Ooooh, I feel rough. Last night is a bit of a blur; I think I did too much of the weak booze they serve in this shyte hole. I woke up this afto with a bit of a sore head; I think we might have just overstayed our welcome in the bar. I've not been sick yet - I wish it would hurry up and get on with it so I can feel better. Now, where did I put that that hair o' the dog?
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We had another sesh this evening, but we took it easy in the bar. As we're off tomorrow, we didnay want t'go gettin' drunk again. There was this scrawny lookin' guy in the bar watching us - looked like he was from that inquisition mob. Jorge seemed to think that he was there last night too; come to think of it, he didnay have a hangover this morn either. I think that Jorge must be some kinda lightweight when it comes t'ale. Anyway, we went over to this geezer to invite him for a drink, all friendly like, and he jus buggered off. Ah hardly scared him off, either; I offered to buy him a drink and all! Hell, I'd have joined a group o'strangers if that kinda offer was bein' made. He just pegged it.
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Some very odd happenings at the boat today. Just as we're loading up that posh bugger who hired us, Roland's dad's mate, turns up. He wants ta gi'us some special crates for these 'artefacts' he's payin' us t'get back. He dont want 'em damaged, he sez. Next thing we know, the bloody inquisition turns up and starts quesioning him. Turns out he's one them traders, them bloody Vikings from wossname, up north. No bloody wonder he can afford to pay us as much, he'll be dripping gold. Anaways, next thing we know, he's called over a few of his sailor mates from one of the nearby ships. Them guys is big buggers. He's clearly in the mood for us to be gettin underway, 'cos we pegged it while they held 'discussions' with the inquisition. I hope we don't land in hot water over this with them.
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I'm bloody livid. Bloody Castillians. I bring 'em some perfectly good merchandise, top quality kit, and they jus don't appreciate it. I didnay even make our money back on that load we brought around the tip of occupied Castille. Bloody foreigners. There was nowt wrong wi'em and better quality than any they could get locally, yet they don't appreciate it. I knew them boody Motagnians hadn't brought any civilisation to these people. Scruffy bloody heathens the lot o'em. They got no respect for an honest trader. And I don't like making a loss on anything. I really am hopping mad.
The captain o'this boat we hired is pushin' his luck, too. The daft old bugger dont know his north from his south. And he don't speak plain. I can barely understand a word he sez.
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Looks like we got a spy or a thief on board. I caught one of the crew creepin' round our quarters - he tried to play innocent when we nabbed him red-handed leaving our room, me and that flouncy Montagnian, Camembert, frog-marched him to the captain. A search revealed little, he'd not taken anything on this occasion, so far as we can tell, and that gullible idiot Bert believed everything he sez. We searched our room too, and checked that all our kit was intact.
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Assaulted by pirates today. They've been pretending to be officals from the mainland - but you don't get them this deep in open water. We're hundreds o'miles from the coast. Their ruse cut no ice wi'us tho', we just opened fire. Bert is a bit of a hot-shot with that musket of his; it'd be better if he could load it a bit quicker, tho'.