by Jaxon Reed
-+-
Dudge slept the rest of the day and all through the night, the recuperative spell exacting its price for ignoring rest earlier. During that time, Fret took it upon himself to secure the Great Hall, and placed all the books on lockdown. He decided to trust Pywot, based on his actions defending the ledgers. He asked the innkeeper for recommendations and recruited new guards who Pywot vouched for, commissioning them to watch over things.
The remainder of the old city guard was rounded up by the volunteers, although none put up resistance. Dudge and Fret later speculated the ones most loyal to Rak had been willing to go down fighting for him. About two dozen old guards remained alive. Fret had them placed in the dungeon cells under the Great Hall until Dudge could figure out what to do with them.
Fret asked for volunteers to man the gate to the Tantamooks, and gave them strict orders to only charge wagon trains one gold to enter the valley.
He also asked Trant to put the Coral marines on patrol in the human sectors of the city and keep an eye on things. He was worried about the humans causing trouble more so than the dwarves, and felt if there were some kind of armed authority present it would help dampen the sailors’ enthusiasm for malfeasance.
Finally, when he felt the city was under control as best he could make it, he retired to the inn. He relinquished the remaining casks of beer they had brought for themselves. All the dwarves present thought it quite the noble gesture, and toasted him and their prince several dozen times throughout the remainder of the evening.
Bartimo and Bellasondra were there with Kirt, and the gold. After Bartimo handed over the money, Fret gave him a receipt and told him which warehouse to present it. The dwarves there, he explained, would load the casks onto their ship.
Fret didn’t bother to count the gold, but that stemmed more from exhaustion than trust, although he certainly trusted the twins. He directed some of his drivers to secure the gold with Pywot’s assistance.
Bartimo brought in some urns of fresh water. He diluted a couple of the casks and soon the humans present at the inn were in high spirits as well.
Bartimo, Bellasondra and Kirt spent the remainder of the evening sharing their adventures since the Battle of Greystone Village with Fret, and pumped him for information too.
Fret had little to offer, having spent the majority of his time preparing the beer then trucking it to Osmo. He had stories of testing different batches of brew, paying suppliers, the drama of obtaining scarce copper vats, and the way villagers back home regarded him differently now, somehow.
The merchants had tales of intrigue in obtaining their money, and fighting pirates on the high seas. He mourned with them the loss of Stin.
Fret said, “We ha’ a village mage back home. She’s good at findin’ lost things. An’ dwarves, too. Foun’ a child once who’d los’ hisself in th’ woods a few days. Mayhap Wizard Greystone coul’ fin’ yer man.”
This seemed an excellent idea, especially to Bellasondra. She determined to ask the wizard about it next time she saw him.
-+-
That evening Greystone and Trant sat around a little table in the captain’s quarters of King Keel. Captain Archemon seemed to fill up half the cabin’s small space. Six and a half paces tall, muscles bulging despite his 45 years of age, no one doubted Archemon could perform any of the arduous tasks assigned to sailors under his command. If he could get away with fighting alongside his marines, no doubt he’d do that, too.
Trant said, “Thank you again for loaning your men, Captain. The dwarf prince we’re helping proved critical in our most recent battle. It’s not often I get to return favors like that.”
Archemon nodded and said, “Not a problem, Highness, so long as we can leave on the morrow. Seacaller has been sailing for three days, and she’s entering prime pirate waters then. I want to be ready to depart when she does.”
Trant gave Greystone a questioning glance. Greystone nodded and said, “I think the marines are mainly keeping our boys out of trouble. If everyone leaves tomorrow, the dwarves can get back to sorting things out on their own before the next ships come calling.”
-+-
The following morning, Dudge woke up to an angry grumble from his belly. Hunger pains shot through his middle. He walked into the common room and promptly devoured two loaves of bread, eight eggs and several mugs of milk as fast as Pywot could bring them.
“Prolly jus’ th’ healin’ spell,” he said to Fret and the dwarves around him, who watched wide-eyed as he started on his third loaf.
Trant and Greystone entered, and quickly spied them on the dwarf side of the common room. They came over and warmly greeted everyone.
“Our ship sails on the hour,” Trant said. “Is there anything else we can do for you before we leave, Prince Dudge?”
“Aye. I ha’ t’ get these ledgers back t’ Ore Stad.”
He raised his eyebrows questioningly at the wizard. Greystone nodded without hesitation. “I can send someone to Ore Stad, no problem,” Greystone said. “Alas, I’m afraid it will have to be a one way trip.”
After some discussion, Fret offered one of his young wagon drivers, a dwarf of impeccable reputation who also happened to belong to his own clan.
He tried explaining to Greystone how, exactly, young Tun was related to him. Something about a third cousin twice removed, and they shared a common ancestor. At any rate, the fellow was fully trustworthy, and Fret heartily recommended Tun for the job.
Dudge looked the young dwarf up and down, a short but stout fellow with straw-colored hair and beard. The prince instantly took a liking to him.
Pywot provided sheets of parchment, a quill and some ink. Dudge quickly penned a letter to the Council, briefly summarizing recent events and the actions he had taken. Then he penned another letter to his father, going into more detail about certain items, sharing concerns he preferred not to reveal in the more public letter to the Council.
He rolled up both sheets and sealed a blob of wax with his ring on both. Then everybody stepped outside the inn, where one of the Farmland wagons and a team of pigs had been prepared for the journey. Dudge ordered the chest with the Crown’s share of gold from the twins loaded onto the wagon.
Tun carefully placed Dudge’s letters in his coat pocket, and climbed up into the seat. He gave a sitting half bow to the prince.
Greystone said, “Ready?”
Tun nodded.
The wizard cast a spell and a large glowing globe of hazy yellow light appeared on the street in front of the inn. The young dwarf gave a final wave and nudged his pigs by poking one in the flank lightly with a stick. The pigs grunted and pulled forward. The wagon and driver disappeared through the giant ball of light, which slowly faded away.
Greystone smiled and said, “He’ll show up in the middle of town. Probably give everybody a fright.”
Dudge thanked the wizard profusely, embarrassing Greystone who waved it all off. Trant reminded the wizard their ship was about to sail. He and Greystone made their final farewells and hurried back to the docks.
The crowd dissipated. Most of the Farmland dwarves went back inside the inn, leaving Dudge and Fret alone in the street.
Dudge said, “Take yer lads an’ yer gold an’ go back home. There’s nay reason t’ stay here any longer.”
Fret said, “Wha’ will ye do?”
“I’ll stay an’ be Portreeve ’til th’ Council sends a replacement. Nay tellin’ how long tha’ will take. They’ll prolly argue ’bout it fer weeks.”
Reluctantly, Fret agreed. He went inside and began making preparations for departure. Within the hour, all his wagons were harnessed and lined up, the remainder of the gold distributed among them. The drivers knelt one by one before an embarrassed Dudge, who kept insisting such formality was not necessary. They ignored him and knelt anyway, formally pledging their loyalty to the crown, as dwarves are wont to do on ceremonial occasions in the presence of royalty.
At last Fret approached and gave him a hug instead o
f kneeling. They slapped each other on the back.
“Stop by on yer way home, Dudge. Stop fer several days.”
“Aye! An’ dinna ferget nex’ year. Th’ yumans are gonna love yer beer an’ they’ll be wantin’ more. I reckon ye ha’ enough gold an’ vats an’ such ye’ll nay be needin’ th’ Crown’s coins this time.”
“Mayhap. Iffen I don’ spend it all b’twixt now an’ then.”
Dudge smiled. He said, “Ye dinna strike me as foolhardy. I reckon every coin’ll be carefully accounted fer.”
Fret beamed back, and nodded. “I ne’er had this much gold afore. One or two coins may fin’ a fun use here or there. But aye, mos’ will likely go back into th’ brewery. I’ll make it better nex’ year!”
Fret climbed up onto the seat of the lead wagon and waved as he led the train out of the city, the pigs grunting as they pulled the wagons forward.
When the last wagon trundled out of sight down the street, Dudge made his way to the Great Hall. Several dwarves waved and shouted greetings along his route. He nodded and waved back. Word had spread, and everyone seemed to know him by sight now.
He noted the absence of humans in the streets, with the warship pulling out. Likely the other ship would be leaving soon, too, he mused.
He nodded at the new guard standing by the entrance to the hall, who snapped a smart salute. Unconsciously he slipped his hand in a pocket and gripped his dagger as he passed the guard. He knew Fret and Pywot had produced a handful of volunteers, and these had supposedly been vetted for loyalty, but after Puffin’s betrayal Dudge still felt nervous around anyone wearing a uniform.
Inside, he made his way downstairs to the bureaucratic heart of the city. Everyone looked up as he entered the room, a mixture of alarm and concern in their eyes.
He stopped at the entrance and said, “I be Portreeve ’til th’ Council appoints a replacement.”
It seemed an unnecessary statement, but one he nonetheless felt compelled to make. He looked at each dwarf present, holding their eyes for a moment. Several nodded back. A few averted his gaze, glancing downward.
“Each one o’ ye will give an account o’ yer work. I’ll be startin’ wi’ you.”
He pointed to the first desk on his right, and headed toward the Portreeve’s office. The nervous dwarf quickly jumped up, came around the desk and followed him.
-+-
Kirt stretched as woke up, bleary eyed from lack of sleep. Everyone stayed up late the night before, and he had followed the twins into the room the three of them shared in the wee hours of the morning.
His bare feet hit the floor with a thump, the sound waking up Bartimo and Bellasondra. They both stretched and yawned, climbing out of their own beds. They followed the boy out of the bedroom and into the inn’s common room. There they discovered the morning was almost gone. So were the marines and most of the inn’s human guests.
They sat down for a late brunch and caught up with the morning news.
“Th’ yuman prince an’ wizard be chasin’ pirates. Their ship left on th’ tide,” Pywot informed them. “Though how they hope t’ catch any this far from pirate waters, I dinna ken.”
Bellasondra regretted missing her opportunity to ask Greystone for help in locating Stin.
Bartimo said, “I’m sure we’ll see him again before too long. Don’t worry. If we don’t see the wizard, we’ll find someone else who can perform a finding spell.”
They chatted with the innkeeper some more and finished their meal. Bartimo paid Pywot for their stay, then they gathered their things and headed for the docks.
At the warehouses, Bartimo presented the receipt from Fret. The burly dwarf who took it hurried off, then returned with several other muscle-bound dwarves, each carrying a cask on their shoulders. They marched behind Bartimo to Foambreaker. There, they followed the boatswain’s directions and loaded the casks into the hold under his watchful eye, storing them evenly on both sides to prevent an imbalance. Then they went back for more, repeating the process several times until the last cask was safely stowed late in the afternoon.
The captain began moving quicker then, determined to depart on the evening tide. Final provisions were hastily brought aboard, farewells were made, and a dwarf pilot who could lead them out of the bay came onboard. Finally, with the sun sinking low, Foambreaker left Port Osmo and made her way out to sea.
Chapter 15
The main part of a pirate voyage, as far as Stin could tell, involved aimlessly circling an isolated stretch of water somewhere between Coral and the Ageless Isles. Here, the pirates could pounce upon any merchant ship unlucky enough to be spotted by their lookouts in the crow’s nest.
Unfortunately for the pirates, most merchants seemingly preferred a more westerly route, hugging the coastline several miles before making a mad dash toward Sintola, the closest outer island. From there they could jump to various minor ports in the archipelago before finally hitting Refugio, the largest and most lucrative port in the isles.
From his own observations and discussion around the officer’s table at dinner that night, Stin deduced piratical forays were somewhat rare. As best as anyone at the table could estimate, perhaps eight a year occurred.
A polite disagreement broke out between Quent and Melton on this point, with Quent insisting some years as few as four raids occurred, while Melton insisted no fewer than six pirate ships in a year had sailed in his memory.
At any rate, Stin concluded, the raids were lucrative enough that not many were needed to keep everybody back at Corsairs Cove happy, including the crews and the sea lords and the townsfolk. Consequently, Melton explained, due to their light and random nature, some merchant captains risked the direct route to Refugio all the time. But on occasion they traveled in convoys for protection.
These, Melton explained to Stin, the pirates avoided at all costs. He said, “With convoys, too many numbers can be brought to bear against us.”
“Why not gather together all the pirate ships and attack a convoy?” Stin said. “Surely they must reserve more valuable cargo for the most heavily guarded trips.”
Everybody turned with questioning glances toward Cessic. The pirate captain said, “You have a point, Steck, and I admire your thinking. However, you have to consider centuries of tradition and the notion of balance.”
“Balance?”
Cessic nodded. “Balance. Consider the dukes and barons of the mainland. They grow rich. They get complacent. They get fat.
“We come along and steal a little of their gold on the high seas. We distribute the gold to those who need it back at Corsairs Cove. The rich learn not to be so complacent, not to be so self-centered, and we make some money. Everybody is better for it.”
“So, you’re doing a service.”
“Don’t sound so dubious, Steck. Pirates have always been around, even before Gloomis. But Gloomis and his patrons set up a system to keep things balanced, and we honor that tradition.
“As for convoys, think it through. If we brought every ship we had and took a convoy, and stole treasury shipments from Coral or some other extraordinarily valuable cargo, it would disrupt the balance in things. We would be the greedy ones. They would be out for blood, perhaps getting the wizards involved. It might mean war. We’d become more than a minor irritation, we’d be a threat that needed eliminating. We would likely not be able to take another ship for a decade, and the people of Corsairs Cove would suffer for it.
“No, it’s better to take the random lone merchant every once in a while and maintain the balance that has served everybody so well for centuries.”
Stin considered Cessic’s words a moment, then abandoned that line of questioning for another. He said, “Why would a merchant take this risky direct route, when it’s so much safer sticking to the coasts and hopping over to Sintola?”
“Ah,” Cessic said. “The way a merchant ship profits is through reduced costs and increased profits. And a captain reduces costs by minimizing his time at sea. There are techniq
ues to try and maximize profits taking the longer passage. Some do it by trading between ports, others by ferrying goods and passengers through the islands. But there will always be a need for quick passage between Coral City and Refugio. Usually it takes about five days. Going by way of Sintola takes a minimum of two weeks.”
“So, in short,” Quent said, turning to Stin and adding his voice to the conversation, “it seems to me the captain is saying the direct route is well worth the risk for many merchants. Odds favor them, after all.”
Cessic nodded and said, “The odds favor most. Lets hope the one we choose will have a bountiful hold, filled with lucre. And the odds stacked against them.”
-+-
After supper, Stin joined Quent as he made his way to the stern and the evening bone-cards match. Together they watched a group gather around Plinny for the start of a game. Soon, the sounds of play filled the air, from the roll of the die, the soft thwap of cards hitting the deck, and the clinking of coins as they flowed in and out of the bucket.
Quent said, “Do you miss the games much, Steck? Too bad you can’t join now that you’re an officer.”
“I don’t miss the game itself as much the playing. I’ve so much gold from my winnings at Primero that a few more coppers from these deckhand tourneys wouldn’t make much difference. But I do miss the camaraderie of the men.”
A cheer went up as Plinny won a hand. His thunderous laughter rolled out over the deck.
“Bwahahahaha!”
Quent said, “Mm. Methinks most of them root for Plinny just to hear him laugh.”
One of the players did not enjoy Plinny’s belly laugh. He was a short, dark-haired fellow Stin did not recognize. The newcomer sneered at Plinny and said, “Magicless bastard.”
Plinny’s smile melted and he stood, towering over the others.
“What? I gots magic, Grom! I gots me blowhard spell!”