by Jean Rabe
Chapter 16
FLINT’S ANVIL
A few days later found Dhamon and Jasper back at the harbor in New Ports.
Rig Mer-Krel laughed loud and long and shook his finger at Dhamon. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. You want to pay me – and Shaon – and whoever else I can drag along sixty coins to sail to Palanthas on some scow you’ve managed to buy?” The dark mariner slapped his thigh. “Sixty coins wouldn’t get one of us there as a deck hand.”
“You’ve a good reputation,” Dhamon began. He thought if money didn’t work, perhaps compliments might do the trick. “We need a captain, and I hear you’re the best. You certainly did a good job on our trip to the Silver Stair.”
“He is a good captain!” Shaon beamed. She swept her hand out to her side, indicating the harbor. “He’s got more experience on open waters than most of the folks here put together. Why, he sailed the Blood Sea of Istar and piloted a galleon through the Eye of the Bull. He was first mate on...”
Rig’s glare kept her from spouting about more of his attributes and sailing accomplishments.
She gave him a sly wink. “But sixty coins are an insult,” she admitted. “We’ll have to brave the Gale – the storm that brews constantly in the Straits of Algoni. The money would have to be a lot better for us to give up our jobs here and risk our necks.”
“How about the ship as payment?” Jasper offered. “She’s at the third dock. Look her over. You take us to Palanthas, wait around for a few weeks, and then she’s yours.”
The big mariner leaned forward and studied the dwarf. “The green carrack?” Rig asked.
Jasper nodded. “I bought it yesterday. And I’m none too fond of water, so I wouldn’t mind parting with it – after it takes us where we want to go.”
“You’ll take care of the supplies?”
Dhamon nodded.
“Then we’ll leave in the morning, while the weather’s still holding. I’m going to pick up a couple of extra men – if you don’t mind. I doubt the pair of you would be much help on a ship.”
*
Rig and Shaon had thoroughly inspected the carrack by the time Dhamon and Jasper reached the docks. It was barely sunrise. The front sail was square, not unlike the Wind Chaser’s, but the rear sail was a lateen mizzen, one that resembled an oddly shaped triangle. The ship was eighty-five feet long, with a thirty-foot beam.
The ship was in good repair, its hull recently painted a dark green and its deck trimmed in red. A new name had been painted on the bow – Flint’s Anvil.
“A bigger ship would’ve been better,” Rig noted from halfway up the forward mast. “One with a deeper keel and a third mast, and a less heavy-sounding name.”
“Change your mind?” Dhamon called.
“No. Just warning you she’s going to feel the waves a little more than I’d like – and definitely more than you and Jasper would appreciate. Hope you don’t get seasick and decorate my deck.”
Dhamon made sure the supplies were aboard, including a dozen barrels of fresh water that were stacked in a pyramid near the rear mast. He still had about fifty steel coins left, more than enough to buy more food at a port along the way. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he was out of money. Maybe this Palin Majere is wealthy, he mused.
Shaon had arranged for four crew members, three of whom were busying themselves making final adjustments to the rigging. The fourth came on board while Jasper was arguing with Shaon about cabin assignments. The new crew member walked with a wolf at his side.
“No animals,” Dhamon said brusquely.
The wolf stood about three and a half feet tall at the shoulder and had thick red fur and golden eyes. The man stood twice as tall. He was tanned and burly and had rough features – a wide forehead, a puglike face and wide-set black eyes. He wore a vest without a shirt beneath it and the rest of his clothes were worn and tattered. A gleaming gold hoop that dangled from his right ear looked to be the most valuable item he owned.
“Half-ogre,” Jasper muttered.
“The wolf goes,” Dhamon called.
“Dhamon, meet Groller Dagmar,” Rig returned. “I’d return the introduction, but he can’t hear you. He’s deaf.
And next to me and Shaon, he’s the most competent seaman you have. I want him, so he stays – and that means his wolf does, too. Unless, of course, you want to find yourself another captain.”
Chapter 17
LESSONS
Dawn arrived with a slight breeze, barely enough to coax Flint’s Anvil out of the harbor. By late that afternoon the wind was gusty and billowed the sails enough to make the masts creak. They were making good time. Rig was at the wheel, and the half-ogre, Groller, was with him. There was no sign of the red wolf.
Dhamon and Jasper were doing their best to get acquainted with the ship as it weaved across the bay. And the dwarf was trying hard to get accustomed to the constant pitching.
“I feel horrible, like my stomach’s climbed into my throat,” Jasper grumbled. “Never been on a ship that rocked so much.”
“That’s only because you’ve never been on a ship when the wind was blowing this strong,” Dhamon returned. “I’ll grant you the waves are pretty high, but it could be a lot worse. You’d better prepare for the Gale.”
“It was always calm on the way to Schallsea,” the dwarf said wistfully.
New Ports was far behind them now, and Dhamon leaned over the rail and strained his eyes to the north, hoping to spot Port O’ Call. All he saw was the turbulent water. He idly wondered how many weeks they’d be at sea and what they’d find in Palanthas. “Evil breeds there,” Goldmoon had told him. Would finding that evil be difficult? Or might the evil find them?
Jasper ran his hand along the rail, as if he were judging the quality of its carving and determining how it had been routed. Perhaps he was trying to keep his mind off the constant motion. A soft tinkling noise interrupted his inspection. He turned and frowned.
“Interesting name you chose for her, Jasper,” Shaon observed. “Let’s hope she’s sturdy enough and doesn’t sink like one.”
“It was called Melancholy Morkoth before I bought it. I didn’t like the sound of riding on a ship named after an ugly sea monster, so I renamed it after my uncle.”
The dark-skinned woman shook her head. “Never cared much for relatives.”
She was wearing a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned halfway to her waist, and tight black pants she’d bunched up to her knees. She was barefoot, and a thick gold chain she wore around her right ankle sported a double row of tiny bells that jingled merrily when she walked.
“I cared about Flint,” Jasper muttered. “I cared enough to make a promise to him in a dream, that I’d help his friend Goldmoon, study from her too. Didn’t figure being on a ship would be part of it.” The dwarf gripped his stomach as the ship surged over a tall wave. His complexion was pale, and he grabbed the railing to steady himself. He stared at the water for a moment, closed his eyes, and turned around so his back was to the sea. “What’s that?” he asked Shaon as he pointed at a taut rope.
Dhamon smiled. “Most people call it a rope,” Shaon replied.
“Oh.”
“But sailors call it a forestay. It’s the line that runs from the mainmast to the bow. And you have to make sure it doesn’t fray.”
“And this?” The dwarf glowered and waggled his fingers at the mast.
“Well, the whole thing – the mast, boom, and gaff – is called a spar.”
“This isn’t so hard,” Jasper grumbled. “Forestay, mast, spar, starboard, stern, rudder, rigging, keel, kender.”
“Kender?” Dhamon turned away from the rail and followed the dwarf’s gaze. He scowled as he spotted Raph and Blister climbing up the ladder from below deck. “I thought you two stayed in New Ports!”
“I wanted to,” Blister sputtered, as she balanced herself on the rolling deck. “But Raph insisted on tagging along. I couldn’t talk him out of it, so I figured I’d better come, too. S
omeone has to watch out for him and keep him out of trouble.”
Dhamon groaned and strode toward the bow, away from the gathering.
Raph immediately spotted Shaon’s ankle bracelet. He shuffled closer for a better look, the half-dozen pouches tied to his waist clinking and rustling as he went.
“How come you wear bells?” the kender asked.
“Rig gave them to me. Gold from Karthay.”
“Why’s your hair so short?”
“So it won’t blow in my eyes.”
“Why —”
Jasper positioned himself between Shaon and Raph, his back to the kender. He was still careful to keep one hand on the railing to help his balance. “Where do you think you and Rig’ll go after you leave us in Palanthas?” he asked.
“We discussed it quite a bit last night. Rig didn’t sleep much. I think he was excited to have his own ship. It’s something he’s always wanted. We might take her up and around the Northern Wastes and eventually back to the Blood Sea of Istar. That area’s home for us.”
Blister nudged her way into the conversation, and Jasper sighed in resignation and strode away, lurching toward a collection of crates near the capstan. The dwarf sat on the lowest one and grabbed his head as the ship rose over another swell.
“I’ve been there,” she said. The kender was wearing an unusual pair of gloves this morning. They were green leather, and had small hooks on the thumbs.
Shaon glanced over her shoulder and stared dreamily at the water. “That’s where I met Rig Mer-Krel – on a big car-rack on the Blood Sea. The ship I was sailing on hit a reef. We took on water too fast, and a lot of men were trapped below deck and drowned. Sharks had already taken more than half of the rest of the crew when the Sanguine Lady pulled alongside. Rig was second mate on the Lady. He fished me out of the water. Those of us who lived signed on.”
“That sounds exciting,” Raph said. “You two married?”
“No. Not yet, anyway. But he’s not looking elsewhere, so I’m satisfied.”
“Why’d you end up way over here? The Blood Sea’s practically a world away,” the kender prattled.
“Shaon!” Rig looked sternly at the foursome. “Enough chatter. It’s your turn at the wheel.”
Rig drew Shaon aside, while Groller took the helm. Blister spotted Dhamon at the bow and headed toward him. Left alone, Raph became curious about the water barrels at the ship’s stern.
*
Blister and Dhamon stood quietly for a long time, listening to the water breaking against the hull and the snapping of the sails. The sun was edging toward the horizon. It would set soon.
“You know, you never told me what brought you to the tomb, then to Schallsea,” said the kender, finally breaking the spell.
“No, I didn’t.”
“And you’re not going to, are you?”
Dhamon fixed his eyes on a large swordfish that arced above the water, then disappeared.
“You know, Mr. Grimwulf, if you’re not going to tell the truth – or tell anything, for that matter – you better learn how to lie. I don’t think you’re very good at it.”
“And I suppose you are?”
“I don’t know about the lying part. But I’m good at telling stories – most kender are. Let me give you a lesson. If someone, like me for instance, asks you why you came to the Tomb of the Last Heroes, and you didn’t want to tell them why you really did, you might tell them a story. You might say, ‘I came to the tomb because I heard the dwarves from Thorbardin brought the stones that were used in its construction. I’m a student of dwarven architecture, and with the dwarven kingdom being sealed, I figured the tomb was my best chance to get a look at a recent work.’ There’s a gram of truth in that – you did come to the tomb.”
“I see.”
“And if they ask where you originally came from, you can say ‘I came from Crossing, to the north of Solace. It’s a fine port town known for its spiced ale and famous shipwrights. You should visit it some time.’ That wouldn’t be a lie, exactly. You did land in Crossing before you came to Solace. You just came from somewhere else before that.”
“I see.”
“And if they ask you about your profession, whatever it really happens to be, you tell them —”
“Look at me! Everybody, look at me!” Raph’s high-pitched voice ended Blister’s lesson. The young kender instantly had everyone’s attention, save Groller’s. The half-ogre stood at the wheel, oblivious to the noise.
Raph was standing at the top of a pyramid of water barrels. There were five barrels on the first tier, lying on their sides and lashed together to keep them from rolling. There were four on the second tier, two on the third, and one on top. Raph balanced precariously on the top one.
Satisfied that he had an audience, the little kender leaned forward until his fingers touched the wood of the barrel, then he kicked off with his legs until he was standing on his hands. His sandaled feet waved at those on deck below. The ship rolled to the starboard to meet a wave, and Raph happily held his position. His pouches clinked in protest.
“This is fun!” he hollered.
“Raph! Get down from there. That’s dangerous!” Blister scolded. Her little feet pounded over the deck as she closed the distance to the water barrel pyramid. For a change, Dhamon was on her heels.
“You’re always so worried, Blister. Always too careful. You never have any fun. Look at this.” Raph tucked his right arm in toward his chest and was standing on one hand now. “I could be in a circus.”
“You could be in the sea, which is where I’ll toss you if you don’t get off of our water barrels!” Rig cursed.
Jasper, who’d moved up to the mariner’s side, scowled at the kender’s antics. Shaon, who stood by the dwarf, was amused but mainly by the sight of Rig’s cross expression.
The ship hit another swell, and the young kender dizzily swayed on his perch. A brief look of worry crossed his little face, and he put his other hand down to steady himself.
Shaon gasped and sucked on her lower lip. It suddenly wasn’t funny anymore. The ship lurched again, and Raph’s bag of spoons fell free – a few dozen steel and silver soupspoons and ladles – and went spinning toward the deck.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got perfect balance!” the kender bragged.
“Balance yourself off those barrels!” Rig commanded.
“Wonder what this rope is for?”
“It ties the barrels together. Leave it alone,” Rig spat. “And get down, now!”
But the big mariner’s words were a heartbeat too late. Raph maneuvered back to his feet and brought his hands down to the rope and tugged. A smile stretched wide across his cherubic face.
“No!” Blister screamed.
Dhamon rushed forward just as the pyramid of barrels groaned and the rope came free. The bottom tier spread, separating and rolling to port and starboard, and the tiers on top of them shifted and toppled forward.
Raph was a cloud of color and waving hands and feet. He tried to somersault forward, pushing off the falling top barrel and attempting to clear the collapsing pyramid. But the rope he’d untied was whipping about in the wind like an angry serpent. An end struck his face with a sharp snap! Surprised, the kender faltered in midair and landed hard on his back on the deck. The wind rushed from his lungs and he was momentarily stunned. Before he could rise, the topmost barrel slammed into his slight frame.
Raph’s eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to scream. His words were drowned out by the crash of another barrel on top of him, and another.
Dhamon slipped on the spewed contents and fell to the deck. He looked up and instantly threw an arm in front of his face. Slats of wood went flying and struck his hand as another barrel broke. More water gushed across the rolling deck, but Dhamon scrambled forward.
Somehow Rig had reached the kender first. A splintered barrel still lay on top of Raph. Its broken iron band was over his chest like a trap, pinning him to the deck. The other half of the band was imbed
ded in his leg.
The mariner rolled the barrel off Raph and tugged the pieces of iron loose.
“He’s dead,” Rig announced. “His chest is crushed. And now we have only one intact barrel of water. Wonderful.”
The mariner cursed and stomped toward the wheel. “One barrel! It’ll only last us a couple of days. We’ll have to ration it!” he called over his shoulder. “Then we’ll have to pull into Caergoth and get more.”
“Dead?” Blister picked her way through the broken barrels and slumped beside Raph’s body. She used the hooks on her glove to move the shattered pieces of wood aside. Ignoring the pain in her hands, she cradled his head. A trickle of blood ran out of his mouth.
“I came along to keep him out of trouble,” she whispered.
*
They buried Raph at sea, wrapping his body in a colorful blanket, and weighing it down so it would sink. Blister said only a few words to honor the young kender. She hadn’t known him long, and she was at a loss for something to say. A dull ache spread from her fingers and into her arms as her gloved hands clasped a silver spoon to her breast.
“I told him I’d take care of him,” she whispered.
*
Sorrow over Raph’s sudden death was soon outweighed by fear for their own lives when the crew of Flint’s Anvil encountered the Gale. The storm was no surprise – the clashing air masses of glacial Southern Ergoth and the temperate main continent created a constant tempest in the Straits of Algoni – but there was no way to be completely prepared for a force of nature as volatile and unpredictable as the Gale.
As soon as they entered the deeper, colder waters of the Straits, Rig instructed the crew to take down all of the sails; they would be going under bare poles in order to provide the least resistance to the wind. The task was barely completed before icy, white-capped waves began crashing over the bow and Rig ordered Jasper, Blister, and Dhamon to go below deck.
The dwarf and the kender rushed toward the hatch, slipping a few times as the wooden planks grew wet and the ship lurched. The Anvil rose to the top of a large swell. Jasper watched as they were lifted high only to plummet immediately down the other side of the wave. Suddenly it was as if he were standing in a valley between navy blue mountains. He could see nothing but the curving dark water on either side of him. Where was the sky? The ship began to ascend the next wave, a rolling wall of water many times his height. Jasper threw open the hatch and descended the ladder. Blister stepped on the dwarf’s head as she hurriedly followed.
