“Pull, you sorry bastards!” Sorsil roared. “The captain doesn’t want to bob around in the river all damned day! The sooner we cross the bar, the sooner we’ll raise sail! Now pull like you mean it!”
The man sitting beside Geran at the oar bench chuckled to himself. He was a weatherbeaten old Shou, with a face like seamed leather and a topknot of gray-streaked black hair. “Every time we leave port, it is the same,” he said between strokes. “Pull harder! Pull faster! But do not worry, stranger. Narsk knows that the crew does not like to row, and he’ll take the oars in soon enough.”
“You’ve sailed with Narsk a long time?” Geran asked.
“I joined Moonshark three years ago. Zaroun was the captain then, and Moonshark hunted the Sea of Fallen Stars.” The Shou gave Geran a bitter smile. “Zaroun was a good captain, but he was not a good judge of men. Or gnolls. He signed on Narsk in Impiltur as we sailed west toward the Dragon Reach and within the month he was dead and Narsk was captain. That was a year ago now.”
Geran looked up at the quarterdeck, where the gnoll paced. “Did Narsk challenge Zaroun or just murder him?”
“Challenge, of course. That is the Black Moon way. But you should know, stranger, that a captain is within his rights to order a challenger killed. If the crew thinks the challenger is not fit to seize the ship, they’ll deal with him. No, one should be sure that the crew will stand aside before one challenges the captain.”
“I see.” Geran wasn’t surprised to learn that the Black Moon pirates chose their leaders in such a manner, or that the challenge process didn’t offer any guarantees to the challenger. Many outlaw gangs and brigand companies worked in much the same way. The captain could count on the protection of the crew against many challenges, but only so long as he held their confidence. “Has Narsk faced many challenges?”
“Some.” The Shou gave Geran a sly look. “You speak like a man who has an interest in becoming captain.”
Geran snorted. “I don’t think so. Narsk doesn’t scare me, but the rest of you do.”
The Shou laughed aloud, attracting the attention of Sorsil. The mate growled and struck him across the shoulders then gave Geran a clout as well. “Enjoying the morning, lads?” she snarled. “Now pull!”
Geran saw stars. He started to surge up from his bench, but he stopped himself short. It was far too early to think about fighting anyone, and he knew that the mate had meant the blow as a sharp warning and nothing more. Instead the swordmage clenched his jaw and chose to endure the blow with a hard look at the mate.
Hamil and Sarth, sitting at the bench in front of him, hesitated half a moment in their sweep, and Hamil glanced back to meet his eyes. Are you certain you want to continue? he asked silently. We can dispatch a few of these villains and make our escape any time you like.
Geran shook his head slightly and went back to his rowing as Sorsil moved on to shout at a different crewman. He was here to learn more about the Black Moon corsairs, and if he drew blade the first time he met with something he didn’t like, he would never get far. Hamil shrugged and returned his attention to his own oar.
“You were wise to hold your anger,” the Shou said in a low voice. “If you had struck back at Sorsil, Narsk would have ordered her to beat you or kill you.” He paused and then added, “I am Tao Zhe. I am the ship’s cook.”
“Call me Aram. Those two ahead of us are Vorr and Dagger.” Geran nodded at Sarth and Hamil. “What else should I know about sailing under the Black Moon?”
“It would be wise to find a fist soon.”
“A fist?”
“A band, a gang-they call them ‘fists’ here,” the Shou answered. “One man alone is in for a difficult time aboard a Black Moon ship. Your shipmates will rob you, bully you, give you the worst jobs to do. The best protection you have is a strong fist. If your fist is strong enough, even the first mate and the captain must think twice before dealing harshly with you. After all, you might challenge the captain, and if your fist is very strong, the crew will stand aside. I see that you have a small fist already, you and your two comrades here, but that is not enough. No one has reason to be wary of such a small fist.”
“How many fists are there on Moonshark?” Geran asked.
“Four that matter: Skamang and his Impilturians, the dwarves and Teshans, the Mulmasterites-they follow Khefen, the second mate-and the goblins and their kin. Remember, if you pick a fight, you’re taking on the whole of your foe’s fist.”
“Up oars!” Sorsil shouted. Geran and Tao Zhe pushed down on their end of the heavy oar, raising its blade up out of the water, as the other pairs of oarsmen along the ship’s side did the same. The mate waited a moment to make sure that all of the rowers had obeyed then called, “Take in and secure your oars!” They pulled the oars inboard and set them in chocks bolted to the deck, making them fast with iron pins that held the oars in place. The rest of the crew stood up and pushed their way clear of the oar sweeps; Sorsil ordered crew to set Moonshark’s sails.
“I must go and see to our stores before I prepare the midday meal,” Tao Zhe said. He studied Geran for a moment. “You may not need any advice from me, but I offer it anyway: Sorsil is no one’s friend, and watch your back around Skamang there.” The cook nodded at a tall, stoop-shouldered Northman with blue whorls tattooed on his face. “He’s got a fist that not even Sorsil wants to cross, and he’s the one man on this ship other than Narsk that you do not want for an enemy.”
“I’ll remember what you’ve told me,” Geran answered. The cook nodded and went forward to the ship’s galley. Geran went to lend a hand with the job of raising sail. Some galleys carried masts that could be unstepped and laid down flat inside the hull, but Moonshark was made for sailing first; her two masts were fixed in place and carried a typical fore-and-aft rig. The pirate crew managed the task with a fair bit of fumbling and plenty of cudgel-blows from the first mate; many of the deckhands were no more familiar with the work of sailing a ship than Sarth was. Moonshark might be able to outsail a round-bellied cog or outrow a coaster in a light wind, but her crew needed more practice to handle her well under sail. Geran decided that Narsk had manned her with whatever fighters and outlaws he could scrape together in the most wretched taprooms of the Moonsea, whether they knew a thing about sailing or not.
They passed the rest of the day working through the dozens of tasks that kept a deckhand busy. Geran quietly related to Sarth and Hamil everything Tao Zhe had told him, and the three made a point of watching out for each other. The weather was fair and cool, with a steady light wind out of the west that drove Moonshark at a slow-footed, rolling pace. The pirate ship carried many more deckhands than she needed; the sailing watch could have been handled by four or five men, but a big crew was needed for rowing and fighting. Consequently, most of the crew worked little while the ship was under sail and undertook routine tasks only when unable to pass them off to some more luckless hand-for example, the three new hands signed in Zhentil Keep.
The sullen Northman Skamang held court by the foremast for most of the day, surrounded by his fist of seven or eight deckhands who did nothing at all the whole day, as far as Geran could tell. At one point, Skamang called Geran over when Geran was carrying fresh water from the ship’s casks up to the galley for Tao Zhe. “Ho there, new man,” he said in a rasping voice. “What do you call yourself?”