"Interesting..." Neil murmured after he made his way downstairs, pondering the offer his old colleague had given him. There was a twinkle in his eyes, the same glint of mischief Camilla del Atranto fell in love with. "That's very interesting..." 

If the ship was designed the way he said... bluff above the water and sharp below. Gives the hull a finer entry and a long run as she goes aft. Heavier, but fast despite it. Hell of a galleon, if true. Neil would have to give it a look himself. Already he was entertaining notions of a possible mutiny, though really his mind wandered often to places he would never tread. However, he did need a ship to go back to the old world and rescue Camilla. If this was as impressive as he was lead to believe, it might fit the bill. First, however, he would need the treasure of the expedition. And even before that, he needed a bloody drink. 

He wasn't going to stay at the inn. Any fool knew you wouldn't make a deal and then loiter about, and so he went to the next closest tavern. Gorman's Brewery, where the Black Fleet and a few tougher mercenaries made their haunt. Despite their fearsome reputation, as long as he was there for a quick drink, nothing untoward would happen. Though given it was Neil Edwards, something untoward always happened. He crossed the busy street, a carriage swerving to miss him as he casually walked across, onlookers gasping or looking on incredulously. Neil gave a casual nod to a few on the left before stepping in. 

He was met by the faint smell of alcohol and the overwhelming scent of sweat. The light was low, the sun still blinding outside. Pirates in black frock coats and men in leathers armed with long knives spoke in cordoned off tables and drank their beer, laughing and threatening one another in four different tongues. A few gave Neil a chilling look, but he merely stepped to the counter, where an old, burly seadog chewed on a piece of tobacco and curled his thick fingers around a concealed weapon behind the bar, as he likely did every time someone approached him. 

"Hello, fine establishment you have here." Neil said with a posh accent, indicating the common area. He didn't yell it, but a few closer men of the Black Fleet looked at one another curiously. Neil glanced their way, but then caught a curious sight. Three tables down, he noticed a small cadre of rough looking sailors sitting with Saltpeter Hardin, the dockmaster. Neil's left eye twitched for a moment, and he dropped two doubloons, the silver clinking on the table. "Two flagons of rum, and some peanuts if you have any." 

After the barman checked the authenticity of the coins with the tried and true method of biting down on a single piece, he went about his business. Soon Neil had two mugs of rum, and some peanuts in a bowl he had nestled in his left arm. After a brief hesitation, he strode over to see old Saltpeter. 

"-and what if the navy gets wise to us?" A black bearded thug asked, his eyes betraying the cunning he likely never utilized unless absolutely necessary. Neil operated the same way. His personality gave people a view of stupidity while he hid his real motive. 

"The navy-" Neil said to the men, placing a glass of rum down on the table in front of Saltpeter and pulling up a chair for himself. "Will be none the wiser, as they say." 

Already pistols and swords were drawn, and Saltpeter looked as white as a sheet, already sweat impressively beginning to pour down his thin face. For Neil's part, he took a big swig of his rum, enjoying his fill even as the pirates demanded he explain himself. If looks could kill, he'd be dead on the spot. He placed the rum down on the table with an audible clack. "What? Pete, you didn't tell 'em? I'm his business partner!" 

"No, he is not!" Saltpeter rebuked, but Neil slapped a hand on his shoulder, drawing him in a hug. 

"If I'm not then how did I know you'd be here at this time, hmmm?" Truth be told, he had not known that, but it was a circumstantial bluff he could use to his advantage. He waved the men to sit, and though they hadn't fired or stabbed him, there was only a small inkling of relaxation that wasn't nearly enough to keep his head. "See, when ol' Pete here takes a bribe, I do the dirty work and make sure things run smooth as a mermaid's hide." 

Neil was only half-lying. He knew how Saltpeter worked. There was never a man as corrupt as him, and he used a bunch of street urchins and low level sailors, pinned badges on them, and sent them out to lie through their teeth and compartmentalize various ships and their crews so the highest bidders could take their time in the best spots. Not only that, but Saltpeter knew where to take ships on the run from the navy, and even knew a few secret berths in times of crisis. Neil had been one of his "helpers" before, and he nearly lost his head from it. Now he found a chance to get Saltpeter back, and get paid doing it, or at least keep him from getting paid. The tavern had gone mostly quiet, the confrontation taking the brunt of everyone's attention.

"What the hell'dya not tell us about him, for?" One of the pistol wielders asked Saltpeter with a growl, shifting the barrel to point the weapon at him. The dockmaster blanched.

"Th-that's right, Neil is an acquaintance, though I didn't think he'd show up here. I promise I was not hiding anything. What would be the point? All this does is hurt the meeting!" 

He was right, though what Neil was doing wasn't the worst thing to happen to the meeting. The door burting open and the port watch streaming in was far more meddlesome, and Neil took a huge swig of his rum as the Black Fleetsmen bared their teeth and brandished their weapons at the watch, who by order of their sergeant, halted and presented their muskets and swords. Neil's brows rose, and he sunk under the table slowly as something far more volatile was about to happen.