by Mel Odom
“Loads ready!” the catapult crew chiefs called out as they thrust lit torches onto the rough, oil-soaked pitch and tar loads that weighed at least two hundred pounds. The flames caught gradually and spread across the loads.
Wick took his homemade book from inside his shirt and seized a small bit of charcoal. Turning so his back would block the ocean spray breaking across One-Eyed Peggie’s prow, the little librarian quickly blocked out the scene of the captain and the catapults onto a blank page. His effort was very rough, but it captured the placement and lines of tension in the machines as well as the crews. And it captured Captain Farok, steady and in control.
“Hallekk,” Captain Farok called.
“Aye, Cap’n,” Hallekk responded.
“After we fire these two loads,” the captain said, “we’ll want to spring our final surprise.”
Hallekk grinned. “Aye, sir, that we will.”
“What surprise?” Wick asked nervously.
“Don’t you go a-frettin’, little man,” the big dwarf told him. “This’ll be fun. C’mon.”
Reluctantly, Wick followed Hallekk across the deck to the portside of the prow. The big dwarf grabbed a thick rope that led up into the rigging. Wick followed the line of the rope and saw it thread over a block-and-tackle assembly high above. It was attached to a heavy sandbag and another rope. Following the second rope back down again, the little librarian was surprised to see it disappear over the side into the waterline.
Hallekk gripped the knot tying the rope to the railing. He watched the merchanter with savage glee. “We ain’t done this one in awhile, little man. Ye’re in for a treat.”
“Fire!” Captain Farok roared.
Both catapults cut loose with a resounding SPROING! As the flaming pitchloads vaulted into the air, One-Eyed Peggie rolled over just a bit in reaction.
Wick put his book away inside his shirt again as he watched the flaming pitchloads fly high. They looked like comets as they trailed smoke and fire behind them. When they reached the apex of their climb, they plummeted. For a moment, Wick felt certain the crew chiefs had accidentally hit the merchanter.
Instead, both flaming pitchloads landed only a few feet short of the merchanter. The round missiles threw up huge waves of water over the abandoned starboard railing and disappeared for a moment. Before the water had finished swamping the merchanter’s deck, the pitchloads floated to the surface. Amazingly, the flames had fed on the oil for the brief time they were beneath the water and stayed lit as they bobbed on the waves.
The pirate crew started singing again. “We are the crew of One-Eyed Peggie!”
The crew aboard the merchanter, realizing they hadn’t been struck after all, returned to the starboard railing. Their archers readied another volley.
“Hallekk!” Captain Farok growled.
“Aye, Cap’n!” Hallekk yanked on the knot and loosened the line. Immediately, the huge sandbag hanging high in the rigging above plunged toward the deck.
As he watched, heart in his throat, Wick saw that at least a dozen other sandbags dropped from the rigging as well as from concealed places behind the main sails. The pulleys shrilled as they spun.
Almost immediately, One-Eyed Peggie slowed in the water like she’d dropped anchor. Or like something has grabbed hold of her, Wick thought unhappily. He glanced over the side just in time to see thick, black tentacles exploding up from the ocean with frightening speed.
9
Ill Wind
Saaaaahhhhh!” Stumbling and crying out, the little librarian tripped over his own feet in his haste to spring back from the groping tentacles.
The tentacles rose high into One-Eyed Peggie’s rigging, wriggling and writhing in anticipation. They hugged the sails and masts jealously. All the pirates dove for the deck in unison, moving like they’d been trained for the moment, screaming and bleating in fear. And One-Eyed Peggie lurched like she’d gone aground, spilling pirates forward.
“Yaaaaahhhhh!” Wick yelled again as he rolled helplessly for a moment and peered at the tentacle within arm’s reach above him. He pushed his feet against the deck and scooted back. One-Eyed Peggie bucked against the sea now instead of cutting clean through it.
Hallekk lay only a few feet away, roaring with laughter.
He’s insane! Wick thought desperately. His mind has snapped! Thick water droplets splashed the deck around him as it fell from the tentacle above.
Suddenly, above the noise of the straining rigging and protesting wood and the clamor of the sea, laughter rang out.
Still shuddering in fear, certain he’d been trapped on a ship of madmen, Wick glanced around at the pirates. They all still lay on the decks where they’d thrown themselves, but they were laughing out loud now instead of crying out. Their huge guffaws filled the ship.
“Stow that bilge, ye reprehensible loons,” Captain Farok commanded. He still stood at the stern castle railing, implacable as ever. “Ye get outta hand like this, them crewmen is gonna know something ain’t right.”
Something isn’t right! Wick stared up at the still-quivering tentacle above him. If he wanted to—which he definitely did not want to—he could have touched it. The black tentacle was easily bigger around than he was, and it continued to quiver as it held onto the mast. One-Eyed Peggie bobbed wildly on the water.
“Hey, little man,” Hallekk called gently, “are ye okay over there?”
“No,” Wick whispered. “I’m not okay. We’re about to be dragged to the bottom of the sea by this … this thing!”
“Ye’re a-talkin’ about this thing?” Hallekk reached up and gave the tentacle a good-natured slap, like a warder showing affection to a favorite wolf pup. “This thing ain’t a-gonna do ye any harm. This here’s Gretchen the Sea Monster.”
Looking more closely at the tentacle, Wick was chagrined to realize that it wasn’t made up of bristly flesh and knobby hide as he’d imagined. Instead, it was made up of sailcloth that had been strategically ripped and tattered.
“It’s a fake?” the little librarian asked, getting up cautiously. He gazed up into the rigging. Now that he was looking he could see the ropes that held up “Gretchen’s” tentacles.
“Hallekk,” Captain Farok called from the stern. “Fetch ol’ Gretchen down outta me riggin’, would ye? Leave her up there like that an’ she’s a-gonna dry out and likely tear herself in the wind.”
“At once, Cap’n.” Hallekk quickly assembled a work group. The big dwarf ordered some of the sails lowered first, and One-Eyed Peggie stopped fighting the sea as hard.
Wick followed Hallekk to the port railing and gazed out at the sea while the big dwarf started hauling the sandbag up. The merchanter changed course and steered clear of the pirate ship.
“Oh, we won’t be a-seein’ them again any time too soon,” Hallekk observed. “Can ye imagine the way them sailors will be a-tellin’ the tale tonight, an’ in every tavern they bend an elbow in for the rest of their days? Why they was a-fightin’ the bloodthirsty pirates of the Blood-Soaked Sea, just a-barely survivin’—or maybe a-givin’ us pirates the thrashin’ of our very lives—when up comes this fierce sea beastie from the depths an’ drags them evil pirates below the waves.”
Wick knew it was true. He’d thought the encounter was going to end that way. His hands still trembled a little as he coiled the sopping rope on the deck at his feet. “You’ve done this before?”
“Aye,” Hallekk grunted as he hauled the sandbag up. Once it was clear of the water, the weight was much greater. The sodden sandbag thumped heavily against the ship’s side. “An’ it’s never failed to work yet.”
Considering the way the tentacles had sprung from the water like a tripped hunter’s trap, Wick didn’t doubt that. Despite the fact that he knew the tentacles were made from sailcloth, in his mind’s eye he kept seeing a dreaded kraken lashing onto the ship. That probably comes from reading Erghiller’s Beneath the Deep, Deep Waves.
“How long has ‘Gretchen’ been in service?” the li
ttle librarian asked.
Hallekk shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t asked. Gretchen’s been aboard One-Eyed Peggie longer than I have.” He took up the line that Zeddar threw down, tied it to the sandbag, and began hoisting the sandbag back up into the rigging.
Wick took hold of the rope and pulled in unison with Hallekk. As the sandbag rose, the tentacles descended again into the ocean and the series of hoops sewn inside the sailcloth stood out like ribs. A lot of thought had gone into the tentacles’ design, and he found himself curious about whomever had first fashioned them. “Do all the Blood-Soaked Sea pirate ships have tentacles?”
“Can’t say,” Hallekk said. “So far, Peggie’s the only Blood-Soaked Sea pirate ship I’ve seen. We all got routes we run. Keeps us spread out.”
“Where do the tentacles stay below?” Wick asked.
“There’s furrows cut along Peggie’s sides,” Hallekk explained. “Once we get them tentacles back underwater, I’ll send swimmers down to tuck ‘em up nice an’ neat. They’ll stay there until we need ’em again.”
“Was it just pulling the tentacles out that slowed the ship so much?” Wick asked.
Hallekk shook his head. “Naw. Besides a-havin’ tentacles, Gretchen’s got an apron she drops out along the keel line. It’s really just a big net what’s been pretty much sewn together. When it cuts loose, it starts an almighty drag on ol’ Peggie.”
Wick remembered. He hauled on the rope with all his strength, feeling the soreness in his hands from working the rigging the last two weeks. At least the blisters had started to fade, giving over to unaccustomed calluses that he had to admit he took some pride in. His mind turned over the events of the last several minutes and he wanted badly to get a chance to work in his journal. There was so much to add, so much to comment on and catalogue and—
“Cap’n Farok!” a man yelled.
Startled out of his reverie by the naked fear in the man’s hoarse voice, Wick turned toward the pirate.
Captain Farok remained upon the stern castle. “What is it?”
A group of pirates gathered around the ropes that manipulated the stern starboard tentacle. They gazed at the tentacle above in disbelief.
“Tentacle’s stuck in the riggin’, Cap’n,” one of the men declared. “An’ there’s a goblin stuck with it, too!”
The announcement quickly drew the other pirates and the buzz of excited conversation filled the deck. Wick hurried over to join them, staring up into the rigging, often frustrated by the billowing sails.
“There it is!” someone else shouted.
The fog cover over the ship broke, revealing the body high in the rigging. The tentacle had borne it up and lodged it firmly against a supporting yardarm. With the bright sun behind it, only marred now and again by drifting masses of thin fog, Wick could only see the outline of the body. He wasn’t even able to make out if it was indeed a goblin.
“Is it dead?” Critter demanded, landing in the rigging on the other side of the trapped tentacle. “Ye don’t want to go near no goblin what ain’t properly dead. They’ll claw ye and bite ye, and generally just smell bad.”
Hallekk gripped the rigging and called out to Zeddar, who was still in the crow’s-nest. Together, they approached the body and cut it free of the rigging. Released, the tentacle flopped out into the ocean.
When the body was free of the rigging, Hallekk held onto it by one ankle. “Get yerselves clear away,” the big dwarf warned. The pirates quickly fled the area directly under the body. Then Hallekk released it.
Wick knew from the way the body hit the deck that no life remained.
It was the first goblin and murdered humanoid Wick had ever seen. For a moment, the sick nausea that suddenly formed in the pit of the little librarian’s stomach almost erupted.
The splotchy gray-green skin of the goblin gave its heritage away immediately. Nothing else in the world vaguely humanoid was that color, Wick knew. In life, the little librarian guessed that the goblin might have been a little greener than the gray pallor its death had visited upon it.
The goblin’s head was shaped like a triangle, with a flat, broad skull that led down to a narrow, pointed chin sprouting a tuft of black whiskers. Stone beads and bits of bone worked into the foot-long whiskers declared the goblin’s tribe and personal history. The misshapen ears were the size of a human’s hand, and curled over like wilted leaves, coming to points. Brass earrings lined both ears, and coarse black hairs thrust out of them. The forehead was a thick shelf of bone hanging over deep eye sockets.
“Is it dead?” a young pirate asked.
“Well,” Hallekk growled as he clambered down, “I didn’t hear him a-complainin’ about the fall, nor that wallopin’ sudden stop at the end.”
Usually, Wick remembered from his reading and the tales he’d learned growing up in Greydawn Moors, a goblin’s eyes burned orange or red. However, Wick chose not to peer too closely into the dead goblin’s eyes. Beneath the cavernous eyes, the high cheekbones stuck out like they’d been chipped from granite, standing out nearly as far as the flat, upturned nose. The lipless mouth hung partially open to reveal scraggly yellow canine fangs. Long black hair hung over the goblin’s shoulder in a twisted braid threaded with more stone beads and bone bits. If the goblin had been standing, the hair would have hung down to his thighs. Metal glinted at the end of the braid, and upon closer inspection the little librarian saw the cunning weapon wrapped within the hair.
Hallekk dropped to the deck and pushed his way through the crowd of pirates. “Those of ye what ain’t seen goblinkin before take heed of that spiked blade what’s wound up in its hair.” He knelt and lifted the braid so the blade could be better seen. The blade was shaped like a feather, but only a dozen spikes stuck out from it. “Ye can bet them sharp tines on that blade is poisoned. Goblinkin what wear them hidden blades always daub ’em in poison.”
The pirates drew back as Hallekk freed the blade from the thick braid by slashing the last few inches of hair. He threw the braid section and blade over the ship’s side.
Goblins were taller than dwarves and elves, but shorter than humans. They were built broad across the chest and shoulders like wolves and other predators that depended on speed and endurance. Their arms hung longer than their legs, but both hands and feet looked two sizes too large for their bodies. Hard black talons covered the ends of the fingers and toes. Coarse black hair shadowed bodies that looked like those of famine victims. Despite their ravenous natures, most goblinkin never seemed able to put on too much weight and remained feral in appearance.
“Hallekk,” Captain Farok asked as the pirates stepped aside to allow him passage, “what do we have here?”
“A mystery,” Hallekk growled, “an’ one’s that totally unwelcome.”
“The body looks fresh,” the captain observed.
It surely doesn’t smell fresh, Wick thought. The little librarian’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the gamy odor. Combined with the queasiness already rolling through his stomach from looking at the dead creature, it was almost too much.
“We’re too far out to sea,” the captain continued, “for a body to have come from the mainland, an’ there are no islands in these waters.”
“No, sir,” Hallekk agreed, kneeling near the body. “Judging from the leathers this’n is a-wearin‘, an’ these calluses on his hands, I’d say he was a sailor. Maybe a pirate.”
Surprise pushed Captain Farok’s bushy brows up a little. “That’s not good news. So far, there have been no reports of goblin ships this far west. They’ve stayed much closer to the mainland.”
Hallekk nodded.
Wick swallowed hard. Even if they had sailed in a straight line from Greydawn Moors, twenty-two or-three days wasn’t enough distance for him to feel comfortable about goblinkin so close to his home. Even if he wasn’t there at the moment, his family was. And so was the Vault of All Known Knowledge.
The goblinkin hadn’t sailed too freely on any of the seas before Lord Kharrion bro
ught about the Cataclysm. Humans had primarily ruled the seaways, while dwarves and elves remained content to be held by territorial boundaries. It had been humans that had built the great ships that had conquered the oceans and united the continents, and they were doomed forever by that wanderlust that fired so many of their kind.
“His leathers are also covered with tar to keep the sea out an’ the warm in,” Hallekk went on. He pointed at the beaded moisture trickling across the goblin’s garments. The foul creature was dressed in a leather vest over a homespun shirt and leather pants. Dirty cloth straps wrapped his feet. No cobblers existed among the goblinkin, and no dwarven tradesman would make shoes for them. “Then there’s this.” The big dwarf pointed to a terrible wound in the goblin’s side.
Captain Farok peered more closely. “A sword wound?”
“Aye, sir. Made with something straight thrust into him. Weren’t no cutlass blow what did that.”
“From someone who was trained in the art of the blade.”
Hallekk nodded. “That’s what I’m a-thinkin’, and that leads to even more curious thoughts.”
The goblin’s presence and his death were mysteries that pulled at Wick’s attention. Puzzles concerning thefts and murders were some of his favorite reading from Hralbomm’s Wing as well as the more adventurous stories. There was something about pitting oneself against the puzzle solver in the stories that intrigued him. Often, the little librarian figured out who had managed the crime or foul deed—it was always a dead giveaway, mostly, if there were goblins involved—before he reached the end. But this present set of mysteries didn’t guarantee a solution.
“He has a ship somewhere nearby then,” the captain said in a quiet voice.
“Aye, sir,” Hallekk said, gazing out over the prow. “An’ one close by, too, I’d say.”
“Double the night watch, then,” Captain Farok said, “an’ keep the crew sharp.”
