[Xiomera]

Port Salad, March 26th

Captain Piper Drummond, the commander of the Salad Land Naval Patrol, tapped her fingers irritably on the arm of her command chair. The SLS Neversink, the pride of the fleet (and only thing even vaguely resembling a warship that it had), had been ordered out to sea to do a patrol around the islands of the Saladian Archipelago. This was done solely to appease the whim and fancy of the Marquis, Bastien de Salad. He liked to have "the big ship", as he called it, show the colors every once in a while. So, for absolutely no reason, the ancient destroyer was slowly chugging out of port.

Drummond was the captain of the flagship, and she absolutely hated the ship. Despised it, down to every rusty bolt and decaying piece of metal. In its first life, the ship had been the XIS Quetzalcoatl. A Xiomeran warship that had served in the Great War, it had been a decade old when that fight began. Now, it was well past its sixth decade sputtering and coughing over the waves. The ship was supposed to have been broken up at Port Salad after the Xiomerans got rid of it, but the father of the current Marquis had decided to make it the laughable flagship of a laughable fleet instead. And Drummond was the chief donkey, in her opinion, being in charge of the decrepit senior citizen of a vessel.

It was 7 am, entirely too early to be sailing around pointlessly in Drummond's opinion. But all she could do was sip coffee and grumble. As the ship entered open water outside the port, however, the captain noticed something. "Helm, why are we turning? I didn't order a course change."

"Um....no one did, ma'am," the helmsman replied sheepishly. "It seems like the rudders are stuck, I can't get it to go back on course. We're, um, going in a circle."

"Going. In. A. Circle." Drummond bit off each word as if it had personally insulted her parentage and habits.

The helmsman shrugged helplessly, turning back to his quite-stuck controls. Meanwhile, the crowds about their daily business in Port Salad had begun to point and laugh at the ship clearly going in circles.

"Get extra men down to engineering to figure out why the hell we can't turn the ship. And get Naval Command on the line, because I have had it with this ancient pile of rusted garbage. I swear, if the government doesn't cough up some money for new ships, I am going to see what guns aboard this floating wreck still work and blow up the damned Palace!" Drummond slapped the arm of her command chair for emphasis, causing the arm to fall off and hit the floor. The captain shouted in sheer misery, as the "mighty" Neversink continued to leisurely complete its lazy circles.

---

An hour later, Valentin Daucourt stood in the middle of a semi-circle of the islands' leaders. The Council of Custodians and the Marquis, in response to his urgent plea, had grudgingly come down to discuss the matter of the still-circling ship in the middle of their harbor. The commander of the Salad Land Defence Force, and Drummond's superior, tried to explain yet again. "The ship has jammed rudders. We would normally try to fix it, but they no longer make parts for a ship this old. Even the Xiomerans can't help, and they built the bloody thing. The Neversink is simply too obsolete and worn down to be a viable flagship any longer."

"Nonsense! It's a perfectly fine ship." Bastien de Salad leaned forward, chuckling. A young man with flowing black hair and a perpetually amused expression, the Marquis shook his head. "It's a big ship, surely it's tough enough to have some life left in it."

Daucourt sighed, for what felt like the tenth time. "It is big, yes, my lord. But it is also older than anyone in this room and significantly more decrepit. It cannot be patched together any more. Oh, and Captain Drummond is threatening to blow up the Council Chambers and the Palace if she has to spend one more day aboard the thing."

"Hah! How's she going to blow us up, if she can't stop going in a circle?" de Salad replied smugly.

"You know Piper, my lord. Would you put it past her to find a way?" Daucourt replied with a raised eyebrow. 

"Oh, very well," de Salad replied after a moment with a deep sigh and a shrug. "If my fellow-citizens on the Council agree, we will find some money in the budget to buy some ships. I suppose it's cheaper than building a new palace or council chambers."

[Lauchenoiria]

Previously in the IDU...

 "You criticise me for underage drinking but you've been dealing drugs since before I got this thing," Jae accused her brother Ji-Hun, clipping the false ID back on. (Have I Got Coups For You, 3 Aug 2018)

“Heard you were looking for a job abroad,” said a voice from behind him. Yousef Chaher leapt in the air as he turned to see the figure behind him. The figure was of High Fellsian descent but spoke with a strong Annatown accent. (Have I Got Coups For You, 3 Oct 2018)

---

PRESENT DAY

“Where’s Salad Land?” a young man wearing a grey tracksuit scratched the top of his close-shaven head. “I’m no good with maps.”

“It’s down the bottom to the left,” replied Yousef Chaher, the son of the late ex-dictator of Lauchenoiria, Suleman Chaher. He pointed at the map in front of the pair. “See, the orange bit there?”

“It’s the other side of the world,” Ji-Hun Chung said, appearing through the kitchen doorway. “Which might just be perfect.”

The trio were inside what appeared to be a decrepit warehouse, with one corner transformed into a living space through the aid of many blankets, cushions and curtains. At the back of the warehouse were stacks of crates, some of which could be seen to contain bags of white powder. The kitchen, from where Ji-Hun exited, was directly behind an old but sturdy table, and it was on that table where the map lay. Yousef was sitting in a chair next to the table, while the tracksuit-clad youth sat atop the table itself.

“There’s too much heat on us here,” Ji-Hun shook his head, examining the map. “That’s three more people arrested this week. And I’m sick of living out of these makeshift safe houses. Alvarez’s crackdown on drugs is gonna be the death of us if we stay here. Salad Land sounds just like the kind of place. What’s the job?”

“There is no job!” Yousef sighed irritatedly. “José over here,” he gestured to another man lying on top of some cushions requisitioned from the living area, “has this supposedly bright idea to con their Marquis.”

“Yeah man,” José sighed, taking a drag from a cigarette. “It’s totally awesome! Right, so what we do is we steal a ship from somewhere, right? Let’s say Huenya, their security is terrible. Then we get a ton of paint, boat paint, you see?”

The rest of the group paused, waiting for further explanation. When none was forthcoming, Ji-Hun sighed, rubbing his temples. “See what, José? This better not be another talcum powder idea.”

“No, no, it’s good! That wasn’t me that was the, y’know,” he gestured to the crates of drugs. “Look so we get the boat paint and we paint the boat - ship, rather. Anyway the Marquis of Salad Land wants ships and he’s getting people to build them for money. So we show up with our boat and we ask for less money than the other people so he’ll give us the money and then we run away!”

“He wants to undercut the legitimate bids and scam the Marquis,” Yousef summarised.

“Could work,” Ji-Hun shrugged, “if - and this is a big if - you can get your hands on a stolen ship at low-risk. We can’t afford the heat right now.”

“No problem, big man,” José said, chuckling as he stood up, staggering slightly. “I already know a guy. “Just send me and Mr Junta Junior over there-”

“Do NOT call me that!”

“-and we’ll scam that Marquis so good he’s gonna be sobbing into his emptied bank account!”

“I’m not sending you on another scam, José. Not after last time,” Ji-Hun shook his head. “If I approve this, Yousef, you’ll go with Cranston. I’ll brief him once he gets back from the sale. José, you’ll go with them to get your ship and then you return here BEFORE they head to Salad Land. And I want details by this evening or it’s a no-go. Last chance, José.”

“Man, this is gonna be awesome!”

This is going to be a disaster, Yousef Chaher thought. How did I ever get mixed up in this thing? Curse you, father. I hope you’re turning in your grave.

[Lauchenoiria]

“So, who’s this contact of yours with a ship anyway?” Yousef Chaher asked Jose after they arrived in Huenya, on their way to the rendezvous. The third member of their party, Alberto Cranston, was silently trailing behind. Cranston, as he preferred to be called, was Ji-Hun’s mostly-silent but steady second-in-command.

“Oh, you’re gonna LOVE him!” Jose gushed, doing a little dance as they walked through a crowd towards the docks. “He’s so cool, and very funny.”

Funny? Yousef thought. His bad feeling about this whole affair hadn’t gone away, and he had a strong feeling his definition of humour and that of Jose were polar opposites. They continued to make their way to the rendezvous point, with Yousef’s bad feeling increasing by the second.

“Oh there he is!” Jose eventually shouted, pointing and running off ahead of them. “Come on guys, say hi!”

Yousef turned in the direction his ‘colleague’ was pointing, and froze on the spot. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” he said aloud, unable to hold it back. Even Cranston’s mouth twitched a little.

Ahead of them stood a Huenyan sitting on top of a ship painted with swirls of colour reminiscent of a 1970s disco. He was wearing a large hat with a feather on top of it, a rapier strapped to his waist, and - Yousef had to look several times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating - an actual, real-life parrot perched on his shoulder. He had an eye patch perched atop his forehead, but two perfectly functioning eyes underneath it.

“So these are my pals from Lauchenoiria, Yousef and Cranston. Guys, this is Citlalnite! He has a ton of ships, hehe, sometimes more than other times if you get my gist!” Jose laughed.

“And this is my First Mate, Tlotli!” the pirate, for he was definitely a pirate, said, stroking one of the parrot’s feathers.

“Arr walk the plank!” the parrot said.

“He speak not much English,” Citlalnite explained, while laughing. “We speak Huenyan. Most of his English come from weekly screening of Pirates of the Vitrecan! Best films, yes! Arr! Come on board, mateys!”

The pirate turned around, Jose following him. “Oh man, I love you Citlalnite! Lauchenoirians are so boring, and they definitely don’t keep rum under their…” his voice faded away as he passed out of earshot of the pair still standing on the dock.

Yousef turned to Cranston. “He can’t be serious. This is not real. We should go home.”

Cranston shrugged, and then boarded the ship. Yousef let out a large groan and, dragging his feet, followed the others.

[Xiomera]

Port Salad
Saladian Naval Patrol Headquarters
April 9th

Valentin Daucourt and Piper Drummond jogged towards the main piers of the Naval Patrol Headquarters, trying to keep up with the Marquis as he walked briskly. "So we have three fine new patrol boats for you! We just got them in from Grundhavn’s Shipbuilders’ Union," he chattered excitedly. "They're not as grand as the Neversink, they're a bit on the small side. But I am confident they will make you happy!"

Drummond kept her words hidden behind a vaguely polite smile, while Daucourt looked at her in what he hoped was a reassuring and not-at-all-apprehensive way. The three finally arrived at the piers, where three ships bobbed cheerfully in the water. Drummond stared at them. And stared. They were indeed, on the small side as the Marquis had stated. "See! Don't they look great, they painted the ships in the Naval Patrol colors for free! And stuck those neat guns on the front of them and everything! We got a great deal on these patrol boats too - "

"Those are fishing boats someone slapped a gun on," Drummond said flatly.

"Nonsense! The Shipbuilders’ Union assured me that these boats are totally redone and fit for patrolling purposes," the Marquis said with a grin. "You haven't even seen the inside of one or taken it out into harbor! Trust me, when you do, you'll see they're really quite remarkable." The Marquis bounded onto one of the ships, gesturing for the others to follow him as he walked onboard.

Out of earshot, Drummond grabbed Daucourt by the shirtfront. "Those are fishing boats. They are likely slower than the Marquis to have an original thought, and as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Look, one of them still has nets on it!" She shook Daucourt vigorously. "Get me some real ships or I swear-"

"We are still meeting with the Acadians about some other ships, and the Xiomerans said they might be able to do something with the Neversink - "

"Like blow it up? I would welcome the help of the Xiomerans if it meant that," Drummond cut Daucourt off. "Seriously, Valentin, get me some real ships. I have had it," she said, before releasing his shirt and stalking up the walkway. Daucourt sighed, straightened his uniform shirt, and followed.

[Lauchenoiria]

Yousef Chaher, Jose, Cranston, Citlalnite the Pirate, and Tlotli the Parrot (yes, even the parrot) had spent days giving a paint job to a stolen Huenyan Huaca-class patrol vessel. The parrot was not much help, but Citlalnite had insisted on giving him a paintbrush.

Yousef was currently in the process of painting a Saladian flag over the top of a Huenyan flag (which had, in turn, been painted over an old-style Xiomeran flag). Cranston had spent a while rearranging things in the interior compartments so the ship did not match Huenyan designs precisely. Jose and Citlalnite had spent much of the time chatting. Yousef wanted to scream.

After all, it wasn’t his fault his father had decided to become a dictator. It wasn’t his fault that no legitimate company would hire him because of the bad publicity from who his father was. It wasn’t his fault that after the abuse he’d received in Lauchenoiria, he’d taken the first ‘job’ that could get him out of the country. And yet.

The vessel was from the 1970s, so they were having to make a fair number of modifications to make it appear as if it was new. The decision to paint it in the colours of Salad Land came after a friend of Citlalnite who currently lived there reported that Grundhavn had done so on the ships they sent. They couldn’t be outdone! Especially when they needed to paint it anyway.

They would soon be finished, and when they were, they’d get in touch with the Marquis and, well, set sail for Salad Land.

[Lauchenoiria]

“I not let amateurs take my ship, and I leave if José is!” Citlalnite scowled, stomping his feet.

“Arr, walk the plank!” chirped Tlotli.

“Yes, what he say!” Citlalnite nodded.

Yousef Chaher and Cranston looked at each other. They had explicit orders from Ji-Hun to send José home before they proceeded to Salad Land. Yet, they needed the ship for the scam to work. Cranston twitched an eyebrow ever so slightly, and Yousef sighed.

“Fine, fine!” Yousef threw his hands up in overdramatic defeat. “We’ll all go together. But, José, I am doing the talking. You are the ship’s… uh, janitor? Yeah, janitor. Or whatever they call them on ships, if it’s something different. Cranston is security, Citlalnite is the captain and I am the company representative from Perfect International Shipping Solutions. Got it?”

“Arr, scrub the deck!” chirped Tlotli. Yousef chose to take that as an agreement.

“Right, let’s get to it then. We head for Salad Land,” Yousef said firmly.

“Are we going the normal way or the way with the creepy time travel line?” José asked.

Yousef rolled his eyes. “Go online and learn what time zones are, I cannot deal with this any more. I am going to contact the Marquis.”

"I need to know if we cross creeping time travel line!" Citlalnite said, copying José's words.

"Yes!" Yousef shouted in frustration, too irritated to correct their absurdities.

He headed into the interior of the ship, doing deep breathing exercises as he walked. He sat down on the bunk of a cabin, pulling out a laptop and a burner phone. Finding the number he'd stored, he dialled the office of the Marquis and waited for them to pick up.

"Hello there, my name is Siraj Shahan, I'm calling from Perfect International Shipping Solutions. We're a multinational shipbuilding company with operations in a number of countries, including Huenya, Lauchenoiria and Serriel," he lied in a Serrielan accent he'd copied from his grandfather. "We've heard you're in the market for some new ships and we have an offer to make you…"

[Xiomera]

The call was received on the other end by Dominic Gardner, Lord Steward of the Noble Household of De Salad. Gardner's grand title aside, he was essentially the personal assistant of the Marquis. "Thank you for your call, Mr. Shahan. We are certainly glad to entertain any offer you may have. Our Naval Patrol is, erm, a bit eager for new vessels."

After a bit of polite chat, arrangements were made for "Shahan" and his team to meet with Gardner at Port Salad. Once they arrived, "Shahan" would be given a meeting with the Marquis and Valentin Daucourt to present their offer.

As he was leaving his office to give the Marquis the news, he ran into Piper Drummond. He breezily ran through the details of the call, before walking off.

Odd. I've never heard of this company, Drummond thought. The Captain was pretty familiar with most of the important shipbuilders and providers of naval equipment. She had certainly spent enough time browsing their brochures and websites, desperately pining for new vessels as she often did. Drummond decided to attach herself to the planned meeting.

[Lauchenoiria]

Jointly written with Xiomera

Yousef Chaher had made it very clear before they arrived in Salad Land that he was to do the talking. Naturally, nobody listened.

“Marquis!” the excitable Jose said, greeting the entirely wrong individual. “It’s so exciting to be in your wonderful country!”

“Arr, shiver me timbers!” squawked Tlotli, who Citlalnite had smuggled on shore in a bag out of Yousef’s sight. The pirate laughed, and started feeding the parrot some seeds out of a bag painted with a jolly roger flag.

“My apologies for the behaviour of my companions,” Yousef spoke loudly to drown out whatever Jose was going to say next. “Captain Cecona here is in an amateur acting club back in Serriel, and is a bit of a method actor. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Siraj Shahan, it is an honour to meet you.”

"Wonderful to meet you," one of the men, an older gentleman with grey hair and a handlebar mustache, said. "I am not the Marquis, however. I am Dominic Gardner, Steward to the noble house of de Salad. This gentleman next to me is Valentin Daucourt, head of our defense forces."

Daucourt, a wiry man in a green tropical uniform with a peaked cap, nodded politely.

"This is the Marquis," Gardner continued, pointing to the man on his right. A young man with black hair and vibrant green eyes, de Salad could have passed for a model - especially in the expensive and elaborate robes of office he was wearing. Before he could speak, however, another voice interrupted.

"And I am Piper Drummond. Captain of the Naval Patrol." Drummond was a short woman with bright red hair, whose height barely reached Daucourt's shoulder even with help of the peaked cap she was also wearing.

Daucourt and Gardner both had expressions on their face that clearly said Why did she show up? But their expressions were drowned out by a shout of delight from the Marquis. "Piper, darling. Always good to see you!" He wrapped her up in an expansive hug, which she managed to extricate herself from with some difficulty. 

“An honour to meet you,” Yousef said, giving a slight bow to the Marquis. “All of you,” he looked across the gathered Saladians. “This is my first time in Salad Land, what a beautiful country you have.”

“Arr, where’s me booty, landlubber!” Tlotli added. Yousef could not stop himself from groaning a little.

“As you can see, the ship we’ve arrived on doubles as our display model for you to check out. Perhaps Captain Drummond would like a tour while we get down to business?” Yousef said, hoping he could get Jose away from the negotiations.

The Marquis chuckled at Tlotli. "Smart bird. I've often asked the same question," he winked. "Piper, be a dear and tour the ship while we go talk business. Leave no stone unturned….not that they have stones on ships, but you get the idea."

With an expansive sweep of his arm, the Marquis gestured towards a set of waiting vehicles in the distance. "We'll talk at Palace de Salad. It's always nicer to do business in comfortable settings, I always say."

As the visitors who were going to the Palace began walking with the Marquis, Drummond turned and began eyeing the ship.

Jose and Citlalnite moved to stand either side of Drummond, watching her as she looked at the ship. Tlotli squawked a little and Citlalnite went to feed him while Jose threw his arms out wide. “Isn’t she a beauty!?” he said, louder than necessary.

Drummond gave her vaguely polite smile. "It is indeed quite a ship. What sort of armaments does it carry?"

“Oh! Yes,” Jose began fumbling around in his pockets until he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Drummond. “Yous… you should read this, said Siraj!” The paper did indeed contain a list of information about the ship’s armaments and other features.

Drummond thanked Jose and began reading through the list. Seems solid enough. But why do I get the feeling this guy knows as much about this ship as I do about the breeding habits of sheep? "Would it be okay if I looked around a bit?"

"Yeah sure! Just, uh, don't touch Tlotli's food or he'll get angry," Jose said, holding up his arm that had a bandage and a few more cuts peeking out from the sides. "I learned that the hard way."

Drummond eyed the parrot. It eyed her back. She decided not to test the bird, nodded at Jose and walked aboard the ship. As she explored the vessel, it certainly looked like what it claimed to be. And yet, not. Drummond couldn't put her finger on it, but something wasn't quite right.

She came back to the dock. "Thanks for letting me look around," she said, giving Jose a big smile to alleviate any suspicions she may have given him. She then drove herself the short distance back to her quarters. Her mission: taking a look in her copy of Jen's Big Book of Fighting Ships, 2023 Edition.

Meanwhile, as they walked to the Palace de Salad, Yousef was rattling off ship facts he’d memorised the night before while Cranston trailed behind him, ever-silent. “And with the new paint job, you can begin patrols immediately. Think of it as a little extra!” he smiled widely.

"That is always a welcome bonus. The sooner we can get the ship into service, the better. Have to get the Naval Patrol off my back," the Marquis laughed. Gardner laughed as well. Daucourt looked pained, as if from biting his tongue.

When the group arrived at the Palace, they were immediately escorted to a large dining room. A light lunch had been set up; the Marquis meant it when he said he liked to do business in comfort. 

Once pleasantries had been exchanged and wine delivered to the table, the Marquis got right to it. "So what have you got to offer us?"

“Well,” Yousef began, and then started on a memorised sales pitch about a number of ships at a very reasonable, but not too suspicious, price; about the speed of their operations and just how quickly they’d get their new goodies. In his years since the war, he’d become quite the excellent actor, and loved to charm his clients. Cranston, meanwhile, sat to the side, still silent.

The Marquis and Gardner did seem charmed by the acting, and pleased with the details of the offer. Only Daucourt seemed unconvinced. "We are still talking with the Acadians and the Xiomerans about ships as well. What can you offer us that they cannot?" he asked.

"The Acadians and the Xiomerans both enjoy a game of politics," Yousef replied. "Everything they do comes with strings attached. But we're a true multinational: we're not beholden to one specific power, or faction in all those games. We offer you freedom from all that."

"That is a definite bonus. We prefer to be neutral and off the beaten path, as it were," the Marquis said. "Do you have any references we can contact?"

"Of course," Yousef lied, pulling out a pair of business cards for fake people at fake companies who received fake ships.

"Excellent." The Marquis handed the cards to Gardner. "Once we check those out, we should be ready to proceed. It should be a formality, as your offer seems quite on point. In the meantime, I invite you to enjoy the hospitality of Salad Land. We have prepared rooms at our finest hotel for yourself and your crew. Feel free to relax or just enjoy visiting Port Salad. We should have an answer for you soon," the Marquis said as he stood up.

"Excellent," Yousef said. "A pleasure meeting you." He and Cranston went off to explore, hoping that they'd managed to avoid drawing suspicion.

[Lauchenoiria]

“Man this is aweso- argh!” Jose spluttered as he fell over after trying to stand up on his surfboard. He’d insisted on going out into the sea, even though he hadn’t the first clue how to surf. Citlalnite had followed him, and the pair were now desperately holding onto their surfboards as the waves pulled them back and forth.

On land, Yousef Chaher was tucking into an all-you-can-eat salad buffet, with a nice glass of wine. On the beach, Cranston lay sunbathing, still silent, but now also quickly turning the colour of beetroot. Tlotli was perched between Cranston’s feet, occasionally flying up in the air when small children got too close. One of the children had grabbed him earlier and pulled on a feather. He would not let it happen again.

The gang were waiting for the Saladians to check out their references (a fake company from High Fells led by Ji-Hun, and a fake Huenyan corporation that was really Citlalnite’s fellow pirates on holiday), and get back to them on the deal. They’d taken the opportunity, in the meantime, to see the sights.

[Xiomera]

While Jose and Citlalnite were rescued by the Salad Land Lifeguard Service, Chaher enjoyed his endless salad, and Cranston broiled himself, the Saladians had been busy checking the "references" provided by Chaher.

It had been a rather perfunctory check, consisting of two phone calls to each of the numbers provided, and a "yep, sounds good" from Gardner after Daucourt placed the calls. With the "references" sort-of-more-or-less verified, Gardner and Daucourt went back to the Palace de Salad to advise the Marquis of the results of their investigation. "The company checks out, reference wise," Daucourt told the Marquis. "Everything looks good to proceed."

"Excellent," de Salad replied. "Let's get these guys back in here then, sign the deal, and wire them their money. And let's make it snappy, please. I have a golf game in an hour - "

The voice of the Marquis was interrupted by a single, loud "nooooooo". As everyone turned in shock, they could see Piper Drummond running down the grand staircase into the throne room. She was still shouting "nooooooo" as she ran; her voice echoed off the walls as she shouted and ran. When she finally reached the others, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. "Do....not....send....them....money!" she gasped.

"Piper darling! I am always happy to see you....but why not?" the Marquis asked.

Drummond staggered over to a nearby table, dropping her phone and a very large book onto it. The title of the book read Jen's Big Book Of Fighting Ships. "I will show you why not," she breathed heavily. "See this picture?" She held up her phone. "I took it of the ship these guys arrived in. The one they're trying to sell us."

"Wow, that's a great picture!" the Marquis said admiringly. "You have a way with the camera. And it's such a sharp-looking ship too. Maybe we can frame the picture and put it up on the wall of the Naval Patrol building after we buy the ships -"

"No. No no no. Look here." Drummond opened her book to a page she had bookmarked. "That is a Huaca-class patrol vessel. The Xiomerans used to use them; the Huenyans still do. Do you notice any similarities?" she asked expectantly, pointing to the picture in the book.

The three men in the room shrugged collectively. "They're both boats?" the Marquis said finally.

"They're practically identical!" Drummond shouted. "If you look past the paint job and some things that have been slapped onto it, that is a Huenyan ship! From the 1970s! They're trying to sell us someone else's old junk as new!"

"Now, that can't be," Gardner said with a paternal smile. "We looked into their references and everything checked out."

"Oh? Well, did you check out the references themselves to see if they were worth a damn?" Drummond asked. Daucourt turned red. "I didn't quite do that," he murmured. Gardner hemmed and hawed, looking at his feet. The expression on the face of the Marquis turned a bit sour, as realization finally began to set in. "So, these guys are trying to rip us off." Drummond nodded vigorously.

The Marquis stood up. "Well, I won't have that. I don't like being separated from my money - I mean, the country's money - especially if we don't get what we asked for. Bring these gentlemen back to the Palace at once. I think I have just the deal for them." The Marquis smiled malevolently at that thought.

[Lauchenoiria]

Jointly written with Xiomera

Yousef Chaher led a sunburned Cranston, a soaking Jose, and a bird-pecked Citlalnite (he’d dropped the parrot food in his surfing escapade, and Tlotli was NOT happy) into the throne room of the Marquis. He was optimistic, things seemed to have gone well earlier, and he felt nice and full with all the salad he’d eaten.

“Ah, Marquis!” he said, in his fake Serrielan accent, as they arrived. “Have you thought over our offer?”

"I have! And it is a most excellent offer, I must say." The Marquis gave his most dazzling smile, perfect teeth gleaming. "I was wondering, however, if you fine gentlemen would be receptive to a counter-offer? Saladians do love to haggle, don't you know." Gardner, standing next to the seated Marquis, nodded sagely as he stroked his mustache.

Yousef smiled, letting out a small chuckle. Okay, fine, he’d play. “I’d certainly be interested in hearing this counter-offer of yours,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Excellent!" The Marquis clapped his hands. A woman who could best be described as gray walked into the room. Gray hair, gray eyes, and (worst of all, from Yousef’s outlook), a gray police uniform. This was Katherine Rudhall, the Commissioner of the Salad Land Police Service. Behind her were several heavily armed (and also gray-uniformed) members of the Special Response Team. At a signal from Rudhall, the officers pointed their rifles at Yousef and his companions.

“Marquis!” Yousef feigned shock. “I don’t understand!”

Tlotli, on the other hand, understood all too well. He squawked and flew off of Citlalnite’s shoulder, attempting to get out of there. “Tlotli!” Citlalnite shouted after his fleeing parrot, followed by something in Huenyan that sounded like cursing.

"You don't understand? Katherine, do be so kind as to enlighten our guest," the Marquis said. Rudhall walked forward, handing Yousef a piece of paper and then stepping back quickly, lest Yousef get some dumb idea like trying to take her hostage. The paper was a copy of the page on the Huaca-class warship from Piper Drummond's book, complete with incriminating picture. "Do you recognize that ship? We do." The Commissioner smiled without humor.

He did. “Remarkable!” he began. “It looks… oh forget it,” he said, dropping the fake accent. “You’re not going to believe whatever nonsense I come out with.” He turned to Jose, shoving the paper at him. “Idiot!” he said to Jose. “You’re always such an idiot!”

“Shut up, Yousef!” Jose whined. “You’re ruining it!”

“Are you really so stupid to think this is still going to work?” Yousef said incredulously. Cranston, for his part, remained completely silent. Nothing could surprise him. Citlalnite was still mournfully staring after Tlotli.

"Ah, the truth at last. Part of it, anyway." The Marquis was still beaming. "I do still want to do a deal with you, though. Here's my counter-offer. You all spend a month in jail here, in conditions not quite as nice as your hotel rooms. That will be followed by immediate deportation and a permanent ban from Salad Land. You will leave your ship here, though. We can still use it. The alternative….well, there are a lot of shark-infested waters east of our happy little islands. We could always see how well you swim." The Marquis somehow managed to grin even bigger.

“That… won’t be necessary,” Yousef sighed. A month wasn’t so bad. “Although if Jose wants to take his chances with the sharks, can I watch?”

Jose was about to open his mouth for some retort, when Tlotli suddenly reappeared, diving right towards Rudhall.

The Commissioner squawked much like a parrot herself, instinctively ducking and firing off a shot from her pistol. Saladian police very rarely have to use their weapons in anger, and their boss even less so. Rudhall was lucky not to shoot herself or the Marquis, instead putting a hole through a priceless painting depicting the landfall of the first settlers on the islands.

“Yes! Get ‘em!” Jose shouted. “Go Tlotli!” Citlalnite joined the cheering as the parrot flew around, aiming itself at the other armed police. Yousef groaned.

"For God's sake, stop shooting, you clowns!" Gardner shouted, stepping in front of the Marquis. Valentin Daucourt, who had run into the room at the sound of gunfire, grabbed his peaked cap and began trying to catch Tlotli inside of it.

As Daucourt attempted to catch the parrot, Jose nudged Citlalnite and the pair began to creep towards the door in an attempt to escape. Yousef saw them and shook his head. Did they really think they’d find some way off the island? Cranston remained with Yousef, standing silently watching the parrot-wrangling attempts.

Jose and Citlalnite almost made it. Almost.

As they reached the doorway, Piper Drummond appeared. She held a revolver in each hand. "Nice try, boys. But let's step back into the room, shall we?" Her raised eyebrow clearly indicated that she partially hoped they wouldn't.

With the looks of naughty schoolboys who’d just been told off, the pair sullenly stepped back inside. Jose suddenly had an epiphany. Or, what passed for one in Jose, anyway.

“We’re not the danger!” Jose said to Piper. “He is!” he pointed at Yousef. “Do you know who he is? He’s Yousef Chaher, Suleman Chaher’s son!”

With that revelation, a sudden silence fell as Tlotli stopped on top of a light fixture. If looks could kill, Jose would have been six feet under given the expression on Yousef’s face.

"Wait. That's Baby Coup?" Drummond said with a grin. Rudhall was less amused. "Were you planning a commie coup here? Is that what this is all about?"

“Can one of the people with guns please shoot me?” Yousef asked. When no bullets seemed forthcoming, he sighed. “No, we were not planning a ‘commie coup’. Do you want to know what we’re doing here? Do you really want to know!?”

He was shouting now, but he didn’t break to let anyone answer before he continued. “My dad was a fool. He let Kerlians use him like an idiot. And I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree because I’m an idiot for coming here on a plan that loser,” he pointed at Jose, “thought up! Do you know why I joined their stupid little criminal gang? Because nobody, not one person, NOT ONE, gave me a chance after they found out who my father was. I had to move five times after the war because of the threats. I was desperate to get out of Lauchenoiria and the only way I could do that was apparently this nonsense. So, please, now you know, just shoot me and GET IT OVER WITH!”

Silence fell again. It was interrupted by Tlotli, who squawked, “arr, abandon ship!” and then pooped, right on Gardner’s head.

The distinguished gentlemen shouted and swiped at his head with a sleeve, as the Marquis guffawed. "Oh, I can't shoot you. You've all provided me the most laughs I've had in ages." When he recovered from his laughter, he smiled. "But we will need to add time to your jail stay. Two more months, one for trying to escape. And one for damage to a historical treasure of Salad Land," he added, pointing to the painting.

“Hey, Cranston and I didn’t try to escape!” Yousef whined, at the same time as Citlalnite asked, “but what about Tlotli!?”

"You can keep your bird with you, if you can control it," the Marquis replied. "As for your sentences, they are not negotiable. However…." he mused. "Your tale of woe has touched me. Once your sentence is served, Chaher, if you want to remain here and promise not to do any more half-assed crimes, I may consider allowing it."

Rudhall and Gardner both gasped. "But…he tried to defraud us, and he's Suleman Chaher’s son…"

The Marquis held up his hand. "My throne, my decision."

Yousef nodded in acknowledgement. When Jose went to open his mouth, Yousef glared at him, mouthing quit while we’re ahead.

"Just remember, if you do stay and break the law again here, the sharks are always an option," the Marquis laughed in an especially nasty way. "Well, off you go then," he said as Rudhall and the other police led them off.

[Xiomera]

Three days after the debacle with Yousef and the others, a jubilant Valentin Daucourt led Piper Drummond down to the port. "We just got some new ships in from Greater Acadia to round out the fleet. Trust me, you'll like these." Drummond shrugged and let Daucourt lead the way.

When the two of them arrived at the dock, a trio of ships greeted them. They had also been painted in the colors of the Naval Service. They were also fishing boats with guns attached, much like the ones from Grundhavn. Drummond turned to her theoretical boss, a single raised eyebrow demanding an explanation. "These are a bit faster than the other ones, and, um....they have bigger guns attached...."

Drummond began to turn red. Before she could blow up, Daucourt quickly spoke up. "The best surprise, I haven't shown you yet." He walked to a nearby golf cart and jumped in, gesturing for Drummond to take a seat. She sighed and got in. Daucourt drove them down to the far end of the dock, where the Palace de Salad loomed over the Saladian Bay. The Neversink was docked there. A group of Xiomerans were working on the ship, and impatiently shouting at some Saladian workers who were assisting them. Drummond sighed again. "You are not slapping some patches on this old hulk and expecting me to sail it again, are you?"

"No, this is even better!" Daucourt walked over to a nearby gangplank, pointing to a sign. Drummond read it out loud: "The Salad Land Naval Museum and SLNS Neversink Experience."

"They're turning the old girl into a floating museum, and the proceeds will fund the Naval Service! It'll have a gift shop, simulators, exhibits and everything. It will tell the proud story of the Naval Service and the islands, with guided tours every hour!" Daucourt beamed as if expecting praise or perhaps a hug. Drummond simply stared. "Who," she asked, "is going to be leading those tours?"

"Well, you and some of the other naval officers, when you're not busy. The Marquis felt that having real life sailors doing the tours and running the gift shop would provide the most authentic experience...." Daucourt trailed off as Piper gave a shout that was probably heard all the way back at the Palace itself.

"You expect me to become a tour guide? While running the Naval Service? I'm supposed to lead civilians and their snot-nosed brats all over the place, or maybe sell trinkets at the gift shop, while leading our force responsible for protecting our waters. All to 'fund the Naval Service', which I know is damn well code for 'fund the Marquis' new wardrobe budget'? You have truly lost your tiny little mind!" Drummond began walking away, and Daucourt shouted after her "What am I supposed to tell the Marquis, then?"

"Tell him," she paused, looking over her shoulder, "tell him I QUIT!" Piper took off her peaked cap, tossing it into the ocean, and stomped off. Daucourt looked after her in distress.

"Well damn. Now I'll have to lead the tours," he sighed.