Chapter 179: A lack of reflection

Chapter 179: A lack of reflection

“Without reflection, we go blindly on our way, creating more unintended consequences and failing to achieve anything useful.”

Margaret J. Wheatley

After a day's worth of battling the beasts, they finally managed to break free of the feeding frenzy that a demon in the shape of a boy had created somehow. His commission on this trip would have to be astronomical to make up for the lost money in the form of slaves that had helped to keep the feeding frenzy going. This trip turned out to be an unmitigated disaster. First, it had taken far beyond the time he had thought it would when he had argued the price for his original cost of taking the commission. Second, the fruitless chase of a sailor and what now appeared to be his son had cost them another two days, along with a dozen slaves, two dozen oars, four sailors and a chewed-out hull. He was not happy! It had not been a good day or night.

“We must reach the nearest island as soon as possible, captain.” The new helmsman said after cautiously approaching the fuming captain.

“What’s the damage?” Sinbad demanded, his hands still clenched on the railing lest he used them on the bearer of bad news.

“If we stop bailing, we will start sinking. But providing nothing else happens, we should be fine.” He answered apprehensively.

Captain Sinbad turned to stare at the rising sun, jaw clenched. Everyone was exhausted, attempting to escape the feeding frenzy that shifted with them through the night.

“Ramil. What can you do for the hull?” he turned to his enforced companions. It was time they started pulling their weight.

“Not much I can do for the runes or the wood while we are still at sea. I can help a little with bailing, and I will see if I can patch the holes, but I wouldn’t hold out hope or trust my patches in rough sea.” He answered honestly.

“Right,” Sinbad said, thinking it was better than nothing but not by much, “There should be land northeast of us. We passed Wester Ponente in our pursuit; we will make the best speed we can that way.”

“And Captain Kashif?” Asked Junaid, still focused on battling the captain they had not caught sight of for so long.

“If he is near here, he will probably have stopped there too. We can only hope that this is his last destination or that we can pick up his trail there.” So Sinbad answered, caring more about putting his galley into port for repairs than catching a man running so far from civilisation.

“We’ve come too far to give up now,” Bahis said.

“Not giving up, but the ship has to come first; otherwise, you will swim the rest of the way.” He cut him off. He threatened an immediate start to his time in the water if he did not shut his mouth.

. . .

A subdued ship sailing at the end of its thread finally limped into port on Wester Levante several hours later. It had not been an easy sail, the slaves switching on and off between bailing or rowing. The poor sail helped little with the damage it had taken from catching fire earlier. Jury-rigged sails had helped a little more, but they could hardly have honestly said they had made the best time.

As they entered the cove-like harbour, they searched to see if the sailor they had met earlier lived on the isle, but his boat was nowhere to be seen. Neither, though was Captain Kashif’s. Still, it was better than they had hoped. They needed time to repair and recover.

“Now remember we are here to take over his route, not terrorise the locals.” Interjected Haakim. He was hardly the leader due to his high level, but the fact that your lives could end up in his hands gave him greater weight in addition to his levels. It did not hurt that he was not one of the more aggressive members of the observers sent with Sinbad.

“You can only skin a cat once but shear a sheep for as long as it lives.” Sinbad agreed with Haakim.

“We get it. Reconnoitre not raid. The rogue Farris repeated the point summarising their discussions as they approached.

“Time to see what we are dealing with.” Sinbad led the leaping off the boat onto the dock. The heavy hitters followed, leaving the sailors to the repairs along with the slaves as they started the long climb up the cliffs; hopefully, by the time they returned, most of the work would have been done with a list of the materials required.

. . .

“Surprisingly well-made little town here,” Murshad murmured before they descended from the cliff into the caldera taking in the view from the top of the cliff. “They have invested heavily in their defence considering the town's size.” He pointed out the wall protecting the town from the lagoon and the new one beginning to encircle the town’s fields and orchards. It would eventually form a large semicircle in line with the cliff edge and the lagoon, whose edge had been smooth by man's hands, into another perfect circle. Or at least it would be when the construction work was finished.

“Well, if they are making enough profit to purchase that many slaves, they are doing well,” Bahis added his coin clipping.

“Awfully, well, if they can treat their slaves this well. Do you see any of them?” He pointed out that there did not seem to be any slaves in the small town. They looked once more at the townspeople and realised that maybe this was not the final destination after all. They would have expected to see some working on the wall or walking in the town, and while it would be difficult to tell individuals apart from this distance, the standard loin cloth clothing of a slave was easy to tell apart from others, even from a distance.

“We not only need to find the source of the pearls but also a carpenter and seamstress to fix the hull and sails and replace the lost oars.” Sinbad stopped the contemplation of the town, redirecting them to the most immediate tasks they needed to complete. They would make no further progress without his ship made whole once more.

“We haven’t forgotten.” The answer was said by multiple voices, even if it was not told in time or harmony. Despite travelling together for weeks, they were not a team, still only a group of disparate people representing different views and opinions that were only similar enough to send a joint vessel to find out the truth and not similar enough to have formed a joined-up agreement of how best to approach the problem when they eventually found it.

. . .

It wasn’t long before they saw the town's gates. “What do they need guards against this far out,” Junaid commented on the guards manning the entrance despite the lack of traffic or monsters they could see.

“Hmm, I don’t know, maybe a ship full of raiders,” Sinbad asked sardonically, referring to their ship and the option they had to force the issue if this could not be resolved relatively peacefully and calmly with only intimidation as a form of coercion.

“Have you ever heard of anyone raiding this far out?” Farris questioned.

“No, but we are hardly the only pirates in the world. Every kingdom has its ships, and we are hardly the first ones to make this far out based on the size of their town.” Sinbad surmised.

They stopped talking as they made the final approach to the gate operated by the town guard.

“Welcome to Wester, Wester Ponente.” One of the guards welcomed them.

“Which is it? Wester or Wester Ponente.” Quizzed Haakim.

“Both the town is Wester, and the island Wester Ponente.” The second guard explained. “What are your names and purpose of visit?” They continued.

“Is that necessary? We are just here to reprovision.” Sinbad asked, surprised at the mild interrogation they were receiving.

“I couldn’t possibly. . .” he tried once more to avoid discussing the reasons for his travel.

But the bishop would not be denied. “I insist. Have a seat.”

“We were looking for a source of deep-sea pearls, honestly.” He answered honestly once he found himself without a polite way to escape his superior.

“You will have to take that up with the Silverseas.” The bishop responded. “They have a petitioning morning tomorrow if you want an introduction.”

Thank you. That would be fantastic.

Excellent, now I get so few visitors that you have to have some news from the Mainland that I have yet to hear. You are from Libeccio, correct? I ] passed through there relatively recently, but it was over a year ago, and I’m sure something new has happened since then. So please say and have some tea while we chat.

. . .

“We are busy.” Sinbad found himself being rebuffed by the Silverwoods.

“But I have good silver,” Sinbad shouted. He found the attitude of the carpenter confusing. What kind of crafter or artisan would refuse customers, especially when there had to be so few out here in the middle of nowhere?

“Busy,” He rebuffed, attempting to continue cutting a log with his son.

“With what?” Sinbad asked, ignoring that they had not stopped to talk with him and focused more on their current work than attempting to pick up more of it.

“Beams braces for the expanding town wall. Beams, braces for the mine, Then there is the carpentry required for the Lord’s expanding mansion; I can assure you I have a long list of demands on my time and wood.” He answered, unswayed by the increasing pile of silver Sinbad was promising.

“But . . .” Sinbad started refusing to accept no as an answer.

“If you want to change my schedule, you must take that up with Silverseas. They are in charge of the order of what we are making and what has priority. If you want to change that, you will have to see them.“

“The Silverseas?” he quizzed.

“You can petition them tomorrow on the isle in the middle of the lagoon.” moving to get another log to saw, split and plan into planks, their skills making short work of them.

"The middle of the lagoon?” he asked, confused.

“We will do that." Intervened Haakim, having already listened to the conversation going around in circles once.

"Thank you, and good day." The Silverwoods returned to their work without losing another second.

“I cannot believe this." Sinbad expressed his displeasure as they left. “I hope the others are having better luck.

. . .

“These fruits are fantastic.” After polishing off a third, Junaid exclaimed. “ how much for a barrel or ten.?" he asked the seller with a market stall. He had not made it far around the market, happy to buy and sample something from each booth. He would get round to the pearls. Provisions were important, especially adding some variety to the hard stale biscuits they had been reduced to rationing after their longer-than-expected trip.

"Well, I can sell you a barrel, but any more than that, you will have to see the Silverseas." The market seller replied.

The Silverseas? Again! No matter which stall he tried, it seemed as if all roads led back to the Silverseas if he wished to purchase more than enough for himself and the ship.

"Yes. I purchased mine from them for reselling here, but you must see them if you want more than a barrel's worth. I don't carry that much." they explained.

It had been the same for most of the products sold here. The only things that did not lead back to them were fish and seaweed. Otherwise, it was one Silver family or another, all backed by the Silverseas.

. . .

“This jewellery is stunning. My wife will love this pearl bracelet. But who would I need to see if I wanted to take back more and make a little profit on the side? I’m no merchant but good of such high quality should be easy to shift. Besides, I could do it with an earring or two." Ramil laid on the flattery, finally finding what they were searching for. It might not be the source, but they were certainly getting closer.

"Thank you for the praise." the seller nodded their head in acceptance. "But you would have to talk to the Silverseas if you wanted greater quantities of Deep Sea Pearls."

"Thank you. These will be enough for now." Ramil countered, parting with a small fortune to buy the bracelet but much less than what he could get for it if he ever chose to resell it, before disengaging and heading to the tavern.

. . .

. . . Silverseas.

. . . Silverseas.

. . . Silverseas.

. . .

It was not long before they were all back in the Compass Edge Tavern. “We need to stay the night to see the . . . Silverseas.” They joined in unison for the name of the family they had all been referred to. It seemed they ran this town in more than just name.

. . .