The Return of Nathan Brazil

Durbis, on the Coast of Flotish

He walked along the dock in the gathering twilight, slowly, confidently. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, removing one and lighting it with a custom-made lighter. The sound of his boots clumped hollowly on the boardwalk as he approached a particular dock and looked at the ship anchored there.

“Hello, aboard!” he called out.

The ship, a sleek two-masted schooner, seemed deserted.

“Hello, there!” he yelled again. “Anybody aboard?”

A scaly horror of a face peered over the rail at him, fish eyes, unblinking, staring at him suspiciously. “Hello, yourself,” the creature croaked. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

“I contacted your agency in Zone,” he called back. “I understand you are for charter.”

“Come aboard,” the creature said sharply.

He walked confidently up the gangplank and onto the ship. The creature turned to meet him, both round eyes still fixed on the stranger.

The creature was a Flotish; humanoid in that it had head, arms, and legs in the right places, but otherwise totally alien. It was a sea creature, of that there was no doubt; its thick, scaly body looked somewhat armorplated, like scales atop an exoskeleton; its hands and feet were webbed and clawed and oversize for the body, and its face was a horror with unblinking large yellow eyes. It had fins in several places and a dorsal fin on its back. It had no business here, not in the upper air, and in fact it normally breathed through gills although it could exist in air for several hours before it would finally suffocate. It solved its breathing problem simply, with a small apparatus worn helmet-like around its gills and resting above the dorsal on its back. Not good for long periods, it nonetheless allowed the creature a measure of comfort in the atmosphere.

“Come into the main cabin,” the Flotish invited. “I have a tank there that makes things easier on me.”

He followed and saw that it was so; the tank allowed the creature to relax in sea water while keeping its head out in the air. There was no furniture that fit his form, which was natural, so he sat on the edge of a table and faced the strange sea creature.

“It’s not often that I see water-breathers with surface ships,” he remarked.

“They go down in our waters, we get them, fix them up, refloat them, and sell them for a profit,” the Flotish replied. “It’s a good business, salvage, particularly good when you’re bordered by land on four sides.”

He nodded. “I wish to buy this one,” he told the creature.

“Medium?”

He smiled. “Gold, if you want, or diamonds. Even if you don’t use the medium yourself they’re useful in exchange.”

“Either is acceptable,” the Flotish replied agreeably. “We’ll deal in gold. This ship has been completely refitted. It’s in tip-top shape, was down because it was swamped by an incompetent captain in a storm. No structural damage; we had it refloated within two days. Good hardwood, solid.”

He nodded. “I like the looks of it. There’s an auxiliary engine?”

“Steam,” the sea creature said. “Brand new, not salvage. You can see the small stack aft. Useful only in emergencies, though. You wouldn’t make two knots with it. It’s when you let out the sail in a fair breeze that this thing really moves. Eighteen, twenty knots. A fantastic ship. As is, forty-seven kilos.”

The man laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. Forty-seven kilos of gold? You could buy a dreadnaught for that.”

“But dreadnaughts require records,” the Flotish responded. “This does not. No records, no bills of sale, yet all legal and aboveboard. Not traceable, since it’s a salvage refit.”

“I could buy a new one for half that amount,” the man retorted.

“Less,” the creature agreed. “But you wouldn’t be here if that were your first criterion. I don’t know what you’re planning—smuggling, piracy, or what. But we wouldn’t be meeting in this way if it was anything honest and you know it. You get what you pay for and what you’re paying for is a great ship and total anonymity.”

The visitor chuckled again. “It’s not as bad as that,” he told the creature. “It’s convenience. Flotish is near where I have to be, and timing is more important than hidden registry. Twenty kilos and I’m being robbed at that.”

The creature chuckled evilly. “Twenty won’t get you a lifeboat. Forty.”

They went back and forth for a while, each giving a little, until finally they were haggling over grams and not kilograms.

“Thirty-one, my final offer,” the man told the Flotish. “That’s it. Any more and I’ll gamble on a little extra time and go up to Vergutz.”

The creature spit. “They’ll sell you trash. But—all right! Thirty-one it is. You’ll make the transfer through Zone?”

He nodded. “You’ll know the name. Nobody else is likely to use anything remotely like it. Now I’ll need a crew. Versatile, good sailors, experienced on this type of craft. Men who stay bought if overpaid.”

The Flotish looked thoughtful. “I think something might be arranged.”

“I’m sure it can,” Gypsy replied.