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♪ I know you think you're such an outlawBut you got no job, you ain't nothin' but a lost cause ♪{Billie Eilish—Lost cause}

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♪ I know you think you're such an outlaw
But you got no job, you ain't nothin' but a lost cause ♪
{Billie Eilish—Lost cause}

As he wrote—in a wobbly hand, with looping letters and ink blots forming where he'd held the quill a bit too tightly—the captain explained how he and his crew were mostly French nobles who'd defected from the country after nobility was banned, or noble servants who'd declined to live under a new regime. Amongst them, there were low-born folk, carpenters and merchants, aristocrats with a taste for the sea. There were some from other countries in his company—many who'd migrated to France before the ban—and even, to Cordelia's astonishment, a few women.

"We have a small fleet of ships we use to attack others," he explained, as a fair-skinned young man delivered a platter of dried food and a purple-looking wine. "But we requisition many others and either take them apart for parts, or stash them in caves along the African borders."

"It explains... so much," said Cordelia, exchanging a glance with Helen. They'd been offered refreshment, and had even been given dresses to change into—silky cloth items stolen from another boat on a prior adventure. Luxurious fabrics that Cordelia hadn't realized she'd missed.

But she wrinkled her nose at the dresses—they were stolen. Helen didn't hesitate to immediately go to another area and change into something dry and not smelling like blood and vomit. Cordelia eventually relented and changed as well, and didn't regret the soft fabric caressing her chafed palms and soothing her hardened skin.

When she returned to the cabin, the captain was explaining his nickname of The Baron. "I was a Baron, in my time," he said, twirling a strand of his charcoal-colored hair around his finger. "My heritage is uncertain, but I received the lineage through my mother, despite being a bastard son. My father died, and I accepted the title with no contest. But then nobility was outlawed, and Napoléon came striding in on his high horse, and I... took to the seas."

Cordelia understood now the eloquence of this man's speech, of all those he employed. She'd heard a few with choppy language or not speaking much English at all, while she was wandering the deck seeking somewhere to switch her clothing. But for the most part, the men on this ship spoke similarly to how she did, albeit with accents from all over the world.

These men were indeed pirates, but not the violent, bloodthirsty, treasure-hunting ones she'd read about in her books. No, these were disgruntled men who'd refused to give back what was theirs, and instead stole back what they believed belonged to them. All sorts of riches were contained below-decks, according to the Baron—who insisted they call him Clive, not his real name, but an alias he used, not wishing any other nobles to realize who he was.

"I left my home and my people with the belief that I had died, like my title had. No need to tell anyone that I had indeed abandoned my post, my country." He'd been smoking from his pipe the whole time, a worn-down yet luxurious piece of wood with intricate carvings on the sides. A fragrant smoke filled the room, not unpleasant to breathe in, to Cordelia's surprise. "I had no wife, no children, so it mattered little, in any case. But there are those who would come looking for me, to bring me to justice. I was not... pleasant... before my fake death."

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