Journey to Baromenes - Part 2
Aboard the Ivory's Daughter, just passed Simío Point northwest of Anthropoi...
The plump red-faced gnome spewed sick all over Mags' tunic and trousers.
The young hedge wizard leaped away, but too late. "By Saint Adriel's Boots, Mister Egrim! I warned you! You were to eat nothing!"
"Twas just a few quipper snacks..." the gnome replied between heaves, "wrapped in bacon..." he added, hacking, and then, in a quieter voice, "stuffed in a quail."
Mags shook his head in disgust at both the sick and the gnome's appetite. He nearly gagged at the smell of partially digested fish, bacon and pheasant painted across his clothes, the little cabin's floor, the gnome, and the bed sheets. Flourishing a hand over his sick-soiled clothes, he muttered the arcane words of cleaning before his gag reflex could bring up his own dinner. Where his hand passed, the sick vanished. The nauseous odor remained strong, but more bearable.
The hedge wizard considered the gnome: overweight from too much food, red-faced with a pockmarked nose from too much drink, and altogether disagreeable in manner and disposition. He should have left the little ship's mage to lie in his own sick, but compassion got the better of him.
He waited until Mister Egrim had made an end of his spewing before returning to the gnome's cot, his hand flourishing over the floorboards, the gnome's sheets, and finally the gnomes clothes, his tongue moving in arcane cadence, cleansing the sick until there was none left. This left only bits of sick on the gnomes lips and goatee. Mags considered wiping it with a kerchief and then cleaning the kerchief, but frustration got the better of him.
The room still smelled of sick, but the driving force of it--urging Mags to flee for the rain-washed sea air above deck--had dissipated.
Egrim groaned. "Thank ya, lad."
"Don't thank me, Mister Egrim," Mag's replied in frustration. "The herbs won't work if you keep dumping more food and grog down your gullet. Your bowls need a break from digestion, and your liver from the grog, with nothing but the cleansing herbs. Otherwise, there's not I can do for you."
After further thought, the hedge wizard added, driving his point home, "And the doctor 's already said he'll have nothing to do with you unless...."
The gnome's red face paled slightly at the reminder. And then he passed wind: a remarkably sonorous flatulence given his small stature.
Again, the young hedge wizard jumped away, shaking his head in frustration.
Lacking any degree of chagrin, the gnome conceded, "As ya say, lad. I'll do the fast. On my honor as a licensed ship's mage. You'll see. Nothing but the tea for a day."
Mags took pity on the retched gnome. His instincts told him nothing had changed, but he could not bring himself to say so. "Very well. I'll fix another tea."
Mags opened the flap to his messenger bag to retrieve his herbs. The tea was interrupted by Mister Náftis: breathing heavy, the quarter master barged into the gnome's little cabin. "Captain wants you on deck!"
"He's too sick," Mags replied fishing through his messenger bag, too distracted to remember his manners. "He's in no condition to work any magic."
"Not Mister Egrim. You!" Mister Náftis clarified.
Mags' eyes shot up, narrowing on the quarter master. Some of the hands had tried to catch the boyish-looking hedge wizard in their pranks and tricks, but Mags had seen through their efforts. The quarter master was a tall, scar-faced, half-elven sailor of middle years whose eyes betrayed no such nonsense. Indeed, he seemed a man accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed smartly.
"Him? He's no licensed wizard!" the gnome choked out. "Just a country bumpkin with a few cheap tricks!" He struggled to sit up in his bed, quickly abandoning the effort with a groan.
And there it was. Mags remembered why he disliked the gnome. Licensed wizards could be so.... He closed the flap of his bag, rose to his feet, turned his back on the gnome, and addressed the quarter master. "As you say, Mister Náftis."
Above deck, the Serene Sea remained true to her name. In the late afternoon, a light rain had washed clean the peaceful sea breeze driving Ivory's Daughter. With nightfall, the breeze had blown increasingly chill. Four bells later, a fog rolled seaward from the Halaean coastline, concealing the land beneath a moonlit blanket of ghostly velvet.
Mags stepped out onto the cold, dark deck and took his bearings: moonlit fog to port, the wine dark sea to starboard, moonlit fog to port--and hovering far beyond and above, gleaming in the moonlight, the snowcapped peaks of the Vorunó mountain range. . Mister Náftis led him to the stern of the ship, halting before the captain, who stood talking to the pilot at the helm.
"The hedge wizard, captain," Mister Náftis interrupted.
The green-skinned Captain Távirri was a triton of grim aspect, with shrewd eyes and a voice not unlike the sound of a ship's hull against unforgiving reefs. He turned yellow eyes upon the hedge wizard and spoke Khazian common with sounds sharp and grating."I need a ship's mage. But you, boy, are all I've got."
Mags could think of no polite response to the captain's assessment, so he remained silent.
Távirri turned to face stern. "We're being followed, boy. By sailors who do not want to be seen. They came out of the fog on the last bell. They've been skirting the boundary between fog and open sea. Almost certainly pirates. And they're gaining on us."
Mags looked but saw nothing. The Captain's fearful disclosure had little discernible affect on the young hedge wizard. Mags' life had been a series of dangers encountered in the course of his travels. What the Captain described felt like more of the same.
The triton turned back to Mags. "There's a cove ahead. Ormos Yfálo the Halaeans call it. Guarded by underwater rocks sharp as reefs. Treacherous by day, impossible in a fog at night. We can reach it before they overtake us. And if we can safely pass the rocks, that'll buy us more time and more options should they come in after us. Can you cast a spell of sea sight?"
"No, Captain. Never even heard of the spell. What's it do?" Mags asked, revealing his irrepressible upbeat curiosity. Despite the Master's unfailing efforts, it did not occur to Mags to lie or make himself out to be more than a simple hedge wizard. Where the Master would have seen an opportunity, Mags saw a desperate captain trying to save his ship and crew.
"Our little gnome uses the spell to see below the waterline, calling out precise directions so we can avoid reefs, rocks, islets, breakers, and other underwater hazards."
"Sounds like a very useful spell, Captain."
The Captain confirmed Mags' statement of the obvious with forced patience. "Indeed."
The hedge wizard's curiosity got the better of him and he spoke out of turn. "Beggin' your pardon, Captain, but you being a triton--couldn't you just swim ahead of the ship and accomplish the same thing as the spell?"
"No," the Captain explained, "too much time would pass in relaying my messages to the pilot at the stern of the ship. The business must be done with immediacy, you see."
"Ah, well, I can help with that," Mags announced as if stating a simple fact.
The triton's yellow eyes met the hedge wizards'. "Explain."
Mags's words conveyed the genuine pleasure he took in being able to help the captain--which might have been mistaken for boasting. "I've a spell that would allow me to communicate with you while you're under the water, swimming ahead of the ship. You could give me the directions while I'm standing stern, next to the pilot, and I could pass the directions on to him."
"You can do that?" The captain asked, unbelieving.
Mags smiled. "Super easy, Captain. Barely an inconvenience." It was an inside joke he'd shared with the Master. Only after speaking did he realize his foolish mistake. But explaining the remark would have revealed even grater foolishness, so Mags said no more.
The triton slapped Mags on the shoulder. "Well, well, boy! It would appear that you're not as useless as Mister Egrim claimed."
Then he turned to the pilot. "We make for Ormos Yfálo, Mister Roda!"
More to come...