The "Black Flag" flagship, The Ledger's End (I renamed it; Silas hated it), was currently a floating classroom.
I stood on the quarterdeck with a chalkboard, while thirty of the most dangerous pirates in the Southern Isles sat cross-legged on the planks, looking confused.
"Now," I said, tapping the board with my pointer. "What is the primary cause of a failed raid? Is it 'Bad Luck'?"
"Guns jammin'!" shouted a man with a wooden leg.
"No," I sighed. "It's Supply Chain Fragility. If your scout ships are spending 40% of their time looking for fresh water instead of tracking the Syndicate's gold-galleons, you have a 40% efficiency leak."
Silas Vane leaned against the mast, watching me with a look of half-annoyance, half-fascination. "Lady, my men want to fight, not do long division."
"They'll fight better when they aren't dying of gum disease, Captain," I retorted. I turned back to the pirates. "I've analyzed the Syndicate's routes. They rely on the Isle of Palms for their citrus and meat. If we don't attack their ships, but instead buy out the Isle's entire production for the next three months, what happens?"
"They get hungry?" Silas guessed.
"They get expensive," I corrected. "They'll have to ship supplies from the mainland. Their overhead costs will triple. Their sailors will demand higher wages to compensate for the risk of starvation. The Syndicate will have to raise their protection fees, which will make the local merchants turn to you for a better deal."
Kaelen walked up the gangplank, carrying a crate of intercepted mail. "She's right, Silas. I just checked the letters from the Syndicate's quartermaster. They're already frantic. They think there's a 'Ghost Fleet' intercepting their supplies. They don't realize it's just one woman with a very large bank draft."
Silas walked over to me, his presence overshadowing my chalkboard. He reached out and took the chalk from my hand. "You're a terrifying woman, Elara. Most people use cannons to break a man. You use his grocery bill."
"Cannons are a one-time expense with high maintenance," I said, meeting his gaze. "A monopoly is a recurring revenue stream."
Silas laughed, a rich, golden sound. "And what do you want for this 'monopoly,' Auditress? My father's debt is already cleared."
I looked at Kaelen, then back at Silas. "I want the Trade Rights to the Southern Isles. I want a neutral port where Oakhaven can trade without the Emperor's heavy taxes. A tax-haven, Silas. Run by me."
Kaelen nearly choked on his wine. "Elara! You're building a shadow empire!"
"I prefer the term 'Divergent Economic Zone,'" I said, smiling.
But our conversation was cut short by a shout from the crow's nest.
"SYNDICATE SHIPS! THREE POINTS TO THE WEST! THEY'RE FLYING THE BLACK SIGNAL!"
Silas's eyes went dark. The "beach bum" persona vanished, replaced by the predator. "Looks like they didn't wait for the scurvy to kick in. They're coming for their oranges, Lady Lexen. Can your math stop a broadside of thirty-two pounders?"
I grabbed my ledger and tucked it into my belt. "Math can't stop a cannonball, Captain. But it can tell you exactly which ship in their line is carrying the gunpowder with the faulty fuses. Target the Vengeance. Their supplier cheated them on the nitrate."
Silas grinned, drawing his cutlass. "I'm starting to really like accounting."