The Graft Prologue 3--Fahd
"All hands!" Fahd called. "Storm brewing! All hands on deck. You, too, rookie," he said to Jericho, son of the late merchant captain Remington. "Go help with the rigging."
"Yes, sir," the youth replied. He ran to do as ordered.
Denizen climbed out of the hold. "How are the skies?"
"Blacker than the bottom of the devil's heart, Captain," Fahd replied. "I've only seen the skies like this in the desert storms."
Fahd gripped the railing and peered out, trying to see with his night-born eyes what the rest of the crew could not. "The storm is between us and port! Might be we could sail around it in four days–"
"We may not have four days," Denizen snapped. "Bilge! Get that rookie! Ask him if he knows anything about birthing!"
"Aye, captain," the rat-like woman replied. She scurried up the ropes to find Jericho.
"Foul time for foul weather," Denizen muttered. "If that mage would wake, might be we wouldn't have this problem."
"You would trust our lives to a half-