Author's Note: A nod to the great Captain John Moresby here, with the official naming of the Basilisk for Kratos's ship. (Yay!) This is one long chapter, possibly one of the longest postings I've ever done on so far, so hopefully it'll make up for my months of not updating. Hopefully it'll also make up for the next few months of no updating. Sincerest apologies to the very few people who actually read this story. Exam revisions and all that school crap for three different curricula (PNG, ACT and the bane of my existence, the International General Certificate of Secondary Education, or IGCSE, of which in a lapse of sanity I decided to take for seven subjects) take up a lot of a mere Grade Ten student's time. Oh, and Drakon and Lycou are just friends! I've planned no slash in this story, and as far as I'm concerned, the only romance will be between Sinbad and Marina... and maybe Drakon/Proteus and Canace …Just so you know.

Oh, and if you see weird hyperlink-like things on the text, trust me, they're not meant to be here and I've tried to weed them out but they just refuse to die. Any help on how to get rid of them would be greatly appreciated. Oh, and can anyone tell me how to put in asterisks? They won't show up, so I resort to putting in O's.

Anastasios
by Fanficworm

Chapter Two: Unexpected Company

"Maybe we should've called you Narcissus when we found you."

Drakon glared at him through the eyeholes in his leather mask. "'What?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lycou tugged at the mask's strings. "Drakon, thy name is vanity. You must've gotten that attitude back when you were a noble. I mean, they're all a bit..." He pulled a face, looked up to the wispy starlit sky overhead, searched for a suitable word, frowned again once he actually did find it. "Nar-cis-sis-tic. That's the word for it, innit?" He flashed a grin at Drakon. "Next thing you know we'll find you've fallen in love with your reflection and got yourself drowned in the ship's water supply."

Nikias sighed dreamily beside him. "One can only wish he would. Then we wouldn't have to listen to that damn accent of his anymore. Seriously, what are you? Nobility or somethin'?"

To which Drakon answered with a most eloquent grunt and a few choice gestures, which pretty much served to amuse the guys even more.

"Wolf's got a point, you know." Theron grinned, stretching out his legs. "What self-respecting pirate wears a mask to every heist, Drak?"

Drakon made sure the mask strings and knots stayed nice and taut. "Probably one with a face only a mother could love. Or one who doesn't want to get recognised. You can never be sure. People might know me here. Judging from what a resurfaced memory I had earlier, Syracuse might well have been somewhere I visited." Or, he added inwardly, even worse, his "real" home.

"And it looked like I knew something most other people wouldn't, which could mean I used to be some person with access to privileged information. Someone important, most likely. Someone easily recognised." He frowned under the mask, his breath condensing on the leather and making it almost unbearably humid. "I'm not sure if I want to return to whatever coroneted - "

" Ooh, coroneted," Nikias grinned. "Big word. That come with your old territory?"

" - to whatever high and mighty life I used to lead," he finished. "Those nobles're screw-ups just waiting to happen. From what you all told me, I used to be part of the peerage - someone from Syracuse, no less - and look how I ended up: a half-burnt, half-starved, half-sane pirate working for a meagre - "

"Ooh, meagre!"

"- a poor living on a dilapidated - "

"Ooh, dila - dilapid - !"

"DAMMIT, NIKIAS!"

Nikias beamed.

Drakon growled, inhaled, exhaled, calmed himself. " - run-down excuse for a ship."

"Where the cat eats better than the crew does," Lycou snorted.

"Besides," Drakon smirked at the others, doing one last check on the strings, "the mask helps scare anyone who might come over to... watch."

Aetos sneered at Theron. "Touché." Theron gracefully replied by punching him on the shoulder.

"Ahem."

The men looked up to see Kleitos glaring at them, the moonlight coming from behind him making him look like a crossdresser on opium. His brown hair, almost black in the darkness, swayed back and forth in a most unsettling manner while the locks around his face chose instead to cling for dear life at the mass of sweat and grime he dared to call a head. Expression contorted into a mild scowl, he stared down the four loafers. "If you ladies would care to take some time in your busy schedule to stop your idle gossip, you might remember we have a palace to rob and a short time to do it. Dymas's gifts won't wait and cover of night won't last too long."

They grumbled in reply and readied their weapons. Someone mumbled something that sounded a lot like "Look who's the lady, lady" before jumping off the Basilisk onto the docks. For some reason, Kleitos chose not to pay it any attention, where before he would've squealed that to Kratos. Behind his mask, Drakon grimaced. Either Kratos's and Kleitos's relationship was on the rocks or they'd just been having a little too much fun lately.

He didn't want to dwell on it.

He jumped onto the docks. The wooden boardwalk felt... familiar, its smells and texture evoking in him some sort of homesickness as he trod it. Underneath the mask his grimace twisted into a glower as he could feel the frown lines beginning to form on his forehead deepening a fraction more. An image came to him then, of standing on the same boardwalk in what seemed a past life, looking out into the harbour and seeing... seeing -

Lycou's hand landed on his shoulder. "Narcissus. Now ain't the time to zone out."

Aetos pulled on a final piece of his servant's disguise, smoothed back his tumble of curls. "Yeah, Drak. Can't you hear Dymas's treasure calling us?"

Drakon snapped out of it and forced a smile into his voice. "Course I can. It says to hurry up before the old fossil gets to them."

The three grinned and set off on their way to the palace, working together on recon as always. The others always liked knocking out guards and doing the grunt work, but the three of them were always rather gifted at pilfering for reasons unknown even to them. There was a real art to taking something that wasn't ever yours and then claiming it as your own, an art that the others never seemed to understand, save that it should've served useful in getting ever more loot.

But now, with Dymas's birthday gifts (which, they reasoned, that grumpy curmudgeon didn't need or deserve anyway) they wouldn't have to worry about money anymore. They all imagined it several times during their time onboard the Basilisk, if not openly sharing their waking daydreams with the other members of the crew, then hiding their hopes for a future on land in some secret crevice in the further reaches of their hearts. With Dymas's treasure, this very possible last score that would send them into retirement if they played their cards right, they wouldn't have to worry about the law catching up on them anymore, or worry about where to get their next meal if they could get one. Even the nagging little thought in the backs of their minds that they could very well lose their lives at any time (either by their own hand or the hand of another), would disappear once they were freed of their floating prison. And frankly, they couldn't wait. Kratos and Kleitos included.

Drakon smiled at the palace and the riches it promised. This may have been their final heist together, but it would be the first time they would be robbing a king, a decrepit old greybeard who never did get over his only brat's death. This would be their... he searched for the word. Their maiden voyage.

That was it. Their maiden voyage.

If anything, Dymas still knew how to throw a hell of a party. Sinbad pretended to take a sip of his wine as he scanned the crowd, looking with a little contempt at the crowd of bluebloods milling around and putting on airs. Menolians once again confused the ageing Dymas to no end with their weird gestures, Jed still surrendered his weapons to the guards after a grand total of fifteen minutes, Marina barely stopped Spike and Rat from devouring the entire buffet table (table included), Tee (still looking very uncomfortable in the fancy clothing Marina forced him to wear) played with Gelasia much to the annoyance of some of the more puritanical guests, and the titled men acted like women while the women of different cultures tittle-tattled about nothing of any real importance. In the meanwhile servants carried the gifts presented to Dymas earlier to some safe place, pure temptation in their eyes as they eyed the pricey treasures, and guards of different provinces swapped stories of bravado, their faces glowing pink with the ever flowing wine. To think Sinbad now more or less fit into this palace crowd. No crashing the party this time; no this time they invited him. And he behaved. He was getting too tame for his own good.

He scowled. "Marina." It had to be because of Marina. He knew there must've been a catch when he married that woman. He took a good gulp of his wine. Well, he wasn't going to end up like them. And neither would Tee, or any other kids they might have in the years to come. No way, he vowed to himself. Absolutely no way.

He headed out to the balcony, where all stayed quiet amidst the din. Moonlight spilled out languidly on Syracuse, giving the already beautiful city a sort of dreamlike quality, while the Book of Peace glowed with a gentle blue light from the safety of its tower not that far away. It all looked so damn pretty. Made him wonder why on earth Marina left this of her own will to join him and his seafaring ways. Luca said Marina left all that pomp because she was a few sails short of a ship. Sinbad shrugged then. There wasn't much arguing with that.

"Report."

Drakon wiped the sweat from the burnt half of his face. "Guards on the perimeter of what you say's the treasure room. Thirty of 'em in total. The gifts are in there, among other things, like you said."

Dark eyebrows shot upwards, creasing the prominent forehead with numerous lines. He leaned forward somewhat, a curl on his upper lip. "You doubt my information?"

"Course not, Sir. Just... Inside info from bribed servants and all. You can never be sure."

A grunt. "Keep going."

Aetos removed the last of the servant's clothing he stole then wore for the reconnaissance mission, mussed up his slicked-back hair to its original state. Hesiod looked at the clothing those poor servants had to wear and laughed, both at the clothes, and at the thought of Aetos wearing them. "Two entrances, one inside the palace, the other outside. Security's tighter on the outer entrance for obvious reasons, but it should be easier to get in through there once we get the guards outta the way."

"Three," Drakon said.

Aetos looked at him. "What?"

"There's three ways into there." He pulled the mask back over his face. "Servant's entrance from the side, for maintenance. It's hidden near the gems so it won't clash with the decor. No guards there, 'cause only the most trusted servants know about it." He tied the mask strings into secure little knots. "It's the easiest way to get in there. Trust me."

Kratos narrowed his eyes. "And you know this... how? Ain't often anyone can spot what Aetos can't, least of all you. 'Specially since even Kleitos and I don't know that kind of info."

Behind his mask, Drakon seemed to think, search. "I - "

"He's seeing things again, Cap'n," Aetos leered. "Remember those little flashes he had of Eris conspiring to kill him?"

"Hmm." Kratos deliberated awhile, then looked up at the crew of the Basilisk. "Men, we're getting in through the outer entrance. Drakon, Wolf, Nikias, Theron, Kleitos, you handle the guards on the outside. Quietly." At this he stared hard at Lycou, before he turned his attention back to the men. "Iason, Sophos, Hesiod, and I are on the inside. We'll have to go undercover for a while." At this Aetos shoved his servant's disguise to Hesiod, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Aetos, you're lookout."

"Aye, Cap'n." He raised a hand in mock salute.

"The rest of you wait in the shadows for the signal."

The men nodded and assembled into their assigned groups, nothing much passing through their lips than slight mumbles and grunts of acknowledgement.

Kratos eyed them. "Might as well look a little more cheerful about this, men. If we pull this off it could be our last job. After this, we retire in the tropics," He beamed. "And if we're lucky, most of us'll never have to see each other again."

The rowdy sound of men rejoicing filled the night air.

"Ah, Sinbad! There you are! I had begun to wonder if you'd reverted back to your old pirate ways and began robbing my guests." King Dymas hobbled to join him on the balcony, his fancy walking stick clicking on the stone floor and his face alight with a little relief. Sinbad tried to help him out in his walking to get him wherever he wanted faster, but the old man wouldn't have any of it. Dymas batted him off. "Oh, stop that. You know full well by now that I am perfectly capable of walking by myself. I am not an invalid."

Sinbad scratched his head, messing up his hat and his specially styled hair that Marina insisted look "civilised even for you". "Honest mistake, Dymas. Sorry about that. In my defence, it's been a while since I came back here."

Dymas waved it off. "Ah, don't blame yourself. The ravages of old age tend to make one act about as badly as one looks."

Sinbad smiled. "You don't look that bad."

"Sinbad," Dymas said, "they call me Dymas the Dreary."

Sinbad winced, a smile in his voice. "Ooh, that's gotta hurt." He raised his half-empty goblet. "Well. To a happy birthday, then. What's left of it, anyway."

Dymas, a wine goblet not at hand, chose to raise an imaginary glass instead. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

Sinbad took another gulp of his wine while Dymas hobbled- "unaided!" - to the banister. The old king leaned on his walking stick as his faded blue eyes focussed outwards, towards the city. His shoulders slumped in a lamentable sigh and he motioned for Sinbad to come closer. "Look at it, Sinbad."

He glanced at the view, hesitant. "Syracuse by night. Very..." he searched for the right word, "...pretty."

"Ah, yes," he said. "My life's work. The thing I treasured most in the world. It is 'very pretty' indeed, the result of a great many years of planning, tending and just stopping short of obsessing over it."

Sinbad frowned. "Something that can only be gotten with good ol' fashioned hard work?" No, please not the "you have to work hard to make it in the world" speech again. His eyes were just glazing over at the mere thought of having to endure that speech.

"No, it's not that speech again,Sinbad. You won't have to daydream and pretend to listen as is your wont whenever the subject comes up."

"You, uh... noticed, huh?"

"Dear boy, I've known you since you were ten. How could I not notice?" The ghost of a smile that began to grow on Dymas's lips faded as quickly as it came. Dymas looked out at the view of Syracuse again. "You know, Sinbad, I used to think that Syracuse was the very reason I lived. It was my pride and joy, and as much as I didn't want to admit it then and don't much care to admit it now, sometimes I held it and its welfare higher than I held even the gods themselves," he said. "It was a mistake I find myself regretting every day. In my search for prestige and wealth, I lost sight of my other important duties, as a husband, a father, an in-law and now a grandfather. Seeing you here today after... after the incident," at this he looked to Sinbad with a fixed, solemn gaze, "well, it - "

"Whoa, Dymas. It's your birthday. You shouldn't be thinking this kind of stuff." Sinbad backed off. "You know, if my being here's a problem - "

"Sinbad, don't be deliberately obtuse." Dymas dismissed his thoughts with a careless wave. "What I eventually meant to say was, don't make the same mistake I did. Treasure your family, whatever happens and whatever you do." He motioned to the said family in the crowd of drunken stupor, two of the few of those yet sober. "You have... a beautiful wife," he said, his free hand gesturing to Marina (who still tried to control Spike's insatiable appetite), "and a fine young son", he glanced at Tee, who played happily with Gelasia. "None of you are immortal, and whether or not you will meet after death will never be certain." His voice, which until now had began to quaver somewhat, composed itself and became more serious in tone. "Moments you have with them are disappearing as we speak. Sometimes, usually after one realises he's wasted those moments, one doubts if even Chronos can retrieve them."

"Dymas, what happened to Proteus... it wasn't your fault."

Dymas raised a hand to silence him. "I know, but - "

"Grandpa-a-a-a-a!" a playful shriek broke the sombre mood of the balcony. Gelasia came bounding in, Tee on her heels. A bubble of laughter escaped her mouth, and she sought refuge behind her beloved grandfather. "Help me, Grandpa!"

Dymas smiled at this development. "Gelasia, what's all this?"

Tee stifled a grin, looking very much his mother's son.

Dymas shot a look of mock surprise at the boy whose grin had subsided in its intensity. "Tee," he said. "Do you have anything to do with this?"

Gelasia piped up from behind Dymas's mass of robes. Her voice came out muffled, but its shrillness overcompensated that, making what she had to say clear for anyone in a twelve foot radius, even if it wasn't imperative they hear it. "Grandpa, I told Tee that you got some very pretty things for your birthday but he didn't believe me because he said that the really pretty things were only for girls and then I told him that I wasn't lying so he said that we should play the liar game but I know that isn't a real game, so - "

"Breathe, Princess," Sinbad chuckled. "Breathe. Slow down. I'll make sure Tee doesn't chase you while you're explaining things."

Gelasia obeyed mid-monologue. She took in a deep gasp, looking for the entire world like a fish on land, gasping for breath. "... So- " Gasp. "I plaaaayed with hiiiim-" Gasp. "Aaaanywaaaay." Gasp. "Becaaaaauuuuse - "

Dymas looked down at the girl. "Normal speed, dear. Just speak clearly so we can understand you."

Gelasia frowned, looking very confused. "Because I didn't want him to feel bad because you know how sometimes if you don't play with him he'll act like Aunt Marina before her cycles and - "

Tee's face reddened. "I do not!"

Gelasia clutched tighter at Dymas's robes. "You do to!"

"Do not!"

"Do to!"

"Do not!"

"Do - "

"Kids!" Sinbad rubbed his temples. Sometimes when those two fought he could swear a tight metal band had wrapped itself around his head and squeezed until he found the pressure unbearable. "Jeez, I'm gettin' too old for this. Is it too much to ask for a little common courtesy when you two get together?" He blinked. "Did I just say that?"

The other three nodded.

He scowled. "Marina. There should be a law against that woman brainwashing me like that."

"What'd you say, Dad?"

He sighed. "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

The other three nodded.

He eyed his lovely wife. Marina stood before the Menolians, apologising for Spike slobbering all over their regalia. "Not a word." He finished off the rest of his wine.

"Grandpa," Gelasia chirped, "can we go downstairs and show Tee that you got lots and lots of pretty things and I wasn't lying?"

Dymas guffawed. "I assure you, Gelasia, those birthday presents and tributes I received from all those people were not just pretty - " He thought for a moment about what he just said, and smiled. "Well, actually, it looks as if you're right. Most of them are just a bunch of pretty things."

She peeked out from behind Dymas to point her little tongue towards Tee. "See? Told you he got lots of pretty things." Hope shined in her eyes as she regarded her doting grandfather. "Grandpa, can we go see the pretty things?"

Sinbad fiddled with his empty goblet, his previous boredom and spite forgotten. "You know, Dymas, I was curious about what else you got from your loving friends and subjects for your seventy-fifth birthday."

"Sixty-fifth birthday, Sinbad."

"That's a lie and you know it."

"Grandpa-a-a-a-a..."

Three pairs of eyes, two black and one blue, looked expectantly at Dymas, awaiting an answer. Dymas, who earlier had a flash of doubt and inner conflict dance across his face for about a second, shrugged and smiled at the three. "Oh, there shouldn't be any harm in it," he said. "I spend entirely too much time here at this blasted balcony anyway."

Gelasia bolted towards the treasure room. "Yes! Come on, Tee! I'll show you I wasn't lying!"

Tee beamed and darted after her. "Fine! Last one there's a cross between a Harpy and a Hydra!"

"Gelasia young lady, that is not the conduct of a proper prin - " Dymas sighed and gave up on preserving proper conduct. "Oh, she never listens to me when she's with that son of yours."

"Runs in the family, I guess." A bittersweet smile came unabated to Sinbad's lips at the comment he couldn't take back, and that he'd said without thinking too much about it. "Well. We'd better go make sure they don't get into too much trouble." He futilely started towards the children's' direction. "Kids, do not get me into trouble with your mothers! Slow down or you'll have me to deal with!"

Dymas shook his head and stayed awhile on the "blasted balcony". His eyes drifted towards the glowing tower he once thought served as the centre of his entire life, and he sighed. How skewed priorities would get by the expectations others had of you. He would've thought it funny if it weren't so piteous. "She truly is your daughter, son," he smiled, glancing up at the sky. With that he turned his back, and followed Sinbad's swift disappearance into the crowd, his embarrassingly ornate walking stick clicking on the stone floor.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOooo

The balcony now stood alone and empty, and overhead the darkening sky twinkled with the glow of its starlit raiment. Somewhere on Mount Olympus the gods sat around their replica of the world, bored, and they required entertainment for fear of the overwhelming tedium killing them. The pieces on the board representing the earth twitched, then moved. Two figures representing two people, one a peasant who fraternised with the elite, another a common thief who unknowingly even to himself had a blue-blooded history, drew ever closer. Noticing this development, a raven-haired goddess in an ethereal violet dress laughed and stroked her gravity-defying hair.

Eris sighed in pure bliss. "Finally." She twisted her aeriform frame around, reappeared whole and normal, and stretched out lazily on her daybed, watching the scene unfold in her mug of ambrosia (which had much better reception than the wooden board). "Something interesting to watch."

Whap!

A single well-placed blow to the head and the guard crumpled to the floor like a shoddy mast. No real harm done to him; it wasn't needed. Drakon only had to knock him out before someone like Kratos did something far worse.

Nikias took a final look around. "That's the last one."

"Good thing most of the guards are up there protecting the old coot," Lycou sneered.

"I'd like to remind you," Kleitos said, "that we still have work to do. Drakon," he looked at him, "do your job."

Drakon nodded and started his work on the enormous doors. Lycou had taught him how to pick locks back on the Basilisk, but he found the skill so easy to learn, something inside him made him think maybe someone else taught him that skill before. They came free almost instantly. He smiled. Thank the Gods he had that going for him, or the crew would've tossed him overboard a long while ago. He and the others opened the doors while Kleitos looked on, an arrogant air of authority about the first mate.

They gasped. Even Sophos, who had stayed in the pirate business so long no job could shove him out of his jaded state, had trouble keeping his eyes off the loot. Mounds upon piles upon heaps of precious jewels and gems and all other sorts of things of ridiculously high value. And all out there in the open where they just begged to be taken. They were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

"Forget retirement, Wolf," he breathed as the others scrambled towards the treasures. "We can buy countries with all this if we take it all for ourselves." No answer. "Wolf?"

A sniffling sound drifted from Lycou's direction.

"Lycou?"

Drakon spun to the direction of the sniffling. "Wolf," he raised an eyebrow at him, "are you crying?"

"No!" Lycou wiped the tears of joy he'd cried and plastered on a fake smile, showing off his wolfish canines. "No, I - I have a cold."

Drakon shook his head and peeked out the door. Coast clear. He gave the signal to those who lurked in the shadows. A rustle of leaves here, a clank of pots disturbed there, and the men emerged from their hiding places. Drakon snaked back inside the palace. A few seconds later the lock to the inner entrance came free, and Kratos's team burst in, glistening with newly-spilt blood.

As Hesiod closed the inner door, Drakon surveyed the roomful of riches, finding it harder this time to look at the treasures objectively. Only the most valuable of the gifts could be good targets, and even then there were the size, weight, time to transport the good back to the ship and other factors to consider. How in Zeus's name Kallikrates, the Basilisk's chief appraiser, could do all that in his sleep, he had no idea. Drakon eyed among the countless treasures a golden basket of jewel-encrusted apples. Eris herself could've come up with something that could turn a man's heart as this. One of those apples would've put a bushel of her pitiful golden ones to shame. Drakon shook open the sack he carried into the palace, and reached for the fruit that sparkled despite the room's dim -

" - on, I dare ya. Steal the apple."

"I can't, Sinbad; it's against the law."

"What's wrong? Scared a guard might tell on Daddy Dearest and you'll get in trouble?"

A shake of the head. "No it's not that, it's - "

"It's what?" The two boys turned on the heels and looked up to see Dymas, who stood right behind them, looking ever the upright king of Syracuse. A wry smile crossed his face as he regarded the older of the two boys. He patted him on the head and turned his attentions to the little raven-haired boy. His literally royal blue eyes narrowed in contempt. "So Sinbad, exerting a bad influence on my son, eh?"

"Sir, if you're gonna make me feel bad, you should do it in words I can understand. Oh, and..." A blank look not unlike an ignorant puppy. "What does 'eeeexerrrting' mean?"

A hasty push aside. "I tried to talk him out of making me do it, Father, but you know - "

" - rak." Lycou shook his dazed friend, who, in his reverie, had neglected to notice that the precious apple he'd held fell to the ground and would've taken a great hit in value if it didn't fall on a pile of some exquisite silk. "Drak, wake up."

"Leave him," Kratos, reeking of blood, grunted, shoving one of the silk garments into his bag. "He's fried. You know how he gets when he has his little flashes."

"Kratos - "

"Captain."

"Captain," Lycou said through gritted teeth. "I can't just leave him; he's -"

"Oh, I almost forgot. Your charge." The way he said it always implied the two weren't just friends. "All right, if you insist. Go wake your sleeping beauty," he said. "Just remember to do your job." His sneer widened and he stalked off to prove himself worthy of his self-appointed title of the Basilisk's official equal opportunity annoyer.

Lycou snarled. "Aye, Cap'n."

He shook him again. "Drak." Nothing. He gave Drakon's shoulder a hard shove. "Drakon, you little Narcissus, snap out of it."

Drakon's clouded eyes cleared to a bright ultramarine, and he jerked back into reality. Lycou could see his mouth moving under the mask, but try as he might, no words escaped, not even an utter or a strangled cry. He looked as if he'd regressed to how he was when they first found him, a temporary mute and hopeless invalid, something they thought his injuries caused.

"I - I - This... This p - place... The... flashes..." Lycou could hear him wince.

"Hey, relax, buddy." Lycou put a hand on his shoulder, something he used to calm Drak down whenever he'd have his "little flashes" and get all tongue-tied. He'd needed to do that a lot more since they first mentioned the Syracuse heist. The stress Kratos put on the both of them and the rest of the crew didn't help, either.

"But... it's... f-familiar... some-somehow..."

"Familiarity's better than nothing, Drak," he said. "You just get back to work and don't think about it, all right?"

Drakon, hesitant, nodded. He picked up a jewelled apple, and dropped it into his bag.

Torchlight danced across the grand hallways, glinting off the many precious statues and other objects of art and flickering on the columns that mirrored Atlas as they stood proudly between the floor and the ceiling. The light pitter-patter of playful footfalls and giggles of two happy children broke the monotonous silence of the room, and two older voices that hushed them followed wearily behind.

"No fair, Gel! You're only faster 'cause the dress lets you move more!"

"Who says I'm the only one of us two who's wearing a dress?"

"What do you - hey!"

A yip of laughter. "Took you long enough to figure it out!"

"It won't take me nearly as long to catch up to you!"

"We'll see about that!"

"Kids!" Sinbad quickened his pace from a fast stride to a slight jog. "Slow down! I'm not telling you again!" He wiped the few beads of sweat off his brow. "Jeez, have they always been this hyper or am I just gettin' soft?"

"Maybe they just want to be with each other, away from the tiring voices of their elders." The faint rhythmic clicking of Dymas's walking stick on the stone floor grew in volume as he hobbled closer. "But in reference to your question, personally I think it's both."

"Very funny, Dymas." He rested a while, allowing Dymas to catch up. He frowned at the unusual slowness of the older man's gait. "Hey, d'you need any help?"

The rhythmic clicking of Dymas's walking stick sped up slightly. "Don't make such a fuss. I'm fi - " He grimaced and leaned against his walking stick, painfully drawing in a breath.

"Dymas?" Sinbad started towards the older man. "Are you - ?"

"I'm all right, Sinbad." With noticable effort he drew himself up and continued walking. "No need to worry. I am not - "

" - An invalid," Sinbad finished for him. "Yeah, I get it."

The light pitter-patter of playful footfalls stopped dead, and just as suddenly so did the laughter and playful banter. Tee and Gelasia stood frozen a few paces away from the treasure room's entrance. A few stammers and murmurs from the two, and Sinbad could distinctly hear a muffled scream, possibly Gelasia's muffled by Tee's rough sailor hands.

Dymas beamed; obviously he was older than he thought if he didn't just notice their strange behaviour. "Ah. Only after realising they need me to access the treasure room do they stop their tomfoolery. Kids. They're all the same."

Sinbad frowned "Strange." His pace quickened again this time, though the sense of forboding that accompanied his increase of speed this time around did little to calm his nerves. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Sinbad, what are you - ? "

He caught up to them a few seconds later. Gelasia cried against Tee's shoulder while the elder patted her back awkwardly, eyes fixed against what lay before him. Upon hearing Sinbad's hurried footfalls she bolted towards her pseudo-uncle and promptly buried her face in his increasingly uncomfortable finery, sobbing with abandon. "Hey there, Princess, what's - " Unconsciously, he looked up to see what they were looking at.

Guards. At least ten of them sprawled on the floor drenched in their own blood, blood just starting to darken from red to brown and beginning to harden into dried brown rivers and puddles. Haunted eyes stared up into nothing; those who still had eyes anyway. One of them lay on his side, his own sword sticking out of his right eye. Another guard had literally spilled his guts, courtesy of an expertly-sliced slit running across his waist. Many more had gaping valleys cut into their necks - looked like the thieves started getting a bit impatient when it came to them - into which one could see a twisted cross-section what a neck looked like on the inside.

" - Wrong." Sinbad held Gelasia closer to him. She didn't need to see this. Not this young. No not ever. She gripped onto his tunic so hard he could feel the fabric beginning to tear.

The clicking of Dymas's walking stick grew closer, and Gelasia left Sinbad in favour of the refuge her grandfather offered. Dymas, puzzled, looked up and saw what everyone else was looking at. His already pale face blanched. "Dear gods."

Sinbad collected himself. "Proteus," he said to Tee, who instantly turned around to face him, knowing the gravity of the use of his full name. "Listen to me. You get Gelasia and go to the crew, the ones who aren't drunk. Tell them there's an emergency. Tell them I say to come here right away with all our weapons and I'm gonna be here waiting for them and watching for any more trouble. Then you two go to your mothers and stay somewhere safe with them until we fix this. Do you understand?"

Tee hesitated. "But - "

"Do you understand?"

"Dad..." Tee bit onto his lower lip, "will you be okay?"

Sinbad looked again at the already-festering scene of carnage. "Believe me, I've seen worse." He turned back to his son, inadvertently putting on his best "father" voice. "Now you two go, and don't wander off this time."

Tee hesitated.

"Now, Proteus."

He grabbed her hand, and they went.

He looked to Dymas, pulling out a sword sticking out of a guard's chest and another that fell on the floor. "Dymas, I think you'd be a heck of a lot safer away from here."

"Of course." He started back towards the party. "I'm sending over what guards I have on hand. Somehow I doubt your crew can handle this by themselves."

"Thanks, sir." He tried out the feel of the new swords, see if they swung right, if he could stand a chance with them. "I'll need all the help I can get."

The usual clicking of Dymas's walking stick became replaced by a click, slide, click, slide as he hobbled back to follow the kids, the torchlight that danced across the grand hallways dancing across his ailing form. Sinbad watched him walk off and left him alone, a shiver running through his spine. Maybe the presence of so many slaughtered guards had something to do with it. Maybe he sensed that something he didn't expect was going to happen. Either way, he'd have to wait awhile for those select few from the Chimera still sober to arrive.

He was going to have to watch, and wait.