Sailing Ether Tides

Sailing Ether Tides Ch: 5

Ch: 5 New Kids On The Block

Loaded with monster meat and feeling fine, the three youths in colorful and clean, if otherwise unremarkable common garb vanished back into the busy streets of town, moving together in a loose, casual formation.

“Second hand shop on the right, I’m peeking in.” Rio muttered softly into his collar. “Not what we’re looking for. Wilf, pawnshop?” He whispered a few moments later.

“Going in, looks promising.” He reappeared a moment later shaking his head. “All jewelry and such.”

“I got one! Two snares and a tom tom…” Amy chirped in their ears, whispering to them with her own arts. “Ooo, and he has a bass drum too…” She paused for a moment, before her voice cut back in, sounding exasperated. “No mister, I’m not making fun of you… We really are interested in buying… Guys, I need young master Rio in here… we have a situation.”

With a sigh, Rio ducked behind Wilf’s massive frame and slipped out of his seaman’s common coat, he passed it to his brother, who passed back a neat bundle back to him. Switching into a colorful silk jacket, a round silk cap with an amber beaded tassel and a pair of fine leather shoes, rather than simple rope sandals completed the hasty transformation.

While Rio changed elements of his garb, Wilf manifested his armor around himself and a light truncheon dangling from his belt. Dressed as a faceless bodyguard, he formed up behind the ‘young master’ with a soft, woody clatter. “All right, let’s do this.”

Together, the two young men entered the shop with bold, swaggering steps and Rio’s blustering voice. “Amy, I sent you looking for gifts for my cousins… Not to chatter with storekeepers, while I wait in the street…” He huffed in the pinched and lisping accent of minor upland nobility.

“Apologies, young master… The good merchant seems unwilling to sell to me.” She huffed at the balding, doughy shopkeeper, who now seemed quite interested in trade with the young master.

There were only a few decent instruments scattered about, as Rio and Wilf peered around the dim, dusty, junk shop with experienced eyes. Predictably, Amy had already skimmed the cream of the percussion crop, standing over a small heap of worn and battered drums.

“Well, if they aren’t for sale, we’d best move on then. Good day shopkeeper.” The handsome and well dressed young man said with a smile. “Come along, we’ll find souvenirs elsewhere…” He jingled his purse subtly as he turned to leave, the sound sent shivers down the shopkeeper’s spine; he knew the sound of gold and bronze rubbing together.

“Young master… you shan’t find better instruments anywhere in Centre Port…” He moaned desperately. “

#

Most of the geezer’s stock was junk; even so, they left with the makings of... something, if they could find some decent hides and get them re-skinned and tuned up.

“A tanner? No… not enough fur bearing animals on the island… at least, none we are allowed to hunt… more’s the pity. We get our leather and most finished leather goods from the mainland. Try the avenue of cobblers.” The shopkeeper oozed, when Wilf asked about new drumheads, or their makings. “If the young master wishes, I can inquire about having them serviced before delivery… for a minor cost…”

Since he’d already tried to squeeze them for way more than the real worth of the small collection of mismatched drums and percussion instruments they’d gathered from his dusty and tatty wares, his entreaties went unanswered. The three kids bustled out into the bright, early summer morning and breathed in the sweet sunshine and warm breezes.

The young master smiled at his maid and bodyguard, in the way an indulgent employer might and shrugged. It made quite an effect on the dismal slum streets.

In his shiny gray leather shoes and long silk jacket of gray watered silk embellished with an embroidered sugar wasp in rich gold and black, sipping from an artfully gnarled duskmoon blossom. The bright and sparkling gold thread of the insect and delicate silvery spidersilk blossom, dangling from its vine, which curled into a subtle, bright green ‘treble clef’, fairly screamed ‘outland money’ to the locals. ‘Young master Rio’ drew keenly interested eyes all around, some seemed less than simply curious...

His full veil of gray watered silk was not an uncommon affectation in town; many upper crusters wore a veil or shroud of some kind, among the ever present gnats and small flying insects on the island. The air around the trio always seemed to be clear of such nuisances somehow, suggesting an insect repelling gift or spell. Those too, were common and much in demand on the islands.

Amy, dressed as a maid in bright blue skirts and a gray silk bodice, bearing a stylized wasp and flower sigil on her breast drew eyes as well. Not all, but some of the men on the street displayed an unhealthy interest in a young, pretty, cheery, dusky skinned servant girl, skipping along beside her master.

Wearing a gray silk sash, with the same wasp and flower badge of a foreign house over his breastplate, Wilf led the way. He walked calmly, silent and enigmatic in his strange red lacquered wooden armor and face concealing, masked helm. While her huge brother played bodyguard, Amy had a blast, whistling and chatting gaily with hawkers and street vendors, as they strolled through the slums.

The ‘Avenue of the Cobblers’ was more like a cul de sac of losers. The small, dead end street backed up to a marshy and foul smelling tent city, on the edge of the slum. Even if there was no tannery or hide curing operation going on, cobblers were always shunted to the back end of town, ‘cause the stench of glue and constant hammering made them unwelcome among the ‘quality’.

Amy bargained and haggled her way into a few sides of decent rawhide for way more than they were worth on the mainland… When she rejoined her brothers in the street her displeasure was obvious.

“That other merchant’s crack about not being ‘allowed to hunt’ for ‘fur bearing animals’ is making more sense…” She grumbled softly, while nodding subtly to the ragged tent city that began just a few yards away.

Huts and sailcloth shelters huddled on any small rise in the land, while bamboo hovels raised on stilts stood in the low areas, all clustered into a compact little slum of its own. A rope fence staked on six foot poles served as a laundry line for ragged, much mended and worn out clothes, as well as demarking the limit of the little patch of homey unpleasantness.

Among the hovels, a swarm of bunny, dog, cat, coyote and other beastkin children ran and laughed gleefully, hurling a ball of knotted rags among themselves. A few older children watched from the sidelines, along with an ancient rabbit woman whose ears nearly dragged the ground when she stood.

Her huge brown eyes watched Rio with careful suspicion, as the three walked by, slyly observing from behind her floppy ears.

“Stay close.” Rio mumbled, feeling her suspicious eyes on him through his nascent sensory gift. “Something’s off here.” His budding aura sense kept tingling, warning him that they were under an unwelcoming, if not hostile gaze.

“Yeah, the merchant hinted that he wished they could hunt the ‘fur bearing animals’... The cobbler just outright said it. They really don’t like beastkin here.” Amy grumbled softly. “If we didn’t need these skins…”

Rio shot a sharply raised eyebrow at her, silently asking a question.

“Yeah, I checked… Goat and steer hides, they’re legit.” She sighed sadly. “It burns me that I had to check… This place blows.”

Wilf had his eye on a huge, burly, pug ugly man, seated on the stoop of a shabby inn nearby, glaring at the ‘young master’ and his small party as well. His scarred face and huge, gnarled knuckles shouted violent, brawling tough guy in bold type with a few exclamation points.

“Let’s move on… we should go check in at the guild and then get back to Bounty.” Wilf mumbled softly. “I was hoping to find a place to set up for a day or two… can’t get much work done aboard ship.”

Getting checked in at the guild was no big deal, even if Rio’s ‘young master’ shtick drew some looks heading into the Adventure compound. The farther into uptown they walked, through the dock and market wards and into the walled city itself, the more their ‘master’ kept up a running commentary.

“Amy, I notice the ruffles on my nightshirts are getting… drab and flacid.” He murmured just loudly enough for a coyote woman laundress to hear, as they passed her at her labors. “The rigors of travel are no excuse for limp cuffs and saggy lace!”

When they passed a bakery he sniffed and snuffled the air, before demanding that Wilf: “Fetch something for me… I’m peckish.” As he flipped a bronze half mark at him.

He kept hamming it up and being overtly pompous and generally silly the entire walk through town, even when he had spiced honey syrup all over his fingers.

“Amy, find me a warm cloth to tidy up with, spit spot! I am inconvenienced!”

For their parts Wilf and Amy played the much abused servants and scurried about at the young master’s whims and shouts with exhausted looks on their faces.

“That dude is following us, the big guy from the cobblers street inn.” Amy murmured softly, while passing Rio a warm towel acquired from a tavern for a copper bit.

“Trouble?” He asked softly, while patching Wilf in with his collar button. Their armored brother was busy pretending to watch a girl in a lace trimmed summer dress stroll by, while the girl was watching Rio, through her eyelashes.

“He’s just following us… so far.” She murmured in her brothers’ ears. “Just keep your eyes open and on the task, Rio!” Amy had noticed the blonde girl in the summer dress too… and noticed how Rio was smiling at the girl from behind his veil. “Boys…” She muttered.

“That was no boy, beloved sister…” Rio whispered back. “I’ll draw a picture explaining the differences for you when we get back.”

#

That big ugly guy followed them all the way to the gates of the Adventure compound, always a half block or more away, barely detectable even with Amy’s more advanced gift for perception.

Once inside, they made another quick costume change, switching for leather armor in the northern style, well made and fitted but ordinary. Their weapons were also unremarkable, a steel shortsword and a long warhammer for Wilf, Rio’s long spear and Amy’s worn and serviceable rapier, a hand me down from aunt Becky. Together, with their apprentice badges, they presented the very aspect of newbie adventurers.

‘Greenies’ were a common sight in the guild yard, singly or in small parties, they appeared and disappeared from compounds like this with regularity. New made, itinerant Adventurers, looking to make a name for themselves flocked to Centre Port in particular, since monsters, pirates and raiders were a constant threat, few ships of any size sailed without at least a token force of warriors.

They swaggered up, as greenies do, and presented themselves at the desk. “Hiya!” Amy chirped happily to the huge grizzled slab of gnarled old clerk, in the robes of the countsman’s guild behind the desk.

“We’re a detachment of Team Ragamuffin, out of Wheatford. The rest of our party should be here in a few days… we’ll be operating independently in the area for a few weeks… maybe less.” She smiled winsomely at the geezer and held out her hands for the ledger.

“Where’s your supervising journeyman?” The huge old geezer asked sharply.

“We’re crewing on trade ship Esperanza’s bounty, the rest of our team will be arriving soon on Adventure yacht Moonrise.” She murmured unhappily. “We’re going to have a surplus of supervision, don’t you worry.”

“Sign in or make your mark…” He had a voice of gravel and stone to go with his wrinkled, craggy face, but his penmanship was exquisite. His looping whorls and elegant script made the simple ledger entry a delight to the eye. He nodded with satisfaction when each of them signed his book with an actual signature, rather than a scrawled mark. “Welcome to Centre Port, try and stay out of trouble and steer clear of the beastkin camp on the edge of the dock ward. Trouble’s brewing and we don’t want the Fisherman’s Daughters to fillet you.”

“Fisherman’s daughters?” Rio asked, contemplating a huge canon of rude and crude jokes that were old and crusty when the world was still young. The jests always centered on the… libidinous, lusty nature and terrible ugliness of the eponymous ‘Fisherman’s daughter’.

“That’s the baroness’ personal guard… They are the meanest, ugliest, knuckle draggingist brutes you’d ever care to meet. I retired from the force after thirty years busting heads for house Dunham.” He sighed wistfully, as he cracked his huge, gnarled knuckles. “Some few idiots have been troubling the furryfolk, down in their camp. Her ladyship is about fed up, methinks.”

“Thanks for the warning, we’ll keep our noses clean… Does this guild have a craft hall?” Wilf asked hopefully.

“None to mention, haven’t had a real smith in the guild for ages… ask at the orphanage though. I hear the Orphan’s League does some craft training, carpentry mostly.” He murmured his growly voice becoming pleasant. “Wheatford Adventurers have a reputation, kids. A reputation for excellent work… I’m looking forward to seeing what you get up to.”

“We’ll try and live up to your lofty expectations…” Rio answered glibly, leaning on his sheathed spear. “So can we assume that the huge knuckle dragger who followed us from the Avenue of the Cobblers was one of the Duchess’ guards in plain clothes?”

“August…” The old man murmured. “He’s a retired Daughter, like me… we’ve taken to watching out for those poor folks on our off time. I’ll let him know you’re ok…” He shot a stern look at the three kids. “You are ok… aren’t you.” He told them firmly, rather than asking. “We’ve had trouble with a few bands in the past… we don’t put up with bigots in this guild.” The three kids just smiled and nodded in answer to the old warrior’s challenge.

They spent a few minutes looking through the guild shop. All the usual was on offer, cubes of violet healing unguent, insect repellant charms and other minor magical trinkets, a fair selection of well made swords, spears and other standard weapons, nothing even slightly special or enchanted, but quality goods. They had a small range of camp goods, tents and such, but it was their stock of monster parts for sale that drew Wilf.

“Monster shark skin?” He asked, holding up one of several rolls of some dried hide.

“Possessed manta ray, a big one too. Ate two pearl divers before someone took it. I hear it was a hell of a fight.” He rumbled. “I’ll give you a deal on it, folks are uptight about monster meat and leather around here.”

Its shiny, black, pebbled surface was super rough and super tough to cut, turning Wilf’s belt knife and blunting it when he tried to cut a sample free. Wilf couldn’t drop two bronze marks for five huge rolls of rigid, dried shark skin fast enough.

Amy slipped them into her storage, since they were too big to fit in Wilf’s. “Ooo, no more shopping, I’m feeling pretty done in, boys.” Amy murmured when she had them all stashed.

“Let’s see if they have some shop space at the orphanage…” Wilf rumbled, his fingers clearly itching to start working.

They had shop space… just space and a few simple hand tools. A little light home repair or perhaps the construction of a wooden fence would be doable with their collection of two rusty saws, a few carpenter’s hammers and one big, blunt chisel with no handle.

“Sorry Rio… gotta wait til we can set up the house.” The big craftsman mumbled unhappily.

The stroll back to the docks led them through a fancier part of town for a few blocks. A quick costume change and ‘young mistress Amy’ strolled with her two guards, decked out in her long coat of cobalt blue silk and hilariously huge, heavily embellished tricorn hat.

Her long gray silk baldric carried a ridiculous, ornate, sabre hilted belt knife, sheathed at her hip. With a hefty bronze pommel and a beefy guard, it was the hilt of a fine, serviceable and elegant weapon… The reality of it gave her a farcical, comedic aspect; since her mighty sword was resting in a four inch long sheath.

Rio was armed only with a stout walking stick, while Wilf had a cudgel at his belt, since only civic guards and the baroness’ armsmen were allowed to carry ‘weapons’ in town, by local law. Outside the town proper, in the dock and market wards, things were much less regulated, if slightly less safe.

Pretty mistress Amy went giggling and skipping along with her escorts, enjoying the uptown vibe. Wilf was leading and Rio following their ‘mistress’, as she had a grand time browsing the stalls and shopfronts. Her well made and outlandish costume led most observers to decide she was a silly rich girl, out to see the wide world on daddy’s coin.

Rio smiled as he caught snippets of gossip they passed; enjoying the favored pastime of most folk, whether noble, merchant, knight, or pauper.

“...must think she’s in a story, dressed like that…”

“...claim they’re from Wheatford, Like every pack of greenies lately…”

The boys of uptown had their own contemplations as she passed, twirling the tails of her long coat and dancing along in an effortless heel-toe two step, that seemed almost more natural to the breezy young lass than walking.

She slipped through the lightly crowded streets with a dancer’s grace, followed by her two armored guardians, drawing more than a few glances. The boys followed their spinning, skipping sister through a lovely square, lined with shops, to the canalside tow path leading to the market ward and commons. At a small footbridge where the path narrowed, the dancing girl’s steps faltered.

“I simply adore cosplay… don’t you?” The speaker was a middle aged woman in a fine gown of pale blue linen, embellished with tropical flowers at collar, cuffs and hem. She planted herself, arms akimbo and blocked the narrow towpath bridge over a slow flowing side canal, halting their progress.

“But, this is neither time nor place, my dear.” She scolded the young woman, from her secure perch atop her very high horse.

She leaned closer, invading Wilf’s space, as though he were a hitching post and hissed, venomous and low. “Button your silly coat over those puffy little bee sting boobs of yours and stop creating a spectacle, hussy. You shan’t lure any of the quality peoples’ boys away today!”

Amy smiled wide and struck a heroic pose, hands on her hips, coat flung back and head high. She shoved as much of her modest frontage at the offended matron as she had available, and huffed loudly enough to be heard across the canal and throughout the square behind them.

“Oh, good mistress? I was not aware that we were acquainted intimately enough to comment on each other’s failings and faults…” She sang cheerily, while Wilf and Rio groaned softly.

“Unless you want me to shut up and be obedient…” That last was directed at her two armored brothers, who both raised their hands and backed away from the confrontation silently.

By the time the boys had withdrawn to a safe distance, three more women ranging in age from a young tradeswoman in her early twenties to… A desiccated mummy had arrived on the scene and was watching from the sidelines with interest, clapping her wrinkled, gnarled hands in glee.

Miss twentysomething tossed her dark braid over her shoulder and glared at Amy like she’d been caught stealing pies… A look that the pirate princess knew well from her time in pirate training, stealing pies. Another woman joined her, also with dark hair, though hers was shot through with streaks of white and caught up in a bun that looked too tight for comfort.

“Mistress Agnew is quite correct.” The middle aged matron huffed firmly. “Brazen and shameless!”

“Oh, the famed mistress Agnew… lady of…?” Amy sang sweetly into their faces, with a volume that blew their hair about; it even loosened the iron maiden’s bun a little. “Enlighten me as to your authority over my attire and conduct.” Her smile widened just a little. “Or perhaps you’d like to try getting forceful…” Her hand rested on the hilt of her belt knife in a not even slightly casual way.

“Just so you are aware… You face admiral Amy, terror of the Shallow Sea.”

The groans from her two armored ‘guards’ got even louder, as giggles and delighted chatter erupted in the swiftly gathering crowd.

“...introduced herself as admiral Amy…”

“...the silly character from the kid’s picture books…?”

“Amy… please…” Wilf muttered into his collar button.

“Since you asked so nicely, I will…” She whispered back in his ear, while seeming to continue her ‘conversation’ with the three local women without interruption.

“...So, I’m just going to ignore all three of you bitches and go on about my day. Come along boys… they can move or get dunked in the canal.” Amy sang nice and loud, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings.

Her loud and bold declaration brought a large man with heavily scarred hands and hairless forearms out of a nearby smithy. He wiped his mitts on his leather apron and bellowed at the whole crowd.

“Yer boys wanna throw my wife in the canal, they have to toss me in first, missy.” He grumbled, getting right in front of the small girl in the outlandish costume.

“Ooh, sweetie, I’m gonna pitch all three in the water, myself… and you along with, if you don’t stop impeding my path.” She chirped.

While she was talking, Rio very carefully slipped behind Wilf’s cloak and changed into common seaman’s clothes. He passed his truncheon and armor to his big, younger brother, who had used his dimensional gift to change as well. He made double certain to stow their cudgels and belt knives away, as Amy continued her game.

“I promise to fish you out if it looks like you might drown…” She soothed the angry smith, with a massive, infuriating grin on her face. “Do you need to go get some towels and a change of clothes first? It would make a nice, face saving excuse to let me pass by unmolested.” She cooed at the big man. “Unless you like being scolded in public by young women… That’s pretty kinky of you, nasty old perv.”

“Enough!” He barked. “Mathilda, go home!” He snapped at the woman in blue linen. “Muriel, Franny, if you’re smart you’ll go home too.” He scolded the latecomers, before turning back to the smiling sprite in blue who was still tapping the toe of her high boots impatiently.

The grownup meangirls withdrew, but were still nearby, sulking and glaring, conferring with a few other local bit-… women and presumably a husband or two. At least, the menfolk near the cluster of chattering magpies in skirts kept shooting unpleasant looks their way.

“You, child, should respect your betters.” He continued, letting scorn drip from his tongue, while fixing her with a withering glare.

“I always respect my betters…” She sighed sweet and cheerful under his menacing glare. “I just meet them so rarely. Now, may my brothers and I pass in peace, or do we have a problem?”

“You little strumpet!” He raised one massive paw to deliver a resounding slap to the scrawny bint… and dropped it quickly when the ancient crone who’d been watching with undisguised glee barked at him in a voice of creaking, rusty hinges and rattling chains.

“Journeyman Hiram… She’s an Adventurer and you’re fifty pounds fatter than the last time you got thrown in the canal by one. I fear your pride may not survive this.” Her wheezing, cacking giggle brought the man’s hand back up, balled into a fist the size of a cured ham.

He launched his meaty mitt at the smiling girl with everything he had behind it, as gasps began all around the crowd.

She swayed back a few inches, letting that massive clot of gristle and knuckles fly past the tip of her nose without moving a step from where her shiny boots continued their idle, heel-toe dance.

“First one’s free, on account of you’re bad at this… Don’t come back for seconds, Hiram.” She sang sweetly, while he tried to recover his balance.

“Such is the generosity of your pirate princess…”

With a surprising turn of speed, the big man brought his fist back around, trying for a pile driver blow to her slim body. The cuff of her coat intercepted his blow with a muffled thud and nothing more, she blocked his strike with disturbingly casual ease, unmoved and unruffled by the violent attack.

Her smile grew even brighter, as time seemed to slow to a horrifying crawl for the smith and the spectators alike. She took a little twirl, gracefully dancing two small steps to her right and touching her opponent in the short ribs, just a gentle brush of her fingertips.

Hiram’s squeak of surprise was drowned out by a soft, percussive *thwump* and the rush of air as the huge man face planted in the muddy canal bank, across the still waters, some five yards away. While the wet spatting sound of man meeting clay bank was still echoing across the silent square, with agonizing slowness, he oozed down the slick bank and formed a drifting pile of flotsam on the smooth, dull gray water’s surface.

“You promised to fish him out, girly… honor your word, please.” The old crone cackled with amusement, as the suddenly chatty crowd began drifting away.

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