Maquesta Kar-Thon

Chapter 8

The next day's survey of the damage revealed the Perechon to be battered, but not ruinously so. Several of the sails were rent, and Vartan and Hvel were sitting on the deck, busy patching them with sheets and thin blankets. Vartan caught Maquesta's eye as she paced about, inspecting the damage in the bright sunlight.

"The sails won't hold, Captain," he told her. "Oh, they'll work for a day or two. Then I think Hvel and I will be back at this again. It's not that we can't mend the sails well. It's that these sails have been mended so many times that there will be more thread from our needles in them than cloth."

Hvel coughed to get her attention. "Maquesta, some of us have been talking, comparing how many coins we have between us. It isn't much. But…" He returned to sewing as he finished. "We've collected two dozen steel pieces. That, plus what you have left over from that evil Attat might get us at least one new sail."

She smiled and sat on the deck with them. "I appreciate that, Hvel, Vartan. We need new sails, that's for certain. I'll take you up on your offer, and the first time this ship makes some money, I'll pay everyone double who contributed for the sails."

She rose and resumed her inspection.

The imps had succeeded in battering a hole in the bottom of the longboat. Lendle assured Maq he could repair it, but she was skeptical when she saw him lay out a piece of parchment, grab his chalk, and start diagramming the repair-and a few enhancements.

The top of the mizzenmast, where the imps had been tugging to and fro, showed a hairline crack. Maq was seeing to this repair herself, reinforcing the wood and wrapping cord about it as added insurance. She scowled. If she had her way-and enough coins-she'd buy new masts and new sails.

Finished, she climbed up the mainmast and started scrutinizing it. She felt the wood and tested its strength. Her face clouded with concern. It was strong, but it was about as old as she was, and the ship had been through a lot lately. No cracks, but it was heavily weathered, and it would need to be reinforced. Looking down from her vantage point, she saw her crew working hard. No one was idle, and none of them seemed to be complaining. Even Tailonna was helping, though it was apparent the sea elf was not doing anything too strenuous.

A section of the deck railing had broken away and would have to be replaced with ropes temporarily. Fritzen saw to this, as his acrobatic talents let him dangle over the side of the ship and nimbly attach the ropes to the existing railing-while also inspecting the wood about the portholes, which some of the imps had chipped away.

Lendle's pot and pan holder in the galley was in tatters, a development that pleased Maq. The gnome indicated he would fix it, but first he had to finish his plans for the longboat and take care of replacing a connecting rod that had been destroyed by the explosion in his oar engine.

Koraf discovered that the most pressing need for repairs and replacements came not in the area of equipment, but supplies. The imps had methodically punctured all but one of the barrels of fresh water that the Perechon carried, and that crucial supply had drained away during the night. As much as she hated to take the time, Maq knew they would have to stop in the port city of Sea Reach on Saifhum to replace the water and purchase some more food with the dozen steel coins left from Attat. Perhaps they could buy a smaller sail with what the men collected. Koraf wanted the damaged crates, barrels, and bins to be junked. No use carrying around garbage, he said. However, he was quick to remove the iron rings about the barrels, thinking they might come in useful for something.

An hour later Maquesta found herself curiously eyeing the longboat, which was meticulously patched in the center. A lever-and-pulley mechanism had been installed near the front bench, and it connected to a rod that ran down the side of the boat. Following the rod, Maq saw that beneath the longboat was a bright green finlike projection on a swivel. She tested the lever, and miraculously it turned the fin this way and that. According to the diagram Lendle had left on the seat, the apparatus would make the boat easier to steer and would require less rowing. He saw her looking at his handiwork, grinned broadly, scratched his nose, and said he had other things to attend to.

With that, the gnome bounded away to his putterings, pleased that she had not criticized his invention. In the cargo hold and other indoor areas, he often had the company of Ilyatha, who had taken an interest in the mechanical workings of the ship, as well as a liking to Lendle. For the gnome's part, he confessed to Maquesta that in the shadow warrior, he had found the perfect companion-outside of another gnome that is. He, Lendle, could speak as fast as he wanted with Ilyatha. The shadowperson, with his telepathic abilities, always understood.

Maquesta, with her right hand firmly on the king's spoke, glanced to the horizon. The attack of the imps and the damage they had inflicted on the sails slowed the Perechon's progress. And it hurt the crew's morale. Still, it was obvious they were a determined bunch, and she could think of no other people she would rather associate with. Shortly after midday the sea's rusty red waters began heaving into great swells, indicating their nearness to the Maelstrom's Outer Reach. The Blood Sea took its name from this color, the result of red sands stirred up when the city of Istar collapsed and kept in constant suspension by the resulting Maelstrom at the center of the sea. The Perechon began a sickening up-and-down motion caused by first climbing then slipping into the trough of the huge swells.

Maq leaned hard into the wheel, steering the Perechon always to the north, trying to keep to the far edge of the Outer Reach. She was so preoccupied she didn't hear Fritzen pad up behind her.

"You've a good crew," he said, startling her. "They've done about everything they can with the limited supplies. I've some contacts in Sea Reach. Maybe I can borrow enough coins to get you a new sail for the mainmast."

She turned toward him, a smile growing on her face. "That would be wonderful, Fritzen."

"Fritz," he corrected her.

"All right, Fritz," she replied. "The men have collected two dozen steel. Perhaps with that-and with what your friends will loan you-we can purchase a few new sails. Better sails should improve our speed. And I wouldn't be worrying so much over them."

"Of course," he added, a touch of mischief to his deep voice, "if I get them to loan me the coins, I'll need some guarantee that I have a job here. My friends will insist that I pay them back. And I can't make any promises unless I know I've steady work."

"You'll have a job here as long as you want it," she replied, trying to sound businesslike, though she was giddy that he was asking to stay on long-term. "I should be the one to pay them back, though. Any money you earn is yours to keep." She paused and bit her bottom lip. "I should warn you, Fritz, sometimes a good bit of time goes by between paydays on the Perechon. We haven't had a lot of luck landing decent assignments."

"My friends will understand," he said softly. "Besides, after we get your father back, this ship's luck will change. Fortune could blow your way."

"Fritzen!" Koraf bellowed at him from the bow. The minotaur was motioning toward the bowsprit.

The half-ogre sighed. He was enjoying Maquesta's company, and he would have liked to stay with her a bit longer. "I told him I'd strengthen the bowsprit," Fritz said. "Your first mate is an able seaman, but I don't think he fancies tasks that might land him in the water."

"Minotaurs can swim," Maq replied laughing. "Very well in fact. But they are not the fastest of swimmers. Besides, you're the agile one. He's picking the right man for the job. That's the mark of a good first mate."

The half-ogre flashed her a wide grin, saluted, and dashed toward the bow.

For nearly two hours Maq fought the constant pull southward, toward the inner rings of the Maelstrom. An icy rain began to fall, and the sky erupted with thunder and lightening. Maq was about to call for help when she saw Koraf mounting the steps leading to the upper aft deck. He nodded to her by way of greeting, ever slightly formal. When he motioned that he would take over the helm, she gladly gave it up. As she had in Attat's dungeon, Maquesta felt she could trust this particular minotaur. Maq remained near the helm to ascertain that Koraf could indeed handle the wheel in this weather. She felt gratified at the level of skill he displayed.

After a few bad hours, the Perechon broke away from the pull of the Outer Reach, heading more directly northward, toward the port of Sea Reach. Just after they made the break, Maq spied a black sail on the horizon far behind them. Now and then during the course of that afternoon, she caught sight of it again. The sail could belong to only one ship, the Butcher, captained by the vile Mandracore the Reaver. Mandracore was the one true enemy Melas, and by extension Maquesta, had among those who sailed the Blood Sea regularly. He nursed an old grievance, something about how he and Melas had divided treasure they had scavenged from a sinking merchant vessel many years earlier.

The Butcher's initial appearance troubled her. The fact that it seemed to be following the Perechon deepened that feeling. However, even though the Perechon was not sailing in top form, the Butcher never drew any closer that day. They sailed into the Sea Reach harbor as the sun set, and Maq put that particular worry aside.

Maquesta summoned several crewmembers after dinner that night. Hoping to keep their stay in Sea Reach to one day, or at the most two, Maquesta doled out various responsibilities. She and Lendle would go to the marketplace for foodstuffs and miscellaneous items, where she hoped their ingenuity at making money stretch would carry the day, since there were very few coins left in Attat's pouch to stretch. Fritzen would go to the shipyard to obtain a special compound designed to reinforce the mainmast, which, though not showing any cracks, had been subjected to a great deal of stress lately. After that, he promised to visit some friends and see if he could get enough coins to replace the largest sails. Hvel and Vartan would purchase the water. The assignments taken care of, Maq retired to her cabin for a nap. Sleep was a requirement, for she was to take over watch duty from Fritzen later that night.

Stars filled the sky and the air was still balmy when Maq relieved the half-ogre. He stayed on deck with her for several minutes, discussing the weather, the designs for the Perechon, and how the crew had fallen into an easy rhythm with a minotaur first mate. "Sailors are usually a skeptical lot," she told him. "But they are an accepting lot, also. There's a kinship about the sea that tends to erase racial boundaries. I knew they would eventually like Koraf."

Fritz's lips tugged upward into a smile. "And are you so accepting of other races, too, Maquesta?"

She hoped the handsome half-ogre did not see her blush. "I accept everyone until they've wronged me," she said simply. "You should get some sleep. Our day in port will come very quickly."

Maq settled in next to the helm, pondering her strategy for capturing the morkoth, trying not to worry too much about Melas, and working to keep her mind off Fritzen Dorgaard. She didn't like the idea that he was occupying a lot of her thoughts. A captain has to keep her mind on the ship, she told herself.

She must have dozed for a few minutes, for she woke to someone gently shaking her shoulder.

"I do not sleep well most nights," said Koraf. "I would be happy to take this watch duty so you can get more rest."

"That's quite all right," Maq said defensively. Then, sensing the minotaur was not judging her, she added, "But I could use some company, and if you're not sleeping perhaps you'd oblige me on that."

Receiving no reply, and concerned that she had somehow offended him, Maq simply began talking. She talked about growing up on the Perechon, about the first time Melas allowed her to take the helm, about spotting the Butcher earlier in the day, about virtually anything that popped into her head. Gradually, she sensed Koraf relaxing.

"And what about you, Kof?" Maq asked, genuinely curious. "How did you learn to sail?"

Koraf remained silent. She wondered if he had fallen asleep. Finally, under the cover provided by the darkness, he began to talk.