The Rover Page 5

  “Avast there, ye bite-sized little sardine!” the rhowdor blustered. The bird cocked his head and crowed more foul language. “What ye think ye be a-lookin’ at? Ain’t ye ever seen a proper pirate afore?” He puffed out his feathered chest.

  Wick’s pride was stung, and in spite of the fact that he knew he’d probably be better off simply keeping quiet, he said, “Actually, I have seen pirates.” If pirates had taken him, it only stood to reason that some of them had been about the Yondering Docks and he’d seen them. “But I’ve never seen a popinjay proclaiming to be a pirate before.”

  “Ye’ll walk the plank and sleep with the fishies, ye bilge-rat!” the rhowdor threatened. He leaped from his perch and flew to the other end of the hammock, scrabbling quickly to maintain his balance. The long claws clicked along the metal eyebolt screwed into the wall.

  “You’re a foul fowl,” Wick remonstrated as he scooted under the hammock.

  “We got no time for shirkers aboard this vessel,” the rhowdor threatened. “We’ll bone ye and boil yer flesh to use as grease to keep the oarlocks nimble. Yer filthy tripes will be used as fish bait. Ye won’t go to waste on ol’ One-Eyed Peggie, I’ll warrant ye that.” The bird moved threateningly back and forth along the eyebolt. His horned head cocked and twisted as feathers ruffled at the base of his neck.

  The door opened suddenly and a dwarf strode into the room with the rolling gait of a sailor. He stood tall and broad for his kind, his shoulders nearly an axe handle across, making him look fully as wide across as he was tall. He wore sailor’s pants with flared legs, a long-sleeved shirt with red and white horizontal striping, brown leather shoes, and a red kerchief around his hair. His beard was fierce and long, dark brown mixed with a light dusting of gray, and braided with bits of yellowed ivory bone carved in fish shapes. Gold hoops hung in his ears.

  The dwarf took in the scene, then scowled at the rhowdor. “What ye be a-doin’, Critter?”

  “Wakin’ up this worthless sardine,” the rhowdor replied.

  The dwarf hmphed out loud but kept looking at the bird doubtfully. “You ain’t one for niceties. An’ not much in the way of introductions, neither.” He glanced at Wick. “Get up from underneath that bed. Hidin’ from this crusty ol’ bird like that just ain’t—” He hesitated. “Well, it ain’t dignified, is all I’m saying.”

  The sacrifice of dignity to make sure I keep my face intact isn’t a bad trade-off, Wick thought. He cautiously clambered to his feet, keeping a watchful eye on the rhowdor. He also stayed on the other side of the hammock from the dwarf. The ship caught enough of a wave that the little librarian rocked back on his heels and bumped up against the wall.

  “Can’t even stand up on a deck when the sea’s as smooth as glass,” Critter observed. “What kind of pirate is this little halfer gonna make?”

  Pirate? Wick glanced from rhowdor to dwarf and felt his stomach twist sickeningly.

  The dwarf sighed heavily and faced the rhowdor with his ham-sized hands on his hips. The sea and seasons had marked the sailor, laying on a dark tan and scars grayed out with the passage of time. “Don’t ye have somethin’ ye’re supposed to be doin’?”

  “I—” Critter started to protest.

  “Better be gettin’ to it,” the dwarf warned, “or I’m a-gonna find more for ye to do. Got a heap of barnacles could use some attention, and that sharp beak o’ yers scrapes ‘em off right nice.”

  Critter flapped his wings in acute dissatisfaction. “I ever mention there’s a certain lack of appreciation in yer tone with me, Hallekk?”

  “Every day since ye boarded, ye puffed-up featherduster,” Hallekk grumbled. “If’n Cap’n Farok hadn’t of taken such a shine to ye, I’m thinking ye’d already have showed up in a pot pie or a stew. Now get on with ye.”

  Critter turned his emerald eye on Wick. “This one’s gonna be trouble. Ye mark well me words. Got despair showing bone-deep in him. An’ hidin’ from a bird? What kind of pirate is that goin’ to make, I ask you.”

  “Get on with yerself,” Hallekk commanded gruffly.

  Reluctantly, shooting Wick a truly venomous look, the rhowdor flapped his wings and took to the air. He zipped unerringly through the porthole above the little librarian’s head.

  Wick ducked quickly.

  The rhowdor’s raucous laughter echoed in the room for a moment before fading away.

  But the sound of men’s voices as well as the creaking of ship’s rigging and the snap of sailcloth taking the wind came into the cabin from outside. Unable to stop himself, Wick turned and caught hold of the porthole. He had to pull himself up on tiptoes to see over the porthole’s edge.

  He stared out in disbelief at a brief expanse of deck below the porthole. Railing surrounded the deck, adorned with coils of rope and belaying pins. Beyond the deck and the railing was a rolling horizon filled only with blue sky and red-purplish waves of what could only be the Blood-Soaked Sea.

  Heart beating rapidly, Wick turned to the dwarf. “There’s been an awful mistake,” he said in a voice dry with fear.

  Hallekk folded his arms across his broad chest and shook his head. “Nope. No mistake.”

  Wick released his hold on the porthole. He swayed easily to the rise and fall of the ship’s deck, but looked awkward when compared to the dwarf. “You don’t understand. I’m no sailor, and I’m definitely no pirate.”

  “Don’t fret none about that,” Hallekk advised good-naturedly. “By the time we polish ye up fer awhile, ye’ll be both. Whether or not ye’ll be any good at it is up to how much of yer heart ye put into it.”

  “She’s called One-Eyed Peggie,” Hallekk said as he strode across the rolling ship’s deck in a sure-footed stride. “On account of the captain what built her.”

  Wick followed the dwarf in a daze, still not believing he was truly aboard a ship cutting across the Blood-Soaked Sea. He stared in awe at the dwarves crewing the ship, listening to them talk and swear at one another with coarse humor. They didn’t sound or look at all as disciplined as the pirates he’d read about in the books from Hralbomm’s Wing. Captain Manklin of Swift Lightning would never have allowed such a raffish crew to gather in his sight without a fight.

  All of them seemed ferocious. Many of them bore tattoos on their arms, shoulders, and backs. Some even had tattoos on their craggy cheeks above their beards and on their bald heads. All the tattoos appeared to be of fish or sea monsters. None of those inked images seemed especially welcoming.

  “I suppose the captain named the ship after his wife or a woman he knew?” Be pleasant, Wick told himself. If these pirates can see that you’re a pleasant person, they’ll soon see that you’re not pirate material either. Once they see that, why, they’ll put you right back at Greydawn Moors. Won’t they? He felt good about the plan; at least he was doing something. He pulled himself up the steep stairs leading to the stern castle.

  “No,” Hallekk said. “One-Eyed Peggie was named after the captain herself.”

  “The captain was a woman?” Wick had never heard of a woman being captain.

  “Why sure,” the dwarven pirate said. “Piratin’s a good trade fer a woman if’n it’s in her blood. And it were sure enough in One-Eyed Peggie’s.”

  “It were? I mean, was? She’s not still captain?” Wick asked.

  “No. She passed on nigh two hundred years ago. But she left this fine sailing ship behind.” Hallekk stepped to the top of the stern castle and waved Wick up after him.

  The little librarian pulled himself up cautiously. Now that he was in the ship’s stern, he felt the twisting motion of the sea more strongly. He held onto the railing, envying the way Hallekk apparently glided over the rocking deck. The cold wind, laced with salty sea spray, lashed over Wick, coating his exposed skin and wetting his robe.

  Except for One-Eyed Peggie and a few white and brown birds, the sea was empty.

  Wick stared out across the purple-red sea. The horizon was choppy and bleak in all directions. The sun hung almost straight ab
ove the ship, glaring down through a hoarfrost of wispy clouds. His eyes burned, and finally teared up, but it wasn’t from the cold or the wind or the salt spray.

  For the first time, the little librarian realized how very far away from home he was. As legendary as the height of the Knucklebones was, he couldn’t see the mountain range anywhere. How long did I sleep? he wondered. And how far did we sail? He turned around again, staring at the unfamiliar sight of the Blood-Soaked Sea.

  “Little man,” Hallekk asked in a stern voice, “be ye sick or some such?”

  “Yes,” Wick replied softly. “I am sick.” Homesick for certain.

  “Faugh, an’ don’t worry yer knob about it none, matey,” Hallekk said somewhat cheerily. He dropped a heavy hand on Wick’s shoulder. “Them feelings what writhe around in yer guts, why they’s just yer body’s way o’ acclimatin’ itself with the sea is all. After all, a man is most nearly all water hisself. It’s just the sea’s way of sayin’ ahoy and takin’ ye back where ye come from.”

  No, Wick thought morosely. I don’t belong here. I’ll never belong here.

  Hallekk slapped Wick on the shoulder, nearly driving the little librarian to his knees. “C’mon, little man, I’ll stand ye to yer morning victuals if ye’ve got an able stomach. Cap’n Farok will want to see you after that.”

  “So they didn’t call One-Eyed Peggie one-eyed because she was missing an eye?” Wick looked over at Hallekk in confusion.

  “Naw.” Hallekk shook his big head. “One-Eyed Peggie had two eyes like most everybody ye see.” He sipped at his grog, which the pirate ship seemed to keep vast amounts of.

  Grog was a thin, watery ale. From his reading at the Vault, Wick knew that ships kept the grog aboard for their crews. The little bit of ale laced in the water wasn’t enough to fog a man’s senses even if consumed in large amounts, but it did help counter the stale taste of the tepid water and help keep it from going rancid.

  “Then why was she called One-Eyed Peggie?” Wick asked. They sat in the large galley belowdecks amidships.

  At first, the little librarian had been horrified by the conditions of the galley. Dirty dishes as well as clean ones—at least Wick hoped some of the dishes were clean, since they were using some of them—were stacked all over. Remnants of other pirates’ breakfasts still yet remained on the long tables bolted firmly to the decks. Pirates grumbled and cursed as they washed other dishes in huge tubs of steaming water. Soapy suds splashed to the deck.

  “Because Peggie had the one eye, ye see.”

  “No,” Wick said. “I’m afraid I don’t see at all. I thought you said she had both eyes.”

  “She did. I’m talking about her own eyes, of course. She was only missing the leg.” Hallekk leaned back and took out a pipe. He quickly stuffed the bowl and lit up.

  “One-Eyed Peggie only had one leg? She was born that way?”

  “No. She had two. Up until the time 01’ Torbhor up an’ et her other one.

  Thoughts of cannibalistic pirates sudden filled Wick’s mind. He glanced down at the bones of the breakfast steak Hallekk had on his plate. The little librarian had only taken porridge and pieces of fruit for himself. “Torbhor?”

  “Aye.” Hallekk nodded, smoke wreathing his head. “Ol’ Torbhor were a feisty sea monster. Until the day that he up and et One-Eyed Peggie’s leg off. ’Course, she weren’t known as One-Eyed Peggie in them days. Ol’ Torbhor woulda et the rest of her, too, but her crew was too quick for the big beastie.”

  “Then why,” Wick persisted although part of him didn’t want to, “did they call her One-Eyed Peggie?”

  “’Cause after Ol’ Torbhor bit off her leg, One-Eyed Peggie went a-fishin’ after him. Spent three years trackin’ after him through the Blood-Soaked Sea.”

  “Did she catch him?”

  “Aye, that she did, and it were a powerful fight, I’ll warrant ye that.” Hallekk took a few more puffs on his pipe, knowing with the skill of natural-born raconteur that he had a captive audience in the little librarian. “One-Eyed Peggie harpooned that great beastie herself, she did. Ol’ Torbhor dragged that whalin’ boat around the ocean for six days. Even through a nasty waterspout what pulled ‘em all up from the sea before ploppin’ ‘em back down and near bustin’ the boat in half.”

  “But One-Eyed Peggie got Torbhor?”

  Hallekk shook his head. “No. Ye see, she only got the one eye. That’s why they call her One-Eyed Peggie. Ol’ Torbhor got off with his other eye—but it was a close thing.” The dwarven pirate hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the nearest porthole. “Some say Ol’ Torbhor still swims these waters, but I couldn’t rightly say either way.”

  “What happened to One-Eyed Peggie?”

  “Why, she up and captured herself a good-looking man, she did. A blacksmith to the kings of Marzatlan to the far north, he was. He come down to the Blood-Soaked Sea a-lookin’ for a star what fell into these waters. One-Eyed Peggie took the blacksmith’s ship as a prize. She intended to ransom him back to the dwarven kings, you see. Only while she was a-waitin’ on the ransom money, the blacksmith fashioned her a leg outta that fallen star. Like near to flesh, it were, from all accounts I’ve heard. An’ One-Eyed Peggie fell in love with this great strappin’ dwarf, and him with her.”

  “Then what happened?” Wick asked as a bell sounded from outside.

  “Why, she up and sold the ship and moved off to Marzatlan with the blacksmith.” Hallekk tamped his pipe out with regret. “Guess we best be a-gettin’ ye up to see the captain. He’ll want to look ye over with the other new crew.” The big dwarf pushed up from the table.

  “The other new crew?” Wick couldn’t help but ask.

  As it turned out, One-Eyed Peggie’s crew had shanghaied three other crewmen while at Greydawn Moors.

  Captain Farok sat on the edge of his bed, perched behind a small desk that folded out of the wall. He scowled at the recruits. Charts and maps covered the tiny desktop in front of him. Fishing weights and seashells held down the papers at the corners. Age stained the captain’s hair, turning it a silvery gray with the buttery luster of old bone. His face sagged and clung to his eye sockets and mouth, looking like it was going to cave it at any moment.

  Wick thought Captain Farok was the oldest dwarf he’d ever seen.

  Farok moved his head ponderously in Hallekk’s direction, then waved a gnarled hand. “Well, don’t just stand there, Quartermaster Hallekk,” he ordered in a wheezing voice.

  “The new crewmen.” Hallekk stood at rigid attention, his hands clasped behind his back and his chin lifted proudly. “We mustered them in at Greydawn Moors, and they’re all ready to give themselves to piratin’.” The quartermaster nodded at the first dwarf. “Able-bodied seaman, Cyaratin, Cap’n Farok.”

  “Experienced?” The captain sized the young dwarven man up with a steely glare.

  “Aye, sir,” Hallekk replied. “Five years. I got ship’s names here if’n ye need ’em, Cap’n.”

  Farok waved the offer away. “Let me see yer hands, Seaman Cyaratin.”

  Reluctantly, the dwarf offered his hands.

  The captain took both of them in his own hands for a moment. “You know ropes?” he asked.

  “Aye, sir,” Cyaratin replied. “An’ plenty of ’em. Ain’t a knot been tied that I ain’t seen.”

  “You work in riggings or nets?”

  “Both, Cap’n, but I find me callin’ in the yardarms and ratlines of a ship. I been a spotter, too.”

  Farok grunted in pleasant surprise and looked back at the man with new regard. “Do ye have good eyes in yer head, then, Seaman Cyaratin?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The captain glanced at Hallekk. “Get this man with the rigging crew. And put him with Zeddar. I want him able to identify neutral ships in these waters by sundown.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Farok moved on to the next dwarf, felt his hands, and pronounced him fit for the gunnery crews. The third new recruit was another dweller wearing faded and
patched sea clothes, pants tarred as proof against the elements and a wide-necked shirt. The captain scowled at the dweller, who took care not to lock eyes with Farok. “Ye brought me a halfer, Hallekk.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Ye know how I feel about halfers.”

  “Aye, sir, but Seaman Trosper has some shipwright abilities. I thought he might be valuable.”

  “Very well, Hallekk,” Farok said. “I’ll leave his fate to yer judgment, but see to it that this creature don’t go a-gettin’ underfoot. An’ I want none of our gear nor tackle to go a-missin’. I got a ship here to run.” He glared at the dweller. “I take the hands offa men what steals from One-Eyed Peggie.”

  Trosper bristled at the captain’s veiled threat, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

  “No sir,” Hallekk agreed. “This halfer here won’t be no problem a-tall. He’s a good ’un, he is; a halfer what knows his place.”

  “Mayhap.” Farok’s brow furrowed over his eyes. “But I always found that halfers were the first to shirk their workload. I won’t abide no slackers on One-Eyed Peggie. We’ll trawl ‘em and use ’em for fish bait, we will.” He dismissed Trosper with a negligent wave, moving his fierce gaze on to Wick.

  The little librarian returned the captain’s unrelenting eye contact and felt like he was going to throw up. Even the grandmagisters hadn’t invoked such naked fear within him.

  “Two halfers, Hallekk?” Disgusted wrinkles deepened the deep pits of Captain Farok’s eye sockets. “Ye have the nerve to bring me a pair of ’em?”