Anaphe
The Season of Heat
Fanán the 30; 2421

Although the holiday wasn't for another two days, the tavern teemed with sailors – both navy and merchant – eager to get a head start on the celebrations. When it came to Ranael, sailors never failed to draw out the festivities. On that particular eve Windjammer's crew had extra incentive to celebrate: it was the anniversary of their First Officer's birth.

Jack spent the better part of the evening knocking back drinks he hadn't paid for and fielding the well-wishes of all and sundry. He set up camp with a few of his crew in the corner of the tavern, a pleasant buzz warming his limbs and blurring the edges of his thoughts. All in all, it wasn't the worst way to celebrate one's birth.

"Happy day!" The words came in a clipped Ithakan accent as Niko approached the table.

Jack raised his mug at the offered toast. "Thanks, mate."

Niko dropped into the seat next to him. "Is this really your day, then?"

"You ask me that every year."

"And you always reply as though it's hard to understand why I might think a man who goes by a false name might use a false day," Niko pointed out.

"I'm not one for self-celebration, but it would dishonor my mother to let the day go unmarked."

"But letting us call you 'Jack' doesn't?"

"No," he said, staring into his drink. "That'd be a mark against my father instead."

"A mark against your father." Niko repeated, making a face. "It's nigh on impossible to get anything out of you, you know. I'm sure we're only getting this much because you've been tucking away pints since mid-afternoon."

"The tale isn't worth telling. That part of my life is done with; does it matter what I was called as a boy?" he asked, swirling the liquid around in his mug.

"It's a matter of blood," Niko insisted. "Was your Da such a wretch that you can't even name him, not even to call him a bastard, if that's what he rightly deserves?"

"Blood," he mused, "yes: and you'd think differently of me if you knew what ran in my veins."

"Right." Niko rolled his eyes. "Half of us come from scoundrels; s'why we took to the sea in the first place. What, was your Da a criminal? A turncoat? Did he hit your Ma? Looking at you I know you've got no Dramorian in you. What else is there to be ashamed of?"

He pressed his lips together. Niko's offer was tempting. He grew tired of the alias, the assumed identity, the self-censorship that came with acting as though he had sprung fully-formed from the sea the day he joined Windjammer's crew. It would be a great relief to finally confide in his men; they were his chosen family, and the strain of a constructed past weighed upon him. Yet however much he longed to speak the truth, so many years of falsehood were hard to undo.

Knowing his true name would irrevocably change the way his men saw him. Perhaps those little changes wouldn't matter. Then again, perhaps they would, and the dynamic on board Windjammer would turn for the worst. He couldn't claim, after all, that he was proud of the circumstances that had led him to the isles those long years ago.

Niko continued to stare at him, expectant, hoping for the long-awaited story to fall from his lips. Someday, he knew, one of the lads would ask and it would all tumble out. He was saved the trouble of deflecting Niko's curiosity by the approach of an Anaphean sailor, who slid into a chair across from them.

He'd tell them one day. Not today.

The sailor was a new acquaintance of theirs, made in the lull that the change of season provided. "Rumor has it we've another reason to celebrate this evening. How many years have you, lad?"

"More than you, I imagine," Jack said, a hint of a smile playing about his lips. He had long since stopped reacting when his peers referred to him in the diminutive.

"No way you're a day over thirty."

Niko laughed into his mug. "This one's older than he seems, mate. Forty-four today."

The sailor gaped. "You mean to tell me you've got me by a year and a season—" He broke off, eyes dropping to the talisman half-hidden within Jack's open collar. "Shoulda known, with you being a Northerner and all. Not too many talents like yours in this province, to be sure. Well, a day's a day – what's your poison?"

"Another pint for me."

The sailor stood, muttering about Northern blood all the way back to the bar. Niko watched his progress for a moment before turning back Jack's way. "What, no rum?" he asked.

"With all the celebration coming up, it wouldn't do to get too deep in my cups our first night out. Besides, I have a feeling something's going to come up tomorrow."

"Think we'll be seeing some action soon? We could use the money."

"Let's hope. Between the advent of the Season of Storms and the reports of pirate vessels, we'll be lucky if anyone wants to travel the isles before Erád."

"We have to get out of Anaphe," Niko groused. "The Dramorian leftovers here give me the shivers."

"If it comes to that, I'm sure Callum would prefer we wintered over in Kilcoran."

"And have nary a Royal to spend during the holidays."

"I rather think that if the situation in the isles becomes that dire, it'll be the navy buying our commission again to help battle the pirates or the creatures – or both."

"And wouldn't that be something? We could use another few prizes before the year's end," Niko said, eyes lighting up at the idea.

Jack's mouth twisted at the thought of accepting another commission like their most recent one. "It would be something, alright."

"Oh come on, Jack – how long have you been signed on as Windjammer's Mate?"

"I'm a sailor, not a soldier."

Niko rolled his eyes. "Yeh, a mercenary sailor—"

"And one on a vessel that's more often used as transport or as an escort than not. I take no thrills from battle. You know that."

"Jack—" Niko's exasperation faded, brows rising as he fixed upon something over Jack's shoulder.

Jack turned to see Callum pushing his way through the crowded tavern, a rolled up sheaf of paper in one hand and a worried set to his brow. They met eyes from several paces away. As soon as he and Niko sat within earshot, Callum called,

"You in your cups, lad?"

"I've had a few," he hedged as Callum dropped into the lone unoccupied chair. "What's happened?"

"We might have a commission – some high ranking military commander or another wants to take a turn through the isles."

"Who?"

Callum shrugged. "Someone important – he's taking a page from your book and traveling without a name."

"Is that what has you worried?"

"It's not that, lad; the terms of the commission are fairly typical, after all." He tapped the rolled up sheaf against the table. "It's just that the man is of no mean rank, I'd wager, because the coin he's offering is generous. We need this."

"We'll pass muster," he replied. "We always do."

"He wants to meet with us and inspect Windjammer midmorning tomorrow, lads."

Niko nearly choked on his rum. "Cap, that's—"

"Not twelve hours from now." Callum threw up his hands. "It's the damn holiday — I don't even know where half of you lot are!"

Jack let out a snort of laughter. "I'll sort the crew, though I wager it's a bit late to prevent any of us from waking with bottle ache."

"And the vessel?"

"I'll rise early and see to her myself. We can let the crew have a lie-in, so long as they're presentable when our patron comes aboard."

Callum relaxed back into his chair, frame deflating with relief. "Alright. Yes, Jack – that'll be just the thing. Surely the man will make some allowances for the holiday. Sorry for cutting the celebration of your day so short."

Jack shook his head. "Not at all, Cap." He meant it. He had told Niko that he had a feeling something was going to come up, but he hadn't let on that he'd been filled with that same sense of uneasy anticipation ever since he'd set sight on Anaphe's walls days prior. Whoever their patron was, he was bringing them something worthwhile. If that meant turning in early to ensure that Windjammer was in showing shape, then so be it.

As if on cue, the Anaphean sailor returned with Jack's promised pint. At Callum's narrow-eyed look, he put on a winning smile. "My last one, Cap – then I'll try to hustle the men back to the slip and let them continue their revelry there."

"Thank you, lad. Now for spoiling for your fun, the least I can do is raise a glass in your name. Happy day."

"To winning this commission, and a successful tour around the isles," Jack added, clanking their mugs together. He already looked forward to what the next day would bring.

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