So we were marooned at Bax Garâkh for almost two weeks. Not that it was a terrible event, save for those who had other work to be about. Save for me, save for Farrin possibly, for he was the only surviving injured crewmember, having a broken leg. We had no healer on board, but such a problem was straightforward. Some of the crew had enough experience to straighten and set the break, and we had enough khôrob to stifle the screams. Farrin was doing well.
The horses grazed, though the island’s saltgrass and switchgrass was poor fodder, so we carefully portioned the grain we had for them. The men fared better; we had several barrels of salted fish and a few filled with dried fruits. We could fish from the rocky shores, and hunt what wildlife there was, mostly small boar. It was enough to survive.
We looked over the Shakilgimil several times. She was wedged fast on the shore, which would cause no further damage unless another of the great storms passed our way. Then she could well be shattered to pieces. There seemed no possibility of drawing her further up the beach to effect repairs, but we gathered and piled all driftwood of good quality beside her, just in case.
A strong but basic shelter had been constructed further up the beach. When it rained, it fell heavily but dried almost as soon as it fell, and only ruined a couple of meals. We collected the rainwater in a big tub. Morale was good. Khôrob helped, though I had to ration that, too. And we talked and drank, and toasted our King, who would certainly save us, our King who had shattered the elf-ship’s mast.
But I had itchy feet and fingers. Ghala the Tavern-keep should already be dead under my knife. I rarely let longer than two months pass between assassinations. It was bad for my reputation, and some may think I had given up or gone permanently away, so I joined in the cheering when a large ship appeared on the horizon. We would be moving on, with or without the Shakilgimil.
A small boat was launched, and from the start Captain Naraal was visible, along with several other men, none of whom I recognised. I hadn’t expected the King to return, and of course he didn’t, but I had hoped First Mate Balkumagan would have come. Mabas and Majid ran forward, to help beach the small boat.
“Welcome back, Capt’n,” they cried, waving their arms in greeting.
All the men drew close, eager for good news. Naraal looked determined enough, but I had watched him through many moods over some years. Something was wrong. Something was troubling him. I gave him a salute, and walked to the front of the group. Then he signalled for us to be seated on the sand.
“No standing to order for now, men. We have work ahead of us, and a new purpose to fulfill. The drink can be passed round after you have heard me out. This is a day for celebrating, but you all need to know this first.” He scanned the group with his deep dark eyes, showing little emotion. “Report, Tazakr!”
I stood up and said, “The ship is as secure as we could make her. No further cargo has been lost than the two crates at sea, not further crew than the two men. All our cargo remains untouched, apart from two supply barrels of dried fish, water, and the horses’ feed. The horses are ashore, and all are hale. The oarsman Farrin has a broken leg, but it is set and he is not feverish, but he is not able to do much just yet. We have fish and boar meat, and, as you can see for yourself, we have not starved. As far as the ship goes, the damage is mostly underwater, to the starboard side. Some of the men have swum down to take a look. We think she will hold firm for some weeks yet, unless a large storm hits us.” I nodded, saluted again, and sat down. Naraal's eyes showed little emotion. All was as he likely expected. He clasped his hands behind his back and straightened himself.
“As good as I hoped then,” he said. “Now, my news, and then our action. First, our King is safe in Umbar Baharbêl. He is meeting with a few bigwigs, but must remain hidden from the people for now. I say this because it is of vital importance that none of you mention him when you return. Not even a drunken whisper can escape. I know most of you can keep that order, but I also know a few of you can talk to the entire city when you are in your cups. The King’s plans, and his welfare, cannot be put at risk. So you must remain here, with supplies, until matters change in our favour.
A groan and some muttering passed through the assembly, mostly those I also knew would find it hard to keep a secret. I would have said the same to the men if I were in his situation.
“I have spoken with several other Captains,” Naraal continued. “Carefully chosen ones, and ones whose life I would have ended had I any concern over their loyalty. We already have a small fleet of loyal mariners. But the city is still awash with the folk of the Heirs. They cannot be allowed to stop us. This great work shall be worth the effort, but for now every care must be taken.” He halted, then sighed. “Our First Mate was not in the City. He has been assigned a special task for the King’s Aunt. I wish it were otherwise, and do not ask me about it because it galls me, but I do not question the King: he has his reasons for what is done.”
I held that information in my thoughts. First Mate Balkumagan was not only the ship builder. He was also Naraal’s closest friend. I suspected the Captain was feeling rather isolated with all the new found responsibility, and no one to confide in.
“The crew of the Rothbalâk have men and supplies enough to fashion us a small dry dock here. I shall not lose the Shakilgimil! This may take a couple of weeks, but I think no longer than that. You can expect to be home within a month at the most, apart from those I shall be speaking with. I expect you to give what aid is asked of you. Balakân, their ship builder, is to be obeyed as if he were me. Let’s pull together, and get back to Umbar Baharbêl!”
Most of the men cheered. I got up and walked over to Narral and whispered, “Would it not be better to quietly slay the ones we know that we cannot trust, Sir?”
He sighed and shook his head. “If I thought any would betray our King, I would kill them. These are just men who tell drunken tales. Many would laugh to hear them talk while others might believe them. I will not take that risk.”
I knew what he was saying, but dead men are the least likely to talk. I like a tidy ship.
The crew and I went about our business, aiding the crew of the Rothbalâk as best we could, and cooking them a hot meal for the evening. The two crews got along well, sharing some common tales of piracy, and speculating about the King’s plans now that he was returned. I aided with the digging of two trenches, while others were about shoring up the Shakilgimil, lest she capsize. And as the tide retreated, we started on the log walls that must hold back most of the sea while we worked on the hull repairs.
Later that evening all were partaking of roasted boar and khôrob, when I managed to come alongside the Captain. He had much on his mind. Perhaps I could be of aid. Two heads are better than one. I said to him, “Captain Naraal, excuse my interruption, but you look most tired. Is there aught I can do to help?”
He looked up from his drink and his deep thoughts, and shook his head.
“It is just that we all need you at your best, Sir. The crew and I know you have had a lot of work on your hands, and if possible we would assist where you permit.”
“Tired?” His eyes narrowed. “Of course I am damn well tired! Who wouldn’t be! But if you are thinking of taking my place, I say just try it: you will find out soon enough what is still in me.”
I took a step back. I had underestimated his tension. I knew him to be an excellent swordsman. I did not want to go one-on-one with the Captain, certainly not with so many witnesses around. “You misunderstand me, sir. I have no intention of ever seeking your place. I enjoy what I do. I want not the burden of captaincy or Balkumagan’s position. What I also don't want is anyone else to attempt to oust you, or you to collapse from exhaustion.”
I opened my hands to show I held no weapon, and moved a few more paces away. “Few of the crew know you as well as I, and I cannot help but see grief in your eyes.” I wondered for a moment if it was something to do with the red-haired Elf witch he was blinded by? But that seemed too small a matter.
He sat down heavily. Despite his earlier warnings, he had been drinking, and drinking hard.
“I have orders to kill my sister,” he replied in a matter-of-fact manner.
“Your sister? I thought she died some years ago?”
He looked into his cup again, as if into some deep sea cave.
“Better for her if she had done. But she lived, by the providence of Lord Sauron to earn the displeasure of the Noble House. The King’s aunt wants her dead.”
“And she knows you are related, this King’s Aunt?”
“Oh yes. It matters not to her. She thinks she grants me a boon.”
“How so?” Now I had got him talking I would find out what I could.
“Though she be my sister, I want her dead, too. She tried to slay Danel in a deliberately set fire.”
“Danel? The elf woman?” I was learning.
“She will not have me, you know. There is not even a hint of promise in her eyes. “
“Then just take her? She will soon find out that she is in good company. Better than she likely deserves.”
He laughed long and loud, so that others turned to look. “She would at the least try to slay me, and possibly actually do so. And her beloved…oh yes, she has eyes for one of her own kind, I am uncertain if I can best him.”
“You underestimate yourself. Elves are weaker than us. They are fast, yes, but once you have a hold on their throats - forget her, she is not worth the trouble.” Why would he want a woman so contrary?
“You have not seen this other elf. He is far from weak. Some of the men called him a black demon. And I cannot forget her. She thinks of me as a mangy cur who bites at ankles, then runs and hides when threatened. I cannot forget her, unless I know that she knows what I really am. This is what grieves me, Tazakr. Not that she rejects what she presently knows of me, but that she sees me as some despicable, deplorable, low-life scum to avoid. And I am not that.”
