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At Sea

by Geoffrey Hart

Previously published as: Hart, G. 2022. At Sea. p. 64-83 In: Swords and Sorceries: Tales of Heroic Fantasy. Vol. IV (anthology), Parallel Universe Publications, Oswaldtwhistle, Lancashire, UK. [August 2022]

“Man overboard, four points off the port-bow!” came the cry from the crow’s nest. “About a bowshot distant.”

The crew who weren’t otherwise occupied rushed to the bow and looked over the side, some bearing ropes, others bearing flotation devices. “There!” cried one, pointing, and all eyes turned in that direction. Each time the swell pushed the ship higher, they saw what appeared to be a very large man swimming towards them. As the swimmer approached, the lump on his back resolved into what appeared to be a child perched, cross-legged, squarely between broad shoulders. The child held a long bundle wrapped in what appeared to be sailcloth carefully above the water.

“Heave to!” called the First Officer, and sails slackened, spilling the wind and letting the ship coast under its own momentum, wallowing between the swells.

The captain removed his elegantly plumed hat, and mopped his brow before perching it once more at a rakish angle on his head. “Ahoy there!” he called as the pair drew closer.

The large swimmer paused and began treading water, causing some scrambling from his passenger, who managed to maintain their burden above the water. “Ahoy yourself.” To the captain’s surprise, it was a woman. She looked up at the dark faces lining the rails, her skin pink from the strong sunlight.

The captain exchanged startled glances with his First Officer. Taken aback, he cleared his throat. “Might one be permitted to wonder why you’re out for a casual swim, a day’s sail from shore? With a child on your back?” His voice was deep and rich, with the lilting accent of the tropical islands.

The big woman continued treading water, but frowning. “One might certainly be expected to wonder.”

“But one might not be expected to mistake one for a child,” the second figure added, somewhat acerbically. She threw back her hood and revealed the face of a mature, if tiny, woman.

The captain shook his head as if to clear it. Then he smiled ferociously down at the duo. “One might then be expected to wonder whether the answer to one’s question should persuade one to pause in one’s journey rather than simply continuing along one’s former course and leaving the definitively not a child and her steed to ponder the wisdom of a courteous reply. Rather than, say, accepting the other one’s offer to effect a rescue.”

The small one replied, an equally fierce smile on her face. “I’d be just as happy to continue our relaxing mid-ocean swim, should one grow too insistent.”

The large woman snorted. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s doing all the swimming.”

The captain cleared his throat. “If I might try again? What in the name of the Kraken are you doing swimming in the gods-be-damned middle of the ocean?”

“Swimming, as you so astutely remarked.”

“Hold your tongue, small one, or we’ll leave you to taste the depths with it in the hope you might learn a less confrontational style of discourse.”

The small woman frowned, but it was the large one who replied. “Your ship seems to be blocking our way, and as we have a long way to go, we’d be grateful if you moved your ship aside and reduced, however slightly, the length of our travel.”

The captain snorted. “Are you mad, woman? It’s more than a day’s sail—several days’ swim—from shore. Somewhat longer,” he added, “when you’re swimming the wrong way.”

“Trust the barbarian,” grumbled the big one.

“In fairness,” replied the small one, “this trackless waste provides none of the clues a proper barbarian needs to orient herself.”

“And yet…”

The captain cleared his throat. “First Officer? Prepare to set sail and move from their path. It would be ungentlemanly to delay them further.”

“Not so fast,” rejoined the big swimmer. “If we tell you why we’re up to our teats in saltwater, will you bring us aboard?”

The captain reflected a moment. “If your answer satisfies me you’re no threat to my ship or crew.”

The small one replied. “We were sailing for Losthaven when our ship encountered pirates. We were holding our own until the treacherous bastards produced a wizard who blew a hole in our ship, thereby flinging us into the ocean. We alone survived.” She shook her head. “It defies comprehension that so few sailors learn to swim.”

“It defies comprehension that a barbarian never learned to swim,” the large one replied.

“In fairness, there are precious few bodies of water where I come from in which it would be desirable, not to say safe, to swim. The prudent barbarian therefore avoided such activities.”

The large one spat a mouthful of seawater in reply.

The captain called up to the crow’s nest. “Any other ships?”

There was a moment’s hesitation as the lookout swept the horizon with her eyeglass. “Nary a one, captain.”

He returned his gaze to the swimmers. “And yet, there’s no ship to be seen.”

“We were following the pirates in the hope they’d lead us to port.”

“Or to board them and secure passage,” added the tall one.

The captain closed his jaw, which had fallen open. “You were going to board them?”

“If we could swim fast enough to catch them.”

“If I could swim fast enough, you mean.”

“I acknowledge your point. Shall we board this ship, Freya?”

“Wait!” called the captain. “You’re that savage barbarian named Freya?”

“No, I’m the savage city dweller. The little one—”

“Mouse?”

“—is the savage barbarian. It’s a common mistake.”

“If half the stories they tell are true, we’d be happy to offer you a berth. On the condition you swear to do my crew no harm, and to defend us against the pirates should they cross our path.”

“We so swear,” called Mouse.

“One more thing,” the First Officer chimed in. “What’s in the bag?”

“Why, our weapons, of course.” The small one shook the bag, which clanked.

“Which are now sworn to your service,” the large one added.

“Then welcome aboard!” The captain nodded to the First Officer, who gestured to a seaman, who tied a rope ladder to the rail and flung it overboard. The two women climbed the ladder, the large one moving distinctly slower than the small one. Once on deck, they shook hands with the captain.

“Freya,” said the larger, grasping the captain’s hand in a crushing grip.

“Mouse,” said the smaller, grasping the captain’s hand less firmly, having noted his alacrity in withdrawing it from her friend’s grip.

Shaking his head, the captain replied. “Lars Svenson. Welcome aboard Trickster’s Wager. Bound for Losthaven with a hold full of island rum.”

“That explains the accent,” Freya murmured.

“A cargo worthy of our protection,” her companion replied.

“Would you join me in my quarters to restore yourselves with a sample of our cargo?”

The women exchanged glances. “We have our weapons to care for first,” said Freya.

“Leave them with my arms master.” He gestured to a tall woman with a scar that made a pale slash across one dark cheek, who joined them and held out her hands.

Mouse hesitated. “We’d be disarming ourselves.”

The captain laughed. “Two swords and a handful of knives against a whole ship?”

Mouse laughed, with less warmth. “You have a point. We’re somewhat over-armed.” But she handed over the sailcloth.
The captain’s eyes widened, and Freya shook her head. “Ignore the small one. She has violent thoughts.”

He shook himself. “Can we take your clothes too?”

“I didn’t think that was part of our employment contract,” Freya observed.

The captain gaped a moment, then burst out laughing. “Nay! I meant only that I’ll have the cabin boy wash the salt from them.” He briefly admired Freya’s impressive bosom, then thought the better of antagonizing her. “Get us under weigh,” he said to the First Officer. Then he led them to the rear of the ship, where a cabin stood with windows open to the breeze, and held the door as they entered. He rang a bell, and a small brown child appeared out of nowhere.

“Holger, my lad: fetch clothing for our guests.” Then he examined Freya more closely. “My apologies, lass, but there’s none on board large enough to clothe you.” He looked back at the cabin boy. “Fetch a blanket for our large guest. A large blanket.”

The child, who bore a distinct resemblance to the captain, knuckled his forehead, and without a word, darted out the door. While they waited, the women inspected the cabin. It was bare of decoration, save for a brace of cutlasses with gem-encrusted guards, crossed and hung from the wall across from a large liquor cabinet, bolted to the floor and filled with an intriguing assortment of bottles, and an intricately worked brasswork that hung from the wall catercorner to the swords. Closer inspection revealed the tableau of a multi-armed sea creature, its long, ropelike limbs wrapped about and crushing a three-masted ship.

“The Kraken,” Svenson explained. “A creature that infests the sea along our small island. It’s said we learned the manufacture of our rum because the creature loves that drink more than any living man or woman, and is only propitiated by hurling a keg of rum into the sea before a ship leaves port. The Kraken comes, drinks down the keg, and then retreats to the depths to sleep it off. While it does, ships can safely leave port.”

“And yet you reveal this secret to anyone you pluck from the sea?”

The captain’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps the actual solution is somewhat more complex than I alluded to, Mouse.”

“Have you never thought of poisoning the beast?”

The captain frowned. “Nay. Its presence also means that no armada can attack us if they don’t know the secret of our defence.”

The cabin boy returned bearing clothing for Mouse and a large blanket, and Svenson rose from the table. “I’ve duties to attend to. Dress yourself”—he glanced at Freya—“or cover yourselves as best you can, then give your clothes to the boy. Lad, clean their garments of salt and return them when you’re done.” With that, he left, pulling the cabin boy behind him.

***

When the door closed, the friends removed their salt-crusted clothing and boots. Mouse’s clothing was too large, but not unsuitable, whereas Freya managed to drape her blanket sufficiently artfully to provide a modicum of dignity. As she finished adjusting the blanket, she noted the smile on Mouse’s face.

“What?”

“A clever ploy on your part. Our captain friend will undoubtedly be distracted by your garb when we dicker over the price of our services.”

Freya snorted. “Then I shall perforce have to help him focus.”

“I wish you luck,” Mouse smirked, and pushed the door open. “Boy! Here are our clothes.” She left the door open and cast a critical eye across the deck, where sailors moved about their cryptic nautical duties.

The captain returned and urged them to sit at his table, an impressive slab of dense blonde wood bolted to the cabin’s floor. He hung his hat on a coat rack, revealing a large, bald spot from forehead to the dome of his skull, and opened the liquor cabinet. In a moment, three silver mugs appeared in one hand and a squat brown-glass bottle in the other. Returning to the table, he poured them each a large serving, then sat.

“Confusion to our enemies!” he announced, raising his mug, then took a hearty swallow.

Mouse echoed him, then began coughing. “Whoosh! Strong brew indeed.”

Freya sipped more delicately at her rum. “Tasty. I can see this would be a valuable cargo.”

Svenson swallowed a more judicious amount. “Yes. Fortunately, the crew is large and experienced. The pirates test our resolution at their peril!”

“And yet...”

“Yet?”

“Their sorcerer blew our ship to flinders with a single spell.”

“They’d not try that with Wager. They’d lose the cargo.”

Freya nodded. “Aye. But that might not dissuade them. If they turn that magic on the crew, the battle may not end as you hope.”

Svenson took a bigger swallow. “You never said what you were doing aboard the sunken ship.”

“To be honest?”

“Honesty would, I feel, place our relationship on a more secure footing.”

“We were hired to guard the cargo,” Mouse said.

“We didn’t succeed. But of course, nobody warned us there’d be a sorcerer.”

The captain nodded. “Life’s sometimes inconvenient that way.”

“I like this one,” Mouse observed, hooking her thumb at the captain.

Freya ignored her. “Still, forewarned’s forearmed. I’ve been pondering how we might be better prepared the next time.”

“You fear a next time?”

Freya grinned. “Pirates. Rum. How could there not be a next time?”

“You’ve a point,” the captain conceded, and drained his mug.

“But all’s not lost.”

“You can provide your own sorcerer? Perhaps the small one?”

Mouse snorted and drained her mug. “Return my sword and I’ll teach you a thing or two about magic.”

Svenson held up a hand, palm outward. “Peace, Mouse. ’twas but a jest.”

Mouse sat back, snagging the bottle of rum as she did. “Perhaps you’d best listen to the large one. She’s cleverer than you’d guess from her looks.”

Freya nodded. “In both relative and absolute terms. Nonetheless, my pondering may lead us somewhere profitable.” She sipped her rum, winced, and pushed back the mug. “Have you long chains aboard?”

“Obviously. For the anchors.”

Freya nodded. “That should suffice. Have you any silver?”

The captain’s eyes narrowed and he met her gaze a long moment. Then he sighed and relaxed. “Aye, we’ve silver aplenty.”

Freya smiled. “Then I have a plan.” And she leaned across the table and spoke conspiratorially to the captain, who, once he understood what she was proposing, grinned.

“The two of you may prove worth your weight in gold!”

“Speaking of gold...” Mouse hinted.

“Aye,” the captain laughed. “I thought you might be tempted to renegotiate the terms of your employment once your feet were dry. Very well: save us from the sorcerer and you’ll each have ten silver once we’ve sold our cargo.”

“Twenty,” Mouse suggested.

“A dozen.”

“Fifteen.”

“Done!” He spat into his hand. “Have we a deal?”

Mouse spat in her palm. “Deal.” And she clasped the captain’s callused hand firmly enough that he winced.

***

Freya descended a stairway steep as a ladder into the bowels of the ship, with the skill gained from her previous, though brief, nautical employment. There, she was obliged to stoop lest she strike her head on the ceiling. She had a word with the ship’s carpenter, a stocky woman who had a word with the captain, who had a word with the purser, who produced a chest of clinking coins and handed them to the carpenter, who retired below deck.

The captain doffed his cap and scratched his bald spot. “If the pirates don’t appear, and we’ve wasted all that coin...”

“Never fear,” Freya winked. “You can deduct it from our pay.”

Smoke soon billowed from the forge, then after a time, stopped. Shortly thereafter, there came a prolonged screech of metal on metal that went on long enough most crew members gritted their teeth and began muttering threats of violence. Eventually, the noise ended and the carpenter came on deck with a spool of silver wire.

Some time later, a handful of crewmen went below and returned, groaning under the weight of a spare anchor chain. Once on deck, they secured it under a tarpaulin at the foot of the mainmast. By then, the women’s clothing was dry, and when the cabin boy brought it to them, they retired to the captain’s cabin and hastened to dress. Shortly after they returned to the main deck, the arms master arrived with their weapons. They’d been scrupulously cleaned, and their edges were razor sharp. Both women complimented her work. Before she’d vanished below deck, they’d buckled on their weapons.

“That feels better,” Freya observed.

“Now, should one of our gentlemen shipmates venture an impropriety, you’ll have the tools at hand to correct his etiquette.”

Freya snorted. “I’ll be called on to protect them against your depredations, more like.”

Mouse grinned. “Poor helpless men. They’ll be fortunate to have your protection.”

Freya shook her head ruefully. “Will you join me at the bow?”

“With much joy.”

Together, they walked to the bow.

***

Though Captain Svenson ran a tight ship, with the decks scrubbed immaculately, the brightwork polished to a blinding gleam, and all loose objects stowed securely, there was only so much that could be done about conditions belowdecks. Even with hatches opened to admit the breeze, the smell was... bracing. Exchanging glances, the two women chose to sleep on deck, wrapped in blankets against the cold, humid night air. They were woken in the morning by a piercing whistle from the crow’s nest, followed by the sound of running feet as the crew came on deck.

Mouse poked her nose from beneath her blanket and yawned. “Bastard pirates! Couldn’t wait for us to break our fast?”

Freya dropped nimbly from the rail, where she’d been standing. “No worries there. The mast’s still on the horizon. It’ll be hours before they arrive.”

Not long after the whistle, the cook arrived on deck with a cauldron of thick oatmeal filled with small lumps of what Freya hoped was some form of dried fruit. She was wise enough not to ask Mouse’s opinion, for her partner had proven on numerous occasions she’d eat anything that had stopped moving, and many things that hadn’t. They ate heartily, standing at the rail and watching the pirate ship draw rapidly nearer. The Wager was a square rigger, with a belly full of casks of rum; in consequence, she crested the waves like a drunken sow fallen into the moat. The pirate was a sleeker design, and cut the waves like a knife; she sailed like some great predatory fish attacking a dying whale. There’d be no hope of outrunning the pirates, particularly with the gentle breeze and long, low swells that did nothing to inconvenience the smaller ship.

Before the pirates came too close, Freya took the captain aside. “It’s time.”

Svenson nodded, and shouted orders. Working together, his men winched one end of the chain to the top of the mast, where they fixed it in place beside one of the stays. Then one man ascended, leaving the carpenter’s spool of silver wire on the deck and threading it through the chain, link by link, as he rose. When he reached the top and wound the wire around the last link, several burly men took the deck end of the chain and ran it over the side until it dangled in the water, far enough below the surface it didn’t emerge from the water when the ship rose on the swell.

Svenson came to stand beside them. “Is the chain strictly necessary?”

Freya shrugged. “The silver will catch the spell, but can’t possibly hold that much energy on its own. But the iron will drain the energy into the ocean. That is,” she grinned with only one side of her mouth, “if I’ve understood what I’ve read of seawater’s magical properties. Sorcerers aren’t known for their clarity.”

Mouse patted her forearm. “If anyone could understand that gibberish, it’s you.”

Svenson gave them both a long look, then left to begin organizing his crew.

Freya covered her friend’s hand, then turned to watch the preparations. The crew was busy spreading coarse sand on the decks. “To soak up the blood,” remarked the captain as he hurried past.

Cutlasses and cudgels were being handed out. Some sailors took one, some took the other, and some took both, just to be safe. A few unwrapped and strung bows. As they watched, the pirate ship slid nimbly upwind of the trader, stealing the wind from its sails, then gliding to a halt itself as the pirates let the sails luff, maintaining just enough momentum to hold station on the Wager. Close enough to see the faces of its crew, who were a scarred and unpleasant group of ruffians.

“Ahoy!” bellowed a voice from the pirate ship. It came from a large man with a beard that trailed across his chest as if he’d tried to swallow a russet badger and stopped halfway. Atop his head sat a ram’s skull, complete with spiral horns; across one eye socket, a tattered patch fluttered in the breeze. “Surrender, or prepare to be blasted.”

A slender figure dressed in long, flowing robes stepped to the rail beside him, withdrawing a slim wand from the depths of her cloak. “By me,” she added unnecessarily, with a flamboyant courtesy to the Wager’s crew.

Svenson laughed and spat into the sea. “Do your worst, pirate! This isn’t our first dance.”

The pirate captain shouted something at the sorcerer, who raised her wand and chanted several guttural syllables. Bright crimson light flashed from the wand, spreading like an opening fan, but just before it struck the trader’s crew, it veered sharply toward the anchor chain. The silver flared white, the anchor chain glowed red-hot, strange lights danced the length of the chain, and the smell of scorched wood came from where the chain passed over the rail. Below, the sea began bubbling.

The crew cheered, and hurled insults across the gap.

Frowning, the sorcerer attempted another spell, with much the same results, though this time, whisps of smoke came from the rail.

“Archers!” yelled Svenson, and a dozen men and women with crossbows pushed forward to the rail. “Fire at will!” They did, concentrating on the sorcerer without being told. Though the first volley of bolts shattered against an invisible barrier, the force of the impacts threw her back, and rather than risk a second volley, she withdrew behind her crewmates. Undeterred, the archers began firing into the crowd on the pirate ship’s deck, who returned fire with slings. Sailors began falling on both decks.

The pirate captain spat orders at his crew, and the smaller ship filled sails and slid downwind, closing the gap with the trader. There came a crunch of wood, the trader swaying under the impact, then before the ships could drift apart, pirates had affixed grapples to the trader’s side and bound the ships together. With a ragged shout, the pirates surged aboard.

“Who gets the captain?”

Freya held up her hand. “Best of three?”

Mouse nodded, and they each pumped a fist up and down, then held out their hand. Mouse had her hand flat, palm downwards; Freya showed a fist.

“Blanket covers baby. Again!”

Three pumps, and Mouse held her hand flat again; Freya showed a knife-edge hand. “Knife cuts blanket.”

Three more pumps, and Mouse showed a fist; Freya showed the knife-hand again. “And baby grasps knife.”

“You always win!”

Mouse smirked. “You always end with the knife.”

“Your barbarian games bemuse me. Plus,” she grinned ruefully, “I keep hoping you’ll believe I’ve learned my lesson. Anyway, play safe.” And with that, she drew her greatsword one-handed and ran at the boarders.

Mouse, saber in hand, ran to where the pirate captain had just cut down an unfortunate trader. “Captain! Will you dance?”

The pirate took in her diminutive but shapely figure and his grin widened. “Dance, is it? When the killing’s done, I’ll make you happier than you’ve ever been dancing with another man.” Then he licked his lips and glanced at Freya. “Or woman, for that matter.” Then he flicked a backhand cut at her with his cutlass.

Mouse deflected the blow over her head and lunged, catching him in the thigh. She’d meant to take him in the belly, but had failed to account for the rise of the deck under the swell. Blood began trickling down his leg.

“Your dancing will be clumsy. But you’ll dance well enough for the next few breaths.” With that, she began a series of blows, alternating slashes and thrusts, driving the larger man backward as he parried frantically. He began sweating, drops cutting through the grime on his face. Each time he prepared a riposte, she pressed him just a bit harder, and she could see his frustration growing as he tried to muster breath to taunt or curse her.

“Stop playing with him,” Freya called.

Mouse cast a glance at her companion, who stood by a windrow of bodies missing various extremities, including an orphaned head that rolled past her as the deck canted. As Mouse watched, Freya disarmed a second pirate and kicked a third so hard in the belly he flew backwards, folded nearly in half. Seeing what he thought was an opening, the pirate captain tried to close with her. Without missing a beat, she ducked under his wild swing and rose, ringing her sword’s basket hilt off the side of his head. His blade fell to the deck, followed by its wielder, the double-thump inaudible above the din of sword on sword and cudgel on skull.

As he fell, she turned to survey the damage Freya had wrought. Her large friend had cleared a wide gap around her, none of the survivors daring approach, and she was clearly frustrated; it would be difficult to attack another pirate without pushing aside the traders, who continued to hold their own against the remaining pirates.

“Freya! Boarding time?”

Freya nodded. “Me first!”

Mouse nodded, not having forgotten the sorcerer. Freya usually had plans to deal with such inconveniences, and Mouse was happy to follow her lead. She waited a beat as Freya hurdled the rail and dropped onto the pirate ship’s deck. Then she followed.

All of the pirate ship’s crew, save the helmsman and a couple men tending the sails, were on the trader, leaving the sorcerer standing alone on deck. From the set of her jaw, she was clearly more angry than worried.

The sorcerer held up her wand. “You’re a brave one. But it won’t save you.” She pointed the wand at Freya, and crimson light flared. Freya ducked a hand into her pocket and emerged with a coil of silver wire, which she wrapped around her hand before tossing the spool behind her. Once again, the spell’s energy flared in the silver. But this time, the scent of scorched flesh and hot metal filled the air, and Freya gritted her teeth. With her free hand, she cut at the sorcerer. Again, some invisible barrier saved the woman, but the strength of the blow forced her back a step, then another as the deck canted. But now the wire glowed hot enough Freya could no longer hold it, and she cast it from her.

As the sorcerer raised her wand, Mouse removed a certain knife from her sleeve. A vendor who had very good reasons not to cheat Mouse had promised it would be proof against any magic, and had demanded a correspondingly hefty price. Without pausing, she flung the knife overhand at the sorcerer—and saw it carom off the invisible barrier and fall to the deck. Mouse raised an eyebrow, then rushed the woman, hoping the barrier was only proof against weapons. And indeed, she caught the arm holding the wand and pivoted to swing the woman in a short arc behind her, where she met Freya’s fist coming in the opposite direction. The sorcerer dropped to the deck like a sack of corn.

Unfortunately, she’d forgotten the wand. It struck the deck with a crash far out of proportion to its size and weight, and fell through, leaving a splinter-edged hole large enough to swallow Freya, echoed by a second crash and a third as it passed through the lower deck and then the ship’s hull. Water began flooding into the ship.

The helmsman and the two men in the rigging exchanged glances, dropped their weapons, and held their hands in the air.

Silence had fallen. Looking up at the Wager, they saw the trader’s sailors lining the rails. Seeing the mage under control, a cheer went up, and Freya bowed deeply. The hull made a desolate groaning noise, and she cast a wary eye towards the hole. The water was rushing in with increasing vigor, causing the ship to settle. Mouse retrieved her thrown knife, sheathed it, and went to stand by Freya’s side.

From the rail, Captain Svenson’s voice boomed down. “Well fought!”

Mouse frowned. “Too well fought. It seems we’ve scuttled their ship.”

Svenson beamed down. “Rather inconvenient if you’ve no alternative means of transport—other than resuming your swim home.” Seeing their faces, his smile widened. “Still, I suppose you did save us from their sorcerer. Without you and your friend, we’d have been fish food. Best get aboard quickly; that deck will soon be awash.”

The trader’s crew began cutting the ropes that bound the two ships together, letting the pirate ship sink faster. As the gap between the decks increased, Freya gave Mouse a hand up. Then she clambered back onto the Wager, whose crew were tossing the pirates, dead or alive, over the rail and onto their ship’s deck, which was nearly awash. Those who could still move crawled towards the rails, trying to stay above the water. Svenson waved a cheery farewell, then turned to his crew.

“Raise sail and get us clear!” he bellowed. “Deck crew! Take the wounded to the surgeon.” As the Wager gathered speed, he turned to his passengers.

“Traditionally, we hold a feast to celebrate a victory at sea. Fortunately, we’ve several kegs of wild boar we’ve been saving for a special occasion. They infest our island and play havoc with the crops, but they’re damned tasty.” He smacked his lips. “You’ve not lived ’til you’ve tasted boar marinated for several months in island rum.”

Mouse glanced at Freya. “They fought well for rum-sodden sailors. I’ll feast with them!”

Freya looked to the captain. “I don’t suppose you have any white wine?”

Svenson’s grin widened. “I’m sure I can find something suitable.”

***

As night fell, the crew emerged with a strange contraption, a rectangular box the size of coffin, made of some unfamiliar dark wood. Several crew attached a spit, while others filled the box with coal. Seeing Freya’s puzzled look, one explained. “It’s an enchanted device that lets us cook on deck without fear the fire will spread to the ship.”

Soon, a pair of boar carcasses hung from the spit over a roaring fire, fat bubbling and sizzling and a heavenly odor rising, borne on the night wind. Freya ate heartily, sipping her wine from its bottle and exchanging tall tales with the sailors. After a time, she noticed Mouse had disappeared. For a moment, she was alarmed. Then she saw that Svenson, too, was missing, and she smiled and took another pull at the bottle, followed by a mouthful of the pork crackle, melted fat running down her chin. In the darkness, she looked back at their ship’s wake, limned in flickery blue light. Some magic of the sea, she imagined.

As the ship rose upon a long swell, she smiled at the darkness. Definitely better than swimming.

Author’s notes

If this story feels like it has a hint of Asterix and Obelix exchanging pleasantries with their pirate friends, that’s not a coincidence.

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