Less than three years after joining the Bluebeard Pirates, Captain Tichman Plank had already risen to second-in-command. Sitting aboard his Black Snake, he watched the distant Ahab Dick switching constantly between godlike and utterly hopeless, and clicked his tongue in wonder.
One second, the pirate ship was as nimble as a willow leaf in a storm, deftly dodging the gunfire from the dreadnought behind it. The next, it lurched from side to side like a drunken man who'd had too much to drink, practically begging to be shot at. Naturally, the pursuing dreadnought was only too happy to take the bait, and promptly fired two more shells without hesitation.
Tichman Plank watched with his own eyes as flames erupted from the Ahab Dick's stern and midsection. Its speed slowed at once.
"...The Grand Captain's a real man's man!" Plank was filled with admiration. His technical skills were one thing, but anyone who dared to weave left and right through a ceaseless barrage could only be described as a real man's man.
He removed the large hat decorated with feathers and silk flowers from his head and held it to his chest, his face full of admiration, yet tinged with sorrow and remembrance.
This newly risen supernova of the pirate world was a pure-blooded human, seemingly in his early thirties. Handsome and tall, with an air of elegance and dignity, he did indeed look like a nobleman from a distinguished family.
The only catch was that the man wore an old-fashioned Imperial formal outfit, slightly worn, on every occasion—and accessorized it with all manner of flamboyant ornaments. The Imperial court had indeed once favored this excessively ornate style, and had even managed to lead the aesthetic tastes of the whole universe astray. But that had been two hundred years ago.
After