Hawkeye quietly re-folded the scarf and put it back on without looking at it, following the captain down belowdecks to the cargo bay.
The cargo bay itself was small, even by the standards of fast clippers – smaller by at least a third than the Silver Skies’ own. Unmarked, unpainted wooden crates were neatly laid around the space, though none were stacked.
Opening one of the crates, the man showed them about half a dozen melon-sized brass containers, covered in straw to protect them against bumps.
“As you can see, we recovered the capsules intact from the wrecked ship. We -”
He was interrupted by an officer who ran into the bay.
“Sir, we received a radiogram from the Earl. He said not to trust -”
His head exploded into red mist, the deep report of Hawkeye’s revolver echoing around the cabin. Hawkeye whipped around, the shot meant for the captain drilling a neat hole in the wall.
The captain came in from the other side, knife thrust skittering off Hawkeye’s armoured coat.
He’s pretty quick.