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Three days aboard a ship was intimidating, but would at least be comparatively relaxing, Cerce had thought. Her usual fare was days of travel by road, aching legs, tortured feet, chapped arses, and chafed thighs.
Turns out the sea wasn't too much more comfortable. The 'cabin' Red Tom had promised her proved to be a corner of the central hold sequestered off by a curtain hung from a rope, creating a private area just about large enough to curl behind in a makeshift cot while sweaty pirates snored and farted two feet away on the other side of it.
Breakfast was usually cold meat and boiled beans that Cerce ate cheerfully on the deck, looking out at the blue waves with endless wind chapped lips and watery eyes. The Foul Mouth was far beyond sight anymore, and only the vague shadow of the southern coast of Cornubia still visible on the horizon as they traveled east along it. The sky was bright, with patches of sunlight peeking down through the white clouds, and Cerce's skin began to darken slightly as she spent afternoons basking on deck.
Red Tom was occupied completely for the first few hours of every day, surprising Cerce with his activity and the amount of energy at which he threw himself around the ship. The Captain had an eye on everything, and while she'd known Tom a few years, Cerce had never before seen him in his natural habitat.
When the sun was at its apex the crew settled somewhat, and took time to entertain themselves. For the first day or two the crew were standoffish and Cerce found herself excluded. She'd pass time watching the men work, trying to figure out the intricacies of the rigging. Occasionally she'd flick through the little book that Adam had given her when she'd told him she was taking a trip, but had trouble making much sense of the flowery prose. Something about horses and pretty girls in dresses, but Cerce had never been much of a reader.
She'd find moments to chat with Tom and watch the waves go by in the evening, and he reminded her that the crew may be a surly lot, but they were his boys and soon they'd come around. He assured Cerce that though they might have not shown it, they were likely thankful to have a woman on board to spice up the usual scenery a little.
After a couple of days the men of Adamus did indeed warm up a to the presence of the Nadyr. Cerce found herself playing card games with cards so rat eared that the crew knew almost every one from the tears and folds alone. This led to arguments over who'd won a round pretty much every round, with handfuls of coins being tossed back and forth moment by moment. Occasionally something comparatively worthwhile like a shiny apple or a measure of rum was tossed into the winner's pot and everyone would get quiet and pretend to know what they were doing for a round or two. Cerce lost a bone necklace she'd made in her days on the road, but won a hammered copper ring she'd taken a shine to and, out of jewelry, anted up a show of her tits instead. Cerce had also found an appreciation for the filthy jokes that seemed to make up a lot of the banter during the ship's work hours, and if nothing else, learned a thing or two about the acts a Penryan girl would allegedly perform given the right circumstances. There were the inevitable contests of strength and other manly prowess, and Cerce almost got her shoulder dislocated arm wrestling Ben the Black. Later, some of the crew took turns trying to lift Cerce's halberd, and then it was her turn to giggle as half failed to lift it at all, and the ones that did stumbled around trying to wield it like a toddler with a broadsword.
It was after a game of cards one night, when Cerce was stretching by the bow that Red Tom approached her and handed over a cup of the rich, sweet mead he kept in the cabin.
"Oh, the good stuff is it?" Cerce asked. Taking a sip. It was thick like honey and went immediately to her head.
"Wanted to see how you were coming along. Taking a liking to the sea life, Stormbringer?"
Cerce shrugged, leaning over the deck to peer down into the water. The water this far from shore was darker than Cerce had ever known it to be, a blackness so complete it looked almost solid.
"Still get shivers down my spine sometimes, but it's not too bad. Ship's cosy."
"Isn't she?" Red Tom grinned, clearly a few cups into his mead himself, "Nothing like it really, being out here. I see you been getting on with the lads."
Cerce nodded and smiled,
"Yeah actually, for a bunch of crazed known thieves and murderers, they're pretty good to know."
"Only the best on this ship, greenie."
"So tell me about the Merrow, what do you know?" Cerce asked, sipping from her cup.
Tom drank liberally from his own and blew noisily out of pursed lips.
"Well, I know they aren't usually anywhere near the west, for a start. Come in all shapes and sizes. Most about the size of a man, or smaller. Up north in Dumnonia they say there's huge Merrow, big as ships. Sounds like sailor talk to me though."
"Like Shakka?" Cerce asked, "I heard a lot of stories in the bar."
"The She-Beast of the South? Yeah, she's meant to be big. I know people who say they've seen her. Queen of the Merrow. Mostly rumour though, still. Most of the ones I've seen have usually been out near the east island. You ever been to Exenar?"
Cerce shook her head, her white hair flying in the sea wind.
"This is the furthest I've been from Cornubia, right now."
Tom shrugged, "It's nice out there if you like the heat. Good food. But yeah, they got Merrow all over the waters out there. Locals been fighting with them over patches of coast all along the island for years, way back since the bloody shattering. Adamas been in a couple scraps with them over there, paid work. Always trying to find a way to get rid of them. Even poisoning their own waters to try and drive them out, everything. Probably why the Merrow fight so nasty."
"Who fights nice, Tom? Tell me that." Cerce smiled.
"You know what I mean, you go into a fight ready for a fist in the gut or a nutting, don't you? Merrow, it's claws, teeth, they make weapons out of coral, oof, gets caught up in your guts, shatters to pieces inside you. Proper nasty stuff. Why do you think I dragged you along on this?"
"Because you want to see me locked in a vicious fight to the death with some bare breasted Merrow right?"
"Partially, but mainly because you're bloody nasty yourself in a fight, Stormbringer, and I like that in my friends."
"Thanks Tom, that's sweet of you."
They both finished off the mead that remained in their cups, and Cerce gave Red Tom a nudge.
"Speaking of friends...tell me about Captain Revan. How do you even know him?"
Tom tipped his head back and gave a bark of a laugh. Cerce pushed on.
"I wanna know! How does the most respected guard captain on the south coast get on so well with...well, you! Revan's almost put a rope around my neck about three times, why isn't he firing burning arrows at your ship any time you're in sight?"
Tom clapped Cerce on the shoulder.
"Wib wasn't always such an uptight sod, is why. Before someone rammed that stick right up his arse, Wib Revan was quite the adventurer. Back in the day we were something of a team."
"You and Wib? Side by side?" Cerce asked incredulously.
"And a few others. Barr of the Isles, biggest bastard I ever met, bigger than most orcs. Lady Crayne, finest knight for leagues, blonde hair like sunlight. Couple other comers and goers over the years. We were quite the party back then."
Cerce was shaking her head in disbelief. Tom nodded, his eyes a little lost in the memory.
"There was a lot to do after the war. We needed heroes then. Soldiers gone wild, bands of brigands, rogue orcs who'd ignored the treaty. We chased one or the other across the island for years. Bloody good days, them."
"So what happened?"
"Ah, everyone gets old don't they? Can't live the adventuring life forever. Work slowed down. Wib settled, found his little Elven bride, got himself straight. Barr died from an arrow wound gone bad. Crayne and I rumbled pirates in the Foul Mouth for a few years and...well...one of the ships just looked real good one day. Rest just came with the territory."
Tom looked about his crew, and gave a smile. There was a rustle of commotion going on, and a few of the men had produced instruments.
It wasn't practiced, it seemed to come naturally, reedy whistles placed to chapped lips, a rickety little fiddle, and a plain little drum beat with a calloused hand. It started to echo out over the waters around the ship. Clinging to the rigging by the mizzen, a tall deck hand with long brown hair was the first to raise his voice and start singing.
Now when I was a young man
We lived near the sea strand
And my folks kept a tavern called the Admiral's head
And old salts by the fireside would tell of the sea's wide
The far foreign shores
And the lives that they'd led
After that, it filled the ship. Every voice suddenly raised as one, and Cerce jumped in surprise as Tom joined in at full volume, a song every one of them clearly knew by heart. The ship seemed to swell with it, voices raised, arms swaying.
And it's up and away in the mornin'Cerce was smiling, watching the musicians play, the bodies standing upon the deck, swaying in the rigging or emerging out from the cabins below to join in. Tom gave a gesture to them proudly. He leaned in closer to her to speak as his crew continued their song.
O' the tears my poor mother has cried
But the sea it had called me
And you may say I'm balmy
But I went to her just like a bride
And it's up and away in the mornin'
"Friends are what you make of them, Cerce. First time I met Ben the Black, we were hunting brigands terrorizing a town. Ben had been burning whole buildings for a handful of coin. He almost put his axe into my head. That big scar on his chest? Wib gave him that. Damn fine with a blade, Wib."
Ben was among those hanging from the rigging, his mouth open wide, roaring along with the rest of the crew.
And it's up and away in the mornin'"Where'd you see yourself in another ten summers? Twenty? You and your friends. Shacked up with true love, raising a little one?" Tom asked.
And though we may never come home
We'll think of it often
Til' the day that our lead weighted coffins
Get tossed in the foam
And it's up and away in the mornin'
Cerce thought of her group of friends. The little party they'd become. The thief, Adam, the mercenary, Carnaby, the bartender, Jiera. Where they might be headed.
"Maybe, I can see it for one or two of us. Happy ending. Or maybe in the dirt, or disappeared without trace."
Tom gave Cerce another clap on the back.
"You want my advice, be the one who sails off into the seas at the end. Not the one left behind."
Tom finished up his drink and began to walk to his cabin, over his shoulder he said to Cerce as he left.
"Sleep if you can. Not long after dawn we reach the waters where it happened."
Cerce watched the men partying well into the night. Some of the songs she knew, and she joined in whenever she could. Her voice carried across the sea along with the light from the lanterns, making the ship seem a strange little pedestal of brightness in the middle of endless night.
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