The Worlds of Christopher Walker

DAWN FOUND THE Freedom Hawk bursting through the gloomy waves at full sail with nary a sailor’s song to be heard from her crew. The cloud of black creatures still billowed high above, tracking the ship’s course, held at bay by Beonna’s presence on deck with the protecting light of the Jewel of Inolduay. Captain Yorlov climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck, where she stood shivering in the chilly morning breeze. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, having kept the long night watch with Breech the helmsman. Yorlov tried again to persuade her to go below and rest now that the night had passed. But she refused. After the terrors of the past night, she didn’t think she could sleep even if she wanted to.

“Maybe they only hunt at night, lass,” he said as soothingly as he could make his gruff voice sound. “It wasn’t until the sun dropped into the sea that they dared attack. You can go rest now.”

Beonna shook her head. “We don’t know that, Captain. Perhaps they wait up there, looking for the light that burns them to go out. We can’t risk another Millen!” A shiver of fear rippled on top of her shivers of chill at the memory of the boy’s black screams. “How is Millen, by the way?” she asked, wishing to change the subject.

The purple scar on the captain’s cheek arched as he squinted toward the eastern horizon. “He’s doing as well as you’d expect. Poor lad! He hasn’t woken up yet. Master Gandalf thinks there’s no reason the boy won’t recover quickly once we can get some food in him. Your friend, the elf, hasn’t left his side. He’s waiting to pounce with bowl and spoon in hand. I’m afraid he’ll force-feed poor Millen the second his eyelids crack open.” He tried a smile on her, but he was so out of practice that it came out like a grimace of pain. She only replied with a shivering yawn. “I’ll have Cookie bring you up something warm to eat. Can I at least offer you that comfort?” She nodded, her eyes bleary and unfocused. Yorlov ventured to put an arm around her shoulder. “You know that none of that was your fault, don’t you, lass? Everything that happened to Millen last night was plain bad luck.”

Defiance flashed across her face. “I know. But if it happens again to anyone else, it will be my fault, Captain. I have to stay up on deck until that cloud of monsters goes away or until we defeat the Dagorim, but not before.”

“Culum! Can’t you see the lady is freezing?” he yelled down to the deck. “Get her another blanket. And get Cookie to bring her up some warm victuals!” He turned back to Beonna. “You’re a stubborn one, you are, Miss. But we’re going to need a pinch of stubborn to survive this cursed trip.”

“C-can I ask you something, Captain?” she asked through chattering teeth.

“Aye, lass, anything.”

“Have you known Gandalf for a long time?”

Yorlov nodded. “Aye. He and I have been acquainted, you might say, since I was a much younger man. I’d still be a galley-slave if it wasn’t for him. I owe my life to the white wizard several times over. If it hadn’t been Gandalf who had asked me to take this ship on this mad quest, I’d be three seas away from here right now with a hull full of cargo bound for the Orient, and dreams of being a very rich and very fat man filling my sails the whole way!”

Beonna managed to crack a small, weary smile. “I’m sure that when this is all over, you’ll be the richest, fattest sailor in the whole world, Captain, with your own fleet of ships crossing the three seas.”

Yorlov’s grin grew broad, pushing his scar up high. He patted his belly. “I like the way you think, lass. When all this is over, I’m sure that you’ll be a queen in the North, with suitors and subjects coming from all the realms of the earth to lay eyes on your majesty.” He made a low, courtly bow, both gallant and clumsy at the same time. She nodded in return and laughed. Yorlov beamed with satisfaction that he had cheered Beonna despite all the gloom hanging over the ship. 

Culum and Cookie came up on deck bearing blankets and breakfast in their hands. “Here you are, young Miss,” said Culum, draping a heavy woolen sea-blanket over her. Beonna kept the shining locket above it so that its light would still be seen by the vile creatures swarming above. “Thank you,” she said as Cookie shoved in front of Culum and set a steaming tray in front of her.

“Here you go, Miss Beonna. This’ll warm you up better than any ratty old blanket: hot oat mash with a double helping of honey and sausages. I ground them sausages myself, I did. My own recipe. Eat up!” He gulped his enormous Adam’s apple as he stood waiting and staring at her.

“Well, give her space then!” barked Yorlov. “Anyone would lose their appetite with you hovering there gawking over ‘em, Cookie! She’ll eat when she’s good and ready!”

Cookie snapped to attention and saluted awkwardly. “Aye, sir! Sorry, sir!” He didn’t go away though, but stood there saluting.

Captain Yorlov rolled his eyes and sighed. “Is there something else, Cookie?”

“Aye, sir! It’s about the cook-off today, sir. What time shall I defend the honor of the Hawk from the slander of that pudgy little elf-prince?”

Yorlov shook his head. “After what happened last night, this isn’t the best time for making merry.”

Cookie saluted even harder and stood his long bony frame up even straighter. “Begging the captain’s pardon, sir. But isn’t it because of everything that happened last night and what with the black cloud above us that the crew might need some divertin’? And besides, don’t they all know that swampy little elf cast aspersions on the quality of our fare, sir?”

“They know it, Cookie,” said Yorlov, “because you’ve been the one tellin’ every ear within spit-shot whether or not they wanted to hear it!”

Culum cleared his throat. “Cookie’s right, sir. Anyone can see that the crew’s spirits have sunk under that cloud. Why not give them something to cheer for? That cloud isn’t coming any closer as long as our lady of the light is up here on deck. And those three ships haven’t managed to gain a league on us. The men could use it, Captain.”

Yorlov glared at them. “Did this ship start running by committee overnight while I wasn’t watching? Am I not still the captain of the Freedom Hawk? If I wanted an opinion out of you two, I’d have asked for it, now wouldn’t I have?”

“Aye, sir,” said Cookie and Culum together. 

The captain regarded Beonna’s ashen face and glanced around at the drooping listless forms of his men hanging about in the rigging. “But perhaps you’re not wrong,” he said, grinding the whiskers of his chin with his palm. “Tell the men: make the deck clear and give space for the two of you to set up. High noon, the great cook-off will begin and may the best cook win!”

Culum smiled, and Cookie clapped his hands and rubbed them together in anticipation. “Aye aye, sir!” Cookie yipped. “Tell ‘em not to bother swabbing the decks this morning, because I’m going to mop them up with that smart-talking marsh-hopper!” Before springing away, he said, “Eat up, young Miss, while it’s still hot!”

The Captain shook his head and chuckled. “He’s a good lad, that one. I hope our friend Lumpolas won’t be too hard on him. Cookie’ll be sulking for a week if he loses to the elf. Then none of us will be eating well.” It pleased him greatly to see Beonna take a bite of mash and a nibble of sausage. “That’s a girl. The color’s already coming back to your face again.”

Beonna chewed for a minute. “Mmmm. Captain, we might need to start worrying more about Lumpolas sulking for a week!” Yorlov cast his head back and laughed so loudly that Breech jumped and pulled the Freedom Hawk off course for a moment before righting her.

Below decks, Gandalf and Lumpolas kept vigil over the still unconscious Millen. The wizard uttered incantations over the wounds of the boy, his leg and wrist and throat. Lumpolas fussed over a bowl of soup laid aside for him, tasting and stirring and adding a pinch of herbs or spices from his ragged rucksack. Gandalf lifted his weary gaze after his slurping became too much. “If you keep tasting it, there won’t be any left for him when he wakes.”

“Sorry,” Lumpolas said. “I just want to help and I don’t know any other way to do it.” 

“Well, your fidgeting isn’t helping anybody, least of all me!”

Lumpolas set the bowl of marsh-dumpling soup down on the table behind him and began fidgeting with his hands instead, eliciting a weary sigh from Gandalf. “You’re sure he’s going to be alright, Master Gandalf? I’ve never seen such an evil look as the one on his face last night.” Lumpolas shivered. “And I hope I never do again!”

Gandalf allowed himself a polite smile. “For the twelfth time, young chef of the halls of Thranduil, I expect him to be fine. He needs rest now and he will need food soon. All you have to do to help is to sit quietly and be in readiness for his waking.”

The cabin door flew open and Aragunk came striding in. “How’s our little monster doing? Hello, what’s this?” he said and snatched the bowl of soup off the table and drained it in three large swallows.

“Hey!” Lumpolas shrieked and made a grab for the bowl. “That’s not for you!”

But Aragunk pushed him away with one hand while finishing the bowl with the other. “Ahh!” he said, licking his lips. “Not bad for swamp-food, but not very filling though. And it could have used some salt.”

Lumpolas quivered with rage. “That was for Millen when he wakes up, you bottomless pit! If you’re hungry, go bother that scullery cook up in the galley. I’m sure he could fry up a pan of rat tails for you!”

Aragunk burst into laughter at the enraged face of his friend. Then, amidst all the commotion, the boy Millen groaned and stirred. “Ahoy! He’s waking up, Lump!” Millen’s eyes cracked open to find Aragunk’s large grinning face looming over him. “There he is, back from the dead!” boomed Aragunk. “How are you feeling, little man?”

Millen’s face filled with bewilderment, and his eyes spun all around the room.

“Give him space, Gunk!” said Lumpolas. “How would you like to find a big, ugly mug like yours gaping down at you when you woke up?” 

“I’d feel like I had died and woken up in the Hallowed Halls, I’m sure,” he said, ruffling Millen’s bandaged head.

“Ow!” Millen whimpered.

Lumpolas whirled Aragunk around by the shoulder. “Take this!” He shoved the empty bowl into Aragunk’s hands. “Go fill it with some food from that hack chef, Cookie, and bring it back for him. And don’t eat any this time!” He plopped back down in a huff next to Millen.

Aragunk’s face grew serious. “Don’t worry. After your dumplings, my stomach might not let me eat anymore for a while.” He stopped on his way out. “Oh, I almost forgot: I’m supposed to tell you that the cook-off is on for high noon. Today. Up on the main deck.”

“Today?” Lumpolas blustered. “High-noon? That doesn’t give me enough time! I don’t even know what’s available!”

Aragunk grinned. “So you’re conceding defeat, then?”

Lumpolas’s face turned almost purple at those words. He sprang up and snatched the bowl back out of Aragunk’s hand. “On second thought, I’ll go get something for Millen. Stay here and try not to frighten the poor boy with your huge face anymore.” And with that, he stalked out.

“Thank you,” said Gandalf to Aragunk. “He was going to smother the lad. Now he’ll have at least five minutes of peace.” 

“Master Wizard?” Millen asked in a hoarse whisper. “What happened to me?”

“That, my boy, is a long story that must wait for you to gain your strength back.”

But Aragunk pounced on Millen. “You’ll never believe it, Mill! One of those black bug-bat boggarts bit you in the neck and sent you raving and screaming all over the ship like a fiend! We had to—”

“Thank you, Aragunk. That will do!” intervened Gandalf.

Aragunk barreled on, heedless. “We had to chase you down through the rigging and tie you up! And you almost bit Lump right in the—”

“Aragunk!” Gandalf thundered as he rose from his stool like a dark storm cloud, sending the young ranger reeling back against the door.

“Sorry, your wizardship, sir! I’m sorry, but can I just tell him about you shooting him out of the rigging with your staff and—” 

“Out with you, Aragunk! Out! Or I will turn you into a fatted goose and fling you straight to the galley for our two dueling chefs to fight over!”

Aragunk blanched. “I’ll, I’ll go and check on Lumpolas,” he said as he fumbled with the doorknob. “Bye, Mill!” He disappeared with a slam of the door.

Gandalf returned to his stool with a sigh. “Millen, we have succeeded at least in sending all that over-helpful chaos to the front of the ship, far away from us.” But Millen’s eyelids fluttered with sleep again even as he nodded.

Away forwards in the galley, the sounds of a terrible argument came bursting through the planks. “Come to spy on my menu, eh?” Cookie asked as Lumpolas stormed into the kitchen. “Couldn’t think of anything to cook on your own?”

Lumpolas snorted. “If I were hunting for menu ideas, I’d go ask the rats down in the bilges before I’d come to your kitchen! I’m not here to spy. I’m here to get a meal for Millen, even though he’d be better off if I just scooped something out of the ocean than take whatever you’ve got to offer.”

“You’ve a spicy tongue, master elf. Spicier than that bland Mirkwood rubbish you try to pass off as food, I wot. But if you need help fishing something out of the sea for Millen, just let me know. I’ll hold your feet over the rail while you scoop. Otherwise, here, take this to him, complements of the kitchen.” Cookie scooped a portion of sweet oat mash into the bowl and topped it with a dollop of whipped cream.

Lumpolas gave it a suspicious sniff and squinched his nose. “By Balin’s broad belly, this contest is going to be easier to win than I thought! How is it that this crew hasn’t died of starvation yet? At least give him a few of those vile-smelling sausages or some of that pathetic excuse for a cheese over there.”

Cookie stirred his pot of chowder with an evil smile curling his lips. “I suggest you go, master elf. You’re running out of time to prepare for the contest. Not that it will help you. You talk a lot, but I still haven’t seen you cook so much as a solitary bean since you’ve been aboard.”

Meanwhile, above decks, high in the rigging, the wagering on the contest was already gaining speed. Parsons the half-dwarf cackled down at his clients on the decks below. “You call that wagering, you yellow-livered deck-swabbers? We’re out here all alone on the three seas, with three black ships seeking to gut us, and them’s is the best bets you can lay? Shame, lads! What are you holding on t’your castars for? You going t’buy yer mum a pretty present? Some sweet perfumes? Fah! There’s no tomorrow, boys! Today could be your last day to get rich! So what’s it going to be: the master-chef of Mirkwood or yer own chowder-chief, Cookie? Step up, step up! Don’t hold back, lads!” One by one, the sailors scaled the rigging with coin in tow to lay their bets. “What’s this? What’s this?” Parsons howled to each in turn. “You call that a wager, you fish-bellied coward? Don’t you have any guts?”

Yorlov watched the proceedings from the quarterdeck. “The men’re catching the fever for this contest. May it take their minds off that black night we went through.”

Beonna swayed in her seat with the salt wind blowing her brown hair into her face. “I hope they’ll get a good show.”

Yorlov grinned back. “Aye, they will, lass. Cooks are always a fiery lot—territorial like sharks. It’ll be like putting two roosters in a tub and giving ‘em spices and cutlery to fight with. I just hope the men can still sail the ship while it’s going on.”

“Captain Yorlov!” Parsons called down from the crow. “I haven’t heard from you yet! Aren’t you going to set these sissies a good example and show ‘em how a real man bets?”

“Aye!” he answered. “I’ll wager your bird-eaten beard that not a lick of work is getting done around here while you all daydream about getting rich today. Get back to it, lads, or you’ll all be watching the cook-off in irons!” His purple scar rippled as the men dragged back to their tasks under his gaze. Yorlov called to his yeoman, “Up the mast with you, Gilly! Get me wind and weather!” But as the yeoman started to scamper away, the captain grabbed his arm and leaned in, whispering, “And tell Parsons: fifty castars on the elf.”

The wind blew fresh. And despite the gloomy swarm high above, everyone could feel the excitement among the crew growing. Coins of every variety were pulled out and weighed and wagered. And little by little, the worried glances astern at the pursuing ships became less frequent. Tables popped up on deck, makeshift stoves arose and preparations gained urgency. As the hour of noon approached, the rigging swarmed with sailors searching for the best view. The deck creaked heavy with bodies hunting for a place to spectate. The noon bell sounded when Gandalf appeared on deck with the pale, shaky form of Millen.

“There’s the lad!”

“It’s Millen, back from the dead!” Many rushed over to shake him by the shoulders and clap him on the back as he wobbled, dazed and weak. Even the cloud-dampened light made his eyes squint.

“Back away! Back off a’him!” Yorlov roared. “Give him space, you dogs! The last thing poor Millen needs is to be pinched to death by you lot. Well, go on! Get him a chair up on the quarterdeck where he can see!”

They settled him at Beonna’s side. She smiled at him despite her own weariness. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss,” Millen said, weakly smiling back. “Hopin’ I won’t be such a bother sittin’ here next to you as I was last you saw me.”

“Right now, you don’t look like you could bother a mouse,” she teased. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better. We were all worried about you. The whole crew was.”

“Is that,” Millen asked, as the light from the locket around her neck transfixed him, “is that the light that…” His voice trailed off as he basked in its radiance.

“Yes,” she said, “this is what saved you. It’s keeping us all safe.”

The boy reached out to it, but remembered himself and pulled his hand back. “Beggin’ you your pardon again, Miss Beonna, but it’s just that I’ve never seen anything like it before in my whole life. It’s like it’s, well like it’s—”

“Alive?”

“Yes, that’s it. Not like any light I’ve ever seen!” A wave of excitement passed over him, but then deep fatigue settled back down on his shoulders. Beonna took his hand to reassure him. He nodded and smiled. “Anyhow, I want to thank you, and it, for saving me from that, from that… beggin’ your pardon, but I don’t know what to call that black thing that had me.”

“Better not to call it anything,” spoke Gandalf, sitting down on a bench next to the boy. “Better to leave darkness of that sort far from one’s mind and lips.” Millen nodded and kept his eyes on the locket, drinking in its mysterious light and drawing strength from it. “I hope we’re not crowding you, my dear,” said Gandalf to Beonna with a smile.

Yorlov came striding over. “I’m sure she’s glad to have a break from all these sea-dogs, Master Wizard. We’re a coarse lot. The men’ve been on their best behavior, but some o’that roughness is bound to squeak out now and then. Millen, lad, I’ve a mind to dock you a week’s pay for getting bit and going mad like you did!” the captain said with eyes squinting hard at the pale boy. He winked at Beonna who was about to leap to his defense. “But seeing as you didn’t do any real harm, I’ll just take away your turns in the crow’s nest until you’re feeling up to it again, lad. You scared us all half to death, you did!” Then he pinched his chin.

“Sir, I could go aloft right now! I’m feeling better, sir, honest!” Millen bolted to his feet to prove it, but his face turned several shades paler and he collapsed back down in the sea chair. Beonna reached out and steadied him.

Yorlov knelt and looked him in the eye. “No doubt I could throw you overboard and you’d climb back up with ten shark skins in yer teeth. But I’ve got a more important job for you, lad.”

“You do?” 

“Aye, somebody’s got to judge this bleedin’ contest, don’t they?”

“Me, sir?”

“Aye, lad. Who better than a skinny little wisp like you? If you like what they serve up, then it must be good, eh? And besides that, you three are the only ones who haven’t laid any money on the outcome.” He bowed and nodded to Gandalf and Beonna. “What say you? Will you be our judge’s panel?”

Gandalf’s face fell dark. But as he opened his mouth to decline, Beonna spoke up. “Yes, Captain! We would be delighted. And we’ll be fair, won’t we?”

Millen’s face brightened with anticipation. “Aye, that we will! It’ll be a good show, right Master Gandalf?”

The white wizard glared at the two young ones out of the corner of his eye and nodded with an unconvincing smile. “Fear not, Captain Yorlov. Between the three of us, we will resolve the question of the Freedom Hawk’s honor to everyone’s satisfaction. Well, except for the loser of the contest, I suppose.”

Yorlov clapped his massive mitts together and spun around to the rail. “It’s noon, isn’t it? And this crew’s starving! Are those two going to start cooking for us, or are we going to have to cook them?”

But below decks in the forward galley, the two chefs heard none of the growing discontent above. They jostled and fought each other as they gathered their ingredients and their knives and pots together.

“That’s my knife!” protested Cookie, snatching his favorite away from Lumpolas’s pile.

“Fine. It looks duller than a wet rat anyway,” Lumpolas said. Then he let out a shriek. “Where are my parsnips?”

“Your what?” Cookie laughed with his ever-present sneer.

“Parsnips! My parsnips! You stole them, didn’t you?”

“They’re not your bloody parsnips, are they, Swampy? They belong to the ship and you’ve no bloody right to ‘em!”

Lumpolas scanned Cookie’s pile of ingredients. “But you’re not even using them!” He brought his knife up and pointed it. “You had better hand over those parsnips or I’ll be serving up your liver for lunch!”

Cookie lost his sneer and snatched his own knife from the table again. A nasty fight would have broken out if Boatswain Boritt hadn’t come in to check on them. “Easy lads,” he said, realizing he had stepped between two mad cats. “The captain wants to know what’s holding everything up down here? The noon bell rang fifteen minutes ago and the crew’re gettin’ restless!”

Cookie didn’t take his gaze off Lumpolas or his knife for a second. “Tell the captain I’d’ve been serving lunch half an hour ago if this pointed-eared scullery-dog would get out of my way and let me beat him fair and square. He’s afraid he’ll lose, he is!”

The mad gleam in Lumpolas’s eyes grew more feverish. “Oh, is that what it was? You go tell the captain that if the bony excuse for a chef who runs this grease-pit would share his parsnips with me like he’s supposed to, then I’d be happy to show this crew what proper food is supposed to taste like! But he knows he’s going to lose, and he’s trying to delay the inevitable!”

The two opponents were devolving into crouching primal growls as they circled, sizing each other up, when Aragunk’s broad face appeared behind Boritt at the galley door. “Hey, what’s the hold up? I’m starving!” He pushed past Boritt with excitement beaming from his face. “Are you two going to fight? Oh, this is grand!” He snatched a boiled potato from Lumpolas’s box, sat down on an overturned pot, and bit off the end. “Well, go on then, we haven’t got all day. If you two’re going to fight, then fight!”

Poor Boritt, for his part, stepped between and pleaded with Aragunk. “Help me get them up on deck! I don’t care if they fight it out, as long as they do it up there!”

Aragunk gulped down his mouthful and jumped up. “Good idea! They’ve all got to see this. Hey, Lump, let’s go!”

But neither Lumpolas nor his knife moved an inch. “Not till I get my parsnips from this coward!”

Boritt was furious now. “Cookie, if I have to go up and report that a few bloody parsnips are standing in the way of this contest, you’re going t’be feeding the sharks with yer own greasy hide this afternoon!” 

Cookie finally relented. “Fine, have your precious parsnips, you blind elf. They’re in a box by the door right there behind you.”

Lumpolas backed away, keeping his eyes locked on Cookie until he could glance around. “There,” said Boritt. “Now, can we please get topside? There’ll be a mutiny if you two don’t get this silly contest going. A scow’s-load of coin is riding on it!” He grabbed Cookie and Aragunk took charge of Lumpolas. Together they herded them, cursing and hissing at each other, topside. A great cheer erupted and both the contestants stopped short, stunned by all the attention.

“There they are, the two galley-wags,” said Captain Yorlov. “It’s about time! Well, what are ye waiting for? The noon bell is long since rung and echoing in our empty bellies. Get to it!”

The two chefs bowed to Yorlov. With one more growl at each other, they split off to their respective stations. They furiously unloaded their boxes of ingredients while Boatswain Boritt explained the rules. “The honor of the Freedom Hawk’s galley has been called into question, and as no man has answered the challenge but our Cookie—”

“May the powers above help us then!” said someone from the rigging to general laughter.

“The contest is simple,” the boatswain continued over all the jeering and jibing. “Whoever makes the tastiest dish in the shortest amount of time is the winner. The judging will be done by our panel of esteemed judges here on the quarterdeck.” He swept his arm around to show Beonna, Millen, and a very non-plussed Gandalf sitting in their chairs overlooking the proceedings. “No one is allowed to help our contestants or talk to the judges or influence the outcome of—”

“Oh, get on with it then!” jeered a deckhand. “Can’t you see we’re all dying of hunger?”

Another heckled from the rigging, “At this rate, those black ships won’t find nothin’ but a bunch of emaciated corpses when they catch up to us!”

Yorlov nodded to Boritt. “Very well. Let the cook-off begin!” A cheer went up as the knives of the two chefs began flashing around their respective tables. Vegetables were sliced at dizzying speeds and meat bones were racked and seasoned in a cloud of spices and herbs. But everyone could see right away which of the contestants was the more comfortable.

“Step right up! Step closer and gather round,” sang Lumpolas with his bright, beaming smile. “Watch how the culinary arts were meant to be employed!” He sliced his parsnips at blinding speed. “Let there be no doubt in anyone’s mind anymore what real cooking is supposed to be!” He scooped his diced vegetables high into the air with his knife, spun all the way around while snatching his roasting pan and caught everything without missing a single slice. “Nothing to it, my nutritionally deprived friends, nothing to it. With a few simple lessons, anyone can learn to cook. Well, almost anyone,” he said, jerking a thumb at Cookie. The crowd of sailors roared with laughter. “Now watch the proper way to season a rack of game meats!”

“Blast it!” said one deckhand to another. “Is it too late to change my bet? I put every bleedin’ castar I had on Cookie!”

“You mean you just put every one of your castars in my bleedin’ pocket, you did!” howled his companion back. “That fat elf ain’t no cook. He’s a great golden goose, he is, and all his eggs are mine!”

Lumpolas soaked it all in as every eye focused on him. And he didn’t disappoint, turning the contest into his own private showcase. “Observe, if you split the joint here and marinate it with my proprietary blend of herbs, the marrow and all the natural juices combine to tenderize the meat, suffusing the whole dish with a lovely rennish, recalling the open field and the hearty hunt. Fit and hearty food for the working man. That’s what we want, isn’t it, lads?” The men roared back while his roasting pot seemed to fill itself magically. His cooking prowess hypnotized the crew with hunger and sent mouths salivating.

Up on the quarterdeck, Beonna put a hand over her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, Lump, please don’t embarrass us.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Miss,” said Millen, “but it’s only poor Cookie that’s needin’ to worry about getting embarrassed.”

Down on the deck, Cookie was thankful that no one was paying enough attention to mark the sweat dripping off his forehead into his pot. “That bleedin’ elf thinks he’s so charming,” he muttered. “Thinks he’s so sophisticated. These boys can’t understand the half of what he’s saying, I’ll wot!”

Gandalf glanced away from the show and spied Yorlov behind them, observing the dark ships in pursuit. He rose and joined him. “I’m glad someone is minding the ship while all this nonsense clatters on.”

Yorlov sniffed the wind and tapped the railing. “Aye, but the breeze is steady and mild, and we’re in no danger yet. But I’ll scuttle that contest right quick if those ships gain so much as a yard on us. Besides, from the way it sounds, it’s practically over as it is. The elf is in his element like a shark in bloody water. I’m afraid it’ll take Cookie weeks to recover.”

Gandalf offered a grim smile. “Let’s pray, Captain, that Cookie will have those weeks to recover his bruised confidence.” His gaze concentrated on the clouds of winged creatures undulating above.

The captain’s eyes followed his. “Aye. Let’s also pray that it won’t take weeks to get where we’re going, wherever that is.” Gandalf nodded his assent. Yorlov then ventured to ask, “And what will we find when we get there, Master Wizard? A land? A ship? The end of the world? It’s hard on a captain and crew to be sailing on without a firm destination locked into our minds. The crew are whispering that you’re driving us to sail clean over the edge of the ocean, down into heaven knows what.”

“It may be,” Gandalf said in all seriousness, “that is precisely what we sail for, Captain, provided the enemy doesn’t prevent us from reaching the end of the world first.”

Parsons’s voice pierced the ship with a cry from aloft: “Ahoy! Sighting afore! Dead ahead! Ahoy there!”

Yorlov darted to the quarterdeck railing and called up to the crow’s nest. “Well, what is it, Parsons? A ship? A reef?”

“Aye sir! I mean, I don’t know, sir. It looks like a reef, but it’s moving like a ship!”

Lumpolas had been about to deliver his coup de grâce, preparing to reveal the secrets to the perfect braising sauce, when Parsons’s cry rang out. He almost cried out himself when Captain Yorlov charged by on his way to the prow. All the attention went slipping away from his cooking display and out to sea again.

The captain thrust his way forward and stood gaping with the others. A huge dark object plowed through the gray waves on a head-on course for the Freedom Hawk’s bow. “What is it, Captain? Another one of these black ships?”

The captain growled back under his breath. “That’d be our luck, wouldn’t it?” He bolted back to the quarterdeck, roaring all the way. “Battle stations! All hands to battle stations! Hard a’lee! Ten points easterly! All hands prepare to tack and tack for your lives!”

Cookie mopped his sweaty brow with a huge grin, happy for the heaven-sent chance to escape before the final humiliation could land. He grinned over at Lumpolas. “Well, Swampy, that’s sailor’s luck for you,” he said, shrugging with feigned disappointment. He thrust a greasy hand out to his opponent. “You were a worthy match, Master Elf, but I guess we’ll have to call it a draw.”

Lumpolas’s eyes shot wide. “A draw? A DRAW?” he scoffed while sailors rushed between them bearing a heavy rope. “You can’t be serious. I was skewering you! I was grilling and roasting you on the spit of disaster. Everyone could see it!”

Cookie gave a sneer. “Maybe you was and maybe you wasn’t. The point is that we’ll never know now, will we?”

Lumpolas cracked a small, wicked smile. “Why? Are you giving up?”

“Giving up? Wizard’s warts! The whole bleedin’ contest is off! Look around you, Elfie. We’re under attack! No one’s payin’ any mind to your showboatin’ anymore anyhow!”

Lumpolas smirked back with his hands on his hips. “So, you are conceding defeat, then? They say there’s no shame in yielding to a superior opponent.” He turned away to stir his braising sauce, casting his most evil smile back over his shoulder. Cookie snarled at Lumpolas with teeth bared and threw himself back to his simmering cauldron of stew. He gave it a vicious stir, and with that, the fever of competition took hold of them both even as the ship swung itself into the wind.

Yorlov, meanwhile, came storming up onto the quarterdeck with a granite face and eyes blazing, barking orders to his officers. Gandalf, appearing from the aft gunwale, asked, “What did you see ahead, Captain? A ship? A creature?”

“I was hoping you could tell us. If it’s a ship, it wasn’t made by men, but that’s all I can tell you.”

Millen moaned and slumped over with a violent shudder. Beonna caught him from falling to the deck. “Gandalf!” The wizard hurried over and bent down to examine him. “The darkness hasn’t left him completely yet. I fear something evil makes for us. You must watch over him, Beonna, while I go forward to do what I can about our uninvited guests.” He rose to leave.

“I can help you!” she said, taking hold of the shining locket and lifting it up. “We can help you.”

Gandalf turned to her with a grandfatherly smile. “I know, Beonna. I know you can. But we are beset on all sides, surrounded, above and all around us. We need you here, with the boy, with the captain, to protect us as you have been these long hours.” He made to hurry away, but turned back, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Do not depart from the path of light, Beonna, whatever befalls this ship and all of us. Whatever dark place you find yourself in, seek the light and your feet will find their proper way. Follow the light!” And then he vanished away forwards.

Her heart sank watching him go until Millen moaned beside her. “You’re okay, Millen!” With an arm around him to hold him up, she pulled the boy into the corner of the quarterdeck out of the way while all the officers scrambled around them. He was pale and his skin was clammy. She covered him in the sea-blanket from around her shoulders. “I’m here with you, Millen, if you can still hear me. I won’t leave you!” His eyes cracked open and shot to the locket. They snapped wide, desperately drinking in the light.

She was rocking him when, from above, Parsons shouted down. “Ahoy! That thing turns with us! It means to ram us, Cap’n!”

Yorlov ground his fist into his whiskers as he stood considering. All eyes turned to him. “Captain, what are your orders?” asked Boritt with eyes wide.

The captain stood forward and gripped the railing. “If that thing wants to ram us, then let’s make it pay for it and pay dearly. Come about! Four points due south! Full sails! We’re going t’ram whatever it is at full speed and may the best ship come out on top!”

“Aye, sir!” The boatswain saluted and called the orders out to the crew.

“Sir!” Culum called from the stern. “Those black ships’re gaining water on us!”

Captain Yorlov nodded. “Aye. They’re working together. Springing a trap. They mean to disable us from afore and board us from behind. And Eru help us if those bugs above swarm back down here.”

Aragunk came swinging down from the rigging and landed on the quarterdeck with sword drawn. “Is it a fight, then? Are we really going to get to fight them off?” He all but quivered with excitement.

Yorlov ignored him and cupped his hands to his mouth. “More sail! Full sheets! Give me ramming speed!” He gave a glance to Aragunk. “And prepare to repel boarders!” Aragunk all but yipped.

Back down on the main deck, Lumpolas cast his eyes around the ship as he braised his meats. The fear on the sailor’s grim faces told him how much danger the Freedom Hawk faced. He shot a glance over at Cookie again, whose gaze darted about while stirring his stew. Their eyes met, and for a second, they almost yielded to reason. “Impact? Boarders? Sounds pretty hairy, doesn’t it?” asked Cookie, gulping his big Adam’s apple.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” answered Lumpolas with only a little quaver in his voice. “Why? Do you want to quit?”

Cookie stood himself up as tall as he could. “No, ‘course not! This sort of thing happens all the time around here, it does. I was going to suggest that, seeing as you’re a greenhorn landlubber and not used to these terrible sea battles, you might want to find somewhere safe to hide until all this bluster blows over. I could even watch your roast for you.”

“Oh, so that’s it, is it? You’d sabotage my pot so that when all this ‘blows over’ they’d have to give the contest to you then, wouldn’t they? Fat chance!”

“Alright, Elfie, alright! I was only trying to help you out,” snapped Cookie, longing to get himself below decks to hide in an empty pickle barrel.

“Hey! Cookie!” Captain Yorlov shouted from the quarterdeck. “What are you two fools still doing down there? Either grab a cutlass and get ready to fight or get below!”

“I’ll quit, sir, when this crazy elf quits!”

“You’ll quit when I tell you to quit or we’re gonna throw you to the enemy the second they step aboard!” Yorlov vanished from their sight to attend to his ship.

Cookie shrugged to Lumpolas. “I guess that’s it then. You got off easy, and that’s for sure.” But Lumpolas didn’t budge or make the slightest effort to start breaking down his little deck kitchen, but kept right on tending his roast. “Leave if you must,” he said. “But the crew is bound to be famished after a big sea battle and guess whose food will be sitting here waiting for them?”

Cookie was near to tears at the prospect of conceding to Lumpolas. He gulped and went back to stirring his cauldron while his opponent smiled at him. He cast a desperate glance at the quarterdeck, longing for the captain to come put an end to this. “I’m gonna die over a pot o’stew,” he whimpered to himself, praying that Lumpolas’s elven ears weren’t sensitive enough to hear.

“Ahoy, up there!” Yorlov called to Parsons in the crow’s nest. “What’s the range to impact?”

“Half a league and closing fast, sir!”

“And aft?”

“Those black ships have closed to a league at most! They must have a devil whipping their row-men to death for them to be coming on so!” The captain’s scowl deepened as he looked to the bow. He could descry Gandalf standing with arms outspread, staff in hand, his white robes billowing in the wind. “He’d better have something special cooking or we’re all going down the drink for sure.”

“Aye that, sir,” said Culum next to him. “This is as tight a knot as I’ve ever seen!”

Then Gandalf spun toward them with eyes wide, waving frantically to the starboard side. “Turn the ship, Captain! Turn the ship!” he bellowed to the quarterdeck with all his strength. “Sea dragon! Turn, turn, turn!”

Culum shot a terrified glance at Captain Yorlov. “A sea dragon? Oh, sweet Ulmo help us, sir!”

But the captain’s face only grew harder. “It’s too late to turn!” He took the bell-rope and rang it with all his might. “All hands brace for impact! All hands brace for impact!” 

Over in the corner of the deck, Beonna took hold of Millen and squeezed him to herself even tighter. “Hold on, Millen,” she said with all the courage she could muster. “I won’t let anything happen to you!”

“Here it comes!” shrieked Parsons to the crew below as the bow-wave parted and a black snout, hideous in its massive size, emerged from the deep.