A stiff breeze rolls across the harbour, which is bustling with everyday activity. Groups of merchants, traders, fishermen, and other agents of economy move their products about like several independent colonies of ants.
Standing out from the common people of business are dozens and dozens of naval officers, who walk back and forth about the harbor, moving supplies onto four large battleships. The vessels of war take up a significant portion of the harbour, as each ship is roughly ten times the size of the average personal sailboat.
Amidst the hectic hubbub are four particular officers, who sit at a table laden with maps and compasses. They are completely numb to the sound of the activity around them, as a lifetime of naval experience has turned the clamor of footsteps, faint shouts, and clunking cargo into a white noise.
The four men are clearly of a higher rank than the officers around them, one of them of an even higher rank than the other three: Commodore Kinsley. Sitting around the table with him is Normond at his right, who keeps his gaze fixed on the contents of the table. Two others sit with them, one on Kinsley's left and one across from him: Captain Groff and Captain Patton.
"He attacked approximately fifty nautical miles from the coast, about here." Normand points to a spot on the largest map between them. Patton and Groff both lean in to get a better look.
"So we set our course for there?" Patton chimes in.
"There's little chance he's still there." Kinsley postulates as he brings a hand up to his chin. "Were you able to discern which way he went?" He turns to Normond.
"Afraid not, sir." Normand says apologetically. "By the time we awoke, he was long gone."
"Mm." Kinsley nods, his hand moving with his chin as though it had been glued to it. After a few seconds of silence to make it seem like his decision required heavy meditation, Kinsley removes his hand from his chin and places an index finger down on the map decisively. "We shall split in four directions at this point."
He turns to each individual officer to give them instructions. "Normond, you will go north along the coast. Patton, you will travel northeast, and Groff, southeast. I will take the southern coast. If you come across any vessels in your course, stop them for information. After a week, turn back and we will reconvene."
"And if we come across him sir?" Normond implores pensively.
"Then be prepared for a quarrel. Retrieve him alive, if possible." Kinsley says with an auspicious weight behind his words.
Kinsley stands up, straightening his posture and adjusting his uniform. "Prepare to board, we must catch the winds whilst they are in our favour."
Normond, Patton, and Groff all stand in unison, similarly correcting their posture and neatening their uniforms. Normond and Patton turn to leave, but Groff halts for one second.
"One last thing, Commodore...has Sir Wilcox approved of this venture? It seems quite expedient, I'm surprised you were able to gain his consent so easily."
"If anyone is curious, tell them we are conducting a routine training venture." Kinsley turns his back as he ends his sentence, effectively staunching any chance for further questioning. He walks away briskly, towards a ramp which leads onto one of the battleships.
Groff, Patton, and Normond look among themselves with a quiet disconcertion from Kinsley's final instruction.
"Routine venture?" Patton forms the two words into a question.
"A new routine, I suppose." Normond nods in concurrence with Kinsley's proposition, walking away promptly to his ship.
~
YOU ARE READING
The Archman
RomanceWhile departing for London to meet with her fiancé, Eira Pryce finds herself taken captive by a living legend, the fabled pirate known only as the Archman. As it turns out, the fables may not have been so accurate in their portrayal of this mythic f...
