"Apologies captain, I suppose we may add grace to the list with courage and skill," she said quickly. 

"Perhaps the next dinner guest you kidnap will make less of a mess," she added a trifle tartly. That wasn't the most politic thing to say but the rum and wine she had consumed were beginning to go to her head. Probably for the best that she had knocked the wine over if it were effecting her to that degree.

There was a knock at the door and Markus grunted in acknowledgement. A sailor came in carrying a wooden platter which he set on the floor before clearing the remains of the meal from the table with practiced ease. Once the carcass of the chicken had been cleared away he set the platter on the table and removed the cover with a theatrical flourish. Inside was a steaming plum pudding covered in a sauce of brandy and raisins. Beside it stood two small bowls of custard which had been sprinkled with sugar.

"Cook's trying to earn his keep I reckon," the sailor said casting an envious look at the meal and at Emmaline who, while quickly regaining her composure still had the rosy glow of alcohol and recent embarrassment to her cheeks.

"He made us a stew like I ain't had since ma'mum's," the sailor added enthusiastically.

"What is his name?" Markus asked, eying the dessert approvingly.

"Capocuoco, didn't catch his first name," the sailor replied. Emmaline snorted in amusement drawing the eyes of both Markus and the unknown crewman.

"His last name means Cook in Tilean," she explained, "it's like meeting a smith named Smith." Markus and the sailor exchanged glances, neither apparently finding coincidence as amusing as Emmaline did in her slightly inebriated state. 

"That will be all Reeve," Markus said in dismissal before turning back to the dessert.