How poor are they that have not patience!, thought Beau Bergeron with a leering smile as he stared down upon the sails of the Marsh King’s Daughter. Many in his position would have desired to strike by now in a vain attempt at accomplishing their goals. Hot blooded and emotional they were…weak, was what they were. But not Beau Bergeron, no, he was a cold blooded assassin, patience was his virtue, and in his mind he could see himself in his home land, atop an ancient building in a rotting back-alley street, peering down the scope of a sniper-rifle entirely alien to the world of Aeldreth. The skilled wielder of such a rifle waited until the last possible moment to pull the trigger and kill their target. And Beau was, if anything, highly skilled.
For the past few days as the Calinda raced to keep up with her sailing companion, Beau had directed and participated in the menial tasks and labour that kept the airship in the skies and on her course. While the Captain had kept to the helm, driving personally. His pawn had played his part well, though it had taken a bit more prodding than the Assassin had originally planned for. He made a mental note of the Captain’s hubris and the part it would play in any future planning in that regard. Hubris made for a strong opponent, but it was also often that opponent’s undoing.
For his own part, Beau played the part of a first mate well, despite having no formal training as a sailor. Management and organization was a subset of a good member of his own profession, and he ran the Calinda’s crews with a precision that even the most hardened sailors would have to appreciate. Day in and day out, the ropes were tied, the decks scrubbed, the drills set, and the airship ran like a well-oiled machine. But any pride in such work was sucked away as if by vacuum from the heart of Beau Bergeron. Replaced by the cold fire of revenge.
William Hebert would pay for what he did to him and his family. No amount of magicians and witchdoctors would be able to stop him once he was in possession of the cards. It was only a matter of time, and Beau could feel that time was approaching, could feel it in his bones. As if on cue, a burst of wind blew at him from the opposite direction, the smell of the storm from which their speed had derived brought moisture to his nostrils. “Slow sail! Bring ‘er around side the Daughter!” Jean Lafitte yelled, “Aye, Patron,” Beau waved at his Captain, and he immediately joined in the crew in their trimming of the sails, and to his surprise, so too did join his Captain.
“It seems your plan worked, the Prince will undoubtedly gain us access to the doors which might’ve remained closed to us,” Lafitte said as he tied off the rope he was pulling, “And for that you’ve gained my trust, as a team there be noone in Aeldreth we might not conquer,” the Captain continued with a smirk, preparing another of his ubiquitous cigarettes. “My pleasure,” Beau said with the bow commonly used for Aeldreth royalty. Yes, the time was indeed approaching…