[Fully Crewed] Have the Cabin prepared and invite a Passenger aboard

It takes some cajoling, some threats and a round at the nearest Rum sink, but they do agree to help.

You have lost 1 Taler

Your new Crew are slow workers, unmotivated and clumsy. One spills the mop bucket, trampling suds and dirt across the boards, and they all seem incapable of lifting more than a few pounds by themselves. Another cuts herself on a nail, wailing and bleeding and suddenly utterly unable to work.

The floor has to be cleaned thrice, it is that dirty and your helpers are that sloppy. (All her blood did not help.)

You have not yet paid them and so you spare the whip. But that will change at Sea.

The work is finished much later than you would have liked.

{if The Passage of Time > 95} Your Time in Barenhaven is running out {elseif The Passage of Time > 80} Your Time in Barenhaven is coming to a close {elseif The Passage of Time > 60} You have some Time left in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 50} Your Time in Barenhaven is half-way over {elseif The Passage of Time > 30} You have quite some Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 15} You have a lot of Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 5} Your Time in Barehaven has just begun {else} You are now spending Time in Barenhaven {endif}

You then leave word with the other captains, with tavern-keepers, merchants, and with the dockside whores. The Sea of Mists, forever shifting, does not allow for passenger lines – or any form of more organized travel – past the closest islands. It also keeps the prices high.

You do not have to wait long.

A blonde lady in her mid-twenties, wearing a sensible dress and sensible shoes, stalks across the gangplank, two porters in tow. She pales at hearing your price but does not haggle. You collect 50 immediately – a surfeit of trust you would not have rendered in advance – and you tell her that another 100 will be due on arrival.

You have gained 50 Taler

You now have {@200 Talers} Taler

You show her to the cabin and help her unload the cases and chests. She used to study at Basque College, she tells you. Archaeology. But her parents have decided that they have indulged her long enough. Her voice trembles and the spark in her blue-grey eyes is doused by teary dew.

”I never expected to work,” she says. ”But I thought I might graduate. I have – had – have an interest in prelapsarian prose and the Fey-before.”

You offer some kind words as you help her store her luggage inside the small but now surprisingly airy room.

”You are too kind,” says the Almost Archaeologist, ”thank you. I’m to be married,” she adds, apropos of nothing. ”And I am to spend my life on the Saltisle together with a man I do not know.” She laughs a bitter laugh. ”He is a good man. Of course. Or so I am told. Rich. He’s in fishing or shipping or – something with fish.”

Her expression changes, harder suddenly and grimmer. ”Thank you, Captain, that will be all.”

You have taken on a Passenger