Arc 1 Chapter 6

Un-Exaggerated 

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It's a few days later and I'm in a much better mood. Well, relatively. My stomach has settled and the diet is finally agreeing with me—thank fuck—but boredom is a serious issue. 

The men brake the monotony by singing sometimes, but I don't know the words to any of their songs, and it's hard learning them in a language I barely speak.

I only really know enough Graboshen to argue the price of cheese and wine. I do know other languages of course, mostly languages spoken by goblin traders, who chat with Perrifites more than the orcs do. I speak the West Goblin tongue Nudraki quite well, then there's the troll language, Prorlä, which I learnt from the migratory fishertrolls who pass through Perrifare.

I have sung a few Picklish songs during the voyage, but goblin songs aren't very fun to sing alone. Though the men do seem to like having a female voice joining them anyways.

 

Gordon—frustratingly—has the finest voice of the sailors and often is left to sing the solo parts of their songs, or he'll lead call-and-answer limericks. I still dislike him of course, a fine voice and finer tusks aren't enough for me to forgive him my kidnapping. 

His tusks really are nice though, best on ship, hands down.

 

No one is singing this afternoon however, the only sounds are the galley-drum and the swish of oars through water. I'm leaning against the portside rail from my rucksack, watching the waves pass. 

I'm bored....

I jump as I hear Gordon's voice from behind me, "You look exhausted, Rudaran"—Rudaran is the rudderman's name. I guess some people are just born to do their job. Gordon's baritone voice continues, "Go take a rest, I'll cover for you. I'm up early for my shift anyway."

No Rudaran! Don't leave me to my husband!

Rudaran-the-rudderman seems glad at least, "Good man! I can barely keep my eyes open. Cap'n will take over in an hour'an'alf. G'night Silver Pixie." It's only noon.

And with that, my only friend aboard passes off the rudder to my unwanted husband and disappears under the hatch to the hold. I'm not sure why Silver Pixie was chosen as my nickname, but I do know who started it.

I do my best impression of Mother's scowl at the man responsible, who's still finding a comfy posture at the rudderman's bench.

"Don't look at me like that—ruins your face." 

The impression of Mother's scowl turns into my own natural one, "That's not a good thing to say to a girl." 

"Ha! Act more ladylike then." He lowers his voice enough that nobody else can hear, "You're being a little cold to your new husband, aren't you? I'm not that bad, am I?" 

I don't know why he doesn't seem to want anybody to know we're married. I have thought about trying to ask someone to help, I might be able to escape once we arrive in Grabosh—Rudaran is a kind man, I feel he'd help me if I asked. 

Of course, there's no real point, it's done already. I'm bound by the Traditons Mystic, and by Lore, I'm stuck with Gordon now—you can't escape a marriage spell easily. Although I did have a question for him while he's near.

"How did you afford me? I know orcs get better pay than goblins, but I can't see how an old oarsman like you got so much coin." A palm'6 is a lot of bronze for a labourer. 

Gordon still whispers, "It's cause I own this ship, and lots of other ships too."

My scowl turns into a disbelieving squint. "Then why are you working an oar?" When a ship's owner travels on their own boat, I'm pretty sure they usually get more luxurious treatment than a rollock and bench.

Gordon gives me a cocky grin, but still speaks quietly, "Because I don't want anyone to know who I am, my competitors don't even know for sure that I exist. Working a bench keeps me anonymous. It'll be dangerous for you too if anyone figures it out, so stay mum yeah?"

"Goatshit." I say, I'm not going along with his dumb trick. I know I'm ignorant about a lot of things, but I won't believe just anything. "Why not just stay in Grabosh if you want to be secretive? Hire the Navigator to do your trade for you." 

Gordon lets out a humour-filled grunt and slaps his leg, "Ha! Sure, that's what other merchants do, but they're idiots, they'll never get the best margins sitting on their asses at home." 

"What's dumb about that?" I ask, I'm not lowering my voice for his prank, so I speak full volume.

He keeps whispering from the rudderman's bench, "Because all their information arrives late, and the navigators never know the full picture. They don't know what the rest of the fleet is doing, and he doesn't know all my intel, it's better if I move through the fleet—disguised as an oarsman—and pass on information as I collect it, and get to wherever I need to be as quick as I can."

I frown, I don't know enough about merchanting to know better. "Why not just tell the navigator all that? All your intel?"

"What? And give away my whole information network? I trust the Navigator, but there are limits. An investor like me is only worth as much as he knows." 

I don't really care about this topic of conversation, and I don't half believe it. "So you're secretly rich anyway."

He grins, showing off the base of his frustratingly handsome tusks, "I'm secretly rich."

"And you decided to take me away from my family by forcing my father and tempting my rotten uncle, why?"

Gordon leans back on his bench, all while keeping the rudder true, he knows how to sail at least.

He speaks at a normal volume this time, there's nobody near enough to hear, "Well, every man has his tastes, let's say I heard about silver-haired she-goblins and my interest was piqued." 

Gross Gross Gross Gross 

"Don't look at me like that, it won't be bad for you, and nothing will happen until you're ready. I know you don't like me, but now that I have you there's no rush."

I really don't want to think about this, but I'm curious what he means, "Was there a rush to begin with?" 

He taps his foot on the stained deck. "I have my own reasons, doesn't matter anymore. Besides," he looks me in the eye, then speaks quietly again, "I don't think you realize your rarity little pixie. Silver hair can only be found in the South of the Crater, and even there, you must be one in five thousand. A lot of people were interested when your father and uncle came to Pickland to announce your coming of age. If it wasn't me it'd just be some other guy."

Yeah but what if I preferred that other guy? Or really, why was my marriage arranged for me to begin with? Couldn't father of just decided a bride-price and let me decide my own groom? I growl at my undesired husband. "You bought my family's debt."

A flash of confusion crosses Gordon's face, "Did I? I'm afraid I let Lumberhaver make most of the arrangements, how much did you owe?"

I keep my fangs bared, "11finger."

Gordon lets out a low whistle, then laughs and slaps his leg again, "Ha! Lumberhaver has always been a bit too eager to please, I hope he bought the debt for cheap at least. How'd poor goblins like you get in so deep?"

I frown and look away. It isn't pleasant to recall the folly of one's ancestor, especially to an outsider. "Grandad used the island's funds to commission a longship be built on Pickland, he wanted to try and become a trader." 

Gordon nods. He pulls a pipe, tobacco pouch and matches from his shorts' pocket, "And he screwed it up? Wasted everyone's money?"

I frown at the orc as he lights his pipe, "He had good intentions, he wanted to bring new income to Perrifare, and he hired most of the island's men." I sigh, I shouldn't really say this, it's wrong to speak ill of the dead, "But none of them knew anything about trading. All their voyages lost money until they ran out of savings. A loanshark group—the Hayswallows—heard about them and offered to give them the funds they needed to keep trying. That didn't work out, and eventually grandad had to sell the boat." I shake my head, I shouldn't speak so much about it, "We've paid most of it back though."

Gordon grunts boredly, all interest gone, "Pretty common story, next time you tell it, say they were shipwrecked by a sea-beast, or tried to follow a map to treasure but found a curse instead. Those are the kind of fibs sailors like to hear about."

I huff, holding back some rude words, "Sorry that my family's misfortune isn't to your liking."

His huge shoulders shrug, and he blows smoke from between magnificent tusks, "That's not my point. The world's full of dull misery, so there's no point bringing it with you on a long voyage. At sea, it's bad manners to tell an un-exaggerated tale."

I decide that that's enough of him, and let the silence grow. I think good tusks and singing might be my husband's only fine traits.

Gordon however doesn't seem satisfied, he reaches over and ruffles my hair from his post, "Don't give me the silent treatment Silver Pixie, I don't mean to offend." 

I try to pull away from his touch, we are not that close. 

He seems amused by my reaction and holds my head firmer, now he's just shaking my head with his guerrilla hand. He lets out a 'Ha!' before letting me go.

I stand up and drag my rucksack further away from him. The longer Gordon remains in the galley's aft, the more tolerable I think sitting in the prow with the drummer might be.

Gordon is laughing more while watching me pull my bag away, drawing a few of the crew's attention with his hubbub. 

The captain says from his high chair opposite us, "You wouldn't be mistreating the little miss would you? Now that she's not spewing her guts all day, I'll admit to being a little fond of her."

Gordon is still laughing, "Aye, perhaps cap'n, but she's cute pouting with her cheeks puffed up, makes me want to tease 'er." 

 

My abuse and the men's laughter is interrupted by a call from the lookout, he yells a Graboshen word I don't know, but it's undoubtedly something urgent. 

The oarsmen in front of me start muttering the same unknown word while looking starboard.

I stand up to get a better view around the captain's chair, steadying myself against the ship's portside rail. I follow their gazes to what seems like quiet water, as we watch, a wave three hundred metres away begins to boil.