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News had reached Paul a week after the incident had actually happened -- the Tempest had been broadsided in the West Indies, and while all of the crew had survived, much of the cargo had been pillaged by pirates or lost to the sea. The note had come, in the captain's own hand, detailing the loss of the ship and the entire unfortunate incident. Towards the end of the letter the handwriting got a bit shaky, a little like a scrawl -- not like the captain at all.

Captain Talbot had returned to Palisade nearly a fortnight later, and had requested Paul to come visit him to talk over the details of the incident, the lost cargo, and how in the world the money would be repaid. It was not a discussion that Talbot was looking forward to, at all. He paced the floors of his small, neatly-furnished apartment and kept glancing out of the window to watch for Paul's approach.

It took Talbot a moment to answer the door -- there was a sudden shuffling behind the door, and then he'd answer it, opening it awkwardly with his left hand instead of his right. His right shoulder and arm, and a bit of his chest, were oddly large and padded underneath his coat: he still had quite a bit of gauze and bandages underneath his shirt, and he was still sore and hurting. The musket-ball was in a small glass vial on his desk; he'd saved it out of novelty.

He did not look abashed; he did, however, look a bit weary, out of sorts. And so he fell back on old formality, which came rather easily. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you with such a call. Sit down; I've tea on, and scones if you'd like." Which he looked like he needed, even if he didn't necessarily like them.

He opened his mouth to say that this was hardly an ungodly hour -- and it wasn't, being nearly noon -- but instead just nodded (shrugging was still painful) and poured tea for them both, steaming hot. The china was rather finer than it ought to have been for such a flat, but it had been a gift from his mother when he'd received his first captaincy.

As such, only one of the cups was chipped, and he made sure Paul did not get that one. And tea would presumably wipe that look off of his face. "To go over the lists of what was lost in the West Indies, when the Tempest took on the pirates." Which was horrid, but -- that was why Paul was here. "Some was saved, but not all."

Perhaps it was a naval officer's patience that saved Paul from a longsuffering sigh: Talbot was used to dealing with people who understood less than they let on. Strong fingers reached up to rub at his injured shoulder, wincing as the bandages shifted underneath his coat. He'd actually gotten dressed, down to his boots and neck cloth, for Paul's visit, but that didn't stop his shoulder from aching.

The ache was moving up into his head by way of his neck. That much was wholly Paul's fault.

"Perhaps, once she's repaired; her hull took damage. We very nearly scuttled her." It was only through luck that they'd fended the pirates off. "She's in the harbor right now." It would take two months' time or more to repair the gaping hole in the hull from where the Tempest had been rammed.