“Governor-General Powluk. How does that sound?”

The voice sounded unusually hesitant, not at all the fierce barking Vermilies had grown used to. Perhaps nights like these reveal men’s true character.

There was only silence in response. The ship continued its slow shift from side to side, a light sea breeze swelling the sails, the steady creak of the timbers the only sound above the constant noise of the waves. Finally, one brave soul among the gathering of soldiers piped up.

“I’m not sure that General Eben would like that sort of talk.”

“General Eben likes loyalty, and he already has mine,” the first voice said again with more confidence. “Besides, the general has his own ambitions. This will be just another conquest to him.”

Captain Powluk. What an ass. Vermilies had grown quite sick of the man during the long sea voyage.

“Of course he has your loyalty,” another voice slurred. “We’re all loyal subjects of the Syriot Empire.”

“No, you fool,” Captain Powluk hissed. “I mean he has my loyalty.”

A long silence settled its way onto the gathering once again like a chilling mist. The men had been drinking for some time but this was soon becoming the sort of discussion that could sober up any man with common sense.

“The Emperor is said to be ill,” the captain said, his words full of barely-veiled meaning and his breath no doubt reeking of the ship’s rum stores. “As well as old. It’s unlikely that he will be around by the time we return.” There was a long silence in response to this. “And he has no sons,” Powluk added, as if it wasn’t obvious. Powluk had never struck Vermilies as being the most subtle of men.

“It’s best not to talk this way,” one soldier ventured. “You never know who might be listening.”

Captain Powluk snorted. “You mean the Knights of Serraca? Well, they aren’t on my ship. And I know you’re all my men.”

“What was that?” another voice called out sharply, as Vermilies bumped into the railing that lined the side of the ship. Shit. They mean me. He paused a moment, then turned towards the nearby gathering, curious faces turning toward him lit by lantern light, and walked over to join them as if they were all good friends.

“Just having myself a piss,” Vermilies said with a friendly wave. Not that it’s any of your damned business.

“It’s the native guide,” one of the men said. Vermilies suppressed a scowl. Native guide?

“I’m from the Jade Sea Islands,” Vermilies explained patiently. You know, the islands you Syriots took over two decades ago? The last place you stopped for provisions? Salt pork, fresh water, and a certain handsome translator who’s now standing before you? Vermilies was beginning to regret joining the expedition in the first place, but in truth, as a graduate of the Jade Sea Academy he had little reason to expect otherwise. Our islands were conquered by the Syriots, and here I am serving them. Vermilies had long ago given up on the simmering rage that some of his fellow countrymen still bore. Though this bunch doesn’t help. Still, he stood there at the edge of the lamplight and smiled in as mild and nonthreatening a manner as he could muster. What a band of idiots.

“See, a native!” the same soldier slurred, and laughed as if what he said was funny. One or two others joined him in comradely chortles. Captain Powluk is quite generous with his alcohol stores.

“Were you listening in on us?” another soldier said, leaning forward in exaggerated belligerence. The quartermaster, Vermilies thought, recognizing the man from his few trips above decks. He had little enough reason to get to know the men after all. Though it seemed even keeping to my cabin and taking the air at midnight was still not enough. Vermilies shrugged, his expression one of radiant innocence.

It’s hardly my fault if you’re plotting treason in the open, Vermilies thought in silent indignation, though a smile remained plastered on his face. It isn’t as though I have the Emperor’s ear, anyway. I haven’t even been over to the mainland before. As if reading his thoughts, Captain Powluk shushed the crew dismissively.

“Never mind him, he’s just our translator.” He eyed Vermilies, framed by the light of the burning lamp. “Be ready in the morning. I will need you around to negotiate their surrender.”

“Yes sir!” Vermilies answered agreeably. I’ll probably be the only one without a hangover, after all. He sauntered over to his cabin as the discussion resumed once more.

“Have you ever heard of elephants?” someone asked, as Vermilies opened the door to his tiny cabin. “They’re a sort of local monster…” the man trailed off as the men scoffed at him, made brave by a heady stew of alcohol and ignorance.