A Muddle of Magic. Alexandra Rushe

looked around. The cargo bay was in shambles, boxes of goods upended and tossed about. They’d encountered a squall the night before, but the sea hadn’t been rough enough to cause this kind of disorder. Something else was responsible for the disturbance, something like a molting, cranky reptile. Raine’s heart sank. None of the crates had been opened. Still, Raven would not be happy.

      “Hello?” Raine’s voice was soft and muted in the heavy air. “Dang it, Flame. Answer me. It’s creepy down here.”

      A large shape stirred in the dense gloom with a scaly hiss. In the shadows behind a stack of wine casks, an enormous pair of almond-shaped eyes gleamed back at her.

      Morven? The snake’s size wasn’t the only thing that had changed in the past few weeks. Flame’s trill had deepened to a tigerish purr.

      “Flame? Thank goodness. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was beginning to think you’d jumped ship.”

      Flame would never leave Morven.

      “Morven was worried.” Raine tried to sound stern but failed. She was too relieved. “I’ve called and called. Why didn’t you answer me?”

      Flame did not hear Morven. Flame was asleep.

      “For a week?” Raine stepped closer and tripped over a pile of rope. She fell and banged her knees on the deck. “Ouch. Are you sick?”

      Sick?

      Rubbing her throbbing knees, Raine sat down on a box of Esmallan tobacco. “Do you hurt anywhere? Are you feeling hot and achy?”

      No. Flame has the slows.

      “The slows? You mean you’re sluggish? I’m not surprised. You ate a lot of birds.”

      Flame was hungry, and there were no rats.

      “That’s ʼcause you ate them all. But don’t worry. Raven has promised to buy you some sheep.”

      Do sheep taste like rat?

      “No…at least I don’t think so. I’ve never eaten rat. On the plus side, sheep are much bigger.” Raine waited, but there was no answer. “Flame? We’re guests on the Storm. I don’t think you’re supposed to be in the hold.”

      Flame shifted his heavy coils with a thump. Flame likes the hold.

      “Raven wants you to stay in my cabin.”

      Why? Flame is comfortable here.

      Raine gave up. Raven would not be happy. Well, he could get over it. She’d tried, but the snake was too big for her to wrangle up the ladder alone. Besides, other than shuffling a few boxes around, Flame hadn’t done any harm.

      She got to her feet. “Okay. Have it your way, sleepyhead, but try not to disturb things.”

      A gentle snore was her only response.

      Raine left the grumpy snake and returned to the upper deck. The snake wasn’t the only one on the Storm who was out of sorts. The journey from Gambollia had been inordinately long, and the men were irritable and restless. To mollify them, Gertie had breached several kegs of ale and the sailors were partying. The merriment had started at sunup, and things had reached the rowdy stage. When Raine joined the festivities, the crew and Gertie were engaged in a lusty game of Tip the Troll. The rules were simple and straightforward: Gertie stood on her hind legs and the men, either singly or in pairs, did their best to knock her off her pegs. Since the troll was immensely strong and almost impossible to upend, the game was rather one sided, but everyone was having a rollicking good time. Brefreton sat on a nearby crate taking wagers. As he consistently bet on the troll, he’d amassed a tidy stack of winnings.

      A burly pair of sailors slammed into Gertie. The troll braced like a hairy linebacker and stood firm. The men crashed to the deck.

      Gertie spied Raine and straightened. “Hello, pet. Cup o’ ale?”

      “Highly inadvisable,” Glory said, gliding up in her graceful way. “I’d urge you to stay in your cabin, Raine. The men are in their cups and ale brews fools.”

      Turning, Glory shooed Chaz and the cabin boy, Tarin, below for a game of stakkers, the Finlaran version of bowling. Raine reluctantly followed. Glory was right. Gertie and Mauric guarded her like the last lamb in a meat shortage. If a drunken sailor so much as looked at her cross-eyed, heads would be broken, and she’d be the cause.

      Retreating to her cabin, Raine plopped on her bed and stared out the cabin window. The ship rocked in the choppy water. They were moored a hundred yards or so offshore. A jumble of daub and wattle huts clung to the rocky beach and a string of peeling boats bobbed next to a sagging wharf. The sand on the beach was a glorious pink, like crushed rose quartz. Mountains towered behind the small hamlet, their snow-capped slopes covered in fir, pine, and spruce. It was early spring in southern Finlara and the thatched roofs of the village were barren of snow. In a meadow halfway up a mountain, a clump of dingy, four-legged cotton balls grazed. Flame’s next meal, Raine thought. Poor sheep

      Raven was out there, somewhere. Several days earlier, he’d taken a longboat and gone ashore. Ilgtha, the young troll he’d rescued from a greedy trapper in Gambollia, had gone with him.

      “Ilgtha is miserable at sea,” Gertie had said. “This is as good a place as any to release her. No Finlaran would dare molest her, and she’ll find her way to Udom, soon enough.”

      Udom; the word sent a wistful pang through Raine. Her friend, Tiny Bartog, lived in Udom, the land of the monsters. She missed the frost giant, especially now that Flame had gone ninja.

      There was a tremendous thud from above, followed by a curse and a deep groan. Another sailor had taken a go at Gertie and paid the price. The men were feeling no pain, but there’d be a reckoning on the morrow, bumps and bruises, aching heads and bellies. Raven would not be pleased to return to a hungover crew. Gertie was responsible, but she’d be forgiven. Raven was crazy about the troll.

      Raine? Eh…not so much. Raven had been cool and standoffish since her near-death experience in the woods. He blamed her, she suspected for Squeak’s curse.

      Squeak, a mysterious and powerful forest entity, had rescued Raine from Xai, then had guided her to a cave deep in the woods, where she’d found Flame. Soon after, she’d been reunited with her friends. All had been well, until Squeak had discovered the wanton destruction of some of his beloved trees. Raven had confessed to the deed. Incensed, Squeak had handed Raven a sack of acorns, ordering him to plant the seedlings down to the last one, to atone for his crime. The onus Squeak had placed on Raven had resulted in numerous and frequent stops along the Finlaran coast, lengthening their journey by weeks.

      And, somehow, this is my fault? Raine thought. It wasn’t fair.

      She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. At least Raven and Chaz were on excellent terms. Chaz had appointed himself Raven’s helper. The boy spent hours examining the seeds in the big sack, dividing them into smaller pouches for Raven to sow. The sack was nearly empty, and the geas on Raven would soon be done.

      Raine sighed. Once Squeak’s curse was lifted, perhaps Raven’s mood would thaw. His cold detachment and aloof manner made the confines of the ship uncomfortable, to say the least.

      By sunset, the revelry had died down and Raine slipped out of her cabin to the galley for a bite to eat. To her surprise, she found Brefreton there before her. The wizard was munching on an apple and a wedge of cheese and looking remarkably clear eyed.

      “Haven’t dared have a tipple since I drank Gertie’s brandy,” the wizard confided. “Know she’s waiting for me to let my guard down. If I relax, I know I’ll wake up with my clothes nailed to the deck or hanging upside down from the main mast.”

      “It’s an evil old troll,” Raine agreed.

      “You think I should be worried, don’t you?”

      “Oh, yeah.”

      “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” Brefreton looked