On the other hand, it certainly was going to be easier to be with him than with that barbarian and his hairstyled companion.

"h.e.l.lo," I said upon first meeting him in our quarters. He had taken the higher-hung hammock and was seated in it, swinging back and forth gently, just shaking his head. "Problem?"

He looked at me and, upon closer inspection, I noticed that his skin was peeling. Odd condition. "I don't believe you're here."

"Ah," I said, not quite sure how else to respond.

"And I'm not here either," he continued.

"Ah," I said again.

"I am simply an antihero thrust into an enforced heroic situation not of my own making." "I can certainly sympathize," I said readily, and I could. However, I was becoming equally convinced that this fellow was a lunatic.

"I'm Apropos."

"I'm completely irrelevant," he replied.

I stared at him blankly for a moment, and then slowly closed my eyes and cursed under my breath.

Then I opened them and forced a smile. "It's my d.a.m.ned name. What's yours?"

"I am called... Doubting Tomas."

That was an easy name to believe, although I would have been inclined to switch the letters and make him "Touting Dumba.s.s."

"All right," I said. "I suppose that's marginally better than 'Apropos.'"

Tomas glowered at me. "I do not belong in this world," he told me.

I nodded. "I know exactly how you feel."

He stared as if I were an idiot. "You couldn't possibly. You'reof this world."

"To be fair," I pointed out, "it certainly seems as if you're of it as well."

"You know nothing."

There was so much I could have said. But then I realized the utter pointlessness of engaging in an extended debate with the fool. So I smiled and simply said, "One thing I do know: This conversation is over."

Whereupon I turned over in my hammock and promptly fell out as the sling swung out from under me.

I hit the floor and lay there as the annoying Tomas guffawed slightly, but offered no other comment.

Without a word, I hauled myself back to my feet, balancing myself on my left as best I could, and pushed myself back into the hammock. It swayed violently once more, but the second time I was able to hang on, albeit ungracefully.

I drifted off to sleep and dreamt of Sharee and Mordant. Sharee, who I had thought would be staying with me because she perceived some sort of greatness within me. Mordant, who I had convinced myself was some sort of reincarnation of my mother. Both gone now. Both gone.

No reason for them not to be. After all, wasn't that what everyone in my life did? Leave me, sooner or later?

I took that self-pitying att.i.tude and, even in my sleep, clung to it with as much dedication as I'd hung on to the hammock.

I had no idea what to expect in terms of sea travel. I had never been on a boat in my life, and I had always heard that those who were new to such transport could have some trouble with illness.

I did not have some trouble. I had an excruciating amount of trouble.

We set off and immediately it felt to me as if the entire world was incessantly rocking. I was grateful for the absence of mirrors because, by all accounts, my face was such a repulsive shade of green that rumors began to float around the s.h.i.+p I was some sort of leper (which, for no reason that I could determine, seemed to amuse Doubting Tomas no end). The hammock swayed with the boat, which did nothing to improve my disposition. I started lying on the floor. That wasn't much better. From time to time I would emerge upon the deck, lean over the nearest railing, and be sick into the sea. My discomfort provided endless amus.e.m.e.nt for the experienced sailors, who walked with confidence, swaying in perfect synchronization with the boat. Every so often one would clap me on the back and say, "Don't worry!

You'll get your sea legs soon enough."

I didn't see how acquiring new legs would stop me from hanging over the edge of the boat and heaving into the sea.

After a while I ceased vomiting for the simple reason that I had nothing left to vomit, short of heaving up internal organs.

And then, days into the voyage, as I hung over the railing and contemplated simply throwing myself overboard to terminate my misery, I heard a repet.i.tious thump from behind me that I recognized quite readily. It was the sound of someone moving with the aid of a staff. I managed to lift my head in time to see a man approaching me. He was tall, with thick red hair and bristling beard, and he was wearing what I recognized as an article of clothing called a "kilt." It was red plaid, and he wore a crimson cloak about the shoulders of his thick white s.h.i.+rt, trimmed around the edges with red fur. His staff was ornately carved with images of what appeared to be dancing goblins cavorting its length.

"Ye got a problem, laddie?" he inquired.

I managed a nod, and the world seemed to bob and weave mercilessly, even though the water was remarkably calm. I dreaded the notion of our hitting even a mild squall. G.o.ds only knew what it would have done to me.

He had a pouch hanging on the front of his kilt, strategically positioned over his manhood. He reached into the pouch. I wasn't sure why, and the gesture was disconcerting, because I didn't want to think what he was about to pull out and show me. I was hardly in a position to leave the immediate area, though.

A moment later he extracted a vial with a blue liquid. He looked at it as if to double-check the contents, then strode over to me and extended it. "Drink it," he said.

Now, of course, I had no idea who this fellow was. A total stranger was offering the always-suspicious Apropos some sort of liquid pulled from the general vicinity of his crotch. For all I knew, it would kill me on the spot.

Which is why I took it from him and downed it immediately. That should go to show you just how little affection I had for life at that point. There are few creatures walking the surface of the earth who are more eager to stay alive than me. So if I was so uncaring of life that I was willing to risk throwing it away by swallowing a blue fluid from a total stranger, that alone should tell you a lot. By way of a stray thought... why do we say that, I wonder? "Total stranger." Those words always seem to go together. As if someone could be a partial stranger. Or a half stranger. He's completely unknown to you, except for that torrid weekend you spent in a cabin in the Elderwoods.

Then again, I have had lovers who turned out to be not remotely what I thought they were. And there have been those who called me "friend" who had no inkling of the true depths of darkness and resentment that resided within me. Perhaps we're all strangers to each other in a way, and the only thing that makes someone a "total" stranger is that they haven't yet had the opportunity to betray you.

All that flitted through my mind as the blue liquid burned down my throat, and then suddenly there was an easing of the ache in my stomach and the world seemed to clear. I blinked several times, scarcely able to believe it.

"Good fer what ails ye, eh?" He smiled, displaying large, crooked teeth. He patted his pouch, a gesture that I couldn't help but think he'd best not repeat in mixed-gender company. "Feeling better?"

"I am..." I admitted, surprised at the sound of returning strength to my voice. I couldn't believe how quickly the stuff had worked. "I am! Yes! Thank you. I... I wish I'd run into you earlier. I could've saved myself days of suffering. What do you call that stuff?"

"Just a little home brew. Frankly, ye looked like a lad who deserved a break from his sufferin'. Ah'm glad Ah could help."

I had to listen carefully to all he said, for his accent was so thick (far thicker than I'm conveying here) that it was all I could do to comprehend. I stuck out a hand. "I'm Apropos."

"Ronnell," he replied. His arm was brawny, his shake firm.

"Whereabouts are you from, Ronnell?"

"Ach," and he shrugged his broad shoulders, "Ah like t'think of muhself as a citizen of the world. It's not where ye've been that matters. It's where ye wind up, ye know what Ah'm sayin'?"

Oddly enough, I felt I did, and nodded. "Will I need more of that stuff?" I asked.

"The dose Ah gave you should last ye about a week. We're supposed t'be at sea fer four weeks, so I'll be happy to supply ye wit' refills."

"You're a gift from the G.o.ds, Ronnell," I told him fervently. Then I paused, suddenly suspicious, certain I wasn't going to like the answer to my next question. "How much will it cost me?"

He laughed as if that was the most ridiculous question he'd ever heard, and draped one of his huge arms around me. "Ye needn't worry! We're all travelers together, are we not? Tell ye what. Are ye anxious to repay me?"

I wasn't particularly. I was a big believer in obtaining as much as possible for as little as possible. But I figured I was going to have need of his services and goodwill for a few weeks more. So it made sense to play along with him. "That would be nice," I lied.

"Then join me! T'night. Fer a wee game." "A game?" I asked cautiously. "I... have to warn you. I don't have a lot of money on me, so if it involves gambling of some sort..."

"Nah!" he said, forcefully expelling air. "Nah, it's nothin' like that! Ah saw we have some other hardy voyagers aboard, and Ah thought it might be fun to play a wee adventure game."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about..."

"Then come down to th' galley this evenin', and ye'll find out." He elbowed me playfully in the ribs in such a way I was sure that I'd felt one break. "Ye'll never ferget it."

That much, he was right about.

It appeared that my newfound friend, Ronnell, was a rather convincing sort. Either that or he had quickly managed to ama.s.s a series of debts from the other pa.s.sengers and conned them, on that basis, to join the festivities. Because that evening discovered not only myself down in the galley, but also the other voyagers whose acquaintance I had earlier made, and my unwilling roommate as well.

They were already seated when I arrived. The galley smelled of seawater and slightly rotting food, and it would have been enough to send me into spasms of nausea if it weren't for Ronnell's cure-all. So that was enough to remind me that I did owe the redheaded, boisterous fellow, and perhaps partic.i.p.ating in his silly game was the least I could do. And as I have made abundantly clear in the past, I always endeavor to do the least I can do.

They were seated 'round a long table that was ordinarily used for meals. None of Captain Stout's dozen or so crewmen were about, presumably having eaten earlier and turned in or gone to their evening stations or gone off to dance jigs and tell ludicrous stories about sizable fish or whatever the h.e.l.l it was that sailors did at night. It was just the five of us, with Ronnell, who was seated at one end of the table and grinning lopsidedly. I was at the opposite end, Farfell and the Gay Mousser on the right, Tomas on the left. Every so often the Mousser would giggle in a high-pitched tone that made me just want to yank my sword off my back and cleave his head from his shoulders. But Farfell was a brute of a barbarian and would likely have something to say on the matter.

I had taken to keeping my weapons on my person whenever I wandered about the s.h.i.+p. Although Stout's men seemed innocuous enough, I'd heard far too many tales about unexpected mutinies--or even abrupt attacks by pirates--to allow myself to be out of reach of my weapons. The staff was natural enough for me to keep with me at all times. The sword was a hand-and-a-half sword, also known as a b.a.s.t.a.r.d sword, given me by one who had every reason to know about such things ("such things" meaning b.a.s.t.a.r.ds).

"Expectin' problems, Apropos?" inquired the Mousser, giving another of those annoying laughs. I restrained myself, partly out of self-control, and partly out of the firm conviction that Farfell would break me in half if I tried it.

"I expect nothing," I replied, voicing one of my favorite philosophies. "But I antic.i.p.ate everything."

"A solid philosophy!" said Ronnell. Not that I lived or died on his approval, but the sentiment was appreciated. It was at that point I noticed that Ronnell had set something up in front of himself. He had erected three small upright boards, hinged together, and placed them so that they were blocking from ourview the table in front of him. He had an a.s.sortment of small scrolls in front of himself, and it appeared to me that they were color-coded in some fas.h.i.+on, with a series of blue and yellow and red ribbons designed to make them easier to differentiate at a glance.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I admit to being somewhat curious about that myself," said Farfell.

Doubting Tomas, with a long, drawn look, said, "I have no idea why I've allowed myself to be pulled into this. Bad enough I'm forced to travel this twisted road paved by the sick fantasies of a deranged mind. But now I engage in some sort of nonsensical pursuit purely to provide entertainment value."

"Entertainment, aye," allowed Ronnell. "Then again, perhaps ye will learn something about how ye handle emergencies, and how much risk ye're willing t' take."

This wasn't going to be difficult for me at all. I handled emergencies by vacating the area as quickly as possible, and the amount of risk I was willing to take was near zero. So with any luck, I'd be done with this business in no time at all.

Ronnell pulled two six-sided black dice from his sleeve and placed them on the table in front of us. I stared at them. They appeared to be staring back at us, the white dots on their surface glistening in the dim light. I began to get an uneasy chill at the base of my spine, and I glanced around the table to see if anyone else appeared at all nervous. No one did, which either meant that I was getting myself worked up over nothing, or else they were oblivious of some sort of danger that only I was perceiving.

"The name of this game," Ronnell said in a booming voice that caused both me and the Mousser to jump slightly in our places, "is 'Tragic Magic.'"

Sounds like the story of my life,I thought.

"Tragic Magic," continued Ronnell, obviously undeterred by my inner thoughts, "is an adventurin'

game."

"A what?" said Farfell, one bushy eyebrow raised.

"An adventurin' game. What happens is, ye use these dice," and he pushed forward a number of the parchments, "and the information on these scrolls to create characters for yerselves. Ye use yer own name, because where would be the fun in utilizing fake names?"

"Where indeed?" I echoed, wondering just exactly where the fun was going to be even if we used our own names.

"These characters will have their own individual abilities and character traits. Ye then send them on an adventure of muh devising," and he held up a large scroll that, unlike the others, was tied off with a black ribbon. The recurring "black" theme was contributing to my overall sense of unease. "The results of yer explorations will be determined by each roll o' the dice."

"This is pointless," said Doubting Tomas, and for once I had to agree with him, although I said nothing. "So we explore this fict.i.tious quest you've fabricated. We kill an evening doing so. What's in it for us, aside from the questionable joy of one another's company?" "Oh... did Ah forget to mention? Just t'make it int'resting, should ye triumph over the challenges Ah present you..."

He reached into his cloak, which seemed to have become rather voluminous, and a moment later produced a large leather sack. He upended it upon the table, and gold coins spilled out. It was a most impressive sight, and a pretty formidable sound as well, the coins tinkling over one another with that musical noise that only gold coins can produce. I wondered why I was feeling a burning in my lungs, and then came to the belated realization that I'd stopped breathing. I forced an exhalation and continued to stare at the pile of coins winking at me mockingly.

The others at the table seemed no less impressed than I. "If we win...?" breathed the Mousser.

"How would we split it?" I asked, eyes narrowing.

"Sixty-sixty-sixty?" the Mousser suggested, and I decided right then that, aside from the fact that I considered him an abomination, he was a decent enough sort.

"Splitting it only becomes a consideration if ye all survive," said Ronnell challengingly. "There are many dangers along the way in Tragic Magic. You cannot be certain your characters will make it through."

"We'll take the chance," said Farfell.

"Wait," Doubting Tomas said, "we know what you're putting up. What do we have at stake?"

It was a reasonable question, and one that had occurred to me as well. Ronnell seemed amused by it.

"Why, gentlemen... the pleasure of yer company would certainly be enough to satisfy any man, don't ye think?"

We all looked suspiciously at one another, probably wondering if he was genuinely looking at the motley crew around the table. But then we collectively shrugged. He was obviously something of a loon, but the stakes he was putting up were sane enough, and there seemed no harm in going along with it.

Following his instructions and a dizzying set of rules, we created characters out of paper and dice rolls. The Mousser reconfigured himself as a thief. Farfell became a bulging barbarian. Neither characterization seemed all that much of a stretch. Doubting Tomas became a cleric, a holy man wielding magic powers.

And I, much to my annoyance, found myself designated as a "jackanapes." "You mean a clown?" I demanded.

"A jester," said Ronnell. "You provide amus.e.m.e.nt for the crew of hardy adventurers."

Longtime readers of my "adventures" will readily comprehend why this new status was anathema to me. I almost walked out on the game right then and there, particularly considering that my position amongst the group was drawing exceedingly annoying guffaws from the others around the table. Even the consistently dour Tomas thought this was a highly amusing circ.u.mstance. Ultimately, though, I kept my peace and forced a grin to show that I was a good sport about it all, even as I imagined what it would be like to yank out my sword and send Ronnell's head tumbling across the deck.

The "adventure" began innocuously enough. I had to admit, Ronnell certainly had a way of evoking scene and mood. In deep, rolling tones he described how we four adventurers first met up in a tavern onecold winter's night, whereupon a dying man stumbled into the pub and presented us with a map. With an "X" marking a spot deep within some place called the Foreboding Mountains (a flamboyant enough name that Ronnell had invented, to be sure, although no more so than some other genuine places of my acquaintance) and a dying warning that failing to complete our mission could result in the End of the World as We Knew It, the dying man fulfilled his function and died. It was up to us to decide the specifics of how we were to go about our quest.

My answer was quite simple: Don't go. It was madness. We were in a warm pub on a cold night.

What possible reason was there to go out and risk our necks just to save the world? What, after all, had the world ever done for me?

This line of reasoning proved to be less than persuasive to my cohorts, although they did laugh a good bit on the a.s.sumption that I, as jackanapes, was trying to provide some levity. The h.e.l.l I was. Even in a fict.i.tious setting, the allure of drink and safety was always preferable to deprivation and danger. But they didn't see it that way.

We then spent time wandering about the make-believe village and acquiring make-believe armaments, potions, supplies, etc., using make-believe money. I thought it was all make-believe bull-s.h.i.+te by that point, but the others seemed genuinely caught up in the mechanics of the fict.i.tious adventure. Eventually I ceased making snide comments about it because it was having no effect other than to annoy them. One of my general rules of thumb is to avoid annoying people with whom I'm going to be in enforced close proximity for weeks on end. Particularly when I could be disposed of by the simple expedient of being thrown overboard.