Completed The Death of Sal Mander

[Sal Mander]

Day 90, Fall of 514 A.V.

Evening

It was an immense struggle, the kind that sapped strength both physically and mentally, but Sal forced open tired eyes that stung from the salty water. An amber hue of evening light glittered and danced on waves like a sea of forgotten gems, a faint spark of hope rising in his mind, buoyed on by the calm that surrounded him. In contrast, the overwhelming darkness of his earlier situation had been like a black leviathan, whose mighty arms wrapped around him. His body had been pushed and pulled by reckless waves, as though they were strange watery beasts fighting over his soul. It might have been more just for the sea to have swallowed him then, but for now such a fate had been spared.

Those waves had fought hard all afternoon. Tired now, they could only muster a gentle ripple as they carried Sal floating onwards. He might have cursed his fortune that The Athena had sunk with him on it, but in the same thought he was just grateful to be alive. The Athena was lost, condemned to slumber upon the ocean bed where it would remain for eternity. But before its demise, it had loaned to Sal a single plank of sturdy wood borrowed from its now defunct hull. The board was his now, and he clung to it as though it was the most precious thing in all of the world.

Onwards he drifted, bobbing up and down at the very mercy of the sea. His panic had long been spent and in its place a calm floated over him. Even as he cast a gaze as far as he could see in the dwindling light, with only a great expanse of water gazing back, his calm remained as firm as his grip on the board. Not even the absence of land that he knew should have been there to the east seemed to phase him. In truth, he did not even know where he was by now. Having left Lhavit, The Athena had been headed north to Wind Reach, a journey that should have taken around fifteen days, weather permitting. Now all he could do was wonder how the ship had sunk and he was floating there like a piece of debris. With only his board for company, he was well and truly lost.

But the board was also strong and tough. Callous hands held on tightly, and he wished only to echo those attributes in himself. He concentrated on the words, spoke them over and over in his breaking mind. Focus. He needed to focus and see the positives. He could have drowned with the rest of the crew. Instead, he had been spared that fate. Finding a single piece of debris was certainly a stroke of luck. Of course, there was the chance that some god was toying with him, making him seek hope where there was none. But Sal was being an optimist, even in his current predicament, even considering the fact that his being on The Athena in the first place should have been a straightforward mission.

[Sal Mander]

7 Days Earlier

Captain Stall marched purposefully along the deck of The Athena, an air of authority about him that was echoed by the intent gaze of his dark brown eyes. He had performed the routine a thousand times before as if it was a well rehearsed play. His crew too were well practiced in their parts, tending to ropes and sails with such efficiency and promptness that Stall's barked orders were just cues in the performance. The understudies, of which there were always a handful at each port of call, were quick to settle in or even quicker to find themselves unemployed. Everything about The Athena spoke of perfection, the grand two-masted vessel gracefully departing the docks of Lhavit as the darkening sky cast a brooding mood on the night. But tonight's departure would be coupled with a rather unexpected arrival.

Sal turned his attention back towards the city as cries from the docks were raised, the flicker of lanterns chasing shadows towards the ships in mooring. While the shouts remained a mish mash of growls and grunts, it was evident that a chase was in progress. The lanterns split into two throngs, the first heading towards where another ship had just left its mooring, while the second came in pursuit of The Athena. Splashes indicated that several men had fallen short of the jump between the dock and the ship. But one had managed to breach that gap, clambering onto the deck as startled crewmen watched with avid eyes. From the docks, members of the Shinya looked on with thunderous gazes, clearly displeased that their prey had eluded them.

"Take down that brigand," Captain Stall commanded, a voice like boulders colliding together. A handful of crewmen dressed in various styles of open white shirts and flamboyantly striped pants rolled up just below their knees despite the cold weather, were quick to tackle the man to the deck floor and were soon dragging him over to where the Captain stood. The moon light glinted off a few blades that had since been produced, but a wave of the Captain's hand saw them just as quickly sheathed. Sal found himself close by as the situation unfolded, trying his best to look inconspicuous as the Captain addressed the restrained man.

"Name"? the Captain demanded as he stood before the new arrival with crossed arms. The man in question was laying on his front with each arm held by a crewman. Another motioning gesture from the Captain and they relinquished their hold. The man drew himself to his knees before finally clambering to his feet. Deep breaths suggested the run had been a long one at the least. A hard one too when the Shinya were doing the chasing.

"I have money...I can pay for safe passage...,"the man gasped between breaths.
___"Passage aboard The Athena is neither bought nor sold. What we do on this ship is work," Captain Stall exclaimed with a hint of a smile that managed not to look at all friendly. But his attention turned to the men that had gathered around and he was stone once more. "Now listen to me and listen well, you lubberly lot. I don't give a chaktawe's tit if you're a season or more on this ship, or fresh meat loaded this afternoon. We're headed for Wind Reach and until then you got two choices. Pitch in and work hard and in return you'll have passage and three square meals a day. The second choice does not share the same benefits and, unless you happen to be a strong swimmer, I could not honestly recommend it."

The crew exchanged worried glances, the veterans knowing where this was headed while the more recent recruits remained unsure. As if sensing their curiosity, Stall nodded to the men that had earlier restrained the newcomer. Without a word, they plucked him up by his arms and swiftly tossed him over the side. There was a cry that ended with a splash, as more glances were exchanged. "Back to work," Stall roared, sending crewman scurrying across the deck twice as fast as before.

Sal could attest to the Captain's claim that passage was neither bought nor sold. Traveling to Wind Reach on official Cosmos Center business, he had learned the ship he was to depart on had in fact never arrived in Lhavit at all. At such short notice, the Athena was the only other ship available, Captain Stall enforcing his stringent policy and thus Sal having no choice but to take on the role as a member of the crew. He had grumbled about it of course, much to the chagrin of his superiors. But pressing as the Cosmos' business was in Wind Reach, the investigator could find no loop hole to avoid the whole unfortunate affair.

The night continued with no further surprises, the crew of The Athena going through the motions as they headed out into the watery embrace of the ocean. There was peace and tranquility to be found here on the open seas, an unspoken calm that held Sal in mild fascination. His body was grateful when he was finally shown his bed, a simple rack among many in the crew quarters. Laying there with his thoughts, he stared at the ceiling as the ship creaked and groaned in a soothing rhythm. Though new to ships and the open seas, Sal had apparently been blessed with a strong stomach.

As he lay there, he considered the fate of the man from earlier. Stall had not hesitated in throwing him overboard, and Sal wondered if the captain would have done the same further from the docks. One thing was for sure, the Shinya had not lost out on their prey after all.

[Sal Mander]

6 Days Earlier

Sal was still grumbling to himself when finally he reached the ship's kitchens. The quartermaster had deemed it necessary to wake him with an ice cold bucket of water, punishment for having slept through the morning bell. The ordeal had done well to put Sal in a less than cheerful mood, with further insult arriving when he learned of his duties for the day. Pots and pans and lots of them. Still, it was certainly less taxing than the day before. He had been assigned to shifting the last of the crates and supplies into the deep holds below, a task that had proved physically demanded in its longevity. Even so, he decided he would rather have had the crates all over when he saw the pile of pots awaiting him.

Despite his complaints, they remained for his ears alone. With the prospect of another fifteen days or so on board the ship, Sal opted to keep his head down and get with whatever work was assigned him. It seemed that only those who did not pull their weight caught the eye of their superiors, or worst yet that mean spirited quartermaster with his whip like tongue, that lashed and cracked a wide variety of insults and threats to anyone unfortunate enough to enter his line of sight. The day continued at a crawling pace, the only break in the tedium coming in the form of lunch. Having missed breakfast due to his unplanned sleep in, Sal's hunger made the grey, lumpy stew seem all the more appealing.

The afternoon was well underway as Sal continued his chores. He had chosen for now not to try and talk to others, while his investigative nature opted for a more observational approach during these early stages of his time on board. So instead he watched and he listened. Most of the chat was about nothing in particular, ranging from boastful accounts of time spent with various women at the last port of call, or grand accomplishments involving large quantities of ale, to the griping about particular superiors on board the ship, in particular those who ran the kitchen. As far as he could make out, there was Beldar the head cook, a surprisingly skinny man for all the food he shoved down his throat during the day. His face reminded Sal of a round kettle, his nose long and curved at the end like the spout. Then there was Beldar's assistant, a young lad called Stenwick who had a lazy eye and ruffled unkept hair. Beldar spoke to Stenwick with a stern tongue, keeping the lad on his toes whenever the elder of the two was about.

There were a handful of other assistants, tending to such tasks as peeling potatoes, washing pots and other jobs that no doubt carried just as little excitement and responsibility. Despite Beldar's imposing voice - strange as it was coupled with his skinny frame - there was a general buzz of chatter as people tended to their duties. There was one notable exception though.

She looked to be twelve or so. It was hard to say since, by her weary look, she seemed much older, like one of those people who you just knew from looking at them had had it hard in life. But otherwise, she still retained some of that youthful innocence that was more commonplace among children, despite the fact she was stuck in front of a formidable pile of plates in need of cleaning. She wore no frown or grimace as she continued methodically, scrubbing each one in turn in an almost mechanical style that suggested she might have been at it for years. But each time someone came near, Sal noted that her eyes became alert and her body rigid, as if they might spring a trap on her at any second. Stranger still was the man stood on the other side of the kitchen gutting fish with a practiced hand. He also seemed to grow alert when someone passed the girl, his hand gripping the blade tighter as though expecting to gut more than just fish. He looked to be a rough sort, his face weathered and cracked with lines of age, though Sal guessed he was no more older than forty perhaps. But while his face was that of a middle aged man, his hair was as white as snow and hung to his shoulders in wisps.

Things grew more interesting as two suspicious looking men arrived and waltzed through the kitchen as though they owned the place. Dressed like the deckhands above - once white shirts and colorfully striped trousers rolled up to their knees - they stunk as much of arrogance as they did stale rum and sweat. The first, a hefty well set man with a barrel wide chest, had a scruffy beard tied into two knots that were held with a golden ring in each. His face was carved from stone, taking only a grin or a frown to make it look like an avalanche. Meanwhile, the second man was scrawny and carried himself like a wretch, almost scurrying in his movements like a goblin on the prowl. His long hands looked like they would meddle given half the chance, a theory given further credence with a rather sinister look in his eye.

It was perhaps no surprise then that the girl was stood perfectly still, as though suspecting a ghost lurking behind her, but not daring to budge an inch. However, her stillness was betrayed as she suddenly lost her grip on a plate, plummeting from her hand and smashing into several pieces. She immediately dropped to her hands and knees to gather the broken pieces, much to the amusement of the two men that had come to stand over her like cruel task masters. The white haired man with the fish knife watched on, an almost rage like look to his face that Sal suspected he was fighting to hold back. Yet for all the intent and promise of violence that gaze held, the man remained rooted to his station.

"She be a foine looking gal, eh Degby?" the skinny man sneered as he watched the young girl on the floor before him. Degby, it seemed, was in agreement.
_____"Dat she be Lemar, dat she be. Say there Beldar. Since when 'ave you been callin' dibs on pretty younguns like 'er?"
If any proof was needed that Degby and Lemar had some authority on the ship, it was evident when Beldar went silent, merely nodding and smiling sheepishly. Clearly he wanted nothing to do with the two of them. He would probably have offered to wash those plates himself if they would leave... and take the girl with them for all he cared. By now that stringy wretch of a man Lemar had let his sneaky hands do a little roaming. While the girl was clear in her intentions to fight his groping, she did not utter a word. Sal watched the man with the fish knife, ready to explode and murder in his eyes. But still he held back, as if he already knew any action on his part would be met with harsh repercussions. But new as he was on the ship, Sal had no such reservations to intervene, especially where a child was concerned. After all, nobody deserved to have that foul sailor's hands all over them.

"What seems to be the trouble? Women your own age keep knocking you back?" There was a moment of stunned silence as the words struck, drawing incredulous stares from everyone in the kitchen. But Lemar was quickly pulling a blade from his belt and waving it before him as if it alone held total authority.
_____"And 'ho the 'ell asked you, yer lubbery pot wash?"
Meanwhile, Degby seemed to analyze Sal with a piercing stare while Lemar continued to wave his knife and hurl similar insults. Finally, Degby laid a massive hand on his friend's shoulder, his study of Sal apparently complete.
_____"Leave it Lemar. As for you, you'll be quick ta learn ta keep that tongue of yours locked up. Pot duty for the next week should give yer time to think it over, eh? Haha! Beldar?! See to it he don't leave this kitchen for a week!"

The two men left, Lemar leaving a trail of evil glances towards Sal while the girl had since been forgotten. Despite getting to meet Lemar's blade and winning a week's worth of pot washing, Sal did not even get a glance of recognition from the girl. The child is scared stiff, he thought to himself angrily, wondering on what kind of ship the behavior of those two thugs was allowed to go unpunished. Ship life was certainly a far cry from Lhavit, he concluded. But as he turned to head back to the waiting pots and pans, the white haired man approached him, without his fish knife Sal noted with relief.

"Laviku bless you. She's too pretty for her own good...at least in a place like this. Forgive me. Aram's the name. That there is Meela. And in case you're wondering, she ain't me daughter, though Laviku knows, she might as well be what with all the trouble I've had."
_____"Where I come from, people don't stand idly by when a child is in harm's way." Sal replied, realizing his words could serve as an underhanded insult at Aram's own inability to act. But if any offense was taken, it did not show.
_____"Their like would just as soon run you through than anything, and ain't none but the captain could stop 'em I'll wager. Anyways, you has me and Meela's blessing, and Laviku too by the grace of the gods. Still, just keep an eye out for them in the future. They won't take kindly to yer meddling a second time."

With the danger passed, Beldar had since rediscovered his authority and with a shout Sal and Aram returned to their posts. Sal wondered what the white haired man meant by all the trouble he had had. If the girl was that much of a handful, why had he taken up with her? But more pressing in his mind was the warning Aram gave of those two fiends. He was starting to wonder if he should have just minded his own business after all. So much for keeping your head down Sal, he told himself, before grabbing the next pot in the seemingly never ending pile that loomed over him.

[Sal Mander]

5 Days Earlier

Sal slept with one eye open when finally returning to his bunk. He questioned the logic of his actions earlier, having intervened on behalf of a girl he did not know, attracting the unwanted attention of two unsavory sailors in the process. If Aram's warnings were accurate, those men might have slipped a dagger into Sal's side without batting an eyelid.

Thankfully morning arrived without incident, Sal up and out of his bunk before any repeats of yesterday's soaking. After a quick wash and a meager breakfast, it was back to washing pots and pans in the kitchens. Beldar, the head cook, was in a particularly quiet mood today, content to let conversations in the kitchen continue without stopping to shout at anyone. Talking was allowed of course, but usually he made a point of stamping his authority as a matter of principal. Sal noted that Stenwick, the head assistant, was nowhere to be seen. That puzzle did not go long unanswered though.

"Laviku bless you this morning my friend. Did you happen to hear what happened to the cook's assistant?" Sal turned to face a smiling Aram, who spoke in hushed tones while reporting the story of Stenwick and his unfortunate demise. It seemed the young lad had been caught poking around in the cargo hold of the ship during the night. In a struggle that had ensued to arrest him, he had produced a blade and was quite adamant about not going quietly. Sadly for Stenwick, his skill with the dagger was as lazy as his eye.

"That's what poking around gets you on a ship like this. Nothing more than cutthroats and brigands I tell you. Half these men would stick a blade in your gut just for looking at 'em the wrong way." Aram had apparently taken a liking to Sal, a probable after effect on the investigator's earlier involvement concerning Meela. As her name popped into Sal's head, he cast a look across the kitchen to see where she was at. Meela had been assigned potato peeling duty today, attending the task with the same look of indifference that had accompanied her before, yet Sal could have sworn she glanced over at him if just for the briefest of moments.

"You seem eager to risk talking to me though, Aram," Sal offered with a sly grin. Aram weighed him up with a sideways glance, before a grin parted his lips. "I may not be wise, though Laviku knows I ain't the youngest. But I know a bad egg when I see one. Tell me friend, do you have a name, or is that to remain a secret?"

The rest of the morning continued without incident. Sal had wondered if Degby and Lemar would return at some point, but thankfully he was saved that reunion for now. Perhaps they had forgotten all about yesterday, instead causing trouble elsewhere on the vessel. Perhaps. Instead, the hours passed by with the two men continuing their conversation, one that proved to be most interesting as far as Sal was concerned.

Aram had revealed he was Meela's uncle and guardian, since her own parents had died some time ago in a tragic accident. He had chosen not to elaborate on the exact details though, and Sal was polite enough not to inquire. Instead, Aram mentioned only that he was taking her to Wind Reach for 'her own safety' as he put it. Sal continued not to pry, but he did wonder the full details of Aram's story, his investigative nature burning with curiosity to uncover the truth. Top of his questions though was what exactly had happened to Meela to have bought her silence? Perhaps Aram had simply instructed her not to talk to anyone, though from Sal's perspective it seemed to be more her own decision to remain without words.

[Sal Mander]

4 Days Earlier

Despite the earlier instructions that Sal should remain in the kitchens, he had found himself called up on deck for the menial task of scrubbing. Captain Stall had not lied when he said passage was earned on this ship. Still, while scrubbing was perhaps even more tedious than washing pots - if such a thing was possible - it did carry with it the advantage of getting some fresh air. Sea air would always be a distant runner up as far as Sal was concerned, but it was fresh air all the same, made all the more welcome after having being cooped up below deck for several days. It had also given him the chance to widen his perspective, so to speak. Up here his sight had freedom to roam, taking in the details of the rest of the crew, as well as the wide expanse of ocean that continued forever towards the west.

There was a strong breeze in the air, carrying the chill cold that inhabited the end of the season. Strangely, the skies themselves were crystal clear, a vibrant shade of blue that might have been an ocean itself if the world flipped upside down. Such a fine clear day was advantageous for the spotter way up in the ship's crow's nest, as Sal and the rest of the men on board were about to discover.

"Ship ahoy! Starboard!!"

The route from Lhavit to Wind Reach was by no means uncommon, thus the presence of another ship seemed not to stir too much in the way of fanfare. Sal even wondered if it was the ship he was supposed to have sailed on, minus the pot washing duties of course. Sailors gave a curious glance before continuing with their own chores, chattering among themselves as they tended sails, coiled ropes and performed a multitude of tasks that Sal himself did not really understand. Only the Captain paid much attention to the arrival of the other ship, producing a telescope from his jacket pocket that he held aloft to peer through. His face was stern as always, offering no new insights as to what the man might have been thinking.

Several hours later, Sal had labored his way along the deck, scrubbing in a line with three others that had had the misfortune to be assigned the task. Though it had not been clarified, his sore knees and shrunken fingers convinced him it must have been a punishment. Daring to pause for a moment, he wiped sweat from his eyes while peering across the deck to where Captain Stall now stood. He was still watching the other ship, conversing with two of his officers who seemed a little troubled on their own faces. Behind him one of the scrubbers muttered something about pirates, a word that seemed to at once rise up like a greasy mess from a blocked gutter, seeping out across the deck and filtering into ears and wandering imaginations.

Sal's thoughts were suddenly interrupted as his bucket went hurtling off in a tumble, soapy water splashing him in the process. Looking up, his heart sank as his eyes came to rest on Degby. The burly man returned the gaze, his arms crossed and a sly smile proudly stamped on his lips. As if joined at the hip, that wiry rat Lemar was stood but a pace behind his larger friend, cackling with delight at the prospect of causing Sal some trouble. But no sooner had Sal mentally prepared himself for a possible attack when Captain Stall's voice had the two bullies spinning on their heels. "You men. What slacking is this I see? Be about your work before I have you whipped."

Degby and Lemar nodded in compliance - halfheartedly at most - before heading off. A blind man could see those two were trouble. For now Sal had escaped whatever they had planned for him, if indeed it was anything more than just making him feel uneasy, an endeavor they had certainly succeeded at. As he caught Stall's eye, he could not help but offer a nod of his own as a way of thanking the Captain. Stall held Sal's gaze for a few moments, before turning his attention back to the second ship, still lurking unnervingly in the distance.

[Sal Mander]

3 Days Earlier

Sal woke in a cold sweat, his breathing taking a few minutes to return to a more calmer pattern. While his hazel eyes adapted to the dark, he tried to remove the thought of a giant ship bearing down on him as he floated helpless in the murky water, its oars grabbing at him like huge wooden arms. It was a strange nightmare, one that he had never experienced before. He wondered if the sea air and his general tiredness was getting to him, having already forgotten just how many days they were into their voyage.

The sounds of men snoring was all he could hear now, save for the creaking of the ship that he barely even noticed. Pulling off the single sheet from his humble rack, Sal made his way to the ladder steps that emerged up onto the deck. There were no rules that stated crew had to remain in their bunks at night - most welcomed the chance to sleep after a hard day's work - but certainly it was not encouraged. That Stenwick fellow had gone and got himself killed the other night from snooping around. But Sal decided he needed some air, to clear the last echoes of that horrid dream.

The night air was chilly. Not just the cold of the end of the season, but that chill that had a needle like point to it, poking at any part of the body unlucky enough to be uncovered. But Sal seemed not to mind, the cold serving to erase any lingering suggestions of sleep. Of course he would complain to himself in the morning when he was tired and dragging himself out of his bunk. But for now there was some comfort to be found in the tranquility of the quiet that surrounded him. Calm serenity engulfed The Athena, as if the world itself lay in deep slumber. This peacefulness, this tranquility...it was enough to set Sal's mind completely at ease. Leaning on the edge of the ship, he drank in the soothing atmosphere while the waves basked in the glory of the moonlight.

And his mind drifted.

His troubles wandered off blindly into the dark, sulking at how redundant they had become. There was no need to ponder them now. Likewise, any doubts or concerns he had were quick to follow, in a procession of ill faults sent early to bed like naughty children. Instead, there was a sense of wonder that started off as a small flame in the back of his mind. Slowly it grew, the flame becoming larger and more intense. For some reason his memory drew on a time last season, when he had used his reimancy and Azenth skills to conjure makeshift gloves of fire. In that instance, it had been devised as a weapon. But for now, he discarded any notion of violence and instead visualized it as a burning cloak, one that could not harm him of course, but kept everything outside of it at bay. The pleasant train of thought was abruptly shattered, Sal's attention being pulled toward a sudden noise.

Further down the deck he could make out the mere suggestion of movement. It might have been shadows playing tricks on him, but better not to risk it. Quickly he ducked behind a nearby collection of crates so as to escape detection. From his vantage point, Sal could make out two figures, their outline becoming clear in the moonlight as they approached. As their voices came into range, Sal knew them to be the last two men he wanted to bump into here on the deck, with nobody else around.

"Jus be thankful dey didn't work out wot Stenwick was upto. Once we finish wat he was supposed to 'ave dun, the quicker I can get some kip." That was Degby's voice, the larger of the two men with the stone face and fancy beard. Sal could make out the shape of Lemar, the wretched man that seemed to always be within two feet of his large friend. He could not make out anything more though as the two villains passed on by and headed down into the cargo hold. But what he had heard was more than enough to piece together the origins of a theory. Degby and Lemar - apparently Stenwick too until he had got himself killed - were up to no good.

Sal the great detective, he thought to himself sarcastically. Even a blind man could see those two fellows were trouble. The real question though; what were they really up to that had them sneaking around at night? As always when it came to unanswered questions, Sal's curiosity was hooked like a fish, dangling from the line of intrigue as he was plucked from the water.

[Sal Mander]

2 Days Earlier

On any other day, Sal might have been grateful for his assigned duties. Learning rope knots was far more interesting than washing filthy pots and less taxing than scrubbing the decks. But rather than be thankful, instead his mind wandered back to the previous night. Degby and Lemar. Those two Sal could not help but feel were going to cause him further trouble. Perhaps trouble for the whole ship if his suspicions were close to the mark. The real question though was whether or not he should act. After all, if he kept his head down and remained anonymous, he might well have completed the voyage in one piece. Besides, did he really expect Captain Stall to believe the conspiracy theories of a man that had joined the crew only days before?

The other option was to confront them himself, an option that Sal immediately branded as stupid. As Aram had pointed out, Degby and Lemar would just as likely stick a knife in his gut and throw him overboard than anything else. What did he really expect? Would they have dropped to their knees, confessing their sins and begging forgiveness? No, for now he wished only to keep as much distance between him and them as possible, no mean feat within the confines of a ship. Lemar, he suspected, was less of a threat. His was the bully type, finding confidence when stood behind his larger friend, but most likely a coward on his own. But Sal did not fancy his chances against Degby. That man would likely crush him with a single massive hand, without breaking a sweat in the process.

In times of turmoil, it always helped to seek council from a friend, even if just to have that friend point out the foolishness in one's plans. A problem shared is a problem halved, so said someone a long time ago. Sal did not have far to go to find his only friend on the ship. Aram was to be found in the kitchen as usual, watching Meela with his usual ever watchful gaze. He realized, approaching the white haired man, that Aram would have made a terrible card player, at least where bluffing was concerned.

"It doesn't surprise me in the least," came Aram's response as Sal explained the situation. "Them two have the look of trouble about 'em. That's plain to see. But something else. Have you noticed how they act around the Captain? I mean, they do as they are told and all, but they make no efforts to hide their contempt about it. Makes you wonder what the Captain thinks about it all." What would the Captain think indeed? It seemed that Sal had exhausted all other options, with only one remaining. Present his findings to the Captain and hope he was not thrown overboard himself.

Stall was to be found in the usual place, along with his personal crew by the wheel of the ship. Their attention was still dominated by the other ship that had appeared earlier. As Sal approached, he noticed an air of concern among them, catching a little of what was being discussed. "See how those studding sails on the booms extend out from the hull? It's designed primarily for speed. Shyke. As narrow as it is, I doubt it can accommodate much cargo at all."
_____"Quite right," came Captain Stall's stern voice that managed to make everything sound grave. "Notice too the skysails and moonrakers on the masts? There's no doubt that ship could outpace us like a glassbeak chasing a drunk. The question is why hasn't it?"

Quite the question indeed. Since the ship's appearance, it had maintained both its speed and distance from the Athena. That was somewhat unsettling, furthermore given the other ships apparent ability of speed. As Sal looked at it now, he could not help feeling like the hunted. The officers had stopped their discussion, having turned to Sal who had not even realized they were now all starting at him. "Captain Stall?" he said abruptly, feeling suddenly like a schoolchild about to be chastised by the headmaster. The Captain himself and not turned to look at Sal as the others had, instead continuing to spy on the stalking ship through his telescope.
_____"What is it crewman?" Stall's tone was dismissive, his attention barely attainable.
_____"Actually Captain, I was wondering if I might speak with you in private. A matter of some urgency." Those words drew curious glances from the other officers. It seemed, at least by one or two shakes of the head, that crewmen should know better than to trouble the Captain with their woes. Sal half expected to be dismissed then, but Stall had turned his head to consider the man for the first time.

"The only urgent matter at present is that ship," Stall proclaimed before handing the telescope to one of the officers. A moment of silence descended on the group, while Stall retrieved a pipe and tabac pouch from his pocket. "Any other matters should be taken up with the quartermaster."
_____"I'm unfamiliar with the quartermaster," Sal lied, remembering all too well that bucket of water he had been drenched with on the first morning.

Stall regarded Sal again, this time with a more inquisitive look that someone gave a puzzle or a conundrum. That was a step up from the usual steely glance the Captain offered, and Sal was filled with a glimmer of hope that perhaps he was making some progress. Just then, a slight look of recognition appeared on Stall's face. "Cosmos Center, correct? Your superiors were rather adamant you should travel with us, even at such short notice." Correct was the Captain, though Sal inwardly cursed at these facts. Adamant indeed. If not for them, I'd be home safe and warm right now.
_____"Actually I was supposed to depart on another vessel. One that never arrived in Lhavit." Stall seemed to consider this point for a moment, casting another glance across the open sea to where the second ship continued to hover and stare straight back.
_____"Indeed," was all the Captain offered in reply. After a few moments, his pipe prepared and lit for smoking, he took a few steps, pausing only to look back over his shoulder at Sal. "Come with me."

"So have you made many friends aboard my ship Mr. Mander?" Stall asked from the comfort of his wooden chair. The Captain's quarters were more of a command center, the main space taken up with a large oak table that carried an assortment of nautical maps, instruments and other such paraphernalia that the uneducated might have guessed would feature in such a setting. There were bookcases lining the wall on one side, while on the other there lay an assortment of chests and drawers, one of which that lay open with clothes hanging over the side, as if the chest had been overfed linens and was now regurgitating them. As for the Captain's bed, it had been stuffed in a corner almost as an afterthought. Sal suspected the Captain spent little time sleeping.

"Not friends exactly...", Sal smirked, Degby and Lemar the first names that came to mind.
_____"Quite," was the solitary response as Stall regarded Sal with a knowing look. The investigator fidgeted for a moment in the silence, as Stall sat there like a statue. Then, as if some spell had been broken, the man was suddenly moving and talking again. "I am not a man for smalltalk." No kidding, Sal thought, without letting the sentiment read on his face. "Let me not betray that statement now. So I'll come swiftly to the point. The ship that follows us...it does so with ill intent." Sal gave his best impression of someone hearing the revelation for the first time, but he had suspected it himself prior to this conversation. In fact, it had been the rumor of the day that rippled through the crew, just a murmur here and a comment there, but enough that it had everyone on board on edge.

After all, what other reason did the ship have for mimicking the Athena's speed and course? Strangely, the whole thing reminded Sal of Brandon Blackwing back in Lhavit, following some unfortunate mark down the street, waiting for him to turn down a poorly lit alleyway before pouncing. Only, there was a distinct lack of alleyways out here on the ocean. So then, what was it the other ship was waiting for? Unaccustomed to the rules of seafaring or indeed the tactics and strategies deployed by captains and generals, Sal put forth his own limp suggestion on the best course of action. "I heard one of your men mention that we're slower than the other ship. What if you dumped the cargo and made a run for it?"

Stall's response was to beat a fist on the table, making everything jump in surprise. "At our current speed, we will arrive in Wind Reach exactly when we mean to, and not a day either side. Such is the punctuality of The Athena that several reputable merchants have come to rely on us ahead of our competitors. And it is reputation that forbids me to even consider the loss of my cargo. The consequences would, quite simply, put me and my ship out of business."
_____"Being dead will put you out of business," came Sal's candid reply, though it only served to highlight the seriousness of the situation, at least to him. Stall's face gave nothing away of course.

"I have every faith in my crew's ability to fight. Besides, we likely outnumber their crew to where a standup fight would not be in their interests. It's the very reason they're waiting. But waiting for what?" Sal was not sure if Stall was being rhetorical or not. In any case, he did not have an answer for the Captain even if it was the latter. He had approached Stall having wanted to discuss the issue concerning Degby and Lemar, but now it seemed that personal problems with other members of the crew were of little concern, when the welfare of the whole ship had since become of paramount importance.

"Poison Mr. Mander," Stall said suddenly. "You want to catch your prey? Cripple him. Then you just have to wait until he is weakened, before you strike." Then it clicked. What if Sal's hunch had been correct all along? Were Degby and Lemar agents of the other ship, here to infiltrate and sabotage the Athena? That would go some way to explain why they had been sneaking around at night, though Sal could only guess what it was they had been doing. The fact that the two men were as slimy as eels only nurtured his suspicions. That or they were just really bad at trying to remain inconspicuous.

Sal chose then to explain what he had heard the night before. By Stall's nodding, it seemed he was willing to at least entertain the idea. "Your Cosmos Center said you are an investigator. If that's true, perhaps you could dig deeper into this theory of yours. Maybe get closer to Degby and Lemar if possible." Sal frowned at that, momentarily considering jumping overboard himself than getting even a step closer to those snakes. But digging deeper was something he certainly could do. After all, what self respecting investigator would pass on the chance to, well, investigate? Still, the excitement of getting mixed up in such a puzzle was all well and good, save for one obvious question that was in need of answering.

"Forgive my apparent lack of knowledge in situations such as these, but could you not simply detain Degby and Lemar now?" It was a perfectly legitimate question, and if indeed those two were thrown in the brig, it would have both negated the need for Sal to risk his neck, as well as ensuring the safety of the Athena. But Stall's response was as crushing to Sal's selfish thoughts of keeping alive as it was practical.
_____"No, no. What if you're incorrect about those two? Or if they have yet more agents working with them? To strike now ourselves would be to squander our advantage. We must wait until the shoe fits, so to speak." Sal had to reluctantly agree with that line of thinking, as unwelcome as the prospect of Degby and Lemar roaming free was.

Get on a ship, sail to Wind Reach. How hard could it be? he asked himself. Clearly, whichever god had presided over this twist of fate was having a ball. As Sal turned to leave the quarters, another question popped into his head. "That man, back in Lhavit. Why did you throw him overboard?"
_____"Sometimes the crew need reminding who is in charge. I don't expect you to understand my methods Mr. Mander. But out here, mercy is a worthless commodity. Believe me when I say, when the time comes, there will be as much mercy awaiting any agents you expose."

[Sal Mander]

1 Day Earlier - Morning

In truth, Sal had no idea how to begin his investigation. If anything, he was angry at being involved at all, with a host of names he could draw upon when it came time to place blame. The Cosmos Center for one, for having insisted on his needing to go to Wind Reach at all, not to mention being so efficient at getting him on board the Athena. Then there was Captain Stall, who had capitalized on having an investigator on board, sending him into the lion's den where a slit throat and watery grave no doubt awaited. But really, if he was honest, the fault was of his own making. He could have just washed his pots and scrubbed the decks, all the while keeping his stupid mouth shut.

But then, if all the talk of poisonous saboteurs was correct, he was screwed anyway. Degby, Lemar and who knew who else, would carry out their evil and treacherous plans and the whole ship would be doomed. From that perspective, Sal's only choice seemed painfully clear. He had to figure out the mystery for himself, and soon. Stall had suggested that any agents working against the Athena would seek to cripple the ship somehow, presumably leaving it at the mercy of the second ship that followed behind. But there were certain elements to the story that for now made little sense.

If the other ship was faster to begin with, what use did it have in crippling the Athena at all? If it could catch up whenever it chose, sabotage seemed to be unnecessary. Then there was the matter of a fight. Stall had surmised that his crew were greater in number, owing to the fact that the other vessel was of smaller, narrower design. So then, it still would leave that second ship at a disadvantage. It did not make sense, at least not to Sal who conceded he may have been missing something. Maybe that other ship had more crew hidden away beneath deck, trying to give the impression through Stall's telescope that they were light on men. Or, perhaps the saboteurs were not necessary looking to cripple the ship at all.

As with any other investigations, when Sal hit a wall he would retrace his steps, going over what he already knew as if in doing so would shake free some new revelations. So then, he cast his mind back to Stenwick, the kitchen assistant that had apparently been in cohorts with the prime suspects, and had gotten himself killed. Talking with other members of the crew, Sal had learned that Stenwick was snooping around in the cargo hold, and had attacked when being confronted by the quartermaster, the only member of the crew besides the officers who was permitted to access the cargo hold during voyages.

As for the quartermaster, he had proved an easier prospect to glean information from than Sal had anticipated, especially given the man's reputation for being cruel and unforgiving. It had taken a mere ration of rum to loosen the quartermaster's lips. As per his report, Stenwick had apparently grown aggressive upon being questioned as to his actions. Without warning he had attacked the quartermaster with a blade, one that had found its way into the young lads ribs in the ensuing struggle. "Lad never stood a petching chance," the quartermaster declared, more than a little pride evident in his voice.

Stenwick's willingness to attack, let alone against a far superior opponent, seemed somewhat foolish. The only conclusion was that the boy's fate at the hands of Degby and Lemar must have been an even worse prospect. Too bad he was dead now. The dead were not the best at answering questions. But in adding up all the factors; Stenwick snooping around in the hold, as well as Lemar and Degby themselves heading down there the other night, the investigation had only one direction to follow.

The quartermaster also revealed that, as per protocol, the ship's cargo has been rechecked against the manifest after the incident with Stenwick. Whatever he had been doing, there was not one crate or box unaccounted for, or indeed tampered with after a thorough visual inspection. Furthermore, the manifest check had taken place yesterday, after the night Degby and Lemar had visited the hold themselves. A puzzling revelation indeed, leading to further frustrations in Sal's quest for answers. But he had to remind himself, what use did saboteurs have with cargo? It occurred to the investigator then, that he was perhaps looking for the wrong clues. What use was it sifting through the boxes, when instead he should be looking for anything else out of the ordinary.

But what?

What could those two villains possibly have down down here to 'cripple the prey', as Stall had put it. Even looking at the hull for weak spots seemed pointless. After all, not to mention the fact Sal had no idea what he was looking for, unless of course it was something glaringly obvious like a huge hole, he remembered how the saboteurs had no need of actually slowing the Athena down. So then, if the crew itself were the target in order to even the odds, should things come to a fight, it still left Sal with no clues as to why Degby and Lemar would come down into the hold at all.

Sitting there on a crate, Sal knew he had but one option left to him. It was the option he had known in the back of his head since beginning the search, but had hoped it would remain tucked away in the shadows. Now though, it seemed that option was coming into the light, where all its menace and terror could be seen without hindrance. There was no avoiding it now. He had to spy on the pair directly. And spying meant the possibility of being caught. Being caught meant having their blades shoved into his heart. And having their blades shoved into his heart...well, that much was obvious.

Concluding that his search in the hold had proven fruitless, Sal stood up from the crate and realized his hand was wet. Shyke, came the elegant reply as he noticed his hand was marked with ink. With the cargo having been stored days earlier, it seemed odd the ink labels used to address the crates should still be wet. The name on the crate - no doubt the merchant from whom or to whom the crate was being shipped - was 'Selbert Jones'. Sal wondered why the name would have been written recently. He was no expert, but would it not have made sense for all the crates to have been addressed before the voyage? Strange indeed.

[Sal Mander]

One Day Earlier - Afternoon

"According to the manifest, there are three crates of silks destined for a one Mister Selbert Jones," Sal proclaimed triumphantly as he waved the papers in the air. His audience consisted of Captain Stall, two of his officers, and finally the quartermaster who looked a little more than perturbed that he himself had not caught the error.

One of the officers, a fidgety fellow who waved back and forth like a tall reed, kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers tapping his lips in contemplation while he listened to the investigator. When Sal was done, the officer turned his attention to Stall. "Captain. I took the liberty of having the cargo recounted a third time," a revelation that brought further disgruntlement from the quartermaster. "And, it would appear, there still remain three crates assigned to Master Jones and not one crate more, or one crate less." There was a hint of triumph in his own words, as though his only endeavor was to discredit Sal's revelation.

Sal did not wait for Stall to comment, but butted in with a liberal amount of smugness in his own voice. "And the good officer is absolutely right Captain." That drew a condescending stare from the man, but Sal continued in earnest. "The description of the goods intended for Mister Jones is, according to your very own manifest, wools and silks." He waited a moment, clearly relishing the drama of the situation, before sliding off the lid of the first crate. As much as he wanted to grin, instead he kept his face free of emotion while the other men peered inside. No wools or silks of any kind or description. Instead, the crate was filled with a number of small barrel shaped caskets. "If I were to make an educated guess, I'd say the contents of these barrels were anything but silks or wools."

The other men had probably figured out the rest of the story for themselves, but Sal was far from done yet in his moment of glory. "The original recipient is named here on the manifest as 'W.R. Fenton'. They would have received the wool and silk after Degby and Lemar switched the names on the crates, while Mr. Selbert was all set to receive, well, whatever is in these caskets." Stall himself had retrieved one of the caskets and set about trying to unlock its secrets. After a quick sniff, he seemed to have completed his own task.
_____"Lamp oil," he stated in a matter of fact tone, handing the item to his associate for their own chance to confirm his observation.

And there it was. Sal was sure he had uncovered the conspiracy. He had pulled back the curtain on Degby and Lemar's attempts at robbery. At least, he thought he had. Stall turned to one of the officers, his voice a rumbling of rocks and fiery brimstone. "Have those men arrested and thrown in the brig. I'll question them myself later." The Captain then turned his attention back to the investigator, his stern eyes dispelling at once Sal's triumphant mood. "You are to be commended on your success Mr Mander. Degby and Lemar it seems wete nothing more than common thieves. The facts are laid bare before us. But tell me. What does any of this have to do with the ship that follows?"

Sal's heart sank. One minute he was the hero, investigator extraordinaire, bringing down would be thieves and unraveling mysteries. It was true. He had cracked the case. Just not the right one. The next minute he was back to square one, any notion of success leaving his body with a long sigh, as the realization that the Athena was still in peril retook its place as the primary problem at hand.

So if Degby and Lemar had nothing to do with the other ship, then who?

[Sal Mander]

One Day Earlier - Night

Stall had questioned the two crooks, very thoroughly if his earlier claim of mercilessness was to be believed. There was evidence of that too from the shouts and screams that came hurtling from the brig. But while they had confessed to the accusations of robbery and deception, neither of them knew a shred of information pertaining to sabotage of the ship, or anything concerning the ship that followed them. If Stall had been satisfied with their answers, so too was anyone else on board, though by no means gladly. Perhaps the ship that followed was no threat at all. If not, why did it follow? Sal's uncovering of Degby and Lemar's plot had thrown him off the scent it seemed. If that ship was still looking to pounce when the time was right, it meant that there was still someone here in league with the would be captors.

But who?

The crackle of thunder was unexpected, since the night sky was crystal clear and the wind no more than the slightest of breezes. But a blinding flash of light signaled it was close, as though atop the ship itself. A second crack emanated all around, but this one was more akin to the snapping of timber, not thunder. Indeed, as Sal pulled himself up from where he had been cruelly thrown - the ship had rocked with that second crack - he watched on in horror as one of the ship's two masts folded over like a pathetic broken stick. The heaviest of the two masts, it came crashing down into the waiting deck, pulling with it the rigging and one unfortunate soul who had been up there at the time. Sailors below meanwhile had to be quick to dodge out the way, several suffering scrapes and splinters none the less. Thankfully there was only the one casualty, but no end of alarm had spread across the deck as cries and shouts went up.

If it was an attack, there appeared to be no ship within range. Their follower was still off at a distance, too far to have been credited with the assault. As for an apparent storm, there was no further indication that this was the case. The destruction of the mast was in fact quite the mystery.

Several hours later, the crew of The Athena were still tending to the destruction that had befallen the ship. The mast was clearly beyond repair, so instead efforts were being made to clear up the rigging. The ship would still be able to limp towards Wind Reach, albeit with a single mast still intact, but who could guess just how long that would take. Had this been the very poison Captain Stall spoke of? If so, the attack had done little to reduce the numbers on board, though at least it had done much to test their resolve. Maybe it was a warning shot. But still the question remained, a warning shot from who? From where?

"She's closing", an officer shouted, looking out from the stern of the ship with telescope in hand. Stall was there too, watching the second ship that appeared to be larger in the distance, now that it had begun to close the gap. Whether or not it was gaining due to the Athena slowing down, or of its own accord remained to be seen. But nonetheless, Stall and his officers began barking orders to the crew, setting them to equip weapons and clear the remaining fallen debris and rigging in anticipation of being boarded. Sal would later hate himself for it, but he scurried down a ladder and below deck, having been overcome with cowardice. If it was not enough that the ship was falling apart without reason, the prospect of engaging in a full fledged ship to ship fight was more than he could take.

It was a situation he had never found himself in before now. There had been that akalak who almost killed him in a street in Lhavit a few season's back, not to mention the run in with a gang of thugs, when a certain myrian called Savos had saved his skin. But this. This was different. This was warfare, the kind where lives were going to be lost on both sides, and carnage and bloodletting would not be appeased until it had its fill. The question of Sal's ability with sword was besides the point. On a balanced playing field, he was not the worst. But here, with the shouts and screams, the chaos and terror, his confidence in his abilities was fast dwindling.

Sitting on his bunk alone, he sat with his head in his hands, wondering just where his luck had got to. So this is what a hostile takeover feels like. The main mast was destroyed, the ship all but crippled and their predator was closing fast. Stall and his men would not go without fighting of course, the thought reminding Sal that they did have more men. Then why the mast? Why are they coming now? What the PETCH is going on?

The patter of light footsteps caught his attention. Looking up, he saw Meela approaching, the young girl from the kitchens. Her eyes were red raw, trails of tears standing out clear on dirty cheeks. Before she had been emotionless in her expression, even when Lemar had tried to grab at her. But now that face was a portrait of despair. "Please help me! I did not want to do it. He made me. Please, you have to help me like you did last time!"

Sal sat up straight as Meela stopped before him, her head hanging in her hands as she sobbed uncontrollably. In truth, such was the baffling number of incidents that had transpired on this journey, one more seemed hardly out of place. It was perhaps the shock of hearing her speak for the first time that paused his understanding of her words. "So you do speak, little one." But no sooner was his rhetorical question out that he recalled what she had said. 'He made me'. An anger began to boil from within, Sal's mind dispensing of reason and sense as only one face came to him now. Lemar. How had that wretch got free? Perhaps the falling mast had somehow damaged the brig below, allowing for that rat to get his hands all over Meela.

He placed his hands on the girl's shoulders, giving her a little shake to get her full attention, his voice having become deadly serious. He had not realized that Meela's plight had all but expelled his concern with his own. "You must tell me what happened. Quickly girl, tell me everything." So help me. I'll kill the petcher!

Meela's telling had not been as quick as he would have liked, but they got there in the end without anyone else happening upon them. From the sounds of things, preparations were still being made up top, with a steady chorus of yells accompanied by the occasional splashing, no doubt the now defunct mast and rigging being tossed overboard. Thankfully, much to Sal's initial relief, Meela's woes in fact had nothing to do with Lemar at all.

But when she revealed the shocking truth...