INTERLOPING

Too early in the morning Fugger rose, awoken by a sound he promptly forgot. Blinking several times, he became aware of the moonlight laden room, simple gleaming found in most corners. The portholes allowed this, of each the amount adequate for his quarters, thought the captain--the space itself just as well. So was anything wider than six by eight. He took the time to study further his surroundings, an act he’d done none of despite finding himself in its bed twice. The cabin conveyed less pirate and more civilian, ornate flowers and fleurs smothering, likely, sickeningly, wood. Fugger considered hacking at the wallpaper to rid himself of the dedicated decor, but the thought of further exposed planks rescinded the thought. Perhaps he’d begin to collect the skulls of his enemies, wrap them across the portholes--bone wreaths Should pair great with the colors. Fugger laughed. Following the shift in sound, groans traveled down, the cabin’s chandeliers though unchanged. The hairs on his arms shot up and Fugger out from bed. He tossed on his button up and trousers and, weapons strapped and jangling, swung open the cabin’s door intent on swiftly nimbling over to cover, instead interrupted face first.

“Ungh! Nice work,” hissed his first mate.

“Bellhound...” started his captain.

“Come here--less clumsy-like.”

Together traveled Fugger and friend to positions behind barrels, the former’s hands steadying his tools. They crouched and peered past lids and onto the ladder connecting they to the main deck, the ship’s interlopers to them. All remained quiet. Enough time passed for Fugger to find an idea, drawing up and his saber and prodding the barrel before him. Bellhound watched with annoyed astonishment, grabbed his captain’s shoulders, forced him back to a crouch followed by a questioning hiss.

“You gotta knife?” responded Fugger.

“What? Yes. So?” his first mate said in three distinct breaths, the third made redundant upon placing the request in the extended expectant palm before him.

Fugger too tried poking with the newfound weapon but gave up and tossed the knife gracelessly across deck, a clattering wail marking its resting place. Immediately the noise above resumed, noticeably quickened in its paces. Bell turned with exasperation to shoot another dagger into his captain’s eyes, but Fugger eyed only their new guests. Down the ladder came clattering on a multitude of levels the fallen knife could never hold its own against. The moon scattered off plate armor as feet fell further until ostensibly a knight appeared, erect, Fugger and Bell stooping lower in reaction. A sword and shield too shined, the latter bearing the insignia of a bear-like creature covered in moss, its fangs eager seeming to clamp into Fugger’s flesh.

More weapons and defense descended into the room, nine knights in total making the journey. Then came a tenth more decorated than the rest, ornate patterns found from heel to helm. The suit turned to face Fugger, thought Fugger, and he’d not shake the thought till the knight himself turned to talk to another.

“Something’s amiss, gentlemen. You will allow me.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir,” and seven more.

Their leader, another ostensibly made observation, snuck carefully into the captain’s quarters, and Fugger frowned. Some time passed, Bellhound scratched at his cheeks, and two goons took up a quiet conversation.

“He’s been in there for awhile.”

“Making off with loot maybe, maybe.”

“Taking a woman for hisself, likely,” a third chimed.

“Yes sir,” said the fourth.

“Yes sir,” and six more, the seventh silent.

Fugger turned to his subordinate, raised an eyebrow, but continued his eavesdrop in time for their captain to return, Fugger’s cabin conquered.

“Something is amiss, gentlemen. The quarters are empty.”

“What will we do, sir?”

“We must inquire further below. It is likely dangerous. You will allow me.”

“Yes sir.”

And so on.

All remaining in the connective tissue between decks--upper and lower--were Fugger and Bellhound and the nine knights, some lit and others in their own darkness. Fugger became struck by a familiarity he placed quickly, realizing the gossip would continue as soon as their leader creaked and groaned far enough away. More moments and his intuition bore fruit.

“He took all that time to deduce it empty?”

“Too busy stuffin’ ‘is pockets first.”

“I know who I’d stuff.”

“Har har har.”

“Yes sir!”

“Yes sir.”

The chain would likely continue uninterrupted had a “Boys!” not shot up from below. Shambling and shattering the peace aboard deck, eight of the knights chased after the tongue of their leader. The last of them remained statue. As the other brothers stomped and shuffled away, the remaining removed his helmet, the moon a backdrop for a profile shot of a face too fair to fight, Fugger would later maintain. He traced his eyes across the jaw, across parted lips and pointed nose and particularly disheveled bun, and he rested a hand on Bellhound’s shoulder as if to confirm the second spectator. The knight now without helmet steadied a series of breaths one after another, gaps between widening until hair and helm would reunite. The knight slapped both steel cheeks, shook violently, and dashed away carrying clattering down every step.

A long silence followed besides the clamoring below deck. Finding the situation safe to speak on, Fugger turned to his first mate, loaded.

“Was almost worried this world didn’t have girls.”

“What?”