Yo Ho, Haul Together...

[Captain Ciera Ancora]

Claws clicked idly against the deck rail. "Do you know the best way to kill a shark, Ancora?"

"I'm not sure, Captain," Ciera answered deferentially.

That smile. The teasing one, specially reserved for filling pauses while Blade savored the sweet taste of hidden knowledge. "Simple answer is, 'You don't.'"

She frowned. "You don't?"

"Aye. A shark's too big, too powerful t'be taken down by the likes of you or me. The secret is, ye wound 'im, deep enough ta draw blood. Then once his mates have caught the scent, they'll finish him off straightaway, quick as you like. O'course, it doesn't end there. In all the gnashin' and thrashin', another shark'll get bloodied, and then they'll turn on 'im, too, and then he'll lash out and bite another 'un, and they'll be fightin' their own brethren just to survive, while you're legging it away o'er the main."

The ferretmaid gave a respectful nod, to serve as a receipt affirming the transfer of knowledge. It was important to show that she was listening. That she could learn. It was what made her special.

"As you were, Ancora."

Ciera splayed her paws out onto the map spread across her desk, frowning pensively. She'd long since forgotten where the conversation had taken place, or when, or why. Memories had a funny way of degrading. At first they were like vivid dreams, but all too soon they'd wear out like a fine garment left to the elements, becoming isolated words and images, scraps of experience loosely stitched together with threads of context.

The lesson, however, never lost its clarity. No point killing your enemies yourself, not if you can convince them to kill one another. Like most of Blade's maxims, it was straightforward, sensible. Clever, yet so simple that it seemed anybeast could've come up with it, if they'd only thought about it.

And perhaps... perhaps some other beast had.

During the worst of the persecution, the rumor mill churned out nothing but tales of death and destruction, the death toll climbing higher with every passing day. But then, one day the latest casualty reports were ignored in favor of a juicy new rumor. Gold. Mountains of it, just begging to be hauled away. The rumor crossed the sea in the blink of an eye. And it drew the shattered remnants of Blade's empire like moths to a flame, set them at one another's throats. It all seemed awfully... convenient.

Atlas Stormstripe, curse his hide, wanted to end piracy once and for all. How better to do it than to spread rumors of a fantastic hoard, and let greed do the rest? The pirates would converge on the spot, and they'd do anything to get their paws on that treasure. No point killing your enemies yourself, not if you can convince them to kill one another...

There was a polite knock at the door.

"Come in."

"Brought the prisoner as y'requested."

?Thank you, Daggle. That will be all.?

Daggle opened his mouth to speak.

?That will be all,? Ciera repeated, flicking her snout towards the door. Daggle wisely took the opportunity to leave.

Once the door had clicked shut and the sound of pawsteps had diminished satisfactorily, Ciera turned her attention to Tooley. ?Is there anything you?d like to tell me, Mister Bostay??

The weasel thought for a brief moment. ?Well... the brig's leakin' again. Y'should prolly 'ave somebeast take a look at it.?

Ciera strained to keep her facial expression straight.

?I meant about the poisoning of First Mate Ginson, Mister Bostay.?

Tooley fiddled nervously with the brim of his hat. ?Don't know anythin' about that, Cap'n, I swear it...?

?Speaking of the brig... Were you visited by anybeast??

?No, Cap?n.?

"You're sure?"

?Yes, Cap?n.?

Ciera was moderately disappointed. She'd suspected that the poisoning was a joint venture, and had hoped that the accomplice - or accomplices - might pay Tooley a visit.

?You were well fed??

Tooley nodded, but she'd only asked the question as a formality. Ciera had personally ensured that Tooley was served the same food as everybeast else was having, just in case.

?Thank you, that's very helpful. You?re free to go, Mister Bostay.?

Relief briefly flooded the weasel?s homely features, then was quickly absorbed by the underlying layer of suspicion. Innocence was foreign territory to a perennial blame sponge like Tooley, and Helpfulness was off the map all together. ?Er? really, Cap?n??

?Really.?

The hat brim twisted in his paws. ?I?m not, err, in trouble, then? Only cause y'didn't ask about the poisonin', not really. I didn't do it, I swear I didn't!?

"I already know everything I need to know, Mister Tooley.?

The brim relaxed. "So I'm... really not in any trouble, then? Err... Really??

?Not at the moment. But if you hang around much longer, you?ll be in dereliction of duty.?

Tooley blinked. ?Der-re??

?Go get back to work, Mister Bostay.?

?Oh! Er, right!? Tooley scrambled upright.

"Oh, and Mister Bostay, send Mister Izhets and Miss Silvertooth along. I need to speak with them."

"Aye, Cap'n!"

Tooley scuttled off. Ciera shook her head at the door he?d forgotten to close. How anybeast could honestly suspect a lump like Tooley of poisoning Ginson was beyond her. The fellow wasn?t particularly stupid, he just had an uncanny knack for doing things stupidly. If Tooley set out to poison Ginson he?d probably have tried throwing the poison bottle at him.

Truth be told, that?s what she valued in beasts like Tooley. Pirates saw logic as just another set of rules, and rules were, by definition, things that only happened to other folks. Through their constant misunderstandings and ineptitude, the Tooleys of the world provided a refreshing counterpoint to Ciera?s own way of looking at things. They made her reconsider notions and ideas whose obviousness made them seem? well, obvious. It kept her sharp.

Blade had taught her that. Looking for faults in yer crew is like looking for sand on a beach. You don?t have to look hard to find a lot. But if?n you dig through that sand for long enough, you?ll eventually find the glimmer of somethin? valuable. And once you?ve found that glimmer, well, you can polish it ?til it outshines the sun.

Blade had always had a way with words. Somehow, he always knew just what to say, which words would make the little levers in a beast?s head go ?click? and open up the shutters of the mind to let his ideas come streaming in.

Granted, Blade?s philosophies tended to flag a bit in the implementation phase. Even the best of pirates had to be unearthed from a thick layer of metaphorical sand; some beasts, like Tooley, had to be dredged up from deserts. Finding his glimmer had taken enough digging to exhaust a team of moles. It took an awful lot of polish to put a shine on incompetence. Still, the fellow had his uses. To his credit, he played the role of unwitting bait very well.

Besides, intelligence wasn't all it was cracked up to be. In a pinch, Ciera preferred sensibility. Sensibility was, at its heart, about inaction. When the opportunity for stupid behavior came along, all one had to do was not do it. It was very easy to not do stupid things, and took less effort than to do them, so it constantly befuddled Ciera that others seemed to encounter tremendous difficulty with the concept. Intelligence, on the other paw, demanded action. For instance, an intelligent first mate would realize that once the Silver Maiden got within a stone?s throw of its destination, the only obstacle between him and complete ownership an incalculable hoard of wealth was the inconvenient existence of his Captain; there would only be one sensible course of action. Intelligence demanded it.

Another problem with intelligence ? it wasn?t nearly as rare a commodity as it purported to be. Captains could possess just as much of it as first mates, if not more. Such a Captain might, say, set a direct course, clap the first mate on the back and proclaim nothing but smooth sailing for The Silver Maiden from there on in, and then secretly switch bowls at dinner that night.

Unfortunately, imprisoning Tooley hadn't had the desired effect. True, locking up the most obvious suspect all but guaranteed that most of the crew would interpret Ginson's death as an open-and-shut case of vengeful murder - which meant that if Ginson had accomplices, they'd be inclined to think they'd gotten away with it; perhaps they'd even feel safe enough to take a chance on eliminating the loose end that Tooley presented. But, no such luck. Nobeast had so much as visited the brig, which meant that either Ginson was working alone, or his accomplices were smart enough to play it safe.

She drummed her claws on the desk. Ginson's attempt at assassination was... unsettling. Not because he'd wanted her dead, mind - there were several hundred Waverunners on the high seas who wanted the same thing, and Ginson merely brought that number up to several-hundred-and-one. No, what bothered her was that it signified a loss of authority. Somebeast had got it in their heads that they could stand up to Ciera Ancora, and they had nurtured that idea and let it grow and fester. They'd lavished their attentions on it and cultivated it until it achieved plausibility. Such ideas were like weeds, if they weren't killed quickly, they weren't killed at all. The Fates alone knew when and where it might crop up again.

The fact that Ginson even made the move was symptomatic of the Silver Maiden's current plight. They were like a sinking ship desperate to reach the shore, tossing off anything that might drag them under. The crew had jettisoned a lot of things to get to this point: standards, loyalties, codes of conduct... useful things, things that seemed essential once upon a time. Now they were all so much jetsam in the Maiden's wake, bobbing along with the bodies of the beasts they'd once been.

And, yet, despite everything they'd lost, the ship was still going under. Now it wasn't just the useful things that'd go over the side. No, this was when the vital bits started to go. This was when a crew would look at the great iron anchor hanging off the port bow, and they wouldn't see the bastion of safety and security that moored the ship, held it fast, kept it from drifting off course; they'd only see a weight. And then they'd cut it loose, and send it into the crushing depths with hardly a second thought.

The foundations of her command were crumbling to dust, little by little, and it seemed the harder she tightened her grasp, the faster it poured through her claws. She only hoped she could hold on long enough to see this whole mess through.