High Seas and Short People [Private]

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The cleric waved back and smiled, watching her go down the stairs to the galley, which was below-decks. "She certainly is a chipper one," he said, leaning against the railing. Carrn, who was only a few yards away, scoffed and said "Chucker, is more like." Peteson laughed said "Ah, good dwarf, I think you are going to be surprised at how much this ship will come to rely on little Bertie." Torid then walked back into the festivities, bobbing a little at the echoing, jaunty music.

Carrn narrowed his eyes at the youth, momentarily suspicious of his claims. Who was that boy? He'd have to ask Doruk why he'd hired him...

Meanwhile, Shushanuu led the woman below, and through a corridor lined with doors. They passed her own door on the way, before entering a large, open space. Shadowy light flickered down through the lattice-covered hatches set into the ceiling, which allowed them to lower supplies down here. Large stacks of barrels and a few trunks were pressed into one corner, lashed to the wall with numerous hooks, ropes, and knots, but several tables were nailed to the floor along the opposite wall, and a small area off to the side had a metal stove that ejected its smoke off the side of the boat. Shushanuu went quickly over there and opened up a cupboard and started pulling out utensils and tools.

"Sit somewhere, I'll bring you something. Anything you can't eat, gnome?"
 
Bertie hadn't seen much beyond her doorway when she'd stumbled down earlier for her nap, and so once they passed her door her eyes opened wide as she gawked. Her eyes took in everything, the unlit lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the small number of doors that finished the corridor, and finally the large room at the end of the hall. Her steps fluctuated between long and slow, short and quick as she fell behind and caught up with the tall creature leading the way. Much like the tide, she thought, proud that she's made such a seaworthy connection. What a wonderful kitchen this room had! And the pantry! She hadn't supposed the ship to be this big. It was marvelous, simply marvelous.

Stopping to poke at a bolted table with her toe, Bertie looked up as the Darfellan spoke and rushed over to a nearer table to the kitchen area. "Just rocks, thank you sir," Bertie beamed. "They chip my teeth most dreadfully." She hopped up onto a stool and swung her feet back and forth, her hands folded in her lap as she waited for her supper. "Oh, I don't need much food," she added as an afterthought. "I was teasing about the five courses earlier. I don't think I could manage more than two, and that by knife point."
 
"Don't try the coral then," he said sourly, rummaging about. His sourness, however, didn't seem to be aimed at her, rather at some distant memory. A memory of a delightfully colored piece of coral that a young Shushanuu had tried to eat. It was a good thing that Darfellan could regrow any lost teeth, but it had been difficult tearing into his seal-jerky for several weeks.

After a few moments, he pulled food from the cabinets and began preparing. He seemed quite skilled with his knife as he sliced off slices of hard bread, chopped up a potato, and turned a piece of hard jerky into narrow strips. All but the bread went into a skillet, along with a small scoop of something, probably lard, and he tapped a button on the bottom of the "stove." However, nothing happened, and Shushanuu's face curled into a grimace. He promptly kicked open a panel underneath the stove and pulled something out. It was about the size of a cat...but it was a beetle!

The creature wagged its legs and Shushanuu shook it a few times, and the tiny creature clicked its mouth-parts in annoyance. However, it seemed to respond to the shaking, and began to glow. Shushanuu then dropped it back into the cubby and closed the panel with his knee. Soon, the stove began to glow with heat, and the fat was crackling merrily in the metal pan.

Afterwards, Shushanuu grew tired of the silence, and said "So why you charter this ship, gnome?"
 
"I will remember that," Bertie replied most earnestly to his warning about the coral. She dropped into silence then, twiddling her thumbs and watching the Darfellan crashing and banging in the kitchen. Especially when the beetle came out. She was most fascinated with that and sat up a little straighter to see better. Then he broke the silence and Bertie settled back onto her seat to get into story-telling mode. Story-telling mode didn't always guarantee a story, but it did promise a continuous flood of words.

"My editor thought it would be good publicity to circumnavigate the world, plus it would give me a fresh perspective on things. Of course, I originally brought it up to her as a joke. It wasn't too much of a jest, though, as I've always secretly wanted to sail on the seas. That's why so many of my books take place on the fierce waves. But, as a gnome I have a natural aversion to water and I in particular am quite terrified of the thought of drowning. But that has very little to do with chartering a ship.

"My editor picked out the ship and everything, my job was to just show up, and to be honest I barely did that. But! I am most eager to do this now. I can't wait to see what's out there, I'm sure it will be more exotic than I can fathom. How long do you suppose this trip will take? Two weeks? Three?"
 
The darfellan did listen, though he also focused on his cooking. He was not some slacker when it came to food, of that you could be certain, and it showed in the way he tossed everything and caught it in the skillet, the way he painstakingly seasoned the dish a little at a time, and stared at the sizzling food as it cooked. However when she mentioned that she expected the trip to last a few weeks, he looked up, blinking for a moment. She couldn't be serious. But she seemed quite serious, and a touch of mirth reached the stoic warrior's eyes.

"A few weeks, gnome?" He pulled the pan off the heat and poured everything onto the slices of bread, which were sitting on a smooth, wooden plate. "Nay, we'll be out a sea a week before we put in to restock, then another three to reach Diruvia. It'll take well over a year before we complete this trip." He placed the skillet, now empty, back on the stove, and carried the food over to her. It was a pretty thing of cooked meat and spices, with a few chopped vegetables, all slathered over the hard bread, which was being softened by the dripping juices and the heat. "Enjoy, book-master. This is what you'll have for the next sixteen, seventeen months."

He then turned back to the stove, tapping the button again. The alchemical light set inside the metal frame went off, and the three beetles sitting inside calmed down, their boiling shells no longer heating the contraption. Shushanuu then turned to the sink and dropped the pan into the water, then shut the lid tight so the water wouldn't slosh everywhere. He'd come back to wash the dishes later.
 
"Seventeen... months?" Bertie barely managed to squeak. She gulped and peered down at her supper, her appetite escaping her again. Seventeen months of sitting two decks above water with knots in her tummy? Surely the darfellan must be teasing her! He must! It was impossible that the world was that big! But the longer she stared at him, the more she realized that this fellow was not prone to mischief-making.

Bertie reluctantly picked up one of the slices of toast with her fingers and sat looking at it, frozen in thought. Seventeen months? How would she ever survive?
 
Shushanuu could tell that she was stricken at the thought, and was both annoyed and guilty. Why would someone charter a boat to take them around the world, without getting an idea for how long that was going to take? That was just foolish! Still, she seemed like a nice girl, so he said "We'll be stopping in port every two or three weeks, though, so you won't be tossed about on the waves non-stop." He straightened up then and turned to start organizing the spice rack again, and said "So eat up, relax, and go stick close to that cleric boy."

(uuugh so small I'm sorry!!)
 
"That is most reassuring," she mumbled into her supper. At the darfellan's command, Bertie nibbled the concoction on the bread and her eyes widened with delight. "This is quite tasty!" she exclaimed. Then realizing she had yet to thank her host, she bobbed multiple times, almost spilling said concoction onto her plate and gave him a very hearty, "Thank you very much, sir!" before taking another bite. This was much, much better than the dry bread and stale water she had her crew live off of in her last book. Much, much better. Bertie began to slowly convince herself that she might survive this trip after all.

She had to. How else could she make sure her editor was properly punished for failing to inform her of any of the important details like how long this trip would be?

[I had a short post, too! >< We can pick up after supper in the next post and I'll give you a nice long story regarding Bertie's experiences on deck with the singing and story-telling in my next post.]
 
(Okay then, sounds good!)

Sushanuu nodded slightly, turning his head to look at her over one broad, black-fleshed shoulder. Her bouncing thanks made him chuckle a little before he finished up his organizing of the spice-rack. Then he opened up another cupboard and pulled out a handful of small, brown pellets, which he tossed into a slot on the stove. The food pellets would rain down into the compartment where the lazy, dozing fire-beetle's were, and a faint sound of clacking and clicking could be heard as they scrambled about for the food.

Then the darfellan got his cleaning supplies ready and started scrubbing the now-cooled and soaked pan, cleaning it until she was done eating. The talkative type he was not, and the next word he spoke was almost immediately after she took her last bite. "Let me get that, gnome." He strode over and scooped up the plate and utensils, and went about cleaning those next. "If ye want something to drink, we have a water spout there and cups in that cupboard. If you want ale, you'll have to wait until sun-up."
 
Thorberta did not want ale to wash down her supper and so it did not affect her one way or another that this option was unavailable to her. Ale was, in her opinion, bland, weak, too bubbly, tasted too much like urine, looked too much like it too, and it made her extremely woozy after only a sip. Of course, the gnome had never tasted it before in her life, let alone actually seen the liquid outside of a picture. She merely gleaned this opinion from books, food magazines, and the occasional office gossip. Standing up on tiptoe, she shuffled through the cupboard gestured to for a clean looking mug and poured herself some water to wash down her meal. As the last of the liquid slipped down her throat, Bertie smacked her lips in the gnomish fashion of complimenting a cook and trotted out of the galley to stop by her room for her booklet of blank paper and pencil before climbing back on deck where the real entertainment was.

And what entertainment! Her head barely emerged from below deck when her ears, nose, and eyes were assaulted with rowdy, raucous laughter, singing, and shouts. She blinked once, then twice, wondering if she should intrude upon such a show, but her curiosity got the better of her as it always did and she quickly hopped up the remainder of the stairs. Her curiosity always got the better of her. For how else would she even be on this ship in the first place?

Bertie tested the planks beneath her feet, waiting for the gentle rocking to threaten her nicely digesting supper. But it didn't. Though a bit uncomfortable, she found she could tolerate the motion with ease. She giggled with glee, clapping her hands, and just about burst with thankfulness for the kind man's spell. Now, onto the stories. Scurrying across the deck to the strange fire contraption most everyone gathered around, she slipped into the dancing shadows and flipped out her notepad to begin madly scribbling.

The half-giantess out-drank twelve male halflings in a drinking contest once. The only reason she couldn't out-drink number thirteen was because a burp lodged in her throat half-way through chugging the seventh mug, most likely by something devious the little folk had stirred into it, and she ended up passing out from lack of oxygen.

A cocky little man with a hooked nose and large, hairy feet took offense at that, boasting the males of his mother's people would never stoop to such shady tactics and besides that, would never be so shamefully bested by a woman. Ever. No matter her size.

The whole company burst into more laughter at that and one of the elves directed the sailors into another chorus of their adventuring song. Applause, cheering, and another stepped forward to share a tale-- this one a little goblin who had a peg leg and glass eyeball that lolled about in his head every time he turned it. Bertie stared at him, fascinated, for a few seconds before remembering her manners and dropping her eyes to her notepad again.

She was half-way through recording the tale when she realized what said tale was about. A ghost ship. Haunting the seas. And they'd be sailing into its territory on the morrow. Without even conscious of it, a shriek curdled from her throat as her eyes widened like saucers with terror.

"GHOSTS?!?!?!??!"
 
The story-telling ground to a halt with her outburst. The crew stared at her, blinking for a moment...

Then everyone started laughing. A powerful hand clapped the gnome on the back, probably knocking her forward a bit, and someone started making cheesy ghost noises.

"BooOOooooOOOooOOOOOOooooooOOoo, yes little gnome, ghoooooOOOOoOoOOsts! Deadly apparitions and dangerous specters and vicious wraiths, stalking the waters! Why, some say that there is a ship of ghosts, dangerous and cold, paddling about he ocean on one of those steam engines, forever tended by the souls of those who died aboard it!"

The speaker made a strange noise though, the sound of a tunic getting jerked up against his windpipe, and Toulouse, one of the halflings, was hoisted above everyone's head. The hoister in question was Telea, jerking the hairy-footed sneak into the air.

"Silence your gob, half-wit, I mean halfling. You are the only one telling those tales, and we all know it!" She then tossed the halfling through the air, and he screamed as he sailed towards the edge of the railing. He spun end over end until he abruptly stopped, alighting easily on the rail. Telea had thrown him perfectly for such a maneuver, after all, and everyone laughed once again.

The giantess cursed at her misfortune, and lunged for the halfling. The perfectly balanced creature, bare-foot and small, bounced around on the railing, leaping over her swiping arms and even landing on her head once. Finally tiring, Telea just turned and threw her hands up in the air in defeat. "You win this round, thief, but mark my words I will shove you into the waves one day."

While everyone was laughing and having a good time at the expense of the two old friends teasing and games, Carrn walked up to double check that the heat-sticks weren't getting too hot. As he did so, he said to Thorberta "Don't take anything any of these fools say to heart, gnome. Most of their stories are tall ones." He chuckled slightly and started walking away, but before he went too far, he added "But that ghost one is true."
 
Bertie's heart stopped at the sudden clap on her back. Completely. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't hear above the din of noise rushing into her ears. His words, thankfully, bounced off the roar in her head and found no quarter in her thoughts. She would be having nightmares without that added tale, thank you very much. It was only when the halfling's hand was yanked away that she could begin to feel the tingle in her fingers and toes again and the soft pitter-patter of her heartbeat. She wiggled her toes to make sure they were all right. They responded as they usually did and she was satisfied.

What an unpleasant sensation heart stopping was! She'd be careful in the future about which characters and situations she subjected that phrase to. It was not romantic in any way, and certainly not something that should happen on a continual basis. Bertie picked her notepad and writing utensil back up and giggled hesitantly along with the whooping laughter of the crew as the half-giantess and halfling battled it out on the railing. As much as she disliked the fright he'd given her, she did not wish him to fall overboard and didn't find her breath returned to normal until he was safely back on deck.

The sudden movement behind her had her heart in her throat again, but it quickly found its way back down as she saw it was just the dwarf she'd sort of met earlier that day. The one who had made the exquisite chair in the captain's office. Gratitude flooded her as his first remark set her mind at ease, but that sense of obligation soon vanished at his second.

"True?" Her eyes couldn't grow any bigger, but they did anyway at the dwarf's words. A ghost story true? Heaven forbid! Jumping off her seat, she clutched her notepad to her chest and padded after the dwarf. "Excuse me, sir, but did you just say that ghost story was true?"
 
Her pattering footsteps made the dwarf turn slightly, cocking a bushy eyebrow. Her question was an expected one, though, and he responded.

"Aye. The halfling is a twit and the giantess ain't much better, but this ship been through more than its fair share o' terrible storms, if'n ye take my meaning." He leaned back against the railing of the ship, looking up into the mass of shifting, fluttering, groaning ropes and lumber that made up the rigging, and said "We found the ship while out investigatin' some disappearing merchant ships. It was slowly sailing down the coast, and we decided to board." He turned his attention back to her, eyes going dark for a moment.

"The ghosts weren't the problem. They were just sad, really, trapped in this world with no hope of release. It was the ghouls we had to worry about. And the sea wraith. And that cursed figure-head what attacked us soon as we touched down on the deck." He smiled slightly, and said "Don't let ghost stories scare ya, lass. There are plenty of actual dangers out here to worry about."
 
"You're teasing me, you have to be teasing me!" the little gnome cried, dropping her notepad in her haste to cover her ears. "There's no such thing as a ghost! It's been scientifically proven! You're just teasing me. Ghosts are figments of imaginations!"

By now she was reduced to nothing more than tremblings and whimpering, seeming to melt into a little puddle of self-pity.

"Oh, why did my editor ever convince me this was a good idea! Why did I ever bring up this horrible trip in the first place? I knew trusting myself to water was a bad idea, a very, very bad idea. Gnomes don't like water, we never have, why did I feel the need to break the mold? I should have known... should have known... and now there's ghosts or worse out there! Oh dear me, oh dear, dear, dear me!"

Thorberta had no idea why she was baring her soul before this seaman rather than any of the other equally mysterious and somewhat thoughtful crew members, except that this dwarf struck her as one who might be a main character in this story. Bertie always had a noise for sniffing out a main character in a real life story, apart from her own story of course. She still couldn't decide betwixt herself, her editor, or Sir Hildifons Broadbelt-- a brave, adventuring half-gnome, half-halfling knight who had whipped up over twenty books from her head. But right now, she knew her main character in her life was more likely to be a carrot than Sir Hildifons.

And that seemed strangely satisfying even as it was embarrassing.
 
Carrn didn't know either. To him, she was a passenger on his ship, a drag on resources, and a potential hole in their defenses. She seemed afraid of the water, which was both funny and outrageous. He didn't know whether to laugh at her or lock her in her room so she wouldn't bother anyone on board.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it. She seemed like a good sort, honest and grinning as much as she had been before she'd gotten startled. And he'd met a few like her that had grown into some of his best (and only) friends. Sheng had been a bit of a posh fool, looking down his snout at the rest of the crew, but now he was a respected leader and warrior. Toulouse had been a foppish layabout, like most halflings were, but was now one of the hardest workers and bravest fighters Carrn had ever known. Telea had been terrified and shy, who rarely did more than hold heavy things for the crew, until they'd helped her learn to control her immense strength. Now she was a loud, vibrant, beautiful creature relishing life and everything it has to offer.

So he couldn't bring himself to dislike this new "problem crew-mate." He just stared, watching her little tantrum, then spoke in a quiet voice. It wasn't exactly soothing since Carrn didn't really have a soothing voice, but it was quieter and a bit gentler.

"Hey, if ghosts don't exist, ye have nothing to worry about. And if they do exist and you believe me, who has actually seen them, you should believe that they are quiet, sad creatures that ain't never done no one no harm." He looked back over at the crew. Telea was chucking while she lifted four of the biggest crewmen off the ground. Much laughing and pointing occurred, and Carrn's scowl lessened a bit. "And besides, ye got a good crew here that won't let no harm come to anyone here, not even a pup like yerself."
 
Bertie blinked, soaking in the soft-spoken, though still gruff, words of the dwarf as her quickened breaths stabilized and her blubbering began to cease. That's right, she realized. If they don't exist, they don't exist and no amount of fear or belief in them could make them exist. Of course, if they were actually real like the dwarf suggested they were... but then he said he knew they weren't a threat, didn't he? She really did have nothing to concern herself over other than getting material and ideas for her books. The gnome's eyes narrowed in understanding and she nodded slowly.

"Sir Hildifons would be itching to see a ghost. He'd paddle his little--" She stopped short, giggled, and glanced shyly at the dwarf. "Canoes can't survive for very long out on the ocean, can they?"
 
She seemed to settle after his words, and he figured his work was done. He picked up the end of a loose rope and started coiling it around his massive arm. Then she spoke again, and he turned to look at her curiously. A canoe? He thought she was joking, until he saw her face. Then he knew she was kidding, and he grinned.

"Canoe would capsize right away. This Hildifons fellow'd find himself upside down at the slightest wave." He chuckled and thought about it a little, then said "Unless he had a Waka ama, from the Lishnuan Islands. Those are canoes you could take out into a storm."
 
Apparently, canoes really weren't seaworthy. How was she to know that for certain when none of her research had specifically said anything about taking them out on the waves? The material only ever talked about rivers or lakes. Of course, she could have just assumed that meant they always stayed on smaller bodies of water, but it wasn't in her job description to assume. She was a writer! She pushed boundaries! But how could Sir Hildifons redeem himself for having more than a dozen adventures paddling around the sea in a canoe?

The gnome didn't need to fret any further, for the dwarf was proving himself particularly useful and knowledgeable. "A Waka ama..." Bertie muttered to herself, padding her tunic pockets for her notepad but coming up empty. Where had her... ah, yes. She'd dropped it. Squatting down onto her haunches, she scooped up the fallen pad and clicked her pen to scribble across a blank page. "Waka ama. And the Lishnuan Islands you said? How do you spell that?" She turned her large, inquisitive eyes upon the dwarf.
 
She seemed quite excited when he mentioned the Waka ama. Why, he had no idea. But still, it was entertaining, and she wasn't boring to talk to, that was sure. He finished looping the rope then dropped it back to the deck and tugged on the rope in its cleat, making sure it was secure, before moving on to the next one, figuring she would follow him. As he did so, he spoke.

"Aya, and damned if I know. Ye want spelling, ye go to Durok or Sheng, they'll tell ye. I ain't got time for much readin' when there's so much to do on this ship. Always a project, always somethin' broken." He thought for a moment, pausing in his coiling of the next rope. His next words were directed at himself more than her, and he muttered "Oh, that's right."

He then turned his attention to the rest of the crew, and shouted "Yo, Toulouse! Ye got that book ye showed me? The one on watercraft from all over?"

The rapid, light response came back almost immediately. "Aye dwarf. Why you need it? Got a table with a leg too short?"

The dwarf grunted, the closest he got to a real laugh, and remarked "Ye'd know all about that, wouldn't ye light-foot?"

The revelers laughed at the crack, and Toulouse raised his hands, as if in defeat. Carrn continued speaking then.

"Give it to our guest here. I think she'd find it interesting." He jerked a thumb at Bertie as he made his request, and Toulouse's dismissive wave was all he needed. He turned back to Bertie, and said "He'll get ye the book. Had some pretty pictures in it."
 
The dwarf didn't know his letters? Bertie found that impossible to believe, for who didn't go to school to sit under the masters as a youngster? Her jaw eventually closed itself before Carrn turned back to her and she nodded her head in thanks as she wrote the name to the best of her ability. It would be close enough to look it up and research it later. Months and months later, when she arrived home again. If she arrived home again. Thorberta shoved that depressing thought far from her mind. If she dwelt on that at all, she would go mad before the week was over, she just knew it! And as a writer, she was already mad enough, thank you very much.

Stuffing her notepad and pen into her coat pocket, she bestowed a warm smile upon the dwarf and thanked him profusely for his troubles, but it was really unnecessary, though she would indeed be interested in learning about ships as she'd never sailed on one before but had written so many nautical romance tales.... Her continuous flow of words ended abruptly there followed by two red dots on her ruddy cheeks. Talking romance with a male so casually, what was she thinking!

"At any rate, I am most obliged, sir," she finished weakly.
 
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