Born a Monster

Chapter 110: Servant of the Axe, 10 – Stranger on Deck

Servant of the Axe

Chapter 10

Stranger On Deck

Elkenmoor recovered rapidly after that. Kismet may have been smuggling him part of her food, and I know she snuck part of mine to him.

Not that I needed my full ration on days when I had the duty of putting the slops overboard, for reasons already discussed.

He was even on deck the next light storm we had, arms akimbo (but one firmly grabbing the railing), face upturned to the rain.

For my part, I was doubling up on a frayed rope around the holystones. When had we agreed to do crew tasks during our voyage?

.....

Oh, right. When Kismet took to the nautical life with wild abandon.

Actually, a lot of the lack of boredom since we departed from Whitehill was Kismet’s doing.

I probably needed to do something about that, once we were off the ship.

The pickles had stopped vanishing, and it looked like the actual culprit might never be found. Honestly, we were still over a week out from shore, and it dominated the conversations among the crew.

Some idiot had spread word among the crew that I was a champion warrior, a ready slayer of spiders, equally skilled with either hand.

Wish they’d mentioned a shield, because too many of the crew were asking me how to dual-wield javelins.

In general, other than being off course and late, two things that I had been assured before setting foot on the vessel were completely normal, things were generally quiet. We’d lost only the eight crew, seven to mermaids and one to illness.

On the one hand, that was two or three of every hundred. On the other, nobody on board seemed especially worried about it. They had their close friends, but the whirlwind of work went on.

It was work that Elkenmoor showed no indication of joining. He would chat with crew members, never long enough to delay the work enough to generate shouts. After hours, he would play games of chance, which he often lost.

But I took notice when he got a new shirt, or when he had another crewmember fixing his socks, or those nights when he actually won, and paid off some of his borrowed money.

It was behavior that somehow was tolerated and expected of the crew.

I never quite got there, but nothing I thought of him was bad enough to penetrate sin armor and gain Envy points.

We were within a week of landfall when the captaine struck sails to swap news with an oncoming ship.

It was the Vusseldorf, a two-master out of Yvettesport, the Malosian colony.

“Packet for you, ambassador. Captaine’s quarters.”

Okay... who was sending me what, and how did they know where I was?

The “packet” turned out to be thick envelope, a letter from the Manoran governor in Boadicea’s Girdle, inviting me to a formal ball in three days.

“So, no possible way we can make that.” I told the captaine.

“Shall I change course, then?” she asked.

“Let me finish reading the letter before we do anything rash.”

#

“The letter has no indication of when he’ll be available after we arrive. We’re what, three days sail from Boadicea’s Girdle?”

“Two, if the winds stay favorable.”

“Well, let’s see if we can be in time to save the Koputiki tribe. We may not be able to stay as long as Miss Kismet would like, but we can at least treat the crew to some spider meat.”

“On the subject of Koputiki, there are some adventurers responding to the crisis.”

“How are they doing?” I asked.

“Not well. Some half of the adventurers were dead, as of two weeks ago.”

“So, the other half may also be dead by now.”

“Mayhap. Or Mayhap they’ve gotten their feet under them and dealt with the spiders.”

“I’m willing to roll those dice.” I said. “And if the governor takes offense, then it won’t be the first or last time in this life that I’ve offended someone.”

The captaine smiled. “That’s not a diplomat’s answer.”

“No, I suppose it’s not. But that’s my answer. Unless Boadicea’s Girdle is under siege?”

“News indicates they are running out of tea and yet still exporting coffee.”

“I find myself unable to manipulate those facts into an emergency.”

“So I shall tell the helm to remain steady on?”

“Please do so, captaine.”

We shared a mug of stout black tea in memory of the crisis in Boadicea’s Girdle, and remained on course.

“Can you show me on a map roughly where we are?” I asked.

“Roughly.” She said, making a small circle on the map with her finger. “We’re six days out by the current wind, but it should change around here, making our actual journey five days.”

“Any obstacles?”

“Not obstacles, no. But if Elkenmoot wants to ride in a boat behind us, these last two days are whitetip waters.”

“Whitetip?

“Whitetip sharks.”

“Ah, just the thing to improve crew morale.”

“My thoughts exactly, but Mister Elkenmoor has been evasive.”

“If only we had a diplomat aboard.”

“Alas.”

“I guess I’ll just have to do the negotiations, then. Call it practice.”

“Alas.” Said the captaine.

“I’ve not failed yet.”

“Would you care to place coin behind your words?”

I sighed. “No, you’re probably right.”

Elkenmoor reacted with horror. “That sounds suspiciously like work. Dangerous work at that.”

“It’s work you’ve told us you did on board your last ship.”

“Oh, I’m far too frail and weak from my ordeal. However, if only there were a daring warrior, so skilled that they could wield a harpoon in each hand...”

I could see where this was going. “All right. What do I need to know about harpooning sharks, then?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Elkenmoor, what do I need to know?”

He shrugged.

“Did you or did you not used to do this?”

“No, never. Sharks are scary predators. We always gave them wide berth whenever we could, and fought them only when they gave us no option.”

#

That weasel of a seal!

I had three days to practice with the harpoon under the direction of Thuron, a Hunter specializing in polearms.

First, never do that in a mere rowboat. Always use a longboat, with the chain attached to the harpoon affixed to the bow, and any bait hooks attached to the stern. Letting either of them attach to the side is begging to be capsized.

Second, never man a longboat alone. Thuron, Arconia, Restun, Juan Olivera, and Rotak the Redbeard rounded out the crew we had for shark-fishing.

Third, sharks are just way too heavy for one person to land them, and usually a second harpoon. Elkenmoor wasn’t joking, either. Apparently, leaving them in the water too long attracted larger predators, those who might have learned to overturn a longboat to get at the meat-people inside.

And finally, the proper way to hunt a shark is to harpoon it, pull it onto the boat, and then kill it with spears while it thrashes about. Messy, but those suckers average at eighty health points, and can do up to twenty four points with their bite before any lucky critical hits.

So when a sailor with a missing arm or leg just says, “Shark,” about their missing limb, odds are they’re not lying about it.

That said, whitetip sharks aren’t the largest breed, averaging between eight and eleven feet. Their bite only does eighteen damage (twelve for the smaller whitetips), making them more manageable.

More manageable doesn’t mean easy. We only caught two before the crew spotted an orca prowling about.

That wasn’t much meat to divide between four hundred people, but discretion and all that.

.....

Oh, and don’t try hunting orcas without feats that increase your odds of scoring a critical with harpoon or bident; orcas are called “Kings of the Sea” for a reason.

In large enough packs, orcas hunt whales. I was uncertain if they could hunt a dandan fish, but wouldn’t doubt that multiple packs could.

Being much smaller than that, we made haste to rejoin the main ship.

The crew was underwhelmed with the bounty of the sea, but we lugged the sharks down to the cooks, who began carving off filets.

The orcas were hanging around, so we didn’t go out the next day, either.

And then, half a day out, we finally saw the distant line on the horizon that indicated land.

Circling it, we realized we were two islands north of where we wanted to be.

“We’re closer to Boadicea’s Girdle than Koputiki.” Captain Levemont said.

“Bear to course, captaine.” I said. “Unless what I just said was wrong or stupid. Then just carry on as we’ve discussed.”

We would get one last night’s sleep, and then we were there, at the walled village of Koputiki.

“Finally!” Kismet said. “And it’s still standing! We can save Koputiki.”

As we approached in the longboats, a large brown spider came up over the wooden walls and scurried into the jungle.

“Or... maybe... avenge them?” she said.

#