Marcellus realized he had been backed into a corner but also saw that the walls were not as solid as they appeared. He took a calculated risk.
"Compensation implies a transaction, and in this case, both items in question are invaluable," Marcellus finally said, keeping his tone neutral but pointed. "My life, irreplaceable to me, and the book, seemingly of some value to you. Though I won't pretend we're on equal footing here, there is an argument to be made for a mutual cessation of hostilities, of 'calling it even,' as they say."
Edwin paused. I may need men like him, he thought. "Maybe you're right. But can you be trusted?"
Crowe watched, his thoughts unreadable but tinged with a hint of worry.
This could backfire.
Edwin paused, considering Marcellus's words carefully. "Fair point," he finally conceded. "However, It will not do for a welp to beat my knight come work for my uncle, Think about it, you have three days, no more no less."
What Edwin meant was it would damage the reputation of the governor for Marcellus to be considered a pirate who got away with killing the governor's knights, in essence, this ultimatum was about preserving prestige.
Marcellus was about to retort when Edwin raised his hands "Don't interrupt me, this is a bottom line normally I would just dispose of you however, as you can hear we are entertaining guests who must not be disturbed,"
Marcellus caught Edwin's subtext—damage control for the governor's reputation. "Understood," he replied, daringly locking eyes. "We're even."
A knight approached with a tablet-like book. "Funds will be on your ship by dawn," Edwin said, eyeing Captain Crowe.
"We look forward to it," Crowe replied, his tone carefully neutral, diplomatically sidestepping any further complications.
Unbeknownst to Marcellus a tattoo slowly surfaced on the back of his left palm; a stylized star-like shape with eight distinct points, all converging toward a central, solid circular core.
...
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas as Marcellus and his crew departed from the governor's mansion—more like a fortified island within an island. Silence draped over them like a shroud; not a word was spoken. Even the usually ebullient Randy had his eyes fixed on the dark waters ahead.
Marcellus felt little animosity toward his crew for their betrayal. After all, he had not been honest with them first. Now that the governor's people had the book, the issue seemed moot.
As they approached their ship, Marcellus sensed the crew's unease, thick with betrayal and uncertainty. Quartermaster Dobbs finally broke the silence. "Captain, what are the new orders?"
Marcellus felt the rug pulled out from beneath him.
Captain Crowe responded, "We won't set sail for at least a month. We've stolen from the Empire; they'll hunt us. Collect your pay on the ship tomorrow, then scatter." Avoiding Dobbs' eyes, he added, "I'll have your share sent to you, Blackeye."
Captain Crowe's words were a coded dismissal. Marcellus would understand that he was no longer welcomed.
So, they've sold me out and now I'm a man without a crew, Marcellus reflected. Fair enough, I haven't been a paragon of honesty myself.
Since departing Wisbech, his life had been a manuscript of crossed-out plans and rewritten objectives. And now, another fork appeared on his tumultuous road—should he consider Edwin's offer to work for the Governor?
He weighed these pros and cons as if each were a precious stone whose value needed to be meticulously assessed. His crew's betrayal stung, but he shrugged it off; in the grand ledger of life, the debts of loyalty and treachery were square.
Firstly, there were Resources: aligning with the Governor would furnish Marcellus with ships, armaments, and manpower—assets he sorely lacked.
Then came Protection: the Governor's backing would serve as a safeguard against piracy charges and possibly shield him from reprisals from irate members of the Viper, his former ship.
Next was Information: working in proximity to the government would grant him access to privileged intelligence, potentially shedding light on the enigmatic realm of superpowers.
However, a drawback existed in the form of Limited Authority: the Governor, as an elected representative, wielded limited, transient power. Any sanctuary or patronage would be provisional, tied to the duration of the Governor's term in office. He would also be under scrutiny, Being in such a position would attract attention, which Marcellus usually avoided.
Lately, there was always Control, He would likely become Edwin's pawn, his actions dictated by someone else's agenda.
He weighed these factors meticulously, like a jeweller assessing gems.
"Tell Edwin I'll consider his offer," Marcellus finally said. Without another word, he disembarked, his boots hitting the cobblestone streets of Mythralis as he ventured into a future clouded with uncertainty yet shimmering with potential.
...
In the depths of nightfall, Marcellus roamed the labyrinthine streets of Mythralis, a city whose night where never silent like Lutton Marsh.
Despite appearing aimless, his wandering was infused with Intent. Betrayed by the cunning Captain Crowe, Marcellus found himself bereft of the forty silver coins that had once jingled in his pouch at the port harbour. Now, not only was he homeless, but he was also financially destitute.
However, financial concerns were not his only burdens.
While the city's dimly lit pathways provided some anonymity, they also afforded Marcellus the opportunity to engage in profound introspection. He needed to collect his thoughts and formulate a plan—specifically, how could he achieve his goals?
In the forefront of his mind loomed the daunting goal of earning knighthood, preferably from a noble of Anglia, the kingdom he was from.
Intertwined with this aspiration were pressing familial obligations: he needed funds to support his existing family and to lay the foundation for a future of his own.
A glimmer of a business idea—opening an inn—flickered in his thoughts as a means to achieve these financial ends.
Marcellus was aware that there were multiple roads to knighthood, each with its own set of obstacles and opportunities.
The most straightforward approach had been set in motion by his mother's spiritual confidante, a devoted priestess from his hometown of Wisbech. She was working to place him as a squire under the tutelage of an experienced knight. Following an extensive period of rigorous training, he could be recommended for knighthood. Such recommendations carried significant weight and were seldom declined by the council of nobles that bestowed the titles.
The second path was fraught with ethical quandaries: bribing a financially struggling noble for a recommendation, often some nobles an honorary title but without land to generate income. others were men and women of noble blood but dwindling coffers, who could be persuaded to trade a knighthood recommendation for the promise of much-needed capital.
The third option was by far the most perilous and exhilarating. He could challenge a priest belonging to the Church of Combat to a duel.
Victory in such a bout was more than just a feat of martial prowess; it was considered a divine mandate, almost invariably leading to a knighthood.