Camid moved to stand next to Morgan and do the honors of holding her hair back away from her face. "Herbs?" he said doubtfully.
Adhémar pursed his lips. "My brother procured them for me." He paused. "Likely from the local village witch." Adhémar generally didn't lie well, but he'd told so many over the past two months that he'd become quite proficient at it. And it served Miach right, being reduced to trafficking with local old women. It was Miach's fault he was where he was and wallowing in his current condition. A slander, even it it could only be enjoyed by him alone, was satisfying.
"Well, I'm not opposed to an herb or two," Camid said with a nod.
"Aye, what you can put in your pipe and smoke," Paien said hoarsely. "Adhémar, brew em up quick as may be. I think I'm?"
He leaped to his feet and turned just in time. Camid shifted against the railing, Morgan's hair still in his hand, and looked at Adhémar placidly.
"Let's hope the galley lads are quick."
Adhémar grunted in answer, then rummaged about in his pack and unearthed the herbs Miach had sent with him. He pulled things out of the large pouch, sniffing until he found something that smelled soothing. Adhémar supposed it was laced with magic, but neither Morgan nor Paien would be the wiser and he certainly couldn't tell himself. He would just use a little and hope for the best.
Glines returned with a large mug. Adhémar accepted it, sloshed a bit on his leg, bellowed until he realized the water wasn't nearly as hot as he would have liked, then dropped the herbs into it anyway and stirred with his dagger. Straining it properly was out of the question, so he scooped out what he could and flung that dross over the railing. He knelt next to Paien, who had resumed his place on the deck.
"Drink," Adhémar commanded.
Paien did, a healthy swig. He pushed the cup away, frowned, tested his stomach's resolve, then smiled. His eyes grew suddenly heavy, but he didn't seem to mind. "Better," he said happily, then tipped over and landed with his head on his own pack.
He began to snore.
Glines looked at Adhémar in admiration. "Well done."
"One down, the wench to go. Camid?"
Camid turned Morgan around and bodily put her down in a sitting position on the deck. Adhémar put his hand behind her head and the cup to her lips.
"Drink," he commanded.
She did, a large gulp that she couldn't seem to help. Adhémar held her nose until she swallowed. Somehow he wasn't surprised that she spewed out what she hadn't managed to get down. He looked with irritation at the front of his tunic. He started to censure her for it, but her words stopped him.
"Magic," she gasped.
Adhémar looked at her in astonishment. How in the bloody hell could she tell that? She was a shieldmaiden whose only magic came from the fairness of her face. That she should be able to sense Miach's spells when he couldn't even detect the faintest hint of them?
Morgan groped for what Adhémar could only surmise was a weapon. Camid managed to relieve her of several knives as she produced them from various places upon her person. "Damn you," she slurred, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped over, using Paien as a pillow.
Camid organized her various knives and dirks, then paused, considered, and then did her the favor of stowing them in her pack. Adhémar frowned at him.
"Don't you want to help yourself to any of those?" he asked.
Camid almost looked startled, if such a thing was possible for the dwarf who looked as if nothing came as a surprise. "I suppose I could try, but I would pay for it later, when she's more herself." He looked at Adhémar evenly. "If you knew her as I do, you would treat her differently."
"More kindly?" Adhémar asked sourly.
"With more respect," Camid said. He arranged Morgan's pack on the deck, then beckoned to Glines.
Adhémar moved out of the way as they situated Morgan so she was as comfortable as possible. Well, perhaps familiarity bred fondness and for that he couldn't blame them.
But for himself, he could only judge her by what he'd seen of her. She had stolen his extra pair of socks, the ones he was wearing had holes, and she was carrying on her person the bulk of his funds.
He paused. He supposed that might be a boon. Less to lose to Glines.
At least she hadn't stolen his sword. Though given the number of weapons Camid had packed away for her, she likely had no need for it.
He sighed and looked at Camid. "We'll watch in shifts."
Camid only nodded, apparently not questioning the decision or the tact that Adhémar was making it. Adhémar took that as his clue, then looked at Glines.
