‘Now what can you bring to not only th' illustrious crew of th' great HMS Seacrow, but to our grand order of Scavengers, hey?’

After the nine had returned to a state somewhat approaching humanity, and fed and watered, they had set themselves up in the tavern to receive interviewees for the open post. Within an hour, word had gotten around and they were forced to split into their separate teams to deal with the numbers.

The latest hopeful was a craggy-faced man, his skin weathered and lined and his accent marking him out as an islander.

‘Well I can stone a puffin dead from fiffy yards wi’m’sling,’ the man proudly boasted, puffing his out his chest. ‘Knock it right outta sky!’

‘Impressive,’ Goose replied neutrally. ‘We’ll let you know Mr...’

‘Scabbs.’

‘Mr Scabbs. First name?’

‘Iss just Scabbs.’

‘Aye then Mr Scabbs, thankee for yur time.’

‘Thankee self for th’chance,’ Scabbs doffed his cap and waddled off through the crowd.

Once he had meandered from sight, Goose turned to the other three at the table.

‘Thoughts?’

‘Having a sling like that could be useful, it’ll save on shot,’ Grouse ventured, not sounding especially convinced, but that may have been the enduring hangover.

‘Be that as it may, Sera, did you see his legs?’ Alvard countered. ‘Man probably can’t run at all, let alone from a raging Frekir.’

Serafin Rult, known amongst the Scavengers as Grouse, shrugged her shoulders and grunted in agreement. There were a number of criteria to find a place amongst the Scavengers. Any man or woman could be taught to tie a rope, climb a shroud, or aim a musket, but these teams raiding the ruins of the old world needed something that set members above their fellows; a useful skill, the ability to run fast and think on your feet, and work well as part of a cohesive unit. Hawk, for all his faults, had displayed all of those. Damn him for dying.

The next prospect sat down, and Aina experienced rising consternation. She was sort and slight, with hay-blonde hair tied back in a plait, and looking no older than seventeen. There was an uncomfortable familiarity in the way she held herself, that quiet determination to prove herself in a world that might do its best to break and bow her.

‘And what can you offer us?’ Goose said without preamble. The old marine was getting tired, eyes heavy, as were they all, and just wanted to be back to bed with a warm meal in his stomach.

‘I can climb like no other,’ she replied, her tone defiant, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

‘Can you run?’

‘Gone from one end o’island t’other in under an hour.’

‘Not bad,’ Goose admitted. ‘You got a name?’

‘Jenta Atlafee, sir.’

Goose nodded. ‘Alright, Miss Atlafee, we’ll find you if’n we want you.’

‘Thankee, sir.’

A half hour passed and the Scavengers had retired to a cramped and humid side room in the tavern, the nine of them forcing the snug to live up to its name. They were taking the time to just get away from the noise and press of hopeful islanders, and discuss the cream of the dubious crop for potential recruits.

‘Actually quite liked that girl, Jenta,’ Goose admitted.

Everyone looked at him suddenly, expressions displaying the full range of incredulity. The old man had a soft side, apparently.

‘Not like that,’ he argued defensively, ruddy cheeks taking on even more colour.

‘Did not even consider it,’ Scops told him soothingly. ‘Just tell us why not someone with more... experience.’

‘Climbing a sheer face sounds like a useful talent,’ he explained. ‘And she’s got a right lot o’ spirit... reminds me o’ someone else.’ There was no missing the pointed glance sent Aina’s way. She shifted bashfully.

‘Be that as it may, I think we might have found someone better,’ Scops countered.

‘Oh?’

‘On her latest cruise, Otter picked up a priest of Hass.’

This got everyone’s attention. Hass, being the brother of Njall and god of the skies, found his rightful domain in the wind and the weather, granting the most devout of his followers a measure of command over both. Priests of this particular deity were thus highly sought after to work on any rigged ship of consequence.

‘Why didn’t Seryot snap him up?’ Sera asked the obvious question. 

Commander Olaf Seryot was the master of Otter and far too smart a man to not have recruited such a valuable asset.

‘He tried, but apparently Brother Ole flat out refused.’

‘He’s a strange one,’ Stork added, to confirmatory nods from the rest of the team.

‘And what makes you think he’ll sign with us?’ asked Alvard.

‘Well he came for the interview, didn’t he?’

The dandy mage gave a conceding grunt.

Goose folded his arms. ‘Bring ‘em both in, then. I‘ve a compromise.’

After Robin, drawing the metaphorical short straw, braved the crowd to recover the two potentiates, the snug was even more crowded. She was sat on Finch’s lap, poor tall Stork was hunched over in one corner, and Aina was squashed uncomfortably between Alvard and Sera. She felt a hand brush her thigh under the table, which she slapped with whip-sharp speed and precision. It didn’t happen again.

If Jenta was intimidated by the scrutiny of the Scavengers she didn't show it, projecting even more defiant confidence than before. By contrast, Brother Ole seemed far too at ease considering the state of the world. His grey robe was threadbare and worn, the loose fabric hiding a form that could have been rake-thin or stout. The grey, tangled mess of hair atop his head marked him to be in his middle age, and, though mostly shaven, there was a definite shadow across his jaw and neck, framing a patient smile. His grey eyes, though languidly hooded, appeared to be sharp and watchful, bearing that peculiar inner luminescence that marked those who were god-touched.

‘We brought you before us because we think you both have th’ stuff to join th’ illustrious company of HMS Seacrow,’ Goose intoned imperiously, Scops letting him take the lead on this; it was his team after all.

‘I’n’t there only one place?’ Jenta interjected, crossing her arms.

‘I like her,’ Sera whispered to Aina.

‘Well, um, yes, that’s why I have y’ both here.’ the girl had put Goose on the back foot. Impressive. ‘I have a proposition.’ To Ole he asked. ‘Can y’ make wind?’

The priest smiled beatifically, ‘Cannot we all, brother?’

More than a few sniggers erupted around the table, even Scops forcing down a smile at the childish joke.

‘Aye, well, as in th' weather?’ Goose clarified with a glower the smiling priest seemed impervious to.

Brother Ole gave a shallow bow, ‘I have been granted such gifts, yes.’

‘Good,’ Goose said, clearly happy to be back on tack. ‘The compromise I propose is that Jenta joins th’ Scavengers and th’ good priest here becomes attached to th’ ship in general, an adviser o’ sorts. Do we have an accord?’

‘Aye!’ Jenta blurted, an exited grin splitting her freckled visage.

‘Might as well,’ Ole shrugged.

‘Well, good,’ Goose said, sitting up straighter. ‘We’ll meet you in th’ harbour at noon tomorrow to confirm things with th’ Commander.’

The pair nodded, the priest singly and slowly, and Jenta so frantically it seemed her head might fly off.

‘Dismissed til th’ morn, then.’

The new recruits filed out into the din of the taproom in varied states of happiness, leaving the nine Scavengers to gratefully spread out once more.

‘I hope you know what you are about, Ruprech,’ Scops said to Goose.

‘Better’n most, Friga,’ he replied.