"I think The Pirate is docked!"
Henry shouted to no one in particular, his voice carrying above the groan of rope and timber, and the splashing of water. He stood braced at the rail with a telescope pressed to his eye and a grin on his lips.
Brand lifted his own telescope and turned it towards the Spanish docks. "It is. I never knew Ramsay was intended for Spain."
"I suppose," Lawrence murmured from the helm, "he has concluded the duties concerning his sunken ship and her crew." He was staring intently at the waiting crowd ahead.
The place was alive with sound and colour. Merchants crowded the stone quay, calling out as the ship pulled even closer to them. Sailors plied the grounds, calling in the distance while hauling lines. Beyond them, a vessel Brand would recognise at any distance swayed with easy confidence to the slow movement of the water.
The Pirate.
Ramsay O'Neill's headliner ship.
