A Pirate's Life for Mei

Poor Unfortunate Soul

Armand

Armand studied their destination from where he drifted in the river next to the log, hidden behind an unoccupied fishing boat. They were nearly at the mouth of the river, and the water had become briny, fresh and salt mixing, the smell of the ocean in his nose.

After the bridge, the river had widened, and the banks had become lined with fishing boats. Luckily, a few had already departed as fishers sought their morning catch, and others had yet to arrive. Those few already aboard and preparing had been too busy with nets and other preparations to pay much attention to a piece of driftwood floating by, so the prisoners had gone undetected.

Just before the mouth of the river, where the naval headquarters stood, the north bank became lined with a long, wooden dock that would allow at least two large vessels to tie up parallel to the shore. It was likely designed to be used by merchant and cargo ships loading and unloading from the many warehouses and factories lining the river. Only one of those berths was currently occupied.

At some point, most of us have probably seen beautiful pictures of the glorious ships of the golden age of sailing. Huge, beautiful things with a forest of masts and sheets upon sheets of snow-white canvas. Long decks and high rear castles with the captain confidently at the wheel. Dozens of deadly cannons lined up in perfect rows, poking out of portholes and ready to blast you to smithereens.

The work sloop looked nothing like that.

It was an old, fifteen-meter-long bathtub made of worn gray wood. There were no lower decks and no cabin; it looked like a large rowboat with a single mast. It had one baby cannon in the front and two guns that were even smaller and on swivels in the back. The sides only rose a meter above the water, and if you loaded too much weight, it would probably sink beneath the waves. All-in-all, it packed about as much punch as an angry toddler compared to the true ships of war that dominated the seas.

Tied up to the main pier, a facility designed for larger vessels, the hull was slightly below the top of the dock, and you had to climb up to get out of the boat. It was not a ship to inspire stories or one in which anyone sane would risk trans-oceanic voyages. In fact, one should probably stay within sight of shore unless in calm weather and run before any sincere storm.

On the plus side, only two men stood guard over it, one in the sloop itself, sitting at attention on the bench in front of the rudder, back ramrod straight, the other marine slowly pacing back and forth on the dock with precise footsteps. Each had their trusty musket and was alert to trouble, as the escaping prisoners had successfully stirred up the entire island. Besides, when your boss could just look out the window and see you at any given moment, you probably wanted to look like you were doing your best at all times.

Armand, Lance, and Lia bobbed in the river in the lee of the fishing boats moored to the north banks. They hastily came up with a plan. Well, Armand came up with a plan, even miming it all out to the Carib girl, at which point both of the others strenuously objected to it. However, as neither had any better ideas and Lia's blowgun was useless after getting wet, they reluctantly agreed to his strategy.

Lance was sent ahead first. Draped over the log in the water, and not having to feign the pain he was in, he floated down to the practically derelict sloop. With a wave, he croaked to get their attention. "Oi! Little 'elp 'ere?"

From the shadows behind a fishing boat, Armand rolled his eyes at the man's exaggerated accent.

The soldier in the boat was the first to turn and notice Lance. He waved at the other on duty. "Gimmel! A hand!"

The other soldier saw the trouble and swiftly jumped down into the boat. Together, they reached over the edge of the hull and tried to help Lance into the ship.