by Ember Lane
Perhaps he wasn’t alone?
“Hello?” Merl called, but the ship merely let out a groaning reply followed by a sharp creak.
He edged over a little, and the whole thing tipped. He rolled back, and the hammock righted itself and began swaying gently. He tried crawling up to the pinched-in ends but kept sliding back down.
“Frank? Billy? Witchy witch? Stormsurfer? Anybody?”
When he received no reply apart from more groaning wood, he laid back and tried to work out his escape. Giants were four or five times larger than him. That was a fact. The only other hammock he’d ever seen had been Amos Applepicker’s orchard, and that had hung between two apple trees and its lowest bit had been about three feet off the ground. Therefore, it stood to reason that a giant hammock would be four lots of three off the ground and that was around eleven or twelve feet high dependent on whether he’d counted his thumbs right. Whichever one it was, it didn’t matter, it was high enough to discourage a full-on hammock evacuation. Instead, Merl decided to grab the hammock’s edge, pull himself up, twist around the side, slide his body over, dangle, and then drop gracefully to the floor.
With his plan set, he put it into action, overbalanced, tried to correct, swung one way and then the other, flipped over, and dangled above the planked floor. He dropped gracefully onto it with a knee-shuddering thump.
The cabin was huge, and so was everything in it. He had an armchair that was taller than him, and a desk that was as long as the monster truck. There was a big square window in one wall, and a huge door in another. He darted to the window, pulling himself up and peering over its ledge. He could see a cloudy sky, and that was that, but then the ship rolled, and then he could see a deep blue sea, and that was that. A moment later, the sky came back into view.
Spinning around, he eyed the huge door. One look at it told him it opened inward. His stomach growled with hunger as if forcing him to address his current issue, which was simple: could he open the door? Walking over, he reached up and grabbed its brass handle. He yanked it down fine, but then didn’t have the purchase to pull the huge door open. Merl waited for the hammock to swing into just the right position, tapping his feet to count the roll of the ship. Sixteen taps gave him is time. He grabbed the handle, yanked it hard, and then raised his feet and swung from it. The door opened, flinging Merl across his room. Then the ship leveled, and Merl darted out of the open door before it slammed shut.
A long wooden corridor stretched away on both sides. If Merl had felt tiny in his room, he felt even smaller in the giant corridor. Both ways looked equally uninviting, and one ended in a huge set of upward steps, while the other looked like it just dropped. He chose to follow his nose and the smell of roasting meat and ambled toward the drop.
“Billy? Frank? Desmelda?” he called as he passed several huge doors, but he received no reply.
The sound of thumping boots raced toward him, and Merl spun around in panic. The giant filled the entire corridor. He looked windswept and wet, and rosy cheeks peeked above his bushy brown beard.
“Hey, little one, are you lost?”
That stumped Merl, mostly because he wasn’t sure. “Don’t know that I can be lost, if I haven’t got a clue where I am in the first place.” Merl stared up at the giant. “But I am quite hungry.”
The giant jerked back a little, clearly befuddled by Merl’s confusion, but then grinned. “Me too. I was just going to the galley to grab some grub. Starturner, that’s me name, what’s yours?”
“Merl, just Merl.”
“Follow me, Merl-just-Merl.” And Starturner squeezed passed him before thumping off toward the stairs.
“No, it’s Merl, not Merl-just-Merl.”
“Oh,” was all the giant replied.
They came to the stairs at the corridor’s end. Each step was around two feet long and three high. Starturner descended a few and then turned. “Here, jump on my back and I’ll carry you down.”
Merl stared at the flight of stairs. He’d scrambled down safer cliffs. These steps were a death trap of highly worn and polished wood. He lunged forward, grabbing hold of Starturner’s neck and clinging on for dear life. When they got to the bottom, the giant carried on down the next corridor, and Merl carried on clinging on. They passed through a doorway and into a galley. It had a dozen tables, six each side, and benches for chairs. A door stood closed at its end, but mouthwatering smells snuck out from it. The giant set Merl down on top of a table and sat on a bench right by him.
“I think this ship’s a little big fer you. I’ll get somethin’ rigged up. Gonna take a while to get where you’re going.”
Merl screwed up his face. “Are you the captain of the ship?”
Starturner guffawed. “I’m in charge of the wheel, so I guess so. And I can read the stars, so I think so.”
“Is it your ship?”
Starturner cocked his head. “I’m not sure. I can’t ever remember buying it, but it doesn’t really matter, because it goes where I want it to go.”
“You want to go to Quintz too?”
“Not rightly sure where Quintz is, few do know, but if that’s where you’re going, then we’re headed in the right direction.”
Merl was rightly confused, but he surmised that he didn’t quite understand giants yet so everything should become clear in time.
“Are we going to have breakfast?”
As if by some stroke of giantish magic, the door at the end of the galley opened and another giant walked through holding two steaming plates around the size of monster wagon’s wheels. He sized up Merl, shrugged, and set them both down anyway. Merl pulled his close to his crossed legs. There was a pile of bacon, a heap of eggs, some mashed-up stuff, and a hunk of bread the size of a whole cake. The knife by the wagon wheel’s side wasn’t far short of a sword, and the fork could have turned a field of turfs by noon.
It was a pickle, that was for sure. Merl picked up a rasher of bacon, dipping it in the eggs and munching it down. “Where’s Frank and Billy and Desmelda?”
“On deck, waiting for you.”
“Shouldn’t we go find them?”
Starturner winked at him. “They ain’t going anywhere.”
The galley door opened again. The other giant reappeared with a much smaller knife and fork. “I found these in a chest under the choppin’ table. Fergot we used to have little‘uns all the time.” He stopped talking and stared up at the galley’s ceiling, then resumed. “‘Venturers, that’s what they called themselves, ‘venturers.”
Starturner furrowed his brow. “That was a mighty long time ago. Where did we billet them?”
“Can’t rightly remember. Stickback will know. He used to play bones with them.”
Merl was busy demolishing his breakfast. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything other than broth. But even so, he barely made a dent in the food, and despite his best efforts the bread looked like it had been nibbled by a mouse. Starturner was wiping his plate clean by the time Merl gave up. “That was good, but…”
“No buts needed.”
“How can we be going in the right direction, if you don’t know where Quintz is?” Merl asked.
“You’re headed to Qunitz, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Merl.
“And you’re on the ship.”
“Yes,” said Merl, again.
“Then we’re headed to Quintz. But we’re also going to the Isle of One, although the sea we navigate is a… difficult one.”
Merl scratched his head. “The Sea of the Stranded Fool?”
“Aye,” said Starturner. “That sea. It’s a little, tetchy, but I hear we’re traveling with a God, so we should be okay. If the wind dies, he can conjure us a breeze, eh?”
“I don’t think Frank’s a God. He’s got the Staff of Morrison White, alright, but I think he might av’ta give that t’Stormsurfer to complete the quest, so he might not ‘ave it for long.”
“You think he might give it away? Did you not read the t
ext?”
“Can’t read,” Merl said, feeling a little sick. “But Stormsurfer told me tha bones of it, an’ that was we had t’retrieve the staff fer him.”
“Is that what he told you?” Starturner drummed his massive fingers on the table. “Are you done eating? Because yer right, we should go see yer friends.”
Merl nodded, and Starturner scooped him up. They traveled back along the corridor, up some stairs, down some stairs, along another corridor, and up some more stairs. They may well have gone down, up, along, and even across, but after a little while, it was all just planked wood with tar squeezing out. So, when the sun suddenly hit his eyes, Merl was momentarily blinded. He squeezed them shut, waiting for the swirling stars to vanish, and when he opened them he gasped.
Wave Walker was as vast, majestic and magnificent as he remembered it from the night before, but now the ship was powering through sea-swell with white waves crashing over its mammoth gunwales. Sails as tall as cliffs hung from masts as fat as the towerin’ trees in Red Forest valley. They were held fast by ropes thicker than a man’s leg and billowed to bursting, filled by the gusting breeze that shot the giant’s boat forward. The ship was like an arrow fired by the greatest bow. It was a plow, tilling the softest earth. Merl sat in Starturner’s arms, his mouth dangling open, his mind awash with joy. “Have you ever sailed to the end of the world?”
Starturner chuckled. “Not yet.”
“When you do, I want to come,” Merl announced.
“And when I do, I’ll find you first.”
Starturner walked the deck, his feet sure where Merl’s were unsteady. They found Frank, Desmelda, and Billy atop the forecastle looking through slits in the gunwales. The giant set Merl down and made his excuses, saying he had to take the wheel. “Wave Walker won’t steer herself, unfortunately.”
“Merl!” said Billy. “I thought you must have decided to sleep the day away.”
“Nearly broke me neck getting’ outta tha hammock.”
Frank burst out laughing. “Me too.”
“Apparently, there are some quarters our size from when they used t’ferry adventurers around. Some giant called Stickback knows where they are,” Merl told them all.
“Quarters? Our size? Stickback? What?” Frank sort of said.
Merl wondered if the staff had affected Frank’s bonce and he’d lost all his joining words.
“That’s what Starturner told me as we was breakfastin’,” he told Frank.
“Breakfastin?” Billy asked, his eyes wide.
“Breakfasting?” Stormsurfer said, sneaking up on them—if indeed a giant could sneak up on anything. He was holding something in his arms. “Ah, Merl, are you awake now?”
“Yup.”
“Are you ready for your surprise?”
Merl thought about it. He’d already had a fair few surprises and it was only just after breakfast. “Reckon I could pack one more in.”
Stormsurfer knelt. His folded arms fell open and small, sandy-colored puppy spilled onto the deck. It tried to stand, but its legs buckled, and it sank back down. “Do you believe in Jhorus, Merl?”
Jhorus was the God of Fate. Mountain men swore by Jhorus and offered him everything they could spare at the beginning of the growing and hunting season. Once their seeds had sprouted and they had their first kills, they forgot all about Jhorus, because he’d already done his bit, and their summer was set. Merl knew all about the God Jhorus because Jhorus hated Merl. If Merl had ever needed a bit of luck, he’d normally got a kick up the backside from his dad instead.
“Yup. Don’t like him,” Merl said, eying the pup suspiciously.
“Well, while I was waiting fer you to traipse up the mountain I traipsed across the dunes, and I found this little fella with his leg stuck in a dune cat hole. Well, I pulled it out, and it started followin’ me.”
Merl blinked, a smile swooped down from the heavens and crashed into his face before sitting on his lips. “You mean it’s a dune dog?”
“I believe it is, Merl. But I’ve got a bit of a problem. There’s no way in the world I can look after—”
“I can,” Merl said, pulling the dog close. He fiddled in his tunic and brought out a rasher of bacon, feeding it to the pup. It gobbled the bacon without chewing.
“Where’d you get bacon?” Billy moaned.
“Starturner got me a bunch served up on a plate the size of a wagon wheel. Eggs too.”
Billy thumped the deck.
Stormsurfer grinned. “You can get breakfast anytime, Billy. We always serve breakfast on Wave Walker.”
“Do you know where a giant named Stickback is?” Desmelda asked. “Apparently, there are quarters our size somewhere on the ship, and he knows where.”
Stormsurfer sat and stroked the dune dog. His hand was as big as the entire dog. Merl thought the puppy was a touch skinny. Its wiry hair hung in clumps, knotted and matted, and one ear stuck up where the other flapped down. It was a curiously ugly thing.
“Stickback,” Stormsurfer repeated. “I know him, of course I know him, but I doubt he’d remember that the ‘venturers used to travel under the forecastle. His memory’s not what it was.”
Desmelda made to say something but gave up. Frank stepped in.
“Would we be able to stay in their old quarters? The giant rooms are a bit…”
“Giant,” Desmelda finished.
“You could but…” Stormsurfer drifted off like Frank had, and Merl began to wonder if it was contagious. “…it’ll be a bit dusty.”
“It’d be better though,” Frank said. “At least it’d be the right size.”
“Have you got anymore bacon?” Billy asked.
The adventurer’s quarters were at the very front of the ship, one level down from the forecastle’s deck. They were triangular-shaped, and on two levels, or rather one real level spilt into two human-sized levels. The first one resembled a tavern and even had a bar counter behind which a small room acted as a scullery, complete with a stone hearth and stove. Its walls were adorned with the skulls of vanquished beasts, strange-looking weapons, and rough scrawls like KicKdusTer Woz ErE. Merl asked Frank to read some for him, and decided it must be an ancient tongue, long lost and unintelligible. The whole place lent the impression of a group of travelers locked in a tavern for much too long, and that seemed entirely correct, given the circumstance.
The upper level consisted of around twenty bedrooms, each furnished with a normal-sized hammock, a normal-sized desk and a nice, normal-sized, comfortable chair. Apart from the bedrooms, it had a washroom and a little balcony perched on the back of the figurehead that adorned Wave Walker’s bowsprit.
The figurehead appeared to be a mermaid, but it was difficult to tell from their vantage point. Long curling hair cascaded around its back and acted as an ornamental gunwale. The hair was clasped into a band. Its middle then acted as a viewing platform. The mermaid’s tail curled up the ships bow and over, and its finned end became a shelter against the rain and sea spray.
The group of four set about making the adventurer’s quarters habitable again. Merl had never seen so much dust, but as they cleaned it all off it was like an age gone by trying to reveal itself. In the end, though, it only revealed the innards of a tavern, and Merl was beginning to believe the guts of a tavern transcended time and location—they all appeared to be the same mash up of wood, copper, and checked upholstery.
“What’d these ‘venturers do then?” Billy asked Frank.
Frank was busy polishing the beaten copper counter. He glanced up briefly to acknowledge the question, and then continued his work. Once he’d appeared to ruminate on it long enough, he commenced his reply. “What did they do? The real question is when.”
Desmelda was right, Frank seemed to enjoy being cryptic. Getting an answer out of him was like playing hide and seek. You really had to hunt out the right question and hope he knew the answer, but that wasn’t the end of it. Merl was beginning to suspect that Frank actually didn’t know as much as
they expected him to know, so when they asked him a question, he fumbled about blindly, searching out the answer in the shadowy recesses of his brain. Sometimes he found it, and other times he found a bit of it and made up the rest of it.
“Well, when, then?” Billy asked, wobbling his head about like he was talking to Dozy Dave the Sluicescraper.
Frank gave him a cold stare, but then replied. “All we know is that once, many, many years ago, Lords ruled the land, and the land was always in turmoil. They fought huge wars the like of which should never be fought. Hundreds of thousands of folk died. Castles were razed, farms burned, and whole fleets of ships were sunk. But each time, the Lords rose up, rebuilt, and fought again. But not all battled. Some sought powerful artifacts, like The Staff of Morrison White, amongst other things, and these folks were called Adventurers. They were commissioned by the lords to seek these treasures and return them to the castles in the hope that it might sway their wars in their favor.”
“What happened to them?” Merl asked, sitting on a stool, the dune dog on his lap.
Frank shrugged. “They just ceased to be. They stopped. That’s what we think, but the reality is, it might have happened in an instant, or it might have happened over a long period of time. Ricklefess reckons they got tired of war and just died. Perhaps a zombay plague killed them off. Who knows? We only truly know that they existed once, and they don’t anymore. We think Arthur14759 was one of them, yet we can’t be sure. Perhaps Morrison White was too.”
“Hold on, hold on,” said Desmelda. “If there were hundreds of lords fighting hundreds more, then where are the ruins of all their castles? Where are all their roads? Why is there no legacy of their town, their ships, or their mines?”
Merl waited for Frank’s answer, because he thought Desmelda had the wizard stumped.
“I was the same as you,” Frank said softly. “I was a doubter, but then I nearly died, and that all changed. Even now, everything I know is miniscule. It’s tiny compared to what we need to know to truly understand what’s going on—or what went on.”
