A book being written about myself in the world I wish we all lived in.
“Again Dorian? Wasn’t it only last week that I caught you up at the tavern trying to sell your exploding tankards?”
“I explained that too you! It was only a minor malfunction in the timing of the cooling gear!”
“Well whatever the reason, this is your last chance. You’re lucky it’s me that caught you and not the sergeant” He sighs as he grabs Dorian's collar and dragged him up to the porch of my house. It’s not too bad. Sure it’s a little dingy and his father had weather instruments clamped, bolted, nailed and taped to every inch of the walls. The earliest memory Dorian had of this place was the first instrument hid father put up, a small brass and glass barometer that is attached to a window frame in the kitchen. The knocking of the Officer snaps Dorian back; he hears the heavy sigh and descending footsteps of his father. He answers the door wearing his newest set of bronze goggles with tinted glass along with a top hat and the smudged smock over his suit. Without a word he beckons us into the house.
“What this time Alastair?”
“Your boy here killed ten soldiers that were chasing a dangerously armed criminal.”
“They had no reason!” Dorian interrupted, his father’s gaze silenced him.
“The fine is 5 pounds per soldier killed” Alastair continued, “So that’ll be 50 at weeks end sir.” Alastair turned around and left, closing the large oak door behind him.
“Any particular reason you felt inclined to kill 10 soldiers?”
“They were just chasing a poor stow away! I saved his life!”
“Just when we began to trust you again, you pull this! I’ll have whatever weapons; fire arms or what have you, until the end of the fortnight.”
Dorian reached all over his person and relinquished a boot knife, small cutlass, three pistols, his bandoleer, and one extremely small blunderbuss. He turned on heel to head to his room across the hall when his father saw a small glint of gold under Dorian’s coat. His father lunged forward, grabbed his son by the arm, whirled him around, took off the jacket, and unbuckled the holster all in the span of a few seconds.
"Care to explain, Dorian, how this came into your possession?"
He had no answer, he had forgotten about the pistol the moment it left his hand.
"A better question is what does it do? Dorian! Answer me when is speak to you!"
"It's easier if I just show you," he reached for the gun, his father snatched it back.
"Oh no you don't! After what you've done today, there shall be no more un-identified weapons on your person! Lets see what this baby can do." His father made a dash for the workshop with Dorian in his wake. Dorian was always astounded by the sheer amount of brass, copper and bronze his father had turned into weapons, tools and instruments. Quint made a quick turn down a dimly lit hall towards a room with blackened and pitted walls with small craters in the plaster here and there. He pulled a gilded copper lever imbedded in the wall and a small sack dummy swung down from the ceiling. The dummy, or Archie as he was commonly referred to as, had seen better days. His face and head had more bullet holes than it did fabric, and a fairly large hole dominated the side of it where the arm once was.
"Alright then, lets see this weapon you've decided to take the lives of men with shall we?"
Dorian stepped back and put his goggles over his eyes, his father followed in suit, brought the gun up to eye level and pulled the trigger. As before, a small shower of sparks, he heard the canister boot in before he saw his father shudder. Then a wall of green flame rolled out form the barrel, incinerating poor Archie for all he was worth.
"Well Dorian, I have to say I'm quite impressed. Which drunken Sky Pirate did you manage to swindle this out of?
"As i tried to explain before I was so rudely interrupted, it was tossed to me by that stow away!"
"Don't give me lip, do remember that I am your father and that you must respect me or I shall have to revoke your license as your lieutenant." his father yelled back. Dorian could deal with a lack of weapons, he could defend himself without them, but no one took away his sky from him.
"Well then father. I think I would very much like my weapons back as I feel quite inclined to leave." with that he turned on his heel and stomped out the door, his father made no attempt to stop him. As he passed through the narrow halls of the house, he passed by the table onto which he had deposited his weapons and threw them on. Then continuing on his path without breaking stride, he picked his suitcase out of the closet, threw open his door and slammed it shut behind him and threw the bolt home. He loaded it with only the most important of items, not that he had that many. His room was a horridly wall papered room hardly larger than a closet, from his small dresser that occupied the far corner of the room, he threw in an extra pair of pants, a shirt, a thick jacket and his pair of lucky socks, his mother had given them to him before she got addicted to the drink. They were woven of steel strands formed together in the form of, you guessed it, a sock. Also out of his dresser, he flipped open a large panel from the bottom, along the top were a line of gears that fed a power to a large system of copper piping surrounding an assortment of weapons, pistols, small rifles, knives a sword and his trade mark grappling hook launcher. It was a seemingly harmless brass tube with a wooden handle, fluted edges and a tiny copper trigger, gauges for pressure and power adorned the sides, it was his favorite creation. He now carried his cutlass at his waist, his sword at the other, his boot knife in place, two small blunderbuss' strapped across his shoulder, his bandoleer slung across his chest, his grappling hook launcher across his back and his newest weapon, the pistol, at his hip. Along with these and the larger cache on his ship, he and what ever crew he could muster could take on an entire Slave Ship, not to mention the swivel guns and cannons mounted to the deck. he pried open his window and dropped the last 6 feet to the ground. He made for the Mirkwood a relatively small ship, a heavily armored hull of iron plates, his canisters of hydrogen stored below deck, his helm was a large, hardened glass installment at the front of the ship, the most outstanding piece of the ship except for the prow, a long mental spike used to ram attacking ship's balloons and hulls. He sped down the now soaked roads in the rain, he knew the way to his ship in even the darkest of nights, it would come in handy tonight. He followed the long winding snake-way between two buildings and ahead of him, his ship stood large and proud in the lightning lit scene behind it, over the cliffs he could see the surrounding countryside. New London had been raised up and out of the Old Lands so that all that was important and just could be preserved.
It had happened only recently that New London had been created to leave he underlings to their doings, his family had been one of the lucky that due to a lower social status, was almost left behind, that was until Dorian's father had become the lieutenant of an aerodock on the edges of the city. Now Dorian headed for the Mirkwood with a new intent, an intent of defiance towards his father, the industry of trade that limited his excursions and ports. It was at that moment that Dorian took a new light on his life, one ruled by government and oppression that he needed to be freed from, and one that could hold new adventures, people and places. He knew within his heart that he would have to become something he had always feared and steered clear of, he needed to become a Sky Pirate. The smell of the aerodocks permeated the air ahead of him, he counted down the docking stations, 15, 16, 17, he arrived at dock 18 to find an empty mooring post. "You've got to be kidding me." he said aloud. On the post was a note declaring that his ship had been confiscated by the city for possession of illegal firearms and out-dated supplies. It was the doing of his father, he had always been against the air travel of his son. Looking up and down the wharf, he looked at the few ships within his piloting ability, alongside him stood the Ophelia and the Sky Whale. The Ophelia sported a large balloon, multiple cannons and a ballista at the front which could fire 12 foot javelins at opposing ships, the High Whale held more promise with a very large steam engine at the back fueled by a hearth below deck and multiple cannons, swivel guns and an amazingly potent Hai-Culen, an exotic weapon which fired a concentrated jet of steam which would cook anyone standing aboard another ship, it was also larger and more intimidating. Making his choice he pelted up to the landing platform and up the thin board traversing to five feet between the deck of the wharf and the railing of the ship. With his small suitcase in hand and his cutlass in hand to dispatch of the guards, he made his way quickly across the gangplank, head low and silent as the night that sat above him. After slipping his case onto the deck and clambering over the side, he made his way at first to the helm, where the guards would likely be playing dice. As he rounded the corner he encountered the man he had seen earlier "What is he doing here at 5 in the morning?" he thought to himself. Dorian intended to kill the man and get on with it, though in the back of his mind, he pondered the man's usefulness. Making himself visible by stepping into a small square of light that illuminated most of him as not to scare the man.
"Psssst!" he hissed quietly. The man in the coat whirled around and threw a small knife at Dorian's chest, it bounced off his breastplate.
"Unless you wish us both dead, sir, I suggest that you give up whatever weapons you have and I promise no harm shall come to you." Dorian said in a calmed voice. The dark figure looked him up and down. His goggles obscured part of his face and the coat hung about his knees. He look a long knife from a sheathe at his waist, and implanted it in the railing with a dull thud.
"What do you want?" he inquired.
"Please stay quiet as we have not much time, I don't trust you and you obviously don't trust me. The city has taken my ship and I am in dire need of a new one, I do intend to commandeer this ship to spite my lieutenant. What is your intention?"
"I be a pirate young sir, and I'm also in need of a new ship, but I know not how to fly one myself. Possibly for this small moment in time then, we be partners and take this ship together?"
"Exactly what I have in mind, You take the helm and I'll work the under-decks, here." Dorian tossed him the sword. It was of beautiful craftsmanship, but his father gave it to him on his first voyage, so he was happy to get rid of it, that was unless of course this new comrade slit his throat in the morning. The man flashed him a smile of gratitude and continued on his way through the door. From the wheel house he heard a small scuffle and two bodies drop. "That takes care of them" he thought. Now where were the others? According to protocol, at least two men at the helm and two below deck on stand by, he only had to find the rooms. Dorian made his way quickly down the stairs, directly ahead of him was a hallway with rooms all along its length minus the stairs to the store rooms below. From one on each side of the hall he heard snoring. He made his way silently along one side of the hall as to avoid squeaks from the floor boards. Nearly to the first door he put his hand on a copper tube in the wall for support only to find it boiling hot. he quickly pulled his hand back and looked at it in the light of the lamp he stood by, it wasn't as bad as he thought. Though the ships crest was burned into his hand, a whale among the clouds. He looked upon the pipe to see a similar design every two feet it ran. Luckily he didn't make so much as a small yelp, he had sustained much heavier wounds than this. Dorian took hold of the handle just after the pipe and slowly turned it, the knob moved without a sound on an oiled mechanism, the first guard lay unconscious with a bottle of gin at the edge of his finger tips. "Easier than I thought." He took his cutlass and laid it lightly at the guards throat, he quickly covered the mans mouth with his hand and ripped the blade quickly across his jugular and throat, he gave a quick sputter and a fine mist of blood as he tried to scream only to pass on a few seconds later. Wiping his face clear he padded out and to the room across the way, he placed his ear to the door and herd the steady snoring of the other, he went to make the same move as before, even if he was the only guard left on the ship, he could still make a bit of commotion. He moved forward like a shadow and saw the face of his next victim and saw the face of none other than Officer Alastair.
It was the monocle that made the connection. He had often thought about the monocle and how impressive it looked. Now that he was a pirate, he had to get into the mindset of taking what he wanted. This was how it started. Alastair was laying on his back, mouth slightly open, monocle loose. "This, Alastair, is for my own self gratitude, thats why I felt inclined." he whispered into the air. He struck like a snake, driving the cutlass into the mans chest and through the bedding until the body of Officer Alastair hit his hilt. The man looked upon him as if he had seen death itself. He managed to dribble up a small amount of blood between the time the blade punctured his heart and his soul passed on. Dorian quickly removed the blade and wiped the blade upon the Officer's uniform and took from him the one thing he admired about the now lifeless body, the monocle. The base was a hammered copper plate that was attached to his head be a leather bond, along the sides ran some fancy mechanisms that continues to whir, ending in two bronze tubes that ended in a tube about an inch long, housing within it a clear piece of glass that allowed him to see perfectly through it. He secured it to his own head and lowered the eyepiece so it did not obstruct his view. It fit as if it had been made for him, he looked upon the corpse with a sullen disgust, he left the room promptly and headed up to the deck, he found his new partner smoking a newly acquired pipe and shining a copper pistol with the rotating barrels.
"Well," Dorian announced, "We're all clear below deck, but before we even cast off I need to know who you are."
"Fair enough." the man said "Me name be Nick Gavin Toughy. Born and raised in the hell hole of a port called Port Caledon. It be where i was picked up by a crew of pirates, the captain being the fiercest that sail these skies, Ulysses, and his airship the Brass Eagle. His helms man said they needed a good fighter and an even better killer, I like taking what I want." Nick explained, "and you be seemin' a wee bit young to be pilotin' such a beastie o' a ship ain't you?'
"I'm the best pilots the skies of London have ever seen, I'm called Dorian. Leaving this oppression for open skies and adventure."
"A just enough cause laddie. We all be needing more of it these days. Shall we be castin' off now cap'n?"
"Captain?" Dorian questioned
"Aye, you be seemin' like a fine enough o' a cap'n ter me." Nick replied in earnest.
"Well then First Mate Nick, pull in the mooring ropes and we'll be off!"
"Aye aye cap'n!" he called as he ran to the aft of the deck. Dorian went immediately to the helm to locate the speed, altitude and lateral controls, luckily for him it had an automatic engine, a luxury for many a captain. He flipped a multitude of switched to light up the gauges and indicators. On the wall to his left was a map showing the charted world, pirate ports, oceans, seas, trading routes and government controlled ports. Nick ran in and gave him the universal signal for "ready to go". Dorian threw the throttle to full and launched out and over the edge of the port. He opened the windows full that stood in front of him and breathed in the fresh, New London air just as the sun broke the horizon. The golden light bathed the scene ahead of them, open sky and clouds. Nick obviously had a similar effect take hold of him, he looked at him with a twinkle in his eye as the young man spread his arms out and took in as much air as his lungs could hold. It donned upon Dorian that Nick was only about a year older than him, that meant they had similar goals, and he knew where to fly first.
"Nick? When you feel like you have the time, set a course for Zannet. I've always wanted to go there, and we'll need a crew and supplies, we only have enough for three weeks for the both of us."
"Have you got money then cap'n?"
"When I ran away, I took with me my life savings, over ten thousand pounds. If I count even a single shilling missing I'll know it was you Nick." at this Nick broke into a wide smile.
"I'll remember that cap'n, i wouldn't even think of it!"
"In that case I'd like the ten pounds you've taken from me and hidden in your shoes, I'll give you some personal money when we dock." Nick looked at him with a shocked expression, Dorian had noticed the small shift in his gait since the first time he saw him. He personally knew the effects of having a ten pound bill stuffed at the toe of one's shoe.
"Alright cap'n." Nick said with an air of suspicion.
Dorian stood on the foredeck of the High Whale, legs apart and hands behind his back. he looked down at the pink tinted clouds that rushed under him. The ship had been a very good choice though it lacked the ramming prow, the steam cannon more than compensated. In total the supplies below tallied at; over 20 rifles, around 32 new pistols, 12 blunderbuss', an assortment of swords, a barrel full of knives and enough ammunition to bring down a blockade of heavily armored military ships. He was wearing a black leather captains jacket with a large collar and straps and buckles down the right to secure it. The monocle that sat over his right eye allowed him to see much farther than he could otherwise. He also thought of detaching the arm piece from the Officer's jacket, the more weapons the better, and Nick was busy taking inventory of the ship's other supplies below. Dorian descended the narrow metal stairs behind him and ended up in the same hallways he had killed the guards in. He looked at the pipe he had rested his hand on, then glanced at his hand, the crest was obviously going to branded to his hand for life. He pushes open the door to find the deceased body of Alastair, he had taken the pale pallor of death and the eye that was once hidden by the monocle had shriveled and sagged to one side. Dorian took his knife from his boot and went to work cutting the weapon from the man's jacket.
The top rim was copper while the rest of it seemed to be an alloy of brass and copper covered in weapons; an assortment of what seemed to be pistols, a tiny crossbow, a dart gun and most interesting of all was the taser. It shot two small steel barbs at an enemy, connected to the base by two copper wires and a rechargeable steam battery. The elbow bent smoothly and the hand was a metal plated glove. He slipped it on, the elbow was at the right distance, but the shoulder cleared his own be at least three inches, leaving his right side heavily guarded, surprisingly it felt only as if he was carrying a five pound cannon ball in his hand. Dorian decided to have it riveted to his new jacket by Nick when he had time. Then he thought of something he hadn't before, the inside was thoroughly padded with softened leather. Dorian quickly turned around and rammed his right shoulder, the armored one, into the solid oak wall behind him with full force, deeply denting the wood without causing so much as a scratch in the metal, and Dorian felt as if he had only bumped against a door frame. It exceeded expectations he thought. Quickly exiting the room and heading one level below, he found Nick, not counting supplies but rather hammering a sheet of metal around a form, into the shape of a gun? he thought. The hammering was exceptionally loud, why didn't he hear it?
"Nick!" he called over the racket. Nick dropped the hammer with a loud clang onto the anvil with fright. He whirled around, "Aye cap'n?"
"I need you to attach something to my jacket with a few rivets."
"Aye sir. May I ask what it be?" Dorian deposited the new weapon onto the bench in front of him, and Nick tossed what he had been working on into a coal furnace behind him.
"Cap'n, this be a glorious piece of machinery, Where did you manage to get it?"
"I took it off a guard I killed last night. Same place you got your pipe and jacket if thats safe to assume."
"You'd be right, but if I might be adding sir, never assume anythin'. It'll just make an ass out of you an me."
"Your right there Nick. Please don't touch any of the weapons on here alright? I don't want to come back down here and find you dead." to this Nick took a wide smile.
"I won't sir, you dinna' have ter' worry about that." Dorian removed his jacket and handed it to Nick who instantly took a small box from his pocket and poured from it an assortment of different sizes of rivets. It was then he decided to make his first official act as captain of this ship.
"Nick, I want to promote you to First Mate and Master of Weapons and Armor. Can you handle that, friend?" Nick took Dorian's forearm in his leather gloved hand as Dorian took Nick's in his own and shook it roughly. This means that once they got a crew together that Nick would be second in command. He liked to think of Nick as his equal in this great scheme of their's.
"Aye sir!" Nick said "I won't let you down sir! I be thankin' you sir!" Nick said with excitement as he began to work with a passion. He instantly put the rivets into the furnace to soften them a bit and began punching holes in the leather and metal of the arm.
OPEN SKY TO ZANNET
It was before the dawn that the port came into view, the lights of the town illuminated the bases of the clouds that sat ominously above them. Dorian had been here only once before but he knew where he needed to go to find a crew, the Dream Pipe. The tavern was a wretched gathering of pirates, looters and raiders all looking for either a cheap drink or an invitation to fight for anyone and anything. While they slowly neared Nick looked fearful of what lay ahead.
"You seem worried Nick, what is it?"
"Well cap'n, I have a wee bit of 'istory back here. People know me."
"Then maybe you can help us land a crew, or would you rather stay and guard the ship?"
"If you don't mind cap'n, I think I'd fancy stayin' 'ere."
"Have it as you may Nick. Pull us into port." Dorian ordered. The city ahead looked as if it had seen one too many an attack. There were more holes in the street than cobble stones. Windows were boarded, holes in walls, drunks passed out in the street at 5 am that hadn't been arrested or rolled into alleyways. As they cruised within five feet of the docks, Dorian ran from the mid-deck of the ship, over the fore-deck and leapt over the railing, rolled over his armored shoulder and popped up to see once again, no damage. He walked through the narrow snake like streets searching for the sign of the tavern he was seeking. Just as it came into his view, two large and very drunk men approached walked out of an alley and blocked his path.
"What would a wee weedy youngun' like you be doing out at this hour? What do you think Quirke?" the first man asked the other.
"I think he's looking for trouble Langstrum. Ain't yer?" Dorian could smell their breath from where he stood, he decided no would be a great time to use the taser, he had charged it before Zannet came into sight. From within the glove he located which finger the weapons switch was located, his index finger. He raised his arm to be level with the Quirke's chest.
"Don't make me use this. I'm warning you." he snarled. The two men looked dumbfounded for a moment, then broke out laughing. Dorian flicked the switch. The barbs fired out and penetrated the man's clothing and the equivalent of 2.121 giga watts were ripping through the man's chest. He fell to the ground and bucked with convulsions. The first man, Langstrum just stared at Dorian as if he held his soul in hand. Dorian severed the flow of power and retracted the barbs, he heard the man groan as the barbs tore out of his skin.
"Now if you'd let me pass this may not happen to you."
Langstrum just teetered from sight and left his friend to wallow in the pain he had just been dealt. Dorian felt confident as he strode up to the door of the tavern. He kicked open the door and strode up to the bar, "Straight up rum." he ordered from the bar man. The bar reeked of smoke leaf and liquor. The shot slid down the bar and stopped right in front of him.
"Ain't you a bit young to be takin' that lad?" and older pirate beside him asked. To prove his tenacity, he drank the whole thing in once swig, feeling the burn as it coursed down his throat. He instantly felt a bit of a tingle at the ends of his fingers.
"Well then, looks like you can hold yer liquor. I be D'Orsay. What be ye' lookin' for in these part?" he asked with interest.
"A crew, I need a crew."
"Well you've come to the right place. We have the best pickin's you could ask fer'."
"You'd have the best if I was recruiting for a drinkin-" he was cut off by the cold feeling of a blade on his throat. Without his noticing, the man had pulled a small blade from his person and held Dorian at his power. He looked into the man's cold, but caring gray eyes. The man also sported a graying beard, leather clothes, metal bracers and about five rings in his left ear.
"What number of crewman you lookin' fer', it's been too long since I've seen a good battle."
"I need enough to pilot and protect a large war ship and be able to take down many cargo carriers with minimal casualties."
"I'd be happy to volunteer me services, but first, I'll need yer' name friend." he said as he took the blade away from Dorian's throat.
"I'm called Dorian. From New London, looking for adventure and rebellion."
"So it's rebellion yer' after eh? Ye' need be talkin' ter' Zachariah up stairs. He'll be yer' finest fightin' man." He said as he stood up and motioned for Dorian to follow him. They passed by empty tables to a small set of dark wood stairs.
"Mind yer' head on the lamp." he whispered. Dorian wondered where the lamp was when halfway up his head collided with a solid metal object that produced a loud clang and a burst of laughter from D'Orsay. They crested the stairs to find a hallway with doors at alternating distances along the walls. D'Orsay led him to the last door on the left hand side of the hall. Laughter and the smell of smoke leaked under the door. The older man in front of him knocked on the door and a small panel three quarters of the way up the door slid sideways to reveal a pair of eyes hidden by goggles, they looked both of us up and down before sliding it closed again and opening the door. D'Orsay strode in and gestured for Dorian to follow. The men and women within gazed at them from all sides of the tiny room. There must have been at least 15 of them crammed into a room not meant for any more than five. The one of them that stood out the most was a long, dark haired figure at the back sharpening a sword. His boots raised and resting upon a table, he looked at them with disdain.
"Who is this D'Orsay? An employer? He seems a bit young, but then again we're all misfits here. Who are you?"
"I'm Dorian from New London. I've commandeered a warship with the help of another man called Nick Gavin Tougy." he stated. Zachariah burst out laughing.
"Nick? That weed of a man couldn't so much as cut off my finger if I gave him the chance." he said through the tears he shed at his round of laughing.
"In the process he killed two guards single handedly." at this all of them fell into silence and looked at him.
"Killed two guards aboard the ship." they all stayed silent, either in thought or shock, he couldn't tell. Then Zachariah stood up and strode the three steps to where Dorian stood. Zachariah was a very imposing man, long raven black hair obscured half of his face, and a thick ropy scar ran from under it, along his cheekbone and ending at his chin. He wore black leather armor, solid copper bracers and bone greaves engraved with an image of a shin bone. In a flurry of motion he attempted to flick his sword up to Dorian's throat, but before he could, Dorian drew his cutlass and held the other man's sword between them at hip height.
"Well then, Dorian. It looks like you're looking for a fight."
"Actually Zachariah, I'm just holding my own against a little man with a big sword." The room shrunk away from him, everyone filed out except for two very large body guards who blocked the door. Zachariah sheathed his sword and kicked a chair in Dorian's direction, he stopped it with the toe of his boot and flopped into, the dark man sat down in the other across the table for him.
"Sir, I'll have to politely ask you to relinquish all your weapons to my guards, for safety purposes of course." Not wanting to turn this meeting into a blood bath, he willingly gave the guards all that he had, hidden or other wise.
"And, the arm piece."
"I can't, It's riveted to my jacket, though I'll give you my ammo." Dorian said as he ejected three clips of pistol ammo, three crossbow bolts and his taser battery.
"Very well then, let me get to my point, we are a group of pirates who are interested in one thing and one thing only; profit. My men and women that I have here work of their own free will. I'm only nineteen myself and they have very few issues obeying me, so I'm sure they'll be fine with you. Though they can also leave when they wish."
"Well then, I've already planned an attack on a convoy of merchant ships headed for Da'aphet. They carry more than five hundred thousand pounds in gold. It may sound daunting but they have three ships. My own, the High Whale boasts ten cannons, thirteen swivel guns and a steam cannon, as well as arms, armor and munitions for everyone of your crew along with whatever store of weapons you own yourselves."
"Wait, before you go on, five hundred thousand pounds? Five HUNDRED THOUSAND pounds?"
"All accounted for, I hold records for every shipment to every port from now to twenty years into the future."
"Alright, and a steam cannon? Care to explain that?"
"Call me Zach."
"Anyway, Zach, It fires a concentrated jet of steam at opposing ships, it can swivel three hundred and sixty degrees around and not only cook any crew on board, but if we charge it long enough, it can punch holes through three inches of solid metal." The man across the table looked at him flabbergasted, he looked behind him to find one of the men behind fiddling with the Incinerator.
"Do NOT! Touch that, unless you wish to burn this entire building to the ground. The guard set it down tentatively on the table.
"Dorian, you have me interested. Lets discuss our terms. My crew demand an equal share minus the twenty percent taken and divided up by the captain, myself and your first mate, Nick."
"I'll give you fifteen percent so your crew get a bit more, the better their loyalty, the longer they'll stay with us and the harder they'll fight."
"Dorian," Nick said "I'll take that deal." He stuck his hand out to Dorian, he took it and shook it.
"Your crew have two days to prepare and meet me at the west port, you'll know the ship when you see it." With that Dorian took back his weapons and strode out the door to find the crew awaiting news from the hall. He walked past them, as he was half way down the hall, they filed into the room. Dorian heard Zach explain what was going on and cheers erupted from the room. He knew know that they had a fighting chance, excitement was coursing through his veins, his only worry was about Nick, what did they mean?