None of them spoke until the sky was black and until they were deep in what was left of the forest between Kendermore and Balifor. Then the silent woods were filled with shared ideas for carrying out the Red’s orders.
16
Flint’s Anvil
A few days later found Dhamon and Jasper back at the harbor in New Ports.
Rig Mer-Krel laughed loud and long and shook his finger at Dhamon. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. You want to pay me—and Shaon—and whoever else I can drag along sixty coins to sail to Palanthas on some scow you’ve managed to buy?” The dark mariner slapped his thigh. “Sixty coins wouldn’t get one of us there as a deck hand.”
“You’ve a good reputation,” Dhamon began. He thought if money didn’t work, perhaps compliments might do the trick. “We need a captain, and I hear you’re the best. You certainly did a good job on our trip to the Silver Stair.”
“He is a good captain!” Shaon beamed. She swept her hand out to her side, indicating the harbor. “He’s got more experience on open waters than most of the folks here put together. Why, he sailed the Blood Sea of Istar and piloted a galleon through the Eye of the Bull. He was first mate on...”
Rig’s glare kept her from spouting about more of his attributes and sailing accomplishments.
She gave him a sly wink. “But sixty coins are an insult,” she admitted. “We’ll have to brave the Gale—the storm that brews constantly in the Straits of Algoni. The money would have to be a lot better for us to give up our jobs here and risk our necks.”
“How about the ship as payment?” Jasper offered. “She’s at the third dock. Look her over. You take us to Palanthas, wait around for a few weeks, and then she’s yours.”
The big mariner leaned forward and studied the dwarf. “The green carrack?” Rig asked.
Jasper nodded. “I bought it yesterday. And I’m none too fond of water, so I wouldn’t mind parting with it—after it takes us where we want to go.”
“You’ll take care of the supplies?”
Dhamon nodded.
“Then we’ll leave in the morning, while the weather’s still holding. I’m going to pick up a couple of extra men—if you don’t mind. I doubt the pair of you would be much help on a ship.”
Rig and Shaon had thoroughly inspected the carrack by the time Dhamon and Jasper reached the docks. It was barely sunrise. The front sail was square, not unlike the Wind Chaser’s, but the rear sail was a lateen mizzen, one that resembled an oddly shaped triangle. The ship was eighty-five feet long, with a thirty-foot beam.
The ship was in good repair, its hull recently painted a dark green and its deck trimmed in red. A new name had been painted on the bow—Flint’s Anvil.
“A bigger ship would’ve been better,” Rig noted from halfway up the forward mast. “One with a deeper keel and a third mast, and a less heavy-sounding name.”
“Change your mind?” Dhamon called.
“No. Just warning you she’s going to feel the waves a little more than I’d like—and definitely more than you and Jasper would appreciate. Hope you don’t get seasick and decorate my deck.”
Dhamon made sure the supplies were aboard, including a dozen barrels of fresh water that were stacked in a pyramid near the rear mast. He still had about fifty steel coins left, more than enough to buy more food at a port along the way. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he was out of money. Maybe this Palin Majere is wealthy, he mused.
Shaon had arranged for four crew members, three of whom were busying themselves making final adjustments to the rigging. The fourth came on board while Jasper was arguing with Shaon about cabin assignments. The new crew member walked with a wolf at his side.
“No animals,” Dhamon said brusquely.
The wolf stood about three and a half feet tall at the shoulder and had thick red fur and golden eyes. The man stood twice as tall. He was tanned and burly and had rough features—a wide forehead, a puglike face and wide-set black eyes. He wore a vest without a shirt beneath it and the rest of his clothes were worn and tattered. A gleaming gold hoop that dangled from his right ear looked to be the most valuable item he owned.
“Half-ogre,” Jasper muttered.
“The wolf goes,” Dhamon called.
“Dhamon, meet Groller Dagmar,” Rig returned. “I’d return the introduction, but he can’t hear you. He’s deaf. And next to me and Shaon, he’s the most competent seaman you have. I want him, so he stays—and that means his wolf does, too. Unless, of course, you want to find yourself another captain.”
17
Lessons
Dawn arrived with a slight breeze, barely enough to coax Flint’s Anvil out of the harbor. By late that afternoon the wind was gusty and billowed the sails enough to make the masts creak. They were making good time. Rig was at the wheel, and the half-ogre, Groller, was with him. There was no sign of the red wolf.
Dhamon and Jasper were doing their best to get acquainted with the ship as it weaved across the bay. And the dwarf was trying hard to get accustomed to the constant pitching.
“I feel horrible, like my stomach’s climbed into my throat,” Jasper grumbled. “Never been on a ship that rocked so much.”
“That’s only because you’ve never been on a ship when the wind was blowing this strong,” Dhamon returned. “I’ll grant you the waves are pretty high, but it could be a lot worse. You’d better prepare for the Gale.”
“It was always calm on the way to Schallsea,” the dwarf said wistfully.
New Ports was far behind them now, and Dhamon leaned over the rail and strained his eyes to the north, hoping to spot Port O’ Call. All he saw was the turbulent water. He idly wondered how many weeks they’d be at sea and what they’d find in Palanthas. “Evil breeds there,” Goldmoon had told him. Would finding that evil be difficult? Or might the evil find them?
Jasper ran his hand along the rail, as if he were judging the quality of its carving and determining how it had been routed. Perhaps he was trying to keep his mind off the constant motion. A soft tinkling noise interrupted his inspection. He turned and frowned.
“Interesting name you chose for her, Jasper,” Shaon observed. “Let’s hope she’s sturdy enough and doesn’t sink like one.”
“It was called Melancholy Morkoth before I bought it. I didn’t like the sound of riding on a ship named after an ugly sea monster, so I renamed it after my uncle.”
The dark-skinned woman shook her head. “Never cared much for relatives.”
She was wearing a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned halfway to her waist, and tight black pants she’d bunched up to her knees. She was barefoot, and a thick gold chain she wore around her right ankle sported a double row of tiny bells that jingled merrily when she walked.
“I cared about Flint,” Jasper muttered. “I cared enough to make a promise to him in a dream, that I’d help his friend Goldmoon, study from her too. Didn’t figure being on a ship would be part of it.” The dwarf gripped his stomach as the ship surged over a tall wave. His complexion was pale, and he grabbed the railing to steady himself. He stared at the water for a moment, closed his eyes, and turned around so his back was to the sea. “What’s that?” he asked Shaon as he pointed at a taut rope.
Dhamon smiled. “Most people call it a rope,” Shaon replied.
“Oh.”
“But sailors call it a forestay. It’s the line that runs from the mainmast to the bow. And you have to make sure it doesn’t fray.”
“And this?” The dwarf glowered and waggled his fingers at the mast.
“Well, the whole thing—the mast, boom, and gaff—is called a spar.”
“This isn’t so hard,” Jasper grumbled. “Forestay, mast, spar, starboard, stern, rudder, rigging, keel, kender.”
“Kender?” Dhamon turned away from the rail and followed the dwarf’s gaze. He scowled as he spotted Raph and Blister climbing up the ladder from below deck. “I thought you two stayed in New Ports!”