by Mel Odom
Krepner continued to roar and rage. “Stupid, stupid halfer!”
“Who are ye callin’ stupid?” Dolstos demanded. “Ye were the one that let him out!”
“I didn’t let him out! Ye let him out!”
“He took the keys from ye!”
“It was ye supposed to be watchin’ me back!” Krepner slashed at his other hand, but missed. The hand dressed up as Dolstos slapped the knife from Krepner’s hand. Then it lifted and drove at Krepner and started strangling the goblinkin. Overwhelmed, Krepner went backward, tripping over his dropped trousers again.
That goblinkin is not right in his head, Wick told himself. He watched, hypnotized by the action as Krepner rolled across the floor of the brig fighting his own hand.
“Have you taken root?”
Yanked back into the danger that immediately surrounded him, knowing that he was in more danger outside the brig than in it because the goblinkin that discovered him free aboard the ship might decide to kill him at once and ask questions later, Wick glanced around the room.
“Let’s go,” Alysta said. She bounded toward the door that led to the hallway.
Instead, Wick turned his attention to searching the room. He ran quickly, fearing that at any moment a goblinkin might wander down from the upper deck.
“What are you doing?” the cat asked.
“Looking for my cloak.” Wick sorted through the pile of outwear in the corner. Evidently a lot of the goblinkin crew dropped their cloaks and coats there.
Or maybe there were a lot of victims that had ended up in stewpots and no longer needed them. It was a sobering and chilling thought.
Exasperated, the cat said, “Grab any cloak. Better an ill-fitting cloak than fitting back inside that cage again.”
“You don’t understand.” Wick kept turning cloaks.
“I’m not going to help you out of here again. It was hard enough sneaking onto the ship after you this time. I nearly ended up in a stewpot.”
“It’s not just my cloak,” Wick said. “My book is in there.”
That caught the cat’s attention. “You brought a book from the Library?”
“Not a book. A journal.”
“What’s a journal?”
Wick didn’t bother to explain. Two coats later, he found his cloak. Frantic, he felt through it and discovered that his journal and writing kit were missing. “No!”
“Let’s go,” the cat said. “That’s your cloak.”
Worried about the journal’s absence, Wick pulled the cloak on. He’d written the journal in a special code that he’d devised, so reading it wouldn’t be easy. But it could still be done. As a Librarian, he’d learned all codes were eventually broken.
Having no choice, Wick followed the cat. Perhaps the journal had fallen out when he’d been taken prisoner. Thinking of the journal, made with his own two hands, languishing out in the snow pained him. His journal surely deserved a better fate.
Also, the journal had been carefully and craftily hidden within his cloak. It couldn’t have easily fallen out. By the time they reached the ladder leading up to the waist, he was convinced that someone had to have removed it.
But who?
“Carefully here,” the cat whispered when they walked through the ship’s waist.
Wick nodded and followed slowly. The waist of the ship was low on a human or an elf, and would have caused any from either of those two races to have to bend over to proceed. Waist decks were sandwiched below the upper deck and above the cargo area. On the particular ship Wick found himself on, space was at a premium.
Throughout the whole vessel, the stench of goblinkin pervaded. Wick stopped breathing through his nose and breathed through his mouth. It helped a little.
Together, one after the other, he and the cat made their way through the waist, tiptoeing quietly past rooms where goblinkin slept in swaying hammocks. No one had roused to hear Krepner’s shouts and curses. Then again, walking through the waist now Wick couldn’t hear them. Of course, it was possible that Krepner had managed to strangle himself, though Wick hadn’t ever heard of that being done.
The next ladder took them to the upper deck. At the top of the ladder, Wick slowly opened the hatch, surprised to see gray daylight instead of night awaiting him. But it made sense. He’d been brought in at night.
“I’ll scout ahead,” Alysta said.
“All right,” Wick replied, opening the hatch wide enough to allow the cat through, then closing it back down once she was on the deck. He watched her through the slit he’d left.
Alysta walked back and forth, very much like a real cat would. Wick started wondering if she’d always been a cat.
She turned and looked at him with those big eyes. “Come on, then. Be quick about it.”
Hating the fact that he had to put so much trust in the cat’s talents, but knowing at least she wouldn’t be noticed as much as a dweller hanging around on the main deck, Wick slid through the opening and closed the hatch behind him. He stood for a moment in the shadow of the main mast.
Wharf Rat’s Warren lie spread out to port. Snowflakes swirled through the air, large and fat, but with plenty of space between. It would gradually accumulate, but it would take time.
Wick couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He’d spent all that time, and he was farther away from his goal than he’d been.
“Let’s go,” the cat said.
Wick started forward.
The cat went ahead, bounding for the stern. Gazing up at the stern castle, Wick saw three goblinkin lazing around a bucket of coals on the deck. The smell of cooking meat lingered in the air. Wick didn’t want to think about what was cooking.
Just then, the door to the captain’s quarters swung open. Wick took advantage of the brief respite he had to clamber into one of the two longboats the ship had on the port side. He slithered up under the tarp while the cat kept watch.
8
Escape
The man who had come to the Tavern of Schemes the night before walked out onto the deck. As he passed by Wick’s hiding spot, the little Librarian saw that the man consulted a book.
Wick’s heart leapt for a moment as he believed the book to be his own journal. Then he saw that it was bound differently, and in another color. Still, it was a book and that was exciting enough. Before he knew it, Wick started wondering about other books that might be in the man’s quarters.
That one, Wick felt strongly, and any others he might have, belong in the Vault of All Known Knowledge so they can be preserved and protected.
The man walked to the stairwell leading down to the galley.
The cat called for Wick.
Reluctantly, feeling overly exposed in the pale gray daylight, Wick climbed out from under the tarp and out of the longboat. He crossed to the port railing and looked out at the dock. Ice chunks floated in the water. The span was too far to jump, and the water was near freezing, assuring him of a quick, relatively painless death. He hunkered by the longboat, using it to shield him from sight of the goblinkin in the stern.
“Har,” one of the goblinkin said. “I wonder if Krepner is still down in the brig cheatin’ hisself at odds an’ evens.”
The other goblinkin laughed.
“One of these days,” another goblinkin said, “he’s gonna get tired of cheatin’ hisself at odds an’ evens an’ kill hisself over it.”
They all had a good laugh about that as they warmed their hands over the kettle of coals.
“Go,” the cat said.
“Where?” Wick asked. Surely the cat couldn’t be suggesting that he dive into the water. That would be the end of him. Even if he made it to shore, which Wick doubted, his clothes would be sodden and heavy. He’d never get away.
“The ship is tied up to the dock,” Alysta said. “If we reach the stern, we can climb along the mooring rope.”
“I’ll be seen,” Wick said.
The cat twitched an ear in irritation. “I’ll provide a distraction. These goblinkin wo
uld love nothing more than to put me in a stewpot.”
Except maybe a dweller for the stewpot, Wick thought but didn’t say. He didn’t want to get into an argument over who would provide a finer goblinkin repast.
“Now get ready. On my word.” The cat bounded away, moving so quickly that she appeared weightless. She leaped and landed on the railing of the stairwell leading up to the stern castle. Quickly, she ran along the railing until she stood at the railing’s center.
Then she meowed, loud and long, like a hungry cat standing outside the door and wanting in. It was, Wick had to admit, one of the most annoying sounds ever.
The sound caught the attention of the goblinkin immediately. The biggest one of them slapped the two others and shushed them. Like a pack of predators, which Wick knew they were, they stared at the cat with anticipatory gleams in their eyes.
Deliberately, the cat squatted on the railing and wrapped her tail around her paws. She meowed again, acting innocent and vulnerable.
Wick was really starting to wonder where the cat had been before she had appeared to help him. She was too arrogant—well, perhaps not. Cats, by their nature, tended toward arrogance and filled everyone’s life whose path they crossed with demands.
“A cat,” one of the goblinkin said, reaching for the knife sheathed on his hip.
“Stew meat,” another goblinkin hissed. “Get him, Rido.”
Rido slipped his knife free and drew it back to throw. Alysta meowed again, as if totally unaware of the danger.
Fearing for the cat, certain he was about to see her pierced by the knife and dead soon after, Wick watched helplessly. He slid a hand over his face to hide his eyes. But he found himself transfixed, unable to cease looking on.
With some skill (goblinkin were more accustomed to bashing and slashing and even gnashing things with their fangs rather than true ability), Rido flung the knife. It came with greater speed than Wick would have imagined, glittering through the intervening space.
Looking almost bored, the cat flicked out a paw as she dodged to the right and batted the knife away. The blade flew over the stern railing and clattered to the deck.
“Did ye see that?” one of the goblinkin asked. “That cat knocked the knife away!”
Alysta flicked her ears and meowed, sitting comfortably once more on the railing.
“Why, it’s laughin’ at ye, Rido,” one of the goblinkin said.
Growling curses, Rido picked up a stone war hammer leaning against the back stern railing. “I can’t promise ye stew meat after this,” he stated as he hefted the huge weapon, “but ye’ll at least get broth an’ a few bones to suck the marrow from.” He took up the hammer in both hands and moved slowly toward the railing.
Alysta continued sitting there and meowed again.
“Nice kitty, kitty,” Rido rumbled soothingly. “Nice kitty. Just ye keep a-sittin’ there. This’ll be over in a bit.” He kept slide-stepping forward, raising the hammer over his head. “Nice kitty, kitty.”
The other goblinkin watched expectantly.
Wick almost couldn’t bear to watch.
Then Rido swung the hammer with all his prodigious might. Alysta uncoiled from her haunches and leaped to the left, catching hold of one of the lines and clinging by her claws. Rido’s hammer crunched through the stern railing and the sound of splitting wood filled the air.
“Oh, that’s bad,” one of the goblinkin said. “Cap’n Gujhar’s gonna be pretty vexed at ye.”
“Me? It was me ye sent after that blasted cat!” Rido drew the hammer back from the wreckage of the railing.
Alysta yowled, and the sound was almost laughter.
“Get that cat!” Rido roared.
The other goblinkin sprang to pursue the cat, drawing weapons. Alysta ran through the rigging, drawing them on down the starboard stairwell away from the stern castle. The whole time, she remained tantalizingly close to the goblinkin, as if she didn’t have her wits about her and was running in fear and only just managing to avoid sudden death. That perceived luck only drew the goblinkin into a greater frenzy.
Taking advantage of the moment, Wick sprinted from hiding and ran for the other stairwell on the port side of the stern castle. The goblinkin were so intent on their prey that they never noticed him. But new goblinkin arrived from below, coming out of the stairwell amidships to see what was going on. They saw the cat, too, and immediately gave chase.
Afraid he was going to be seen, Wick ducked into hiding beside the stairwell instead of going up it. He sunk back and tried to become another layer of the wood as the goblinkin chased the cat through the rigging. The goblinkin threw knives, axes, and belaying pins at the cat, setting up all kinds of noise.
Even the man, Captain Gujhar, came up from belowdecks to see what the matter was. The man held a finger in the pages of his book to mark his place.
That reminded Wick of his own missing journal. He wanted it back. Then he noticed that he stood next to the captain’s quarters. He eyed the door latch. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand dropped to the latch and flipped it.
The latch opened.
In the next instant, Wick was inside.
The captain’s quarters were cramped, much as they were aboard One-Eyed Peggie. Shelves and boxes and chests took up all the space that wasn’t occupied by the bed. Light poured in through the stern windows. A small leather bag sat on one of the shelves. A quick inspection revealed that it held a handful of gold and silver coins.
But Wick’s eyes were immediately drawn to the small desk built into the wall. Three books lay on top of the desk. One of them was his journal.
Before he knew it, Wick stood at the desk, his hands sliding over the books. He immediately tucked his journal into the cloak again, once more in its hiding place. Then he opened the larger of the two remaining books.
The volume was written in a human tongue, one of the old ones before the Cataclysm. He recognized it and the words came to him swiftly.
THE LOG OF THE WRAITH
Drawn by curiosity that overrode the fear clamoring at him, Wick turned the pages. The man who had penned the ship’s log had an inelegant hand. It wasn’t the language as much as the writing that inhibited Wick’s almost instant translation.
Wraith had taken leave of her port home in Illastra deep within the Forest of Fangs and Shadows eighty-seven days ago. She’d been fully stocked with provisions and trade goods, and had a crew of thirty-two goblinkin that—
Someone banged on the door. “Who’s in there?” a voice roared. “I saw you go in there! Come out at once!”
A crew of goblinkin that are even now banging on the door, Wick thought fearfully. He closed the book and ripped a pillowcase from the bed, fashioning a makeshift knapsack for the books. Thinking of the water he had to go over in the harbor, he wished he had better protection for the books.
But that couldn’t be helped.
Knocking slammed the door in its frame again. “Is that you, dweller?” the man demanded.
First you have to save yourself, Wick told himself. He tossed the bag of gold and silver coins into his makeshift bag as well. Working quickly, he knotted the pillowcase, then tied the ends together to make a sling that he pulled over his head and one shoulder. Sliding the knapsack onto his back and out of the way, the little Librarian ran to the stern windows.
The beating resumed on the door. Captain Gujhar called to his goblinkin crew. “Stop chasing that cat! Get over here and break down this door!”
Wick opened the stern windows. If he’d been a normal-sized elf, dwarf, or human, he wouldn’t have had room enough to escape. He stuck his head out. The stern window was almost twenty feet above the freezing harbor water. Wind plucked at his clothing and hair. The dock was thirty feet away, way beyond his reach.
Panic thundered through Wick in time with the pounding on the door.
“What are you waiting on?”
Hearing the cat’s voice above him, Wick looked up and found her hanging headfirst on th
e anchor rope. “I’m trapped,” Wick said.
“Use the mooring rope.” The cat crept along the rope herself, placing one paw neatly before the other with effortless grace.
For the first time, Wick noticed the rope that angled down from Wraith to the dock. The hawser rope was thicker than a dwarf’s wrist. It would surely support his weight, but he wasn’t as fleet as the cat, who he was certain could run along it if need be.
But he had an idea from one of the romances in Hralbomm’s Wing. Turning, he opened the sea chest beside the bed and took out a leather razor strop. The wide leather band looked suitable for his purpose.
Wood split behind him. The door shoved inward a little. It wouldn’t take much more abuse before it gave way.
Returning to the stern window, he slipped outside again. Standing on the narrow ledge of the window, he tiptoed in an effort to reach the hawser. His fingers were several inches short of his prize.
The door shuddered inward, falling in pieces inside the cabin. Goblinkin poured into the room.
“They’re going to catch you!” The cat paused, already halfway to the dock.
Desperate, barely maintaining his balance on the gently bobbing ship, Wick held the leather strop in one hand and flipped it over the hawser. Jumping up, he caught the other end, gambling that he could catch it and not drop into the harbor.
His hand closed around the strop and he held on tight. Immediately, the smooth leather slid across the hawser, gaining speed. He shot toward the cat.
“Look out!” Wick yelled.
Voices rang out above him. Twisting uncontrollably at the ends of the razor strop, Wick saw that goblinkin lined Wraith’s stern, too. Several of them threw knives, hand axes, and belaying pins at him. Luckily, all of them fell short.
The leather zipped along the hawser and he was on the cat. Alysta cursed him soundly as she gathered herself. Wick feared that she would be knocked from her precarious perch by the strop.
Instead, at the last moment possible, the cat leaped up from the rope and the strop passed harmlessly underneath. He expected to see her land again on the hawser, managing a child’s trick of jumping rope. She came at his head, though, her paws flailing and her claws extended.
