The Scorched Sailor tramps up the half-familiar stairs to the Dynamo residence. Broken out of New Newgate, and by the Shade, no less? Interesting times. He is not quite sure whether he hopes the rumours are true or false.
It’s been a long while since he first entered Drake’s house, before they two even knew each other, and he feels the same reluctance now as he did then, the unwillingness to enter the house of a stranger. They’re hardly strangers now, but even so he hesitates at the door, wondering if Drake will even be glad to see him after his abject failure to be of any assistance during the Dynamo’s incarceration.
He steels himself, and resolves to be a better acquain- friend now than he has been. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Kno-
Drake Dynamo is ebullient, and pulls the Sailor into a fraternal embrace even before the front door is fully open, let alone before the Sailor could offer his hand for a handshake. "Glad you could make it, glad you could make it!" He ushers the Sailor inside with unusual haste, and does a bad show of hiding the brass candlestick that he’s wielding in his right hand. "You saw the flyer?"
The Sailor finds his behind escorted into a deep armchair before he quite knows what has happened. From across the room Emma is testing the bolts on a window - why are there bolts on a window? - and idly fiddling with a hefty-looking paperweight. She raises an arch eyebrow at him. "I wasn’t sure you’d come."
The Sailor blusters. "Flyer? No, I - prison, you’re out? I thought I should -" A long pause. A long think. "Ah." He has a terrible suspicion that he knows what this is about, and, as the Dynamo siblings sketch out the details of their escape, the slow weight of dread settles in his stomach as his suspicions are proved correct. Another flyer. Another quest. This time, an obligation to a friend. He listens, settles in, and waits for the others to arrive, as he knows they will.