There is nothing worse for a pirate than dying on dry land. Except, maybe, swinging two feet above it.
When their captain is imprisoned, facing the gallows, the men and women of the Lady Lesya's crew will try everything to break him out--even if it...
Except for the occasional inarticulate and pointless scream from the depths of the barracks, silence reigned over the place. The mess hall was deserted, the armory empty, and the desks vacated. When Bautista had burst into the building to announce that the chief needed all the help he could get, no one paid attention. But when he had added that it was to secure a grisly murder scene, the men set a new record getting ready, rushing out to form vague ranks in the square before marching away. It had happened so suddenly that papers were still floating through the air and a mug was still spinning on a desk when their voices died in the distance.
Ricardo had tried to follow his mates, but Fernando's firm hand made him sit back in his chair behind the reception desk. "You stay put, pup! This is not a sight for kids like you to behold. All that blood, it's too awes... gruesome." With that, he had left to join the merry men outside.
Since then, Ricardo sulked and grumbled about the unfairness of life and what would happen to some if he were to be the constable; they would see, they would see... Sprawled out in his chair, he started doodling on the first piece of paper at hand (who cared about the Rules Of Behavior Towards Inmates anyway), trying not to think about the long and lonely day ahead.
He had drawn enough abstract spirals to cover the unorthodox penis originally sketched, when a voice boomed inside the room. Ricardo jumped in the air, screaming like a little girl, and crashed on the floor, swearing like an old fisherman.
He grabbed the edge of the desk and peeked out to see a large, joyful man, who appeared to be made entirely of facial hair.
"Are you well, rapaz?" the man asked. "It was quite a tumble!"
Ass and ego bruised, Ricardo stood back on his feet and tried to look as official as his skinny, childish figure permitted.
"I'm good, sir, thank you!"
Behind the beard-man stood three others. A muscular, expressionless slave, a laughing, feathered extrovert, and a sad, creepy clown. Ricardo gulped. "And what can I do you for... your service, gentlemen?"
With a wide grin on his tanned face, the feathered man came closer.
"Oy, we're here for the tour! What else?"
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