Later, once everything was under control, Boatswain Trumper reported the incident in the hold to Captain Skippy, who was in his cabin with Mr. Paine, the ship's secretary, recording the damages and the inventory.
"The Garnor's hold carried a total of one hundred and twenty hogsheads of rum," said the secretary. "So then, after assessing the damage—how much did we lose?"
Trumper pressed his lips together before replying."Six burst open, two are leaking through the staves, and three more are spilling in streams through loosened hoops."
"That's a ten percent loss," Mr. Paine said sharply.
"Aye, but far from ruining the prize," replied the captain calmly.
"There are other damages to the stores as well," added Trumper.
The captain arched an eyebrow, frowning slightly."Do we have the root cause of all this?"
"I'd rather bring in the culprits and let them explain it themselves."
Trumper left the cabin, and the secretary turned to the captain."Captain, you know what this loss means…" he said in Elvish, his voice low. "The governor will not be pleased. We can't afford to lose a single asset."
"I understand that, Mr. Paine," Skippy replied in the same tongue, steadying himself against the table as the ship swayed. "But under the conditions we sail, accidents happen—and our dear governor will have to learn to live with that."
A knock echoed on the door. It opened to admit Trumper, followed by Kayin, Cody, and Sammy, escorted by Mr. Knox. The trio entered the cabin.
Sammy had never been inside the captain's quarters, and the sight left her astonished. It was an unexpectedly cluttered yet fascinating refuge—more the den of a scholarly mouse than the lair of an old sea wolf. The place smelled of wood and old books, a fragrance that captivated her, stirring memories of Black Isle even amid the tension and tragedy of the moment. Yet the scent of rum soaked into their clothes would soon saturate the air.
On the main table rested a sextant, several maps of the Caribbean covered in annotations, and a pair of worn quills—signs of long nights of study—alongside a few artifacts the girl couldn't identify. Books crowded the shelves, with scrolls and loose pages stacked precariously, somehow surviving the ship's sway. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the entire cabin.
Skippy sat behind his desk, slouched slightly, speaking to Mr. Paine in a language Sammy could not discern. It was musical, yet at times carried a rough edge. When the boatswain cleared his throat, the captain turned his gaze toward the three young offenders, who stood with eyes downcast—except for Sammy, whose curiosity outweighed her fear.
"Well then," said the captain, "what exactly happened down there?"
Sammy glanced at the boys and cleared her throat."The ship lurched suddenly, sir. We didn't have time to secure the cargo."
The captain studied them with calm skepticism, his brows narrowing."Is that how it happened?" he asked Trumper.
"As I've already explained," said the boatswain, "according to one of the carpenters, they were seen arguing on the Orlop deck—where they shouldn't have been. They were supposed to be in the hold, lashing down the barrels."
"Why did you abandon your posts?"
"We didn't abandon them, Captain," said Sammy.
"You were seen on the Orlop deck when you should have been securing the cargo," Skippy insisted. "Isn't that so, Mr. Trumper?"
"Those were my orders, sir," the boatswain confirmed.
The three lowered their heads.
"We lost ten percent of the cargo," the captain said, his tone sharpening. "Do you know what that means?"
He rose from his chair, walked to the front of the desk, and sat on its edge, arms crossed."Of course you don't. Mr. Paine, tell them how much that loss amounts to."
The secretary, spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, leafed through his notes and began scribbling, muttering softly until he finished the calculation with a sigh."Considering it was Mount Gay Rum—Barbadian distillate—the loss amounts to approximately one hundred and fifty-seven doubloons, Captain."
"A hundred and fifty-seven doubloons!" Trumper growled. "With that we could've bought a house in Kingsport and still filled the hold again with rum."
"Or paid the crew's wages for three years," Mr. Paine countered.
The captain turned back to the three young sailors."As you can see, given the magnitude of the loss, you'll be punished accordingly."
The boys went pale. Cody trembled slightly; Kayin exhaled through his nose; Sammy pressed her lips tight, lowering her eyes and clenching her fists.
Trumper rested his hand on the girl's shoulder and looked to the captain."You're not going to hang them, are you?" he asked in a low voice.
"No, Mr. Trumper," Skippy replied. "Though the loss is serious, it doesn't warrant execution—but it does merit an exemplary punishment. One hundred and fifty-seven doubloons—gone through your carelessness." His voice was calm but cutting. "Mr. Paine, divide the debt among the three. I want no tears, no excuses," he added. "Only results. Extend their contracts for as long as required."
The secretary sighed and nodded while the three exchanged uneasy glances."But, Captain…" Sammy stammered. "That's more than two years' pay."
"Exactly," the elf replied. "The sea does not forgive those who sleep upon stolen gold. And if I hear another complaint—two months will be added to each term."
Sammy lifted her gaze toward the lamp hanging overhead, swaying gently. She noticed the flame did not dance—it remained fixed, unmoving, as if caught in another moment in time. Then Cody's voice broke her reverie, pulling her sharply back to the present.