Limitless Seas, Chapter 17.

Chapter 17.

Larson woke with a start. He wasn’t dead, again, no, he had just been sleeping. Maybe his new body did need a longer period of rest, at least occasionally. He was thirsty, hungry, not sure how long he had been out. From the position of the sun shining through the window of his cabin, it was midday, well past the time a captain needed to be about his duties. He gathered his things, checking that the coins had been untouched during his rest before leaving the cabin.

“Captain on deck!” Tarley shouted, the man was at the tiller, keeping the Gull Dropping on her course. Larson walked aft to join his first mate.

“Glad you’re up captain, given your normal sleeping habits, or lack thereof, I was starting to get a bit worried,” Tarley said.

“Just how long have I been out?” Larson asked.

“A good fourteen hours, give or take,” Tarley replied to Larson’s shock.

“I didn’t intend to be out that long, what’s our status?” He asked.

“Nogreb reports the repairs are holding up quite nicely. The ogre does good work, I’m happy to say. The crew have been worn to the bone, but we’re headed in the right direction and should make port in another week or so,” Tarley reported.

“Excellent, I’ll see if I can speed our passage a bit,” Larson said, embarrassed to have slept so long. He had tried hard to show the crew that he was willing to work harder than any of them. Time would tell how often his body would need these longer periods of rest.

Larson made the rounds through his ship, inspecting everything and showing the crew he was back at work. The men and women of his crew did look tired, but the overall mood good since they were on their way back to civilization. Nogreb gave him an update on the ship, his tone and mannerisms closely guarded, giving Larson no hint as to his reaction to their previous conversation.

Thankfully, the hold remained dry and the repairs, while necessarily rough given the tools available, were well crafted. The prisoners were still secured to an oar, Larson made sure they hadn’t been abused and were given a ration of food and water. He still wasn’t sure what to do with them. Was there even any law enforcement to turn them over to? It might just be best to kick them overboard before they reach port, but after they wouldn’t be needed to row anymore.

“Not throwsing up my meat anymore,” Bartholomew said as Larson approached the area that the ogre had been nesting in during the trip.

“Yes, it does seem the sea intends to disagree with us in every manner it can, brother,” Bug added, his head still looked a little green around the gills.

“Tell me, what are your plans once we make port,” Larson asked the ogre, curious where they would head next.

“That depends on our reception at Rockwell Wharf. The free isles are quite tolerant of the various races, but an ogre, well, we still can cause a bit of consternation among some of the local governing bodies. Should the port prove amenable to our presence, we will seek work to fund our research,” Bug told him.

“What exactly is it you hope to find?” Larson asked.

“We hope to find whatever secrets there are to find of the mechanical variety. There have been a great many technologies lost to the world, and it is our quest to bring them back, to find some way to harness the power of something other than magic,” Bug said. Larson could see the passion in his eyes as the ogre looked forward to the search. Maybe that was the answer for Bug Bartholomew, the journey was the objective, not whatever they found.

“Well, if you find yourself needing work to fund your next expedition, I could always use a ships engineer,” Larson asked. He was sure the ogres wanted to find work on dry land, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I thank you for the offer, captain, but I don’t believe the sea is for us. It’s a bit more dangerous…” Bug started to say before his brother cut him off.

“Dangrous and barfy it is,”

“Yes, Bartholomew, it is dangerous and how you so elegantly phrased it, barfy,” Bug finished.

“Well, the offer stands, please keep it in mind,” Larson told them as he made his way to the bow of the ship.

Feeling refreshed after his long rest, Larson started to use his power, channeling mana into the sea around the Gull Dropping, coaxing a few more knots of speed from the ship with his Command the Currents ability. Larson lost himself in his work, pausing only to let his mana recharge and grab something to eat and drink. He was happy to see that their provisions would be sufficient to see them to port, even if the ogre, finally feeling better, was making his best effort to eat everything in sight.

Using his power was still a challenge that required concentration, but it did seem somewhat easier than the first times he had used it. Larson didn’t know if that was a result of the strange leveling system, or if practice did indeed help him work more efficiently. Wanting to be at their destination, Larson spent every available minute he could, adjusting the water against his hull and seeking out any favorable currents.

Instead of seven days to reach Rockwell Wharf, they approached the harbor after only five. The island was much larger than the tiny unnamed place they had run aground on, and the port was bustling with activity. A large city had grown up around the busy port, buildings covering the valley that the port was located in, and a large fortress in the southern part of the city covered the harbor.

Cargo vessels plied in and out of the harbor and as the Gull Dropping approached, a small craft approached and ordered them to heave to, just outside the harbor mouth. Tarley warned him the ship was an official Rockwell Wharf customs launch so Larson allowed them to come alongside his ship, the crew throwing lines to secure the small boat and tossing the boarding ladder over the side for his visitors to use. A man holding a large book boarded, followed by squad of armed marines. They were all wearing the livery of the Free Isles, whose symbol was a golden seahorse.

“Who is the captain here?” The man with the book asked. Larson didn’t like his tone, it dripped with the self-importance that was commonly found with bureaucrats.

“I am, Captain Larson at your service,” he replied professionally. It never paid to antagonize the local officials, even if they were annoying.

“Very well, Captain Larson, I am Harbormaster Willoughby, please present your cargo and passenger manifests so that a proper tax assessment may be made,”

“Aren’t these types of things typically done once we’ve tied up at the pier?” Larson asked.

“Why yes, they are, but with your vessel’s reputation, let’s say its better safe than sorry,” the man replied.

“I have no cargo to declare, and this vessel is under new, and now law abiding, management. In fact, I have a couple of pirates held prisoner below. Would you like me to turn them over?” Larson asked, the man looked confused at his offer.

“Why would I want them? Everyone is welcome in the Free Ports so long as they don’t cause trouble. Sell them to the bondsmen yourself if you must, it’s not a task I have any interest in. This had better not be some ham fisted attempted to secure my favorable report,” the man said with disgust. Larson’s officers had mentioned that anything goes in the ports, including selling stolen cargo and selling people into a term of servitude, so long as you don’t commit your crimes in the actual port itself.

“My men will have to verify your cargo, you do understand that failure to state your cargo, or intentionally misrepresenting what you are carrying, will result in rather substantial fines. Now, while these fine men search your ship, do you have a passenger manifest?” The man asked.

“I don’t have a manifest, since there is only one passenger,” Larson said, pointing toward Bug Bartholomew.

“Hmm, odd, even for Rockwell Wharf. I’m not sure we can count him as a single passenger, perhaps charge per head? No, I think a bulk weight estimate for the ogre will be required,” the man said, scratching notes in his book with a quill.

“Sir, the holds are empty, there’s hardly any crew either,” one of the men inspecting the ship added.

“Ridiculous, this begs further investigation. Make another sweep while I confer with the captain in his cabin,” Inspector Willoughby ordered. The marine nodded and had his squad spread throughout the ship to make another search. Larson led the inspector toward his cabin, figuring this is where the man would hit him up for the anticipated bribe. Tarley had told him to expect as much and what the going rate was for a “clean” inspection certificate.

“Now that we are alone, Captain Larson, do you have any cargo you might have forgotten to declare? I’ll be happy to arrange an immediate favorable assessment and take care of any required official fees,” the man offered, fishing for a bribe.

“Nothing more than I previously reported, but it is possible that I may have unintentionally overlooked something. Perhaps this will cover any lapses of memory I may have had?” Larson said, handing over a small bag of coin with the appropriate bribe already counted out. Willoughby opened bag and looked inside, swirling through the coins to verify how much it was. Larson had given him a half dozen fins and two score of scales which Tarley had said was on the higher end of the spectrum for harbor entry.

“I’m afraid this will not be sufficient. You see, your vessel has quite a nefarious reputation, and before you ask, I know you claim it is under new management. To protect the harbor from any unwarranted disruption, I’m afraid I’ll have to secure a safety deposit. On behalf of the harbor, I assure you,” Willoughby said. The shakedown was worse than he had anticipated, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it if he wanted to bring the ship into port.

“I’d be happy to provide a security deposit, in the understanding that it will cover any future visits to port,” Larson replied.

“Agreed, and as for other official fees, we typically charge a scale per head for passengers, but your passenger will require special consideration. I’ll agree to five scales for his entry into town,” Willoughby replied. Larson opened his purse and counted out the “deposit” as well as the five coins for the ogre. The inspector dutifully noted the passenger fee in his logbook, placing the five scales into a pouch marked with the port’s official seal. The bribes went into a separate pocket, which of course would never be turned over to the port.

“A pleasure, Captain Larson, enjoy your time in our fine town, you are cleared for slip number thirty-four,” Willoughby said, pointing toward the pier that they were going to dock with. The man was practically giddy after having fleeced the Gull Dropping for as much as he could.

“Vermin, I not sure what you did to attract the harbormaster himself, but it must have cost up a fair bit of coin to see him off in such a good mood,” Shada said with disgust as the harbormaster left.

“It’s the way of the world, sadly. Tarley, take us in,” Larson ordered. The ship furled its small sail, and the crew manned the oars to guide them on the last little bit of their journey. Once docked, Larson called all hands to the boarding plank and had the prisoners dragged up as well.

“We’ll take our leave, Captain Larson, and wish you good fortune,” Bug Bartholomew said.

“You two be safe, and I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Larson told the brothers. The ogre gingerly stepped off the ship and onto the dock, as if worried the sea was going to suck them in. Once off the ship, the ogre stomped his way toward dry land, easily clearing a path through the bustle of the docks.

“Thank you all, we’ve made it to port, and even through we’ve had many losses, we have all earned our freedom. True to my word, any of you who wish to leave may do so. I intend to stay in port for a few days to look for a cargo, make repairs, and take on new crew. Make you choice, once you sign on as official crew, I’ll hold you to your word,” Larson advised. All his officers elected to stay, as well as the cook, Gilroy. Larson handed a small bag of coin to each crewman that that had chosen to leave, giving them a hundred scales to help them on their way.

“Sir, I’d like to sign on. You may be harsh, but you’re fair. I don’t know of any captain that would risk his life to save his crew like you’ve done for me. I’ll sail with you to hell and back,” Creech said.

“I appreciate your loyalty, Creech, but let’s not try sailing into the abyss anytime soon,” Larson replied, shaking the sailor’s hand.

“Now, for those of us that are still onboard, we have a lot of work to do. Tarley, you and Creech can see about finding some crew for our ship. We need some hands that know what they’re doing and aren’t afraid to get into a scrap if need be. Nogreb, I’ll need you to try and get an idea of what our repairs will cost and who we can trust to do them. Shada, I’d like you and Gilroy to see to our provisions. Get everything we’ll need for a long voyage, everything that’s in our budget, that is,” Larson said, handing her roughly a third of their remaining coin.

“I’ll find some likely lads and lasses, but with our ship and the reputation it might have, I’ll need to offer a bounty, a fin or two per head,” Tarley advised. With a sigh, Larson handed over a hundred fins and a couple hundred scales for Tarley to use. Larson also paid off the officers and remaining crew, compensating them for their service and giving them some pocket money to enjoy themselves in port. It would most likely be several days or weeks before they were ready to move on.

“As for these two,” Larson said, pointing toward the pirate prisoners. “I think they deserve a bit of their own medicine. They wanted to use us as slave labor, so I think we’ll turn the tables on them and sell them off to the bondsmen. That way they would be somebody else’s problem and they might even help fund our next adventure,” Larson said. Everyone had a spring in their step as they left the vessel, a full coin purse tends to do that to a person.

Tarley paid off a pair of town guardsmen to keep an eye on things at the ship while they were away. He said that stealing a ship from port was almost unheard of, but with their somewhat shaky legal ownership of the Gull Dropping, someone might make a claim on it and slip off while they were gone. The town was bustling with activity and there seemed to be no end to the number of taverns, inns, and shops that lined the winding streets. The port faced the west and the wealthier sections, including the imposing stone fortress, were all to the south. A uniformed guard force controlled access to this section of town, only admitting those that were residents or had some business inside.

The northern part of the port town was full of warehouses and merchants dealing in bulk goods. That was where he would have to try to scare up a cargo once his ship was back in order. To the east was the bad part of town, lots of drinking establishments and rough looking characters. It was also where the bondsmen plied their trade, the town accepting their trade if they followed the rules. The main rule seemed to be “sell whatever you stole here but commit your crimes somewhere else”. Strangely enough, it seemed to work, at least on the surface.

The crowds stayed out of his way, a naga with a spear pushing a pair of prisoners through the streets wasn’t something most people wanted to get involved in. An astonishing array of races were found in port. He saw that humans made up the bulk, but in his short journey, he encountered elves, dwarves, halflings, orcs, goblins, and what he thought might be a troll. At least he didn’t think that Bug Bartholomew wouldn’t have any trouble fitting in.

Passing a few scales to a beggar got him directions to the bondsmen street. Apparently, it was big business in the Rockwell Wharf, a way to turn a profit on captives or for the unfortunate to settle their debts without the stain of outright slavery. There were at least a dozen storefronts offering services and they all were doing a brisk business. With nothing really to go on, Larson picked a shop that was called Ironhound Bonds and pushed his charges inside.

“Be with ye in a jiffy, sir, just finishing up here,” A rotund dwarf said from behind a desk. The shop itself was a small affair, only room for the dwarf at the desk and a small waiting area. A downtrodden man sat across from the dwarf, talking in a low voice, as if embarrassed at being there.

“Ha, don’t whine to me, Lucian, you’re the one that took out the loan. If you couldn’t pay it back, you shouldn’t have asked me for the coin. You’ve missed your payments, and I got no choice but to put you on a contract. Look, I’ll find you something easy, you don’t look like much for hard labor, and there’s always a demand for those that are good with their numbers,” the dwarf said to the man, pushing a paper in his direction.

“But what about my family? How will they survive while I work off my debt?” The man asked.

“That is a problem, but you know what, it’s not my problem. Don’t make this hard on yourself, sign or you’ll be in default and I’ll send you to the mines to work off your time,” the dwarf replied. The man reluctantly signed and pushed the paper back.

“There’s a good lad, I’ll try to find you something nearby so you can see your family every once in a while. Now, have a seat on the bench while I try to find some work for you,” the dwarf said, waiving Larson over as the man took a seat on the bench near the back wall. Larson could see the bench was securely attached to the floor and manacles were neatly stacked underneath.

“What have we here, a naga with a pair of friends. Something tells me you’re not here to take out a loan, what can old Ironhound do for you?” The dwarf asked.

“I seem to have a acquired this pair of no good pirates I’d like to have taken off my hands, provided I get a few coins for my troubles,” Larson said.

“Pirates you say, how do I know these aren’t some innocent sailors you hornswoggled?” Ironhound asked.

“You don’t,” Larson replied.

“Woah, that’s not exactly the best way to build value in a transaction, friend. Normally, this is the part where you try to make me think you’re a paragon of virtue, ridding the seas of pirates and only seeking fair recompense for your actions,” the dwarf told him.

“Tell me, is there anything I can say that will make you pay more than you plan to pay?” Larson asked. The dwarf stroked his beard in contemplation before bursting out with a chuckle.

“No, come to think of it, there’s not. I think I like you. What’s your name?” Ironhound asked.

“Captain Larson,”

“Well, bless my soul, an actual captain, do you even have a ship or are you one of those tavern captains that never commanded anything more than the table his ale was setting on?” Ironhound asked of him.

“I command the Gull Dropping. It may not be the prettiest ship in port, but its mine. It used to be theirs,” Larson said, pointing at his captives. “but they and their friends made the mistake of trying to take me prisoner,” Larson replied.

“Impressive, I take it you’re only seeking to place bonds on these two as the others of the crew met an untimely end?” the dwarf asked.

“Aye, though I wouldn’t say their end was untimely, I think I timed their end just right,” Larson said.

“I suppose you’re got a point there, Captain Larson. Though there is always a demand for folks looking for sailors on the cheap, I have a bit more trouble placing pirates with gainful employment. To be honest, they’re not good for much of anything except for being used up in the mines. The going rate for simple miners is twenty-five scales per year of contract, but I’d say this pair is in better shape than most, so I could give you thirty a head. Maximum contract for ones you just dump on my doorstep is ten years, but for miners, I only do five since they won’t last much longer than that. Even with five years, there’s a good risk they’ll expire before their contract does,” Ironhound offered.

“I understand you have to try, but I’ve struck a deal or two in my life, Mr. Ironhound. Strong backs are worth far more than a few coppers a year. A few silver per year, that sounds more realistic,” Larson countered, having no real reference to the value of servitude contract.

“No, I think thirty copper per man, per year, is more than fair. If you like, you can try the other bondsmen, but they’ll most likely give you less than I am,” Ironhound told him. “I’ll tell you what, thirty-two scales per head, per year, and I’ll give you a discount if you want to buy any of the contracts I have in house,”

That would sweeten the deal and maybe provide another way to crew his ship. The downside is that he wanted people on the crew who chose to be there, not destitute people who had to sign away years of their life to pay a debt. Curious, he did ask about the man on the bench.

“Tell me, what type of work do you do Lucian?” Larson asked. The man looked over to Ironhound, seeking permission to answer. The dwarf nodded.

“I owned a shop, sir, a small outlet that sold a bit of this, and a bit of that,” Lucian replied.

“How did you fall on hard times?” Larson asked.

“Robbery, sir, our store was hit one night, took what they wanted and burned the rest. I asked for a loan from Ironhound to get back on my feet, but they hit me again after I reopened,” Lucian told him. Larson had thought that this sort of thing was kind of rare in town, so it was surprising that he was robbed twice.

“Seems to me that getting hit twice means that someone had it out for you,” Larson replied.

“True, the lad’s tale is sad, but so is virtually every other bondservant’s tale. Lucian’s problem is that he didn’t know how to grease the wheels,” Ironhound added.

“If you mean pay extortion and ‘protection’ to a bunch of petty thugs, you’re right. I refused to submit to their threats,” Lucian said. Larson could see a bit of fire in the young man, he had his principles, but principles are tough to have when you can’t defend yourself from the ones threatening you. There might be an opportunity here, if the long-term plans that he was starting to form played out the way he wanted. Having an easy way to dispose of cargo, say, in a shop he was a partner in, would be a big benefit.

“So, Ironhound, was Lucian here any good as a merchant?” Larson asked.

“Aye, he could work a deal better than most, inflexible, but honest as the day is long. He could have made a good living for himself if he had just played along. I don’t like to pay for protection or grease the wheels of government, but it’s the nature of the beast in Rockwell Wharf. Why do you care, Larson?” Ironhound asked.

“I might have need a of shop in port, or at least a stake in one. How much would you need to get back into business on a small scale, Lucien?” Larson inquired.

“To rent a small storefront and the stock it to get started, why, that would cost a half ducat or more. If you don’t mind trying to make it on a lean inventory and opening in a less savory part of town, you could do it for a bit less, I’d think, providing nobody runs you off,” the man said.

“I got a deal for you Ironhound, I’ll give you these two in exchange for Lucian’s bond,” Larson offered.

“I don’t know, the lad can read and write, some demand for that sort of thing. How about this, you give me these two and fifty scales for each year of his contract,” Ironhound countered.

“How many years is his bond?”

“Just ten years, I took a risk on setting him back up a second time and he had only begun to pay me back when he was burned out again,” Ironhound said.

“I’ll give you the pirates, and a landsmen gold in your hand right now. You’ll also get first crack at any other ‘volunteers’ I come across in my adventures,” Larson asked.

“I think we’ve struck a deal. Just make sure I don’t find you even setting foot in another bondsman office when you have further business to conduct, and I better not hear you’ve mistreated the lad, he’s not a bad sort, just hit a patch of bad luck,” Ironhound agreed. Larson paid up, helped him chain the pirates to the bench, and took Lucian’s contract from the dwarf. Larson waved for the distraught merchant to follow him as they left the shop.