Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

“Do you know anyone with authority in the ship-building guilds?” Hyden asked.

“Of course, of course. I think if you’d like to meet some of them while we are here I can arrange it. They would love to meet the man who stole the Dragon Queen’s dragon.”

Hyden’s mind was churning with possibilities.

“When will we get to see if your pirate friend can read my book?” Phen asked excitedly.

“Sooner than you think, lad.” Trant laughed at the boy’s eagerness. “If Sir Hyden Hawk will allow it, you may accompany me to the office of the harbor master as soon as we’re secured. The Rulers of Salazar are wise men. The harbor master here is an old sea dog. He was a grand scoundrel in his day. What better way to keep your harbor safe from pirates, than to have a pirate running the harbor?”

The wink Trant gave them, and the look on his face, left a lot unsaid. After the Captain returned to the bridge, Phen turned to Hyden with a whisper. “Do you think Captain Trant was a pirate too?”

“It takes a pirate to know a pirate,” Hyden answered. He gestured at the floating city of ships, and the mass of hustle and bustle going on all across the bay. “I imagine that a lot of those people are pirates.”

A few minutes later the Captain ordered the anchor to be dropped. He came back down to the rail then. “Get your things, Phen,” he said. “Leave the book with Sir Hyden Hawk, but bring the copy you’ve been working on.” Trant snarled roguishly. “If it turns out to be some great valuable bit of information, we don’t want the old bastard to steal the original from us, do we?”

Phen giggled and felt an eerie sensation in his gut. Nearly three weeks of anticipation while on the ship had him giddy with expectancy. He couldn’t wait to find out what the ancient book said. He was glad, though, that he, Hyden, and the others had agreed to keep the secrets of the Serpent’s Eye to themselves. The crew of the Seawander thought that the old wooden box had been empty. Only the four who went into the cave knew of the jeweled ring that was dangling from Phen’s neck.

The harbor master’s office wasn’t very roomy, Phen observed. It stank of pipe smoke, and the desk before him and Captain Trant was overcrowded with logbooks, scrolls, and other loose pieces of parchment. There was a great oak table in the middle of the room behind them. It was covered with documents. Maps, charting tools, and open volumes, all held in place by matching fist-sized brass bells, covered its top. Beyond the table was a big window that looked out over the bay. On either side of the window decorative nets full of rare shells, dried spider-fish, and other ship’s paraphernalia hung from the ceiling. Behind the harbor master’s desk was a series of shelves with even more stuff piled on them, including a perfectly replicated miniature of a six-masted cargo vessel that kept drawing Phen’s eye. The harbor master himself, Phen decided, had probably been a real pirate at one time. He wore a patch over one eye, and had a knife scar that ran from his gnarled ear down to his throat. He was an old man. If asked, Phen would have guessed him to be a hundred. Nevertheless, he was sharp, grouchy, and talked like a proper pirate should talk.

“…fourteen barrels o’ water, and three o’ rum,” he read Captain Trant’s list of needed provisions back to him. “…eight o’ salted beef, and how many rounds o’ cheese?” He peered closer at the parchment, scowled, then looked up at Trant. “Where you going from here, Captain, that you’ll only need two weeks’ worth of rations? They told me your hold was near to empty. You’re not planning on going to old Westland are you? I can tell you, you’ll find no welcome flying the Blacksword there.”

“No, sir,” Trant answered. “We’re going south to a little spring island that’s off the charts.” After he said it, he realized that he probably shouldn’t have, but there were a dozen islands too small for human habitation about two days south of Salazar. He hadn’t said which one.

“What in all the hells for?” the harbor master asked with eyes full of genuine curiosity.

Trant wasn’t sure what to say. He had thought about this conversation at sea, but his respect for the man before him wouldn’t allow him to even try and deceive. Phen noticed the Captain’s hesitation and spoke.

“We’re searching for a rare plant called silverleafedskullrella. My master wants to find a new source of it. It’s used in casting spells.”

“And you think this plant grows on the Pirate Isles?” the harbor master asked.

“The pirates are all Dakaneese,” Phen said. “Master Sholt used to buy our silverleaf from the Isle of Borina, but the Red Priests have gone crazy since Pael called up his demon. The plant grows in the warm humid climate of the islands.”

The harbor master looked at Phen for a moment then burst into laughter. “Where did you get this little turd, Trant?”

He stamped Trant’s request, still chuckling. “What a bunch of nonsense. The pirates are all Dakaneese…” He was laughing now. “If it’s not my business, boy, just say so. You can’t lie to the devil.”

Phen grinned sheepishly. “Sir, can you tell me whose banner is the eagle holding the snake? Their ship is huge. And who flies the lightning star?”

“The eagle is from the land of Harthgar. It takes more than a season to sail from here to there, and it’s open sea the whole way. They say that there be walkin’ talkin’ people covered in fur, with tails like a cat’s livin’ in the hills there, but I ain’t never seen one.” He paused and handed Captain Trant his approved loading ticket. “The lightning star is the Dragon Queen of New Westland’s.”

“She’s not a dragon queen anymore,” Phen said with pride. “Hyden Hawk stole her dragon and set it free.”

“Yes, well, try telling her that, lad. She’s a tariff-happy witch is what she is. They have all the good lumber, and most of the good meat in Westland. Dragon or no, she’s not afraid to make us pay for it all.”

“Off the record, Ralphal,” Captain Trant interrupted and changed the subject, “do you still have those old code legends you used to keep. Show him, Phen. Show him the transcription you’ve started.”

Phen took out the log book he had been copying and handed it to the harbor master. The old man squinted his good eye at the page, turned it, and squinted some more.

“This is old script,” he muttered. “Not pirate, but Elvish… Amazing. Where did you come across it?” he asked Trant, then turned his gaze on Phen.

“It’s from an old text I purchased from a juju wizard on Kahna,” Phen lied.

The old man laughed again. “Juju wizard…” he was still chuckling as he rose and hobbled across the room to a shelf on a wall that Phen hadn’t noticed earlier. “I don’t know how much use this will be to you. The dwarves used to inhabit all of Highwander. Old Port was a dwarven port long before the humans came along. Them short bastards never could get the hang of the sea. The elves used the port more than any. This is an old dwarven, elven, human translation. It was popular before the common tongue of man replaced the other languages. It’s a rare volume and I covet it, but if Captain Trant will guarantee that I’ll get it back when you return from your hunt for magic plants, I’ll let you borrow it.”

“He will,” Phen said over Trant, who had started speaking.

“I can guarantee that, I think,” the Captain glared at Phen. After a moment, he added: “I can assure you, Ralphal, your text will stay in my cabin exclusively. Our young turd can use it there, where I know it will remain safe.”

“Very well,” the old pirate said in a way that told them he had other matters to attend to. Captain Trant took the translation and said his goodbyes, then Phen thanked the harbor master for his help and they were on their way.