DRAWING

Below, Fugger alone stood in the hull of his ship. Hours ago the walls had been breached. Now they were weld together with immaculate proportion. The terminal--the artifact, the device that felt to be the only connection between this world and Fugger’s old--glowed its familiar green. His finger brushed against the screen, advancing, presenting him with a unique new set of choices.

UPGRADES AVAILABLE

>OF

>HUE

>SIZE

>FLAG

>ARMS

Fugger didn’t feel very sure as to what ‘of’ implied, but the rest he figured. Satiating his curiosity, he selected the first option, various materials then presented. They ranged from a basic sort of wood--the current--to stronger forms of timber, then iron, steel, and a sixth desaturated selection. Given the massive gold requirements displayed next to each type--only the first upgrade a somewhat merciful three hundred gold versus the second at four thousand--he wouldn’t worry over a mystery yet. Nor would he challenge the ship’s integrity. Fugger tapped the representation of a fleeing figure which brought him back where he’d previously started. He thumbed ‘hue’ and found himself brought to a selection of colors--free of apparent charge. Yellow fell victim to his initial instinct. A wave of remembered blue explored the boat. Fugger glanced around. He tried green next. The wave splashed again. He glanced. Red. Blue wave. Nothing.

In the end, Fugger settled on yellow once more--followed by the wave--and returned to the default menu. After brief consideration, he skipped past ‘size’, thinking whatever upgrades entailed would come equipped with no doubt hefty prices, and thumbed ‘flag’. This brought him to a strange sun colored rectangle with additional icons, their meanings unknown to the captain. He cocked an eyebrow and returned again to the main screen, then ‘hue’, selected black, and finally fingered his way back to the rectangle which now, indeed, shone black. A less sliced and weary Fugger would have booked it back to the main deck to confirm the changes, but he decided to take his ship at its word. He touched the black and black remained. He drifted his finger around but found no apparent result. Only after did he notice what appeared to be a palette. Selecting this brought up the same wheel of hues he’d explored earlier. Gone with white, he attempted another action against the dark canvas and, to his surprise, a doodle emerged. He re-selected black and wiped at his creation, it disappearing into the void. Overall, his interest piqued, but Fugger knew himself no artist, and so it would be up to the talents of either Bellhound or his newest, strangest addition to the crew. Perhaps her father had her learned in artistry. But regardless, Fugger chose white once more and replaced his faded doodle with another.

Satisfied, Fugger exited the menu and brought his finger against the final option--’arms’, of which he hoped implied armaments and not a selection of writhing appendages. He came upon a simple array of ‘tiers’, each’s gold requirement obfuscated save for the second--one thousand. Well, Fugger thought, the current cannonball launchers seemed quite versatile against man and monster alike. Perhaps if he came across a windfall. Regardless, he returned back twice to the hub of initial choices. Fugger blinked. Had the menu always displayed this way?

GKVBZJYCCCVN HEALTH: 100%

>REPAIR

>RENAME

>UPGRADE

He was already here, so Fugger thought to himself, sure. His knuckles rapped >RENAME and he keyed in a new title without much thought.

FUGGER’S FRIENDSHIP

Fugger’s Fairies, Bellhound would jape. But even his first mate’d have to admit the cleverness. Regardless, he wouldn’t chance the occasion. The keys were withdrawn to for Fugger to select further.

THE FUGSHIP

Perhaps the crew would need consulting, for Fugger’s imagination offered little and he did not care to stress such further. He especially thought to inquire after the new hire, her--his--loot to play a large part in the ship’s future, it seemed clear to him. He did not yet know which cabin she resided in and, searching them all, could not recognize a difference. He visited the one skipped--Bellhound’s--and found him smoking his pipe, tapping a fist against wood. The navigator glanced at the captain, nodded, and continued puffing. So the captain spoke:

“Where’s the girl?”

“The girl? Not much different from “the woman”,” mused Bell.

“Ok. Well where is she?” asked an impatient Fugger.

“Broom closet.”

“Wha”

“Better find a new place for the brooms.”

“What the hell.”

Starting to part the drapes away, Fugger turned back.

“Bell. What do you think of ‘Fugship’?”

“Uhh,” he hesitated.

“Name for the ship,” Fugger explained.

“Not good.”

“Well, think on it.”

“Sure, captain.”

“How close to shore?”

“Hour.”

“Good stuff, Bell.”

“Sure, captain,” said Bell.

Fugger stole to the kitchen and found it fully raided. Frustrated, he rapped the counter and glanced out at the looming city. His gut roared in a protest he couldn’t help sympathize with, but he just as well considered the appetites of his comrades, what they’d been through. In any case it wasn’t as if the provisions proved especially delicious, the stores clearly never meant for the amount of days spent out ashore. His thoughts drifted, once more, to ‘SHORE’. Would the words change after docking? What would they ask of him then? Or had he been mistaken and their message meaned for another? But then, Bellhound hadn’t acknowledged the sentence. Fugger’d ask the girl. ‘The girl’...

He hadn’t the slightest clue her name. Not her, her former captain, not even the king. It seemed to Fugger the world itself refused to keep him clued in on its happenings. By its gods, he hadn’t even the name of the city, the nation, the island--anything he sailed towards. He knew he played some role in this obfuscation--he’d never asked these things. So had any of it truly been withheld? Well, he did not even know his navigator’s true name, whatever identity concealed itself behind Bellhound. He himself chose ‘Fugger’ but felt cheated--whatever his name was, he wasn’t that any longer. The same body came through, more or less. If the coins enabled it, he’d get himself inked first thing following the late breakfast. Something nautical themed, he figured. Anchors? He’d ask Blackgill if he’d see him again, it was decided.. And as far as paying was concerned, he broke from the bare kitchen and headed bound for the former broom closet.

Fugger knocked.

“What,” through wood.

“Captain,” presented he.

“What,” she repeated.

“I’m coming in.”

“Fine.”

He felt a thief aboard his own ship stepping in, walls bereft of broom, furniture rearranged to allow a bed and armor display, wardrobes stacked strangely, bizarrely in front one another.

“How do you get to the blocked ones?” Fugger asked.

“I can move them,” she affirmed, sitting atop her bed looking to the wall adorned in twice looted drapes.

“You are strong. But you don’t want one of the bigger rooms?”

“No.”

“This closet’s about the size of a prison cell, you know.”

He suddenly found himself gazing into his crewmate’s piercing eyes. Bellhound was right.

“You’ve stayed in Breadbasket Dungeon?” she asked with obvious interest.

“Huh uh.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t think it. Not many leave.”

Fugger winced. She took notice.

“Well? Where did you stay?”

“Not anywhere here.”

“Yes. Where, then?”

“Not here. Ain’t trying to be difficult.”

She broke their shared sight.

“Difficult to believe.”

“They had me killed,” Fugger blurted.

The former brother turned with even her visage tamed, look shifting to bemusement.

“What?” she managed.

“My last appeal ended against me. I got the chair after.”

“What fiction you weave. ‘The chair’?”

“Whatever you people do. Guillotines or hangings or--”

“Banishment to the mist pit,” she suggested.

“Ok. The mist pit,” nodded Fugger, somewhat unnerved at the unknown dangers this world yet shared.

“Then...” she trailed off for a spell. “Are you to suggest you’re reanimated?”

“Huh. You could put it that way.”

“But what country had you executed?’

“None here.”

“You make fun.”

“Like I said...” his turn to trail. He scratched at his scalp, then noticing the sack zipped and laid against the floor.

“You eye that with more hunger than you me,” she observed.

“What?” Fugger asked, strangely embarrassed.

“You have a love of wealth this weighted?”

“It gets a lot done.”

“It’s not a means to happiness.”

“I’m not trying to be happy--I aim to get paid.”

“Get... paid?”

“Money, gold--gold pieces and coins and doubloons. Whatever you people use.”

“Why, ‘you people’? We aren’t you?”

“No,” Fugger affirmed.

“I don’t understand you,” she said.
“I don’t even know your name,” he replied.

She, the former brother, folded her arms.

“Wheat-Anne”

“What? That’s your name?” asked her captain.

“It isn’t. But you’ll call me it,” confirmed Wheat-Anne

“Oh, God.”

Fugger crept forward and snatched the tied bag off the floor, heading after for the door. He turned and gazed at her who kept her eyes downward.

“Bell says one hour.”

“Very well,” answered Anne.

“Though thirty now, I guess,” he corrected.

“Ok.”

“Ok.”

Fugger passed through and sealed the awkward air within its cell. He blew a breath out his mouth and wandered to his quarters--its door shut after--and untied the contents of his loot, it spilling out atop a table. After some brief counting, he realized the coins--in addition to the twelve pieces collected aboard his own ship--came to a generous thirty-seven. This pleased the captain; extra portions would be ordered. In addition, there laid the various--

A sudden knock shocked focused Fugger. He regained himself and called the inquisitor in, his guest revealed as Bellhound. The navigator drew up and glanced at the table of sparkling goods. Some variety of strangely shaped jewels glittering most. There laid as well scrolls wound shut, their contents likely of interest to the recently entered. A pocket watch Bellhound recognized, surprised, somewhat impressed at his captain. That made three times, now--twice accredited to the same man. His errand seemed more gratifying.

“So you did get him,” Bell observed.

“Wha”

Bellhound didn’t elaborate--only palmed, glanced at the watch.

“You need something?” asked Fugger.

“Got somethin’ for you, actually,” realized the navigator.

“Do you.”

“Here,” handing a book to his captain. Fugger’s eyes widened gradually, his expression genuine appreciation. He had forgotten the diary entirely. Immediately Fugger became eager to read.

“Thank you, Bell.” said the captain.

“Sure,” he replied.. “Not like I stole it.”

Fugger laughed.

“No you did not. But we’ll make a thief of you yet.”

“Manning the wheel in’t enough? Not even my job. Have ‘the woman’ learn.”

“Her name’s--”

“Ruby Emgem,” interrupted Bell.

“Um.”

“What?” he asked.

“She told me Wheat-Anne.”

Bellhound laughed.

“Get out, get out. Wait,” came from Fugger abruptly. “How long?”

“Six hours.”

“Wha. What?” rushed out from Fugger. “How?’

“Need to stop by a fishing village out of the way, exchange our flags. Only thought about it a bit ago, but bet they got people on the lookout for these.”

Fugger’s stomach pounded at its walls.

“Bellhound, come with me.”

The two rushed up to top deck, a deep blue burning overhead with considerable strength. Fugger’s flesh would never go pale again, he realized. Bellhound immediately understood his captain’s insistence, though baffled--the flags above indeed billowed black, the white etching of male genitals unashamed to face the ocean. And while Fugger did notice and confirm his suspicion of the screen downstairs by black above, his attention soon shifted to the armor at the edge of the vessel, gauntlets gripping railing, gold hair whipping in the brother’s wake. He broke from Bellhound and took a place near her. Surprisingly, she spoke first.

“Which of you painted the piece blowing on over our heads?”

“Guess,” responded Fugger.

“I’m already aware. Bell would not chance the crudeness.”

“He wouldn’t?”

Wheat-Anne, or Ruby Emgem, turned to properly face her captain, incredulity worn without remorse. He shrugged.

“This crude captain gets results. We almost had to take a six detouring to some dump.”

“We seem to still sail towards one.”

“Is that how you feel?” Fugger asked honestly.

“Better in a boat away then in,” she confirmed.

The captain stretched his limbs to two satisfying pops within them. His neck came next. The brother had since swapped eyesight back towards the fast approaching city.

“I bet I have you figured out now, by the way,” announced Fugger.

“Do you.”

“Talking about your name.”

“I’ve already told you, it’s--”

“Ruby Emgem?”

Her glance, though not fully committed, betrayed some feeling of guilt.

“Not that either, though, ain’t it,” said Fugger.

“What?” came the concerned knight.

“Ruben?”

The brother broke her guarded stance to face Fugger completely.

“My childhood nickname. How?”

“Ruby Anne, guessing.”

“Yes...”

“It’s only a tough riddle alone.”

“But that’s not fair! What’s yours, then, really?”

“I can’t answer that. Again, not tryna be...”

“Fine, captain.”

“If it makes you feel better, his name isn’t really Bellhound either.”

“What?”

“And he doesn’t know what you’re wantin’ to know either. Cuz again, I can’t...”

“Yes, fine. I will concern myself with Bell for now, then.”

“Sure.”

The two watched the white orb above tower high over the island that seemed no less than twenty minutes out. Fugger eventually left Ruben alone with the navigator, navigating his way below deck back to his quarters. His knight’s former knight captain’s diary laid invitingly for Fugger to pass the remaining journey away with, though he cursed being unable to drink alongside his read. Regardless, he creaked a chair over, sat himself down comfortably enough, popped his back and the book open, and began his expedition into the secrets of a world that kept such hidden remarkably well. Until now.