Turn 54

    After reading the letter, Val experiences mixed emotions. There is of course happiness for Ginevra and their daughter, but there is also a bit of melancholy over the whole thing. She is reunited with Teague.
    But they are safe. He will be satisfied with that...
    He puts on his best facade and continues inspecting the cargo.
    Val of course arrives early for the celebration. It would not do if the Captain hosting this party were to be late. He dresses in his best outfit and the new captain's coat recently purchased. Though he has no real intention of getting drunk, he enjoys a glass of wine as he waits for his friends and the guests to arrive. In particular, he is looking for Emmett...
    Emmett shows up a few seconds after Val, wondering again how the captain managed to slip away from his watchful eye. Promotion or no, Victor probably still has a price on his head. He may have increased it when discovering the news. Still, Emmett feels certain he and Val can handle any set of footpads Victor might have hired on this rock.
    It's only if Victor has gone for outside help that Emmett has any concerns.
    "Val! There you are" Emmett hops over, snagging a drink on the way past a waitress. "You look troubled, captain. What's up?"
    "Not troubled at all, actually," Val says with a welcoming smile. "I was hoping to find you. Can I have a moment of your time?" The two of them have time for a conversation while waiting for the others arrive. "I've been thinking about the crew of the _Distraction_, and it has occurred to me I still need a first mate," he explains after steering the half-man off a bit. I wanted to have your...input on the matter," Val says with mischief in his eyes.
    Emmett gets a look of concentration on his face before responding. "Hmmmm.... If it were me, I'd go with Nyala. She knows her way around the ship, she's experienced and it will keep Ibn Fadil in line without obviously keeping Ibn Fadil in line."
    "An interesting thought..." It takes Val a moment to hide his amusement before speaking again. "Actually, I was thinking about asking *you* to be fist mate," he tells Emmett soberly, studying the other's reaction.
    "You're joking, right? You're not joking." Emmett shakes his head. "Nope. Uh-uh, no way. I have responsibility enough being in charge of the ship's security. I don't know the first thing about how to use a ship other than how to fight with it!"
    The expression on Val's face clearly shows he was not expecting this reaction. "And you think she knows more about handling a ship than you?" he asks, keeping his voice low, his tone conversational. Val sips at his wine as he thinks of what to say...
    "Okay, I understand you'd rather not," Val says at last, "but I need you opinion on something then. You mentioned keeping ibn Fadil in line? What do you think about him being first mate?..."
    "You trying to force me to take the job?" Emmett laughs. "I think ibn Fadil is going to be a problem no matter where you put him. He has real problems with responsibility - dodging it when it's offered and claiming it and authority when it suits him."
    Emmett apparently sees nothing ironic in his making these claims about someone else.
    "He's good at what he does, no doubt, but he's not even a square peg - he's an octagonal spiky peg that goes to a different piece of equipment all together. My advice? Leave him as ship's cook, put him outside the regular chain of command and then consult with him as needed - he'll come to you with his opinions, and they'll generally be worth listening to as a different viewpoint at least.
    "I think he'd turn down the position if it was offered to him - remember how he didn't even want to get classified on the _Cat_ 'til he ended up adhering to Nyala's brother as assistant cook?"
    "Good point," Val says, nodding sagely. He remembers, but keeps to himself how he believes ibn Fadil *would* accept.
    Emmett stops, taking a sip of his drink and obviously mulling something over. "No, wait. Still not first mate, but make him quartermaster or tradesman or something. He's gotten a lot more responsible lately, he has a good eye for trade goods and he makes friends easily. He's bi-racial, which may give him an edge with some people, and excuse with others. We're supposed to be looking for new trade routes so it's an important position, but not one that lets him second guess you at every opportunity.
    "Plus, while we're in the Flow his duties will leave him some free time to continuing doubling as cook - and he'd have to watch the ship's stores anyway." Emmett smiles. "I think that would best take advantage of his good points while minimizing his bad ones."
    Emmett is obviously engrossed in the logic puzzle he's been presented, "Let's see - Pham and Alais will both be spending too much time piloting. I don't see Pham as the command type, and I honestly fear Alais giving orders."
    Val stifles a chuckle at this.
    "Hiro would be good at it but he wouldn't take it. Yestin would take it but he wouldn't be good at it. Nyala's still a possibility, but you're right, she doesn't have much more ship knowledge than me..."
    "Crap." He looks at Val with a rueful grin. "Did I just promote myself?"
    Val laughs to himself at his friend's epiphany. "No, you didn't. Yet. But you have given me some things to think about. Yestin actually has some ship skills that *could* be refined..." He trails off thoughtfully before taking another sip of wine. "If you don't mind losing a marine under your command," he adds with a grin.
    A quick glance around reveals that the giff in question has arrived and is surveying the table appreciatively; Val waves him over to where he and Emmett are having their impromptu conference.
    Alais, having arrived at the dot of the announced starting time, makes a beeline for the food and begins consuming quite a bit of that and drink, not intending to stay long but interested in the meal.
    When Val poses the question, "Me?" It's physiologically impossible for a giff's voice to squeak, but it would have if he could. "I. Um. Well, I'm... I'm honored, of course, but," he casts a sidelong look at Emmett, "are you sure? I mean, I'm certain there are better qualified members of the crew...."
    Val is amused by the giff's apparent modesty. "I'll need someone I can count on," he says, brushing aside Yestin's uncertainty. "I *can* count on you, can't I?..."
    "Of course! I'm just, well, a bit surprised. But I would certainly be honored to serve in any capacity for which I would be considered." He all but salutes.
    Emmett leans over and slaps Yestin on the back. "Good man. Ya'see, Val and I were just discussing this and he thought you'd be perfect for the job. The giff have a reputation of honesty and skill, which you embody." Yestin winces slightly. "Those are things we'll need make a good impression on people.You're stalwart and trustworthy, you keep your word and you do the right thing. You had to know you'd get rewarded for that someday. "
    Emmett smiles at the young giff and continues, "You're literate and dedicated to your duties. The crew respects you, and you're not on bad terms with anyone, which will make passing along orders easier."
    "Given all that, who else would you pick? Certainly not me - I'm too stuck in my ways as marine captain." Emmett toasted the big purple hippo of a newly minted officer "Face it, you're perfect."
    "I will do my best, sirs." This time he does salute.
    Delmar and a lady friend who works in the Silverstream consortium arrive and appear intent on having a very good time.
    Ibn Fadil returns to his room from another fruitless effort to find Kayan, just barely in time to dress for the dinner. "I would have thought he would have heard I was looking for him by now," he broods to Nyala, hastily pulling on his freshly laundered outfit from Janik. "I liked that kid ..."
    "Another vanishment, perhaps?" She looks troubled herself. She also looks, frankly, stunning in a gown of blue-green silk. Sufficient cash had inspired the seamstress to a heroic effort despite the short time.
    "Maybe. Or else he is avoiding me for some reason." Tidied and even brushed, he allows himself a moment to be stunned by his love's appearance. Thoughts of not attending the dinner at all cross his mind (and are promptly ushered out again). "Well. Shall we go?"
    They're not late, but by the looks of it some of the others have been there some time now. There is an impressively wide selection of food, catering to the disparate origins of the ship's crew. Sidney's chef certainly knows his business.
    Brother Pham arrives at the late end of late, comes in to the restaurant, and greets his friends and shipmates. His face shows little pleasure at the meeting, instead being lined with worry and concern.
    "My apologies for being late, my friends. The last few days have found the Rock, and myself, rather troubled." He finds himself a glass of wine, sits, sips. "I have been collecting and sharing tales, as is my usual habit. Many of the tales on the Rock these days are of friends and family vanished. And earlier today I caught a sense of foulness that I hoped I'd never feel again."
    Pham shudders at the memory. "There were, and probably still are, ghouls on Bral. Probably somewhere in the lower caverns."
    Dismayed, ibn Fadil protests, "I have only heard of four people missing, and two of them ..." He stops, disliking the obvious conclusion. Surely it is merely coincidence?
    Aware of the others' attention, he goes on, reluctantly. "I have learned that a few months ago my chief creditor mysteriously disappeared. His replacement has been going out of his way to hide his identity ... and the subordinate I spoke to was frankly afraid of him." It is pretty clear that he does not want to think this has anything to do with any ghouls.
    "Ghouls?" Val had been sipping thoughtfully at his wine, listening to the two talk. "Is that what you were talking about the other day, Brother Pham? What do you suggest needs to be done?..."
    Pham looks at Val and sighs. "What needs to be done? Well, ideally we send a platoon of elvish paladins into the lower levels to burn them out. But I rather doubt that there are many of *that* type on Bral right now. I, and others chosen by the gods, can at least force them away, and make it easier to deal with them. Somebody needs to root them out before they begin... reproducing." Pham shudders again from unpleasant memory.
    "My real question is this: where did these creatures come from? SOMEBODY brought them here - I can't imagine that they're native. Ghouls come from other ghouls. Find out that answer, and I think many things will become clear."
    Pham takes another sip of wine. "They need to be destroyed. But I am ashamed to admit that part of me would be very happy to get aboard the Distraction and leave this place behind."
    With great sympathy for that feeling, ibn Fadil says, "Favored clerics like yourself are at least as rare as elvish paladins. ... It should be possible to find out who brought them here, but I cannot think of a better way to get into a lot of trouble quickly." With a visible effort to lighten his own mood, he adds, "Except perhaps dropping by the Victor's place for tea."
    Val chuckles nervously at ibn Fadil's comment before lapsing into silence. He sips thoughtfully at his wine as he ponders the origin of the ghouls and what Needs To Be Done...
    "Maybe we can invite the ghouls to have tea with the Victor?" he muses, half to himself.
    "Probably hid out on one of the larger local cargo ships," Emmett hypothesizes. "The little buggers don't give off heat or use up air - if they manage to tie themselves onto the bottom of a ship they can go unnoticed for shorter hops. They'll land in the port hungry as anything, but they don't really need the food."
    Val makes a mental note to check the _Distraction_ stem to stern before they depart...
    "Have you told the local authorities yet?" Emmett asks Pham. "Sure, its a problem, but is it *our* problem? And if we go running off to deal with it, will we get into trouble with the Rock police?"
    Ibn Fadil gives a snort of amusement at the concept of police. "What authority there is on Bral tends to stamp out trouble first and ask questions later. But generally the trouble they deal with is fist fights, the occasional murder. And pirate raids, now, I suppose. Ghouls, or conspiracies to import ghouls, may be a bit out of their league."
    He shrugs. "If we were to start roaming around the Rock and looked like we were starting some sort of trouble, we would probably be stamped on. We also might annoy the fellow in charge down below, that I was talking about before, which could be worse."
    Just then Theo arrives with his wife, Elena, a willowy brunette with a beautiful smile who is obviously well-trained in putting others at their ease. Val makes his way over to meet with the couple, glad for the distraction from the talk of ghouls and elvish paladins.
    "I'm glad you could make it, sir," Val greets Theo and his wife, thanking them for coming.
    "We're delighted to be here," Theo replies, seeming genuinely happy about the way things have worked out since the _Cat_'s journey. "But come, there seems little cheer in this company...?"
    Val hesitates, not sure what to say, but is saved from having to decide by the arrival of Sidney and Constance Volant, who naturally require considerable attention. A bit nervous about this, he trips on his tongue at first but quickly manages to smooth over any unintended offense.
    More food arrives, more wine is served, the musicians play skillfully in the background, and the evening shows great promise.

* * *

    There is more to Bral than most people realize, even those who have lived there many years. Tunnels under tunnels, a maze of rock never entered but by squealing vermin, never touched by light but from coarse decaying molds in the damp places.
    Until recently, that is. Lamplight wavers through the fetid gloom, footsteps sound confidently on stone.
    From the darkness, something hisses softly.
    

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