The Elias Anomaly

Six

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"So," said the captain of the ship as he circled a still soaked Joseph, bound with ropes to a chair placed in the captain's quarters. "Your master thinks me a fool does he?"

"Whuh-what?" Joseph asked.

"Oh come on," the captain snapped. "Commander Savage clearly believes me to be an idiot. He thinks that I will accept the sudden appearance of a drowning man off the port bow of my vessel. And this mere hours after I managed to elude him in the Aklas Channel. What are your instructions? Eavesdrop on my strategy and then disappear at port racing back to the Commander for a healthy payment?"

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about," Joseph said. The same part of his brain that kept him running half an hour ago was frantically rifling through lists of conversation topics. He was trying to identify any that might get him out of this terrible situation.

So far denial, he could guess, wouldn't get him very far. However, all the true things he could tell the captain about how he'd ended up in the middle of the ocean sounded insane. There again it was possible this was another world again. A third place separate from Dewsmonk and the medieval hell of clockwork beetles.

This captain, for instance, dressed in period clothing. The uniform of, maybe, an eighteenth or nineteenth century naval officer. Not that Joseph knew a great deal about that kind of thing. Maybe, he could assume a little more sophistication than the yokels with swords from the village.

On the other hand those yokels had known all about giant clockwork beetles that would attack from the sewers. Who knew what kinds of things would be an everyday occurrence for this fellow?

"You may as well confess," the captain said. "It's good for the soul. If you care about that sort of thing. You'll get nothing from me. Save the possibility of a quick and merciful death."

Right, that was that. Joseph had to talk fast or he would be thrown back in the ocean with no avenue for escape.

"Look at my clothes!" Joseph said. "Do I look like an agent of your enemy, or like anyone else you've ever met, for that matter?"

Joseph had lost his sensible winter wool coat in the ocean. When the hull of the boat had nearly pushed him under he had realised that his practical cold weather gear was absorbing water. It was soaking through at an advanced rate and would soon drag him down unless he got rid of it.

Regardless he was still dressed in a cream shirt decorated with light orange pin stripes. This was complimented by a dark gold and red design silk tie. The ensemble completed with a pair of comfortable black work slacks, plain black cotton socks. He only had one half of a pair of sensible black leather moccasins.

For his part the captain dressed in a smock, breeches and knee high stout brown leather boots. Joseph hoped he would not have encountered a twenty-first century office drone.

"Your attire is... somewhat strange..." the captain conceded. An odd note of haughty disdain crept into his tone of voice. "This does not mean that you may not be an agent in Savage's employ. Some kind of mercenary, a rival buccaneer, a rogue privateer, eh? A player in the grand game keen to match wits with the legendary Captain Silverblade."

"I'm just an... I'm a merchant," Joseph said. He attempted to translate his actual job title and position into something this man might understand. "Less than that... I am a merchant's clerk. I... fell overboard due to an accident. No one heard me cry out. I floated there until you came. That is all."