Tempestuous winds and murky weather greeted us as soon as we lost sight of the shoreline. The reddish sea deepened in color to a muddy brown, a portent of dangers ahead.
Captain Nugetre gathered myself, Flint, Raistlin, the half-ogre Kirsig, and his own first mate-a tall, broad-shouldered woman with a cap of straight blond hair, who goes by the name of Yuril (she reminds me of no one so much as Caramon, for she is a strapping physical specimen)-in his cabin for a look at his maps and a discussion of the route.
Although Nugetre is an arrogant man, it seems from the attitude of his crew that he has earned their liking as well as respect. Certainly Kirsig speaks highly of him, mostly as a result of his contacts with her father. His cabin is a modest affair, containing a plain writing desk, a cabinet of charts and maps, and a small hammock.
Once we were all present, Captain Nugetre began by warning us that there could be no guarantee that we would arrive safely at our destination, the far minotaur isles. "I have chanced the Blood Sea as often as any seafaring man," the captain declared, "but I never forget that it is a risk, a deadly one. Your reasons had better be worth gambling of your lives."
Flint started to say something, but Raistlin cut him off. The dwarf's broken leg was bound in neat wrapping, but his face was green and had been ever since he was dragged aboard the ship. The choppy waves that we have experienced since setting sail have confirmed his misgivings about sea voyages and aggravated his suffering.
Raistlin assured the captain that we had no intention of turning back. To emphasize his point, he set a bag of gems and coins on the captain's desk. Their value was substantial. Flint sat up, his eyes wide. "Double that," said Raistlin pointedly, "if we make the crossing within ten days."
Kirsig had already told Nugetre that we needed to make all possible speed, and the captain outlined his unusual tactic for meeting Raistlin's deadline.
Other ships' captains steer well clear of the Outer Reach of the Maelstrom at the center of the Blood Sea. It is the wisest course, for when a vessel is caught in its mighty undertow, it is sucked into the ever tightening rings of the whirlpool, and finally down into the dark red waters that churn feverishly where once stood the great city of Istar.
Nugetre proposed to head directly for the outer ring of the Maelstrom, and to ride its current without giving in to the choking waters. Once it had carried us near enough to the minotaur isles-a distance of some three hundred miles-the Castor would fight free of the deadly pull,
"That is the only way we can make the distance inside of ten days," the captain concluded. "Otherwise, because of the currents and the prevailing winds, it is a journey of several weeks. Safer, but slower by far."
"Have you ever attempted this before?" asked Raistlin intently.
"No," answered the captain flatly.
A heavy silence thickened the air after his reply. "But it can be done," spoke up Yuril unexpectedly. "I sailed with a captain once who did it. The voyage was terrible. Not only did we have to battle the current, but also the perpetual storm that reigns over the Maelstrom. Death beckoned at every instant. We lost several good sailors in the heavy squalls. But the captain was determined to ride it out. He turned the ship at precisely the right instant, and we broke free. The strategy did indeed save time."
Curious, I asked her what had happened to that captain. Why did she now sail with Captain Nugetre?
"Pah," Yuril replied. "My former captain lost his life on land, in Bloodwatch. He was a genius aboard ship, a dolt in other respects. Imagine besting the Blood Sea, only to be stabbed to death in a common barroom brawl." She paused and squared her shoulders, staring at each of us in turn. "I have been sailing with Captain Nugetre for two years now. He has the skill and courage necessary. With these, it can be done."
She stabbed her finger at the map laid out on the desk, showing where the ship would enter the Maelstrom, and where, if luck was with us, we would be expelled.
Yuril said the Outer Reach of the Blood Sea was approximately three days away, assuming steady breezes and no problems.
"How long will we be in this… Maelstrom?" asked Kirsig a bit plaintively.
"Two days and two nights," replied Yuril, "if we stay on course."
Raistlin seemed to be pondering the map. I waited for him to make the decision.
A woeful-faced Flint whispered to me, "Don't you think we should consider the slower and safer method? We really have no proof that Sturm, Caramon, and Tas are in imminent danger."
Raistlin shot him a reproachful glance. Flint looked down, tugging at his beard.
I knew my old friend was no less concerned about the others than Raistlin and I were. I patted him on the back, whispering, "It will get us off this ship sooner." Then I spoke up in favor of the plan.
Raistlin nodded agreement, and Kirsig surprised me with a hug. I didn't dare look at Flint again, for I knew that the dwarf, embarrassed at his earlier remark and annoyed to be stuck in the middle of a sea voyage-with a broken leg to boot-would be glowering at me.
By nightfall, strong gales buffeted the Castor. Darkness blanketed the waters. The sea was cold and black and roiling. No stars graced the night sky. We are three days away from the suction of the Maelstrom, so it may have been my imagination already to feel the gradual, quickening pull.