"Why is this ship called The Lady?" the passenger asked in the predawn darkness.
"Because it is literally the most boring name I could think of," the captain replied, adjusting the very, very old flintlock pistol hidden within the greatcoat she wore. " There are a dozen other Ladies docked here. You wouldn't want your precious cargo sailing into port on the Hrtkós, would you?"
The passenger blanched visibly at the mention of the 'cargo,' his bright eyes widening and his hands unconsciously forming fists. The captain thought it was a little ridiculous- as if the passenger thought that no one knew about that precious little parcel of his. As if.
"No, I suppose you're right…." he murmured. "The Hrtkós would be much too recognizable."
"Have you any thought for where you're going?" the captain inquired, tugging down the brim of her tricorn hat.
"As far as you're willing to carry us." He replied without hesitation. "We- I can pay you handsomely. In coin, and perhaps… a mutual venture."
The captain had heard that one before. "Five thousand before we sail. We're carrying exotic spices, for trade in the Caribbean." The captain winked. An interesting game they were playing, neither the passenger nor the captain wanting to say the word 'pirate'- not where people could hear them, anyway. The passenger dropped a bag of coins into her hand. Upon inspection, they were odd, foreign coins, but every one of them was solid gold, judging from the weight of the bag. The captain nodded in satisfaction.
"We're going to sail within the hour," the captain informed the passenger, suddenly turning away from his bright turquoise eyes. Eyes that had the same brightness as another the captain had known, once.
Around them, sailors loaded barrels and boxes of supplies: barrel after barrel of salted pork, ship's bread, oatmeal, sugar, butter, cheese and of course, beer. Ymir lost count of how many casks of beer were loaded. Beer was often the only beverage aboard a ship, and the cook usually used beer in soups, stews and the like. The 'cargo' involved a lot of pillaged silks and spices disguised as extra sail tarp and rigging. Excellent, she thought. This enterprise is off to a good start. It was really too bad that a lot of the cargo would be left behind when they switched from the Lady to the Hrtkós.
Ymir made her way down into the bilge to make sure that it was less than absolutely putrid and at least somewhat free of rats and leaks in the hull. She made her way up through the ship, making sure that it was seaworthy. This ship would be hers for the next two weeks, until the Hrtkós was done being careened by a portion of her crew in Spain. From there, her beautiful Hrtkós would carry them wherever the winds and waters took them. Ymir smiled into the already hot August morning. Many merchant ships would be returning from trade routes to India and the Orient, home just in time to beat the choppy autumn seas and the ensuing winter storms.
She reached the top deck just as the loading ramp was being retracted and the sun was peeking over the eastern horizon. Her crew hailed her with shouts of "Cap'n Ymir" or "Cap'n Finn" as they scrambled over rails and riggings in preparation to set sail. The day promised to be bright and hot, with a decent wind already tugging at the sails of the Hrtkós. Ymir tugged at the brim of her tricorn, shading her eyes from the glare of the sun on the waters of the port. She breathed salt and felt the helm under her fingers, worn smooth from salt spray and many hands. Yes, she decided. Today was going to be a good day.
