Free The Sail Weaver by Muffy Morrigan Page B

to be back. These are Winged Victory’s Warrior Weaver and Lokey Fenfyr who will serve as scout.”
    “Sirs!” Shearer straightened even more. “Boatswain James Shearer, sirs.”
    “Shearer, good to meet you.” Tristan nodded at the man.
    “Sir! Thank you, sir.” Shearer saluted, opened the portal and strode up the gangplank. He stopped and turned back, boatswain’s whistle in his hand. Its shrill blast echoed around them and Tristan looked up as the crew stood to attention when Barrett walked up the gangplank. Tristan followed, Fenfyr right behind him, the metal bending under the dragon’s weight.
    “Barrett! What the devil do you mean by … ” A short man stormed across the deck, his uniform impeccable as he stomped towards them. He stopped as Tristan stepped onto the deck beside Barrett. His face went from a frown of irritation to outright hostility. “Captain Gary Stemmer,” he growled. “Are you the Weaver?”
    Tristan eyed him coldly. “Yes. This is Lokey Fenfyr of the Guild Dragons,” he said as Fenfyr stuck his head over the edge of the airlock then slipped onto the deck with a silent, fluid grace.
    “We weren’t expecting you yet,” Stemmer snarled, every line of his body indicating disapproval.
    Tristan glanced around the deck, lifting his eyebrow as he looked back at the captain. “Obviously. We sail in three days and this is what greets me?” He was aware that Barrett had stiffened in anger beside him. “You aren’t even ready to drop the sails.”
    “They only just arrived,” Stemmer snapped, a sneer on his face, his tone bordering on outright insubordination.
    “The point is they have arrived.”
    “I am captain here.”
    “And I am Weaver.” Tristan felt Fenfyr’s growl of agreement tremble through the deck beneath them.
    Stemmer’s eyes were fixed on the dragon towering over them, his feathers and tufts puffed out, making him seem even larger. The captain swallowed nervously, his face turning from white to red. “We haven’t had time to inspect them!”
    “Inspect?” Tristan asked mildly, Fenfyr rumbled beside him. “My sails? We will drop them as soon as I see my cabin.” He turned to walk away.
    “Are you giving me an order, Weaver?”
    Tristan turned back. “Yes,” he said firmly, waiting to the count of three before he walked across the deck and down to the doors of the Weaver’s Quarters, the largest in the ship, a deck above the captain’s and complete with a stern gallery. He dropped his bag on the table and wandered through the large cabin, taking his time and letting Stemmer stew for several minutes. After checking to make sure his trunks were still locked, he headed back up to deck.
    Barrett was directing the men as they carefully cut away the packing on the sails. Though referred to as “dropping the sails”, it more closely resembled a bonding. The sails had to fit to the ship and vice versa or they would not respond to the Winds, instead leaving the ship to flounder and be torn apart in the forces whipping through space. Tristan was sure his sails would take to the ship. They had to, he only hoped that something hadn’t happened to prevent that. He closed his eyes and spoke a small spell, feeling the Weaving hum under his feet. He had to make sure the sails caught.
    “Are we ready, Mr. Barrett?” he asked, turning his back to the captain as he addressed the first officer in an obvious snub.
    “Sir! Everything is set!” Barrett said.
    Without sparing Stemmer even the smallest glance, he nodded. “Proceed.”
    “Drop the sails!” Barrett called.
    “Drop the sails!” Shearer repeated and the men started to sing, a soft rhythmic chanting , and moved the sails into position. “Open the panels!”
    Tristan held his breath as the panels t hat covered the masts and cross trees while the masts were retracted in the hull opened. He softly repeated the spell that had created the sail s , hoping the extra encouragement would help them bond with the ship.