OF SOCKS AND SANDALS: PART II

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The ship rocked gently side to side. Even the galleon is not immune to the waves on this sea. A wind caught the sails, but didn’t make it to the decks where the crew was sweating in the sun.

Fortunately, duties were light today. At our last stop, I had found a goblin market outside a small village and traded five crates of lychees; a mummified big toe from a sixty-seven year old woman who is the reincarnation of Henry the VIII; a poker chip Elvis Presley had gambled and won back at a casino that no longer existed; and a story about twins that were unrelated to fey.

In exchange, we now had three things. First, plenty of smoked meats, and second, feed for the sheep. The sheep had been taken from a ship we assailed, a pitiful vessel of writers who were doing half-baked stories about bat-men with huge cocks. And is that really big, I thought chickens were normally well over 14 inches, though I can understand why her cat continually had trouble eating them. It was a strange ship.

Meanwhile, the flag flew in glorious stripes. The deckhands had oiled the deck and the deck hands were busy.

“Careful with that!” I yelled.

Profanity erupted from the two men as the wooden box almost fell before they caught it. A rectangular box, nearly square, was supported by them as they walked towards the quarters.

“To the dwarf’s quarters men. You’re doing great.”

“What in the hells is this, sir? It keeps shifting like something is, I don’t know, floating in it!”

“No questions, Gruman, the dwarf has need of it. We’re going to clean this ship, that’s all I have to say for now.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of red. “Cleanse it, we shall.”