Kilnday Thirdweek, Fieldfire, 147/32

Quiet few days. We're flush with aerium so we sold off a bit to some desperate merchant for a good profit. Since then we've been slopping around a pretty little nook known as Ock's Fallow. Small port off the trade lanes. The folks round here are pretty respectable. Naturally, they don't like us, but I can just about bear the way they scoff into their wine glasses when we walk in. It's worth it to see them trying to shift Malvery later when he's beached and snoring on the bar.

It's nice to drop out of the race for a while, put your feet up. I reckon those days by the lake last week don't really count, 'cause we were all mad at Pinn. Not good for the blood. We're mostly over that now, although Malvery is still bullying him with a shade more enthusiasm than usual.

Not that everything's sweet, of course - it never is. Keddle is still bitching about the daemonist. He reckons we shouldn't have taken him on. They hang daemonists, so you can bet they have a dim view of those that help them out. I think he's worrying over nothing, though. It's not like he looks different from any other aristocrat. Honestly, you wouldn't know he was a daemonist at all if it weren't for the eight-foot metal golem in the hold.

Oh, yes. The golem. That's Bess. She came on board loaded in a crate. Couldn't believe my eyes when we crowbarred it open. Why our guest saw fit to call it female is beyond me - that's a woman even Pinn would balk at, and he's rutted a hound or two in his time. I don't know what lives inside that armour and I don't care to know. But those little glittery eyes behind her face-grille give me the chills.

They're an odd pair, Crake and Bess. I gave Crake the passenger's quarters, since he paid - Harkins is doubling up with Pinn - and I've barely seen him leave them. The only time is when he goes down to the hold to check on Bess. He talks to her like she's a pet or something. It's weird, but I don't see any harm in it.

Keddle's complaints gave me something to think about, though. But I reckon for now the benefits outweight the risks. For one thing, I got me a damn fine cutlass out of it. Plus, as long as we keep that golem inside and out of sight, then the Ketty Jay has just picked up one bastard of a watchdog. Crake is just as concerned as I am about being discreet- he only told me he was a daemonist 'cause it would be pretty difficult to explain Bess and the cutlass otherwise - so I've no worries on that score. And having a daemonist around might come in handy. I should ask him what he can actually do one of these days. Beyond conjuring up massive hulking armoured bodyguards, that is.

He's running from someone, there's no doubt of that, and part of the deal was that I couldn't ask him who. Still, he only paid for his passage, not my protection. If this someone catches up to us, I'm not standing in their way. And if it's the law, I can always plead ignorance. Us dumb freebooters wouldn't know a daemonist if he bit us on the nose. The golem? We thought it was just a wondrous machine. Simple folk, we.

I'll keep my eye on the situation. He's paid in advance, so kicking him off isn't a problem. If he gets to be trouble, he and his tin missy are out the cargo door.

Just to be sure, though, I'd better find out what they actually do to people caught aiding daemonists...