Author's notes:

Everyone has a favourite work of fiction, usually more than one. For me, the author mindset entails taking a favourite, looking at it from all angles, determine why it appeal to me, if I can make it appeal to others in my own works.

The first times were horrible. Actually the are horrible. In Sian, I am trying some things for the first time. Some of the 'moments' (in terms of writing, not in terms of Sian 'getting there') are new, on their first or second time out. Some are fallbacks to old standards.

For me, writing has to be constantly challenging, else it'll be tiresome. I write myself into corners, then see how I write myself out (if I can.) I dive into cliches and try to emerge from them in unexpected, yet internally consistent ways.

The worst offenses are when I end up in a plotting rut, when it's not quite a cliche, but the plot arc or story element is obviously derivative. For those, I will have to plead guilty, but also hope that the unorthodox approaches make up for it.

(Those of you just joining here, start with Sian 1)



"So it's just sitting there, on high seas?"

"Yes, Milord. Just outside the 12 mile mark."

"Well, that's too far to swim. Can you pull off this magic on a boat?" Callan looked around the warehouse.

"Why, old friend? Do you have one somewhere?" Locke ran his beard between his fingers, rolling it as he let it slide.

"If I did, do you think I'd be staying in a hotel? I mean, the Aberdeen is nice and all, but still. No, I've not that sort of money."

"Hm..." Silent until now, Lavender startled the other four. "I think might just I know someone. Locke, dear, may I borrow your Harley?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Well, to start with, my car is back near the dock, parked some distance away from that lot you forgot to tell me about." She purred as she smiled. "So I think it's fair enough trade. I promise I won't scratch your ride. Hm?"

"'To start with' usually means something else is in the wings."

"Quite right, Callan." She caught the keys from Locke's toss. The click of her heels headed back toward the door. "The second is that the Garde are probably all over it by now." She gave a soft giggle, then closed the door.

"Whew. She knows how to make an exit, too." Ceili gave a shudder.

"Indeed," Callan said. He breathed in deeply, savoring it and something unseen with it. He exhaled, then relaxed. "So, what now?"

"Well, we can sit here and watch Ressa do her magic here."

"Or?"

"Or we can rent a boat and see if they're still there. It's seven. Maybe someone will be open by now."

"Uh Callan? The sort of watercraft that has a data feed won't be the sort that you can find at Rent-a-Boat." Ressa pointed at her laptop. "And this magic doesn't work without bandwidth."

Ceili coughed quietly. One by one, the others turned away from the computer to look at her in admiration. She held up three bent pieces of metal, each shorter than a finger and as slender as wire. "Find me the right sort of watercraft, and we'll be on our way."

===

"So what are we looking for again? Ow!" Callan bumped he head against the underside of seat / storage cubbyhole.

"A tracking device. It may be as small as a box of cigarettes. It'll have to be up here on deck, or maybe below one deck. Any deeper than that, and its signal won't be able to be picked up." Ressa continued to tap away at her laptop, one lip folded between her teeth in concentration.

"Can we just sail off and hope we'll be out of range?"

"Callan, love?"

"Yes, Ressa?"

"Those things are good for miles and miles. That's how I was able to locate the Kestrel, hun. They'll be able to find the Dark Dancer's Dream that easily, too. What, did you think I hacked into a satellite?"

"They make it look so easy on television."

"That's because they needed it to happen to keep the story going, old friend. I doubt anyone wants to watch their hero checking every single cigarette-box-sized hidey-hole." Lock called from beneath the control panel, peering up.

"Yep, as Milord said, we're not that high-tech yet. But we'll get moving nonetheless, as soon as we find the box."

Just then Ceili called out from where the First Aid kit laid strewn. "Got it!"

===

"I can't believe it was that easy. Maybe this is how Marcarius came to own the Kestrel."

"I wouldn't be so sure, Callan. I've not met the man, but--"

"Oh, pet, I'm sure you'd take an instant dislike to him." Locke shook his head slowly.

"I'm sure of it too, Milord. I'm just saying, it's not this easy. They'll notice the triple-D gone sooner or later. Even without the LoJack, they'll still send out pictures of her, and every Coast Guard ship will be out looking."

"So soon?"

"Probably not. If no one checks the slips themselves, they won't even notice that the Dancer's gone AWOL." She smiled. "But, the Kestrel Reign will be different. Marcarius won't be able to change how it looks enough to keep him out of trouble."

Ressa looked at Ceili, who was staring out the back of the yacht, watching the wake fan out. "Good thing you found that transmitter."

"Yeah, love. Yeah." She sighed. "Good thing."

"Hey, Callan? See the dot on the screen? That's the Kestrel. Hm, it started moving again. 35 knots. Anyhow, see the blue line? That's us, where we're heading. Keep the dot on the blue line, will you?"

Callan nodded and busied himself at the wheel. Ressa walked around him toward the stern, and Locke got up to follow.

"Where are you going, little one?"

"Ceili and I need to go below-decks for a little while, Milord." Her voice did not leave room for discussion, much less debate.