Like any sensible tenant, Temerity began with a tour of the premises.
The least weasel had arrived before dawn. That was the best time to avoid the crowds, but if she went by the gangplank, the bo’sun would fuss and get in her way and make her visit the captain’s cabin first. Temerity thought that was terribly unfair. She wanted to see her new home first.
In her sharkskin wetsuit, Temerity had floated from under the pier amongst a pile of flotsam, balancing her pack of dry clothes and weapons on a broken wine cask. She was as good as invisible, her seaweed-covered head the only part of her poking up out of the water. The weasel jill made not a single splash as she swam for the great looming bow of the mighty BlackShip.
About the time Captain Jeshal was meeting his first new recruit, Temerity was discarding the seaweed and climbing up the anchor cable to the forecastle, pack slung over her shoulder. She had to wait, quiet and patient, clinging to the great thick cable as a sailor took his time on the privy, staring and guffawing at a piece of paper. Temerity’s whiskers twitched in a fraction of disapproval. It couldn’t be healthy, beasts having their free time taken up by reading instead of going outside and playing.
Once she had the forecastle to herself, Temerity quickly peeled off her wetsuit and wrung it out, keeping a sharp ear pricked for approaching pawsteps. The sky was growing lighter, so she worked fast, her movements practiced and efficient. She pulled a small towel from the pack - a rough bit of linen, really - which got her from Dripping to merely Damp. Temerity then pulled out her dry clothes - her skivvies, a humble sailor’s shirt, overalls and poncho - and stuffed the damp towel and wetsuit in the pack. She rolled up the hems of her overalls to strap a knife to each ankle, then rolled them down again. Another knife went in her front overall pocket along with her Important Papers. Another knife went in a special pouch she’d sown on the underside of her poncho.
Crawling her way out onto the prow of the ship, Temerity tied her pack’s strap around the neck of the figurehead. Nobeast was likely to notice it unless they were looking for it. The weasel made it inside just as the sun was coming up. The ship’s bell tolled, crew shuffled between duties, some yawning to their hammocks, others groaning out of hammocks. A lot of beasts hurried with purpose to the growing queue at the forecastle for use of the heads.
What was one little weasel jill amongst it all?
Temerity happily puttered about the BlackShip. She peeked in the galley skylight to observe the cooks and sniff the vittles. She fondly patted and pawed the guns, examining their condition with an expert eye. She found her way lower and lower into the ship, noting the similarities and differences with the Golden Hide. She toured the carpenter’s workshop, the various store rooms, the weapon lockers, and the powder magazines. She built a mental map of the hatches, the ventilation shafts, the quieter areas and the busier ones.
Temerity was pleased. The BlackShip had so many places to hide.
The weasel jill was mostly dry by the time she had made her mind up. This ship would do nicely. She planned to leave her pack at the prow for the moment, and collect it later when the post-breakfast privy rush was over. Instead, she scampered aft and up. Whilst Temerity could think of eight different means of entry to the captain’s cabin (some less practical than others), perhaps bursting out of Captain Jeshal’s personal privy with a knife between her teeth would flag the wrong signals.
Nobeast stopped her coming out onto the quarterdeck, nor approaching the captain’s cabin. This was where beasts like her were supposed to be, after all. The queue had become a trickle, and Temerity found that she was just in time to go in, as an even-larger-than-ordinary fox was leaving.
Temerity’s head movements were almost birdlike as she looked about the captain’s day-cabin, adding the door to the quarter galley to her mental map. There was the todd himself of course, handsomely distinguished, commanding in his presence… and maybe a touch damp? Well, that made the two of them. Temerity approached with steady determination, one paw reaching into her front pocket, a glint in her eye.
"I’ve been waiting for this opportunity a long time, Captain.”
The weasel’s papers hit the desk. Temerity spread them out for the captain’s inspection, her arms barely clearing the height of the tabletop. There were no words on any of the pages except one, where somebeast had written in the clear block letters of an office clerk, TEMERITY BOUDREAUX.
The rest were a series of increasingly alarming crayon illustrations, done in Temerity’s own paw. There were drawings of dead or dying beasts, ships exploding, ports ablaze, and a recurring motif of a long-torsoed individual in a poncho, usually paired with a weapon. She was no Faculty of Fine Arts graduate at Length, but Temerity had clear skill at conveying anguished faces, and extraordinary scenes of destruction.
“These are the beasts I ‘ave killed in battle with a thirty-two pounder,” Temerity explained, pointing to a page that seemed to be nothing but severed limbs. There were several pages like it. “These for when I was gunner for a twenty-four pounder. This for an eighteen pounder. This…”
The page was entirely speckled with red crayon. In the centre, silhouettes falling, or clinging for their lives to a broken stick.
“… sixty-eight pounder carronade double-loaded with grape and solid shot, crossing the stern of a traitor at point-blank range. Unmasted her, so the falling and drowning ones count as mine.” Temerity quickly shuffled the papers. “Erm… ah, yes. Kills with knife. Kills with traps involving strangulation. Kills with traps involving tripwire-triggered munitions. Kills with traps involving erm… erm…”
Temerity could not for the life of her remember the word. The weasel’s whiskers twizzled in frustration. Of course she’d forget in the middle of a job interview! She formed a fist and tapped it against her head. “You know. Bonk.”
Next, she pushed forward the paper with her name on it. “This mark is me, my name, but on paper. I am Temerity Boudreaux. I served the Golden ‘ide since… since I was born there. Erm, I cannot go back though, it is complicated.”
She frowned only for a moment, then beamed at Captain Jeshal, showing off her sharp white teeth. “You have a fine ship! I can ‘elp. Tell me what it is we must destroy. I will find a way, sir. I am good at weapons. Which is your favourite? Do you like grenades? Oh! Sorry, Captain. I do not mean to get carried away.”
With subtle sleight-of-paw, Temerity slid her best drawing to the front, then brushed her whiskers proudly. A happy little weasel cheered from what was clearly the Golden Hide in side profile. Another ship burned and sank. Bodies littered the sea surrounding it, sharks tearing off arms and legs, the blue scribbles of the ocean intermingled with red. A sad wildcat sea-captain stood on the stern of his sinking ship, a tear rolling down his cheek. Temerity had fastidiously sharpened her crayon for that detail.
Fortuna Survivor
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