THE FAR FELLOWS
CHAPTER TWO
Many days later, Dogger Scatt took the United Council Land's ship, The Puddle Bat, out of the Quidmaiden harbor, and set her racing in the breeze through the open sea.
Scatt was a last minute addition to the crew, after Doctor Pennocker was hastily relieved of his duties as chief navigator; the Doctor was perfectly sound in his theory of navigation, but when it came to turning the large oaken wheel in the right direction at the right time he was woefully inadequate. His first attempt had sent the prow of the ship into a bagfish barge, slicing that vessel in half like an overripe cheese, depositing the bagfish – an excellent fertilizer if buried deep enough – into the waters of the bay, where they emitted a stink that, as Pothouse Annie described the scene later to her friends, "made the young maidens swoom and caused infanks to turn somersaults."
Dogger Scat had seen the spectacle from shore, where he was lounging and swapping stories with other idled sailors; he quickly rowed a scow out to the stricken barge, to make sure no one was drowning -- no one was -- and then rowed straight on to The Puddle Bat, which was now headed for some elderly warehouses on the docks that would not have stood the shock of a direct collision. Once close enough Scatt grabbed a trailing line to climb up on deck. He sprinted up to the pilot deck to eject the befuddled Doctor; in a few moments, with a few deft turns of the wheel, he had gentled the ship and brought her to a stop. When everyone crowded round to thank him he verbally beat them off with a volley of nautical curses. He did it for his mates, not for thanks or coppers – he was blasted if he'd let a pack of land crawlers smash about and wreck everything in sight in his home port.
That's when Captain Strangeheart decided to offer him the Chief Navigator's job. In reply, Scatt had knocked the Captain down with one blow of his fist. The Captain quickly regained his feet and replied in kind, knocking Scatt across the pilot deck into the scuppers. Scatt groggily got to his feet and waited to be sent to the blinkers, but instead the Captain had walked over to him, offered him his hand, told him they were quits, and again offered him the job of Chief Navigator. This time Dogger Scatt accepted.
Now, as the ship rose and fell with the water's swell, a crooked smile broke out on his seamed face. These land crawlers were about to experience their first 'seasoning'. It was a familiar drama that Scatt relished to the full whenever he chanced to see it performed. This time around he had some outstanding subjects to observe. The first one to succumb was the fat merchant; he had been strangely silent since the ship had encountered its first boisterous wave. Up until then the girthy one had been roaring and bawling suggestions and observations to everyone. Now he looked stricken. His eyes tried to focus on the distant horizon, always a serious mistake, as he slowly made his way over to the side where he struggled mightily to delay catastrophe. He mopped his brow with a fancy kerchief as large as a flag, and didn't seem to care when the wind snatched it out of his feeble grasp. He closed his eyes, he puckered his lips, he pulled savagely on his earlobes until Scatt thought they might actually rip off. But eventually the rolling and churning of the ship became too much. Master Merdin Jernagin gave up the ghost of his past several meals to the grateful fish below.
Scatt did not see that great trull of a red-headed woman, since she chose to stay below, but he certainly could hear her melodramatic bleats as she assured one and all that her final time had come – her guts were being turned inside out.
Scatt prudently put on his oiled rain hat, as he spied members of the crew up in the rigging begin to double over and gag.
Even the Captain could not completely master his innards. Scatt watched him standing at the prow of the ship, looking pale and distracted. But he never lost his mess ticket.
The only other one completely unaffected besides himself was that piddle-headed Doctor. He came strolling up to Scatt at the wheel, enjoying a large wedge of pungent smithy cheese.
"A robust view, is it not?" asked the Doctor genially. The Doctor was not one for holding grudges.
"Tis a view common to those that see it often. You may not care for it so much when it turns wicked and the burning bolts fall upon us." Scatt wished the Doctor would go away; the smell of the smithy cheese made his stomach sour.
"Ah yes, I have heard tell of those burning wonders. They arise in the blackest storms out at sea and scorch the very masts, do they not?"
"Aye. Most belike they will touch you, and none too gently, if ye chance to stand near any piece of metal. They cherish metal above all things in a storm."
"I see." The Doctor removed some parchment from under his tunic and laboriously wrote down Scatt's comments as the ship pitched in all directions.
"Is it raining right now, Scatt? I seem to be misted upon yet the skies are perfectly clear" asked the Doctor innocently.
Scatt's severe features could not withstand the crude humor of the situation; his face relaxed as he gave a chuffing laugh: "That be the remains of this morning's meat and drink, Doctor, volunteered by yon men above."
The Doctor squinted up at the billowing sails and the agonized men trying to tend them. He shook his head in pity but did not run off with a disgusted shout, as Scatt had been hoping.
"Ah yes, poor wretches. The whole ship seems afflicted with this sudden grippe of the guts – all except you, Dogger Scatt, and I. What do you call this affliction? Can it be mortal?" Doctor Pennocker took a precociously large bite out of his smithy cheese.
"We that sails upon the sea calls it 'the seasoning'. Most as come on the big water are somewhat taken with it at first, but then they find in a few days they can hold on to their supper. Tis never a fatal thing, like the red fever or the eye pest."
"I thought as much. I have partaken of many strange meals during my years of research throughout the Council Lands and no doubt my gut is now as disciplined as a soldier standing at attention. It dwindles at nothing. And I assume the seasoning no longer has any effect on a weathered old salted burr nut like yourself?"
"True enough." Scatt wished the Doctor would take his smithy cheese to the Black Pit. His guts were now grinding in a way they hadn't done since he was a younker first put to sea as a cabin boy.
"I think a strand or two of pickled kelp would go well with this cheese – your sea-faring food is amazing sharp. I may pick up a stone or two during this voyage, if I continue to eat so hearty!"
Scatt turned on the Doctor savagely.
"Aye – ye may stuff your gob until ye burst, but the day soon comes when you'll have naught to eat but your own sorry bones! Soon you'll sail off the charts into the watery wilderness that no man comes back from – no man but has eaten his own shipmates to keep the life in himself! Where is your damn cheese then?"
Scatt grabbed the remainder of the Doctor's cheese and hurled it over the side.
The Doctor was momentarily perturbed, but Scatt's sudden burst of passion intrigued him.
"Master Scatt, how is it you sailors are so certain that nothing but destruction awaits you beyond the sight of our shores?"
"The sea don't like us upon her, Doctor. That's a truth you can wipe your arse with. Her fish eat you or poison you; her weather blows your head off or boils your wits away; her waves can tumble over this piece of flimsy and sink us before you can say 'Hopper John'! The moment you let down your caution the sea is at your throat, ready to send you and your mates to the bottom for a muddy sleep. It don't pay to stay on her any longer than you must. She's like many an old woman – she don't like overlong visits and knows how to make you feel unwelcome."
Doctor Pennocker was silent a moment, marveling at Scatt's burst of rude eloquence.
"And yet you spend most of your life upon the bosom of this treacherous trull, don't you? Why, Scatt?"
Scatt stared out at the weaving and bobbing horizon a long time before answering.
"She don't like us, mind, but sometimes she don't care if we help ourselves to the good things she has in her keeping. The lobbers and scoopers for eating; the white shell stones and yellow floaties that can make a man rich in a day. Sometimes the fog lifts and you see the air colored in a way that makes you drunk for the rest of your life." Scatt stopped, embarrassed at opening up to a stranger and a land crawler. He continued in a gruffer tone: "We're bred up to the sea by our folk. They start us when we don't know no better and can't think any better than a coony bird. Then when we're old enough to know the raw side of things it's too late – sailors don't change their colors. The sea gets us and keeps us – that's all there is to it."
The Doctor scribbled away. He stopped abruptly when an unholy shriek issued from below; Pothouse Annie was begging someone, anyone, to come slash her gullet to put her out of her misery.
"Dogger Scatt – is there no way to ease the suffering of these poor mortal?"
"Get the cook to give you some sliding oak leaves and a lump of sugared durndal. Crush the leaves under her nose and make her breathe deep; have her suck on the lump of sugared durndal. She won't squall so much after that."
"Thank you, sir. Knowledge flows from you like a fountain!" The Doctor set off briskly on his mission of relief.
Dogger Scatt grimly watched the blackening horizon, where the sun was obscured by dark purple clouds. It was likely a storm, with burning bolts for the Doctor's benefit, would be upon them by nightfall. Behind him lay the relative safety of the land; before him were the perils, both known and unknown, of the sea. It would be several more turns of the sand wheel before his wheelmate, Bill, took over the steering. Twelve on, twelve off; those were the standard shifts of a sailor on board a regular ship. But this barmy tub was no regular ship, of that Dogger Scatt was positive.
How many of us, he wondered, will get back to shore from this addled trip?
In the event, the storm passed to the north of The Puddle Bat. The Doctor's skilled ministrations soon had everyone afflicted with 'the seasoning' up and about, so the ship soon appeared to be a busy, happy place, instead of the floating coffin most of those on board thought of it at first. Only cookie, the cook, was never to be seen with a smile or friendly nod to anyone on board. His left arm was somewhat withered and weak; everyone thought that was reason enough for his sour face, so they left him alone – wrapped in his ragged cloak he came out on deck at night to stare morosely out into the sea. Dogger Scatt thought him a jinx. Lieutenant Markh, who had hurriedly brought him on board from Quidmaiden after their regular army cook deserted for the chance to go North and prospect for gemstones, regretted his choice and frankly told Captain Strangeheart that he, Markh, had made a mistake in replacing the cook.
"I doubt a simple cook can make nor mar our journey, no matter how skronky he may be" replied the Captain mildly. "As long as he cooks well and doesn't stint on the dried fruit tarts I'm all for leaving him stew in his own rancid juices."
"Very well, sir" replied Markh, who was much taller than the Captain, had jug ears, and thought the very earth revolved around Strangeheart. "But that Scatt fellow is calling him a skulking jinx and wants to throw him overboard."
"Not unless he's got another cook up his tattered sleeve!" said the Captain lightly, as he rose from his desk to dismiss the Lieutenant. It was time to have a talk with Scatt, but not about cooks and jinxes. They were now three days out of Quidmaiden and the Captain wanted to know what, if anything, Scatt could tell him about the dangers ahead. The water-bred soldiers he had on the ship were all doing their duties without fuss or delay; Lieutenant Markh made sure of that. Jernigan and Pothouse Annie, completely recovered, were constantly squabbling about their cargo, flinging imprecations about as if they were sowing seeds on a farm – much to the amusement of the crew. He, Strangeheart, actually had very little to do, and he began to wonder at his own willfulness in insisting on joining the voyage. He'd left a good man in charge of the armies back home, but still – was this the responsible act of a responsible leader? More like a man bored with his duties seeking solace in travel rather than wine.
The Captain steadied himself before attempting the ladder that led up to the pilot's deck. Two of his men had already run afoul of the sudden caprices of the ship and been sent to the Doctor with cracked skulls. Fortunate for all that the Doctor was, as he had said himself, a skilled medico; the two were resting comfortably in hammocks, their heads smeared with yellow ointment that had already brought down their swelling and internal bleeding amazingly.
Dogger Scatt saw the Captain approaching and spat out his wad of barnacle beard – a common weed that was chewed by many a sailor on long voyages to keep awake and alert. It made the teeth brown and brittle, and apt to fall out one at a time as the years sailed on; after a lifetime of chewing barnacle beard during the long watches of the night, Dogger Scatt's smile, when he chose to display it, was not a thing of beauty.
Scatt nodded to the Captain as he came to stand by his right side. The Captain had learned early on that those at the wheel did not appreciate anyone directly in front of them, nor on their left hand side. Stand to the right of me, if you must plague me with your presence, Scatt had growled at the Captain the first time he went to the wheel to speak to him.
"We are coursing along well – is such clear, breezy weather a common thing this time of year, Master Scatt?" asked the Captain.
"Aye" was all Scatt would vouchsafe.
Had it been one of his own soldiers, the Captain knew, he could expect detailed and direct answers to any question he cared to ask; but Scatt was a different breed of animal – he cared for nothing except the ship. The Captain was unused to prying information out of someone; he felt as if he were interrogating a spy rather than seeking friendly advice from a colleague. He decided that directness and brevity would accomplish more than posturing or pleading.
"Master Scatt, I want your full opinion on how we are to manage the dangers ahead. You must have some idea of what they will be."
"Aye. What I know of danger I'll tell ye straight off – but it's the things I never have seen nor heard tell of that will kack us right enough."
"No man can be blamed for what he's not been taught or told, Scatt."
"Ye've been told this is a daft trip – heading out from the land to find these Far Fellows. But heed ye take none!"
"And yet you, too, have signed on for the duration of this cruise. What is it you hope to gain from it, besides a muddy grave?"
"You've paid me well and promised me more at the end of the journey. A sailor needs nothing more to sign on and stay the course. It's a muddy hole for me, sooner or later, whether I'm rich or poor – and I'd rather go to it with some coppers in my pocket."
"Well, then, suppose you earn your coppers by telling me first of the dangers you know of as we continue away from the land. I would like to be somewhat prepared for whatever Dame Fortune may fling at us."
Dogger Scatt scanned the horizon, and suddenly froze. He pointed a bony finger for the Captain to follow.
"There! That may be our death awaiting us now."
The Captain saw a smudge of white on the horizon.
"What is it, Scatt?"
"Tis another ship, and this far from the land there are only two kinds to be found. There are those who have been blown away from the land by a storm . . ."
"Yea . . .?"
" . . . and those that be pirates waiting for the poor storm-beaten wrecks that they might catch 'em and keep 'em!"
"Can we outrace them at all?"
"That, my Captain, is what we must do if we want to keep our heads where they won't roll off the deck. Tell that ear-flapping beanpole of yours to have the men make all sail!"
"Lieutenant Markh!"
The Lieutenant sped up to the Captain.
"Have the men make all sail – that yonder ship means to do us mischief and we must leave her behind."
"Yes sir!
The lieutenant went bawling after the men, who soon had every piece of sail rigged and taut with the wind.
But the white smudge gradually obtained a larger, clearer, shape and form. She was obviously much faster in the water than The Puddle Bat.
The Captain had stayed at Dogger Scatt's side.
"Your men can sail, but can they fight?" asked Dogger.
"Yes, they've been trained to take life in defense of their own."
"Then by the sea gods have them ready to kill or be killed! I'm turning this hulk into yon pirate ship to shake their black souls – they think we're just another lamb to shear. But these lambkins have sharp teeth!" Dogger drew a short dagger out of the sash around his waist and calmly put it in his mouth.
Lieutenant Markh had heard everything; he had been standing just a few feet behind the Captain. The Captain gave him a nod and said "No fire wax until we must perish otherwise."
The lieutenant sped off to arm and place the men.
They threw down the hatches and had them locked quickly – to the muffled complaints of Master Jernigan and Mistress Annie, who demanded to know what in the cold blue moon was happening.
The pirate ship was now running parallel to The Puddle Bat. With a ragged growl Scatt spun the large oaken wheel, causing the ship to crash into the pirate ship and sending its men off their feet onto the deck, and in a few cases, right over the side into the choppy water.
The Captain and Lieutenant stood side by side in front of their men. After the first shock of the ships colliding they raised their swords and the Captain called: "Here's glory for you, lads! Lay them down to the Black Pit!"
A dozen soldiers followed the Captain and Lieutenant onto the pirate ship, but then the fickle waves separated the two ships and no more could come over.
Dogger Scatt took the blade out of his mouth to shout at the remaining soldiers: "The hooks, the hooks, ye poxed-up land crawlers! Use the hooks!"
The soldiers quickly grabbed the grappling hooks and threw them into the pirate ship's hold. They began hauling the pirate ship closer. While a few soldiers held the grappling ropes the rest leaped over the rails onto the pirate ship.
It was quiet, desperate work. No one was shouting or screaming; there was only the occasional grunt as a man was run through with a blade or slit across the throat with a keen dagger. No quarter was asked; none given. The wind whistled through the rigging and the 'thunk' of the waves hitting the wooden sides of the ships could be distinctly heard.
The pirates were not used to such disciplined and remorseless resistance; they were slowly forced to the back of their ship. They never spared anyone on any ship they captured; they expected the same treatment at the hands of these fellows, so they began jumping overboard. A few fought on and were cut down. At last there was only one pirate left standing; a tall, willowy figure swathed in gaudy silken colors.
"Hold!" cried the Captain. "It's a woman!"
The Captain's chivalry was rewarded with an accurately hurled dagger that buried itself in his right shoulder. Giving a short laugh the woman pirate grabbed a rope and began climbing to the top of the main mast. Once there she grabbed another line and swung out over The Puddle Bat, where her luck deserted her – the rope snapped and she hurtled to the deck of The Puddle Bat. Bleeding from her ears and mouth, she tried to rise but collapsed like a rag doll and lay still.
The pirate ship was secured and the Captain was carried back to The Puddle Bat. Skilled hands tightly bound his shoulder to stanch the flow of blood.
Supported by Lieutenant Markh, the Captain walked over to view the fallen woman pirate.
"Does she still have breath?" he wondered aloud.
"Makes no never mind" growled Scatt. "Over the side with her, Bill."
"Stay a moment!" the Captain said to Bill, whose addiction to barnacle beard was so strong and long-lasting that he hadn't a tooth left in his head. With a hollow grin, Bill backed off.
"Have the men open the portals, will you Lieutenant? And have Doctor Pennocker brought to see if this creature may yet have life. Ease me down here, Markh, for the urge to rest is upon me . . . " The Captain faded away into a deep sleep.
"Hurry, Doctor! Our Captain is in dire need!" shouted the Lieutenant as the Doctor came scuttling along, followed by Jernigan and Pothouse Annie.
"Ah, a perfectly clean thrust" said the Doctor a moment later, with great satisfaction. "I doubt there will be any trouble with this outside of a small scar."
"You're dead wrong, cuddy! Your fine captain is due for a muddy grave by tonight." In surprise everyone looked at the fallen woman pirate, who had propped herself part-way up on her elbows and was staring at them with a smoldering, unfocused hatred. Her auburn hair was matted with dried blood and bloody mucous dripped from her nose.
"Take the wheel, Bill" said Dogger Scatt, who then strode over to the woman pirate to grab her hair and pull her head back.
"Poison on the blade, is it? Ye spawn of the Black Pit – what kind of poison, pox-wife?" he asked savagely.
"He'll sleep and he'll die and ye can stuff your gob for all I care" she replied in the same savage tone.
"I'll have your maggot heart out if ye don't speak!" Scatt put the tip of his dagger to her throat.
"A sleeping poison, no doubt." The Doctor appeared to be talking to himself, but everyone was listening. Scatt let go of the woman pirate, who collapsed back on the deck with a low groan.
"That might be oil of greenwort or powdered oak leaf gall. Fast acting, if he is to perish this very night. Whatever the deadly path, I believe a strong bolt to the heart can save him." The Doctor turned to Scatt and asked for a great lump of barnacle beard. He then asked Pothouse Annie for a glass of her special reserve, which she had prudently placed on board in a large lacquered barrel.
He mixed the two items together until the mixture foamed and turned bright green. He then spoon fed the Captain a third of the glass, at which point Captain Strangeheart gasped and sat up, coughing and spitting.
"Tell me, Captain" asked the Doctor with ghoulish eagerness, "what is approaching death like? Did you see anyone, hear anything?"
"Death is the dream of life" the Captain said in an odd, strangled voice. He then vomited and came back to his senses.
"The woman pirate, she lives?" he demanded.
"We suppose so" said the Lieutenant. "She it was told us there was poison on the blade of the dagger she so prettily presented to you."
"A gifting I could do without! Doctor, prithee attend to her. I must needs rest."
Lieutenant Markh helped the Captain to his cabin. Doctor Pennocker handed the still bubbling glass of green liquid to Bill and bent his attention to the woman pirate. Bill, nothing daunted, was about to drink the rest of the glass when Mistress Annie intervened.
"Drink at your peril, you hollow-headed piece of shipwreck! If it don't kill you outright I'm charging you ten coppers for the drink."
"Ten bright ones? Tosh! Imps take your boggled drink! I'd rather have tar and vinegar." He sullenly gave the glass back to Mistress Annie. She promptly tossed it off without a wink.
"A most refreshink combination, Doctor. Twill make a great addition at my tavern."
"A close run thing with those pirates, wouldn't you say Mast Scatt?" asked Merdin Jernigan.
"Close enough. Where there's one viper there's bound to be more" replied Scatt, back at the wheel and gazing keenly ahead.
Jernigan swelled with indignation.
"When next we meet such riff-raff I'll have them begging for mercy in no time. Give me a sharp blade in one hand and a battle axe in the other and I can hold mine own against a score of rascals! I'm minded of the time I was up in the North land for gemstones and was set upon by a troupe of snow bears . . ."
"And verily you fought them off with a tankard of ale in one hand and shank of boiled beeve in the other" interrupted Annie impudently. "You're as likely to play hero as you are to grow wings and fly to the stars!"
"I've not lost my cunning when it comes to bashing noggins, despite your fleers and japes! Hand me yon posten, Mistress Annie."
Annie handed him the large wooden pin. Jernigan proceeded to spin it and juggle it like a jester. The demonstration was impressive up until Jernigan lost control of the whirling wooden pin and allowed it to make contact with his nose in a most disconcerting manner. The Doctor had to interrupt his ministrations to the woman pirate in order to put some yellow ointment on Master Jernigan's throbbing nose.
Pothouse Annie's great, raucous, laughter boomed through the ship.
"I can see you would massacree any pirates foolish enough to engage arms with you, Master Jernigan" she wheezed through tears of mirth – "they'd all die of the laughter!"
"Tis a pity the woman pirate hath not another poison dagger to wield . . . " murmured Jernigan to himself. Further discourse was brought to a halt by several large, fluffy gray birds landing on the deck, and then more trying to land on Jernigan, Pothouse Annie, Dogger Scatt, and Bill.
"Go 'way, you vagabondages!" cried Annie, brushing them off her head.
"Bill, get the boom out! Tis coony birds sure as I'm weaned and nappered!" shouted Scatt. Bill ran for the boom – a long, stout stick – which he used to batter the coony birds into the water.
"This wench is sure to die if we can't keep your coony birds off of her face" the Doctor said irritably. The fluffy gray birds were settling everywhere on the ship; huge flocks were zeroing in on every available inch of footing. The birds were molting; a blizzard of dirty gray feathers flew into eyes, mouths, and ears.
"What in the name of the Seven Sleepers are these creatures about?" cried Jernigan above the noise of the bird's high-pitched crooning.
"Coony birds – ye can't count the number. They fly out beyond the land then look for someplace to rest – they can sink a ship." Scatt said no more – the birds piled on the oaken wheel and on Scatt until he appeared buried alive.
The crew waved their arms and brandished postens, knocking a few birds into the water – but for every bird they threw off the boat another half dozen came on board and fluttered to a stop on top of one of their own.
Bill pulled the Doctor onto his feet before the weight of the coony birds could smother him.
"Pull up that woman pirate, Bill" gasped the Doctor. Bill obliged, and was rewarded by a resounding clout on the side of his head.
"Leave me be, scupper-pants!" she snarled at him. Bill was tempted to use the boom to sweep her away with the coony birds, but the restored venom in her eye made him think better of it. The number and depth of coony birds was such that she couldn't do more than take one or two steps in any direction.
"We need a loud noise to drive them off the ship" shouted the Doctor above the manic crooning of the preening birds. "Bill, fetch up some of the Captain's dragon powder and a lit candle lanthorn!"
Bill gave the boom to another member of the crew and practically dived into the nearest hatch. He was back a moment later with a small wooden casket and a burning lanthorn.
The Doctor, now wearing a suit of coony birds, pantomimed for Bill to lay the casket on top of the ring bolt by Bill's side and apply the candle's flame directly to the keyhole of the casket – he was about to instruct Bill by dumb show to cover his face but it was too late – there was a tremendous flash of flame and thunder and the coony birds rose up in the air in alarm. Poor Bill was also sent up in the air, but, since he had no wings to speak of, he was obliged to come back down and bounce once or twice off the hard wooden deck.
An ornithologist might have predicted how the coony birds would react to such a sudden insult – as they rose they showered the crew and the boat with excrement until it dripped from everything like rotten whipped cream.
The birds made a hasty circle around The Puddle Bat and then began to settle onto the pirate ship. Her skeleton crew of soldiers scrambled off just in time – a few moments later, as the coony birds continued to pile on the ship by the thousands, there was an ominous groan of timbers, both masts collapsed, and the pirate ship turned on its side and sank, taking most of the coony birds with it. The birds made no attempt to save themselves and were devoured in the water by horn snakes. Several pirates that had managed to hide themselves in their ship were seen struggling in the water, but not for long. Horn snakes circled them several times before lunging at them with glistening fangs. Their screams were short.
"Better man the pumps, Bill" said Dogger Scatt wearily. "Afore this shitewash hardens like quickstone."
"Me hair's gone!" cried Bill in bitter surprise. "That dratted dragon powder blew me hair clean away, Dogger!" It was true; under the thin layer of coony bird excrement, Bill, who had once proudly sported a pigtail that reached halfway down his back, was now as bald as a gemstone – even his eyebrows were gone. For the first time in his entire adult life Bill felt like crying in his mother's lap.
Lieutenant Markh reported all this activity to Captain Strangeheart as the Captain lay in his cabin bunk. The lieutenant had not had time to clean himself and looked like a carnival mummer, covered in bird droppings and feathers. The Captain was hard put to keep a grave demeanor the whole time.
"Give the men an extra gill of ale with their evening meal today – they've certainly earned it. And make sure the deck and rigging . . . and, ah, clothing, are all washed and cleaned thoroughly – what a ghastly smell you bring in here, Lieutenant!"
"Sorry, sir!"
"Couldn't be helped, I know. And the woman pirate?"
"The Doctor brought her around, sir. She's as vicious as a viper, sir. Shall I put her in irons, or have her thrown overboard? She gave our Bill a stout blow to the head just now and she'll do the same to anyone else who comes near."
"Doubtless she'll have to be removed at some point – we can't feed and guard against a plaguey villainess every waking moment. Bind her and bring her down here to me; she may prove useful in navigating these waters, since pirates seem much bolder about leaving land behind than our own sailors."
"Yes, sir."
It took two stout soldiers, plus the Lieutenant, to subdue the female pirate with ropes and bring her before the Captain. Even at that, one of the soldiers was so worried about how deep she had bit through his thumb that he asked permission to go see the Doctor about it. The Captain waved him off and eyed the female pirate coldly. She returned his gaze, at first with hostility, and then with heedless mockery.
"Your wicked shipmates have all now met their unhallowed deaths; can you give me any good reason why you should not join them?" he asked her directly.
For reply she spit at him. Lieutenant Markh raised his hand to slap her but the Captain shook his head.
"If the woman must needs clear her throat, so be it."
Suddenly the stench in the room became overpowering to the Captain.
"Lieutenant – go and bathe at once, and have someone bring a bucket of salt water down here to douse this woman – she reeks more than you!"
"Yes, sir."
The woman pirate writhed in her ropes like a real viper but eventually a bucket of salt water was poured over her cursing head. The filthy water ran down the angled floor out of the room.
"Better" said the Captain. "Look at me, woman."
She refused to do so until the one remaining soldier, a huge, hulking fellow, physically twisted her head between his hands until she was staring at Strangeheart.
"Your life isn't worth the peel of an onion to me, not unless you can give me some knowledge of what lays ahead for us and how long it might take us to reach our destination."
"And if I gives ye what ye wants, what of me, cuddy? Fine wine and a cushion by your side, is it?"
"You'll face trial when we get back – but you'll stay alive at least until then."
The two adversaries glared at each other. The Captain had no more to say to her. The woman pirate knew he would have her thrown off the ship if she wouldn't be useful. His eyes told her so – and they told her more, more than she wanted to see. They were eyes that brought back the bad times, the very bad times, of her girlhood.
"Ye sail past the Pillar and Post sometime afore sunset; take heed you go widdershins around it, man, lest you run up on the shoals" she said at last, grudgingly.
"Pillar and Post? What is that, some kind of sea mountain?" asked the Captain.
"Aye. Tall and ancient-like. Ye may want to go in close, but ye dasn't."
"Very well. Take her up to Scatt and if her information holds true she may live to be invited to her own hanging."
The burly soldier grabbed the woman pirate roughly to lead her out, but she gave a swift backwards kick to his shin and then body-slammed him to the floor. Her ropes were coming loose as she made a leap for the Captain. He rolled away on his good shoulder and bludgeoned the back of her head with his fist. She reached for his throat and they fell off the bed, locked in each other's deadly, determined embrace. Bright specks of light filled the Captain's head as he heard himself wheezing for air. Then the Lieutenant and the burly soldier had her pulled off, ripping her colorful dress into shreds. The Lieutenant helped Strangeheart back into his bunk bed.
"Glad you could rejoin the festivities, Markh" panted the Captain.
"That vixen can't be trusted, sir. The horn snakes are still following the ship, and they're still hungry . . ."
The Captain was not listening to Markh, but was staring at the woman pirate's bare right shoulder. It bore a tattoo of a heart surrounded by a halo of fire.
"Where . . . where did you get that?" asked the Captain in a suddenly quiet and shaky voice.
The woman flung her head back and said nothing.
"Bring her closer to me, Markh."
"Yes, sir. But beware – she may spit poison!"
The Captain reached up and touched the woman pirate's shoulder blade, where the tattoo was.
"How long have you had that?" asked the Captain in a voice that troubled the Lieutenant.
"I grew up with it. I've got no others, so don't go lookin'."
In response the Captain slowly unbuttoned his leather tunic and pushed down his linen shirt to reveal his own right shoulder. There was the identical tattoo of a rose surrounded by a halo of fire.
"Woman, what do they call you?" asked the Captain.
"I'm called Strangeheart on the water, Bonnie Sally on land."
"My father gave me this tattoo when I was but ten – he disappeared soon afterwards." The Captain's voice was sluggish, as if he'd been drugged or was reporting a dream after just wakening. "His name was – "
"—Henders Strangeheart LaMerit" finished the woman pirate quietly. "He was my father as well, and gave this unto me on my twelfth birthday, just before mother died and he went away."
The Captain delicately touched his neck – this woman had a powerful, and deadly, grip. She was an unrepentant pirate. And she was apparently his sister.
