Salt spray splashed onto the deck of the Falcon’s Roost as she sped along under full sail through the cloudless night. The moon was a thin sliver which dabbled light across the tops of the waves without illuminating the depths. Juan Rodriguez de Soldano stared up at the familiar shapes of the Southern Cross and the Siren. The constellations seemed near enough to touch until a harsh laughter behind him disturbed his tired reverie. He glanced over his shoulder at the group of fishermen sitting together on the deck passing a bottle. They’d taken them aboard when the Brotherhood had finally landed earlier today. After two days without rest or sleep as the Brotherhood evaded the Castillian patrols, the crew had been happy to take on fresh swabs. He’d seen rougher men headed to the gallows, but rarely elsewhere.

True to his word, Berek had released all of the captives at the fishing village. They’d all left except for Juan. As harbormaster, it was his duty to bring this boat back to its rightful owners, especially after aiding these pirates in seizing it. Berek had understood and allowed him to stay aboard and given him the run of the ship in exchange for his word that he wouldn’t act against the crew. Juan didn’t know how he could gain control of the ship without breaking his word, but he had to try.

It was funny. He’d begun to think that these Brotherhood of the Coast buccaneers weren’t that bad. For pirates. They were reasonably courteous and had avoided injuring the captives. They were able fighters and excellent sailors. But they were exhausted and fuzzy headed from stealing the Falcon’s Roost, escaping from port, finding new crew and freeing the captives. Still to leave new crew as the only ones on duty seemed reckless when they’d been hired right out of the taverns. They’d snuck more rum on board and spent the time since everyone retired to continue drinking. How anyone had missed the fact that they were reporting for duty drunk was beyond Juan. Or maybe the Brotherhood just didn’t care. This never would have happened on board a ship of the Castillian Armada. Juan sighed and turned his attention back to the open ocean. He felt exhaustion weigh upon his own eyelids as well. Soon he’d need to head to the corner the first mate had assigned him.

A shower of meteors filled the sky overhead with a faint light. Watching them fall, Juan’s eyes suddenly narrowed and his breath caught. Across the dark waters, he saw the shadow of a boat under sail silently gliding closer. A Castillian galley would be lit up, but who else would be out here? Looking down, he chuckled at the thought when he stood aboard a darkened pirate ship himself. Glancing over his shoulder again, he muffled a curse. The fishermen had lit a lantern on the aft deck and were pulling out guitars and hand drums.

He called out above the low music, “Stow that! There’s another ship headed this way.” The fishermen laughed and began playing louder. There was no sign that anyone below decks had noticed. Turning back to the open sea, Juan peered into the darkness, looking for any sign of the other ship. His night vision slowly returned and he could barely make out a faint outline far to portside but approaching rapidly. Juan looked around for help but no one paid any attention to him. He did spot the port side deck cannons gleaming in the faint light of the lantern. Made of the finest steel and still covered in a light sheen of oil, these were the best cannons the Castillians could spare for such a small boat. Juan sprang into action and broke open one of the barrels of gunpowder stowed on deck. It would only be enough to load two shots before more would need to be brought from the powder room.

As Juan began loading the guns, one of the fishermen called out to him, “Hey, stop dat.” Juan ignored him as he grabbed the rammer’s rod and spun it into position. Three quick jabs and the first gun was ready. As Juan turned to the second, the fisherman strode up yelling for him to stop as he fumbled with a cutlass. Juan swung the rammer’s rod, slamming the shaft into his stomach. The fisherman doubled over and Juan swung the padded end around into the man’s head. He dropped to the deck like a sack of floor and Juan began ramming the second cannon. As he finished, he dropped the rod and stared out into the darkness to find the dark shape closer and more distinct. It was smaller than he originally thought and with excellent discipline since no sign of light showed aboard her. With a shudder, he realized she must be a Montaigne frigate trolling for Castillians. A number of frigates had been cruising these waters since the blockade was broken, but he’d never heard of them running at night. If the Juan didn’t do something before she came around to bring her guns to bear, the Roost would be her latest victim.

Juan rushed back to the stack of cannonballs near the center of the deck and plucked the top one off. He waddled it back to the cannons and pushed it into the barrel. As he rushed back for another, the other fishermen noticed him and their downed comrade whom he stepped over. One of them grabbed the lantern and a group of three brutes joined him in advancing upon the cannons. Though they wove from side to side slightly, they handled their weapons with familiarity.

Juan slipped the second cannonball into place and kicked the latches of the trapdoors which held the seawater off the guns. There was no time to aim the guns or any crew to shift them, so he simply eyed the Montaigne frigate’s shadow growing as it came closer and tried to estimate its advance. He nodded and spun towards the advancing thugs. Juan grabbed the lantern from the hands of the leader and smashed it down upon the first cannon. The oil spread across both guns and the deck between them before igniting with a whoosh. Juan dove to the deck and clamped his hands over his ears as two shots blasted into the darkness. The thugs scattered as the guns recoiled wildly.

A brilliant ball of flame lit up the sky from the suddenly revealed Montaigne frigate. The fishermen cried out in surprise and one in pain as he clutched his chest where he’d been hit a glancing blow from the caroming cannons. There was a rush of feet as the Brotherhood crew rushed onto the deck. A secondary explosion rocked the Montaigne vessel and the dark figures of her crew scurried about and tried to put out the flames.

Juan stood on uncertain feet and a firm hand clapped him upon the shoulder. It was a bleary eyed Berek who nodded at the burning frigate. “Your work?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow. Juan nodded. “Good shot. Looks like you got a direct hit to the powder room.”

Behind them, Juan heard the first mate and his brother yelling at the fishermen and smashing crockery still filled with rum. Juan smiled, “Si. I couldn’t let the Montaigne damage this boat. It’s my duty to return it to its owner in good shape.”

The frigate dropped her colors as another explosion lit up the night. Berek smiled and called out. “They surrender, boys, and we can spare an hour. Bring us alongside. We’ll take off the crew and grab as much loot as we can.” He and Juan stood watching the frigate burn as the Brotherhood topmen adjusted the sails and brought them around.