Delaware was trying to keep his eye open for gunsmiths, but his mind was distracted. Not by the streets of York, which were distracting enough. Sailors and merchants and mercenaries crowded around stalls, buying fried food, clothes, jewelry, salt and spices, gods knew what else. Voices barked in English, Spanish, Korean, and Arabic. The sky was a patchwork of clouds and clear sky, the air shifting capriciously between calm and breezy.

But, Delaware had tuned out the voices, the scents, the colors. It wasn’t the world distracting him, it was his desire to help Trankee with his “gun game,” so he could take out more enemies before having to resort to blades and battery. Finding the right gunsmith with the right size ball didn’t seem enough.

He finally just let the fire in his head burst from his mouth.

“Someone should set up a factory to make cartridges.”

Trankee chuckled. “To make what?”

Delly nodded with a sigh. Trankee was a man of action, not a man of science. He wouldn’t know the history.

“In the old days, they had factories where they’d pack powder and shot into little cylinders. You could load a bunch of them at once and then just fire over and over.”

“What, really?” Trankee stared into the sky, imagining it. “Without reloading? Why is nobody doing that?”

Delaware shrugged.

“After the cartridges ran out in the Starving Time, one-shots took over. Everything went crazy and people just wanted something simple that worked. Mixing powder was hard enough without working out how to start cartridges up again. And, there were already a lot of people into muzzle-loaded guns, so that took off and people forgot about cartridges. They just turned to guns that have to be loaded one at a time.”

“Fuck,” Trankee shook his head. “That’s the part I hate the most. Reloading. Fucking annoying.”

“Well, a lot of people went back to bows and arrows. A bit faster.”

“Valley trash,” Trankee sneered.

Delly nodded. It was offensive, but true. “Shenandoah and Roanoke love their archers.”

“Maybe you should do it,” Trankee said. “Start a factory.”

Delaware shook his head.

“No. I don’t know enough about it. I only know about navigation.”

Trankee shrugged. “You knew about cartridges, I didn’t.”

Delaware shook his head again.

“I know about cartridges. I don’t know how to make them. Or make the guns that fire them.”

He took a deep breath as the breeze died away.

“But, I bet there are still some old guns stashed somewhere to look at.”

“You’re smart,” Trankee said with a strong hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sure packing powder into a little cylinder can’t be harder than pointing an entire ship toward Bermuda.”

“Maybe,” Delly said. He found his way past the distractions. “But, right now, we just need to find you some reliable shot.”

“It hardly matters,” Trankee shrugged. “I’m a terrible gunner. I’m better at close quarters.”

“Maybe you need a new gun,” Delaware said.

Trankee glared at him. “I’ve had several guns. It’s not the gun. It’s me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know what I’m good at, and shooting ain’t it.”

“Hey!”

They looked up. Scaveland stood there in the streets of York, his thick arms spread wide. A blonde girl stood behind him under his shoulder, her dainty hand resting on his bare neck just above the collar.

Delaware struggled to swallow.

Beside Scaveland was a grinning Erisk West, his arm around a chubby brunette. Erisk pointed at Delly with a scrunch of his nose.

“Hey, bud!” Erisk said.

“Scavvy!” Trankee called out with broad smile. “And Erisk, you little bitch!”

Erisk blinked and frowned. Trankee put his hand on the brunette’s shoulder.

“He’s promising to build you a china cabinet, or some such carpenter shit?”

Trankee looked at Scaveland and laughed hard. The other marine laughed with him, and suddenly Delaware realized Trankee had taken complete control over the unexpected encounter. But, he had used that control to shame his bottom mate.

“Erisk is a fine carpenter,” Delaware said, stepping forward with a hand extended to the brunette. “If he were to promise you a cabinet, it would be better sold than kept.”

He expected a shove from Trankee. Instead he got a calm, appreciative nod.

The brunette took his hand and shook it.

“Woyna,” Erisk said.

Delaware nodded at Erisk and smiled at the brunette.

“Nice to meet you, Woyna.”

The brunette smiled and blushed. That was when Trankee shoved him, gently with an elbow. Delaware took a breath, cleared his throat, and extended his hand to the blonde.

“Saylin,” Scaveland blurted.

The blonde blinked and lifted her eyebrows.

“Selin,” she corrected, taking Delly’s hand.

Delaware shook her hand gently. “You’ll get used to it. Or not.”

She giggled. Scaveland glared at him.

“This,” Erisk said, gesturing at his top mate, “is Trankee Hall, a marine like Scavvy.”

Trankee bowed slightly at the two girls in turn.

“And this,” Erisk went on, “is Delaware Singh, the navigator of the Sunrise.”

Delaware tipped his head with a glance toward Scaveland to see if he was still glaring.

“Navigator?” said Selin. “You tell the captain where to go?”

Scaveland sighed.

“Not exactly,” Delaware said. “I tell the captain where he should go. Whether he listens to me is his choice.”

The girls, and Trankee, laughed at that.

“He stares up at the stars,” Scaveland said.

“And,” Trankee said, “uses them to guide the Sunrise toward a considerable profit.”

Woyna and Selin shared an appreciative glance. If Trankee knew women, they were thinking of a friend they might pair up with this up-and-coming young sailor. He chuckled. Delaware smiled at him warmly.

“We—” Scaveland started.

“Singh?” Woyna interrupted.

“Yes,” said Delaware, “that’s my surname.”

“Are you a Sikh?” she asked. “You have no beard.”

Delaware leaned back.

“Well, my family is Sikh. I went to sea to get away from all the expectations.”

“Didn’t we all?” Erisk said, pulling the brunette closer to touch noses. Then, his eyes flashed nervously at Trankee before he squared himself and grinned at Delaware.

Trankee nodded at the scowling Scaveland with a look that said things were getting serious. Marine serious. Scaveland nodded back at him.

Trankee waved at Erisk and Scaveland.

“You boys have any word of when we’re out?”

Scaveland raised his eyebrows, marine serious.

“The Sunrise might be stuck here as long as a week,” he said. “There’s word of Union patrols along the Capes. Too dangerous to slip out of the Bay.”

Delaware glanced up at Trankee. A whole week of Erisk and Scaveland with their land wives. Trankee gave him a calming scowl.

“Well,” he said, “you’ve got plenty of wages to spend over a week, Delaware?”

Delly shrank.

“I’ve nothing to spend them on.”

“Surely,” Scaveland said, almost dismissively, “some books or something?”

“This is York,” said Erisk with a smirk at Woyna, “not Alexandria.”

Woyna giggled and nodded.

“There are tailors here,” Trankee said to Delaware. “You could use some new threads. Dress up nice.”

Delaware nodded at that, thinking about it. Selin and Woyna took in his humble clothes with critical eyes, looked at each other, and nodded in agreement.

“Ship’s navigator, after all,” Trankee said with a sidelong glance at Scaveland. Delaware noted the glance, and so did Scavvy, who lowered his lids at his fellow marine.

“You need to look the officer’s part,” Trankee said, “if you’re to move up to mate.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Delaware said, smiling at Trankee. Scaveland rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around Selin’s waist. Delaware recognized that as a sign of anxiety. A fear of loss. He’d be at sea in a week, after all, seeking out Delaware’s comforts.

Delly felt a strange calm come over him, a complete dismissal of Scaveland and his land wife, and he knew Trankee was to credit for it. The calm brought him a courage, and the courage brought him a callousness.

“See you around?” he said with genuinely dismissive glee to Scaveland and Erisk.

Erisk blinked and looked up into Trankee’s eyes, but the man was busy nodding at Delaware. Scaveland forced his eyes to roll again and tugged at the blonde with a grunt. The four of them, sailors and land wives, walked away down the crowded streets of York. Erisk risked one last look over his shoulder, but Trankee was just chuckling at Delaware with his thumbs tucked in his belt.

“You played that well,” Trankee said.

“You think?” Delaware said. “I probably just pissed him off.”

“Fuck him,” said Trankee. “Buy yourself some new clothes. You can find a better man than that prick.”

“I don’t know.”

“Marcio,” said Trankee, “first mate on the Ronin, is on our side. On my side of our side. And mateless.”

Delaware lowered his eyelids.

“For real?”

“So I’ve heard,” Trankee shrugged.

Delaware shook his head, staring at the paving stones.

“No,” he said. “We’re out to get your ammunition.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Delly.”

“No,” he repeated. He stared up at Trankee with calm and courage, if not callousness. “We set out today to buy you balls for your gun.”

Trankee threw his hands in the air.

“Stop it,” Delaware said. “First things first. You’re no good at shooting, so we have to get the best fit for your gun. And, maybe get you a new pistol with a longer barrel. A properly rifled barrel.”

Trankee waved his hands in the air in surrender. Then he stared into the mottled sky and shook his head. One of his heavy feet stomped the paving stones.

“So,” Delly said, “you can pop off a few enemies before you have to draw your dagger.”

Trankee sighed and nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “Then, we get your cute ass out of these rags?”

Delaware grinned and nodded. He held out his hand for a third time.

“Deal?”

Trankee huffed a laugh. Then, he closed his thick hand over Delaware’s.

“Deal.”