“But not to the Dark Knights in Steel Town.”
“No,” Horace admitted. “Iverton is shattered and buried in ash.”
Direfang looked to the Clare, then to the five other ships beyond it, eyes lingering on the Wavechaser with its largely minotaur crew. For all his bravado and despite the priest’s spell, which had bolstered his own confidence, the hobgoblin felt anxious and uncertain. It no longer seemed like such a good idea. “Walk, walk, walk,” Skakee’s words echoed in his mind. The longboat carrying Direfang and Horace and the last of the goblins veered over to the Clare.
Ahead, against the hull of the Clare, goblins were clambering out of another longboat and up a boarding net. The sailors yelled at them to wait, that the entire boat would be pulled up. But the goblins could not understand the men and tried to climb over each other in their haste and fear.
“No!” Direfang stood in his longboat, setting it to rocking as he pointed toward the boarding net. “Take care!” He shouted in the goblin tongue. “Slow and easy. Do not-”
Three goblins tumbled from the net, one falling back into the longboat and caught by her kinsmen. The other two were not so lucky and plopped into the sea. Spindly limbs flailed for purchase, touching the net and the side of the boat, before going under.
The sailors in Direfang’s boat rowed faster, shouting to the deck of the Clare that some of their passengers had fallen into the sea. Two more goblins tumbled over the sides of the longboat in their clumsy attempts to help their drowning fellows. The sailors shouted and pointed but made only feeble rescue efforts.
“Four lost all together,” Direfang pronounced minutes later when they had all assembled on the deck of the Clare. “Drowned and gone. Perhaps more were lost getting on the other ships. So dark, I cannot see, and so far, one ship from the other, I cannot hear.”
“They use mirrors and lanterns to signal each other, Foreman.” Horace pointed to a signal light on the Clare and to a responding signal from Linda’s Grady. “I can read some of it, most of it. Your ships are on course. All … at the moment … is well.”
“Some foolish goblins will drown,” Grallik said, standing behind Horace and Grallik. “You or I cannot be on each ship to keep all of them safe. We have done the best we can.”
“Dark Knights such as you,” glowered Direfang, “cannot begin to understand the profound sadness of the loss of goblins to the sea.”
Horace shook his head. “I understand your beliefs, Foreman. I know that goblins believe that after death their spirits return to their bodies as long as those bodies remain whole. It’s why you burn the dead and spread the ashes, so the spirits have nothing to come back to and must move on. I respect that belief.”
If Direfang was surprised that the human understood goblin custom, or paid respect to it, his stern face did not show it.
“You think the spirits will return to those bodies that have plunged to the bottom of the New Sea and will be trapped forever, don’t you?” The priest shook his head as he joined Direfang at the rail, staring out at the rising and falling waves. “The bodies will not remain intact, Foreman. Zeboim will take care of that.”
“Yes, the fish will eat the dead and scatter the bones,” Direfang said. But will they do it soon enough? he wondered to himself. Before the spirits return? And what does a damn Dark Knight know anyway? He pushed away from the rail, heading toward the capstan.
“As I said,” Horace repeated in a whisper as Grallik came up to stand beside him. “Zeboim will take care of everything.”
Hours later, Horace was still at the port rail. He had not been so happy in years. His elbows were propped at the rail, his eyes were closed, and there was a sublime expression on his face. His mouth moved, some prayer of thanks to Zeboim, Grallik guessed.
“The goblins are below now, all of them,” Grallik reported. “I understand they are happy to be out of sight of the water, but they are not happy to be in a ‘wooden cave,’ as some of them are calling the ship. I do not know how the goblins are faring on the other ships, but Captain Gerrold has told me that R’chet speaks the goblin tongue, as does the first mate on The Elizabeth. That will be some help, I would hope, in calming the creatures.”
The priest gave no indication he had even heard him.
“Save for Foreman Direfang, Horace. He is not below. He hovers behind the captain at the wheel. The foreman is nervous,” Grallik said. “I’ve never seen him like this. He fears the water as much as the goblins and hates being on this ship.”
“And does that make you nervous too?” Horace asked without opening his eyes.
Grallik shrugged. “He leads the goblins. The ship makes him vulnerable. And, yes, I guess that does make me nervous.”
Horace leaned out farther and sucked in a deep breath. He held it as long as possible then released it, whistling through his teeth. “How was your day in port, Gray Robe?”
“Glorious.” Grallik remembered the clothes and boots he’d purchased for the priest. The captain was keeping that private bundle in his cabin, out of sight of curious goblins. He was surprised Horace had not asked him about his own fine clothing-his bulging new backpack and boots and top-quality attire. “I hadn’t realized how badly I’d missed … civilization, Horace. I ate two cooked meals, spiced perfectly. You would have enjoyed them. And there were people … colorful, talkative people. A welcome change from the bickering and chattering of goblins.”
“I hadn’t realized how badly I’d missed the sea.” The priest finally opened his eyes and angled his face to look at Grallik. Then he fumbled with a small pouch at his waist and pulled out a pipe, tamping some tobacco into the bowl. Grallik stared at the priest. “A gift from Mudwort,” Horace explained. “I don’t want to know where the little goblin got it.”
“Mudwort.” Grallik’s thoughts never strayed far from the shaman. He had seen her come aboard the Clare, the lead ship, but had lost track of her during all the hubbub of boarding. He was meeting her price-helping to take the goblins to the Qualinesti Forest. He would look for her in the morning and seek her part of the bargain.
“I’ll not be joining you in the Qualinesti Forest, Gray Robe. I’ll not let you or the foreman persuade me.” Horace held the pipe out for Grallik to light.
With raised eyebrows the wizard touched his finger to the bowl, and the tobacco glowed.
“I’ve other plans,” the priest explained, contentedly puffing on the pipe and watching the wisp of smoke spiral up.
Grallik opened his mouth to ask about those plans but thought better of it. It was not the time to argue with Horace, or to remind the priest that he was a slave to the goblins and might have no real say in his ultimate destiny.
“I’m staying here,” Horace continued, unprompted. “On the water, where I belong. On this very ship perhaps. It is a fine ship, though a little overburdened at the moment.” He took a long puff. “It’s the sail configuration, I think, that makes it drag.”
The wizard turned and walked toward the stern, as the priest blathered on to himself about attach points for the top mast.
“I doubt you’ll be leaving our company, ‘skull man,’” Grallik muttered when Horace was out of earshot. “I’ve no intention of leaving Mudwort, and I don’t think it wise to be the only human among these goblins. So you will not be going anywhere, my friend.”
The Clare had two levels of cargo holds, and the goblins occupied the largest at the bottom. A share of the goods Grallik had purchased was on the higher level, and Direfang had appointed two hobgoblins to guard those goods from both the goblins and sailors.
Seven hundred fifty two goblins were packed into that hold, and there were even more packed into holds on some of the other ships, especially the big minotaur-manned vessel. Direfang had counted the number there a little while earlier when the oil lamps hanging from the ceiling were turned bright. At the moment only one lamp burned, that from the top of the stairs. The hobgoblin had logged the number of goblins in the book the dwarf had drawn her maps in.