ater that night, the unnamed galleon limped into the decaying harbour of Domlusa. Hartwell had paced the vessel several times during the journey, downing glass after glass of absinthe and checking for any sign that the hull was about to give way. It was a relief to reach dry land.

   The relief was short lived. The harbour was a small, crumbling stone basin with no evidence of any maintenance work being done on the many cracked, slipping and missing stones. A series of long wooden jetties reached out from the basin and into the sea. All were greasy, filthy and broken, hence the better jetties were already taken up by other ships, forcing the galleon to use a jetty so badly damaged it had several missing sections along its entire length, while one corner facing the sea had collapsed and hung down at a drunken angle.

   Dotted around the harbour were several piles of timber, barrels, old rope, old sails, oars, the rotten hulks of rowing boats, broken swords and cutlasses and even crates of old pirate plunder. All had been left to rot and were covered in filth and neglect. Any conscientious harbour master, on seeing the rotten wood and rusted iron, would have put a match to the place. In short, the harbour seemed to match the condition of the ship perfectly, yet Hartwell found himself glancing back at the galleon as though reluctant to leave.

   The town above the harbour, picked out by the moonlight and the flickering oil lamps in the windows of the many pubs and brothels, seemed to be in an even worse state. There was a sense of dilapidation and desperation everywhere. There was no drunken carousing, no drinking songs, just the sounds of men trying to find oblivion through drink or violence.

   "I think some should remain with the ship in case we need to make a quick escape," observed Hartwell. "Any volunteers?"

   "Aye," rumbled most of Madrigal's crew. Lazlo Nani, who Hartwell suspected of being a straightforward replacement of the loathsome Lieutenant Fleetwood, led them. Just as he got rid of one self-serving agitator, another one crawled out of the woodwork.

   "O'Rourke, you stay here and see if any of the lumber is worth salvaging," said Hartwell. "Tench, Sporrit, you stay with him and have a look through that abandoned plunder in case anything useful has been missed. As no one else wants it, I feel we are justified in taking anything helpful."

   "Aye, sir," said the three men immediately.

   "And please look after the powder monkeys and see no harm comes to them," added Hartwell as the small group began the walk into the town. Behind them, Nani's lips twisted in hatred at Hartwell's assumption of command.