Cormac sat on deck with a mug of ale pressed against his lips and stared up at the mast for not the first time.
It was a shoddy piece of work to say the least, and Cormac found himself regretting more each passing day that he hadn't voiced his opinion that the land route was the better route. He understood the want to avoid combat, but a blind girl, a man with a wooden leg, two mules and a horse made poor seamen, so he thought. The others certainly had no experience sailing. Cormac wondered how many nautical terms the band knew together. But the choice was made, and it was his own damned fault for letting the youths make their choice...
With a grunt, the old veteran took another swig from his mug. The corners of his mouth twitched downward in notches until they formed a grimace. Cormac growled.
"Oi, Porky!" he called over to one of the sailors. The man he picked out was a fat fellow, and Cormac had coined the nickname over a game of cards. "What's the captain doing at this hour, eh?"
"He's keeping the blind wench company, he is," answered the sailor with a chuckle. "Suppose his druthers is to make a pass at a girl what's half-dead than to sweat with the rest of us."
Cormac guffawed, then pushed himself on up to his feet. "Right," he grunted. "I've a piss to take. Let me know when the games are started again, will ya?"
"So you can beat me again?" Porky grumbled. "Fat chance of that, ya lame duck."
"The only thing what's fat here is you, baconbuttocks." And with that, Cormac hobbled on over to the a distant corner of the ship, straightened himself up, and emptied his bladder into the ocean.
The situation seemed simple enough, so Cormac felt. The mast needed repair or a replacement. It seemed to be made from multiple smaller poles, so it was possible that the ship had a spare mast somewhere... but then again, the captain had the air of a skinflint, so the damned miser might have opted to risk his crew and his ship in return for a little extra room for valuable cargo.
Cormac thought about how he'd approach the captain. Punching him was out of the question. Threatening him was, too. That meant sweet-talking him or being blunt and up-front about the problem, and Cormac knew very well that the captain had little love for him. Normally, Cormac wouldn't care, but when it came to convincing him to fix a mast before it came crashing down onto the crew during a storm...
Cormac heaved out a sigh as he pulled his pants back up past his unmentionables. "Need me a mouthpiece," he grumbled. That was it: he needed someone who didn't make paint peel by walking into a room to do the talking. He needed someone like... Well, any of his adventuring partners would suffice, but the two that seemed most likely to be able to convince the captain were Amos and Eve.
Heinz was a good lad, that much was certain: quiet, honest-seeming, and fairly direct. However, he was young and relatively inexperienced, so Cormac concluded; he'd not win the captain's favor easily. Rhys... Now, that was an odd boy, and he gave Cormac a funny vibe. The squeaky-voiced kid was probably sixteen or seventeen, and he struck Cormac as a bit too soft. He wouldn't work.
But Amos was an older man, and a learned one at that. Words from him would probably seem wiser than most. And the wealthy woman... well, the Captain clearly favored her enough to take her into his cabin. Presumably that meant he favored her.
So, after some deliberation, Cormac hobbled on back to the group's sleeping quarters and fished out some paper and a bit of charcoal to draw with. He made a quick picture of the adjustments he had in mind for the mast, though he couldn't write any words what with being illiterate and all. All that was left was to find his mouthpiece.
