’s lanky and likes to dress funny, loik those fancy rich folk? Pretty snappy too, nearly threw me in the water when ‘e spotted me nosing around.”
“And his crew?”
“Calls ‘em the Specters, but he’s only got a few left. Looking to bring on more.” She nodded at the second new ship, it’s massive size commanding attention even from this distance. “That’s Capt’n Jack Whitman’s ship, King’s Blunder.”
Fletcher raised an eyebrow, “Quite the imposing figure isn’t she?”
Skip nodded, “Cap’n is too. Turns out ‘e served under the majesty ‘fore turning pirate. Says if he’s gonna be hunt’n down booty, he’d rather do it for ‘imself stead of corrupted navy folks. Lost lot of ‘is sailors sink’n a royal galleon ‘fore comin’ to port.”
She shoved a finger towards the last ship, “Swift Demise, crewed by ‘e Reavers and Capt’n’ed by Rodmar Torifsson. E’s a right rogue, loiks explor’n. Word is ‘e sailed Hell’s Gate just for ‘e thrill. ‘Alf his crew jumped ship ‘fore he did it, says it was roight suicide. Made it though.”
“Must be a good helmsman, his ship barely has a scratch.” Fletcher stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Nodding once more, Skip shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. “So…”
Shaking his head slightly with a chuckle, the captain tossed her a small pouch of coins, “Well done Skip. Stay away from the gambling tables.”
“Oi, I’m a responsible lass.” Grinning mischievously, she spun on her heel and headed straight for the tavern. More than likely, she’d be broke again by sundown.
Fletcher watched her go, pondering her words. Three captains, all looking to bring on new crew hm? He tapped his pipe on the side of the crate, grinding the fallen embers with his heel. What could go possibly go wrong?
[See you April 23rd at noon!!!]