A Problem with the Ghosts

 

Freeing the Spirits

    Dakhir watched as, with a mighty swing of his holy pickax, Saint Kinga struck the stone wall of the Overseer's chamber. The raw stone shuddered at the blow, and then, with an earsplitting 'crack,' the wall split, a narrow fissure radiating out from the point of impact, racing toward the floor and ceiling. 

    At first, the fissure was only an inch across, but it widened rapidly, now a handsbreadth, now a foot. The entire massive chamber shuddered and rocked.

    Dakhir could see a yellow-white light emanating from the crack in the wall, faint at first but brightening rapidly.  

    The fissure was now several feet wide, leading back into the solid stone of the wall, the light shining from too bright to see where it might lead.

    The chamber shook again, severely this time. A chunk of stone fell from the ceiling, almost landing on Ricmo, who barely managed to dodge out of the way in time. 

    "Go! Now!" Saint Kinga commanded, gesturing toward the fissure. "This realm is becoming unmoored. You must flee while you still can, while the gate remains open!"

    Whisperleaf nodded and started moving toward the fissure, but Dakhir held up his hand, motioning to hold.

    "Where does this gate lead?" he asked suspiciously. The Warlock had little desire to find himself in some Mithran heaven. He suspected that would not go well for him, not well at all.

    Tello nodded. "Crucial question," he agreed.

    "Wherever it is, I hope they have beer," Ricmo quipped.

    "For you, it will take you back to where you entered this realm," the Saint replied. "Now go!"

    "There are not many options presenting themselves," Merus pointed out, dodging a chunk of falling masonry.  

    Tello looked mournfully at Steam Jaeger, he had piloted to such great effect in the battle against the Overseer. Made of infernal steel, it could not abide the sunlight. There was no way to bring it with them into the Waking World. 

    Dakhir sighed and nodded at the Tortle. He motioned to The Sturg to proceed him and walked toward the gate. The Sturg drew his sword and strode confidently into the light. Dakhir followed.

    For a moment, he thought the Saint had deceived him. As he stepped through the fissure, he found himself suspended on nothing but air, high in the sky, the entire expanse of the Hell of Boiling Blood spread out before him. The light, now impossibly bright, emanating from behind him washed the barren land in the warmth of a summer day. 

    And everywhere, the souls of the damned rose to meet it. From all across the blasted landscape, the lost souls rose into the air as if weightless, swirling in the eddies of the winds but all swirling quickly toward the light. 

    There must be millions of them. As far as Dakhir could see, a vast multitude rose toward the heavens.

    Then Dakhir felt a violent, wrenching sensation. There was a moment of blackness, and he found himself standing on a dusty mountain path that led into a wide tunnel. He remembered this path, this tunnel.

    "We are facing the entrance to the Cerro Rico mines, back where we started," he heard Merus say from behind him in wonder.

    "Did you see the souls and the light?" Ricmo asked.

    "Indeed. Saint Kinga fulfilled his promise. He has taken those damned souls home to rest in the bosom of Mithra," Radiant replied solemnly. 

    

    Dakhir nodded. To his highly tuned occult senses, the place felt different somehow. Less foreboding. "This place is clean now. I think."

    "Excellent. Let's go grab that dragon treasure and get the hell out of here!" Ricmo announced excitedly. "Tens of thousands of silver and mithril! A fella can have a pretty good time in Skull River Bay with all that loot! I hope you can carry all that stuff, Sturg, it looked pretty heavy."

    The Sturg shrugged.

    "Not quite so fast," Freddy laughed. "There is the matter of seeing to our investment before we depart."

    "Oh, right. We own 1/3rd of this place, right? Probably a lot more silver still in the ground. That means we need a lot of slaves, right? Not sure what I think of that."

    "There is no act as foul as enslaving your fellow man, no act more worthy of damnation," replied Radiant Lightbringer. "So spake Blessed Saint Ursula as she caved in the skull of the Slaver Mercutius with her mighty hammer. St Ursula, Chapter 42, verses 1-5."

    Dakhir nodded. He was also not a big fan of slavery. Slaves generally weren't. "That means figuring out a way to work this mine without slaves. I wonder if that is even possible?" Dakhir looked at Tello.

    The Tortle shrugged. "That is more a matter of economics than engineering. I would not know."

    "Me neither," said Freddy. "But I know someone who would. Three someone's, actually."

    "The Stonebreakers," Whisperleaf made the cognitive leap. "They seemed quite knowledgeable, and dwarves do have a reputation when it comes to mining." 

    "They are not far from here if they still remain," Merus pointed out. "And they had considerable supplies squirreled away in their chambers, supplies we will need for the journey back to the ship. 

    "Excellent! Beer!" Ricmo remarked. "And not just any beer. DWARVEN Beer!"

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A Deal with Some Dwarves

 "You aren't getting half," Freddy replied tranquilly. "That's ridiculous. We don't even have half to offer."

    "We'll end up doing more then half the work," Stronin Stonebreaker replied. "Not like any of you lot are going to be any use sinking shafts."

    Freddy smiled internally. Stronin, the eldest of the three brothers, fancied himself a tough negotiator. Like most dwarves, he thought "negotiation" meant "My axe is bigger then your axe."

    "There are other dwarves. Whole cities of them, back in the Erinthor Mountains I'm told. Many dwarven clans would jump at the chance to work this mine. What was the name of that clan you were telling me about, Merus, the RedAxe Clan?"

    The RedAxes were the sworn rivals of the Stonebreakers, according to Merus who knew a surprising amount about the dwarves of Erinthor. "The better to kill them," she had replied when asked about that degree of knowledge. No love lost between elves and dwarves, some things in life were constant.

    Stronin spit. "Fuck the RedAxe clan. They don't know a pick from a shovel. Plus, take you two years to get them here."

    "We aren't in any hurry. Not like the mine is going anywhere. And the score we just took will tide us for quite awhile."

    They ended up settling on a 10% stake in the mine for the Stonebreakers, which was more then enough to make the whole clan ludicrously wealthy, assuming the mine produced even a tenth of what it once had. Freddy planned on taking a majority of that out of the Puerto Legos Town Council's share. Seemed only fair.  

    The Stonebreakers also wanted complete control of the operations, which Freddy was fine with. The last thing he wanted to do was spend his time running a mine. 

    And they wanted workers, which was a bit more problematic. 

    "You say there is a whole town of them, hiding out in the jungle. Put 'em to work," Stronin had said.

    Up until that point, the rest of the group had been more then happy to let Freddy run the negations. He had proved in the past to be good at it, after all. But this suggestion was greeted by frowns all around. 

    It was Radiant surprisingly that spoke up. "They are not slaves. They will be offered the choice to stay here, but many have expressed a desire to return to the inhabited islands, and we have agreed to provide them transport. And if they choose to remain here, they will be paid and well protected from the dangers of this mountain."

    "You'll just have to maker them an offer they can't refuse," Freddy grinned to Stronin. "But once we are back at Puerto Lejos, I am sure we can find plenty of volunteers, what with all the refugees currently holed up in the town. We will make providing labor the responsibility of the Council and Duke of that town. They are taking a cut after all, might as well work for it."

    Stronin considered, and then nodded. "Aye, never much cared for slavery either. And this place is plenty rich enough to pay it's workers. We have an accord them," He spit on his palm and offered it. Freddy did the same, and the deal was sealed.

    "This calls for a drink!" Ricmo cheered.

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The DinoCart

    Moving the dragon horde back to the ship had been a bit of a logistical problem. That much treasure weighed a considerable amount, more then even The Sturg could carry. Eventually, the settled on a plan. 

    At the base of the mountain, where the wide road led into the mountain, Tello constructed a huge wagon. While he was working on it, the rest packed the silver down from the tunnel entrance on the flank of the mountain, to the wagon,. That took most of the morning, hard, grueling work, climbing the flank of the mountain over and over. But once the wagon was loaded, things got easier. Whisperleaf changed into the largest draft animal he was capable of, a thunderlizard called a Bronto, and was hitched to the huge wagon and off he went down the road at a good clip.

    "Now THAT is something you don't see every day," Ricmo exclaimed as the mighty contraption started rattling down the wide road toward the coast. 

    "You say that a lot, I've noticed" Freddy grinned back.

    "Adventure, excitement, and really wild things, that's what makes this job great!" the halfling replied. 

    The journey back to the ruined port town of Potsio went pretty quickly, mostly downhill this time. The dragon was dead, and nothing troubled them as they made good time. Ricmo guessed that carts pulled by huge dinosaurs often had relatively uneventful journeys.  

    The abandoned town was quiet as they entered. Whisperleaf-the-Bronto pulled the wagon up to the curb near the ruined inn, and with a green shimmer assumed his elven form.

    He wiped his brow theatrically. "That was considerable work."

    "You make an excellent draft horse," Merus replied, dryly. "I suspect you have a promising career ahead of you, as a teamster."

    Whisperleaf grinned.

    "Now on to the ship," Dakhir 

    This was the weakest part of their plan, since it involved splitting into two groups. However, there was no way to transport all that treasure through the jungle, and the link between the two sending stones that Tello had made, that normally allowed limited communication with the Lady Jezebel, seemed to have been broken by their journey to Hell.  So someone had to go to the refugee camp and tell the ship to come for them. 

"Don't worry about me," Whisperleaf said. "It may be a long hike through the jungle, but as the eagle flies, it'll be a few hours. And if anything looks suspicious, I'll turn right around."

Merus looked skeptical at that last but slowly, she nodded.

--------------------------------

Ghosts on the Ship?

    "Of course there are ghosts on the ship" Whisperleaf said to Ozraeline, testily. The flight had been pretty uneventful, and he'd found the Lady Jezebel right where he left her, moored in the hurricane hole near the refugee village. He'd also found the crew having a pretty good time in that village. They were mostly pretty drunk.

    Ozraeline had shrugged and pointed out they might as well get their shore leave out of their system when the opportunity presented itself.

    "Well yes, but the ghosts are acting up more then usual. There is something in the hold that is making such a racket that the crew won't go down there anymore. And a pretty nasty poltergeist in the Great Cabin.

    "But can we make sail? Deal with all that later?  I left the rest of them back in Potsio, sitting on a  kings ransom in silver, and we need to get back before something tries to eat them."

    "Potsio isn't far, but the currents and bars are tricky, the tide is against us, and the crew is, as you see, drunk. Best to wait until morning so I can sober up the crew and we can wait for the tide."

    "I really don't think it's a good idea to leave them alone that long," Whisperleaf fretted. 

    Ozraeline considered. As First Mate currently in command, the call was fundamentally hers. 

    "All right, let's gather the crew as fast as we can, and weigh anchor," she decided. "At least the Jack's are sober, it takes a lot to get them even tipsy. We will deal with the tide and currents as best we can. It's only a few hours sail once we clear the harbor and reef."

    

    Whisperleaf nodded. 

    Roughly twenty minutes later they were stuck fast on a sandbar.

    Despite sending out two ships boats with anchors ahead, and the entire crew hauling with all their might, The Lady Jezebel was stuck fast.

    Blue Archie slurred his words "Bastard hiding under the surf, didnae seen 'im. Sholda waited for hide tide. Nothing to do now but wait for it."

    "But high tide is six hours away!" Whisperleaf. The elf really didn't like being separated from his companions for that long. They'd already had one desperate battle in the town of Potsio, and even though he knew intellectually his friends should be safe, he was anxious.

    Blue Archie looked at him balefully with bloodshot eyes.

    "The sea dinna care about yer schedule laddie. Nor do the tides."

    "We will see about that," Whisperleaf replied. "Get ready to haul." And he dived over the side.

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    After coming back to the Waking World from the Hells, Whisperleaf had felt different somehow. The real world appeared just as he remembered it, but somehow it was also smaller, plainer, more mundane. He'd seen things, after all, things these people couldn't even imagine. Walls of iron a mile high. Lakes of boiling blood. The fabric of the multiverse rent asunder in front of his eyes. The rules of reality seemed a bit more ... malleable somehow. 

    And his powers had grown, grown significantly.  As his human form dove into the water, he changed and shifted, but not into an animal, not this time. This time he assumed a form of pure water, sentient and potent, but without any of the trappings of biology. A being of pure elemental energy.

Whisperleaf-as-Water flowed under the keel of stuck ship, eroding the sand that held her, and lifting, lifting like a rising tide.

    And The Lady Jezebel floated free and set sail.    

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An Old Friend

    Whisperleaf was Air, pure air, unencumbered by biological limitations. He flowed through and over his companions, diffusing through the party, a wind, a breeze, a gale if needed, almost invisible, whispering in their ears, tugging at their robes. 

    The Sturg found it a little creepy. The changing into animals he'd quite liked. The Sturg liked animals. But this was a bit much. Some part of him worried, that the Druid was leaving too much of his humanity behind, loosing touch with who he was. How did he keep track of which air was Whisperleaf-Air anyway? Still, air, water, fire, earth, these were all natural, forces of nature. And it WAS useful.

    The hold of the ship, where the strange voice had been heard emanating from, was packed tightly with casks and crates, packed in a very specific and well designed fashion to equalize the distribution of mass and maximize sailing potential. And whatever was making the noises was deep back inside that packed set of crates somehow. The voice was muffled and hard to make out, but it cried and whined non stop, a harsh guttural cry that put the Sturg on edge and made him reach for the hilt of his sword. 

    Whisperleaf-as-Air could flow through even the tiniest cracks between crates however, extending himself deep into the tight packed cargo, find the source of the cries. 

    The Sturg, bent over to fit into the narrow, low hallways, readied sword and shield, waited for the  proverbial shoe to drop. This could only end one way, something that needed killing would emerge back there.

    For once, he was wrong.

------------------------------------------------------------------

    The sound had been emanating from a barrel, packed well in the back. It had taken hours and the work of a half dozen men to shift the cargo around sufficiently to allow access to it.  

    The bell smelled like pickles. The Sturg wasn't too surprised by that smell, many of the supply barrels were filled with pickling juice to keep their contents fresh.

    "Do not open. Do not eat" was written on the side of the barrel in bright red paint. 

    The barrel shook and from inside, he could hear a moan. Then, clearly now that it wasn't tightly packed behind cargo, he heard a rough, deep voice moan "Freddy! Freddy! let me ouuuuuuuut."

    "What the hells," Dakhir wondered from beside him, shooting the bard an accusing glare. Freddy looked shocked. "Hey man, I didn't have anything to do with this, I swear!"

    "Let me ooooooouttt Freddy."

    Suddenly Radiant Lightbringer interrupted.

    "I know who is in that barrel."

    "Who?" Dakhir demanded. 

    "Mr. Davies. We put him there, remember. Or his body anyway." 

    "Oh. Shit." Freddy replied, the light of recollection dawning across his face.

    "That guy, right. Better uncork him then. Sturg, get ready big guy."

    The barrel top gave way to a diligently applied crowbar, and no sooner was the lid removed, then out of the pickle juice the former Mr. Davies arose. The dead body had been in the barrel a long time, and it showed. His skin was white and slimy, clothes waterlogged, eyes white and filmy, bulging from his slack face, the reek of the preservative could not entirely mask the scent of decay.

    The creature opened it's mouth and spoke.

    "Freddy! You came for me! I knew you would!" And then the creature giggled.

    Dakhir answered "Mr. Davies apologies for your untimely demise but rest assured when we find magic of sufficient power we will restore ...."

    "Oh silly, I'm not Davies. Davies is gone now I'm afraid. It's me, Marie Cristina! Don't you remember me, lover? I remember being....memorable to you, oui?"

    And the creature smiled and blew Freddy a kiss with it's bloated lips.

    "How have you been doing, handsome?" the corpse asked. 

    "Holy shit it's Freddy's voodoo girlfriend in there. From Haven Towne!" Ricmo gasped. 

    Freddy looked pale. "I think I am going to be sick," he murmured. And then, he was. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Where is it now? or where is she I guess?" Whisperleaf asked.

    "Freddy and I parked her in the kitchen, since the Great Cabin is currently haunted. Can't have the voodoo zombies hanging out with the poltergeists, no way that can lead anywhere good," Ricmo grinned. "Plus the kitchen is already smelly."

    Dakhir sighed and rubbed his temples. This was just gonna be one of those days," he mused.

    "Did you find out what she wants?"

    "You mean other then to sit on Freddy's lap and whipser sweet nothing's in his ear?" Ricmo chortled.

    Freddy looked ill.

    "She literally did try to do that. But what she really wants is for us to complete Davies' mission, 

    "And that is?" Dakhir asked. He had often wondered ideally what exactly Davies had been up to.

    "Oh nothing much really. Rally the Pirate Captains into a Pirate Armada. Take the returning Treasure Fleet (that has never been successfully taken) before it reaches Haven Towne. Undercut the strength of the Oligarchs by emptying their pocketbooks and pave the way for a popular rebellion of the proletariat. You know, just a normal Tuesday."

    Dakhir choaked. 

    "That seems....ambitious," Merus murmured.

    "Well, no one said Maria Cristina wasn't ambitious," Freddy replied. "She's certainly an upwardly mobile type of girl."

    "And what is in it for us you ask?" Ricmo continued. "Other then eternal fame and renown as basically the greatest pirates ever? She promises a clue to Red Alice's whereabouts.  And more gold then even I could ever imagine. Enough gold to make that dragon horde look like a light snack."

    Dakhir groaned again, seeing the light of avarice in the halfling's eye.  

------------------------------------------

The Poltergeist 

    Ricmo paused before the door the Great Cabin. "So Davies-possessed-by-Maria-Cristina is packed back up then?" Ricmo asked. "Did she complain?"

    "No, just asked if Freddy wanted to join her in the barrel for some alone time," Merus replied with the ghost of a smile. "Freddy declined."

"This is seriously messed up," Freddy said, still looked a little green around the gills. "That thing tried to kiss me man. I think I may be off my feed for awhile."

    Ricmo grinned again. "Well Dakhir keeps warning you about hooking up with the supernatural."

    "Demon's may say please and thank you, but they are demon's none the less. Guess that goes for Voodoo Queens as well." Dakhir replied.

    Ricmo had to admit while he sympathized this whole thing was wicked funny. He had to give Maria Cristina props on the prank. 

    "Wait until that Fairy Queen gets ahold of him," Dakhir replied sourly.

    "So, poltergeist then?" Whisperleaf changed the subject.

    Ozraeline nodded. "Usually only reported at night, but from the sound of things he's quite a powerful telekinetic. He tossed some pretty larger crewmen around like they were children, all the while screaming at them in a language they couldn't understand. 

    "Radiant and I both have spells that may be effective against the creature," Dakhir offered, "though if it is anything like the Angry Ghosts we encountered in the Crypt of Saint Ursula, discovering their unfished business may be as effective as any magic." 

    Ricmo nodded. Personally he would always rather rely on leverage then spells. Spells could go wrong, or not be powerful enough, but good, solid, leverage never let you down. 

    He pushed thee door open and entered the Great Cabin.

    The first thing Ricmo noticed was how cold it was. Normally the row of windows on the stern of the ship made this place airy and full of light. It was one of Ricmo's favorite places aboard, filled with comfortable chairs, maps and charts, dusty mysteries and mystifying unopenable bookcases, 

    Today, it was cold and foreboding. The light was dim. The mysteries were forbidding. 

    "Look away for a moment," Dakhir commanded. "I am getting out The Eye."

    Ricmo shivered, and for once did what he was told. The Amulet of Theno gave him the creeps. Taken from the funeral barge of an undead Pharaoh, Dakhir claimed that when he thumbed back the lid that normally hid the mysterious, demonic eye, anyone it looked upon would turn to stone. He claimed the Eye would spare anyone he commanded it to spare, but always seemed a little unsure of his control over the mysterious artifact, asking his friends to turn away whenever he used it. Like many of the occult artifacts the Warlock possessed, it scared the crap out of Ricmo. 

    Dakhir also said the Eye had the power to see the unseen, including ghosts and spirts. Ricmo sensed Dakhir moving his hand around, shining the eye into various crevices of the cabin. Finally, with a sound of satisfaction he said "There is no use hiding, I can see you,"

    Ricmo felt the cold intensify. He risked a look and saw Dakhir tucking the amulet back under his robes.  In front of the Warlock, a shimmering shape appeared.

    "Why be ye, here, I dinnae recognize ye. Be ye crew o The Lady Jezebel?"

    "Yes, I am her Captain actually," Ricmo proclaimed, flashing the golden whip that he carried, that signaled that authority. 

    "New Captain then. Yer uniform is slovenly," the shade looked disapprovingly. "An yer manservant is rude, interrupting me here without a by yer leave or so much of a knock. I must say, I dinnae approve sir. This modern Navy is not the Navy I once knew. A lot of slobbenly layouts, not fit fer the service. Loafing about on the beach, boozing and fornicating with the natives, not fit to be in His Majesty's Navy!"

The spirit seemed to be waxing wrathful. The temperature in the cabin plummeted, a breeze whipped up, the chairs started to shake and rattle.

"Lazy, fornicating layabouts!" the spirit boomed!

Dakhir had been watching the rant with a raised eyebrow, and then much to Ricmo's surprise, he boomed out.

"Aye! Lollygaggers the lot of them."

"They need discipline! And order!" the spirit boomed.

"And a touch of the lash!" Dakhir agreed.

"Aye a floggin do 'em good!"

    Ricmo had no idea what was going on, but decided to get into the spirit of things.

"A floggin' a week, that'll set 'em right!" he yelled back.

    By this point the spirit's powers where well on display. Ricmo and Dakhir were at the center of a maelstorm of small objects, broken china, books, charts, cutlery, it all whirled through the air around them. But didn'tr touch them. And finally, rage expended, the storm diminshed.

    "Withold their rum!" Ricmo screamed.

    The swirling winds abruptly stopped.

    "Och laddy don't go too far now, I like yer pluck but the men have their limits," the spirit said, more calmly. 

    "It's good ta' see the Lady Jezebel's Captain understands the valua a' discpline though. Rear Admiral Sir Walteer Raikstone, of the Green, at yer service," the spirit bowed.

    Ricmo bowed back and introduced himself. 

    The spirt of the admiral looked pensive for a moment and then, more calmy, stated. "Despite the veeeery real moral failings o' these men, sailors always go to the bad when too long ashore. We should set sail. Sea air and hard work 'ill put them right, much as a good lashing."

    Ricmo smiled. An angle had occurred to him. "I agree Admiral, but some punishments are warranted. We should consult The Articles of War . Alas, the book is locked up in yonder bookcase, and the former Captain neglected to tell me how to open it. 

    "Aye a good morning reading from the Articles is an excellent tradition in any case, remind the men the punishments that await their misdeeds. Fortnately for you, I know the password."

    And with a word, the bookcase that had remained stubbornly locked for six months, resisting all attempts to open it swung open.

    As they left the now quiet cabin, Dakhir looked impressed. "Quick thinking, I can't believe that worked."

    Ricmo nodded smugly. "I wonder what other secrets are locked in that old ghosts head," he replied.

    "He does have a point though, high time to make sail."

    Ricmo nodded again, slowly. The wind had changed dramatically the last few days, settling into the strong blow of the westerly trade winds that dominated this season in The Thousand Isles. a light rain was falling and had been pretty much the entire day

    "Weather is not in our favor, but neither is time. It'll only get worse as we move further into Monsoon season. We may have waited too long as it is."

    Little did he know how true his words would prove to be,