“No, I don’t think I—” Klane swallowed down the urge to retch and shoved his gloved fist so far into his mouth he almost swallowed it. The urge to vomit passed an agonizing second later. “—I’ll ever get used to it.” He caught his breath, woozy and annoyed as the ocean beneath rocked the ship back and forth like a mechanical steed.
He glared up toward the grizzled faces around him, all three contorted into an expression of infuriating amusement at his plight. “W-we gnomes aren’t seafaring f-fo—”
A sudden bob of the ship churned his stomach upon itself. He’d made a terrible mistake! He should’ve walked. Gnomes weren’t meant to sail.
“Nonsense, anyone can be a sailor!” exclaimed the man Klane assumed was named Rolnar. Klane tried to recall who the man had introduced himself as early, and fell short of a definite answer. The sailor leaned forward slightly, his puffy lips curling into a smile beneath a mustache that would’ve been better suited to the end of a broom than someone’s face, as he set his weight on one of two small support beams that connected the cabin’s deck to the ceiling.
The sailors all appeared the same to Klane. The same mustache, the same hairstyle, shaved to the skin on the sides of the head and bound back into a little, rat-tail lick of hair. The same sun-baked yellow coveralls, adorned with sea-shell ornamentations along the shoulders and collar, and brown seal-skin boots. Duplicate Captain Aldheims. They took too much pride in their typical dress, as far as Klane was concerned.
Rolnar was the ship’s cook, and to his credit, not a bad one.
“I ‘unno Rol’,” the second of three sailors replied. Strub?
At least you were right about Rolnar’s name, Klane thought. Maybe he could go two-for-two.
“My years aboard I never seen a gnome set foot on a ship.”
“For good reason.” Klane said.
Water splattered against the latticed window on Klane’s left—port?—as the ship dipped.
“Seen one once ‘afore.” Rolnar threw his hand up as if he had just disproved Strub’s entire point.
“A’right, well not aboard The Reliant, right?”
“N-no.” Rolnar glanced down. “You can’t stay down there all morning li’le buddy. This in’t that bad. Come on now and experience life aboard ship ‘afore we reach port in a few hours.” Rolnar waved Klane along. The three sailors headed for the wooden door—hatch, damn it, Klane—which led from the afterdeck to the midship.
Klane glowered at the trio, then sighed and rose steadily to his feet as the deck pitched beneath him. The waters weren’t as smooth as they had appeared from the mountainside.
An ornately carved, cherry-wood nightstand bolted to the deck served as a great support. At least the heavy scent of varnish and wood-lacquer was a smidgen fainter than when he’d been slumped in the corner. Perhaps that had added to his nausea, but it was the price that came with a newly furnished cabin. At least the journey would be quick. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t give Klane any time to rummage through the stacks of books cramming the shelves that encircled the room.
Oh well. Klane stumbled after the three sailors, toward the sound of rippling sails and boisterous sea-shanties.
* * *
Warm sea-spray hit Klane’s face the moment he stepped on deck. A crew of about thirty men moved with practiced efficiency around the ship, scaling ratlines high into the cable-works of the three masts, or securing rig-lines into their proper positions along the ecru-colored sandwood railing. The taste of the salt air helped to assuage his nausea, and the young gnome’s attention was immediately seized by the hypnotic pull of a powerful shanty one of the officers belted out in a cutting voice. What Klane wouldn’t do for a sip of the ale that every shanty these men sang seemed to refer to.
The waters beside the ship were crystal clear. The keel skimmed just above white sand dunes and brilliant coral reefs along the bottom. Vibrant fish the length of Klane’s arm darted back and forth around superheated geothermal vents, beneath the glimmering sun-streaked surface.
“Ah, Coral Flutes. Make a mighty fine meal, if I do say,” Captain Aldheim said as he approached.
“Captain Aldheim.” Klane inclined his head.
“How do you like my ship?”
This wasn’t the first time the captain had asked that. The question came up so much Klane couldn’t help wondering if it was a requirement for all the Bramble captains to ask within the first few seconds of congregation.
“It’s the nicest ship I’ve been on.” Klane smiled, watching as one of the deckhands swung overhead, from the rearmost mast to the foremost, on the end of a loose line.
“You told me you’ve never sailed before.”
“Also true.” Klane’s smile widened.
The captain sighed, suddenly less enthusiastic about the response.
“So, what’s out there?” Klane pointed a stubby finger toward the horizon, where the shallow coastline of crystal clear, perfect waters dropped into sudden cobalt depths. Compared to the fairly populated coastline of two to three-masted scows and small clippers, anywhere more than a mile out was a barren expanse of nothing, free of any other ships, or even sea birds.
“Danger. Adventure. A bit a’ both.” Captain Aldheim grinned, revealing sharpened gold teeth in place of normal canines. “You don’t sail out there. To do so would mean certain death. Waterspouts, whirlpools, monstrosities bigger than an Imperial Dreadnought.”
“You don’t say?” Despite himself, the mention of leviathan beasts sounded more of a tempting prospect than a deterrent.
“Certainly so. Why d’ya think skyships are the sole method of continental travel?” The captain gestured toward a few large ships speckled across the sky.
Large liftstones embedded in the hull and used to keep the ships aloft were clearly visible on the nearest skyship. The ship was a rather blocky craft, more like a floating fortress replete with flying buttresses, glinting bronze cannons, and two conical towers at the bow, than the blunt-nosed scow Klane found himself on now.
“Must be more efficient, too,” Klane reasoned. Captain Aldheim nodded and shrugged, and Klane asked, “Have you traveled widely?”
“More than most men.” Aldheim shrugged again. “I’ve seen the floating mass of Talon City. Seen a fair share of pirates, a Dwarven fortress—from afar. One of the large treeships of the elves. Hell, even a gnome now.” Aldheim chuckled. “But I prefer this life, much simpler. I was never meant to be a Havelock Stormbound, a Drakshed Ghost, a Norakreack Brewmaul. Being a legend is not for me.”
To hear Captain Aldheim admit this was unexpected to Klane. He had no idea to whom Captain Aldheim referred, save for the infamous Havelock Stormbound. Everyone knew of the bravado of the captain, and of The Autumn’s Dawn and the exploits of her crew. Boy wouldn’t that be somethin’.
A piercing shriek carried down the coast, snatching Klane’s attention.
Three winged beasts cut through the air perhaps a half-mile above them. Serpentine dragons, their wingspans wider than The Reliant. Riders in leather armor sat atop large saddles. From what Klane could see, they were secured into their seats by multiple straps, their armor serving as a harness of sorts.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“What’re those?”
“Riders of the Imperial Dragoneer Korps.” Captain Aldheim watched as the dragons banked away from the sea toward a distant stretch of horizon and a convoy of four ships, almost specks against the clouds from this distance. “You’ll probably see a lot of their patrols right now.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Aldheim regarded Klane with a note of surprise. “You been living under a rock?” The captain studied Klane for a moment, “Probably have, but …”
“Give a gnome a break.” Klane waved dismissively.
“Tensions with the Western Trade Strongholds are at a peak.”
“Oh.”
“Say, what was it again that brought you out’n need of passage?”
“Well . . .” Klane glanced around deck. No one else seemed to be paying them much mind, so he rummaged around in a large satchel-pouch attached to his backpack. The satchel contained only two things, a ruby-red casting stone and Allen’s small journal, weathered and beaten. Klane hastily brushed the stone aside and withdrew the journal. “I have to find someone, to bring them this.” The sunlight revealed a web of cracks in the caramel-leather cover.
Before Klane could protest, the captain slipped a hand into the satchel and lifted the casting stone partially out. Klane smacked the stone from the captain’s grip and tucked the items back into the bag.
“How’d you come across that?” The captain eyed Klane suspiciously.
“Found it.” Klane kept the satchel cover firmly down. “In a mine.”
“Quite a rarity. Lucky you.”
Klane doubted the man believed his claim. But it didn’t matter whether he believed it or not. It was the truth.
“Well, as it is we should be making port at Red Reef within the day, as long as we have the breeze to our back.” The captain flourished an open palm toward the main sail, taut full with wind.
* * *
“How long have you been with this crew?” Klane asked. He had joined Rolnar in the mess-deck, using a small keg as a seat at one of the round tables that dotted the open space outside the galley partition. The clatter of pots and pans from behind the wall—bulkhead, Klane corrected—told him that the large Bramble man had set to work on preparing the evening meal.
“Been on since the maiden voyage.” Rolnar beamed from around the partition.
“So.” Klane thought back to the conversation he’d had with Captain Aldheim when he’d first haggled his way aboard. “Second trip?”
“Voyage, yes. If you’re gonna sail, you needa use the language.”
“Voyage.” Klane rolled his eyes, but the Bramble had a point. “Second voyage.”
“There ye go.”
The deck shook as Rolnar emerged from his cave and slammed a frothing stein atop the table. A bit of the amber liquid within splashed across the shiny surface of the cracked, gray wood, layered so thick with varnish it resembled a thin sheet of ice. Klane watched the liquid within sway with the rhythm of the ship, recalling his sea sickness.
He stared past it momentarily, at the deckhands guiding a large crate into a hidden stowage compartment, below a section of deck railing that had been removed. Odd.
Klane noticed a smaller ship off the port side of The Reliant. A few men in ragged clothing lashed ropes from a portable deck-crane as Captain Aldheim received a bulging sack of something from another man Klane had never seen before.
“Thank you, Rolnar,” Klane muttered, not taking his eyes off the scene before him. They weren’t anywhere near an actual port or town. Who were the men? Why hadn’t they loaded up fully before departing their last port? “Who’re these people, Rolnar?”
“Oh, Rol’, if you may. No need to be so formal.” Rolnar polished an empty stein with a cloth as he regarded the ragtag men working with the yellow-clad Bramble sailors to guide more crates aboard. “Can’t say I know, bein’ honest.” Rolnar rubbed at his nose and vanished back into the galley.
“Interesting.” Klane took one last scanned the sailors one last time, a few of them with their backs to the mess-deck doors. The harelipped man who’d brought Klane aboard at Plumule stood beneath the mizzenmast with his arms crossed.
Klane took a swig of his drink. The ale possessed a bitter bite which carried with it a strong, earthy aftertaste. The clangor of pans followed an unmistakable woof of flame. “How did you come in contact with the good captain?” Klane asked.
“Came aboard at Cinder Grove. Crew was in need of a good cook.”
“And that’s you?”
“Yessir.” Rolnar poked his head out from behind the partition, a wide grin spread under his broom of a mustache. “Wanna know a secret?”
“Sure.” Klane sat back on the barrel, his stein half emptied.
“Can’t taste.”
“Can’t taste what?” Klane pressed.
“Anythin’. I can’t taste food!”
Klane heard a clattering of utensils as a hissing, crackling, sizzle filled the cabin. He swished his drink around as he considered what Rolnar said. A cook who couldn’t taste was not quite the same as a miner who couldn’t mine, or a gnome who couldn’t garden … or tinker. He can’t taste food?
Klane finished the ale off and set it down. His stomach churned with the sway of the boat again—it wasn’t the alcohol.
An acrid aroma steadily grew throughout the mess-deck, something fishy and oily. In other words, terrible and unlike what he’d have expected from Rolnar.
“I—” Klane paused as his stomach rumbled, an overwhelming sense of nausea gripping him. “I have some questions about that. But honestly, I’m going to go find the darkest corner I can and curl up there.”
“You are lookin’ a tad green ‘round the gills, you are.” Rolnar regarded Klane and grimaced. “Off ye go.” He pointed to a gap between a bunch of crates and luggage.
* * *
A sharp whistle roused Klane from the smooth table surface where he’d buried his head into his arms. He’d spent the last four hours in a small refuge Rolnar had pointed him to, on a galley bench hidden behind piles of crates, bundled timbers, and other cargo that filled nearly half the mess-deck. The remnants of a foul odor from the meal Rolnar had cooked continued to fade slowly from the room.
Despite the nauseating scent, Klane was too bothered by the daunting task of moving about the bucking ship, which had hit rougher seas, to move. Darkness surrounded the ship now, the mess-deck lit in a soft, flickering glow of sconces fastened between the port windows.
“What was that?” Klane called out over the crates, toward the unseen galley behind the mess-deck partition.
Rolnar’s husky voice replied, “Means get ready to come inta port.”
Outstanding! A miraculous recovery from his shipborne illness befell Klane. He perked up and weaseled his way out from beneath the cargo-formed alcove, into the cluster of round tables still piled high with used dishes and half-filled steins.
Through frosted windows along the right—starboard, damn it—the lights of Red Reef Port reached high into the sky, against jagged mountains marbled black and red, which enclosed the regional trade hub. The city rose along the mountainside, with flying-archway bridges silhouetted against one another like entangled tree limbs.
Klane hurried for the double doors that led onto the deck. He’d never seen a city so large, or more than one other city for that matter. More of a village like the small port he’d set off from. But this was no village, or port, this city was massive. Red Reef was the culmination of hundreds of years of settlement and growth, the way in which all urban sprawls developed upon one another, like layers in a cutaway of mountainside after centuries of sedimentation. It was impossible not to notice the grand, new structures mended onto the rotting corpses of their ancestors.
The cold air stung Klane’s cheeks, but he paid it no mind. The full grandeur of the port revealed itself once the limited view from the mess-deck was removed. At that moment, Klane realized the port city of Red Reef was as vertical as it was wide.
A fleet of merchant skyships waited patiently to be brought into port, along one of the jagged wooden jetties and piers that crisscrossed one another in tiers hundreds of feet into the air, like lightning bolts frozen in time. The tall ships, too gargantuan to be brought into the tight labyrinth of docks or under the gaunt arms of loading cranes, were anchored at moorings along the mountainside. A steady trail of smaller boats lead to and from their cargo holds, like a trail of ants hauling food into their nest.
Steam rose from the blackened waters of the Bramble Coast, writhing gently like a serpent beneath a heavy sheet, into the giant estuary that the port of Red Reef encompassed. The shore-front twinkled with guide-lights and hundreds of glowing windows, dotting the warehouses, inns, and more. Throngs of people packed the waterfront markets, where merchants peddling fresh wares did their best to penetrate the communal hub, to which the citizenry flocked like moths to a flame after a long workday. The hollering and haggling blended with the ubiquitous murmur of city life.
“Pretty impressive, ain’t?” Rolnar settled a massive hand on Klane’s shoulder, almost cupping the entire upper half his arm.
“Y-yes.” Klane regarded everything, wide-eyed. If only Trici were there to experience it with him. What would she say?
“There’s the best bit, if I do say. Best tavern this side of the Great Waters.”
Klane followed where Rolnar indicated. Along the avenue, which curved around the base of the mountainside, stood a multi-storied tavern, boasting courtyards and balconies adorned with paper lantern chains and lighted with myriad torches. They glowed with iridescent lights varying in hues of purples, blues, greens, and sharp, crimson reds.
The ship listed until Red Reef stood at its bow, the skow’s deck bobbing steadily forward in the surf, along a trail of lanterns set atop wooden platforms to delineate ship lanes. Klane took special note of a decrepit scow a mere three dozen yards outside the path of lanterns, broken apart on rocky teeth which jutted out of the oily depths.
“Prepare to bring ‘er ashore, men!” Captain Aldheim commanded from the ship’s helm, which extended over the middle deck, three raised sponsons spread out like a clover.
Three sailors near the bowsprit trumpeted their arrival with large conch horns, something no other ship had done. Klane reasoned it must have been a trademark of the Bramble flashiness, their “look at me” attitude.
“All these ships from the Bramble Coast?” Klane asked.
“No.” Aldheim gestured toward a cluster of other ships, each ship flying a strange flag adorned with foreign sigils which contrasted with fields of every color. None of them boasted the same flashiness as The Reliant. “Brier Shores, Thistle Straits.” Aldheim noted of two of the nearest ships.
Another ship returned a conch call a few miles down the coast. The Bramble Coast sailors burst out with a hearty cheer. Klane found himself throwing a fist in the air and cheering along.
The camaraderie was addicting.
