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face. “Aye aye, Da'.” And with that she ran off before Betrim could swing for her, of course in his weakened state chances were the little bitch could have beaten him even if he’d caught her.
    “She don't even remember you,” Arip said after watching his daughter run off, a wistful smile on his lips.
    “Aye, probably for the best. Must a' been over ten years since we last met an' what's she now?”
    “Sixteen.”
    “That'd make her...” Betrim took the time to do the numbers in his head. “Three. Don't reckon I remember much from three.”
    “Come on,” Arip said. “Lets continue this little reunion aboard the Bride . I got some rum in me cabin, good stuff too.”
    “Aye. Don't really drink so much no more though, Arip,” Betrim put in.
    “Eh? Since when?”
    “Since the last time I got stinkin' drunk it cost me a perfectly good eye.” He didn't add it also cost him two perfectly good friends.
    Arip wasn't wrong about the rum; it was the good stuff. Betrim sipped at it all the same. He didn't want to get pissed and truth was he hadn't eaten since the Gods knew when and he was out of practice having been locked up and strapped down for a few months. Still, the Black Thorn wasn't used to sipping at drinks. Back before he lost his eye he'd have necked the entire bottle given half a chance.
    Betrim had known Arip since before he had become Captain Winters, they were cut from the same stock, but the beefy captain had made something of himself. He wasn't the same dirty, long haired, murdering, thieving backstabber he used to be. Truth was Arip had cleaned up his act somewhat. He had commissioned a ship, hired a crew and made a semi-honest living. He had also taken to regular washing and hair cutting by the looks of things. Still had the same square jaw carved from stone, the same cleft nose, the same shit brown eyes but now he was clean shaven, with a short pony tail and clothing that screamed money . His cabin reflected the change too; everything had its place; the desk with its curios, writing implements and nautical charts; the cupboard to Betrim's left, no doubt made from some fancy hardwood and containing all sorts of expensive wares; the rum being served in glasses of all things. Betrim was fairly sure it was the first time he'd ever drunk anything out of a glass. Truth was he felt more than a little out of place in this setting.
    He nodded towards a bookshelf, two sturdy-looking doors could be closed to keep the books secure but for now they hung open, a wide variety of coloured spines on display none of which Betrim could read. “You learned words, Arip?”
    His old friend smiled. “I know a few, enough ta get by. Those are more fer Rilly, made sure she knows how ta read. Don't want her growin' up like I did.”
    Betrim grumbled and made an effort to put his glass of rum down on the desk. Arip refilled the glass and, despite not being sure he wanted it refilled, Betrim grunted his thanks all the same.
    “Lets get down ta it, Thorn. What do ya need?”
    Betrim grinned. “Some food, some new clothes, ones 'at fit, not like that fancy shit you wearin', somethin' plain. An axe, hand axe'd be best. Some knives. An' a trip ta Chade.”
    Arip sat back in his chair behind his desk and steepled his fingers. No doubt he was weighing up the debt he owed Betrim against the requests. It was a long while filled with silence and hard stares before he answered.
    “Can't take ya ta Chade, Thorn, an' ya don't wanna go there anyways. As fer the rest, done an' done. Next port o' call fer the Bride is Solantis. Ya wanna come along then ya welcome, so long as ya pitch in.”
    Last thing the Black Thorn could claim to be was a sailor so Betrim guessed pitch in was meaning help out with the odd bit of piracy. “What's wrong with Chade?”
    “Last time you were there, Thorn you murdered two members of the ruling council...”
    “One,” Betrim corrected his old friend.
    “What?”
    “Actually I didn't kill either o'