Between Drowning and Drowned
The sun was just sliding below the horizon when the last bags of gold were removed from Daring Dream.
Looking at Red Whale with disgust, Death snarled, “Now that you’ve enjoyed your little joke, get out of here—before I change my mind.”
“Will the Whale freighter station still be open this time of day?” Red Whale asked.
“Get out of here, you idiot!” Death yelled. “Anytime you go, you’ll be able to find out what you need to know about the Whale freighters. Now get going before I call Fancy Grace back!”
“Fishbum, you’re in charge until we get back,” Red Whale said as he and BorMane left the ship and went off to find the Whale freighter station.
“Aye, aye, Capt’n!” he replied. “Good luck.”
Walking down the gangway onto the pier and heading up the street running along the harbor, Red Whale looked sideways at BorMane.
“When you told us the story about that piece of dragon tail before, you never said anything about a Maggon Dragon,” Red Whale observed. “Something tells me that not all the stories you tell are true—I thought you promised something when I took you on as crew?”
BorMane turned and grinned at Red Whale. “The only promise I made was not to tell any stories that would put your crew in danger,” he replied. “I think the story I told Death about the Maggon Dragon had the opposite result.”
“Aye,” Red Whale chuckled, “I was just lettin’ you know I noticed.”
Walking down the street running along the harborfront, the sea-beasts were surrounded by the sights and sounds of Crossports Slizzer. The town was gradually coming back to life following the daily Snooze. Eating establishments crowded every street and disorderly sea-beasts of every rank and condition swarmed the dives and vendors nearest the harborfront.
Red Whale, although he had sailed many seas and visited endless exotic ports, felt that he was thousands of miles from anything familiar. It was not that the houses looked strange—they did not. It was not that the beasts were curious in dress—they were no more odd-looking than other beasts he had encountered in his travels. No, it was the smell of the place that turned his senses upside down.
There was a muscular, thick-coated Badger roasting nuts in a spicy-smelling oil; a dark, broad-faced Fox, with pigtails reaching to his ankles, juggling burning incense balls; some swarthy Sheep, with dirty matted hair, selling pungent salamander kabobs; a big, round-eyed Goat, wearing a lizard-tail hat bristling with colorful fishhooks, smoking fish on racks in the street.
Everywhere they looked, Red Whale and BorMane saw braziers smoking, cook pots steaming, and fish, seaweed, clams, and every other type of seafood being unloaded at eating houses that stretched in every direction down the streets of Slizzer. On every corner, there were vendors with carts selling their stock in trade. Not only boiled lobster and baked fish, but also Most prepared their goods on small braziers, lighted with charcoal. There was even a strolling vendor, with a tiny brazier hooked over one arm, roasting corn and potato cakes. All of them sang their wares:
“Six o’clock and time to eat! Snapped n’ pickled lizard’s feet!”
“Frumming with toast! Frumming with toast!
Slapped and slathered Frumming with toast!”
“Pearl a pound! Pearl a pound! Pissts on sticks, Pearl a pound!”
Along the more crowded streets, some of the larger cafés had troupes of musicians and performers calling customers to come in and eat. At one such establishment, where a surging crowd of rough sea-beasts was elbowing to get in, a vile-looking, hulking Boar was pounding on a drum and singing out:
“Here’s Muck, and fine Crots, from Yobmahoy Bay,
They’re never more Slammed than they are today!
They never are roasted, and never are fried,
And never, never, ever artificially dyed.
Stuff them in now, and Snooze it off later,
Our Muck & Crots with cold jugs of d’Flater!
Check your knives at the door, put your cutlass at rest,
Suck up our Muck, and toss down our fine Crots—
There’s no other way, but to say they’re the best!
Beyond the prodigious eats, there was also a monstrous fights going on. Beasts going down the streets simply stepped aside as beasts flew through the air, fighting and wrestling. The fighting seemed so normal a part of life in Slizzer that—despite the struggling masses of beasts, punching and swearing at each other, and the flying bricks, rocks, and furniture—it went almost unnoticed.
CRASH! Two sea-beasts whirled past Red Whale, grappling at each other’s throats, smashing into a sidewalk café table, where several other sea-beasts were eating. In an instant those offended beasts joined the fracas—now ten beasts were cursing, biting, kicking, and howling for blood. BorMane jumped out of the way as a huge Boar dived past and tackled another sea-beast, who struggled free and pounded on the Boar with a chair. In an instant, a first-class brawl was spreading down the street. Except for the beasts involved, no one seemed to care. Everyone else went on with their business, seeming unconscious of the angry swearing, ferocious fighting, and flying blood and fur.
“So you see the wonders of Crossports Slizzer,” BorMane laughed as he and Red Whale worked their way through the fights and crowds. Red Whale agreed that the sights, sounds, and smells of Slizzer were, indeed, hard to resist. At one corner there was even a jovial sea-beast brandishing a cutlass, herding customers into a lizard roasting dive. Had Red Whale not had an urgent need to find the Whale freighter station, he might well have stepped into one of the joints and had a plate. But instead he pulled on BorMane’s arm every time he seemed to be wandering toward one of the cafés.
“Eye’s to the front, BorMane!” Red Whale said as he once again guided his wandering mate away from particularly enticing odors wafting from a Shark Chop House. “Our mates need our help—no time to stop and eat now.”
BorMane sighed and rejoined Red Whale. BorMane led Red Whale toward the cargo-handling area of the docks and, after walking several more blocks, he pointed to a street sign that said, Freighter Way. Turning down the narrow alley lined with warehouses, they picked their way through throngs of greasy, unshaven, muscular Roustabout Hares moving cargo to and from ships. Everywhere, barrels, crates, boxes, casks, and bundles of lizard skins and shark hides were going up and down, or moving from here to there.
It was not a jolly place. “Heave! Heave! Stain your backs! Heave!” Straining and struggling with heavy ropes and cargo, the Roustabouts cursed and swore at anything that came near them. They even pushed and shoved Red Whale and BorMane out of the way if they happened to stumble against them in the crowded, tight spaces of the alley.
Deciding that they should ask for directions to the Whale freighter station, they waited to speak to a towering Barge Goat who appeared to be of some importance. At least he was bellowing at a group of burly Roustabout Hares struggling with an overturned cart of fish. “Blast yar’t laz’n stumps! Fly! Fly! Lift yar’t stumps!” the Barge Goat roared.
The weary Hares, despite the evening chill, were shirtless in the heavy damp; even their coarse leggings sweat-soaked from the heavy lifting. Panting, their breath heaving from exertion, they weren’t in a mood to be hurried. “Shush yar’t gob, M’ster Billows! Narn a single one o’ us that eats at yar’t table. We’ll be loadin’ yar’t wagon right along. Just be shush’in yar’t gob!”
The rough-looking roustabouts, some with colored bandanas tied across their heads, others with snug cotton caps, one with a bowie knife stuck in his belt, another with a large piece of his ear missing, gave the Barge Goat surly looks as they returned to their work. Showing their contempt, the Hares thumped on barrels as they rolled them, giving beat to a swamp shanty wailed in the most tortured Barge Goat brogue:
’N Mis’tr B kissed his’elf in the mirror,
’n ’is crew b’gan to cheer.
Oh, oh, up he puckers, hav’in no fear.
’N he kissed his’self on the nose,
’n thanks from the ladies arose,
Oh, oh, no more, no more shall they fear.
No more, no more, no more shall they fear.
Mis’tr B has found ’is lovin’ own dear.
Oh, oh, he’s found ’is lovin’ own dear.
The Hares howled with glee. “We’ll be done in a lickety-cut, yar’t own lovin’ beauty! Har, har, har!” they laughed. Grumbling darkly, Mister Billows struck a match and puffed angrily on his long clay pipe, glaring at the Hares. “Blasted rob’nabb’it cargo weevils!” he fumed, muttering amidst the Hares’ raucous laughter.
As the Barge Goat turned away from the Hares to return to other business, Red Whale stepped forward. “Excusing myself, sir, but where’d I find the Whale freighting station?”
“Gone, gone this week last—at least if’n you want shippin’!” the Barge Goat replied.
“Gone!” Red Whale exclaimed.
“Aye! And what ’bout that’s you don’t und’stand?” the Barge Goat said.
“But I’m desperate for their help,” Red Whale cried. “How can they be gone?”
“They run’s a four-month freightin’ route,” the Barge Goat responded. “Two month’s out stoppin’ at ports, then two month’s back stoppin’ at different ones.”
“Four months!” Red Whale moaned. “We can’t wait four months!”
“Which way’s you shippin’?”
“We’re bound for the Outer Rings and wanted to avoid the Ogress. So, we were lookin’ to the Whales to carry us across the Stills.”
“Four months,” the Barge Goat repeated. “No chance a’fore that. Only shippin’ runs are in directions where there’s breeze’in for sailin’ ships.”
Red Whale was furious. Surely Death had known the Whale freighters had departed! He had allowed Red Whale and BorMane to go on what he knew would be a disappointing trip. “Crinoo! Zarr!” Red Whale scowled as he and BorMane retraced their steps. “Oh, and he’s a clever one!”
Returning to Daring Dream at a rapid pace, Red Whale found Death lounging contentedly on the sacks of gold coins piled on the dock. A goodly number of Fancy Grace’s crew surrounded him, quietly peeling and eating shrimp. The ferocious pirates seemed to take no notice of Red Whale and BorMane. Being stripped naked to the waist, however, showcased the gruesome scars criss-crossing their bodies, sending a message impossible to ignore. Hatchets, knives, and cutlasses hung from wide belts at their waist. The purpose of the display of force was obvious to Red Whale.
“So, it appears our deal is off,” Red Whale commented.
“Heavens, no,” Death replied with a gruff laugh. “The bargain’s sure and true’s it ever was.”
“Then command those rascals to leave and allow me to reload my half of the gold. We will gladly depart as soon as it’s loaded.”
“Then you are the one breaking our bargain,” Death replied.
“Me?” Red Whale roared. “Me break the bargain? Nay! I have honored my part of the deal.”
“Then all the gold, and the piece of Maggon Dragon’s tail, are mine,” Death said with a smile. “The bargain was that I would return half the gold to you if you were successful in making a deal with the Whale freighters—but, you were not successful.”
“Crinoo! You bilge-bathing, vomitous scoundrel!” Red Whale exploded. “You may be clever, but your trickery only proves that all the blood in your head is fly-swarming dung!”
“I think what it proves is that I win, you lose,” Death replied. “Now be happy that I show you mercy and let you keep your ship and crew. That’s a gift from your friends. We do hope you’ll call at our friendly harbor again someday.”
Red Whale and BorMane exchanged glances. No words were needed. In countless Ship’s Councils during Daring Dream’s voyage, their goal had been reaffirmed time and again. They would find the Outer Rings and return to Lord Farseeker with a full report in the shortest possible time. It was out of the question to wait four months at Slizzer—even if they wanted to!
“Mr. Fishbum,” Red Whale called to his mate waiting at the top of the gangway, “make Daring Dream ready to depart. We leave with the ebb tide.”
“Aye, Capt’n, she’ll be ready.” Fishbum responded.
“Look lively, mates!” Fishbum called out. “See to the rigging and stores!”
In high spirits, the crew gave three cheers to Captain Gumberpott and Daring Dream, and fell to their tasks.
“Where’r you bound?” Death inquired, just as Red Whale turned to board the ship.
“Back the way we came to catch what’s left of the Fair Temps,” Red Whale replied.
“The Fair Temps will be all blowed out for the season,” Death said. “You’ll be sailin’ straight into the path of the Ogress—and speaking as your special, personal friend, only a fool would sail those waters during Ogress season.”
“I prefer the danger I know, to the dangers I don’t,” Red Whale answered. “I’ve weathered many a storm, and prefer the company of a hurricane to friends such as you.”
Returning to the ship, Red Whale directed the preparations to depart. Some hours later, Daring Dream rode the falling tide out of the Crossports Slizzer harbor and set its prow northward to catch the Fair Temps. Riding a fresh breeze across easy seas, the spirits of the crew were high. Fifteen days after leaving Slizzer, the weather began to thicken and the skies turned gray and gloomy. Scudding along at full-sail, Red Whale searched the sky with his practiced weather-eye, suspecting that Daring Dream was heading into a heavy storm.
By the following day it was raining steadily and the seas became ugly. During the night, the rising screech of a gale-force wind combined with the pounding waves to drown out every other sound. The endless torrential rain, mixing with the flying spray from waves breaking across the ship, gave the effect of having no sky whatever above—as if Daring Dream had entered some twilight zone between drowning and drowned.
At the first sign of dangerous weather, Red Whale had ordered every stitch of sail to be taken in, furled and tightly lashed. It made no difference. The crew below decks, waist deep in water, working the pumps, heard nothing of the howling wind shredding the sails like tissue paper and carrying the masts away as if they were twigs.
Daring Dream, as sturdy a ship as was ever built, labored valiantly against the tremendous waves, taking on considerable water, but refusing to admit defeat. For two days and nights the crew bravely and feverishly worked the pumps. Lashed to the pumps to keep them from being tossed away from their posts by the pitching deck, the struggling crew managed to keep the water from rising beyond the bottom deck.
As the storm at last began to diminish, vivid flashes of lightning from the departing rain clouds revealed the fearful reality of the nearly-shattered ship. The heroic efforts of the weary crew had saved her, however, and with only 3 feet, 8 inches of water left in the hold, Red Whale ordered the pumping stopped and all hands to their bunks for an urgently needed rest.
Unable to sleep himself, Red Whale climbed over the wreckage to reach the main deck. Unseen in the darkness, he stepped into a gaping hole that had been opened in the deck. Stumbling forward, his arm slammed into the jagged remains of the mainmast. Stabbing pain momentarily took away his breath. Struggling to his feet and holding his injured arm tightly, Red Whale’s pain-narrowed eyes widened with the happy sight of Fishbum coming toward him.
“Looks desperate, Capt’n, and you look to be the worst of it yourself, sir,” Fishbum said as he reached Red Whale. “Come on with me, sir, you need some rest—let’s take a look at that arm n’ get some sleep.”
“My Mam always told me to work my head more than my seat,” Red Whale replied. “I can’t rest. We are in more danger now than during the storm—our water supply is ruined for sure and our food may be lost as well. We can’t sail or even use the oars because the stores and crates shifted in the storm and the oar-ports are blocked. No, the crew needs a few hours rest, but I must think how to save the ship.”