by Jaxon Reed
Stin jumped up and put himself between the two men.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did you say this was Port Osmo, Plinny?”
Plinny stopped his advance, but he still stared in rage at Veeroy, who now cowered down in his chair trying to look as small as possible.
“Aye. Port Osmo.”
“Isn’t that the only seaside town in all of Dwarven Land?”
“Aye.”
“And there really was a house of ill repute there, catering to humans?”
“Aye. ’Twas.”
“That is fascinating, Plinny. I have never heard such a tale. What happened? How did you happen to be there? And what was a dwarf doing there if the place catered to human sailors?”
At last Plinny tore his eyes from the quivering Veeroy and focused on Stin.
“Aye, that’s just it, see. It catered exclusively to humans!”
“Amazing. Tell me more.”
As Plinny started in on the tale once more, Stin maintained eye contact. He dropped his hand under the table and made a shooing motion toward Veeroy.
Very carefully, Veeroy crept away while Plinny’s enthusiasm for retelling the story began to grow. Slowly, men returned to their seats and resumed eating, keeping a cautious distance from Plinny’s table and the broken chair.
“And then I ran out the door with her clinging on me back!”
He burst out laughing again, and Stin howled along with him.
Plinny wiped away tears of mirth and tossed the chair leg on the floor. He said, “Come along, Steck!”
They walked out of the mess with the giant’s arm over Stin’s shoulders.
-+-
The story of how Stin “saved Veeroy’s life” took on a life of its own. In the days ahead, Stin found himself solving more disputes. When arguments broke out, the cry of “Find Steck!” would go out from the crowd and somebody would run to fetch him. After solving resolving several arguments, he gained a reputation for wisdom and peacekeeping.
One night Veeroy and a young man named Strunk got into an argument about two gold doublets found under Veeroy’s bottom bunk. Both men claimed ownership, and it appeared Veeroy seemed destined for another fight.
Somebody ran and found Stin, who hurried down to the sleeping quarters. He found the men squared off, snarling at one another, with a crowd around them waiting for the scrap to start.
Stin said, “Come on, men. Stand down. Let’s see the coins, what are we talking about?”
Grudgingly, Veeroy unclenched his fist and displayed two island doublets, the thick gold coins glinting in the light.
“Let’s have them, Veeroy. Come on now, be a good fellow. Hand them over so I can help determine their proper ownership.”
Never taking his eyes off Strunk, Veeroy moved his hand a bit closer to Stin, who smoothly transferred the gold pieces into his own palm.
Everybody waited in anticipation while Stin examined the coins. He turned them over, polished them on his tunic, and held them up in the light to examine them again. He bit each one and examined the tooth marks.
Finally he looked up. Both men had shifted their attention to him, along with everyone else in the room.
“Alright, men. Let’s solve this. Veeroy, do you swear these are your two coins?”
“Aye. That I do.”
“I see. And Strunk, what do you say? Are you willing to swear these are your coins?”
“Aye. They be mine.”
“Well, men. You see the dilemma we have. Both of you swear they’re yours. I have no way of discerning who tells the truth. Nobody does. It’s quite the conundrum. Do we all agree it’s basically an unsolvable question?”
He looked around the room and everybody nodded. He looked back at the two pirates. Strunk nodded, but Veeroy’s brows furrowed into a frown. He opened his mouth to say something but Stin quickly began talking again.
“Then we will have to solve this by chance! Let luck assign the ownership of these disputed pieces. That sounds reasonable, don’t it, boys?”
Again, everybody in the crowd nodded. He looked back at Strunk and Veeroy and raised his eyebrows. Strunk nodded again. Veeroy looked at the unanimous crowd and reluctantly nodded too.
“Let me propose a coin flip for each one. If you call it right, the coin is yours. If you call it wrong, in the interest of fairness I’ll keep the coin. That way neither man profits off the misfortune of the other. Are we agreed?”
With the general wave of consent and agreeableness emanating throughout the room, neither Strunk nor Veeroy felt predisposed to dispute this idea. Before they could consider it further, Stin hurried on.
“Now, when I flip this, I’m going to catch it. If we let it hit the deck it may roll off and get lost and start some other fight later, am I right boys?”
Everybody laughed. Strunk laughed and nodded, too. Veeroy nodded reluctantly again.
Stin flipped one of the heavy gold coins up in the air and neatly caught it with a slap of both hands. He carefully lifted up his top palm and peered at the coin.
“King or Palace, Veeroy?”
“King!”
Stin lifted his hand and held out the coin for all to see.
“I’m sorry, Veeroy. It’s Palace. No hard feelings.”
Before Veeroy could respond, he flipped and caught the other coin.
“King or Palace, Strunk?”
“Palace!”
“I’m sorry, Strunk. It’s King.”
The crowd dispersed, the tension seeping out of the room like a receding tide. Both men parted with Stin amicably, although Veeroy seemed rather morose as he crawled into his bunk.
Stin left the room two gold doublets richer, and finding himself amazed the pirates weren’t familiar with simple sleight of hand and basic coin tricks.
-+-
Work proved incredibly arduous onboard Wavecrest. As a fresh “recruit,” Stin found himself assigned to the most menial of jobs. Melton had him cleaning the head, swabbing the decks, scrubbing the railings with a holystone, and cleaning dishes at mess. Within a couple of weeks, though, Stin had befriended most everyone and managed to trade his worse assignments with others.
Stin discovered Veeroy worked with the Quartermaster. This opened his fertile imagination to many possibilities, and he quickly worked to become Veeroy’s best friend.
Veeroy still smarted from the loss of his two gold doublets. Finally, Stin let him have one of the coins back.
“But look, I did save your life. Twice. And what’s one gold coin among friends who will save you when you’re in mortal peril?”
“Well, I don’t, uh, see how you saved me twice. Maybe once from Plinny.”
“By the High Tower, man! You didn’t see the look in Strunk’s eyes? He was willing to slide one between your ribs for sure. Look, don’t tell him but I’ll give you his coin, the one he called Palace on and lost. Here.”
It never occurred to Veeroy to ask how Stin knew it was that particular coin. Instead, his fortunes half restored, he happily began pilfering items out of storage for Stin.
Drinking was strictly prohibited on Wavecrest, except under special exceptions like victory celebrations. Stin quickly deduced the pirates would do almost anything for a bottle, including picking up all his work details. From that point forward, he never cleaned another head, dish, or deck.
Within days, Stin no longer worked at all, having talked or traded his way into having his chores covered. He spent his free time sleeping late, avoiding Melton, and trying to learn as much as he could from the crew.
Then he discovered bone cards.
He had heard of it his first day, but had never sought it out. Games of chance held little interest for him. But then one night Plinny came back to his bunk bragging about a particularly profitable evening. He showed Stin his winnings: 19 silver coins and one gold doublet.
Intrigued, the next night Stin accompanied Plinny to the games, and watched him lose eleven silver coins along with a small bag of copper ones.
The game seemed simple enough. A deck was shuffled then dealt out to the players. Cards ranged in value. The eins could be either the lowest or highest, depending on the game, but in bone cards it served as the lowest. The other cards followed in point value up to thirteen. After the ten, the prince was worth 11, the queen 12, and the king 13.
To start a round, each player threw a coin into the pot, flipped his top card over and rolled a die. The highest number combination won. Rolling a six and drawing a king produced 19 points, the highest in the game. In the event of ties, the pot was evenly split.
Sometimes the men would play under “Island Rules,” which allowed for no ties. Instead, the suits of the cards dictated priority, with spades serving as the highest followed by hearts, squares, and clovers.
“I can’t win if I keep drawing low cards!” Plinny shouted, his voice thundering over the planks and out across the darkened water. “I think I got every eins in the deck! An’ all the twos and threes, as well!”
“Cheer up, mate,” Strunk said as he poured out the contents of the playing pot into his leather purse. “I’m sure there’s a king or queen in your pile somewhere.”
Strunk set the pot back in the middle of the circle and said, “Everybody throw in his coin.”
The pot clinked as players tossed in their silver, then everyone took turns flipping cards and rolling dice.
Plinny drew a prince and rolled a five, finally besting the others.
“It’s about time! I need to get back some of my silver you lot been taking all night. It reminds me of a game I once played in Old Mother’s Tavern in Pert when I was a just a wee boy . . .”
Having heard this story before, Stin tuned him out and focused on picking the pockets of a pirate standing nearby.
He looked around at the others trying to find another suitable mark when he noticed Quent standing idly by. He eased over in the healer’s direction.
Stin smiled and said, “I haven’t seen you much lately.”
“Mm. Officers, you know. We don’t fraternize much.”
“Amazing. Who would have thought pirates have officers?”
“We don’t think of ourselves as navy officers, really. But it amounts to the same thing. There’s a command structure. Lines of authority. Separate mess hall and head. Private cabins.”
“Sounds like a pleasant life.”
“Mm. It’s pleasant enough, until I have to start sawing off mangled limbs and mopping up blood from the latest venture.”
They paused as Plinny’s laughter rumbled all around, sending a minor shockwave of sound through the ship.
“Ha! Eighteen points! Beat that, Strunk, ye old codswallop! Bwahaha! Ye got sixteen! Gimme that pot!”
As Plinny settled down for the next hand, Stin continued the conversation. He said, “They certainly enjoy their game.”
“Mm. Luck is a fickle mistress. The men love her like their mothers when she’s on their side.”
“Do the officers play bone cards? Do you?”
“No, no. I read books mostly. On occasion I might play Table Battle.”
“Aha, a man of strategy.”
Quent nodded and said, “My brother and I played it growing up. He’d win more often than not. He came up with bolder strategies than I.”
Plinny won again. They paused as the giant’s laughter drowned out all other sounds for a moment.
“So you don’t play games of chance, Quent, and you prefer books to the company of others. Yet, every night I see you out here for the entire game. Several games. All the games, I’ll wager. Why is that?”
“Mm. I’m here to keep it fair.”
“How’s that?”
Quent said, “The men are of low magic, for the most part. And that’s true of many laborers. They work the fields, or the wagons, or the boats. They keep the streets clean, they hawk their wares at market. Their magic is reserved for little things. They certainly aren’t court mages.
“And so it is with pirates, most of them. They swing swords instead of slinging spells. But on occasion . . . on occasion you’ll find someone who has some sort of magical ability that gives him an edge at cards or dice.
“When that happens, fights break out. People get thrown overboard. Disunity spreads throughout the crew. So, one of my talents is the detection of magic. I stand guard over every game and make sure nobody cheats by influencing the flip of a card or the roll of a bone.”
“That’s an interesting talent, to see the talent of another.”
“Nay, it doesn’t work that way. I can detect the use of magic, not the spell being used. One of my more pointless abilities. Or at least, I always considered it pointless. Who cares when you can tell someone is using magic? Then on my first voyage with Captain Cessic, I was watching a game just like this. One old man named Leet won almost every hand. He drew good cards, he rolled high numbers, and he pulled in the pot more often than not.”
Quent smiled at the memory. “I could tell he was casting a spell before each hand. Turned out to be a Spell of Luck. He was actually quite talented, in that one spell at least. And he was good about concealing the cast. Very good. They referred to him as ‘Lucky Leet.’
“I called him out and we threw him overboard. Ever since, I’ve been the guardian of the games. No magical cheating allowed on Wavecrest.”
Plinny’s laughter rumbled across the deck again as he won another hand.
Stin said, “Looks like Plinny is doing well tonight, without any lucky spells.”
“Mm. He’ll lose it all and more in tomorrow night’s game. But he’s a regular player. He’ll win some more later, then lose it again.”
They watched in silence as the men came to the last of their cards and played a final round. Plinny howled in frustration as someone else won.
He said, “Again! Let’s play another game, me hearties! And me clubbies! All me cardies! Bwahaha!”
Stin said, “I’m glad you’re here keep the games on the up and up, Quent. I’ve come into a few coins recently. I think I’ll try my hand at bone cards tonight.”
Quent said, “Maybe you’ll get lucky and you can pay off some of your debts.”
“You know, that is a very good idea.”
Stin headed toward the circle of men around the gambling pot.
“Don’t get too lucky,” Quent said. “Remember what I told you about Lucky Leet. No magic!”
Stin sat down in the circle, turned and smiled back at Quent. He gave the healer a thumbs up with his left hand, then slipped his fingers into the purse of the pirate on his right and palmed a handful of coins.
5
Etta, Mita’s mother, spoke to her in her dream earnestly as they sat in her room back home. The words seemed important, but Mita didn’t really hear them. Everything felt surreal, the dream world blending effortlessly with memories and warped images of reality.
Her upper consciousness barely registered. And like so many dreams, only snippets of memories would remain upon waking.
The room shimmered, and became her room in the wizard’s castle. Her mother’s voice changed to her father’s, although Etta’s face remained the same.
Deedles the blind cat walked through a wall in the room and sat on her haunches, watching Mita intently and apparently with great clarity. It appeared the cat could see perfectly in the dream world.
Her mother’s face changed into her father’s, finally matching the voice. Then his face melted, replaced by Otwa’s, her nanny.
A presence filled the room, and all talking ceased. Dread clawed its way into Mita’s mind, filling her awareness like a heavy weight pressing down.
A look of alarm crossed Otwa’s face, then her head ripped off her body, as if caught in the jaws of an invisible beast.
Mita’s full consciousness filled her dream-self now. She jumped up from the bed and into a fighting stance. The bedroom shimmered again, and they stood outdoors in the training ring she had spent so much time in back home before joining Oldstone.
She
felt a rush of air as the beast charged her, and she shot off a spell of force in that direction. It did nothing to slow the beast, who tackled her to the ground and struck at her face, gouging her right eye.
She screamed in pain, her head thrown back in the pillow in the bedroom. Her eye swelled shut in her sleep.
Mita cast a fireball, and it did nothing, sailing through the air harmlessly. She felt the hot breath of the beast as it opened its jaws near her neck, warm spittle dripping on her skin.
She turned her head away and her one good eye found Deedles staring back at her. The cat hadn’t moved and still sat on its haunches.
Deedles purred and sent a thought to her mind: Wake up!
-+-
Mita took a long, hot bath that morning, in part to wash off feelings of dream residue the monster left, and in part to ease her aching muscles.
She dressed herself with the wave of a hand, opting for a simple white dress rather than the tight leather armor she normally favored. She bandaged her eye carefully, by hand. Then she headed downstairs for breakfast.
Cookie came out with a steaming bowl of porridge and said, “Oh, dearie, this is wonderful! I’ll have a chance to work up my poultice for you. It’s ideal when you’re in a situation where you can’t use magic to heal. I’ll show you how to make it!”
“Never thought I’d see the day I needed to make a poultice,” Mita grumbled.
“Oh yes! And a battlemaiden must be prepared for every eventuality, dearie. Now stay right here, I’ve just got to gather the ingredients and we’ll have you patched up in no time. What a wonderful opportunity!”
Mita didn’t share the facsimile’s enthusiasm, but she found the porridge delicious and quickly downed the whole bowl. When she finished, it disappeared, replaced by a steaming mug of tea.
Cookie returned with flowers and oils and fresh bandages. She mixed several items together with a mortar and pestle, then dabbed the concoction over the swollen eye and wrapped a fresh bandage around it, running several strands around Mita’s head.