OK, I need to provide a little backstory for you -- this is chapter 45 of my novel, "Mentor."
This is a fantasy novel where one race of elves, the Shadow Elves, have the ability to create magic items -- among them, jewelry that will let the wearer Disguise his or her appearance. The males of this race have infiltrated the largest city and formed a Thieves Guild as a way to collect gold and jewels to support their jewelry manufacturing. The current leader of this guild is a fellow named Watchdog, who killed the previous Guildmaster, Covington, and stole a Disguise ring that made him look like the real Covington.
The only person who knows the Guildmaster's true identity is Montgomery, a wizard with powerful mental abilities. Watchdog, Montgomery, and Montgomery's apprentice, Gabriel, are on a quest to start a war to destroy a powerful Necromancer, named Theodorick, and they need the help of the Great Elves -- this is where they are heading, in this chapter...by boat....
Enjoy!
___________________________________________________________
"Starboard the helm!"
The captain shouted the command even before I felt the wind shift. Immediately I heard a creaking of timbers and felt the deck tilt as the tiller plowed a new path through the waves.
I leaned closer to Gabriel at the rail beside me. "Hang on...I think."
"Oh, yes. Doing that already." Gabriel stared steadily and tight-jawed at the bobbing horizon. He looked pale and drawn.
"Aboard main tack! Heave heartily, now!"
Two men began cranking down a rope attached to the end of the main-sail, drawing the lower corner to the deck. With an ear-splitting crack! the sail snapped taught, bulging and straining with the wind. The deck fairly lurched as the boat surged with speed. Other crewmen swarmed to adjust the other sails.
"We'll be making good time, now."
A portly, bearded man with long stringy hair waddled along the rail to stop beside me.
I bit my tongue and thought-spoke my musings instead. "So what's your name today, Watchdog?"
Acting his part supremely, he squinted at me and asked, "Montgomery, aye? Everyone calls me Marcus."
I nodded without looking. "Well, Marcus, you're clearly not a part of the regular crew, and the only passengers to Heirlund are Gabriel, here, and me." I suppressed my amusement and turned to look the Disguised Guild Master in the eye before springing my trap. "So what, exactly, is your function on this ship?"
Watchdog/Marcus laughed heartily-although it sounded a bit forced to my ear. "The Drowned Rat's a schooner. She's a boat, not a ship."
"You don't say."
The smile left Watchdog/Marcus' eyes, but not his lips. "You might call me a silent partner."
"A business venture?" I knew as little about boats as I did about tropical flowers, but I hadn't seen any sign of fishing equipment on board. Freight, then? This was a small boat, obviously built more for speed and maneuverability than cargo.
My speculation was cut short when the captain himself swaggered up and slapped Watchdog/Marcus on the shoulder.
"How're the lubbers, Marcus?" Captain "Slippery" Jim Reuben had bright, expressive eyes set deep in a worn face. This was framed by thick, sun-bleached red hair, which was braided into a thick rope. His easy smile revealed several gold teeth glinting in the morning sun, contrasting with his tanned skin.
"Their knuckles aren't too white, so I'd judge 'em to be doing just fine. Eh, Monty?"
"Montgomery. She's a beautiful boat, Captain. Thank you for the ride."
Slippery Jim looked me over appraisingly. "Sure, sure. People-well, men-are not our typical cargo. But Marcus' gold is always clean." He leaned a whipcord-muscled arm on the rail beside me, casually. "So, what's in Heirlund?"
"You know how I feel about questions, Jimmy," Watchdog/Marcus growled.
A flicker of tense understanding passed between them. Captain Reuben held up his hand and grinned. "You know me, Marcus. I hate to leave a scrap o' gossip on the table if it might hold value."
"There's nothing for you here, Captain." Watchdog/Marcus' voice was low and measured.
The captain nodded, his smile broadening. "Relax, old friend. Mind like a fishnet, you know...doubt I'll even remember your name, by morning."
"Ship ho, Cap'n! Athwart the fore foot!"
Reuben called over his shoulder: "Man the yards!" He turned back, his expression still relaxed, but all seriousness, now. "Please excuse me, gentlemen. There's food in the galley if you fancy going below deck." He raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Watchdog/Marcus before turning and striding for the front of the boat. "Glass!" He held out a hand and a crewman passed him a brass spyglass as he brushed by.
Without taking my eyes off the captain I asked Watchdog, "What's everybody so tense about?"
"Oh, they're just being cautious. We're well outside the shipping lanes and our passage in these waters is meant to go unmarked. I'm paying handsomely for this...'service.'"
Gabriel turned to squint at me. "Did he say food?" His glassy stare swung back out to sea. "Man's barking mad if you ask me."
"Do you trust him, Marcus?" I asked quietly. "He seems a little too curious."
"Don't worry about it. Jim knows which side his bread is buttered on. And who runs the dairy...and the bakery."
Meaning the captain answered to Covington. It seemed a dubious assurance of reliability. I looked at the captain, poised near the bow of the boat peering directly forward through his spyglass, and sent a minor thread of thought to listen to his conversation with the crew.
"Raise the false pendants," barked the lieutenant to a young deckhand, who hurried off.
"Why bother, Samuel? She can't mark our colors at this distance. She's hull down and the weather's behind us."
With the benefit of his surface thoughts I was able to translate: they could not see our flag because the wind was blowing it directly toward them, and the other ship was so far away that only its masts rose above the horizon.
"Time to go below deck, Montgomery." Watchdog/Marcus started to move.
"Actually, I believe we'll stay right here, old friend." I watched the captain and the lieutenant closely.
"She's a private yacht, from the cut of her sails," Reuben noted.
"Bearing?"
The captain peered a while longer. "At anchor, maybe. Her sails are slack," he muttered.
"We're gathering on her swiftly, Cap'n."
"Yes. I know." He lowered the glass and bore the wind a moment before turning to look at the lieutenant. "Alright, Samuel," he said resignedly. "Ready the cannons."
"All hands hoay!" the lieutenant bellowed as he hurried off. The deck instantly flooded with deckhands.
I cut my link and swung on Watchdog. "They're pirates, Marcus!" A few heads turned our way, including Gabriel's.
Watchdog/Marcus grunted and inclined his head close to mine. "I'm only saying this one time, storyteller. You will regret offending Slippery Jim. And you're no good to me dead."
"But the people on that yacht? They're fine to you dead?"
All around us the deck and rigging swarmed with activity and the air was filled with sounds of barked orders and crewmen hustling to comply.
"Did you think the war with Theodorick would be bloodless?" Watchdog/Marcus snapped. "This is not a friendly drop-by we're on. If we reveal the elves' hiding place we won't have a chance of ever finding them again. That's if they leave us in any condition to go looking. Those people," he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, "are in dangerous, ill-charted waters, and they know it." He grasped the rail as the deck heaved beneath us.
I glared, not at all liking Watchdog's condescending tone. "We could just go around them."
"Maybe, if we had a weather-shaper on board. But there hasn't been an Air mage powerful enough in three years. You don't get out much, do you, storyteller?"
I resisted the urge to simply silence Watchdog's voice magically. While I labored futilely to calm my anger the shadows crawled across his Disguised face and I noticed his white-knuckled fingers clenching the rail, no doubt itching to reach for one of his many knives to silence my voice.
"No, Marcus. I don't get out much. Particularly when it means mixing with thieves, murderers, and pirates."
"Now, that's not very friendly, mate."
Slippery Jim's arm snaked around my shoulder over the straps of my backpack, and I felt his breath on my neck smelling of stale whiskey and tobacco. I fought down a deep desire to shake him off violently.
"See, mate, this is a happy crew, and a happy crew makes the boat sail smoothly." Jim's gold teeth glinted annoyingly, inches from my face. Behind him I saw Watchdog/Marcus' hands slip off the rail. "But a man hates to be called a pirate. Makes him feel unappreciated. And that makes my job a lot harder. You can see that, can't you?"
To Gabriel I thought, "Don't make any sudden moves; I'm not sure how this is going to go. Keep on your toes." He did not reply.
I flashed a brittle smile at Jim's dark face, looming so close to mine. "Marcus' money ought to perk up your crew. Their job satisfaction is not my problem." I picked up Jim's wrist from my shoulder and carefully but firmly threw it off.
Jim looked down at his arm then back up to my face, his eyes large and full of fire. "Montgomery, you've got a pair 'o cannon balls in your breeches!" He crowed with explosive, deep-throated laughter. "I like you, mate!"
"Ah...then what do you say we celebrate our new friendship by doing something very un-pirate-like and sparing some lives." Behind Slippery Jim I'd seen Watchdog/Marcus relax and slip his knife back into its hiding place, but he hesitated when I said this last. I felt vaguely guilty that there was the real source of my bravado.
"Well, my plucky new pal, perhaps some sea legs would suit you better. While you and Marcus were crossing swords, you failed to mark the change in our bearing. Your pleasure craft is yonder, to windward." Jim pointed out to sea.
And it was true. As I stared out into the stiff wind I could see that our boat had indeed turned-and suddenly remembered feeling the deck shift and seeing the shadows slide across Watchdog/Marcus' face without registering either event.
"Hope you lot aren't in a hurry. This little maneuver'll add a full day to our journey."
"No, Captain. Thank you. I--"
Reuben held up a hand to silence my unformed question. "The guns are only a prudence-we make ready the cannons anytime we spy an unknown ship in our path. But hulling a pleasure craft is unsportsmanlike and rarely profitable...and raises too many eyebrows. Especially for a stealth mission." He winked, the gold in his teeth glinting through his cockeyed grin. "You're still thinking I'm a pirate, aren't you?"
I returned his gaze, not committing one way or another.
"Well, you can't be blamed. It's a fine distinction 'twixt pirate and privateer."
"Privateer?"
"Aye. I've got an official Letter of Marque signed by Covington himself. Know it by heart." Captain Reuben lifted his chin and half closed his eyes. "'Be it known I, Covington, acting sovereign of Avelard and New Sacto, have commissioned the armed schooner, The Drowned Rat, authorizing Captain Jim Reuben and the other officers and crew thereof to subdue, seize, and take any armed or unarmed vessel, public or private, which shall be found within the jurisdictional limits of New Sacto, or elsewhere on the high seas, and such captured vessel, with her apparel, guns, and the goods or effects which shall be found on board the same, to bring within some port of New Sacto, unless said vessel is judged to pose a threat to the security of New Sacto or to the life and limb of the crew of The Drowned Rat, in which case such captured vessel shall be rendered safe by use of any means available.' Beautiful isn't it?"
I smiled a brittle smile, shooting a bright beam of thought to Watchdog, behind me: " 'Silent partner,' eh? I didn't know you gave out pirate's licenses. Just a little thieving on the side, is that it?"
I felt a strong hand grip me firmly on the shoulder-rather more firmly than was strictly necessary to get my attention. Watchdog/Marcus growled, "I think it's time we went below deck and let Slippery Jim sail his boat. What say you, Montgomery?"
I bid a hasty good-bye to the captain as Gabriel and I were led away from the rail.
Watchdog/Marcus' voice rasped in my ear, "Before you become overly ethical, storyteller, you might take a moment to examine the 'saboteur's license' I've issued with your name on it."
_________________
"It's a fine distinction 'twixt pirate and privateer."
-- Captain "Slippery" Jim Reuben |
