Helga: Out of Hedgelands - Rick Johnson (a court of thorns and roses ebook free TXT) 📗

“And the hurricane roared for twenty days!” Fishbum screeched. “The good ship Otter Death was battered by FIFTY FOOT WAVES—and every sea-beast aboard was sure it was the end!” Up and down Fishbum bobbed, going around and around in wild circles. “And every beast was sick and feeling green around the gills,” he screeched, sounding like some horrific monster of the deep. “The sails were in shreds, the masts cracked and falling to pieces—and soon only the two brave Otter Mates were left—and THEY WENT DOWN WITH THE SHIP!” Fishbum finished, as he collapsed on the ground panting for breath.

Foggtutt and Rowl squealed with glee and tumbled off as Fishbum fell. But hardly an instant had passed and they were up again, pulling on Fishbum to play some more. But he was not in a mood to play the “good ship Fishbum” again, although he did have in mind further amusement for the young Otters.

“Hey-ho, Captain! Seeking your permission to take these wee bits of rascal and throw them to the sharks!” he yelled.

“Permission granted,” Red Whale answered, laughing heartily.

Grabbing the young Otters, Fishbum called on Katteo Jor’Dane to go off to bring one of the large sail-canvas tablecloths. As she ran off to get the canvas cloth, Fishbum, holding Foggtutt and Rowl securely, presented them to Captain Gumberpott with mock solemnity.

“Let it be known to all the Powers of the Sea and all Good Sea-Beasts that sail the Far Points of the Compass, that these here Bits o’ Rascal have been tried and found guilty of worrying and annoying Master Fishbum, Sea-King of This Sand Where I Stand! Be it so ordered, therefore, that these wee Otters be thrown to the sharks!”

Returning with the large canvas tablecloth, Fishbum, Katteo, and several other members of the Daring Dream crew, placed first, Foggtutt, then Rowl, on the blanket and tossed them high in the air. With peals of laughter from the rough-mannered, but playful sea-beasts, and squeals of delighted terror from the Otters, Foggtutt and Rowl took turns going up and down in the air until they had worn out a goodly number of the Daring Dream crew. At last, all were weary of the game and even Foggtutt and Rowl were content to go on with the jobs they had been doing to help prepare for the feast.

Smiling at the sea-beasts who had shown such playful kindness to the little Otters, Winja said, “Come on, you salty slobber-cheekers, you’ve earned the first bops of the fresh batch of Flummo O’Marrell’s Sea Brew. It was made especially for today’s celebration and such good-hearted visitors deserve the honor of swilling the first bop.”

Seeing the uncertain looks cast in his direction in response to his invitation, Winja winked at Red Whale. Walking over to where the barrel was hanging from a tree branch and a similar barrel sat on the ground beside the tree, he continued, “Swill a bit of Flummo’s Sea Brew and you’ll think only one of two things. He’s either a demon or a magician—depending on how your stomach takes it. In more than thirty summers here at Narrows End Bay, I’ve seen beasts take it both ways—some say it’s like licking muddy water off the bottom of a boot and others swear it’s the Kick o’ Life. Speaking for myself, I lean toward the latter opinion.”

The old Otter reached into the barrel on the ground and pulled out a deeply-rounded clam shell. He held the cup to the tap, gave it a turn, and waited. After several moments, a thick ribbon of slippery black liquid dripped out of the tap and flowed into the bop Winja held, stretching out in a long slithery strand as it slowly filled the clamshell cup. Dark as molasses, glistening strands of Sea Brew ran in a slow stream from a large cask hanging from a timber in front of a small thatched hut.

When the dark liquid had filled the bop, Winja lifted it to his nose and sniffed it as if in ecstasy. Then he tilted the clamshell cup, sucking the Sea Brew out of the bop with prolonged, loud slurps. “Ah...Sea Brew...sweet ’n peppery, hot ’n minty, with just a hint of slap-you-in-the-face...it’s the Kick o’ Life...”

Almost as if on cue, another Otter, stout as the barrel of Sea Brew itself, waddled out of the nearby building. His plump, friendly face, rounded to a circle by bulging cheeks, was framed by bushy sideburns. A large, puffy nose pushed out prominently over a well-greased handlebar moustache.

Clapping Winja on the back, the Otter boomed, “Hally, Winja! Do they want the Brew?”

“Every good and brave beast wants some!” Winja yelled back in reply. “Looks to be a goodly troop of sail-ridin’ salts. I speak in particular of this big red-eyed Wolf with the swagger and guff of a captain—a likely fellow we’ve seen before in these parts. The rest look tolerable honest and more bold than bluster. Sure enough they will want the Brew.”

“Flummo O’Marrell at your service,” the Otter said, sweeping his rough apron to the side as he bent his knee before Captain Gumberpott. “Drink up and welcome, my salty breeze-robbers! My eye-watering, sinus-cleansing, gut-wolloping elixir is freshly brewed—clears the head, steadies the heart, and soothes the nerves; it’s the Kick o’ Life!”

Small, twinkling eyes and a laughing smile added to the warm friendliness of the Otter’s greeting. Despite the friendly welcome, however, some of the sea-beasts still looked dubious about the clamshell cups of dark, slimy-looking Sea Brew that Winja was cheerfully filling and passing around.

“Look how they stare, Winja! Like these brave beasts never took a bit of drink. Well then, let’s have another go in the proper do o’ things.” With great fanfare, Flummo let out a curious wheezing cough, as if clearing a great boulder from his throat, and said, “You’re kindly invited to comfort your belly with some Pop-Fritter Shrimp, Twice-baked Bay Pear Soup, and Cove Biscuits, while you sip a delicate cup of Sea Brew. Come and welcome to the Feast n’ Fiddle to celebrate young Bem Madsoor’s return to health.”

“You see, Captain,” Winja added, “I’ve seen it go both ways. Why, there’s some dainty wallflower beasts, that’s never raised a sail, as would rather drink water. That’s the ones that call Sea Brew the ‘elixir of gut-rot and staggers,’” he laughed. “But for fine sea-beasts such as yourselves—that’s braved the Ice Fall Narrows and think nothing of cussing a hurricane to its face—why, for you, Flummo’s Brew is made to order.”

As Winja said this, three more Otters came out of Flummo’s house, carrying baskets of food and singing with happy gusto:

So ye made the sea and demons flee

You dock-fleeing, sea-woozy shalleets?5

Halloo-halloo! Hallee!

You furled up the wind and gave it flight

With twenty-nine strokes of a dagger’s bite?

Halloo-halloo! Hallee!

And you heaved the storms in and anchored them down,

With a chain of oaths they strangled and drown’d?

With a Fe-Hallee-Halloo!

Then a favoring Temp and a blessed fair sail

Brings ye here—one port closer to hell!

Halloo-halloo! Hallee!

Well sang, we say! Welcome, be ye!

With a Fe-Halloo-Hallee!

Finishing their song, one of the Otters laid out wooden plates on the tables while another offered bops of Sea Brew to Red Whale’s crew. As the crew took their first swigs of Sea Brew, friendly arguments broke out about whether the sweet, knife-sharp taste of the Brew outweighed its intensely strong odor of fish. In the end, however, after two months at sea, the choice between Sea Brew and water was easy for a sea-beast, and soon all were enjoying Flummo’s creation.

“Friends, your coming adds happiness to our celebration,” Winja called out to the visiting sea-beasts as they scattered to join in making the preparations. “We did not expect to have such fine guests at our Feast n’ Fiddle. By the good winds of the Powers of the Sea, however, the bounty of our gardens and the goodly supply of fresh shrimp we have on ice will come to good use. We’ll cook as much as we need and you’ll help us plant and fish for more while you visit us.”

With a loud ‘Hallee’ the happy beasts tore into the work of readying the delicious spread. Several of the crew took tentative sips of the Sea Brew as they worked. Galley beasts from Daring Dream joined the Otters tending the cooking fires and the preparations proceeded with joking good humor.

As the Daring Dream crew fell to work, Red Whale and Winja discussed the repairs needed by the ship and other arrangements for the visit. Slurping Sea Brew with gusto, Red Whale and the Otter chief made plans to salvage materials from the numerous wrecks scattered along the coast.

Talk of the wrecks and Daring Dream’s own narrow escape, led Red Whale to ask, “Where’s the guest of honor, Winja—this Bem Madsoor?”

“Ah, and who knows about that sprite of hell?” Winja chuckled. “She’s set off to the Long-Off Pinnacle to watch for ships and chanting her Hoping Songs to the Powers of the Sea. She wants to leave Narrows End Bay as soon as she can. She’s been off to the Pinnacle every day and hardly stops chanting even to take a breath or put some timber in her belly. Bem’s one to put skip in the heart of even the bravest beast—nay, she makes every brave beast you ever knew look like weak-kneed cowards by comparison. The places she’s sailed and the dangers she’s battled would leave me sleepless the rest of my life! Those of us in our little settlement fish and plant our vegetables in happy peace and quiet. We greet a few ships stopping by—such as yourself—but mostly we live a quiet life. Bem Madsoor  is very different. Don’t assume that all of us at Narrows End Bay are alike.” Winja paused for a moment. He pointed off toward the jagged hills rising sharply away toward the interior of the island.

“The point of rock you see poking up like a crooked finger is called Long-Off Pinnacle—you can see thirty miles to sea from there. Bem’s up there watching for the ship that will take her home. She’s set on getting back to Port Newolf—that’s in the Outer Rings, some days sailing from here—raising a crew, and hunting down Sabre Tusk d’Newolf. She’s sworn to destroy the Rummers.”

Raising his eyebrows for emphasis, Winja leaned toward Red Whale and spoke with a tone of mixed admiration and fear. “Oh, she’ll be here soon I’ll wager. From Long-Off Pinnacle Bem’s seen your ship in the harbor for sure and she’ll be wasting no time to get back here.”

Winja rubbed his chin and closed his eyes briefly, as if considering what to say next. Then he continued, “I warn you, friend, don’t fret if Bem seems a bit uncertain of mind, loose with her weapons, or rude in amusements. She may step on your feet and knock you down, as if you aren’t even there. You might feel a throwing lance wisk your hat right off your head and stick it to a tree. She might empty her bop of Sea Brew right over your head and laugh as it runs down your face. Be warned. These are Bem’s manners and customs. Sailing with Rummers in the trallé trade has taught her that she can brook no one stronger or more fierce then herself. She will not tolerate a challenge or a bad word against her—or, thankfully, her friends. She knows that her survival in what she plans depends on her complete fearlessness. Be warned. She is more good than bad, and a more generous