“Where in the nine hells is the Lake of Mists’ monster!”
The seven-foot-tall captain of the Nightie, Phetmologe, turned at a passenger’s outburst, causing the enormous wheel he manned to pull slightly to starboard. The captain had been vigilant at navigating the craft after Sheila Greywand instructed the search in a new part of the lake, known for shallow reefs, where the slightest mistake could cause a catastrophic gash in the hull.
A dozen of Sheila Greywand’s personal Lord Protector bodyguards caught their footing and momentarily turned their heads toward the frustrated announcement. A few scoffed, and then their attention turned outward to the Lake of Mists.
A plume of smoke burst in front of My‑re, and Tim, the Enchanter, emerged from the cloud.
“Lady Sheila Greywand has requested a drink. Some call it…mushroom mead?” He then clasped one hand over a fist to resemble a mushroom.
My‑re coughed a couple of times from the smoke and regarded Tim. He wore dark robes and carried a long wooden staff. However, his most unusual features were his ram horn leather cap and a chain necklace with a white rabbit foot. Tim had been standing next to Sheila and tended to make a grand spectacle anytime he did anything, including traveling short distances.
Over the past four weeks, Sheila had filled the Nightie with a rotating group of the best warriors the Isle of the Eye had to offer, with an occasional wizard of some renown. While My‑re considered most mages odd, she welcomed their magical talent on the boat.
“I have some here. I’ll bring it to her,” Ssskah said.
“Stop!” Tim the Enchanter commanded and raised his hand. “She has requested My‑re to bring her the beverage.”
Great, another scolding, My‑re thought to herself. Since joining the crew of the Nightie, particularly on how things were done, Sheila oversaw everything from how to tie a proper knot to secure the masts to ensure the appropriate mixture of vinegar used when cleaning the deck of mold and mildew. It also seemed Sheila had taken a personal interest in her. Extremely flattered at first at the attention, but soon, it appeared My‑re couldn’t do anything right. Like a mother hen, Sheila ruled the roost. Every roost.
“That’s fine, I’ll do it,” My‑re said, placing a glass on a serving tray and pouring the mushroom mead. A wave slammed into the hull, causing her to spill a portion on the tray, and she sighed in frustration. Sheila would not have a mess. She used a rag to clean it up and proceeded toward Lady Greywand. Passing the other Lord Protectors, she thought they all seemed short compared to her height. She approached Sheila, who sat on a simple chair with her long legs stretched and crossed with the heels of her boots resting on the ship’s railing. Her hands were intertwined around her grey wand in her lap as she stared out to the lake.
Older than My‑re, Sheila appeared slightly younger than she remembered her mother as a child. Silence passed between them, thinking she was waiting for her to say something.
“Ah, my refreshment,” Sheila said and took the glass. She sniffed the contents and took a sip. Motioning to the passengers, she said, “I, too, find our lack of progress this past month frustrating. I have enjoyed the daily expeditions at sea and away from the tower. Unfortunately, my other responsibilities remain unfinished, and I find no one capable of completing them while I am away.”
My‑re glanced around and didn’t see Timmy the Spy anywhere nearby. Typically, he stood right by Sheila’s side. “Would Timshard be a good person to complete your duties at the tower?”
“Timshard, how can I put it? His attention to starting or finishing a task could be stronger. He keeps delegating his responsibilities to his younger brother. Since he seemed overly anxious to join me on the Nightie, I had Edward come instead, which helped ensure Timshard completed the tasks I appointed to him.”
“Spymaster Edward, the orc? He and Timshard didn’t look like brothers,” My‑re questioned.
“Half-brothers,” Sheila explained.
“Ah, where is Edward?” My‑re asked, looking around.
“He asked to be stationed in the crow’s nest. His task is to warn us if Grumpy decides to pay a proper visit.”
Hesitantly, My‑re asked, “Who’s Grumpy?”
“No need to worry about him, or maybe it is a her.” Likely seeing the confusion on My‑re’s face, Sheila clarified, “Grumpy is a colossal, albino crustacean caught many years ago. Initially, it would be the main course at dinner at the end of a grand tournament, but his gigantic size and color were unique. I commuted his fate and let him free into the Lake of Mists. He does a tremendous job of keeping the lake clean of expired creatures.”
“Why the name Grumpy?”
“He does not like to be disturbed. There have been more than a few craft lost to his massive claws. Many boat captains are wise enough to steer clear of this area. As necessity has it, we are right in the middle of his territory.”
My‑re glanced hesitantly out to sea.
“There is no concern. He only comes out at night to feed.” Sheila's voice trailed off as her eyes turned up in thought. She looked to the clear, sunny sky, chuckled, and then said more to herself, “Brilliant. So obvious and staring me straight in the face.”
“Obvious?”
“Captain Phetmologe! Bring the Nightie back to the harbor!”
“I don’t understand?” My‑re questioned.
“The Lake of Mists’ monster must be a night feeder. That is why we have not seen the creature all this time during the day,” Sheila said.
“So, what’s the plan?”
“We set sail in the evening.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No, my dear. Tonight.”