...sneak down, interrogate him and steal his uniform.

Information beats all; sneaking about blindly or strutting about in clueless plain view are both terrible ideas. Like any case before this, the more you know the quicker you can solve the problem. This does present a problem of its own however as you will need to surely kill him once the conversation ends. A tricky prospect when he is alert and very much against the idea.

You quietly push the foliage aside and move forward across the sand and rock with as much grace as you can muster. Drawing the recently holstered stiletto from your thigh sheath, you feel the weight of it in your hands before levelling it in front of you. It doesn’t take long until you are behind him, and you choose to press the advantage while he is peeing, resting the tip of the dagger against his back in line with his heart, while saying a very measured and calm,

“Don’t move.”

Your words come out clearly despite the fabric over your mouth, and the effect is instantaneous as he stops mid-stream and stands bolt upright. In the near dark with his trousers around his ankles and a knife at his back; you do not envy him his position.

Again, keeping your voice calm and in control you ask him the most pressing question first.

“Where is Captain Washkin?”

“W-w-what?” comes his reply “w-who the fuck are you?!”

Pressing the dagger a bit harder into his back, he somehow tenses up even more. “Who I am is of no concern of yours. Where is Captain Wendy 'Go' Washkin?”

“T-tip..er..top of the hill. I-in the big manor house...Please mam I an’t done nothing.” That last part came out quickly and with more than a hint of desperation.

You respond before thinking, “Answer my questions and I’ll let you go.” The lie burns on your tongue.

“Ok, ok, right, ok, anything, ask anything.”

“Where exactly is ‘the big manor house’? Give me directions.” you ask, slowly and deliberately.

“Ok, er, go down to docks over yonder there. Half mile up the road from it you’ll find the town mam. Follow the road through it n y’ll see it on an ‘ill at the back, onist!”

You consider this for the moment, it would match what you know about her. She would want to do business, either the criminal kind or on her back, in a place of power. A rich man’s old mansion would be a natural first choice. This is proving to be quite educational.

With your main question out the way you move on to a more strategic line of questioning. “What crew are you from?” you ask, reasoning that it would be good to know when you take his uniform.

“Not Wendigo’s that’s for sure. Got nothin to do with er.” You twist the point of the dagger ever so slightly. “C-Captain Roland! Ee’s my crew, er captain; ee’s where I’m from,” he trails off pathetically.

Captain Roland is it? You know that despite Captain Washkin’s 26 ships she only has 19 subordinate captains’, some of whom have authority over more than one ship at a time. Due to the unstable nature of pirate ‘society’ they can often change rather quickly, so you lack a complete picture of the current hierarchy. Captain Roland you’ve heard of, however, if only in passing. He’s a reasonably skilled captain, but quick to anger and a poor long term strategist. As ruthless and cruel as any other pirate though. One part doesn’t ring true, however, so you put the question to him.

“Captain Roland’s colours are purple and green. Care to tell me why yours aren’t?” You already know the answer but you ask to give yourself time to phrase the next question.

“Yes! Yes, er, I can tell you that,” he immediately chirps, shifting from side to side. “It’s because ee, that is the captain, was bein unted by some northern prince or some such. Bounty out on green and purps. So ee changes is colours an we’re all good see?”

Still with your dagger over his heart, you look down the beach. There’s no one there yet, but this is taking too long for your liking, and too exposed. You only have a few more questions and that last response gave you time to think of them, but you consider him for a moment. He may look thin, but he has an air of elastic speed about him and his height will give him an advantage if you come to blows. Your cheeks involuntarily redden when you notice how close his bare behind is to you. His right cheek seems to sport some kind of tattoo that’s too difficult to make out in the low light.

“Can I finish mi pissin mam?” he says, snapping you back to attention. You pause, unsure how to proceed.

“If you must.”

He resumes his urination into the ocean with a sigh of relief. As the sound of liquid on liquid once again fills the night, you sense something is off. While it could be in inherent strangeness of telling a half-naked man by knife point when he can and can’t pee (a personal first for you), it could be something else. Something you can’t put your finger on.

While you still have some final questions about the manors defences and the two captains, you also must admit that this is as good a opportunity as any to end this man. You look at the thin yellow and red jacket and slowly angle your blade for a powerful thrust, deciding to…