Sailing Ether Tides
Ch: 10 Kicked Dogs Will Holler
The shop closed down at sixth bell, when the Wards convened in the kitchen for tea and a snack… Amy set down a bowl of vampire squid ramen that was big enough to satisfy a small family and dropped her chopsticks into the enormous empty mixing bowl with a soft clatter.
“You seem usure, Leafy…” The girl in blue said gently, leaving the door open for her to speak frankly.
“Can I ask you something?” Leafchaser whispered. “If you have all these goods… and you sail with captain Esperanza… Why are you bartering for scrap and forage in Beast Town?”
“Cause your market ward is populated with sweaty, bloated ballbags. We don’t trade with shitheads and bigots if we can avoid it. When we can’t avoid it, we deal sharply and cut them to the bone” She whispered back with a bright smile on her lips.
“We deal in scrap and forage, because we use those raw materials in our crafts and arts where we can… and trade them when we can’t.”
“But you’re trading pure junk for finished goods… clothes, tools, cooking utensils… for garbage? You must be losing money hand over fist!” Jeskin muttered. “You’ll be begging in the streets at this rate!”
Rio placed a calming hand on the high strung dogman’s shoulder. “There’s no foundry on the island and no local supply of coal or charcoal for small scale smelting and recycling, so most metal goods and raw metals come in from the mainland at a premium price. When stuff wears out or breaks it gets dumped in the local junk heaps.” He shrugged and smiled at his new friend.
“Scrap isn’t high value, merchant haulers can’t be bothered with it.” Wilford added in. “For generations… behind every forge and farm, piled up outside town… Metal junk just sitting there. It’s been stacking up all over the place, but not in any particular spot. Instead of scouring the island for junk, we’ll let the locals bring it to us.”
“Those bunny kids looked like they understood what I wanted. I expect we’ll be sold out of trade goods and have to start buying scrap for coin in a few days.” Amy sighed happily, as she dished up another massive bowlful. “They get a fair scrap price, we get the materials we need on the cheap and the local guilds can jump in the swamp for all we care.”
“You could make so much more profit in the dock ward or gate market…” He insisted, while looking around the comfortable, elegant home. The house and garden seemed supremely unlikely to be where it undeniably was, on a festering island in a mucky bog. With its fine furnishings, framed artworks on the walls and splendid musical instruments scattered all around, it was like nothing the locals had ever seen.
“Tomorrow, we should have our full team here… We’ll open the public baths and really start trading then.” Rio announced through a huge yawn and stretch. “We’ll have a lay healer in the clinic, two skilled tailors, a carpenter and our smith will be able to get some work done at last.”
“A lay healer? Here? That’s going to be busy. We have a lot of minor afflictions and illnesses in the district.” Jeskin barked eagerly. “Healer’s temple sends an acolyte one day a month, but otherwise, we’re on our own out here. We’d have to pass through the market ward to get to the temples.”
Wilf, Rio and Amy looked at each other over the rims of their enormous mixing bowls and slowly set them down in unison. “We should have thought of that.” Wilf mumbled to his brother and sister, before turning back to his new friends with a sad smile.
“Spread the word please, we’ll be available at all hours for medical emergencies once our healer gets here. Anyone that’s really sick or injured should just come right over; Amy’s an apprentice healer and we’ve both had emergency medical training.”
“Adventurers, sweetie.” Amy whispered to the two locals. “We’ve been in training since we were little, it’s the family business.”
#
Sundown on the Shallow Sea meant fog. Sometimes it was wispy gray shrouds across the sky, tugged away by playful winds… usually it was thick, smothering clouds of dense… everywhere all the time. Anything more than a few feet away from a light source might as well be invisible. In the thick vapor, even sound carried poorly.
When a pair of ship’s bells sounded in the harbor mouth, Lightkeeper Zang Qui expected them to anchor til fogrise, an hour after dawn. Instead, two vessels passed into the wide crater harbor and vanished in the obscuring fog, slipping through the harbor entrance in the obscuring mist.
One was small, festooned with running lights and proceeding without sails; the other… was glowing a lambent, virulent green in the mist, illuminating the area in a terrible display of uncanny… whatever.
“G…g…g… Ghost Ship!?” He stammered.
“It’s not a ghost ship… anymore.” A slim, red haired man said softly from the landing behind the lightkeeper. He leaned casually against the railing, looking out over the lights of town and the fading glow of the ships.
“We captured it and cleansed it of undead influence. The glow is an algae growth.” The small fellow held up a bronze Adventure badge with a smile that probably caused and solved a lot of very entertaining problems for the handsome man.
“Adventure guild huh?” Qui asked with a tired note in his voice. “I still have to signal the castle.”
“Sure, We have someone there already, a few members of the family are already in town. I came over on a skiff to ask that you not raise the alarm. I know what it looks like… A glowing warship sailing in under the fog, pretty spooky. Frankly we’re just exhausted sailors that want to moor up and resupply.”
“Badge says Wheatford Adventure guild… you really from there?” The sharp eyed coast watcher asked keenly. “Heard a lot about that branch of the guild…”
“We’ll try to avoid causing trouble, no promises though, we have team Ragamuffin in town.” On that inexplicable note, the man vanished into the fog; his nearly silent footfalls on the stairs fading in a few seconds.
“Bloody Adventurers…” He grumbled as he opened the door to the lighthouse’s pigeon cote. “High handed and cocky…” He kept grumbling, even after his bird had long since vanished in the fog.
#
A soft hum in Ivy’s ear provided only a moment’s warning, before Amy’s voice came in loud and clear across her earring. “Auntie Ivy! We’ve missed you! We’re set up on a little island south of the dock Ward… Falco will lead you in!”
Falco hopped up on his fluke and splashed across the calm waters of the harbor, relentlessly teasing the small blonde woman at the helm. “Damn you Fishface! I don’t speak blowhole!” She scolded him right back.
“If you don’t know what he’s saying, why are you upset?” Tallum asked softly from his seat on the taff rail, nearby.
“It’s the tone…” She muttered darkly. “He’s always so smug!” She turned the ship’s wheel and began following the silly fish into the dark, foggy harbor.
There was a small sound, as Dannyl’s skiff bumped against Moonrise, followed by the sound of a guitar, ringing out in the foggy evening. “I’m home! The lighthouse keeper was not best pleased by our presence.” He sang happily from somewhere in the gathering darkness.
They steered away from the lights of town, heading for a small collection of dimly glowing windows on a nearby island. Paper lanterns in the trees glowed warmly as night landed on Centre Port Island. The lights of a long wooden pier and the cackling, chirping aquatic mammal led them to a quiet mooring. Falco continued to sass the crew constantly, as they tied up the two ships under the eyes of every resident of the little household and the nearby slum.
Esperanza’s bounty was enough of a distraction; her sleek lines and unusual fitout drew eyes wherever she sailed, not unlike her captain.
Moonrise shared many of those same idiosyncrasies: She boasted an array of magical glowstone running and navigation lights as well as a propulsion system that was inexplicable, even in a world of magical wonders. Her ridiculous figurehead of a radiant white stag, holding the moon in his antlers didn’t help much.
Just as unhelpful was the silver emblem of Secret’s sickle moon, with a grinning human skull staring from inside the shining crescent, painted on her superstructure. Wherever she sailed, people noticed the odd little trade boat.
Towering over both of the unusual trade ships, loomed an imperial frigate, glowing a luminous, pale green. Much of her seemed perfectly mundane, simply a weather worn ship with a high prow and sleek, aggressive lines. Her hull and rigging shone with eldritch light and seemed to shimmer in the fog, creating some interest and distress in the locals.
Two gangplanks hit the long pier, followed by rushing boots and familiar voices calling out the familiar tasks. “Fore and aft lines secure!” Tallum barked from between the two newcomers.
“All good here!” Dannyl sang out from the bow of Moonrise.
“Tied up.” Benny shouted from the captured ship’s far end, his voice nearly consumed by the muffling clouds of vapor drifting across the harbor.
“Aww… they really were ghost pirates!” Amy sighed sadly. “I can’t believe we missed out!” She had both arms wrapped around Becky, hugging her auntie for all she was worth, at the foot of the pier.
The boys were off mixing it up with Frankie and the others, helping get the crew settled in and the ships secured. Rio and Wilf waved to her from the small knot of young people in the garden, under the lanterns.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“We gotta finish setting up, now that we’re all together.” Amy whispered, as she slipped out of the arms of her beloved aunt and skipped over to her comrades.
“Wait up, I want in on this too!” Dannyl shouted gleefully, as his guitar appeared in his hands, sweet, soft notes already scattering into the night from his fingertips. “Gods and spirits, I need a bath and a bed!”
Leafchaser and Jeskin were sprawled on the green, listening to the music from her new friend’s house and staring at the glowing shape of the imperial frigate, moored just across the channel. “It got weirder over there…” She whispered softly.
“Your new friends are… Well, they just are. Let’s go home.” Jeskin grumbled happily.
#
The results of two long days and nights of hard labor showed, as they sailed up in a mostly clean ship. The unnamed vessel still needed more cleaning, new sails, provisions and a crew to sail her. Becky, Ivy and Tallum walked down the dock together, conversing quietly.
“I don’t think we should auction her… We should study this gravitational magic and find out where she was built, and by whom… if we can.” Ivy insisted, with backup from Tallum.
“I’m sold… That lower compartment is super crazy. I wish he could get a look at it.” Becky murmured sadly. “He’s still under sanction for cursing that slaver into haunting a shithouse.”
“I thought that was a good one, very fitting.” Dannyl grumbled at the heavens. “It’s past time they got their…”
“I’m heading into the temple ward tomorrow. Come along Dannyl, it’ll be almost like old times.” Becky announced as her husband scooped her up in his arms and gave her a twirl.
“Are you expecting trouble?” The young veteran Adventurer asked in a quiet voice.
“Ward is coming along.” She smiled at her ginger brother and went back to kissing her knight in the garden.
“That sounds fun.” He remarked while heading into the expanded house. Now there were more buildings on the island; a fanciful gingerbread cottage stood back by the trees, where it would get the morning sunshine first. A low adobe ranch house with a seascape mural had sprouted near the waterside and a stone, tile roofed cottage anchored the bridge to the beastkin island.
Beside that house, in the center of the garden clearing, sat a wide, public bathing pool, filled with elderly beastkin folks, children and pregnant mothers.
Frankie, Benny and Maya were already soaking in the steamy waters, kicked back and blissfully at ease. Soft voices lifted with the steam, singing in harmony as they drifted among the locals.
I know this super highway,
This bright familiar sun.
I guess that I'm the lucky one,
Who wrote that tired sea song?
Set on this peaceful shore,
You think you've heard this one before.
Well the danger on the rocks is surely past,
Still I remain tied to the mast!
Could it be that I have found my home at last?
Home at last…
Steely Dan was lost on the beastfolk in the pool around the three kids, but their voices were strong and pure, carrying the song effortlessly.
“Nostalgic…” Becky sighed as they went into the main house
#
It took two full days of scrubbing, scouring, re-rigging, re-fitting and carpentry to get the nameless, formerly haunted ship seaworthy and sanitary. Down in the bowels of the long, sleek warship Ivy was in her element, exploring and noting down every detail of the magical inscriptions and formations built into her hull. Ivy’s voice drifted up from a narrow crawlspace under the waterline.
“These ballast, stability and binding enchantments are pretty solid… I can firm up some of the phrasing and tighten the cadence a bit… but this is fine work.” She called up to her giant husband. “Gravitational magic for certain… It’s pretty interesting stuff. I’ll take some rubbings of the inscriptions.”
“I wondered why there was no ballast down there…” Tallum muttered. “That explains why she was so fast under sail. Gravitational magic…”
“This is going to be interesting…” Becky said, as she popped up from a hatchway into the same compartment along the ship’s keel. “This is entirely new and exciting… Now I wish we’d interrogated that squid.”
“No clues in the ship’s log?” The giant asked, his low rumbling voice putting the tiny priestess at ease, as always.
“Nahh, nothing there little brother. It was just squid boy, rambling on and on about how awful the living are and how the dead should rule a silent sea. A waste of ink, even if he did produce his own.” She sighed. “Come on up Ives. It’s dinnertime, you can play later. We’ll run the sketches by Wilf when he gets back.”
#
“Wilf! Get back!” Benny shouted, drowning out whatever the handsome, young, curly haired leader of his section was saying.
Chaos erupted from the backup team, as a ton and a half of angry muscle surged out of the brush on lumbering bear paws. A massive, nearly hairless mass of wrinkled skin with a vicious, pig, opossum and rat hybrid face lunged at the young warrior’s red armored form.
Amy dropped her hand on the huge lad’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Frankie says relax…”
Even while she was speaking, the red armored warrior sprang to his left with a graceful spin, landing just out of range of the creature’s tusks, claws and general horribleness.
An instant later, his hammer finished whipping around, following the big man’s momentum, scattering wallowbear blood and teeth across the scraggly brushlands. The beast roared its fury across the rocky hillside and lashed at the man with bloodied tusks and the long, prehensile rattail at its other end. Hairless and wrinkled pink flesh, bristling with a despicable variety of quills, spines and barbed… things, writhed and slapped at the fast moving warrior.
He slipped back into the scrub brush and saplings around the thing’s eponymous wallow, dancing with surprising grace among the trees. Snapping jaws and the flailing prehensile tail followed him around the boggy mudhole, intent on rending him limb from limb.
Rio’s inconspicuous green armor stepped out of the gorse and thornbushes, with his wide bladed spear already in motion. The meaty sound of what amounted to a narrow, razor sharp war shovel sinking into the creature’s spine seemed very loud. The deafening bellow that followed an instant later, sent reptiles and birds swimming, scuttling and flying away in all directions for a half mile.
“He’s crippled, finish it!” Rio sang out, as he danced back from the raking claws at the front end of the beast. Its back end was no longer mobile, beyond the occasional spasm or twitch. The long, black hafted spear remained lodged in the creature’s spine, just before the hind legs. It waved jauntily about, jutting out like a bare flagstaff, as the monster continued trying to hurl itself at Rio’s fast moving, green shape.
“Very nice!” Jeskin muttered grimly, as he helped drag the carcass out of the bog. “That was solid teamwork.”
“Thanks, we’ll handle dressing it, would you help them set up the camp… rain’s coming.” Wilf asked the young dog man, in his strange, soft voice.
“Rain? The sun’s out…” A distant crack of thunder echoed down from the mountain peak of Centre Point island as he finished speaking. Their pleasant overnight hunting trip to the barely inhabited weather side of the island had been very successful so far; culling a number of minor monsters from the verdant, half wild slopes of the volcanic island.
“Storm’s coming in, ‘bout three hours from now feels like.” The odd lad murmured, as his wickedly curved, bronze knife began disassembling the monster with quick, practiced movements. He had it skinned, quartered and hung up to drain off the blood, before the first tent was fully set up. The hide he swiftly and confidently rolled and slipped out of sight… somehow.
Jeskin and Leafchaser no longer bothered trying to figure out how things worked around these delightful weirdos; the food was good, as was the company. Music, food and drink was never in short supply, but questions received few straight answers.
“More than one of us possesses a storage gift… I hope you understand; we are always reluctant to share the details outside the team.” Frankie murmured gently. “Much of what you have and will yet witness, can be explained by years of teamwork and training, as well as the close nature of our relationships. We’ve been together pretty much since...” He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing.
“There was some trouble… Trouble, forces and beings that mortals should not have to face. Things are complicated for our little extended family, and have been for a while.”
Jeskin reached out and gently put his hand over Leafy’s mouth before she could ask any more questions, or demand that he ask them. “Thank you for your courtesy, we won’t pry further.” He said firmly.
#
Sir Albrev Dunham sighed long and slow, as he tried to remember his oaths of knighthood under very trying circumstances.
“...trading in beast town, rather than in the market ward as is proper and traditional! They are even engaging in barter for scrap metal!” Bernadette Kerrik, head of the local Trade Association sniffed in disdain as deep and cold as any ocean depths.
“Hordes of the filthy whelps have been scrounging in every waste pile for days, spiriting away anything metal!”
“I fail to see where the law is being violated.” He answered carefully. “What is the nature of your charge?”
“Tax avoidance, smuggling and illegal establishment of an unlicensed trading post in the town! Obviously that is criminal behavior!” She snapped, adding in a stamp of her delicate silk and seed pearl slipper.
“You just said they are bartering for scrap metal… barter transactions are untaxed. Are you suggesting that there is smuggling afoot?” He buffed an imaginary fleck of dust from his breastplate with a soft chamois and smiled blandly.
“What are they smuggling, do you think? I looked at their wares on offer shortly after they arrived… were the wooden tablewares and garden tools contraband items? Is there a cooking pot embargo I was unaware of?” The old knight’s bland smile slowly spread, becoming a wide grin; as the merchant’s face began turning the most entertaining colors.
“They are moored up near that filthy shanty town of stray animals! All ships and traders must utilize the town docks by law! It’s the LAW!” She shouted at the knight.
“When the beastfolk settled on Westfall island, the Trade Association and Merchant’s League were very adamant that they be explicitly excluded from the city charter and boundaries…” Sir Dunham’s smile remained pleasant and mild as he spoke, though the warmth fled his voice.
“Since Westfall island is its own township, officially… I fail to see the Centre Port Trade Association’s interest in the matter.” His words had a flinty edge to them, cold and sharply brittle. “Perhaps I misapprehend, please, enlighten me. What crime were you reporting, again?”
“Obviously they are smuggling liquor, drugs or filthy beast whores!” The outraged merchant shrilled. “This reeks of moral turpitude! Consorting with those animals offends the gods and shocks the morals of the community!”
“...Morals of community, shocked…” He murmured, as he stroked his short silver goatee. “I forget which law that violates, but I will look into it, right after breakfast tomorrow. It seems to be a matter that needs the full attention of myself and Sir Theobard; we will devote our full powers to resolving this important question.”
He continued petting his chin and smiling for a few seconds too long… just too long enough, by his estimation.
“Yes, Together, we’ll resolve this matter decisively before third bell, you may be assured.”
“That is good news indeed, Sirrah. I trust this matter will come to a satisfactory conclusion…” The merchant lady’s own smile became sickly sweet, as her voice raised an octave or two, becoming sweetly pleasant.
“The Merchant’s League has been deeply upset by these events… several members are deeply offended, and rightly so by the laxity of your office as a whole… and your personal failure to act on this travesty. What have you decided; if I may ask…?”
“Eggs and toast, I think.” The knight murmured thoughtfully. “Perhaps sausages as well… Sir Theobard prefers coffee and a sweet roll, I believe.”
“Your attitude has been noted, sir.” She snapped, suddenly far less cordial than her previous tone. “This will be discussed extensively with the Merchant’s League and the baroness herself!”
“I’m certain it will be. Good day citizen.” He answered sweetly.
Mistress Kerrik gripped his office door in her bejeweled hand and gave it her mightiest effort on the way out. Her attempt to slam the door failed miserably, it swung unhindered until a few scant inches remained… When the door paused, all on its own; then slowly eased the rest of the way closed with a soft, satisfied hiss.
Two days before, a burly young Adventurer had strolled in, with a small box and a letter from his cousin, Baron Thelonius Dunham. The lord of Port Fallon on the eastern north coast was an odd man, with an odd sense of humor.
On the occasion of Baron Thelonius Dunham’s birth day, house Dunham of Port Fallon bids you well and good health, dear cousin. The bearer of this letter carries a small token of our mutual love and affection. Please allow this craftsman to do his work without interference.
Sir Thelonius Dunham, Baron of Port Fallon.
P.S. You will come to understand the worth of this gift in due time.
Your cousin, Tony.
When the muscular young carpenter had finished installing a new set of door hinges on his office, the aging knight had simply shook his head in confusion and bid the friendly young man a good day.
Sir Dunham hadn’t thought any more of it, once he noticed that the annoying squeak and chill draft from that door that he’d been putting up with for eight years was gone, hopefully for good.
The mystery of the unslammed door took a distant second position in the race for his attention. The look on Bernadette’s face when her petulant antics fell flat… It was now a cherished memory; snug and warm in his heart forever more. Curious as to how this treasure had come to be his; he rose and opened his door wide, taking a good long look at what the lad had done to the heavy oak portal.
The hinges looked pretty ordinary, if well crafted and oddly designed… The only oddity was a small cylinder enclosing the hinge works, rather than a wrought iron pin. The knight took the door and gave it a trial slam… Which resulted in only a soft hiss and the click of the latch, nothing more.
There were no gears or signs of any kind of spring mechanism to explain it, the door simply refused to be slammed. Even when he tried to force it, the hinges put up some mysterious resistance, then slowly eased the portal closed, every time.
The knight got up in the door jamb and gave the innocuous seeming hinges a better look. Hidden near the pivot point, engraved into the brass plate, was a line of text:
Karen’s-Bane hinge, Wardco Engineering Partners Llc.
“Weird…” He muttered, before going back to his paperwork.
#