Navy Cookie stood at the helm of the SS. Crème Brûlée at the Crème Republic. The Lower City’s docks loomed ahead, and all he could do was grumble to himself.

“Blimey, another tide to log, another ledger to drown in!” Be grumbled, swigging from a flask of rum. “Work, work, WORK! What’s the point o’ livin’ if ye don’t have time fer treasures?”