…walk up the main stairs like someone with every right to do so.

Upstairs is by far the most likely location of Captain Washkin; everything you have learned of her tells you as much. Well, if you want to go upstairs, what better way than by taking the stairs? You hop off the wooden box and walk back to the foyer. The spilling steps reach up to a wide landing that reaches across the whole side of the room, while from it flows the frayed carpet, trickling down them like water riding a rocky stream. You see that the landing holds a large set of double doors in their centre, but also darkness at either side. As it starts near the buildings centre, you’d wager there is one long corridor that runs from one side of the house to another, with the foyer stairs and balcony sitting in the middle. A lot to search, but darkness should make your job easier.

You walk towards the base of the stairs and the merchants gathered around them, their conversation ceasing with your approach and their eyes look at you with unbridled suspicion. Their heads follow you as you walk past them to the stairs.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to go up there missy.” The monotone voice fights with another, softer one that overlaps it,

“We can’t go up, you can’t go up.”

You turn and look at the merchants, the first step giving you equal height with the group. None of them have moved to physically stop you but it’s better to smooth suspicions while you can. You put on an exasperated voice as you address the men, or at least the one nearest to you.

“I have a message for my captain.” You decide to take a further risk, adding “Are they meeting up there?”

A particularly fat one of the merchants, rich in both dress and blubber, responds first, speaking with an airy tone full of phlegm and faux sincerity.

“Haaaa, what do you have to say to him my dear? Hm?” He pauses to cough, leaving his mouth uncovered to do so before continuing as though nothing happened. “How about you tell me and I tell him when he comes out, hum, sweet little thing?”

The man is bald and wears a red and gold dress designed either for hotter climates or men of his considerable girth. Either way, it looks almost natural next to his smile, the fakeness of which you couldn’t reproduce with a week of practice. A closer look at all five men shows that at least three of them have been decimated by the poisonous mix of money and hedonism. The worst affected seem to be the fat man who addressed you and the slightly thinner (but still quite hefty) version behind him, wearing a yellow gold coat, lank greasy hair, and the red vein lines of an inveterate Wyvern addict. Between them, fat stomachs, pocked skin, wondering eyes, and heavy gold jewellery decorate their bodies; their bright silks and gaudy trinkets acting as talismans against temperance. Another man, in a short sleeved green jacket no doubt worn to show his tattoos, carries a hungry look that’s made worse by his slightly gaunt face. You’ve seen others with similar features, yet none that still looked so strong or so cruel. Behind him, the fourth man could be mistaken for nobility, with cane and silver clipped dress coat both, while the fifth man looked old and far too bitter to have ever enjoyed a day in his life.

You respond as a hardened sea faring woman might.

“Listen pig. My message is for my captain only. So if any of you know where they are then either tell me or piss off.”

While you don’t feel that you put enough menace into the outburst, and that the words ‘piss off’ don’t sound natural coming from you in the slightest, the result is what you wanted. They look insulated, one even muttering that they’ll have words with your captain about your lack of respect, before freeing you from their attention. They pick-up their conversation as you continue up the stairs.

While they didn’t confirm the presence of the two captains, they did add more weight to the argument that they are upstairs. Unfortunately, that leaves you searching the upstairs blindly and you doubt anyone you encounter will accept your presence blindly. You’ll have to find them before they find you, then figure out what to do.

You continue up the stairs until you can see the waving shadow of the banister rail on the wall, projected by the yellow light of the foyer’s lanterns. The banister for both the stairs and the landing are held up with wooden beams that add vertical lines of shadow to the far wall, like the bars of a prison.

You decide you’ll head left first, into the darkness of the corridor, and begin at the rooms boarding the main one through the double doors. Listening at a few walls should do the trick. To think you nearly used the dumbwaiter!

As your foot leaves the last step and lands on the floor at the top of the stairs, your hear voices coming from nearby. You suspect they come from the double doors in front of you, and as soon as you realise that the voices are getting louder, the double doors themselves fly open, nearly clobbering you as a man and woman walk out right after, still mid argument.

“-would be a disaster!” the man finishes.

“Roland, the map will show yo-... who’s this?”

The woman train of thought is interrupted by the sight of you, standing right before them both. Your eyes widen in response. It’s Captain Washkin herself! That must make the other man the other captain, your captain. He wears colours matching your own while she wears a red coat with a gold trim and a white shirt. That and a flash of her blond hair is all you register before you quickly look down, hoping to hide your face from the captain that would know it if you were really part of his crew.

“Well? What are you doing here?”, the man barks at you, “Speak!”

Your mind races for a likely answer. Not wanting to let the silence drag into suspicion, you quickly return the best lie you can come up with at such short notice.

“Looking for my friend captain. I heard he was here.”

He snorts with derision. You can see that they both wear fine leather boots, though the man’s are a little more worn than the woman’s. He’s shorter as well, letting you see the brutal blades at his hip. From her, you hear no sound, but you feel her eyes on you and sense her mind working. Perhaps it’s just your imagination. The man speaks again.

“Hm? Who’s your friend?”, his voice gains some confusion, “And who are you anyway? I haven’t seen you before.” Damn! Well, that was always likely. There are few women pirates and they probably get a lot of memorable attention out at sea. You play the only lie you can, which is also your weakest.

“I’m new, sir”.

He looks at you for a moment, or you think he does. After a moment, he makes a gruff noise and says,

“Hum. Well. I look forward to knowing you better.” His boots start to walk off, presumably taking the rest of him with them.

You mentally sigh with relief. Despite the weakness, he bought it and didn’t even follow up about the supposed friend. The tone of his words were uncomfortably lecherous, but fortunately you don’t plan on ever ‘knowing’ him at all. Your mental celebrations stop dead in their tracks when you see that Captain Washkin’s boots remain firmly rooted where they first stopped. You hear the footsteps of Captain Roland stop as he turns to look at the two of you.

“Thought you had some map you were going to show me.”

Washkin’s shiny black boots stay where they are. ‘Come on’, you think, ‘he has a map to see. Walk away’. Sweat starts to bead on your brow.

One of the boots moves, taking a step back. You hear the sound of a blade being drawn from its scabbard and as you look up, you see the point of Captain Washkin’s thin sword pointing directly at your face.

Roland’s “What-“ is immediately interrupted by her explanation.

“She’s new. That means she must have jointed tonight. And the first thing she does is come to this mansion, go upstairs -where anyone would tell her she isn’t allowed- and bump into the two biggest bounties on this island. How...convenient.”

Captain Roland catches on immediately, face hardening to the possibility. You look past the tip of the sword to the woman holding it. A humourless smile tugs the corners of her mouth and her flat stare is devoid of mercy.

“Who was the friend you’re looking for?” Her tone is light, airy, but her sceptical eyes bore into your own, looking for fault in your upcoming response.

This is bad. Trying to convince her would be difficult anyway but her suspicion really makes this an uphill fight. You take a chance,

“Tony” It’s a common enough name, and of the hundreds of sailors that could bare it you only need one to do so. Roland chips in, smiling savagely.

“Ha. There are no Tony’s on my crew woman!”

Fortunately, you get two rolls of this dice. You look at the floor and answer him.

“Beg your pardon sir, he’s not a member of our crew. He’s one of Captain Washkin’s.”

You glance up, reading something in her eyes that tells you you struck gold. She narrows hers and asks,

“Then why not join my crew?” A valid question but easily answered.

“I only found out he was with you later, mam, after I signed on with Captain Roland.”

“She told us she had a message for her Captain,” one of the merchants from the foot of the stairs pipes up. You quickly turn to address the man,

“I told you to piss off! Don’t try and get back at me!”

They start to angrily retort before Captain Washkin holds up her hand to silence them. You turn back, about to continue your damage limitation when you see in her eyes that the hand is raised for you as well. Captain Roland walks up to you and stairs closely at your face. Captain Washkin says her next words with deliberate care.

“What does he look like?”

A single bead of sweat slides down the side of your bow. The words come out of your mouth almost before you have a chance to check them.

“It’s been years since I last saw him. I was hoping to meet him again. To thank him, er, mam.”

Her flat expression doesn’t change.

“You’re lying. You can’t lie to me, I can see right through them.”

Your heel is still just over the top step, you could push off it before she could thrust. It would take some good foot work to land, turn and run mid staircase. She pushes first, sword flashing as it swings to your neck before resting against your jugular. The subtle shift stops you in your tracks, one swipe and it’s all over.

“We’ll get the truth out of you”, she says, more a statement of fact than a threat or promise.

“Damn strait we will.” Roland adds, his words definitely a threat.

He looks angry as he grabs you, turning you away from him to briskly pat down your form, finding and removing the dagger in your thigh strap, but not the small vial of poison it also contains. His free hand then clamps around your arm like prison irons and Washkin’s sword withdraws as he drags you through the double doors. You pass through a small windowless room dotted with chests, maps and charts, and over a large low table in the middle, into another room beyond. He throws you down to the floor before entering himself. Both Captain Roland and Captain Washkin look down at you.

This could be difficult.