Born a Monster

361 261 – Bloody Feet

The crew was merry; they’d been promised triple rations. Some idiot or other had told their Cook I had class levels; I actually learned quite a bit about making old ingredients taste new. There was even an ability Refresh Ingredient, which was always purchased as an Inherent. It was cheap, and given the number of ingredients that passed through any cook’s hand in a day...

In any case, I couldn’t afford that, but I was no stranger to washing and chopping vegetables, to grinding herbs into powder, to making of broths and doughs and mixes of herbs, so I got to do little else for three hours.

The captain was happy, walking around in linen foot wraps spotted with red and brown. Heck, even the monkey caught the mood, and it wasn’t even Aware.

“Rhishi,” Kismet said, on first tasting it, “tell us you learned to make food like this!”

I waved a hand in the Daurian fashion. “Abilities far beyond my level to learn, but I have them flagged.”

“Well, meaning no disrespect, but there’s no reason to be inhospitable while on our way to the Spiro Family.” Admiral Danton said. “Won’t every day be like this, but for tonight, eat, drink, and be glad to be alive.”

“About that reward,” I asked, “How much is it, for the lot of us?”

He named a figure.

“I’m offended.” Gamilla said, “and you should be, too. You can make triple that and thumb your nose at the Manoran authorities.”

.....

“I’ve tried pirating the sanctioned lines; too much risk for what we find there.”

“I’m not talking about piracy, I’m talking about going legitimate.”

Danton laughed at her, paused, and resumed laughing. The monkey laughed and rolled on the table.

“Oh my. Lass...” He stood, banged his mug three times on an iron lantern hook. “Oy, you rotted-tooth lot! Who wants to go straight for three times our normal take?”

Looks faded from interest to confusion.

To Gamilla, he said: “You got their attention. Hawk yer plan like you’re in a marketplace.”

And she did, but a sticking point seemed to be the utter, total stop to piracy. After all, why had they been honing their skills for years, if not to use them? Kismet tried to support her, pointing out that there were assassins and freelancers, and possibly they could keep a ship for piracy while the other two...

The crew stopped listening, a person at a time. I should have thrown my bit in earlier.

“Husband, no. You don’t have the Charisma score...” Madonna said.

“Ninety six points of damage. Ninety six, from an unarmed strike. That was the critical that took down Bernard the Brawler. That will outright kill a person, even at rating four Might. You have the option of growing old in luxury, or of facing a brief and violent end.”

“Don’t know about brief, but give me LIFE any day.” a drunken rig monkey said. “Life is risky, and violent, and too short. And it is worth more than mere coin to live free, in the way I choose.”
Had I just made things worse? I sat back down, and consoled myself with the fish equivalent of a calzone. I had to admit, it was better tasting than anything I had made recently.

“It was a good speech.” the admiral said, when they were done. “It might even sway the Spiros. But these,” he waved a hand, “these are men of the brine. Arguments meant for normal men will not sway them, for they do not feel as normal men do.”

“Anyone tries to touch my sisters or I gets to wear the boots until they die.” Madonna said, from around a wedge of melon.”

“Spread the word, if you would, Miss Paige.” he said to a tiny redheaded woman that I’d originally mistaken for a cabin boy (yes, female cabin boys use the same title in some fleets).

She just nodded, and began making rounds among the galley tables. A whisper here, an elbow nudge there; it was like watching a less boisterous Kismet at work.

“Let me set you down easy, monster boy.” one of the crew said, “She’s more of a team girl person.”

I thanked him politely for his advice. Really? I was THREE. Why did people keep thinking I cared about such things?

Madonna came to my save, placing her hand on top of mine. “My husband’s eyes wander, but so long as he finds my hammock at night, let them.”

Admiral Danton smiled. “The islanders keep marrying off their young at such ages. You’d both be cast into irons for saying such things in Manora proper.”

“Then let us all be glad we’re here and not there.” Kismet toasted.

We drank.

[Level one subdual poison, one dose. You have succeeded your Resist Poison check; no effect.]

Hrm. Not the usual alcohol message. I refilled my glass and drank again. The poison lowered by a level.

Someone had tried to poison me! Good luck with that.

Madonna gave me a knowing smile, and took another glass, herself.

Kismet appeared to have not noticed, and Gamilla was ...

Is there an emotion that is a mix of downcast and angry, perhaps a shade or two more violent than sullen?

If she had noticed... Oh. That was it. The poison wasn’t meant to actually subdue us, it was a test to see how we would react. It was the sort of thing that Hortiluk might do, if he were certain it couldn’t lead back to him.

But we spoke of ships and trade routes and unlikely tales of heroism (or bumbling foolery, in my case, but as told by Madonna and Kismet, it was entertaining).

“Just how much food are you planning on eating, and where are you storing it?” the admiral asked me.

“Oh, I have four stomachs that don’t exist in the real world. I need a little less than a hundred forty nutrition a day.”

I left unsaid that I hadn’t eaten in a while, paying my needs with stored up biomass points. It would take care of the nutrition, but not the entire edge off the hunger.

“Well, Mattox over there needs eighty, but that man can move the rudder when the handle snaps off it.”

“My System is broken.” I admitted. “It thinks that I’m ninth level.”

“Ah, now if THAT were true, then a lot of your stories become possible, if not entirely plausible. Then again, I’ve learned you can twirl a stick on the ground to call earthworms to the surface for fishing. So, that’s a thing.”

“I’d not have figured you for a fisher.” Gamilla said.

“Turns out if you can slip a live fish into your boot some days it will eat the fish and not you. Getting the remains back out is a matter of artistry, though.”

“Don’t worry.” Madonna said. “I’ve a trained blood shaman right here.” she rested both her hands on my shoulder and made a credible effort to push me out of my chair. “Together, we can tend to the needs of the boots without the need for me to put them on early.”

She winked at him. “I’m so very, very lucky.”

“Blood shaman, eh?” the captain stroked his beard. “So tell me about my blood, then.”

“Do you mean about your parentage, or the parasites swimming around in there?” I asked.

“Parasites? Aye, and there they are. NOT under diseases. I can deal with them from here. If not, Caprice can earn her pay.”

I wanted to just reach out and take care of them, but... that would be rude, and the admiral himself hadn’t actually been anything other than hospitable. At least in terms of people carrying us to our probable doom.

Madonna said.

I sent back.

she insisted.

Gamilla said.

Kismet said.

Gamilla said.

Madonna replied.

“Well, if we’re already talking over closed System channels, I’m willing to call it a night.” Danton said.

We thanked him for his hospitality, and retired to our rooms.

That feeling of warmth and welcome lasted only until the next afternoon, when the sails of Clan Wyvern were sighted.



Yes, I’d more than half expected it to be Dimmihammas, but unless he could move between monkeys, it just wasn’t so.

Rig monkeys are those who climb nets to work closer to the sails. Their behavior isn’t entirely un-monkeyish.

More than just a sea-borne version of Manservant or Maidservant, although most either have or rapidly develop a level in those classes.

Hortiluk was the hobgoblin of hobgoblins, and held some manner of vizier position in the government. He was equal parts spymaster, mystic, and traitor – and he was honest about it.