Barrett tipped his hat to the silver statue of Navarch Solomon Greybrook as he strolled towards the royal palace. He'd thrown on his best calico jacket for the occasion and had his brown-boots shined till they practically glowed. With each step of his confident strut two large pouches, slung over either shoulder jingled with the sound of coins. Around Barrett marched his famed privateers 19 survivors from his escapades in Darfix, and a handful of new recruits, holding up the rear.
At last they came to the gates of the royal palace. Two guards stepped forward.
"I have an official summons," Barrett announced holding out the Navarch's invitation letter.
"We've been informed my lord, but we cannot allow you or your men before the Navarch so armed," he explained.
"Well I'm sorry but my arms don't come off, just the foot and I don't think you'd like that," Barrett joked.
The guards remained stone-faced.
"Alright you sad sap here,"
Barrett let the two sacks slip to the ground. Then unbuckled his cutlass, handing it over and his crossbow. His men likewise surrendered their weapons to other sentries. In addition to his sword and bow, Caedfleda, the young captain of his company, handed over two daggers, followed by a bandolier of throwing knives, and at last some darts concealed in sheaths beneath his sleeves.
Satisfied, the guarded beckoned them inside. Barrett picked up the coins again and followed. Servants distributed bread and salt to the entire entourage then escorted the marines to one dining room, and Barrett to an antechamber where he waited for the Navarch.
