Rove
Fool’s Point, The Grasping Isle
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Logo made by Mark Evegaars, writer of this story
It didn’t take Rove long to get a bearing on the assassin alchemist and the madman. Sneak was counting shells on the shoreline, while Trïeste was loudly arguing with a group of dockworkers. Even at a distance, he heard the telltale pleas of ignorant men trying to woo a woman. He grimaced to himself. Poor dockworkers. Little did they know that they choose the wrong woman to catcall.
“... and if you call me that one more time, I’ll keelhaul you with an anchor chain tied around your throat,” Trïeste said as he approached, her nodding to him as he jutted his thumb in the direction of the ship. One man of the particularly dense and burly variety looked ready to continue their life-threatening activities. Triëste wasn’t having it. With a quick snap of her wrist, she cut one of the coils of rope around the sailor’s shoulders. It happened so fast that he could barely see the dagger flashing by. The message finally arrived in their brains, the men made their escape as fast as they could. Fearful was an alchemist’s wrath, especially one that knew her way around a knife. Trïeste huffed annoyedly as she walked up to him.
“Looks like you took care of that quite well.” He said, sniggering softly and looking at the men fleeing while trying to maintain a sense of dignity.
“Gah!” Trïeste’s face contorted with disgust. “People that have been too long at sea are a pain, that’s all. Still rather annoyin’ though.”
“Sneak thinks y’should’ve thrown them back into the sea.” Sneak’s voice came from behind the half-Vysari, the seashells seemingly having been counted sufficiently. “But Sneak took cover anyway. Trïeste can be very scary when angry.”
Trïeste’s expression became a lot softer as she jokingly struck Sneak’s shoulder. Rove shrugged towards him with a smile, silently agreeing.
“As long as you’re both alright. I mean, not that I have any right to stop you from looking for your lucky man.”
Blows flew through the air, Rove laughing as he avoided the majority of them. The half-Vysari huffed as Rove rubbed his shoulder, the woman folding her arms.
“Not really in the market for a lover, I’m afraid. Besides, I’m not as lucky as you. You got a pretty lady right there that likes you.”
Shaking his head, Rove sighed but didn’t lose the smile. He wasn’t so naive that he could deny the attraction between him and his former client. Instead of trying to retaliate, he just shrugged again.
“Let’s go. Ayuen is already waiting.”
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A couple of minutes later, they were back at the ship. After a cursory glance, the two card-playing sailors lowered the gangplank. One of them led them to the captain’s cabin. Animated voices were clear even before entering, a softer voice vaguely familiar amongst Ayuen’s and Mearn’s ones.
Inside, the two women were talking amongst themselves, a cup of what smelled like hot tea damping on the table next to them. The man that he figured to be the captain stood next to them, looking at them with his back turned away from the entrance. Something about his slightly hunched stance made Rove think he knew the guy, but his attention was drawn by Ayuen giving him a blindingly beautiful smile in welcome.
The sailor muttered a gruff ‘Here you go’ before walking back to the top deck. Undoubtedly eager to lose some more money to his shipmate.
“I’ve gotten the rest of our party.” He said, walking up to the captain as he smiled back at Ayuen. “Did Ayuen tell you what we needed?”
“She did, m’boy. Together with an interestin’ story to boot.”
The voice put a frown on his face. There was no way he would mistake that way of speaking. The captain turned around, revealing himself to be none other than old Brenstead, the origin of his voice hidden in that grey jungle he called a beard.
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Rove looked at Mearn with surprise. “Hold up, you’re working for Old Brenstead?”
“Sure am.” His colleague replied, sipping her tea. “Did I neglect to tell you back in Handport?” She gave him a wink and blew him a hand kiss.
“My bad, dear Rovey. But I couldn’t use the competition.”
“You know I wasn’t any competition anyway, right? Ayuen already hired me at that point.”
“You said you were hired by an old lady, Rove. You never get hired by old ladies. Either posh nobles or arrogant traders or even the occasional proud warrior, but never old ladies. I thought you were bluffing me. And don’t lie, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Oi, I’m not that arrogant, Mearn!” Brenstead interjected, chuckling.
“Tell me it isn’t true, oldtimer. You’re as arrogant as any successful trader.”
“Still got to keep up appearances, lassy Herhor. Can’t be called arrogant by everybody, now can I? Next thin’ I know I’m out of a bloody job. Doin’ the dishes at the Happy Ducklin’.”
Mearn gave him a thumbs up.
“Rove will make sure any tattletails will keep their mouth shut. Nothing that wondrous man can’t do, right?” She winked at Ayuen, whose cheeks flushed a little bit as the Pyrn woman glanced at him.
“I can keep my own mouth shut, thank you very much,” Brenstead muttered, the old man either not caring or not noticing the flirtatious edge of Mearn’s words.
“Sneak is silent as a duck in the custard pot.” Came the madman’s answer, standing behind Trïeste’s chair and patting the woman on the head reassuringly. “M’ster Rove will not have to Sneak, Sneak promises.”
Mearn looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “’M’ster’? Rove, you got to be kidding me. Are you into masquerading as a noble now?”
“Piss off, Mearn.” He had enough. Time to get to business or get the blazes out of here. He raised his voice, smacking his hand onto the table, the cups rattling.
“At any rate, Brenstead, we have things to discuss.” Out of the pockets of his pouches came an empty scroll of parchment, together with a pen. “We need passage to the other side of the Deeprend Straight. I’ll give you a good price to get us there quickly. How does one ha-...”
“Free.” Brenstead’s deep voice vibrated through the room as he interrupted him.
For a couple of seconds, Rove’s brain tried to comprehend what sort of answer ‘free’ was to his partially unasked question, only to conclude that Bren’s answer didn’t make any kind of sense in that context. With a tilted head, he put the pen and paper down and looked up at Brenstead. He was thoroughly confused.
“Excuse me? Could you repeat that, Bren? I think I misheard that.”
“Nothin’ wrong with yer ears, m’boy.” With one fluid movement, Brenstead swiped the piece of parchment away and crumpled it up. “Ye saved me more times than I can count. A true trader pays his debts. Ye and yer companions can join me on the ship and we’ll drop ye off on the mainland.” The old trader theatrically threw the ball of paper into a corner. Rove just sat there for a second, gaping at him.
“But you haven’t done this for me before.”
“That’s because ye never ask, ye dumb buffoon. Ye’re always on yer own, doin’ yer own stuff.” He bumped a fist on the table, looking at him as if he were scolding a child. “Yer got a good reputation, lad. Do ye know what that means? Except braggin’ rights I mean? People on this here Isle look up to ye. Ye’re called the Iron Herhor, for cryin’ out loud. People gave ye that name. Not ye yerself. People.”
He jotted a thumb to Mearn. “The Herhors here are ye companions, traders yer allies. People rely on ye, and a lot of us owe ye beyond just coin. Relyin’ on the folk that owe ye a tad more for a change instead of the other way ‘round might do ye good, boy.” Mearn nodded in agreement, smiling arrogantly at him.
“I didn’t think of it that way,” Rove said somewhat hesitantly. His thoughts went to the inn at Herhor’s End, the ‘Green Apples in a Basket’. The way that the Herhors there had stood up in unison to defend one of their own and followed his lead.
“Are you sure? You’re a trader, for crying out loud. You can lose a lot of money on this, old man.”
Brenstead huffed and waved his comment away.
“What? For a day or two? I think helpin’ ye and gettin’ some stories goin’ will benefit me incredibly well. And don’t forget, m’boy. I already have a bridge named after me. I’m quite well off. And ye saved me life many a time. Now stop whinin’ like a babe and accept me generosity.”
Ayuen stood up, walking up next to him and putting a hand on his arm.
“Brenstead and Mearn told me a story or two about their dealings with you. Oh, don’t give me that glare. They were good ones. Travelling, fighting, and laughing in the inn. They like you even outside of matters paid with coin.”
Her fingers gently squeezed his arm.
“A bit like me. I like you too Rove. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have travelled with you after Tinkersong. So, please. Hide that pride for a couple of moments and accept Brenstead’s offer.”
After a pause, Rove stretched out his hand to Brenstead. “Fine, I accept your offer. On behalf of the four of us, thank you.”
Brenstead’s bearded smile could’ve almost lighted his facial hair on fire as he accepted Rove's hand and shook it with an enthusiasm that surprised him. “Excellent! Don’t get me wrong though, boy. I will still work ye to the bone while yer on me ship.”
Next to him, Ayuen beamed up at him, her hood shifting as her ears twitched. Rove rolled his eyes as he briefly covered her hand with his.
“Heh. I’d expect nothing less.”
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Map made by Mark Evegaars, writer of this story