…go into the adjacent room and listen for a better opportunity.

You have always been of a mind that more knowledge is always better than less. Haste is a good ingredient for failure but a poor one for success and the stakes are too high for a cavalier approach. Giving the double doors a reproachful look, you move to the door next to you and press your ear against the wood. Hearing nothing but the continued muffled conversation of the two captains, you quickly give the corridor another look before you quietly push the latch open, swing the blessedly well oiled door wide enough, and sneaking through into darkness.

The room, like many in the mansion, is a mix of old and new. Fine furniture is covered with dustsheets, a tall window and ornate coving clash with bare floorboards, peeling paint covers walls and crates both full and broken cover it up. Said crates all seem smaller than those downstairs, in the foyer and the room next to it, likely limited by the hassle of bringing them up, and you wonder what kind of things they contain to warrant their segregation. You quickly wince at the idea of prying squealing nails out of the wood just to satisfy your curiosity. What little illumination there is comes from the moonlight steaming in through the single window lining the far side. While tall and somewhat wide, it sits in a relatively small alcove that limits the light it provides and gives the room a narrower feeling than it deserves.

Satisfied that you are very much alone, you sneak towards the window and look out, finding that it leads onto a small balcony of sorts, though not one meant for human use. Indeed the window doesn’t even look like it’s been opened for years. Past the balcony is quite a drop; while most rooms upstairs seem fairly squat, the drop highlights how high the ceilings downstairs are by comparison. You could smash the window and climb out at a pinch, but jumping or just dropping would surely do you an injury: an escape fit only for the direst of situations, but you file it away in the back of your mind regardless. You can see the room to the right just out the window, jutting out further than the one you are in, though not by much, showing a scant corner you can’t see past. The alcove the window sits in seems to be made by smaller rooms on either side of it, accessible only to the rooms neighbouring the one you are in. You consider their purpose; Walk in wardrobes perhaps? Or an en suite bathroom? Only smooth wall responds to your pondering.

Drawn to the sound of voices emanating through the far right wall, you walk towards it, careful of any squeaky floorboards along the way. In the dark inner corner of the room, hidden from the moonlight and sheltered between some crates, you press your ear up against the plaster.

“Gods!”

You almost jump at the male voice of Captain Roland so close to you. He must be just on the other side of the wall. It’s followed by the eager voice of Captain Wendigo.

“I also have reliable sources that tell me the Grand Princes favoured niece will be finishing her Coronac visit at that time, so odds are good she will be on that ship as well. The random alone could match everything else on board!”

That must be quite a bold plan they’re working on if they’re talking about **** the infamous Lady Preda Pravean. Last you heard, the precocious teen was visiting some of the new cities of the far settlements, much to the chagrin of her over anxious but no doubt vast retinue. An impressed whistle comes from the man, sounding strange through the wall.

There’s a moments quite consideration before you hear him continue, “So it’s well worth it. We take out five ships with our three and someone else intercepts the cargo ships?” He sounds slightly sceptical, not about the three verses five odds but about the prospect of someone else getting the prize.

In the quick tone of an eager salesman, Captain Wendigo responds, “No. Here I’ll show you.” Her words are followed by the sound of footsteps and a door closing, the conversation shifting to the outer room and you moving your pressed ear to accommodate. You feel flushed with a guilty feeling of relief; if you had moved into that room then one way or another, this would all be over.

“My ships will be here, here, and here. When the others have fled, they sail around to these three locations, blocking all escape but here.” She must be pointing to some unseen map. Hopefully your actions tonight will prevent the plan from coming to fruition but you still wish you could see what they’re talking about.

Whatever she pointed to, Captain Roland disagrees, “But that’s the perfect escape! They’ll get away!”

An overly patient response greets him, “No because they will go right over the shallows, grounding them. That’s the trick. I don’t know how it works, it’s some trick of the light, but I’ve seen it myself. The water looks deep and safe but no ship can sail it safely.”

A pause is followed by an exasperated words and likely by hands raised in disbelief. “Then that means we can’t get to them!”

You roll your eyes at this; evidently, Captain Roland has no head for logically thinking around situations. You’re no sailor, but even you have heard of rowboats. As if hearing your thoughts, Captain Washkin responds with more patience than you would have.

“We can in rowboats: Overwhelming ****, kill the crew, do some back and forth trips to our ships for the loot. This is what we need your experienced boarders and breakers for; to lead the attack. The cargo ships can’t move, but turn into sea fortresses. No tactics possible, just overwhelming ****.” She stops for a brief moment before continuing with only the slightest hint of mockery, “That is what you do best, right?”

In the long pause of consideration that follows, you notice a flickering light from further up the wall, emanating from the back of one of the smaller boxes. You silently move over to the source, half expecting it to be coming from a crack in one of the crates, spilling the light of some glowing mystery into the room, but on inspection, the flickering yellow light, no more than a pin prick, comes from a crack in the wall bordering the inner room they were in previously. You start to quietly slide the box away to reveal more of the hole, listening all the while.

“I can see why you need me an mine,” he gives an ominous pause before continuing, “but I could use some convincing.”

He sounds like a man who’s already convinced but wants to squeeze some last advantage out of the situation, and the way he says ‘convincing’ tells you he knows what form he wants that to take.

You look through the hole, seeing a small amount of the room beyond; it’s a bedroom of some kind. You quietly pick at the hole, widening it ever so slightly. Even with the scratching and the distance, you still hear her sly response, words quiet and lavish. “Like last time?”

You stop scratching the moment you hear them open the inner door. Looking through, you can see that it’s definitely a bedroom, with wardrobes, dirty clothes on the floor, and a large four post bed that dominates the back wall. They both walk in to the holes frame with confidence, Captain Washkin first. She’s taller than him. A regal looking figure wearing a long red jacket, white frilled shirt, and tight brown trousers with long but hardy black leather boots. It’s all tailored to emphasise her curvaceous form; wide hips, thick thighs and large chest. She has long blond hair, only down to her jaw at the front but with a ponytail that reaches down her spine at the back.

Captain Roland is quite ugly by comparison. While he has a stocky strength about him and a look of faded handsomeness, it’s marred by a large scar at his temple that gives his face a lopsided appearance, and an aged quality that may be more to do with hardships than years. He’s wearing his usual Red and yellow colours in the form of a vile looking sleeveless jacket, coloured in downward pointing arrows along its back like some poisonous snake.

You watch as he briefly stops to pickup a mug of something, downing its contents before Captain Washkin grabs him by the collar and leads him to the bed.

“You just lie down and I’ll show you why I’m right.” She gently pushes him back onto the soft looking mattress while undoing her belt and throwing the leather, and its attached sheathed sword, onto a loose pile of unfolded clothes. She leans over him and you hear her continue. “Mmmm, this is always the best bit of our little talks,” speaking in a voice that’s so smooth and full of desire that you can’t tell if it’s real or fake.

Your face reddens at the thought of what you might see. Here you are, looking at them both through a hole in the wall like some peeping pervert as they’re about to get intimate! You give a silent despairing raze of your eyebrows; going in and killing them could actually be the more polite thing to do. The world has an odd rhythm to it sometimes.

She stands back and you see with further embarrassment that his trousers are down, revealing his hard looking male member that sits flat and raised against his hips, glistening wetly. She turns her back to him, facing your peep hole, and starts to slowly lower her trousers, revealing her rear to him in a gymnastically unnecessary bend of her hips, before straightening and showing the front of her hips to you. You’re about to look away when you see that something’s not right. It’s hard to tell in the flickering light, but it looks like she had removed the hairs around her womanhood. Why would a person do that? It seems so…unnecessary.

She keeps her trousers lowered at about mid-thigh, their tight fit holding her thick legs in a delicate spilling squeeze, before backing up to him slowly. His legs hang off the bed, his hips rest at the edge, and he lifts his member up as she moves between his legs. With a teasing glance back at him, she sits on it in one fluid motion, impaling herself on his manhood and giving a loud noise of pleasure.

“Ahhhh! Ohhhh. It’s so, mmmm, big...” With the good look at her face, turned from Roland, you can see that her expression remains flat despite her words.

You draw away from the hole, ashamed you looked for as long as you did. As you hear the faint sound of creaking bedsprings, an overwhelming desire to let your presence be known wells up inside you. It would only be the polite and responsible thing to do, but such habits are as fatal now as they are hard to break. You take a breath and try not hear their...noises. As informative as their conversation has been, it looks like the time for talking is over and the time to consider your next move has arrived. They’re more than distracted enough to fight, and disarmed to boot; now may be the best time to strike. You can’t just sit here all night, you’ll have to act at some point. You remember the merchants and the professional servant waiting below; she has other appointments after this and they may take her out of easy reach. You remember the how the last opportunity would have ended, but how many more are you going to get?

On the other hand, you never expected a peep hole. Avoiding the moral problems of spying on them, it’s a powerful tool to wait for the truly perfect opportunity to strike, if such a time can exist. A pirate captain like Captain Roland is a dangerous opponent, even unarmed, while some of her other appointments would no doubt be easier bystanders to deal, though, it’s unlikely she would great them with the same...openness. You’re just not sure. You shake your head. It’s time to get sure. It’s time to decide. After a moment’s thought,