The Dungeoneers: Blackfog Island

by Jeffery Russell

  “What do you mean, ‘no island there’?” Thud asked. He had to admire Samona’s theatrics, particularly how the woman at the next table had managed to angle the lantern to cast his face half in shadow. One of the smuggler’s crew, he was guessing.

  “Is like de name,” Samona said. “A great patch of black fog that lies at de heart. The stories say that you’re on it without warning. Sailing through de fog when suddenly all goes dark about you and your ship never comes out de udder side.” His eyes and hands were wide.

  “If no one gets out then where do the stories come from?” Thud asked.

  “No ship coming out don’t mean it ain’t been seen, sah,” Samona said. “I seen it with me own eyes. I know it ain’t just rumtalk. Two week ago I be sailing convoy with Captain Marin and de Katie’s Jigger, a sloop, small and fast. We were crossing de Cloud Sea when a gale comes up and I sees a ship movin' in behind us. Pirates. They had a weather wizard, more powerful than de one we had and the winds that carried them were faster.

  “I signaled Marin and he hauled the Katie’s Jigger over and we split. It was our best chance. Ships in de storm, unpredictable currents, easy to get lost.

  “They went after the Jigger and got close enough to fire squidchain from the onager and tear the her sails up pretty good. Gave the pirate even more edge on her in speed and he started closing distance.

  “Then, out of the rain, an island, dark against the sky. But it weren’t no island.

  “De Jigger went for it. Mayhaps she saw it as her only hope. Mayhaps she just didn’t see it. De pirate tried to turn away but the sorcerous winds in his sails were not so easily mastered. Watched with me own eyes as darkness closed around them, like black smoke. One ship then de other.

  “We heard what happened. Enough of it anyway. There was screams, then was a sound like something crunched dem ships in its teeths like eggs. We had to back it down hard lest we be swallowed too. We waited clear until de morning but when morning came there were no ship and no island. Just a great stretch of sea, de fog laying low across it.”

  “Wait,” Ruby said. “The island isn’t always there?”

  “If it were then we’d know to sail around it, mum. But I seen it now. I know where it lies. And I thinks I know de missing piece. I have de secret of when it be there and when it ain’t.”

  “So now you know to sail around it,” Thud said. “Problem solved.”

  “Ah, contemplate a moment, sah. Stories of Blackfog Island go back far as be knowin'. Who knows how many ships been lost in there? Smuggler ships, pirate ships, merchant ships, hulls loaded. There be a kingdom’s fortune lost in that island.”

  “It’s sounding to me,” Thud said, “like you want yourself a crew of adventurers, and that ain’t us. We’re Dungeoneers. Ships, oceans and shadow islands ain’t really our thing, nor speculative treasure hunts. I’ve a fondness for treasure, granted, but it ain’t our primary motivator. We’re more in the recovery and nullification business. We generally take jobs for kingdoms, not smugglers.”

  “Thud?” Ruby asked, a warning note in her voice.

  “Ah, but this be a recovery job!” Samona said. “See, de Katie’s Jigger was carrying something. A cargo from Iskae, bound for Song. De sort of thing that the Obeahmon ain’t too happy with me for losing.” He swallowed. “I be representing they interests.”

  “You?” Ruby asked. She pointed her pipe stem at him. “A smuggler? Representing the priests of Iskae?”

  “The Obeahmon be having many folk in many place and I’m one of them from time to time. They find me services useful for many things. I ain’t wanting to be hiring you for a treasure hunt. They wants the cargo back. And they wants me to emphasize that the cargo ain’t the sort that should be left lying with whatever be in dat fog.”

  Thud lit a fresh cigar and signaled for another rum. A boy delivered it, small hand brown as a nut, whisking his silver coin away like a magician. Thud took a sip then gave Ruby a wink and Samona a grin.

  “Artifact to recover, dangerous location to be made peaceful and a pile of shipwreck treasure to sweeten the prospect. Seems you might be wantin' The Dungeoneers after all.”

  Ruby let out a relieved sigh.

  Samona gave them a pink gummy smile. He produced a piece of paper, inkpot and quill. He dipped the quill and scratched something onto the paper then folded it and slid it across the table. Thud unfolded it enough for a glance, snorted, then made some scratches of his own, sliding the paper back across the table. Samona had a look and then grinned his merry grin again.

  “You have a deal, sah.”

  The clink of their rum glasses chimed like music.

  Chapter Two

  “Am I to surmise,” Mungo asked, “that this venture will be conducted aboard the Cackle Squiffy?”

  They stood on the pier outside The Frog, for lack of any other standing options. Everywhere was pier. Most of Stilton was on pilings, giving the town its name. It lay over a shallow bay, a square mile of docks, piers and wharves edging the shelf where the sea dropped deep enough to allow ships. The buildings had the look of clapboard shacks, piled high atop each other, leaning precariously over the walkways below. Rope bridges and catwalks laced the upper levels like drunken spiderwebs, weaving their way between smoke-belching pipestacks and laundry lines. Figures lurked on balconies and the alleys were thick with furtive shadows. Someone was setting off fireworks nearby, the wooden plank streets glowing alternately with red and green flashes of light. Beneath it all was The Shallows. A place best not thought about, as Thud recalled. Every privy in town emptied down there and, Stilton being what it was, the tide going out typically carried a body or two with it. It was as much assumed as known that there was more than one smuggler’s highway in The Shallows and strangers weren’t likely to be welcomed.

  Looking down over all of it were the keeps. Once the bay had been divided between two warring kingdoms. The kingdoms were long gone but their crumbled fortresses remained, one on each point, hollow windows staring across the bay. The remains of the southern keep were the smaller of the two and it changed hands often, typically mercenary companies moving in and out. The northern keep was the real prize, as most of its walls still stood. The northern keep was where Stilton’s pirate king lived. Thud could see a thin curl of chimney smoke against the early sunset, rising from behind the battlements. The captain was in.

  Their escorts had joined them outside in the salty evening air, Gong and Keezix eying their counterparts suspiciously. Mungo had reattached his cat-hair beard, delving back into his lunacy that he was a dwarf. Samona had been joined by two sailors, the woman with long stringy hair who’d been at the adjoining table and a wiry man who’d flirted with scurvy at least a time or two but not yet bought it a drink. They’d also been joined by the serving boy, whom Thud now realized was actually an elf, cap pulled low to cover his ears. Thud noted that being part of Samona’s crew hadn’t stopped the elf from pocketing his rum coin earlier.

  “Aye, that be the plan,” Samona answered the gnome. He donned his captain’s hat, tilting it to a precise angle. “She’s a smuggling schooner, built for extra cargo, plenty of hold to carry whatever equipment ye be needing.”

  “Gonna take some figgerin' on that,” Thud said. “We’ll need to find somewhere to store our wagons and stable the oxbears as well as secure any of our gear that ain’t portable. ‘Spect it’ll take a day or two to get it all sorted and loaded.”

  “The sooner the better,” Samona said. “The island ain’t the sort to bend to our schedule. Time be short.”

  “That’s fine. Who’s in the keeps nowadays?”

  “The Hundred Blades be in the Dawn Keep. Mercenary Company out of Temal.”

  “Are there a hundred of ‘em?”

  “No. They’re on a bit of a recruiting drive. It’s a port town, though, so they get stuck with whatever sodden dregs the quartermasters won’t hire. Laughing Larry is in the Night Keep. Stilton’s current Pirate Lord.”

  “His pir
ate name is Laughing Larry?”

  “We can’t all be Bloodshark.”

  “Think there’d be a long list of names to go through after ‘Bloodshark’ before ye got as far as ‘Laughing Larry’.”

  Samona’s cheeks crinkled in a grin. “Come, I’ll show you the ship. Your crew will be free to come and go at anytime for the loading. Any assistance you be needing just let me know.” He started along the pier, the groups naturally separating into a pair of clumps walking side by side.

  The Stilton harbor was long, the piers extending out into the bay like teeth on a comb. It was more a stopover for supplies and crew than it was a trading port. Few cargoes were delivered to or from Stilton, at least not legal ones. It lay in unclaimed territory, far enough from neighboring kingdoms that none of them exerted much influence over it in the way of law. Ships of all sizes lined its piers, sleek little sloops sharing berth with massive towers of wood and sail that barely fit into their dock. There were at least twenty different flags that hung from the forest of masts, some from far enough lands that Thud didn’t even recognize them, many of them from no country at all. Pirates and privateers. The longest pier was in the middle. It docked the largest ship of them all, a great black ship with blood red sails and a white skull on a black flag that snapped in the breeze.

  “Please tell me that one’s yours,” Ruby said.

  “Far too slow,” Samona said. “That be the Black Knife. Laughing Larry’s ship.”

  “Don’t look much like a knife,” Thud said.

  “I believes it was chosen to be intimidating,” Samona said. “Black Hammer would probably be more appropriate. See that onager on her foredeck? De whole central spine of de ship be built to absorb de kick from that. It can drop a stone through your decks at near half a mile. She sits back and punches holes while smaller ships move in to finish. She have a hunnert oars for maneuvering and more speed than what a great sow of a ship like that can usually manage. Takes a noticeable dent out of de town’s population when she’s crewed and at sea. But, no, the Squiffy is a smuggling ship, lean and fast. Dat be her over there.”

  The Cackle Squiffy was moored in a narrow berth alongside a warehouse with an establishment on top of it advertising coffee, fortune telling and novelty grog mugs. It had tightly furled jade-green sails and an emerald hull with red trim.

  “That’s quite a figurehead,” Thud said. He tilted his head and squinted one eye. “Very educational.”

  Samona winked his eye.

  “Permission to come aboard?” Thud asked.

  Samona went to the foot of the gangplank, bowed grandly and gestured them aboard. The ship was mostly empty. A pair of sailors lounged on the poopdeck, one of them tipping his hat to them as they gathered.

  “You mentioned sailing,” Samona said. “Be ye a dwarf of the sea? Not many of those.”

  “Always been a passenger,” Thud said. “Can’t dig holes in the sea so dwarves tend to leave it be.”

  Samona pointed at a door beneath the ship’s wheel.

  “Me stateroom be in dere.”

  The woman with stringy hair disappeared below decks without a word. Scurvy-man bowed and held the stateroom door for them. Samona entered first, Thud behind, followed by Ruby, the elf and Mungo. Gong and Keezix remained on deck, posting their own guard. Thud wasn’t sure that Gong would have fit either through the door or within the room. A ship voyage of tight quarters was going to be a challenge for him.

  The stateroom was all golden light and gleaming polished wood. Paned windows lined the back wall, looking out at not so much at the moment. Thud imagined they’d be nice once the ship was underway. Charts hung on the walls and books overflowed a column of shelves. A table filled much of the room’s floorspace, chairs clustered around it. Samona gestured for them to take seats. Thud opted for the chair on the far right, preferring not to have his back to the doorway. Ruby leaned against the wall behind him. She had her journal in her hand, set to record the meeting. The elf sat on the opposite end and Mungo took the seat by the door without appearing to have any second thoughts about it. Scurvy-man closed the door behind them and leaned against it. Samona had produced a bottle of wine and a tray of goblets from a cabinet along one side of the room and busied himself pouring. He nodded toward the sailor at the door.

  “This be me Quartermaster, Skulk.”

  “Honored,” Thud said. “This is Ruby, a Scribe of the Athenaeum, and this is my gadgeteer, Mungo the dwarf.” He over-emphasized the word dwarf and arched an eyebrow at Samona. Samona looked at the gnome with the cat-hair beard sitting across from him for a long second and then gave a barely perceptible shrug.

  “Mungo the dwarf it be.” He set out a tray of cheese then took his own place in the chair directly beneath the windows.

  “And…?” he said, holding his hand toward the elf.

  “Ummm…” Thud said. “I thought the elf was with you.”

  “No…he not be part of yer crew?” Samona asked. Thud shook his head.

  All eyes were on the elf now. He sat in his end chair, smiling at them. He picked up the cheese knife and tapped it on the stem of his wineglass.

  “A toast!”

  Elves came in as broad of a variety as bugs, but, like larvae, looked much the same when they were children. It wasn’t until they reached their age of majority that they truly bound to their home. The wood elves became spriggan, the sea elves turned into merfolk, the elves of the sky into harpies. There were hundreds of variations. Occasionally some did not undergo the change, typically elves that grew up in towns or cities. The Gray Elves they were called, or the Beige Elves, depending on regional preference. Mud Elves if you wanted to be insulting.

  This mud elf was about the size of a ten-year-old human, slender, skin browned by sun. He’d taken his cap off to reveal a shaggy fluff of yellow hair and long slender ears with narrow tips. His eyes had the large almond shape that seemed to make the little blighters so endearing to humans and the smug smirk that always made Thud feel like a good punch was in order to get everyone on the same page. This one in particular, as apparently he’d managed to not only eavesdrop on their meeting at The Frog but had now strolled right into council with them.

  “There are smuggler ships and there are pirate ships,” the elf said, hoisting his glass. “But the best ships are friendships.” He took a swallow, his grin curling around the edge of his glass.

  “And who might you be?” Samona asked. His polite smile carried threat and his hand was sliding his scimitar from its sheath.

  “Catchpenny,” the elf said, holding out his hand and perking his ears up into points. He seemed unfazed that no one seemed interested in shaking it. “Now that we’re all here we can start!” His voice was bright and cheery.

  “You’ll be explaining your presence on me ship and you’ll be doing it now.” Samona’s voice was a low growl.

  The elf spread the fingers of his extended hand over the table and something dropped. It shone as it fell and rang when it hit. A tiny brass bell on a clasp.

  “Ah,” Samona said. His shoulders slumped and he sheathed his blade. “The Singers.”

  Thud wouldn’t go so far as to admit a sinking feeling but he did have to admit that the situation had taken a downturn. A few things clicked together in his head.

  “Ye said you were carrying a cargo bound fer Song…” he said. Samona nodded, lips pursed.

  The bell was their emblem. Thud hadn’t actually encountered any of the Singers but by reputation they were a nasty bit of business. A Northern cult, ferocious in their religion, converting much of the region around their temple via swordpoint ministry.

  “I am merely here representing the interests of parties wishing to receive their cargo,” Catchpenny said. “I’m to assist you with making all possible efforts at recovery.” His smile never faltered. “So nice to meet you all. Especially you, master dwarf,” he said to Mungo. Mungo squinted suspiciously, eyes huge behind his goggles.

  “Now,” the elf went on. “I beli
eve we were about to sort out the details of this venture, yes?”

  “And I think,” Thud said. “That I’ve suddenly lost most o' me interest.” He stood and straightened his kilt.

  Catchpenny suddenly looked worried. He held up his hands.

  “Wait, wait, please. Hear me out.”

  Thud remained standing, his arms crossed. “Speak quickly. I’ve not much interest in what elves have to say at the best o' times and you ain’t exactly off on the smoothest rails.”

  “I fear I may have come off in a threatening manner,” the elf said. “I apologize. It’s not an opportunity I often find myself having and I, perhaps, overdid it a bit.”

  “What opportunity?”

  “Why, to be the sinister figure in the shadows, using coins to pull the strings and send minions about to carry out my bidding.” The elf’s fingers twisted over invisible puppets. He sighed. “I’m usually one of the minions. I really am here to help. I’m a contractor, as you were,” he said, directing the last at Samona. “Hired to do a job. I’m not a Singer myself. They just want their cargo back and I just want what they promised for success.”

  “And what might that be?” Samona asked.

  “Well, a sack of coins for starters,” the elf said. “About what you’d expect really.”

  “And they didn’t want to be making this same offer to me?”

  “I believe they are under the impression that there was already a deal made with you. I’m supposed to help you fulfill your end of it.”

  Samona opened his mouth but then closed it without saying anything. The elf seemed to have the right of it.

  “Seems to me,” Thud said. “That Captain Samona has already made arrangements to recover his lost cargo. What sort of help, exactly, are ya thinkin' ya might offer?”