This afternoon the sky was clear and the weather was warm at the tropical island her battleship had pulled onto as a means of giving rest to the deckhands. Lyra never liked to sail for too many days in a row; the ship itself could handle it, but the crew was the only indispensable resource they had, and they needed to rest. There was no purpose in working her Marines to the bone. They weren’t in pursuit of anyone at this very moment. They were just on patrol of these waters.
Or at least, they had been.
Campfires were blazing and drink was pouring, but the comfortable chatter and laughter on the beach where a good portion of her crew were spending down-time slowly died down and heads began to turn to face a man who had shown up at the edge of their gathering, who seemed to have inadvertently stumbled upon them.
He was recognizable; that was without a doubt. Every Marine there, except perhaps the most junior, would recognize his face from the bounty posters and the newspapers. He had to be lost or crazy to encounter a beach where over a hundred Marines were sitting, well within reach of their firearms, swords, and other weapons. This situation was precarious for both the wanted man and for her Marines. One could have heard a pin drop.
Lyra ground her teeth together slightly in calculation of the situation and stood up from where she had been sitting with the officers from her crew, and departed them to approach the wayward pirate, waving her hand to keep her crew seated and where they were, as some were already reaching for their weapons. She had met him once during an extremely brief encounter. This didn’t need to end in bloodshed. She doubted he had mal-intentions anyway.
“I suggest you turn around immediately and come with me,” she said once she was close enough to speak to him.
