Gyles, who had since sheathed his blade - the act of defending his Minister and lord more instinct than indignation - chewed on this information, now regarding the rat with such a warmth of compassion in his chest that he felt his heart glow.
What would ye think o' all this, Cap'n? The Captain. The elder Gyles, his sire. The Captain had been a pirate. A nobody's whelp, a son of salt and flotsam who washed up on the shores of an Imperium reeking of opportunity and gutter filth and worked, bribed, fought, and stole his way to a coveted clawhold on the
Skeered of Nothing - a proper Navy ship. The younger Gyles had always wondered if the old one had ever been a real Captain, though to the day of his disappearance, he did little else but roam the cabins and decks of Skeered's End, what remained of his Navy assignment, muttering oaths and claims to that effect.
If anyone deserved to walk the finest deck in the Imperium, it was those shaped by the calamities of the sea. The pirate searat before him was every bit the rough-around-the-edges sailor that had built the backbone of the Imperium from nothing. Gyles was no stranger to the life; after all, as the face in the mirror often reminded him, it was the high society stoat that was the affectation, the mask. No, Gyles was a sailor to the bone, a good-for-nothing seafaring rogue. Now he was First Officer of the
Golden Hide, and that brought with it a necessary self comportment different to that his heart yearned to express.
"By your command, Excellency." Gyles offered a professional nod and walked deckward. Once there, he first made his way to the fo'c'sle deck and up the stair until he found Krimnon - not of itself particularly difficult a task. The gull was the heir of a prehistoric lineage, great and fearsome, perched as he was on the for'ard railing gazing seaward with lazy indifference at the younger Misertrosse brethren wheeling about on the wing in pursuit of a trace of flying fish. Gyles felt his hackles rise and he quickly reached into his coat pocket and produced his trusty flask. A few swigs calmed the nerves.
He coughed. "Krimnon?"
The gull didn't even look at him. He breathed a sigh of relief he certainly hoped the bird didn't hear. Krimnon ruffled his feathers. "Speak."
"Minister Ryalor requests your attention. He will be on deck shortly."
To this, the savage offered not a word, just a near-imperceptible nod of the yellow bill. Gyles caught himself. What did gulls think about? What violence did it machinate in that brutal mind?
"Fish and fair wind," the eyes seemed to say, but Gyles knew better.
No matter. He had little time to concern himself with the inner clockwork of a Misertrosse squad leader. It was off to prepare the main deck for the audience Talinn would soon deliver to a crew grown restless at anchor, restless for the open ocean and the adventure there promised.
As he climbed down the foc's'le stair, his attention turned briefly to Morgan and Waverunner. Gaoler and prisoner for now, rebuker and rebuked, but what did the future hold?
"All right, you lot!" He grinned, addressing several gathered crew. "Let's make this deck fit for a Minister! All together now." In short order, the expected number of tables and chairs were carried deckside, among them his - for now, the Minister's - own desk from the Captain's Cabin. Tablecloths were spread, cutlery produced, and a particular bottle of '29 laid in centerpoint. All laid bare before the midmorning sun, awaiting the guest of the hour, Talinn Ryalor.
@Duke Talinn Ryalor @Greeneye @Silvertongue Songfox @Ralynn Waverunner @Morgan Liu
