The sight of the captured kite landing produced a scene of chaos, with militia both Martian and British demanding to know what was going on, and the habourmaster throwing a fit of apoplexy over demurrage and docking fees, all to the raucous accompaniment of the mixed Martian and human onlookers.
An official from the Colonial Office waded through the masses, put the harbourmaster at peace and led the ragged adventurers away for a quick bath, some new togs and a stern debriefing.
At first it looked bad for the team, as the Colonial Office chap droned on about the financial loss of the barge and trade goods to piracy. The loss and possible defection of the crew was a matter of deep concern, as was the loss of the machine gun mounted on the now-lost barge. The amounts involved were not trivial.
But then the Colonial Office representative came to the matter of a prize Kite, the value of which in prize terms was many times that of the barge.
The crown would of course keep half that value and the kite itself (which might have to be returned to its rightful owner, subject to a few checks and some paperwork.
The remainder would be divided up into “shares” and distributed to the improvised crew. The Earthmen would take a share each, Forsyth as captain would receive an additional share and the rest would be paid at one share per human and one half-share per martian native. Entirely fair and equitable. Generous, even.
There was a small complication in that a number of the Martian natives had been identified as citizens or known agents of Shastapsh, and they and others with perhaps their own reasons for circumspection ion Moerus Lacus had simply vanished into the night and the city warrens.
It was, when all was said and done, a fine mess.
Clutching bankers’ draughts for their monies, the players set about getting accommodation, clothes, necessities (though it were probably best not to dwell on what Doctor Phipps considered “necessary”) and securing transport back to Syrtis Major.
It turned out that the best option was in fact to buy outright their own vessel and hire a crew, which is what the team ended up doing
Securing a crew turned out to be more difficult than one might think, as the adventurers were confronted in a small courtyard by genial yet bellicose Martian sailors and longshoremen, itching for a fight.
Surrounded as they were by cheering Martian non-combatants each plucky adventurer was momentarily taken back to their hellish experience on entering school for the first time, and each (for their own reasons) chose to accept the three-fingered gauntlet that had been tossed metaphorically at their feet.
And a fine bout of fisticuffs ensued, as gentlemanly as could be expected, with the Martians refraining from outnumbering our gallant team. No clear winner was to be had from this rather childish affair, but the friendships formed that day would serve as an example of Earth-Mars cooperation in days to come.
First of all, the team now had their crew, who would gladly take on employment by such fine examples of British behaviour.
Secondly, while sealing the deal in a nearby tavern, a bout of further but more serious trouble was averted when the brave lads were alerted by their new-found friends of the immanent danger of attack by a roving gang of Worm Cult fanatics, who started trouble in the tavern but most definitely did not end it, that proud distinction going once again to the British. Truly, one could see the advantages of joining the Empire that day!
However, all was not fun and games, and a plot was uncovered that would have the three major trading families of Moerus Lacus caught up in a nefarious plot to kill all the “Red Devils” in the city!
A quick recce was arranged that night to check out the compound at which the meeting between the Worm Cultists and the heads of the three families.
And a likely method for infiltration of the compound was discovered.
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