Maquesta looked at the wounded half-ogre and decided they had a lot in common-aside from having mixed parentage. Fritzen's ship had been dashed against rocks. Her hopes for the future had been dashed just as harshly, and soon her father's ship would belong to someone else. They were both pretty much homeless.
While still immobile and flat on his back, the halfogre's eyes were closed, but the lids twitched slightly, and he did seem to be resting more comfortably. A little of his color had returned, which the gnome was quick to point out. Thankfully for anyone who ever became ill on the Perechon, Lendle's medicinal creations always worked better than his mechanical inventions.
"Did he say anything else after you gave him the chatterwort?" Maq asked the question idly, preoccupied with her scheme for bringing Melas, Averon, and the minotaur lord, Attat, together. Perhaps if she plotted well, the Perechon might not be lost to them after all.
"He is ashamed." Lendle stopped his mashing to regard Fritzen. "Ashamed and wounded where a poultice can't help him. He tried to tell his captain not to steer too close to the rocks, but his argument wasn't convincing. Not only did he lose the Torado to the sea hags, he wasn't able to save his captain. And in the end, he grabbed on to one of the hippocampi. He's cursing himself for abandoning the ship and the crew to save himself. I don't know if he will ever recover from that."
Yes, thought Maquesta, perhaps there are some wounds too deep to ever heal.
"Melas, Averon, I, and a few of the others will be going back into Lacynos later today. Is there anything else you need to take care of Fritzen?"
Lendle looked up at her sharply. "What business do you have in Lacynos? Your father does not seem of a mood to find the Perechon work so he can pay our wages. And more drinking of ale would not, I think, be to anyone's advantage."
"Don't worry, Lendle. We have a few things to straighten out, matters that might even lead to a payday in the near future."
Maq gave Lendle a tight-lipped smile that failed to reassure the gnome, then left the armory to arrange the shore visit with Melas. She strode quickly to his cabin, determined to make everything work out all right.
"Father?"
Maquesta pushed open the door to her father's quarters. Sunk in a black mood of despair, Melas had not left his cabin since the previous evening. She found him now seated once again at his desk, with Averon pulled up alongside him on a stool. Whatever the two had been discussing, they stopped when she entered the room.
Maq had not anticipated that the first mate would be with Melas. Unprepared, she feared the hurt and anger she felt showed plainly in her face as soon as she saw him. But Averon, sitting in profile to the door, did not look at her. He stared off, behind Melas's head, gazing through a porthole at the sea. She inwardly continued to fume at her father's best friend-a man she once considered a close friend, too.
"Father, I've found out who holds your markers. It's not the betting master. It's a minotaur lord named Attat Es-Divaq. Do you know him?" Perhaps, Maq thought, unknown to her, there was some bad blood between Melas and Attat.
Melas shook his head silently.
"I think you, Averon, and I should go to see him before he comes to collect his debt. We should offer to work off our obligations. It would mean being in the employ of a minotaur, but at least we would be able to keep the Perechon. And maybe there would be some extra steel involved to pay the crew."
It was only logical that Averon, as Melas's closest friend and first mate, should come along, and by making the suggestion in front of both of them Maq didn't see how he could avoid it. She felt certain that if she endeavored to bring Melas, Averon, and herself together in front of the minotaur lord who held her father's markers, she could provoke Averon into revealing his duplicity. But she expected Averon would try to avoid such a situation.
"Yes," Melas paused, reaching out to the idea tentatively. "Averon was just suggesting the same thing."
Why would Averon have made that suggestion? Could she somehow be wrong? That development troubled Maq. Yet she could glean nothing from Averon's current attitude. His attention remained fixed on the porthole. He wouldn't even look at her.
Melas, however, ever an optimist and a man who preferred doing anything to nothing, had begun to warm to the idea of visiting Attat.
"Yes, let's seize the bull by the horns, so to speak. We can make a good case for ourselves." Melas spoke to himself as much as to Maq and Averon.
"The Perechon is a prize-none better-but she's a much richer prize with the best crew on the Blood Sea. Yes!" Melas rapped the flat of his hand down on the desk, startling both Averon and Maquesta from their separate musings. The sparkle had returned to his eyes, and he was quickly shaking off the effects of all the drink he had consumed the previous night.
"We'll go after lunch," Melas continued. "Get a few of the men together to come along. The wisest course is not to be too outnumbered when we venture into a minotaur stronghold."
"I think you're right, Father."
He rose from the table, and in three strides had his arms around her in a friendly bear hug. "We'll make this work, Maq." He released her and slapped Averon playfully on the back, then he turned and went to the door. He opened it with a flourish and extended his hand, indicating Maq should leave first.
As she did, she heard her father speak to Averon. "Well, come on, isn't this what you have been asking me to do?" She did not hear the first mate reply, but Averon was close behind her.
While the crew seemed gratified to have their captain out among them once more, even Melas's presence could do little to enliven lunch that day. A number of sailors remained too disabled by the aftereffects of drink to drag themselves to the table. Those who did dined on a thin bean gruel, which was all that Lendle, preoccupied with Fritzen's care and with very meager supplies at hand, could whip up. A mood of uncertainty in the wake of the Perechon's loss lingered over the entire crew.
Melas ate quickly, then rose from the table, giving orders with most of his old energy and authority.
"Averon, come with me. Maquesta, start lowering the longboat. We'll leave shortly."
Maq had put herself in charge of selecting the shore party, not wanting to chance Averon's doing it. Immediately after leaving Melas's cabin earlier, she had talked to Hvel again, and four others-Canin, Magpie, Micah and Gorz-telling each to be armed and prepared for trouble. Such advice was a given for any visit into Lacynos, so her words didn't surprise the sailors. Maq was glad Averon had gone off with Melas. She intended to repeat the advice again as soon as they gathered at the longboat. She wanted everyone to be on guard.
Standing herself, Maq signaled the others to rise. With irritation, she saw Vartan stand with Hvel. The two were best friends. When Maq approached Hvel, he had suggested Vartan come along. Maq had sternly vetoed the idea. The helmsman was an unproven commodity as far as she was concerned-just a pretty face. She shot Hvel a withering glance. He shrugged his shoulders, as if helpless. Maq decided not to make an issue out of it; she'd talk to Hvel about it later, after they'd returned to the ship. So now there would be an even half dozen coming along with her, Averon, and Melas.
The trip from the Perechon to the wharf passed quietly. The crewmembers still knew nothing of Melas's wagers and the risk of losing the Perechon. Maq had decided to keep that information from them until after the confrontation at Attat's unspooled. As far as they knew, they were accompanying Melas to an audience with a minotaur lord at which, most assumed, the captain would be soliciting an assignment for the Perechon. Averon's attitude still bothered Maq. She found it difficult to gauge. As the longboat drew closer to the wharf, both Melas and Averon exhibited growing agitation.