K’lars’s pacing was rhythmic and seemed to echo the sweep of the lantern. His course took him around the table, to the bay of windows, and back. “Don’t like the notion that the sorceress is still out there, somewhere, mad now. Could come for us, you know, Captain. Such as she would look for some measure of vengeance.”
“She’d have to get herself another ship for that, wouldn’t she?” Captain Gerrold steepled his fingers under his chin and stretched his legs out under the table. He brushed his feet against Direfang’s and shifted to give the still-silent hobgoblin more room. “And if Grallik N’sera was able to sink her ship once by bringing down the storm and sheering the mast and poking a hole in the side, I think she’d avoid the Clare for all the rest of her days.”
K’lars stopped pacing and stood against a side of the table. His gaze shifted from Direfang to Gerrold. He tapped a thick finger at the edge, a gesture also in time with the swaying of the lantern.
“I’ve got Leath in charge of repairing our mast,” K’lars said. “Lost one of the longboats. Lost two men before that. A couple of them goblins went flying over the port rail. Don’t know who or how many exactly.” He looked at Direfang when he said that.
The hobgoblin continued to stare at the jewelry, though he winced at the report.
“Some losses on Linda’s Grady; bosun’s mate on The Elizabeth went over. We’re sailing with two masts at the moment. Slower going, but at least we’re going. The other ships are ahead of us, but we’re keeping them in sight.” K’lars tapped two fingers and sucked in a breath. “That priest …”
“The Ergothian’s name is Horace,” Gerrold supplied.
“Yes, Horace. Fine. He’s seeing to Dargweller and Nate. They got hit by a spar when the mast broke. Nate’s got a bad gash. I figure it was the sorceress what did it. Mast was shorn clean, like someone’d taken a big saw to it. Not a break caused by the wind, that’s for certain.” K’lars cleared his throat. “So this booty …” He nodded toward the jewelry then cocked his head backward to indicate the other seven chests stacked near the captain’s bunk. “Who’s it belong to … us … or him?” He nodded to Direfang.
Captain Gerrold placed his hands on the table, cupping the edge. He waited until Direfang looked up.
“What’s customary?” the hobgoblin asked.
Gerrold’s smile reached his eyes. “Not that we’re pirates ourselves, mind you. The Clare’s a respectable ship, a merchantman. But typically such booty is divided among the crew. Three shares to the captain, four to the owner, a share and a half to the first mate and the healer, that would be the priest in this case … that’s customary.” He leaned close. “But you haven’t told me,” he added confidentially. “How did you learn to speak Common? You speak it as well as any of my men. As well as any man I know, for that matter.”
The captain had asked the question after the goblins boarded yesterday, but Direfang had ignored it then.
“The priest doesn’t get a share.” The hobgoblin dropped his gaze to the jewelry and told Gerrold and K’lars a little about his capture by the ogres, his life as a slave in Steel Town, and their escape. He made it clear that the priest and wizard were beholden to him and wouldn’t get special treatment. He did not mention how many goblins had died along the way to reach the shore of the New Sea.
“So you learned Common by listening to the Dark Knights?” Gerrold seemed genuinely impressed. “Do you read too?”
Direfang gave him a nod.
“Remarkable. I have to admit … Direfang … that until I’d met you, I’d considered goblins foul little creatures. Hobgoblins too … though not so little.”
“Rats what walk on two legs,” K’lars interjected.
Direfang’s lips curled imperceptibly.
Gerrold cut the half-ogre a cross look. “But you’re civilized. Not what I expected. So I was wrong about hobgoblins, I admit that. And Grallik N’sera and the priest answer to you?”
“My slaves now,” Direfang said.
“A fair turnabout,” Gerrold replied evenly. “More than fair.”
Silence settled among the three for a while. The ship groaned softly as it continued to rise and fall with the swells; the handle that held the lantern creaked in time with it. From above came the sounds of men walking across the deck and working on the mast, the snap of the sails, and the occasional shouted order.
Fainter, from below, came goblin conversations; only Direfang could understand the jumble of words, and he pushed the chatter aside. Beyond the door to the captain’s cabin, footsteps sounded in the hallway and the clank of pots was heard. The faint smell of meat and potatoes cooking tickled the hobgoblin’s nose.
Finally, Gerrold spoke again. “I lost my first mate a few months back. Never replaced him. K’lars has been filling the role as needed and occupies that cabin. He merits his share and a half. I’ve moved a few sailors into the bosun’s quarters, but I’ll order them out. Give you the room. Not as nice as this, but it’s … customary … for the captain to have the best accommodations.”
Direfang shook his head.
“He’d rather stay with the rest of them,” K’lars growled. “It’s better that way,” Direfang admitted. “The clans are not taking this voyage well. No way to know how the clans on the ships are faring.”
“Yes, the voyage to the Qualinesti Forest.” Gerrold rose, still keeping his hands on the table. “Why there, if I may ask? And-”
“And why this ship?” Direfang finished for him. Gerrold shook his head. “No, I’ve figured that much out. Taking the Clare and these others is far faster than walking. And the Clare, The Elizabeth … they were all that could be bought.”
Direfang laughed bitterly.
“Two weeks, and we’ll have you on the forest shore, luck willing. Maybe less than that, but this storm has set us back.” Gerrold stepped away from the table and walked to a cabinet. It was latched to keep the doors from banging open on rough waters. Everything in the cabin seemed latched or nailed down. “Would have taken you two months, maybe a little more, if you’d try to walk there.”
“Months?” The word came out as a croak. Direfang’s throat went instantly dry. “Only two months?” The hobgoblin had thought the world so vast on the Dark Knight maps that it could take two years at best. With a stony look, he said no more-one more mistake he’d made.
Gerrold returned with a map, unrolling it and spreading it on top of the jewelry. He fished underneath it, coming up with four heavy bracelets to set on the corners.
It was like one of the maps Direfang had remembered from the hours he spent hovering around the Dark Knights in Steel Town. But there was more detail to Gerrold’s, and the light was better so he could read the names of towns and rivers and other landscape features.
Direfang bent over to peer at the map. “Is this one of the maps the wizard bought?” the hobgoblin leader asked.
“No, those are over there. With several packages he said were for you and the priest. I would like to take a look at those maps too … with your permission.” He gestured to the corner where a jumble of scroll tubes, satchels, and bundles nested.
Direfang did not even look where Gerrold pointed; his gaze remained fixed on the map.
“We’re here.” Gerrold stabbed his finger at a spot close to the northern shore. “The wind blew us here, and so we’re following the coast. It’s deep all along this part, so we ought to be fine. We’ll cut toward the center as we near this island, Schallsea. I’ve signaled to the other ships also to head for Schallsea.”
Direfang spotted a scale, something he’d not been close enough to see on the Dark Knight maps. It made the world smaller than he thought. “Two months.” He laughed aloud at his own stupidity. “Walk, walk, walk. Should have walked.”
“Certainly you would have avoided seasickness,” Gerrold averred. “Saved you quite a few of those sapphires too.” He turned his head and listened to something overhead. “Sound’s like it’s up.”