by Rick Johnson
“I come aboard as I have always served a ship,” BorMane replied evenly. “Never mind about lies. I tell you what I know and have seen...that is all. Take it or leave it. If you have harpooned more than a thousand sharks and lived to sell their teeth to fools as buy such rubbish—then, one wonders if a beast such as myself might know a thing or two without needing the kind advice of yourself. If you might like to hear where I run my harpoon through those monster-big sharks or cut the tail off a dragon, then I’d be pleased to sail with you. Take my word for it, however—I can judge my truth-telling without help from you.”
Red Whale chuckled and slapped the old Coyote on the back affectionately. “Beginning with sunset tomorrow, you’ll be expected at my table aboard Daring Dream each night for the ship’s council as makes the plans for the voyage. It’s my trust to you—and my hope for good success for both of us.”
Such a development left BorMane uncharacteristically quiet as he savored his joy in finding a ship that would once more take him to sea. His happy reflections, however, were quickly disrupted as two young Otters, Foggtutt and Rowl, bowled past him, dropping the buckets they were carrying; scattering potatoes around Bormane’s feet. Howling with delight, the rowdy little Otters tackled Fishbum—who was still standing nearby—around the knees, knocking him to the ground.
“Sail me! Sail me! Come on, sail me!” the young beasts yelled as they climbed on Fishbum’s back urging him to give them a ride. Fishbum gamely tossed the two stubby Otters on his back and began to run wildly, swaying and weaving as if he were a ship being tossed by a storm.
“And the hurricane roared for twenty days!” Fishbum screeched. “The good ship Otter Death was battered by FIFTY FOOT WAVES—and every sea-beast aboard was sure it was the end!” Up and down Fishbum bobbed, going around and around in wild circles. “And every beast was sick and feeling green around the gills,” he screeched, sounding like some horrific monster of the deep. “The sails were in shreds, the masts cracked and falling to pieces—and soon only the two brave Otter Mates were left—and THEY WENT DOWN WITH THE SHIP!” Fishbum finished, as he collapsed on the ground panting for breath.
Foggtutt and Rowl squealed with glee and tumbled off as Fishbum fell. But hardly an instant had passed and they were up again, pulling on Fishbum to play some more. But he was not in a mood to play the “good ship Fishbum” again, although he did have in mind further amusement for the young Otters.
“Hey-ho, Captain! Seeking your permission to take these wee bits of rascal and throw them to the sharks!” he yelled.
“Permission granted,” Red Whale answered, laughing heartily.
Grabbing the young Otters, Fishbum called on Katteo Jor’Dane to go off to bring one of the large sail-canvas tablecloths. As she ran off to get the canvas cloth, Fishbum, holding Foggtutt and Rowl securely, presented them to Captain Gumberpott with mock solemnity.
“Let it be known to all the Powers of the Sea and all Good Sea-Beasts that sail the Far Points of the Compass, that these here Bits o’ Rascal have been tried and found guilty of worrying and annoying Master Fishbum, Sea-King of This Sand Where I Stand! Be it so ordered, therefore, that these wee Otters be thrown to the sharks!”
Returning with the large canvas tablecloth, Fishbum, Katteo, and several other members of the Daring Dream crew, placed first, Foggtutt, then Rowl, on the blanket and tossed them high in the air. With peals of laughter from the rough-mannered, but playful sea-beasts, and squeals of delighted terror from the Otters, Foggtutt and Rowl took turns going up and down in the air until they had worn out a goodly number of the Daring Dream crew. At last, all were weary of the game and even Foggtutt and Rowl were content to go on with the jobs they had been doing to help prepare for the feast.
Smiling at the sea-beasts who had shown such playful kindness to the little Otters, Winja said, “Come on, you salty slobber-cheekers, you’ve earned the first bops of the fresh batch of Flummo O’Marrell’s Sea Brew. It was made especially for today’s celebration and such good-hearted visitors deserve the honor of swilling the first bop.”
Seeing the uncertain looks cast in his direction in response to his invitation, Winja winked at Red Whale. Walking over to where the barrel was hanging from a tree branch and a similar barrel sat on the ground beside the tree, he continued, “Swill a bit of Flummo’s Sea Brew and you’ll think only one of two things. He’s either a demon or a magician—depending on how your stomach takes it. In more than thirty summers here at Narrows End Bay, I’ve seen beasts take it both ways—some say it’s like licking muddy water off the bottom of a boot and others swear it’s the Kick o’ Life. Speaking for myself, I lean toward the latter opinion.”
The old Otter reached into the barrel on the ground and pulled out a deeply-rounded clam shell. He held the cup to the tap, gave it a turn, and waited. After several moments, a thick ribbon of slippery black liquid dripped out of the tap and flowed into the bop Winja held, stretching out in a long slithery strand as it slowly filled the clamshell cup. Dark as molasses, glistening strands of Sea Brew ran in a slow stream from a large cask hanging from a timber in front of a small thatched hut.
When the dark liquid had filled the bop, Winja lifted it to his nose and sniffed it as if in ecstasy. Then he tilted the clamshell cup, sucking the Sea Brew out of the bop with prolonged, loud slurps. “Ah...Sea Brew...sweet ’n peppery, hot ’n minty, with just a hint of slap-you-in-the-face...it’s the Kick o’ Life...”
Almost as if on cue, another Otter, stout as the barrel of Sea Brew itself, waddled out of the nearby building. His plump, friendly face, rounded to a circle by bulging cheeks, was framed by bushy sideburns. A large, puffy nose pushed out prominently over a well-greased handlebar moustache.
Clapping Winja on the back, the Otter boomed, “Hally, Winja! Do they want the Brew?”
“Every good and brave beast wants some!” Winja yelled back in reply. “Looks to be a goodly troop of sail-ridin’ salts. I speak in particular of this big red-eyed Wolf with the swagger and guff of a captain—a likely fellow we’ve seen before in these parts. The rest look tolerable honest and more bold than bluster. Sure enough they will want the Brew.”
“Flummo O’Marrell at your service,” the Otter said, sweeping his rough apron to the side as he bent his knee before Captain Gumberpott. “Drink up and welcome, my salty breeze-robbers! My eye-watering, sinus-cleansing, gut-wolloping elixir is freshly brewed—clears the head, steadies the heart, and soothes the nerves; it’s the Kick o’ Life!”
Small, twinkling eyes and a laughing smile added to the warm friendliness of the Otter’s greeting. Despite the friendly welcome, however, some of the sea-beasts still looked dubious about the clamshell cups of dark, slimy-looking Sea Brew that Winja was cheerfully filling and passing around.
“Look how they stare, Winja! Like these brave beasts never took a bit of drink. Well then, let’s have another go in the proper do o’ things.” With great fanfare, Flummo let out a curious wheezing cough, as if clearing a great boulder from his throat, and said, “You’re kindly invited to comfort your belly with some Pop-Fritter Shrimp, Twice-baked Bay Pear Soup, and Cove Biscuits, while you sip a delicate cup of Sea Brew. Come and welcome to the Feast n’ Fiddle to celebrate young Bem Madsoor’s return to health.”
“You see, Captain,” Winja added, “I’ve seen it go both ways. Why, there’s some dainty wallflower beasts, that’s never raised a sail, as would rather drink water. That’s the ones that call Sea Brew the ‘elixir of gut-rot and staggers,’” he laughed. “But for fine sea-beasts such as yourselves—that’s braved the Ice Fall Narrows and think nothing of cussing a hurricane to its face—why, for you, Flummo’s Brew is made to order.”
As Winja said this, three more Otters came out of Flummo’s house, carrying baskets of food and singing with happy gusto:
So ye made the sea and demons flee
You dock-fleeing, sea-woozy shalleets?5
Halloo-halloo! Hallee!
You furled up the wind and gave it
flight
With twenty-nine strokes of a dagger’s bite?
Halloo-halloo! Hallee!
And you heaved the storms in and anchored them down,
With a chain of oaths they strangled and drown’d?
With a Fe-Hallee-Halloo!
Then a favoring Temp and a blessed fair sail
Brings ye here—one port closer to hell!
Halloo-halloo! Hallee!
Well sang, we say! Welcome, be ye!
With a Fe-Halloo-Hallee!
Finishing their song, one of the Otters laid out wooden plates on the tables while another offered bops of Sea Brew to Red Whale’s crew. As the crew took their first swigs of Sea Brew, friendly arguments broke out about whether the sweet, knife-sharp taste of the Brew outweighed its intensely strong odor of fish. In the end, however, after two months at sea, the choice between Sea Brew and water was easy for a sea-beast, and soon all were enjoying Flummo’s creation.
“Friends, your coming adds happiness to our celebration,” Winja called out to the visiting sea-beasts as they scattered to join in making the preparations. “We did not expect to have such fine guests at our Feast n’ Fiddle. By the good winds of the Powers of the Sea, however, the bounty of our gardens and the goodly supply of fresh shrimp we have on ice will come to good use. We’ll cook as much as we need and you’ll help us plant and fish for more while you visit us.”
With a loud ‘Hallee’ the happy beasts tore into the work of readying the delicious spread. Several of the crew took tentative sips of the Sea Brew as they worked. Galley beasts from Daring Dream joined the Otters tending the cooking fires and the preparations proceeded with joking good humor.
As the Daring Dream crew fell to work, Red Whale and Winja discussed the repairs needed by the ship and other arrangements for the visit. Slurping Sea Brew with gusto, Red Whale and the Otter chief made plans to salvage materials from the numerous wrecks scattered along the coast.
Talk of the wrecks and Daring Dream’s own narrow escape, led Red Whale to ask, “Where’s the guest of honor, Winja—this Bem Madsoor?”
“Ah, and who knows about that sprite of hell?” Winja chuckled. “She’s set off to the Long-Off Pinnacle to watch for ships and chanting her Hoping Songs to the Powers of the Sea. She wants to leave Narrows End Bay as soon as she can. She’s been off to the Pinnacle every day and hardly stops chanting even to take a breath or put some timber in her belly. Bem’s one to put skip in the heart of even the bravest beast—nay, she makes every brave beast you ever knew look like weak-kneed cowards by comparison. The places she’s sailed and the dangers she’s battled would leave me sleepless the rest of my life! Those of us in our little settlement fish and plant our vegetables in happy peace and quiet. We greet a few ships stopping by—such as yourself—but mostly we live a quiet life. Bem Madsoor is very different. Don’t assume that all of us at Narrows End Bay are alike.” Winja paused for a moment. He pointed off toward the jagged hills rising sharply away toward the interior of the island.
“The point of rock you see poking up like a crooked finger is called Long-Off Pinnacle—you can see thirty miles to sea from there. Bem’s up there watching for the ship that will take her home. She’s set on getting back to Port Newolf—that’s in the Outer Rings, some days sailing from here—raising a crew, and hunting down Sabre Tusk d’Newolf. She’s sworn to destroy the Rummers.”
Raising his eyebrows for emphasis, Winja leaned toward Red Whale and spoke with a tone of mixed admiration and fear. “Oh, she’ll be here soon I’ll wager. From Long-Off Pinnacle Bem’s seen your ship in the harbor for sure and she’ll be wasting no time to get back here.”
Winja rubbed his chin and closed his eyes briefly, as if considering what to say next. Then he continued, “I warn you, friend, don’t fret if Bem seems a bit uncertain of mind, loose with her weapons, or rude in amusements. She may step on your feet and knock you down, as if you aren’t even there. You might feel a throwing lance wisk your hat right off your head and stick it to a tree. She might empty her bop of Sea Brew right over your head and laugh as it runs down your face. Be warned. These are Bem’s manners and customs. Sailing with Rummers in the trallé trade has taught her that she can brook no one stronger or more fierce then herself. She will not tolerate a challenge or a bad word against her—or, thankfully, her friends. She knows that her survival in what she plans depends on her complete fearlessness. Be warned. She is more good than bad, and a more generous and big-hearted beast you will never find. In her, ‘bad’ does not mean evil. I call her ‘bad’ as all beasts who dare to challenge her will call her ‘bad’—a more strong and forceful, determined and dangerous beast does not exist. Be warned. She may be young, friendly enough, and mean you no harm if you accept her ways. But be warned.” Ending his strange introduction to what was to come, Winja took a long slurp of Sea Brew and looked toward the Long-Off Pinnacle.
Bem Madsoor Introduces Herself
As shadows lengthened in the early evening, a long day of fun and feasting was still going strong at Narrows End Bay. Captain “Red Whale” Gumberpott swung slowly back and forth in a hammock, his legs sprawling over the edges. Thanks to the feasting, his substantial stomach took on truly gigantic proportions as the curve of the hammock pushed it up before his eyes. A bop of Sea Brew rested on Red Whale’s stomach and with only minor effort, the good captain could tip the bop enough to send a small dribble of the Brew into his mouth. Such small movements and sips were about all he could manage. The feasting had taken its toll.
Relaxed and gut-stuffed to the limit, Red Whale contentedly watched some of the more energetic crew of the Daring Dream preparing to compete against some of the Narrows End Bay locals in a Cheat-Break contest. Red Whale remembered the first time he’d seen Cheat-Break played. He’d been a young mate on that first stop at Narrows End Bay so many years ago. “Arr’t it a bit o’ wonder the way time sails by?” he mused, recalling himself in those days. “I was a hunder’d pounds less in the gut then,” he chuckled, “and it’s a blessin’ I’m too heavy to be any use to our team now...Needs a young beast sharp o’ mouth and weak o’ brain—more grit than wit—Aye, getting’ old and heavy has its merits,” he smiled, sipping his Brew.
But Red Whale quickly turned serious as he noticed Katteo Jor’Dane tying a strip of green cloth around her arm. “Nay, Katteo!” he yelled, without moving from his comfortable hammock. “It’s bein’ a game better for ya to watch than to play. We can’t afford ya gittin’ all smashed up!” Red Whale knew the dangers of Cheat-Break and he was not willing to have his best crew-beasts risk serious injury. “Arr—the same goes for you Piggerton! Off to the sidelines with ya!” If a few of his bilge-brained crew wanted to take their chances in a dangerous game, he could replace them with locals if need be. But he’d not allow his most skilled and vital crew to play the fool with their limbs.
A feast day at Narrows End Bay always ended with Cheat-Break races. As the name implied, Cheat-Break was a rough local game that left cheaters with all manner of broken bones. Teams of ‘Heavers’—twelve to a team—carried longboats above their heads from one end of a marked course to the other.
As the game began, the longboats were empty. But when a longboat crossed a line at one end of the course, the boat was lowered quickly to the ground and one of the Heavers clambered aboard. The remaining Heavers hoisted the boat up again and hurried off toward the other end of the course. After crossing a similar line at that end, the process was repeated. As more and more rounds were completed, and more and more beasts rode in the boats, the heavier the boats became. The team that carried its longboat the longest distance before it could no longer be lifted was the winner.
A red pennant flapped from the prow of one longboat and a green pennant hung from the opposing one. The contest was defined by the curious way the teams were divided. Equal numbers of Red and Green Heavers carried each longboat. All sorts of trickery could be tried to help one’s own team, save only causing the boat to fall. A falling longbo
at—especially one filled with Heaver beasts—could badly injure many an unlucky beast. Hence, Cheat-Break was a fairly apt name for the rough old sport.
In the early going, the teams moved with some speed. Moving in spurts and spiraling bursts, the boats swayed and dipped in erratic curves. Opposing Heavers struggled to advance their own team’s boat, or delay the opposing one. The basic goal of Heavers carrying the opposing team’s longboat was to make the journey from one end of the course to the other exhausting. The more times a longboat circled aimlessly due to the evenly-matched struggles of opposing Heavers, the more likely that longboat would lose the game. On the other hand, the strategy of Heavers loyal to the longboat they carried was to keep their biggest and strongest teammates as rested as possible in the early going.
The boats weaved down the course amidst a barrage of jabbering and cursing from the Heavers: “YAR! YA BILGE-DRINKIN’ SLIME HOG! KEEPIN’ YER ELBOW TO OUT’ER ME EYES! ER I’LL BITT’IN IT UP!”
“ARRR! YA WORTHLESS SAND-HEAD—YER BE BITIN’ ME AND I’LL POUND YER TEETH INTA YER GUT!”
The yammering of the Heavers mingled with the cheers and taunts of the crowd.
“GLORY ON, RED! GLORY ON! GREEN’S NOTHIN’ BUT SAIL—NOT A BIT O’ WIND! GLORY ON, YA GREEN BOAT-SNATCHERS!”
“AH, SHUT YER GAP! RED PLAYS LIKE FISH TRYIN’ TO WALK. STEP LIVELY, GREEN!”
Puffing and hollering, the Heavers gradually moved the wildly spinning longboats down the course. Each team fought to hold its own in the rugged contest as the boats went up and down, around and around, in the dizzying race.
Red Whale roared with laughter as he watched the comic spectacle. Running his arm across his eyes to wipe away the tears of laughter that had gathered there, he glanced out toward the bay. Turning suddenly ashen, the smile faded from his face. A strange figure was climbing the rigging of the Daring Dream! No beast had been left aboard to take care of the ship. Every member of the crew was ashore! The beast in the riggings was unfurling the sails. The ship was being stolen!
