“Rough waters?” Cali fought the urge to shudder. She hated getting wet.
Gert choked back a laugh. “We can handle rough waters in the Sailor’s Graveyard. I don’t even mind the scheming mermaids.” The orc made a face. “It’s the sirens I can’t stand.”
Twelve
“Sirens?”Cali waited for the orc to say she was joking. Not that the quartermaster looked like the type to joke. “I’m assuming they’re worse than mermaids?”
Sailor’s Graveyard didn’t sound enticing, but sailors were known for handing out colorful monikers. She’d heard tales of mermaids, but she’d always assumed they’d been exaggerated by salt-addled sailors who’d had one too many shots of rum. From the look on Gert’s face, sirens were worse than both of those.
“They make mermaids look like a friendly welcoming committee,” Gert said under her breath.
Bonnie seemed to fight back laughter, but Cali got the feeling that this was not a tale the orc wanted to share. “Only those willing to pass the sirens can reach Claw Island.”
Gert’s frown solidified. “That is, if the sirens let you through alive.”
“We’ve always gotten through,” the captain reminded her, with a gentle nudge to the ribs.
The quartermaster didn’t flinch. “At a cost.”
Before Cali could ask what kind of cost sirens would exact or what they’d extracted in the past, a thump and a bang stole Cali’s attention. Thrain stumbled through the door leading below deck and lurched a few steps forward, holding his arms wide.
Despite the thatch of beard covering most of his face, the dwarf’s skin was an unpleasant shade of green. Not the dusky shade of orc flesh, but something murkier. Sweat beaded his brow, and his lips were invisible beneath his whiskers.
“Is a storm coming?” He managed to say before gripping the nearby bannister of the stairs leading to the quarterdeck.
“No storm.” Gert eyed him, a grin teasing her lips. “But you’d best stay above deck unless you want to be swabbing the floor below.”
Thrain moaned as the ship pitched to one side and the pirate crew let out a loud hurrah. The gnome who’d been in the crow’s nest slid down the mast and landed deftly, her shock of purple hair bobbling.
“Smooth seas ahead, cap,” she called out.
Bonnie pulled her hair back and tied it with a wisp of leather. “Thanks, Pink.”
“Smooth, my barnacled behind,” Thrain said from one side of his mouth. To keep from hurling from the other side, Cali suspected.
She padded down the steps to join him. “Where’s Bramble?”
“The wee fella found the kitchen.” The dwarf gulped in some of the gusty salt breeze, and the green in his cheeks faded.
“How’d the cook take it?”
Thrain hitched up one shoulder. “Dunno. Didn’t see a cook. I left the wee beastie there, pawing through the food stores.”
Cali’s stomach dropped. The only dwarves she knew well hadn’t been accustomed to creatures like Bramble and Crumpet, probably because most of the animals in the Ice lands were significantly less friendly and more terrifying. Since the ship’s cook was also a dwarf, she hated to think what the woman’s reaction would be to finding a raccoon in her kitchen.
A screech and a metallic clatter from below were her answer.
“Son of a wand waxer,” Cali cursed as she hurried toward the stairs, leaping down them and landing on all fours at the bottom.
Thrain lumbered behind her, each stair complaining as he puffed out breaths and dwarf curses in equal measure.
Cali followed the banging of pans to the back of the ship, skidding to a stop in the doorway to the galley. Inside, a red-headed dwarf was flattened to the back wall, her eyes wide as Bramble swung overhead inside a copper pot.
The cook pointed a finger at the raccoon. “How in Grognick’s beard did he get in here?”
Cali extended both arms so Bramble could climb down. “Sorry for the fuss. He’s with us.”
“Who in the mountain-born blazes are you, and why are you bringing a critter to my kitchen?”
