Captain's Log: Night 2
As had been predicted, the storm persisted long after sunrise. It’s almost lunchtime when
Trundle feels it’s finally safe enough for him to leave the quarterdeck without jeopardising the entire crews’ safety.
“I’m going to eat and get some sleep. I’ll be back by sunset,”
Trundle says, “Think you can keep her afloat until then?”
“We’ll try our best,” says one of the crew.
“No pressure or anything, but just remember that everyone’s lives are in your hands.”
He restrains a chuckle at the look of sheer panic in their eyes. Nothing shapes up a crew of lily-livered sailors like giving them a life or death chance to prove their abilities. Of course, he had often considered what would happen if the sailors failed in their task; but, to date, his methods had proved to have a 100% success rate.
The officers’ mess falls silent when he arrives. The surgeon, the boatswain, and the quarter master don’t even look up from their meals. Although concerned, his stomach is rumbling after skipping breakfast. He gets his lunch—leftover shark soup with a side of slightly hard bread—before taking a seat among his fellow officers.
“How goes it?” he asks.
“We’ve good and bad news,” says the quarter master, “the bad news is that three of the crew have died.”
“And the good news?”
Trundle asks.
“One of them was a pirate.”
“Who?”
“One of the servants:
Kuma,” says the surgeon, “do you know her?”
“Can’t say I do,”
Trundle says, “I’m not too familiar with the servants.”
“Me neither,” says the surgeon, “so when she came to the infirmary last night complaining of insomnia I didn’t hesitate to turn my back on her - but then she somehow managed to knock me out with a mild sedative.”
Trundle raises an eyebrow. “That’s a clever move for a servant.”
“Stupid more like.” The surgeon produces an empty bottle from their pocket and sets it down on the tabletop. “Due to her asking for a sedative I discovered that someone had been messing about in the infirmary. A bottle of pentobarbital was missing from my supply cupboard.”
“Pentobarbital?”
Trundle asks.
“A little of it will make you hallucinate; a little bit more will knock you out; but a large dosage is lethal,” the surgeon says, “it’s pretty dangerous stuff, so I kept it hidden away under lock and key. But somehow
3DSfan134 got a hold of it - that’s how he poisoned the captain.”
“How did he get the key?”
“That’s still a mystery,” the quarter master says.
Trundle shudders as he spoons shark soup into his mouth. It wasn’t too bad when it was still fresh at dinner yesterday, but when reheated the taste is awful. He takes a bite out of the stale bread to try and absorb the foul liquid now festering in his belly.
“The question is, who would be smart enough to know that pentobarbital is lethal?” the boatswain asks aloud. “No way is a lowly cook going to know something like that.”
Trundle shrugs. “Maybe whoever gave him it knew?”
“Who could know that except for the doc?”
The table falls silent.
Trundle waits for the surgeon to make a defence but none comes. It stays that way for so long that
Trundle wonders if the conversation is over. He’s almost considering leaving and going to bed when someone finally speaks.
“
Kuma was hiding among the servants,” the quarter master says, “is it safe to assume that all of the pirates are hiding among the lowest ranks of the ship?”
“Unlikely,” the surgeon says, “the lower ranks wouldn’t be able to tell apart pentobarbital from it’s similarly named cousin pentothal: a risk they couldn’t afford to take, given that it’s a truth serum in addition to being a sedative.”
“They knew the captain was onto them,” the quarter master adds, “and if they made a mistake with the dosage then she would have blabbed everything.”
“Are you saying that the captain knew who the pirates were?”
Trundle asks.
“Highly likely,” says the boatswain, “why else would they have killed her?”
“We’re getting off track,” the quarter master says, “the question at hand should be: what ranks would it most benefit the pirates to hold if they aren’t going to disguise themselves as servants?”
Trundle is unsure what to do with his hands now that he has finished his meal. He wrings his fingers beneath the table, trying to think the situation through. His fellow officers were proving to be smarter than he ever gave them credit for.
“A ship’s doctor would be an appropriate role to fill,”
Trundle says, “think about it: access to all those dangerous tools and drugs - it’s easy for anyone in that situation to be able to wipe out the crew.”
“How about a fully skilled sailing master?” the surgeon counters, “even after the crew are long dead they are still going to need someone around to sail their stolen ship.”
“Ridiculous,”
Trundle says, “anyone can steer a ship. Go up to the quarterdeck right now and see for yourselves.”
He is prepared for a comeback, but no one says anything. They seem to be thinking over his words. He smothers a yawn and wonders how long this is discussion is going to go on for. At this rate, he’s only going to get an hour or two of shut eye before he’s needed back on-deck.
“You know,” the boatswain says, “this investigation would be so much easier if we had bothered to let
3DSfan134 defend himself before we tossed him overboard.”
Trundle nods. “Yes, but our good ol’ friend the doctor here knocked him out without hesitation.”
“Yes, but only after you,
Trundle, directly accused
3DSfan134 of being scum,” the surgeon says, “isn’t that right?”
“Uhh…”
Trundle freezes. He can hear his own pulse in his ears, rapidly accelerating as he looks around the table and sees three pairs of eyes staring back at him with stone cold hatred.
“You’re not going to defend yourself?” asks the quarter master.
The surgeon smirks and reaches under the table, producing a rifle. “If you run you’re dead,
Trundle.”
The next few minutes pass in a haze of colour. It feels like only seconds before he’s standing at the stern of the ship, taking baby steps along the plank. If he dares to try and escape he knows his head will be blown off in an instant. It’s not worth it.
He takes a deep breath and jumps into the blue.
Red bubbles to the surface.
Trundle the
Sailing Master underestimated his fellow officers.
You’ve 22 hours & 20 minutes to submit your night actions.
Mafia KP = 1