The plotted course

“So, what have you come up with?” Brenan greeted the twins with a question, getting up out of his chair and leading them towards a nearby table where they could easily place out the map and show him their suggestion for a route, while Davy was fully intent on wringing as much enjoyment out of seeing others work in his office as possible as he placed his hands on his head and glanced at them with the sort of satisfied smirk that could only come about as a result of seeing others work.

“Well,” James was obviously the one in charge when the brothers had worked to complete their task, and it was he who spoke as he and Julien placed the map on the table, “you said that you expected your ship to manage about 10 knots per hour?”

“That’s right,” Brenan crossed his arms and waited for James to go on.

“And if the skiff’s reasonably fast for its type,” James had begun to loose himself in conveying to Brenan the fruits of his and his brother’s efforts, prompting him to wonder if he’d just hired someone mad enough to match Mr. Michaels’ eccentric behaviour, “then we should place our rendezvous point here.”

“Hmm,” Brenan let out as he glanced down at the spot on the map that James was pressing his finger against, noting that it looked to be a reasonably secluded cove located just inside of an island, offering a great deal of shelter for whichever group arrived first and had to wait for the others to show up, “good.”

“Julien picked the spot, captain,” James rushed to reveal, apparently not wanting to omit his brother’s contributions, “he thought that it would reduce the risk of being spotted by any other ships that might come sailing by.”

“You thought right, Julien,” Brenan decided.

“Thanks.” His smile suggested that Julien had undoubtedly put the map under great scrutiny before picking the spot.

“Julien will go up to your first mate and deliver your orders,” James went on, and Brenan found it extremely odd that he would be giving Red orders, written or not, “having lent a horse from Uncle Davy?”

“Just as long as I get it back…” Davy replied from over in his wing back swivel chair.

“Having delivered your orders, Julien will either seek out a nearby plantation owner or small-scale farmer and pay them to return the animal to Davy…”

“Or I’ll head for Rockledge, spent the night there and pay a groomsman to take the horse back here. Either way, it shouldn’t cost more than one to three crowns.” Julien had seemingly decided that he’d let his brother do more than his share of the talking.

“It’s a good plan,” Brenan decided, “but what would you have us do if my first mate or Julien get delayed? Or if something happens down here to delay our departure?”

“Uh…” Brenan’s questions had caught James unprepared, and he didn’t seem to like it.

“My suggestion is that we add two more possible rendezvous points, here…” Brenan glanced at the map and picked a spot closer to the cabin, “if my first mate gets off too late,” Brenan immediately regretted talking about Red getting off, “and here if we’re the ones to be slow in getting started.”

“Okay,” James nodded as he made sure to note down the spots where Brenan had put his finger.

“And make sure to mark out the whole length of our course and hand it over to my officer,” Brenan hurried to add, “I don’t want us to miss each other along the way.”

“Don’t worry too much about it boys,” Davy offered some advice from his leisurely position, “he’s an ornery old coot.”

“Thank you for undermining my authority,” Brenan replied before opting to address the brothers instead, “Like I said, it’s a good plan, but you’ll learn in time that plans rarely survive their first encounter with reality.”

“James, in the future when I tell you to plot a course,” Brenan went on, “do so, but also make sure to get a good look at the charts and at least sketch out a couple of alternative ones if the first one doesn’t turn out to be without obstacles.”
“What kind of obstacles?”

“Pirates or ships of the Cryn or Veertor navies, not that there’s all that much difference between them, except for the pirates being a bit less unpleasant.”

“Captain,” Julien spoke up, “is the cargo we’re hauling legal?”

“Not entirely no,” Brenan admitted, having decided that the two of them deserved to know the truth, “we’re running a small merchant vessel. We simply can’t afford to obey the laws at all times.”

“Besides,” he soon added, “at least this way we’ll know that we’re smuggling.”