“They’ll be here by morning,” Lykan said as he limped in front of us, the sturdy man supporting his gait as we climbed the gangplank. The malodorous quay stank of feces and abandoned waste, and my lady had tied my napkin around her mouth. My bag was probably considered a superfluous commodity for the short journey, but I didn’t have enough confidence to leave it somewhere untouched.
“Does that mean we are not sailing for more than a day?” I asked, and the prince grunted. “My lord,” I added with much hesitance.
“If we can find all the ships making their way to Port Achlon tomorrow, then yes, commoner,” the prince paused, jumping over the gunwale, the creaking sound forcing me to reexamine our steps on the gangplank. “But, if we let a single ship into the port, then we’ll toss you to carsans.”
“Oi! Tie the fucking rope, Cabol!” I heard a man’s shrill as I helped my lady down. She spread her arms owing to the wobbling cog as Garlan jumped to the main deck. The stink had worsened, and the sailor garbs only added to the stench of feces at the bow. My lady would get a quarter in the aftercastle; no, she should get the captain’s quarters as she was the highest-ranked member on board. If you ignore the drunkard prince, that is, and Pedro didn’t disappoint as he hadn’t monopolized the forecastle.
There were more than twenty sailors on board tying the riggings one last time before the single square sail on the mast set us sailing. Not until the fleet officers got aboard, at least.
“On three, ay!” the brat, Nuva, shouted from the poop deck, helping out the man leaning closer to the bowsprit, pulling the ropes from the mainmast. “One, three!”
“One, three!”
“One, three!”
Did seamen count numbers differently? I wondered, and my lady had walked away from me, watching the barrels and the entrances to the lower decks with unabashed excitement.
I watched the riggings tighten, along with ratlines that ran to the top of the spar. Yamyards with folded sails stood regularly spaced, and the ropes were fastened with braces that helped hold the sails to the wind, despite the presence of wind mages.
“A lady, ay?!” a man with a crooked nose tramped past me, hand on his long beard, and glanced at Pedro, who was leaning his hand against the spar.
“Our goods, Jelo,” Pedro nudged his hat with his forefinger and turned to Lykan. “The ebbing tide, Lykan. Cargo’s not loaded; no afford to wait. Once the fleet officers aboard, we set sail. The wind mage is exhausted. No can do without yours, so getting the ship in the water means you use your wind warden. Can’t help much with that. Been puking all night, that man.”
“Alright, Pedro,” Lykan said, watching Milan jump off the gangplank to the main deck. She sat on the barrel with a wave and stayed on the watch for the fleet militia, who were having a conversation close to the cog. “Milan, we need you to steer the wind. No food in your stomach, right? Their mage is still out cold.”
“Aye,” Milan said, tying a black bandana over her fluttering hair. She pulled her sprawled legs to her chest and started channelizing mana before the ebbing tide swept the tattered ship to the blues.
“Is that why you never use wind attribute, mongrel?” my lady asked, pointing at the sailor who was puking out his innards. She had appeared abruptly, so I stared at her for a while until she raised her eye in question.
“Yes, my lady,” I sighed. “Wind mana wrecks your sleep-wake cycle. Even an empty stomach doesn’t help much. That’s why you don’t find many wind mages in the capital. The sea claims them even if they are commoners. And I certainly don’t enjoy having an upset stomach after casting a spell. I can heal others from the aftereffects, but not me.”
“Rudolf,” Garlan beckoned me to come closer as he leaned over the gunwale. He had bought a cutlass on his way, which now hung threateningly on his waist. “You got passes?”
“Would guild card do?” I asked, peering at the four fleet militia climbing the gangplank. The wood would have broken without a doubt if it wasn’t for the fortification of [Umbra] spell, and no rotting in the hardened woods certainly aided the hull.
The crowded harbor was clearing out once the dockers stopped loading the cargo to the ship. A few of them were untying the hawsers that had moored the cog in place, glancing at the fleet militia occasionally. Once the four men jumped to the main deck, more dockers joined to help out the already busy men. The crew exchanged shouts with the stevedores at the bollards while the fleet militia waved at Pedro, who was quite familiar with the men aboard.
“Just don’t act haughty,” Garlan said, pulling his cloak closer, covering the cutlass beneath. “Let your lady do the talking if they ever talk, that is. She can shut their traps with just a word. We’ll throw them out of the ship once we set sail anyway.”
I nodded, but I didn’t understand his vigilance toward these mortals. They were known to be more ruthless than the Escavs, but they were on board and in our grasp. Did they have some kind of telepathic communication channels I didn’t know of? That was unlikely. So, anything happening to them on this ship stays within the confines of the gunwale. As long as Lykan had handpicked the crew and there weren’t any spies planted by the fleet. This was a dubious claim because they were far more clever than some exiled prince. Drunk and battered only made it worse. So, unless he killed the crew, there was little chance that they were getting out of this mess unscathed.
“Lady Letitia goes to captain quarters,” Lykan shouted over the hollers of the sailors, pointing at the fleet officers.
My lady grunted, and I tagged alongside her, opening the tattered door of the sterncastle, synonymous with captain’s quarters. Not that it was flashy, but it was certainly warmer and better, without the pong of the cog, that is. Once the wind caught on, the stench would disappear, but that didn’t mean the ship would become fresh as new. As long as seamen continued sailing, the stink would follow.
A table garlanded the brown caving of the room, and a single window was covered in drapes opposite the door. The creaky ceiling light offered little light, most of it coming from the alit mana lamps of the harbor through the open door. The cot was devoid of cushioned bed, but we didn’t need one for the night since my lady was far too enthused to sleep peacefully. The rest of the room, though small, was vacant if one ignored the shelf filled with empty bottles on the left. Probably ale and some wine from rich merchants.
My lady closed the door behind me as I increased the brightness of the ceiling lamp. Dusting off the room was an obvious requirement, but our western courtyard was in worse condition. For once, I never expected to find such a good quarter from the tattered hull of the cog.
“Looks clean enough for the night, my lady,” I said, turning around to face her. “We might be off the cog by morning if winds favor us.”
Well, I wasn’t superstitious by any means, but it was a figure of speech sailors usually used. Or they did, at least when I was undead in my first world. My upset stomach during those days had much to do with the wind attribute I had just discovered, and never again did I want to relieve those terrifying nightmares I had etched deep in my memory.
“Will they let me out?” my lady asked, hands folded behind her.
“They will, my lady,” I smiled at her, turning the bracelet within my sleeves. It had almost become a habit now, checking for my belonging periodically because I never had any possessions before, and I didn’t want to face my lady’s wrath should I lose it. “Once they check crew members and the ebbing tide will rock the ship to the blues. I guess they don’t want you to interrupt their regular checks, for high nobles can be quite obnoxious.”
“Your tongue is growing frivolous each passing day,” she rolled her eyes, her voice hard.
“Obviously not you, my lady,” I smiled at her as she walked closer to the cot and took a seat. The cog rocked simultaneously, and I heard the excited shouts of the crew outside the door as the sails unfurled in the whizzing sound of the wind. Not noisily, but loud enough for the excitement to replace my lady’s stoic face. The buoyancy had me wobbling for a while until my body got used to the motion of the ship and moved out of the harbor.
I ambled out, gesturing for my lady to stay seated, and she did, with ardent resistance and pouts. The dock cleared in the distance, the crew cheering at the stevedores who had helped them untie the hawsers. Many were gathered around the bow, the office on the superstructure that draped the foredeck, albeit small enough for the cog of this size. Not that they appeared imposing, but their orders were held in high esteem by Pedro, who was standing right beside them.
The mana lamps burned bright at regular intervals on the cog; one at the stern, three at the bow, and one closer to the single mast that had fluttering square sails wide open to [Gale] spell of the wind mage. Her expression wasn’t the best on the ship, but the crew members were aiding her by rotating the braces to get the cog moving toward the Isles. Pedro was carrying a map under his arms, both palms busy with bottles of ale that he had just fished out from the barrel lying on the right side of the ship.
He raised his hand and shouted, “Guard the starboard barrels! Stocked mead is not meant for y’all. You get me? A drink worth your leg. So, don’t start chugging until my order. The journey is a long one. And I need the main deck scrubbed by daylight. You get me, ay? Now, get those lazy asses and start cleaning! Earn your pay.”
The crew hardly counted to thirty, but a cog of this size didn’t really need many, for it was sail-powered, and no oarsmen were needed to drive through the distant blues. Pedro handed one bottle of mead– little did I know about the difference, except that this was prepared from honey and water– to the officers, and they indulged in idle chatter closer to the bow, obviously not forgetting to cast glanced at my lady’s chamber ever so often.
“Bread lad,” Garland threw me a loaf of packed bread and leaned against the gunwale, “have you sailed before?”
“Not the first, Garlan,” I was wobbly on my feet, so I walked pointed to the stern and earned a nod. We tramped through the ship avoiding the crew members who had come with rags, probably from the Orlop, and Garlan held my arm before I could fall face first owing to a broken wood of the man deck. “But have sailed many times before. On bigger and better ships. Not that I prefer any. Blues are bad for my stomach, and I am not comfortable with long journeys.”
“Blues?” Garlan laughed. “That’s some way to address the sea.” I pushed the door, and my lady beckoned both of us inside, her face forlorn at seeing my company. She didn’t complain, though, and Garlan shamelessly settled down on the chair against the table.
“It’s an exciting journey, bread lad. You don’t get to feel the sea breeze often in the capital, let alone the ports. The stench is too dark at the harbor, but the ships are different. Though this one stinks just as bad, and a squall might break the creaky mast before we intercept other boats. But otherwise, the sea is our good mate when we are out in the open, songs are our good companions when we are homesick, and ale is a good nutriment when our appetites are rotten with stale bread. A different life, Rudolf; that’s why sailing is. And it’s not just a walk in the blues. It’s an adventure of the world beyond, a world unseen and dangerous.”
“That doesn’t help make seafaring any more enticing, bread lad,” I waved my hand. “I don’t like water, I am a bad singer, and I prefer stale bread to ale. Adventures? There are enough places on land to help with that. A different life? You’ll get bored soon. World beyond? Let’s not debate on that.”
My lady giggled as she tramped through the creaking floorboard and reached beside me at the door. The room was small, so Garlan was right before us, on the stool that had depressed under his weight.
“I like seafaring, but I know my mongrel never will. He hates rain, mutt, so you can’t ask him to like the blues.”
“True,” Garlan folded his hands behind his neck. “He is too restrictive in his likes and dislikes, lady Letitia. He likes bread and me. Nothing else. That’s his problem. I want–“
“Wait!” my lady glared at my bread. “He likes bread and me.”
“Did he ever tell you that, lady Letitia?” Garlan grinned.
My lady snickered and turned to me. “Rudolf!”
“Don’t ask me to lie, my lady,” I said, ruffling her head.
“You don’t like me?!” she raised her eyes, her head bobbing under my weight.
“I don’t hate you,” I sighed.
“See?” Letitia puffed out her chest and slapped my hand away. “Has he ever told you that, mutt?”
Garlan laughed. “I don’t like men, my lady. Though, Rudolf can always be an–“
He earned a hard punch on his bulging tummy.
“exception as a friend, lady Letitia,” he finished, unaffected by the punch. Letitia’s face contorted, and she whirled her wrist, not forgetting to grunt at my bread lad.
“Heard anything from them?” I asked, leaning against the door. The idle talk had to wait because I was about to witness some slaughter in the blues. That, and that alone, kept me excited for the journey. A [Ward] was an absolute necessity because the bread had ears at times. So, I quickly nibbled the final piece of the loaf in my hand. Yes, not because I couldn’t hold myself back from finishing the last piece of fresh bread.
“They don’t trust me,” Garlan shrugged. “Stole their cog last time and sold it for shins on the port. Bitter grudges, Rudolf. Though, they work both sides.” He turned to Letitia with a smile, “Are you having fun, lady?”
Was he trying to avoid the conversation? That was a surprise, but judging from his face, he wasn’t. Was I overthinking?
“Your stink is not helping, mutt,” my lady said. “And I want to see the blues!”
“It’s the sea,” Garlan chuckled, scratching his stubble. “You need to maintain the decorum, lady Letitia. The guards are better than dogs at sniffing, so that old prince might slit their heads first and then let you out. It might take some time, but you’ll get to see your ‘blues’. The window is right here if you want.”
“Can I open it?” My lady looked between the two of us, and I shrugged. Garlan peeled the curtains open and grunted in denial when he noticed the attached glass in place of a window.
“Hard luck, lady Letitia.”
“They’ll be here by morning,” Lykan said as he limped in front of us, the sturdy man supporting his gait as we climbed the gangplank. The malodorous quay stank of feces and abandoned waste, and my lady had tied my napkin around her mouth. My bag was probably considered a superfluous commodity for the short journey, but I didn’t have enough confidence to leave it somewhere untouched.
“Does that mean we are not sailing for more than a day?” I asked, and the prince grunted. “My lord,” I added with much hesitance.
“If we can find all the ships making their way to Port Achlon tomorrow, then yes, commoner,” the prince paused, jumping over the gunwale, the creaking sound forcing me to reexamine our steps on the gangplank. “But, if we let a single ship into the port, then we’ll toss you to carsans.”
“Oi! Tie the fucking rope, Cabol!” I heard a man’s shrill as I helped my lady down. She spread her arms owing to the wobbling cog as Garlan jumped to the main deck. The stink had worsened, and the sailor garbs only added to the stench of feces at the bow. My lady would get a quarter in the aftercastle; no, she should get the captain’s quarters as she was the highest-ranked member on board. If you ignore the drunkard prince, that is, and Pedro didn’t disappoint as he hadn’t monopolized the forecastle.
There were more than twenty sailors on board tying the riggings one last time before the single square sail on the mast set us sailing. Not until the fleet officers got aboard, at least.
“On three, ay!” the brat, Nuva, shouted from the poop deck, helping out the man leaning closer to the bowsprit, pulling the ropes from the mainmast. “One, three!”
“One, three!”
“One, three!”
Did seamen count numbers differently? I wondered, and my lady had walked away from me, watching the barrels and the entrances to the lower decks with unabashed excitement.
I watched the riggings tighten, along with ratlines that ran to the top of the spar. Yamyards with folded sails stood regularly spaced, and the ropes were fastened with braces that helped hold the sails to the wind, despite the presence of wind mages.
“A lady, ay?!” a man with a crooked nose tramped past me, hand on his long beard, and glanced at Pedro, who was leaning his hand against the spar.
“Our goods, Jelo,” Pedro nudged his hat with his forefinger and turned to Lykan. “The ebbing tide, Lykan. Cargo’s not loaded; no afford to wait. Once the fleet officers aboard, we set sail. The wind mage is exhausted. No can do without yours, so getting the ship in the water means you use your wind warden. Can’t help much with that. Been puking all night, that man.”
“Alright, Pedro,” Lykan said, watching Milan jump off the gangplank to the main deck. She sat on the barrel with a wave and stayed on the watch for the fleet militia, who were having a conversation close to the cog. “Milan, we need you to steer the wind. No food in your stomach, right? Their mage is still out cold.”
“Aye,” Milan said, tying a black bandana over her fluttering hair. She pulled her sprawled legs to her chest and started channelizing mana before the ebbing tide swept the tattered ship to the blues.
“Is that why you never use wind attribute, mongrel?” my lady asked, pointing at the sailor who was puking out his innards. She had appeared abruptly, so I stared at her for a while until she raised her eye in question.
“Yes, my lady,” I sighed. “Wind mana wrecks your sleep-wake cycle. Even an empty stomach doesn’t help much. That’s why you don’t find many wind mages in the capital. The sea claims them even if they are commoners. And I certainly don’t enjoy having an upset stomach after casting a spell. I can heal others from the aftereffects, but not me.”
“Rudolf,” Garlan beckoned me to come closer as he leaned over the gunwale. He had bought a cutlass on his way, which now hung threateningly on his waist. “You got passes?”
“Would guild card do?” I asked, peering at the four fleet militia climbing the gangplank. The wood would have broken without a doubt if it wasn’t for the fortification of [Umbra] spell, and no rotting in the hardened woods certainly aided the hull.
The crowded harbor was clearing out once the dockers stopped loading the cargo to the ship. A few of them were untying the hawsers that had moored the cog in place, glancing at the fleet militia occasionally. Once the four men jumped to the main deck, more dockers joined to help out the already busy men. The crew exchanged shouts with the stevedores at the bollards while the fleet militia waved at Pedro, who was quite familiar with the men aboard.
“Just don’t act haughty,” Garlan said, pulling his cloak closer, covering the cutlass beneath. “Let your lady do the talking if they ever talk, that is. She can shut their traps with just a word. We’ll throw them out of the ship once we set sail anyway.”
I nodded, but I didn’t understand his vigilance toward these mortals. They were known to be more ruthless than the Escavs, but they were on board and in our grasp. Did they have some kind of telepathic communication channels I didn’t know of? That was unlikely. So, anything happening to them on this ship stays within the confines of the gunwale. As long as Lykan had handpicked the crew and there weren’t any spies planted by the fleet. This was a dubious claim because they were far more clever than some exiled prince. Drunk and battered only made it worse. So, unless he killed the crew, there was little chance that they were getting out of this mess unscathed.
“Lady Letitia goes to captain quarters,” Lykan shouted over the hollers of the sailors, pointing at the fleet officers.
My lady grunted, and I tagged alongside her, opening the tattered door of the sterncastle, synonymous with captain’s quarters. Not that it was flashy, but it was certainly warmer and better, without the pong of the cog, that is. Once the wind caught on, the stench would disappear, but that didn’t mean the ship would become fresh as new. As long as seamen continued sailing, the stink would follow.
A table garlanded the brown caving of the room, and a single window was covered in drapes opposite the door. The creaky ceiling light offered little light, most of it coming from the alit mana lamps of the harbor through the open door. The cot was devoid of cushioned bed, but we didn’t need one for the night since my lady was far too enthused to sleep peacefully. The rest of the room, though small, was vacant if one ignored the shelf filled with empty bottles on the left. Probably ale and some wine from rich merchants.
My lady closed the door behind me as I increased the brightness of the ceiling lamp. Dusting off the room was an obvious requirement, but our western courtyard was in worse condition. For once, I never expected to find such a good quarter from the tattered hull of the cog.
“Looks clean enough for the night, my lady,” I said, turning around to face her. “We might be off the cog by morning if winds favor us.”
Well, I wasn’t superstitious by any means, but it was a figure of speech sailors usually used. Or they did, at least when I was undead in my first world. My upset stomach during those days had much to do with the wind attribute I had just discovered, and never again did I want to relieve those terrifying nightmares I had etched deep in my memory.
“Will they let me out?” my lady asked, hands folded behind her.
“They will, my lady,” I smiled at her, turning the bracelet within my sleeves. It had almost become a habit now, checking for my belonging periodically because I never had any possessions before, and I didn’t want to face my lady’s wrath should I lose it. “Once they check crew members and the ebbing tide will rock the ship to the blues. I guess they don’t want you to interrupt their regular checks, for high nobles can be quite obnoxious.”
“Your tongue is growing frivolous each passing day,” she rolled her eyes, her voice hard.
“Obviously not you, my lady,” I smiled at her as she walked closer to the cot and took a seat. The cog rocked simultaneously, and I heard the excited shouts of the crew outside the door as the sails unfurled in the whizzing sound of the wind. Not noisily, but loud enough for the excitement to replace my lady’s stoic face. The buoyancy had me wobbling for a while until my body got used to the motion of the ship and moved out of the harbor.
I ambled out, gesturing for my lady to stay seated, and she did, with ardent resistance and pouts. The dock cleared in the distance, the crew cheering at the stevedores who had helped them untie the hawsers. Many were gathered around the bow, the office on the superstructure that draped the foredeck, albeit small enough for the cog of this size. Not that they appeared imposing, but their orders were held in high esteem by Pedro, who was standing right beside them.
The mana lamps burned bright at regular intervals on the cog; one at the stern, three at the bow, and one closer to the single mast that had fluttering square sails wide open to [Gale] spell of the wind mage. Her expression wasn’t the best on the ship, but the crew members were aiding her by rotating the braces to get the cog moving toward the Isles. Pedro was carrying a map under his arms, both palms busy with bottles of ale that he had just fished out from the barrel lying on the right side of the ship.
He raised his hand and shouted, “Guard the starboard barrels! Stocked mead is not meant for y’all. You get me? A drink worth your leg. So, don’t start chugging until my order. The journey is a long one. And I need the main deck scrubbed by daylight. You get me, ay? Now, get those lazy asses and start cleaning! Earn your pay.”
The crew hardly counted to thirty, but a cog of this size didn’t really need many, for it was sail-powered, and no oarsmen were needed to drive through the distant blues. Pedro handed one bottle of mead– little did I know about the difference, except that this was prepared from honey and water– to the officers, and they indulged in idle chatter closer to the bow, obviously not forgetting to cast glanced at my lady’s chamber ever so often.
“Bread lad,” Garland threw me a loaf of packed bread and leaned against the gunwale, “have you sailed before?”
“Not the first, Garlan,” I was wobbly on my feet, so I walked pointed to the stern and earned a nod. We tramped through the ship avoiding the crew members who had come with rags, probably from the Orlop, and Garlan held my arm before I could fall face first owing to a broken wood of the man deck. “But have sailed many times before. On bigger and better ships. Not that I prefer any. Blues are bad for my stomach, and I am not comfortable with long journeys.”
“Blues?” Garlan laughed. “That’s some way to address the sea.” I pushed the door, and my lady beckoned both of us inside, her face forlorn at seeing my company. She didn’t complain, though, and Garlan shamelessly settled down on the chair against the table.
“It’s an exciting journey, bread lad. You don’t get to feel the sea breeze often in the capital, let alone the ports. The stench is too dark at the harbor, but the ships are different. Though this one stinks just as bad, and a squall might break the creaky mast before we intercept other boats. But otherwise, the sea is our good mate when we are out in the open, songs are our good companions when we are homesick, and ale is a good nutriment when our appetites are rotten with stale bread. A different life, Rudolf; that’s why sailing is. And it’s not just a walk in the blues. It’s an adventure of the world beyond, a world unseen and dangerous.”
“That doesn’t help make seafaring any more enticing, bread lad,” I waved my hand. “I don’t like water, I am a bad singer, and I prefer stale bread to ale. Adventures? There are enough places on land to help with that. A different life? You’ll get bored soon. World beyond? Let’s not debate on that.”
My lady giggled as she tramped through the creaking floorboard and reached beside me at the door. The room was small, so Garlan was right before us, on the stool that had depressed under his weight.
“I like seafaring, but I know my mongrel never will. He hates rain, mutt, so you can’t ask him to like the blues.”
“True,” Garlan folded his hands behind his neck. “He is too restrictive in his likes and dislikes, lady Letitia. He likes bread and me. Nothing else. That’s his problem. I want–“
“Wait!” my lady glared at my bread. “He likes bread and me.”
“Did he ever tell you that, lady Letitia?” Garlan grinned.
My lady snickered and turned to me. “Rudolf!”
“Don’t ask me to lie, my lady,” I said, ruffling her head.
“You don’t like me?!” she raised her eyes, her head bobbing under my weight.
“I don’t hate you,” I sighed.
“See?” Letitia puffed out her chest and slapped my hand away. “Has he ever told you that, mutt?”
Garlan laughed. “I don’t like men, my lady. Though, Rudolf can always be an–“
He earned a hard punch on his bulging tummy.
“exception as a friend, lady Letitia,” he finished, unaffected by the punch. Letitia’s face contorted, and she whirled her wrist, not forgetting to grunt at my bread lad.
“Heard anything from them?” I asked, leaning against the door. The idle talk had to wait because I was about to witness some slaughter in the blues. That, and that alone, kept me excited for the journey. A [Ward] was an absolute necessity because the bread had ears at times. So, I quickly nibbled the final piece of the loaf in my hand. Yes, not because I couldn’t hold myself back from finishing the last piece of fresh bread.
“They don’t trust me,” Garlan shrugged. “Stole their cog last time and sold it for shins on the port. Bitter grudges, Rudolf. Though, they work both sides.” He turned to Letitia with a smile, “Are you having fun, lady?”
Was he trying to avoid the conversation? That was a surprise, but judging from his face, he wasn’t. Was I overthinking?
“Your stink is not helping, mutt,” my lady said. “And I want to see the blues!”
“It’s the sea,” Garlan chuckled, scratching his stubble. “You need to maintain the decorum, lady Letitia. The guards are better than dogs at sniffing, so that old prince might slit their heads first and then let you out. It might take some time, but you’ll get to see your ‘blues’. The window is right here if you want.”
“Can I open it?” My lady looked between the two of us, and I shrugged. Garlan peeled the curtains open and grunted in denial when he noticed the attached glass in place of a window.
“Hard luck, lady Letitia.”
