Again, it's been a long time. Again, my apologies. I'm trying to lessen the hang-time between chapters, I promise.

The deck was warm underneath him. He twitched in his sleep and one foot flexed unconsciously. Around him, the others who'd been in the taverns with him were sprawled in similar positions on the deck. Their evening of revelry had sapped them of money and energy, the latter resulting in their present state. The copious amounts of rum contributed heavily as well. Samuel twitched again and this time came awake enough to yawn before rolling back onto his stomach. He was asleep again within moments but it wasn't to last long.

" 'Ands up, c'mon y'bleedin' loafers, I letcha sleep more'n long 'nuff, gerrup, rouse up!"

The sleeping men on the weather deck stirred. Samuel was the first to awaken fully, or at least enough to flop over onto his back and yawn. There was somebody standing close by, casting a shadow where the sun should have been... the Scotsman draped his arm across his eyes as a shield against the mid-morning sun and called out groggily, "Quit yer 'owlin', we ain't lef' docks yet."

"There's work t'do, gerrup," Billy Smith said again, nudging Samuel in the ribs with his foot. "Same fer the resta yew, gerrup an' be useful."

Pintel shifted himself up into an almost-sitting position, rubbing at his temple and yawning. "What's the use in bein'... hey, we ain't in Tortuga no more!"

That got the rest of them roused. Every man lurched to his feet, peering blearily at the glittering sea that stretched out all around. Samuel turned on Billy Smith, not bothering to hide his anger. "The 'ell ya playin' at, puttin' t'sea wit'out rousin' the entire crew?"

Billy shrugged. "Better not 'aving 'nuff sailors than drunk ones, 'andlin' sail."

"Oi," Ragetti cut in. "Where's Twig?"

The four of them turned toward Billy Smith, who suddenly looked uneasy. Samuel advanced a step and said "Check below, Pintel."

They waited while the bald man hurried down the ladder, Samuel and Ragetti eyeing Billy warily. Toby Smith was nowhere in sight but that was not wholly unusual. He often retired to his cabin around mid-day. Some of the other sailors were gathering around, which was adding to Billy's distress. Pintel reappeared on deck, his chubby face dark with disbelief. "He's not down there!"

There was an instant, discontented grumble from the sailors. Samuel took a fistful of Billy's shirt and favoured him with a sour glare. "Wot've ya done wit' Twig then?" The other men closed around them, looking vengeful.

"Blackburn's now crewin' wit' the Black Pearl," a rough voice boomed. It was Toby Smith, standing with his beefy arms crossed over his chest and a blank expression on his face. "Weren't safe 'avin' 'im aboard so 'e's gone off."

" 'Orse dung," Samuel snarled, releasing Billy and looking about to leap at Toby instead. "Slimy blaggerd, 'e trusted ya!"

Only the rasp of a sword being drawn stopped the Scotsman's advance. Toby returned Samuel's furious glare without flinching. "I do as I gotta fer me ship, sure yew oughta know tha' by now, Scotchy. Now git t'work, like yew was tol', or there'll be narsty 'appenins 'ere'bouts."

The crew reluctantly dispersed, throwing sullenly angry looks at Billy and Toby as they drifted away to other parts of the ship. Samuel was the last to go and he spat at Billy's feet before swinging up onto the shrouds. He was halfway aloft by the time that Billy found himself able to move again.

"Tha' 'un'll bear watchin'," Toby commented blithely, sheathing his sword and turning away to return to his cabin. His face briefly reflecting his own disgust, Billy tramped below deck. It never did any good to argue with Toby, especially not after being publicly challenged by one of his own crew. Billy only hoped that getting rid of Blackburn would turn out to be the best choice, otherwise there would be more scenes like the one that had just played out.

Dolphin sailed south from Tortuga, following a hunch on Toby's part. He wanted to draw Dauntless into another pursuit around the Caribbean, since he was now free of the liability that Blackburn had presented. The allure of taunting the Navy was too much to resist, even for him.

"There it is, boys," Rutland said, his voice flat with distaste. The crew gathered reluctantly on the foc's'le, studying their destination with varying degrees of unease. Being so close to Tortuga - and so far away from any hope of Navy aid if something should go wrong - made them uncomfortable. There were ships everywhere, both at anchor in the bay and tied up to docks close to shore. Rutland, in surveying the crowded harbour, chose a likely spot to drop anchor. As long as they were far enough away from other ships, he supposed they would do all right.

"Blimey but 'tis a nasty-lookin' place," one of the marines muttered. The others grunted agreement.

"Let's be about it, lads. Hands aloft to take in sail, but don't be sharp about it!" Robbins called out and the men scattered, seamen going up the shrouds while the marines went to the tackles and stays. At the helm, Rutland rolled a plug of tobacco to the other side of his mouth and shook his head. When Robbins came ambling aft, the coxswain favoured him with an unhappy look.

"This'll be a neat trick, to not get spotted fer bein' Navy."

Robbins shrugged. "We'll manage. Ain't much different than pluckin' a couple lads outta some brothel. Only trouble is the waitin' and watchin'."

Neither man spoke after that, until the sloop had nosed her way into the harbour as far as Rutland was comfortable. The anchors splashed down into the sparkling water and the longboat was swayed out to send the first group of men ashore. Robbins was taking four seamen and three marines with him, with no-nonsense directions from Rutland to begin searching taverns and avoid trouble at all costs. As the seamen pulled at the oars, Robbins found himself playing with the hilt of his sword. He didn't like not having the reassurance of Dauntless' guns and her crew close by. At least the marines, dressed plainly in sailors' slops, appeared at ease. But then, he figured they were more used to being sent ashore with little in the way of reinforcements.

"Bowman - " Robbins caught himself just before giving the orders he was so accustomed to. A shiver went through him. He had to be very careful what he said and did, to avoid giving the appearance of being a Navy man. Chase, the bowman, needed no urging to jump to his tasks, however. The nimble able seaman sprang up onto the dock and had the longboat's mooring lines tied off securely by the time the rest of the boat crew had clambered up onto the dock.

"Good luck tryin' to find anybody in this rat's hole," Webber grumbled, looking around.

One of the marines, Springfield, scratched himself nonchalantly. "Nothin' to worry about, us lads'll track the rats down. Now what about some food?"

The group drifted toward the street, after leaving two men to guard the longboat. There were people, mostly men, everywhere. Nearly all were in differing states of drunkenness, it seemed. Here and there were women in well-worn dresses, obviously the working girls who called the port home. Taverns, it quickly became apparent, were literally everywhere. Springfield the marine wrinkled his nose in disgust as a rather rotund man waddled past, stinking heavily of something that defied description.

"Blimey, ain't anybody 'round here ever heard of washin'?"

One of the seamen chuckled quietly. "They ain't got the bosun after 'em constant-like fer it, s'why."

"This way, lads," Robbins directed, having chosen a likely-looking tavern to begin their search. Hesitating only a little, the seamen filed after him into the place and almost at once moved as a group toward the closest unoccupied table. Almost immediately after dropping into a chair, a second marine called Durham scratched irritably at the stubble on his face.

"All this not shavin' rubbish ain't right," he grumbled in annoyance. "I don't like havin' whiskers!"

"Hush!" Robbins hissed as a barmaid came bustling over. The men ordered drinks, their voices slightly more dull than they might've been, had they been in a normal Port Royal tavern. With one or two exceptions, none of the men who'd been sent to Tortuga were bothering to shave. It was considered important to avoid the appearance of being too clean and tidy, much to the marines' grumbling chargin.

The barmaid reappeared with a tray laden with tankards. Robbins nodded gratefully at her when she'd finished handing them out and, as he fished in a pocket of his coat for coins, asked casually, "Pardon miss, but wouldja know anythin' 'bout a sloop called Dolphin?"

His question wiped the easy, glib smile off the girl's face. She looked the group over almost warily and did not reply immediately. As they had previously discussed, several men looked expectant, as if Robbins's question was perfectly natural. Robbins himself leaned back slightly in his chair and quirked an eyebrow at the girl, pointedly keeping the coins meant to pay for their drinks clenched in his fist.

"Ain't heard of no ship like that," the barmaid said finally. Her denial of knowledge was contradicted by curtness of her answer and the glint of suspicion in her expression.

"Ah come now," Robbins said, casually dropping a single coin onto the table. "I reckon you hear a lot 'round this place. We ain't lookin' to put no harm to Dolphin's cap'n, are we boys?" The other men shook their heads.

The barmaid shifted uneasily. "I dunno him."

Another coin went clunk onto the table. The barmaid's eyes darted to the two coins, then back up to Robbins's face. His air of calm never slipping, the boatswain's mate offered a brief smile. "Sure a fair lass like yourself don't just have a pretty face, I reckon you got a good ol' mind in your head too. I likes a lass with a brain, y'know. Good company an' all."

Around the table, the other sailors began to grin as the barmaid visibly wilted. Robbins's calm, relentless manner had won out, with the help of the coins - now numbering three - on the table. The barmaid looked around for a moment before leaning down close. "I seen Dolphin's captain not three days past..."

His hat looked like no more useful than a great black felt paperweight, balanced atop a stack of papers on the wardroom table as it was. He was meant to be working, assembling a revised list of the marines aboard ship. The shipboard detachment needed to be re-organised, in light of the losses and the marines away on the Tortuga mission. That was leaving out all of the other bits of reports and watch bills that he had to go through. One long finger stretched slowly out and tapped absently against the corner of a piece of parchment. Instead of working, however, he was contemplating something far less pleasant.

"And yet you saw fit to punish him on the spot, rather than follow the usual route?"

Lieutenant Forsythe's expression didn't even flicker. "Aye sir. I felt a swift and sure display of authority was more than called for. Especially given the state of morale and discipline of late."

"Discipline." Collins' narrow face clouded, just slightly. "I have seen no reason to be concerned for it, the men are marines and know very well how to conduct themselves."

Though the meeting was only a few minutes old, Forsythe could already tell that it was going to devolve swiftly into a disagreement. Cartwright wasn't present to help him, either.The Irishman willed himself to relax. Losing his temper would do nobody any shred of good.

"Marines they certainly are, sir, but they are also, as you say, men. Men who have lately endured trials that few others can fathom. They're shaken up, sir, and need a bit of firm guidance to remind them of their purpose."

Collins looked at him closely. " 'To remind them of their purpose'? What nonsense. The men know perfectly well their purpose - to carry on with their daily routines and be ready when the time comes for action. And by God that time will come soon, once we learn where that devil Blackburn is hiding!"

"That's all fine and well, sir, but to hear some of the men talk, the belief is easy to acquire that we shall never catch Blackburn or his accomplices," Forsythe countered. "Rumours, as you well know, sir, are extremely dangerous."

To his surprise, Collins smiled. "You are far too idealistic, Lieutenant. The men who might talk so freely are fools. There is no need for punishment unless the offence is truly severe. Certainly you know the difference between idle talk and true discontent, Lieutenant?"

"I do indeed, sir, but idle talk can very easily lead to true discontent. It was my belief that there was a danger and I did what was required to stop that danger before it could grow,"

"Would that your belief was shared," Collins said. "Publicly punishing marines as it suits you does little to improve their moods. The offence was not severe - late to musket drill, was it? That hardly constitutes a dip in morale. I had thought your judgment was more sound than that, or at least that you knew the men better."

Forsythe's face flushed hot. "You insult me, sir. I - "

"Be silent, if you please. Your interest in maintaining control of the men is admirable, but think on it more than a moment. We are aboard ship. There are precious few places for the men to go and plenty enough to keep them sufficiently busy, that they should not gossip over-much. You know that as well as I." The Yorkshireman's expression seemed to soften, just slightly. "As do the corporals. Leave the work of governance to them and Sergeant Devlin, unless they come to you."

"I am perfectly aware that Devlin and his corporals can manage their affairs, but when I bear witness to an offence, it is well within my rights to address it!"

"By needlessly embarrassing a man in front of the rest of the detachment and half the ship? That is no way to enforce discipline and improve morale, even if you think it is. There won't be another incident like this, Lieutenant, or I'll know the reason for it!"

The thud of shoes on the deck interrupted Forsythe before he could form an angry reply, which was just as well. Groves, the second lieutenant, appeared and paused at the sight of the two marines. "I'm not disturbing a party, am I?"

"No," Forsythe said shortly, rising from his chair. He left the wardroom without another word, his stride stiff and angry. Collins simply shrugged at Groves' questioning glance and didn't trouble himself to explain. Some things were better left unshared.