Li Site knew it wasn't that his crew feared trouble - every one of them was a hardened criminal. But the Count had been evasive, and with that suicide on board earlier, things felt inauspicious. This sense of foreboding combined with the "last meal before execution" atmosphere made no one want to be used as pawns.
The messenger was already panicking.
The Count's original plan had been to keep Black Sails waiting for days before inviting them to his manor after a week.
"Please don't be impatient, everyone. The Count wishes to invite the captain to a family banquet... in one week's time," the messenger said with an ingratiating smile.
Fen repeated the words, profoundly shocked. A so-called family banquet meant private discussions behind closed doors. Inviting adventurers, other nobles, or even commoners would be understandable - but pirates? Until now, the Count had avoided direct contact. Inviting them to his home would create undeniable evidence. Consorting with pirates was a capital offense - this represented... the ultimate gesture of sincerity.
The revelation struck everyone like thunder. Never had they heard of such a thing. If they survived this job, privateering licenses would be trivial - they'd be set for life.
Li Site was equally thunderstruck. The Count was playing dangerously. After consideration, he reached a decision. This "family banquet" would reveal the job details, but to address his crew's concerns, a compromise was necessary.
He'd shown the Count enough courtesy already - time to apply pressure. Though the Count had demonstrated sincerity, it wasn't enough for a life-threatening mission. The timeline needed adjusting - one week wouldn't do.
Li Site then adopted his full pirate captain demeanor, saying coldly, "Even His Lordship should show some respect. Don't leave us hanging here."
The messenger broke into a sweat under the pressure. "Tomorrow is too rushed! Preparations take time, it's not—"
Before he could finish:
Li Site pretended not to hear, nearly shouting.
Morrison's scarred face twisted into a terrifying mockery of a smile as he toyed with his throwing knives.
Faced with these murderous expressions:
"I'll inform His Lordship immediately!"
The messenger hastily mounted his horse and rode off from Secret Port, where the Count kept his smuggling ships.
"Stay sharp," Fen warned quietly. "The Count has people here. If things go south, we might have to fight."
They knew the Count had a big job planned - though not what - and leaving now might prompt him to silence them permanently.
Archer, as always oblivious to the mood, declared loudly: "Pfft, those scrubs? I could slaughter them easy. Kill-brother here could take a thousand no problem. Instant wipe, no discussion needed."
"Thanks for that," Morrison said drily. Really fucking flattering.
Archer was already tipsy. "Damn, this liquor hits hard!"
Li Site facepalmed. They were supposedly just safeguarding these goods, not claiming ownership yet.
The ride from Secret Port to Linden City took fifteen minutes.
In under an hour, the messenger returned.
"The Count has arranged the banquet for tomorrow evening. The captain should arrive by seven, with up to two attendants," the messenger said obsequiously, glancing at Ox, Ren, and Wolman. "Discretion would be advisable."
Hearing this, everyone felt reassured yet more murderous. Once Li Site attended that banquet, Black Sails would either fight alongside the Count... or fight their way out of Secret Port.
A job this big meant no backing out once they knew the details.
"Understood. We'll accept these gifts then," Li Site said, directing sailors to transport all chests from the three carriages aboard. The tightrope walk began now.
The tattooed giant had buried the legless man on the highest flat ground overlooking the sea - a peaceful resting place.
Lunchtime on deck revealed two extremes among the crew. One group treated their mutton portions like sacred relics - carefully tearing small pieces to savor slowly with mashed potatoes and liquor, tasting heaven.
The other group attacked their meals like vengeance incarnate, practically eating their own hands.
"Rule is you wash your own damn plate and stack it neat," Archer grumbled, watching his culinary art get disrespected. "But you animals are licking them clean anyway."
These savages couldn't appreciate fine dining, either worshiping the food like gold or wolfing it down without tasting. And only now did Archer learn about the suicide - not a welcome party but a fucking funeral! No wonder they slaughtered a sheep.
Entering the navigation room, Archer found the others in mixed spirits.
Though they'd know tomorrow night, speculation ran wild about the job.
"Probably wants to overthrow the Admiral," Ren suggested, miming a throat slash.
"Impossible," Fen analyzed. "This isn't about Linden City - affects nobody here."
"Shutting down casinos just needs brute force - hence us. Assassinating the Admiral? The Thieves' Guild handles that cleaner. And if it were local, he'd use his own men - not outsiders. We must have some irreplaceable quality."
Fen pondered what made Black Sails unique. Tough guys were everywhere - pay enough and even Adventurers' Guild members would turn pirate.
"Unique how? Our skills? Or the job's nature?" Shadi wondered.
"Could relate to the first and second mates' backgrounds. Might be an elaborate trap," Wolman speculated.
"The Mirror Sea is 100,000 nautical miles from the Western Continent. Their reach doesn't extend here," Ox dismissed.
"To catch me? That level wouldn't deal with a Linden Count. The Arcane Industry Committee would send elite forces," Fen scoffed.
Archer barged in on their deliberations: "Why overcomplicate? Maybe he just needs pirates familiar with Heaven's Port."
Li Site slapped his forehead and stood.
"Even the wise err; even fools occasionally hit the mark! Damn right, Archer! I've got it now - eighty percent sure. We're transporting something - or someone - to Heaven's Port. Goods seem unlikely - we'd just steal them. If it's a person... they must be extremely important."
"Not bad, Captain," Ren approved. The delayed timeline fit waiting for cargo or a VIP. Everything clicked.
"Fuck, better be some big-titted beauty," Micah joked.