“Your jealousy is unbecoming of a chief.”
“Jealous? Of what, you? I beat you!”
“And yet, I’m the one getting laid.”
I rolled my eyes and moved away, having no interest in their childish dick-waving contest. What was he doing, feeding into the stupid rumour anyway? Skeever was walking slowly near the outside of the guard circle, his attention on his feet more than anything else. He looked preoccupied with his own thoughts, his brow furrowing every now and then. After a moment of me watching him, he sighed and looked up.
“I see you’ve still got something on your mind,” he said. “Well go on, I’m not doing anything of value right now.”
“I was wondering if the captain was alright.”
“He’s… troubled,” he said after a while. It was clear the topic pained him, and I immediately regretted asking and apologised.
Skeever shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said. “It’s been going on longer than you’ve been around.”
“Because of the spy in the crew?”
“You assume there is one.”
His comment made me pause. Wasn’t there? Obviously, it wasn’t Risk, but I had no reason to think the captain was actually going crazy. Irrational due to stress, perhaps, but I believed he was earnest.
Skeever sighed. “How much do you know about the Urusi?”
“Sometimes, I feel lucky my textbooks even had descriptions.”
“They don’t live all that long, for one,” he said after a long silence. “And they’re very susceptible to the diseases of old minds, though who knows whether that was intentional on the part of The Ironsmith or not.”
“You mean like dementia?”
“Yeah. Some deteriorate faster than others, but they say once the hair starts to turn, it’s only a matter of time. Apart from the memory loss and general disorientation, Urusi become paranoid and aggressive. At least for a while, then they just become… empty.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Though Skeever appeared on the surface to speak about the matter casually, there was a deep, underlying sadness that struck me. Just how close was he with the captain? I wanted to comfort him, but what could I possibly say?
Before I could think of anything, the group was coming to a halt, so fast in fact, I nearly ran into the minotaur who was walking in front of me. The jungle had dropped away into an almost perfectly-circular clearing. In the centre was a single tree, its large mushroom-shaped canopy towering over its neighbours. The thickness of the tree’s upper branches blocked out so much sunlight that no other trees could grow in its shadow.
The engineer immediately ran over to it and started taking measurements.
“What’s the verdict?” asked Conon.
Before the engineer could answer, Harmon cut in. “Stop pretending you’re still in charge!”
Conon rolled his eyes before giving a ‘go ahead’ gesture.
Harmon cleared his throat importantly. “Yeah, so… is the tree… you know, good?”
The engineer had the expression of someone being forced to babysit at the end of a very long day. Despite this, he managed to keep his composure while answering. “Fortunately, this seems to be the kind of tree we need.”
I sat back at the edge of the clearing in the shade of the bordering trees and watched while the crew unpacked their things. There was a lot of discussion between the lumberjacks and the engineer about the proper wheres and hows, but they eventually got cutting. Four of them took turns with the large tree, settling into an efficient rhythm, while the others started taking down some trees on the clearing’s edge for deck planking.
It was a really nice day, the sun overhead warm, but the breeze pleasantly cool, and there was a simple pleasure for a young woman in watching a bunch of shirtless, muscular men doing physical labour. I sat and watched them, idly sketching in my notebook. Conon and Harmon were arguing about something again, though whatever it was seemed to be more heated on Harmon’s side. Though the younger minotaur clearly annoyed him, Conon didn’t seem to be reacting. Going by what he’d said earlier, he’d already washed his hands of the clan and no longer intended to have anything further to do with it. This attitude seemed to be the thing that grated on Harmon more than anything else.
What had he been hoping the outcome of the change in chief would be? I already knew he expected to get me, though thankfully he hadn’t pressed the issue once I’d turned him down. But beyond that, had he been expecting to get something from Conon as well? A shadow fell over my open sketchbook, covering up a half-finished drawing of the two minotaur.
“Do you ever stop thinking?”
I looked up to see Skeever. “Sorry, can’t help it. Every time I get a quiet moment, they just start rattling around.”
He sat down beside me. “Having fun on your nature walk?”
“Quite,” I replied with a cheeky smile. “You get to enjoy such lovely views.”
“Can’t argue with you there.”
“I’m sorry about…” I gestured at Conon and Harmon.
“Don’t be. Captain and I saw it brewing a mile away, pretty much as soon as you smiled at him on the ship. I’m not implying any of this is your fault though, can’t really blame you for just existing.”
“They’re angry that Conon and I are, whatever it is that we are?”
Dating didn’t feel like the right word, but obviously there was something more than a few kisses between us now. I had called him my boyfriend several times already, after all.
“More confused, I think. Minotaurs don’t generally do relationships. I least as far as I know they just, well, you know. Besides, human women are more-or-less a tradeable commodity for them most of the time, so it’s a little weird for him to be going to such extreme lengths for you,” he paused thoughtfully. “I don’t even think he knows what going on between you two.”
We watched the chopping for a while longer before I spoke up again.
“I’m sorry for grilling you about the captain. I feel like it’s a touchy subject.”
Skeever didn’t reply immediately, his brow furrowing in thought. “How much did you know about the Seacow before you came on board?”
“Literally nothing,” I replied. “The professor made the arrangements. I think he was just trying to find the first ship that would take us.”
“But you know we’re smugglers?”
“Yes, I’d garnered that.”
“We run the eastern trade route,” he said. He sounded like he’d given up and just wanted everything to come out. “There’s a lot of cultural difference between the human kingdoms and Nyuesi, so there’s big business in transporting stuff that one side of the pond allows and the other side doesn’t.
“About a year ago, things have started getting, tricky. Some of our contacts have gotten busted after doing business with us, and several of the bigger smugglers’ caches have been compromised. The captain is convinced that his ship is the leak, and that there’s someone in his crew that has been passing information to the EOTA. So now everywhere we go, we’ve got them breathing down our necks.”
“Why? I mean, other than the fact that it’s illegal. The local police I understand, but why does a trading authority care?”
“Bad for business,” he replied. “We’re competition they can legally sabotage.”
“Well, I mean, you are breaking the law. But you’re not pirates, right? It’s not like smuggling on its own has the death penalty.”
“Not in Pherasia maybe,” he said. “But they’ll want to make an example of the captain in the Miraban Territories if we get caught there. The EOTA has a lot of sway in Nyuesi.”
A loud crunching sound and a roar of “timber!” interrupted our conversation. With an ominous creak and crash, the large tree fell in a shower of twigs and leaves, neatly bisecting the clearing and separating the crew into two groups.
“More warning would have been nice,” muttered Skeever.
He stood, and as I moved to join him, I c
aught the sight of several large figures moving through the trees outside the clearing. I grabbed Skeever by the elbow before he could go too far, and jerked my head in their direction. He turned to look and froze, his eyes widening in fear.
Chapter 15:
The Troll Camp
The giant figures stepped out from the shade of the trees, revealing the forms of five trolls that towered over the entire group, minotaurs included. But though they were tall, they were quite thin and wiry, with unusually long arms, tipped with sharp black fingernails that hung down far enough to brush their shins. Their ratty black hair hung long past their shoulders, falling across faces set with small, beady eyes. They were lightly dressed, with only long loincloths covering themselves, and scraps of fabric worn around their shoulders like shawls. The one closest to me was shorter than the rest, only as tall as Conon. It smiled, revealing two rows of pointed teeth that glinted in the light.
Suddenly, my mind was pulled back to our first day on the island, when I’d seen dark figures moving amongst the trees around the beach on my walk. After the giant mystery animal had been chased out of the camp, I had assumed that that had been what I’d seen. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
The moment they had appeared, Conon had dashed to my side, putting himself between me and the trolls. The other minotaurs had all dropped their axes and drawn their swords, but the trolls only raised their hands in an expression of surrender.
“We have not come to harm you,” said the shortest of them, surprisingly eloquent, though his large teeth gave him a slight lisp.
”Then why are you here?” demanded Harmon, not bothering with formalities.
“Our tribe has watched yours on the beach from the moment you landed,” the troll explained. “We were willing to allow you your privacy, but became curious when you ventured into our jungle.”
“Our ship needs repairs,” said the engineer quickly. “We need trees for masts and new deck planking.”
“That is fine,” assured the troll. “We have no intention of preventing you from getting what you need. In fact, we were hoping to help. Our tribe is well-supplied, and we would like to share.”
“Share what?” asked Harmon, sounding curious.
“Many things,” replied the troll. “Traders do not come to our island often, but we have much your ship might need.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“It would be best for you to come and see for yourself. Then you can decide what you need.”
“What do you want in return?”
“We can discuss it back at our village, but it would be nothing you could not provide.”
“I suppose we could,” said the engineer slowly. “It couldn’t hurt to have a look at what you have. The Seacow has trade goods to spare.”
“Delightful. We shall show you the way to our village. I’m certain our chief will be happy to make your acquaintance.”
“What guarantee do we have of our safety?” said Conon suddenly, the words sounding forced.
“As I said, we have known of your presence here since you first arrived. Had we wished you harm, we would have attacked you then and there.”
The longer the troll talked, the more I wanted to trust him. Already, the minotaurs around me were re-sheathing their weapons, comfortable they were not going to be attacked. Something niggled in the back of my mind, though. A feeling that something still wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I’d studied the giant races, though not extensively, and my lessons kept trying to crawl from the back of my mind. But then, the small troll would say something and I’d decide whatever it was didn’t really matter.
“We can’t all go,” said Conon, like something was bothering him as well. “Our ship needs a new mast.”
“Of course,” agreed the small troll readily. “We don’t mean to delay your work. How about you, the young lady, and your friends?” He gestured to Harmon, Skeever and another minotaur whose name I didn’t know, but recognised as part of the galley crew. “Come with us now, and the others can always join us later if they would like.”
“Sounds great!” said Harmon.
Conon seemed to want to continue objecting, but couldn’t come up with a valid reason to, so merely nodded.
The trolls led us out of the clearing and through the jungle, the four larger trolls surrounding us, two in front, and two behind. Curious, I sidled up to the shorter one.
“Where did you learn the common tongue?” I asked. “Does everyone in your village speak?”
“Not as well as I,” said the troll. “The shamans are the best, but we don’t have much chance to practice with native speakers.” He turned to look at me. “I am glad you are here.”
“So am I,” I found myself saying, which was odd, because an hour ago, I wanted to get off the island.
The houses of the troll village were strange. Cutting trees for logs or planks hadn’t seemed to occur to them, so instead, neighbouring trees had been bent, as easily as if they had been saplings, and tied together to form huts. It made sense, the island’s weather was more than warm enough to not need insulated walls, so the only real concern would be rain, which the tightly-tied branches seemed to keep out.
Every tree hut had a group of trolls sitting around it: men carving, women weaving, and children playing. They watched our group enter the village with eagerness, several of the younger ones clapping excitedly.
In the middle of the village was a large fire pit that seemed to be built for cooking, as the heat radiating out from it was intense. Surrounding the fire were long half-log benches, where more trolls were seated. On one side of the fire, there was a large throne built of wood and bone. The troll seated upon it was a great deal fatter than the others, and the air with which he held himself made it clear that he was in charge. He wore a wolf hide over his head, his face barely visible through the beast’s open jaws.
But it wasn’t a real wolf hide, I realised, merely a mashup of other pieces crudely stitched together to look like one. The main piece, the ears, and the muzzle were all different fur colours, and the pieces had been cut and stuffed with sticks and bones to change their shape, and force it to look right. I wondered why, if there were no wolves to hunt on the island, why the trolls would go to such desperate lengths to make a headdress that resembled one? And if there were wolves, why not just use the pelt from one? Had the trolls hunted them to extinction? If so, why did it matter what pelt the troll king wore?
“Welcome!” he bellowed, spreading his arms out wide. His speech wasn’t as eloquent as the smaller troll, but he certainly made up for it with enthusiasm.
“Uh, thank you,” said Harmon, after no one else said anything. “Thank you for welcoming us to your village.”
“Always good have dinner guest,” said the chief.
“Actually, we were hoping to negotiate for some supplies.”
“Come now,” said the small troll. “It would be rude not to accept such a generous offer of a shared meal.”
Between the log benches, around the central fire, was a ring of posts with loops of old rope tied around them. One-by-one, we were led to the posts and invited to sit down. Though the rope chafed my skin where the small troll tied me, I couldn’t seem to find an objection. And I wasn’t alone, as the rest of the party allowed themselves to be bound without argument, though Conon was scowling, and Skeever’s hands shook when he held them out to be bound.
“What do you hide?” asked the troll, once he was done, reaching for Skeever’s head scarf.
The man all but squeaked in pathetic protest. He shook his head, eyes wide, and tried to pull away, the heels of his feet digging at the ground as he tried to backpedal into the post. It looked like the ground itself could swallow him whole at this very moment and he would not protest.
“Leave him, Tol’uk,” boomed the chief. “Let little one keep secrets.”
Tol’uk seemed disappointed, but turned away obediently, and Skeever visibly sagged with relief. He approached
me next, reaching down to take my chin in a gentle hand, turning my head this way and that as he studied me.
“Humans have come to our island before,” he said. “Though you are more pleasant to our eyes than many of them have been. It would be a shame to waste your flesh on one thing when it could be used for another.”
I wasn’t sure if I was being complimented or not, but I said: “thank you,” all the same.
“Yes, we are familiar with your kind,” Tol’uk continued, releasing me and turning to appraise the others. “But never before have we seen beasts like this.”
“They’re minotaurs,” I said, wanting to be helpful.
“Minotaurs,” repeated Tol’uk, testing out the unfamiliar word. “You are also quite pleasing, but for different reasons than the human. Your size, your muscle, all very impressive. The hair is a problem, but so it is with coconuts.”
It seemed weird to me to compare a minotaur with a coconut, of all things, but a part of me felt Tol’uk probably had a good reason to say what he did, so I shouldn’t question it. The whole thing was strange, really. Weren’t we here to trade materials?
As if noticing my confusion, Tol’uk addressed me again. “Something wrong?”
All concern slipped from my mind. I shook my head and smiled, and the troll returned it.
“You seem happy, human, so I will let you decide. Which—”
“Hey,” said Harmon. “I’m in charge, not her!”
“Very well,” said Tol’uk, turning to face him. “Which one of your companions do you care about the least?”
“Uh, him I guess,” said Harmon slowly after a long pause. He nodded at the galley crewman. “I don’t really know him, so…” He trailed off nervously.
“I understand.” Tol’uk untied the galley minotaur and walked him into the centre of the circle, then gestured at the fire pit. “If you would.”
The minotaur looked into the fire and understandably hesitated, the heat of the flames causing him to squint reflexively.
“Come now, your flesh will be very tough if not properly cooked,” Tol’uk prompted. He said it so calmly, and it sounded so reasonable, what could be the problem?
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