The sun broke through the clouds. Another day at sea ahead.
By tomorrow they would have reached port at Smuggler’s Cove. The Captain had promised shore leave of a week. He planned to spend most of it in the tavern in the centre of town.
They each had a few gold crowns to spend, the spoils of their voyage. He pictured the ideal wench he planned to take into the back rooms. Three months without the company of a woman did things to a man’s mind.
The water shimmered on the horizon. Then he spotted something, appearing out the haze. He waited a moment, letting the image develop. It became clear: a mast, a main sail, the prow topped with a flag, a Royal Navy flag.
‘Avast Ye! Ship Ahoy!’ he called, his voice travelling down from the crow’s nest to the deck below. Heads turned to look his way…
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