Markus had made his way on deck with the rest of the others just as they had called for the ship, eyes peeled on the horizon. He couldn't believe how fast that other ship was moving, and it caused murmurs amongst his crew. No Brettonian sailors moved like that, nor would their ship. But the ship certainly looked like a caravel. As the men stood there stunned, frozen as if by some spell, Markus unsheathed his sword. "I said nor'west!" 

The crew leaped into action like a dog that had just been kicked. The younger man, a stow away named Oskar who had earned his keep over the last years amongst the crew, shimmied yet again up the mainsail to the crow's nest. The Captain needed to reward him with a pint once they hit the port. Markus gave Emmaline a look as Morgan approached, gauging whether or not if she was excited to be rescued or scared of being tossed onto another ship like a hooked fish. 

"Looks like they're deciding for us, lad." 

"Makes me job easier." Markus quipped, taking out the telescope again and watching the caravel approach. His quartermaster was right, of course. The ship was no longer curious. It was making its way toward them as quickly as possible. Brettonians knights might be honor-bound fools, but normal ship captains didn't have this sort of bravado. Not to mention it was making all speed to a (supposedly) Imperial vessel that had nothing to give it save loot. 

"Von Morganstern. Get below decks." Markus said, not looking back at her. Whether she followed his orders or not, he didn't have time to notice.