"Then that's settled. We'll sell it once we're ashore."
Gauss nodded—no objections. He'd known from the start that monster spoils get split; he wasn't stingy about it. The crew hadn't done much fighting, true, but without them his party couldn't have stayed at sea this long at all. The ship was pricier than it looked; as Fern had said, its hull bottom was made of special ironwood to keep monsters from holing it—expensive to build and to maintain.
And why would a crew risk themselves helping Gauss's team for free? Because they "hate goblins" and wanted to die for a stranger? Of course not.
Thanks to Gauss, no sailor was hurt and everyone now had unexpected income; grins were everywhere. Split evenly, it was pocket change to Gauss—but a tidy haul to a sailor: meat and drink at the tavern for a few rounds, or new clothes for wife and girl back home. Enough to make life on shore feel extra sweet for a while. Their gratitude was real—he could hear it in how "Mr. Gauss" had quietly become "Lord Gauss."
"Back underway!"
With the interlude over, the Seagull trimmed canvas and shouldered into the deep blue again. The mood on deck lightened. Now and then, sailors sneaked glances at Gauss watching from the bow, their eyes calm. With strength like that aboard, what was there to fear?
They pushed on. As the Seagull went deeper, the sea changed colors from azure to an inkier blue. Under the sunset, jagged silhouettes of rock loomed on the horizon.
"That's the Black Reef Zone ahead," Fern said.
"Mm." Gauss nodded. They were close. The Tidal Caverns were on a large island somewhere along that reef belt. He'd wondered why a "reef zone" wasn't near the coast; turns out some reef types—barrier reefs—can extend far into deeper water, forming offshore belts. One more bit of trivia for the pile.
"We stop here for today," Fern added, pointing at the reef outlines growing more sinister in the dusk. "Running a reef belt at night is too dangerous. Under-currents and hidden rocks are deadlier than monsters. We'll anchor in the lee tonight and go in tomorrow morning."
Gauss agreed.
Night fell. The sea was a different world after dark—ink-black water, sunshine gone, the wind edged with cold. Fern set watches; everyone else headed below to the galley for dinner—mostly fish caught during the day, rounded out with vegetables, fruit, and meat bought on land.
The pudgy cook hadn't been on deck earlier, but he'd heard the tales; beaming, he laid an extra lavish spread for Gauss's table. No one begrudged the special treatment. At sea, strength earns privilege—especially when it keeps you alive.
"Tomorrow should be good weather," Fern said, sitting by Gauss. "If all goes well, we'll clear the reef belt and reach the Tidal Caverns by late morning."
…
At first light on the eastern horizon, the Seagull woke. Washed and dressed, Gauss came up to find Fern, the mate, and the last watch already on deck, gauging sky and sea. Just as predicted—fair weather. Last night's chop had eased; the sea lay relatively calm under a light mist.
"Up so early, Mr. Gauss? We've time before we sail—you could sleep more," Fern said, surprised.
"Habit. Couldn't sleep even if I tried." Gauss never slept in on a commission. Even with Fern's reassurances, his body clock hauled him up on time.
He let the sea breeze wash over him awhile. Breakfast followed: hardtack and ship's biscuit—the kind baked to stone so it keeps forever and, in a pinch, doubles as a club.
What made his eyes widen was watching sailors soften biscuits not just in hot fish porridge or broth, but in beer. Odd combo—until you remember beer on a ship often is your "fresh water." On the ocean, water goes bad; low-alcohol brews keep.
Officers and guests like Gauss ate better: cured meat, cheese, dried fruit, even a few apples and oranges. Breakfast ended as the sun lifted and sailors shouted and drank. Then—hands to stations.
"Weigh anchor! Hoist the sails!" Fern took the wheel and boomed orders. The capstan clanked; the heavy anchor came up streaming. Lines creaked; the great sails climbed and bellied with the morning breeze. The Seagull stirred.
A while later, black rocks rose not far off either beam—tall, twisted columns jutting meters above the water, most of their mass lurking below, shadows flashing whenever waves slid off them.
White water clashed and refluxed in the gaps, churning visible whirlpools that could flip a dinghy. The Seagull bucked and dipped through the chop. Gauss stood like he had roots, boots locked to the planks—but his worry wasn't for himself; it was for the hull.
"Captain Fern, sure this is safe?"
He glanced at the seething water. He had ways to save himself if the worst happened, but better to pass intact.
"Don't worry, Mr. Gauss. It looks bad, but we run this route often," Fern said. They were pros.
Under Gauss's watchful eye, the Seagull eased through the dense maze without so much as a scrape. The crew's professionalism shone; with Fern's crisp calls and the lookouts' nonstop bearings, the ship danced through jagged lanes like a nimble performer.
"Tighten the fore! Port's taking wind—hug that rock!"
"Stand by to turn! Hard to starboard! Ease the main—let her take it free!"
…
In tight coordination, they cleared the reef belt and slid into calmer water. Gauss finally exhaled. The Guild had picked the right ship—professional to the core. If he'd hunted up a boat on his own, he'd likely have found either no takers or some reckless outfit that would wreck in here.
As he was thinking it, an island took shape ahead—big, high in the middle, sheer all around, wide skirts of black rock laid bare around its edges. Facing them, the island's wall was split by a massive cleft as if chopped by an axe, waves pouring into it—their destination: the Tidal Caverns.
"There it is," Fern pointed. "Tide's coming in—not the time to enter. We'll anchor in the lee and wait. Safer to move when it ebbs this afternoon."
Gauss deferred to the expert. The Seagull circled half the island, dropped anchor in a shallow bay; even here they could hear distant booms of surf on rock. They used the downtime for final prep: weapons check, gear straight, plan confirmed.
Afternoon came, and as Fern had said, the tide slid out, the sea smoothing, the mudflats at the cavern mouth widening. Areas once drowned now lay bare. Through his spyglass, Gauss watched Shore-Walker Goblins playing on the flats—others pushing out dinghies and rafts from inside.
Found you.
He lowered the glass, met Fern's eye, and nodded. "Time."
When all gave the ready, the Seagull made for the cavern at a steady pace. The approach drew goblin eyes quickly. On shore, sharp-eyed scouts pointed and jabbered; more and more noticed. To them, it was manna from the sky. They'd just been about to try their luck leaving the reefs to find a target—when a handsome big ship came to them.
Under their leader's rally, dinghies and rafts swarmed out of the cave like ants. Each craft held two to four at most, but there were so many the sea seemed paved with them. Light hulls, a following sea, and goblins swimming underneath to push made them fly. The lead skiffs, sturdier than the rest, were pulled by massive, tamed swordfish—blazingly fast.
"They're coming!"
The lookout's cry went up. Professional bandits, alright—quicker to a mark than a shark to blood.
"All hands—prepare to repel boarders! Ballistae ready!"
"Let the sea-rats taste steel!"
"Ho!"
Positions taken, a roar of excitement swept the Seagull. Fern nodded, satisfied—though he knew the real backbone behind this confidence was Gauss's party.
Compared to the bustle, Gauss's team was calm. "More than expected," Gauss squinted, counting fast. There had to be a hundred craft, maybe more. No way a couple of small traders could stand against this. You couldn't even run—those swordfish-drawn skiffs would run you down. Once they fixed you, the rafts would ring you in, and then it was a death spiral.
While they murmured, the spearhead skiffs were already in range—and their attacks were faster than the boats themselves.
Thwick-thwick-thwick!
Sharpened bone javelins and harpoons arced from the skiffs, along with plenty of "stink bombs"—earthen jars stuffed with rotten offal and unknown slime that burst on deck into a blinding reek.
"Shields! Take cover!" Fern shouted. Sailors raised wooden shields or ducked behind the bulwarks. A few too slow got splashed and turned green-purple on the spot.
"Wind Dance."
At the stern, Gauss tapped his staff. A powerful gust burst forward from him, shouldering most of the incoming jars aside to splash harmlessly into the sea.
"Fire the ballistae!"
Fern picked his moment. Boom—boom! Bow and stern ballistae thumped, baby-forearm-thick bolts screaming through air to lance the towing swordfish. The fish, slowed earlier to steady the goblins' throws, paid for it—bolts punched through their bodies, red spreading fast across the water.
The Shore-Walkers didn't break. Maybe raiding too many ships had made them cocky; the blood only whipped them into a frenzy. More rafts closed in, a sight to behold from above—ants swarming a beetle.
Thunk!
A bolt with a rope attached slammed into the Seagull's rail—goblin ballista fire. Of course they salvaged light gear from captured boats and turned it on their prey.
Gauss's gaze slid to a not-far-off vessel—the only "real ship" on their side: smaller than the Seagull, likely once a merchantman, but with sails removed and a high fighting platform lashed to the masts, goblin archers bristling on top. Propulsion still came from bound sea beasts. A refit goblin mothership.
Well now. Gauss raised a brow—impressed despite himself at their use of transport. Smarter than most goblins he'd met.
The mothership surged closer.
"Down—!" someone yelled.
Ka-THOOM!
No slowing—she rammed the Seagull broadside. Both hulls lurched violently; when they settled, the goblin ship had crunched through the port bulwark. Goblins poured over, and more swarmed up from rafts on all sides, or climbed onto the mothership to use it as a bridge.
Alia's spell was already in the air: seeds burst into thick vines that lashed the hulls together. If the goblins wanted to disengage now, they couldn't—not quickly.
"Kill!"
"Gut the green bastards!"
Furious beyond words, Fern charged first, longing to pulverize the thugs who'd dared ram his beloved ship. On the other side, goblins vaulted aboard and the first boarding clash exploded. Brawny sailors had the edge over common goblins.
Gauss didn't move at first. He stood quietly at the stern, watching. Only when plenty of goblins were on the Seagull—or the bridged mothership—did he relax. The fish fought best in the sea; on the Seagull, escape wasn't their choice anymore.
He tapped the deck with a toe and drifted into the fray like a feather. He didn't swing immediately—he simply stood. An invisible pressure rolled out. The wind around him seemed to pick up.
The nearest goblins jolted with nameless fear; their bodies stuttered, trembling. Sailors seized the moment; cutlasses flashed and goblins fell. It wasn't just those unlucky few—most of the goblins present—even many who hadn't actually seen Gauss—felt their minds dip and a cold dread tear through them.
The bane of goblins had arrived.