The Adventures of Larson and Garrett, Quest of the Crusader

Chapter 14

Alone, Yoris walked to the western edge of A'Shar. Before he even saw the water, he heard bells, sailors howling out to one another, and the slosh of waves against wooden keels. It was getting dark. Myriads of people were walking towards him, by him. When he arrived at the railing along the stone steps, he gazed out at the sea. A caravel was sailing away—a steady wake trailed her.

Clopping down stone steps, he nodded to passers-by. At the bottom, he took stock of the wooden docks. They were mobile, secured by ropes to posts sunk into the ground beneath the water. When the tide came in, the docks were free to rise.

At the edge of an unoccupied dock, he took a deep breath and gazed out towards the stars twinkling in twilight. The moon was rising. Sailors were chattering away, but rather than listening to them, he decided to test out his magick ring; wriggling out from his coat, he dove right into the sea, armor and all.

The water was absolutely frigid, and he lost his breath. When he drew water into his lungs, he was pleasantly surprised to find that it did not burn or hurt. It was, however, a very odd sensation; water moving in and out of his nose, his mouth. It was also very cold, and that was completely unsettling—to be cold from the inside.

Once he got over the oddity, he tried to swim, and felt unhindered by the water. He had ocean motion, and was basically flying through the water. A moment later, it was too dark to see, so he rose from the sea, clambered onto a dock, and vomited copious amounts of water.

It wasn't a painful event, yet he coughed and retched until he was empty. Someone asked if he was fine. He replied that he had been simply trying to use a new, magickal trinket. Wiping water from his head and face, he relished the feel of air in his lungs, nabbed his coat, and made the return trip to the Weasel.

His crew, Bordeaux included, were back at the long table. A different musician, a chunky human with a panflute was tooting away. Yoris plunked down at the table. Dinner had already been served. It was a veritable smorgasbord board.

Peck quickly explained that the guards had been aware of the attack in James. Originally, they had intended to begin sending the sailors away and blocking off the docks. However, Peck made arrangements. Yoris wondered what kind of arrangements.

"Gold goes a long way," Peck chuckled.

"You paid them off?!"

"Of course."

Sara said that Peck's father was John Paul Peck, a wealthy landowner in James. The farms and ranches were on loan, and those who cultivated the fields or herded livestock paid a monthly tithe to the Peck family. Peck laughed; it was a weird, lilting laugh, effeminate even. Sara looked away, shaking her head. She patted the dog.

"So what exactly did the guard agree to," Yoris asked.

Peck replied, "They're still blocking off the docks, but any sailors who wish to protect their ships are free to fight. They're also going to inform the temples, so that any worshiper of, say, Tarielle or Mael–"

"Anwur," Grizwold interrupted. "They gots' a Temple o' Anwur here. Dwarven God o' Smithin', and before ya' ask; aye, they're all fighters an' masters o' steel and iron!"

"Anyway," Peck began again, shooting the dwarf a contemptible look, "I've rented this place out for us. This'll be our base of operations. Once the guards see the ocean stir, they'll dispatch a messenger."

"I'll be fishing," Yoris huffed. "Tomorrow morning and until that creature shows, I'll be fishing."

Some of the others were interested in fishing as well. Conversations turned to fishing, hunting, tracking, commerce. Ethel, a woman whose family originally hailed from Faaltosk, wanted to know more about how Peck had come to worship the God of War.