Excerpt: Persephone Pertwill's Perseverance Pertaining Perilous Politics Piloting Putrefying, Pugnacious, Piratical Psychopathy

From the second Adventure, Pickled Persimmons

"Let him up," I murmured to Randolph, as quietly as possible.

I leaned against the oversized crate on the poopdeck as my First Mate hauled our client back up from the cage attached to the figurehead. The man was soaking wet, shaking with -- what, terror? -- and finally silent.

"Sir Westleyville," I said calmly as if we were having a dinner at a fine restaurant, "Do you think you can keep a civil tongue in your head from now on?"

The ability to rebel or to even object to his treatment had left him. Finally. His quivering nod was all I needed and I gestured to Randolph to cut the ropes. As the Bolg Knight tumbled free of the ropes and to the deck, I controlled my urge to laugh. After all, the man was paying me.

I waited a moment more for Sir Westleyville to get his feet and slink toward the belowdecks where he was supposed to stay in the first place, then I spun on my heel and headed toward where my Loxitari Navigator whistled merrily while spinning the big wheel that moved the rudder. Yes. Whistled. I will never understand how he can whistle, but I guess I don't have to understand it for it to be so. The scar that started above his left eye and traced a path down across the milky-white organ to the edge of his chin actually added to his whole devil-may-care attitude.

"Mister Qoz, get us back on course for the Fnippersalls... with a bit of luck and with a day or so to put down anchor, we can make up for the damage to the Persnikkity Peregrine caused by that halfwit. Which port is closest on this side of the Fnipps?"

"That'd be the eastern docks of Fort Gaither, Cap'n," came his reply with a grin. At least, I think it was a grin. I wondered again if I would ever learn to read expressions of a face with a beak. He was a damned good Pilot and Navigator -- no one knew the skyways better -- and served as my Third Mate, but a bit of a birdbrain.

"Alright then," I answered, "to Fort Gaither, with all possible haste, Mister Qoz." I looked about the decks and didn't see who I was seeking next, so I turned to the crewman tugging on the nearest foil rigging.

"You there -- Smedley, innit?"

"Yes, Captain!"

"Run, find Seventeenth Mate Karcassorre, tell him I have a job for him," and with that, the boy was off. I had a strict policy of no crew under sixteen years on the Peregrine, and he looked to be maybe twelve or thirteen at most -- but I also had a strict policy of no questioning the word of any crew, and that goes for me, too. The papers he signed on with say he's at least sixteen, he's at least sixteen.

"Captain," said Randolph quietly, "We've been out for over three months this time. You know the men are going to want leave when we make port."

"Counting on it, Randolph," I answered, "How else are we going to leave the worthless ones behind? We should make the Fnipps in about two hours by my reckoning, so hold yer crew meetings and let 'em have word that anyone wanting leave needs to come to my office for liberty orders."

"Yes, Captain," was his solemn as ever reply.

As the Persnikkity Peregrine slid smoothly between the fluffy white clouds, I went to my quarters for a bit to relax and then to my office to receive my crewmen that wanted leave at the port. I remember my father doing the same bit, with one set of orders for the crew he wanted to keep to follow and another set of orders for the crew that were going to be left behind to follow. I dug under my corset and pulled out the key to the lockbox, and readied myself to give out the wages for those going afloat.