It had been this same way for three days now. Every now and then, when the wind from the harbor had died to a whisper and when the boat traffic had thinned, he caught the smell of cooking food. Just a hint of it... a ghost... a whisper. It never failed to remind him that his own dinner awaited at home. But it puzzled him that he should smell that smell here on the same sunbaked dock where he had fished for the last six years, when he had never before caught the scent of anything tastier than salt and dead fish.

He looks around and shrugs his rounded shoulders. He sets down his pail of fresh caught snapper and dumps the dregs of his bait over the side. With the dropping of his dregs, the pelicans and seagulls come for their dinner. He looks into the water and sees only the shallow waves licking the cracked and ruined pilons of the dock next to this. Even the otters that he had seen recently were gone now... not that they could cook a clam. He shifts his weight and listens to the old wood under him creak in protest.

Nobody uses these docks anymore. The tide is too undependable. And certainly nobody within a mile is having a clambake. He rubs his bald head, puts on his cracked and dirty fez, grabs his bucket, and heads home. There are lots of mysteries in Octopon. This will be one of them. But it isn't going to slow him for his own supper.

She longed for the quiet of night. It was close now -- the sun dipping low in the sky and lighting the water with a red glow. The otters would be back soon. When the sun sinks below the waves, they put their own play aside and come to join her. They enjoyed the evening swims as much as she. It was the only time this wretched place could remind her of home.

She lived for the low tide, when the fishermen all went home for their dinners, so she could creep out from beneath the docks, and join her friends in the sea. She longed for the calming touch of the tropical waters on her frayed nerves and the stinging touch of salt water that dampens the memories that haunted her tortured days. She is not a creature of night by nature. Yet, she is becoming one.

In the warm waters, freedom could be hers again. Free from the dangerous men who walked on shore, free from the men who sailed these waters and stranded her here. This place they called Octopon.

She had heard their strange tongues utter its name. "Octopon." This place is nothing like the village her father took her to and raised her by when she was younger. There were monkey-birds here, like there were in that village, but that is where the similarities ended.

There were also men here, vicious and cruel humans, and beings she had never seen before. The city teemed with life, foreign and intimidating. Life that was crowded like the schools of fish which swim around the reefs. Except they did not move in the ebbs and flows of the sea, they were not fluid and graceful, they were just loud and frightening. She stayed where she was, laired beneath a dead dock in a backwater part of the harbors. And she waited for night. For freedom.

The swim which brought her here had been tiring, even with the assistance of the dolphins. The deprivations of her imprisonment had sapped her strength and slowed her recovery. The dolphins had brought her away from the ship, quickly, safely. The otters had led her to the safety of shore. Exhausted from the journey, scared, alone, and hurt, she crawled beneath this very dock and slept for two days.

She has been living here now, in a kind of daytime paralysis, for what she thinks must be five days. It is too dangerous to go out when the sun shines. Fortunately, the otters do not forget her and bring her food. Fish (which she had to eat raw) and then... clams.

The clams were a good find. The other night she had retrieved in her dives, the helmet in which she cooks. She makes no open flame, for fear the humans will come. But the metal heats, so her water boils and warms her food. Clams. Steamed in the boiling water. She watches them now, their shells opening as they cook, inviting her to pluck out the succulent insides.

She holds back her eager fingers. The creaking on the dock above her suggests she is still not alone, but would be soon.

The old fisherman has left his perch. It is safe now to eat. She pries open the shellfish and hungrily removes its contents. Some kelp would be nice, and a little rice. Maybe she can find some rice if she journeys into the city tonight.

She tenses at the thought. She would not have to go far. The fear creeps slowly into her thoughts once again. Perhaps the clams are all she needs.

Eating a satisfying hot meal for the first time in a while brings back the memories, of that dinner not long ago. Was that the last time she has had a hot meal?

Her eyes dart around nervously, trying to reassure herself of her relative safety. She is alone. The men are long gone. The sounds of the water lapping against the pillars of the dock bring her back. She sets the remains of her dinner aside in her makeshift netting and runs to the water. She dives below the surface as smoothly as the otters which wait for her, leaving behind the people, the men, and her unhappy memories. She dives away from Octopon, toward freedom.

On a sea as blue as sapphire, beneath the fluttering pinion of a bloody bone on a pirate ship of the same name, Abdullah Raman Abdul gingerly rubs the massive lump on his head. He looks at the sailor tied to the mast, and scowls the menacing, gap toothed scowl that earned him the nickname "Frowning Abdul."

"I know you saw her leave," he hisses through the gap in his teeth. "Have you anything else to say?"

The young man nods his head furiously in the affirmative. The gag prevents him from voicing his explanations. It wouldn't matter anyway. Frowning Abdul is as bloody a pirate as there is on the twenty seas of Mer.

The pirate captain gestures for the first mate, Mr. Keyes, to bring over a large wooden bucket. The mate complies, setting it at the feet of the hapless sailor. Abdul looks around at his crew, scowls and pulls out his great scimitar of wounding.

"Now hear me, you T'lot skankbirds! Anyone who even thinks of looking the other way on Abdul had better think again. Cause if I catch another one of you turning a kind eye on my cabin wenches, I will do worse than this...."

He slices open the lower abdoman of the sailor, sending several ropes of entrails and a gout of blood into the wooden pail. Almost immediately the sea gulls descend and start feasting on the mess, even as the sailor slowly, very slowly, dies.

"Mr. Keyes. I don't like losing my valuables. We are going to Octopon, and we are going to find that puny witch. And hear this!" he shouts again to his mortified crew. "I am a generous captain. Whoever finds her gets to have her six times to himself. Am I understood!"

"YESSIR!" they rumble.

"Course for Octopon, Mr. Keyes. Best speed."

He goes back into his cabin, rubbing the knot on his head again. Whatever had possessed him to let her fingers loose of the rack Rasheed had made? Lust, of course. Lust, too much drink, and the delusion that she had grown accustomed to servicing him and might give up on escape. Maybe if he had treated her more gently, she would have given up. But that just wasn't going to happen. He knew from the moment he saw her in her father's lighthouse that he had to have her. In every way. Completely...

He sits down at his table and shoves aside his maps in disgust. Even with the big haul from the "Silver Sceptre of Rul", his avarice is unsatisified without his Selkie. He had given up that whole damn town of Perch to the monkey birds again so he could steal her from that lighthouse. He would have gladly given up more too, if he had it to give. The look on her face that first time when he had forced her, right on her father's dining room table and in front of his dying eyes, had been something he would never, ever forget. The striving to duplicate that look had led him to be careless on the night of her escape.

He rubs the knot on his head, grimacing at the memory. She was the one who offered to fry the fish. She was the one who poured him the grog. She was the one who did not object when he sat her upon his lap. And she was the one who had laid him low with the damn cast iron pan....

He had thought his head split open like an apple, and laid on his bed puking for two days. Then, he ordered all iron cookware overboard. And now, he was going to get his Selkie back. And when he did, he would make her look that way again... and this time, he wasn't going to be nice about it....

Off the shore, the eddies swirl lazily around the reefs. when the tides are low, the crest of sandbars lie exposed like the ribs of some huge undersea beast. It is a place of kelp forests and colorful corals, a myriad of fish and the playful sea otters.

The chatter of otters can be heard in the warm evening breeze. No boats traverse these regions, though the fishing promises to be good. Too many unpredictable currents and dangerously hidden reefs in the shallows for the crafts of the landwalkers. But those who live in the water, or conform to its demands without thought, enjoy the warmth and safety these reefs provide.

It is here where Selkie swims nightly, to join her otter friends in their evening antics.

She wonders if the merfolk know of this place. She dreams it is one of their gardens. The otters tell tall tales of sirines and mermaids, and elves with blue skin who roam these places. She has yet to see one. But she likes the dream.

Selkie dives deep, calling forth a small light to better see the beautiful colors of the corals under the water. She spots a glint of metal, and swims down to take a closer look. Waving her hand over the sand, she uncovers a small gold chain, with a locket still attached. She pulls it from its resting place and loops it over her neck, surfacing to show off her latest find to her friends.

As she rises, the dark furry form of Tala looms overhead, floating on her back lazily. Selkie adjusts her angle, and shoots up next to the otter, spitting a gout of water into the air, like a fountain, startling the dozing creature, causing her to drop her half eaten clam.

A chittering laughter follows as Selkie grins at her sputtering friend.

#Ooh... I was sleeping you know...# scolds Tala with a huff.

"Yup... I know..." retorts Selkie with a grin. She rolls onto her own back and floats along side her friend, her hands picking up the necklace and investigating it further.

#Whatcha got?# intrudes Nala, swimming over rapidly seeing the sparkly around Selkie's neck.

#Yeah yeah... what is it... pirate treasure?# inserts Turo, joining his sister at her side. The bob on either side of her like buoys, trying to get a closer look at the trinket.

"I think it is called a locket... looks like gold..." she shrugs. "I guess is could be pirate treasure..." Selkie adds, her eyes narrowing as she tries to figure out the strange markings. She gives up quickly.

#Humans have very odd things... what is a locket?# Nala asks, rolling onto her back and grooming herself.

Turo swims around the pair, circling like a shark. #Pirate treasure, silly...#

"They are for holding things... on a necklace... small things..."

#Like grains of sand?# Tala asks, having retrieved her clam and speaking between mouthfuls.

"I guess you could put sand in them... if you wanted to keep that safe..." Selkie answers with a shrug.

The talk continues for a time, with intermittent splashing, grooming and eating. Selkie feels the fear seep away, and the memories washed from her with the current. Her mind is strong, renewed by the calming seas. But it is growing late, and the tides are coming in, bringing the predators of the deep into the now accessible reefs as night descends on Octopon.

"Tala?" Selkie asks the eldest of the otters, who is busily grooming her paws. "Do you think I should go into the city to take some rice?"

# Of course you should go get some rice - you're better than the other people - you talk to us...# answers Nala, popping up with a fish in her paws.

[Otter logic...] Selkie grins.

#They should share their rice with you... otters *always* share their rice... and you are an honorary otter... so they should give you rice...# Tala decides with a nod.

#What's rice?# Turo asks.

#It looks like little bits of hard milk...# inserts Nala, proud that she knows something her brother doesn't.

#I like milk...# Turo states happily. #You should go get some rice...# he nods.

"Well... its not really milk... it is more like kelp that grows on land... little kelp seeds... that grow soft in the water when you cook them..." Selkie informs them.

#Why not just eat kelp... we like kelp... you like kelp?# Turo wiggles his whiskers curiously at her.

Selkie shakes her head. "I do like kelp... but you eat the rice with the kelp and with the fish... it is good... I hope I don't have to go far to find some..." she adds worriedly.

#Oooooh I have an idea... go ask Whisker Gray... he'll know where the rice is... he knows that kind of stuff...# Tala states excitedly.

"Who is Whisker Gray?"

#Our friend... he's a rat... but he likes the water... but he goes on the docks too... he knows lots of things...# answers Nala.

#Follow us... we'll take you to meet him... he'll like you...# Tala states, rolling onto her front and paddling toward the shoreline.

A short swim brought them under one of the many docks protruding from Octopon. This one was in as poor repair as the one she had chosen for herself. The stench of rotting seaweed and dead fish rose to meet them as they neared. Discarded and broken lobster traps lay beneath the dock and an old barrel broken in two. The keel and ribs of an old dingy can be seen protruding from the rocks nearby. A perfect place for a rat to live.

#Wait here... I'll go get him...# Tala instructs Selkie, slipping below the water's surface and swimming ahead.

Selkie watches the otter approach the barrel. Tala hops onto its end and pokes her head in. She cannot hear their language but only a moment passes before another set of eyes peeks up, peering at her out of the darkness. Tala nods her head, and Selkie looks to the two with her for what to do. They proceed forward. She follows.

A large rat with whiskers gray from age climbs forth from the barrel. "I was hearin' yar the first time... bringing these old bones out of a nice warm nest for a friend... you betcha yer gonna bring me fish..."

He stops dead in his tracks, his nose twitching nervously at the sight before him. He leans over to Tala, "Well shiver me whiskers... You didn't say nothing about a human..."

#She's okay... she's an honorary otter...# Tala informs him happily.

He looks at her sideways. "Alright... I'll listen..." he sighs, sitting back on his haunches. "But make it quick... what do you want... what be yer name anyway?"

Selkie approaches slowly, allowing her scent to drift to him downwind. "I am Selkie... my friends tell me you might know where I can find some rice..."

His nose catches her scent, the nervous twitching slows, and he brightens. "Avast... a quest is it then!... and I do know where they keep the best grains in town... but why don't you, human, go to the market and get your rice. Old Gray thinks ye be hiding a secret..."

Selkie shudders. "I do not like the humans... they wish me harm."

Whisker Gray contemplates, as long as rats take to do their thinking, then nods and scurries further out of his nest.

"Will you help me?" she asks, unsure of what he intends.

"Aye..." he nods, and scrambles up the shore. "Follow me... I'll take you there..."

Selkie turns to the otters, "I'll see you later, friends... and I shall share my rice." she slips from the water, as quiet as a shadow, and follows closely behind Whisker Gray.

Simon Cutler looks out over the sea, watching the fire moon rise and replace the setting suns' rays of red. His boot taps impatiently on the old weathered boardwalk. With the coming of evening, his "night" job also commences... and the later, the better.

Heavy footsteps and deep voices approaching behind him alert him to the arrival of two of his partners in crime.

"Ay, Cuttie," says one, "the town's full tonight. Pickin's will be good in er few 'ours."

Simon regards the man cooly, taking an offered mug of watery beer. "Maybe, Red," says Simon. "I could use the silvers."

"So's can we," says the third man, a short and stocky human with a buzz cut and thick biceps. "Cap'n says he'll pay ten silvers each for up to eight crew. Thats.... er... ah..."

"More than you can count per person for us," finishes Simon. "Den, you are slower than garbage scow at low tide on a windless afternoon."

"Shaddup yew," says the sailor. "So what? I can crack heads better than ye both. And yew can't press no eight crew with em all wriggling around."

Red Aziz laughs his high pitched laugh. "Not tonight, matey. We 'ave at least six more what's gonna meet us 'ere in a few more bells, when the docks get crowded with drunks. We'll get our eight, don't you worry, squirmin' or not."

Simon rubs his scraggly beard thoughtfully for a moment. Less than ten silvers a man for pressing for the two or three hours it will take to find eight "volunteers" to be crew on the Tal's Hammer. It is not a lot of money. He could use a few more... like the bounty offered for the capture of a servicable cabin boy.

His two companions drink their beers, content to wait. Simon, still thinking about the bounty, follows the rays of the blood moon over the harbor to the boardwalk further down. He doesn't know why he looks there -- it has been abandoned for more than a year except for a useless old fisherman -- but he does, perhaps led by the moon itself.

He sees something down there... a small figure... not a gnome, but not a man. Maybe a boy... a street rat out too late at night? The figure is walking slowly, looking at something in its hands, unaware of much more than the dark, the sea, and the moonlight.

Simon grins. The bounty, even split three ways, would make the whole night worth it. "Hey lads," he says. "We got work to do."

The quest had been successful, two small squares of sailcloth full of rice for them both. She thought it only fair to bundle up some for her companion as well. She had taken what they needed and no more. Only a few loose boards to pry away, and the hole into the storage shed had been accessible to Selkie's small frame. Whisker Gray knew exactly where to go, and was a good scout for running ahead to warn if men were nearby. There had been no incidents, helping Selkie slowly gain some confidence back about moving safely among the landwalkers. But she still had her guard up, as would be the case for the rest of her life, she tells herself.

Selkie carries the rat in her hands, to speed their return to the dock. She knows exactly where to go, having fixed the location of his home in her mind.

The docks are quiet at this time of night. The inhabitants of the town having moved indoors to enjoy the day's earnings. Later on, they would be out. But by then, Selkie would be safely hidden away in her own nest below the docks. Or so she hopes.

A pair of voices carry through the still air. Her shoulders tense, and she listens carefully trying to pinpoint where they are coming from. The northwest. She quickly moves in the other direction, taking another path towards Whisker Gray's home.

"Something the matter, Selkie?" Whisker Gray asks nervously, his nose twitching trying to scent out the predator in the warm evening.

Her voice a mere whisper as she looks at the rat in her hands. "There were men coming..." her gaze strays back in the direction of the voices. She sees two creatures, one a human... the other... has a tail. A lizardman, she identifies. They don't seem to notice her. She heads for the shadows of some crates stacked on the boardwalk. Her heart cries for her to run toward the water, but she wills herself to move slowly, to not draw their attention.

A tingling sensation at the back of her neck warns her of something. Not in the direction of those she noticed. Her eyes squint, peering into the darkness, trying to spot the source.

The evening air, although cooler than during the stifling day, is still damp and warm. Kal undoes another button on his shirt and dodges around Yamalla to get closer to the harbor breeze. "Bones! I should have brought something cold to sip on," he sighs, grinning to his friend.

"Ja mon. Sure. Just connect a whole cask right to de throat, skip de sipping mon."

"An amusing idea. How would I talk?"

Yamalla looks at him with that difficult to read lizard man face. Kal is getting better at finding expression there, and he is sure the one there now suggests that he had just made Yamalla's point.

Kal shakes his head with bemusement and steps out to the edge of the old boardwalk, walking it like a tightrope. "Can you see her in this moonlight?" he asks.

"Ja man. Over der. Still floating," says the lizard man. Yamalla looks over the lines of the Reefrunner highlighted in the moonlight, several hundred yards away toward the commercial part of the harbor. It does indeed look peaceful and intact. He sighs with relief.

"I am glad that is settled," remarks Kal. "I guess we can go back into town for a little more fun for the next two hours until your inner voice makes us come out again. Just to make sure she is still there...?"

Yamalla cocks his head. "Don't be makin' fun of tings like dat," he cautions lightly. "Ju could use your own inner voice. Maybe ju save a little silver dat way. My voice, keeps me dream alive, boy."

Kal grins a toothy grin. "Then by all means, we shall come out and check as your voice demands! In the meantime though, I noticed that a mermaid is supposed to be the featured singer at "Saulius's House of Sole." I wouldn't mind being sung to while enjoying some fresh caught ...."

NOOOOoooo. It is a plaintive cry, coming from the side of a warehouse near the wharf. Kal looks at Yamalla for a brief second, and he at him. There is a moment of silent communication, and then the thief sets off for the cry at a dead run.

Yamalla calls softly for Braata. He cannot make anywhere near the speed of Kalaban, not on land anyway. But speed is not what he needs at this moment. A little magic would be nicer.

"I tink maybe I be needin a little juice ..."

She cannot spot them, but they are moving right toward her. Selkie frowns nervously, sneaking glances at the water, trying to determine how long she'd be exposed if she made a run for it. Too long. Her heart pounds loudly in her chest, as she slowly makes her way toward the dock, creeping along the shadows of the crates, her eyes darting between her destination and the gaining danger pursuing her. Maybe she should hide. But she is so close to the freedom of the water. She decides to keep moving.

The sudden appearance of two men behind her, shouldn't startle her, but it does. She knew they were coming. The hair on the back of her neck had been standing straight up for it seems like an eternity. She stops, wondering if the cloak of shadows she is standing is are enough to hide her.

A glint of gold shines forth as the larger of the two men smiles. They pause, sizing up their quarry.

"Well... matey... looks like we'll have our cabin boy after all..." Simon nudges the short stocky man next to him.

The sailor spits a brown liquid from his mouth which lands with a splat on the boardwalk. He grins seeing how quickly they closed on their hapless victim, pounding his fist into his palm. His eyes narrow as he peers directly at the thin figure before them. "Heh... easy as spearin' fish in a barrel..."

They start to close. Selkie panics, turning to flee toward the docks. Before she can take two steps, a pair of thin wirey arms wrap around her, holding her tightly. Fear grips her. She can't even yell for help. But who would hear?

"Good work, Red..." the tall one laughs. "This was too easy..."

"OWWWW!!!" Red Aziz screams, letting go of his catch, and drawing back, with a very large and angry rat attached to his forearm. "Fucking Rat!!!" he yells, flipping the rat from his arm and sending it flying (along with a hunk of his arm) into one of the crates with a loud thump.

Selkie watches in horror as Whisker Gray hits the ground, twitching in pain. Something stronger than fear takes over. "NOOOoooooo!!!!"

She ducks under her cursing assailant, and dives to where Whisker landed, picking his hurt form up and cradling him in her shirt.

Aziz is dripping blood all over the place, the rat having taken a sizeable chunk from his forearm. "What the fuck are yew two soggy bastards laughing at!?! Get that little shit!"

The laughter of the two men as they close toward her is a distant buzz. She focuses her mind, mending the wounds on her friend in an instant, taking his pain into herself.

Her eyes close. She knows they are near. The water is near as well. Whispered words of power come to her lips, as she calls upon the water for her defense.

Den bunches the muscles in his arm for the benefit of his victim and leaps forward, landing on the planking directly in front of his hapless victim. Simon holds back. He has been around the wharf a time or two. He knows a few things. Like when someone might be using....

Two planks of the boardwalk between Simon and Den pop up with a thunk and get tossed into the air as casual as toothpicks by an enormous fist of water. Simon steps back and ducks. Den turns around, his slow mind unable to grasp what had happened until too late.

The watery fist slams into his back right between his shoulder blades, driving the sailor to the boardwalk in a shower of spray.

"Noy G'tat!" shouts Red, drawing his scimitar. "The sea strikes!" He howls and swings his scimitar through the pseudopod. It passes through it harmlessly.

Simon stays out of range of the fist, circling it and trying to find a way to strike it back into the water below the boardwalk. Den lies on his belly like a beached walrus gasping for breath in a puddle of sea water.

Selkie hesitates for a moment, wondering is she should try and hold her ground with the power of the water behind her. But there are three of them, only one of her, and her command of the water will fade quicker than she could possibly hope to subdue her attackers.

She cuddles Whisker to her chest and decides to break for it. A few more seconds and she can be gone... just concentrate enough to have the fist of water hold its aspect....

She tears off down the boardwalk for the wharf like an arrow shot from a bow. Eighty yards more.... fifty yards more... thirty yards more... she hears the men behind her regroup as the fist loses its form. Twenty feet. At ten... she jumps.

Her left leg drives through the dry-rotted planking as she plants for her dive. It slips in to mid thigh, the sharp edges digging into her skin and forcing her to sprawl on her buttocks on the dock. It is all she could do to hold on to Whisker Grey, who squeaks "Kchinga!" at her over and over. One of her makeshift sacks of rice is not so fortunate. It comes dislodged from her belt and fans rice out over the white old boards.

The men! She hears them running and then they appear in the moonlight only fifty yards away. Her throat grows tight and she struggles violently to get free. She notices for the first time a fourth person... another man! Running toward her from upland along the wharfs, only ten feet from her!

She grits her teeth, determined to pull herself out even if her leg gets left behind.

"Here!" says the fourth man.

It takes only moments for Kalaban to reach the corner where the wharves meet one of the boardwalks going between the warehouses and then to the street. It was from here that the shouts came from.

Suddenly a small form, a scared rabbit of a boy tears down the boardwalk and onto the wharf, looking for all the world like he would run right into the sea. The old wharf is not forgiving though, and swallows the lad's leg as he prepares to jump.

Kalaban is there in a moment. "Here!" he cries, trying to calm the poor thing.

He hears shouts down the wharf and sees men approaching. They are clearly the cats, and this boy is the mouse. His nostrils flare. [Most unfair!]

Without another thought he hooks his hands under the armpits of the boy and stamps his foot on the rotting planks breaking some more pieces through and allowing him to pull the leg free without hurting it. The extraction is made all the easier because the boy held his arm rigidly around, of all things... a wharf rat.

The boy struggles against him like a fish on a hook. Kalaban is totally unprepared for fight, thinking he had come to the rescue, and the boy is free in a blink of an eye.

"Hey now, hold on ... there...?" he says, his voice trailing off.

What he has caught looks like a boy. Waifish and short hair, long skinny legs and tattered clothing... but ... those eyes. To look in them is like diving into the green ocean at daybreak.

Those eyes are frightened eyes. For the briefest moment, they look into his like the bird into the eyes of the snake.

Selkie's heart pounds in her chest. Her body shakes at the unwanted touch. She searches out the eyes of the man who had pulled her free, hoping at least to find an advantage... she needs only a breath to get to the water.

She finds his eyes, dark in the night... on a handsome face that is not leering or sneering at her. There is indeed something predatory in there, but there is much else there as well. Curiousity. Interest. Whatever he hunts, it is not her. Not yet.

Her expression softens, but only for a brief second. He will not take her she is certain. Hugging Whisker to her she takes three graceful strides and dives into the welcoming midnight blue ocean with its veil of red.

Kal darts to the edge of the dock, searching for a figure in the surf. He looks up the wharf and spots Yamalla lumbering toward him, but still a good distance away. He points into the harbor...

"Did you see that!"

"Aye, smull-brain," says a deep throated voice from behind him.

Kal turns and finds the boy's pursuers, hot and out of breath, and looking none too happy.

Kal heaves an exagerated sigh. Yam? Any time now. Yam?

"Smull-brain," he repeats. "Well, THAT's a new one on me. I bet I haven't heard such an inventive curse in... what... five minutes?"

Red Aziz gapes at the stranger in amazement.

Simon looks the stranger up and down. He is armed, but unarmored, and looked to be at least one sheet to the wind by the cut of his shirt. Maybe they could take this one down and wait for the boy and be ahead of the quota and the game for the night... But there is something about his attitude.... like he is asking for it.

"That there was OUR boy," snarls Den, flexing his biceps.

"Oh? Really? Was he? I should have known. You do look the type to be chasing down young lads in the dark on an abandoned wharf. Everyone to their own taste, I suppose, although I don't think the boy was interested in cuddling you."

"Wha?" asks Den, processing the banter. "Are you calling me a fag?"

"What do you call someone who chases down young boys?"

Simon holds back his mate, still trying to size the stranger up.

"Who are you?" he demands.

"Who are you?" Kal asks back as cool as water.

For some reason this puts Simon on the defensive. "Simon Cutler. This here is a press gang, you land lubbing getha pig! My name is Simon Cutler and you ain't never gonna forget it..." he says, grinning and displaying his gold tooth.

Kal nods in agreement. "Right. Simon Cutler. I won't ever forget it. For as long as I live, no matter where I am going, no matter what I am doing, even if I were screwing your sister I would be thinking about your ay-culda name."

Simon has heard enough. "Take him lads. He is worth ten silver!"

The two sailors grab for him but he slips between them with ease, bobbing up next to Simon, where he stomps on the sailors foot. Simon howls in pain. Red and Den renew their attack. Kal dodges a blow from a belaying pin, knocks aside a punch from the slow but powerful Den, and then dances back a step carefully to avoid the hole made by the now missing boy.

Three on one. He doesn't care for the odds. Fortunately... any minute now.... Yam? Yam?

As if on cue sparkling motes of light appear in a cloud above the three sailors. Simon and Red look up at them, momentarily distracted, and the motes settle on their faces and shoulders. A look of blissful peace spreads across their faces. And then they fall to the wharf asleep.

Den, whose density may have saved him from the same fate, single-mindedly stalks toward the thief, his eyes nearly turning red with anger.

Kal watches him for a moment, and then plants his foot firmly on a rotting plank, breaking it, pushing his end down past the support beam and driving the other end up into the crotch of the sailor.

The board hits home with a loud, deep . Den's eyes bug out and he doubles over, the air spilling from him in a great gust. Kal neatly kicks him under the chin and sends the man to his rest (the hard way) next to his companions.

Kal smiles in satisfaction. [I didn't even need to draw....]

Yamalla strolls up and looks down at the victims. He takes Braata from around his neck.

"I think..." says Kal.

"Ja man, ja. You take out de trash. I-and-I try and find boy."

The sea-worn timbers of the dock creaked and groaned in harsh protest as Yamalla thumped around scanning the undersides for signs of the boy. Kal was busy, chuckling to himself, as he artfully set his plan in motion with three ragged sacks. Yamalla would have helped were it not for the protests of Braata, who was deeply concerned with the safety of the boy.

"We don' be seein' no tracks or signs of da boy at' all, Braata," Yamalla remarked in his deep, resonant voice after a while more

The little serpent's eyes squinted up in concern, "I know, but he's just *got* to be around here *some*where! Oh wait! I know! Um, I'll go get you one of those Locate Object spells! That'll work!"

"No, little one, Yamalla don't tink it work to well to find da people - the boy ain't no 'object'."

Braata's ribbon-like form deflated slightly around Yamalla's thick neck.

The corner's of Yamalla's mouth flicked up in a slight smile, "But it was a very good idea, Braata."

"Yeah? Thanks! Um. Ok. How about we get in the water and start asking the fish and stuff ... I think I saw and otter playing around, maybe it saw something!"

Kal, just finished with his preparations, called over to them, "I believe we're ready - care to join me in this evenings festivities?"

"Ja mon, I-an-I not be missing de execution of one of jour plans!" Yamalla reach up to scratch Braata's chin as he began thumping back towards Kal. "Sorry, little one, I tink the boy be fine and probably on the other side of Octopon by now."

With a small hmmph, the little genling snaked down his arm and into his pocket, her usual sulking spot. Yamalla quieted his chuckle so that the smile on his face was the only indication of his amused admiration at his little gen's concern for the boy.

As they tromped past the hole in the dock made by the boy's leg, Braata caught a slight, metallic tang on the tip of her flickering tongue - blood. Her tiny head shot out of Yamalla's pocket and stared intently at the ragged hole in dock - some of the edges were stained with something dark. Quickly and quietly, Braata slithered out of Yamalla's pocket and onto the deck. Closer examination revealed that it was, indeed, blood on the boards.

Braata inhaled in quiet exclamation - the boy was hurt! He needed help! Braata looked back at Yamalla who had continued on down the dock, oblivious to the absence of the serpent. "Fine," she stated quietly, chin slightly raised, "I guess *I'll* have to do all the work."

Neither Kal or Yamalla heard the soft plop as Braata dropped like an arrow into the water.

Braata wriggled around under the small waves, trying to pick up the taste from the boy's blood. Her flicking tongue caught just a hint, but not enough to tell her which way to go. Surfacing, she popped her head up like a scaly periscope and peered around, looking for one of the otters she had seen. They weren't around.

Braata swam a bit more, trying to talk to a few fish, but they were skittish and not-too-bright. Frustrated she swam back underneath the hole in the dock, sticking her head underwater now and then searching the bottom for clues. Still nothing.

The something small and white bounced off her noggin. She tensed and looked up just in time to catch another grain of rice in her eye. With a quiet yip, she dove under the surface, and squinted to see through the water to see if she could see the source of the mini-barrage. A wavering gray blob was visible through the water, sitting on one of the dock's support beams. Braata cautiously poked her head up, and the form resolved itself into a large sea rat with gray whiskers, happily munching on some rice.

Braata eyed him suspiciously, but her curiousity got the best of her and she slithered up to be near him. "Um ... hi ... I was ... um ... wondering if maybe you saw what just happened a few minutes ago - with the boy and the men and stuff."

The rat continued munching on the small pile of rice on the beam in front of him, then stopped momentarily to glance up at the hole in the dock above them.

"Aye."

Braata perked up - "Yeah! His leg fell through the hole, and then Kalaban - he's not the prince of thieves - he helped him up, and then we came and Yamalla cast the Sleep spell that I had given him and then Kal smacked the last one in the ding-ding with a plank. But the boy ran away into the water - I'm trying to find him 'cause he is hurt, know where I can find him?"

Finished with the rice, the rat ambled closer to Braata. His nose scrunched up, and his gray whiskers twitched, as he sniffed Braata. Then he sat back on his haunches, looking her up and down before turning to stare down the boardwalk, away from them.

Braata was confused for a minute, then turned to follow his gaze. "Down there? Really?"

"Aye..." the rat nods wiping at his gray whiskers with a paw.

"Um. Ok. I know - I'll go down there real quick to make sure he's there and then go get Yamalla." She turned back to the rat, only to find herself staring at his behind as he scampered away towards another pile of rice. "Ok. So, um, thanks!"

Braata held onto the beam with her tail, and lowered herself, head first, until she was stretched out almost fully. With a little giggle she let go with her tail and balled up to fall into the water, sending a small splash up onto Whisker Gray. Gray hunched up slightly until the water dripped away, then continued munching the rice, "Hmmf. Aye, Selkie was right, they are better wet."

"What ju got in mind for de polywags we have bagged?" asks Yamalla.

Kal inspects his handiwork. The three press gangers, still unconscious, are bound and bagged over the head. "Simon Cutler... whose name I promised to never forget, mentioned something about ten silver. They are press men. That gives me all sorts of ideas if I can find the ship they are from."

"Heh, ja. I bet. So...."

"Do you have any wax?" asks Kal.

"A candle."

"That will do..." he says thoughtfully. "Listen, Yam, I think this time I had better go at it alone. Lizard men are choice for press gangs. More importantly, either you will have to join these three under a bag (and limit your enjoyment) or I am going to have to rethink the whole escape... and..."

The lizard man laughs. "Ho! Yamalla knows when he not be wanted, human. I-and-I just go back to Reefrunner and den you be telling us what happened." Yamalla looks around the dock, claps his shirt. "Hey mon. Where'd me little one get to? Braata?"

Kal grins as his friend looks around the dock. He looks around for the little snakeling too... and although he doesn't see her, he finds something more interesting. Something he is standing in.

[Hmmm? What's this? Rice.] He kneels down and touches some of the kernals of grain, and spots a bit of sailcloth that we evidently used to carry it. It is all near the hole. Must have been that boy's.

He grins to himself, another plan forming already... this one a contingency. He takes the sailcloth and as much rice as he can scoop up.

"Braata!" calls Yamalla down the wharf.

Kal melts the wax from the candles and shoves it into the ears of his prone victims, being sure to cover them up again with the bags. Then he wakes them. "Yam? I am about ready here... I will catch up to you later." He slings his bag over his shirt, and shouts in an affected voice to his prisoners: "You are my slaves. Obey, or my drovers shall hamstring you!" Then he tugs on the rope.

He looks over at his friend, who is now looking into the seas. [Later Yam. I've a stomach for more peeled shrimp...]

It can be inconvenient being a pirate sometimes. Sure, on the open seas you are your own master and beholding to no one as to your comings and goings. But if you have to, or want to visit "civilized" areas just to enjoy some of the amenities of shore life, there are inconveniences. For one thing, you can't park your ship in the harbor. For another, you can't simply travel the streets with impunity. And as a final matter, it can be dangerous just to let slip your infamous name. After all, pirates are pirates and therefore subject to immediate arrest, retaliation, or worse.

Frowning Abdul considers these inconveniences as his men stow the rowboat from the Bloody Bone. He is not proof from bounty hunters, he is not so infamous as Bloth, but he is still no ordinary pirate. He can't get what he came for if he hides anyway. To hell with the inconveniences.

"Hadad, you stay with the boat," he tells a pirate. "Ahmed will bring you rum and fresh food and keep you company, won't you Ahmed?" The two pirates look at each other, clearly disappointed that they are assigned watch duty instead of allowed to explore the underground wonders of Octopon. Neither complain, however. They are both too fond of living. Ahmed nods in agreement.

"The rest of you. meet me back here in four hours. No more. If you are not here by then, you will be away with out leave. And you know what that means.."

His men state their assent. "Are you . traveling alone, sir?" asks one.

Abdul scowls at the man. "You must love me to be so concerned about my welfare. Eat yourself, J'takan battle hog. I do as I please. Go away."

A few of his men laugh at the rebuked sailor but they quickly disperse along the wharfs and boardwalks that thread the old warehouse district.

Ahmed stays long enough to assure that Hadad has hidden himself with the boat.

Even though there is now no one to see his infamous visage, he frowns. It is the height of foolishness to come to Octopon openly and so soon after a fat killing not far from here. His men will be flush with booty and their tongues will wag. And Octopon is not a welcome place for pirates. Still, he is here. His men had begged for shoreleave, of course. But more importantly, his Selkie might be here someplace.

It mystifies him that she is not drowned. He had assumed she would be, yet still, he had paid good coin to his sorcerer Malik to find out for certain. He claimed she was not dead, that she was alive and near the shores of Octopon. How convenient then, for him and his leave-starved crew.

He softens his steps down the wharf in response the complaining moans from the weak boards that he treads on. He spots a hole and avoids it. "What is this place coming to? Octopon is supposed to be wealthy?" he thinks to himself in disgust.

He steps on something that causes his left foot to nearly slip out from under him. He swears and regains his balance quickly, looking about in the fading light of the fire moon to see what it was he might have stepped on. or in.

"Rice..?"

A few minutes later, after having questioned a few fisherman near the wharves and learning nothing except that wounds on the bottom of the feet bleed surprisingly well. he finds himself sitting alone in the outdoor section of a seedy tavern on Harbor Street. He had seen nor heard nothing of his Selkie. It was a stupid and foolish idea to come here. This is a big place. If she wanted to hide it would take months to find her.

He frowns at the mug on his table. It is empty. Almost immediately a house boy comes by and wordless takes it inside for a refill. The pirate looks around at the other tables sullenly. It is a town full of useless shoremen who thing work is life, and a few sailors. It is a stupid, useless place.

He frowns some more.

A man dressed all in black robes and sporting a black turban comes in to the seating area trailing three hooded figures on a rope. This, finally, interests Abdul. He hadn't thought slavery allowed in Octopon, if that is what it is.

The man approaches a table of sailors. "A hundred thousand pardons," he says in a flat monotone that does not comport with the flowery greeting. "Do any of you know a man named Simon Cutler?"

Two of the sailors at the table look up. "Aye. Who is asking."

"A humble Sikh," says the man in black. "An acquaintance of sahib Cutler. He bade me come here with his catch of fish."

The two men look at each other, then at the three bagged prisoners standing sullenly in line. "Here? Why didn't he come his-self. He's supposed ter pick us up ferr press gang duty."

"Sahib Cutler. was occupied. I am to deliver these three in the meantime," says the Sikh.

"No!" says one sailor. "That shark! He got the drop down on us! That's thirty silver you got there in line, Mr. Sikh, that we ain't got no piece of!"

The Sikh nods politely. "Sahib Simon was not alone. He was with two others. Fate smiled on me that I came by to take their catch while they chase more."

"So. you are taking them to the Hammer?" says the sailor. "How much is Cutler gonna pay you fer that?"

"Three silver pieces," says the Sikh.

"Why'd he send you 'ere then?" asks another sailor, clearly annoyed. "Why don't you just take your catch to the Tal's Hammer and leave us to rot?"

The Sikh seems dumbstruck, but only for a moment. Having gotten what he came for, he now needs a graceful exit strategy. "Sahib Cutler wishes to meet you on the wharves, near the red roofed warehouse. He is still on the chase, perhaps you may yet share in the catch."

The sailors down their drinks, grab their clubs and weapons, and prepare to go. "I still don't get it. He isn't going to do better than these three . not with him and two others."

The Sikh licks his lips. "Who can say. Perhaps it has something to do with the green-eyed boy they chase?"

It was a shot in the dark. If Simon had wanted that boy perhaps these sailors would know why.

Several of them nod. One remarks."That's it then! He's on to the new cabin boy!"

They pick up and leave in a hurry. The Sikh watches them go. A pretty boy like that one he had seen at the dock would no doubt make a find cabin boy, if your tastes went that way. He shudders, and prepares to leave for the main harbor in search of the dock servicing the Tal's Hammer.

"Hey." The Sikh turns to the voice. It belongs to a frightening brute of a man with a shaved head, thick muscles, thick neck, and a scowl that could separate cream from coffee.

"Sahib?" he asks, trying to stay as neutral as possible.

"Tell me this man Simon was hunting the boy."

"Sahib? Are you also of the crew of Tal's Hammer?"

The scary man's scowl deepens into a canyon. He places his great scimitar on the table. Its pommel is in the shape of a roosting bat. An ugly weapon for an ugly man, thinks the Sikh.

"I ask the questions. You answer," says the man.

The Sikh's eyes narrow with distaste. This man is dangerous. Very dangerous. Keep it simple. Stay near the truth.

"He chased the boy down the wharf, sahib. And lost him on the boardwalk."

The scary man chews on each word as if trying to taste the truth of them. Since the words are the truth, the Sikh is not surprised that the man seems satisfied.

"Which way along the boardwalk?" asks the man.

The Sikh fixes him with a steady, appraising gaze. It is the kind of look one man gives another when taking his measure, it is the kind of look men use when staking out turf for a challenge. It is the kind of look a man gives when he wants to show another the iron in his words. "Toward the main harbor," the Sikh lies.

The scary man nods, his frown lightening somewhat.

"There is no dishonor in this," the man says to him. "If everyone I asked questions of simply gave me truthful answers, I wouldn't have to kill. as many."

"I understand, sahib," says the Sikh. He stands silently, waiting to be dismissed.

"Go. I do not want your . 'catch.'"

The Sikh nods and leaves, trailing his three hapless prisoners.

Frowning Abdul downs the rest of his drink and smashed the mug to pieces on the table. He has no taste for boys... but the mention of green eyes at least raises the possibility that this boy was more than just a boy....

He grumbles and leaves without paying, heading for the wharf in the direction of the harbor. If the boy is Selkie, he will have to take her from the press gangers. And that would suit him just fine.

Braata wiggled through the water excitedly - she was one step closer to helping the boy and proving to her master that she was of more use than simply fetching his magic. Her chin was held high as she approached the dock the sea rat had indicated. Braata slowed as she came to the seaweed-covered pilings, hearing a hushed conversation being held somewhere up above her. Peering intently into the shadows under the dock, she was just barely able to make out several small forms gathered around a soft glow.

She flicked her tongue a few times and caught the iron tang of blood. Her mind whirled with plans of how to get the boy back to Yamalla if he was too injured to travel as she slithered her way up to where the boy was.

Braata makes her best speed (which is very good, considering her heritage) to the dock the rat had indicated. Again, her head pops out of the water, her nose delicately trying to locate the boy whose blood had spilt on the wharf. The soft light still glows, but there is only one form now. The source of the blood, but it is no boy.

In the shade of the dock, a girl is hurriedly packing her meager belongings into a sailcloth rucksack. She is soaking wet, her short hair slicked close to her head above a graceful neck. Her tattered clothing reveals a human that is too sleek and too slim to be a boy. It is a girl! Actually, Braata corrects herself as the girl turns her profile. Not a girl...a young woman!

Braata looks her over more closely, noting that her tattered pants do not show enough of her now obviously female leg to reveal a potential injury. She sniffs the air for blood again.

Curious, and drawn to the obviously frightened and possibly hurt human female, Braata slithers in closer.

"Hi..." she says.

Selkie turns quickly to the source of the voice, her eyes narrowed as she peers into the shadows to see what else could be coming at her. The otters would have warned her had something large approached. A ripple in the water draws her attention. It is a small sea snake, with bright yellow markings. Quite pretty she thinks, as she wonders why a normally shy creature such as a sea snake would intiate a conversation with her. She keeps her eyes focused on the snake, and draws the strings tight on her pack.

"Hi..." she responds quietly, very unsure as to the snake's intentions.

They hear a splashing at the end of the dock. The otters are still at their play; play initiated during their argument of how to help Selkie leave the island, why she would want to leave the island, and that there actually were other islands across the water. Items of much debate to an otter.

"I was wondering, were you that boy I mean girl that jumped in the water from that dock? I smelled blood by this hole when I was up there and I thought you... I mean, it was you, wasn't it? I thought you might be hurt and I could get some healing for Yamalla so he can fix you up."

She cocks her head at the small reptile, wondering who Yamalla is and why he would care enough to help her. Selkie concentrates and looks more closely at the snake. Bright swirling colors full of magic and good intentions fill her aura. Her face softens. [Maybe a familiar?] "I um... don't need help, thank you. It wasn't much, I took care of it..." she answers tentatively, relaxing a little and sitting on the netting which still lies stretched between the pillars of the dock.

Braata swims closer and then lifts more of her body out of the water. Her head bobs from side to side curiously. "Why were those men chasing you? And you don't need to worry because my master and Kal ran them off ... and why do you live down here because I didn't think humans cared for this sort of bed and where are you going?"

"Are you in a big hurry?"

"Where are the others humans you nest with?"

"You ask a lot of questions, little one..." Selkie answers, feeling her anxiety grow at the mention of the men.

"Oh, sorry. Which one do you want to answer first? I didn't mean to make you nervous. It's just that you look like you are in a hurry so I ... um... asked fast...."

Selkie fidgets with the ties on her pack, tying and retying the knots. "I.... don't nest with humans... men are... cruel..." she admits, her eyes growing strained. "*He* found me... so I need to leave here... but I don't know where to go yet... the otters were going to help me decide..." she looks to the end of the dock where the otters still wrestle in the water. "But I think I'll have to ask the dolphins... they'll know better."

"You have to leave? You are in dan-GER?" asks Braata. "I can help you! I mean, if you want me too. I know dolphins. I like dolphins. I have lots of dolphin friends too... but... well, they don't live like humans do. I don't either, because I am a snake. But.... I could help you ... like... get on a ship? A good one. A beautiful one. A dry one, with places to hide in."

Selkie shakes her head and her shoulders tense. "I uh... don't know... I don't like human ships... I don't trust them... Though I don't know how far I need to go to get away from him..." her eyes dart into the darkness surrounding her, looking for the ghosts who haunt her.

"Oh. It isn't a human ship. There are a few humans on it... but it is built by my master Yamalla. He isn't a human. He is a lizard man. Who is "he" that you don't want him to find you?"

A flicker of hope glimmers for a brief moment at the mention of a lizardman. They were always fair in their dealings with the her father and the monkeybirds who lived near her. That is something. But there are also humans aboard.

Selkie looks once again on the snake before her. Her eyes haunted. "He is an evil man... wicked and cruel who only gives pain... the pirate Frowning Abdul..." her voice trails off into a hoarse whisper.

Braata's eyes are unblinking. She hesitates for a moment, absorbing that this human is hurt in some other way. She has to be helped. Dolphins can't do it. Master can do it....

"You are hurt, I knew it. Please. Don't spend your life hiding under a dock. At least hide on the Reef Runner. We are going to be going places far away."

"There is no better way to be safe from pirates than to get away from them. The Reefrunner, that is my Master's ship, is fast as heat lightning. And like I was saying, pirates run from US anyway. But... but... "

Selkie's eyes grow wide. "Pirates ... *run* from you?" she shakes her head in disbelief. "Pirates don't run... they just take... don't they?"

"I guess they do. That is what they say. None have taken anything from us though. Really. Please come with me? I can hide you with the cargo until we are safe away. You can stay there as long as you want, and nobody will come and there will be food, and when I don't have to work (which is most of the time) I'll keep you company. I am sure we will be going some place better than this if you have to find land to live on."

Her brow furrows slightly. "Why do you want to help me?..." her head tilts as she realizes something. "I don't even know your name, nor you mine?"

"Braata. I am Braata." She slithers out of the water and up a post of the dock to get at eye level.

"I am a maridan. Yamalla is my sha'ir. And I want to help you because... um... because I don't know why I can't help it. When I find lost and hurt things I help them. Even human things... Oh, I didn't mean it that way..."

Selkie shrugs. "It's okay... I don't like humans anyway..." She pauses then perks up a bit remembering something. "A maridan... you are one of the deepdwellers..." a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "My father called me Selkie... most everyone else calls me that too..."

"That's a fine name! Selkie. We like that. So... get your things together? I have to get things ready with Yamalla and then I will come right back and we can go to the Reef Runner. Can you swim? Hah! Sure you can. Selkie..... tee hee. This will be fun, you'll see...." And with that, the snake slithers up the dock pole and disappears over the planks...

"Wait!" she cries out, cringing as her voice carries a little further than she would have liked.

Braata dips her head between the wide spaces between the old planks. "Hullo! Yes? What is it?"

Her brow deepens with worry. "How do you know the humans won't be like Frowning Abdul?"

"The humans? Um, well, um....I don't know Frowning Abdul, but he sounds very wicked. On the Reef Runner, there is Aziza. She is a nice person, and female like you, and so she isn't like Frowning Abdul. And there is Lori. She has ugly yellow hair but she sings sweetly like a bird. She is a lot lumpier than you are, but she is never mean or loud or anything, unless she is angry at Oscar. Oh, um, no. Then there is Armando. He is a good sailor and a good cook. He is always laughing, not frowning, unless someone mentions his wife. And Triangle... he is a lizard man, like Yamalla only a different breed. And then there is Kal. He used to be Oscar. He isn't the prince of thieves. He is clever, and tricky, and makes Yamalla laugh. He likes to trick big fat shrimp of their money and then finds a way to spend it on unfortunates. Is Abdul like that?

Selkie shakes her head. "No..." she answers softly then falls quiet, looking around at her dock, her home for the past few days. She has to leave, that is for certain, but there are humans. Her gut tightens at the thought. But this one isn't a human - she is a deepdweller, and her sha'ir is a lizard man, and the captain of the ship. She starts to nod. "I would like to come... but... are you sure you can hide me from them? Until we think it is safe?"

"Yes. Uh huh. I am sure. It is a better hiding place than this one, I promise!"

Selkie shrugs. "I can always call the dolphins again if I need to..." she sets her jaw and looks back up at her new friend. "When... can we go?"

"Get your things ready! I will be back as fast as I can slither. We will be leaving in a few minutes...."

"My things are ready..." she states looking at her battered pack containing her few found belongings. "...but I'll go say goodbye to the otters... I'll be here when you get back..." Selkie stands and starts walking to the water, then turns back around. "Thank you, Braata..." Then with a quiet splash, she dives into the surf.

Captain Hamadi looks over the stranger critically. He had heard of Sikhs, but never seen one. With his long, black robe, dark complexion, trim black beard, and distinctive black turban, the man certainly looked appropriately sinister. Still, no one had ever offered do bounty work for his press requirements. He might have to recruit more of these.

The Sikh had brought in three recruits, who stand behind him bound and tied together neatly, their heads bagged save for a breathing hole. All looked in good shape. One even looked stronger than the average.

He dips into his purse and takes out thirty pieces of silver. He counts them out into the hand of the quiet Sikh.

"There mate. That's thirty, ten each. Are you sure you don't know where Simon got to?"

"No, sahib," says the Sikh. "Mr. Cutler was trying to chase down boy when last Punjab see him... Punjab does not know where he go." He closes his hands on the coins and bows slightly.

"A pleasure to do business with ye," says Hamadi. "When next we be in port, where can I look ye up? I can use a man as handy as you in finding a crew."

The Sikh bows slightly again, backing down the gangplank and past his sold charges. "No need, sahib. Punjab find you." And with that, the mysterious Sikh fades into the darkness.

"Take 'em on board, Mr. Sleigh," Hamadi says to his second mate. The sailor leads the pressed crew on board.

A few minutes later, with the new crew secured, Hamadi takes the bag off the head of the strong one. His jaw drops.

It is Den. His eyes are watery, his mouth is filled with rags, his ears are plugged with wax pellets. He winces at the expression on Hamadi's face.

Hamadi snatches off the next bag... and reveals Simon Cutler. "Aiyee! You idiots!" he scowls. Then he spots a mark on Simon's head, it looks like a scripted triton. It is in ink, and smears as he draws his finger across it. "What's this?" he says to himself.

Simon is trying to talk, but he too has rags stuffed in his mouth. Hamadi removes them, and finds that the rags are wrapped around a note.

"Sir!" says Cutler quickly. "We were ambushed! We..."

Hamadi backhands the sailor across the mouth. "Shut up, j'tatan fool!"

He growls as he opens the paper. It is a... receipt?

Recieved: 30 pieces of silver for three idiots delivered to a fool.

by: The Prince of Thieves