"And another thing," he added, "consider the debt that you owed me to be filled."
"But, Master Volo…"
"No," Volo insisted, "you've more than repaid me for the incident at the gates of Suzail, so please don't address me as 'master' any longer. From this day forward, let the bond that exists between us be one based on the friendship of two companions on the road."
Passepout was almost speechless.
"What about the 'magical bond' that was imposed on us back in Suzail?"
"It is my hope," Volo answered, "that will be a temporary one, but the one we have forged out of friendship will last forever."
Passepout, sheepish in the gratitude he felt toward the master traveler, forced a slightly choked expression of gratitude.
"Thank you, Mast…, uh, Mister Volo."
"Thank you, Passepout, son of Idle and Catinflas," Volo replied, adding, "Now let's go find that cleric."
Chapter 9
Sailing the Sea of Fallen Stars or Pirates, Ho!
The cleric cured Passepout of his motion malady and assured him that he was now seaworthy. As the two travelers were leaving the healer's shop, Volo inquired if the cure would do for other forms of motion malady, such as air-sickness and the like.
Air-sickness? Passepout thought, what's that?
The healer assured them that it would, and the two left the shop, almost as quickly as Passepout's question left his mind.
The two travelers had pitched their red-plumed helms overboard before the riverboat passed through the River Lis, and felt confident in the safety of their true identities, or at least as safe as travelers could be in Faerun.
Volo booked them passage on a merchant vessel called the Amistad's Bounty that was bound for Arrabar, down the Dragon Reach, and through the Sea of Fallen Stars, under the able command of Captain Bligh Queeg, a legendary ship captain and disciplinarian of the high seas. They were allowed first-class accommodations, which were private, provided they were willing to sleep in an above-deck storeroom rather than in crews' quarters or the hold.
The captain was at the gangplank when it was time for them to board. He was a short dumpling of a man who wore the uniform of a veteran of the Cormyrean Freesails and had a posture straighter than the main mast of the ship. In one hand he held a pair of metallic marbles, which clanked together while he extended the other hand to greet the new arrivals to his ship.
"Mister Volo, and Mister Passepout, welcome aboard," he declared with all of the formality of a Tethyrian noble negotiating a treaty. "We shall be setting sale shortly. Our cargo has been loaded, and we are merely awaiting the arrival of my first mate, Mister Nordhoff."
"What type of cargo are we carrying?" Volo inquired.
"Assorted metals, furs, and slaves for the coast of Zakhara."
"Oh," the master traveler replied, depressed that the cloud that had covered his early sea journey persisted in following him.
Queeg responded to what he considered to be a safety concern of his passenger.
"You need not worry about them," he explained. "They are all well chained in the hull, and, unlike other captains, I never allow them on deck until our final destination has been reached."
"Don't they need exercise?" Passepout asked, having witnessed a session on the riverboat during one of his bouts at the rail.
"Their condition is no concern of mine," Queeg answered. "I get paid no matter what shape they arrive in. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do. I am sure you will find your quarters suitable, and hope that you will be able to join me and Mister Nordhoff for dinner in quarters tonight. We will be serving strawberries for dessert."
Queeg did a perfect military about-face and headed for the quarterdeck.
The accommodations were all that the two travelers had been promised: a dry, but cramped storeroom above deck that rocked with the slightest movement of the ocean. If it hadn't been for the cleric's cure, both Passepout and Volo would have had an extremely unpleasant journey ahead of them. As it was, the two travelers slung up their hammocks in a corner and took a nap while the ship got underway.
Several hours later, Volo was awakened by the cries of someone being beaten on deck. Leaving Passepout snoring loudly, he ventured forth from the safety of their cabin to the front of the ship, where a half-elf was being flogged by a scar-faced dwarf with a whip.
Volo asked a well-dressed man who was standing by watching it with gritted teeth, "What's going on here? The captain said that the slaves would never be let out of the hold."
"The half-elf is not a slave," the man replied. "He's a member of the crew. Am I addressing Mister Volo or Mister Passepout?"
"I am Volo," the master traveler replied.
"I am Nordhoff, the first officer," the man replied. "My name comes from the orphanage in which I was raised."
"Nordhoff Hall in Westgate?"
"Exactly."
"Why is he being flogged?'' Volo asked carefully, not wishing to seem presumptuous.
"Because the captain ordered it," Nordhoff replied. "He claims it instills discipline in the crew if one sets an example early in the voyage."
Even more carefully, Volo further pressed the first officer with a question. "Do you believe that?"
"Bloody no!" he replied with perhaps more vehemence visible than he had intended. "I also don't believe a ship's cargo should be kept secret from the first officer until after the ship has set sail."
"I take it you don't support the slave trade?" Volo pressed.
"Bloody no!" he answered, as if cursing under his breath. "But I follow orders as a first mate is expected to."
Volo returned to his cabin to arouse the still-slumbering Passepout, so that they might prepare for their dinner at the captain's table.
Queeg had already started his meal when Volo and Passepout joined him in his cabin.
"I hope you don't mind my starting without you gentlemen," said the captain. "You can never be too sure if land-lovers will be able to appreciate a good meal their first night at sea."
"It's quite all right, Captain," Volo replied.
"Mmmppgh," Passepout agreed, his cheeks already bulging with fish chowder.
"I see that the sea has had a positive effect on his appetite, eh, Mister Volo?"
"No, Captain," Volo replied with just a touch too much formality, "he always eats like that."
"Mmmppgh" the thespian agreed, nodding as he chewed.
Before the conversation could move on to the next level of courtesy, the cabin door opened and Nordhoff entered and took his proper place across from the captain.
"Mister Nordhoff, did you see that crewman was flogged like I told you?" Queeg asked, not looking up from his bowl.
"Yes, Captain," the first mate replied.
"Good. I will always tell you what I expect of you, no more, no less."
"Begging the captain's pardon," Volo asked, "what was his offense? The half-elf, I mean."
"Nothing you should concern yourself with, Mister Volo," the captain answered patiently. "You can safely leave the running of this ship to Mister Nordhoff and myself." With that, he pushed back his dinner bowl and rang the bell for the cabin boy, saying, "Enough of this. It is time for dessert."
The cabin boy entered, looking as white as a ghost.
"Marlon," the captain bellowed, "where are my strawberries?"
"Sir," the boy whimpered, "they forgot to pack them."
The enraged captain leaped to his feet with enough force that Passepout could have sworn he felt the entire ship rock underneath him. "They forgot to pack them! They forgot to pack them! What are they, imbeciles?" the captain raged.
"No, Captain," Nordhoff answered, still sitting at his place, "they are men who made a mistake. Perhaps other concerns of getting the ship ready to sail took precedence. Or perhaps they were concerned with whom you would pick to flog, once we got underway, or maybe they just didn't think bringing your strawberries on board for your dessert was that important."
The ca
ptain's tone changed to one of controlled rage.
"Mister Nordhoff, your tone is mutinous," he said. "Earlier today you questioned my decency as a man for aiding and abetting the slave trade. Then you hesitated in following a direct order."
"The half-elf was innocent of any offense. He did not deserve to be whipped!"
The captain continued, not responding to the comments of his first mate.
"Now, you dare question my judgment in front of this ship's passengers. I shall not stand for this!" he bellowed. "Consider yourself relieved of duty and confined to quarters!"
Nordhoff stood up and turned as if to leave for his quarters, but turned back for a moment when he opened the cabin door and said, "… And you, Captain Queeg, can consider this a mutiny."
In through the opened door rushed three sailors, one of whom was the scourged half-elf. All carried cutlasses.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," said Nordhoff to the shocked travelers, "would you mind returning to your quarters temporarily? The captain and I have some business to attend to, and I assure you no harm will come your way."
Volo left his place at the table to head back to the storeroom, but Passepout hesitated a moment, raised his bowl, and asked, "May I?" Nordhoff chuckled, and replied, "Sure." The rotund thespian refilled his bowl and carefully followed the master traveler back to their storeroom, failing to spill a drop of the delicious fish chowder.
About an hour later, Nordhoff joined Volo and Passepout in their cabin.
"A thousand pardons, gentlemen," he offered. "You should not have been forced to witness what occurred. In reality I am a Harper agent who has been sent to disrupt the slave trade in these waters. As we speak, the captives below deck are being released from their chains. I had to wait until we were far enough from port to take control of the ship."
"What about the captain?" Volo inquired. Though Queeg was obviously a hateful fellow, Volo had no desire to see him killed.
"He has been set adrift in a lifeboat, a man against the sea," Nordhoff replied. "But don't worry. He's a sound seaman. He'll make it back to port. Besides, we also gave him a treat-a bounty, you might say."
"What?" Volo asked.
"His strawberries. We were lying when Marlon said they were left behind," Nordhoff answered.
"Are there any left?" Passepout queried. "The chowder was fine, but I could still really do with some dessert."
Nordhoff laughed.
"Well, it's back to the galley, I guess," he replied.
The demeanor of the crew for the following days was remarkably joyous. The former slaves joined in on the daily chores, and eventually a few joined the crew, while others were put ashore at safe locations along the coast. Even Volo and Passepout joined in on some of daily nautical labors, and in fact, both of them soon became quite expert seamen. Passepout also became an excellent fisherman, which was fortunate, since ship's stores had not taken into account his appetite when laying in provisions for the journey southward.
They were a few days out, off Telpir, when a pirate ship loomed into view.
"Tis flying the colors of Cyric," cried the half-elf, whose name was Starbuck, from the crow's nest. "She's a pirate vessel, and she's heading our way!"
"Dragon's teeth," Nordhoff swore, then turning to Volo and Passepout, he ordered, "You two better go back to your cabin and bolt the door."
Passepout was halfway across the deck when he heard Volo reply.
"If the ship is sunk, we're no better there than here," he answered. "We would be honored to fight at your side."
"Yeah, sure," said Passepout in his characteristic unenthusiastic manner, wondering which would be worse, drowning or being slain by pirates.
The pirate ship was commanded by the villainous Captain Ahib Fletcher, a lifelong member of the feared Brotherhood of the Red Tide, whose patron deity was Cyric. He ruled his crew with iron hook and whip, which had been magically forged to the ends of his arms to replaced his hands, lost due to earlier battle wounds. He was also missing a leg but managed to maneuver faster than any other seaman with the aid of an ivory and iron table leg that had also been forged into place on the leg's stump by one of the Brotherhood's clerics. Though rumored to be insane, he nonetheless kept control of his pirate crew. This despite many night's rages as he recalled the albino banshee who had stolen his son, and cursed "the infernal white wail" to the fear and wonderment of all present.
Nordhoff drew the crew close together. They would be helplessly outnumbered by the one-legged fiend and his cadre of sea marauders, but the mate had a plan.
"According to the rules of the Brotherhood of the Red Tide, the captaincy of a vessel is determined by trial by combat, and anyone can challenge the captain to a battle to the death for command of the ship. When we get within hailing distance, I will express our intentions. Then a plank will be thrown between the two vessels, and I will fight him for control of both of our vessels."
"What if you lose?" Passepout asked.
"Then it will be someone else's turn to defend the ship, and I wish them luck in advance."
The challenge was issued and accepted, and the two ships drew alongside of each other.
The horrible figure of the bloodthirsty pirate captain took his place on the opposite deck.
"Whosoever challenges me, come forward now and face me!" he crowed.
At that precise moment, the pirate ship Raiding Queen lurched, and Passepout was thrown forward, landing at the opposite end of the plank from Ahib.
"I see the challenger is almost as big as myself," Ahib crowed, "but he looks soft."
"I'm not the…" Passepout sputtered.
"Silence!" the pirate ordered. "Your challenge has been accepted. Prepare to meet Cyric."
Volo and Nordhoff were powerless to intervene. They knew that Ahib would not listen to reason and that if they joined in, the ship's entire crew would be slaughtered by Ahib's men.
"But I'm not…," the thespian continued in panic, "you want…"
"I said silence!" the bloodthirsty buccaneer crowed and, with a flick of his metal-studded whip, began his attack.
The lash flicked around Passepout in an effort to embrace him so that he could be pulled closer to the pirate on the plank. Luckily for the rotund thespian, it failed to gain a wrapping grip due to the length of the journey it had to make around his midsection. Ahib pull on the whip's butt, only succeeding in giving Passepout a nasty lash burn around his waist rather than dragging him onto the plank. Ahib, however, was thrown off balance by the absence of the expected pull of dragging his opponent's bulk closer to him, he was forced to fall back four steps before he could regain his balance.
"Jump onto the plank!" Nordhoff ordered. "Now!"
Without thinking, Passepout followed the order yelled by the first mate.
Ahib, who was about to lunge toward his prey, was once again thrown off balance, this time by the vibrating shock waves that passed along the plank from the resultant force of the landing of Passepout's bulk at one end. Once again, the pirate was delayed in his attack, and momentarily dazed.
Passepout was petrified with fear.
"How long does this have to go on?" Volo asked, his eyes riveted on the source of Passepout's terror.
"Until one of them can fight no longer," Nordhoff replied, trying to strategize a new move for the panicked thespian.
"But Passepout isn't fighting now!" Volo implored.
"No, but he's still alive, and that at least is something to work with," the Harper replied, then shouted, "Passepout, jump!"
Again the thespian jumped, sending the waves of confusion along the plank that separated him from his doom. And the pirate was thrown off balance.
"Now run out into the center of the plank!" the Harper ordered.
Passepout stood stone-still, and Ahib had almost regained his bearings.
"Do it!" Volo cried. "He won't have enough room to swing the whip then."
"Oh," Passepout replied, rushing out to the center of the plank between the two
ships. Now he can't use the whip on me, he thought with glee. Then he realized that Ahib still could use his hook to tear him limb from limb, and was immediately torn between retreat and allowing panic to paralyze him in place.
Panic won out.
"And now, me pretty seagoing butterball," said Ahib with glee as he approached his helpless victim, "I will finish you off with me hook."
Passepout could smell Ahib's fetid body odor, the result of many months at sea without a bath, and his eyes began to tear.
"Ah, the baby is blubbering," said the sadistic follower of Cyric, slowing down to play with his prey before slaughtering him. "Now you just stand there while I use my nice hooky-wooky to slit your throaty-woaty, and spill your guttsy-wuttsys."
The two men on the plank were now closer than an arm's reach, and within striking distance.
"Do something!" Volo implored of his panic-stricken companion, but Passepout could not hear him clearly with the crashing of the surf against the ships, and the crows and howls of the two crews.
Passepout knew he heard something, but didn't know what, so he assumed it was another order… so once again he jumped.
Crack!
The plank between the two ships could not take the combined weights of the two duelists, and the sudden extra force of gravity pushing down on it when Passepout landed. It obeyed the laws of gravity and responded.
The plank cracked, split, and broke, and the thespian and the pirate fell into the briny blue water between the two ships.
A millisecond of silence, followed by a splash, and a spout of displaced water came crashing down on the crews of the two ships.
Volo struggled to make out the two duelists fighting in the water.
Passepout was trying to tread water, and Ahib was slashing down with his hook, splash, then nothing.
Both men went under, with nary an air bubble.
Volo despaired at the loss of his friend.
Passepout bobbed to the surface, sputtering, and spit out seawater.
Volo cheered, "Passepout! You're alive!"
"But not for long! Help! I can't swim!" replied the chubby thespian, saved from drowning by his extreme natural buoyancy.
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