A brisk breeze blew landward under a crisp blue cloudless sky. The sea was choppy, but without any significant swells, all in all, an excellent day for sailing. The Crimson Rose was a beautiful sight, ten miles off-shore heading to the port of Minga, sails full, cutting through the sea at a jaunty angle with the bow-spray flying in the wind.

High atop the mainsail, Salto, acting as lookout, was shouting directions to the helm, confidently manned by his brother Trey, while Willum and his first mate, Wilbur, looked on, their faces reflecting the joy of riding the wind.

Orange Willum Crookfang had taken advantage of the trip to Minga to further the sailing education of the Scratchbacks which Wilbur had begun on Xenoth. Even Gella, who originally had no great interest, became not only proficient at the intricacies of sailing, but enthusiastic as well. Most of the rest of Willum's crew of castaways were mariners already and navigated the nettings, ropes, masts, and sails with the fervor of a lover who had been re-united with the object of his affection after a long absence. Even the great snow-bear, Ursamus, had developed a fondness for the open main, his generally dour and sanguine mood lifted by the sheer glory of the sea.

When the Rose was within a mile of shore, her sails were lowered and she nestled into a comfortable anchorage. The presence of the Brotherhood was overwhelming. Six fully manned ships, scarlet sails furled, stood sentry in a broad arc around the port. Further out than the Rose, their message was a clear warning to any group of ships wishing to leave port to oppose Azmeritus. Willum noted that any ship even vaguely capable of battle was boarded by the Scarlet Brothers and thoroughly inspected before being allowed to continue its course out into the main. The pirate captain allowed Wilbur to see to all the details of making the Rose secure. He had full confidence in the young mole's ability as both a sailor and as an officer. Willum took the time to scan the harbor with his spyglass, checking every ship, boat, and barge.

When all the necessary tasks aboard ship were performed, a fine celebratory meal was prepared by the ship's cooks. The crew ate above decks, while Willum, Wilbur, the Scratchbacks, and Ursamus took their feast in the captain's cabin around the fine large mahogany table which had been set up with crisp linens, crystal goblets, and bone handled cutlery.

Willum sat at the head of the table and after everyone was seated, he stood and poured some fine Michilmakinakian wine which the Scratchbacks had scavenged on Xenoth. The cabin boy, a young human from Port Saud, served the fine spread of nut-crusted lightfish, tuber stew, and shrimp marinated in lemon and rum. The meal was delicious and ample.
After the dishes were cleared and a rich after-dinner deep red port was served, Willum sat back in his chair and addressed his friends.

"A fine meal, now we needs to figger out what we're a gonna do. By the looks of this here harbor, them red devils got it right bottled up. What I means ta do is ta go ashore and gather together some crews of me old scoundrels... I still got some sway in Minga, many's the beast what served with me in bygone days and got no love for the Brotherhood."

"Then what?" Salto asked.

"Then," Orange Willum broke into a broad smile, "we man our ships and send those scurvy villains to the bottom of the sea. After that we takes our ships and pay a visit to old Azmeritus and end 'im once and for all."

The table went quiet for a while as everyone considered what Willum said. Wilbur spoke for the group.
"We're all with you, captain. Just tell us what you need us to do."

"Aye, there's the rub. No offence to any of ya fine beasts, but when I go ashore to try and corral those corsairs, I need ta look like I got me a mean fightin' crew...gotta look the part and all. Yer not the scariest o' beast's," he nodded at Ursamus, " 'ceptin' you, Snowflake, you'd scare the devil 'imself. We got ta make the rest of yas look more like pirates and less like...well, the way ya look."

Gella piped up.
"We can look like the meanest of the mean. We did it before... in World's End. You remember, don't you Wilbur?"

Wilbur grinned and reassured Willum.
"Dey did, cap'n. Dey looked like grizzled sea-dogs, mean...tattooed, the whole bit. We've got plenty of silks and pirate garb aboard. You wait and see."

Willum clapped Wilbur firmly on the back.
"Well then, mister Wilbur, see to it. I'll inspect yer troops afore we go ashore tonight. Mean and tough, mister Wilbur, mean and tough...that's what we're a lookin' fer. I'm gonna take me a nap now ta keep me beauty. I'll see's ya all by the landin' boats at seven bells."

"Aye, aye, sir, we'll be ready!"

As the seventh bell tolled, a motley crew assembled by the landing boats. As in World's End, Gella had proven masterful in applying her faux tattoos. Salto was almost completely covered in representations of skulls, skeletons, and swords of every variety.

The twins, Trey and Cat, chose the sailing theme, selecting impressive brigantines to decorate their chests. Gella, restricted in her choices of location since she needed to draw the tattoos on herself, chose an intricate spider-web pattern for her arms and legs.

Wilbur proved difficult. His fur was coal black and he didn't want to shave it off. Forgoing the tattoo, he had Gella use a rubber cement to build a series of gruesome scars across his face and arms. He topped the disguise off with an eye-patch, above and below which a scar extended giving the impression of a horrendous sword strike which had taken out his eye.

Ursamus was Gella's masterpiece. On a sheet of parchment, he drew some swirling and crossing patterns which he had seen as a youth on the bodies of the primitive tribes of the far north-east. Gella covered his face and chest with the geometric decoration. The result was both beautiful and terrifying, giving the already impressive bear the appearance of an exotic and fearless aboriginal warrior.

As far as their clothing was concerned, the little band had an expansive array of trunks filled with frocks, silks, hats, boots, and belts at their disposal. The Scratchbacks chose the traditional corsair look, fitted frock-coats over loose silk blouses, shorts loose pants, sea-boots, and a broad belt, all topped off by black bandannas wrapped tightly about their heads.  

Wilbur chose a more flamboyant look. He selected a loose red silk blouse with broad sleeves covered with a gold embroidered vest, criss-crossed with two bandoliers. His pants were green velvet, tucked tightly into knee high riding-boots and held up by a metallic, linked belt with a skull-shaped buckle. It took him a fair while to select the perfect hat, finally settling on a dapper slightly floppy tri-corner which was topped with an ostrich plume.   

Ursamus was the most simply clad, choosing to wear only a broad vest and belt. The entire landing party was armed to the teeth, with swords, dirks, and daggers tucked in every belt and boot.

When Willum arrived, he could not keep himself from smiling in admiration at the transformation which had taken place.

"Now there be as scurvy a crew as ever sailed the seas. It'd be a foolish beast what didn't think twice afore crossing swords with you lot. Well done mateys, now let's see about getting some help ta give these scarlet devils the what for!"

They all climbed aboard the small landing craft and manned the oars. Before they got underway Willum informed them of a new piece of information.

"There's a new wrinkle in our plan, mates. I spotted the Windspirit tied up dockside at the harbor."

"Isn't that the ship the Deev are on?" Wilbur asked in shock.

"Aye, 'tis."

"What's that mean for us?" Salto asked.

"Can't say fer sure. They be vile demons, sure enough, but I'll wager they ain't on the best of terms with the Brotherhood. They can't much like playin' second fiddle to old Azmeritus. We might be able ta use 'em somehow. Just be real careful-like if'n ya sees 'em and don't let on what we're doin' until we knows where they stand. Best to avoid 'em if ya can."

He looked each of his friends in the eye before continuing.
"Once we gets ashore, stick by me like a barnacle. Let me do all the talkin' and take all yer cues from me. If'n someone chats ya up and ya's got to answer, be as vague as ya can without soundin' like a fool. If'n someone presses ya for information, say that old Cap'n Crookfang'd 'ave yer hide if'n ya answered, then send the bloke ta me. Everybody clear?"     
"The small crew nodded decisively, Willum smiled, "Good, now lets go play at bein' sea-scum!"

The landing party rowed its dory to the center dock of the long jetty which extended seaward at the far northern point of the city harbor. The main avenue along the harbor was called The Sailor's Walk. It was lined with gaslights which were being lit as the Rose's crew debarked. Willum took the lead. He wore a broad grin and had a confident swagger in his step, happy and comfortable at once more walking the streets of the pirate city. He pointed to the far side of the oceanfront street.

"If'n I recollect proper...and I do...there be a nasty pub with vile grog down that ways. It be called The Demon's Breath and a fouler establishment has yet ta be built. Any corsair worth his salt ends up there if'n he makes it to shore. That's where we'll be headed."

"Sounds delightful," Gella said.

"It 'tis me darlin', lovely as a villain's guts. I been missin' that old dive," Willum said cheerfully, "now foller me, act tough and mind what ya say."

They swaggered down the bustling thoroughfare drawing no more attention than any other band of the ever-present pirates. Local residents and merchants averted their eyes, a habit acquired over years of living amongst the sometimes touchy and always aggressive corsairs. Some of the pirates, however, did glance at Willum and his beasts, not out of suspicion, but for the simple reason that Orange Willum Crookfang was a legend among the brethren. It might also have been for the enormous and frightening snow-bear who walked at his side.

As they walked toward the far end of the street, bands of privateers walked and staggered about, seeking liquor, women, and ornaments for their bodies. Fights broke out at the slightest indiscretion. During their brief jaunt to The Demon's Breath, the clanging of blades in back alleys could be heard, accompanied by grunts of pain as a duelist found his mark.

Willum stopped under the swinging sign outside the pub. The placard which hung above the door depicted a hideous creature exhaling a swirling cloud of smoke. Below the monstrous visage, The Demon's Breath was written in blood-red paint. Willum took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, stood tall and grinned. He threw the doors open and plowed in, followed by the beast's of the Crimson Rose.

The interior of the establishment was spacious, with a two-story ceiling. Two sets of stairs ran up the sides of the bar to a second story walkway protected by banisters, on which a variety of beasts and men leaned, laughed, and drank from foam-topped tankards of ale. The walkway encircled the main room of The Demon's Breath and provided access to dozens of rooms for travelers, drunks, and for the endeavors of women of questionable moral employment.

The main floor was bustling. Dozens of tables were filled with every manner of beast, drinking, eating, and listening to the sounds of jigs being played on a small stage by a group of tone-deaf musicians. The room smelled of stale beer and sawdust, which covered the floor an inch thick.

Willum led his friends to a large oval table close to the bar and yelled out an order for ale. The slovenly barkeeper, a hunched sable with bad teeth, looked toward the table and threw up his arms. A wide gap-toothed grin broke out on his face and he bellowed happily.

"As I live'n breath, if'n it ain't da great Cap'n Crookfang! I coulda sworn ya was dead, ya son o' the devil. I reckon ya musta got thrown outta hell," he jumped the bar with an agility that seemed amazing for his enormous bulk and grabbed Willum's paw, pumping it furiously, "it sure is good ta see ya, cap'n. You be the last o' the true pirates, these sorry beasts what claim ta be brethren these days is just piss-poor wannabes. I surely have missed yer ugly mug!"

Willum stood up and gave the grimy sable a hearty hug. He stepped back and introduced him to the table.
"This sorry beast be the finest cook what ever sailed the main. 'Is mama named 'im Burgle Tootspin, but us seadogs always called 'im 'King Cookie', 'cause 'e truly was king o' da cooks."

Burgle smiled shyly.
"Aye, I still am the best chef what ever sailed the seas, though I pitch more brew'n chow now. Dem days aboard Cap'n Willum's fine ship The Dark Devil, was da happiest of me life," he paused and continued in a somber tone, " 'twas only by the grace of Targas that I weren't aboard 'er when that scum Azmeritus burnt her and all aboard. I still mourn that day, cap'n and mourn yer brother and me friends while I curse that evil colorless priest ta hell."

"Aye, Cookie. That's part of the reason I'm back. Can ye tell me if the brethren captains still meets regular-like, they way they used ta?" Willum asked.

"Not so much anymore, cap'n, but they all comes in here sooner or later. If'n ya want, I can arrange for a meet atwixt you and the others. I reckon I can talk ta every one in the next coupla days."

"That'd be great, Cookie, I'd be a owin' ya."

"Think nuthin' of it Cap'n. What ship are ya ridin'?"

"The Crimson Rose. She's sittin' in the harbor."

"Bloody Bogs old ship? He ain't with ya, is 'e?"

Willum laughed.
"Not to worry, that scum is good and dead, feedin' the crabs I 'ope. Just me...," he motioned to his friends, "and me hand-picked crew."

Burgle looked at everyone sitting at the table carefully, the broke into a broad smile.
"This be exactly what I was sayin'. You picked yerself some real dangerous beasts, not what passes fer pirates these days." He addressed the friends, "Welcome brethren! I'll sent yahs all some of me finest ale, no charge and I'll see to arrangin' that meetin' fer yer cap'n!"

Willum sat down.
"That'll be just fine mate. It's a great thing to be seein' ya after all this time!"

Burgle returned to the bar to pour the drinks. Willum turned to Wilbur and the rest, "A good-hearted beast that one is and a fine cook." The cat chuckled, "Seems ta think yer all fine cuts o' privateers. Good job, one and all. Now that my work be done fer the time bein', I vote we listen ta some tunes and drink us some of Burgle's fine ale."

"We all second your vote!" Salto offered loudly.

The next week in port was pleasant and uneventful. Sails were patched, barnacles scraped, and fresh paint applied. It was with great pleasure that Ursamus returned back onboard the Crimson Rose after a bartering trip. He had traded a variety of surplus items taken from Xenoth for two hundred gallons of paint. The reason for his excitement was that the paint colors were a brilliant orange and a deep rose-red. Willum, upon seeing the colors gave the great bear a mighty hug and giggled like an young child. Soon the hulls were being re-painted in Willum's signature orange, while all the structures above the deck, including the rails, masts, booms, bowsprits, capstans, bulwarks, and cabins, were painted the maroon-tinged red.

Willum felt somewhat guilty in his joy, knowing the ship belonged to the Scratchback's and that he was only serving as ship's master. Salto wouldn't allow any regret on the Captain's part. He loved the distinctive color-scheme and everyone loved having Willum as their captain. It was even suggested by the Scratchbacks that Willum rename the Rose after the small catboat, the Vengeance, on which he had first traveled to Xenoth. The sentimental cat would hear nothing of it, noting that the ship had served them well with her original name and pointing out that with her red top and orange hull, she resembled the flower after which she was named. The Crimson Rose retained her name.

During their second week at anchor, Burgle Tootspin rowed to the Rose. Willum quickly sent Wilbur below decks. While the Scratchbacks and Ursamus had continued to sport Gella's faux tattoos, the young mole had found the rubber scars uncomfortable and difficult to work in and removed them after he returned to the ship. Willum didn't want to explain Wilbur's changed appearance to Burgle and making him scarce seemed the best strategy. The barkeep/cook struggled up the netting and made his way to the helm where Willum stood waiting. The pirate captain greeted him cheerfully.

"Welcome aboard, Cookie," he swept his arm in a wide arc, "what do ya think of me Rose? We just finished polishin' 'er up a bit."

The sable laughed.
"And fine she looks too! The colorin' is a sight to see from ashore. There ain't no doubt that this be Orange Willum's ship, that's fer sure!"

"That's kind of ya Cookie. I take it ya got some news fer me?"

"I do indeed, I do indeed. There be five brethren captains wishin' ta meet with ya at yer convenience."

"Who might they be?"

"There's the fox, Redbush, 'e's the only cove from the old days, 'ceptin' you of course."

"I know Redbush...crooked as a dead worm, but a fine captain. Who else?"

Burgle paused in thought, then answered.
"Well, there's cap'ns Hogbrow and Tonguescab, they be weasels what mainly smuggle, not real fighters as such....and then there be this big rat, a nutria methinks...he be called Yellowtooth, seems a real corsair ta me...and the meanest of the bunch is a human bloke named Greensap, a good captain, but not well-liked, what with bein' human and all."

"I got no quarrel with man," Willum said, "a brethren is a brethren, we all got the sea as our mother. When do we meet?"

Burgle put his arm on Willum's shoulder.
"Tonight. Eight bells. I got a back room at The Demon's Breath all set up for ya's. Rules are as such, ye can all bring one crew-beast with ye, but no more, weapons to be left at my bar, all decisions to be made by fair vote with tied votes to count as a nay. Be that all right for ye Captain?"

Willum smiled.
"That suits me just fine. I'll be at yer fine dive at eight bells," he shook the sable's paw and began to laugh, "I'll be givin' ya a coupla beasts ta row ya back. It hurts me ta see ya rowin' out here like a seal havin' seizures. Ya needs ta stick to cookin' and servin' swill. We each got our own talents."