<u>22</u>


    A series of interviews, conducted on board Falcon (once Milardin’s third air-cutter, now gone… driven… free-blade). Five Day 23rd, Month of First Thaw, year 1207 of His Imperial Majesty’s blessed reign, morning watch, second bell. First Mate Laurol Greenbow, attending.


    Captain Hallan Gelfrin ad Reddick to incoming crewman: “Have a seat. There, yes. Now, rank, skills and previous affiliations, if any?”


    Prospective Officer: “Uh… Gildyr, Sir. I am Gildyr Shagbark…”


    Captain interrupts (seeming surprised): “<u>Shagbark</u>?”


    Prospective Officer: “Yes, Sir. Gildyr Shagbark, son of Shavonne and Gilcrist, a druid of Lobum. Um… not sure I have any rank, as high-elves would mark it, Sir. Wood-folk don’t hold with nobility. The High Druid speaks, and sometimes we listen.”


    Captain Gelfrin (frowning): “<u>Sometimes</u> won’t work aboard ship, Mr. Shagbark. There has to be discipline in order to keep Falcon flying. You don’t get to pick which orders to follow, or when to obey them. This is a small ship, and she has to be tightly run.”


    Prospective Officer (nodding vigorously): “Yes, Sir. I understand. I and the people I brought need passage to Karellon, Sir. All of us are willing to work hard and do what we need to, in order to pay for the trip.”


    Captain Gelfrin (writing in the ship’s logbook): “Understood, Mr. Shagbark. Life history (brief, if you please) highlighting previous shipboard experience.”


    Prospective Officer (making a face, rubbing at the back of his neck, squinting at the porthole behind Captain Gelfrin): “Um… well, Sir… I have memories going back to the Peace of Oberyn that are very clear and consistent. Before that, like everyone else’s, I think, my memories turn a bit muddled.”


    (Captain Gelfrin stops writing. Looks up. Seems to hear <u>Falcon</u>, and nods.)


    C.G.: “Go on.”


    Prospective Officer: “I left home as the Peace ended, Sir, convinced that I had to find a… Well, maybe ‘friend’ isn’t quite the right word. Not sure that he thinks I’m a friend, but anyway… to find a young northern lord, Valerian Tarandahl ad Keldaran.”


    Captain Gelfrin (straightening logbook, sharpening quill): “That would be the same Tarandahl that His Lordship was after.”


    P.O.: “Yes, Sir. The very same, for reasons I’m still trying to work out, but… I went to Ilirian, to Starloft, which is the Tarandahl stronghold, and there I met with Valerian. See, Sir… he’s somehow bang in the center of all that’s been happening. All of this Chaos and trouble.”


    Captain Gelfrin (setting down quill, looking up): “And will finding this Tarandahl help set things right, Mr. Shagbark? Will it restore the Peace or… bring back those who have died?”


    P.O. (spreading hands): “I don’t know for sure, Sir. All I can do is try. I need to reach Karellon with the people I brought aboard. It’s too far a trip for just me, with so many passengers. To be honest, Sir, I don’t have much experience aboard ship… spent some time on the Crater Lake in a rowboat, fishing… but I’m willing to learn, Sir, and I’ll work hard.”


    Captain Gelfrin (glancing over at First Mate Laurol Greenbow, then hearing <u>Falcon</u>,): “Very good, Mr. Shagbark. I am willing to offer you the post of Third Officer, under Second Mate Sarrit Conn. Is this agreeable?”


    Third Mate Shagbark (nodding and smiling): “Yes, Sir. Very much.”


    C.G. (too weary and heartsore for smiles): “Sign the logbook, then. Welcome aboard, Mr. Shagbark. Present yourself to Mr. Sarrit on deck, for training… and send in the next candidate, if you please.”


    Falcon’s record lapsed for a bit as their new druid officer left the captain’s small cabin. The humming and clicking of an airship in top form filled the silence as Captain Gelfrin… Hal… made a few notes below Shagbark’s signature. To Laurol, seated in a chair beside Varric’s… his… desk, he said,


    “I think Mr. Shagbark will do. Falcon likes him, and that’s important.”


    Laurol nodded, saying,


    “Yes, Sir. It is. And he rather impressed me, too. I’ve a bit of the sight, Captain… old Sidhe blood… and helping his quest feels like the right thing ter do.”


    Hallan looked up from his logbook at Laurol (once Chief of the Boat, now First Mate. She’d nursed him through illness, helped teach him his runes, been all the parent he had besides Varric.) Glowing a bit in the light of the office porthole, and his own stress, he asked,


    “Do you think that this Tarandahl noble can change what’s happened, Laurol? There’s no running from Fate. I know that. But… but if we’re up there at the front lines, doing our best against Chaos…” he couldn’t finish the rest, but Laurol got it anyhow.


    “I can’t answer that, Captain. I’m just an old Airrior, more grey than brown. No great one, me. But… the right thing ter do is still right, whatever the outcome. Reward or not, Sir.”


    Hallan nodded and sighed. There was a sharp, two-beat knock at the hatch, then, as Falcon announced:


    ‘The next prospective officer stands in the passage outside, Captain. Admit her?’


    “Yes, please, Speedy. Send her on in.”


    Falcon did as he bade her, dissolving the oval hatch so that their next prospect, a black-and-white female tabaxi, could enter. Record resumed as she crossed the deck to stand before Hallan.


    Captain Hallan Gelfrin ad Reddick to incoming crewman: “Have a seat. Now, state your name, rank, skills, and previous affiliations, if any.”


    Prospective Officer (tail lashing): “I am Salme Shadow Claw, of Distant Sands Oasis, third heir.”


    Captain Gelfrin (looking up, frowning slightly): “You mentioned that, as I recall. You’re royalty then, Milady?”


    Prospective Officer (making odd, indecipherable noise): “The far past has gone with my former name, Captain. For what matters, I was third mate aboard The Flying Cloud, fastest ship ever to harry His Majesty’s fleet, Sir. I am also a dancer, to stretch pay between postings. I know my way aboard a vessel, Captain, as does the little one.”


    (Brief interruption, as the Prospective Officer’s golden tattoo turns into a living gold monkey. Monkey stands erect upon Prospective Officer’s left shoulder. Salutes Captain Gelfrin).


    C.G. (inclining his head): “You are a team, then. Both experienced hands. The Cloud is a legend, Lady Shadow Claw. Very much feared by merchant and sea-lord, alike. Falcon… is no longer a part of Milardin’s fleet. Perforce, Milady, we have turned free-blade… but we are <u>not</u> privateers. I have no intention of preying on His Majesty’s shipping and trade.”


    Lady Shadow Claw (whiskers and ears sweeping forward): “I did not think that you would, Sir." (Rumbling noise) "How will Falcon purchase needed supplies and pay crew-wages, then?”


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    Captain Gelfrin (squaring the logbook and quills): “We have coin enough for the moment, and I can access the Gelfrin family account… but if it comes to that, Milady, there are bounties on all of the freebooter vessels… including the Cloud, herself. Picking up one or two of <u>those</u> would keep us in gold for some time, I think.”


    Lady Shadow Claw (eyes slitting, producing a sudden hiss): “Excrement-lump, to be buried deeply in sand, now commands The Flying Cloud, Sir. <u>Her</u>, I would gut with these claws, spreading her blood on the decks to feed the shade of Captain Tristan... May his banquet, below, never cease.”


    Captain Gelfrin (blinking): “I… see. Very good, Milady. If you are willing to accept it, I can offer the post of Sentry, setting you to work with Mister Sarrit as chief look-out and shipboard security officer. Your first loyalty must lie with the Falcon and myself, Lady Shadow Claw. Will that raise any problems?”


    Lady Shadow Claw (whiskers once again forward, ears erect, pupils enlarged): “You have earned my respect and service, Captain Gelfrin. The offer is accepted with gladness. The little one and I will serve aboard Falcon as we did on the Flying Cloud, with unswerving loyalty, Sir.”


    Captain Gelfrin (nodding, clearing his throat): “Very good, Lady Shadow Claw. Thank you. Sign the logbook, if you please, under the last entry. Right. Welcome aboard, Leftenant Shadow Claw… Airrior Munk. Present yourselves to Mister Sarrit, on deck, to receive further orders… and send in the next candidate.”


    Falcon’s record lapsed once again, as the fluffy tabaxi and capering simian left. The captain’s office was tidy, wood-paneled and small, at the very stern of the airship. Varric’s touches were everywhere: charts, spyglass, globe, crossed family swords, ancestor tablets and one battered horn drinking-cup rimmed in bright gold.


    The Gelfrins were not a large or prosperous family. Their account contained little but farm-yield and rents, along with Captain and Midshipman’s pay. Besides which, accessing the family funds would set off alarms… if he and the ship were supposed to be dead.


    ‘Captain,’ said Falcon, interrupting his troubled thoughts. ‘There has been... an irregularity.’


    Hal looked up and aside, for the vessel wanted to show him one of her records. Marked ‘Four Day 22nd, Month of First Thaw, Second Dog-Watch’, it showed one of the fugitive boarders, a female ranger, slipping out to the starboard rail. There, in the moon’s silver light, she simply turned sideways and vanished.


    ‘Not deemed important enough to disturb captain’s rest, but the next listed candidate left in the watches of night and has not returned to this vessel.’


    “Thank you, Speedy,” It was Varric’s nickname for their swift little cutter; one that Falcon seemed to enjoy. Hal next turned his gaze back to Laurol.


    “We’re missing one of the boarders,” he said to his worried first mate. “The mixed-blood ranger is gone. Not overboard. She seems to have betaken herself to the shadows, alone.”


    Laurol nodded, considering. Then, as Hallan struck Cinda Whitlock’s name from the logbook,


    “Will she let on that we’ve survived and turned free-blade, Sir?”


    Hal stopped himself from shrugging. He was a captain, now, and expected to be decisive.


    “I don’t know her well enough to make a firm judgement… but if the company she’s kept is any predictor, she can be trusted. These are good folk, I think, Laurol.”


    His first mate nodded, looking relieved.


    “My gut says you’re right, Sir.”


    …which made him feel better. Nothing they could do about it in any case, for the ranger was long gone. Once again, Falcon announced a prospective crew member. There were two sharp raps at the hatch. When the captain nodded assent, an oval section of bulkhead vanished away.


    It was the drow who entered, this time. Like the others, he wore clothing lent from the ship’s store: canvas trousers, leather boots and loose blue shirt. Unlike the rest, his flesh was dead-white wherever it wasn’t puffy with recently salted cuts. His red eyes burned fiercely in that icy, expressionless face. More than that… not just drow, he was also mixed. There was high-elf blood, there. Record resumed.


    Captain Gelfrin (making and holding eye-contact): “Come in. Have a seat.” (Distinctly uncomfortable pause, then,) “State your name, rank, and applicable skills, if you would. Previous affiliations… at your own discretion.”


    Prospective Crew (long pause, returning eye-contact): “I am Kaazin Kylarion, son of a she-wolf… whom I have dealt with… and an escaped elven captive, as you have already noted. I have no rank but outcast, in any cavern or settlement. I can fight. I do not lose my head or my balance. I ask for nothing but passage to Karellon. For that, Captain, I am willing to work.”


    Captain Gelfrin (quietly glancing at First Mate Laurol Greenbow, who nods very slightly): “Understood. I can offer the post of helmsman’s mate, under Mr. Not-Jonn. Steering an airship is a skill that might win you a berth on future vessels. If you choose to accept…”


    Airrior Kylarion (nodding once): “I do… Sir.”


    Captain Gelfrin (turning the ship’s log and sliding it across the desk, quill in the seam): “Very good, Kylarion. Sign below your name… Now, present yourself to Mr. Not-Jonn, at the helm and… welcome aboard.”


    Airrior Kylarion (pausing mid-rise to look at the captain): “Sir.”


    Falcon’s official record lapsed as the drow left the command office, taking his seething anger out with him. Speaking to Falcon, Hallan said,


    “Speedy, reschedule the next interview for after midmeal. I need day-brew and something to eat before facing any more boarders.”


    ‘Very well, Captain. Order given. Will you take your meal in the office?’


    “No… I’d like to eat on the quarterdeck, Speedy. Stretch my legs and see how our recent conscripts are doing.”


    There remained a mortal wizard, the paladins and a noble lady to interview, and Hallan was already weary in spirit and body. He’d outgrown his midshipman’s garb overnight but wasn’t quite tall enough to don Varric’s clothing. Thus, he was wearing a mix of Not-Jonn and Sarrit’s old dress blues. He thrust his legs out of under the desk, stretching till his joints cracked. Then, patting back a yawn, Hal got to his feet.


    Laurol was smiling; an expression she hid when Hallan looked over.


    “We’ll resume interviews at the start of the next watch, Leftenant Greenbow. Go have midmeal and think about something else, for a while.”


    Laurol Greenbow smiled at her red-haired young captain.


    “Aye, that, Sir. And you ought, as well. ‘Imself ud go out to the taffrail and watch the horizon or visit the helm n’ talk about home.”


    Hallan’s shoulders sagged briefly, beneath the weight of that newly piled brass.


    “Don’t expect we’ll ever see home again,” he mused. “At least… not while His Lordship’s in power. But Lin can handle the estate and… and we’ll manage.”


    “Aye, Sir,” agreed Laurol, rising from her bolted-down chair. “Plus, if we rescues enough of ‘Is Majesty’s merchant ships, we could win ourselves pardon and fortune, too.”


    Hallan straightened and lifted his head. There were no smiles left in the young captain, at present, but he nodded fondly at Laurol. Everyone here… every being from Speedy right down to that addled wizard… depended on him. On Hallan Gelfrin ad Reddick, captain and free-blade Airrior. It was a huge, nearly crushing, responsibility.


    Taking Varric’s spy-glass from its brackets, the red-haired young officer turned and left his cabin, murmuring,


    “Afternoon bell, then, Leftenant.”


    Laurol saluted, watching him leave the office; Falcon’s glowing blue eye sliding along the bulkhead in Hallan’s wake. The oval hatch remained open, but Laurol did not leave immediately. Instead, casting her gaze at the overhead, she cleared her throat.


    “I ain’t the one as generally speaks ter you,” said the first mate, addressing thin air. “That’s Not-Jonn’s place, ‘im having died an’ come back an’ all… which he does seem ter get yer attention more often than not… But our Hal needs some help, Lord Oberyn. We all do. No one special, me. Just a jumped-up battle commission… but I visits the temple regular, when we’re at port, and I always makes a donation. So… not fer me. I ain’t one y’d notice up there in the sky… but fer Hal, our boy… our captain… please let us come through this alright.”


    If she’d expected lightning or doves… well, that didn’t happen. A blue eye opened up on the bulkhead beside her, though. As First Mate, she’d begun hearing Speedy, too. Still jumped at the fizzing noise in her skull but was slowly becoming accustomed to Falcon’s voice.


    ‘There is a meal prepared in the galley, Leftenant,’ said the ship, in her mind. ‘Grog, biscuit, mustard and beef, same as yesterday…’


    “…Same as tomorrow and every day after,” finished Laurol, smiling at Falcon’s swirling and luminous eye. Then, “I’ll be along directly. Don’t know if you have any pull with the watch-above, Speedy… but I don’t know anyone purer than <u>you</u>. If you had a word with the gods, seems like they’d have ter listen.”


    Falcon’s eye changed color briefly, its glowing blue turning deeper. It followed Laurol out of the command office, as Speedy’s voice once more tickled her mind.


    ‘I have no contact with any watch-above, Leftenant Greenbow. Nonetheless, I have sent out a message, requesting aid from any being of power disposed to answer our beacon. Is this prayer?’


    Laurol patted the bulkhead, sealing the office hatch with a lock-sigil. Nodding, she said,


    “Good as any I could raise… though maybe not so good as Mister Not-Jonn, who lifts some rare fine cussing to them in the clouds.”


    …which caused Speedy to begin listing every curse and insult she’d learned since being commissioned and launched, twenty years earlier. Quite a scurrilous list it was, too, and Laurol was chuckling by the time she got to the galley for midmeal. Starting with ancestry, appearance and likely destination, then working her way toward personal habits, Speedy covered nearly all there was to say about anyone. Even a god.


    But maybe Lord Oberyn had a sense of humor as well as a plan… and maybe a splinter of ship with an untested crew would make it to safety, after all.