by Brad C Baker
“You don’t…” the voice trailed off as the ship dashed down the swell.
“You have to understand, I travelled and fought alongside him through many tribulations. I would have sworn him indomitable. That was ten years gone now. When he appeared to beseech my aid in my office, I recognized the old flame of his wrath at injustice and was immediately moved by Flowwe’s spirit to aid him again. Now, I fear, I may know why.” Wanda turned her back to the rail, to face Raquel directly. “Vlados told me that Crallick has been farming and failing at it for the last ten years. He has taken to the bottle as a companion after the loss of his wife. It is only the fruits of his rather illustrious career that have kept him and his daughter fed.”
“How old is his daughter?” Raquel inquired.
“Fifteen,” Wanda smiled. “I remember her playing with my braids when she was five. She declared I should be a princess.”
“You knew them back then?” Raquel paused a moment. “Is she your daughter?”
“Heaven’s no!” Wanda laughed, then blushed lightly. “No, she was Triella’s daughter.”
“Oh, right,” Raquel nodded, understanding. “You did say he was widowed. How?”
“Pox took his wife, and apparently his spirit went with her.”
“I see,” Raquel said. Then looking up at the moon, she added, “The hour is turning late upon us. You should retire for the night. Sleep well.”
“Thank you. I shall.” Wanda turned and headed below.
The lidded eye of the moon looked down on Raquel. The cool evening air filled her sails and toyed with her hair. Her sweet home, her ship, creaked and groaned comfortingly in ways familiar and soothing to her and her crew. It was a great night for sailing. The padded footfalls of Mr. Tritts came up beside her.
“Yes?” She tilted her chin to her shoulder to take in his gold-green eyes as they gazed at her, they were almost luminescent in the night.
“Get your rest my lady, Captain. The night is pleasant enough, but tomorrow will be long and hard. You need to be more rested than I, and my sight is keener than ye.” This was accompanied by a feline fang-lined grin.
Patting his furred shoulder, Raquel looked at the calico complexion of Mr. Tritts’ face. “Thanks. I’ll see you in the morning,” she called out before she went below decks.
Opening the door to her cabin presented her with a view that she hadn’t needed, yet one that filled her with more pity than wrath. Crallick had rolled off her cot and was curled up on her red plush carpet with his hand shoved down his breeches. Drool trickled down the side of his slack lower lip. His snores were muffled by the carpet.
Raquel decided, not for the first time, to sleep with her clothes on. She untied her seal-hide sword belt and looped it over her chair. Then locking her door, she stepped over the slumbering man. She wrinkled her nose as a trumpeting bout of flatus erupted from his upturned bottom. She shook her head. Disgusting. She crawled in her cot and soon drifted into the easy sway of the sea.
Morning poured molten sunlight through the stern windows. Raquel’s eyes snapped open. Crallick was gone from her room. She collected her weapon belt, put her hat on in a jaunty left-slanted tilt, and headed up to the deck.
There she let the sun kiss her eyes and the breeze stroke her face. The ocean rocked her in its arms, and she basked in the glory of the cobalt sky that was wisped by platinum gossamer in the morning air. Raquel breathed deeply. This was going to be a glorious run. She saw the four companions huddled amidships. Rather, three were huddled, unsure of where to be so as not to interfere with the bustling crew. The fourth, Crallick, was over at the quartermaster’s rum barrel looking a little sallow. ‘Well, that will soon be dealt with,’ she grimly thought.
“Captain on deck!” alerted Mr. Shneed, a wildly tattooed, pierced, bronzed, and bald muscular human.
Mr. Tritts looked up from the aftcastle, yawned, stretched, and padded over to her. “Ma’am. I turn the watch over to you. We’re on bearing, and making good time. We have favourable winds and are only needing to tack about twelve degrees per run.”
Raquel smiled. “Excellent. I relieve you Mr. Tritts. The watch is mine. If you could send the passengers to see me, I’ll acclimate the poor dirt dwellers. Your guess to Carib? I’m guessing eighteen days.”
Mr. Tritts waved his whiskers about pensively, then said, “I stand relieved. By my calculation, if the weather holds, we should make Carib Island in about sixteen days.” He smiled, “I’ll send the litter to you.”
Raquel ran up to her station, behind the main wheel of the ship. Her helmsman was grinning broadly through chestnut lips. “Morning’ ma’am.”
“’Morning Mr. Martine,” she replied to her dark-skinned Vitani pilot. She sat in her chair, which was bolted to the deck, behind a table that was likewise bolted in place. There was a frame that pinned a pane of lead glass in place that could anchor a chart to the table under almost any conditions. She had paid a pretty crown for it, but had never regretted any of them. She began to pour over her charts. Mr. Tritts had laid a favorable course. She concurred with his work. She looked up as she heard the deck boards creak the arrival of the passengers.
“Please gather round,” she invited with a smile.
Crallick had a surly glower on his face and was licking chapped lips. Vlados had a wide grin under a short strawberry blond beard. Wanda smiled politely. Hullaboo had his tongue furiously licking over the exposed skin on his arms, lower legs, and his own head.
“Now,” Raquel began, “I’ll start by bringing you up to speed on our voyage. If we maintain favourable weather, we should see Carib in about nineteen days. So you have plenty of time to relax and enjoy yourselves, or make whatever preparations you feel you need for when you catch up with your marks. You won’t be bothering my crew, they’re experienced. If you ask them questions and they’re not busy, they’ll answer you. If they’re busy, they’ll ignore you. Don’t take it personally. You’ll eat with the officers. Your dining mates will be myself, 1st mate Mr. Tritts, 2nd mate Mr. Shneed, Quartermaster Mr. Drake, and Surgeon Syllethra. You will each be entitled to one ration of rum per day, this may be taken as a single measure or a half measure. This is not negotiable. The crew usually has a spell of leisure time around evening, and you are welcome to join us. If, in the unlikely event we are boarded, you will leave all negotiations to me. All combat and spellcasting will be handled by my crew. You will not participate unless directly asked. Now, all of you savvy my rules?”
Vlados nodded.
Hullaboo and Wanda said “Yes” in unison.
Crallick grunted.
Raquel smiled, “Great. Now, do you have any questions?”
“Nope, crystal clear!” Said Vlados.
Hullaboo asked, “Any water that isn’t so dry?” This was punctuated by his tongue running over his yellow eyes.
“Ahh,” said Raquel, reason seeping into her green eyes. “I see, you need something to help keep your skin moist. That it?”
“Yes,” he said, smacking his lips together. “I feel the water in the air, just can’t understand why it’s so dry!”
Stifling a smile at the froggle’s obvious discomfort, Raquel explained, “It’s the sea air, m’dear. The salt in the ocean and the water coming off it will dry yer poor skin as badly as any desert. I’ll instruct the quartermaster to talk to the cooper. He can get you a large cask with wash water to let you freshen up with that. Will that do? That would be in addition to your drinking allowance, you understand?”
“Yes, yes, thank you, thank you. You are very kind!” Hullaboo wandered off then with a happy expression on his face.
“Can we take your leave?” Wanda asked.
“Of course,” Raquel shooed them away. “At your leisure.”
“Where can I exercise?” Crallick asked.
“Anywhere you like,” Raquel said. “May I ask you something, with you ensuring you shan’t take offence?”
Crallick gave her a suspicious look. “All right.”
> “How are you going to handle your drinking problem?” Raquel figured the best route was to simply get to the point.
“That’s not your problem.”
She saw that one coming. “Well, Crallick,” she deliberately tried to sweeten her tone. “As this is my ship, and I am her Captain, and all are my subjects, then my subjects’ problems are my problems. Savvy?”
Crallick looked hard at her, “Sure. I’m savvy.”
Raquel pressed, “So how do you plan to take care of your drunkenness?”
“You’re not very polite are you?” Crallick growled.
“Neither are you,” she shot back. “Now quit changing the fucking subject.”
“I’ll deal,” Crallick said.
“How?” she pressed.
“Exercising,” Crallick said. “I‘ll stay focused on my mission.”
“Like you were focused in Marahaven?” Raquel softened her voice. “Look, I’m not trying to be a hard ass here. I’m here to help you. When you hired me on, you hired a professional. This includes all the benefits that come with that while shipboard. If you ever have any issues while on board my ship, you do not take matters into your own hands knight-ranger, you take them to me. I’ll take care of you. Savvy?” She forced a smile.
“You really like that word, huh?” Crallick muttered.
“Yeah, it means, ‘Do you understand what I’m saying, you salt-headed scallywag?’ in Nekomin,” Raquel smiled. “I learned it from Mr. Tritts.”
“Well, yeah, I savvy,” Crallick growled. “And thanks.”
The following tenday fell into a pleasant routine on the ship. The early summer weather was conducive to great sailing. The crew handled the ship like symbiotic lice crawling over a fen fox. The Flamerunner cut smoothly through the waves with a gently unending rolling motion that never felt like it was cruising at a swift nine knots. The four companions fell into routines of their own around the pulse of the ship and her crew.
Wanda woke, broke her fast, said her morning prayers, and then turned to researching in her Chessintran tomes. The afternoon had her practicing her rapier in the heat of the noon sun. After an hour of that, she would seek out the company of the ship’s surgeon, Syllethra, who turned out to be a female mortani who held some rather interesting ideas about Chessintran religion. After some time with her, they would usually head to the officer’s meal together. After dinner, Wanda would take in the entertainment of the crew’s social hour. Then she would observe her evening sacraments before retiring to bed.
Vlados fell head over heels in love with the ship. He had never been to sea before so the new experience was exhilarating for him. He enjoyed the ribbing of the other sailors who razzed him about the dwarven racial fear of wide open places and there being no caves around. He laughed it off. They joked about dwarves not being able to float because they were made of too much rock. Yet, they accepted him wholeheartedly as one of their own as he showed genuine interest in knots, sailing, and ship construction. He climbed the rigging with them. He helped them trim the sails. He helped keep lookout, he helped in the holds. He took his meals with the crew and became quite good friends with most of them. Vlados even took some night shifts. Vlados had taken to running around without his shirt and his formerly pasty white flesh was beginning to redden, and slightly darken. Two of the crew even shared their rum rations with him; this helped convince Vlados to get a tattoo of a flame-wreathed anchor. This was an ink brand shared by the crew of the Flamerunner. Vlados was having the time of his life.
Hullaboo seemed to have the most difficult time of them all. He woke, then ran to the cask of water and dove in. He then grabbed morning breakfast as swiftly as he could before running back to the cask. All afternoon he slept immersed in the cask, breathing through his skin. When Raquel was told by the quartermaster how much time the froggle was spending in the cask, she doubled the fresh water allocated to keeping Hullaboo healthy. He would come out and sup with the others, and hop around in the evening social. He tried to be active in the cooler evening air, the nasty salts weren’t so present on his skin then, though he could still taste it. He slept in his bunk until morning. Often he gave his rum share to nice Crallick who saved him from the nasty goblins. Hullaboo didn’t like the sea at all.
Crallick’s routine ran along the lines of: see the dawn, get a half measure of rum, and then eat breakfast. After that, track down Hullaboo for his day’s rum chit. Exercise. Eat lunch and get another half measure of rum to wash it down. Exercise. Find sailors to gamble with for more rum rations. He would only allow himself to lose a half ration. Often he would have 2-5 full rations in a day. There was the odd day where he only had one and a half. He thought he was being clever, but Raquel and her quartermaster had their eyes on him and were keeping very close watch on his actions. He usually skipped the socials, electing to brood in his bunk over his missing daughter, and Vlados’s missing daughter, and all the other daughters that it was on him to rescue and reunite with their families. Jyslin above knew why he got saddled with this shite. But that was that.
The first hiccup on their run to Carib came on the eleventh day. About an hour after their breakfast, the ship suddenly seemed to slow in speed. It was a smooth deceleration, almost a glide. Raquel looked up at her sails with a furrow to her brow. “Wake Mr. Tritts, now! Quartermaster, open the arms locker!”
“Shall we run out the sweeps, ma’am?” Mr. Shneed asked.
“No, Mr. Shneed, that would just mire us more.” Raquel was striding over to the gunwales. She looked over the side. “Shite,” she concluded.
“What is it, ma’am?” asked Vlados, coming up behind her.
Raquel turned to him and was about to dismiss him, reminding him to stay out of the way of her crew, when she remembered that it was the dwarf who seemed smitten with maritime life. So, instead, she said, “Aquans. They’re an aquatic people of the seas. They often will solicit the aid of enormous jellyfish to snare passing ships. That’s what has us.”
“If we’re in snares, then why didn’t we all just stop, and wind up upon our collective arses?” Vlados put to her.
“Guile, my friend,” Crallick snarled, joining them at the rail. “Guile.”
“Now what ‘n blazes do ye mean by that, ye scallywag?” Vlados poked his friend.
Raquel laughed at the unlikely friends, but added, “He’s right. The jellyfish has caught us in its tentacles, then has ballooned up like a sea anchor, gradually bleeding off our speed until we barely crawl along. If there is more than one, it can stop a galleon cold. While the ship is slowing, it allows time for the Aquans to catch up to the vessel and begin to board, hopefully catching the crew still unawares, or at the least, barely ready. That won’t happen with us, though.”
“May I assist?” Crallick asked.
She gauged him for a moment or two before deciding. “As long as you stay out of my sailors’ way.” Looking away from Crallick, she continued. “Mr. Ironforge,” she addressed Vlados, “While you are under no obligation to do so, you may report to the weapons locker and prepare to stand with your mates.”
Beaming like a child who had just been given a whole mountain of rock candy, Vlados giddily cried out, “Aye, aye Captain!” then scampered off.
Shaking his head, Crallick asked, “What did you do to him?”
Raquel’s smile was infectious. “Nothing, but the sea, she can bewitch with the best of them.” Her smile vanished, “When you help, no flame-based incantations. Or the use of oils, or flame-based magic of any kind. Clear?”
“I savvy.” Crallick wandered off to find some liquid fortitude before the fighting would commence.
Crallick walked over to the keg that held the day’s rum. Knowing that the quartermaster was busy with the serious issue of dispensing arms to the ship’s company, Crallick lifted the iron ladle, pried the oaken top off the keg, took a full ladle’s worth of the dark amber liquid and poured it directly into his open mouth. He relished the burn that slaked down the back of his throat. He r
elished the warmth that radiated comforting fingers outwards through his legs and arms, all the way to his fingers and toes. Oh yeah, he was ready for a fight. He grinned.
Wanda rushed to gather her prayer beads and get her rapier from her bunk.
Hullaboo was nowhere to be found.
Vlados’s curiosity got the better of him on his way to see the quartermaster. He took a moment to glance over the side. Transparent, almost invisible tendrils were adhered to the side of the ship’s hull. Each was as thick around as his rather stocky calf. They undulated and pulsed with the strain of their hold on the ship. They glistened in the bright sunlight. In fact, they seemed to glow with an inner light of their own, though this might have been a trick of the light. He’d have to ask Raquel about that later. Suddenly a thought struck him. Freshwater marsh leeches, even the giant ones, would drop off you when exposed to salt. Now this bugger who held fast to the ship would probably not be bothered by that form of alkali. But pour enough alcohol on it…. that might be toxic enough for its system to make it recoil from the ship. He changed his course and headed to find the rum.
Running up to the rum barrel, Vlados noticed Crallick lifting a ladle to his lips. “Hey, brother, give me a hand here.”
Finishing his third draught of rum, Crallick said, “Sure, what do you need?”
“We need to grab a bunch of glass flasks. Got to fill ‘em all with rum. Earthenware would do as well. Quick man, meet me at the starboard gunwale with the vessels. I’ll have the rum there.” Vlados wrapped his arms around the massive cask.
“Who, wha’, wait a minute. What’re you thinking, friend?” Crallick’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“No time to explain, just get the damn jars before it’s too late!” Vlados grunted as he worked the cask over to the side of the ship.
