Dragon's bluff c-3

by Mary H. Herbert

  “What was that?” Ulin demanded. He could not see through the clouds of steam that filled the small cabin, but he could feel something wrong. The boat seemed high at the bow, and it rocked slightly as if caught on something. He rubbed the small of his back that had made hard contact with the wall and managed to scramble to his feet. The deck tilted at a definite angle.

  Notwen clambered upright and opened the cabin door. Wind rushed in and swirled the steam away. Now they could see what they had hit.

  “Great departed gods!” Ulin exclaimed. “Where did that come from?”

  Notwen’s hands tore at his hair, and his face became a visage of woe. “Ohno, ohno, ohno! TheislandsthewindsIforgot!” he wailed.

  “Slow down!” Ulin remonstrated. “Forgot what?”

  “I forgot to adjust our course according to the wind speed and tides. We’re in that little string of islands almost in the mouth of the bay.” He hurried outside, Ulin close on his heels. Together they stared in dismay at the bow of the boat and the island that lay beneath it. It was not much of an island, being the tail end of a small string of islets that consisted mostly of rock, moss, seaweed, shrubs, and birds. Fortunately for Ulin and Notwen, the Second Thoughts had missed the large, sharp-edged ridge of rock on one side of the island and plowed bow-first into a tiny strip of pebbled beach at the foot of a tall outcropping.

  Ulin hoped the damage was minor. When he glanced over the bow, he thought at first the boat had simply run aground and all they had to do was push it off the beach. “Can’t we just back it off?” he asked.

  Notwen hopped over the railing to the beach and bent close to the bow for a more thorough investigation. “The boat can’t back up on her own. I haven’t figured out how to put the engine and gears in reverse,” he answered as he scraped away some gravel. Suddenly, he groaned and flopped to his back in the wet gravel. “The bow struck a half-buried rock. There’re at least two planks smashed and several others sprung loose. It will leak like a sieve if we can’t seal it. We’re doomed!” he wailed.

  Ulin glanced around the barren little island and thought they were definitely inconvenienced, but hardly doomed. They had tools, supplies, and water to last for several days, and the two of them certainly had the skills to repair a small boat well enough to carry them to the mainland. He could even see the faint dark line of land on the distant horizon. When he tried to reassure Notwen, though, the gnome sat bolt upright and clutched the tools around his belt as if someone was about to steal them.

  “You don’t understand.” His voice rose with fear. “Things live on these islands. Evil things! Creatures that don’t like invaders. Oh, they’re hideous! They’ll tear us limb from limb and feed us to the sharks.”

  The mage felt a definite uneasiness creep into his thoughts. A chill ran down the back of his neck and spread over his entire body. Could the gnome be right? There were some truly fearsome things that lived in the warm waters of Krynn’s oceans. What if something vile resided on this scrap of an island? The two of them had only one sword, a handful of tools, and their wits to combat an enemy. Those assets might fix their boat, but they would hardly make an impression against something like a pack of koalinth, ghagglers, or even an irritated, territorial sea-lion.

  Ulin clambered over the rail and helped Notwen to his feet. “What sort of creatures do you mean?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

  “I think he’s talking about us,” a feminine voice said from the jumbled rock nearby.

  Keeping his hands in plain sight, Ulin turned toward the speaker. When he saw what lounged on the rock about ten paces away, he felt his jaw drop open. A young woman rose gracefully to her feet and walked toward him. Perhaps undulate was a better description, he thought, for he had never seen any female move with such a supple, rippling stride as this one.

  Long silver hair flowed down her shoulders and back like a waterfall caught in the moonlight. Beneath the hair she had a narrow face with a pointed chin, high cheekbones, and a small nose. Her lush body curved sensuously under an iridescent garment that clung like a second skin and barely covered the important parts. She raised her arms and began to sing a seductive tune in the rolling language of the sea.

  Notwen gave a squeak of alarm and bolted for the boat’s cabin. Ulin could only stare, mesmerized, his arms limp at his sides, his mouth open.

  She glided to him, her sea-green eyes locked on his. The late day sun glistened on her wet body and enhanced the aquamarine coloring of her fair skin. Rapturously, she lifted her hand and touched his wavy brown hair. Her fingers trailed like silken fire along his hairline, down his neck, and along his jaw. Both hands framed his face and pulled him close.

  An inarticulate sound escaped him, but he could not move. His entire body ached to touch her. Desire rose like a wave within him and warred with caution in his head. He knew what this woman was, what she was doing to him. He remembered Lucy and how much he loved her. None of that mattered. His limbs trembled with his need, and his heart pounded in his chest. All he wanted was to-

  The woman pressed her beautiful body against him from head to toe, and her full lips sought his. She gave him a long, probing arduous kiss until he was gasping for air.

  Strangely, though, instead of feeding the fire that burned in his loins, the woman’s physical touch cooled him. His desire for her ebbed away on a tide of remorse, and he drew back as his cherished feelings for Lucy resurfaced.

  The woman abruptly dropped her arms and stepped back from him, her face puckered in an annoyed pout. “Shells and spines,” she said peevishly. “It failed again!” She threw her arms up, a gesture of dismay, and sank down on a boulder.

  Ulin blinked. He still felt very warm, but the strange surge of passion was gone, leaving a hollow place in his gut. Although he was relieved, a fragment of his male ego was as disappointed as the sea-maiden.

  “I don’t understand,” she cried. “I am a sirine. My song is supposed to be irresistible. Why did it fail? Who are you?”

  “My name is Ulin. Unfortunately, I am not the reason your magic failed.” He held out his hands and examined his long fingers that once wove spells with such skill. “Mine is gone, too.”

  She cast an oblique glance at him. “Are you telling me that this … difficulty is affecting humans, too?”

  “Humans, elves, dragons, everyone … Sometimes the magic works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Even Malys doesn’t understand the reason this is happening.”

  “What a nuisance. So what were you, a wizard or something?”

  He smiled a crooked smile that did not touch his eyes. “Or something.”

  The sirine sighed and fell silent. Her silence lasted only a minute or two, and in the flick of a fish’s tail her mood changed again. Suddenly she giggled, causing ripples to flow through her ample figure. She was a young sirine and quite luscious in her scanty garment. Ulin, looking closely at it, saw it was made of fish scales that glistened in iridescent shades of blue and green. Guiltily, he tore his eyes away.

  She giggled again. “Too bad the magic didn’t work this time. You’re quite-”

  “Hold it there!” a shrill voice demanded. “Don’t move!” Notwen glared over the boat’s railing, a crossbow cocked and ready in his hands.

  Ulin rushed in front of the sirine. The crossbow shook alarmingly in the gnome’s trembling hands. “It’s all right, Notwen. She can’t entice us. Put the weapon down.”

  The gnome glared at the sea woman, unconvinced.

  She waggled her fingers at him and winked. “Don’t worry, little man. I wouldn’t have hurt you anyway. I just wanted some company.”

  He looked from the woman to Ulin and back again then slowly lowered the weapon.

  “Uncock it,” Ulin reminded him.

  Silence followed as the three wondered what to do next.

  “Well,” Ulin said when the quiet grew too uncomfortable. “Let’s get this boat fixed.”

  The sirine put a hand on his thigh. “I don’t suppose you’d want
to … anyway?” She tilted her head toward the concealment of the tumbled rocks and offered him an enticing wiggle.

  He took her hand off his leg, clasped it between both of his, and kissed the back of her hand as an apology. “No. I am betrothed to a woman I adore.”

  Notwen crossed his arms and announced, “And she’s a sorceress.”

  The sea-woman flounced to her feet. “Oh, fine. Her magic works and mine doesn’t,” she sulked, as if that explained everything. “Just who is this paragon of magic?”

  The gnome tilted his nose up and replied haughtily. “Her name is Lucy. She’s Kethril Torkay’s daughter.”

  Although Ulin hardly expected the sirine to recognize the name, he was startled to see a strange mix of emotions flit across her delicate face, a mix of confusion, anger, and curiosity. Irritation won out in the end, and she blurted, “Go then. Fix your noisy little craft and get off my island.” She turned on a dainty heel to leave in a huff, but Ulin caught her arm.

  “Won’t you stay and talk to us?” he asked. A small part of him still felt sorry for disappointing her, and he wanted to make it up to her somehow. After all, she hadn’t planned to drag them underwater and devour them. He hoped to satisfy some of his own curiosity. He knew little about the aquatic women that lived in the warm seas. Most preferred solitude and would take strong measures to defend their islands. A few, like this one, were more sociable and would mate with human, elf, or merfolk males to produce a child.

  She hesitated at the warmth of his overture. Ulin was often too distracted to notice his effect on people, but he could be quite charming at times. “Go fix your boat,” she said softly, a half-smile curving the bow of her mouth. “I will go find something to eat.”

  “I don’t you suppose you have any caulk, do you?” Notwen inquired.

  With a flip of her hair, she waded into the water and dived under the waves. For a few moments, Ulin was able to watch her swim through the clear water, as sleek and swift as a dolphin, before she disappeared into a forest of seaweed.

  “Hmph,” Notwen commented. Females of any sort had never interested him. They were all too illogical.

  Using the tools onboard, Notwen and Ulin levered the boat off the rock and dragged it up the beach far enough to examine the damage in the hull. After much discussion, they decided to patch the damage rather than replace the boards. A more permanent repair could be made later after they returned to Flotsam. They cut lengths of board from the cabin itself and nailed them into place over the breach. The results were hopeful. All they needed to complete the job was some sort of waterproof sealant to fill in the cracks. The Second Thought’s compact cabin was lined with cupboards, cabinets, and bins all neatly stocked with food, water, fuel, blankets, tools, nails, rope, and lanterns, but while they searched the boat from bow to stern for something-anything-they could use, they found nothing.

  Notwen scratched his head, frustrated by this lack of foresight. “I must make a note for the next time: Bring pitch.”

  Ulin bit back a retort. Venting his irritation on the small gnome would hardly help their situation. He hadn’t thought of bringing caulk either.

  A few stars glimmered in the twilight sky when they finished nailing the boards, and with nothing further they could do, they lit a small lamp and fixed a meal of salted fish, biscuits, and wine. To avoid attracting bugs or other unwanted pests, they lit no other lamps or fires, and they stayed on the boat to eat their meal.

  A splash outside brought them both to their feet. Something pulled itself onto the boat, causing it to rock slightly, then footsteps padded across the deck. Notwen’s hand slid toward his crossbow.

  The sirine thrust her dripping head through the door and smirked when Notwen jumped back in alarm. Her amusement quickly changed to worry. “Here. I found this in a shipwreck near the coast.” She tossed a slimy, weed-covered wooden container to Ulin. “You may stay the night, but in the morning you must go. Quickly. Go to the mainland as fast as you can.”

  Ulin heard a new note of urgency in her voice that had not been there earlier-an urgency and fear that went beyond the desire to be rid of unwelcome visitors. “What is it? What’s bothering you?” he asked.

  She only shook her silvery hair. “Something bad may be coming. I am not certain yet. Just go.” And she slipped away without another word.

  “What’s in the keg?” Notwen asked, relieved the girl was gone again.

  Ulin turned the soggy thing over in his hands. Whatever it was, it had been underwater long enough for seaweed to grow and worms to begin their feast in the wood. It was very heavy, too. He set it carefully on the worktable and used a pry bar to break the lid loose. Together he and Notwen peered inside at the thick, black, viscous substance inside. “Pitch,” they said in unison.

  They wasted no time pondering what to do next. Something had spooked the sirine, and neither the man nor the gnome wanted to find out firsthand what it was. While Notwen lit a small brazier, Ulin transferred as much of the pitch as he could to an old copper pot and set it over the coals to warm. While they waited for the pitch to soften, Notwen tended the fire in the boiler of his engine. He banked it for the night and piled cut wood close by, in case they had to fire it in a hurry.

  As soon as the pitch was pliable, Ulin chopped a piece of rope into bits and added the fiber to the pitch to give it body, and using an old scrub brush, he slathered the pitch over the patch on the bow.

  They took turns standing guard until a few hours after midnight when the high tide reached its crest. Ulin woke Notwen to help him maneuver the Second Thoughts off the shingled beach, and while Ulin pushed at the bow, the gnome scraped away sand and rocks from the keel. At last the boat pulled free of the shore and floated in the water of the bay. They anchored her there and watched through the remaining hours of darkness to see if the patch would leak.

  Before long the sun ascended from the sea, surrounded by thin, scarlet-tinged clouds, and the air grew warmer. Ulin looked for the sirine so he could say good-bye and offer his thanks, but he saw no sign of her. The rocky bit of island remained empty save for its birds and barnacles.

  The bay was calm that morning. A light breeze ruffled the water into little wavelets and tickled the dolphins that sported in the swell. Ever so gently Ulin and Notwen swung the Second Thoughts around to point her bow out to open water, fired the boiler, and started the paddlewheel turning. The boat started slowly and gradually gained momentum as she left the island behind. Notwen was very careful not to repeat his mistake of the day before. He found their location on his map and carefully plotted a course that would take them northwest toward the nearest land, then west along the coast to the cove where the settlement they sought was located. Ulin pottered with the steam engine, devising experiments in his head that dealt with steam, temperatures, and pressures.

  Neither one of them noticed the pale form that slid out of the rocks on the island and dived into the water, nor did they see that same form glide through the water behind the boat all the long way to the northern shore of Blood Bay.

  If Flotsam bore a resemblance to a heap of debris washed ashore after a storm, Dead Pirate’s Cove looked like a ship’s graveyard. The cove itself was a difficult place to find, for its narrow entrance was protected on the east by a high ridge of barren hills and on the west by a saltmarsh that clogged the mouth of a narrow sluggish river. In more prosperous years, pirates had used the river and its marshy delta as a hide-out and had left remnants of their passing: a few old shacks on the dunes north of the marsh, an abandoned longboat, the burned ruins of a galley, its blackened ribs still poking though the sand. It wasn’t until Captain Grimborne Reever arrived, however, that the cove earned its accepted name.

  Legend told of Captain Reever’s magnificent treasure and how he hid it in chests ensorceled with spells and buried it somewhere in the cove. It was no sooner buried than he poisoned his entire crew and left their bodies as guardians for his fabulous prize. Unfortunately for Captain Reever, the dead pirates
resented their captain’s greed and bloody-minded selfishness, and their spirits harried him until, in a fit of madness, he drove his ship aground on the mud flats and ran screaming onto his sword. After that people still came to Dead Pirate’s Cove to hide or escape, but more came to hunt for the treasure. A few old pirates, seeing the way the wind was blowing after the arrival of Malystryx, took their ships to the cove, hauled them ashore near Captain Reever’s abandoned craft, and formed their own small settlement. It was rough, it was crude, but it was theirs. Others joined them, and in time the settlement became a village of sorts with its own collection of taverns, gaming houses, shops, and houses built out of pieces of old ships, mud and reed, or whatever was handy. If anyone ever found the captain’s treasure, they never confessed, for their lives would not be worth a bucket of warm spit. The red dragon had spies everywhere and would know of the find before the first piece of steel or the first gem reached the light of day. Of course, that knowledge did not stop people from hoping-or looking on moonlit nights.

  A few small boats and an old caravel were anchored in the cove when Ulin and Notwen arrived late that night. They maneuvered the Second Thoughts past the sandbars and the anchored craft and took her to the sole pier that extended out from the marshy shore into the water from a boardwalk worn gray by time and salt spray.

  The strange noises emanating from the steam engine drew a small crowd from the boardwalk and the shacks that lined the cove’s so-called waterfront. The spectators held torches and lanterns and made vociferous comments on the noise, the steam, the smoke, the reliability, and the appearance of the little craft.

  Notwen blithely ignored them. While Ulin jumped to the dock and tied the boat fast, the gnome shut down the boiler, released the steam, and banked the fire.

  “Suffering seahorses!” a gruff old man shouted from the boardwalk. “What do you call that thing?” He limped down to the dock, his lantern swinging beside his wooden leg.