"Just a fishing smack," Markus reported, closing his telescope as he slid back to the deck with the grace of a cat. Emmaline peered out towards the green brown smudge of the coast. She could barely make out a splotch of white against between wind and water. The Hammer was bucking along with a soldiers wind billowing her canvas. They had left the city of Corsair's four days before, the crew was in good spirits having blown their pay in an orgy of booze and... well actual orgies. At Emmaline's suggestion each man who had agreed to sign on for the voyage to Lustria had been given a gold coin as a bonus and as a result morale was high. Much of the hoard had been spent. Fresh sailcloth, new cordage, paint, tools, nails, spars, powder, and shot had been purchased. Not to mention tons of food, salted pork, hard tack, barley, dried fish, dates and salt, all of which had been crammed into the holds of the Hammer, in some cases displacing the cargo they had taken on in Tobaro, some of which was now lashed down on the foredeck under canvas. Finally and most vitally were dozens of casks of rum, all securely stored behind the pursers table and guarded against over eager crewmen. Emmaline too had done her own shopping, having acquired the rudiments of a lab, several books of arcane lore, and a new wardrobe which gave her options beyond loose sailors garb. The lab in particular had sent Morgan into conniptions, there really wasn't any danger so long as she was careful, though having seen her stumbling about the ship, that didn't seem to reassure him.

"Third one today," Morgan agreed, both men sharing a sour look. They were holding a generally west south west heading and rapidly approaching the capes which marked the end of Araby and the beginning of the great ocean, threading the passage between Ulthan and the Arabyian peninsular. Markus would have been happy to strike at a ship if a rich prize presented itself, but there was little profit in chasing after fishermen, esspecially when their shallow draft lateen rigged boats could simply turn to shore and run into the shallows where it would be impossible for the Hammer to follow.

"Aren't we kind of far from any city?" Emmaline asked. Morgan made a dismissive guesture. 

"Sure, but there are little villages all along the coast, most of whom boast a few fishing smacks if nothing larger. Emmaline tugged the bodice of her new traveling dress upwards irritably. The shirt of finely woven linen was form fitting, but the seamstress' assurance that it wouldn't slip had evidently been overconfident. A skirt of alternating red and gold stripes fell to just above her knees. The ensemble included stockings but she had opted not to wear those in the heat of the Araybian sun, settling instead for sandals in the fashion of southern Tilea. 

"We will be rounding the cape in a few minutes," Morgan announced, probably more for her benifit than Markus'. The pair of them had spent several hours pouring over the charts before picking a route close to the coast to lead them out into the great ocean where they could turn south west for the run across open water to Lustria. From there they could pick up the brisk trades and head south before turning easterly in the great southern winds to race across and around the point of the Southland. Even those charts left a great deal of guesswork to be done, though Rahjad assured Markus that when they reached the Southlands, accurate charts could be obtained. The former prisoner had made they voyage as a slave, but apparently had traveled on enough ships on the eastern side of the Southlands to know what he was speaking about.

"Six weeks to Lustria, three down the coast, five weeks to the southern capes," Markus muttered, "then Sigmar alone knows how long up the eastern coast and to Ind." Emmaline knew that Markus was concerned that Von Roberts had a head start on them, despite the fact that Morgan predicted he would take the slower and safer route of feeling his way down the west coast of the Southland. The breeze began to stiffen noticeably and the pennon above shifted direction, showing a north westerly wind rather than the west north west they had enjoyed all morning. The vessel creaked as Sketti spun the wheel to maintain their course.

"Sail ho!" a shout came from the crows nest.

"What?!" Markus and Morgan said in synchrony. 

"Shes coming out of an easurary the far side of the cape, just cleared the high ground," the lookout shouted.

"Three masts!" 

Markus scrambled up the rigging half way to the cross trees and unsnapped his glass. Emmaline followed him clumsily gripping the ropes tightly.

"Sigmar's balls," Markus cursed as he peered through the glass. Anchored by an arm looped through the ratlines.

"What is it," Emmaline demanded. Markus didn't reply but instead passed her the glass. She took it with both hands and nearly fell to her death in the water below. Markus, expecting her clumsiness, caught her around the waist. She hooked an arm into the line the way he had done and extended the glass which, for a wonder, she hadn't dropped. Immediately the cause for Markus' concern became apparent. A three masted ship, all sails hung, was racing out of the bay from behind the low rock formation which had concealed it from view. It's figurehead was a leering dragon. The Sea Drake.

"All hands!" Markus bawled, grabbing Emmaline and half leading half dragging her back down to the deck. She followed greatfully.

"Bastard was waiting for us, probably using those fishing smacks as scouts, may daemons eat his balls," Markus cursed. Sailors who had gone of watch an hour earlier were pounding up from below decks, racing to their stations.

"Can't we just run away?" Emmaline asked, nervous because of the tension between Markus and Morgan. The first mate shook his head.

"We don't have the sea room to come around, northerly will take us flat aback and we might wreck on the rocks if we tried it, not to mention she will be in range before we can manage it, and can tack around us besides."

"We could out run her on a close southard, we can move closer to the wind than she can with those big sails, but that means running right past her. Its a clever ambush I'll admit," Morgan groused.

"What are your orders lad?"