Sareneth 26

For the next few hours I immersed myself in paper and hardware, earning the role of quartermaster. I prowled through the dimly lit greyscale room, transforming the ransacked mess into a proper work space. After the battle, every officer and most of the crew had poked their head in here to see what they might find. We had a haphazard mishmash of building materials, spare parts, food and water, weapons, tools, and whatever personal effects and nicknacks the Wormwood crew hadn’t chosen to spirit away for themselves.

I read through the ship’s logs, penned by a dead man, to assess the demands of normal operation. It was all very tidy; the Rahadoumi had run a very literal tight ship, but it wasn’t in a format I was familiar enough with to use as a quick reference. I used more paper than I care to admit pulling together a pseudo-spreadsheet, calculating the expected rate of attrition. I barely knew what oakum was, but when I was finished I knew that we’d need more in 17 days if we used it at the same average rate the old crew did.

Oakum is a caulking material made of tar and fiber, usually hemp, that is used to seal small gaps. It is vital to many basic repairs to the hull, especially when in the field. 

Yeah we might need more of that. I’m not an expert but having materials to patch leaks seems like it would be important on a boat. 

Of course, officially we were intending to sell the ship shortly before that would be a problem. Even so, it seemed like the ship had been planning to resupply at its destination and make a few minor repairs; we had plucked it out of the race near the finish line, so it was dangerously low on several materials. I genuinely had no idea if Plugg would listen, but I drew up a shopping list for him.

We were headed for a place called Rickety’s Squibs, which I gathered to be a kind of chop shop for ships, specialized in adjusting a ship’s appearance to make it harder to track acts of piracy. With any luck, they’d have extra materials that we could buy to restore our stores to safer levels.

Wait. Doesn’t chop shop imply taking it apart? Is there a term for illegal disguise mechanic shops I don’t know? Squibbers? Squib shop? Squibby techs?

Setting aside proper nomenclature, The Man’s Promise had apparently been paying protection money to a big shot pirate lord with the modest title of “The Master of Gales,” who would be contractually obligated to take Harrigan’s actions as an act of aggression if they could be proven.

Given that the Master of Gales owns an island, has his own fleet, and is enough of a Chad to make everyone call him an ostentatious nickname with a perfectly straight face, he’s probably not someone you want to piss off with a pair of midsize ships and a total crew of around 80 people. Especially when half of that crew are kidnapped people you should expect to fuck off at the earliest opportunity. 

••••••••••

Around midday, Caulky stopped by to invite me to the captain’s cabin for dinner. I wasn’t particularly thrilled at the opportunity to eat with Plugg and Scourge, but actively turning them down would be rude. I was trying to ingratiate myself with Caulky and hide my hatred of the other two, so I decided to go.

Dame Dierdre proved to be a big help; I knew how to dress for a job interview, but unfortunately the clothes I found were a bit short on suit jackets and ties. I had been wearing the same outfit every day for a few weeks, and it was frankly a bit crusty. Dierdre helped me pick out a clean, tan robe from the stolen rahadoumi clothing and properly accessorize.

“I think it may be a woman’s cut,” she noted pensively, glancing down the hallway for the thousandth time, “then again, if you pull the sash tightly enough that shouldn’t be a concern. Pull the collar wider; you aren’t particularly muscular but you do have a pleasantly smooth chest.”

“You’re sure the best way for me to wear this is to show off my narrow waist and include cleavage?” I asked, “I could just wear a different robe.”

“No. You couldn’t.” She said, dismissing my concerns, “Your shoulders are far too narrow. Even a slender human man’s clothes would likely swallow you up.”

“Why are you helping anyway?” I asked, “this isn’t what we agreed upon for you to do.”

“I am no automaton, good sir. You would do well to remember that when dealing with those of lesser character. Of course I can return to the deck if you wish; you may compel it with but a thought.” She informed me in a light tone, “Of course, at the moment I do not believe you are concerned with the movements of the officers on deck. You completed your illicit dealings, so as long as I remain here at the door, I stand ready to inform you of their approach. As for why I am assisting you? I am bound to your plane until sundown per the terms of our agreement. This is a welcome respite from the beating midday sun.”

“I could let you go early if you’d like,” I told her, “it just takes a few seconds of focus. I won’t keep you here longer than you’re willing to stay.”

“Fret not,” she assured me, “I had no prior engagements, and the rocking of the sea is a pleasant sensation. I shall remain until the appointed hour.”

I scrubbed myself clean with water, rum, and a bit of soapstone. Overall, I thought I looked pretty good. I wouldn’t go to a business meeting in a robe, but I clearly looked like I’d put time and effort into it. Unfortunately, a warm greeting did not await me in the captain’s cabin.

“Mister M’Dair. To what do I owe the honor?” Plugg asked, in a tone dripping with sarcasm. “I hope not for dinner; I had only invited a few intimates.”

The collapsible table had room for five or six people, and currently contained only Plugg, Caulky, and Scourge. Despite Scourge’s technical status as a slave, Plugg had chosen him to resume his role as bosun.

“Oh,” Caulky chimed in, “I told him to come. The Captain always-“

“My father always invited the majority of his officers, yes.” Plugg cut her off. “I do not intend to do the same. It is a tremendous waste of limited resources and a strain on the chef. Mister M’Dair has been eating with the crew since he arrived on the Wormwood. It will do him no harm to continue. Speaking of which, what did you think of the men Master Scourge? I’m worried we may have a few weak links.”

He flipped his hand towards me in an obvious shooing gesture, not even sparing a glance at me. I considered a parting jab, but felt like it would be best to let Autopilot handle it.

“Of course, Sir.” I said with exaggerated servility, “you of course know best.” This is an insult, and a pointlessly stupid one at that.

I made eye contact with Caulky for a moment, to be sure she alone got my true message. My new captain was of course male, but I was familiar with his brand of utter hubris. No one with open eyes could miss my disdain, but he would hear only what he expected from an underling. (Bluff 13+20=33. Bluff (innuendo) 16+10=26) 

I was overdressed for dinner with the crew, and Dame Dierdre was keeping an eye on Fipps Chumlett while he oversaw the night shift on deck. She couldn’t think of any way to construe accompanying me to dinner as being in accordance with my orders. I wasn’t too hungry, so I stopped by the kitchen while the chef was serving food to the crew. It was an unfamiliar room, but I was able to rustle up a dried date from his stores to give to my fairy employee. It wasn’t part of our deal, but I had just realized that she’d gone most of a day without eating anything. A dried fruit the size of her head would hopefully tide her over until she was banished back home. I walked up on deck, guessed her location, and handed her the fruit before sauntering away. (Perception 20+3=critical success)

I picked up a bowl of rice and simple curry from the chef, and made sure to thank him. I was the last person in line, so I was getting scraps, but I did have an opportunity to speak with the scared Rahadoumi man.

“Thank you.” I said, looking him in the eye. “I am sorry for what happened to you, for what it’s worth. I’m the quartermaster here, Emrys M’Dair. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll see what I can do.” (You have gained one point of influence with Salyar)

He gave me a silent nod and continued cleaning up his dishes alone.

From the popup I’m making progress towards the title of “least bad officer,” but I did kinda take part in the battle that robbed him of his freedom and killed or enslaved the majority of his coworkers. Some coldness is to be expected. 

Three long collapsible tables were assembled in the crew’s common room for meal time, one of which my group were monopolizing. In addition to the usual suspects, Rowe was cozied up next to Conchobar, chattering and gesticulating wildly.

“Charcoal Longshanks! Hi!” She said, acknowledging my presence with an energetic wave before returning to her story. “So anyway, I was only four so I wasn’t supposed to be out of my cage, but I needed to see it. The Blood Moon was in our port!”

She spoke with manic intensity, clearly expecting us all to know what she was talking about. I recognized the name in broad strokes (Knowledge (Nobility) 11+2=13), but Syl apparently blew my knowledge check out of the water.

“That’s Pirate Lord Sorrinash’s ship, right?” She chimed in, “the werewolf bounty hunter waging a one ship war on Andoran? I hear it’s just about the most expensive ship in the Shackles, with every inch of the thing inscribed with runes and the like. It can teleport, if I remember right.” (Syl Knowledge Nobility 18+8=26)

“Teleport, fly, summon elementals, control the weather… It does everything.” Rowe sighed, “and I got to see it. His pack was in town to kill someone or other, but the important thing was that I got in close enough to see when it teleported away after. It was like it melted into its own shadow. It was SO COOL!”

Rowe’s enthusiasm was infectious, and soon the whole table was talking about ships. Sandara even came over to join us; apparently most of her friends had stayed on the Wormwood.

“It’s obvious that controlling the weather would be the best, like on the Wormwood,” Rosie asserted confidently. “Storms are brutal at sea, and if you can make it rain you’ll never run out of water.”

“Weather magic is hard.” I cautioned her, “If you can get someone that can control the wind and rain that’s great, but getting a magic item to do it independently would be incredibly difficult. If the Wormwood didn’t have someone like Peppery on it, it’s engine would only be useful when they were caught in the doldrums.” (Spellcraft 13+8=21)

“Alright, smartass,” Conchobar challenged, “how about teleportation? That’s got to be great as engines go.”

“Teleportation is great for personal transit but there’s a reason that freight shipping still exists.” I countered, “an item that can teleport a whole ship would probably be mostly for short, infrequent hops. A thousand feet once per day, perhaps. Excellent for avoiding hazards or hasty maneuvering, but not something one would rely upon for hasty transit. The Blood Moon’s teleporter is probably the most expensive thing Sorrinash owns.”

“So what do you intend to get for your ship?” Sandara asked casually, “since the cool options are all so problematic.”

“Oh, I’ve thought long and hard about that actually” I answered gravely. “I know exactly what I’m going to aim for.”

“Spit it out,” Syl groused, “what’s the plan?”

“You see,” I continued after a pause, at the exact same cadence as before, “I intend to outfit my ship with whatever engine I can get cheapest that assists with long term travel. Probably something secondhand, I might need to get it serviced. By the time I’m in a position to be picky I should have some first hand experience to draw upon.”

That earned a round of chuckles.

“By the way, Rowe,” I said as I focused on the goblin girl, “If you plan on sticking with us, I think you should know that we have a kind of alliance here. We all intend to back each other up, and try to make sure we all make it out of this alive and happy. You in?”

“Ehh,” Rowe answered, “maybe. I like you, but I don’t know how much yet. I’ll tell you if I hear something you should know.”

“I’ll take it.” I accepted her soft no with dignity. “We haven’t known each other long.”

Dammit. I’ll need to work on her some more. Hopefully she keeps sitting with us. 

Our conversation drifted along a casual path, rambling from topic to topic as dinner chatter tends to. I held off on sharing what I’d learned about Plugg’s magic until we had more privacy, but I had some important business to attend to that was largely unrelated to Captain Sebastien Plugg.

“Sandara,” I yawned as I stood up, “come to my room with me. I had a few more things I wanted to ask you about.”

I deliberately phrased it as an order. Best case scenario was Sandara going along with my request because she had no real reason not to, and the worst case scenario was her deciding to be a tease again. If that happened, I intended to pay Caulky a visit.

I’m not entirely sure if I’m onboard with Syl’s plan to finger Caulky's loyalty to Harrigan out of her, but cute tomboy. That’s my entire argument as to why I should try to sleep with her anyway, or at least all that I feel I need to justify it. 

“Eh, not tonight.” Sandara declined with a smirk, “I think I’ll try actually sleeping again. Between your magic and being dead I feel like I haven’t done much of that recently.”

Don’t take the bait. 

“Your loss.” I answered, matching her expression. “I will always accept a no. In that case, would you mind helping me with something real quick, Syl?”

I took the alchemist by the arm and led her back to my room. The other tables supplied a few catcalls, leading me to protectively check in on my companion. I didn’t mind the entire ship being aware that Syl and I were banging, but it wasn’t classy. Thankfully, she was more concerned with the cover that somewhat exaggerated relationship provided her with. It seemed extremely unlikely anyone would feel the need to dig deeper into our constant meetings than “they are getting it on.”

“So, I did think of a strategy.” I began after we settled together upon my tiny bed. “You said we might want to kill Scourge, but we didn’t want to cause an incident.”

“Yeah, what about it?” Syl asked, leaning against me casually.

“I definitely need to talk to Sandara about this first,” I cautioned, “but I think I might try to frame Besmara for murder.”

“Are you fucking with me?” Syl asked, stiffening and turning to face me. “Why is that your plan?”

“Shhh,” I hushed her, “don’t get agitated. Thin walls and all that. So, I was thinking that Scourge is dangerous. I don’t think we are going to get off this ship without dealing with him and Plugg.”

“Okay.” She answered warily, “agreed.”

“I can summon extraplanar beings.” I began, “Up to three at a time, I think. More if I summon weaker creatures.”

“Yeah, I saw the fairies.” She reminded me, “not to mention that snake thing from earlier.”

“Nobody really knows how my magic works.” I explained, “if I can summon something that’s Besmara-branded and have it attack in a way Besmara’s minions would attack, I should be able to convince most of the crew I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“So you’re going to try to make it look like Besmara is smiting him?” Syl said with a sigh. “It might work? Maybe? I really doubt you’ll fool Plugg; he already hates you and he knows you can summon.”

I took a deep breath, and steeled myself.

“Well yeah.” I admitted. “If he tries to kill me over it, I can be the victim. No one will blame me for fighting back.”