The Worlds of the Sheaf

The Bescot - Part 2

"Gown!" snapped Callan, hammering on the door of his cabin. "Gown! Get your arse to airlock two! Right this minute! You hear me, Gown?"

"I hear you," replied Thomas, opening the door and covering a yawn with his hand. "I think the whole ship can hear you..."

"I'll have no lip from you," the first mate snapped, taking a step forward so that he was almost standing on Thomas's feet and glaring down at his upturned face. The wizard instinctively backed away, back into his quarters. "Now move!"

Thomas reached back into the room to grab his robes, containing his travelling spellbook and his spell components in its dozens of pockets, and scurried off down the corridor, hating himself for running from a mundane. He heard Callan's mocking laughter following him around the corner, to where a small group of crewmen were gathered by the airlock door.

"Don't let him get to you," said Matthew sympathetically. "He tries it on with us almost every day. We just ride with the punches, and he eventually gets bored with it and goes away. It's the only way to cope with people like him."

"The only legal way," agreed Thomas, making sure to keep his voice down in case it carried back to the first mate, "but I can dream..."

Matthew chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.

"So, what's going on?" asked the wizard. "Why aren't we on the hanger deck? Aren't we taking a scout ship?"

"We're transferring to another ship," replied the soldier. "They took me aside for a quick briefing a couple of hours ago. They think we won't be attacked if we go in a felisian ship."

"A felisian ship?"

"Yep. they must've made some kind of deal with them."

"But we're not even through the portal yet."

He broke off at the sound of approaching footsteps, but it was only Timothy, the cleric wearing his travelling cloak and a stout pair of walking shoes. "Another volunteer," said Matthew, grinning.

"Yes, and guess who's also volunteered?" said the cleric. "I saw Drenn packing his bags. I think he's hoping for a bit of action."

"The priest of Samnos?" exclaimed Matthew in astonishment. "I thought we were going to a dead world."

"Someone attacked us," pointed out the cleric. "Who knows what's waiting for us down there? Me, I'm glad he'll be with us. That's probably him now."

More footsteps were approaching, but they knew even before they came into sight that it wasn't the priest of Samnos. It wasn't the smart, rapid sound of marching but the dragging, slouching sound of someone who'd made it their life's work to keep as far from the military as possible, and when he came into sight they were surprised to see the gaunt, bony form of Parcellius, the alchemist, glowering unhappily at the small group waiting for him.

"You on the landing party?" asked Thomas, putting a cheerful tone into his voice.

Before the alchemist could answer Saturn appeared at the end of the corridor, striding towards them as if on the way to inflict terrible punishment upon some hapless miscreant. Thomas quailed, certain that the confrontation he'd been dreading was about to take place, but after a brief, withering glance that froze the younger wizard to the spot, Saturn ignored him completely, as if such an incompetent imbecile was undeserving of his attention.

"Is everyone here?" he said, casting his eye across the small crowd. "Where's Drenn?"

The priest of Samnos was right behind him, though, having just arrived, looking magnificent in his blood red robes and gleaming chain mail armour. He was armed to the teeth, with a short sword buckled around his waist, a broadsword strapped across his back and an assortment of knives and daggers hanging from his belt. They all had that look to them that suggested they'd seen regular use, and Thomas, who'd travelled with Priests of Samnos before, doubted that there was a single blade that hadn't sent at least one soul to judgement.