First part of Spelljammer story

This is one of the stories I'll be working on for NaNoWriMo. This is what I've written so far, although of course it doesn't count for wordcount.

We were three weeks out of Nijallskall Port, only a week left until
we docked at Redoak Lowport. We had passed the border from wildspace
only a day ago, but everyone was already looking forward to the Redoak
wine. Redoak wine is famous for good reason. It's delicious – even
sailors, who typically don't have much of a tongue for fancy drinks,
can taste the difference. But the best part of Redoak vintages isn't
drinking them, it's what happens afterwards. Or rather, what doesn't
happen. A Redoak wine almost never leaves a hangover, no matter how
much you drink. I once saw a halfling drink a full cask, and take no
ill effect the next morning beyond sleeping a couple extra hours. Of
course, the captain put him to scrubbing the hull clean of barnacles,
since he overslept on his watch, but at least he kept his dinner down
while he did it.
In any case, the crew was eagerly awaiting a day or two of leave in
Redoak's taverns. Everyone was working with a will, singing or even
doing a dance step or two when they could. It was that aura of
anticipation that made what happened next so much worse.
Our first warning was the lookout's cry of "Sail ho!" Work didn't
stop, but people stopped whistling and started watching the stars. You
always do, when an unknown sail is spotted. Could be nothing, but it
could be bad. Pirates, raiders, there are many things a sail can be
that mean no good to a crew.
The captain hurried to the lookout's cabin to get a closer look. In a
couple minutes, enough time to get a thorough look at the unknown
ship, he came back on deck and headed over to me. I could feel the
tension increase another notch. If the captain wanted to talk to the
first mate, then the sail wasn't obviously nothing. If it had been
something small, like a tradesman or trilobite, then there would be no
concern. The Jewel of the Clouds was a hammership, and no small
vessel, no matter how packed with brigands, could hope to take her.
The captain came up to me, and leaned in close for a private
conference. "Looks elven. It's still too far off to tell what -
they're running dark. And they're coming up on us quickly. They'll be
alongside in half a watch, maybe less."
I frowned. Elves could be bad. The Elven Imperial Navy was the power
in this space, and they were hell to deal with. A Naval officer never
saw a human or halfling they thought was worth the powder to fire out
of a cannon. They tend to assume that all non-elven vessels are
smuggling something, and are prepared to tear a ship apart to prove it
at the drop of a hat. Even if you had all your papers for legitimate
trade in elven space in order, they still took perverse pleasure in
dealying you and making life as difficult as possible.
And if you were smuggling something... I felt cold sweat start
running down my back.
"Shall we heave to, Cap'n?" I asked.
His brow creased as he pondered, trying to choose the best approach.
Finally, he shook his head. "No, Raphael. We'll lose too much time to
the search as it is, and this might be nothing but a civilian ship on
the same heading."
We shared a skeptical glance – a civilian ship running stealthy was
certainly possible, but why would an elven ship do it in Navy space?
The next four hours were tense. The word that an elven ship was
catching us up quickly spread through the crew, through the strange
osmosis of rumor a close crew always develops. Half the people on board
had a reasons to be nervous about dealing with the Navy, and that gave
the other half reason as well. When a Navy captain decides to make an
example, he likes to make it a big one.
The mystery ship continued to approach. As far as our lookouts could
see, it was a thorn, but the captain had made sure that Hawkeye, our
best spotter, had a chance to give it a look over. Hawkeye spotted the
way the spars around the "thorn" had a tendency to shift slightly as
the ship moved past; a sign of an illusion shell cast around a large3r
ship. Of course, we couldn't say how much larger.
Half an hour before we expected our guests to arrive, the captain
called everyone on deck for a quick explanation. "Alright, you lot! I
don't know if you've heard, but we've got elves coming up on our
tail!"
He had a twisted grin, and there were scattered jeers and catcalls
from the crew. At this point, even the people who had been peacefully
drowsing in their hammocks five minutes ago knew what was happening.
The captain continued undaunted.
"We're going to be holding steady as she goes right up until that
damn flying flowerpot heaves alongside. And I want to make it clear –
we did not spot it until that very moment! We had no idea that an
elven ship, disguised or no, was catching up. Am I understood?"
A chorus of "Aye, Cap'n!" rippled through the crew. It might gall to
have the elves think of us as blind and stupid, but better that then
looking like someone with something to hide.
The captain then began pointing out crewmembers. "Rolf, Undine, Rory,
Nine-toes..." He continued listing names, until he had accounted for a
third of the crew. "You lot, get below. You're the sleeping watch.
And make sure your hammocks are in damn shady corners. And Rolf..."
The captain paused, and stared at the burly halfing. Rolf stared
back, his bald head and big torso gleaming blue, red, and black from
the myriad of tattoos painted across his skin.
"Rolf, see Raphael. You need more hair. And a damn shirt!"
Rolf looked sullen, but resigned. I knew he considered his tattoos a
mark of pride, demonstrating his many accomplishments. The problem was,
the elves would know it too. And we couldn't take a chance that any of
them could read tattoos well enough to see that one of his bigger
accomplishments was leading the boarding party that took a Navy
waspship as a prize.
I sighed a bit. Being ship's wizard as well as first mate was a lot
of work, but I didn't have a lot of choice; I was the best for both
jobs. I waved Rolf down towards the gangway, and stepped down myself.
As I waited for Rolf, I went over the words and gestures for the
spell in my mind. I've never bothered to practice the hair growth
charm much - I don't often need to cast it at the moment's notice, so
I haven't managed to dispense with the ritual. Nonetheless, it's a
handy trick. A thick growth of hair can cover a lot, and doesn't show
up as magic the way an illusion does. The thought made me raise a hand
to my own hair, to check that the thick, disheveled brown mop still
covered my ears.
Rolf arrived, still sulking, a shirt over a shoulder. "Get on with
it, then." he grunted, his baritone voice always slightly startling in
someone two and a half feet high. He slouched slightly, taking his
hands nearly to the ground.
I nodded, and raised my hands. "This will itch." He nodded, ans stood
up a bit, dropping the shirt on the stairs. Touching anything while
the hair grew only made it worse. I began to make the gestures
required, and chant the words of the power. Since we had time, I did
the full ritual, even though I could usually skip and still be
successful. No sense risking failure and having to do it twice.
My first word and gesture were those for power, the first of any
spell. I began to feel the drain as my own energy funneled into the
pattern. I t wasn't much, no more than running up a flight of stairs,
but noticeable. The next few gestures identified the target, and what I
wanted to happen. Hair is a surprisingly complex part of a person, and
I had to specify where I wanted it to grow, and for how long. The
final word set the spell loose, and I felt the familiar tingle as the
energy seemed to pass out from my chest and into and then through my
eyes and hands.
Immediately, Rolf shivered. I could see that he was already covered
in reddish-brown fuzz, growing longer as I watched. Within a minute,
Rolf's head, face, and chest were covered by thick, wiry hair,
obscuring his tattoos completely. When the hair stopped growing, he
grunted again. "Done?"
I nodded, and he scowled, piked up the shirt, and headed down the
passageway deeper into the hold. I headed back on deck, myself.
The crew was mostly on deck, pretending to casually go about their
business. No one of us could have gone on stage in Readoak, but they
weren't bad. People like us learn to act casual convincingly, because
being unconvincing gets questions asked that you don't have good
answers for.
But despite looking casual, we were ready. The on-duty crew all
happened to be doing jobs like working the rigging, or lashing down
anything loose on the deck, or soaking down the deck to wash it. And
the "off-duty" crew had congregated nar things like belaying pins, or
boat hooks, or the bow gun.
I checked my own readiness. The minimal amount of power I had spent
on Rolf would quickly return, my cutlass was freshly sharpened and
loose in its sheath, and my chainmail was comfortably concealed
beneath my tunic and trousers. I checked quickly in a direction that
had little to do with space. My link to the greater pool of magic
flowed smooth and untroubled, ready if I needed. I hoped I didn't –
tapping that source would mean that things had gone very wrong indeed.
My self-audit complete, I headed up to the forecastle, where the
captain leaned on the rail. He had his silliest outfit on: a bright
red-and-white stripped doublet over a turquoise tunic, bright blue
tights tucked into shiny, too-tight boots, and the crown of the whole
ensemble, a truly enormous brimmed hat of emerald cloth with a huge
peacock feather in the band. Add in an ingratiating and stupid smile,
and you had the perfect portrait of a human desperately trying to
curry elven favor by aping their fashion, and totally failing. It was
an image designed to inspire contempt, and I had seen it work more
often than not.
The smile was not present right now, though. Captain Blake looked
sharp and concerned. He spoke as I approached, without taking his eyes
off space. "No trouble, Raphael, with the spell?"
He continued without waiting for my response. "we'll have to be on our
toes here. I'll run interference with the damn elves. I want you ready
to act if it goes downhill. We can't afford any problems on this. Use
your judgment whether to fight or fun. I'll use the usual signal if
things go sour."

I nodded. "I'll be ready, captain. Here's hoping we won't have to do
anything, though."
I took my leave, and began making my preparations. I let the crew
know what their duties would be if we had to fight or run, I did a
quick inspection of the guns and rigging, and then I settled back near
the helm, mentally running through my limited repertoire of offensive
spells. Nothing too flashy, but they can do the job if properly
applied.
I didn't have long to wait. Ten minutes after I settled back, the
"thorn" came up from below-abaft, to port. I noted how far off our
beam it stayed; far more space than necessary if it was really as
small as it looked.
Its true shape swiftly became obvious. The starfield around it
flickered for a second, then large chunks were suddenly obscured. Huge
wings, butterfly-shaped but vastly larger, swept down and out from the
body of the body of the ship. The body itself was longer than us, but
with a thinner beam. I knew from experience that a ship like this,
though more fragile than the Jewel, could probably fly rings around
us. Men-o-war were the mainstay of Naval forces, and had defeated more
than a few hammerships over the centuries.
I decided, after a little thought, that our best bet would be to try
to cripple the man-o-war with a surprise broadside, then run for it.
The elven ship's huge wings were vulnerable targets, easy to hit and
easy to damage. Of course, the elves knew that as well as I, and would
undoubtedly have taken steps to prevent it. The question was, what
steps...
Well, I could check. I quickly ran through the words to one of the
spells I knew. Luckily, I knew it well enough to dispense with the
gestures. Any elf watching me from the man-o-war's deck would see the
me mumbling, no more. I felt the spell take effect, and I stretched my
mind out to touch the closer wing of the elven ship. I immediately
picked up the traces of three spells cast on the ship. Carefully, I
began analyzing the spells.
The first was an illusion spell, no doubt the illusion disguise the
vessel had up when when it approached us. The caster had obviously
decided to leave it up, rather than drop it and cast it again once our
encounter was over.
The second was an air spell of some sort. I didn't recognize the
specifics, but it was probably something to improve the ship's
maneuverability even further. Elves tended to take any opportunity
they could to increase their advantage in that department.
The third spell – ah, now we were getting somewhere. The third spell
was a ward, and it looked familiar. I took a closer look at it for a
few seconds, and nodded in satisfaction. As I suspected, it was a
shield against missiles, that would cause them to miss harmlessly.
Troublesome – but far less bad then it could be. A spell to reverse
missiles back on us would be more serious. And there were ways to
break through such spells. Way that we had access to, although not in
large quantities.
I released my spell and grabbed the speaking tube. "Cannon Deck, this
is the First Mate. Respond." Within a few seconds, a voice came back,
made hollow by the tube. "What do you need, Raphael?"
"The man-o-war has a missile shield up. If things go south, I want a
single broadside fired into the wing before we run. Make sure the have
four break balls in the first volley before we fire the rest of the
guns."
"Right, Raph. We'll hit them solid. Good luck up top!"
I looked up, and watched the man-o-war. It was really quited
beautiful, with its wings colored a deep royal purple with black and
dark green patterns. It was probably patterned after a real type of
butterfly – most man-o-wars were. The material of the wings shone and
glittered like crystal, though with the smooth lines of the plant that
it was, rather than a gem's hard edges.
As I gazed at the deadly beauty of the ship, I saw a small vessel
near the man-o-war's tail raise sail and come coasting across the
stars towards us. I nodded – the waiting was over. The incoming
flitter would have the elven boarding party to inspect us. Probably
the first mate, the more junior of the ship's wizards, and a squad of
marines.
The flitter landed on the deckspace that the crew of the Jewel had
cleared. I nodded in satisfaction; without orders, our men had ensured
that the flitter was close enough to the gangway that if it came to a
fight, we could rush it before it took off.
The flitter's hatch opened, and the boarding party came out. First
were two elves dressed in marine lieutenant's uniforms – obviously
positioning themselves to defend against any sudden rushes. They
looked fairly normal, but that could be deceptive. Marine officers
tended toward subtle enhancement rather than blatant. Next was the
Naval officer in charge. I spotted his insignia, and nodded. Third
officer, just as I guessed. He was striking in his black uniform,
relieved only by the white and blue gems making up his rank markers.
His most obvious feature, however, was his height; he towered almost
eight feet high, well above the marines. No doubt an alteration made
to make him look more commanding. His face bore an expression of
contempt and hauteur, and my heart sank. This did no appear to be an
elf prepared to be reasonable.
Behind the officer, literally in his shadow, came the wizard. Or, I
corrected myself as I got a closer look, the Songmaster. The very
attractive Songmaster. I felt my face flush as I watcher her, and I
quickly wrenched my gze away before she notice me staring. But her
image was still in my mind. She had a willowy figure, but she was less
thin than most elves, with a definite figure under her scarlet
Songmaster uniform. She was short for an elf, probably just under six
feet. Her face was a perfect heart shape, wide forehead and eyes,
narrowing to an elegantly pointed chin, all of it framed by a fall of
space-black hair that went down to her waist. She had a flute on her
belt, no doubt the instrument she used for her power, and she scanned
the deck of the Jewel intently, but with far less of the
superciliousness of the third officer.
Behind the Songmaster came the remainder of the marine squad. These
were humans, bondservants, no doubt. Six of them marched down the ramp
in formation, their cutlasses sheathed but with hands ready on the
hilts. Their flesh, below their neat marine uniforms, was brownish,
and looked hard and inflexible. No doubt they had been modified to
have armor, to make them more effective fighters. And they probably
also had more subtle changes.
I pondered. Eight marines, plus a Songmaster and a Naval officer,
against the thirty-five crew of the Jewel. At first glance, an uneven
fight, but a great deal depended on the quality of the marines, and on
exactly what the Songmaster was capable of. I had never met one before
myself, but I had head rumors of Songmasters capable of controlling
minds or creating complex illusions with their magic, setting crews
against each other or forcing them to fight shadows. I resolved to
focus on taking out the Songmaster as quickly as possible. I'd go for
the flute; without a way to make music, she'd be crippled.
While I plotted tactics to use against them, the elven party advanced
towards the captain, who stood on the deck witing for them. The two
lieutenants had moved aside and now wlked to either side and somewhat
behind the Naval officer and the Songmaster. I noticed that the
Songmaster and the officer stepped in perfect time, the Songmaster
only very slightly behind the other elf. From what I knew of Navy
protocol, this was odd. Normally, the second ship's mage was junior to
the third officer, and should show more deference. I had heard that
the Songmasters occupied a somewhat special position in the Naval
hierarchy, and it seemed it was true.
The elves marched up to the captain, who swept off his hat and made a
low bow. I hid a smile – the captain was already starting his act.
Elven protocol required non-elves to kneel rather than bow to show
respect, but Captain Blake had bowed far lower than he need to. A bow
like that would have been appropriate to an elven commoner addressing
an admiral. I saw the third officer's lip curl in derision.
The officer didn't bother returning the captain's gesture, or even
saluting, which would have been according to protocol. Instead, he
just began barking orders.
"You command this 'vessel'?" His words dripped scorn. At the
captain's nod, he continued. "We will inspect you for contraband. You
will cooperate in any way possible." His expression grew even more
unpleasant. "If you are found in violation of elven law, you will be
punished to the full extent of the law."
The captain bowed even deeper, and continued his obsequious act. "Of
course, noble lord! Our ship, our crew, and your willing assistance,
are at your disposal! Inspect at your leisure!"
The elf gestured peremptorily toward the hold. "We will begin.
Follow." He strode down the deck. Behind him, one of the lieutenants
and three of the marines moved to keep pace with him. I grudgingly
awarded him points for tactics; he neither left himself without a
guard, nor left his ship undefended. The captain hurried after him,
the elf's long strides forcing him to scurry to keep up. They reached
the hatch, and headed down.
I sighed, and leaned against the wheel. Now it was a matter of
waiting. The captain could baffle and confuse with the best of them,
but elves were clever, and they had time to gain experience spotting
tricks. This would be a tense few hours.