Thomas laughed with a good-natured tilt to his head. “Well, as it turns out, my crewmates had already paid the err…[i]lady[/i] beforehand. Apparently I was the victim of some high good sport, and the perpetrators were waiting for me to rush out of the tent like a hurricane.”

He grew silent then, taking the flask and listening to Jax tell of his own first encounters with the realities of love and lust in the world of pirates. Thomas smirked. The experience was almost a universal eye-opener to the young men—and women—that sought the outlaw’s life. Freedom had an interesting way of looking the same, which made Thomas muse that perhaps it wasn’t truly freedom they were experiencing at all? Maybe it was all a different set of laws, unwritten and informal, but laws all the same? 

“Bah!” Thomas said. This was not the night for such deep thinking. He tipped the flask back once more when Jax’s observation dawned upon him.

Bringing the flask away from his mouth, Thomas’ brow furrowed as he turned to follow the helmsman’s gaze. What he saw there made his face go slack. In the distance, silhouetted against a night bright with stars and moon, were the dancing tongues of a great fire. With the distance that Thomas knew they had traveled, he realized that Jax was right: it had to be a burning ship, as not settlements were in sightable distance of the [i]Skate[/i]. At least, none that Thomas had ever seen on any chart. 

“Damn it all,” Thomas muttered. Spinning to Jax, he said, “I need you at the helm. [i]Now[/i]. Take us west, and away from the fire. Whoever or whatever set her ablaze might be able to sight us beneath the moon.”

Turning from Jax, Thomas leaned far over the railing of the crow’s nest, cupped a hand to his mouth, and yelled with all his might. “Ship ho! To your stations! Make ready for speed.”

With that, Thomas thrust himself over the railing, and into the roped shrouds of the main mast. Swiftly he descended, taking the lengths of the rope ladder with dangerous abandon. Below him, he distantly heard the crew react with uproarious shock to his call from the nest. The sound of boots thundering upon the deck combined with the yells of the men as they scrambled from their raucous partying, and to their duty stations. 

As his feet met the deck, Thomas called out once more. “Antonia, I need you aloft! Lieutenant, make us ready for iron.” He said, indicating that the [i]Skate[/i] should be prepared to receive, and send, cannon shot. 

Around him, the crew worked with practiced efficiency as they ran out all the sail the [i]Dusk Skate[/i] possessed, working the blocks and tackle lines with grunted determination. Thomas could hear the canvas unfurling, and he could hear the groan of hemp as ropes were pulled taut to bring the sails ot bear. 

Retreating towards the aft castle, Thomas made to bring up his looking-glass, when another sound stopped him dead. Squinting with concentration and disbelief, he looked up, bringing his copper eyes to stare towards the far-away flicker of the burning ship. 

For several long moments, the captain merely stood, entranced by a beautiful, ethereal, and angelic chorus of voices that drifted to his ears. His breathing slackened, and his tensed muscles began to relax as the singing crescendoed. Even as the volume increased, the chorus seemed infuriatingly distant and faint. He leaned forwards, his mouth opening in wonderment. All he could think was that he had never once in his life heard such a perfectly striking and intoxicating sound.

More. He had to have more. He had to know what holy embodiment could call so beautifully.

“Jax,” Thomas said, not looking to the helm, or even knowing if the helmsman had yet made it to his station. “Take us to that ship.”