Chapter 41. Journey to Cantha

sn’t this fun?” said Nandao with a dolphin smile as he flipped over the tiles of yet another winning hand.  The groans of anger and dismay from the other three players contradicted the monk but he was unfazed as he filled his coin purse to nearly bursting with the winnings and took a long pull from the jug of rice wine that was being passed around.  It was, Morisedd observed, the first and only drink the monk had taken of the heady wine all evening even though he had come equipped with it from the start.  Nandao sighed expansively as he climbed to his feet and balanced easily against the slow rise and fall of the sea.  The pilot, a great deal poorer now, took away the lantern that had illuminated their little game and brought it below decks to light the way for those seeking sleep.

“Next time you play west!  I was cursed by Grenth’s own hand,” grumbled one of the crewmen as he staggered drunkenly past Nandao, scattering the tiles that still lay upon the deck as he passed.  Morisedd yawned as the monk winked at him with a bemused smile as he helped one of the sailors place all the tiles back inside their battered leather case.

“Do you always get people drunk before you rob them?”

“I never forced a drop on them,” Nandao said innocently, rising now to join the ranger, “and if they did imbibe to their detriment, then it is merely my way of teaching them the need for moderation.  So sayeth the servant of Dwayna.”

“Greedy booger,” Brigit moaned drunkenly where she lay slumped against Morisedd’s shoulder. 

“I donate to good causes, I’ll have you know,” Nandao said ruefully.

“You’re all about money,” Brigit continued, wobbling as she sat up, “You get all excited when the undead march because you can mow them down with Balthazar’s holy fire and scavenge them.”

“And what scripture says a monk can’t profit by the sweat of his brow?” Nandao teased, “None, so back off.  I’ve seen what you do to those poor defenseless ettins for fun and profit.  Don’t give me any of that moralizing nonsense.”

“Those ettins threaten the villages,” Brigit snorted.

“So that means the undead are unwelcome, if extremely skinny, guests.  Like your brother, Sean.”

Brigit’s already flushed face turned an ugly shade of scarlet which caused Nandao to step astutely back.

“We had better turn in for the night.  We’ll be in Kaineng at dawn,” Morisedd said quickly, intervening.  Brigit was turning out to be something of a fire brand and the rice wine made her even more excitable.  She scowled at Nandao as she and Morisedd climbed to their feet and moved slowly toward the hatch.

Brigit left them outside of her berth.  Nandao watched in amusement as the woman gingerly cracked the door open and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the strong smell of large angry feline taking up too small of a space.  Geetha’s low mournful growl of displeasure issued from the tiny room followed by Teleri’s voice trying to soothe the animal.  The monk then jingled to their small corner of the hold where a pair of canvas hammocks awaited them along side those of the crew and other passengers.  Morisedd was looking forward to lying in a real bed at some point but knew better than to complain around Nandao.  The monk’s trickster instincts tended to focus upon the exploitation of his victim’s weaknesses.  Nandao leaped lightly into his swaying bed and set his bulging coin pouch behind his head with a satisfied sigh.

“I can hardly wait to reach Kaineng,” Nandao said as Morisedd stripped off his boots and gloves, “A whole city ripe with opportunity.”

“Or ripe at least,” Morisedd grumbled, remembering the overwhelming stench of the great city and its rivers of effluent.  He frowned to himself as he ducked under the bulge of Nandao’s hammock to rest uneasily below the monk, disliking the slow sway of his bed.

“I am going to have dumplings and roasted pork glazed in oranges and honey,” the monk mused aloud, “and a decent bath and tea that doesn’t taste like piss.”

“Or thugs attacking us at every opportunity because they can hear the jingle of your coin pouch a mile off,” Morisedd complained, remembering how his arrows had shattered uselessly off of the close press of the buildings that walled him off from Melandru’s domain.  He hated the city.

“It will be fun!” Nandao announced despite evidence to the contrary.

“Go to sleep, please,” Morisedd rumbled, cursing as a coin slapped him on the forehead from above.

“Oh sorry,” Nandao laughed insincerely.

“You are very annoying,” Morisedd observed.

“Am I?  I had no idea,” Nandao yawned mightily, rustling and jingling as he turned onto his side to curl up and sleep, “Good night, then.”