The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock

by Timothy L. Cerepaka

  Kinker raised a hand. “Hold on. When did I volunteer to join your crew?”

  “I suppose you'd like to swim back to Destan naked?” said Malock. “I won't stop you if that's what you want to do, of course, but I doubt you'd make it very far, even if you're a good swimmer.”

  Kinker cursed under his breath. “You're right. I guess I don't have much of a choice but to work on this ship, do I?”

  “No, you do not,” said Malock. “When you're better, I'll give you a tour of the ship, introduce you to the crew, and assign you a job. Do you have any useful or productive skills?”

  He asked that last question almost too fast for Kinker to catch, but the old man said, “Yes. I'm a fisherman by trade. Been fishing off the coast of Destan for fifty years now.”

  Malock's scowl disappeared like a cloud on a summer's day, replaced with a giddy smile that took Kinker by surprise. “That's excellent. I hope you recover soon because I already know exactly where I want to put you. Telka, make sure to tell me the minute you think he's ready to start working. I wish to put him to work right away.”

  “Yes, sir, Captain,” said Telka, saluting. “I'll make sure you know as soon as possible.”

  “I'll pray to Atikos for you, Kinker,” said Malock as he and Vashnas left the room, “so that your healing may come quickly.”

  As soon as Malock and Vashnas left, Telka thrust a bowl of some kind of greenish soup under Kinker's nose and said, “Eat up. You look hungry.”

  It hadn't even occurred to Kinker to eat, but when he thought about it, his stomach rumbled. He immediately took the bowl and slurped down the greenish soup, even though Telka was about to hand him a spoon. The soup was hot and burned his throat, but he was so hungry that he didn't care.

  When the last of the soup entered his mouth, he lowered the bowl and handed it back to Telka. “Thanks, doctor. What was in that soup, anyway?”

  Telka took the bowl back, but didn't look at the bowl. He was staring at Kinker in amazement, like he'd never seen him before.

  “That was lime fish soup,” said Telka. “It's nasty stuff. Fit for human consumption, of course, but still nasty.”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” said Kinker. “It was good.”

  “You're not supposed to slurp it all down like that,” said Telka. “It's hard on the stomach, so you have to eat it in small helpings to avoid throwing it all up.”

  Kinker put his hand on his stomach and said, “My stomach doesn't feel that bad. Are you sure that's what it's supposed to do?”

  “Normally,” said Telka. “But I guess you're different. What do you Destanians normally eat?”

  “Fried fish, zapper stew, and other stuff like that,” said Kinker. “Why?”

  Telka put the bowl down on a nearby desk and said, “I just find it intriguing that you ate it all so quickly and without any adverse medical—”

  The only warning Kinker received was a slight rumble in his stomach. He heaved and managed to avoid hurling all over his bed. Unfortunately for Telka, however, his barf landed on the doctor's trousers and boots, dousing them in lime-green stuff that Kinker didn't try to identify.

  Kinker lay back in his bed, shivering and coughing, while Telka looked down at his pants and boots in dismay.

  “Well,” said Telka, “I guess you Destanians don't have stomachs of steel after all. Let me clean this up. I'll get you some water and after that you should take a nap. You need it.”

  ***

  Chapter Two

  Over the next few days, Kinker spent all of his time in bed, being tended to by Telka. He saw no other visitors. None of the other sailors came down to visit or see him, although he often heard them bustling by in the hall outside, going to and fro, perhaps doing chores. He figured Malock had ordered the crew to leave him alone until he was better, but that just made him feel a little depressed because he had no one to talk to except Telka. And Telka was not a very interesting conversationalist.

  It wasn't that Telka was an uninteresting man. The doctor had apparently worked on ships his whole life, having been the son of two famous ship's doctors from the island of Shika. He claimed to have been a student of the great doctor Ashef and had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of medicine, magical healing methods, and how the body worked.

  That sounded fine and dandy to Kinker, but for whatever reason, Telka refused to answer any of Kinker's questions about the ship, its crew, or anything else relating to the voyage. Every time the conversation turned toward those questions, Telka would immediately shut up and check Kinker's pulse or give him another bowl of that lime fish soup (which Kinker now knew to take in small servings).

  Another thing Kinker noticed was how unprepared Telka appeared, despite supposedly being a good doctor. His medical cabinets were either bare or full of bottles and equipment that didn't look like any medical supplies Kinker had ever seen. Once, looking over Telka's shoulder as the doctor searched for some medicine to soothe Kinker's sore throat, he spotted a bottle of red juice with the label 'MEDICINE' on it and its cap missing. Red juice wasn't a medicine, as far as Kinker knew, so he had no idea what it was doing inside a doctor's medical cabinet.

  That was when he remembered that the ship had already been through so much on this voyage. Though he had not seen any other patients, Kinker figured that sickness and injuries must be pretty common on board this ship. Maybe Telka had used up most of his medical supplies taking care of them. There was still so much Kinker didn't know and so much Telka refused to tell him that Kinker found himself growing increasingly restless.

  That restlessness wasn't the only reason he found it difficult to sleep. The mattress was uncomfortable and rough. The sheets were surprisingly clean, but they still smelled faintly of dried blood, puke, and other bodily fluids, like everything else in the medical room. At night, Kinker didn't get much sleep. Often he'd stay awake, the horrible scents filling his nostrils, listening to the wind and waves that beat against the lee of the ship. He was used to sleeping on ships, but for whatever reason, he just couldn't sleep on this one.

  Finally, on the third day after Kinker awoke, Telka declared him ready to work. Kinker knew that already. He had recovered quite speedily the day after speaking with Malock, but until today the doctor had argued for caution and so held him back for two days. That was annoying, but when Kinker remembered that he wasn't looking forward to whatever work Malock had planned for him, it was easier to take.

  Telka left to find Malock, returning about five minutes later. The prince looked much the same as he always did, except more frazzled and annoyed, like he hadn't got much sleep himself. He stood near the door, arms folded across his chest, impatiently waiting while Kinker got out of bed and got dressed.

  Because Kinker had no clothes of his own, Telka gave Kinker a ratty pea coat, thin white shirt, and rough pants to compensate, as well as some leather boots to cover his feet. The outfit was a tight fit, but as they didn't have anything else for him to wear, Kinker didn't complain.

  When Kinker finished buttoning his pea coat, he walked over to Malock, who sighed with relief and said, “Finally. Come along, now. I don't have a lot of time to give you a tour, so I want to make this quick.”

  When they stepped into the hallway, the first thing Kinker noticed was a middle-aged woman leaning against the opposite wall. She was human and had curly blonde hair that reminded Kinker of his mother's hair, although there was something about this woman that made him tense. She didn't introduce herself when he and Malock appeared. She just pushed herself off the wall and stood there standing as straight as a board.

  “This is Banika Koiro,” said Malock, gesturing at the silent woman. “She's the ship's boatswain and my right-hand woman. She is the single most trustworthy sailor on this entire ship. Banika, meet Kinker Dolan, our new fisherman.”

  Banika said nothing. She merely nodded at him and took up the rear when Malock and Kinker began making their way top deck. Kinker glanced over his shoulder at her as they walked, most
ly to be sure that she was still following. It had less to do with his memory and more to do with the way the woman silently moved across the creaking floorboards.

  “This is the middle deck,” said Malock, waving his arms to indicate the hallway they were in. “Most of the sailors come down here to sleep at night. It's also where we keep a lot of our supplies and equipment that we need but don't want to store in the hold. Like the cannons, for example.”

  Kinker looked at Malock in surprise. “You have cannons on this ship? I thought this was a sailing ship, not a ship of war.”

  Malock shrugged. “The southern seas are dangerous. Anyway, so far we haven't had to use them. And I can assure you that the gunpowder is kept under lock and key and is not in any danger of exploding and sinking the ship to the bottom of the sea.”

  “We learned that lesson the hard way,” Banika said behind them, her voice so soft that it was almost lost in the sound of their footsteps. “Lost Our Beloved Lady because someone didn't handle the gunpowder correctly.”

  “Our Beloved Lady was one of the other ships,” Malock said to Kinker offhandedly. “First to sink, actually. But I'll tell you about that later.”

  Kinker wasn't sure he wanted to hear more about it. He was already starting to feel sick again from the combined odor of seawater, sickness, mildew, and other equally unpleasant scents in the air. He found it difficult to breathe down here, but Malock and Banika showed no problems with breathing at all. Maybe they were used to it.

  The smell got worse when they passed by the cracked door of another room. A strong odor that smelled like rotting, burnt fish wafted through the crack in the door and into Kinker's nose, causing him to choke on it. Malock and Banika just stopped and looked at him like he was crazy.

  “What's the matter, Kinker?” Malock asked. “Are you not feeling well?”

  Between coughs and fits, Kinker pointed at the cracked door and said, “No. It's that smell. It's like a rotting corpse.”

  “Oh, that means dinner is almost ready,” said Malock, like he couldn't wait to eat. “That's the galley, by the way. Head cook is Arisha Frag, but I'll introduce you to her later. She hates to be disturbed when she's cooking, even if it's to meet a new member of the crew.”

  “What do you eat on this ship?” Kinker asked, moving away from the galley door as far as he could in the cramped hall. “Poison fish stew or something?”

  “Fish,” Malock said. “We used to have a bigger variety of food, such as ikadori peaches, Frianan cream, and the finest silk tea you can imagine. Alas, the voyage has mostly depleted our stores, but I can assure you that Arisha is an excellent cook nonetheless, very good at making do with what little we have.”

  If the smell of her cooking was anything to go by, Kinker highly doubted that, but he said nothing more about the matter as he continued following Malock down the hall. He held his hand over his nose the entire time, however, until they climbed the stairs up to the top deck.

  As they emerged from the hatch, Malock spread his arms as wide as possible and said, “Welcome to the top deck of the Iron Wind, Kinker. Be amazed by its size and magnificence.”

  The top deck of the Iron Wind was indeed large and wide open, much more open than the middle deck was. The awful smells were still present, but they were mixed with the fresh, salty air of the sea. For once, Kinker felt like he could breathe freely on this ship.

  But it wasn't quite as magnificent as Malock thought it was; for example, the foremast, the mainmast, and the mizzenmast were in various states of disrepair. In particular, their sails looked like they'd been patched together by someone who didn't know how to sew. The ratlines appeared mostly intact, but he spotted a few snapped ropes here and there that no one had bothered to repair.

  And then there were the sailors. This was the first time Kinker had seen the crew of the Iron Wind. From what he could see, most were human, but there was definitely a large minority of aquarians present. Having never spent much time around aquarians, Kinker watched in fascination as one aquarian, who had tentacles in place of legs and a head that closely resembled that of a squid's, squashed by, swabbing the deck alongside two humans.

  The crew looked like most sailors: tough, rough, and hardworking. There were at least fifty or so present; steering the ship, adjusting the sails, cleaning the deck (although that looked like a losing battle to Kinker), and doing various other things that the crew of a sailing ship generally needed to do. Few of them took notice of Kinker, and those few that did only glanced at him briefly before returning to their work.

  Another thing Kinker noticed about the crew was how beaten up many of them looked. Back on Destan, it wasn't uncommon to see sailors who had stitches, scars, and other things to indicate injury, but many of the sailors on board the Iron Wind looked like they had been through a war. One human sailor, for example, was missing his entire left arm, while an aquarian sailor who was scrubbing the mainmast had only one foot, the other having been replaced by a block of wood that vaguely resembled a peg leg. Many of them had gaunt faces, like they hadn't had a good meal in a long time.

  The ship in general had an air of disrepair about it. True, the crew appeared to have done their best to keep the ship in shape, but if Kinker hadn't seen the crew, he would have thought that the Iron Wind was a ghost ship.

  Just then, someone behind him said, in a refined voice that took Kinker by surprise, “Could you please move so I can go down the hatch?”

  Kinker turned around and was shocked to see a giant of a man standing before him. A long, thick scar ran from his crown down the side of his face to his chin, but besides that he appeared to lack the major wounds that most of his fellow sailors did.

  He looked down on the three with the intelligent eyes of a scholar, which contrasted sharply with his massive physical body. In his right hand he carried a short wooden staff, more like a wand really, which he held like a sword.

  “There you are, Bifor,” said Malock with a smile, patting Kinker on the shoulder. “Bifor, meet Kinker Dolan, our newest fisherman. Kinker, meet Bifor Kamon, our ship's resident—and only—mage.”

  Bifor nodded at Kinker. “Pleased to meet you, Kinker. I assume you are the man that Vashnas rescued from the sea about a week ago?”

  “Yes,” said Kinker. He looked at Malock and said, “Wait—it was Vashnas who saved me?”

  “Yes, of course she did,” said Malock. “Didn't we mention that earlier? She somehow spotted your boat through the storm and wanted to rescue you. Tried to convince her it was too dangerous, but she didn't listen. I almost thought she was going to die with you, but thankfully you both survived.”

  “I'll have to thank her personally sometime,” said Kinker. “Now did you say Bifor is the ship's mage? I've never met a mage before.”

  Bifor's mouth twitched slightly. “Never?”

  “Never,” Kinker said, nodding. “On Destan, we don't have any mages. Some of our priests know a little magic, but in comparison to what I've heard mages can do, it's practically nothing.”

  “Hmph,” said Bifor. “Destan must be a very out-of-the-way, obscure little island if it doesn't have even one mage on it.”

  His tone was disapproving, like Destan's lack of a mage disappointed him greatly.

  Defensively, Kinker said, “It's not like it's a choice. It's just that no one wants to live there.”

  “Oh, I didn't mean to insinuate anything negative about your home,” said Bifor. “I was simply observing the unfortunate fact that most mages care more about fame and prestige than in doing good work in places where it is needed—sad, but true.”

  As if to stave off further conflict, Malock said, “Bifor is a Xocionian. That means he worships Xocion, the God of Ice.”

  “Yes,” said Bifor, nodding. “I studied magic at North Academy, the largest mage school in the Northern Isles.”

  “Wow,” said Kinker, genuinely impressed. “Guess that makes you very well-educated, doesn't it?”

  “Yes, it does,” said Bifor. �
�Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do below deck. Please let me pass.”

  Malock, Kinker, and Banika stepped aside, allowing Bifor to pass them and disappear into the hatch that led to the lower decks. Somehow the large mage managed to fit his bulk through the hatch, which Kinker had to assume was magic because he couldn't otherwise see how Bifor managed that.

  When Bifor was gone, Kinker immediately turned to Malock and said, “If you have a mage on board, why does the Iron Wind look so terrible? Why have you had any troubles at all? Can't magic solve all your problems?”

  Malock's reaction was unexpected. He laughed, laughed so hard and so loud that some nearby sailors stopped their work to look for the source of the noise. Even Banika smiled slightly, like she wanted to laugh, but didn't either because she was too polite or Kinker's question had been so silly that she didn't even want to laugh at it.

  “What is the problem?” said Kinker, looking between Banika and the still-laughing Malock. “What did I say? What did I do wrong?”

  In between gasps for breath, Malock said, “Oh, it's nothing personal, Kinker. It's just ... man, I haven't had a good laugh in a long time, not like that. Haven't had much to laugh about on this voyage.”

  Still confused, Kinker scratched the back of his head and said, “What's so funny? I wasn't joking.”

  “You weren't?” said Malock, his laughter quickly replaced with surprise. “Oh. You were serious.”

  “Yes, I was,” said Kinker. “Though if laughter is all I can expect for asking honest questions, maybe I shouldn't speak at all anymore.”

  Malock chuckled. “Sorry. It's just that magic can't solve all our problems. It is amazing, to be sure, but you gotta understand that there are different kinds of magic and not all of them work the same.”