Recent content by Gyles Stowett

Captain's Log, Her Majesty's Golden Hide. Sea of Calamities, 21 Notembre 1765. Keening. Since one bell of the Last Dog yester-eve it is in our ears. It began a little soughing. Now it is an awful din such as is heard in the beating of drums and shields and the cries of warriors before a...

The rat regarded the letter for another painfully long moment, then took it with a curt swipe of his paw. In a flash, he drew the trusty whittling knife from his belt sheath and slashed the envelope. "At least ye know 'ow ter 'ddress yer betters. Last un didn' make it. Called me Matey, or...

A grim nod of the grizzled head. "A mission straight to 'Ellgates. Aye, I seen that afore in otherbeasts' glims, Greeneye. Run that path, too." He follered Greeneye's look out to sea. Knowed better than to try to talk a beast out of what Greeneye was about, too. Still: "Yer new family...

"They were eager, weren't they." A ghost of a playful smile alighted on Gyles' lips as he bowed his head slightly in response to the salute. He made a flash assessment of the roguish pair and concluded, to his immense pleasure, that they could not have appeared more different from their...

The old tar shrugged noncommittal-like. "Maybe so." He watched the younger rat keen - couldn't help himself, could Prizzack. Under all them scars and the pegleg and aye, the black flap covering where the glim once was on his face, could've mixed him up for... well, now. He as could've swore he...

The door, in no hurry to be opened, stayed shut. No answer did the little entourage hear, save booted pawfalls on the floorboards within. The captain certainly was taking his time. The door finally creaked begrudgingly open and there he was. The captain was a striking sight - small, scruffy...

Out of the corner of his eye, Gyles felt, more than saw, the blur of his understudy's training blade - and made no move, keeping his focus on the skulk of foxes now gathered by the gangway. Who could resist letting the plucky youngster land his first strike? P-o-ke. But not without a lesson...

Prizzack's chewed his lip. "Nobeast sh'd 'ave to grow up without a mum's love." He withdrew the cold pipe from his mouth and returned it to its place in his belt pouch of effects. "Norwise with a dad like that. Dad like that ain't no dad. Ye don't never need to see 'im again - not on this side...

"Quite." Gyles offered the cat scientist a nod of summary approval. "Welcome aboard, Dr. ... Amatis Moontail. Bear in mind that any investment of this ship's resources into botanical pursuits, or any nonessential aim, will be subject to the requirements of the Service. We've a mandate, don't...

The Captain of the Golden Hide raised an eyebrow. "Involved." He repeated the word to himself, rolling it around in his mind like a shimmering pearl. Smooth and precious. He stood up, attention on the retreating outline of Vulpinsula behind them, Bully Harbour and its stuffiness and walls and...

The captain took a chair, passing one of the glasses to the wildcat and one to Kaii as he passed. He didn't really offer, per se, no. For Gyles Stowett, drink was a given in company. "Try this. 1737." Moontail. Doctor. Field scientist. Observer... Hard to take a word at its most natural...

He stopped drinking. "Aye, Morgan. 'S all real loyalty can be, ain't it. This ship is the Imperium, more than stone, earth, an' whatever ... hobnob culture Vulpinsula can claim; her crew - our friends - its citizens more than scheming nobles and arrogant ministers and Fogeys with all their rules...

"No, you ain't." He almost chuckled too, then he was dead serious as he continued in his curious Old Miklarian. "But I'm afraid we all might be." "I'm not at liberty to say more about what we face, but even if I was to say, I couldn't. We don't really know. Just...tidbits. Pieces of...

(Continued from Hang the Treasure!) Science, engineering, the things a Navy officer learned in brief at University and never used again. "All chemistry, ain't it?" The door shut. Gyles shook the spattered ocean spray from his oilskin overcoat at the lintel and hung it on the row of coat-hooks...

Prizzack was up after the pair in a trice. He shimmied, hopped, and swung off things. Easy as a squirrel in his own neck of the woods, was Prizzack. He dropped lightly to a squatted stance, forearms resting on his bent knees, like a scout with a couple of fresh recruits. "Arrighty, me luckies."...