by Mel Odom
“Aye, sir.”
“Well, just so’s ye know it, we’ll be a-doin’ that, too.”
“Aye, sir.” At least, Wick thought, that was an honorable aspiration.
Hallekk cleared his throat. “Sir? The other thing?”
Farok looked annoyed as he shifted his glance from the big dwarven quartermaster to Wick. “Aye, there is the other thing. For a-savin’ One-Eyed Peggie from the Embyr last night, I’m a-givin’ ye a little token of me appreciation.”
Wick waited, but the captain didn’t move.
“Well don’t just stand there, ye bilge-blasted barnacle,” the captain said sourly. “Name something ye’d like to have as a token of me appreciation.”
“Oh no, sir,” Wick said. “I couldn’t do that.”
“‘Course ye can,” the captain stated. “An’ if’n ye don’t let me discharge this debt what Hallekk feels I owe ye, I’ll have ye back down belowdecks a-peelin’ potatoes before ye can blink.”
And suffer under Slops’ unmerciful hands? Wick cringed inside. He thought swiftly. “I’d like a book, Captain.”
“A book, says ye,” Captain Farok said. “Ye stand there and ask me for that, all the while a-knowin’ that there ain’t any books left outside Greydawn Moors. And precious few of them what could read them anyway.”
“No, sir,” Wick replied. “What I meant was, I’d like some paper. I’ve seen crates in the hold below that have sheets of packing paper in them. If you’d give me permission, I can make my own book.” The thought had crossed the little librarian’s mind nearly a week ago after seeing the crates in the cargo hold, but he hadn’t acted on his impulse out of fear.
“Will ye be a-takin’ much paper then, halfer? Them packin’ papers don’t grow on trees, ye know. An’ it comes in handy preservin’ glasswares and candles and suchlike.”
“No sir. Not much at all.”
Farok glanced back at the chart before him and waved a hand. “As long as ye don’t go a-gettin’ greedy, I’ll allow it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Exultation swelled within Wick. He felt nearly a foot taller as he followed Hallekk back through the captain’s door. And, for the first time in eight days, he felt more like a Librarian than he did a pirate.
“Can I see what ye got there, halfer?”
Startled, Wick glanced up and saw Zeddar, the pirate ship’s main lookout, clambering over the side of the crow’s-nest to join him. Self-consciously, the little librarian closed the book he held.
Zeddar was a young dwarf with an angular face instead of a round one. His hazel-green eyes were quick and bright and alive with interest. He hadn’t yet gotten old enough to put on a dwarf’s full beard growth. But as a pirate who virtually lived in the high rigging and constantly scanned the sea for predators as well as prey, Zeddar had no peer. He wore a thick woolen shirt and woolen pants.
“C’mon, Wick,” Zeddar pleaded good-naturedly, “ye know ye want to show it to me.”
Wick smiled a little. In the last two weeks since he’d been officially named one of the pirate crew, he’d worked hard to learn the rigging and day-to-day cleaning that was part of the vessel maintenance.
During that time, in the few hours that he had to himself, the little librarian had also crafted a journal for himself. True, the finished product had nowhere near the craftsmanship of a book assembled in the Vault, but it served his purposes and occupied his mind and hands. The book measured some six inches by nine inches, and fit perfectly inside his shirt when he had to climb the rigging or tend to other chores. The pages weren’t even, and weren’t even all the same color of white, but they held ink and charcoal well, and he was in the process of experimenting with dried algae and resins as a medium for adding color to the illustrations he was doing.
“Maybe just a peek.” Wick gave in to the pride that filled him. He thumbed the shaved wooden cover he’d fashioned, tracing the letters of the title he’d burned into the unfinished oak. SHANGHAIED! the title read. And underneath was the subtitle, Being the Narrative Journal of the Adventures of Third Level Librarian Edgewick Lamplighter Among the Ferocious Pirates of the Blood-Soaked Sea. The subtitle might have been a little long and time-consuming to burn in, but he rather liked the way it looked on the top cover.
In the last two weeks, he’d added three hundred pages to his book. He’d included the confrontation with the sea monster, and even mentioned the tedium of working for Slops in the galley, including the meals that had been served each and every day. From there, he’d started adding observations about the weather and the sea and sailing in general. He’d even added sections concerning the fish and fowl of the sea, surprising himself by branching out into such areas. The stories and songs of the pirates had also found their way onto his pages.
Once the pirates had discovered what he was doing, they’d been amazed and fascinated. It wasn’t long before each pirate told Wick a tale that they felt he should be obliged to include in his book.
Reverently, Zeddar reached for the book as Wick handed it to him. He stared with rapt attention at the illustration Wick had been working on.
“Ye’ve got the hands and fingers of an artist, ye do,” Zeddar said.
“It’s nothing,” the little librarian said, acting modest but feeling terribly proud. “What you’re calling art is merely rendering—a skill that anyone can learn.” All of the Librarians had to have some skill at rendering, and every dweller that Wick knew of could draw.
“But this is beautiful,” Zeddar insisted.
Wick smiled as he peered over the dwarf’s shoulder. In fact, he did consider the rendering one of his better efforts. It showed the view from the crow’s-nest, peering down onto One-Eyed Peggie’s main deck. The sails billowed from the masts, and individual pirates were shown working at everyday tasks. The hard lines were laid down in ink, carefully drawn despite One-Eyed Peggie’s present rolling gait. He’d captured waves beside the pirate vessel with smudged charcoal rubbed deeply into the paper.
“I mean it, Wick,” Zeddar went on. “If ye did this piece bigger an’ in color, why I bet ye could sell it to some alehouse keeper for hangin’ in back of the bar.”
Actually, that was probably the last place Wick thought he would want to see anything hang that he had done. “I don’t think so.”
“No,” Zeddar insisted, “ye’re good at this, ye are. Never have I seen the like.” He flipped carefully through the pages, revealing the drawings of Hallekk and Captain Farok, pausing for a moment to linger at the rendering of the Embyr.
Caught in a halo of flames that somehow seemed to leap off the page—even Wick had to admit that particular drawing had come out in truly satisfying detail—the Embyr stood stark and beautiful and deadly—and somehow she had come out as lonely as well. All of the renderings occupied pages between pages and pages of his monographs and essays. Other pages held notes and fragments that he hoped to turn into still more material, and rough drafts of articles he’d already written that awaited polishing.
“Thank ye for a-sharin’ yer work with me,” Zeddar said, handing the book back.
“You’re welcome,” Wick said. “Thank you for being so interested.”
“I’ve brought a bite to eat. If’n ye’re of a mind to share an’ ain’t gotta rush off.” Zeddar pulled free the large scarf knotted over his shoulder. The blue and purple material strained under the weight of its burden.
“I’m in no hurry.” Wick gazed out at the Blood-Soaked Sea. The sun still remained hidden by the thick, rolling fog, but at least it was wet today. Usually the fog carried just enough condensation to prevent him from working on his book during his watch.
Zeddar untied the knotted scarf and revealed the selection of tartberries, mushapple—whose dimpled marmalade skin showed how ripe the sweet meat inside was—three different kinds of cheese, dill bread and sourdough bread, baked raisin chips, and thick wedges of spicy, jalapeñonut mushpie. He even had a bottle of mulled ardyl-grape wine spiced with nutmeg.
“
After standing watch all morning,” Zeddar said, digging into the repast, “I thought ye might be hungry.”
“I am.” Wick shoved his book inside his shirt so he wouldn’t forget it, then proceeded to make a cheese sandwich.
They ate in silence, and it didn’t bother the little librarian much. Despite being somewhat accepted into the pirate crew and the efforts they all made to tell him stories or educate him in the mysteries of the sea, he didn’t have much in common with the dwarves. The dweller shipwright, Trosper, continued to avoid Wick, which was more curious than annoying.
Wick turned his thoughts to that evening’s entertainment. Of late, once the sun had settled down over the Blood-Soaked Sea and it wasn’t too wet to be on deck—which was actually most of the time—the pirate crew hung a few lanterns amidships and settled in for one of the stories that Wick would tell them. After they’d discovered his book and the pictures that he’d drawn inside, they’d asked questions. Those questions hadn’t taken long to ferret out whole stories, which the little librarian was only too happy to share with his new comrades. Sometimes the dwarven pirates took turns telling stories afterward, or they danced or sang sea shanties.
“Ship!” Zeddar said suddenly.
Startled, Wick took a moment and tried to figure out what the dwarf referred to. He offered the small handful of baked raisin chips to Zeddar.
The dwarven lookout quickly stashed his food back into the large scarf, staring out over the edge of the crow’s-nest. “Not chips!” He flung out an arm, pointing. “A ship!”
Wick tracked the direction and barely made out the triangular sails budding against the distant curve of the horizon. “What is it?”
“A merchanter by the looks of her,” Zeddar answered eagerly. “Keep an eye on her while I go below and notify the crew. They’re a-gonna have to keep quiet if we’re a-gonna sneak up on her.” He threw a leg over the side of the crow’s-nest and tossed a long coil of rope over as well. Before the rope could nearly have had the chance to finish uncoiling, the young dwarf slid over the side.
“Sneak up on her?” Wick repeated, glancing down over the crow’s-nest’s side.
Zeddar slid down the plunging rope attached to the yardarm below. “Of course we’re a-gonna sneak up on her. How else do ye expect us to overtake her for whatever treasure might be aboard her?” A grin split the dwarven lookout’s face nearly from ear to ear. “Ol’ Peggie’s a-gonna give ye a chance to earn yer keep today, Pirate Wick!”
“Wick!”
Glancing up from the ship’s deck, watching the flurry of action as the pirates ran to their stations, the little librarian spied Hallekk leaning over the forecastle railing. “Aye, sir.”
“Get up here and get out of the way, little man,” Hallekk advised. “One of them pirates down there is like to run over ye in all the excitement.”
At the top of the stairs, Hallekk met him with a grin and thrust a cutlass into his hand.
“There ye go, little man, now ye look the part of a proper pirate,” the big dwarf said. “Only ye might want to grit yer teeth a little more. An’ work on yer scowl. For the life of me, ye look like ye’re more ready to throw up than anything. Just think fierce thoughts.” He grabbed the little librarian by the shoulder and hauled him up to the ship’s prow.
Wick stood at the prow railing and breathed deeply. The salty air cleared his head, but filled as it was with the ocean spray, it chilled him to the core. All the fabulous stories he’d read of pirates and brave captains battling through one sea or the other suddenly didn’t seem so fabulous.
“Stand by, spinnaker!” Hallekk bellowed.
Wick gazed at the other ship. It was less than two hundred yards away now and he could make out the men standing alongside the starboard railing. The dim sunlight sparked from metal surfaces. Probably cutlasses, knives, and arrowheads! The little librarian discovered that his throat had gone dry.
“Spinnaker crew standing by,” someone called back.
Hallekk spun around, facing the stern castle, which was slightly higher than the forecastle. “By yer leave, Cap’n.”
“Thank ye, Hallekk.” Captain Farok looked grim at the stern castle railing. He kept his hands folded neatly behind his back.
Wick glanced around at the fierce dwarves lining up at the prow railing around him. They carried shields, cutlasses, and bows and fairly bristled with greed. Incredibly, they started singing sea shanties.
“We are the crew of One-Eyed Peggie,” they sang, loudly and badly.
“We’ve sacked ships and taken treasure,
Battled sea monsters—hey, heggie, heggie. And badly rhymed.
We’re a-gonna catch you at our leisure!”
Captain Farok called out a course correction in his thunderous voice. One-Eyed Peggie came about smartly.
Hallekk nodded at the other ship. “That ship is from Zohophir, far to the south, an’ they ain’t never traded with Greydawn Moors before. An’ they ain’t a-gonna start now.”
“Why?”
“It’s in our Pirate’s Code,” Hallekk responded. “Them what’s traded occasionally still will be permitted to. But them’s only small nations an’ cities what knows about the Vault and its importance. We can’t have no newcomers stumblin’ across the island. Why, there’s no tellin’ who all they might up and tell.”
“So we have to rob them?”
“Mostly, we’re just gonna scare them good, little man. We gotta keep the Vault secret, right?”
Wick considered the implication of Hallekk’s nonchalant question. Is protecting the Vault of All Known Knowledge worth the lives of innocent people? It was one thing to think of defending the location of the Library from goblinkin, but quite another to be willing to harm people whose only fault was in growing brave enough to sail uncharted waters. Little more than a hundred yards remained between the ships.
“Loose the spinnaker!” Captain Farok bellowed.
Lines ran through shrieking pulleys so fast that Wick felt certain the hemp rope would catch on fire. The crew kept buckets of water on hand for just such an emergency, which didn’t happen very often.
The spinnaker was an additional sail that came up from the prow of the ship. It was designed solely for use when running with the wind, when speed was of the essence. The massive sail was made of sailcloth stained coal black and poured out into the wind like a raging storm cloud. As the sail filled with air till it belled like a robin’s proud breast, the grinning skull and crossbones limned in white stood out starkly.
“Well now,” Hallekk said dryly, “that oughta answer any questions they might have been a-havin’ .” He smiled, then lifted his voice and joined in the pirate sea shanty. He looked absolutely fearless.
Pulled by the additional sail, One-Eyed Peggie lunged across the ocean.
Upon closer inspection, Wick saw that most of the people aboard the merchanter were a mixture of humans and dwarves. That stood to reason, though, because survivors of the human and dwarven nations from Eastern Krumass had primarily settled Zohophir. Eastern Krumass had been very civilized, a blend of Old World manners and coffers filled by trade ships, before the Cataclysm consumed it.
Wick had never seen so many humans in his life outside of a book. Due to his Library training, Wick tended to think of most humans as wizards and scholars. He knew from his reading that his perception of them was incorrect, but still it stuck with him after the example Grandmagister Ludaan had first instilled in him. Many humans were no more skilled in magic or books than the dwarves, elves, or dwellers.
Without warning, arrows leapt from bows aboard the fleeing merchanter. The feathered shafts flew through the air between the two ships like flocks of deadly birds.
“Cover!” Hallekk growled. “Take cover!” He lifted the heavy shield at his side and held it up as he ducked beneath it.
Wick took shelter beneath Hallekk’s great shield as well. Above them, Critter screamed in alarm. Then the rhowdor ran through the rigging, wings beating furiously, curs
ing the archers aboard the merchanter. Terrified, the little librarian peered through the slats of the prow railing and watched as another volley of arrows leaped across the distance.
Wick felt the vibrations of the arrows striking the deck, and he heard the clangor of the arrows that struck the shields as well. Incredibly, throughout the din of near-death, none of the pirates were harmed. And they still sang in loud, boisterous, off-key voices!
“All right then,” Hallekk cried, “let’s up an’ at them, me hearties! Archers, bend those bows, but I want not a single casualty amongst that other ship!”
“Aye sir!” the archers cried back as they took up their places. They nocked their arrows and fired three volleys on Hallekk’s marks.
Hunkered against the railing as much as he could, Wick struggled to keep control of the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. !f Grandmagister Frollo ever hears of this, I’ll never be allowed to set, foot inside the Library again!
“Are we going to take the ship?” Wick asked Hallekk.
The big dwarf grinned and shook his head. “No. We’ve plenty of supplies from our layover in Greydawn Moors, though I would like to complement our supply of fresh fruits. Apples and raisins keep for a very long time, but a man can definitely get his fill of them. We’re just here to give them a good scare so they stay well clear of the Blood-Soaked Sea and Greydawn Moors in the future.”
“Catapults!” Captain Farok bellowed, his voice rising above the din on the pirate ship.
“Aye, sir!” a pirate responded.
“Make ready,” the captain ordered.
“Makin’ ready, Cap’n.”
Standing at Hallekk’s side, Wick glanced up at the old captain. With the wind whipping around the man and the fierce gaze in his rheumy eyes, Farok looked like a force of nature that would never bend or break. The stories that man must know, the little librarian suddenly realized. During the evening storytelling events, the captain had sometimes listened in covertly without displaying any interest at all, and had never relayed the stories he had to have known. Battles and sea monsters and treasures, Wick thought, why, there may be any number of books inside him!