They left the conversation there, letting the wind and The Foolish Endeavor’s sails take over. By the next morning, the sails were full, the prow angled toward Quillton, and the thought of a solid dock under their feet was enough to put a faint grin on everyone’s face. Marco looked forward to a moment of dry land, even if that dry land was owned by a possibly evil maybe-murderer.

Although the quest that Quill sent them on didn’t involve any direct fighting, unless one counted hitting a stationary target as fighting, it had been the closest any of them had gone to death in a long time. This had been by far their most difficult trip in a long time, if not ever. Change after that sounded great.

The water was calm and the weather was still besides a wind blowing in the exact direction they wanted to go. If he was being honest, Marco was pretty lazy at helping it along. Occasionally, he took a turn at the wheel. Most of the time, he spent sitting around with the others.

The chickens were recovering from a day-long hide in their space. When they had first come out, they had eaten a massive amount of seed and then promptly fled to the safety of their hidden space. Now, they were exploring their new world. For a while, they had jumped off the edge of the ship before teleporting back to safety and doing it again. Now, they were becoming more familiar with the crew and getting friendlier.

Riv was far, far ahead of the others in that regard.

"I'm going to call you Sir Clucks," he said. "Duke of Eggs. And you,, little girl, will be Vicount Pecknsctratch."

"You know you can't name them unilaterally, right?" Elisa said. "Plus, they are all girls. They need girl names."

"Oh, sure. I'll just check with Sir Clucks on that." Riv took the chicken off his lap and shoved it towards Elisa. It ran back immediately, jumping back up on his legs and cooing affectionately. “Looks like he says no. Sorry. I wouldn't want to go against the poultry crown on this.”

—

It was mid-afternoon when Aethe called down from the bow. “Something ahead. Small. Low in the water.”

Marco shaded his eyes. Sure enough, a dark blot rode the swells, no more than a dozen ship-lengths off their course. As they drew closer, the shape resolved into a makeshift raft, little more than lashed-together planks and an old sail so sun-bleached it was almost white.

In the shade of the mast, a man was resting on his raft. He looked lazy, if anything, his fingers interlocked behind his head as he kicked one of his toes.

They came alongside slowly, Marco easing the wheel to keep their hull off the smaller vessel. As the shadow of The Foolish Endeavor crossed the raft's deck, the man finally noticed them, smiled, and jumped up.

“Heya.” The man waved. "Got any water you could spare?"

"You don't have water?" Riv asked back. He was petting a chicken where its neck joined its head. The chicken appeared to love it. "None?"

“Ran out a day ago. I need less than most folks, but it's still uncomfortable. I'd appreciate anything you could spare,” the man answered back.

Marco's trust in people was running thin. He could spare some for woman-on-island-who-helps-with-shopping but everyone else was suspect by default out here. The guy looked weak and friendly, but looks were often deceiving. At the same time, he didn't want to just leave the random man out here to dry out until he was a dead piece of sailor leather. He looked to Elisa for a middle solution.

“What's the safest way?” Marco asked.

"On board the ship, believe it or not. We are much stronger here. Make him carry the barrels." She looked over at the man. "You are okay with that?"

"Ma'am, I'd be okay with doing a little song and dance on top of all that, if it's what you wanted. And I'd still be thankful after. Being careful is good."

They wasted no time tossing a rope ladder over. The man climbed up, eagerly accepting a glass of water from Aethe and draining it in big mouthfuls. The sight made Marco trust his story a little more, if not entirely.

“Name’s Jorin,” he said between gulps. “Been out here… I don’t know. Months.”

"Lost your ship?" Riv asked. "Must have been hard."

The man laughed. "No, no. This is my ship. I'm a Rafter."

"Really?" Riv stood up, looking at the ramshackle craft with new admiration. "That's not much to trust your life too."

"It's more than it looks like. I can hold a lot of goods, and the class forces most monsters not to notice me. I can go safely almost anywhere."

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"What about pirates?" Aethe asked. "No offense, but you don't look very tough."

"Rafters can't take their goods out of their hold under duress. It's a whole thing. It makes us not worth robbing, for the most part. I'm only worth the experience sinking my raft would give, and that's not much. Most would rather trade."

"We do like trade," Marco said. "Does this water thing have to be pure charity?"

"I don't see why." The man's eyes scanned the deck. "Here, check these out."

A barrel materialized on the deck. Marco tried to put his hand on it and found it went straight through, like the barrel itself wasn't really there.

"Magic barrels?" he asked.

"No. A demonstration. It lets me show you things without taking them out of my hold. Anti-robbery skills, remember?" Jorin made a small hand motion, and the lid of the barrel disappeared, revealing cannon shot. "Take a look."

"Oooh. What happens if I charge it?" Elisa said.

"Charge it?" Jorin asked. "Show me."

Elisa went over to one of the cannons, fed magical power into it, and then let it fire. The chickens squawked and disappeared at the report. The ball slammed into the water, visibly spreading its shock magic to the surrounding area.

"Oh, I see. Yes, they can absorb magical energy. Anything but fire is going to make them work less well, though."

"And with fire?"

"It works better."

"Done," Marco said. "How much?"

"Give me two barrels of water and I'll give you a barrel of shot. And one barrel of shot for every week of food you can spare. I still have to stay out here a while, until I can get to an island to resupply. That's a big trip, even now."

"Really?"

Marco's conscience got the better of him. This was a good deal for them but seemed like fire sale prices for the Rafter. He could certainly get better at Quilton but didn't seem to know that.

"I gotta tell you that Quilton's less than a day that way," Marco said as he pointed in the direction that they were sailing. “You’ll likely get much better prices there. I'll take the deal, no problem. It's just that it doesn't seem fair.”

"Oh. Quillton. Yeah," Jorin said. "Honestly, I'd rather not if I can avoid it. You've been there?"

"We have."

"It didn't give you the willies?"

"I mean… let's say it did. You still need water."

"Yeah, maybe." Jorin reluctantly conceded the point. "But I also need to be free out here. You are new to the Outer Sea, or at least this part of it, right? Then you can't know, but that entire settlement is only about five years old."

"What? There's a ton of buildings."

"Yup. And shops and hotels. I've heard it all. But five years ago, there were a few shacks and Quill. People moved in."

"That fast?"

"That fast. They'd land there to get water or supplies and just never leave. These days that doesn't seem so odd, but back then, when there weren't even roads, it was a lot weirder." Jorin smiled. "So thank you for trying to be kind, but no. I'd much rather deal with you."

A short time later, The Foolish Endeavor was a few barrels of shot richer, and Jorin was well stocked in both food and water.

“Now, listen,” Jorin said. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't spread around that I'm talking bad about Quilton. Like I said, I don't have any proof of anything, exactly. It's just that it rubs me the wrong way, if you understand what I'm saying."

"It's fine," Marco said. "We have no interest in selling you out. We won't even mention we saw you, and thanks for the heads up. We'll watch our backs."

"I hope so." Jorin climbed back down to his raft. "No offense, but as weak as I am, you aren't that much stronger in the grand scheme of things."

By late morning the next day, Quillton rose on the horizon. At first glance it was the same port they remembered, but as they drew closer, something felt wrong.

“That looks different, right?” Marco said. “But I can’t place exactly how.”

“It’s like it’s older,” Aethe said. “But we’ve only been gone a few days.”

“I swear if you got me caught in a time vortex or something, I’m going to be mad. Not real mad. Sir Clucks would not approve. But a little mad.

The docks were quiet. A handful of fishing boats were tied there, as always. Some bigger ships were in their places. There was nothing explicitly different except that what had seemed fresh and clean a few days ago now felt somehow less.

When they stepped ashore, the changes became even more apparent. The people were still there. The same dockhands were at work unloading crates, the same merchants were arranging their stalls, the breakfasts were for sale and hotels were open for travelers. Life went on exactly as they’d left it. Yet the colors seemed muted, the sails on the ships a little more frayed at the edges, and the wood of the docks grayer and more splintered. Even the air felt heavier, like a storm was somewhere just beyond the horizon.

Riv crouched to check a mooring post, running his hand along its surface. “Same rope. Same knot. I've seen it a few times now. It just seems crappier now.”

"It looks secure enough."

"Sure. But before, it looked great. I'm a worker class, remember? I notice that kind of thing. Now it's just boring."

Elisa glanced toward the market square. “It’s not abandonment. It’s not damaged. It's more like it's worn.”

The baker waved from his shop, smiling as though nothing at all was unusual. The same bread was in his window, though the glass was streaked and needed cleaning. The tailor’s mannequin wore the same dress Aethe had admired last visit, now a touch faded from the sun. No one else seemed troubled by it, which made everything that much worse.

They moved deeper into town, noting the familiar faces and greetings. Nothing in words or tone betrayed anything wrong. Still, Marco’s hand drifted toward his weapon more than once, and he had to focus to keep himself from drawing it.

Marco nodded slowly.

“We’ll ask questions. People are acting normal, but something changed. All at once, something changed.”