From listening to the men on the dock, he learned he needed rum to mix with the drinking water in order to keep it from becoming fouled during the journey. So he purchased dozens upon dozens of casks, and he added to that a case of the finest wine the port town offered, on which he scrawled his name.
He returned to the tailor’s he’d visited early in the morning and had him sew a secret pocket into his shirt. There he hid some of the fortune remaining-a dozen small sapphires-in the event he needed them at some point in the future.
There were a few more stops: a chandler for cases of candles and oil, which might come in handy; bakers for loaves upon loaves of bread, which would have to be eaten relatively quickly while they were fresh; he doubted that would be a problem; and a blacksmith’s for an assortment of tools simply because Grallik thought hammers and nails and such might be useful eventually.
He purchased lanterns, goose-down pillows, wheels of cheese, tins of tobacco, three hundred pounds of hard candy-all that the candy maker had on hand-three hundred tanned cow hides from a merchantman who had just come ashore, and two shaving kits and several bars of soap, which he tucked in his backpack for himself and Horace. He also acquired several maps-of the coast around the New Sea, the Kharolis Mountains, the northern section of the Qualinesti Forest (he could find none of the entire territory), and an old map of what the world had looked like before the Chaos War. He expected Direfang to be quite pleased with the maps.
Finally, he purchased several chests of books; he didn’t bother to look at the topics or titles. Grallik had lost all of his precious tomes in the earthquakes in Steel Town; many of them were spellbooks, but some were simply interesting treatises on the Dark Knights, Nerakan history, or tales of the gods. He relished reading and knew Horace did too. And he could justify the books, saying that Direfang himself knew how to read; he might even want to use the books to teach some of the goblins to read also.
One last stop: a cook shop recommended by Captain Gerrold. Exhausted from his extensive shopping expedition, he settled at a table far from the door, a habit he’d picked up in Steel Town’s only tavern. His timing was excellent; after the serving girl brought out a plate of bread, soft cheese, and quince marmalade, people started arriving in droves for the evening meal.
Grallik was careful not to eat too much, limiting himself to the venison custard. There were bits of bacon in it, and bacon was something he hadn’t enjoyed since his posting to Steel Town. There was also wine, cinnamon, ginger, saffron, dates, and prunes; he savored all the ingredients. He finished his meal with a torte made of ground cherries, cheese, sugar, and rose petals.
“Aye, it will be a long while before I have such divine fare,” he told the serving girl. “A glass of wine, and I’ll be on my way.”
The sun was just setting as he made his way back to the Clare. He strode up the plank and greeted Gerrold, giving him the signal to motion for the crew to make ready to leave the port. The other five ships he’d made arrangements with were waiting in the harbor; they would follow the Clare. The wind was strong, and the sails snapped and billowed as they were raised.
“Everything’s loaded in the holds.” That came from the half-ogre Grallik had met earlier. His name, he had learned, was K’lars, and he served as the bosun’s mate. “A lot of food, you’ve bought. All manner of things. Quite a lot of ships you’ve acquired too.”
Grallik stood at the rail, wrapped his long fingers around the wood, and looked up to see the sky full of gulls and blackbirds.
“We’re picking up many passengers,” Grallik said when he heard K’lars step closer. “Captain Gerrold is well aware of the arrangements.”
“And these passengers …”
“Just set your course for the mouth of the river to the east. I don’t know the name of the river.” Grallik hadn’t even bothered to ask the name of the town. He knew he could find the town later, though, if he wanted. It would be on one of the maps he had bought.
“All these passengers are waiting there, at the river?”
“Yes,” Grallik answered tersely.
“Didn’t want to come to town to get on these ships? What’s the matter with ’em?”
Grallik had already begun to dislike the half-ogre who was too curious for his own good. He turned and glared at him. “You’re being paid to crew this ship,” he answered. “Paid better than you ever were paid before. But I’m not paying you to ask questions.”
“It’s your ship,” K’lars admitted, bowing slightly. He walked away, barking orders to the men in the rigging. “These are all your ships.”
“Only until we reach the mouth of the river is this my ship,” Grallik muttered under his breath. “Then Foreman Direfang will reclaim the leadership of this ship and all the others, for certain.”
But K’lars was right. Grallik hadn’t simply purchased passage for the goblins. He’d purchased the ships outright.
THE BEAR
It was a fat bird with short wings, all of it the color of the earth. An ugly bird, Saarh thought, but it might be tasty, and there looked to be a good amount of flesh on it. She crawled toward the fat bird through ferns damp from the previous night’s rain. She took in the smells as she went, appreciating the flowers the best. All along that part of the forest floor were ground-hugging, three-leafed plants with tiny white and red blooms. They were beautiful flowers, though they had settled sourly in her mouth when she tasted them. She was quickly learning what was edible and what was not.
The fat bird was the size of her head, and it was poking at something at its feet. Bugs, probably, she thought. Saarh didn’t much care for bugs, but some beetles were all right; the big green and black ones were all right if she was hungry enough.
The bird fluffed its tail, startling her. But Saarh held her position, peering through the fronds and discovering that it wasn’t so ugly after all. Its tail was not like that of other forest birds. It was fan shaped, showing black and white stripes. The bird ruffled the feathers around its neck, those the color of mud and looking soft and contrasting sharply with an orange line she hadn’t noticed before around its eyes. No doubt the bird was alerted to her presence, because it pawed at the ground nervously, yet it hadn’t been spooked so much to make it fly away.
Perhaps what it was nibbling at was too tasty to give up easily, Saarh thought. Or maybe the bird was too fat to spring away and fly. She held her breath and continued to watch the fat bird, marveling at the play of dark colors across its body when a stream of sunlight came through the branches and splashed across it.
A beautiful bird, really, Saarh decided. Pity she was going to have to kill it. The goblin shaman was hungry, but she waited, studying the bird a while longer. It ate a little more of whatever was on the ground in front of it before waddling into a thicket. The light was dim there, the branches directly overhead were tightly woven.
Saarh crawled closer, careful not to make a sound. She held her breath when she caught sight of the bird again. It had settled itself on a patch of tiny twigs and dead leaves, fluffing its feathers and craning its neck around to preen itself. The shaman’s keen eyes noticed thick bands of dark yellow on its breast.
It was a beautiful, beautiful bird, which had conveniently made its nest on the ground.
When she was near enough that she could smell it-a musky scent that pleasantly filled her nostrils-Saarh stuck her thumb in the ground and made a clacking sound. The bird spooked that time, jumping off its nest, wings flapping and head bobbing up and down and beak opening. The bird appeared more comical than menacing, and Saarh even giggled a little as she cast a spell.