Chapter 134: Trouble
The Foolish Endeavor eased closer to Frisk’s vessel, and for a moment Marco thought his eyes deceived him. The ship loomed like a floating fortress even from a distance, three decks tall and bristling with reinforced plating. Close up, it was impossibly large in a way the view from further away didn't do justice to. Lines of portholes hinted at private quarters below, each fitted with shutters that could actually close against weather. As they drew alongside, the scent of baking bread drifted across the water.
Crossing over from the captain's rowboat to the deck, the differences became starker. For one, actually getting up to the deck involved hoisting the entire rowboat dozens of feet into the air by means of cranked chains and hooks. They were in wobbly, crew-powered flight for a good ten seconds before they could actually step down onto the deck, finding themselves surrounded by a wealth of comfort they had never expected.
The deck itself had pumps that spat up clean seawater at a crank’s turn, and sailors casually rinsed down the planks while chatting and swabbing away at non-existent filth. Everything on the entire deck was spotless, carefully maintained by a crew that could have done double the work in half the time.
"It's pretty nice, isn't it?" Frisk looked at the shock on the other crew's face with obvious pride and pleasure. "I think so, anyway."
"It's an absolute shock," Marco said. "I don't even know where to begin."
"We'll begin, Captain Marco, with lunch. It's about that time, anyway, regardless of what hour it is. I never notice I'm hungry during this type of thing. Right about now, I could use a nice baked meat pie."
"Meat pies? Onboard a ship? Where do you get the meat?"
"From our farm, Marco. It's not really a farm, but we tend to call it that. We keep animals in a large pen belowdecks and refresh them at port. Keeps us in fresh meat, at least, for all the trouble it can be."
They ate and drank good ale, and the meal overall was as good as any they had had at port. Midway through, Marco realized how right the other captain had been about hunger. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he started eating, and he was on this third slice of hearty, potato-and-meat-filled pie before that hunger started to abate.
"Now I'll show you through the ship. Don't think too much of it. The men are spoiled, but we need every one of them to go all-out in a fight to get half of what this ship can do."
It was hard to disagree with the spoiled assessment when Marco considered the rest of the crew were eating what they were eating and living better in a dozen other ways than Marco's crew could. Their bunks, Marco saw through an open hatch, were arranged in wide rows with mattresses that actually looked thick enough to sleep peacefully on, not thin pads tossed against boards. Officers had private rooms with brass lamps, desks, and even small windows. Every corner of the ship screamed resources and planning, the kind of long-haul comfort only the wealthiest fleets could boast.
Elisa touched a polished railing and muttered something about craftsmanship. Aethe measured the width of passageways and looked an awful lot like someone trying to plan her escape. Riv simply ran his hands along the wall like he was touching something from another world or another life. A way he might have been able to live once he had time to build his own place. Sturdies had, by all accounts, very nice houses.
They went deeper into the ship, following Frisk as he led them down stairwells wide enough for three men to pass abreast. The air grew warmer and carried the smells of hay and animals, and soon they came upon the so‑called farm. Pens of goats and pigs bleated and grunted at their approach, watched over by sailors who doubled as caretakers. Feed bins stood neatly stacked, and there was even a small area of soil where herbs sprouted in tidy rows. Marco couldn’t believe the scale. It was like stepping into a miniature farm hidden inside wood and iron. Riv laughed aloud, marveling at the sight and making a beeline to new potential chicken friends. Throughout the experience, Elisa peppered Frisk with questions about logistics. Frisk answered with a grumble about the constant trouble of mucking stalls and the space the pens consumed, but there was a glint of pride behind each and every one of his complaints.
They pressed on, the tour stretching longer than Marco expected. Every corridor showed another sign of the ship’s enormity, whether that was with supply rooms, training areas, and storerooms lined with gear.
“It’s too big,” Frisk admitted as they walked. “The ship, I mean. It packs a punch. Always has. But half my job is just making sure everyone knows where they’re meant to be in miles of ship, all told.”
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Eventually, the passages narrowed and darkened, lantern light reflecting off iron bars ahead. They had reached the brig.
—
The brig was guarded, of course. Two sailors stood at attention with halberds, their armor polished and their eyes sharp. At a gesture from Frisk, they snapped to salute and stepped aside, leaving the corridor clear. The captain waved them off with casual authority. “No need for show today. I’ll take it from here.”
Inside, row after row of iron-barred cells stretched down the hall. Each was set into thick walls of layered wood bound with riveted bands of metal. Marco paused, studying the construction. Wood, he thought, ought to be weaker than stone, but this looked like no ordinary timber. Reinforced, perhaps, or enchanted. He suspected it would withstand more than a battering ram, let alone desperate fists.
Most of the cells stood empty, doors gaping like open mouths. Only one cell was occupied. Inside, pressed against the far wall, huddled a pair of sailors with red-rimmed eyes. Their faces were pale and gaunt, and the moment they spotted Marco and the others, they shrank back further, eyes wide with the kind of fear that made their hands tremble against the bars.
One of the prisoners coughed. Marco stiffened at once. It was the bark of lungs still raw from swallowing seawater. The boosted constitution that most sailors had could mend the tearing in their lungs and lent resistance could stave off infection, but none of it made the drowning any less painful. He had heard men describe the sensation before. Hearing it now, so close, sent a shiver across his shoulders.
The sailor hunched forward and clutched his ribs, and his companion reached to steady him with trembling hands. Marco’s jaw tightened.
Frisk stepped closer to the bars, his voice steady but not unkind.
“You’re not going to die down here,” he told the sailors. “You’ve probably been wondering that since the moment we hauled you aboard. But hear me and believe that I don’t execute men at sea. That’s not a captain’s right. There are courts and judges for that.”
He turned slightly toward Marco as he spoke, his words carrying the air of an explanation as much as reassurance.
“They’ll have their say before a magistrate when we make port. That’s how it’s meant to be done. Now, you had some questions. You mind if I listen in?”
Marco nodded. He turned to the men in the cells, committing himself to be polite, at least. They weren't headed for good things, and they probably deserved whatever bad was coming to them, but he didn't feel any need to make things worse.
"Tell me about the temples," Marco asked. "Everything you know."
The man blinked at him, confusion flickering across his face. Then he rasped, "That’s all you want to know?"
Marco nodded once. "Yes."
The sailor swallowed hard, then words started tumbling out in a rush. "The temples, I don’t know much about them. The captain of The Yardbird always went himself and kept that part close. He never let us near. We only saw him leave and then come back… changed, every time. Stronger, angrier. Whatever bargains he made there, they were his alone. We weren’t told a thing."
"The angry part was probably just who he was," Marco said. "Did you find any temples here?"
"A few. Those ones made him the angriest I had ever seen. Like he was looking for something he didn't find, even though he found the temples. I honestly don't know much, past that."
"What about why you are here in the first place? It's an inner sea. They aren't known for their temples."
"I don't know about that. I just know the captain saw a big, big wave coming from this way one day. Word went out to all our ships straightaway."
"What word?" Elisa said. "What did it say?"
"I didn't understand it well."
"Don't worry," Elisa said. "Just tell us. I bet I can convince the captain to feed you better if you do."
The prisoner glanced at Frisk, who nodded.
"He said someone was losing grip on a whole lot of treasure. That it was time to hunt," the man said. "Broadcasted it through the whole fleet. I don't understand how one big wave could tell him that, but not even my own captain would question the captain on that kind of thing. After that, we made a beeline here. Quick as we could. I'm almost glad you caught me. He was working us to death, keeping our speed up."
"Why so fast?"
"Mind a guess? I'll give you a guess if I can get ale for me and my mate here with those better meals."
"Ale's no problem. I would have given it to you anyway," Frisk said. "Not much of it where you're headed."
"I figure the same. Anyway, the only other time the fleet ever moved that fast was when there was a chance someone would get whatever the captain wanted before he would. He never did like that much."
Frisk gestured toward the stairwell. "That’s enough for now. Let’s head above decks." His tone had shifted, weightier now. The crew followed him back through the lantern-lit corridors until the sunlight spilled across their faces once more. Frisk took a deep breath. He took a deep breath, but the clean air did little to lift the edge in his voice.
"It’s trouble," Frisk said flatly. "We need to plan."
Marco frowned. "Why trouble? What’s changed?"
Frisk folded his arms, gazing out across the waves. "Because it’s possible that whatever weighed on that enemy captain’s mind might still be out there now. Another fleet, other ships drawn to the same signal. And if that’s true, other settlements quiet little harbors and towns that never asked for any of this might already be in danger."
Marco was from a place just like that. Riv was from another. There was no time to waste. Following Frisk to his war room, they got down to the hard work of planning.