Tina Daniell - Maquesta Kar-Thon

"Odd combination, sea ogre and human," Maquesta said, then pursed her lips into a straight line. "Well, I should talk."

She laid her hand against his forehead; it was cold and clammy. The skin around the gash on his face was puffy, pulling against the stitches Lendle just finished sewing.

"VerygraveverygraveIneedsomechatterwort," Lendle began, speaking at the typical gnomish pace, "orhecannotmakeitunlessIgetsomechatterwortsoon."

"Hold on, hold on. Your stupid summons bell fell down and hit me in the head. I've had some very bad news. It's late. I'm tired. In other words, I'm in no condition to keep up with your conversational speed records," Maq grumped.

Lendle pursed his lips in mild disapproval of his favorite crewmember. With a motion of his head, he indicated Fritzen.

"A simple slow down, please would have sufficed, Maquesta Kar-Thon. I also am tired and have no special liking for being lectured. I've spent the past three hours tending to our guest."

Maq flushed. Now she'd received two reprimands for lecturing, not that it was an unknown quality in ships' captains, which is what she expected to be someday, or had expected to be until the news earlier tonight.

"I'm sorry. How is Fritz? And what do you need me for? I'm not a healer."

"His condition is very grave. See this gash on his right forearm?"

Lendle grasped the half-ogre's wrist and rotated his arm outward so Maq could see the soft underside. A jagged slash about six inches long cut deeply into the flesh. The raw edges oozed a greenish slime. Maq grimaced.

"One of the hags may have had poison on its claws and sliced him before the hippocampi were able to rescue him," Lendle explained. "Or it could be something else. In any case, I need to rouse him to ask him about it before I can treat it. A sea hag wound requires special care. Unfortunately, he seems to be sinking more deeply into a state of shock. He's been through an awful lot, and he might not make it. Chatterwort might bring him round, but I have none. I want you to go into Lacynos to buy some. I still have several coppers and a handful of steel pieces. They should be more than enough. I've invested too much time in him to see him die now."

"Can it wait until morning? I'd like to get some sleep, and I don't relish the idea of walking the streets of Lacynos in the dark with everyone there having a long night of drinking under their belts."

"Yes, but leave as soon as it's light. And take someone with you, Maquesta. I'd go myself, but I think I should stay here with Fritzen Dorgaard."

Maq nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with weariness. She made her way back to her cabin, threw herself down on top of the bunk, and immediately fell asleep.

The next morning, Maquesta threaded her way through the streets of Lacynos, trying to stick to the drier ground and at the same time avoid the occasional drunken minotaur who staggered by. Even at this early hour, the air was heavy with heat and humidity, constant facets of the weather in this part of Krynn-and one of the reasons the roadways never completely dried out from rainfall to rainfall.

Hvel followed Maq's lead, maintaining a brisk trot in order to keep up with her long strides. Not much older than Maq, Hvel was a full head shorter, and portly. He nonetheless could move quickly and was a good man in a fight, knowing how to use his weight and size to the best advantage. Maq had that in mind when she asked him to accompany her, that and the fact that he was one of the few crewmembers stirring and sober when she was ready to leave. When alert, as he seemed now, he was also a man of few words-which suited Maq's current mood just fine. She had a personal errand she wanted to pursue after buying the chatterwort. Hvel was not the type to ask too many questions if she arranged to split up with him and rendezvous back at the wharf.

Nearly every block in Lacynos boasted a tavern or inn. And every one they had passed was open and occupied. They never closed in this port. Up ahead, Maq spotted the shingle she was looking for, the Bay Watch. Lendle had given her directions and said the innkeeper, a human named Renson, also sold medicinal and magical herbs.

Once they stepped through the doorway, Maq and Hvel paused to allow their eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior. Only one candle burned in the half-dozen wall sconces. The dim dawn light, entering through the front door and two small rear windows, provided the candle little assistance. Maq scanned the common room for any sign of the innkeeper. At the back of the room, she observed a wooden ladder, which took the place of stairs in most minotaur buildings. This one led, presumably, to guest rooms. Unlike minotaur inns-that served only food and drink-the Bay Watch offered overnight lodging as well. However, from what Maq could see, most of the patrons had passed out at their tables, not bothering to spend a copper on a bed. Only one trio of well-armed human sailors-more than likely pirates, Maq thought-remained awake, still drinking.

Maquesta saw no evidence of the proprietor, but the sound of snoring drew her toward a rough wooden bar situated in the far corner of the common room. It offered a good vantage point on both the front door and the wooden ladder. As she and Hvel approached the bar, not only did the snoring grow louder, a spicy aroma cut through the stale barroom odor. Smoke wafted from small pots placed around the perimeter of the bar. Inhaling deeply, Maq leaned forward as she walked, only to smack her nose against a hard, flat surface while simultaneously stubbing her toe. She stumbled backward, cursing, saved from falling on her rump only by Hvel's steadying hand. Behind her, the pirates erupted into raucous guffaws.

"Wha-What happened?" Maq gingerly touched her throbbing nose to check if it was broken. No, just sore, she decided. Most definitely, she had run into something. Yet in front of her she saw nothing. From behind the bar, the snoring stuttered to a halt, replaced by a gravelly roar.

"Which of you thieving scoundrels was trying to pinch a free drink while I was catching me forty winks? I'll not put up with that! I charges me a fair price. I never cheats no one and no one had better cheat me!"

Brandishing an axe in one hand and a jagged-edged short sword in the other, the speaker-or roarer-of these dire warnings stood up behind the bar. A few stray hairs stuck straight up from his otherwise bald head. One eye glared at them from under a tufted eyebrow. Where the other eye should have been, a dark hole gaped.

"I assure you, we were not trying to steal anything," Maq spoke up clearly, ignoring the pirates' drunken laughter. "I am Maquesta Kar-Thon and this is Hvel Gamon, from the Perechon . We came to buy some chatterwort from you."

Mention of a commercial transaction immediately calmed down Renson, for that was who the man behind the bar introduced himself as. He peered closely at them with his good eye, obviously sizing them up. After half a minute, the innkeeper blew out whatever was lit inside the small pots and beckoned Maq and Hvel forward.

They both held back. Then Maquesta finally stretched her arms out toward the bar. Nothing. She moved forward slowly, repeating the motion with her arm, Hvel following her cautiously. Renson cackled.

"Don't worry, don't worry. Just a little illusion I create with some of my herbs-invisible smoke wall. Keeps those with grasping hands and big thirsts from helping themselves to the tap. The herbs have stopped smoldering, see? You'll be all right. I'll start them up again when we're finished. Can't trust everyone." Here Renson nodded his head toward the pirates, who had resumed their drinking. "Otherwise I'd never get any shut-eye."

Resting her forearms on the bar, Maq saw that a narrow cot covered with a dirty blanket was set up behind it. Renson had stowed his axe in an easy-to-reach cubbyhole and stuck his sword into his waistband, freeing his hands to tie a ragged gray patch over his empty eye socket. "Now what was it you said you wanted to buy?" he inquired once he had the patch in place, rubbing his hands together and taking on the air of an unctuous merchant.