Pathfinder Tales--Through the Gate in the Sea

by Paizo Publishing LLC.

  The sight so thrilled her blood brother that his frill rose, and Mirian had to remind him to keep watch, though she did acquiesce to setting all two dozen of the sculptures within her pack.

  The haversacks they wore had been gifts from Ivrian’s mother, and were ensorcelled to contain more space on the inside than was apparent without. All of the sculptures fit easily without altering the haversack’s weight in the slightest, another wonderful feature.

  Jekka signed to indicate they should open the third chest, but she shook her head and pointed to the surface. Then she looked back to the chests and smiled, trying to reassure him they’d come back for all of it.

  Mirian led the way out. Jekka trailed some length after, seemingly reluctant to leave.

  Sooner than expected she found the anchor chain and, looming above, the dark bowline of the Daughter of the Mist.

  Her hands closed on the familiar rungs of the ladder built into the vessel’s side. She felt the magical gills fade the moment she thrust her head above the water and breathed deeply of the crisp salty air.

  All was silhouettes and shadows against the lesser darkness of the sky, but she thought she made out Gombe’s lean outline near the ladder. She grinned at him as she stepped forward, slinging her bag off her shoulder.

  “You won’t believe what we’ve found,” she told him.

  A man with a sword stepped around Gombe, the point of the weapon at the first mate’s throat. “I’m all ears.”

  3

  UNEXPECTED ALLIES

  MIRIAN

  “Mirian Raas,” said the deep, cultured voice at the back end of the sword. “Well, this is most unexpected.”

  Mirian peered into the darkness, saw a crowd of figures on her deck as Gombe was pushed away. “I’m sorry,” he said, only to be brutally cuffed.

  The unfamiliar voice spoke on. “Why, just yesterday I was saying to my mate how much I’d like to meet you, and here Desna has thrust us together.”

  The stranger might have been in the mood for play, but Mirian’s voice was deadly serious. “Where’s the rest of my crew?”

  He laughed shortly. “Dear lady, you’re a commander after my own heart, devoted to the safety of her people. Fear not.” The sword gave a little flourish and came to rest pointed at her breast. “They’re unharmed. As is your lovely passenger. I’m a gentleman, and have no interest in inflicting bodily harm upon anyone so long as we come to a financial arrangement.”

  Mirian searched the sky beyond the looming figure and saw a tall-masted ship alongside her own with grappling lines attached. She let out a low oath. Maybe Ivrian was right and they did need a bigger ship. One with a trained crew of fighters she could keep aboard.

  She forced a steely politeness. “What sort of arrangement do you have in mind?”

  “To begin with, one that isn’t conducted with weapons in hand. It’s distasteful. Second, one conducted under lighted conditions. There’s no need for us to keep to the shadows. So. First, I’d like you to slip off that weapons belt and make no move to withdraw the wand I’ve read so much about.”

  Read about? Of course. Ivrian and his damned pamphlet. Local bookstalls been selling his account of their adventures for the last few months.

  So far she’d heard no sound of Jekka surfacing behind her, and her questioner made no mention of awaiting him. Probably Rendak had said as little as necessary.

  “With whom am I speaking?”

  “Forgive me.” Again the sword dipped. “I’m Meric Ensara, Captain of the Marvel. Now, please, divest yourself of weapons so I may sheathe my own and we can get down to business.”

  “And my crew will be unharmed?” Mirian asked.

  “So long as they prove reasonable they’ll be safe, I assure you.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “In the hold.”

  “I’d like to speak with them.”

  Ensara sighed, but his reply was tempered with unctuous patience. “But of course, dear lady. First, though, the weapons. Sarken, light her, please.”

  There was the clatter of a metal lantern shade being pulled open, and suddenly she found herself completely illuminated. Some man behind Ensara let out a wolf whistle and Ensara snarled: “Belay that!”

  Mirian would have given much to know where Jekka was, or to have a chance to draw a weapon, but she did as bade and unbuckled her sword belt. It thumped to the deck.

  “Now the belt with your wand, if you please,” Ensara instructed.

  “You’re very polite,” Mirian said dryly. But she followed his instructions carefully and undid the belt with her knife, the wand, and utility pouches, hoping against hope that the priceless ring she’d just recovered would somehow remain undiscovered.

  “Sarken, take the wand.”

  “Yes, Cap’n,” said a thick, gruff voice, and the lantern drew close. A muscular arm reached out from the darkness behind it and she relinquished the belt to a hairy fist.

  “Now then,” the captain said, sounding more relaxed. “I’ll sheathe my weapon and we can talk in your quarters. Lads, keep your eyes sharp. There might be some other entrepreneurs out there tonight.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Sarken’s deep voice answered.

  “If you don’t mind, Captain,” Mirian said, “you promised me a word with my crew. I want to verify their well-being.”

  She finally got a good look at Ensara as he took the lantern from his first mate and broadened its cast. A dark man in the prime of life, well tanned, but likely a native of some Inner Sea port. His clothes were fading finery, a billowy white silk shirt with lace about collar and sleeves, dark crimson breeches with stains along one knee, black calf-high boots a little scuffed. His mustache and goatee were trimmed to perfection, though. He was rakishly handsome and seemed to know it, for he flashed her a cocky smile, as if to say, I’m easy on the eyes, don’t you think? But what he really said was: “Of course. Follow me.”

  “I know the way to my own hold, Captain,” she said coolly, and brushed past him and the pair of men posted at the stepladder. They parted only at the last minute, and she was soon descending into darkness.

  “Oh,” she heard Ensara call in irritation, “pass this down to her.”

  And she looked back to see a lantern dangled from one of the pirates above.

  “Don’t attempt anything clever, Mirian,” Ensara said. “Sarken, go down and lend an ear.”

  By the lantern light, Mirian saw the whole of her crew: Caligan the sailmaster, lanky Melvane the carpenter, and the rest of the dozen. In their forefront stood an embarrassed-looking Gombe and an angry Rendak.

  She heard Sarken clomp down the stairs behind her.

  Rendak mouthed the name “Jekka” and then, in the sign language employed by salvagers to communicate underwater, indicated something hidden. Jekka, at least, was still at large.

  “They popped up out of nowhere,” Gombe said. “I think they must have had a spellcaster.”

  “My brother,” Sarken said gruffly behind them. Mirian ignored him.

  “I’m sorry—” Gombe began.

  “You’re all right?” Mirian cut in.

  “Aye,” Rendak answered. He was glaring at Sarken over Mirian’s shoulder.

  “Where’s the druid?”

  “I don’t know,” Gombe answered.

  But Sarken answered. “The captain confined her to your cabin, Captain Raas. He’s a gentleman, he is. He’s never done a lady no harm.”

  “That’s gratifying to hear.”

  “No matter how fine she looks,” Sarken went on, and there was no missing the insinuation in his tone. She guessed Sarken’s view on the matter of women might differ from his captain’s.

  “I’ve seen enough.” Mirian turned on her heel. She wanted to test Sarken’s reaction time. He proved a burly man with a square face and short black hair. And he wasn’t that fast, for he stumbled to get out of her way.

  Good.

  She started up the steps, Sarken trailing, and this time she tried num
bering the pirates appointed to her ship. Two men at the stairs. Four forward. As she rejoined Ensara, she saw he’d posted another at the bow.

  Ensara doffed his hat to her. “You see, as promised. Unharmed. Now, as to that conversation.”

  “Of course. Might I have my belt back?”

  His eyes briefly considered her waist. “Sarken, the belt. Minus the knife, of course.”

  Sarken had left it on the deck and, miracle of miracles, no one seemed to have opened any of its pouches. The mate unsheathed her knife and scrutinized it as she buckled the belt.

  “An old blade,” Sarken remarked. “Not real balanced.”

  “It’s for underwater use,” she explained, wondering why she bothered. The weapon was specially treated with an anti-rusting agent.

  “Your cabin, Mirian.”

  “Captain,” she corrected.

  “My pardon.” He bowed his head to her. “I’ve already confined the druid there for her own comfort.”

  Ensara opened the door and gestured for Mirian to enter.

  The cabin proved empty, a fact that set a mild oath to Ensara’s lips. He advanced into the room, ducking under the beams and stepping around the hanging lamp before spinning on Mirian.

  Not long ago the Daughter had been invaded by different pirates, who’d ransacked the quarters and wrecked much of the furniture. Ensara seemed to have done none of that. Even her Pathfinder journal lay upon the desk exactly where she’d left it. Whatever he was, exactly, Ensara was no common thug.

  “Where is she?” the man demanded.

  “How should I know?”

  He frowned. “I asked you not to be clever.”

  “I’m not being clever.”

  His voice was tight. “Is there a hiding place? A hidden panel?”

  “I keep a bottle of my father’s whiskey in a hidey spot. But unless she’s squeezed into one of the bunk drawers, my guess is she just crawled out through the porthole.” Mirian pointed.

  “That tiny thing?” Ensara objected. “There’s no way she’d have been able to squeeze through it.”

  “She’s the Druid of Eleder,” Mirian said. “Some say she can walk on water. Who’s to say she didn’t just turn into a seagull and fly out?”

  Ensara took off his hat and tossed it in disgust toward the chart table. “Of course.” It landed with a dull thud.

  “You must not be from around here, or you’d have heard of her.”

  “One hears all sorts of things. And one doubts.” Ensara pulled out a chair and gestured to it.

  She sat down, a little surprised by his courtesy, and then he took a seat at the table’s head, placed the lantern beside his brimmed, feathered hat, and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

  “For instance,” he said, “I assumed that little booklet I bought last week was a trifle, but I was assured there really was a salvager named Mirian Raas, and she really could breathe underwater. And here I find myself sitting in her cabin. I’m just disappointed you don’t have your lizard man with you.”

  “I didn’t invite you aboard,” Mirian said.

  “No. But times being what they are, a man must do what he has to do to stay alive. So, Captain, I’m going to turn you loose in a long boat, and take the Daughter.”

  “You’re what?”

  “It should fetch a fine price—”

  “It’s not for sale!”

  “Come, come. The book told how you’re building a bigger, better ship. And your first mate even backed up the story—said your lizard man was in charge of its construction.”

  Rendak must have lied to give her crew any advantage he could.

  “And everyone knows that you came back from your jungle trip with a basket of jewels, so surely the loss of this vessel will be no real hardship.”

  “My father built the Daughter,” Mirian said. “And I’m not exactly rolling in money.”

  The pirate waved his hand dismissively. “I’m sorry, but that’s what has to happen. I regret, as well, that I must take your crew.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a market for well-trained sailors in any number of navies.”

  She felt her nostrils flare, and her hands shaped naturally into fists. “You’re pressing them into service?”

  “I do have to make a profit.” Ensara sounded almost apologetic. “There are places where you’d fetch a fine price as well, but that wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”

  “None of this is particularly gentlemanly.”

  “I beg to differ. It could be far, far less gentlemanly, as I’m sure you know.”

  “You do know the Free Captains take a dim view of the piracy of Sargavan ships, don’t you?”

  Ensara cleared his throat. “You’re a special circumstance.”

  “I am?”

  “There’s a bounty on the Daughter and her crew. And you, if truth be told.”

  “What bounty? Who put it out?”

  “I’m not sure of that,” he admitted. “But I know the purse is held on the Shiv.”

  Who would put out a bounty for her? But there was no time to worry about that. She needed to get Ensara thinking about other money sources. “I can provide you with something better.”

  “Better than money?” Ensara cocked an eyebrow and grinned.

  She ignored the implication. “Better than the Daughter and her crew. Do you know why we dropped here?”

  “Your mate said you were looking for treasure. Something about a lost ship.”

  “Exactly. And you won’t believe what we’ve located aboard her. It’s the find of a lifetime, Ensara.”

  His eyebrows rose in wry amusement. “Go on.”

  “You don’t need to resort to petty thievery. It’s going to take me weeks, possibly months, to explore this ship.”

  “What kind of ship is it?”

  “It’s from the days of the lizardfolk.”

  “The lizardfolk had ships?” he said in disbelief. He must truly be from far afield. Most colonials, even the aristocracy, referred to the lizardfolk by the derogatory term “frillbacks.” Sooner or later the slang slipped into their speech even if they didn’t mean to use it.

  “They made ships more advanced than anything afloat today.”

  A smirk slowly spread over his face. “At best, lizardfolk can carve canoes with outrunners.”

  She shook her head. “On my father’s name.” She nodded to the woodcarving of her younger self and her father that hung on the bulkhead wall near his head.

  He glanced briefly at it before turning up a hand. “Suppose I believe you. How can that help me?”

  “Look where we’re anchored. We’ll have to clean the wreck out while in full sight of any ship headed in or out of Smuggler’s Shiv. We could stand protection, especially if there’s a bounty on us. We can’t do it in one night, or even a chain of nights. It’s going to take a while.”

  Ensara stroked his beard. She had his attention, at least. “What would my percentage be?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Thirty? That hardly seems worth my time.”

  “We’ll be doing all the work. All you have to do is float there and look menacing.”

  “Seventy,” Ensara said. “For us. Thirty for you.”

  She shook her head. “Not only will we be doing the salvaging, we’ll be fencing the goods. This is antiquarian stuff, and I know the people in Eleder who’ll pay for it. I can get a far higher profit from legitimate dealers in Eleder than you would dumping it on the markets at the Shiv where people won’t know what to make of half of it anyway.”

  He mulled this over. “How much money to you think we’re talking?”

  “Fortunes. There are secrets down there that could remake the way we sail.”

  He snorted. “On a rotting ship?

  “The ship isn’t rotting. The hull’s virtually intact. Big long planks, black as pitch and cleaner than many a ship floating right now in Desperation Bay. That alone is probably worth a fortune, if we can figure out how it was done
.”

  He looked skeptical, but she pressed on. “And the hold’s stuffed with chests brimming with weird lizardfolk artifacts.”

  His eyes locked with hers. “Sixty-forty. I’ll be running risk, Mirian.”

  “Captain Raas to you. Remember that.”

  He actually flushed. “My apologies. If your diving really will take days, my crew and I will be challenged. Repeatedly. Possibly by more than one ship at a time.”

  “We’re the specialists. You’ll just be hired muscle.”

  “Good hired muscle.”

  “Are you? I’ve never heard of you. Sixty-forty is as low as I’m willing to go.”

  He stared at her, then burst into laughter. “Or you’ll go with the other plan, the one where I sell your ship and your crew into slavery?” He laughed again and slapped his knee.

  She forced calm into her voice. “You’d be passing up a tremendous opportunity. No one else in these waters can recover this stuff. And this crew you’re getting ready to sell off is trained to salvage. These are specialists.”

  Ensara drummed his fingers on the table. “The crew and I prefer swifter returns on out investments.”

  “Good things come to those who wait.”

  His look was sly. “How do I even know what’s down there?”

  “Look in my pack. You’ll see a whole parcel of gem-encrusted sculptures. You’d think that the first thing you’d want to do would be to pry out the stones, but they’re actually more valuable to collectors if you leave them in.”

  Ensara stared at her, then got up, wordless, and pushed open the cabin door. “Sarken, bring me her pack!”

  “Right away, Cap’n.”

  In moments he had it open on the chart table and was turning one of the sculptures over in his hand, so that a trio of rubies winked in the light. He traced his fingers along the symbols, then looked over to Mirian. “What does it say?”

  “I don’t know. But I’d be willing to bet some graybeard will be ecstatic about finding out. That’s just what I found in one chest, in one compartment of the hold.”

  “The rest could be full of rotten linen,” Ensara pointed out.