Lord of the Libraries by Mel Odom Page A

with biscuits, and poured two tall glasses of razalistynberry wine. Craugh had to ask for the wine, and it wasn’t a particularly good fit for the meal, but Juhg didn’t object.
    Cook thought about objecting. Juhg saw it in the man’s harsh eyes above the mask he wore to hide his lower face. But Cook hadn’t objected. Instead, he’d opened the wine and poured. Without a word of thanks, Craugh took the bottle.
    Then the wizard led the way back up onto the main
deck and to the prow. On the way up the ladder, he asked, “What’s wrong with Cook’s face?”
    “Critter bit his nose off,” Juhg explained.
    “Why?”
    “Because he cut off Critter’s leg. That’s why Critter has a peg for a leg.”
    “This all has a starting point, I presume. Most things do.”
    When the pirate crew had told Juhg the story, they’d provided a number of colorful anecdotes. Juhg pared the story down to the bone. He didn’t feel like sharing anecdotes with Craugh.
    “They were down in the galley, Cook and Critter, playing cards for the last piece of firepear pie. One of them was cheating, though Hallekk tells me it was more than likely that both of them were cheating, and probably not very well. They do cheat. That’s why no one else aboardship will play with them.”
    “They disfigured each other over cheating at cards?”
    “No. They got tired of arguing over who was cheating, or who was cheating most, or however that went. So they started drinking.” Juhg couldn’t believe he was telling the story so nonchalantly when part of him was convinced the wizard was walking him to his doom.
    “Drinking?” Craugh asked, as though he were truly interested in the story.
    “Yes. After a while, when they were well into their cups, they started bickering over the cheating again. This time it came to violence. Cook cut off one of Critter’s legs, and Critter gave Cook a nose he can’t show in public.”
    Craugh snorted. “That’s asinine.”
    “Yes. But now they’re the best of friends. When they’re in port, they go off drinking together.”
    “Strange, isn’t it? How circumstances make traveling companions of people that shouldn’t be together?”
    “I’ve often thought so,” Juhg answered. And certainly never thought that more so than now.
    Two pirates watched over the prow. Craugh waved them away, promising that he and Juhg would keep watch while they ate. The dwarves departed, leaving their lantern at hand.
    “Sit,” Craugh said, waving to the deck as he bent and sat on the bare wood. Over the years, Juhg had noticed that Craugh was equally at home with the bare necessities as he was with a king’s court. The wizard started in on his meal without saying another word. He kept his staff nearby.
    Although he was filled to bursting with anger and questions, primarily why Craugh thought they should eat together, Juhg refrained from speaking as well. He’d learned patience and other survival skills while swinging a pickaxe in the goblinkin mines.
    He devoted himself to his meal, something that wasn’t a surprise since he was a dweller, but his motivation was incredibly different. As a slave, meals hadn’t always been on time, or even always there. For years, he’d passed out on a thin blanket on a cavern floor without being fed more times than he’d care to ever remember.
    At the moment Craugh wasn’t going anywhere. They were stuck in the ocean, far from any goodwill or friends.
    The chowder was thick and good. The warmth of it staved off the slight chill that had arrived with the night. The biscuits were light and fluffy. And the razalistynberry wine—
    “This wine is Wick’s favorite, you know,” Craugh said, holding up the glass in his hand. The moonslight, unhampered at the moment by the near perpetual fog, lent a glitter to the dark liquid.
    “I know,” Juhg said, and he felt the resentment take shape between them again. He had a secret the wizard had never told the Grandmagister, and he was expected not to