200 Servant of the Axe, 100 – Harvest on Okotorri

Chapter Type: Slice of Life

The language of flags used between ships is not one that I had learned at that time. So when we struck sails and lowered both anchors, it came as a surprise to me.

With a yawn, Reece pulled himself to his feet. “Well, that’s just all the traveling we’re doing before highsun. Might as well stretch my legs.”

“I could use a swim.” I decided.

historical

“I wouldn’t.” He pointed off to starboard, or the right. “Those jellyfish are poisonous. They’ll kill a man in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, they taste terrible, too.” I found myself walking with him. “I notice there are no nets on the side of the ship. How do crew members get back aboard if the weather knocks them overboard?”

“We have ropes. But usually, someone falls overboard, sea will claim them before we can get a longboat out. We sometimes get crew back, but it’s not the usual thing. Haha, Bosun Sorrows, the ambassador here wants to take a swim while we’re anchored.”

“I’ve heard crazier ideas. You know there are sharks in these waters? Not as many as at the rift, but they exist?”

“I’ll stay near the anchor chains.” I promised.

.....

The bosun waved a hand. “At your own risk.”

Diving is an art form. I wasn’t an artist that day, making a large splash and taking four points of Concussive, or Impact, damage. There were evolutions to improve my resistances, ones that I should have looked into. As I mentioned before, my scales didn’t protect me at all from that, and the mobility penalties... but I mentioned that before.

The water wasn’t deep; the anchors were grounded some sixty feet down in murky twilight. I decided I wouldn’t be down here long enough to merit changing my eyes over.

The bottom was mostly sand, with a few rocks that tendrilled anemones called home. There were tiny, paltry fish that scattered, and manta rays that foraged, looking like they were nibbling on the ground itself.

In the distance, larger shapes circled, uncertain what to make of the strange-shaped intruder. They widened their circles when I asked if they were sentient, but did not reply.

I did a slow spiral, but found nothing of interest. Fish were nibbling on kelp, which was just a level one vegetable in very small portions. There were sea grasses and algae, and sea eels that warily used those as camouflage.

The current and the tide were both slow, but I was able to drink deeply of the ocean mana, refilling my meters to full.

There were shells and shattered bits of shells, and a patch of coral, oval and flat. But nothing of particular note, and I kept well away from the tendrils of the jellyfish, returning to the vessel shortly after our longboat began rowing out to meet that of the other ship.

It took them a while to lower a knotted rope, but it was easy enough to climb. Between the wind and the sun, I was mostly dry when the captaine returned.

“We’ve a challenge.” She told the bosun.

“Oh? Of what sort?”

“Seems we’ve lost track of time, and it’s near Harvest week.”

“For the next seven days, aye.”

“And that,” she waved her head vaguely in the direction of the island behind the other ship, “is Okotorri, known for its blackberries.”

He smacked his lips. “Which would give us a bonus to harvest them, being Harvest week and all.”

“You get the sense of what the challenge is, then?”

“Oh, aye. They want us to pick berries, and see which crew can gather them the faster. What is the wager?”

“Three bushel baskets of the six we’ll fill.”

“Three is a might bit short of six, if we lose.”

“Oh, indeed. It’s why I intend to promise the crew only six, and to go ashore with nine empty baskets.”

“Well, it has been a while since we’ve had time alone away from the ship.”

“It has. Ready the away team, bosun.”

There was no room for me in the boat, but it seemed safe enough to swim alongside. After all, most people with a system knew that gingivitis and scurvy would set in if one didn’t eat enough fruits.

#

Okotorri may have been known for its pristine river and abundance of blackberries, but the bushes near the river delta had been picked clean.

“Damn those natives!” cursed the captaine, “They’ve left us nothing!”

“We’ll need to search the interior.” The bosun said. “Both near the river and far.” He smacked his lips. “I wonder what spices they’re flavoring their wines with this year.”

“If we’re lucky, we won’t see them during the challenge. Smith, if natives DO show up, you’re in charge of the tongue wagging.”

“Aye, captaine. I can keep them off the rest of you until sundown.” She replied.

“Good woman. The rest of you, get limbered up. We start at a sprint.”

It was part race, part foraging, and mostly just a social outing. The other crew had also brought nine baskets.

“Oh, radishes!” I said.

“Not just yet. Berries first.” The bosun said.

There was a wealth of forage, most of which needed to be ignored. There were animals, but they were not initially on the menu.

Well, I cheated. The anole was small enough, and had an evolution for rapidly changing pigmentation. I was still going through everything for Human Transmutation, but I flagged that as an evolution of interest.

Maybe I should eat an octopoid later, get a full array of pigmentation? No, focus, locating berries.

The other team sounded a victory horn before we were done, and we returned to the boats to find six baskets brimming to their rims with berries.

“What’s this nonsense, then?” the bosun asked.

“Looks like we win.” One of their sailors said.

“Looks like you cheat.”

“What? No.”

Their captain broke out in laughter. “I told you it wouldn’t work, Rogers. Appraisal is a skill, everyone who wants it can get it.”

He swept aside a layer of berries, and removed a chunk of flint the size of his fist, throwing it into the edges of the jungle. “I reckon we’ve only enough to fill three baskets, lads. I see more on their side. It’s time to step up the gathering.” He then went back to whittling on a branch with his knife.

“We’re ahead?” The bosun asked.

“So he said.” Said the captaine.

“Let’s look over this way, the rest of you get back to that other patch.”

“Aye, bosun.”

They didn’t go off far enough into the woods, and the captaine was a screamer. I’m reasonably certain the other crew was also aware of what she and the bosun were doing.

“Hey, Smith, want to make it a contest?”

“Not with any of you lot. Especially not with that massage parlor they’ve got in the Girdle.”

“Yeah, but you pay for that place.”

She licked her upper lip. “Oh, it’s worth every copper they charge. What about you, Harrold? You want to see if they have a man for you, also?”

“Ha! The day when I need to pay for sex hasn’t been minted by the stars yet.” He slapped his rump. “Prime partner, I am.”

And the conversation went downhill from there. Adults.

We did end up losing, fairly the second time. Their captain had the start of an impressive serpent, although the fangs were woefully small.

And, by dusk, we didn’t have six whole baskets of just berries, but a mixture of nuts and vegetables, and an abundance of lemons.

Not bad, for a contest held the day before Harvest week, I thought.

Our hunters also got five seagulls, a seal, and an island pig. No evolutions I didn’t have, but mine wasn’t the only mouth watering.

Don’t ask me how they knew I could cook, but I was assigned a detail with the official cook of the Huntswoman.

“What is your experience with preparing pasta?” she asked.

“I’m willing to learn.” I said. Oh, they were terrible! Mis-shapen malformed mutant noodles, such as normal noodles might require chaos magic to become. Uneven things, that seemed to become soggy and puffy and...

But the crew seemed happy to help me dispose of the evidence, once it had been mixed with shrimp and small chunks of meat and vegetables.

“You have potential.” She told me. “I wouldn’t have thought to imbue the food so much. How do you have the fatigue to do all that?”

“You know you can imbue mana as well, right?”

“Isn’t that incredibly risky?”

“Less so than that knife-twirling thing you do.”

“What, this?” she tossed a knife up, spinning so fast it blurred. “Perfectly safe. Catch it by the handle, not the blade.”

“Then so is imbuing food with mana. Come, I’ll show you on these cloves, and we can use them to spice leftovers tomorrow.”

In turn, she taught me the mystic art of pastamancy, the making, drying, and re-cooking of noodles, both large and small. We didn’t have time to deal with rotini or macaroni, but we exchanged recipes, and experimented to the delight of the crew.

But we made good time, arriving in Boadicea’s Girdle just three mornings after the end of Harvest week.

.....