Spelljammer Story, Chunk 9

(Damn, someday I'm going to learn to do this before 2:00 AM. Anyway, 2047 words here, and 2086 on something else, which catches me up again.)

When I arrived, I knocked gently, then let myself in. Haelle was lying on the bed, her arms at her sides. Her face was expressionless, but I could see from the set of her shoulders and the way she held her arms that she was tense as a harpstring. I pulled up a chair beside the bed, and nodded to her. "Rin says you're to be fed for the next couple of days, to give you time to recover. I'm the only one free for it."

She nodded slightly, and opened her mouth enough to whisper "I'll live."

I placed the bowls down on the table, and held out a spoonful for her. She took it gingerly, obviously expecting standard shipboard fare. Her face lit up in a pleased smile as her tongue disabused her of that notion, although that quickly became a wince as battered facial muscles protested.  She whispered "Tastes good!"

I nodded, and smiled a bit. "Our cook is pretty good. He knows what to do with food. More?"

She made another small nod, and I began feeding her the soup in earnest. She finished the bowl quickly, and I finished my own bowl soon afterward. We sat in silence for a minute, then I shrugged awkwardly. "Excuse me, I have to go." She nodded slightly, and I headed out.

Over the next couple of days, our routine became established. I'd come in with the food, and she'd eat in silence, or perhaps with a comment about the quality now and then. She didn't give thanks, and I didn't speak unless I had too. On the third day, though, Fort Haelle finally showed a crack in her walls. When I had finished feeding her lunch and had just got up to leave, she suddenly spoke up "Um... thank you!"

The last came out in a rush, and she closed her mouth with a look of mingled surprise and embarrassment, as though her tongue had betrayed her. I was a little shocked myself, but I nodded and shrugged. "Think nothing of it."

When I came to bring her supper that night, she was suddenly more talkative. As I was sitting down with our plates of soft-cooked stew, Haelle spoke up. "How goes the charging? Any word of when we're getting off of here?"

I raised an eyebrow, and replied calmly "Anxious to escape our clutches?"

She colored a bit, but shot back gamely. "No one likes Verpax. You can't be any more eager to go than I. What's the best estimate?"

I pondered for a moment, but decided that a deadline couldn't be that helpful in an escape attempt. Besides, she probably had a good idea of how long it would take anyway. "Probably another four weeks, maybe a little more, maybe a little less. It's never precise with this sort of thing. As I'm sure you know."

She shrugged. "I've never had much to do with the lifestone. And we're usually in a position to charge it fast, anyway."

"Well, we can't exactly sun-dive here, now can we? If we got caught, I doubt your precious Navy would bother to ask questions before And that would be the end of you as well as us." I replied with some heat.

She shut her mouth in a tight line, and didn't say anything for the rest of the meal, not even to thank me. I cursed my quick tongue, and left with a downcast feeling I couldn't quite explain. The next day at breakfast, however, Haelle once again started a conversation. "How are the repairs coming?" she asked.

My heart brightened a bit for no reason I could place, and I took care to respond civilly. "Pretty well. We'll be finished patching long before the lifestone is charged. Of course, it's just patches, since I don't think wood fit for shipbuilding grows on Verpax, but we make do."

She tilted her head to the side a bit, and actually smiled! "So I've heard. Lord of Life knows that the Navy never bothers to come here for it. Practically proverbially worthless, as planets go."

I nodded, and turned to my food for a moment to hide a slight smirk. Haelle sounded a little too casual about dismissing Verpax as useless. I wondered if she knew why it was forbidden to the Navy, or if she was just assuming that it was good policy not to make anyone curious. I decided to change the subject for a bit. I was curious about the ban, but I didn't want to arouse her suspicions by questioning her about Verpax too closely. "So," I asked. "Just what does a Songmaster do all day, anyway? You're the first I've met, so it's all very thrilling."

Haelle frowned at my sarcasm, but her faced cleared, no doubt as she realized I was only teasing, not mocking. "Not too different from a ship's mage, I would imagine," she replied. "You cast the spells the captain orders you to, command the crew, and fight other mages if it comes to that. We just do it all more... musically."

I eyed her. "Really? Sounds very prosaic. I would have thought there would be, oh, concerts, or dances, or something. Why have a minstrel on board if they don't use music to entertain the crew from time to time?"

She frowned, and shook her head sharply, before wincing as her wounds warned her not to do that. "Songmasters are hardly common 'minstrels', Rafael. We have a gift granted to us by the Powers of The Circle, and we have a responsibility not to use it frivolously. We must only employ it when it is fitting to do so."

I looked at her in surprise. "So, you can't just sing? Or play? You can't whistle a tune to pass the time, or play a reel to liven up a dull evening? Can you do music at all if you're not doing magic with it?"

Her shoulders stiffened. "We may play or sing at certain ceremonial functions, or by command of the Admiralty, for special performances. It would not be..." She seemed to be searching for the right words in the language. "...Seemly. It would cheapen the gift we are given, to use it whenever we wish."

Her face was set firmly, but I thought I caught a hint of regret in her voice. I stood up in silence, gathered our finished plates, and headed for the door. Just before I left, I said back, over my shoulder "Well, I don't know protocol from a viper pit. But I think it's a shame to hide a real talent. And from what I heard of you in the fight, you do have talent."

I turned back and left, but I caught sight of her face for a moment as I was locking the door. Haelle had an expression of bright, open, honest joy, the first time I had really seen her untroubled features. I felt my heart skip a beat, and as I took the plates back to the kitchen my heart was singing a little song of its own.

Over the next couple days, Haelle and I had several more conversations. I learned some details of her life, although she was cagey on specifics. She was the third daughter of her family, and had been sent into Songmaster training as soon as her gift manifested itself. She had been on the Purple Emperor for about five years, and expected to stay there for another twenty before promotion. She had laughed at my surprise at that, and pointed out that to an elf, twenty five years was perhaps a twentieth of a lifespan, rather than the quarter it was for humans. "Besides," she had said laughingly "If we promote people too fast, the Navy would be all admirals, and no one would actually do anything!"

I learned that she actually preferred human food to elven, at least when it was properly prepared. Apparently, elven food was too light for her tastes. "It's always fluffy!" she had complained at one point. "An elf cook never saw an egg he didn't want to make into meringue! And tenderized meats are alright sometimes, but I like meat you can sink your teeth into." I had grinned a bit at that, and had pointed asked if she would have preferred that right then. She stuck her tongue out at me, and we both laughed.

She didn't go into detail much about life on the Emperor, no doubt feeling security-conscious, but I did learn that she was, as I had first guessed, effectively second ship's mage. There was a third mage below her, but from the way she spoke of him, I guessed that he was inexperienced at best. The first mage, on the other hand, seemed to be something of an object of fear for her. Haelle talked about him as if she was convinced that only self-restraint prevented him from unleashing raw magical chaos to destroy all enemies of the elves. Even if she was over-inflating his prowess, however, several stories she told of spells she had seen him cast - portals to other worlds, summoning elemental spirits, creating magical servants - all suggested that he was, indeed, very, very powerful. And worse, versatile, not the simple blaster wizard that elven ships often carried. I had to suppress a shudder or two at the thought of what he could have done to us if he had decided to accompany the boarding party.

The captain of the Emperor I heard about more than I liked, frankly. I learned his name quite quickly: Aareniel Liirae, apparently a second cousin of dear Troven. Haelle thought he lit the suns, carved the stars out of diamonds, and personally gave every planet a shove to start it circling. Once she started, she could not seem to stop talking about Captain Liirae. He was handsome (tall, blond, and rail-thin, I imagined). He was intelligent (can follow the Navy Book with a modicum of creativity now and then, most likely). He was kind (he didn't beat her, unlike his cousin). And he would do his best to rescue her, or any of his crew, from any peril (he may have made a note in his log about her loss). I managed to restrain myself during most of her speeches on the all-around wonderfulness of Captain Liirae, but a couple times I wasn't quite able to hold my tongue. Every time I failed to do so, I was treated to a very harsh reception. Haelle would get the coldest expression, then stop talking to me entirely for several hours. It would usually take two meals before she warmed up again. I learned to rein in my mouth a bit better, since those periods of silence were oddly disturbing to me. I had come to enjoy the conversations with Haelle, and losing them seemed almost too much to bear.

Over the five days that I ended up feeding her, I came to one conclusion. Haelle was younger than almost any other elf I had met. It didn't show obviously, but as we talked, I became more and more convinced. Despite looking like a fully-mature woman, perhaps just after her twenty-fifth year, she acted like a teenager trying to show how old she was. A particularly intelligent teenager, perhaps, capable of realizing what reactions would give away her youth and controlling them, but the reactions were there nonetheless, and I picked up on them. I was intrigued. In truth, our Songmaster was a mysterious elf. Younger than she should be, especially for a Songmaster, which required special training, by all accounts. Head-over-heels in love with a captain who was far beyond her reach, if I knew anything at all about Navy custom. And willing to put up with a vicious little sod of a superior officer, when I could clearly see that she was not someone to take any shit from anyone. A beautiful puzzle, inside a lovely little mystery, wrapped in an attractive enigma.

Spelljammer Story, Chunk 8

(4037 words, plus 2003 words on another project, making me officially caught up!)

   The Jewel continued to drop through the rain and the wind towards the surface. Now that we were clear of the terrible turbulence of the upper airs, the crew hustled to raise sail again and give us some maneuverability.  As our sails caught the wind and bellied out, the landscape began to slide past beneath us. Captain Blake, still standing at the bow, pulled out his spyglass, and began scanning the terrain, looking for a good site to land. After a few minutes of steady descent, he seemed to find an interesting spot. He spent several seconds focused on it, then folded up the spyglass decisively and headed back across the deck to me. When he reached the helm, he was smiling a little, a good sign. "Good descent, Raphael. Very smooth." I nodded in thanks, and he continued. "I think I've spotted a place to land. Looks like a bay, good shelter, and trees around it, so we might be able to do some repairs while we're there." I shrugged, not wanting to break his optimism, but I felt I needed to warn him it might be misplaced. "It's a good thought, Captain, but I should warn you: the wood here is pretty terrible. Most of the trees are either soft, or half rotted, or else monstrous hulks that you'd have to hack at for a day just to make a dent." He sighed, and nodded, but didn't lose his smile entirely. "Well, we'll make the best of it, Raphael. Take us to four points north of west, and hold her steady. We should be touching down in half an hour." I acknowledged the order, and brought the helm around to the indicated course. The ship came about, and I set the wheel.

       It was indeed almost exactly a half hour, by the sandglass, when our keel touched water. Now the crew began to truly relax. The easiest part of sailing is the part where you're going through the water. You don't have to worry about falling out of the sky, or being flipped about by winds, or any of the hundred other hazards that a sailor has to fear. The Jewel settled gently into the murky sea of Verpax, and we deactivated the liftstones. We sailed on, holding to the course Captain Blake had given us, and soon the coast came in sight through the rain. The mouth of the bay was almost directly before our bow, and I gentled us in, steering carefully for the center of the opening. We furled sails, and Rolf and a couple other crewmen rowed out in one of the ship's boats ahead of us, taking soundings. Verpax's seas had a reputation for shallows and shoals, and we didn't want to run aground. We sailed slowly on, only using our jib to catch the wind, carefully navigating the unknown waters of the bay. Finally, after another half-hour of slow, cautious maneuvering, we were safely ensconced in the middle of the bay. We dropped anchor, and began preparing for our stay.

       As first mate, it was my job to lead the landing party. I gathered Rolf and four other crewmembers, and went ashore in one of the boats. The "shore" was, as I expected, a swamp, with the beach just barely rising above the water level for almost a hundred yards. Enormous mangroves covered the muddy shoreline, and the five of us had to scramble over and beneath their giant arches of roots. Finally, we passed the edge of the mudflat, and the mangroves ended. The ground rose slightly and became more rocky. It was still low and swampy, however, with pools of standing water everywhere. The trees were cypresses, and their enormous branches blocked out most of the light that leaked through the clouds. Ropes of moss hung down, and a layer of low fog hung over the ground. Our vision was limited to only a hundred yards or so before the mist and the darkness made spotting anything impossible. As we entered the swamp proper, thousands of insects rose up from their resting places and began to swarm around us. We were soon slapping flies, mosquitoes, and other, less savory things, and we found we had to stop every few minutes to pull leeches off our feet and legs, where they had crawled up.

       We circled the bay, having started on the north side near the mouth. We trudged for nearly six hours, slowly making our way through the swamp and the muck. Along the way, we came across two small streams flowing into the sea, and marked them as places to get through the mangrove thicket that otherwise barricaded the shore. The water was foul, though, and I knew from bitter experience that we were unlikely to find better on the blasted planet. Our purifier would definitely have to be put to use here. Besides the streams, we found little of interest, unless your tastes ran to the natural philosophy of vicious biting insects. Finally, we made our way to the southern tip of the mouth of the bay, and used our flare to attract attention. They sent out another of the boats, picked us up, and we went back to the ship to report.

       The captain wasn't too surprised by our lack of anything good to say about the area behind the bay. He had known Verpax's reputation before landing, after all. He shrugged when we finished, and stared off at the shore. "We'll just have to do what we can here, then, while we wait for the lifestone to charge. That looks like it's going to take at least five weeks, judging by the readings I've been taking. Make yourselves comfortable." The rest of us groaned, and went off to wash what we could of the clinging mud of the swamp away.

       The next three weeks were unpleasant. Not as hellish as the first time I spent on Verpax, since this time I had company and a comfortable bed. But the insects quickly found the ship, and apparently they told all their friends, family, and distant accquaintances about us as well. Swarms of bugs hung in clounds around the Jewel at all times, and they crept into every crevice and cranny they could find, searching for warm flesh to bite, suck, or otherwise abuse. They nearly drove us mad for the first few days, until someone had the bright idea of putting spikefruit peel in one of our barrels of lamp oil. The result was pungent, to say the least, but a lamp lit with the stuff would keep insects out of the room nicely. We left lamps burning low in most rooms, and we were finally able to sleep reasonably comfortably at night.

       Unfortunately, the solution didn't work well for the elves. Haelle and Troven seemed to have some sort of bad reaction to the smell. After a few minutes of breathing the spikefruit-laced smoke, they would begin to wheeze, cough, and go pale. We didn't risk any longer exposure, so they had to suffer through the attacks of the insects. Of course, Troven didn't really wake up for the first week at all, so he missed the worst of the bug attacks. Haelle continued to help him the whole time, feeding him the food we provided, moving him to prevent bedsores, and brushing the bugs away whenever possible. I wondered, looking in on them a few times, whether they were lovers. It would be against protocol in the Navy, but perhaps Songmasters were an exception to the rule?

       When Troven woke up, eight days after we had landed on Verpax, my impression was quickly shattered. I happened to be nearby when he finally regained consciousness, and I was treated to a temper tantrum that would have embarressed a human five-year-old. Coming from an elf who was probably two hundred, it was utterly ridiculous. Troven delivered his dressing down in High Vitae; no doubt he assumed that non-elves simply wouldn't understand it. Of course, he was mostly right. His bad luck that one of the three people on board who did understand was in the area.

       Troven demonstrated his diplomatic skills right from his first sentence. "Dammit, where the hell are we? What the hell is going on, Haelle? Why aren't we on the Emperor?" I didn't catch her response, Haelle having the sense to keep her voice down even when speaking in a different language. His reapons was a shout. "The hammership? Lust's sagging tits! What the  hell are we doing there?" Another low response from Haelle. "Captured? You  stupid cow! How could you be so idiotic as to let them capture us? They're a bunch of deck apes and mud-eaters! Have you even tried to escape? Where are they taking us, anyway?" He paused for an answer from Haelle, and then his voice rose to a scream. "Verpax? Wrath, Lust, and Envy eat your entrails, Haelle! You know that's forbidden! The Admirality will have your stinking head on a spike for allowing this! How could you be so stupid!" There was a bruised sounding silence for a minute, which I spent pondering just why Verpax was forbidden. There had never been a blockade imposed on it that I knew of, which implied that it was only forbidden to the Navy, not to outsiders. Which made no sense at all. Why would the Navy forbid its personal from visiting a world that was completely within their sphere?

       Finally, I made out Haelle's voice, no more than whispering. Troven was still screaming in response, however. "I don't care how sorry you are, you whore! This is your fault, and I will see to it that you get your full share of the punishment for it when we get back! Now shut up, I have to plan an escape, since you seem to be incapable of outthinking a pack of animals!" His tirade apparently finished, I heard him get up and begin pacing the deck. I headed off, thoughtful, but I quietly asked the guards to get me if there were any more outbursts. Hopefully, Troven would continue to be incautious enough to blurt out his plans at top volume. I made sure to inform Captain Blake that Troven was planning to escape, and then let the matter lie for a while.

Over the next two weeks, I came to heartily hate Third Officer Troven Liirae. He was possibly the rudest elf I had ever met, and that was saying quite a lot. The arrogance that he had displayed when he first came on board the Jewel was nothing compared to the petulance and rage he was now indulging in. His pride had clearly been pricked by the capture, and he was even more offended by the stories the crew had told him about the likely fate of the Purple Emperor. He had not had a chance to recognize what had shot him down, and we took some glee in laying out the Navy ship's likely fate, faced with such an opponent. In retaliation, he initially heaped abuse on the crew, using every epithet and slur he could dredge up, hurling small objects until he ran out, and threatening dire punishments to every crew member, their families, their friends, and practically everyone they had ever met. This lasted all of a day, until the captain came down to the hold and had a quiet talk about what exactly would happen to Troven if he persisted in abusing the crew. I wasn't there for it personally, but apparently "limbs broken and tied out in the swamp for the animals" was brought up, and apparently the captain was able to convince the elf of his sincerity, since the harassment of the Jewel's crew more or less ended after that. However, Troven then proceded to take out his frustration on his fellow Navy captives. Within the next two days, the guards summoned me to witness no less than five screaming rages, where he upbraided Haelle and the two marines mercilessly, blaming them for his current predicament, accusing them of sabotaging his career, of plotting his death or humiliation, of attempting to sell us all out to the Necros elves, and half a dozen equally-implausible theories. At some point, he apparently discovered that Haelle had assisted us against the voidwight, and that was added to her list of faults. It seemed that aiding us and destroying the monster was one more sign of her stupidity - Troven would have let it kill us all, then defeated it single-handedly. I was feeling more and more sorry for Haelle.

On the third day, we realized something was brewing. Troven hadn't ranted at the other Navy personal for several hours, and he was obviously trying to act polite to the crew who were on guard. Oddly, this failed to lull us into a false sense of security. The guards were wary, and so they were not taken in when Troven made his break. An hour after their supper had been served, Haelle called the guards and told them that Troven had been taken ill. She indicated the bed, where blankets covered something. Drune and Undine were the guards on duty, and they guessed something was up. Undine went off to get the surgeon, and along the way he gathered Rolf, the captain, and myself as well. When we got back, the three of us held back, out of sight of the stateroom, while Rin went in to "inspect" Troven, accompanied by Undine. The other Navy members carefully kept to the walls, obviously trying to be non-threatening. Just as Rin got to the bed, Troven made his move. He was invisible - obviously he had gotten Haelle to cast her spell on him again. He yanked the door open, and bolted. Unfortunately for him, Rolf, the captain, and I had been expecting something like this. As the door opened, I cast the mist spell that had proved so effective before over the room. Then Rolf and Captain Blake tackled the hapless third officer while he was still stunned by the sudden turn of events. Drune closed the door again to make sure the other Navy types didn't try to help out, and then joined Rolf and the captain in subduing our attempted escapee. It took them almost a minute before he was completely convinced that he wasn't somehow going to wriggle free. When it finally dawned on him that he was caught, he began a string of curses so vile that I almost blushed. The elf had a tongue on him worse than any sailor I had ever heard! I wandered over to the door, and caught Haelle's eye through the window. "Might as well drop the spell," I suggested to her. "We've caught him, no sense taking more energy to keep him invisible." She nodded with resignation, obviously unsurprised at how the plan had worked out. Troven returned to visibility, revealing the unique shade of purple his face had assumed in his rage. We threw him back in the stateroom, after removing Rin and Undine, and we left them for the night. It was clear that Troven knew that we were frankly more amused than anything at his escape attempt, and it only made him more furious.

The next morning, it became clear to me just how furious he had been. When I checked in on the prisoners, I saw Troven sitting at the table, calmly eating his morning meal. But Haelle was not immediately obvious. I quickly scanned the cell, trying to spot her. It was possible that she had staged her own escape attempt last night, counting on us to lower our guard after Troven's amateurish try. But it didn't take me long to realize how wrong I was. I spotted Haelle in the far corner of the stateroom, half hidden behind the bed. She was lying on her side, curled into the fetal position, her arms clutched around her stomach. For a second, I didn't comprehend what had happened. Then she moved her head slightly, and I saw the streaks of blood that covered the side of her face. I instantly went red with rage. I hated officers who abused their crew - it was one of the few things I absolutely refused to tolerate. But this went beyond even the petty sadism I had seen some captains display, the casual orders for corporal punishment for small infractions. This was brutality. I recognized the signs of a vicious beating, and now that I listened, I could hear Haelle's breath coming in agonized sobs.

I sprinted off to find the captain, and explained what I had seen as best I could, while trying to choke down the urge to go back and slice Troven's slimy head off his neck. The captain listened quietly, then nodded decisively. "We've got to get Troven out of there, or he'll beat the rest of them every time he gets a setback. And if they're typical Navy, they'll lie there and take it." I nodded, finally somewhat more calm. "Actually, I had a thought about that, Captain..." He listened to my suggestion, and when I had finished, he gave a low chuckle. "I like it, Raphael. See to it." I smiled grimly back, and went off to put my plan in motion.

I soon grabbed a couple extra crew members, in case Troven or the marines put up a fight, and headed back down to the stateroom. I slammed open the door, trying to catch them by surprise. It worked - Troven nearly fell over backward as I burst in. "Alright, you lot," I shouted "On your feet! You're being moved to different quarters, since we obviously can't trust you together! Troven, you first!" I grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him upright. He didn't have time to do more than sputter a protest before the two humans I had brought along grabbed his arms and rushed him along. We closed the door behind us, and moved him up the gangway. We turned right at the stairs leading up to the upper deck, and for a second Troven looked hopeful. He probably thought we were moving him to quarters "more appropriate to his station", like the first officer's cabin or something. No such luck, though. We moved past the stairs, and I opened the small door immediately beside it. Troven took one sniff of the unpleasant odor emanating from within, and shouted "No! This is repulsive! I demand that you..." He was cut off as I took his collar again, and yanked him past me, into the darkness of the head. I closed the door behind him, and dropped the bar that I had had the ship's carpenter install across the door. I could hear Troven pounding on the door, but I didn't care. I headed back to the prisoner's stateroom with a warm feeling of satisfaction.

We moved the two marines as well, although we were considerably more polite about it, and we simply put them in the other stateroom. Both of them were sporting bruises, I noticed, which made me feel rather more charitable towards them. As usual, they bore up under the change with a minimum of fuss or complaint. Just before I left the stateroom, though, one turned to me. "Take care of her?" He requested. I didn't need to ask who he meant. I just nodded. He nodded back in satisfaction, and turned back into his new accommodations. I returned to the original stateroom, and looked in on Haelle. Rin was seeing to her, and had already got her up on the bed. He was cleaning a cut on her forehead, and she was wincing. Now that she had uncurled, I could get a better idea of the extent of her injuries, and I winced. Her face was a mass of purple and red, with one eye swollen almost shut, and the cut across her forehead that must have been from one of Troven's rings. Her right arm she had laid carefully out straight, and I could see a large bruise on her forearm, only half-hidden by her uniform sleeve. I couldn't see any other obvious wounds, but I noticed dust and mud in several places on her shirt and trousers, no doubt where Troven had landed kicks. And she seemed to dislike moving; every time she shifted as the surgeon worked on her cut, she had to stifle a gasp of pain. I plotted murder in my mind.

I waited outside the stateroom for Rin to finish. He finally came out almost an hour later, shaking his head. He sat down at the table with me, and took a pull of the brandy flask I passed him. When he had swallowed and wiped his mouth, he looked up and caught my eye. "Bastard really worked her over," he commented. "What's the damage?" I asked. "Bruises everywhere. Not just the face. He kept kicking her after she went down, and I don't know how long he kept it up. She'll be limping for a while, he caught her good on the shin. Honestly, I'm shocked she hasn't broken anything. I would have expected cracked ribs, at the least. He certainly left enough bootmarks on her there." I shook my head. "Elves have tough bones," I offered. "At least, the Navy types do. One of the first things they ever changed, apparently. They may look thin, but an elf's bones will stand up to twice the punishment yours or mine will." Rin was silent for a moment before responding. "Well, she's lucky, then, that's for sure. As it is, she'll be hurting for at least another two weeks. She shouldn't be out of bed for another couple days, that's for sure." Now Rin looked up at me, an odd expression on his face. I could swear he was repressing a smile. "She'll probably need someone to feed her for a bit. Any suggestions?" I thought about the crew roster, and shook my head. "Everyone's busy, really. The guards can't devote that much time to just feeding her, it'll give the others a chance to make a break. And everyone else is working on repairs." I shrugged. "I guess I could do it. I'm not really busy, since everyone knows their jobs." Now I was sure Rin was hiding a smirk. But he didn't let me in on the joke, only said "Sure, that sounds good. Makes sense. Give her small portions at first, so she doesn't have to chew much. Troven clipped her jaw pretty good a few times, and working that will hurt." I nodded, mystified by the continued note of amusement in his voice. "Anything else?" I asked? "Nothing you can't work out, I don't think," he replied. "Have fun, Raphael!"

After he left, I sat for a while, trying to puzzle out the joke, but eventually I gave up. I realized that it was time for the meals for the prisoners anyway, so I went to the galley to grab Haelle's portion. Luckily, Nine-Toes is a very competent cook, capable of making ship food not just edible, but actually good - a rare treasure. He had prepared soup and had used the hardtack that made up most of our meat supply as the base. It had been simmering since the night before, and by now the meat, normally tough as old boot leather, was soft and almost tender. Combined with the spices that Nine-Toes always seemed able to produce, and served with rice, the meal was downright tasty. I told Nine-Toes of Haelle's need for soft food that didn't need much chewing, and he nodded and promised to see to it that the next few meals were soft. He poured me two hearty portions of the soup, and I headed back to the Songmaster's stateroom.

Spelljammer story, chunk 7

(Playing catch-up, so this one's a long one. 6022 words.)

For the first few hours, we played cards, one of the interminable
low-stakes games that sailors love. It needs enough skill to hold the
interest, but it's not so involved that you can't chat or drink at the
same time. None of us played very seriously, simply content to sit
around the table, smoke our pipes, and sip the hot rum Captain Blake
had ordered distributed. Eventually, most of the coins ended up in
front of Rolf. I had finally gone out a few hands before, and had
settled back to watch. By now, the cold had settled in, even here
belowdecks. Our oil lamp was only giving off a small pool of warmth. I
shivered, and wrapped my thick cloak closer around myself. I saw the
others finish off the game, and likewise huddle up as they felt the
chill. Rolf gathered his winnings together, put them in his pouch, and
refilled his pipe. Everyone settled closer to the lamp, and no one
spoke for a long time. All around me, I could feel the cold growing
more intense, and I felt a great exhaustion begin to creep over me. As
I stared at the lamp flame, it shifted and waved. My eyes began to
droop closed, and I heard faint snores from the other. Deep in my
mind, something was screaming that this was badly wrong, that falling
asleep would be the end of us, but I was too tired to do anything
about it.

I was abruptly jerked awake by a ringing blow to the head. I leaped
out of my chair and looked wildly about. For a second, sleep still
clouded my mind, making it impossible to grasp what had happened. Then
I saw a tin cup rolling on the floor, and movement at the cell door
caught my eye. I looked up, and saw Haelle. Her hand was still out
from throwing the cup. Emotions ran like lightning though my mind.
First, rage at the thrown cup. Then, as I realized that her actions
had woken me from a sleep that would probably have been my last, I
felt a wave of relief and gratitude. Finally, I took in her
expression. Her eyes were wide, and her face was deathly pale. She was
staring down the gangway, behind me, and her expression was full of
terror. I spun in the direction Haelle was looking, and her terror now
flooded into me. Walking down the passageway was a figure of
nightmares. It was humanoid, but far from human. Skin black as space
covered a frame that was emaciated, stretched tight over the bones.
The hands were raised ahead of it, and the fingers ended in vicious
claws. But the worst of all were the eyes. They were black orbs, even
darker than its skin. In the center of each was a pinpoint of light,
like a single star in an otherwise empty sky. And now those pinpoints
were focused firmly on me.

The apparition advanced, and I backed up with a moan of fear. A
voidwight! Our luck was clearly going from bad to worse. Voidwights
were a scourge of the spaceways, but they were rare. Created when some
poor soul was cast into wildspace, and froze to death cursing the
people who killed them, voidwights eternally hungered for the warmth
of living creatures. And they carried the cold of the void with them.
As I watched, the undead thing walked casually down the gangway toward
me. At its feet, frozen patterns of frost radiated out from its feet.
I stumbled back even further, and my legs crashed into the table. The
shock broke the frozen panic that the voidwight's appearance had
evoked in me, and I grabbed for my cutlass. But I knew my hope was
slim, at best. Voidwights had the strength of death in them, and their
touch was infused with killing cold. The thing was still ten yards
away, and it was advancing, slowly and casually. It had a cruel smile
on its thin, fleshless lips, and I knew that if it hadn't lost its
voice to the void, it would have been laughing. It was enjoying
itself.

Well, I decided, there was no sense in giving up before I was dead. I
screamed, and waved my cutlass about. I gave quick slaps with the flat
of my cutlass to all the crew I could reach. Rolf was the first to
clear his eyes of sleep, and he followed my pointing sword. His eyes
widened, but he grasped the situation faster than I had. He pulled out
his own cutlass, and began shaking the other crew members awake.
Meanwhile, the voidwight continued its slow, dreadful advance. I
stepped forward, raised my cutlass, and prepared myself as best I
could.

My sword in a cautious mid-guard position, I walked steadily toward
the creature, moving at the same steady pace it had adopted. We met in
the middle of the gangway, and we both paused for a second. Then the
voidwight slashed at me, its claws tracing white-blue lines of frost
through the air. I parried – and the jolt almost knocked the sword
from my hand. The thing was slower than me, but its strength was in a
whole other league. It slashed twice more, and I stuck to dodging, not
wanting to be disarmed. Then I attempted a cut of my own. The
voidwight tried to block the blow with its claws, but I easily wove
around the slow defense, and struck the creature hard on the arm. I
knew it was a solid blow, but the blade barely entered the flesh. My
fear increased, and the voidwight opened its mouth in a soundless
laugh. It swiped at me again, and I barely got out of the way. I heard
my cloak tear as the claws cut too close.

Then, to my relief, I had support. Rolf appeared on my right, and
Egar, the bosun, on my left. Now three cutlasses faced the voidwight,
and I began to hope again. The three of us struck almost
simultaneously, the two halflings at the monster's legs, and I with a
straight stab into its chest. The wight blocked Egar's blow, but both
Rolf's and my sword struck home. And the hope that had grown in my
heart died again. Rolf's sword had struck hard at the voidwight's
knee, a blow that would have easily crippled a human. And my thrust
had gone deeply into the monster's chest. But Rolf's cutlass edge rang
and bounced back, barely cutting the flesh. And the voidwight merely
looked down at my cutlasss sticking out of its chest, reached down,
grabbed it by the blade and pulled it free. As it pulled, white frost
crystals rushed down the blade in a wave from its hand, and I felt a
sudden piercing pain as the hilt almost froze my hand. I let go with a
cry, and the voidwight finished extracting my sword. It dropped it
contemptuously. When it struck the floor, the blade chimed like a
glass dropped on stone and  shattered. I retreated, cursing, my one
decent weapon gone. One of the other halflings moved to take my place,
but I didn't think much of our chances. The voidwight was just too
strong.

Even as I watched, the creature struck again, and this time it
connected. Egar hadn't dodged in time, and the voidwight managed to
strike his arm. Egar screamed, and I could see his flesh turn bluish
and then white beneath the monster's touch. Still screaming, Egar
stumbled backwards. The rest of the crew was awake by now, and another
halfling sprinted in to fill the gap. Two others caught Egar and
dragged him backwards. I could see that his arm and hand were now
totally motionless, and I knew with dreadful certainty that he would
lose the arm. I had seen the effects of frostbite before, and the
voidwight's touch was like a week of frostbite in one terrible second.
I retreated further, and cast about myself for a weapon. Again, my eye
caught Haelle. She was now staring at me, and when she caught my
glance, she gestured frantically at the collar that kept her silent. I
must have looked surprised, because she rolled her eyes at me, and
mimed making spellcasting gestures, then pointed at the voidwight and
drew a finger across her throat. Her meaning was clear: free me, and I
can use magic to help kill it.

I considered, but I quickly realized that I had little choice. Few of
my spells would be helpful against the undead thing – my most damaging
spell was the fireball I had used on the orc ship, and that was far
too risky to use in the cramped quarters here. Setting the ship on
fire would be a cure worse than the disease. If Haelle had any spells
that would help, I had to try. My decision made, I moved to open the
door. I kept close watch on the Songmaster, in case she tried any
tricks, but her eyes remained fixed on the voidwight. I moved to tap
the release catch on her collar – and froze. I had no quartz to touch,
my sword hilt was sitting on the deck five yards away, now beneath the
feet of the voidwight as it pushed the crew slowly back. I cast my
eyes about, desperately searching for something that would allow me to
release the collar. Suddenly, my gaze was caught by a glitter from the
front of Haelle's uniform tunic. Part of her Songmaster insignia was a
clear crystal. I took a gamble, and grabbed at it. Haelle turned
toward me, her face twisted in anger and mouth open in a soundless
shout. I tapped the release pattern as fast as I could, and figured
there'd be time to apologize later. The collar came off, and the
Songmaster's voice suddenly rang out in the close quarters. "...etched
creature! How /dare/ you? This is /not/ the time..." Her voice trailed
off as she realized that she could hear her own voice. I shrugged, and
displayed the opened collar. She glared at me, then moved forward into
the gangway. "Alright. I have something that might weaken it, but
you'll need to take it out physically after that. Get yourself a new
sword – these things are vulnerable to a head blow, and those halfer
mates of yours won't be able to reach."

I growled, disliking her peremptory tone, and disliking the
derogatory term for halflings even more. But beggars don't get to
choose, so I moved forward, snatching up Egar's cutlass as I went. It
was uncomfortable, the grip sized for a halfling's hand rather than a
humans, but it was better than nothing. I moved up until I was just
behind the front line, and waited for my chance, swiping at the voidwight's claws whenever they came close, trying to prevent it striking me or any of the other crew. I didn't have to wait long. From behind me, I heard a whistled tune, a happy, warm song that spoke of lazy summer days whit birds wheeling in a cloudless sky. And the effect matched the impression. Just behind the monster, I saw a sudden brightness in the air, as if there was a knothole in the deck above letting in a shaft of sunlight. The circle of light hovered for a fraction of a second, and then began to expand rapidly. It swept over the voidwight, past us, and back towards the stateroom. In the other direction, it almost reached the stairway to the deck. As the light swept past me, my eyes blinked and watered, as if I had been looking at the sky just as the sun came out from behind a cloud. I cleared my vision, just in time to see that I was not the only one reacting as if the sun had made an appearance.

The voidwight had its mouth open, but it was no longer laughing. Now it was howling a soundless scream, its face twisted in fear and agony. I could see wisps of steam melting off its frozen flesh, and I smelled an ugly odor of burning and rotten meat. Voidwights are creatures of cold and darkness, and they take care never to come in too close to a sun for exactly this reason. But Haelle had brought the sun to it, and it didn't like it at all. From behind me, I heard her shout, her casting done. "Hit it /now/, you fool!" She was almost too late, and so was I. The voidwight was already overcoming its shock, turning to flee for the stairs to escape the dreadful light of day. But my reflexes were faster. I made a short, chopping strike, my blade burying itself halfway into the voidwight's skull. It froze, its motion halted. I held my breath - with creatures like this, even a strike like that might not end their threat. But it seems that Haelle had spoken truly. My blade suddenly jerked as the weight of the voidwight was removed. With no more fanfare than a gentle hissing noise, the walking corpse was collapsing into black dust. Within seconds, even that was gone, as a cold wind took it and blew it down the hall and out the hatch.

Everyone lowered their weapons, with various sighs, groans, and a couple of cheers. I turned to survey the damage. Egar seemed to be the worst. He was now sitting against the wall, his eyes glazed, clutching his arm. Rolf walked over to him and carefully prodded the white flesh where the voidwight had touched. He moved his fingers over it for a moment, then looked up at me and shook his head. I knew my guess had been right. The flesh was dead, frozen. Egar's arm had to come off, before the flesh thawed, and rot set in. I stiffened my spine, and nodded back to Rolf. "Round up the surgeon, then. No time to waste on this," I said. Rolf grunted, and stood, heading down the gangway towards the stern, where we knew the ship's surgeon had holed up with a couple other humans.

I turned to Haelle. "Thank you," I offered, as politely as I could under the circumstances. "You saved our lives twice, there. We owe you." She shrugged, and I could see a slight flush of embarrassment on her face. "It was that or die after /you/ had been killed. I was saving myself and Troven." I raised an eyebrow, but decided not to press the issue. If she wanted to be humble, I wasn't going to argue too hard about it. I still felt an obligation to her, though, and I decided that, bad idea though it might be, I had to give her something. "After this, don't worry about us spacing you. Whatever else happens, we /will/ try to get you back alive to the Navy." I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly, and gestured with my other hand towards the stateroom-cell. "Sorry to be so hasty about this, but you'd best get back in there." She sighed and nodded. She moved back towards the cell door, but just before she reached it, she pushed her hair over her shoulder, and turned her head to catch my eye. "Hurry up and put that damn gag back on, would you?"

I thought for a second, and decided to be stupid again. I shook my head. "No, I don't think you need it. We'll leave it off for now. Just don't try to escape - I'd hate having to hear Rolf tell me how stupid I'd been, and I'd hate having to stab you while he told me." She actually smiled at bit, at the last, and gave one quick nod. She moved into the cell, and I locked the door behind her. I watched her return to her chair and wrap herself in the yak hide again, staring into the lamp flame with a look of concentration. Finally, I wrenched my gaze away, and surveyed the scene. The surgeon came running up, followed by Rolf, and the two of them quickly lifted Egar and carried him to the opposite stateroom. They closed the door, and I sighed with relief. That sort of operation was a nasty business, and I didn't want to watch it if I didn't have to. With luck, Egar would be sufficiently sedated from the drugged brandy the surgeon carried on him, so we wouldn't have to hear the screams.

I quickly began organizing the others again. "Alright, everyone! We made it through that little mess, but we are not out of this yet! From now on, we set watches. I want two people awake and moving at all times. Two hour watches, and keep each other awake, damn it! We don't need to lose anyone else to the cold. Check on sleepers regularly, make sure that they're warm enough." I called on a couple of the younger halflings. "Drune, Tallen, check on the other groups. Make sure everyone gets the orders, and tell them what happened here. We don't want any other monsters sneaking up on us from out of wildspace, either." The two of them nodded, and dashed off to do their duty. I groaned, then, and went over to the spot in the hall where I had met the voidwight. I sank to my knees, and began picking up shards of my cutlass. It was a damn shame what had happened to it, I mused. It had been a damn good weapon. Not the finest product of a dwarven forge, certainly, but it had stood up to three long years of use and occasional abuse, and I had been fond of it. I gathered as many pieces as I could find, and tucked them into a sack. Hopefully, I could find a mage to bind the parts into a whole, and even if I could not, having the steel would probably reduce the price I would pay a smith to forge me a new blade. The hilt, however, I left out of the sack. I wrapped the broken blade edge in a leather thong, to prevent the edges cutting me or my clothing, and tucked it into my belt. Having a piece of quartz on hand could be useful, even if I wasn't muting Haelle anymore.

I stood as part of the first watch after the fight. My blood was running too high to sleep anyway, and I shuddered to think of the cold sleep of death that I had almost fallen into before it. After an hour, the surgeon and Rolf came out of the other stateroom, and settled down to join me. Both of them were bloodspattered, but not seriously so. The surgeon knew his work. Avenrin (just "Rin" to most of us) was a lanky young human, with a shock of red hair cut short. His face was lean, with prominent cheekbones, a square chin that jutted out ahead of him, and a long nose. He could put you in mind of a war-galley coming on at ramming speed, particularly when a tricky procedure made him set his jaw and frown. Now, however, he was just weary, the strain of events telling on him. Dark shadows had formed beneath his eyes, and he looked two decades older than his twenty years. "Bad business, Rafael," he said, after a few minutes of us sitting in silence. "Had to take the arm off above the elbow, the ice had reached that far. And Rolf said it was only one touch?" He eyed me quizzically, and I nodded. "Amazing. I'd heard stories of this sort of thing, but I've never seen the effects myself. Have you?" I shook my head. Rolf had been staring quietly into the lamplight, but now he grunted out a quiet "I have."

Rin and I looked at him with some surprise, and waited for a few moments. Rolf finally elaborated. "'Bout ten years ago, before you joined the crew," he gestured towards me "we met one in the Blood Nebula." I stiffened, suddenly realizing why I had never heard the story, but Rin was younger, and hadn't learned some of the bad places to take a conversation on the Jewel just yet. "Really? I've heard of the Blood Fog, of course, but I never knew anyone had been in there! What was it like? Why'd you go in in the first place? It's got a black reputation!" Rolf grunted, his face a dark scowl, but after a second he spoke. "Were running. Deathbug caught us in Crown-of-Bones system, and was going to smash us." I kept my expression calm, but inside I was listening intently. This was bizarrely rare. All the older crew simply didn't talk about the Blood Nebula - simply mentioning the name was enough to kill a conversation dead, and new crew members quickly learned not to bring it up. And to have Rolf, the most taciturn man I knew, telling the story, was doubly odd. He went on. "Cap'n tried to go into the Bloodcloud to lose the bug, and shave some time off the run to Heartlight. Thought we'd cut through a narrow area, only be in there a day, maybe less. We were fine for half a day, 'fore they found us. Then it was hell. Bonespiders first, waves of them." I shuddered in sympathy. Bonespiders weren't powerful undead, simply two skeletal hands joined at the wrists to create one skittering horror, but they were dangerous in numbers. "We dealt with them, but everyone got a little cut up. Which lead the bloodmist to us. Fought that off, but we lost five men doing it."

Rin looked puzzled, and interrupted. "What's a bloodmist? I've never heard of it before." Rolf didn't answer, still staring into the candleflame, so I spoke up instead. "Animated blood, basically. Take one human, take away everything but the blood, and then give that blood a hunger for more, and the ability to move around and batten on to any open wound, and you've got the picture. It can suck a man dry through a cut that wouldn't even need a bandage, if you give it a chance. And the only way to hurt it is with fire, or acid. You can slice at it for hours with a sword, and do nothing for your trouble." I fell silent, and Rin looked impressed. We both turned back to Rolf, but he continued to sit in silence as the pause grew. Finally, he spoke again, old pain suddenly sharp in his voice. "They let us be for a watch or so. Then three voidwights arrived at once. That was bad. We lost eight more people, and two others lost arms. We got them when Timon doused them with oil, and Sarai caugth them with a fireball." Now it was my turn to be confused. I knew Timon, he was an old human who had been on the crew when I started, although he had since retired. But I didn't know Sarai, and Rolf had said her name as though she had been very close indeed.

Rolf had gone silent again, and Rin and I watched him, waiting to see if he'd finish the tale. Finally, after the pause had drawn out several minutes, he began to speak again, his voice now low and husky. "After the voidwights were gone, we had some more peace. We were almost to the edge of the nebula when the bonebat hit us." His voice choked with old fear, and we listeners widened our eyes. We had all heard of bonebats. Huge skeletal constructions of human bones shaped into the forms of bats, the size of a small ship, and with a terrible hunger for flesh. They would eat anything living that they could catch, then add its bones to their own body. And they were strong as iron. A sword would just bounce off. A cannonball could hurt one, but they were agile flyers. You would have to be very lucky indeed to hit one with a cannon. Rolf went on "It came out of the mist at us fast. Didn't know what the hell was going on at first. Grabbed two people and flew out as fast as it came in. We heard the screams out in the mist, and we figured out what was going on. When it came back in, we laid into it with muskets and pistols, but it didn't do a damned lick of good. Grabbed another man, flew on out again. Kept that up for an hour. It would fly in, grab at someone, fly out, eat them, then wait in the mist for a while. We heard every scream. It took another ten of us, all by itself. We knew that if we lost many more, we wouldn't be able to sail the ship, even if we got out of the nebula." Rolf paused again, and now I could see his shoulders shaking, from tension and sorrow. "On the last run, Sarai finally got it. It came in, grabbed the helmsman, went out. But Sarai was waiting. She managed to jump over the side onto its back, carrying a keg of gunpowder. We didn't know she was going to do it, she just flew out of the hatch just after it. It disappeared, and then all we heard was the blast. Damn near knocked me over the side. After that, nothing. We got out of the Bloodcloud half an hour later, and we limped into Heartlight after another week. Ten us us left, out of thirty who started in. And there would have been fewer, if Sarai hadn't..." He trailed off.

The three of us were silent for a moment, each of us considering the thought of the deaths that can await a sailor in wildspace. Finally, Avenrin spoke up, breaking the silence. "Rolf, who was Sarai? She sounds... important." Rolf looked up from the lamplight, his eyes dark with old grief. "Captain Blake's sister. And my wife." Rin and I stared at him, but neither of us for more than a few seconds. The pain was too much to bear for long. I nodded, though. A lot of things that I had heard over the years were now clearer to me. We all sat in silence, and the rest of the watch crawled by. Finally, I nudged Drune and Tallen, who had the next watch. They shook off the drowse they had been in, and I curled up in my blankets as best I could, and tried to get some sleep.

I was woken by a sharp shake. Rolf had hold of my shoulder, and his face was set in a grimly serious frown. "About to hit the lifewall." I nodded, and shook off sleep as fast as I could. The lifewall was the barrier of winds that marked the edge of the living air of a planet, separating it from the deadness of the void. Crossing over was always a tricky business, and needed all hands at the ready. A ship crossing the lifewall incautiously could find itself tumbled every direction at once, rigging snapped, rudder broken, and probably plummeting toward the planet's surface. I scrambled up. The first thing that hit me was the cold. It was now like a drill, icy teeth cutting into every inch of exposed skin. I started shivering at once. But I knew that the deck would be far worse. I found myself a cloth to cover my face, and hoped that it would be enough to prevent the frozen air from searing my lungs. I headed up the gangway, crew members ahead and behind as all of us headed for the deck to prepare.

I stepped past the makeshift canvas door that had blocked off the open deck from the hold, and hissed in agony. The cold was far worse than I had expected. Now it felt like every inch of exposed skin was being set on fire, a frozen fire that seeped further and further towards my bones every second. I wondered if this was what Egar felt when the voidwight touched him. But I had no time to dwell on the bitter cold. If we ever wanted to feel warm again, we had to move. Before us, the gray-green orb of Verpax hung, already filling half the sky. The captain was already on the forecastle, and as the crew spilled on deck, he began shouting orders. "Raphael, take the helm! Forenoon watch, man the rigging. Take in all sails as soon as you feel the keel touch the wall. Aftnoon watch, you're on liftstones. One man to a stone, and keep your eyes on your squad leader! Night watch, you're on stowage duty, get moving. I want everything battened down yesterday! And make sure every light is out! We don't need a damn fire on top of everything."

I made my way to the helm, and prepared myself. Right now, we were diving towards Verpax, our bow pointed almost dead center at the planet. That was the only practical way to approach a planet. But the lifewall was a barrier of wind, as strong as the strongest gale, that wrapped the planet like the shell of an egg. The winds ran parallel to the surface, mostly, and the only way to get through them was to line ourselves up parallel to the planet's surface and slowly sink through, with our sails furled to prevent them from being torn away as we passed through the winds. We had to descent quickly enough to avoid disaster from the wind, but we didn't dare simply turn off our liftstones and fall. Below the lifewall, there was usually a region of turbulent winds and changeable air, that could easily flip an uncontrolled ship over, leaving everyone on deck falling off towards the planet, still miles below. Crossing the border from a planet's life-giving air into the dead air of the void was always a risky business. No wonder many sailors never tried it, simply flying about in the lower airs of worlds, or else in ships that never left the void, sailing from high port to high port, picking up and dropping off cargoes that others would take to worlds. But the Jewel was a free trader, and we had no such option, if we wanted to stay profitable.

I gripped the helm tightly, and prepared myself. I would be the ultimate arbiter of the liftstones in the stern of the ship, just as the captain would command the liftstones closer to the bow. The two of us had to coordinate perfectly in order to insure a safe entry. I watched the captain stand at the bow, staring out at Verpax, now growing to fill the entire sky in front of us. I held the wheel steady, steering directly towards the equator of the world. As the planet continued to grow in our vision, I watched the captain for the slightest movement. The lifewall was sometimes difficult to spot, and we had to be in position before we entered it. A ship going into the wall at the wrong angle could be ripped in half. Finally, I saw him gesture. He lifted both his hands, his thumbs outstretched, the rest of the fingers balled into fists, and then slowly raised his hands. I lashed the wheel quickly, and duplicated his gesture, except that I lowered my hands instead of raising them. The sailors on the liftstones were quick to follow our command. The captain had indicated for the pair of liftstones nearest the bow to increase their power. I had commanded the pair nearest the back to decrease their power. The difference in pressure began to turn the ship. I saw the bow come up, moving across the face of Verpax, no longer pointing directly at its middle. For seconds, the slow turn continued. Then the captain suddenly extended his pointer fingers as well as his thumbs, and raised his hands again, more quickly. Again, I duplicated his actions, except to lower my hands instead of raise. Now the first two pairs of liftstones at each end of the ship were acting together to turn the ship, and Verpax moved past the bow faster. Finally, the orb of the planet was not in front of us, but below us, still growing, but much more slowly. The captain lowered his hands quickly, and I raised mine. All liftstones were now on the same strength, and our turn was halted. The captain now extended all five fingers, and lowered his hands gently. I copied his motions exactly this time, and the ship began to settle toward Verpax below as all the liftstones eased their struggle against gravity.

It was probably only thirty seconds, but the bitter cold of space that had permeated the atmosphere of the Jewel made it seem like thirty hours. Then there was a sudden vibration that raced through the ship. Immediately, the men in the rigging began to haul away at the sails furiously, working to furl and tie every shroud as firmly as possible. They finished in seconds, and flung themselves down lines and ladders as fast as they could. Being in the rigging while a ship crossed the lifewall was a good way to be blown off. The vibration rose to a grumble, then a roar, and finally a scream. The Jewel was sinking into the winds of the lifewall, and it was shaking with the strain. The winds crested the edge of the deck, and I felt a force like a giant's slap press me against the wheel. All across the deck, I saw crewmembers grab for the nearest solid handhold, and hang on for dear life. Loose ends of ropes were blowing almost straight sideways, and the sails, even furled, were whipping and snapping in the furious gale. I saw, with a shudder, that the spars on the mainmast were starting to bend. If we didn't get through the wall soon...

But we did. At worst, it was a minute after our keel first touched the lifewall that the top of our mast was below the terrible wind. The most dangerous part was over, and I could see faces relaxing all over the deck. But the danger was only lessened, not ended. Almost immediately, we were plunged into a turbulent sea of clouds, and updrafts, downdrafts, and crosswinds began buffeting us. For the next ten minutes, the captain and I danced an intricate ballet with our hands, commanding various liftstones to increase power, decrease power, or simply cut off altogether, trying to compensate for the storm's attempt to toss us about. Finally, the howling of the wind died, and we came out of the bottom of the cloud cover. It was raining here, a steady drizzle that worked its way through our clothes and plastered our hair down to our heads in tangled strands. But I didn't mind. For the first time since the Jewel had touched the lifewall, I had a chance to assess our situation, and I realized that I felt warm. It was still cold, but it was the cold of a rainy day, a living cold, that men could survive in, not the killing cold of the void. The Jewel descended towards the planet, and I sighed with relief. It looked like we would survive, after all. Of course, I realized with regret, we still had to cope with a month of Verpax. I was likely as comfortable now, with my rain-soaked clothes, hair half in my eyes, and muscles trembling with strain and exhaustion, as I would ever be on this god-forsaken world. But the alternative was worse, so I decided to make the best of it for a while.

Placeholder 4

Did 2035 words on another piece.

In Nomine Story, Chunk 2

(2080 words)

Andrew cycled down the street, heading west down the hill. Behind him, the risen sun was shining its long rays down, illuminating the scene before him. Every piece of glass, every touch of chrome on the parked cars, sent its own little beam of light back at him, dazzling and beautiful. The morning wind blew east, into his face, and his watering eyes added their own touch of dazzle to his sight. Before him, the hill of Otter Street stretched, almost a mile of steady descent. The trees that lined the road still had their leaves, although they were beginning to turn yellow with the fall. It was still early, only 7:30 in the morning, and the street was mostly empty, only a distant dog walker halfway down the hill representing other people.

Pedaling furiously, Andrew built up a good speed, then settled back and let the bike freewheel. He'd done this route before. Every school day for four months each year for the past three years. Start of September until the first snowfall in late October or early November, then after the snow had melted again, in late April, until the end of school. It was routine. Otter Street was the main route in from Arlington Heights where Andrew lived to the closest part of downtown. Every side street had a stop or yield sign, and drivers were careful around here. Everyone knew there were lots of kids in this neighborhood. Not that Andrew didn't keep an easy hand on his brake, and an eye on the crossroads. Tempting fate was dumb, and he had no desire to wind up a headline.

As he headed down the hill towards the high school that was his destination, Andrew was muttering to himself under his breath. "Fuck, this sucks. How come I have to bike when every other fucking kid in the class has a car by now? Even fucking Brenda, on her third car. And I don't even get one? But no, Dad's all 'I can't just buy you a car, you've got to show you deserve it'. Fuck this." Andrew pedaled another few strokes, more to burn off some anger than to keep up his speed. His thoughts continued to seethe, though. It's just not fair! I do okay in school, I'm smarter than three-quarters of the people there. I know how to drive. So why can't I get a car? It's not like we don't have the money for it. What's the use of Dad having the cash if he isn't going to spend it on me, at least a bit? He kept biking, letting the anger flow through his veins and burn away any other emotions. Anger was better than the gloom that other thoughts gave him.

Like Chris and Ray. And there, with shocking suddenness, the gloom was back. The anger was still there, too, like lava underneath a black crust. But the depression of that thought kept the anger down for now. Every time he thought about it, everything rushed back. That terrible day last January where the whole world went wrong. It had been such a nice day, too. Bright blue sky, just a bit of a breeze, the sun shining on the snowy landscape, making everything shine. And the little MSN cat window on his computer screen, with its horrible little message of doom. "Ray asked me to go out with him! Isn't that /great/!? :-) :-D". Funny how he even remembered the smilies she used. But what he remembered most was the horrible feeling of the world collapsing around his ears. That's it, that's all. It's all over. Why did this happen? And he hadn't found an answer, not then, and not now, nine months later. He wondered if he ever would find one.

He had always thought it would work. He loved Chris. He loved her for years. She had moved into the house across the street when he was in kindergarten. And he had been crazy for her ever since. Brown hair, sometimes short, sometimes long, sometimes styled. Blue eyes, behind glasses until she got contacts, back in junior high. Tomboy right from the start. Always running around. She was always in better shape than Andrew was. She could outrun him, outclimb him, outswim him. And outfight him, although that wasn't hard. Not that he ever started anything, but when you're ten, you show someone you like them by stealing their hat, and running away, and if you do it too many times in a day, they punch you. They hadn't talked to each other for a week after that, and that had been terrible. It lasted until he went up to her house, knocked on her door, and apologized and promised never to do it again. She had hugged him and said it was cool. And he had never done it again. That was all quite a while ago, of course. Chris was still athletic, though. She was on the girls' basketball team, and she was good, too. Vice-captain, this year, and her parents sometimes talked about athletic scholarships.

Andrew didn't care how good she was, though. He just liked to go to the games to watch her. Just seeing her move around the court, sweating and flushed, happy and excited to be winning, or determined to come back from behind, was great. And hanging out with her was always great. She was always laughing, she'd giggle at the slightest provocation. And if you made her giggle enough, she'd start to snort, and that made her laugh harder, and it got worse, and sometimes you could make her spend her entire lunch break laughing too hard to even eat, and then she'd punch you in the arm afterwards, but not hard. And Andrew would dream of the day when he'd just catch her hand before it hit the arm, grab her other hand too, and pull her close, and kiss her, and she'd kiss back, and then he could just hold her, forever...

And he had always thought it would work out, someday. That someday, he'd get up the courage, and ask her. Or she'd ask him. Or she'd find one of his secret notebooks, and ask "Andrew, what you wrote there, is it true?" and then he'd mumble for a bit and then nod shyly and say "Yes", and she'd say "I never realized you thought the same way I did!" and kiss him, and then... And nothing had really stopped the ideas. Chris hadn't dated anyone. A couple people asked her out, but she turned them down, and kept hanging out with Andrew and Ray on weekends, watching movies, or biking around, or doing homework together, or throwing snowballs, or swimming. And he could believe it was because she really wanted to be with him, but couldn't ask him yet.

But that had all broken apart that treacherously bright winter day. Eight years of dreams and fantasies had caught fire and burned as if they were soaked in gasoline, and that damned MSN window was a match being held to them. He'd barely had the strength to write back how great that it was, after a two minute delay. And then sit there in his chair, stunned, while she gushed at him about how great it was, and where the first date was going to be, and wasn't it great that Ray liked her as much as she liked him, and whether she should start looking for a dress for the prom, because this year she'd have a date there! Andrew didn't need to contribute anything at all to keep the stream of happy, bubbly, joyful attacks on his heart coming. Finally, after an hour of just sitting there and just typing in "Cool" and "Okay" and "That's nice" every ten minutes, he begged off. Homework, he had said. No, can't do anything this evening. Got a project I need to work on. Sorry, Chris. Yeah, probably busy tomorrow, too. See you Monday.

And then he had turned off the computer, and sat down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. It hadn't really sunk in at that point. He had stared and stared and stared, until Dad had called him for supper. And then he had gone down, eaten the food mechanically, washed the dishes mechanically, gone back upstairs mechanically, and laid back down on his bed. And then stared at the ceiling some more. Until, all of a sudden, he had just turned over and started to cry. Nothing too dramatic, no sense in having Dad hear it and come in and try to sympathize with him, tell him that it would be alright, or some bullshit like that. Because it wasn't going to be alright, how could it be? Chris didn't love him the way he loved her, she loved Ray. And he had watered the pillow with tears for two hours, until he finally couldn't cry any more. So he went and had a shower, and then went back to his room, and turned the computer on again. He made sure not to let MSN start up, though. He couldn't talk to anyone now. He played computer games that night, violent ones. He didn't usually like that sort of thing. He'd rather write, or sketch, or play the piano. But right then, all those things were too happy, too much like things he'd enjoyed doing with Chris. So he shot imaginary computer enemies, with imaginary lasers, and tried to believe that he was blowing up Ray, and Chris, and everyone in school, and Dad, and everyone in the whole world that had just betrayed him. And he couldn't even do that properly. Every time he pictured Ray's face on the enemy, he got twitchy. Every time he fired a missile at a ship and thought "That's Chris in there!", he started to shake. Every rocket he launched, pretending that the blast would catch Dad, or the dumbasses from school, or anyone real, he got sick. So, eventually, he just pretended nothing, and just lost himself in the challenge of shooting pixels on the screen, secure in the knowledge that they were fake.

The next day, he had taken his secret notebooks out of the shoebox in the closet, and started methodically tearing pages out of them. And then ripping the pages in half. And ripping the halves into quarters. He made a giant heap of confetti on his bed, and then swept it all into the wastebasket, and bagged it up, and hauled it out to the dumpster. Dad had given him a look when he saw him taking out the trash, but Andrew had figured that it was the surprise of seeing him actually take out trash without prompting. And then Andrew had sat in his room for most of the afternoon. He had worked on the homework a little, but gave up after staring at the same equation for fifteen minutes. After supper he had gone back up to his room, and watched Moulin Rouge twice. And then went to bed, and cried himself to sleep.

And that had set the pattern of his days for the past nine months. He'd go out, and do things. He'd go to class, do his chores, his homework. When Chris or Ray wanted to talk, he'd keep the conversation light. How did you do on that test, doesn't the substitute suck, who is Brenda dating this week? He'd hang out with them, sometimes. They'd still watch movies, or go biking. But it was always different. There was a connection between the two of them that he'd never be a part of, and it shut him out. And they never noticed, which was worse. He'd sit on the sofa beside them when they watched something, and shoot glances at them, cuddling and stealing kisses, and feel a scream build up. He'd watch them chatter, or reach out to touch hands while riding the bikes, and he felt like shouting "Hey! Remember me? Your friend? Who, oh yeah, loves you, Chris? What happened to me?" And they never stopped. He found excuses not to hang out with both of them together, after a while. He could still hang out with them alone, but even that was hard. And he kept going through the days wondering how he had lost the game before he had had the chance to play, or even learn the rules.

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Did 2041 words for a Pyramid article.

Spelljammer story, chunk 6

(2052 words)

I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity, and nodded to her. "Sorry. I'll take it off. Turn around. And remember, I can still gut you if you start whistling." She nodded sharply, and turned her head, lifting her long hair forward over one shoulder, giving me clear access to the clasp of the choker. I reached across the table, and gave the opening command: three quick taps, followed by a fourth a second later. At the same time, though, I was carefully grasping the hilt of my cutlass. Not only as a defense, but also as the other part of the opening charm. The captain was a clever artificer. The wearer of one of these collars simply couldn't take it off themselves. If they tried, they got a jolt of agony down every nerve that got worse the longer they tried. I had been on the receiving end of just one of those jolts, once, and I never wanted to repeat the experience. But even if the wearer got someone else to take it off, the tapping alone was not sufficient. The opener also had to be touching a piece of quartz. Conveniently, I had just such a stone decorating the hilt of my sword. If I hadn't, both her and I would have been subject to one of those jolts. Not a pleasant concept.

The choker's clasp opened on its own once I had given the appropriate code, and the silencing bond slipped off. I caught it, and laid it on the table, a not-so-subtle threat that she didn't have to be able to talk. The Songmaster eyed the choker, and rubbed her neck where it had chaffed a bit. "Now," I continued. "I was asking your name." She scowled again, and looked like she was considering not telling me anyway, despite the lack of restraint, but then visibly slumped and decided to give in. "Third Chorus Songmaster Haelle Riinal, of the man-o-war Purple Emperor"

I nodded enouragingly. "Now we're getting somewhere. So, Songmaster Riinal. Tell me about the Purple Emperor. Any important details about the complement? Is there any reason they're going to be chasing us down? Or will they just leave you to us while they deal with the orcs?"

She looked up at me, but didn't quite meet my eye. "No reason to follow us. You're safe." I sighed inwardly, then said out loud "I think you're lying to me. Allow me to remind you - we spotted your ship a long way off, even disguised. We can do it again. And if we do spot them, believe me, you and your favorite third officer will be over the side very quickly. Then they can collect you from wildspace."

She snarled at me. "You wouldn't dare! If the Navy was hunting you for us, they'd let you go if you handed us over. If we were killed, they'd hound you to the edge of the Great Void, and not stop until every man aboard this wretched ship was dead!"

I shook my head. "No chance, Songmaster. I know elves. If you're important enough to chase after, you're important enough to make our survival unlikely after we give you up. If the elves let it be spread about that they let someone big get grabbed, they'd lose a lot of respect, and the Navy can't take that. As you know. So, once again, this time with some truth. Are you important enough to chase?"

Haelle looked me in the eye for a second. Her gaze broke first. She hung her head, and said quietly "The third officer is Troven Liirae. He's the second son of Aatro Liirae." I sighed, out loud this time. That was bad news. Aatro Liirae was the head of the Liirae clan, and a colder merchant prince never walked on a deck. He would sell anyone if the price was right, but, like all elves, he put a very high price on his children. Elves didn't have many, and valued the ones they had more than most planets could pay. He must have put his son into the Navy to make some political hay, but probably arranged for a sinecure - a nice, easy garrison duty. And then Troven and us had fouled it up, Troven by getting captured, and us by capturing him. The captain of the Purple Emperor would move the stars and every world around them to recover him, and I doubted there was far enough we could run. And it would get worse if we killed him. All the considerable resources of one of the great merchant houses would be devoted to tracking us down.

I eyed Songmaster Haelle again, and she nodded, now looking bitterly amused at my obvious dismay. "You might as well surrender now," she suggested. "If you throw yourself on the mercy of the captain, he might be lenient. I hear the firesap mines on Ragnos are looking for more people." I glared at her, and quickly shot back. "Don't be too confident, elf. Remember, we left your precious Purple Emperor with a crippled wing, in a fight with a raven ship. Odds are, your precious captain won't even make it out of that alive, let alone have a chance to come find us. We lay low for a while, then take off, give the four of you deadweights some memory charms, and we get off scott free. Odds are, the Navy won't even realize that you were captured, rather than just blasted out of space with the rest of your crew. Heck, we might not even bother with the memory charms. Much easier to just space you once we're sure the Emperor is flinders and sawdust. No complications there."

I had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in fear. She knew very well that what I said was correct. The best course of action for the Jewel was to space her and the rest, once we knew pursuit was not in the offing. Memory charms were not always reliable, and the simple fact of their return would provoke suspicion. Luckily for her, the captain and I would not be doing it. I had see too many people die that way, from my early days, to ever be comfortable doing it to someone, no matter how bad an enemy. And Captain Blake had reasons of his own. So Haelle was safe. Not that I intended to let her know. She could sweat.

"Well, we won't drop you just yet. We've got a few weeks to wait, after all. Don't worry. I'm sure you'll love our new accomodations. I know how much elves like mud, and really terrible fish. I hope you thought to bring a raincoat along on that flitter, though. It may be damp." She wrinkled her nose in disgust at my description. "Don't tell me. Your bolthole is Verpax." I smiled and nodded, and felt a delicious feeling of schadenfreude as that pinched line appeared between her eyes again. "Oh, I see you've heard of our little vacation spot. Well, don't worry. You'll have a very good chance to get to know it and love it." I stood, and gestured her up as well. "That's all I need right now. Time to go back to your room, Songmaster. Thank you for being so cooperative." She glowered at me, but stood and turned for the door. I held up a hand. "First, your little accessory. Can't be forgetting that." Haelle sighed, but didn't protest. She shifted her hair to the side again, and I picked up the choker again, deftly slipping it in place and clipping it closed. It needed no special signal to put on, and the silence immediately took effect. Even her breathing was quieted.

I gestured ahead of me, and she marched out. I lead her back to the other stateroom, and Rolf unlocked the door and waved her inside. She returned to her chair in the corner, took a seat, and faced us again. I smiled and waved, and she shot me an obscene hand gesture. I chuckled, and motioned to Rolf to shut the door again. "Didn't think nice elves knew signs like that," I commented, as he turned the key in the lock. He grunted, but didn't offer a reply. I turned to leave, and was walking up the gangway, when he suddenly spoke up. "Rafael." I looked over my shoulder to see what he wanted. "Don't fall for her. Nothing but trouble." I grumbled back "I don'f fall in love with everything with a pretty face, Rolf." His only reply was an eloquently raised eyebrow. I snorted, and turned back on my original course, mumbling to myself. I don't fall for everything. Just because of that one in Starfall. Well, and the widow in Skallport. Oh, alright, and those damned twins on the Rock, with the red hair... Oh, and that gypsy halfling, in Warspace. But not everything, dammit!

The next few hours were a slowly freezing hell. Everyone wrapped up as warmly as possible, but the cold was everywhere. By the fourth hour on our new heading, our breath was frosting in the air, and exposed flesh chilled quickly. By the sixth hour, the crew was dressed in every scrap of clothing they could find, desperate to shut out the cold Every minute was a step in our descent into a freezing hell. The open deck was avoided at all costs. Everyone who could, was gathered around our limited sources of heat. Oil lanterns, candles, the cookstove - all were pressed into service as much as possible. We covered ever entry into the ship we could with sailcloth. We had lashed the wheel and set the sails, and the only ones who ventured out were sent to check that nothing had gone wrong in our absence. Everyone else huddled closely together, and did their best to stay warm. At first, there was the chatter, songs and stories that usually filled the idle hours of sailors. By the tenth hour of our freezing voyage, though, silence reigned through the ship. The crew was devoting all their energy simply to keeping warm, shivering around our small heat sources. Slowly, the cold encroached on the lit areas of the ship, and our groups gathered ever tighter together. The silence was filled with the groans and cracks of timbers that had rarely been cooler than a cold ocean now straining to handle the fierce temperature.

At the start of our chilly voyage, I had patrolled the ship, keeping warm with activity. I went from group to group, trying to encourage everyone, reminding them that the captain had never yet been wrong when it came to this sort of gamble. I sang a few songs, had a drink or two with some of the larger groups, checked to make sure that the fuel was being rationed appropriately. At one point, I took a peek on deck, just to see how things were going. As I moved the sailcloth covering the hatchway, the bite of icy air almost stole my breath. I looked outside, but I couldn't stay long. My eyes felt like they were trying to freeze in my skull, and my lungs like I was trying to breathe icy fire. Seeing all in order, I quickly shut the door again, and returned to my patrol. Eventually, when it became too cold to move about, I ended up with Rolf and a few of the other halflings in the crew, outside the prisoner's stateroom. The prisoners had been given an oil lantern, enough oil for the time we expected, and several heavy furs. I had seen Haelle look disgusted by the furs - they were old, and they came from Andrast yaks, not the most pleasant-smelling beasts in the best of times. But she still took full advantage of their warmth once the cold began to bite, and I couldn't fault her practicality. Troven had still not woken up, and I wondered briefly if the cold would save us the trouble of deciding what to do with him. But the rest of his party had him well bundled up, as close to the lantern as was safe. He's probably survive, I decided, and left to join Rolf and the others.

Spelljammer story, chunk 5

(2058 words)

Behind us, I watched the raven ship. I could see orcs swarming out along the wing, beating out the fire with canvas and water. The man-o-war was moving as well, slowly shifting its flexible leaf wings to catch the wind. It was moving on the same course as us, but I knew that they'd never catch us up with the damage they had taken. The captain turned to me and grinned. “Looks like we're well clear, Raphael. All's well that end's well, hey?” He turned to touch the wood of the wheel, to ward off bad luck. He was a little late.

From the man-o-war, there was a flash. A cannonball, glowing bright blue, streaked toward us. Before any of us could do more than blink, it crashed along the deck of the Jewel and hit the wall of the forecastle. There was a bright flash from inside the hole the ball had left, and the captain and I paled as we felt a cold breeze suddenly wash over us. “Report, Raphael! And tell me it isn't what I think!” I nodded, and sprinted up the deck. I peered in the hole in the forecastle, and groaned. The worst had, indeed, happened. The cannonball, its force and magic spent, was lying next to a small podium in the room. On the podium was a large, faceted crystal, about four inches across. It should have been glowing a healthy yellow, like the summer sun. Instead, it was dark and grey. I shivered. The sunstone didn't look broken, but the elven shot, guided by fate, or, more likely, the magic of the ship's mage, had dispelled the sunstone's stored power. And without that, the Jewel had perhaps a day before it froze in the cold of wildspace.

I headed back to the wheel. The captain didn't need to ask. My face was enough. “They got it, captain.” He grimaced, then asked “Is the stone cracked?” I shook my head. “It looked intact.”

“Then we have a chance.” The captain set his face in concentration. “If I remember the charts right... Take the wheel, Raphael. I need to check.” I nodded, and took his place. If the captain thought we had a shot, then we might survive yet. He was the best navigator I'd ever sailed with, and he could calculate courses in his sleep. I held our course steady, and waited, fighting against hope and despair both. The crew settled down to their tasks, but everyone kept one eye on the door to the captain's cabin.

An hour later, Captain Blake emerged. His expression was mixed – more hopeful than it had been, but with a crease of worry between his eyes. He came up to the helm, and I raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Good news and bad news, Raphael. The good news is, there's a planet we can make it to in maybe eighteen hours, maybe a little more. The bad news is, its Verpax.”

I groaned and slumped. Verpax was a miserable place to be stranded. It was a small world on the outer edge of Redoak's system, far from the central fire of the sun. That made it cold. It wasn't quite far enough away to be a winter world. It was also wetter than a dwarf smith's back, covered by mist, fog, and rain. Every bit of surface that wasn't covered by icy sea was cold swamp. The continents were basically mudbanks, only barely above the level of the ocean. And ocean and swamp were both inhabited by as nasty a group of man-eating critters as ever came out of some mad creator god's fevered dreams. I had spent a day on Verpax, a decade ago, hiding from another elven patrol. I had been frost-, bug-, and demoncat-bitten, and then I had come down with a nasty swamp rot that And now I had a month, or more, to look forward to there. “Any port in a storm, I guess. But it's a miserably bad port, Cap'n.”

He nodded. “I've heard your stories. But it's all we've got. Better there than freezing to death. Here's the course, hold her steady.” He gave me the coordinates, and I set the wheel, then slouched against it in a black funk. Our ship was damaged, we had tweaked the nose of both elves and orcs, and we now had a month of leave on the worst planet I knew. I wondered what else could go wrong.

Within a couple hours, we had begun feeling the loss of the sunstone. The air was growing colder, and everyone put on warmer clothes, the halflings condescending to wear vests over their normally bare chests. Rudy spelled me at the helm, and I did a quick inspection of the ship, and ducked into my quarters to grab a thick sweater. Then I headed belowdecks, to check on our prisoners.

It was rather warmer down there, the heavy wood of the hull providing some insulation against the bitter cold of space. Nonetheless, it was still chilly. I headed down the stairs and strolled along the gangway to the port stateroom, where we had set up a temporary brig. Rolf was standing guard outside; he nodded curtly to me, and twisted his head to indicate the prisoners inside the room. "Said nothing."

"Well, maybe I can get a little out of them." I said mildly. Rolf merely grimaced, his expression clearly saying that he doubted it. He got out the key anyway, though, and unlocked the stateroom door. I did a quick scan of the room, checking that all three of the Navy personnel were in view, and not trying anything. I had a moment of surprise, then. There were four people inside. The Songmaster was sitting on a chair in the corner of the stateroom, watching the door. The two marines were sitting wearily against the wall, the one with his wounded arm in a sling. And the fourth was lying on the bed, apparently unconscious. I took a closer look, and my surprise turned into shock. It was the third officer! Apparently, he had survived the flitter's crash into the Jewel. I scowled, and made a note to complain about not being informed. This was important.

But that could wait. For now, I wanted to see if I could get some information out of the rest of them, before their commander woke up and started giving them orders. I watched the room for a bit longer, keeping an eye on the Songmaster. While she didn't move, I could tell she was watching me in turn. Her eyes blazed with anger, and her face was set in tight lines. Clearly, she was not pleased with me, her situation, or much of anything else. However, a few seconds of watching convinced me that this was her, and no illusion. She reacted too quickly to any movements I made, and her eyes tracked me perfectly. An illusion would almost certainly not be able to do that so well, even with its controller in the same room. The difference in perspective made perfection almost impossible. So, that meant that really was her sitting in the chair and glaring daggers at me, rather than a figment meant to distract me while the real Songmaster waited invisibly in ambush. Good enough.

I gestured with one hand at her. "Get up. I'm going to ask you some questions. Come along." I waited by the door, with my hand on my cutlass. "And I'm warning you. If you so much as whistle a note, I can cut your throat. So let's have no serenades." Her eyes grew even harder. If she could have burned me with the force of will alone, I would be a shadow on the wall. But she couldn't, so she did the only thing she could: get up, and head for the door, watching me and my sword arm closely the whole time. She didn't say a word, but she fell into place in front of me without needing a prompt. I gestured back along the gangway towards the stairs to the upper deck. "That way. First door on your right." To Rolf, I said "I'll just question her in the starboard stateroom. Lock the room up again. And keep your ears open for trouble."

The Songmaster marched, still in stony silence. At the door I had indicated, she hesitated, then nodded once when I said "Go in". She opened the door, went in, and I followed closely, still with my hand on my sword. Once inside, I closed the door, and then indicated one of the chairs by the small table. "Sit down. Hands where I can see them, please." The elf woman walked over to the chair, and sat. I took the opportunity to admire her again. She was very easy on the eyes, and now that she wasn't in a position to kill me, it was easier to appreciate it. Her walk was graceful - none of the seductive sway of a seductress, but the quick grace of a dancer. Or a warrior. No wasted motion. And she filled out her uniform very well, I had to admit. Curvier than the average elf, by a fair margin.

As she pulled out the chair, turned, and sat, her eyes met mine. She caught my gaze, and for a second looked confused rather than angry. Then comprehension dawned in her eyes, and the anger returned with extra force. A pinched line was now in evidence between her eyes, and I her hands clenched on the table in front of her. Her eyes, now that I had a chance to examine them closely, were an intriguing gold color. It wasn't a shade I had ever seen in an elf, and it just added to her overall look of exotic beauty.

But this sort of speculation wasn't getting me anywhere, and I doubted I would have much luck pursuing the ideas with her. Instead, I decided to get down to business. "So. I want to ask you some questions. If you're helpful, you can insure that your stay here is reasonably comfortable, and we'll put you off in a port where you can get back to the Navy without too much inconvenience. Let's start simple. What's your name?"

The Songmaster remained silent. She tilted her head, and the look of anger did not fade. I sighed. I hadn't expected it to be easy, but it would have been nice. "Very well. If you don't cooperate, we can make life a lot less pleasant than it is. For one thing, you don't have to be kept in a stateroom. We have some perfectly serviceable bilges, if you'd prefer to stay there. Now, again, what's your name?" Still she kept quiet, though her expression had deepened to pure rage when I mentioned the bilges. "Well, what will it take? Things don't have to get unpleasant just for us, you know. The officer is not much use to us, frankly. Even if he wakes up, I'd say he's too full of himself to ever make himself useful. There's really no need for him to ever wake up at all. And we'd gain by losing the weight. Do you want that to happen?"

Her face was now a mask of incandescent fury. She shook her head once, sharply, at my question, but was still silent. Now I began to realize that something was odd. She hadn't only been refusing to talk, I hadn't heard even one sound out of her since the beginning. I eyed her. "Can't you speak?" The elf's face now lost some of the anger, but now she looked contemptuous. She shook her head, and lifted her chin, tapping a significant finger against a green choker with a clear crystal in the center. I realized I hadn't seen her wear it before, and then realized where I had seen it - it was another trick of the captain's, a silencing collar. A smart move, on his part. Most mages would be hampered by the collar, but not rendered useless, unless they were such novices as to be unable to cast any spells with only gestures. But the Songmaster, limited as she was by the need to make music to work her magic, was completely helpless.