Nobody paid much attention to the dark haired boy sitting on bales of wool at the wharf, a small sail boat moored beside him. The boy on the other hand noticed everything he could, discretely watching the activity through his now long fringe; not having to endure Mrs Bristol's regular haircuts was proving advantageous in some respects.

He watched warily as a small group of local militia sauntered down towards the newly arrived row boat whose occupants were disembarking almost opposite him. They had come from the small vessel he could see anchored out in the harbour. Men were being carefully helped out of the boat and onto the jetty stairs, men of varying mobility Killian observed. Bloodied bandages and wounds were obvious on most as the subdued crowd waited for the stragglers to disembark and then helped carry one of their comrades, who was stretcher bound, up onto the wharf. He felt his eyes drawn to the shirtless man clutching a dirty bandaged stump to his chest. Killian couldn't help but stare at where the missing hand should be as his curiosity and gory fascination got the better of him, imagining all sorts of scenarios for its loss. The crippled man suddenly noticed the boy's unabashed gaze and turned away in shame, head bowed low as he followed his comrades in a slow shuffle towards the fishing village.

Killian realised he was being rude and looked down with red cheeks and a small shudder. To lose a hand would be horrible. What could anyone possibly be but condemned to a life of charity and begging? There'd be no playing the mandolin, no sailing, no sword fighting and most definitely no dashing rescues of princesses.

He finally looked up again and noticed one of the militia watching him, a dark haired man who started to walk slowly over to Killian's position on the bales. The youngster stood up and as casually as his nervousness allowed, rested his hand on his cutlass.

"Good morning sir," He said shyly.

"Good morning lad and who might you be?" So it began.

Tobias walked out of the dim tavern into the clear blue afternoon. The air was getting crisp with autumn approaching and the world seemed deceptively peaceful, as he walked along the fishing village waterfront down to the wharf. He felt both relieved and saddened by the various pieces of information the agent he had just met with was able to divulge to him. Scratching his now shaggy beard, he thought about his ship the Cormorant and her loyal crew. The Admiralty's ruse had thankfully worked. As planned the enemy assumed Tobias was captaining his ship which had escaped Ariston's destruction and were unaware it was his first mate Lieutenant Grayson sailing her out on the high seas. This left Tobias free to head north on his mission. As long as the ruse held, the Usurper King's agents would not be looking for a senior naval captain or his young son along the coastal ports, allowing them to travel in relative safety. To hear most of the Royal Navy was fighting on the Rightful King's side and only minor casualties had been inflicted at Port Regal gave him hope for Liam and the crew on the Triumphant. The extent of the damage to the southern provinces and the treachery that had bought about its capitulation had been of course, hard news to hear, but it made the senior Jones more determined to succeed in his orders to help bring down the damn usurper and his vile supporters.

Striding onto the wharf Tobias snapped out of his reverie as he viewed the scene down by his boat and felt his blood freeze. He could make out some militia crowded around the jetty he had departed alone from at mid-morning (after all clandestine tavern meetings were no place for a boy). He could see Killian with his sword drawn, sparring with one of the men. Fighting every instinct to go charging down to the group brandishing his own sword, Tobias took a deep breath, checked his wrist dagger was in place and feigned a limp. He walked as casually as he could down to them, the rapid beat of his heart at odds with the calm demeanour he had on his face.

As Tobias got closer he could see Killian was deep in concentration but didn't seem to be fighting for his life, yet!

"Let's hope I can keep it that way," he grimly thought.

"Gentlemen," Tobias said in a rougher speech than his normal lilt "What tales my son be telling ye now? Be he a prince, a pirate or a knight on a dragon quest?"

The men laughed helping Tobias to relax as he could discern no immediate menace from the group.

"Your lad here say he be on a quest to explore the realm."

Killian and the man he had been sparring with had lowered their swords and looked towards Tobias.

"Aye well much more exciting prospect than we be sailing to Ardmore to visit his great aunt who's suffering from a bad case of gout." More laughter came from the men but Tobias was too experienced in combat to let his guard down as he moved over to Killian.

"Your son is a fine young swordsman," the leader commented as he sheathed his sword, Killian copying him.

Tobias grabbed Killian's wrist before he could raise it in his tale tell sign of nervousness behind his ear.

"Aye he be taught by an old friend of mine who was something of a fine swordsman in his day," he said with a hint of fatherly pride.

"And yourself good sir, what be your business?"

"I be a retired naval sea captain," half-truths were always better than lies. Tobias lifted up his shirt on his right side.

"On account of me running into a smuggler who took exception to my confiscating his brandy haul and he gave me this and a nice leg wound to make his point."

He hoped nobody here had seen an appendix scar before, few ever survived such an ordeal to live to bear the scar, but few had Dr Williams and his skills to tend to them with such a surgery. Even then it had been a close thing.

The men nodded in sympathy as they viewed the ragged long scar accepting it's implication in forcing an early retirement from a sea captain's career.

"And you young man, will you follow in your father's footsteps?"

"I might like to become a captain of the militia" Killian grinned, all dimpled charm and boyish adoration for the group.

"Well lad in a few years when you're a bit taller, maybe you will have that honour. Our King has need of a fine swordsman like you." Tobias didn't flinch at the mention of "Our King" curse the filthy cur, and Killian simply nodded eagerly at the leader's compliment.

After a few more words of no consequence the militia left. Tobias sighed heavily with relief looking at his son.

"What did you tell them Killian?"

"What you had told me to father, but he noticed my cutlass and well we ended up sparring. I think they were bored and he misses his son, said I reminded him of his boy."

Killian's hand had gone to his ear again as he looked up sheepishly at his father.

Tobias nodded and took Killian's hand "You're a resourceful lad son."

He smiled then turned serious. "This tell you have, when you are nervous, it took me years to master it myself but you need to learn not to do it, especially in front of a potential enemy. Only in front of people you totally trust can you be such an open book Killian. Enemies always look for a weakness and a tell is a good way to let them know when you are your most vulnerable."

Killian frowned a bit but he understood what his father was trying to teach him, dropping his hand self-consciously to his side.

Once under sail again Tobias watched his young Killian with the re-occurring turmoil he had often felt these last few months. He had been torn about whether he should have left the boy with the Williams or got him somewhere safe. But Tobias had seen civil war as a young officer, before their Good King came into his rule. War with a common enemy from another land was something to unite against. Civil war pitted brother against brother and neighbour against neighbour. Nobody could be trusted, especially when loved ones could be threatened and used to gain control or betray you. There were those in Ariston Tobias was certain wouldn't hesitate to betray any remaining navy officers and their families to the enemy, either for profit or to gain favour with the new (hopefully temporary) regime. There was simply nowhere truly safe in times such as these.

So far Killian had adapted reasonably well to their new life over the last few summer months. There had been a few temper tantrums and sulks usually when sailing long days and he was getting exhausted. Tobias tried to be patient or reminded himself Killian was barely 10 and had lived a relatively sheltered life. Well maybe the youngster had been a bit indulged and spoilt at times too, if he was being totally honest.

Sometimes Tobias had to resort to his brusque captains bearing when his son was being overly petulant. At least when Killian's mother had those moods the boy seemed to have inherited, Tobias could retreat to the other end of the manor, but on a small sailing boat he just had to ride it out with his son.

Killian was quick at picking up on what his father required of him, what to say, what not to say and how not to draw attention to himself when they called into the various ports. Tobias scratched his beard, he was telling his lad half-truths again and it wouldn't be long before Killian worked out they were actively avoiding certain types of people and were more fugitives than travellers of the realm. Hopefully they would be in northern and friendlier waters soon before that realisation hit.

But they weren't.