by Mac Flynn
The captain coughed into his fist. "Perhaps, and perhaps not, but I'll wager you want the good Councilman's men gone from their 'tax collecting' routes, am I right?"
Marge pursed her lips, and her eyes flickered to Erik. "You'll do that?"
"I can make no promises other than I will try my best," Erik replied.
Marge rolled her eyes. "Typical. You ask a politician to do something and you get empty words."
"What's this tax collecting?" I spoke up.
"It's the devil's work, that's what it is," Marge spat out. "That Deacon gets his ruffians to collect the taxes for the Council, and each time it's just a little more. It's gotten so bad that some people have closed shop and left the island. Couldn't afford to do anything else. I've seen a lot of good people leave these last five years, a lot of good friends."
Erik frowned. "The Council hasn't approved any tax increases in the last five years."
Marge's eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a snarl. A tinge of yellow slipped into her eyes and she fisted her hands at her sides. "Why that no good-"
The captain jumped to his feet and grabbed her upper arms. "Calm thoughts, Marge, before you lose your temper and not find it again until morning!"
She shrugged out of his grasp and took a step back. Thick fur sprouted from her arms and her long hair burst from the tied handkerchief. Her fisted hands opened to reveal long, claw-like fingers. "I'll tear them in two!" she growled. Her teeth lengthened and sharpened to fine points. Suddenly this tiny room was definitely not big enough. "I'll rip them in-"
Water flew through the air and collided with her face. She gasped and the dark magic of werewolf transformation stopped. Marge blinked and turned to the thrower. Greg stood beside the table and grasped the empty washbasin in his hands.
"Quick thinking, old friend," Erik complimented him.
Greg smiled and put the washbasin back in its place. "It seemed a prudent time."
Marge wiped some of the dripping water from her eyes and smiled at him. "I'm glad for the help. Sometimes my temper gets the better of me."
Captain Black snorted. "Sometimes. . ."
Marge snapped her head to him and glared. "Yeah, sometimes."
"I'm sorry the water wasn't cleaner," Greg apologized.
A smile brightened Marge's face and she laughed. "If it wasn't clean then that was my own fault, but what a cold mess! Black, get me some towels from the hall."
Black bristled at the command. "Get 'em yerself, woman."
Marge's eyes flitted to him and her lips pursed tightly together. "Get 'em or you'll not get yer rooms."
The captain grumbled something about wenches, but left the room to carry out her order. Marge seated herself in his chair and run the water out of her hair and onto the floor.
"Now what's wanted of me? Black wouldn't lead you to me unless you wanted something," she asked us.
"We're after information regarding ships that sail from one end of the island chain to the other," Erik explained. Black returned with an armful of towels. "Have you seen any boats that could do that?"
Marge took the towels and nodded. "Of course they come through. I remember 'em coming plenty of times," she told us
Captain Black scowled. "Come through here without my knowing? What be they, ghost ships?"
Marge rolled her eyes and glared at him. "Don't be a blooming idiot! You've been here yerself when they come in, you've just been too damned drunk to know it!"
The captain stroked his beard and shrugged. "Perhaps, but how can ya be sure it was the same boats these folks are asking about?"
"Because they clam to be crabbing men, but they don't know nothing about the best spots," she spat out. "They almost always go south to the lower islands and any fool knows the best stuff is to the east of Maritime."
"Do you know their names or true purpose?" Erik asked her.
She shook her head. "Nope. In my business ya don't ask for names unless ya want to drive away yer customers. As for what they're really doing, I don't know that either. They don't talk much when they come in and they don't stay long. I just hear from the others that they head in the wrong directions."
"You said 'almost' when you said they go south," I spoke up. "Where else do they go?"
She nodded towards the southwest. "Some of the others said they saw them going that way some days. Not much at the beginning, but over the last month they've been spotted that way four or five times. Funny thing is, people think they're going ashore."
"Why's that?" Erik wondered.
"Because they're boats smell like pine. Like they've been sitting under the trees waiting," she explained. "Someone, I'm not saying who, says they might've seen one of the boats moored to land at the far west. They were trying to catch some of those shallow bottom crabs and thought they saw the ship, but the fog didn't let 'em get a good look and they weren't risking getting beached to see."
Erik frowned and his eyes flickered to Greg. "What do you think of it?"
Greg smiled. "I believe it is in need of exploring."
Erik looked to the captain. "Can we take a ship in that direction?"
The captain shook his head. "I wouldn't risk it near land we don't have mapped. It could run ashore on a sandbar or hit a rock. Lord knows there's enough of 'em out in this lake."
"I'll take you," Marge spoke up. Everyone's surprised eyes turned to her, and she frowned. "I know where I-where the person saw the landed boat and I have one of my own boats that's braver than this fool." She jerked her thumb at the captain.
Black bristled and puffed out his chest. "It ain't fear that keeps me from taking a ship, it's common sense, and it's telling me there's something not right here."
"That same feeling tells me we're on the right road to figuring out Gethin's aims," Erik returned.
The captain crossed his arms, turned his head to the side and scowled at the front wall. "Fine, but yer not getting any of my crew."
"That's fine, we don't need you," Marge quipped.
Black whipped his head to us and scowled at the innkeeper. "My crew, woman, not meself! I'm going along and seeing that ya don't get yerselves killed."
CHAPTER 6
"Then it's agreed. Can we leave immediately?" Erik asked Marge.
"Almost," she replied. "I just need to put my serving girl at the counter and we'll be off to my boat."
"What kind of un-lakeworthy vessel is it?" the captain spoke up.
Marge turned to him and looked him up and down. "Something that'll hold your girth, if that's what's worrying you."
He frowned and pulled up his belt. "I'm worrying because you've never mentioned owning a boat before."
She shrugged. "It's for special occasions, and seeing as how this young lord-"
"Call me Erik," Erik insisted.
"This young Erik will deal with a lot of my headaches then this is a very special occasion," she finished. "Now let's get going before the sun's high. Some of the fog gets to lifting if it's a hot enough day, and this Indian Summer keeps getting 'em that way."
Marge placed her buxom barmaid at the helm of the bar and led us through the back hall to the side door that ran through the kitchen. It led to the cliff-side of the building, but she skirted the stairs and walked farther along the edge.
"Watch your step here. Sometimes the ground gives away. Same thing happens all over the island," she warned us.
"You'll be the death of us yet. . ." the captain mumbled.
"Yer eating and drinking will take you before I do, but hurry up. We don't have all the rest of the morning," she scolded him.
We reached a point in the cliff where it turned to the right at an old tree stump that sat three yards from the edge of the abyss. Marge knelt beside the stump and pulled it, roots and all, from the ground. The roots were buried in soft dirt and pulled up easily. I noticed it could be put back just as easily and the grass above the soft dirt and roots would hide the movement.
Below the trunk was a wide set of winding metal stairs
that led deep into the earth.
"What in all the seven seas is this?" Captain Black asked our guide.
"You think that rocky island of yers is the only one with hidden coves?" she countered. "Now get down before I shove you through the hole."
Erik went first, followed by me, Greg, and the two locals. We wound our way down the steps and reached a cavernous hole in the ground. Sharp stalactites and stalagmites hung from the ceiling and rose from the floor. Water flowed in and out with the tide through a small hole at the front of the cavern. A motor boat sat half on the shore, and was barely large enough to fit us.
"I'll get the helm," the captain offered.
"It's my ship, ya wet dog, and I'll pilot it where we need to go," Marge insisted.
Marge took a seat at the rear and the rest of us settled on the benches in front of her. The engine roared to life and we sped through the stalagmite-infested waters and out through the small opening. I fell into Erik's side and he caught a hold of me to steady me. Greg sat at the bow and clutched both sides of the ship to keep himself from slipping back to us. The captain clung to the side of the ship and his face was pale and his eyes full of fury.
"What the blazes are you-"
"I know what we're doing. We need to make a quick leave of that place or someone might see us," she told him.
"That won't matter if ya get us killed!" the captain shot back.
"We're okay. I've driven out of there more times than you've managed to get a woman to bed you, though that's not saying much," she quipped.
"Marge, another crack like that and I'll crack yer skull," the captain growled.
"Patience, captain," Erik spoke up. "A qualm on a small boat is a tempest in a teapot."
"Damn wench and her ways. . ." he mumbled, but didn't continue his threats against our driver.
Marge steered the boat past the island where was hidden the sailing ships and into the gray darkness of the fog. I lost track of the cardinal points when the shadow of the island was swallowed by the thick mist, but Marge flew us across the water at full throttle. I could see the entirety of the boat and our companions, but nothing beyond that. The only indication that the sun had risen was the warmer air, but it was still chilly. I snuggled against Erik, and he wrapped his arm around me.
"Did I ever tell you you take me to such romantic places?" I teased.
Erik smiled. "If you think this view is wonderful you should catch a glimpse of the inside of the Braille."
I snorted. "I don't think anyone but Methuselah could ever catch that. At least, not without a blowtorch."
"Methuselah? I've heard a lot of names in my time, but never one like that," Marge commented.
Black straightened and his words were clipped. "He's nothing but a lonely beggar we found, a stowaway."
Marge raised an eyebrow. "I know you're an idiot, Black, but yer men are better than that. This man must be impressive to have gotten through so many sharp-eyed men."
"How far is it to the shore?" Erik spoke up.
"Not long now, but that's a terrible way to change the conversation. You'd do a better job by me if you just asked me to drop it," Marge scolded him.
"Then we humbly ask that you drop it," Erik returned.
Marge smiled and nodded. "Then I will, but not forever. I can see from Black's pudgy face that it's a nice secret you have."
Black's face reddened and his words held a growl in them. "I am not-"
"There it is. Land," Marge announced as she nodded ahead of us.
We all turned our heads and saw a huge shape loom up through the fog. The top of the dark shape broke into a thousand different sizes and shapes of trees. I dipped my hand into the water and noticed how much warmer it felt. That showed we were in shallower water. Rocks and half sunken logs poked up from the water and Marge zigged and zagged around them. Fish darted away from us and startled birds flew from their nests on the larger of the rocks.
"I'll land us a half mile away from where the boat was seen," Marge announced. "We don't want to be caught in their landing spot."
"How long ago were they last seen headed in this direction?" Erik asked her.
"Just a few days ago," she replied.
She steered us through the obstacles and to a white-sand beach. The bow of the ship stuck into the sand, and Greg and Erik jumped out and pulled it further ashore. The captain stepped out and lashed the anchor rope to a fallen tree. Marge and I crawled over the seats and jumped onto the cool white sand of solid, non-island earth. I breathed in deep and inhaled the scents of living trees and healthy ground.
The captain stooped and scooped up a handful of the sand and dirt. He let the mixture run through his fingers. "Whatever's blighting our homes doesn't mind blessing this land," he commented.
Marge rubbed her hand against the log the captain had tied our boat and looked with wide eyes at the thick, tall trees. "Half a dozen of these would fetch a dozen years of pay from my inn."
"And a dozen of them logged from the shore would bring curious men," Erik spoke up.
I frowned. "More fog. . ."
He turned to me and raised an eyebrow. "'More fog?'" he repeated.
"Don't you remember what that guy was saying on Market Island? The one that stirred up all the trouble? He said something about the fog," I reminded him.
"'What if I was to tell you the fog wouldn't be gone, but would encompass more land than it does now,'" Greg repeated.
I blinked at Greg. "How did you remember that?"
He grinned and bowed his head. "I am blessed and cursed with a very proficient memory."
"You'd make a killing at counting in a game of cards," the captain mused. Marge scowled at him and punched him in the arm. The captain rubbed his bruised appendage and glared back. "What was that fer?"
"For being an idiot when you should be paying attention to what they're saying," she snapped.
"They're just talking nonsense. The fog's not going anywhere without a witch, and the only one around here is you," he argued. Marge narrowed her eyes and growled at him.
"Enough. Both of you," Erik interrupted their argument. "We don't have time to bicker, not when our foes have the clear advantage. They have their plans in order, and we seem only to be following their crumbs."
"And what crumbs are these?" the captain asked him.
"The agent of our foes on Market Island told the crowd the fog could expand beyond the shores of the lake. If what he said was true then they would have to have a powerful witch in their employ," Erik pointed out.
"Unless he's lying," Marge countered. She folded her arms across her chest and her eyes flickered to Black. "It wouldn't be the first time a man lied."
"A witch?" the captain scoffed. "Where would they be finding someone like that in this day and age?"
Erik nodded at the woods at our backs. "There. The men boat that was seen ashore could have discovered the witch."
"But how'd they know where to look?" I spoke up. "Or even that they should be looking?"
"That remains for us to find out." Erik glanced at Marge. "Where did you say the boat was seen?"
She gave a nod down the beach. "It's this way. Follow me."
CHAPTER 7
Marge led us along the shoreline. Rocks jutted out into the calms waters and birds flitted past us and sang their early-morning song. The sun broke through some of the fog and shone down on us. I rubbed my eyes and tried to look up at the brightness, but the light burned. I noticed everyone else kept their heads down or faced straight ahead.
"No wonder werewolves can see well in the dark. . ." I muttered.
"It is a natural ability of the wolf, but we are less tolerant of the light than other animals," Greg told me.
We walked a half mile before Marge stopped and pointed at a narrow spot between two large rocks fifteen feet tall.
"The ship was seen there," she informed us.
Erik strode forward and the rest of us followed behind him. He knelt near the edge of the lake where the waves
fell short and brushed his hand over the surface.
"A boat was here not too long ago," he commented.
"I did say one passed by a few days ago," Marge reminded him.
Erik raised his head and looked ahead of himself towards the woods. "And here are footprints." He stood and followed the imprints of shoes, but stopped short of the trees. A rarely-used path led into the forest. "The path turns, but we may find something if we search a few miles down it," he suggested to us.
Captain Black walked up behind Erik and clamped a hand down on his shoulder. "I won't have ya getting yerself lost in some god-forsaken forest, not when ya mean a world to my island," he insisted.
Erik turned around and glared at the captain. "This concerns all the islands," he shot back.
"Maybe, but ya made a promise to help how ya can, and I expect ya to keep to it," the captain insisted.
"Master, if I might bring forth a suggestion?" Greg spoke up. "We needn't risk everyone. Might I venture into the woods and see what can be found?"
Erik frowned at our servant. "It's too dangerous to go alone, even for you."
"He won't be alone," Marge chimed in. She stepped forward and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll go with him."
The captain looked to her with a raised eyebrow. "What's got you into a helpful mind?" he questioned her.
She grinned and shrugged. "Let's just say I'd like to know what my customers are up to, even if they don't want me to know."
Erik pursed his lips, but gave a nod. "Very well, but I won't see anyone travel into these woods without some supplies."
"I've got that covered, and more," Marge offered. She sidled up to Greg and elbowed him in the ribs. "We'll have a grand time, won't we?"
Greg winced, but managed a smile. "A very interesting time," he agreed.
The captain's cheeks reddened. He marched over to them and pushed them apart. "You two aren't doing nothing. If someone's going with Marge then it'll be me."
"A kind offer, but my servant knows what to look for and we need someone's introduction into Deacon's home," Erik pointed out. "Unless, of course, you release me from my promise."
