Hector- Rope

The rapping of a loose rope against his cabin window pulled Vega away from his dark thoughts. He swiveled in his seat, staring back at the small panels of glass that filled the rear wall of the captain’s quarters. The rope flashed faintly into view as it whipped down and struck the window. Vega grimaced: some fool hadn’t tied the thing off. He hated seeing such lazy attention to detail on the Maelstrom, and if he did nothing about it now, it’d be sure to keep him awake all night. Replacing the quill in the inkpot, Vega rose from his desk, taking his black cape and fastening it around his throat. He checked the carriage clock that was fixed to his desk, which told him it was the second hour after midnight. Leaving the cabin he made his way above deck, heading aft.

...

Vega stopped at the railing. He’d expected the offending rope to be attached to a working part of the ship. Instead it was a relatively short length tied to the rail, serving no purpose. He looked over the side, spying the tattered end banging against his cabin windows as the water churned white below. Who’d fasten a length of rope to the aft of the ship? What good did it do other than annoy the count and bring him aloft? Vega looked at how the rope was tied; it wasn’t a nautical knot, which meant it wasn’t one of his crew. The Sharklord suddenly felt a sick, cold feeling in his stomach. He turned.

Hector stood behind him, flanked by two other figures in the shadows. His men kept an eye toward the prow of the Maelstrom, on the lookout for passersby, while the Boarlord’s eyes were fixed on the count.

“What is this, Hector?” asked Vega, trying to keep his voice calm while his guts were in knots. Why did he feel so anxious? How could Hector put him so on edge?

“I needed to see you, Vega.”

B3 P4 C6