Chapter 12
Twelve
“Sirens?” Cali waited for the orc to say she was joking. Not that the quartermaster looked like the type to joke. “I’m assuming they’re worse than mermaids?”
Sailor’s Graveyard didn’t sound enticing, but sailors were known for handing out colorful monikers.
She’d heard tales of mermaids, but she’d always assumed they’d been exaggerated by salt-addled sailors who’d had one too many shots of rum.
From the look on Gert’s face, sirens were worse than both of those.
“They make mermaids look like a friendly welcoming committee,” Gert said under her breath.
Bonnie seemed to fight back laughter, but Cali got the feeling that this was not a tale the orc wanted to share. “Only those willing to pass the sirens can reach Claw Island.”
Gert’s frown solidified. “That is, if the sirens let you through alive.”
“We’ve always gotten through,” the captain reminded her, with a gentle nudge to the ribs.
The quartermaster didn’t flinch. “At a cost.”
Before Cali could ask what kind of cost sirens would exact or what they’d extracted in the past, a thump and a bang stole Cali’s attention. Thrain stumbled through the door leading below deck and lurched a few steps forward, holding his arms wide.
Despite the thatch of beard covering most of his face, the dwarf’s skin was an unpleasant shade of green. Not the dusky shade of orc flesh, but something murkier. Sweat beaded his brow, and his lips were invisible beneath his whiskers.
“Is a storm coming?” He managed to say before gripping the nearby bannister of the stairs leading to the quarterdeck.
“No storm.” Gert eyed him, a grin teasing her lips. “But you’d best stay above deck unless you want to be swabbing the floor below.”
Thrain moaned as the ship pitched to one side and the pirate crew let out a loud hurrah. The gnome who’d been in the crow’s nest slid down the mast and landed deftly, her shock of purple hair bobbling.
“Smooth seas ahead, cap,” she called out.
Bonnie pulled her hair back and tied it with a wisp of leather. “Thanks, Pink.”
“Smooth, my barnacled behind,” Thrain said from one side of his mouth. To keep from hurling from the other side, Cali suspected.
She padded down the steps to join him. “Where’s Bramble?”
“The wee fella found the kitchen.” The dwarf gulped in some of the gusty salt breeze, and the green in his cheeks faded.
“How’d the cook take it?”
Thrain hitched up one shoulder. “Dunno. Didn’t see a cook. I left the wee beastie there, pawing through the food stores.”
Cali’s stomach dropped. The only dwarves she knew well hadn’t been accustomed to creatures like Bramble and Crumpet, probably because most of the animals in the Ice lands were significantly less friendly and more terrifying.
Since the ship’s cook was also a dwarf, she hated to think what the woman’s reaction would be to finding a raccoon in her kitchen.
A screech and a metallic clatter from below were her answer.
“Son of a wand waxer,” Cali cursed as she hurried toward the stairs, leaping down them and landing on all fours at the bottom.
Thrain lumbered behind her, each stair complaining as he puffed out breaths and dwarf curses in equal measure.
Cali followed the banging of pans to the back of the ship, skidding to a stop in the doorway to the galley. Inside, a red-headed dwarf was flattened to the back wall, her eyes wide as Bramble swung overhead inside a copper pot.
The cook pointed a finger at the raccoon. “How in Grognick’s beard did he get in here?”
Cali extended both arms so Bramble could climb down. “Sorry for the fuss. He’s with us.”
“Who in the mountain-born blazes are you, and why are you bringing a critter to my kitchen?”
Thrain finally appeared in the doorway as Cali helped the raccoon clamber out of the pot. He leaned one hand against the doorframe and exhaled loudly. Then he jerked upright when he spotted the pink-cheeked dwarf.
“A furry bandit and a fella?” The cook shook her head, curls springing from underneath the blue kerchief tying back her hair. “What in the goblin-spawned hells is going on here?”
Cali readjusted the plump, trembling raccoon in one arm. “I can explain.”
“I should hope so.” The female dwarf squared her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest. “The Cruel Mistress doesn’t play hostess to men nor beasts.”
Cali glanced at Thrain, who was opening and closing his mouth as if stunned. Clearly, he was going to be of no help.
“I’m Cali and this is my friend Thrain.” She lifted Bramble slightly. “And this little guy is Bramble. Don’t worry, though. He’s completely tame and harmless.”
“Which one? The dwarf or the raccoon?”
Cali grinned at this. She liked Marvella already. “Both actually, but only Bramble can cook.”
The redhead tapped one foot briskly. “Aye? A wee critter who cooks? I thought I’d seen it all on a pirate ship, but I suppose not.”
“According to my friend Lira, who runs the kitchen in our tavern back home, Bramble is an excellent assistant.”
The dwarf braced her hands on the edge of the worktable. “Did the captain say I needed an assistant?”
“No,” Cali said quickly, suspecting that the dwarf would not take too kindly to suggestions that she couldn’t do her job. “It’s nothing like that. We’re here to help you track down your missing jolly boat and the hellkins who took it.”
“Ah.” A nod of the head. “Desperate times, I suppose.”
Cali wasn’t sure if she liked thinking that Bonnie One-Eye only invited her because she was desperate, but she wasn’t going to argue.
The cook sighed and wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “It’s the captain’s call. Far be it from me to cross Bonnie One-Eye.” She slid them a crooked grin. “And you’d best not either.”
“Cross Bonnie?” Cali shook her head. “Wouldn’t think of it.”
“Then you’re smarter than he looks.” The cook’s smile widened as Thrain slowly furrowed his brow. “No one crosses Bonnie One-Eye and tells the tale for long.”
Cali wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so she nodded some more.
“I’m Marvella Flintheart.”
“Marvella,” Thrain repeated in a whisper.
“Nice to meet you,” Cali said for all of them, since Thrain seemed to have lost to ability to string two words together. “Sorry to disturb. We’ll leave you to your work.”
Marvella made a clicking sound in the back of her throat. “Not so fast, lassie. I thought you said the little fella could cook.”
Bramble wriggled in her arms as she spluttered. “He can, but I thought—“
“I’m not fool enough to turn down an assistant, furry or otherwise.” The cook beckoned with one arm. “Besides, I’ve got a barrel of potatoes to peel.”
Cali looked down at the raccoon, not sure how to ask him if he wanted to stay in the kitchen.
Lira was the one who could communicate with her kitchen creatures, not her.
But Bramble didn’t need to be asked. He patted her arm as if saying that it was okay before swinging down onto the wooden worktable.
Marvella handed him a knobby brown potato and a small paring knife. Bramble turned both over in his black hands a few times before he plopped himself down on the table and began delicately slicing off slivers of potato skin.
The dwarf leaned back and laughed as she watched the raccoon work, the sound huskier than Cali had expected. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine, little bandit.”