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"See if it'll make an exception and keep the tide in a little longer just for
you." Tawl was wishing he'd never boarded
The Fishy Few.
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The captain then shouted in a voice rivaling that of his crewman in loudness.
"All hands on deck."
The ship became a flurry of activity-there were ten crewmen. The captain
noticed Tawl counting them and said, "I'm a man short because of you." He was
obviously waiting for Tawl to ask why, and so Tawl obliged.
"Why is that, Captain Quain?"
"I'll tell you why. Eleven crewsmen and me, plus you, would make thirteen. No
man in his right mind would set sail with thirteen aboard. Sailing to Larn is
lunacy itself. Sailing to Larn with thirteen would be suicide. And let me tell
you now, boy, gold's not worth losing my ship over. First sign of danger and
we'll
be heading back to Rorn so fast the seagulls won't be able to shit on us." The
good captain then turned on his heel, leaving Tawl to contemplate what had
been said.
He decided the best thing he could do would be to go belowdeck. Seeing the man
who had spoken to him when he boarded, he asked where he would find his cabin.
"Cabin! Listen to this, mates." The man was now shouting to the other sailors.
"He wants to know where his cabin is. Not happy with makin' us sail to the
godforsaken isle of Larn, now he wants a cabin. The next thing you know, he'll
be asking us to bake him cake." Tawl decided he would take no more of this
taunting, but before he could say a word another man chipped in:
"Let him be, Carver, anyone would think you're afraid to sail to Larn."
"1 ain't afraid," said Carver defensively. "I've sailed to worse places than
Larn in my day, I can tell you."
"Well, if you don't get on securing those ropes, we won't be sailing
anywhere." Carver flashed the man a resentful look and moved on about his
business. The man then turned to Tawl. "Good day, to you, friend.
My name's Fyler. Don't worry none about Carver. He's got a harsh tongue, but
nothing more."
"I wasn't worried in the least, Fyler. I was about to tell him I
did fancy a bit of cake." Tawl grinned at the seaman, who promptly slapped him
hard on the back.
"You're gonna do just fine aboard
The Fishy Few, make no mistake about it. There are two things a sailor needs
around here. First, he needs a sense of humor, and second, he needs to know
how to swim."
Fyler winked merrily at Tawl. "How are you at cooking?"
"I'm not too bad." Tawl wondered about the question. "Good. We had to lose our
cook to make way for you. You can do the honors. Course the good thing about
being cook is that you get to sleep in the galley. Have it all to yourself,
you can." Fyler smiled broadly, showing gaps among his large, yellow teeth.
Tawl got the distinct feeling he had been successfully snared. "Why don't I
show you to the galley. The men haven't eaten all day, and there's nothing
like setting sail for increasing a man's appetite."
Fyler led Tawl belowdeck, down a narrow corridor and into a tiny room. "This
is it, friend," he said.
"You'll find the supplies under the table and in the larder. I'm off. Can't
sail a ship without its navigator."
Fyler left Tawl to the tiny cramped room. It didn't look like any kitchen he
had been in. There was just a long, wooden table banded around the edges to
keep the various pots and pans in their place and a curious-looking brick
stove.
Tawl had no idea how to light the stove and could find no wood to fuel it. The
crewmen, he decided, would have to eat a cold breakfast. He looked under the
table and found sacks of vegetables in various stages of sprouting: old
turnips, carrots and parsnips. Tawl could think of no worse things to be eaten
raw. He smiled mischievously. He'd show the sailors of
The Fishy Few a good breakfast!
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Tavalisk was soaking his plump, short-toed feet in a bowl of water. His hands
were occupied with cracking open the shell of a huge, live lobster. With a
dainty silver hammer he pounded viciously on the shell, eager to get at the
tender, translucent meat. He was most annoyed when a knock came at his door.
"Enter," cried the archbishop, venting his anger on the lobster by bashing its
small legs off. His aide entered. "Yes, Gamil, what is it?" he demanded
testily. The lobster apparently still had some life in it, as it snapped at
Tavalisk's fingers with its huge claws. Tavalisk countered this indignity by
smashing the lobster's head with all the might in his chubby body, sending
flesh and shell flying.
"I thought you might wish to know what has become of the knight, Your
Eminence."
"Say your piece, Gamil." Tavalisk noted with pleasure that his last blow had
taken the fight out of the lobster: all it could do now was flail its one
remaining leg.
"Well, Your Eminence, it appears that our knight has had an early start this
morning."
"Yes, yes. Get to the point, Gamil." Tavalisk was now looking around for the
missing lobster legs; he wasn't about to have their succulent meat wasted.
"Well, Your Eminence, our knight has managed to commission a boat."
"A boat! What sort of boat?" Tavalisk decided that one last bash would split
the shell open nicely and proceeded to hammer at the lobster once more., "A
small sailboat, two masts. Name of
The Fishy Few."
"The Fishy Few!"
Tavalisk now put down his hammer and with skilled hands prized open the
lobster's shell, revealing the grayish, opalescent flesh.
"Yes, Your Eminence. I looked into it. Captain's name is Quain. Ship usually
cargoes fish from Marls."
"Marls. How interesting, that's where my little friend here is from." Tavalisk
motioned toward the ruined lobster, which was beginning to leak a greenish
fluid onto the platter.
"Well, I'm not sure that the boat's heading to Marls this time, Your
Eminence."
"You mean it's set sail? With the knight aboard?" Tavalisk was now cutting
himself a sizable chunk of lobster flesh, careful to avoid its unpleasant
discharges.
"Yes, Your Eminence. It set sail just after first light."
"Which way was it headed?" The lobster flesh was warm and salty. Tavalisk
loved nothing better than freshly killed lobster. This one, however, was still
alive: its leg continued to move slightly. The archbishop smiled and took up
his hammer once more. It was most distracting to see one's meal hanging on
grimly for its life.
"Well, Your Eminence, it's hard to tell which way it sailed, but I asked
around, and the harbor workers said it was sailing to Larn."
"My, my, how interesting. Our knight has been most enterprising. How do you
think he could afford to pay for such a charter?" Tavalisk saw with
satisfaction that his last blow had finished the pathetic creature off. He
could now settle down and enjoy its flesh.
"A captain would demand a high price to sail to Larn, Your Eminence."
"I'm sure you're right, Gamil." The archbishop now expertly gutted the
lobster.
"I have a suspicion, Your Eminence, that the Old Man might have something to
do with it."
"I think that would be a fair assumption, Gamil. But why would the Old Man
want to help our knight?"
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