Pirates? Where?!

[finch]

(tag Jan, but anyone welcome, really)

Valentine loved the buzz of the docks. Sailors swarming the ships like rats, dockworkers trundling back and forth laden with cargo, merchants gathering in brightly-colored clumps haggling and shouting, children and animals scooting about underfoot: he could feel the lifeblood of the city pumping around him. Noise and life everywhere, driving Sideris; it made Valentine feel like a part of something great.

The squat, swarthy man standing in front of Valentine was a part of the great whole, too. His rumpled, grimy clothes, missing right eye, and even the distinctive smell of alcohol on his breath all gave testament to his hard work on behalf of the nation's commerce. The man was shipping― Valentine flipped through the sheaf of papers, sticky and slightly bloated from salt and sea, that the man had shoved into his hands― hats. Four crates of bowler hats, two crates of berets, four crates of steel helmets, and six crates of― Valentine squinted at the smudged black ink― “assorted women's fashions.” The young prince (or, in his current role, young soldier) looked up from the paperwork into the man's fixedly smiling face. The man, who the paperwork identified as Captain Erwin Smith, was missing several teeth.

Behind Captain Smith and his gap-toothed yellow smile sat his boat, her ragged crew hurriedly unloading their cargo of hats. Obviously they had a tide to catch. Valentine never could keep track of the tides.

“Your paperwork looks to be in order, Captain Smith,” Valentine announced, offering the man back his papers. The captain snatched them eagerly. “Now I just need to see some proof-of-purchase for those hats and you can be about you business.”

“Ah... yes. Proof of... purchase. Of course. I forgot that... uh... in my cabin. Let me go get it. Wait right there.” The captain's long gray tail was twitching and twisting behind him; he obviously didn't like the idea of making a soldier wait. He rushed off towards his ship, heavy leather boots thumping on the dock as he went. Valentine turned away from the ship to survey the hustle and bustle of the docks. He folded his arms in front of his uniformed chest, shifting his weight so that his saber and pistol sat more comfortably against his side. He watched with mild interest as two men struggled past him carrying a heavy wooden crate between them.

Initially, his transfer to Fossgate had disappointed Valentine; he understood that his parents needed him somewhere less dangerous than the front lines, but he had enjoyed the action of battle. He was good at fighting, and he didn't have to think very hard about it. However, Fossgate was beginning to win him over. Here in the heart of the country he could interact with the people. Good, hardworking people like Captain Smith, people who reminded him what he had been fighting for. He had fought the country's enemies so that the people of Sideris could fill out the proper paperwork and enjoy their hats unmolested.

Speaking of which, where was the captain? How long did it take to fetch a form? Perhaps, Valentine thought, turning back towards the ship, perhaps I should check on him.

[Jan]

The Red Hero of Sideris was in a notably good mood today. The smell and sound of sea slapping against the docks could soothe anyone’s soul, and he was no exception; he watched the hustle and bustle of Fossgate with all the air of a satisfied large cat whiskering itself. Operations were going smoothly. Citizens were safe and well-kept. The ships floated and bobbed with the tide and the wind, ready to set sail at their owners’ command, as it should be. Complacent for now, Jahel tilted his head upwards, watching two seagulls fly across the sun’s rays. His eyes followed them until they disappeared behind the roof of the tavern across from him; from there, his gaze scanned downward until, leisurely, they landed upon the young prince and a gray-haired captain. His eyes narrowed only slightly. Frankly he would have preferred royalty to stay on their thrones. Valentine was a good enough soldier, to be sure, maybe even perfect: he never questioned orders, nor handed out mercy unwarranted, or spoke out of line. He was as good a fighter as any, but as it was, Jahel saw him more as a threat than anything. Not from any ambition on Valentine’s part, no, but because he was the son of royalty.

For it was common knowledge that any leader of Knights was responsible for the well-being of his soldiers. That being said, Valentine fell quite smugly underneath his wing, so to speak, and Jahel found himself saddled with the task of baby-sitting a young prince-ling. If anything were to happen to him, Jahel could count on himself taking at least part of the blame, resulting in loss of reputation, fame, and in a very dramatic and particularly un-appetizing scenario, his status. It was enough to send shivers down his spine.

But military involvement was preferred, if not necessary, among nobility; there was little he could do. He had already expended enough of his influence as he could by having Valentine stationed at Fossgate. Any more and he just might incite some suspicion over his motives.

He would just have to make sure that the young Prince stayed out of trouble.

The gray-haired captain scampered off, looking nervous. He watched as the captain disappeared from view, and spent a few seconds in silence, gazing steadily at the spot the captain had gone. He observed Valentine then; the prince seemed to be at ease. His lips tightened before he lifted up his formidable body with a grunt; Jahel tightened the sword buckle around his waist and brushed the hair away from his face.

“Keep your eye on that one.” Jahel said; he had appeared behind Valentine, his voice low, like a low growl. He smiled. “The good thing about tails is that they give so much away. Easy to work with, people like him.” He nudged Valentine’s shoulder. “Good thing you don’t have one, eh, your Majesty? It would make international relations completely impossible.”

His voice raised, the tone congenial and quite casual. “So. Routine operations, I take it?”

[finch]

A crash a few ships over caught Valentine’s attention. A dockworker, tripping over a stray dog, had dropped a crate. The wood had splintered and cracked, sending a bouncing, rolling wave of oranges across the filthy ground. Valentine watched, fascinated, as the dockworker began swearing at the top of his lungs. He wondered, vaguely, if he should arrest the worker for public indecency. Plenty of children were present, although they seemed more interested in the escaping oranges than the exciting new words. Still, the man ought to—

“Keep your eye on that one.”

Valentine’s hand automatically dove towards the hilt of his saber— too close for the pistol, civilians present— and he drew it several inches out of its sheath, spinning on his heel as he did so, before his brain caught up with his reflexes. This was Fossgate: not everyone here who snuck up on him wanted to stick a sharp implement of some sort in his back. Especially if they had a good six inches on him and that distinctive red hair. Valentine’s grey eyes widened in sudden surprise as he recognized the Red Hero. He abruptly released his sword and his fist rushed to his chest as he snapped to attention. He might have been a Prince of Sideris, but in his current capacity the Red Hero was his boss.

And one of his heroes. The Red Hero, leader of Sideris’s noble knights, the country’s foremost soldier! Brave, skilled, intelligent: everything Valentine wished he was. And, of course, the Red Hero had never failed to be anything other than polite and kind to Valentine in the past. As far as Valentine was concerned, the Red Hero occupied a position on par with the kings and, possibly, the Maker. The young prince was an open book— if the Red Hero didn’t already know, Valentine’s awe was written clearly across his honest face and obvious from the enthusiasm he threw into his salute.

“The good thing about tails is that they give so much away. Easy to work with, people like him. Good thing you don’t have one, eh, your Majesty? It would make international relations completely impossible.”

“I’m afraid I don’t need a tail to mess that up, sir.” Coming from anyone else’s lips, the reply could have been interpreted as an attempt at self-deprecating humor. However, Valentine’s smooth face remained perfectly solemn as he spoke, and although his hand returned to his side he did not relax from his position of attention. As far as he was concerned, he was simply reporting facts. And, although the Red Hero’s manner became more casual as he continued speaking, Valentine did not intent to relax until given express permission. He remained stiffly upright, staring straight ahead. “Yes sir,” he reported respectfully, “Captain Smith just docked, so my orders are to review his paperwork and, if anything seems amiss, inspect the ship. But the captain seems a decent sort of fellow, sir. Just a little jumpy. He went to retrieve the proof-of-purchase for the shipment from his office.” Valentine’s eyes darted over the Red Hero’s face, looking for signs of approval.

Behind Valentine, the activity on Captain Smith’s boat had ceased, the workers disappeared. A lone sailor remained on the ship’s deck, waving a mop listlessly across the wooden planks and shooting furtive glances down at the soldiers on the dock whenever he thought they weren’t looking. A voice, raised in anger, could be faintly heard from the ship’s belly as soon as Valentine finished speaking.

[Jan]

“Just a little jumpy,” Jahel repeated, his lips peeled back in a smile. His point of view on the world was refreshing to say the least. “I do so enjoy your company, Prince.”
He cast a sidelong glance at the ship behind the prince. Surely Valentine, as royalty (and especially fallow royalty at that), was eligible for some coddling. They had to fill up that honesty and wide-open expression with something, didn’t they?

“At ease,” he ordered. “Let me see your rifle.” Taking it from him, he held it gingerly, testing its weight. His fingers found the stock; it was loaded. Checking under it he noted that the magazine had also an extra cartridge of ammunition. Satisfied, he held it upright against his shoulder. “Well, you’re all clear here. Good.”

Lastly he removed the safety. Honing in on the assorted women’s fashions, the rifle went off with an explosion of gunfire, blasting the lock right off of it; Jahel lifted his foot and tipped the crate over, and a wealth of gold and valuables scattered out - with it, the torn signet of the Sideris kingdom. Jahel did not seem too fazed. He only let out a sort of self-affirming grunt, as the sailor with the mop let out an unintelligible yell and disappeared in the ship’s belly. “Cut the line!” he ordered – not to Valentine, apparently, but to the soldiers who were rushing past them at the first sign of trouble. “Don’t let them leave the harbor. Roursche, take three and stay on the docks; make sure no one gets out. Send a signal to the harbor’s front and tell them to ready a ship.”

Suddenly his attention fixed on Valentine. “Now you stay very, very close to me,” he told him, his voice becoming lower and slow, so that he made sure the Prince understood every word he said. “And you listen carefully.” Jahel shoved the rifle back in Valentine’s hands, readying his own. It loaded and let out a satisfying click. “You’ll be alright as long as you make sure you do as I say.”

Jahel raised his head to address the rest of his soldiers. “These are pirates. Secure the captain; the rest, fire at will.” He gestured. “We’re going in.”

He looked behind him to make sure Valentine was following, before taking the first step in the ship’s hull.