Sorala sits, posture rigid, head turned slightly at an angle as the captains pepper her with questions, some hotter than the sancocho her mouth is already watering in anticipation of. While they had first sat in silence, and then while the Free Captains talked, Sorala again made judgements to their characters, refining her opinions - and options - as the conversation continued.
Vraxakor was a buffoon most likely, or someone that played one, a useful skill if that was the case. And whether act or not, the diminutive man relished the spot at center stage, much like the preening barrel rollers of her homeland. That could be a useful quality for what Sorala had planned. Someone that chased fame would be likely to bite on her real offer, when she was in a position to make it.
Kazim was eloquent and certainly comfortable speaking for others; charismatic, pretty, a natural leader. Such people, Sorala had learned over the years, could be dangerous. Best to keep him close and at the same time, at arm's length.
Siboniso, while a pessimist, was someone that was observant, and comfortable being in a position to observe. He was smart, and perhaps could be useful, though Sorala doubted it would be in the way that was needed. Still, securing his allyship could prove worthwhile.
Tadul was expressive, likely too expressive for what Sorala needed, and seemed to chase neither revenge or fame. A businesswoman to her core, Sorala decided. She would be expensive to hire for Sorala's plan.
Shao remained steadfastly difficult to evaluate. Sorala had no new insights into the captain.
Raising an empty glass - small, like a snifter but without a stem - to Kazim, Sorala smiles and tips the Bag Island Rum back. It was pleasant; fiery in the back of the throat like whisky, but with a sweetness that complimented it nicely. A dangerous spirit for those that relish them.
Sighing, she let the others tuck into their sancocho - a pang of sadness running through the White Squire as she watched them eat - and began to answer their questions.
"On the matter of jurisdiction, I was notified of the invasion the day it began, and sent by my liege to make sure that Lady Elysia Morgannan, who now consolidates her hold on the city, does not run into any barricades - both literal and figurative. One barricade, as Siboniso so keenly noticed, is food. And so I am out to remove that barrier for the lady. But no, I do not consider myself an invader, though I acknowledge that the distinction may be a fine one in the eyes of most. For the purposes of this conversation, know that I can open the sea to those that are my friends."
"As to the matter of timeliness, forgive my bluntness Free Captain Fatru, but where and when you are due right now is of little matter. The fact is that if you try to leave the island, you are at risk of being sunk and losing at least your livelihood. I believe that once you have your freedom of passage your contractual issues will resolve themselves. Surely you have language in them for acts of the divine and unforeseen do you not? And I would think this invasion would certainly count for unforeseen. Your partners will be forgiving, and if they are not? You will be wealthy and that will salve the wounds of any lost friendships. All that said, I will work as quickly as I can to resolve your contracts."
Sorala paused, and dipped a spoon into the sancocho, relishing its peppery bite, the tingling it left on her tongue. "Do you have any questions? If not, I shall move on to terms."
"Very well," Sorala said, unsure if the silence she was met with was a good sign or not. "You will have freedom to come and go from Port Peril with official letters of transport. You will pay docking fees at the current rates, with a one-year freeze on any increases. Representatives for Lady Elysia and House Morgannan will have first right of refusal for any trade goods that you bring to port. We will pay one and quarter times the going rate for any food, weaponry, and ammunition to you and you alone."
"If shortages are occuring, Lady Elysia's representatives will assume the right to negotiate with other Free Captains, but you will be given preferential trade status, and thus will always have an audience with the Lady's representation, and prices at 1/4 above market rate, as I stated previously. In return, you will not sell food, weaponry, or ammunition elsewhere in the city without first offering it to the Lady's representatives."
"If you can deliver on set quotes of food, ammunition, or weaponry, we can negotiate individual contracts based upon your capability. Deliveries of these contractually obligated items will be paid for at a rate of 35% above market value."
"You will not need to sign any "loyalty pledge" to the Lady. Instead, you will receive papers of safe and free travel as long as your docking fees are paid and any contractual quotas are met. Effectively, you will be granted neutrality and preferred trading status with House Morgannan. In return, you will deliver goods as expected per your individual contracts, give the House and its agents right of first refusal on trade goods that you bring in, not take up arms against the House, and abide by House Morgannan's laws and regulations while in the city. House Morgannan and Lady Elysia's representatives reserve the right to cancel contracts if you are unable to meet your obligations, and can revoke your favored trading status and neutrality for crimes against the House and representatives of Lady Elysia. House Morganan and Lady Elysia's representatives will reserve the right to offer similar favorable trading status and neutrality to other Free Captains as needed. Likewise, any Captains that you work with and would like to recommend for favored trading status and neutrality will be granted an audience. It is my hope that the numbers of Free Captains with this status will be kept exclusive, so that we may all profit from this."
Sorala took another bite of her sancocho and surveyed the Captains, looking for any reaction. "Thoughts?"
The sancocho is aggressive, burning her mouth and throat with unseen fire. Yet, for all that, it tastes good, despite the obvious pain. Was this what the Overtyrant spoke of, this mixing of pleasure and pain?
"Humans are very strange." Eitleán remarks in her mind. True enough.
Sorala does her best to read the assembled piratesFree Captains but it is difficult in the shadowy upper story of the Deadlight. Outside the pouring rain seems to subside, as quickly as it started, the sky clearing. Was all weather so caprious in this place? In Irrisen things changed slowly (if at all). A blizzard might last days, or even a week. Things changed fast in this tropical land.
Kazim el-Ishak speaks first, as is apparently usual. "A generous deal. Perhaps too generous, one might say? Almost too good, after such a savage invasion. Still, as the saying goes, it is an ill wind indeed that blows no good for anyone."
Vraxakor Cinderbeam waves this aside, the halfling helping himself to a very healthy cup of the rum. He drinks it, careful to avoid wetting his goatee. After finishing he says grandly,"I think it is an impressive gesture. A pathway to future cooperation!"
"Indeed," Kaim says drily, raising and eyebrow and offering Sorala small shrug, almost an apology.
Tadul ignored this byplay and focused heavily on Sorala, face intense. "Before we get into the details, Kazim is right. Its too good to be true. I noticed you failed to mention your cut. What is your percentage? Don't make it too high, you'll be getting it out of every load. "
"And cuts for other House Morgannan representatives?" Shao interjects, "I assume there will be others? Bookeepers, clerks, inspectors? What is the expected take for these?"
Kazim who is holding a cup of rum under his nose, enjoying the scent says , "Bonefist took one and a half percent direct, and usually another ten got lost among the various...layers of that pearl." Tadul frowned at this, clearly unhappy that Kazim was giving Sorala anything to work with.
Perhaps the Overtyrant was a fan of sancocho? Sorala muses. She turns her thoughts to Eitleán, curiousity tinging her mindvoice. "Our bond has grown over the years. Strengthened. Can you... sense what I sense? Are we linked in any way but thought? Do you feel the pleasant burn of this seafood stew?"
Sorala quirks her eyebrow as the Free Captains express their doubts. Her placid fascade cracks, a small smile forcing its way through. "A savage invasion, you say? Yes, I suppose that is accurate. Still, many of my people - not all, but many - understand that a hammer is best accompanied with a pillow. You are the fortunate few that can choose the pillow for your head, and not the hammer."
"And your instincts about money are correct. I can assure you that some of your money will be lost among the... how did you put it? Layers of the pearl? That is a beautiful euphemism. I shall borrow it in the future. But, I will save you at least one and half percent. You see, I have no interest in money. The Jadwiga will provide me with what I need."
Sorala drops her spoon into the now empty soup bowl with a clatter, noticing just how quiet the tavern has become; the storm has stopped, the conversation in the Deadlight occurs -- if at all -- in whispers.
"What I want from you is your friendship. If I am in need of guidance, I would appreciate your honest council. If I need a connection made, I would appreciate an introduction. If I need supplies, I would appreciate access to your networks. Strangers in strange lands need friends. And so the deal I am offering you is favorable to you, because you have something more important than all the sancocho in the Shackles, to me at least. You have connections. What do you say?"
A watery sun sends sunbeams through the open windows, sending tiny spirals of steam rising from wood and shingle. Somehow, the storm only made the air even more humid, fi that was possible. Sorala can feel her hair becoming a soaking sodden mess. Maybe she should shave it.....
Kazim looks at his comrades but clearly makes up h is own mind. The tanned man shrugs easily, "I think we'd be fools to turn it down. I, at least accept-"
He is cut off by Vraxakor Cinderbeam, who cuts in deftly, "In the name of the Acetabularii, I accept. Let it be known we were the first to join in common cause with the newest occupants of Port Peril." A small hand suddenly juts out toward Sorala, fast enough that well-honed fighting instincts flare to brief life.
Behind him Kazim rolls his eyes and says, formally, "I, Kazim el-Ishak speaking for the El-Shadun accepts this deal." He glances toward Tadul. The heavy-set woman (who had not touched rum or soup) gives Sorala a long, hard stare but finally says, shortly, "Agreed. Let's see how it fares."
Siboniso looks as sour as ever, not event he delightful peppery sancocho having lifted his usual dour mood. Still, there is a light in his eyes. "I will not stand alone, and the deal sounds fair. I'll agree until you break it, Ygritte."
Last is Shao, face totally unreadable. "And if we do not accept? How many others are you making this deal towards?"
Sorala thinks briefly of shaving her head and then waves the thought from her mind. She was proud of her hair; its distinguished white-blond color, which complimented her flat grey eyes nicely, and, when moments allowed it, the White Squire enjoyed braiding it, or wrapping beads into it. Such self-care was a time for reflection, a time to feel beautiful. No, she would not let this insufferably hot and damp city take that from her.
Ignoring Cinderbeam, who after a moment's quick consideration seems not be intent on killing her, Sorala places the rimeblade on the table, one hand holding the blade upright. "I assume that is some sort of closure for an agreement you are attempting, Cinderbeam? We do things a bit differently where I am from." Sorala draws her hand across Eitleán, a quick sharp gesture, and before the pain sets in, the White Squire clenches her fist, blood dripping from her palm, a rivulet of red splattering the table. Sorala guides the blood until it makes a shakey set of initials: YGS "If you accept, run your hand across the blade - or one of your own, if you prefer, and let the blood fall in an approximation of your name. This act binds us in agreement." The bloodletting was an old form of treaty in Irrisen, one undoubtedly approved of, and possibly created by, the clergy of the Midnight Lord, one of the countless ways in which his influence intruded into Irriseni everyday life.
Nodding to Shao, Sorala considers her question, a short pause accompanied by a slight head-waggle, a sign of respect. "It is a good question, Shao. I should be pleased to see if you can make our agreement work. If we face shortages, I shall offer the deal to others. We shall see how exclusive the deal needs to be - deliver enough, or more, and it can be very, very lucrative for you. Don't, and I reserve the right to offer the same deal to enough Free Captains to make it worth it for the invaders."
"Do you accept, or should I look for another Free Captain to pick up your slack?"
Kazima and Tadul look at the bloody blade with more then a little distaste, glancing Eitleán's from gleaming edge to Sorala's face, as if to see if she is serious. Vraxakor actually says, "You want our blood? Like some kuru ritual? " The so far genial halfling looks oddly worried at this. He narrows his eyes at Sorala, "Are you from the Cannibal Islands?"
At this Kazim finally bursts out, "Damn your eyes, Vraxakor. It's symbolic, not magic. Just like spitting on a shake. For Besmara's sake,d o it or get out of the way!"
The halfling sniffs at this, inspects the blade again, mutters, "Unsanitary" and then runs palm along the razor-edge. Soon the halfling's captains blood is dripping freely, mingling with Sorala's. In short order new letters form although Sorala doesn't recognize them. Seeing her confusion the little sailor says, "The halfling alphabet, invented by,"
"Move!" Tadul says, her turn to be exasperated by the halfling. "We all need to apparently bleed ourselves like stuck pigs, and I don't want to be here all day." Soo both she and Kazim have both signed, bloody letter staining the table. Vrazakor shows off his wound like a battle injury, blood flicking everywhere as he keeps gesticulating. Tadul ignores it, the red seeping onto his dirty clothes while Kazim pulls out a rather dainty looking cloth and binds it.
Shao and Siboniso looks less then enthused. "Chelish-like." The lean black man says, earring glinting. "I don't like it." But then, without saying anything else, draws the blade across his skin, and signs his name.
Last is Shao, the Tian woman looking at the blade, the blood and the others. Clearly the female captain isn't happy about signing in such a...potent fashion. Probably not out of a desire to lie or cheat but simply a preference to not be pinned down. Sorala can respect that but this is no time for softness. Eitleán shimmers on the table, a tiny haze of fog around it.
"The old blood is bold blood, the wide world round." Shao mutters, repeating some old rhyme of lore. Then, with a final shrugs, "Very well."
There, Sorala had done it. Signed contract with the Free Captains.
So now what?
"It is done," Sorala muses, her voice light. Pulling a cloth banner from the railing, Sorala runs it along Eitleán's blade and then drops it atop the table, for someone could use it to clean the bloody contract later. "We are friends now, and you shall be very, very wealthy. I shall have papers sent to your ships soon, likely in the next day or two, allowing your free passage to and from port. Tell me where your ships a moored so that I may get you your papers as promptly as possible."
"And, now that we are friends, I have need of your first bit of council. Where is the Free Captain Quye's ship birthed? What is it called? I wish to pay him a visit."
As she picks up Eitleán to clean it, she can hear the rimeblade's voice in her head.
'I can feel the blood, you know.' The tone is measured, the usual slightly bored tone of a friend sharing something they think might be interesting. 'Feel the warmth on me...it is different for each too. Man, halfling and others. A different....texture, I think is the right word?'
The Free Captains start to break up, presumably heading to inform their crews of the new arrangement. Tadul, in particular is clearly annoyed by a delay of 'next day or two' but doesn't say anything out loud. Sorala gets the berthing places of all the ships. Again the size of this city surprises her, and Crescent Harbor is just one area. In Irrisen people built close together, literally huddled for warmth. Clearly no such needs constrained these tropical dwellers.
At her question there are a few glances among the sailors.
"Captain Quye." Kazim finally says, again taking the leader as spokesman. He probably only gets away with this since Cinderbeam is already climbing down the stairs from the balcony, the halfling forced to go carefully due to the overly large steps.
"Pay him a visit?" Kazim says, his bright eyes glinting in the dim light of the tavern. "A social call perhaps? Taking him on a long walk off a short pier?" Seeing Sorala's face the sailor adds, "My answer may depend on what your plans are. We are, after all, in the same brotherhood of the sea."
'Even if he isn't the best sibling." Tadul says, unable to resist sticking her oar in.
"Others?" Sorala asks Eitleán, concern edging into her mindvoice. "What do you mean by others? Humanoid or something else? Which one was the other?" Depending on Eitleán's answer, this could be very bad. Sorala held the rimeblade unsheethed in her hand, tip pointed at the ground, her pose as unthreatening as possible given that she kept Eitleán bared.
As her mind carried on her conversation with Eitleán, outwardly Sorala showed a calm presence. A small smirk played across Sorala's face, briefly touching her eyes as the White Squire thought of the only person she'd ever held closely, like a sibling: the long-dead Halgred Morgannan.
"Ah yes, troublesome siblings. We love them regardless of the grief they bring upon us. And themselves."
"I understand your bond, and I understand your reluctance to turn on anyone your brotherhood of the sea. I also understand that appearances are important. We have a saying in my homeland: the tail wags the wolfhound. Soon, tongues will wag here in Port Peril, and this meeting will be fertile ground for rumors to grow. So, I understand your brotherhood, and I can also see, if the Free Captain who stormed from this meeting were killed at my hand this afternoon, how that might look badly for you. So let me address your concerns, stated and unstated."
"I wish to pay a social visit to Captain Quye. Twice now we have met, and twice now he has threatened me personally. I need to know the extent of his intent, what forces he has at his disposal, and his capabilities. So I would like to visit to first come to an accommodation, if possible. And if not, to understand the seriousness of the this threat to my life."
"But there will be no long walks off of short piers today. I give you my word, and this is important. It is important to my personal honor, and it is important for you to understand that I uphold my agreements. Quye will not be harmed today."
"Lastly, I promise to you that I will be discreet in my visit. No one will see Ygritte Guiding Star enter or leave that boat. So, with those concerns addressed, shall you provide uphold your terms of our agreement and provide me your honest counsel? Tell me where I can find Free Captain Quye."
"Don't promise what you can't hold." Tadul comments, wiping a bloody hand on her dirty clothes, adding a new stain to the mix. "Quye might try to gut you whatever you say. He left unhappy."
Kazim shakes his head and says, seriously, "Quye is a hothead, but not stupid. Watch yourself, Ygritte. He is a Greenblooder, and everyone knows they are crazy men, but canny. His ship is the Champion Troll, a heavy three-masted flute." He glances at Tadul, "Is it still that ugly green color, that reminds me of algae?" At her nod, the brown-skinned man gives Sorala the location and berth number. After this, he adds, "Meeting you has been most...interesting, Ygritte Guiding Star. Your personality is most...intriguing. An open invitation to the El-Shadun stands." He gives an almost courtly bow. "If it helps, I have an excellent chef, native to my rather distant homeland. You have simply not lived until you have dined on his meshkak and date."
Tadul rolls her eyes and gives Sorala an oddly knowing, female glance.
Meanwhile in her head Eitleán comments, still casual, "I'm not sure. It was the quiet woman." An image of Shao flashed across her mind, like a flicker in a pond.
Sorala looked but the Tian woman was already gone, crossing the floor below, deep in conversation with her female second in command.
"Oh, and this might be important," Eitleán added, less amused and distant now. "One of them was lying, when they made that oath. I'm not sure which, but the blood oath has strange powers. One of those sailors does not intend to uphold their end of the bargain.' A pause, "That is probably not that great a surprise, though.'
"Quye is welcome to try," Sorala shrugs, "And per our agreement he will not be harmed, regardless of his success. But I appreciate the advice none-the-less. Oh -- and what is a Greenblooder? I am not familiar with the term."
Sliding Eitleán into its home, Sorala keeps her hand on the sword's worn handle, the connection between them blunted but not broken. "Yes, it is no surprise, but it is good to know. If you can suss out who intends to betray us, let me know. We need their moral compass to help guide us through these dangerous waters."
Sorala lets her hand free, severing the connection. Hopefully Eitleán's interest was piqued, and the blade would spend its time ensconced thinking more intently on the identity of their possible ally.
Returning Kazim's bow, Sorala presents the man with smile, genuinely warm, for the thought of fine food brings the Squire's near perpetual hunger - despite the recent fine sancocho - into sharp focus. "I appreciate the offer, Free Captain Kazim of the El-Shadun. I shall certainly take you up on it. A future filled with meshkak and date is a present filled with dreams-kissed anticipation.
Turning to Tadul and Siboniso, Sorala offers them a bow as well. Free Captain Tadul of the Bouncing Headsman, Free Captain Siboniso. It is my pleasure to meet you. May you grow wealthy from our agreement."
At her question Tadul answers, "Oh, I suppose you would not know. He's from Greenblood, that's all. It's a city north of here, up on the mainland. Nearly in the Sodden Lands, by the Eye. " Sorala doesn't know what this means but it doesn't seem very relevant.
Kazim adds in, "Green Blood on a Black Rock. It is a famous animal fighting pit, on a tiny island in that harbor. People pit monsters against each other and bet on the winners. It's a big trade now, with lots of money in it. Quye used to be in monster trade, far as I know."
Tadul nodded, "Probably upset someone with a grudge and sailed down here to enlighten us with his presence." The heavy set grunted and spat at this, shaking her head. "Friendly sort that he is."
Kazim merely smiles and bows at her words, but his eyes show more then a glint of promise. Siboniso looks distracted and remains silent.
Sorala heads toward the berthing spot for Quye's ship, which is a fair distance. Which means, yet again, a long walk.
The dockside is a busy hive of activity, much of it reaching out into the water. Ships being repaired, re-floated and re-filled with cargo. More then once the White Squire paused to simply watch the work. Great winches pulling on heavy chains, attached to hulls sunk into the mud of the bay, dragging them to the surface like giant fish, slowly breaching. Other ships are merely being broken up for raw salvage, usable items being saved with the rest cut and used for scrap.
Cargos are being loaded and unloaded, the buzz of commerce finally coming back. Sorala wonders how much is based on deals like hers or simply wishful thinking. At least the people bringing items to shore have a market. Merchants fairly mob anything coming to land, if they manage to beat the Irrisen soldiers to the goods. To her surprise, Sorala notes that sometimes her countryman are paying, instead of just taking.
Curious. New orders? Or just common sense to not kill the golden goose? Or maybe the sailors had proven harder to simply rob then most Irriseni cared to deal with? Either way, intriguing.
Her route takes her past the Harborhorn, the long pier jutting out into the bay with the fort at the far end. The pier is too long to see details, but it looks busy out there, people bustling about. One of the Jadwiga's servants setting up shop in the obviously good location?
Sorala also spots many Chelish about. Many are working on their vessels, trying to refloat the sunken hulks or repair them in-situ. Their red jackets look like drops of blood among the blue waters of the harbor. Others are walking the waterfront like her, buying and selling. The Squire notes they never travel in groups smaller then five and all are heavily armed.
Finally she reaches the general area Kazim and Tadul directed her too. It looks like a more rundown area, the buildings here more in disrepair, covered with moss and vines. Also less battle damage, probably because of less things to loot. The dockside here is a muddy beach with a few poles driven into the water, covered with a few brittle boards. No stonework here, no fancy stairs or step. Simple, rugged and dirty.
Reminds her of Quye, actually.
Sorala weaves through the crowded dockside, her disguise pulling little attention to the Squire. Her hair was black and tied behind her, the ponytail poking out from under her hat - now appearing as a simple sailor's hat, light, round, and with a narrow, circular brim. Her broadcloth shirt was a dark blue, and covered with a sash, from which small pieces of rope were tied and tucked into the sash - a simple way Sorala had noted sailors used to keep from losing smaller objects like tools. Her pants were baggy and tan and tied at the calves. Her footware, Sorala left almost unglammered: the silk rope of her sandals appeared to be a simple brown rope instead. Sorala's skin matched that of Kazim's - olive darkened by the sun, the indication of a foreigner, but not so foreign that she'd stand out to more than a cursory glance. Eitleán was disguised as an oversized cutlass ensconced in a plain leather scabbard dangling from a rope belt knotted around Sorala's waist.
The White Squire made note of the Irriseni paying for goods - something to inquire about later - and the bustling fort - something to investigate on the way back from Quye's ship. Provided she left the ship upright and not tossed dead into the bay, that is.
Stopping at the area she was directed to, Sorala sat atop the rubble from a disintegrated low wall and munched on a pastry provided by the bakers earlier in the morning, and she took a look upon the scene. This area of town was in disrepair, the type of place that people would only dock at if they couldn't afford - or wished to avoid - the security of the more traveled dockside. Doubt creeped into Sorala. Perhaps Quye didn't have the ability that she'd hoped? Still, she was here, and Quye certainly had a hatred of the Irriseni to make her proposal attractive. And these desperate surroundings may indicate a tendency - or need - to take a big risk. Sorala might as well see what he had to offer with her own eyes.
Sorala had considered disguising herself further, as Tadul or Shao, in order to gain an audience with Quye. But upon further reflection, the White Squire decided against it. If she hoped to make Quye an ally, she would have to drop the disguise at some point, and Sorala guessed that wouldn't go over well with the Greenblooder. No, Sorala would have to be more direct.
Walking the dockside, Sorala's sandals squelched in the mud, and the White Squire strode with purpose, directly looking at anyone nearby but dropping her eyes before her look lingered long enough to be a challenge. She hoped she'd see Quye's ship soon. Just how hard could it be to miss an ugly green three-masted flute anyways?
The sidewalk had long ago turned to muddy sand, with bits of seashell, grit and litter mixed in. Even as she walked, careful to step over waterlogged bits of wood, torn nets and broken pots she saw tiny crabs skitter into hideholes, no bigger then her fingernail. Seagulls perched on driftwood branches or old boxes, taking to flight at her approach. A jet black cat startled her once, the shape exploding from some sort of discard fish trap, before streaking across the street to vanish among the houses.
And it was not just animal life. She saw other people to, dark eyed inhabitants from the buildings. Some were busy enough, sewing clothes or mending nets in the bright tropical sun. Others though had a more...unsavory look. Lurking in darkened doorways, or lounging on shaded porches. Bottles in hand, or dice nearby. A slovenly, idle cast that would have, quite literally, got them killed in Irrisen. No one says anything to Sorala or even really makes eye contact but she is being noted and watched. People here expect trouble.
Ahead she finally spots her destination. It is indeed, a large ugly green ship, with three masts. It was a wide-bellied ship, swelling considerably outward at amidships, with a wide stern. Sorala's experience told her it would not be fast, but it would carry a heavy cargo with few hands. It looked in fair condition but it needed a new coat of paint and the sails looked to be fraying. Still, no battle damage she could see.
To her sudden surprise though, she spots Quye, much closer at hand. The rangy man is down at the waterside, talking with a portly dwarf in front of another, much dilapidated ship. At his side, snuffling in the dirty beach is a...dog? No, surely not...and yet.
It was a bulbous shaped version of a dog, with scaly, pus-stained skin. A long snout glittered with teeth and strong paws dug into the sand, throwing small clods everywhere. Heavy shoulders rolled with muscles, gleaming slightly as with sweat...or slime. It had no tail. neither Quye or his companion pay it any mind, even as it snuffles ever louder through the muck.
Quye is talking so loud, she can hear the conversation clearly.
"Three thousand?" Quye says scathingly, waving his hand at the broken down hulk, which was clearly resting on the muddy sand. "She's a wreck! Worse then a wreck, she's grounded. Even Jezutau would probably laugh at you. You should be paying me to take her off your hands."
The dwarf says something, his voice too low for Sorala to hear.
Quye laughs, "Oh, I am sure. A fine ship. But when? When Yamasa flooded?" A barking laugh. "I'll give you one and a half, because I like dwarves."
More muttering from the shorter ship owner.
"I assume it comes with no crew?" Quye said, looking at the ship again, eyeing it carefully. "No matter, I have the hands for her..."
If Sorala stays any longer, she is likely to be seen. Even now the weird dog-thing is glancing up at her, sniffing the air.
Sorala marvels at the Champion Troll, truly as ugly a ship as was advertised. It was a wide craft and this was a good thing; it would have a shallow draft to accommodate a full hold, and while Sorala didn't care about the Troll's cargo capacity, the shallow draft was quite important. Turning her attention to the dog, Sorala frowned. It was a giant cur, slicked with slime, and obviously powerful - if neglected. And it was certainly mean. Sorala would need some tact - and perhaps a little luck - for what came next.
Slipping her pitted iron wand free, Sorala palmed the implement in one hand, keeping it hidden behind her wrist. She had promised her Captains not to kill Quye, but she had no illusions he would return the favor. Sorala left her other hand free of any weapon - for now. Raising her voice in volume and lowering it in timbre, the White Squire forced it over the litter-strewn sand and interrupted the negotiation.
"You should take the offer," Sorala yelled, directed to the dwarf. "Fifteen hundred gold is more than a fair price for that ship, and Free Captain Quye is known as a cunning Captain who says what he believes, and stands by it. If he says it is worth one and half, it is worth one and half, and not a bloody cent more. Captain, if the dwarf is not interested in your coin, simply walk away. You can always revisit this sale if you can't find a better deal, which I sincerely doubt. That derelict isn't going anywhere any time soon. You have time."
"Captain, I have business with you, but will remain here while you conclude - or pause - your negotiations."
The glamer remains in place, for now.
The two haggling figures freeze at Sorala's approach, clearly surprised at this sudden 'sailor' appearing shouting advice. Quye recovers first, raising his voice in anger, "Who the fu-" Then he pauses and cocks his head, like one of the clever ravens back home. His eyes narrow, face clouding.
"That voice." Then his face clears, suffused with anger and surprise. "That woman! At the tavern." Without delay he raises two fingers to his lips and lets out a shrill whistle. At his side the scabrous dog comes to attention, a low growl building in the massive, sloped chest.
The dwarf, obviously totally at sea, staggers backward away from Quye and the dog, staggering directly into the dirty water of the harbor, heedless of the splashes.
Quye grins and shouts something in a horrible, roaring language she doesn't know. Instantly the dog lets loose a ragged bark and bounds forward, clawed feet digging into the sand for traction. Mouth agape to show rows of shining teeth, it charges directly at Sorala!
Sorala had expected an attack, perhaps even to fight a shipload of sailors. But a trollhound - or what she assumed was a trollhound at least - that was unplanned for. She had promised to not kill Quye today, but his crew, or his dog? They were fair game per her vow, but the killing of Quye's first mate was what had engendered his hatred towards her to begin with; killing the man's dog would certainly do the White Squire no favors. Instead, she would have to buy some time to talk the enraged Free Captain down. Which meant going up.
Sorala tapped her side with her wand and then she lifted off the ground, shooting straight upwards. While she rose, she turned a stern voice towards the Free Captain, her words drifting with disapproval across the muddy levee.
"You impossibly stubborn and single-minded man! If I meant to fight, you'd know it! Put aside your rage--"
The hound looks very surprised when it's prey suddenly lifts off into the air like a bird. It growls and snaps at her, but Sorala is long gone. Circling below, it bays loudly, like a dog who treed a cat.
Quye meanwhile merely looks disappointed, lookung up at the floating woman.
"Ah, so you admit it!" The sailor says, pointing a finger at her. "Disgusing yer-self, sneaking up on me! Didn't think I'd be so smart, now did ye!" he says, a smirk running across his face. "Thought I'd just be another stupid sailor, to rob and kill? Well, Captain Quye won't be so easily taken. You'll have to fight me!"
He draws a heavy cutlass from his belt, and raises it toward Sorala in angry salute. "Well, let's get on with it. Come down here and fight me! " Yet, despite facing a flying armed foe....the pirate didn't see as scared he should, more confident then Sorala expected. Some trick up his sleeve?
"You're cunning and I know it," Sorala yells as she swoops away from the Free Captain and towards the derelict ship Quye was haggling over mere moments before. "I want to talk, not fight - we have much to gain by being friends!"
Her voice grows louder as she flies further away, like thunder on the horizon. With a flourish, Sorala grabs hold of a frayed rope dangling from the derelict's mainmast and plants her feet upon the mast's side, a good twenty feet above the deck.
Quye watches Sorala sail away through the air until she reaches the derelict ship. Below her the lumpy dog follows her.....well, doggedly. It races along the splintery gangway with surprising nimbleness, and is soon milling around the base of the mast, baying loud enough to nearly drown out Sorala's words.
From the shore, the Free Captain has not moved, merely followed the Irriseni with his eyes. Still, he replies, "Friends? Does that word mean something else in your land? Friends do you sneak up disguised or invade other cities." A bit rich coming from a pirate. "Or kill their crew. No, we are not friends. " He looks to add more and raises a hand toward the blue, clear sky.
Then, pauses, shrugs and says, "I am leaving." Without delay he actively turns his back on Sorala and starts heading up the walkway, presumably toward his ship.
Sighing, Sorala lifts off the mast and flies towards Quye, her voice edged with exasperation. The man was stubborn, that was for sure, and while it could be a useful quality... Sorala needed to break the ice soon. She needed to save some of her flight for what was yet to come.
"I did not kill your crew, nor did I wish - nor know - that I'd be in this blistering, fetid city a mere four days ago. So to say we can't be friends, well that seems a bit short-sighted."
Other than her voice, Sorala circles silently above Quye, her plaited braids coming mussed and undone in the flight. "But if we can't be friends, perhaps we can be allies of convenience. Would you say no to gaining the favor of a pirate lord? Of punching the invaders - and the Chels, to boot - square in the jaw? The perpetrator of a tale that will be told in taverns across Port Peril, and beyond? What of revenge for your slain bosun?"
One final circle in the air, and Sorala finds herself pointed again at the derelict. "But for these things, we must talk. Join me on the derelict, and we can see what use we can be to each other. There is no harm in listening to what I have to say. I promised I would not draw my blade against you today, and I keep my oaths."
Her offer made, Sorala flings herself back towards the derelict's mast hoping she has enticed the Free Captain enough to follow.
Quye, still walking away suddenly stops at Sorala's words although the Squire isn't sure at what exact phrase. The mention of a pirate lord? The promise of revenge? Just sheer irritation at Sorala's insistence?
The Greenblooder pauses for a long moment, his rangy frame outlined against the dirty sand of the makeshift bay. Sorala spots his finger tapping against his leg in thought. Suddenly, without warning the man spins around and faces her.
Shouting, to be heard clearly, "One hour, the Mermaid's Bucket. Come alone."
With that he stomps off, only pausing once to whistle. The troll-like dog stops circling the mast and takes off, following its master down the empty waterfront toward the yellow ship.
Sorala's, er Ygritte's query floats off into the breeze unanswered, and with a sigh, the White Squire floats to the bottom of the derelict's mast.
Making her way carefully back to land, Sorala turns the meeting over in her mind. The good: Quye definitely was filled with hatred for her people. And he was stubborn, so if she could bring him into her camp... things could go well for both of them. The bad: Quye was filled with hatred for her personally. Perhaps eclipsing any of her people. The gambit at the Mermaid's Bucket could well be a hastily imagined trap. Sorala turns up alone, the Free Captain turns up with his entire ship, looking for her head...
The ugly, of course, was the dog.
Well, if this was a clumsy trap, it would behoove Sorala to get to the Mermaid's Bucket before Quye, to see who he arrived with. And that meant figuring out what exactly this Bucket was. It had to be nearby at least - Quye would need time to get there himself. Speaking of the Free Captain, Sorala watches the man as she picks her way off the ship, taking note of where he goes. Does he board his own vessel, or veer off in another direction?
Sorala, disguised, follows Quye at a distance. A rather far distance actually, with how empty the waterfront is (at least compared to the thriving busy districts farther down the beach). Still, the rangy Free Captain doesn't even glance back as he strides away, the ugly dog at his heels. It might not win any beauty contests, but it does seem to be well trained.
She watches long enough to see the man step onto the gangplank of the Champion Troll, which was even uglier up close. Yet, Sorala's trained eye notes the ship is in good repair, in the ways that matter. The sails are neat and trim (if stained) and her quickwork is free of kelp or seaweed. Sorala pauses just enough to watch the crew busy at work, but then is startled, totally thrown as a figure apporachs Quye on deck.
Was that...Master Halporhini?
No, of course not. The gambler in the Witchmarket had been an ape in the shape of a man. This...was just an ape. A massive powerful creature too, whose rounded head rises above even Quye's above average height. Powerful muscles roll under glossy black fur as it knuckles across the deck. Some other pet?
No, it seems to be talking to Quye. A crew member? No time to find out now, she had to keep moving to not raise the alarm.
It took longer then she hoped to find information. Unlike the streets farther down the coast, here people clustered in unwelcome groups, looking out of doorways with cold eyes. Clearly this area was not for the outsider, for the casual tourist. Irrisen influence seemed nearly non existent here, and Sorala figured she knew why. Too poor to have anything to steal.
The buildings were more like shacks, made of cast off ship's timbers, some still bearing the sun-bleached traces of tar and oakum. The streets were muddy sand, fouled with waste and garbage. The few taverns were either closed or so foul, Sorala had to steer clear or retch up her lunch. There were no shops, no counting houses, not even a visible market.
Finally, she found an old blind beggar on a street corner. Battered and missing a leg, event his woman was surly and unhelpful. But at least she said something.
Apparently the coast didn't go much farther north, the sand terminating in a set of rocky cliffs and caves that formed the northern point of the island. Then the beach hooked back, creating the outside of the crescent shaped island, the beach on the other side of the steep rainforest clad hills that played as a backdrop to Crescent Harbor.
One of those caves, quite close tot he last straggling shack, was named the Mermaid's Bucket. The beggar was vague but it was clearly a social gathering place of some kind. A theater? Tavern/ Social hall? Something like that, but at least it was a known public place.
Still, a sea cave near the ocean? Not a bad place for a hasty ambush. But also a fair place for a private meeting on neutral ground. It wasn't far which was good, Sorala had burned nearly half her time tracking down someone who would talk.
Where was Norintha when she needed her?
Cursing her newfound knowledge under her breath, Sorala sets off immediately for this Mermaid's Bucket, drawing Eitleán as she goes, keeping him disguised as a dull flat cutlass. It should be easy enough to find at least: a straggling shack, a sea cave nearby. It would undoubtedly have signs of use, and perhaps even people.
Which could be pretty bad as well. Best remain disguised for now. Quye would know her voice at any rate. And it could give her a few moments to judge if the Free Captain meant to do her harm. If she could get there first, if there were others there to blend into a crowd, or a place to hide if not. A lot of ifs.
Sorala cursed again and then forced herself to be thankful for the magical sandals at least. She'd cover ground faster with them. Perhaps she could beat Quye there after all, if she could just find the damn Bucket first. Another if...
"Dull," Eitleán remarks, the link strengthened in her mind after she draws it. "It's like...like making a dancer wear muddy boots. Can't I at least by a sharp cutlass?"
At least the way toward the Mermaid's Bucket was impossible to miss, assuming a blind beggar can be trusted. As long as she kept the sea to her right and headed north, she would hit the northern point....right?
The White Squire picks up her pace to a fast walk, more fitting a busy Whitethrone merchant street then the half-empty waterfront. Around her even the poor and dirty trappings of civilization start fading away. Trees cluster along the path, creating walls of vibrant greenery between the increasingly isolated buildings. Most look ruined or abandoned anyway, long before the Irrisen invaders showed up. Young saplings reach up from crumbling stairs, drifts of dried leaves cover caved in roofs and vines reach down over empty windows. Sorala spots more wildlife here, with lizards and snakes skittering everywhere, and a whole host of birds. Once she even surprises a small sounder of feral pigs, which take off at a run, vanishing into the thickening undergrowth.
Even the seaside grows more wild as it becomes just a muddy beach, dotted with coral and rocks. The few jetties and quays are small, haphazard affairs sinking into the water. Barnacles and oysters encrust everything, and tide pools shimmer in the bright tropical sun.
For all that though, her path actually becomes clearer. It is apparent that despite the decaying nature of the structures around her, people travel this way frequently. The muddy trail might not be well kept, and Sorala has to skip over quite a few puddles large enough to host small ecosystems, but it is clear of plants and growth. It heads northward with resolute speed.
The path winds around the base of a huge tree whose exposed buttresses like roots taller then she is, and then...she sees it.
Dead ahead, with the path leading right to it, is the mouth of a large cave. The cave is directly on the coast, facing the glittering sea. To her surprise, Sorala notes the ocean flows right into the cave, although there is land around the entrance.
Sorala approaches cautiously, alive to the danger of a trap. She sees and hears no one, just an empty rocky beach around the base of the cave. Plenty signs of people however. Abandoned trash abounds everywhere, in various states of decay. Used fire rings dot the area, some fresh, some old, along with piles of driftwood for fuel. Place must get crowded at times.
She reaches the mouth of the cave and peers inside. It takes her eyes a moment to adjust after the dazzling sunlight outside, but details slowly come into view.
It is a large, enclosed space inside, a rough circle. It is perhaps sixty feet across, with a low rocky ceiling. Much of the space is taken up by a wide pool of seawater, still as a millpond. It is connected to the sea outside, but blocked by a heavy metal grate. Sorala guesses it can be raised or lowered somehow, but is currently locked in place.
Crude wooden benches and seats ring the watery pool, jostled and randomly scattered about. At the far end of the cave she can see a few small wooden buildings, little shacks or stalls of some kind. There, leaning against a wooden counter is Quye and he is not alone. At his side is the huge furry ape creature, also casually leaning. They seemed to be quietly talking to each other, heads together.
There is no one else around, as far as Sorala can see.
"I'd hate to kill a destitute beggar because they try to steal you," Sorala tuts. "Dull you shall remain."
Sorala stops at the entrance. Whatever Sorala had expected the Mermaid's Bucket to be, this was not it. What was the purpose of the grate? To be raised for a small craft to enter? Or to keep something in the milpond? Ducking out of sight of Quye and his crewmate, Sorala spends a few moments surveying the land outside of the cave. Were there enemies hiding there waiting to cut off a route of escape if she entered the cave?
Seeing no threats, Sorala takes a deep breath and then pushes it back out, and then again and once more, before dropping her disguise and stepping back around the corner.
"Hello, Quye and friend. If you don't mind, I shall stay out here. You have tried to kill me once today, and I'd prefer not to put myself in a cave with the both of you. I promised I would not attack you today, but that does not mean I am looking to die today."
Sorala casts a glance towards the millpond. Nope.
"Your ship is impressive, Quye. In all the right ways. The sails are neat and trim and her quickwork is free of kelp or seaweed. I was correct about you. You are a fine captain. Come sit with me in the sun and lets talk. Your friend - who I have not met - is welcome to loiter nearby, but what I have to say is for your ears only."
At her words, Quye looks her way, details fuzzy at such a distance. She swears she sees a ghost of a smile on the rangy, bearded face. The lean man shrugs, waves her in and then, insolently, turns back to his conversation. The fuzzy ape never even glances her way, instead reaching behind the counter with a long arm, to grab a glass bottle. Even as Sorala stands in the entry-way of the cave, the two pirates start pouring a few glasses.
"I think this one."Eitleán remarks, clearly amused, "He knows you need him more then he needs you. Probably makes a good angler."
Then the rimeblade says the obvious, "It has to be a trap, I assume?"
Sorala stands for what seems like a month, her mind and body stuck. A trap? Yes, it sure seems to be. We're certainly not going in there.
Eitleán's first observation begged an important question: just how much did Sorala need the Captain? Certainly there were other Free Captains she could approach. There was one of the Free Captains she'd struck a deal with earlier in the day that intended to betray her. If Sorala could suss out who that was, perhaps a mutually agreeable betrayal could be arranged...
On the other hand, Quye's hatred and extreme stubbornness really did make him ideal for what she needed. Ideal that was, if Sorala could figure a way to get over both of those qualities being pointed squarely in her direction. "Gorum's toothy maw," the White Squire mumbled. She'd give the stubborn Free Captain a few more moments.
"I am growing tired of your games," Sorala yelled, "And want to remind you that I did not kill your first mate. I offer you a chance to avenge him, the favor of a pirate lord, and a possibility to have your name spoken with reverence in taverns throughout the Fever Sea. Or you can stand there and get drunk with your ape. You have ten minutes."
Turning, Sorala looked for a nearby spot to sit and wait, with a good vantage of the Mermaid's Bucket and yet far enough from the entrance to avoid being ambushed by her erstwhile frenemies.
The day was hot, as all days in this tropical city seemed to be. Behind her the sea and sky melded together into an endless vista of blue, dotted with billowing white clouds. This far out her view was of the wide open ocean, not of the enclosed harbor. She saw no ships, no lands, not even a sandbar ahead of her. Just slow rolling swells, that rose and fell like the breath of a unfathomably large giant. The sound of crashing waves fills her ears, and the air is full of the scent of salt, and water.
The smell of promise. Unbidden a vision of herself, standing at the prow of a ship, fills her mind. The wind filling the sails, blowing her hair, racing toward an unseen horizon. Free and clear, with no ties to bind her.
A fantasy....or perhaps, dare she hope, a vision of the future?
She sits by the wall...and waits. Even in the shade it is too hot to be comfortable of course, and sweat rolls down the back of her neck and down her face into her eyes. Happily the sea breeze keeps off the biting insects. Still, she doesn't want to wait all day.
Then, from the entrance of the grotto, the Squire seems movement. Not the rangy figure of Quye, but instead the fuzzy squat ape. Powerfully built, with arms nearly as long as Sorala body, the animal crouches near the entrance, not stepping out into the sunlight.
"The Captain is impressed with your patience." It says without preamble, voice a strange screeching rasp. "He will meet you at the Harborhorn mole at nightfall. No tricks."
A pause and then, animal face unreadable, "I offer this for free. Captain would like nothing more then to skin you and feed it to the gulls." and with that, they duck back inside.