Still - we have Lisbon (Part 2)

Bruno made his way around the busy crew and tapped the shoulders of Fielden, Pietro, Calisto and Garcia; whispering a quiet word in their ears. The followed him to one side as he relayed his orders and cemented the plan to secure a still.

Garcia enthusiastically nodded and shot off to a corner, stuffing his pockets with fuses, shot and powder.

"What are you doing lad?" Bruno asked.

He grinned, "You never know when you need something to go boom."

"Yeah right. The Captain specifically told me to stay out of trouble" Bruno replied shaking his head.

Quietly Rael asked, "Are you sure he needs to go?"

"Listen to me. Garcia has the gift. He can burn and blow things up underwater. Anyone got a problem with him – sees me." Bruno glared at the surrounding men who all looked away quickly.

Fielden walked up the stairs shrugging a dark merchants jacket on over his chambray shirt and had pulled on some fine leather boots. He stopped and looked at the incredulous looks of the other men.

"What? I have to look the part. Just because we don't have any gold we don't need to look like it."

Shaking his head again, Bruno said, "I'm not even going to ask where you got those."

As soon as the ship had been secured to the dock, the small group swaggered nonchalantly down the gang plank and melted into the alleyways. Pete stopped what he was doing and watched them go, frowning and wishing he hadn't noticed them. Garcia's bulging shirt gave him some clues to his intentions and he would rather not know any other details. Pete set about to ensure they would be ready to cast off for a speedy disembarkment, should the circumstances require it.

They shouldered their way single file through the alleyways with Bruno in the lead.

A pitiful whine from one of the men "Are we lost?" angered Bruno who stormed ahead wordlessly. Coming to a small courtyard in front of a tumbledown inn, Bruno came to a standstill, hailing a huddled rag-tag group of beggars sitting about a makeshift table and chairs. "Well if it ain't our old ship mates, the ‘merchants'. I see you have found your true calling." Bruno's entourage laughed at the pitiful cluster.

"You'll be laughing on the other side of your face soon." challenged one of them. "Sailors need a ship… a ship needs sailors…" On cue, shadows in the alleyways took form. "The Marquis won't take us being evicted like we were, lightly. He has friends everywhere."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruno could see some of them were armed with bludgeoning weapons, rusted knives and cast-off farming implements. He clenched his huge fists tightly and punched one in the air. "One in, all in lads. Up the Gongoozler!"

With a shout, the bedraggled merchants leapt to action, attacking the four sailors with all the pent up frustration and anger they had held for a week. Although the Marquis's men were classically trained in rapier, short sword and pike, the urban landscape and makeshift weaponry evened the odds between them and the sailors; well versed in tavern brawls and rough skirmishes. Bruno's ham-like fists swung with deafening accuracy; carving a path away from the courtyard and into an alley. Fielden had picked up a broom from a doorway and snapped the head from it and was now wielding it above his head, sending the splintered end down on any who ventured close enough to be reached. As soon as a clear escape could be seen, the men broke into a run; their hearts beating and breath labouring as they sprinted away.

They kept running through the twisting lanes and back streets till the sound of pursuit was long gone.

Breathing hard, Bruno bent over with his hands on his knees and puffed, "No shame in it lads – Those who run away get to fight another day."

He then looked up and brightly exclaimed, "Hey, I think we're close. Come on – this way!"