The Sea Sprinter sliced through the early morning waters, its sails catching the steady breeze that promised to propel the ship toward the bay. A handful of gulls coasted along with the vessel as the rhythmic roar of waves against the hull and the faint creak of wood under pressure became audible. Once its sails filled, the ship leaped, and Elec ran to the bow as they gained open water. Leaving Hinterson’s Vale in good spirits, the crew of nearly two dozen became more focused and tense. Orders barked in gruff tones, and the camaraderie from earlier felt more like a distant memory. He didn’t expect the sudden change in demeanor, as his father’s books told of sailing songs and rites performed to honor the gods and goddesses upon entering the open sea. Instead, everyone aboard grumbled, spat, and quipped at each other amidst the flurry of activity.
Captain Jorn stood at the helm, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He carried himself with quiet authority, his demeanor sharp as he watched the horizon. The first mate, an older, stocky Human with sun-weathered skin and a stern expression, glanced at Elec as he stepped closer. He adjusted the wide-brimmed hat on his head and folded his arms.
“You there, layabout!” he said, his voice like gravel. “Get off that rail and get to some duties. The captain don’t take kindly to freeloaders, and the sea’s full of the drowned corpses of those who don’t pull their weight.”
The first mate continued, gesturing to a coiled rope nearby.
“Start with that line and check the knots. You’ve got a long voyage ahead, and I need to know what kind of slouch I am to deal with.”
For a moment, Elec blinked, taken aback. He expected the journey would become rough as he got further from home, but he hadn’t expected it to start as soon as he had left the island. With a nod, Elec picked up the coil of rope, letting its weight settle in his hands. The fibers felt coarse but sturdy, well-worn from years of use but maintained with care. He inspected it, using the skills his parents had taught him. The knots were well-tied and secure, but a few had loosened. The others needed tightening to ensure safety in rough seas. A section of the rope showed signs of fraying near the middle. It was not critical yet, but if it were under heavy stress, like during a storm, it could snap.
Despite the wear, the rope proved functional for most purposes. Elec tightened the loose knots in the rope, his fingers deftly working the fibers into secure loops and binds. The work seemed meticulous, and by the time he finished, the knots looked as solid as the best work he’s seen at home.
Elec cut a few strands from an older, discarded piece of rope nearby and spliced them into the frayed section to add strength. The technique, while not elegant, was effective. Using a thin length of spare cord, Elec wrapped the frayed section, ensuring the fibers were less likely to spread under strain. By the time he finished, the rope was not only serviceable but appeared strong enough to endure the typical challenges of shipboard use. The first mate observed Elec’s work from across the deck. Approaching, he inspected the repair with a critical eye. After a moment, he nodded.
“Not bad for a greenhorn. Keep at it, and you might make a decent swab yet.”
“Thank ye, sir,” Elec said, stretching his hands. “I’m just happy that sailors’ knots are not much different from ranchers’ knots.”
“Rancher, hmm. The name’s Ograrn.” The first mate said, his voice still sharp but encouraging.
“Org…Ogla…Ogrlarl…” Elec said, trying to get his mouth to form the name properly.
“‘Sir’ will do for now. You keep yourself busy, and you’ll find yourself in Pelavor Bay before you know it. Now stop dallying and go lend a hand elsewhere.”
*
“Oh, and tell me you have a room with a soaking tub,” Seraphine asked the innkeeper, beaming.
“Let me check, young lady.” The older gentleman said, looking through the ledger.
She almost skipped all the way down the road and up to the door. Roderick followed, quietly listening as she gave her full appraisal of the town and the inn when they arrived. She loved the rustic but well-kept exteriors and the inn’s homey interior. She explained how the common room had plenty of space to sing and dance, and had many seats in between. Roderick found himself more interested in the smell of delicious, freshly cooked food emanating from the kitchen.
To Roderick, the port town possessed a charming appeal, although his quiet demeanor did not express it. The shops and merchants offered sparse but decent wares. The buildings stood firm and functional, built of a sturdy mix of stone and woodwork. Apart from the crashing waves, the occasional talk from the shops, and the ragged youngsters chasing each other in the broad streets between the buildings, the town was quiet. The only things he didn’t like were the lack of a town wall and the salt in the air. The latter made him think of rust and the additional care their equipment would need while in the region. Regarding secrets, he thought that they only revealed who slept with whom from which ship or a special ale recipe, much like the Ashborn had mentioned.
“We have a room with a large tub available, but it will be two extra silver per night.” The innkeeper said.
“Done,” Seraphine said, beaming. “Roderick, how long do you think we will be staying?”
The old sword looked between the innkeeper and the bard. He took into consideration her obligatory day of rest after completing a contract, but they still did not have any leads on the artifacts yet, when the Silver Drake would return, or if the Mariner’s Guildmaster was available.
“I would say three days at present, with the possibility of longer if necessary,” Roderick concluded, much to Seraphine’s elation.
She quickly produced the twenty-one silver coins, signed the ledger, and was up the stairs with her key before Roderick could blink. Her eagerness surprised even the innkeeper as he watched her hurry away.
“Won’t you be joining your…er…” The innkeeper began, turning back to him.
“Friend…and she’ll want that bath water in a moment,” Roderick said, placing fifteen coins on the table. “A standard room will be fine for me. Where might I get a bath myself? I’m not as picky as she is.”
“We have a washroom you can use for a couple of copper, but there is a bathhouse at the edge of town. It is a proper establishment, so don’t get any ideas of taking advantage of the staff.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. The washroom will do fine.” He said, placing his additional coins.
Roderick entered the tiny room on the second floor. If he were to be attacked in the night, the tight space made it ineffective to wield a sword or his shield with it, as he could touch both walls of the room at the same time. He would keep his dagger handy and prop the small chair against the door in the evenings. The small window at the far end provided decent light, and there were several candles on a shelf if he needed to see at night. Taking his pack off his shoulders, he placed it on the bed, which was small but well-furnished. With a raised eyebrow, he pressed his palm into the plush mattress. He found it surprising that such comfortable furnishings were available this far west at such a low price. I reckon I should get too good of sleep here, he thought, removing his jacket and unfastening the sides of his chainmail shirt.
*
Elec approached the nearest crew member, a lanky Human with sunburnt skin and a mop of unkempt hair, who was in the middle of scrubbing the deck with a stiff-bristled brush. The sailor paused, straightened up, and leaned on the handle of the brush as Elec introduced himself.
“Hail. My name is Elec,” He said with a friendly smile. “Figured I’d get to know the crew and lend a hand. What’s yer name?”
The sailor grinned wide, revealing teeth that could use the attention of a good cleric.
“Name’s Harken,” He replied. “I don’t mind an extra set of hands. Grab that spare brush there. This deck ain’t gonna scrub itself, and it’s best you learn now: Clean wood is happy wood.”
Elec’s smile faltered slightly, thinking the older man had made some sort of an inside joke at his expense, but dismissed it. Harken gestured to a nearby bucket filled with seawater and a second brush lying beside it. Elec retrieved the brush and, without hesitation, joined Harken in scrubbing the deck. As they worked, Harken chatted amiably.
“First time on a ship, eh? Let me guess. You’re some kind of adventurer? Heading to Pelavor Bay to find fame and fortune, are ya?” He said.
Elec chuckled and shook his head.
“Something like that. I’m looking for answers to a mystery in Valais. But yes, it’s my first time aboard a ship. Anything I should know?”
“Aye. Watch the sails at all times. When they fall slack or fill to the point, the wood creaks; be ready to lend a hand with the ropes or the rigging. Beware the captain’s temper, mind your step in rough seas, and keep your belongings locked away. Not sayin’ the crew’s dishonest, but temptations run high when coin’s involved. You seem like an alright sort, though. Stick with me, and I’ll make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble.”
The two continued working, and when they finished the task, the deck gleamed under the morning sun. Elec felt a small sense of accomplishment. While he wasn’t expecting much, he hoped his willingness to do even the lowliest of jobs would make the captain and the crew look well on his short time with them.
As they finished, the ship’s bell rang from the helm. The first mate shouted orders for the crew to adjust the sails, and most of the hands dropped what they were currently working on to focus on the rigging and canvas. Harken dropped his brush into the bucket and lifted it by the handle. Elec dropped his brush in with the other.
“Duty calls,” Harken said.
Elec clapped Harken on the shoulder with a friendly nod, saying, “Thanks for the advice, Harken. I’ll keep it in mind. I’d better see what rope or rigging needs an extra set of hands.”
“Fair winds, swab. Don’t let the first mate catch you slacking, or you’ll be scrubbing the bilges by noon.”
*
Seraphine rested the back of her head against the carved wooden tub. The steaming hot water came right up to her neck. The heat unknotted the tension in her mind and body. She looked up at the ceiling beams, trying not to think of anything. Not today, she thought, closing her eyes. Time enough to worry about mysteries and dark relics for tomorrow.
She remained in the water until it became tepid. While it didn’t last as long as she liked, it had already served its purpose. No need to wait another thirty minutes for the innkeeper to draw another. She was clean, feeling better, and could now sit and do nothing for a while. No marching, no cleaning equipment, no training. Just get my hair in order and relax, she thought to herself. With a sigh, she rose and stepped out of the tub. Taking the towel from the stool nearby, she dried herself.
She sat in front of the washbasin mirror and worked the tangles from her hair, humming a tune to help with just such a task. After about twenty minutes, her head went from a fiery bird’s nest to a flowing ruby cascade. Satisfied, she stood and looked herself over. Her soft curves had long since given way to lean muscle. She rubbed the scar across her left shoulder and collarbone. Roderick had given it to her when sparring, and it was a reminder to treat all battles seriously, even in training. She looked to the other that traced an odd line across her right hip and thigh. This one she had gotten in Larkinth, but would’ve been worse had it not been for the warrior’s training. She twisted and turned before her reflection, pleased with her appearance overall, despite the few smaller scars here and there. I wonder if my parents would even recognize me anymore, she thought, sliding into her nighttime slip. The bard picked up her lute and lay on the bed, propped up by the soft pillows. Softly she played, thinking of her home, her melody somber and slow.
There was a knock at her door. She paused, letting the note she strummed hang in the air.
“Yes?” She asked, and continued when there wasn’t an immediate answer. “What do you need, Roderick?”
“The local priest, Mathaias, is riding out to the settlement. Also, I asked around the harbor. The Silver Drake should be in port within two to three days. Seems we aren’t the only ones looking for it, though. A small group of mercenaries has been asking about the ship as well.”
Really? This could wait until this evening, she thought. Although mercenaries could be of aid, even if it meant losing coin.
“That’s good to hear. Goodbye, Roderick. I’ll see you at dinnertime.”
“I spoke with the smiths when I dropped off my armor, and one has a set of studded leather about your size. You’ll just have to go down and get it fitted. Cost is 75 gold coins.”
That’s almost three times the cost, she thought. The thought she kept to herself, other than to remind her to get a song list ready for tomorrow night.
“Thanks, see you at dinner.”
“The Mariner’s Guild Hall was open, but the clerk was unsure when the Guild Master would arrive from his shipment.”
Seraphine grabbed one of her boots from beside the bed.
“I love you, Roderick, but…” She began, throwing the boot at the door. “I.will.see.you.at.dinner.”
“Very well,” Roderick replied, his heavy footsteps heading back down the stairs.
Seraphine huffed, taking a few breaths to calm down. Tapping out a few beats, she resumed playing. The soft melody filled the room as she tried to relax once more.
*
Elec moved toward the next nearest crew member, a burly Dwarf with arms like tree trunks who was coiling a thick rope near the mainmast. His beard was braided into intricate patterns, and he held a perpetual scowl while he worked with practiced efficiency. The scowl darkened as Elec approached, a stark contrast to Harkness’s easy welcome.
“Need a hand with that?” Elec asked, his voice nervous.
The sailor looked up, his scowl deepening as he sized Elec up.
“Sure, if you can coil a line without shredding it or tanglin’ it into a bird’s nest.”
“I can, although it seems you have a specific technique,” Elec replied, offering a confident smile. “Show me how you want it, and I’ll do my best.”
The sailor grunted and tossed the end of the rope toward Elec.
“Fine. Watch and learn, landlubber. Keep the line tight and even as you loop it. Then twist the loops in the middle and tie it with the slack. No loose lines, no mess.”
Elec mimicked the Dwarf’s motions, coiling the rope under his scrutinizing gaze. The sailor gave a curt nod.
“Not bad. At least you’re not completely useless.”
“Glad to hear it,” Elec said with a chuckle, continuing the work. “What’s your name?”
“Gorlin Ironspike,” The Dwarf said. “Boatswain of the Sea Sprinter, which means I keep you and this lot from wreckin’ the ship with your combined stupidity. You can call me Gorlin…if you don’t screw up too badly.”
“Fair enough, Gorlin. I’m Elec. New to ships, but I learn fast.”
“Good,” Gorlin said with a grunt. “You’ll need to.”
Elec coiled the rope and stored it with the others at the base of the mass. Gorlin gestured toward a stack of barrels near the stern.
“Secure those casks before they roll around and break someone’s leg off. Grab some rope and get to it.”
Elec grabbed a length of sturdy rope and began securing the barrels, wrapping the rope and knotting it to keep the cargo from shifting. Despite the slight wear on the rope and the awkward angles, his effort seemed solid enough to prevent any rolling hazards. Gorlin strode over, inspecting Elec’s handiwork with a critical eye. After a moment, he grunted in approval.
“Not the sturdiest knots I’ve seen, but they’ll hold. That’ll do for now.”
With the barrels secured, Gorlin looked toward the bow, where the first mate shouted orders to a group of sailors adjusting the rigging.
“If you’re looking for more to do, see if they need help aloft. And don’t fall overboard. Captain Jorn doesn’t circle back for idiot travelers cluttering the sea.”
Elec nodded his thanks to Gorlin and walked toward the bow, where the sailors worked quickly and efficiently on the rigging. As he approached, one sailor, a wiry, dark-skinned Human with calloused hands and a thin mustache, stood at the foot of the ropes.
“You there!” The sailor shouted. “You’ve definitely got the look of someone good at climbing. We’ve got lines that need tightening and sails to be secured. Best get moving if you want to prove useful!”
The sailor tossed Elec a harness.
“What is this?” Elec said, holding the leather straps.
“It’s what keeps you from falling overboard. You’re holding it upside-down. Step in, strap in, lash it to that line, and head up. Start with the starboard topsail. If you don’t know what that is, just follow the rope and don’t mess it up!”
It took Elec a few moments to slip into the harness, testing the fit. He contemplated taking his boots off to climb better, but none of the other crew members were barefoot. Gripping the rope, he began his ascent. The rigging swayed gently with the ship’s motion, but he found a good rhythm, pulling himself upward with determination.
His footing held steady, and his childhood tree-climbing experience helped him maintain his grip on the weathered rope. As he climbed higher, the view expanded, the open sea stretching out in every direction under the morning sun. The salty breeze sharpened his focus as he approached the starboard topsail. Elec took in the expanse of light blue surrounding him. He recalled his first time on horseback, getting his two-year stallion up to a full gallop, as the ship gently bounded below and the wind flowed past him. Only now, this horse had him flying twenty feet above the waves.
Elec found the sail’s edge had slipped from its secure knot. The rope itself showed signs of wear, but still appeared strong enough to hold if tied properly.
From below, the wiry sailor called out, “Good speed, swab! Tighten that knot and let us know if it’s set. The sea’s no friend to loose canvas!”
Elec tightened the knot, using his nails and experience to secure the loose section of the sail. The ropes creaked under the tension, but the knot held in place. He double-checked the positioning, ensuring that the sail would remain taut even with the ship’s movement.
Satisfied with his work, Elec called down to the sailor, “It’s secured, should hold through the wind.”
From below, the sailor nodded and gave a wave. “Good job, swab. Now get yourself back down here before you take a dive!”
The climb down was smooth, and Elec returned to the deck, where the crew continued its hustle and bustle.
*
Roderick sat at the edge of town, watching the waves crash onto the beach. He rose and drew once more. Though his muscles ached from the battle days ago, he executed the drills once more as the ancient blademaster had taught him. Two hundred and thirty-eight maneuvers. He performed each move smoothly, as the ancient blade master had taught him, with one leading into the next, neither fast nor slow. Each execution was performed in the right frame of breath for every single movement. The sequence ended with the sword held at the forward ready until the combined exercise and strain of keeping it steady brought the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back to exhaustion. Feeling the fire throughout his body, he completed the exercise and swung the sword in a mock parry and slash before sheathing it. Looking down, he could see the slight tremor from exhaustion in the tips of his fingers. He held his hands level with the ground, making small circles as he watched the small group coming up in the distance.
A band of mercenaries, judging from their arms and armor, came marching along the road. Their leader, a woman with a very slight build and several scars on her face, raised a hand in greeting. Roderick, familiar with the gesture, raised his hand to return the hail. The group continued into town while the woman approached the old sword. If only I’d have much at marched with this crew, he thought, they are much more disciplined than the ones we left on the road.
“Hey, handsome.” She said.
“Morning,” Roderick returned.
“You are new in town, too. Heard a gray fighter and an Elven bard strolled in on the road. Anything special you two are looking for?”
“Tangled with some bandits about four days from here. They had mentioned smugglers operating in the area. Pelavora was the best lead to find out more.”
“Bandits and smugglers.” The woman said, measuring the statement for a moment. “You have a name?”
“Roderick.”
“Roderick, eh?”
She looked over the old sword. Roderick did not seem that impressed with her physique, but there was something about her that was disquieting. He couldn’t place his finger on it just yet, but it was there. Her crafted dull-plate and dark-brown leather armor looked expensive, but was dirty and unkempt. While she bore several scars on her face, they seemed to fit the contours rather than mar her features. On top of it all, she held no fear of the old sword nor his presence.
“And your name?” He asked, his face impassive.
The woman simply hummed as if contemplating giving a name. She tilted her head, examining him further from her spot on the road. After a moment, she continued after the rest of her group.
“You hear anything interesting, we’re staying at the Salty Gull.” She called over her shoulder.
*
Elec scanned the deck, taking in the surrounding activity. The crew members focused on their duties, adjusting sails and tying ropes to prepare for the journey ahead. His eyes landed on a human sailor near the port side, wrestling with a large sail that seemed to be caught in the rigging.
The sailor looked frustrated, tugging on the sail with little success as it continued to tangle in the wind. He muttered under his breath, needing help but not wanting to admit it.
As Elec approached, the sailor looked up and nodded in his direction. “Ah, another set of hands. This damned sail’s giving me trouble. Lady of the Waves, forgive me. I can’t move from here and can’t seem to find the problem from where I’m standing…could use an extra set of eyes.”
Elec inspected the tangled sail, his eyes trailing up the mainmast to the first and largest crossbeam. I really should learn the names of these things, he thought, trying to spot the problem. His eyes traced back to the mast and up to the shorter crossbeam above it. Towards the middle, he spotted and pointed out the problem. The rope securing the smaller sail, which the sailor had tied next to the one he held, had come loose, and the sail had snagged the slack. The fabric itself rested undamaged, but the rope, stubbornly caught, required some finesse to untangle.
“That, yeah…that would be it. Good catch. If Ograrn saw…Let’s get this sorted before it messes with the heading.”
Elec, with the sailor’s help, began working on the tangled rope. The sailor used a bit of muscle to steady the rigging while Elec climbed the netting and worked the rope free, trying not to damage the sail or cause more confusion in the ropes. The work progressed and was a meticulous process, but with their combined efforts, they loosened the rope and freed the sail from its entanglement. As he returned to the deck, the sailor gave Elec a nod of appreciation.
“That should do it. We’re back on track. The name is Barro.”
“Elec,” He said.
“I’ve seen you about the deck today, Elec. Well, you are kinda hard to miss. With the amount of work you’ve done, the mates will be calling you swab before too long. Just like a proper member of the crew.”
Elec shook his outstretched hand and smiled at the thought, fitting in with the others despite his heritage. I’m doing better here than waiting for his acceptance appeal from the College of Cyrndor, he thought. For a moment, his eyes cast back past the aft of the ship, and he caught a long, dark gray wisp of his home on the horizon. In the distance, the small island of Hinterson’s Vale disappeared. The familiar shores, the rolling hills, and the quiet island life that he’d known for so many years already seemed like a distant memory now. The ship rocked as it moved forward, and the island faded from view, becoming part of the vast expanse of the sea. There’s no turning back now, he thought, even I couldn’t swim to shore at this distance.
Elec shook his head, remembering the first mate’s words. He knew from the many hours tending the herds that keeping busy made the day pass faster. A young sailor sat nearby amongst a pile of cast-off ropes and lashings, and he fought to unknot a length of rope. Elec moved up to the young sailor and introduced himself.
“Finally. Someone who doesn’t look like they’re in their middling years. Good afternoon!”
The young sailor looked up in nervousness and surprise. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to jump over the rail. Elec raised his hands to calm him.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m just trying to keep busy. I can go elsewhere if necessary.”
“No, it’s alright,” the sailor replied, his voice cracking a little, yet friendly. “I do…well…these knots have been giving me trouble. Not my best work. I suppose I could use a hand.”
The tangled rope sat loose in his hands, and he suddenly realized he had been holding it this whole time. He offered them to Elec with shaking hands.
“I swear this thing’s cursed…I’m Bram, by the way. Fairly new aboard the Sea Sprinter, if you couldn’t tell by the way I’m messing up. If you’ve got an adventurer’s trick or two, I’d be glad for the help.”
“Thankfully, I’ve had my own troubles with knots and labor back home…My father taught me to take three deep breaths, start from the loose end, and simply commit to the fact that it’s gonna take all day. Then, funny enough, it only takes a few minutes.”
When he was younger, Elec’s father started his journey into sorcery with parlor tricks. Sleight of hand. Cards. Palming objects. All taught to master simple illusions and clever tricks. Then he started learning magic proper. The idea is to understand the art of misdirection and theater to make even the simplest magic seem momentous, or to hide the clever use of such magic altogether. He gave the rope a subtle flick of his wrist, sending his power through it. Bram continued working on the rope, unaware of the subtle magic at play. As Elec spoke, the young sailor seemed to relax, listening to the advice with a mixture of curiosity and hope.
“Three deep breaths, huh? I guess if I had more patience, I’d have figured that out myself. Looks like you’ve got the trick for it, though. And I never would’ve guessed it could be as simple as just taking your time.”
The young sailor’s hands worked the rope, and the knots came undone with ease. Bram let out a sigh of relief.
“Well, that was quicker than I thought. Thanks, Elec. I really appreciate it.”
The young sailor straightened up, brushing his hands off and grinned at Elec.
“Maybe one of these days I’ll get the hang of all this sailing business.”
“I should hope. It took me twenty years to get the hang of ranching,” he said with a laugh.
Bram laughed along with Elec, shaking his head.
“Twenty years, huh? Guess I’ve got a ways to go. But hey, I’ll get there, eventually.”
He looked at the now-loose rope, still holding the ends with a satisfied grin.
“Thanks again, Elec. If you ever need anything tied up or sorted or…whatever, you know where to find me. I’ll even throw in a few extra laughs at my own expense for free.”
The young sailor coiled the straightened rope and set it aside. He picked up another, setting to work re-braiding a frayed end. Elec made his way across the deck, weaving through the sailors hard at work. The sound of the ocean and the rhythmic creaking of the ship filled the air. Spotting the first mate near the helm, where he hollered instructions to a few crew members, Elec approached.
“Ah, you again,” Orgran said with a slight smirk. “Eager to keep busy, are you? Not a bad trait for a greenhorn. You’re proving a useful swab so far, lad. Keep it up, and you might just find yourself a place among us. Go ahead and take a breather. We’ve got a long trip ahead.”
Elec looked about. Most of the crew’s activity had wound down for the moment. The winds held steady, and quite a few had taken spots along the rail to enjoy the breeze. Elec walked over to the hatch and proceeded below deck to the cramped quarters they provided him. Essentially, the crew shifted a few crates to make room for a small cot, affording him a bit of privacy when sleeping or changing clothes. His pack and lockbox rested just beneath the small frame. Elec grabbed his journal and updated the events of the last two days.
He thought back to the strange events: flirting with Dalia. Saying goodbye to friends and those he was familiar with. The stories Old Merin and his friends shared. Smugglers operating on the island. The raids with Ilsa. Gracefully blowing his chance at a kiss from her. He wondered how she and her crew were doing back home. Did they clear out the rest of the smugglers’ operations? He made a note to write to his father about it once he arrived in Pelavora, knowing his parents would be willing to help root them out. It would probably be like old times for them. He closed the journal and placed it on top of his backpack, under the cot. Standing with a stretch, he explored the lower deck of the ship.
The lower deck held the general sleeping and common area for the crew; the many hammocks collapsed against the pillars to keep the area clear. A few hard bunks lined the walls of the inner hull, here as well. Towards the bow, there was a semi-enclosed spot where the telltale sounds and smells of food preparation took place. A soft grinding of wood against wood drew his attention to the only completely enclosed room he could see on this deck.
A pocket door had opened while he was observing his surroundings. From behind, a beautiful face belonging to a white-haired Elven woman stared back at him. He was stunned to see someone more seemingly out of place in this rustic environment than himself. She regarded him with gray-blue eyes, but her expression was unreadable. She looked to be about his age, but he knew from his parents that she could easily be between a hundred and fifty to several hundred years old. Remembering the manners his parents taught him, he placed his hand over his heart, gave her a slight bow, and greeted her in Elvish. Her eyes widened in surprise. She tilted her head slightly, but otherwise gave no response. After bidding her good day, he watched as she slid the door closed. He had not seen another first-generation Elf besides his parents, his uncle Kaiyalth’s mother, and his parents’ druid friend whom he had met when he was very young. He had several thousand questions to ask of her, but figured he would wait until she felt comfortable speaking with him. There were several days remaining in the journey to the mainland, and he did not want to ruffle any feathers unnecessarily.
His feet carried him down into the lower holds. Several open paddocks, reminiscent of his barn back home, divided the ship’s bottom. Boxes, barrels, and crates of various shapes and sizes filled each paddock to the brim, and a narrow path down the middle provided meager access. In the bay closest to the stairs back into the crew’s deck, several containers stood out from the rest. The markings and water-stained wood contrasted with the rest of the light-colored crates and barrels nearby.
Elec crouched beside the damp crates, his sharp eyes scanning the surface as he gently ran his fingers along the wood. The salt-crusted edges were damp, and upon closer inspection, the moisture didn’t seem fresh, but it had seeped into the wood, leaving faint water stains that trailed downward. A closer look revealed tiny barnacles clinging to the underside, suggesting that the crate had been submerged in seawater at some point. The lid’s slight warping indicated exposure to the elements or rough handling.
As Elec continued his search, he noticed faint scratches near the edge of the crate’s lid. Someone or something may have attempted to pry it open, but not enough to break the seal.
Elec turned his attention to the smaller crate nearby. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the wood was drier and in better condition than the damp crate, though it showed signs of wear from rough handling. The nails securing the lid were uneven, as if re-hammered in. The faint scent of dried herbs or spices lingered around the crate, suggesting its contents might be organic.
One crate bore strange markings along the side. Elec hoped the letters he saw were among the runes he found on the relics, but they appeared to be a shipping code or identifier partially washed away. With practiced hands, Elec secured the smaller crate by lashing the lid with additional rope. The knots tied snug, and the rope wrapped around the crate, reinforcing the weak points and ensuring the lid remains in place.
Elec focused on the remaining crates, methodically looping the rope around each one. Although the knots are not as tight as before, they secure the crates enough to keep them stable under normal conditions. The ropes bound the crates together and to the deck, preventing them from shifting.
Elec returned to the main deck and approached Ograrn, who was overseeing a group of sailors helping Bram splice a damaged section of rope. The grizzled man looked up as Elec approached, his sharp eyes narrowing.
“Problem, lad?” the first mate asked, wiping his hands on a cloth.
Elec explained the situation with the damp crates, detailing his inspection and the steps he took to secure it. The first mate nodded thoughtfully.
“Good catch, but it’s nothing to worry too much about. We’ve been finding more and more cargo adrift in the currents lately. We can only guess how they ended up in the seas, but they can fetch a bit of coin in salvage when we return to port. I’ll have Gorlin take a look, though. We can’t afford to let even reclaimed cargo rot on us. Thanks for tightening things up down there.”
“I don’t want to sound crass, but it seems there’s a lot of these loose ropes and lashings about. Is the crew doing their jobs properly?” Elec asked, his voice just above a whisper.
To his relief, the first mate gave a laugh.
“You’re a sharp one, I’ll give you that.” He said, his voice quiet. “That right there is a proper phenomenon. Captain Jorn, Gorlin, and myself check every single tie-down, binding, and lashing before we set sail. Everything is right and proper tight before we cast off, but no matter how well things are set, they slowly work themselves loose.”
“How does it happen?” Elec asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Well, you’re a rancher? You keep horses, wagons, and such? How many times do you have to check their saddles and harnesses?”
“A couple of times, actually,” Elec admitted.
“Even though you did it right the first time. Same with ships like the ‘Sprinter. She’s not just a vessel. She has a spirit of her own. She bends, she flexes, she reaches, and she breathes. These little movements build up even after a short period of time, causing things to shift. Did the crew do their job right the first time? Yes. Is it their fault that everything is coming loose, as if they didn’t do it right the first time? Also yes. Regardless, it’s everyone’s duty to check constantly, and it’s the crew’s fault things weren’t secured properly the first time.”
Elec chuckled and shook his head.
“You’ll learn, lad. You’ll learn.”
James C Gilliam 