Morgan nodded obediently, responding to Markus' tone as much as what the captain was saying. He gave Emmaline a suspicious look, then turned back to the younger man.

"I'll have the men rig the main course with Estalian reefs, we wont be able to shake our our royals..." he paused, remembering that Markus had been struck down at or shortly before the time the the caravels mainmast had come down. 

"But that wont matter much with the winds coming out of the northwest, not as far west as we've run," Morgan mused, pausing to allow Markus a chance to contradict his decision. Markus made a gesture which, if not assent, wasn't flat contradiction. The old privateer nodded, gave Emmaline a final suspicious look and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

"That is gratitude for you," Emmaline said tartly, wincing slightly as she crossed the room to the side table on which she had stored the cooking and alchemical supplies she had used for her ritual. The poured a little of her alchemical base into a cup and then added a few herbs, stirring it with a wooden spoon before topping the mix off with water from a pitcher. She crossed over to Markus and put the cup into his hands.

"Drink this," she directed, "It will help." Markus watched her suspiciously for a minute and then drank, wincing at the taste.

"What is it?" Markus asked.

"A mix of herbs and alchemical base, alcohol really, in a few minutes you will feel a pain in your side, like a stitch, and you will start sweating."

"If your plan is to poison me..." Markus began, though his voice was amused rather than angry made a dismissive gesture.

"If you show up on deck looking like Shyalla has come down from her heaven, the men will throw me into the sea some dark night regardless of what you say."