Tome of the Undergates - By Sam Sykes Page 0,28

bigger sword,’ Lenk muttered under his breath.

‘What was that?’

‘I said if you’re so concerned for your crew, perhaps you should be down there moving corpses and grieving.’ Lenk cast a sneer of his own back at the captain. ‘I promise I won’t look if you start crying.’

‘Ah, we’ve got a merry jester here, in addition to a filthy adventurer. I bet a man of such diverse talents would like a lovely strawberry tart.’ He snapped two thin fingers. ‘Sebast, fetch the fanciful adventurer a tart!’

‘As you like, Captain.’ The mate set aside his mop and began to trundle down the steps.

‘Get back here, you nit,’ Argaol snarled. ‘I was being sarcastic.’

‘Facetious,’ Lenk corrected.

‘What?’ He sighed, slumping at the wheel slightly. ‘You got word for me, boy? Or did you come up here to demonstrate your impeccable wit?’

‘A little over a dozen of the Cragsmen dead, fewer of our own.’

‘My own,’ Argaol snapped back fiercely. ‘The Riptide sails under Argaol, the men serve under Argaol, not some runty adventurer.’

The mate leaned upon his mop, peering thoughtfully at the young man. ‘Where is it you said you came from, Mister Lenk?’

‘Steadbrook,’ the young man replied, ‘in Muraska.’

‘Steadbrook, is it? That can hardly be right. I’ve travelled up, down, through and around Muraska and I’ve never heard of any such town.’

Lenk opened his mouth. His voice caught in his throat as he blinked. ‘It’s gone,’ he whispered, choked, ‘burned.’

‘Such a shame.’ Whatever sincerity the first mate might have hoped to convey was lost as he returned to his mop-ping. ‘It would have been interesting to visit a place that produces such short men with grey hair.’

Before Lenk could respond, Argaol interjected with a rough cough. ‘What of the Lord Emissary?’

‘Evenhands is—’

‘Kindly refer to our charter by his proper name,’ the captain interrupted sharply. ‘This ship is free of all blasphemy, no matter how minor. I won’t have a . . .’ He stared hard at Lenk. ‘What’s your faith, boy?’

‘None of your business,’ Lenk responded hotly.

‘Khetashite,’ Sebast muttered. ‘All adventurers follow the Outcast, I hear.’

‘The proper title is the Wanderer.’

‘Khetashe gets a proper title when he’s a proper God and not some patron of misfits.’ Argaol coughed. ‘At any rate, what of the Lord Emissary?’

‘Evenhands is safe. No pirate managed to get through us.’

‘Aye, thanks to that monster of yours, no doubt.’ Argaol laughed, his humour tinged with an edge of hysteria. ‘Your boys are good at killing, Mister Lenk, no doubt about that. A shame you couldn’t find a more decent skill to devote your life to.’

Lenk’s only response was an acknowledging hum. There was no real sense in getting angry at slights towards his profession. He had heard them all, up to and including slights against his God, Khetashe. There was, after all, little sense in getting irate about insults to a God who watched over people who killed things for money.

‘Speaking of faith, your men are all Zamanthrans, I hear.’

‘All men of the Riptide pay homage to the Sea Mother, aye.’

‘Should we not stop to give them their proper burial, then?’

‘Not with Rashodd’s boys on our backsides, no.’ Argaol shook his head. ‘We’ll attend to the rites when we’re free and clear.’ He turned to his mate and gestured with his chin. ‘Mister Sebast, inform the men to trim up the sails. They won’t be catching us anytime soon.’

As the sunburned man nodded and scampered off, Lenk stalked to the edge of the railing. The Linkmaster wasn’t fully out of sight, but far enough away to resemble a glistening black beetle on the horizon.

‘Are you sure it’s wise to trim the sails?’ he asked. ‘They might catch up.’

‘Not so long as Zamanthras loves us,’ Argaol grunted. ‘And I don’t need the wind ripping my sails while it’s on our side. We’ll be out of their sight before the Sea Mother even realises I’m carrying a shipload of heathens.’

‘Of course, Captain,’ Sebast interjected as he clambered back up the stairs, ‘you are also carrying the Lord Emissary of the Church of Talanas and one of the Healer’s holy maidens.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps the two cancel each other out?’

‘And that’s why you’re first mate, Mister Sebast.’ The captain sighed. He jerked his chin towards the railing. ‘Have a glimpse, then. Tell me how far they are behind us and see if you can’t assuage the adventurer’s fears.’

The man came up beside Lenk and peered out over the rail. ‘A good ways, I should say, Captain.’ Sebast hummed thoughtfully.

‘How the

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