Born a Monster

Chapter 202

202 Servant of the Axe, 102 – Letter Away

Chapter Type: Character Development

I could detail the two days until the merchant showed up, right in the middle of a squall, and docked into port as though nothing were amiss. To be short, people were rude, prices were ridiculous, and I ended up keeping the shields I made, because prices were ridiculous.

Getting them painted with the Red Axe heraldry... but I’ve said that already.

In any case, I was able to get them my letter to their Admiral, asking for an invite next spring. It told them (I thought it was a she, but rumor said otherwise. It was hard to credit that rumor, because it said she had died of a disease.) that Gamilla had guessed how much should be paid to the merchant for delivering the message, and the coins included.

As my instructor had said, the military did not invite merchants to come talk to them, so I had to appear at least as military caste. But reaching for noble status and then not knowing what a noble was required to do would only backfire upon me. And a few choice phrases helped to indicate that I myself was unclear on which side of that line I fell, just as insurance.

“And I am unclear,” I said, “What manner of gifts are appropriate and at what times during my visit.”

Wan Tsien shook his head. “They are most expensive, for visiting an Admiral. For example, now you should offer him some manner of weapon, as thanks for the time to read his letter.”

I pulled the shortsword from my inventory. “There is no story behind this weapon yet. It is named Lungpiercer, but to my knowledge, it has never done so.”

He pinched his nose so that his hand blocked his eyes. “No. Without a story, the gift is as meaningless as coins themselves.”

.....

“Well,” I pulled out my tiny wood axe, “THIS one has a few stories.”

He listened attentively, and agreed that although small, it was a suitable gift. I handed it over.

“What are the other gifts that I’ll need for my visit?”

Oh gods. Food, spices, a bottle of fine wine, a book or play, a unique piece of music... a gift a day.

“How does a culture so social endure these costs?” I asked.

“Oh, close friends normally accept the gift of continued friendship. It is in fact, quite common... among good friends. YOU should bring a gift for each day you plan to be there, with a gift of gold for when you leave, and tea or coffee for when you arrive. Each gift should be unique, and either each should be of a continuous theme, or each should be different in theme.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard; I’ve the entire Winter to come up with proper gifts.”

“You should use that time, then. Know your host better than you know yourself.”

“And just how am I to do that without any means of communication?”

“I don’t have that answer; I’m just a merchant. Good luck, by the way.”

“Might I ask you some questions from my merchant?”

“Sure.”

It went quickly; most of the answers were some variant of ‘no’ or be in the Girdle on the same day he was; he didn’t really care what day that was, since most ports wanted sugar and fresh produce.

#

It took another three days for a Neonen trader to dock. “We’re not headed straight back.” He said. “But we will be wintering there. Hoping to get one more pass through the northern ports before that happens.”

“So, roughly three weeks?” I asked.

“About that much.” He said, naming a price well beyond my reach. We settled on a price that wasn’t outrageous, and I would help the crew with pitching, holystoning, and swabbing the deck.

The vessel was a one mast cog, slow and fat but with plenty of cargo space, and her name was Sun Bull’s Partner. The Partner must have been a training cog or something; the crew was lax if not outright lazy, the fishing nets were rarely deployed, and after dusk one could count on Oscar the Sea-Witch being drunk and trying to start the crew started on profane sea chants.

They had no sandstone bear, which was truly a shame. As large as the deck was, there was barely time to get it all done before the sun went down, and it was difficult to do the deck in patches while the crew was also trying to walk across that same deck.

But, as much as it thumbed its nose at my sense of efficiency, it was how things worked on the Partner.

I was getting used to that when four days in we saw two ships fighting.

“You’ve got the spyglass, bosun. Brotherly matter, or something we’ve got a stake in?” the captain asked.

Constance, the bosun, answered, “Wyvern versus a Hater.”

“The Grim Tricorn?”

“Aqua Gargoyle.”

The captain’s spit didn’t quite make it over the rail. We don’t owe them; they fight their fight. We’ll say prayers for the dead tonight.”

“Oh, does the crew have a common faith?” I asked.

“Of course not, estupida. But the Hater’s are usually followers of Cernunnos, or Lir.”

“I’ve been in a shrine of Cernunnos the horned god before, who is Lir?”

“Lir is what a god of the sea becomes when he lets two cultures just kick him and his pantheon out. He’s still a power, and people sometimes offer him prayers, but he’s no longer at the table where the big gods decide things anymore, if he ever was.”

“If they still follow him, I don’t doubt the Malosians have a different opinion.”

“Don’t care. Wait. Constance, any followers of Lir in the crew?”

“Not a one.”

“Then I don’t care. Piss on Lir. We say prayers tonight, and then we’re done with that loser god.”

Remember when Eihtfuhr’s prayers generated a ritual field of peace and safety? Yeah, none of that happened while the captain did prayers that night, and not afterward as the bottles of alcohol were distributed among the crew, and certainly not in the boisterous bragging and dancing and brawling that happened afterward.

And they were drunk when a mild squall that night suddenly became a major squall. In the morning, we were north of the Isles.

The captain may not have been a follower of the gods of sea and storm, but he knew their names well enough to cuss them out. He decided to piss on Lavin Buscalia and make straight for Vernice. “They won’t have much wood until spring anyway.” He said.

We were swabbing the port side of the deck when the bosun came up to me. “Are you any good with that cutlass?” she asked.

“Better with the shield I use it with, but I’m passable.” I said.

“Soldier grade?”

“First level with a few tricks. But I won’t run in terror when the fighting starts getting tough.”

“Good enough. Okay, be ready for Selkies. Get a black bandana from storage, and tie it about your left arm. Anyone you see, even if you don’t recognize them, without that band? Those will be the selkies.”

“I thought selkies were a trickster people, not a violent folk.”

“You’ve seen the captain’s wineskin?”

“Yes, it’s... Oh, it’s NOT sealskin, is it?”

“Selkie skin. Our old sea-witch convinced him she could enchant the skin from a drunk selkie and make the wine have more effect.”

“Did she?”

“Hell if I know; I’m not fool enough to touch the damned thing. The selkies move around, but I think this may be the tribe the captain tricked to get that wineskin.”

“So, we raise the nets?”

“Can’t. Captain didn’t want to alarm you, but we lost two men during that storm. One went over, but managed to catch the nets. Crew likes those nets better than the captain right now.”

“Because of one storm?” I asked.

“One storm on the same night he dismissed two gods? Sailors tend to notice coincidences like that. It’s easier for some of them to blame the captain than just admit it was their time. Tell me, if the crew mutinies, will you be on the crew’s side, or the captain’s side?”

“I’m not impressed with either. I’ll probably be on the bosun’s side.”

“Heh, and they say you aren’t diplomatic. Remember, black bands only, starting at dusk.”

Given the number of Systems that will tell you what disease you’ve contracted before you start showing symptoms, the number of medical abilities that will do the same, and the fact that most Systems contain information of common cures... but then, my System had its own method of dealing with diseases. Anyway, yes people got sick, but you had to be really poor or outcast in order to die from them. Or, as already mentioned, old.

Hater is a derogatory term for the Malosian merchant navy. Pinche is what they called the Malosian patrol boats, I guess because during a customs inspection of the ports, sometimes both they and the docks would both collect customs taxes.