Spelljammer Story chunk 1

(2049 words)

My mood lighted a little when I realized that I now had an excellent excuse to watch the Songmaster. I rested my arms on the wheel, slouched a little, and gazed down the deck. I didn't stare, of course. It was natural for the first mate to keep an eye on an elven officer, but rather more strange to stare at nothing but her. But I could rest my eyes on her every few seconds, and a very welcome respite it was.
She was definitely alert, and intelligent. I spotted her eyes looking in my direction often enough, and I think she realized quite quickly that I was scrutinizing her. From the faint smile that I saw grace the corners of her mouth, she probably even had a pretty good idea of some of the thoughts in my mind. But she didn't let it bother her. Her eyes roamed the deck, taking in details. She noticed the crew, and clearly took an interest in what they were doing. I felt the cold sweat start to crawl down my spine again as her eyes moved over the crowd near the bow gun, and the small groups near convenient weapons. If she was too suspicious, and moved her command back to the flitter, we would be in trouble.
But fortune was with me, and her gaze moved on, without even a quiet word to the marine lieutenant. She continued to scrutinize the Jewel's deck, and I noted, with some pride, and more surprise, that she actually seemed impressed by the crew's behavior. I took a moment to look over the deck myself, and found myself in unexpected agreement with an elven officer - the crew were performing admirably. Everyone had their eyes on their task, no one was taking even a moment's pause to stare at the elves. Though I noticed that every group had at least one member whose job just happened to require them to be looking at the boarding party or at me. I covered a grin. We were as ready as we could be, given the circumstances.
The waiting seemed interminable, though only two hours had passed, by the timeglass. My slouch had become rather more realistic, as my act of "bored, uninterested officer" became closer and closer to reality. My fears were subsiding with every grain of sand in the glass. The captain would have been careful to lead the elven officer towards the areas where they would most likely find our contraband first. It was a tactic that I had seen work dozens of times. Very few people conducting an inspection expected the goods to be in the first place they were led to. They would look over the first area cursorily, saving their vigilance for the next few places, and the last few corners of the ship. And by leading to the dangerous areas first, the captain prevented the crew from relaxing too much. Usually, it worked like a charm. Of course, charms don't always work, as I know well.
When the officer came back on deck, followed by the captain, I simply stood straighter, but inwardly I was grinning with relief. The elf's face was even sourer than before, but it had a distinct look of disappointment. Clearly, he had been hoping to find some evidence of wrongdoing, something to bring us all up on charges. He had the look of a petty tyrant who loved making the lives of everyone in his power miserable. But Naval officers tended to be sticklers for the letter of the law. And the Jewel was nothing if not within the letter of the law - except for the contraband, of course. But everything else was perfectly legal. And without even a shoddy coat of paint to object to, the third officer's hands were tied. Once he and his men were all on deck, he turned to the captain. "Your papers and ship are apparently in order. See that they remain so. We will return to our ship, and you may get under way again an hour after we leave." I knew the hour delay was simply his only way of getting to us. Naval law did call for the restriction, a precaution against elven vessels being followed or their movements tracked, but hardly anyone enforced it. This bastard was malicious. The captain, though, simply nodded rapidly, keeping up his sycophant act. "Of course, lord! It shall be as you say!" The Naval officer turned on his heel without even a nod of acknowledgment, and gestured to his troops. They fell into step behind him, and the whole troop marched towards the flitter's hatch.
I was half-way through a sigh of relief when the whole thing came crashing down around us. The troop was passing one of the groups of off-duty crew, three halflings. Two of them were simply sitting and playing dice, but the third, Jess, a fairly young fellow we had only picked up two ports ago, was staring insolently at the elves. He was eating a spikefruit, a particularly sour and spicy variety that only the halflings aboard could stomache. He caught the eye of the one of the marines, and his smile widened into a mocking grin. A scowl crossed the marine's face, and he broke ranks to move towards Jess, obviously planning to teach him some respect. A sharp word from one of the lieutenants reined him in, and he turned to return to formation, only two steps from the halfling. Jess laughed out loud, and tossed the half-eaten spikefruit across the deck to roll just in front of the marine's immaculately shined boots. The marine inhaled, visibly controlling rage - and then his face changed, from contorted anger to suspicion. He bent down, and picked up the spikefruit, and sniffed it again.
That damn sweatdrop started its journey down my backbone again, and this time it felt like a piece of frozen stardust from the void. Jess would have known not to eat spikefruit from those barrels, wouldn't he? I knew, even as the marine ran towards the third officer, that he wouldn't. The marine held up the spikefruit, and said the only word he needed to say. "Bluewort!"
I cursed out loud, and grabbed for the alarm bell. It was all up, and all because of a damn fool mistake. Of course it was bluewort. The tangy plant was a hugely valuable commodity in Redoak - it went into most of the best vintages. And it wouldn't grow in Redoak's soil, or that of any planet near the place. It had to be shipped through at least five systems, from jungle worlds, none of which were under firm elven control. Of course, something so valuable would never be freely traded in elven space. The Liirae family of life elves had a total monopoly. They commanded huge prices for the plant, and had a strict quota of bluewort shipped, which they never exceeded. So, of course, the groudling elves of Redoak would pay very high prices for bluewort brought in by non-Liirae ships. We had been planning to take advantage of those prices.
Our plan had been simple. Bluewort was a very distinctive-smelling plant, which made it hard to smuggle. Far too many marines had a sense of smell as good as a bloodhound, or better. They would scent through all the usual tricks. But spikefruit had an even more pungent odor. And we had gone one better than simply putting the bluewort inside the spikefruit casks. We had spent a laborious week hollowing out spikefruit and putting the satchels of bluewort inside the tough rinds. Even if the elves though to open our barrels, we had counted on them seeing only the spikefruit, which they despised with a passion. And it had worked. Until some damn ten-year-old halfing had taken a spikefruit from the wrong damn barrel. With only the one fruit, there wasn't enough scent to overwhelm the marine's nose, and he had obviously picked up traces of the bluewort. Now we were in for it.
I rang the bell, and grabbed for my cutlass. The third officer was already screaming orders, and the marines had pulled their own cutlasses. The Songmaster had pulled her flute from her belt, and held it to her lips. Our own crew was in motion as well, grabbing belaying pins and boathooks, and beginning a charge towards the elves. The captain was in action - he flung his hat towards the boarding party, discus style. Two of the marines took half a step forward, and slashed at it, trying to knock it to the deck. And then one collapsed backward, a bloody hole appearing in his forehead, and the other snarled and clutched his off-hand to his sword-arm's bicep, blood from a gash already seeping through his fingers. The captain dropped the two pistols he had just fired, and backpedalled, trying to get some distance between him and the elves.
With good reason. The regular marines moved to close ranks around the Naval officer and the Songmaster - but the two lieutenants stepped outward, putting a solid two yards between them and the other elves. And then, from slits cunningly hidden in their uniforms, each unfolded an extra pair of arms. I shuddered at the sight. These were no ordinary arms, though that would have been bad enough. They were monstrous appendages, closer to insect legs than human limbs. Each was a sickly greenish-grey, thin as the haft of a pike, but obviously fast and strong. They had three knobby joints, and the arms extended out far past the reach of their normal arms, by at least a full yard. At the end were rudimentary hands, three-fingered claws that would obviously be incapable of any fine manipulation - not that they needed to be. For each claw was tipped by a black talon, and from the back of the hands projected a wicked spike at least a foot long. The two lieutenants, monstrously calm, faced the rush of the crew of the Jewel with their deadly limbs raised.
Our crew faltered at the dreadful sight. There were a few cries of terror, as some of the newer hands reacted to their first sight of someone seriously enhanced by the Vitae. But from the experienced crew came a low growl. They knew the danger, and they didn't like the thought of facing those arms in a fight. But they liked the idea of surrender even less. The crew continued to advance, although at a more cautious pace. The lieutenants waited, their bodies still in perfect guard formation with their cutlasses, while the deadly arms waved and traced a horrible hypnotic pattern in the air. The crew of the Jewel closed the gap slowly - ten yards, then eight, then six, then four, then two. The swords remained in perfect, parade ground form, but the arms tensed, ready to jab forward with deadly purpose.
And then the lieutenants stumbled sidewise, as did the other elves, as the whole ship lurched to port. Some of our crew did the same, but most of the experienced hands had caught the high-pitched whistle that had blown just before the maneuver began. The portside lifting stones had just been all reduced in strength by half, while the starboard stones were kept the same. The resulting uneven force had pushed the ship into a roll, our portside tilting down as the starboard rose. The sudden shift was enough to knock the unprepared off balance. And the crew took advantage of the chance. Halflings and humans charged in while the arms waved wildly, the lieutenants instinctively trying to regain balance. It took only a second to do so, but a second was enough.
One lieutenant went down with a scream, a boathook from a halfling buried in his shoulder, and a belaying pin from a human crashing down on his skull. The other lieutenant was more fortunate. He took several blows to the arms, but they were clearly tougher than they seemed - none even cracked the bony carapace of the insectile limbs. And too few of the crew had tried for the more vulnerable body - the elf was easily able to parry the few poorly-aimed blows.