[03] Quimbly & Tradition

Shock and awe. That's what I felt the moment I laid my eyes on the four figures before us. In fact, I would guarantee that all twenty of us felt that way, except maybe Sebastian, as he always had been an odd duck. A non-swimming duck, which in itself is odd.

My gaze seemed to have attracted theirs, locking us in an awkward staring contest for which I will undoubtedly lose. Fortunately for me, William has me covered.

"Naval Academy Special Cadet William Du Duecant reporting for duty." His voice, stern and loud, brought most of the group from our reveries as they all stood snappily and saluted.

"At ease, Cadets." The man's voice soothed our worried faces. Not me, though, I was still reeling from Whitehall's hits. The man seemed to have rocks for hands, seeing the red welt-like marks on my visible skin.

Noticing my indisposed attention, the man cleared his throat at me. "Are we interrupting you, Cadet?" He said, deftly raising a brow as if urging me to defy him.

"No, sir. Naval Academy Special Cadet Roman Salazar reporting for duty." Said I with a two-fingered salute.

"At ease." He then looked towards the sleeping Whitehall, beckoning his second in command. "Basil. Tow Whitehall to the brig and let his father decide upon his recourse."

Basil, the light-skinned uniformed man with a hand cannon for an arm, nodded dutifully, grabbing Whitehall by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the warehouse.

"Seems to me that we have a much better variety than the last," Remarked Basil, looking my way with a hint of approval as he deliberately let Whitehall's face smash against the cinder grains of the stairs. "If only he wasn't a colonial bastard."

Although I let the insult wash over me, a hunt of pride surged within my very essence. Call it remnants of adrenaline from the previous fight, whereupon the broken man had insulted me too in such a manner.

"You have something to say about that, Cadet?" Noticing my gaze, the man in charge called me out to which I replied with a shake of my head. "Good."

"Major Florence Quimbly. Captain of the Stargazer. You shall address me as Captain on board and Major on land. Any other callsign and I will personally keel you until all your flesh and blood lie scattered amidst the ocean floor." Major Quimbly introduced himself while striding towards the other cadets, adding in a threat much like Whitehall did.

"Major." The third figure they came with, a black-haired, dark-skinned woman with purple tips tied in a bun, called out in a soft tone.

Major Quimbly halted his steps, turned around and asked: "Too much?"

Nodding in answer, Major Quimbly sighed before resuming his steps and arriving in the middle of the group. Never did I see a man whose mere presence invoked a sombre tone, adding in his neatly combed thick brown hair, thick jawline, deep blue eyes that contained a hint of sharpness, and multitudes of facial scars ranging from welts to deep gashes making him look like a survivor from the great Continental Conquest. Wearing a dark leather coat over his navy-blue captain's uniform with a black leather belt adorned with a silver eagled buckle, a maroon leather holster holding an officer's pistol hanging to the left of his waist while a silver Dragoon's rapier with an eagle theme hilt hangs on the right, and a white sequined gloves that glistened under the heavy rays of the high sun, Major Quimbly sighed once more before sitting atop a nearby barrel.

"We will be fielding five recruits from the academy and normally as our navigator focuses more on her research than actual fucking navigating- we would be last to arrive and be handed down the worst of the lot." Major Quimbly shook his head as if rejecting the notion of their previous misfortunes.

The previous woman climbed down the port, taking a stand behind the major as she continued for him. "Fortunately for us, our navigator has been recalled to the Council, and the Stargazer, therefore, will now be needing a substitute navigator. So, if you're physically incapable, rest assured, that you still have a chance to board with us."

"Now, as is tradition, the Stargazer shall enforce a series of trials within the bounds of King's Barrow. Accomplish such and prove yourself capable of being a Cerulean Dragoon." She said with finality, her presence no less than her captain.

Elation surged through my veins when her words reached my ears. The sheer excitement of finally achieving my dream soon engulfed the pain from Whitehall's fists. In a sudden surge of confidence, I raised my hands and, as it turns out, others too had the same idea as a sea of hands surged in the air.

Major Quimbly sighed, merely closing his eyes in response to the raised hands, but a nudge from the woman begrudged him to answer at least one. "Fine, fucking spoiled kids. You, the coloured one." He muttered, pointing towards the brutish young man.

"Forgive me, Captain, but our Academy commanders never mentioned any sort of trials to be a Dragoon. Even if there are trials, would we not be exempt? We are, after all, Special Cadets. The top of the Academy." said the brute with an impassioned tone.

Nods and murmurs followed his facetious little speech, mostly from his contemporaries who had the same idea as he. I, too, am curious about the supposed tradition of the Cerulean Dragoons, yet a feeling of relief washed over mine body when the good major picked him and not mine hands.

Major Quimbly sighed, picking up a glare at the brutish youth. "I ask you of one thing. Call me Major when our feet step on land, yet here you be... you pompous little bitch, forgetting an order made not but moments ago."

The brutish youth's eyes widened in fear as the major snapped his fingers, causing the fourth unseen and unheard-of fellow to stride dutifully down the steps and approach the youth.

"Take him to the brig. Have him whipped until the others come." Major Quimbly ordered coldly, not even gazing in the youth's direction. "Eden, state the first trial."

My fellow Academy batch mate's screams and pleads for mercy did not stir nary a beat from Eden, the woman behind Major Quimbly, as she nodded and stated our task: "All Cerulean Dragoons must and shall spend, at the very least, six months of the Lord's Calendar in, on, or at the Tidal Seas aboard whichever ship you may have the pleasure of boarding. As such, each ship must be fully stocked or refilled with rations, both dry and fermented goods alike."

"NO! No! Unhand me, you mongrel! I am a Redswaine, you motherfuckers!" The brutish Redswaine's voice reverberated across the port, yet it fell on deaf ears as Eden continued with her speech.

"The first trial shall be the acquisition of five materials. First, obtain the approval of the Harbormaster for the trade authorization for the Stargazer without the signature of the ship's captain, first mate, and quartermaster." She stated, pointing towards the large spiralling tower to the left of our position where the Harbor's office was situated.

Looking at the Cadets with a polite smile, Eden then continued. "Second. Refill the officer's storage with two tonnes of perishables from the Barrow Market space for a cheap price of one hundred silvered crowns."

Glints of reluctance mirrored amongst the group as we heard about the second acquisition and its headache-inducing condition. Eden, however, seemed to have not heard of our disapproval. "Third, procure a baker's dozen of Myrtle loaves of bread from the Royal Bakers Association."

Looks of excitement washed over the Colored Nobles and a few of the Numbered ones, most probably daydreaming of tasting the Heimschmiede's delicacy, yet again forgetting the pastry's complex delivery from the military state's minefield of a special mercantile trade route.

"Lastly, accompany a deckhand to store fifty sacks of wheat and grain from the Port Warehouse to the ship's storerooms." She finished the list in her hands, rolling it and pocketing it before speaking again to the tense group of cadets. "Completion of one of the trial objectives will be counted as your accomplishment of the first trial."

"The trial shall, henceforth, begin by the start of the next hour and end when the clock atop the Gilded Hall strikes at midnight."

Confused looks erupted and were shared amongst the groups as she finished her speech with a Silvi raising and waving her hands before speaking. "Forgive me, Ma'am. You merely stated four of the five materials. It may, perhaps, if I could, have been forgotten during the time of writing?" She asks, hands clenched in a fist as if anticipating an admonishment for speaking unprompted.

Eden merely rolled her eyes, sending a look to her captain, who responded with a shrug before answering Silvi's query. "The fifth material is candy. A jar would suffice, though one would doubt where you find one." Her words were reluctant and terse.

Silvi and Eden stared at each other with the former waiting for the latter to expound on her words, especially that of the candy's name, yet no answer arrived. "I must say, it would behove you to carry on your duties lest you find yourself unable to board a ship." Eden admonished, enunciating her last words.

The cadets then began to scatter about with factions huddling ever so intimately and a few stragglers finding themselves accomplishing the trials alone.

My attention, however, remains on the two veteran sailors as my feet dragged themselves, along with my body, near their presence.

"Lovely day, is it not, Major Quimbly?" I began, affixing their attention to my radiant smile. "Though I do say it would be lovelier if our hunger for certain delicacies be satiated, would it not?"

"You speak as if I am starved, Cadet?" He replied, striking a raised eyebrow.

"You forget your rank, Cadet. Fail to address us as your superior once more and you shall find yourself beneath the caverns of Mirasal." Eden warned, threatening to lock me in the sewage system of the Capitol.

Their combined might bore down upon my poor soul, yet I found it refreshing to see such an intense yet direct way of verbosity, much more appealing than the nobles' pretentious speeches.

My radiant smile never faltered as took a light bow. "My apologies..." I trailed off, sending a quizzical look her way.

"Lieutenant Carroway." She supplied.

"Yes. Apologies, Lieutenant Carroway, for it is only my wish to humbly entreat Major Quimbly's clear craving for the dessert... which, if I may be too presumptuous, is what exactly?"

A quiet laughter erupted out of the Major's mouth. "Sweetlings, Rykonet Sweetlings."

Realization besots my face as my smile turned pleasing, humming in approval of his choice of dessert. "Ah, a very apt choice of vice, Major. But understandable nonetheless."

"Oh, you are familiar with the Heimschmiede pastry?" It was the major's turn to be surprised, sharing a look with Lt. Carroway.

I let out a short laugh. "Oh, not at all."

Their faces fell as my laughter subsided, not from the gravity of their expression, but from the fact that it is dear fun to see such a reaction from a proper soldier like them and, of course, laughing at them would be detrimental to my plans.

"I apologize if I made you think that I am, in fact, familiar with the Sweetlings, but, let me assure you, as compensation, why don't I ease your longing for them, Major?" I suggested, careful with the phrasing of my words.

"You may do so, Cadet." Major Quimbly said suddenly, a smile on his grim face. "Why, Eden, will you inform Cadet Salazar of where he might acquire the candy?"

They share a look again as a pretty smile bloomed upon Lieutenant Carroway's face. "Gladly, Major." She replied, turning towards me with her pretty smile and scheming looks.

I may have made a mistake.

▪︎▪︎▪︎Florence Quimbly, Starving Captain▪︎▪︎▪︎

Woe am I, for my luck had drawn the short end of the lazy stick. My navigator, fresh from the Broodhaven's Institute of Technology, clumsy and eccentric yet holds profound knowledge, eaten alive by a school of Biowarks during one of her barnacle walks. Then the jar of Rykonate Sweetlings embedded deep within the bosoms of my bed was found ajar and empty by a deckhand who was promptly flayed by Basil for reneging on duty; now, I am unable to mete out the true perpetrator of the theft. Woe is my life.

A sigh escaped my lips, which was promptly noted by my shipwright. "A few more hours, Sir, and we'll be back on board." She said, placating the burgeoning feeling of depression that has always beset me whenever my body leaves the wooden planks of the Stargazer.

I once asked of it to the Broodhaven scholars and, after a few minutes of anxious stammering and scared whimpers, told me an elaborate answer to my question, most of which was lost between their cries and how complex the jargon they used in the explanation. Basil, however, ever the astute companion, relayed their explanations, recanting the fact that my mood swings related to my connections to the Arkivial Engine within the Stargazer's Energy Room.

"Is there perhaps a chance of a cadet happening upon an unguarded jar of the Sweetlings, Eden?" I ask as I noted a large Imperial Crab climb the barnacle-ridden hull of the Acteon ship before us. "Perhaps the Greythorne heir would have the balls to do so."

"I very much doubt so, Sir." She replied, taking a sit next to me as her bust boobily bounced within the strict confines of her tight corset. "It seems that Maldevar has already told his cousin of our trials. So has Silver Fang to his niece."

Of course, they did. They would not be nobles if they could not at the very least divulge pertinent information so that their kin gets an advantage.

Another sigh escaped me, prompting me to wonder whether such an increased rate of breathing could harm my body. Now that I think about it, fearing for my health, another sigh bubbled forth. "A vicious cycle, it is."

"Must you worry so much? The good doctor had already placated your worries." She said in reply to my continued sighs.

She truly does know me well.

"Enough of that. Any cadet catch your eye?"

She hummed in contemplation before gazing towards the spiralling tower to our left. "Ryker Triskillion. Canary's Dream intends to use his natural strength and augmented limbs for land raids. We could trade him for a couple of patrol rotations."

My mind resurfaced the memories of the cadet's files. Ryker's father was a Heimschmiede Rime Guard before he was exiled for killing his superior officer, travelled far, met a Triskillion maiden in a seedy bar, fell in love, and bore Ryker. To have a Rime Guard as a father would emotionally be one of the most harrowing experiences in the young man's life, fortunately for him, he inherited his father's natural strength and was given the best treatment a Numbered heir could ever receive. His clan had gone as far as to implant a skin augmentation months before his enrollment in the Royal Naval Academy.

"His test score in Grace & Etiquette suggests rigid thinking, terrible at long-term planning, and too spoiled for our line of work. Give him to Quill." I replied, rejecting the young man. "What of the Du Deucant kid? Balls, on that one."

"Hmmm, it seems that Silver Fang's niece has taken a liking to the kid and plans to formally recruit him." She replied, rolling her eyes at Silver Fang's words. Most old ship hands knew that formality in our line of work was nothing but a way to induce guilt and favour from the target, mostly done to recruits with nary a care to their words nor promises. "Sly bastard."

Normally, I would have given way to Silver Fang's antics, even hoping to gain a favour from the insane bastard, yet a certain came to mind. "The Colonial who pushed the Whitehall's inside. Salazar, was it?"

Audacious little fellow, certainly ballsy enough to address us in a somewhat informal way and phrase his words as if he were doing us a favor.

"Aye, Sir. Roman Salazar, an orphaned Casimirian Colonial and former servant-slave to William Du Duecant, was given his freedom once the former saved his sire from an assassination attempt. And was then enrolled by the Sundale Viscount to the Naval Academy once his son was invited by an Academy Agent." She nodded while spouting off the young man's abridged life in a clinical monotone speech. "None have yet to take a chance at him. A shame, if I must say, his fighting technique perfectly suits boarding sorties." She remarked with a hint of bitterness.

Humming along with her words, I could not help but be reminded of his initiative and cunning that hid behind his radiant smile of his. Ryker was too much of a noble to be a pirate hunter like we, but Salazar is used to a life of dirt and filth with an almost prodigal repertoire of skills ranging from sword fighting to proper latrine cleaning, High society dance skills to baking pastries. All this allows him to blend in with multitudes of factions, to be molded into a perfect spy.

"Allow me to read your mind and answer for you, sir. Salazar will most probably try to join Silver Fang alongside his former sire." She said, ever the intuit or perhaps our decade-long campaign into the Tidal seas has made me a predictable man.

Nevertheless, Salazar is a perfect fit for our crew and a mighty fine fighter from the looks of it, so having him aboard with us as we retake Gilded Oasis would be most efficient in seeing his potential.

"My stationery, Eden. I shall have Silver Fang belay his niece's desires. If they do procure the Sweetling, both Du Duecant and Salazar will board my ship." I say with finality, standing up from my barrel and beginning to head towards the Acteon ship.

"And if Silver Fang insists? We all saw Du Duecant's grades. He is a champion marksman and a decent sailor with a penchant for ship repair. Surely, even if he proved to be a fool, his seconds will not be." She warns, a hand on her chin.

I snorted in contempt. "Then deliver a finger at his abode. Let them know... what Quimbly wants, Quimbly gets."