“Every crime has its Captain, every myth, its haunting specter.” Maxfield Daggett.

Sasha turned the exquisitely made gun over in her hands with admiration, then replaced it on the table. She drew a finger over the handle of the knife, emblazoned with the Orlain Family crest. She walked back from the table, standing close to the cage, peering in with a rye smile.

Spinning to spread wide her arms, she said loudly, “Boys, what does it say about us that we captured the elusive Maxfield Daggett?” Then she turned back to the cage and spoke to Sam. “The Ghost of Orlain.”

Sam answered not. Of course, he knew who the infamous pirate Captain was. Everyone had read the stories, they were the stuff of penny dreadfuls. He had never thought much of them until the chest Raul and Beasley found. Being mistaken for a legendary pirate might work to his advantage.

Sasha spoke. “Ordinarily, I would be honored that my father was shot by such an extraordinary personage, but these are not ordinary times. You don’t get a pass for the sake of your mystique. Your legend ends tonight.” She turned to her guards and said on her way out of the tent, “Put him in the pen with Molek.”

Albert stood in the common, the meeting had dispersed. He raked his hair out of his eyes and whistled at Darby, the nervous bookkeeper, as he passed. Darby came obediently and stood adjusting the load of ledgers in his arms.

“Have you seen Sasha?” Albert asked.

Darby, eyes ever-wide, answered, “No sir. But, Nikolas is looking for you. Something about a prisoner in the Green Tent.”

Albert waved Darby on his way and turned for the Green Tent. He usually had no business with prisoners. His curiosity was piqued. Maybe Sasha would be there, and he could finalize his report. Making a path through the milling horde was slow and difficult. They were always loud and never bathed. Bathing was one of many things Albert missed about the castle.

The many soldiers and workers tangled his path. Most of them knew him. In crossing, some laughed and slapped him stoutly on the shoulder. Others just winked or smiled. It was commonly known that Albert was Sasha’s personal pet. His initial enthusiasm in the fight against Consortium domination had been tainted by whispered innuendo and vulgar jokes. He was a laughingstock. He had dug such a deep hole for himself, he saw no way out.

Nikolas stood before the Green Tent. As Albert approached, Nikolas crushed a spent smoke beneath his heel and waved him in close.

“Ah, Mister Sasha,” he laughed. “We got a live one for you.”

Albert replied, aggravated by the level of noise he had to speak above, “I don’t do prisoners Nikolas. That’s for Sasha and her thugs.”

“Ah, but this one’s different,” said Nikolas with a merry glint in his eyes.

Albert assessed the lanky youth with long greasy hair. His crooked smile exposed a missing tooth. “Why is that?” asked Albert.

The crooked smile grew larger as Nikolas chased a flea. He winked and answered, nodding toward the tent, “Says he’s your uncle.”

Raul and Beasley sat together on a rough bench in the pissing pit. With their backs against crates, they had a clear view of the small smelly grassless latrine. They had watched a dozen men enter the area and walk to the half-moon of encircling trees to take a leak. They wriggled helplessly in their ropes. Raul’s hands were numb as another large sweaty man entered the latrine and walked to the trees.

“A la Madre,” said Raul. “The more they come, the worse they look.”

Then a large Nordic type walked in and smiled at Beasley. He paused in the entrance. His yellow hair was shoulder-length and oily. He wore nothing but a hide loincloth on his large muscular frame. Beasley stiffened defensively as the man, laughing indulgently, yanked him to his feet by the ropes on his wrist.

Struggling, Beasley called out fearfully, “No!”

It was not to the trees that Beasley was dragged, but to a dark opening in the crates leading into the tents. Beasley dug in his heels but was dragged forward like a rag doll. Suddenly, with a loud yell, Raul ran into the man’s back, who lightly dismissed the failed attack.

From the entrance came a commanding voice that halted all action. An even bigger man yelled, “Otis! Not now. Sasha wants you to find the bull. He’s going in the pen with a prisoner. Come on. Toys later. Now!”

Otis pushed Beasley aside with a dissatisfied grunt and left the latrine. Seated again on the rough bench, Raul said, “Man, you were on your way to being a shish-kabob.”

Gaping in terror, Beasley whispered, “Don’t joke!”

Besh heard the noise of someone new entering the tent. He waited quietly as a chair was pulled up. He could sense that the tent emptied out for one person of import. Was that person just staring at him? He wished he would speak.

“So,” came a demanding male voice. “You claim to be uncle to the Prince.”

Startled, Besh answered with a simple, “Yes.”

He braced himself for another question, but a long silence followed. They really knew how to make a man sweat, he thought. He knew from experience, he could not force himself on captors. The path was patience. He had to listen for and follow cues. The voice came again.

It asked, “How is everything?”

Is this a test? He wondered. It was a strange thing for a captor to ask but seemed like a vaguely familiar memory. The memory raised its hand excitedly for attention like a school kid who had the answer to the teacher’s question. Of course!

Besh answered with dawning relief, “Everything is Copenhagen.”

“Uncle Ben?” asked the voice in surprise. “Is that you?”

The hood came off, and Besh blinked his eyes at the sight of an unfamiliar young man. He smiled, and asked in surprise, “Al?”

“It is you!” said Albert, throwing his arms excitedly around his uncle.

“Al, the ropes,” said Besh.

“Oh. Yes,” replied the youth, turning his attention to the bonds. His uncle was free and rubbing his wrists. Albert sat heavily and raked the unruly hair from his eyes. He gaped momentarily, then said, “I thought I would never see you again. How long have you been back? Have you seen Dad? Is Mom alright? How did you find me?”

Besh raised a hand to stem the tide of excited questions. “First of all,” he said with a broad smile, “I am very happy to see you again, and yes, I’ve seen your Dad. It was he who called me in to find you.” Ignoring a confused blush, Besh continued, “He misses you. Your Mom is in tears. Why did you leave?”

Albert sat back to consider his answer. “The cause,” he answered.

“You break your mother’s heart for a cause?” Besh asked. “They thought you had been kidnapped.”

“Judges have ruled every aspect of our lives for far too long,” said Albert, spouting worn rhetoric. “Freedom demands that we take a stand, that we take the fight to the Consortium.”

“You can’t possibly win,” said Besh. “As we speak, a full battalion of Dragon Class Dreadnoughts is being sent from Colonial Headquarters.”

Albert smiled as he replied, “We’re counting on it.”

“Albert,” pleaded Besh, “think of all the innocent people who stand between the Consortium and your cause. War kills people. Think of your family. They stand in harm's way.”

“Sasha has it all planned out,” said Albert. “She said no harm would come to them.”

Besh asked, “Does she know that your father used to be a Consortium Judge?”

Albert straightened defensively, and answered, “Dad turned his back on the Consortium.”

Besh shot back, “Yes, but he had to buy this little planet from the Consortium. Have you taken a look at the army you’re a part of? Badgers and pirates? Do you think it matters to criminals that your Dad left the Consortium?”

Albert seemed confused. He said, “They’re not all criminals.”

Besh answered, easing back into a smile, “That must be true. You’re one of them. Listen. I came with four others. Crispin is here.”

“Crispin?” asked the Prince, astonished.

“We’ve been following you for days,” said Besh. “I was hoping to reunite you with your mother before she dies of heartbreak.”

Albert said, visibly torn, “I can’t go back, uncle Ben. I’ve made a place for myself here. I have friends. Sasha needs me.”

Besh leaned in and asked, “What, exactly, do you do here?”

Albert, looking toward the ceiling of the tent, tossed his hair away from his eyes, and answered, “Procurement.” He thought a moment longer and added, “Routes. I have a hand in planning raids.”

Besh asked, “Did you know we were looking for you?”

“No,” was the answer.

“Someone did,” Besh informed the Prince. “We’ve been set upon many times in our quest. Badgers and pirates both have tried to kill us. Crispin was nearly burned alive. I thought at first that someone was just running interference, but it soon became obvious someone wanted us dead. I hope you didn’t have a hand in that.”

“Not me, uncle. I promise. Sasha calls the shots.”

“Well, she was shooting at us,” replied Besh. “Listen, Al, you seem like another pawn in a long line of pawns. I knew you way back. You were always the type to do the right thing, and I don’t doubt your sincerity in your present cause. I’m just worried that Sasha may be using you.”

Albert’s frustrations and resentments bubbled to the surface. He had no real answer for his uncle. He could have answered that Sasha loved him. She had said so. He had his doubts now. They had grown distant with time, and he had pretty much been replaced by Sasha’s obsession with the war. Something in what his uncle said struck home. Sasha was not a person to let anything stand in her way. 

Not knowing what to say, he asked, “How is Crispin?”

Besh sat back, observing a young man obviously conflicted. He answered, with a shrug, “He would rather be home in the castle.”

Albert, at first smiling, lowered his eyes and confessed, “Me too.”

Besh seized the moment. Scooting forward, he placed his hands on Albert’s knees and peered deeply into his eyes. He had connected with Albert in just that manner when he was a boy. He could not count the times. The young man before him was that same boy. He was bright, impassioned, at odds with himself, but Albert had always been accessible. Besh knew him as one who would not stray far from his core values.

“I promised your mother I would bring you back to her,” said Besh in an emphatic whisper. “She loves you. Help me keep my promise. Help me find my friends. Crispin, Sam, and Raul; I worry for their safety. Al. Al, let’s go home.”