Knock Twice, Come Alone

The message appears on Shaw's desk sometime mid-morning, possibly while he'd stepped away for a swift reconnaissance of the mess deck. It's on the reverse of a cargo manifest and the wax used is an everyday off-white. It bears no crest. Interesting. Shaw bites into his apple and breaks the seal with his thumb.

Its contents are in cipher. Not unusual, except he doesn't know which cipher, nor the necessary key, if there is one, since there's no indication from whom it originated. He doesn't recognise the slanted handwriting. At a glance it doesn't look like a simple shifted alphabet, nor rail fence. Perhaps two-square. The message is short, which makes brute-forcing it more difficult, and contains numbers and some unlikely punctuation. He puts his apple down, pulls up his seat and dips his pen.

There's a sequence of numbers in the uppermost left corner that Shaw first took for the date, but on closer examination is nothing of the sort. He jots it down: 11—2—5, and thinks a moment. He turns the message over.

Cute. He finds the eleventh item on the manifest, and the fifth letter of the second word. From there, it's straightforward enough.

Master Shaw

I have something important to show you
Meet me in Hook Point at dusk
Follow the boardwalk past the north gate warehouse
Take the steps to the rooms above the laundry
Knock twice
Come alone

The sun drenches Dampwick Ward in sanguine light as Shaw steals up the steps up to the laundry, slipping between the shadows cast by the tall timber buildings, the scent of soap heavy in the air. The boards of the walkway are old and rotten with disuse, though the strings of algae, crisped in the day's heat, have been recently disturbed. He draws a blade and readies himself, standing to one side of the door when he gives it two firm raps.

There's a distinct chance this is an ambush: Ashvane loyalists out for revenge, or the Scrimshaws looking for a dust-up—

"What's the password?" a familiar voice sings.

Shaw feels the tension drop out of his shoulders, and he releases his next breath in a sigh. His heart refuses to slow its beat.

"Captain," he calls out, sheathing his blade. It's immediately clear to him what this is about. He hopes the man can hear him rolling his eyes.

The door opens a crack. A sea-grey eye squints at him. "That's not it, but suppose I can let you off this time." Fairwind opens the door wider and gestures him in with a sweeping bow.

"Are you doing your laundry?" Shaw closes the door behind him. Fairwind is bare from the waist-up, his hair loose over his longshoreman's shoulders. His breeches are unbelted, for that matter, and drooping lower and lower.

"That would make sense, wouldn't it?" Fairwind settles onto the room's shabby-looking bed in a sprawl. "If anyone asks, that's what we're doing here."

Shaw folds his arms and tilts his head as Fairwind wriggles out of what's left of his clothing. He decides to be obtuse for a while. "What is it you wanted to show me?"

"Seriously?" Fairwind sits up. "You figured out my secret code but not that it was a booty call?"

"Booty. Is this a pirate thing?"

"Yes." Fairwind seizes on this with enthusiasm. "I'm a fearsome pirate with fearsome pirate intentions. You'd best tie me down before I get out of hand." He can't keep a straight face, but he does at least stop short of waggling his eyebrows.

"Is that so." Shaw supposes Fairwind has put the effort in, and he does have an ongoing and acute desire to make him lose all capacity for words. "Well then. Did you bring any rope?"

"Yards of it."

The bed squeaks when Shaw leans his weight on it. Fairwind tucks his fingers into Shaw's belt and draws him in, and is difficult when Shaw tries to capture him. "Keep still," he says, managing to lash one wrist to the bedpost before he plucks Shaw's armour apart. "You salty cur," he adds as an afterthought.

"Oof," Fairwind murmurs as Shaw binds his other wrist. "I prefer 'dashing rapscallion'. Knot that tighter, would you? Bowline'll do."

"Ingrate. I should leave you like this," Shaw says, and kisses him until his giddy laughter subsides. He pulls the rope tighter, then traces his thumb along the angle of his jaw. "I know I've been more busy that usual lately, but you didn't have to resort to cloak and dagger."

"Gets you going, though, doesn't it?"

Shaw will remain tight-lipped about that, but there's no helping the sharp intake of breath when Fairwind bends his knee, his shin pressing firmly between Shaw's thighs.

Fairwind mouths an 'ooh' at what he finds there. "How long have you got?"

"Until midnight, then an agent will follow me up."

"Oh, that's wonderful. That's hours." Fairwind sighs rapturously. "It's a booty windfall."