Martin III and the Secret of the Roses

Chapter Two

"I've got half a mind to throw you overboard for that comment, Ferngale."

"Well, you certainly don't have a whole mind, that's for sure."

Virra Bolntoam didn't like having to share her ship with anyone, and she certainly didn't like having to be second-in-command on her own ship. The sea rat was accustomed to marching about the decks, striking fear into her crew mates. Her appearance was certainly daunting; tall, strong, a clipped right ear and a gold hoop earring dangling from the left ear. Her piercing gaze was normally enough to cause any beast to pause, and reconsider their words.

But, Ferngale the Ravager was no ordinary beast. The mouse was less than half of her height, and could barely pick up the iron broadsword that Virra left lying about the deck, near the cabin door. Yet, he had a fierce look in his eyes; a look that demanded respect.

At first, Virra had been concerned that her own crew would cease to take her seriously, if she formed an alliance with Ferngale. Yet, on boarding her ship, the mouse had asked anyone who doubted his capabilities as a leader to raise their hands. When every crewmember raised their hands, he gave them a long stare, and folded his arms behind his back. He began to pace the length of the deck, giving each of them an unwavering glare, before coming to stand before the cabin, and giving a nod.

"I like it," Ferngale said, simply, "Your crew are as fearless as I've heard, Virra. None of them dared lie to me. Now, then," he had added, "how many of you are familiar with Martin the Warrior?"

Again, every crewmember raised their hands. Ferngale didn't hide his surprise.

"You see?" Ferngale asked, "How much of an influence one mouse has had? Or," he added, "how much one mouse can have."

He then climbed atop of a barrel by that stood by the cabin door, never breaking eye-contact with the crew. "One hundred years from now," he proclaimed loudly, "No one will remember the name of Martin the Warrior, without also knowing Ferngale the Ravager!"

The crew had cheered. Virra had just rolled her eyes; her crew was often impressed by the slightest thing. Like the wisps of clouds that scuttled across the clear blue sky above them, the novelty of Ferngale's words would soon wear off, and her crew would return to her.

That's what she had thought, and, yet, as the days went by, and her crew began to help Ferngale with his plans, they began to salute her less frequently. Virra had hoped that it was just a phase, until this morning, when one of her most loyal crew mates had addressed her as 'Virra' instead of 'Captain'.

That had been the last straw. Virra had marched directly to her cabin, which Ferngale had taken over as an office, and flung the door open so hard that it had banged against the walls.

"Listen, here, mouse," she began, through her teeth.

To her surprise, Ferngale just waved a hand dismissively, and motioned for her to sit down. Virra remained wary, uncertain of what the mouse was planning, and closed the door behind her. She remained standing, however, and folded her arms across her chest.

"My crew—" she began, angrily.

"Ah, yes," Ferngale said, rising. He rolled up the map that he had been consulting, and took Virra by the arm. "I've been pondering this question too, Virra, and I think that our current arrangements have caused for some... confusion, among your men," he said, delicately.

Virra felt herself relax slightly, then instantly tensened, and drew her arm away. There was no way that Ferngale would be that agreeable. "And?" she asked, warily, "What do you suggest that we do about it?"