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The quartermaster interjects. "There are certainly great events afoot; my brush with madness and my meeting with the Green King opened me to a new world. But one day we'll need to get home, and better to start now than wait." She glances at Ferrino and adds, "But if the virloga do not return, these people will need a proper navy if they're to fend off the Nendastans when they arrive."
The quartermaster nearly stumbles, gazing about left and right.
Syper:
You see her lips mouth the words, "Agosti, is that you?"
For a fraction of a second, so fast you would have missed it had you not been looking, the corners of her eyes twitch with the effort of suppressing something terrible. The same hideous grin that befouled the face of the cooper, right at the end. She appears to snap out of it, and you cannot read her confusion well enough to determine if she was aware of the madness that had flickered within her for that brief moment, an ember of insanity hoping to catch a wind strong enough to kindle it into a roaring blaze. She quickly resumes her stride, tugging the sled along behind her.
“Ilara’s light,” Mirian breathes, awed by the sight of the majestic metal as it reflects the light of the afternoon sun.
The quartermaster rubs her chin for a moment. "We could use some of the canvas and spare lumber to rig up something, but since the tents hold two people each, and you've got two of them, I think you can manage with what you have, provided Kork is alright with sleeping in tight quarters."
Mirian, barely decent and still slightly groggy, stares at the corpses and asks, “What were they trying to do? There’s only four; not enough to take the ship.”
Mirian steps forward and puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him an affectionate smile. "Cheer up, sourpuss! We took on this mission to get away from home, remember? I'm sure things will be fine. And even if they're not, the crew will be fine. We'll survive. As long as we have you, House Dandolon can burn to the ground for all I care."
After a few minutes, the quartermaster reemerges from belowdecks and shakes her head at the captain. "No trace of any potion bottles," she offers dejectedly.
With the party's help, the quartermaster finishes loading the cart and gives the order to fall out. At first the horse is too skittish to safely unlock the wheels, but when Mirian cuts away the canvas and throws it into an alleyway, thus banishing the smell of smoke, he calms down sufficiently to pull the cart. You return to the caravel unmolested, though a few passersby gawk at your singed wagon well, and as you descend the stairs you can see the neighborhood watch assembling in the distance. As you pull up to the dock, you notice the captain conversing with a burly, well-dressed man holding a logbook and a quill pen. "Harbormaster Krellin will be inspecting our shipping manifests and receipts," the quartermaster explains. "If we stop, we'll just look more suspicious. Be sure to think of something if he asks what happened. We didn't do anything illegal, but I don't want to get the constabulary involved."
Every ten minutes or so, the quartermaster gets up and heads outside. On the third such outing, she is gone for five minutes, then returns, strutting into the room and tapping on each of your shoulders in turn. “I need you to help me finish loading this wagon. Meet me outside.” Evening is still a few hours off as you step into the light, but its hints are beginning to trickle down the edges of the horizon. With the streets west of the tavern mostly deserted, you quickly spot Mirian standing beside a hand-pulled cart loaded with heavy wooden barrels stamped Metello’s: Quality You Can Count On, with a stenciled picture of a smiling merchant. Upon seeing you, she points to a horse-drawn wagon and informs you, “We need to get the rest of these barrels loaded up and onto the ship; I’d rather they not be in direct sunlight for long on account of the contents being so flammable and all.”
The quartermaster leans over and mutters quietly, "I've spoken to the right people, and the shipment should be pulling up any minute. The barrels will be marked with false labels; we already have plenty enough rum." She rubs her knuckles anxiously and adds, "I can't help but think that the bird man might have a point. Mulm was incompetent, but surely there are smarter people with an interest in the, erm, item. When the rest of the crew gets done eating and heads back to the ship, I'll want the five of you here with me to help load the wagon. I could do it with two, but I'd prefer more numbers, just to be safe." |
