"Shut the door, Alice."

  The first thing Reka does is magically clean our cabin. Waves of energy radiate from her hands in pulses, purging the room of filth. I inhale through my nose, nothing but sea salt. Nice.

  We unpack while our new home away from home, the Demon, slips out of the harbor, the wind and tide with us.

  "How about breakfast?" Reka asks me.

  "I wonder what a galley on a ship like this is like," I reply.

  My wife's nose wrinkles in disgust. "Do you suppose I intend to dine on salt pork and hardtack? Nay, Brad, I think not."

  She opens her trunk and pulls out some food wrapped in a cloth. "That won't last us long," I comment.

  "Oh?" There is a challenge in her tone. My eyes grow wide when she lays out the cloth on our bed. Tiny food items, almost too small to pick up between your thumb and forefinger, are piled high. They're stiff, almost like little LEGO blocks. I can't bend them even if I want to. She sorts them into stacks. It's mostly things we usually eat, staples produced by the lands around Malmark: cornbread and different cuts of pork, mainly, but I notice desserts too, like the fig pie that was a big hit at our victory feast.

  "Efflugeia!" Reka casts a spell on a small portion of it, instantly inflating the food to edible size and perfectly reheating it. There are three plates in her trunk, and she serves me, then Alice, then herself in turn.

  I should've known. There is no way a fancy girl like Reka is actually roughing it in the wild.

  Alice takes her plate and sits down on her bedroll. She'll be sharing the room with us. Hopefully it doesn't get weird. "I must say, the food from my lord's lands is very fine."

  "You've but tasted only the slighted sliver of the delicacies I've experienced!" Reka says excitedly. The food on her plate is piled higher than either Alice's or mine. "Just you wait, dear Alice, my love's lands were so rich, urchins feasted like royalty!"

  "Truly?" Alice's emotionless expression cracks a bit.

  "Just wait till we start serving French-fried potatoes at Castle Malmark, then you will know for true."

  Reka is SUCH a glutton! But there is wisdom behind it, I realize.

  "That's the plan, isn't it? Our people will eat better than anyone else, so they'll be loyal to us."

  The expression on my wife's face is comical. It says, "I've been found out!"

  "My love is wise," Reka praises me, but her voice is flat. She digs into her food in earnest, a little sulkily, as if she's disappointed I figured out her brilliant plan so easily.

  After we're done eating, I stand abruptly. "Anyway, I think I'll go and stretch my legs."

  "I'll join-"

  The gentle rolling of the deck beneath our feet is too much for Alice, and she tumbles to the ground with a heavy thud.

  "Ow," she moans, rubbing a bump on her head.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Reka sighs in exasperation. "Keep your swordbelt on, my love, ah, and your ears open. News from Elberetheia would not go amiss. Sailors are fond of gossip, I find. I'll minister to Alice while you explore. Honestly, this girl..."

  "Being bipedal isn't as easy as you make it look!" Alice argues, and I leave our cabin to the fading sounds of their bickering.

  Morning sunshine paints streaks of crystal white on the pristine blue water. Visibility is great, and fair winds fill our sails, filling my Sailor's heart with deep satisfaction. I've missed this.

  Ah, being at sea without responsibilities is great, I think in appreciation. The crew, poor bastards that they are, are getting worked hard by the bos'n. They scrub the deck, adjust the rigging, and scurry about doing all the mundane tasks that keep a ship in good working order.

  Land is still in sight, and will be for the whole voyage. Maybe I should talk to Reka about inventing the compass.

  A child bumps into me, so hard I almost hit the deck myself.

  "Foolish Man, bar the path of a Dwarf, this you shouldn't do," someone grumbles from below. Not a child at all! He has flaming red hair, a well-trimmed beard, rolled-up sleeves that display brawny arms, and a toolbelt around his waist.

  "Going somewhere, Master Dwarf?"

  "Whither One Other wills, Semuel Bar Hachem goes, rich man."

  He walks away, but I follow. "How do you know I'm rich?" I ask after catching up with long strides he can't hope to match.

  The Dwarf stops in his tracks and looks at me like I'm the biggest moron he's ever seen. "Taller and stronger than any Mannish lord I've ever seen, and adventuring in the Demon Land besides. You and your folk pay for a private cabin and travel with oxcarts full of costly merchandise. These things, a poor Man doesn't do."

  He has me there. "Fair enough," I agree. We walk side by side in silence till he stops at a workbench. The unimpressed look on the Dwarf's face gives me the urge to laugh, but I master it. Instead, I inquire about something he said. "Demon Land? Is that what they call it down south?"

  "The Lord," he spits, "made all, or so the priests would have you believe, but One Other, my master, wrought the Demon Land. You trod upon holy ground, Man, and that ranger wife of yours bears the mark of One Other, so I'll say nought against you, save that you are rich and foolish."

  Semuel, I think his name is, sits down at the workbench. To my eyes, it looks like he's making a hinge. "The Lord? One Other? Are these your gods?"

  He uses a boring instrument to make a little hole in the piece of wood he's working on, and doesn't bother to look up. "Most of my kind would say there is only one god, and him they call The Lord. But there is another, One Other, and him I serve." Working and talking at the same time doesn't seem to be a problem for Semuel. "One Other is for the rejected, even I, a second son. No second son may work with stone, or so The Lord declared. Thus, to the shame of my father, your servant, Semuel Bar Hachem, labors as a ship's carpenter."

  Dwarves are monotheists? How interesting! Does that mean "One Other" is the devil? Am I talking to a Dwarf Satanist?

  "And One Other made the Demon Land?" I inquire. Oh, how I love lore!

  "Some say it," Semuel grunts. "Some say the great Demon Queen was One Other in the flesh, come to claim all and win vengeance for those the kingdoms had no use for, but she lost. All the armies: Elves, Dwarves, and Men, combined to her overthrow. A great pity, says I."

  Demon Queen? Curiouser and curiouser. So the big war was against a Demon Queen? Dame Nyte served in her army, I think. Maybe I'll ask her about it when we get back. History is so fascinating.

  "What about Elberetheia? Know anything about them?"

  "Tis a land dedicated to the false goddess, Elbereth Evervirgin. Don't you believe it, though. Elves are damned hypocrites, one and all. They condemned the Demon Queen for being a succubus, but Elves fuck as much as any, just their seed is weak, or so the tales say. It takes a hundred years for an Elf to sire an heir, pathetic."

  I take Semuel's comments with a pinch of salt; it seems even here the stereotype of Dwarves and Elves hating each other holds true. We talk for a while longer, and my new Dwarf friend shows me some cool magic tricks. One Other, he says, gives him powers. Anything living or once living, he can curse, including useful curses like stripping excess wood away until it's just the right size and shape. Working curses into the wood lets him imbue all manner of interesting effects: weaker, stronger, more flexible, and more.

  A man like that could be useful, I think. He doesn't seem that happy with his job, either. I decide to talk to Reka about it.

  Semuel Bar Hachem