The Sorcerer

 At that moment Tex was somewhere below the stern, trying to remember whether such a space was called the quarterdeck or weather deck, though it was neither. It was a small storage room, more like a lazaret than anything, that contained rope and various other odds and ends needed for keeping the ship in working order. He hadn't been aboard a sailing vessel before and his vocabulary in this sphere consisted almost wholly of snippets assimilated piecemeal from pirate stories. The Wild Fox deviated from this limited knowledge in a number of ways, including the absence of cannons. It seemed if the crew had to repel an attack it would be with spears, bows, and axes. However, no matter the how much the details eluded him, he knew something unusual was happening in the ship's wake. There, through the narrow slit of a porthole, he spied a man in black robes hovering over the water. Despite a steady wind throwing small waves about the water's surface, that dark cloak, with its hood and tassels and richly embroidered hem, hung still as if no force could act upon it but the will of its wearer. The man took one step and was suddenly face to face with Tex.

“Oh my-”

The hull exploded outward. He tumbled amid a cloud of splinters and hit the water feet-first, sinking in a welter of confusion and pain. Then he swam back to the surface with powerful strokes and a growing sense of murderous intent.

He fairly leaped from the water, dragged himself up the hull far enough to snatch a rope, and raced up to the deck. A crowd had already gathered, knots of sailors looking warily at the figure floating between the masts. The captain spoke, face and voice both utterly calm, and if this failed to fool the intruder it at least steadied the crew.

“Welcome aboard. If you're planning to stay a while I suggest you take a seat. We have some excellent tea on board.”

“You have passengers aboard. Bring them to me and I shall leave you in peace,” said the sorcerer in a curt voice borne along on an undercurrent of promised violence. This was plainly a man accustomed to getting his way, intolerant of so much as a joke at his expense.

“Might I ask why?” Guozi said. “I gave up smuggling a long time ago – only honest merchandise on this ship.”

The sorcerer raised a hand. There was a foreboding sensation in the air, a stillness like the odd, charged atmosphere that told of an impending tornado, as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation of some destructive wonder.

“Perhaps you have been misled.”

Tex unsheathed his sword and the keening sound drew the attention of all on deck. The sorcerer turned, pointing at him with a hand every bit as lean and hard and menacing as an eagle's talons.

“This one has abducted a cherished member of my house. She is aboard. I know it.”

Tex took a deep breath and released it slowly before speaking.

“I'll allow that maybe you don't know any better. But if you talk about me that way or cast some voodoo on me again, I'll open you up like a tin can. Now let's start over: who are you and what are you doing here?”

The sorcerer's hand twitched. That was all the warning Tex was given and he put it to good use, diving out of the way of a bolt that cracked open the boards on which he'd been standing.

“A wise man would know and fear the name of Amel. Now give her up. I will not repeat my demand,” said the sorcerer.

“I'm telling you, I didn't kidnap anyone.”

“You hear how he denies it,” Amel said to the captain. “Will you shield this man from justice and so perish yourself?”

Tex could see some calculation being made in Guozi's eyes, an imaginary rendition of the conversation that must have played out along similar lines on the other ship. Despite the peril before him, the man managed a disarming smile.

“Search my ship if you like. But you'll find no one here who doesn't want to be here... except maybe my first mate when he's losing at dice.”

Neteth and Asphodel chose that moment to emerge from the hold, making a search unnecessary and causing an eerie, contemplative calm to take hold of the sorcerer. His face, so pale it seemed white as chalk in the dark cloth that surrounded it, was pinched in concentration. Problems of a different sort than those confronting the captain were considered, solutions worked through or discarded, and after a moment he arrived, in the methodical manner of one trained in ritual, at his conclusion.

“I shall take these two with me and spare the rest of you. Rejoice,” said Amel, “for this day you are granted mercy.”

“I'm afraid you've made a mistake. We are only travelers,” said Asphodel.

“Travelers,” repeated Amel.

“Wherever you've come from, I suggest you go back. You won't find the person you're looking for here.”

The sorcerer's reply was heavy with disappointment. “You should know better than to play games. Not now, and not here. You have delivered the prince, albeit not as expected. You have done well. Take pride in that.”

“What does he mean by that?” Neteth asked the witch.

Tex wondered at it as well, though by then his thoughts were dominated by the imposing, open-ended question of how to stop a sorcerer from tearing the ship apart as he had the other one. No matter how convenient it would have been, there seemed to be no path to a peaceful solution and that left only the grim necessity of the situation, made all the more daunting by the presence of many others who, though willing to fight for their ship, were woefully outclassed. He gripped his sword's hilt, looked about the deck for anything he'd missed before, for in matters of life and death advantage can be found in even the smallest of things, and a small part of him reflected that if the ship was turned to kindling it wouldn't make much of a difference what any given part was called.