A Voyager Without Magic

by Guy Antibes

  Sam nodded. “It is. I don’t want to waste away standing on the deck and checking on stores during the whole trip. I get my assistant purser duties finished in an hour or two.”

  The dark-skinned man nodded and grinned. “Then you can help me, but I won’t put you to work doing stuff for me. We will work together. I am busy all day long.” The young man thrust out his hand. “Desmon Sandal. Desmon works best.”

  “Sam, Sam Smith. When can we start?”

  “Tomorrow. Wear something that you don’t mind getting worn out. We patch our own clothes.”

  Sam took off his spectacles and saw pollen stitches and pollen patches on the man’s clothes. The rest of the sailors looked like they were in various stages of undress. At least all the clothes Sam had were made of a non-pollen material, or they would be falling apart due to his aversion to pollen.

  From that time on, Sam’s wishes for more exercise were more than fulfilled. He had to be careful when working with pollen-made items. Temporary lines were pollen-made, and sailors would make line from high above in the rigging that they would discard overboard after they used it to descend to the deck.

  Sam had the sailmaker fashion gloves to use on the lines. The sailors made fun of his gloves, but Sam didn’t care.

  Three days later, the First Mate called Sam from the hold, putting a stop to his constant inventorying.

  “Sword practice, if you have a mind,” the man said. “Have you a weapon of your own?”

  Sam had his wand, but that wouldn’t give him the kind of a workout he wanted. “No.”

  “We use cutlasses. I’ll bring an extra. At the next bell.”

  The bells were struck every half hour, so Sam quickly finished his work and changed his clothes. He was first to assemble, but soon eight men warmed up with the captain.

  “Here you go,” the First Mate said, handing Sam a weapon that was a little longer than a Norlankian Cutlass.

  As Sam swung the weapon, it was clear the sword had better balance than the cutlasses he had used at the constabulary. The hilt was longer and a bit thicker, making the sword handle better in Sam’s hand.

  Darter walked up to him after Sam had begun to get a feel for the weapon. “This isn’t your first encounter with a cutlass?” she asked.

  “The Norlankian cutlasses we used at the constabulary were shorter, with more weight to the blade. I like this one much better.”

  Darter smirked. It reminded him of the one Dickey Nail often wore. “There are different versions of the cutlass. I’ve always preferred this kind. It is what we all use aboard The Twisted Wind. It not only performs better, I think the line is more pleasing to the eye,” she said.

  “It is indeed,” Sam said, not noticing the nicer shape of the blade before.

  “I will start with you. I know how my men practice, so I can assign you to the right partner.”

  “Don’t the sailors have blades?” Sam asked.

  “They make their own. I’ve trained them all in making this style of cutlass. Most of my sailors can make good enough pollen weapons for a shipboard fight. Only the officers use steel.”

  A whistle blew. Sam looked around, but he couldn’t tell who blew it. The men had already taken partners, and Captain Darter stepped back with her cutlass in hand in a defensive position. There was no touching of the swords on deck.

  “The ship rolls, so be careful. We don’t go full speed unless the sea is like glass,” she said.

  Sam immediately saw the wisdom in that. The waters weren’t too bad at the moment. He lifted his sword, and as soon as he did, Captain Darter attacked.

  Sam had to take a few quick steps back, but he did so to see what kind of style the Captain used. It was definitely a style, but one unknown to Sam. He could easily match her speed, and he imagined their strength to be about equal, if not to Sam’s advantage.

  She picked up her pace and showed Sam how deft she was at delivering blows precisely where she wanted. He had seen enough in the first half-minute and began to move forward, moving around where he wanted. Sam guessed his style was as foreign to her as hers was to him.

  Captain Darter leaned forward and tossed something just behind Sam’s foot, making him trip and fall on his rear. He looked around and suddenly, as if her move was a signal, the other officers began using invisible-to-him pollen blocks and lines to foul up blades and trip their opponents.

  Sam had never seen a fighting style like that. Even in the battles of the Summer Revolt, the fighters didn’t create pollen distractions that created havoc with their opponent. He put on his spectacles, and the fighting took on a surreal look.

  He laid his sword on the deck and stood up. Sam couldn’t fight this style. He would be totally on the defense.

  Captain Darter affected her smirk. “Giving up so easily?”

  “I said I couldn’t see pollen very well. I also can’t make pollen…well,” Sam said. He didn’t want to lie, but he did.

  She leaned back and laughed. “We learned how to do this fighting Wollian pirates. Wollia is an island continent we will be visiting on this voyage. Do you want to learn how to defend yourself against this?”

  Sam sighed. “I don’t think there is a defense, is there?”

  “Not a single defense, but a set of strategies,” the Captain said. “Let’s go over some.” She tossed a soft sack of pollen, as soon as she made it, towards Sam. “I was a bit lucky that my first throw landed exactly where I wanted it. All you have to do to defeat an obstacle is shuffle a bit more, so you inadvertently kick anything thrown behind you away without stumbling on it. Watch the men.”

  Sam looked towards the officers and could see the way they moved their feet. Their movements were part of the different style he noticed the Captain employing. Pollen balls were thrown, but in the heat of a sparring match, missiles couldn’t be tossed with much force, so the men were ready to deflect a ball with their sword and with their free arm.

  “It is an offense built on distraction,” Sam said.

  Captain Darter nodded. “You are a smart boy. That is exactly right. If you had a sack of pollen balls and blocks at your side, you could do the same.”

  Sam wasn’t so sure such a thing was worth the restrictions on his movement, but he could see advantages of fighting with his wand in such a battle. “Do the pirates win all the time?”

  Darter smirked again. “Not against my men. Our sailors use the same style.”

  “What about projectiles?”

  “Arrows?”

  “Arrows, spears, staffs,” Sam said. “They could be quickly made with pollen.”

  Captain Darter looked at Sam and gave him a suspicious smile. “You don’t know how to make pollen, do you?”

  Sam could feel his face burn. He looked to see if anyone was intent on listening to them. “No.”

  “You would know that by the time anything dense enough to do damage, like an edged weapon, would take too much time. These little balls, sacks, and blocks can be made in a second or two. Even the lines you slide down from the masts take at least a minute to make,” she said.

  Sam pressed his lips together. He had been caught in his lie, and he hadn’t had to. He could have claimed that other sailors could make the projectiles if they were out of the fight. He shook his head.

  “Regret your words?”

  Sam took a deep breath. “I do. I don’t like others knowing about my disability.”

  “It is a new one, for me, anyway,” Darter said. She snorted. “I won’t spread it around. It takes a lot of practice to fight the way my men do,” she said, folding her arms and watching her officers get tired. “The best defense is to deflect the distractions and learn to fight faster. It ends up being a better offense, too. Landlovers have been known to beat pirates without pollen distractions, you know. It’s more fun to mix it up, though,” she gave Sam an unexpected wink. “I’m done. Watch today and figure out your own style when we reassemble in a few days.”

  Sam nodded and did just what the Captain sa
id. As he watched the officers fight each other, he could see plenty of openings that playing around with pollen created. He realized that he would have to wear his spectacles when he fought.

  Chapter Three

  ~

  “C aptain got you pretty bad yesterday,” Desmon said as they climbed up the rigging to finish securing a sail under lowering skies.

  Sam looked at the other sailors, getting in position for the task. For this job, Sam was along to help tie lines, but sailors created the lines to secure the sail as they climbed. Desmon said he didn’t have to do it, since he was just along for the exercise.

  “You can’t make pollen, can you?” Desmon asked. “I could see you watching the other officers, and you didn’t even make an effort to fight them in their own way.”

  “You know how to do what they did?”

  Desmon laughed. “I’m from Wollia. Of course, I know better than anyone on board. But you, Sam, how did it happen?”

  Sam sighed. “I survived a lightning strike when I was a little boy. It burned my pollen-making talents right out of me.”

  “No, I don’t believe it!”

  “It’s the truth. I even have an aversion to pollen. Give me that end.”

  Sam took his gloves off and pressed the line against his palm until he could feel the end soften. “Here,” he said, extending the line.

  “It’s soft.”

  Sam nodded. “I can’t explain it, but when I use my spectacles, I can see pollen better than someone who can use it, but without seeing through a gold film, pollen is invisible.”

  “Even the line?”

  Sam nodded. “I can’t see any of these lines with my naked eyes, and I wear gloves to keep them from softening like this one.”

  Desmon’s eyebrows went up. “And you can see through pollen-patched clothes?”

  Sam smiled. “Invisible.”

  The young man laughed. “I’ll have to watch my patching around you.”

  “Yes, you will,” Sam said. Not many people picked up on pollen’s invisibility in regards to attire. Sam had learned to ignore it. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I need exercise.”

  “You need that, and you need to know the secrets of defending against Wollian-style swordsmanship.”

  “I figured it was shuffling, deflecting, and moving fast enough to take advantage of the little openings fighters create before they toss the pollen.”

  “That’s most of it, but there is a little more. We can have a session in the twilight when the evening provides us with a little privacy.”

  Sam smiled at the thought. Their conversation was cut short when they heard the whistle signaling to begin the process of bringing up a new sail. Desmon tied the knots that would enable the sail to be furled from below.

  ~

  Desmon’s secrets weren’t as significant as the Wollian had let on. Sam listened intently to get a better feel for the defensive measures. The Captain didn’t call practice for another week, and that was halted by a commotion in the lower galley on a gray, tempestuous morning.

  Sam stood with his back to a mast as the ship tossed to and fro on the angry sea.

  “Passenger was found stabbed,” one of the sailors said. The man looked at Sam. “You’re the assistant purser. Pursers are the snoops aboard ship. You better get on your way.”

  Sam nodded and found a crowd around a cabin doorway on Banna Plunk’s corridor. The victim was still alive, and Sam arrived in time to see the man being carried off to the ship’s surgeon. Jordi worried with his hands at the door.

  “You are the snoop,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “No murders to solve on board The Twisted Wind?” Sam asked.

  Jordi shivered. “Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that. If he pulls through, we can interrogate him. It might be a long wait.”

  “Wait?” Sam asked. “We shouldn’t wait at all.”

  “Why not?” Captain Darter said from behind him.

  Sam turned to face her. “Evidence. Someone might tamper with the scene of the crime.”

  The Captain pulled at her lip. “You’ve seen murders before?”

  Sam nodded. “More than once.”

  She looked at Jordi. “A little experience is better than none. Right, Jordi?”

  The purser nodded.

  “Well, then, since Jordi is less experienced than you, I charge you with finding the perpetrator. I’m not sure the poor passenger will survive his wounds.”

  Sam nodded again. “Then I will have to get to work.”

  Jordi stood outside, looking worried, as Sam poked his head in the cabin. It was smaller than his own. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. He couldn’t detect any signs of a struggle other than blood liberally splattered on most of the floor and on the bed. Either the perpetrator wore the same shoes, or the victim was the only person to walk on the bloody parts of the floor.

  The ship’s surgeon poked her head in the door. “Mr. Hardblow is coming round. The Captain said you should be there when he comes to.”

  Sam tried to memorize where everything was in the cabin. He looked at Jordi. “Lock the door. No one should disturb the cabin.”

  The purser nodded his head.

  Sam followed the surgeon through the ship to the surgery. The surgeon opened the door for Sam. “In here,” she said.

  The surgery looked like every other healer’s clinic he had seen. He guessed they used different terms for the same thing on board ship. The surgeon drew a drape, revealing the victim swaddled in pollen bandages.

  He removed his spectacles and looked at the wound through the bandages. There were three jagged stab wounds, one in his stomach, another on his forearm, and a shallow slice that ran from his shoulder to the middle of his chest. Sam didn’t want to admit he had never interpreted wounds before. Dickey Nail and Harrison Dimple had always been around for that.

  He stared at the man’s body and realized he could use his weapons training to imagine the wounds. There was a fight. Mr. Hardblow had fought his assailant.

  “He isn’t conscious now, but stay here. He might come around in a few minutes,” the surgeon said. Sam examined the man’s clothes, piled at the side of the bed. Shirt, pants, shoes, socks, underclothes, all were covered in blood.

  “Do you have a paper and a pen or pencil?” he asked. Sam didn’t want to leave the surgery to grab his notebook.

  The surgeon pointed. “On my desk.”

  Sam thanked her and made notes about the state of the cabin. He drew where he remembered the footprints to be, specifically noting that the footprints were from the same large-sized shoe. He stopped when he heard mumbling coming from behind the drapes. He folded the three pages of notes in half and hurried to the man’s bedside.

  One of the wounds had started bleeding through the stitches.

  The victim looked through pain-filled eyes. “My business associate stowed aboard,” he said. “He stabbed me before jumping overboard.”

  Sam furrowed his brow. “Where did he stab you?”

  “In my body, you idiot kid,” the man said, his face white with loss of blood. He looked at the surgeon. “What is he doing here? Young enough to be my son, he is.”

  “I am, or was, an apprentice constable assigned to the Investigative Division of the Royal Baskin Constabulary,” Sam said. “I have a little experience in these things. The purser has none.”

  “Little experience,” the man grunted. He seemed relieved about that for some strange reason.

  “Where did you fight?”

  “On the deck,” the man said. “As I said,” he groaned, and his body shuddered. His face twisted with panic. “Romia, I’m sorry I won’t see you again,” he said as his eyes lost their focus.

  “What did he say at the end? I don’t know the language,” the surgeon said.

  Sam blinked. “Vaarekian or something similar. He probably spoke his last words in his mother tongue. ‘Romia, I am sorry I won’t see you again.’ Isn’t that interesting?” Sam hurrie
d back to the desk to write the few sentences of interrogation.

  “Why would he do that?” the surgeon asked.

  “He must have been from Polistia. I’ll have to discuss this with Banna Plunk,” Sam said, looking at the inert body on the surgery bed. He thought about sharing his thoughts with the surgeon, but he decided not to.

  He wrote a statement on another piece of paper. “Is this correct? If it is, I’d like you to sign it. I learned that people’s memories can become unreliable after a bit.”

  The surgeon smiled. “You do have a little experience,” she said before reading and signing.

  After a quick inspection of the decks, Sam took his papers and found the victim’s cabin door open. Jordi was nowhere to be seen. He peeked in. There were more than a few footprints on the floor now. Sam had to remember that he wasn’t in Baskin anymore. Captain Darter was the judge and jury aboard her ship.

  Jordi showed up with two seamen carrying buckets and mops.

  “Uh, the First Mate decided that the blood on the floor would stain if we didn’t get it up soon,” Jordi said.

  Sam sighed. “I wanted the scene kept as it is,” he said. The First Mate walked up behind Jordi.

  “The man can’t be returned to a bloody cabin,” the mate said.

  “You don’t have to be worried about that. Mr. Hardblow died a few minutes ago. He said he was stabbed by a stowaway in a fight on the deck. Is there any blood on the deck?” Sam asked.

  He realized that he needed to make an investigative plan. Dickey instinctively knew what needed to be done next, but Sam had to think things out.

  “A moment before you start,” Sam said. He had to ignore the new tracks of blood as he checked the scene with the notes he had written down. He made a quick drawing of the layout of the tiny cabin and let the men in.

  “If you find a bloody knife, let me know,” Sam said as he stepped into the crowded corridor.

  Men filled up the passageway going back towards the stairs to the deck. He turned and passed Banna Plunk’s cabin. Her door opened, and she tugged on his sleeve.

  “What happened, Sam?”

  Her use of his first name stopped Sam cold. He didn’t recall the woman ever addressing him by name before.