"Bert."

James spoke the name before he could stop himself. It came out more like an accusation than a greeting.

He watched the man, looking for changes since their last meeting. The broad shoulders were the same, wide enough to block a hatchway. The hands were the same too, large enough to tear a coat apart. In the previous day those hands had nearly done exactly that.

The only real difference was that Bert stood steady now. No drink clouded his balance.

Then James noticed the men standing behind him, and the situation became more complicated.

Two of them waited a step back from Bert’s shoulder. They were nearly as large as he was, close enough in build that James immediately suspected a family connection.

One had a square jaw and stood motionless, watching the dock with patient focus. The other looked more relaxed. His curiosity showed openly, though it did nothing to diminish his size.

"Brought reinforcements, did you?" James asked lightly.

His tone stayed casual, but his hand had already found the hilt at his side. If there was trouble coming, he wanted to be ready before it started.

He chuckled, "Generous of you, Bert. I thought I’d settled matters with one mountain. Turns out there’s a whole bloody ridge."

Cudjoe reacted before James had finished. He rose from his bucket and let a hand drift toward his own weapon.

Every muscle in him looked ready for a fight.

Briggs stood a moment later. As normal, he said nothing, but his posture made his intentions clear enough.

Bert immediately raised both hands, palms outward, empty and visible.

The gesture looked polite.

"Captain Calloway."

His voice sounded completely different from the drunken fury James remembered.

Every word came calm and composed. "I must offer my most sincere apologies for my conduct upon our previous encounter. It was unworthy of me, and I confess myself ashamed to have inflicted it upon you."

For several seconds nobody spoke.

James blinked. A laugh escaped him.

"Hold on."

James held up a hand. "I need to hear that a second time before I decide whether I’ve gone mad."

"I said I owe you an apology, Captain, and I would like very much to give it properly."

Cudjoe had gone completely stiff. James had seen him face enemy ships, storms, and gunfire with less confusion than this.

His mouth opened, then closed.

"Did he just..."

"Aye,"

James scratched at his jaw.

"I’m fairly certain we’re witnessin’ a rare natural phenomenon."

Briggs made a strange sound, halfway between a cough and a laugh. It was the most amusement James had heard from him all voyage.

He rubbed both hands down his face.

"Christ above."

For Briggs, it was practically a speech.

"Might I explain myself, Captain?"

He waited until James nodded.

Then, he started to explain. "My name is Albert, if it pleases you, though I confess few call me so. My mother served as a maid in the household of Mr. Aldous Thorne, who holds a minor colonial post. I am his son, born outside the marriage bed, as are my brothers here."

Bert stopped for a second, to let them catch up with the information.

His voice remained clear, "My mother’s position secured an education for the three of us beyond what our birth would ordinarily allow. We were schooled alongside the legitimate children. The manner of speech remained with us afterward, whether anyone intended that outcome or not."

"And the drink?" James asked.

For the first time, Bert’s formal composure slipped.

He replied carefully, "Drink turns me into precisely the man you met, Captain. I am not proud of it. I avoid it where I can. When I cannot avoid it, I try to avoid other people until the effects pass."

That answer landed differently than the rest. It sounded less rehearsed and more honest.

"Fair enough."

James believed him, or at least that Bert believed it.

He looked at the three brothers again. One question had become increasingly difficult to ignore.

"Yer father. Large man, is he? Given the three of you look carved off the same hull."

"In fact he was quite small, Captain."

The brother with the square jaw spoke for the first time. "My mother is responsible for the size. My father stands not much taller than yourself, if you’ll forgive the comparison."

"I won’t."

Cudjoe snorted.

"Names, the rest of ye."

"Edmund."

"Wesley."

That was all he offered.

James pointed toward the ledger.

"If you intend to join, practical matters first. Can you swim?"

"I can, Captain," Bert replied. "Though I have never tested that claim in water deeper than a harbor. I would not wish to exaggerate my competence."

"I can swim well enough, Captain," Edmund said. "My stroke favors the left arm due to an injury sustained several years ago. I mention it only so you are not surprised should the matter become relevant."

"Certainly." Wesley concluded.

The answers told James quite a bit.

One measured everything. One explained everything. One preferred efficiency.

"Worked a rope before? Gone aloft?"

Bert nodded, "I have done both, Captain, aboard a merchantman out of Bristol some years prior. Though I would not claim exceptional skill."

Edmund continued, "I have done both as well. I believe my skill with rope work exceeds my brother’s, though I defer to his judgment in most matters."

"Certainly."

James had to fight back another grin.

"And a blade? A flintlock?"

"I am capable with both, Captain."

"As am I. Though I have observed that flintlocks fail in damp conditions more frequently than most men account for."

"Certainly."

That appeared to conclude Wesley’s contribution on the subject.

Cudjoe finally laughed properly.

"And why the Rose?"

James asked. "Three men with an education like that. You could find work anywhere in the Caribbean that wanted a man who could write his own name."

"We are in lack of funds, Captain."

Bert replied politely.

"Our manners have earned very little in the way of coin."

That explained part of it.

"That covers my brothers well enough."

Bert’s voice lost another layer of formality.

He continued after some hesitation, "Mine is a different matter. You beat me half to death in that street, and you had every reason to finish what you started. You chose not to. A man who shows that sort of restraint when he is owed otherwise is a man I would rather follow than fear."

James sat with that.

A crew needed capable men.

It also needed men who chose to be there.

He looked toward Cudjoe.

Cudjoe gave a short nod and reached for the ledger.

"Welcome aboard, all three of ye. Try nae tae apologize tae the French. Ruins the surprise."

"I shall attempt to restrain myself, quartermaster."

Bert stepped forward and signed beneath the Articles. His handwriting proved considerably steadier than James’s own.

Once the brothers moved away, Cudjoe ran a thumb down the list of names, counting quietly beneath his breath.

"Fifty-four, all told, countin’ these three."

He capped the inkpot.

"Fair mornin’s work. I’ll fill out the rest tomorrow."

"Aye."

James rolled his shoulders. The sun had climbed higher, and the heat was becoming harder to ignore.

Briggs spoke again, his voice low.

"That the lass from the desk. Standin’ yonder, watchin’ the Rose like she’s decidin’ somethin’."

James followed his gaze.

Meg stood where Briggs had pointed. Her arms were crossed and her attention rested on the ship.

Still, she had certainly noticed him by now, and she made no effort to hide it.

"Meg."

The name carried more thought than explanation.

"Go on, then," Cudjoe said, already turning back to the ledger. "We’ll manage the rest wi’out ye."

James judged the situation for a moment, found no reason to stay, and left the work in their hands.

Then he started down the dock toward her.