There he was alright, in all of his 2 metres tall glory. Even more imposing than before, now that Joe could look over him properly.

 

It seemed like the nature just couldn’t decide between snake, dragon or a cat, when it was creating this creature. It was a very odd mix of all of them, with a big dragon-like tail thrown in for a good measure. The Quartermaster (Joe was very much sure it was him) was wearing not only a metal armor for protection - Joe noticed a bits of chain mail sticking out from behind it, as well as additional protection on elbows and knees. Not to say anything about a sword on a belt, four pistols on a chest and what looked like a rifle on a back. This cat was going to war, and it was going to be a very brutal one.

 

Nobody said anything for a minute. Xander - Joe managed to remember his name - was simply standing there. His expression was completely calm. He let Joe inspect him for a couple more minutes, before breaking a silence.

 

“Welcome to the Threshold. I see you’re acquainted with an effect it has on fresh minds. Next time, don’t let it ensnare you.”

 

“Would there be a next time?” Whoops. He didn’t mean to say it out loud.

 

Xander half-closed his eyes.

 

“Well, that depends. Would you prefer to have a bed, relatively fresh food and water and some gold in your pockets, or a one way trip off the board of the ship?”

 

“That’s not really a choice, is it?”

 

“Why, pretty fair choice to me. We are not a charity. Help requires payment, and work on this ship is as good as any.”

 

Ah. So that’s what it was.

 

“You mean helping me with an injury that you caused? Doesn’t sound like a fair trade.”

 

The expression on quartermaster’s face changed. Joe was certain that it could mean anything, but it sure as hell wasn’t a good sign.

 

Never late to learn flying. I guess, it’s time to check if dad was right…

 

“He has a point, you know. Blood was gushing from him like a waterfall. And yet, here he is, still standing tall. Why don’t you cut a man some slack, Zan?”

 

A talking cat was one thing. A talking tree was quite another.

 

A talking white tree with a tricorne, even.

 

Quite the sight.

 

Joe was barely holding himself from just laughing out loud. Two long branches, sticking out from underneath the hat like antlers, only added to this bizarre image of the white walking tree, dressed in the same uniform as Joe himself was, with three eye-shaped holes on each side of elongated, cone-shaped head. He seemed to have no mouth at the place one would usually be, but Joe definitely heard a voice that was coming from him - deep and imposing, but also quite casual.

 

Xander shrugged.

 

“The call is yours. I have no intention on letting him stay here, anyway.”

 

“So, you’d toss a man aboard just because he is unwilling to pay for something he didn’t buy? You are a bad salesman then, mate. No wonder you can’t get a single girl in a town.”

 

“I can’t get a single girl because they keep running from me, Captain. That’s none of my fault!”

 

He seemed a bit… embarrassed? Uncomfortable? Joe couldn’t help, but feel a bit sorry for a man - sorry, a cat.

 

“I will put up with him until we reach a town. That’s all I can say.”

 

“Why are you so hostile?”

 

Three heads turned to Joseph.

 

“I didn’t do anything, no? Besides, you did attack me and took everything I had on me. So, before you decide my fate, can I at least get my things back?”

 

Xander looked at the Captain.

 

Captain looked at Pat.

 

Pat was looking at Joe.

 

Joe kept looking at Xander.

 

Eventually, everyone turned their attention at the quartermaster. He sighed, scratching his ears.

 

“You… if Captain allows for it, I’ll return them later.”

 

The tree creature shook its head and spread its branchy arms.

 

“Don’t you have your own head on the shoulders? I say, give the man some time. It might prove to be interesting - you know it.”

 

Xander visibly rolled his eyes, but seemed content with resigning himself to follow whatever Captain was saying.

 

“Fine, then… What your name was, again?”

 

“Joseph.”

 

“No family name? Just Joseph?”

 

“Snowfield.” The situation was reminding him more and more about a job interview.

 

“Quite a name… sounds a lot like a fake one.”

 

Joe shrugged, casually meeting Xander’s intrusive gaze with his own.

 

“That’s the only one I have. A question for parents, not me.”

 

On a side, he noticed Captain, who was probably studying him while he and cat were throwing words at each other. Not like he could tell what trees were feeling ever in his life, so it wasn’t much of a bother.

 

Xander and Captain then exchanged looks.

 

“What are your best skills? Have you ever sailed into Threshold?”

 

“Well, my inner voices say that I can shoot well. I haven’t touched a gun in a year, so I’d have no idea.”

 

Quartermaster raised his eyebrows in confusion.

 

“You didn’t know you could handle a gun?”

 

“No - I told you, I haven’t touched a firearm for quite some time.”

 

“Want to test it?”

 

A wooden handle appeared in front of Joe’s vision. The Captain was holding out a pistol, waiting for Joe to take it.

 

The recipient was quite unsure of this course of action, however.

 

“I… I’m not sure it’s a good idea…”

 

“You are giving him a gun?!” Oh. Xander was furious. “You just casually giving him a weapon?! What, in Kon’jar’s name, are you thinking?!!”

 

The Captain only shrugged.

 

“It’s three of us here, against a single man. Besides, he doesn’t give me an impression of a fighter. What’s the worst that could happen - right, Joe?”

 

Joe repeated the same gesture. Quartermaster tiredly waved his hand.

 

“Whatever, Alch… I’m going to the Hold. Sun’s coming soon.”

 

Quartermaster walked past their group, silently grumbling to himself. Joe only caught a couple of words, like, “…awake all night for this”, “…weird…”, “…broke…”, before Xander disappeared into the depths of the ship.

 

The Captain turned his head to Pat and Joe.

 

“Don’t mind him, Joe. He is a bit uptight and an enemy of all that is fun, but he’ll come around… eventually. Name’s Alchfrid, by the way. As you might’ve guessed, I am, in fact, the one and only Captain of this ship. Welcome aboard.”

 

The words were nice. The tree-man seemed nice. Yet there was something in his tone, something Joe couldn’t quite pick up. But at the very least, he could be polite right back.

 

“Thank you, Captain.”

 

“Oh, you are already willing to call me your Captain? I’m quite honored.” This amount of sarcasm was enough to drown a man, but Alchfrid said it in a lighthearted tone, easing the atmosphere.

 

“Anyway, what were we doing? Right, the pistol. Here, take it.”

 

The only wooden part was the handle. The gun was made out of steel. It was quite heavy, too. But what surprised Joe the most was the drum magazine - it was on top and slightly to the left of the receiver. The barrel was a weird cross between a modern one and a that of a revolver - long, similar form, but not as elegant - as if someone bent a rail two times along its length and slapped it on top of to cover internal parts.

 

It also had a revolver-like hammer. And no safety. Of course.

 

Joe weighted it in one hand. He could probably hold it steadily enough to shoot, but he didn’t know how strong a recoil would be. Holding it with two hands would be a safer option.

 

“So, where do I shoot?”

 

“Hm…” Captain thought for a second, then pulled out a a flask. He put it sideways on a railing. “That’ll do.”

 

“What about the flask?”

 

“Eh, we have enough.” Alchfrid dismissively waved with his hand-branch. “But since we have only one of those now, I want you to turn around and then shoot it. Without preparation.”

 

That would be quite a shot, if Joe could pull it off. He was standing as far as he could, too - almost 30 metres away. The flask was just a point on a horizon, barely visible.

 

He calmed down, turned around and held a gun with two hands close to his shoulder, barrel up.

 

Three, two, one!…

 

He turned around, aimed and pressed the trigger.

 

The recoil was strong. Strong, but manageable.

 

The flask spun to the left and fell off the board.

 

“Hey, I got it!”

 

“Not bad.” Captain’s tone had hints of approval. “You missed a center, but grazed a side, enough for it to fall. Some training, and you’ll be hitting those shots like no tomorrow.”

 

As he thought, we was rusty. By his own standards, anyway. He returned a pistol to Alchfrid.

 

“So… now what do we do?”

 

Captain turned around to the face of the ship. There was a bright, red star. It was much bigger than the rest, though not quite measuring up to the size of the night moon in the old world.

 

“Sun’s coming. No point in going to sleep now, I recon. Tell you what, let’s go check up on our Armsmaster. He was pouring himself a tank of 'Grutch' earlier. He should be alive, but, you know.”

 

“Hold on, that’s the Sun?!”

 

“What else would that be, a daemon’s acne? …You know, that might be not far from truth. Maybe you’ve made a revelation just now.”

 

Joe couldn’t tell if he was joking. All he could do was follow the Captain with a confused look on his face.

 

*****

 

“Ralf! Are you there, you drunkard?!”

 

That certainly was one interesting way to greet someone, by nonchalantly shoving a 3 metres tall steel(!) door aside with their shoulder and barging into the room.

 

Amidst the stacks of swords and sabres on the walls, piles of rifles (Joe noticed that most of them were bolt-action ones) and blunderbusses on the shelves, pistols and various crates of ammo at the corners, the very familiar giant man was sitting on a chair in front of a huge table, with various tools on it. The disassembled rifle was lying on top of the table, and Ralf was twirling a trigger in his hand, when three people came in.

 

Seeing every weapon and bullet neatly organized was not something Joseph was expecting from the man. Then again, their first meeting was quite brief and they definitely got off on the wrong foot there.

 

Ralf looked up from a table. His focused expression relaxed into a huge smile.

 

“Cap, you break the door again, you fix it. I ain’t touching those hinges again, they were made by a damn maniac!”

 

“Wasn’t my fault you broke the lock. Keep your keys on you next time, unless you want to go back to the Hold again.”

 

Ralf only grinned and put his hands on his nape.

 

“Nah, Alchie - the smell of powder and steel suits me way more than counting every single one of those accursed coins. What do you need?”

 

Captain stepped aside, allowing Joe and Ralf face each other directly. Ralf’s expression was only showing a vague interest.

 

“You brought him here? What for?”

 

“I want you to watch after him.”

 

“Huh.” Armsmaster stood up from his chair. His face was completely unreadable. “Are you hiring me as a nanny, Cap? Be warned, I will be charging upfront twice as much from this point on.”

 

“Different kind of watching, Ralf. We already talked about it.”

 

The look of realisation briefly appeared on big man’s face.

 

“Oh, I see now. I’m still gonna charge you more. I never agreed to this.”

 

“He would also need some shooting practice.”

 

“Oh, for depth daemons’ sake! Barging in, interrupting my work, demanding me to babysit a guy and teach him?! What on earth have you been doing, staffing a pipe with 'purple'?!”

 

“Ralf.”

 

Alchfrid’s voice was sharp and calm, as a drawn rapier. Ralf immediately shut himself up, but continued to glare at them, waiting for follow-up.

 

“I am asking you because no one else would agree - and I’m asking you as both comrade and employer. If you want double payment, you got it.”

 

The man’s shoulders sloped down. Ralf could only shake his head in response. He sat back down onto his chair, deeply in thought.

 

“Fine, you bastard. This is a last time I agree to something stupid like this. It better be worth my while. You know, what I think? Nothing useful will come out of it, Cap. You are getting distracted.”

 

Alchfrid paused for a moment in a door frame.

 

“Maybe I am. Maybe...”

 

He turned around a corner and left.