Malachi,
At your suggestion, Mr. Lang looks faintly unhappy. With a sigh like a man put in a difficult decision, he takes another sip of tea, and finally says,
"To be frank, Mr. Legba, I am unwilling to send away more of the crew than is absolutely necessary right now. As a matter of fact, this ship is severely undermanned as it is (the captain counted on recruiting more sailors once we arrived here), and I find it hard to spare the men to go traipsing off to Calypso-knows-where in that...that forest; after all, the Captain and Mr. Jonah may simply be delayed, in which case crewmen that could have been better used servicing the ship, stowing cargo, or making ready for sea will have been sent off on a useless errand.
Still, your suggestion has merit, and it would be hard if something tragic befell the Captain and Mr. Jonah. I suppose if you are willing to take the responsibility for this expedition upon yourself, you may assemble a small party and draw the necessary muskets and side-arms from the arms chest. I would suggest you take seamen Stout and Sanchez with you; Stout served in the Hullish Navy years ago, and Sanchez, I am told, is a fair hand with a blade. Any officers who wish to go, of course, may go of their own accord.
And as to the other two ships, that is something to be suspicious, but regrettably none of our affair. I shall inform the Captain upon his return, however; perhaps these ships are trading with the elves futher south. Oh, to be a lieutenant again and walking a frigate's quarterdeck! But we are a merchant ship, and our concern is profit, not the semi- or illegal dealings of other merchantmen."
Malthas,
You manage to catch part of their conversation.
"...wonder what happened to those two coves?"
"What, the old sailor an' the elf wi' the black skin?"
"Aye; p'raps we should've gone back for 'em."
"Hell, no point in thet; you saw what happened to poor Will. B'sides, they were sailors...their ship'll be gone in a few weeks, an' no one'll care what happened to 'em. It was just lucky we got ourselves out of their alive, what with the damned grugach an' their pet wolves an' all."
"But th' old sailor said he were captain of a ship...what was her name...the CAT'S GRACE, or the GRACE CALYPSO, or somethin' like thet..."
"Look, they're dead, aye? D'you really think anything could've fought off those elves an' their pets, 'specially in thet fog? They're dead, an' no one'll care what 'appened to 'em, ship's captain or no. Just leave it be, already."
"But..."
"I said, leave it be! Damn your eyes, the captain an' th' black skinned elf're dead, an' 'twas no fault of our own! You say one more word about them, an' I'll do for you good an' proper!"
Jonah,
After another eight or nine hours of walking, the captain calls another halt, and leans back against a boulder, draining the last drop from the elven water flask. He is breathing raggedly, and his clothing is soaked with sweat. He takes off his hat, mops his brow, and squints at the sun, now slowly approaching the horizon, to check his bearings.
"We sh'd...we should only be a few more hours from th' plantation," he says, consulting his nearly illegible map.
Your legs suddenly feel rubbery and weak. You know, nearly for certain, that you will not be able to walk another step without at least a few hours rest and some food and water.
In fact, it is now that you realize you are teetering on the brink of collapse.