We decided to treat us to a small pause in Azy Cay, a small town on a small isle, off the northeastern coast of our current destination, the island of Perck. Reputedly, this was a pirate haven founded by the captain and crew of a ship that had run aground here.
The coastline of this secluded tropical paradise drifted by, with sunlight glistening on rippled
azure, calmly flowing up and down the radiantly beige sands. Further inland the lush vegetation formed an abundant, natural orchard. I could well comprehend why someone would elect to stay,
or how one would inadvertently beach their ship while enchanted by the aspect. We, of course, had business to do here and elsewhere, so when the small settlement came into view, we resorted to the usual rites of approaching, docking and mooring.
After a bit, we found that the founder and ruler of this settlement, Captain Angsley, would welcome us personally, while admonishing us to behave civilly. Apparently, during our detour, word of the incidents in Brigandy Bay had travelled here. The Captain herself appeared as a nimble, athletic and quite attractive woman, measuring hardly more than thirty years. Pleasantly, she then invited Mistress Saran and me to dinner at her residence, which we emphatically accepted.
We spent the rest of the day trading with the locals, under the laid-back supervision of two guardswomen, sold the silk we had acquired in our act of piracy earlier, restocked our provisions and, reluctant to sail with empty holds, purchased a cargo of locally-grown tropical fruit, expecting to fetch a much better price on the mainland.
In the evening, Mistress Saran and I headed to the Captain's residence, recognisably the beached ship itself, which had over the years been turned into a house of sorts. We were welcomed by a friendly maid and led into the dining room, where the Captain welcomed us. Amid a splendid meal of
fruit and fresh seafood, we could get to know Azy Angsley quite a bit better. With her physique, acumen and aplomb aplenty, in a way, she was someone to aspire to.
As she been a pirate captain earlier, we consulted her experience to assess our situation. We had gotten off the hook in Brigandy Bay rather easily, all things considered, and should be more careful in the future. In the end, she made a request of us. She envisioned the Cay to serve as a refuge for prosecuted or maltreated women of all sorts, and if we would meet a woman in need, bringing her
to safety here would always be an option, and we would be compensated in kind.
After dinner, we returned to our ship, and after a night's rest, left port again, for once without further incident. After a couple of days of travel, we passed the southeastern tip of the island of Perck. From afar we could see several standing stones, a historical site of the Arcane of sorts, but none of us knew any further detail. The next day, we spotted a frigate flying the Kieran flag, which we decided to outrun, and we could reach Shark Bay without incident.
The bay was true to its name, and on more than one occasion we could see some ominous dorsal fin drifting by menacingly. The town itself was a marked contrast to Azy Cay, a ramshackle collection of huts. As we docked, a rather plump, bespectacled man with a clipboard in hand, approached our ship and declared that as the harbourmaster, he was entitled to a daily berthing charge. We were a bit
suspicious, but also reluctant to cause a commotion, and so we complied and paid him for five days in advance. After that he stated that it was customary for new arrivals to be welcomed in the community by having a drink in a local establishment called "The Great White Grog", and it would be a grave insult if we rejected his invitation.
I stopped to ask him if we would get any official papers on docking here. He appeared taken aback by the question, but then assured me that he would perform the more time-consuming deeds later. So, we followed him to the establishment, got seated and treated to a sample of the eponymous drink, which, if I recall correctly, was quite flavourful and pleasant, but also somewhat inebriant, and whatever transpired in the following hours, remains consigned to the mists of time.
Eventually, I found myself prostrate on the warm beach, lacking my purse and several of my belongings, and taunted by the sight of the Wild Monkey sailing off without me. Several of my fellow crewmen, likewise dispossessed, lay nearby, and in a desperate effort to get our ship back, I rallied them towards the docks.
There, several crews were busy touching up their vessels, and I approached a small, apparently seaworthy skiff. I told the foreman that I had been subjected to the local rites, and while I generally considered myself a good sport, I would very much like to be back on my ship now. They refused to sail us out, however, or lend us their vessel, and while I was preparing a different diplomatic approach, Mistress Saran boldly stepped forward and kicked the man overboard. This instigated a brawl, which became a bit lopsided once the crewmembers grabbed tools to use as improvised weapons, and quite a bit lopsided when Master Krastus summoned up the Four Winds to retaliate
in kind.
Again, this dispute had turned more violent than desired, but we could not stay and make amends without losing our ship, and so we set off and, arming ourselves with whatever weapons they could find on board, pursued the Wild Monkey. When we quickly gained on them, we were subjected by a barrage of musket fire, and as the rest of us dove for cover, Carlton, enraged by the theft and
misuse of his beloved gun, shot back defiantly.
Eventually, we went alongside and hastened to climb aboard the Wild Monkey, where several cutlass-wielding ruffians were preparing for our assault. Sira and Krastus took the point, pushing the defenders back with cutlass, pincers and magic, and while Carlton covered us with gunfire, I
held the left flank, finding myself engaged by two of the armed scoundrels. Outnumbered, I could only try to stand my ground and buy some time. Luckily, by the time the opposition succumbed to our onslaught, nothing serious had yet happened to me. Soon, the only foe left was the one standing
at the helm, a certain plump would-be harbourmaster, who found himself the target of righteous fury, and got ended by Carlton's unerring shot just before Master Krastus' pincers would reach him.
Tending to our wounds and taking stock, we found that most of our missing belongings were aboard, and the ship was largely intact. We also recovered a certain clipboard, the top sheet adorned with squiggly lines pointing out its owner's illiteracy just as much as our naïveté. However, our crew was missing, and as we interrogated one of our three surviving opponents, an unkempt lout presumably named Pete, he claimed that they had captured our fellows, and sold them to a slave-trader in
Shark Bay. This was something we would have to immediately rectify.
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