Bem Madsoor Introduces Herself
As shadows lengthened in the early evening, a long day of fun and feasting was still going strong at Narrows End Bay. Captain “Red Whale” Gumberpott swung slowly back and forth in a hammock, his legs sprawling over the edges. Thanks to the feasting, his substantial stomach took on truly gigantic proportions as the curve of the hammock pushed it up before his eyes. A bop of Sea Brew rested on Red Whale’s stomach and with only minor effort, the good captain could tip the bop enough to send a small dribble of the Brew into his mouth. Such small movements and sips were about all he could manage. The feasting had taken its toll.
Relaxed and gut-stuffed to the limit, Red Whale contentedly watched some of the more energetic crew of the Daring Dream preparing to compete against some of the Narrows End Bay locals in a Cheat-Break contest. Red Whale remembered the first time he’d seen Cheat-Break played. He’d been a young mate on that first stop at Narrows End Bay so many years ago. “Arr’t it a bit o’ wonder the way time sails by?” he mused, recalling himself in those days. “I was a hunder’d pounds less in the gut then,” he chuckled, “and it’s a blessin’ I’m too heavy to be any use to our team now...Needs a young beast sharp o’ mouth and weak o’ brain—more grit than wit—Aye, getting’ old and heavy has its merits,” he smiled, sipping his Brew.
But Red Whale quickly turned serious as he noticed Katteo Jor’Dane tying a strip of green cloth around her arm. “Nay, Katteo!” he yelled, without moving from his comfortable hammock. “It’s bein’ a game better for ya to watch than to play. We can’t afford ya gittin’ all smashed up!” Red Whale knew the dangers of Cheat-Break and he was not willing to have his best crew-beasts risk serious injury. “Arr—the same goes for you Piggerton! Off to the sidelines with ya!” If a few of his bilge-brained crew wanted to take their chances in a dangerous game, he could replace them with locals if need be. But he’d not allow his most skilled and vital crew to play the fool with their limbs.
A feast day at Narrows End Bay always ended with Cheat-Break races. As the name implied, Cheat-Break was a rough local game that left cheaters with all manner of broken bones. Teams of ‘Heavers’—twelve to a team—carried longboats above their heads from one end of a marked course to the other.
As the game began, the longboats were empty. But when a longboat crossed a line at one end of the course, the boat was lowered quickly to the ground and one of the Heavers clambered aboard. The remaining Heavers hoisted the boat up again and hurried off toward the other end of the course. After crossing a similar line at that end, the process was repeated. As more and more rounds were completed, and more and more beasts rode in the boats, the heavier the boats became. The team that carried its longboat the longest distance before it could no longer be lifted was the winner.
A red pennant flapped from the prow of one longboat and a green pennant hung from the opposing one. The contest was defined by the curious way the teams were divided. Equal numbers of Red and Green Heavers carried each longboat. All sorts of trickery could be tried to help one’s own team, save only causing the boat to fall. A falling longboat—especially one filled with Heaver beasts—could badly injure many an unlucky beast. Hence, Cheat-Break was a fairly apt name for the rough old sport.
In the early going, the teams moved with some speed. Moving in spurts and spiraling bursts, the boats swayed and dipped in erratic curves. Opposing Heavers struggled to advance their own team’s boat, or delay the opposing one. The basic goal of Heavers carrying the opposing team’s longboat was to make the journey from one end of the course to the other exhausting. The more times a longboat circled aimlessly due to the evenly-matched struggles of opposing Heavers, the more likely that longboat would lose the game. On the other hand, the strategy of Heavers loyal to the longboat they carried was to keep their biggest and strongest teammates as rested as possible in the early going.
The boats weaved down the course amidst a barrage of jabbering and cursing from the Heavers: “YAR! YA BILGE-DRINKIN’ SLIME HOG! KEEPIN’ YER ELBOW TO OUT’ER ME EYES! ER I’LL BITT’IN IT UP!”
“ARRR! YA WORTHLESS SAND-HEAD—YER BE BITIN’ ME AND I’LL POUND YER TEETH INTA YER GUT!”
The yammering of the Heavers mingled with the cheers and taunts of the crowd.
“GLORY ON, RED! GLORY ON! GREEN’S NOTHIN’ BUT SAIL—NOT A BIT O’ WIND! GLORY ON, YA GREEN BOAT-SNATCHERS!”
“AH, SHUT YER GAP! RED PLAYS LIKE FISH TRYIN’ TO WALK. STEP LIVELY, GREEN!”
Puffing and hollering, the Heavers gradually moved the wildly spinning longboats down the course. Each team fought to hold its own in the rugged contest as the boats went up and down, around and around, in the dizzying race.
Red Whale roared with laughter as he watched the comic spectacle. Running his arm across his eyes to wipe away the tears of laughter that had gathered there, he glanced out toward the bay. Turning suddenly ashen, the smile faded from his face. A strange figure was climbing the rigging of the Daring Dream! No beast had been left aboard to take care of the ship. Every member of the crew was ashore! The beast in the riggings was unfurling the sails. The ship was being stolen!
“STATIONS! TO STATIONS! STATIONS! STATIONS! TO THE SHIP! THE SHIP IS BEING STOLEN! IT’S A SNEAK ATTACK!” Red Whale roared, flying into action.
One look toward the ship told everyone Captain Gumberpott was right. Instantly, the Heavers set the longboats down where they were. The Cheat-Break contest was forgotten. Daring Dream crew-beasts scrambled to launch the longboats. Captain Gumberpott was already pulling on the oars as BorMane, Fishbum, and Katteo Jor’Dane splashed through the shallows and clambered into the boat. The rest of the Daring Dream crew ran to the boats, jumping aboard in tangled masses of arms and legs as the longboats rapidly pulled away from the beach. Diving and leaping through waist-deep water the last members of the crew caught the final departing longboat and pulled themselves aboard.
Pulling hard on the oars, the crew-beasts grunted and groaned as the oars dipped in the waves. The iron-armed sea-beasts had never rowed more urgently. With each jangle of the oars in the oarlocks, the heavy longboats seemed to take flight, leaping across the next wave.
But as the longboats drew closer to the Daring Dream, a babble of surprised muttering rose from the crew.
“Nay-O, n’ what’s the attack? I’d see nar’t more than a single beast on the Dream!”
“Tha’rs nar’t but a wee little cockboat tied up there! Don’t look to be a warrin’ ship!”
“There’s narry but a Sea Wolf up there in the riggin’—just a one!”
“Arr! What’s ta meanin’ of all this? Be it a lone Wolf Rummer?”
Reaching the ship first, Captain Gumberpott clambered up the ladder. Just as he stepped onto the deck, the Sea Wolf who had been unfurling the sails, swung easily down to the deck on a rope. Dressed in the rough style of one a long away from home, the Wolf wore a badly worn, but neatly mended, crimson waistcoat and pants, with plain sea cotton shirt, and lizard-skin boots. A long red feather poked jauntily from the side of the snug cap she wore tightly pulled on her head. A reddish bronze chain hung around the Wolf’s thick neck, with an unusual hooked chunk of blood-red glass attached to it. A short sword was in a scabbard on her belt, and a rolled up net hung from a sling across her back. Streaks of white hair scattered among the Wolf’s otherwise long dark red-brown mane marked her as a “well weathered old varmit,” as Winja had described Bem Madsoor on another occasion.
For indeed it was none other than Bem Madsoor, herself. Burned by the sun to the color of mahogany, the swarthy Wolf’s long, thin face mimicked her rangy height. Standing at least a foot taller than those gathered around, she could look down on everyone except Red Whale. Yet, with the long feather in the close-fitting cap she wore, she made up even those few inches. Landing lightly on the deck, the Wolf reached deftly behind her back. With nearly magical speed and grace she loosened the rolled net she carried and tossed it high in the air. With a bemused smile, Bem watched the net drop neatly over Red Whale, and—fast as lightning—yanked a cord to pull the net tight around the captain. Stepping toward Fishbum, standing dumb-struck beside his captain, the Wolf drew her sword and—THUNK!—struck it into the deck in front of him. Noticing that his sea-coat was not buttoned—and obviously intending to be rude—Bem proceeded to carefully button it from bottom to top.
“Well, now,” the Wolf said, looking closely at each of the Daring Dream crew in turn. “I am Bemrasoria Madsoor—to which of you mealy-brained, gill-quivers might I address some complaints about the condition of this ship? Shattered bowsprit...Smashed oarports...a dangerous rip in the main sail...the hull crusted in barnacles...Seems downright unfriendly and inhospitable for sea-beasts to lay around on the beach over yonder like a mess of oily-looking spoiled fish and not have this ship ready for sail. There’s a wide sea to cross and the Ogress will begin to blow in a few days. This ship isn’t fit to sail across a cup of warm spit in a calmin’ breeze. Who’s the captain here? Why isn’t he in irons for not having this ship ready to sail?”
Bem Madsoor’s display of bold, insulting defiance toward their captain stunned the Daring Dream crew. The normally brave and rowdy crew stood in mute astonishment. Rough manners and harsh characters were well known to them, but the brash, insulting spirit of this Wolf was startling. Such an insulting beast ought to be jumped and tossed into a rowboat. But something about Bem’s manner took the edge off of her insults. Something was likeable about her. There was a rough good-humor in her eye and the constant smile on her face seemed genuine.
“Aye, I seem to recall seein’ the captain,” Red Whale said dryly, still covered with the net, but taking it calmly, startled as much as the rest. “He’s a bad one, though—you can be sure of that—he sailed this here ship right through the Narrows, laughing all the way. And he’s done worse and made port in ships a sight worse than this one. We call him ‘Red Whale,’ and you would be well to know he’s like a Jack-o-Lantern because he has a kindly, laughing shell on the outside, but the fires of hell burn on his insides. So, I offer the warning to one so bold.”
Bem smiled and bowed to Captain Gumberpott, then pulled the net away with lightning agility. “Now dear captain,” she said bowing to him, “I see that irons are not needed to restrain you, which I hope is not an indication of how you will serve in the coming campaign against the Rummers. We sail tomorrow at dawn, do we not?”
“Tomorrow!” Red Whale exclaimed. “Not on your life, Wolf! This ship needs repairs and the crew needs rest. We don’t leave here before a week passes.”
“Well,” Bem replied, “it ain’t my place, as a common sea-beast of this ship, to give my opinion on the captain’s plans. But, speaking as a beast that knows the way through the Voi-Nil to the Outer Rings—and that you have maybe two days before the Ogress begins—I wouldn’t think the good captain would want to keep us waiting.”
Red Whale nodded slowly. “I suppose ya ca’in put up ta bowsprit yerself? Fix the oarlocks? If ya can do that, we’ll sail ta’marrer for sure.”
“Dear captain,” Bem replied with a grim smile, “although you’ve been too long asleep in your hammock—wasting precious time—I see you’re now awake and your crew ready to work. Every worthy beast must put heart and back to making the ship ready for sea. We sail tomorrow at high tide, if any of us knows how to sail a ship! Delay beyond that and there’ll be no reason to sail at all.”
“No reason t’ sail at’all?” Red Whale roared. “We t’ben sailin’ two months n’ we’t nen’t stayin’ here, ner goin’ elsewhar’ thin t’a the Outer Rings. We’s’sailin’ but when’ I say’s we sail!”
“The Ogress sweeps the seas clean beyond the First Past,” Bem said. “Every sea-beast with half a brain has long ago made the voyage across those dangerous seas or is safely in port to wait out the Ogress season. You’re free to make your ship into drifting splinters and trash if you want, but not one sane beast will sail with you when the Ogress is running. You sail into the seas beyond the First Past this time of year and no one will hear from you again. The Ogress are storms like you’ve never seen—sucking winds strong enough to haul a ship right up off the waves and then slam it down again, rain so thick a beast can drown without ever falling in the sea—Aye, the monster waves are the best of it! You want to run the Ogress seas a few days late, you can be my guest, captain—but neither I, nor your crew will be going with you! We sail tomorrow, or we don’t sail at all.”
“And now ya be decidin’ to be t’ Capt’n, is that it, hey?” Red Whale bellowed.
“Nay, captain,” the Wolf replied. “You are the captain and given the orders for sure. I’m just a common sea-beast—in your service, as ever and always—but, being the captain, you’ll not be fool enough to sail beyond tomorrow, you mark my words.” Bem paused and pointed to the first evening stars that were beginning to appear in the sky.
“You see that star low in the sky over there,” she said, pointing toward the far western horizon. “You see how that star shimmers so differently from the other stars? That’s because the air is so hot and wet over there that it makes the light dance in a crazy way. That doesn’t happen except in Ogress season. When that early star starts to dance you’ve got a few days until the first Ogress storms begin. We have maybe ten days to get beyond the Ogress seas. With ten good days of favoring wind, we can make more than a thousand miles and that’s enough to get well across of the Ogress seas before the season begins. Either that or we stay here for two months until the Ogress season is over. You’re the captain and any good captain will do the same.” Bem smiled at Red Whale and clapped him on the shoulder. Captain Gumberpott said nothing, realizing that Bem Madsoor was likely correct but also knowing that poorly done repairs could have disastrous results.
“Come on, Captain,” she laughed, “surely you don’t refuse a pleasant voyage before the storm...and prefer to be pounded by waves the size of a mountain?”
“Sure ’n it’s like that, ya flim-flammin’ bag ’o wheeze!” BorMane burst out as he stepped forward to join the conversation. “Don’ cha be wheezin’ about the Ogress. There’s ways ta fly across the seas and non’ be payin’ visits ta the Ogress. Sleepin’ with dragons and pickin’ shark’s teeth bein’ the way—and what ship except Darin’ Dream be fitted for that, I’m askin’ ya? Why she’s ta strongest ship I ever sailed and that’s why her belly’s built for haulin’ riches!”
“You say you’ve sailed the Daring Dream?” Captain Gumberpott exclaimed.
“Aye, Capt’n,” BorMane replied, “T’was the first voyage of Darin’ Dream that the dragon split me head...we’d shipped out for the Rummin’ Lanes. The ship’s owner heard there was riches ta be had tradin’ in trallés and rummer points. Now where’s the Rummin’ Lanes? All we know’d t’was beyond whatever we knew. Aye, we didn’t know zact’ly where we was headed. Bard Chop—t’was the owner of Darin’ Dream—just says, ‘Sail into the Voi-Nil, so’west ’o the settin’ sun and find the island called First Past. That’ll be all ya need to fill with treasures...’ and that was all we simple crew-beasts knew.”
“And did ye find treasure?” Red Whale asked with interest.
“Aye, that we did,” the old Coyote replied. “Darin’ had a belly full of dragons—and dragons are gold in the Rummin’ Lanes. Ya capture dragons and ya bein’ rich. We filled the belly of Darin’ Dream with dragons—Aye, ya fancy that, mates—Dragons!—’n sailed on to the Second Past, which bein’ smack in the Rummin’ Lanes. Dragons is gold, ’n we traded ’em to a Rummer Boar—Sabre Tusk d’Newolf...”
Whirling rapidly to the side, BorMane stepped toe-to-toe with Bem Madsoor, who had leaped toward him, her face contorted with rage.
“...’n don’t be cussin’ and spitin’ about him either, or I’ll split yer gut!” BorMane said firmly.
“Sabre Tusk is slaver scum!” Bem yelled. “There’s not a worse outlaw on the seas! Don’t you go defending him, Old Salt! Sabre left me for dead and that’s the best thing he ever did. How many Sharkish villages has he burned and plundered? How many Sharkicts has he made into galley slaves? His crimes are beyond counting! And you defend him? Nay! You always dare to speak his name in praise! Let me end that now! Stand with your sword and I’ll slice his memory right out of your brain!”
With such speed that he more heard the whistle of Bem’s sword slicing past his ear than saw it, a large swatch of BorMane’s long grizzled hair dropped to the deck.
“There, you jelly-brained Rummer-lover!” Bem warned. “Let that be notice of what happens to friends of Rummer-scum!”
BorMane slowly bent over and picked up the swatch of hair. With a crooked smile, he laid it across his open paw, and held it out to Bem. “Nice bit o’ sword work, mate! Can’t claim I’ve seen better ’n that. Here, lay yer paw on mine—let this slice o’ an old sea-beast’s hair be an oath-token a’tween us. Ya hear me out in m’ story, and I’ll not be mentionin’ Sabre Tusk a’gin.”
Bem shot a long steely gaze straight into BorMane’s eyes before replying. “Aye, Old Salt, I accept the oath-token, but on one condition—You will also hear my own story. We will exchange our stories, then speak not again of Sabre Tusk.”
“Done, an’ sure ’n it’s a promise,” BorMane answered.
The Daring Dream crew, who had been watching these developments tensely, relaxed again. Admiring comments about Bem’s speed and skill with a sword and jokes about BorMane’s new haircut rippled among the crew. There was obvious relief that a more serious fight had not occurred between two beasts that all now considered friends.
“An’ now I’ll be sayin’ that we was tradin’ dragons—just like I was sayin’ before—when I tripped o’re a coil o’ rope and fell flat-dab in front o’ a dragon. Slickin’ a snap that dragon jus’ sliced me head open. Now you knowin’ that’s certain death—bein’ a dragon bite. No beast lives long after a dragon bite—jus’ meltin’ away in a pile of purple, crusty skin and fits o’ coughin’.
But I bein’ standin’ here with ya—now how can that bein’ right? I askin’ ya? How can that bein’ right?”
BorMane paused, looking around the crew, before smiling again at Bem. “Well, it bein’ right because Sabre Tusk saved me hide, that’s how it bein’ right! He—and it weren’t none but ’im very self—rubbin’ the wound with a pack o’ mud n’ dag fungus the Sharkicts use on jellyfish stings. ’N I’m here today because Sabre Tusk put that mudpack on t’wound n’ made me drink some in water every day. How close I came t’throwin’ m’soul Over t’Waves. But Sabre Tusk saved me! That bein’ the right o’it—say what else y’may about ’im. Yah, I served ’im for many a year. Am I bein’ proud o’ his burnin’ and plunderin’? Nay—I not bein’ proud o’it—but I’ll ever bein’ grateful to ’im for not throwin’ m’soul Over t’Waves. N’ why did I bein’ such a sorry beast, take ’is fancy enough to bein’ worth savin’? Why I could un’erstand all the Sharkish folk—all the scattered, isolated bits o’speakin’ I could un’erstand, n’ Sabre Tusk had not a bit o’kindness in ’im, but he weren’t an fog-top either. ’N when he sees that I un’erstand the Sharkicts—yet I never bein’ there a’fore—why he’s thinkin’ I’m some kind’er a magical seein’ beast or other, n’ plops me in ’is crew.”
“You’d never been there before, yet knew the language?” Bem said with surprise.
“Yah, n’ that bein’ the sure thing o’it, mate!” BorMane laughed. “See what good there bein’ in listenin’ a bit, rather than jumpin’ all t’pot and swingin’ yer blade every wish-what? Ticht…ticht…ticht…Me sayin’ I’d never been there before don’t mean I weren’t there before! M’Pappy bein’ a Whale-Sailor all o’ the seas. One day we bein’ anchored in a bay some’wit at sea, just restin’ our whales and lettin’ em fish as they’d like, ’n we was picked off by some Wrackshee raiders—so, ya seein’ it was mor’in like I bein’ a wee beast and takin’ by some Wrackshees n’ sold for slave. How’in I got from there to bein’ on board the Darin’ Dream is mor’in the story I’ve got to tell now—but that bein’ the main o’it.”
“So you must have sailed across the Voi-Nil and back again!” Fishbum exclaimed.
“Yah, ’n a fair bit mor’n that for sure,” BorMane chuckled. Why, I bein’ up ’n down ’n back across every sea that’s ever bein’ sailed! That bein’ why I know’s another way to beat the Ogress.”
“And how may’t that be?” Red Whale asked.
“Sailin’ with the Whales,” BorMane replied. “The Whales runnin’ their trade straight across the Stills—that bein’ the long bit o’ the seas where the wind hardly blows. No sailin’ ships can go there—least ways, not ’n be comin’ back. But, be tradin’ with the Whales in a good way, ’n they’ll bein’ willin’ to hook up a ship in their freighter runs across the Stills—forty whales or so runnin’ freight don’t think nothin’ of the Stills. We can run the Stills w’ the freighter whales ’n not givin’ a thought to the Ogress. So fix up Darin’ Cap’t Gumberpott, I can’t bear t’ see ’er ailin’—then we run the Stills with the freighter whales.”
Satisfied with astonished looks on the faces of those around him, BorMane smiled and invited Bem to tell her own story. “Yah, now, Bem—comin’ on ’n tell us what you knowin’ that we don’t.”
Although Bem had known BorMane during her stay at Narrows End Bay, before this she had not heard his whole story. Now, hearing his account left her thoughtful as she realized that although their stories were different, they were also similar.
Cooled somewhat in her anger, Bem began slowly. “Picture, if you will, a young beast skinning sharks out on the beach right in front of her home. Her parents and friends—Sharkict folk, all of them—are unloading a good harvest of sharks from the boats. Ole Waller and Spug Mismer—the biggest and strongest beasts in the village—are hauling the sharks up on the beach where a lot of us young beasts are skinning them, cutting up the meat, and hanging it up to dry in the sun. Beller Waller is out in her kayak checking the shark pens to make sure all the gates are latched properly. Then she screams—‘RUMMERS! RUMMER RAIDERS!’—sighting many Rummer boats coming swiftly into the bay. Rummers don’t sail in easy, drop anchor, and come ashore a few at a time. They row their galley ships fast as the wind right up onto the beach and jump out all at once to attack. They kill only those who resist, so most of the Sharkicts stand and watch when a Rummer raid occurs. In a short time, the raiders have taken all the shark meat they want, taken whatever hostages they want to replace dead or escaped galley slaves, and then they depart. If any hostage struggles or others try to prevent their being taken, they are soon clubbed senseless and their homes are burned. I was taken in such a raid by Sabre Tusk and my family’s home was burned.”
“What do the Rummers do with all the fresh shark meat?” Katteo Jor’Dane asked.
“They trade some of it with the Wrackshees in exchange for new galley slaves,” Bem replied. “But most of it they sell in Port Newolf and other such places where the Dragon Bosses buy it to feed to their monitors. Sharkicts used to raise only enough sharks to feed themselves and sell a little dried shark meat to the few sailing ships that came by once in a while. But that changed when the Rummer raids began—the Rummers won’t take anything but fresh shark meat. So the Sharkicts started raising more and more sharks. When the Rummer raiders come, they fill their ships with fresh shark meat and—if the local folk are lucky, there’s enough left to sustain them after the Rummers leave. If not,” she said with the fierce look, “it’s a long hungry season.”
As these last words were spoken, Bem suddenly pulled her sword and once again sent the blade whistling past BorMane’s head. A long swatch of hair again dropped to the deck, this time on the other side of his head.
“There, Old Salt—having tidied up your haircut and reminded all that I will forever hate Sabre Tusk and hope to destroy him—I have nothing more to say.” The red Wolf picked up the swatch of BorMane’s hair from the deck and, just as BorMane had done earlier, laid it across her open paw as she held it out to the Coyote. “As you have offered, I also offer an oath-token. No more will I trouble you about Sabre Tusk. We are one crew now and Daring Dream and our good Captain will need us to be united.”
Smiling broadly, BorMane placed his paw over the oath-token offered by Bem. “Yah, mate, it’s not bein’ an easy voyage any ways it comin’. It’ll be all o’ us as sails through it all, or none o’ us will bein’ back.”
So saying, BorMane and Bem Madsoor joined the rest of the crew as work began to repair the Daring Dream. Fourteen days later, Captain Gumberpott steered the fully repaired ship out of Narrows End Bay, set his bearings for southwest of the setting sun, and sailed off into the Voi-Nil.
Having fresh provisions, clean water to drink, and favoring winds made good spirits abundant on the ship. Heading south to join the Whale freighters, each day, Daring Dream plowed deeper and deeper into the Voi-Nil. Each night, the ship’s council gathered around Red Whale’s table and discussed the coming prospects for the voyage. Except for BorMane and Bem Madsoor, no one in the ship’s council had ever before sailed the seas they were now crossing, and each night BorMane and Bem were called upon to tell more of what they knew. Images of an entirely new world emerged from the accounts they gave.
“So, as I take it from what you say...,” Red Whale observed one night during a council, “...the Voi-Nil is far from empty. Our charts may be blank but there’s beasts and more beasts sailin’ and frettin’ and blusterin’ in every direction.”
“Aye, Captain,” Bem replied as she stood leaning on the table and gazing over the chart rolled out before the council. “You need to think of the Voi-Nil as being different clans of beasts scattered across the seas—so isolated that they’re almost worlds unto themselves. Isolated, but not alone. Apart, but connected by the sea.”