pointofhonoria | come sail away inbox

Sure I did. There's 22. Why?

That's what I thought, too. I picked up a package from Sundries--the sort you got your Requin in--and got volumes 1, 5, 8, 17 and...23. Among other presents.

I've had a couple more things myself last few days but nothing like that. How can you have a 23rd volume that never existed?

What's it called? You think it's real?

The Nightjar. I haven't read it yet, no idea if there's any way it can be real. Maybe he wrote it and it never got published? Either way, if you want to come over and take a look, I'm free anytime.

Seriously? The Nightjar?

Goddammit Ferrier.

Yeah I gotta see this, gimme a tick and I'll come over.

Johnny's waiting in the cabin for her, door propped open with a fluffy spa flip-flop, dressed casually today--hawaiian shirt and slacks, the colors picked to bring out the gold in his eyes.

She's gotten used to him in his more casual get-up since that first time out at the pool bar, less surprised looks at the get-up than there used to be. She's only made it as far as graduating to plain t-shirts instead of button-downs, herself.

She still raps a knuckle on the door as she pushes it open and comes in, but that's the only pleasantry she's got, she's right into continuing the conversation, "Ferrier's been being cagey about the name 'Nightjar' ever since we first took the Abacus Ma case. Tried to get her to talk about it right before I got here, but she shut me right down. Real unlike her, honestly."

He smirks as he tosses her the book, knowing she has the reflexes to catch it.

"Well, I'm curious what you might learn from this. I'm starting with the early books, I never read those at all."

"Figure I'll be able to tell if it's a load of hogwash pretty quick, at least. If it ain't... there's gotta be answers."

She absolutely catches it without issue, flipping it around to get a good look at it. Looks in line with all the other volumes, at least.

"They're good reads. She really is the best at what she does, and Barrada tells the tales well. Can see why bleedin' Quincy had this hero image of her. Good thing he did, too, really. Can't imagine where we'd be now if he hadn't called her in."

Hardly bears thinking, really.

He moves to sit down on the bed, gesturing for her to make herself comfortable. "I mean to show Watson the rest of the books, given he chronicled his adventures with the great Sherlock Holmes. I'm curious how well they compare."

Crabb gets herself sat down and settled, flipping the book open but only idly eyeing the introductory stuff for now.

"Huh. I'll have to ask one of you about it, when you have. Haven't talked to him much about that Sherlock of his, but he came up when I got here. Both've us learning from tryna keep up with great detectives, even if only one of us'd say we're a detective ourselves."

That being her, of course. "Didn't realise he documented it all too."

"That's alright, have you met Joan yet?"

If she has, she'll realize this isn't at all a subject change, but if not, that might sound a little abrupt.

"The other Watson? Sure I have. Had a short chat with her at the pool party, she mentioned the whole... them being like other versions of each other thing."

Which is pretty weird even as weird things about this place go, but why not.

"It feels like...Berrada's as far from being Watson as Joan is, just in an entirely different direction."

He sort of gestures axes in space, lines diverging from a point, trying to illustrate the thought.

"...I think I follow. Now you say it..." She nods her head to the side, yeah, she can see that. Less obvious when the names don't draw an immediate connection, but... yeah, she sees the similarities. "Huh. Yeah. I see what you're saying."

She flips open to the actual text of the book, able to mostly evenly divide her attention between it and the conversation. She wants to at least see what answers immediately might present themselves.

He lies back on the bed, relaxing while Crabb reads, curious what she's about to uncover in reading that particular book.

"It all means something, I'm sure. But I don't know what it is, yet. If Berrada ever shows up here...well. More points of comparison."

"Feels like there's a lot of that, when you dig in. Things that mean... something, but you don't have half the context you need to know what." She drums her fingers idly. "Still wouldn't wish this place on anyone but gotta say, wouldn't mind the chance to meet him, either."

She keeps reading, those first pages of lead-up before getting into the case itself, nothing mindblowing there, no, that's about normal. Reads right, sounds like Berrada, nothing glaringly wrong. It's when the case actually comes into play that her brow immediately furrows.

"...Pilaf. This case started with the Royal Family of Pilaf."

"Really? I don't know the full story there--no one really does. It was about the right time, though. Twenty-mumble years ago. I remember hearing a rumor once that Lavender Jack was the princess in disguise, pursuing justice in her own way."

Which is amusing, right? Hilarious.

Oh, hilarious. Crabb snorts. “Bit off the mark. Can’t say the reality wasn’t insane in it’s own way, mind, but… lost princesses running about’s another step up.”

Yeah just wait until the rest of the dots connect. Your reality isn’t done shifting yet.

“Looks like the King was killed first and they suspected an inside job, which, yeah, can see why you’d go to Ferrier. Bit delicate. Just— Hell, if this means she’s known what happened out there this whole damn time…”

"Somehow, it would not surprise me. A woman like her is sitting on a ton of secrets."

He lets out a sign, going quiet so she can read. Enjoy, Crabb.

“Apparently.”

Another lull as she reads on, the details of their trip in, wide eyes at the fact there’s a damn French Ironclad that she figures she’ll just mention when there’s more context and then it goes and gives her more context. She jolts a little more upright.

“Is there a pie Endo bleedin’ Gall hasn’t shoved his thumb in? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure we’re running out of ‘em. He was there. On a French ship. What in God’s name…”

Where is this going, what the hell else did this bastard do to end up where he is today?

"Gall? Was in Pilaf? I...really?" He looks at her with confusion and a little bit of disgust because ew, Gall.

"Though him being on a French ship is really interesting. I knew Ferrier hated him, over something during the Platinum Wars, but I never suspected this."

“Right, yeah, he was practically spitting in my face about that once, knew she had more reason to hate him than any of us already did but— Pilaf?”

One of them having been there was already nuts, but both of them, this being where that history of theirs overlapped…

“Tactical advisor, supposedly. Said Gallery’s interests aligned with Pilaf’s ‘cause they’re small… something something— ah. Yeah. There it is. Resources. Y’know. Like Platinum. Slimy little—”

"Little? He's taller than both of us." But there's more amusement than anything there. "Can you imagine how perturbed he'd be if he ever ended up here? Captain versus Gall, you and I would win, by virtue of seeing him humiliated."

A huff of laughter, "Slimy bastard, then. That would be bleedin' satisfying, though. He wouldn't know how to handle it, if anyone deserves the Captain taking them down a peg or dozen... not so tough when you can't shield yourself behind a bunch of Military Police. Hell, looks like it only took Ferrier calling his crap once to his face for him to start trying to compensate before they even left the damned ship."

And she will absolutely quote what Ferrier said to his face.

"Instant grudge. Hadn't even done anything yet."

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