The ginger haired riverboat queen, muscled and stout, her green eyes as sharp as a Louisiana stilletto, turned and stared. Her face, wind-beaten and sun-darkened from long years on the bridgewings, paled noticeably as she watched the drama unfold before her. She clutched Captain Spaugh's arm and faded back a step, struggling for words.
"Dear Mother of All Waters! I cannot credit what I am seeing here! Are you folks mad!? Am I??!! Damn me for a foolish hussy if this don't beat the worst fix I was ever in since I lost my maidenhead to that no-good two-bit Lothario of an actor back in Saint Louis!

"But I might be able to shed some light on this situation. I believe I have something here which will help clarify matters..."

Reaching into a worn and scarred leather cartridge case -- the faint tracings of the once proud "CSA" emblem barely visible on the cover --she wore at her belt, she drew out a large and densely folded parchment. As it unfolded, those on the bridge could see at once that it was not of recent date or local origin, for it opened with the oiled and whispering rattle of ancient vellum, smoothed by long use, and the writing on it was plainly from a hand long past.

"This was handed to me through my grandfather, whoo had it from his grandfather," she explained. "He was a proud noble on Scottish lands before the wars drove him to the Colonies. He had this from his grandfather, who traced it back to an ancestral member of the Ancient Order of the Knights of Malta. It has followed our family name down through the generations since that first noble forebear, who bore his claymoor in Jesus' name over eight hundred years ago, and founded a dynasty. His name was Malvent de Pied-Chat, my ancestor ten times removed. "

The Captain, stunned, stepped forward and grasped the pvellum sheet, holding it up to the afternoon sunlight streaming through the bridge windows, and in his own turn paled, visibly shaken.