Born a Monster

231 Servant of the Axe – Rum

Chapter Type: Character Development

“Tell me, does the Guild support naturalists as well?”

“Supports may be a strong term for it, do you have work for a naturalist?”

“I would like pictures of crocodiles, preferably of the Neonen breeds.”

“Such things take weeks.” He said.

“That will not be an issue, just have the finished ones sent to the Red Axe Trading Company in Neo Esteban.”

“Neo Esteban? That’s on the far side of the Isles, a week of travel, and that if one skirts the dragonwyr.”

“If you have the naturalist and the artist, please commission the both of them.”

“That will be VERY costly.”

.....

I waved a hand. “Negotiate the coins with Gamilla.”

I had other matters to attend to.

Upslope had the best vantage points to watch for incoming craft; the people at the docks had assured me that the Daurian trader had not been through yet. I would be very sad to miss them, to return home without at least my primary mission superficially complete.

I debated trying to meet with the Governor of Boadicea’s Girdle again; in the end, I just didn’t have the finances. Or, I realized, the patience.

If Rakkal could get a seaworthy vessel, then a single vessel of troops should be able to ensure our citizens could settle there, either by conquest or by supplanting the troops. I preferred the latter, as our fledgeling nation had more than enough war to occupy it for now.

I looked for the Daurian flag again, but found it nowhere in sight.

Okay, me looking wasn’t going to force them to take a journey north. I was wasting my time here. Gamilla was making trades on the docks, Madonna was confined to our warded room, and Kismet was searching for Miss Lindsey Turner, Diamond Jack Hoarfrost, or any other available champion.

The cost of wood prevented ... crap.

Until something better came along, I guess I was on ship repair detail.

I was wrong; the bilge was mysteriously filling up again, and I got to move pail after pail of murky water along the hallway to another person, pick up their empty bucket, and exchange the empty bucket for a full one.

For most of two hours. Such are my unsung victories.

I found three likely spots for the leak, plugging each with Meld Wood, pulling the spare wood from a section of board, and then sanding smooth the area of the hull. I really needed to just purchase Shape Wood, but again...

I needed combat spells. Or a crossbow.

Or at least something to do if melee wasn’t an option.

But we weren’t fighting the sort of foe who could be battled with sword and shield; sails and ropes had been torn and needed mending. I was spared the detailed fretting and nettling and twirling involved with the rope. Mine was the cutting away of frayed sections of sail, cutting patches to match, and then sewing the new fabric into the holes of the old.

And such became the pattern of my life, when not interrupted by loading or unloading cargo from the vessel. And there was a lot of that; Gamilla would purchase a cargo at discount, and sell it at less discount to a captain headed to a port where that cargo would gain them money.

Trivial fractions, like gathering tin from silver, or copper from gold. And the pace of work, when you counted in just the fact that we sailed early and caught a storm, was just hellish.

And then, each night, I would need to touch up areas of the room-ward. Some of them were actually weakening; others were her cooped-up imagination running wild.

One might think that having the ability to flog said occupant would help to ease the stress; I assure you, it is not enough. I saw a strong, bold, literally fiery companion reduced to a bundle of nerves and fears. The dagger was out of its sheath a lot those days, and I suspected that tainted object of being the reason my wards were taking such a pounding.

Kismet was to thank for part of that solution; between breaking wrists of drunken suitors she found books. Not just any books, but genuinely BAD books. Books written poorly; academic texts on matters so esoteric that it boggled the mind why anyone would study them. Books so clearly fictionalized, yet lacking in the fantasy mark on their binding.

Madonna took to reading with a vengeance, and also to a flute some fool had purchased for her. As someone who had to go through the hell of her learning music by doing, I assure you she enjoyed it. I began to suspect she was sleeping during the day just to prolong her nightly “practice”.

And then, after four agonizing days, the sails were done; the backup sails were done.

It was just – finally – finished.

“...” I just couldn’t find the words.

Bosun Melody could. “Extra ration of rum for the crew!”

I didn’t see what the advantage of poisoning the crew was, but a cheer went up, and cups were distributed, and everyone made their way to the galley, where cups were filled, cups were emptied, and the crew took a break. I found Bosun Melody, at a corner table of her and five others.

“Bosun Melody, what are our supplies of rum?”

“Running low, to be honest. Would you let your lady Gamilla know?”

“I believe I can find her.” I said.

“I give you leave to go.”

She gave me... I see. Bosun Melody might not be long for the world...

Where was THAT coming from?

My wrath score hadn’t increased. Or had it, and my System was too broken to track it? Or had I just held my anger back for too long? It didn’t feel like a flame inside me, ready to break me like an eggshell to be born into the world, or any of that bardic nonsense.

I was just... angry.

I turned, and set about finding my finance officer.

On the theory that I wasn’t actually mad at Bosun Melody... well, I was, but not ONLY at Bosun Melody.

I singled out the usual suspects. I didn’t seem to be mad at myself. I was mad at... at waiting. At this idle time with no actual task. No quest to complete. Nothing. I was wasting time just to have something to do.

I had nothing I truly wanted for myself, and others had noticed. Had begun taking advantage. It was time to stop bothering to avoid what I didn’t want, and set about gathering what I did.

And, on the other hand, I was TWO, almost three. Normal children were just learning how to talk. They weren’t going about seeking adventures and learning combat styles, and worrying about the different types of magic and how in the world were they supposed to CONTAIN all their magical power, let alone shape it?

So... was it time to just become an adult? Was that something one just did?

Gamilla wasn’t hard to find.

“Gamilla, the crew is running short on rum.”

“Because we are in port too long.” She replied.

“We’ve gone over this. We don’t have three months to miss the Daurian trader.”

“Well, then why don’t we just sail south? If we trust our maps, we can’t miss their island?”

Oh. I wasn’t the only one angry about something.

“Speak to me, Gamilla. Why the rush?”

“We have our ship. We should be making money. But we’re not because of this stupid quest of yours.”

“You mean the diplomatic mission I’ve been assigned? By the ruler of our entire empire?”

“Yes! That one! We are here, and there is money to be made, and you...”

“And I keep going on about the primary task, the public task, a task Hortiluk doesn’t care about.”

She spat to the side, and kept looking that way. “I think Hortiluk cares about nothing in these islands.”

“After nearly two years building an impressive information network, that must hurt.”

“It does, but that’s not it, either. I can see the start of the ending, where all this effort finally pays off. Where our investment stops TAKING and starts giving back. When we stop being a seed, and instead start growing in the light.”

I shrugged. “It has been two years. A few more weeks seems small enough in comparison.”

“The last diplomat sent from home tried to execute you, ambassador. What will they do to those of us standing close to you?”

“Not a lot, unless they drastically increase the competence of the minions they send.”

“Even the Legendary Heroes fall on the field of battle, if surrounded by too many enemies.”

“If anyone in the Red Tide Empire can get that many soldiers here, I know where I wish to deploy them.”

“Lavin Buscala?”

I nodded. “Lavin Buscala. But until then, we need to keep our minions from revolting. And, in the short term, that means food and water and poisonous alcohol.”

“We can only push the budget so far before it breaks.” She warned me.

“Does this break our budget?”

“Leave it to me, I’ll find them something that will only partway melt their throats and bellies.” She said.

She still wouldn’t look me in the eye, though.