by Scott Rhine
The wizard held a finger to his lips. “Oomajib must be protected. Don’t cross her on this or you could lose her.”
They sailed to the treasure beach in the dark, passing the pirate’s rowboat. They anchored off the Babliosian shore for the night. While Tashi and the healthy Imperials bumbled around the shore, counting paces, Pinetto knocked on the wheelhouse door of the Mallard. Sarajah had hung expensive carpets over the windows to block out the lamp light and muffle sound.
After peeking, she let the wizard in. “Whisper,” Sarajah insisted, standing guard outside while the two discussed magic.
He smiled, and handed a hairbrush and hand mirror to the masked alchemist. “I found these in your father’s chest in the captain’s cabin. I removed them before anyone else could see.”
The girl removed her fearsome mask and accepted her possessions. “Thank you. For an Imperial, you seem most kind.” Her hair was short, bowl-cut like a boy’s. Her ‘rs’ rolled like the harbormaster’s had, and the way she spoke Imperial was melodic. “How did you know?”
“You were clean, from head to toe. While you spoke with Sarajah, you washed up. A boy wouldn’t have cared. The pitch of your scream, the way you didn’t want to be touched, and Sarajah’s instant liking for you all pointed the way. Don’t worry: I’m going to be a father myself. I wouldn’t want a bunch of sailors knowing my daughter was sleeping in the next room either. Is Oomajib your real name?”
“Just Ooma,” she said. “The -jib makes me a boy.”
“Are you really an alchemist?”
She nodded. “I was my father’s assistant. He taught me all his recipes.”
“How do you make the Black Cloud?”
“You lower a mixture of one-part squid ink and three-parts dried locust shells into the chasm for three beats at precisely midnight. An amber bucket the size of your head will yield half that much magic powder,” the girl explained. “You need the amber because anything else melts away. Glass deforms and even steel rusts in the fountain of eternity.”
“Does midnight versus noon really make a difference in the mixture?”
“Not normally, although I do have one recipe that’s best on midsummer night. Our crack in the ground erupts regularly, every three hours. Each fountain is different. Every alchemist works with a spirit creature because, after the surge, the ropes are usually obliterated by the spray. The spirit pulls the resulting product out of the oven. Since my spirit creature dislikes sunlight, I can chose midnight or very early in the morning. The color of the dust is more gray the closer you get to dawn.”
“It still obscures the vision, right?”
“The lighter packets don’t erupt as well, and black is our signature.”
“Signature. Hah. Image is important to a pirate, I guess. Do all the fountains erupt so regularly?”
“No, ours is small and old. Father said the stronger, hotter ones are less predictable. Those alchemists have all sorts of tables and devices to sense the buildup. Some holes steam a little before the big eruption.”
“I found a script in your father’s chest. Did you use it when taking hostages, too?” he joked.
She nodded. “Father said that people appreciate a good show; it’s part of what they pay for. Once ransomed or put ashore, they can tell their friends and relatives the juicy bits and dine free for years. Father studied all the best playwrights.”
He burst out laughing. “Is there a recipe you’ve agreed to teach Sarajah?”
“She wanted a helmet of Sacred Amber because it is impervious to ghosts. I told her such a piece is far too large. Earrings and a nose pin like mine should do just as well.”
“Hmph. Maybe. I was hoping to plate our ship in amber to make it ghost-proof without wards.”
The girl scoffed. “Such a thing would take thousands of years.”
“Do you have ghosts around here?”
“Little ones. They travel in clouds. Don’t breathe them in because they make a person behave oddly. You don’t find them often in cities, but they love swamps.”
“Interesting, can you tell me more?”
“No, I avoid the foul airs. Some alchemists cook with them, but I prefer to be safe. Despite my profession, I am a white alchemist. I experiment every time I visit the secret cave of my ancestors and keep notes. Such a journal is an alchemist’s most prized possession. Sarajah has promised me my father’s book from the trove. She can have the trinkets and spell components.”
“What would a dark alchemist do?”
She shuddered. “They distill the suffering in human bones to a substance called agon and trade it to demons for favors.”
“How do you know which people suffered before you melt their bones?”
The girl raised an eyebrow. “She was right about you. They’re dark alchemists. They make sure the person suffered enough to fill every corner of their marrow and then kill them.”
“How can you tell the difference between the two before they chain you in the dungeon?”
She snickered. “Their products. Pure products make a pure sound that keeps the spirit clouds away.”
“The wind chimes in the captain’s cabin,” Pinetto guessed. She nodded. “They’re beautiful.”
“I made them as part of my apprenticeship, the five core substances.”
“What do dark artifacts do?”
“They generally attract spirits. Sometimes evil priests use dark drums to summon swarms to do their bidding. There are gray spells useful to anyone, though. For example, one type of snake venom mixed with flour and dragged through the fountain for eight heartbeats will make a powerful clotting agent very useful for treating sword wounds. If you take onions and let them rot till they turn transparent and mix in moss, you can make a pad that dissolves on the tongue and cures fevers. It still tastes like rotten onions and moss, though. Ble-ach.”
“How does killing and stealing jibe with the whole white image?”
“We only kill and steal from foreign devils like you.”
“Thanks,” Pinetto said. “If you’re so friendly, why do the warlords have small navies?”
“By custom, property is only owned on dry land. That which rides on the sea is free to all,” she said with a shrug.
“How many warlords are there?”
“About ten.”
“So to get the number of ships we need, we’d have to take over half the ocean?”
“What?” the girl asked.
“Nothing. Have you heard of Ashter Island?”
“No, but my father’s book has a lot about other islands where he’s gone for ingredients. Maybe there’s something there.”
Pinetto scratched his bedraggled sideburns, thinking. “Just in case we don’t find the island we want right away, could you cook us up some of those remedy powders?”
“Already in the chest—worth more than the gold,” she replied. “But don’t touch the pouch with the lizard drawing on it.”
Chapter 40 – Monkey Shines
Their recruiting mission along the coast of Bablios didn’t go as well as expected. They garnered a dozen able sailors, but few were willing to fight hand-to-hand. Only a demonstration of the rubber-band launcher on the deck stirred mainland men to volunteer. Pinetto spent a great deal of time, and every melon and coconut they had, “training” the new crew.
Reluctantly, the core team agreed to let Hindaloo hire more island natives from the local taverns when they returned to the Crooked Isle.
While the others were gone on shore, Murali, the hunter, asked Pinetto, “What did you want that special net for?”
“Don’t say anything about this on the Crooked Isle, but I’m trying to catch a special monkey.”
“What’s so special about him?”
“I’d rather not say too much, in case I’m wrong,” Pinetto hedged.
“Come now, if I’m going to teach you to cast it properly, you must tell me more than that.”
“He’s about knee high, white ruff around his face, way too smart to be a plain
monkey, and just might be able to turn invisible.”
“Ah. Then you need a monkey trap.”
“What?”
“You distract him with food or something interesting while you drop the net on him. You should also let me help.”
“I don’t know. He might not talk with you around.”
Murali raised an eyebrow.
Pinetto sighed. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. Don’t ask me any more about it or tell anyone else.”
“I can only guarantee my silence if I’m hunting. If I go to the tavern with the others, I will drink, and my tongue will loosen.”
“Deal.”
****
Sarajah called Bagierog’s name ahead of time so that he and Nesu were waiting on the docks when the Mallard arrived at the marina. They boarded covertly while the two ships were still slowly moving. She handed the alchemist off to the panther. “Hide Ooma until I call you. Let no one see either of you.”
“I am no babysitter. This counts as a service,” grumbled the Dawn creature.
“Sure. I only have one left,” agreed Sarajah, knowing he would serve the school indefinitely for free. “Now, before the inspector catches us.”
The masked alchemist climbed on his back and muttered a compliment in islander. Bagierog paused briefly to preen before leaping off the deck onto the roof of a passing warehouse.
Nesu, pretending he’d been onboard the whole time, bartered with the inspector again. The letter of marque helped reduce the fees for the new ship, but costs were still significant. Sarajah muttered, “I don’t know whether there’s enough metal in the Outer Sea to pay for over forty cutters.”
“This is cheaper than what I had to pay as a criminal,” whispered Hindaloo. “About half my take went for laundering and bribes.”
“It shouldn’t be this way,” she complained. “We’re doing them a favor.”
“The Exchange profits no matter who wins.”
After they passed customs, Pinetto followed the gamekeeper Murali to his contact. As promised, the lightweight net was finished. The craftsman said, “Made of the clearest silken thread with just a hair of sesterina woven in.”
When Pinetto held it up to test it, he felt like he was hefting a giant cobweb. “You, sir, are a master of your art. Murali, pay his full price, no haggling. We may have more business for him before spring.” While coins exchanged hands, Pinetto draped the net over his shoulders, hidden beneath his cloak. “Perfect.”
After they left the snare maker, Murali asked, “What next?”
“I want my telescope, some ripe bananas, and for you to follow my lead. Pretend to meet me among the fruit trees near the old mine and we’ll walk back toward the school.”
Pinetto loitered around the trees where he’d first seen the clever monkey. The bananas looked good, so he had a couple. While he didn’t encounter the monkey, two more men tried to rob him at knifepoint. Murali snuck up behind them and cracked their skulls together.
The gamekeeper said, “Sir, this is too dangerous. Please return to the school with me.”
“I suppose,” Pinetto said more loudly than necessary. “I wanted a chance to try out this magic telescope I found in that alchemist’s treasure trove.”
“The infamous pirate, the Black Cloud? What does it do?”
“It can see through bamboo as if it were gossamer,” Pinetto stage whispered.
“Then why travel all the way up here?”
“To see through the rooftops into all the bedrooms. I guess I’ll come back tomorrow night.”
A while later, among another copse of trees, Pinetto offered Murali a banana and snapped his fingers. “I know where I can use this magic telescope. Don’t the teachers have a bathhouse with a bamboo roof?”
“Yes.”
“I could see right through it.” There was still no sign of the monkey.
At a third stand of trees, almost to the school, Murali stopped to take a rock from his shoe. “I have an idea. You wanted to watch the ladies in the bath with your magic telescope? I happen to know the perfect tree we could climb.”
“We?”
“In exchange for my expertise and saving your life, I would like a glimpse of fair Ava and her associates.”
Pinetto suppressed a grin. “Fine, but I get to look first.”
Murali led him to the aforementioned tree and Pinetto climbed. The monkey appeared in a nearby tree. Pinetto pretended to be preoccupied with the wonders of the bathhouse and made up shameless lies about the view.
After twenty bits, he climbed down and pointed out the monkey’s location with his eyes. Murali ascended and added several colorful comments to the wonders Pinetto had already proclaimed. When a door opened, Murali descended rapidly with a huge smile. “With so many of them inside, it is too risky. I say we bury the telescope here and when either of us returns, we can use it freely.”
“Good idea,” said Pinetto, wrapping the telescope in a cloth as Murali dug a shallow hole. He discreetly rubbed a little bootblack over the eyepiece. After placing the telescope in the hole and patting it down, the men departed in separate directions.
Seconds later, the monkey pounced on their hiding place and was unearthing the treasure. Pinetto tossed the net over the monkey. As it shrieked and struggled, Murali bound it tightly.
Pinetto extracted the telescope from the monkey’s hand. “Want to see what all the fuss was about?”
The monkey feigned ignorance. “Ook?”
“All you have to do is say so, and I’ll give you a look.”
The monkey stuck his chin out so his bottom lip pouted.
The gamekeeper smiled. “I’m going over this way so I won’t see a thing. It’s just another cracked wizard talking to himself.”
When Murali was out of earshot, Pinetto whispered, “Just a little nod. Surely, that won’t break any Dawn creature rules.”
After chewing on his top lip, the monkey slowly nodded. Pinetto held the normal telescope up to the bound monkey’s eye. The lens showed a close-up of the roof. “You bastard,” said the Dawn creature in a squeaky voice before he caught himself.
The wizard put his telescope away, grinning at the dark circle around the monkey’s white eye ruff. “I bet you wonder why I went through all this trouble. Answer me one question, and I’ll let you go free. No one ever has to know I tricked you.” Once you wash off that circle.
The monkey nodded.
“Where’s Ashter Island?”
“Ashterah forbid us to tell,” the monkey screeched more quietly.
“She’s there and alive?”
The monkey swore in an ancient tongue, making the wizard laugh. The laughter got the monkey’s attention more than the net. “You speak the ancient tongue?”
“Only enough to curse. My mistress is fluent.”
“Ashterah was right to order us to watch the new wizards.”
“Tell me where she is, and I’ll talk to her for you.”
The monkey rocked from side to side, cooing nervously. “I can’t tell you. She’ll see. She sees everything through the Pool of Corialinus.”
“We’ll protect you. My mistress already has two demons and dozens of humans in her service.”
“She’ll find me anywhere I go. With a drop of my blood, she can find me anywhere with the Needle of Nostralia. I’m doomed.”
“What if there were a way to follow both vows?”
“Hmm. Would I get to see in the bathhouse?”
“That’s up to you. You’re going to watch me talk to an interesting teenage girl with a fascinating storybook. While we read her father’s journal, if we mention the name of the island where Ashterah’s staying, go report this fact to your boss immediately; otherwise, keep listening.”
“I could do that.”
“Swear by the foundations of the world and the laws written on them,” Pinetto demanded.
The monkey screeched, “How the blazes did you know about that?”
Pinetto jerked the net. “Swea
r to do this and not to harm any of our group.”
The monkey swore most colorfully.
****
Sarajah met with Ooma and Pinetto in the hayloft by lantern light. “Does it have to be tonight?” the seeress complained.
Pinetto looked out the open window at the monkey. “Yes. The anti-Imperial violence is very high here. I might not get another chance. My uncle and I will probably have to sleep aboard Nothing Sacred. I just want her to hit the highlights of the names and threats we can expect while I take a few notes.” He laid the charts out on the hay bales.
The girl opened her father’s book and read her father’s encoded pages. “The island here,” she indicated on the chart, “is run by summoners who . . . I think it says they turn invisible.”
“Let me guess,” Pinetto said sarcastically. “They smear themselves with lemon juice treated by the fountains of power.”
“What?” asked the girl.
“Just ignore him,” Sarajah said. “He thinks he’s funny.”
“On these islands, the people are lazy and will not bother you. They grow and eat the lotus flower. Beware the bees; their sting will cause you to fall into a deep sleep. Their honey is prized as a narcotic that can deaden any pain. Use smoke to lull the bees.”
Pinetto looked at the region on the map and winced. “That warlord traffics in drugs. I hear he uses lotus dust to control his rowers.”
Sarajah spat. “Despicable.”
“You did the same thing,” Pinetto whispered.
“That was Zariah,” she hissed back.
Pinetto shot a glance out the window. The monkey was turned away, scratching.
The girl ignored them. “This is the island where I got my mask. If the demons there see your face, they can steal your form. They can travel along the seam somehow, so we always wear our masks near the fountains of power.”
“Will we need masks?” asked Pinetto.
“The lady will. You, the spirits will kill outright.” Ooma smiled when he winced. “This one over here is Giant Lizard Island.”
“How big are the lizards?”
“As big as the tigers on Big Tiger Island.”
“Which one is that?” There’d been no change of the monkey’s status. He was good at covert eavesdropping.
