Chapter 47

A Crown Upon Whose Head?

A south wind filled our sails.

After long inactive days, the orcs did something unusual. They mingled. Apart from song, I hardly heard their voices, but a cargo full of treasures had affected their spirits. Laughter became more common since trading with the tzards. It didn’t hurt that each orc had been given a few pearls as a bonus. Several barrels had been opened for celebration. Only the good-moss went untouched. No one wanted anything to do with it.

Trading for good-moss was a gamble. Following Migigle’s logic, we could trade good-moss with the golems for clear rock,—glass?—and glass with the cats for coin. As for the pearls, it was my hope to trade with Barnacle-eyes for coin; she could trade pearls in Lavenfauvish. I needed her to expand the Sea of Ogo southward.

After another week of sailing north, summer came to an end. The nights became cold. It drizzled when we finally arrived at our next destination. The land so far north was sparse and low. It was one long broken stretch of canebrake. Our jolly boats scraped against the mud until we came to a halt. I led our party through the canebrake by hacking. Bif consulted an old map and directed our trek. After half a day of hacking and slashing, we came to a forest. The trees were willow-esque. Their yellow-clear foliage hung like slips of slime.

Cracks ran up the trees, and the trunk bled resin like pines, but the resin was gloopy and pastel green. Things did not decay quickly among the cane. The land smelled of compost. Clear round eggs covered whole canes and branches here and there. In the water that collected in our footprints, silvery mucus foamed.

I caught sight of movement between trees. “No need for the map anymore.”

Eyes atop stilts came into view. Each stilt was long and fleshy. The flesh was pale like moonlight. So was the rest of the slug as it oozed across the ground. It was larger than a cat and wore a crown made entirely of what looked like melted pearl. Eyes on stilts appeared all around. Other slugs began to exude from the canebrake and through the trees. There were some up in the trees. With slow long stretches they drooled down to the forest floor beside the crowned slug.

The crowned slug moved its mouth like it was chewing sludge. It chewed their language.

Jix shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know, sir.”

I beckoned one of my orcs to offer a barrel. The barrel was gently set before the crowned slug.

“Trade for beer,” I said.

The crowned slug wrapped himself around the barrel. He uncorked it and let foam dribble down into its puckered mouth. Each gulp it took traveled the length of him like he was a squirming throat. His eyes on flesh stilts danced. Other slugs approached and stretched their eyes on stilts.

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I showed the crowned slug one silver coin. “Trade for coin.”

The crowned slug slid off the barrel and chewed its language to his kin. The rest of them took turns slurping at the beer. Each one wiggled after a few gulps. While they all drank, and the crowned slug spoke with a number of smaller slugs, brown ones approached. Sticky beads of moisture dribbled from their striped backs like beads of rolling sweat. They left a gritty turmeric stain behind. The first of the brown slugs stopped at my feet and curled up. Its body writhed for a moment. It birthed a pearl, looked up at me, and then crawled off. I picked up the pearl. Goo slobbered off of it.

“One pearl?”

The crowned slug chewed its language and nodded. I pried a drinking slug off Hawkin’s barrel. Its mouth moved like a fish out of water. The crowned slug and his kin spit and spit and spit. I asked my orcs for a tankard and filled it to the brim. I drank half and put the other half beside the single pearls as if to show the value. The crowned slug driveled over the pearl and broke it in half.

“One pearl for one tankard.”

The brown slugs inspected the barrel. One stuck its eyes on stilts into the bunghole. After chewing its language to the king in apparent discussion, a rout of brown slugs came and birthed a total of 120 pearls.

“Four pearls short,” I said.

I crouched beside the pile of pearls and made 4 indentations in the ground with my thumb. I gestured at the pile and the empty indentations. The crowned slug only shook its head at me. After some thought, it dawned on me that the crowned slug knew what he was doing. He wasn’t going above 120 pearls per barrel. We traded the remaining barrels on hand.

Throughout the next several days, we used our carts to transport barrels of goblin spit beer to the slugs. I led the trade and hardly slept. My mind was in a fog as I labored over transporting cart after cart after cart. We lugged the pearls aboard and shoved them in empty barrels with broken staves. The orcs took shifts until the crowned slug was satisfied with our trade. Brown slugs no longer came forward to birth pearls over the turmeric stained birthplace. My third trade was complete.

I thanked the crowned slug. His eyes swung and he circled me. He put his back end on my boot and sucked at it with his body. After two more rounds of that, I gathered that he wanted me to follow him. He led me through the land until we came to an area that was covered with barbed snails. The forest floor was white with glistening strands of mucus. The barbed slugs let the crowned slug and I through.

A giant slug, as large as an orc, writhed in the center of the mess. So many pale slugs surrounded us that it seemed to me like they were maggots pulsing on a wound of earth. The giant slug rolled over and over. It twisted and gulped and throbbed. The crowned slug watched, so I watched too.

At last, the giant slug began to labor in birth until it dropped a large pearl ring. The giant slug moved away, and the crowned slug circled the pearl ring before turning to me and bowing.

“For me?” I said.

The crowned slug remained bowed. I picked up the ring. It was an imperfect circle but entirely pearl and strong. I pinched it and it did not break or bend. And that was that. I was escorted out of the slug settlement. The escort thinned then, and only the crowned slug and a dozen other slugs came with me the rest of the way to the jolly boats. I kept pace with them out of respect.

I bowed at the slugs when we reached the mud and water. I returned to my ship by jolly boat and we raised anchor. Just before we set sail, I inspected the pearl ring. It was too large for my fingers. I slipped it on a tusk.

Farewell orc friend.

I furrowed my brow and looked back at the coast. The crowned slug and his kin were there. Atop them, transparent as ghosts or like sunlight through murky water, each slug bore a rider. Their features were almost human, but their mouths were toothless. The heads were teardrop and they waved emphatically.

Return someday with more beer!