"Take us back!"

　　Chicken had woken at sunrise. Cookie had discovered this when he found him basting in the pickle barrel. The creature had apparently gone roving to appease his growling belly. When the dwarf couldn`t remove him by force, he sent for Amerigo. Trevor came, too, toting his report like a more educated kind of cinder block.

　　The kobold, having been extricated by guile and who was still munching a pickle, seemed to be mostly content. It seemed to Trevor to be a good time for them to meet the captain.

　　The two were well-behaved enough to get past Gorestomp, who was expecting them along with Trevor, despite him sending no notification in advance. But before the minotaur could utter an introduction, Chicken demanded to return home.

　　"Take us back home!" he demanded again.

　　Trevor grinned nervously between the kobold and the captain, clutching his report like a shield. "He seems to speak his mind, sir. We found him in the pickle barrel this morning."

　　"So I heard," the elf said languidly, unphased by the outbursts. "At least someone was eating them. But before we can acquiesce to your request, we need more information. Who are you, and where is home?"

　　His gaze fell on Amerigo, who looked sheepish.

　　"I`m Chicken," said Chicken.

　　"Like the-?" the captain began, but was interrupted.

　　"Like the bird, yes."

　　The taller people in the captain`s quarters exchanged glances. With no further information incoming, the captain spoke again.

　　"I suppose that answers one of the questions. Now, where is home? We need a heading for a port so we can allow you to disembark."

　　"No, I disembarked earlier. I can`t help you with the other stuff."

　　Glances once again flew over Chicken`s head. "Gorestomp, please tell Cookie to clean out the pickle barrel. Tweesly, I`m assigning you to pull sense out of this little&lizard&person here."

　　"I`m a kobold!" Chicken interjected.

　　Gorestomp gave a grand bow, the trinkets on his horns tinkling, before purposefully exiting the room.

　　Trevor had been looking at Chicken, like if he stared long enough he could penetrate the secrets the little creature held.

　　"Hmmwha?" he said, coming out of his reverie.

　　"Figure out how to pull navigation information from this kobold creature. You`re responsible for them both during their voyage. If we can find where to take him, we could fit a detour into the schedule."

　　The captain looked once again at Amerigo.

　　"See if you can make this one talk, too."

　　****

　　Chicken was getting frustrated.

　　"No! When you reach the rock with the angry eyes, you head towards the sun in the morning and away from the sun in the afternoon until you reach the sharp, twisty tree. From there-"

　　But he was cut off by Trevor, who was neck and neck with him in their sprint to madness.

　　"I don`t know what those are! What days are these? Can you see the Springola Cluster on the fourth night of Brune?"

　　"I don`t know, I don`t travel at night! It`s dark!"

　　"I wish you would just use the map!"

　　"Those squiggles tell me nothing!"

　　Amerigo stood by, grinning nervously and making plaintive gestures. The peace he was forging went unnoticed.

　　"If I could still fly, I`d lead you myself!" Chicken shouted. His voice slipped, though, letting in some more emotion than he had intended. He turned away bashfully and climbed into his drawer bed.

　　The other two looked on as he did. Amerigo hurried to him. Trevor just sat on his hammock.

　　"What do you mean if you could still fly`?"

　　Chicken hadn`t thought about it since he had woken up. He was too distracted by his hunger and meeting the captain.

　　The inside of his head felt empty. Where there once was a powerful force he had leaned on for guidance, there was nothing but memories. There was an absence of ability, like losing a limb. He was back to being an unimportant runt of the wastes.

　　"I lost something important," was all he could say as he lay sullen in his box.

　　The three of them remained that way for some silent time, Trevor on his hammock and looking at the ground, Amerigo sitting with his back against Chicken in solidarity, and Chicken a mere blanketed lump in a desk drawer.

　　Trevor glanced out the porthole, which cast a circle of brightness that slowly moved around the room with the rolling of the ship.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

　　"How about lunch?" he said finally.

　　****

　　The mess was a mess. With only one Cookie to go around, and with additional work cleaning up after Chicken, crew members sat around going unfed, waiting impatiently for the line to work its way past the frazzled dwarf. In a corner lay an empty barrel and a container of black sealant.

　　Trevor sat the two in some chairs out of the way. "I`ll bring back three, but it may be a while," he said before crossing the room.

　　Amerigo sat with his hands in his lap while Chicken sprawled over the table, barely holding his head up with both hands, knees planted on the desktop.

　　They watched the rowdy room for some time before Amerigo got Chicken`s attention.

　　"He`s impossible to work with," Chicken said, waving the gnome away. "We may have to find our way back ourselves."

　　Pushing past the kobold`s dreary tone, Amerigo persisted.

　　Chicken was taken aback.

　　"What? No!" he said, disgusted, "We`ve got to get back to the refuge! Auntie was in trouble last I saw her. We`ve got to go help."

　　Amerigo insisted.

　　"Stay here?" Chicken scoffed. "I`m not staying with these," he said gesturing to the room. "I`m getting off and going home."

　　Amerigo gave him a sarcastic look.

　　"You can roll your eyes anywhere but at me. I`m still useful." He said this last part while pointing at his chest.

　　The gnome consoled his friend, but there was still iron in his gestures. Chicken was reminded of the night he went out flying. The memory of their fight slapped him across the face and gave him pause to think.

　　"I`m needed elsewhere, is what you mean?"

　　Amerigo nodded.

　　There was no sneering voice in his head this time. He was thinking clearly, and he could see his friend was telling the truth. He was telling him that this was bigger than Chicken and his people. Running only delayed problems. Maybe, even small as he was, he could make a difference.

　　Trevor came back, grinning and laden with trays.

　　"Three orders of slop, each with a side of what smells like carrots and a heel of what I`m told is bread."

　　The trays came down on the table, much heavier than the thin metal they were made from, or that their contents would imply.

　　"Dig in," he said as he brandished three menacing looking utensils. "I mean that literally."

　　****

　　Full, and each of them a couple pounds heavier, they retreated to Navigation again.

　　There, Chicken tried to express his change of heart.

　　"We can`t go home," he said simply.

　　Trevor whirled.

　　"Don`t say that. I`m sure we`ll find a way to take you-"

　　But Chicken cut him off, saying, "I don`t mean we can`t go home. I mean I`ve got somewhere else to be."

　　"Like an appointment?"

　　"I`m not talking about food," he said, waving the words away, "I`m talking about a threat to my people. We were attacked."

　　"Is that what you lost?" Trevor asked in hushed tones.

　　Chicken bobbed his head side to side in a wishy-washy nod, and said, "It`s related to that. But we, my people, are about to lose more." He looked to Amerigo for help, and the gnome gestured hurriedly.

　　Chicken, indicating Amerigo, added, "Yeah. We`re all about to lose more, then."

　　Trevor looked between the two of them. He held up a finger at Amerigo.

　　"So he does speak," he started tentatively, "just not with words. Is that it?"

　　"Of course he talks," Chicken scoffed. "Maybe you don`t listen."

　　Trevor looked doubtful, and Chicken rolled his eyes. "I`ll translate, then."

　　Chicken and Amerigo explained to Trevor about the rising water and the assault on the kobolds by the merfolk. Trevor remained silent as Chicken told his tale, initially as courtesy, but as the yarn spun out, Trevor found himself more entangled by it.

　　"We were attacked by similar creatures," he said slowly, contemplatively. "Come to think of it, the port at the mine was odd. It looked hastily built, and was really close to the mine entrance. Convenient for us, but dangerously close to water for a mine."

　　He strode to the desk and prepared to write, hunched over a sheet with some scribbling on it. He checked the map he had tried to get Chicken to look at earlier.

　　"That would mean," he started, but calculations stole his attention away.

　　Chicken shrugged at Amerigo.

　　"These creatures are somehow causing the water level to rise," Trevor said, dumbfounded. "It`s an attack on our dry land, I`m almost sure of it now. This must have been going on for my lifetime at least."

　　An idea struck him and he was bent back over the sheets. "Estimated area& Volume& Over three decades&" he mumbled.

　　The average was huge.

　　"Where would that much water come from?" he asked himself, forgetting he wasn`t alone.

　　"What do you mean?" Chicken asked, snapping Trevor back into the room with them.

　　"These creatures are somehow conjuring millions of gallons of water each year," he said slowly. "In magical terms, that`s expending teams of mages, working huge shifts around the clock doing nothing but conjuring water."

　　"They`re pouring water into the ocean," Chicken said sagely.

　　"No, not pouring. A spout like that would be& It would span&" Trevor spread his arms like trying to stretch an accordion to death, but gave up. "We`d see it."

　　He got up and went to the porthole anyway. There was no column of water on the horizon splashing down into the perfectly flat ocean, not for as far as he could see.

　　"It would have to be fairly close for us to feel these effects so quickly. That, or it`s an even bigger feat than the minimum I calculated."

　　Amerigo suddenly looked pensive. He reached into his robe and removed something.

　　"What`s that?" Chicken asked.

　　There was a click as he deposited an earthenware flask on Trevor`s desk. It seemed full of water.

　　"That`s one of those orc water jugs. How do you have that?"

　　 Amerigo shrugged.

　　"They got a lot of water in them. Could they be related?"

　　Trevor came back to his desk and picked the flask up. Some water spilled.

　　"Whoop!" he said. He tried to mop it up with some old shirt laying there. It spilled again when he did so.

　　"It never runs out," Chicken said. "The orcs used those in the troughs."

　　Trevor frowned and walked to the port hole. He held the jug out the window and tilted it into the ocean. Minutes later the tiny jug continued to pour without ceasing.

　　 Eventually he drew it back in the ship. Reverently he handed the jug back to Amerigo.

　　"This&this is very dangerous," he said. He paused as if thinking. He then suddenly went to his spellbook, which he opened and started scribbling.

　　"There`s no presence of a Junxion`s Iris," he mumbled. "Given the diameter of the jug mouth, flow rate and density of water, that would be&" His words faded as the scribbling took over. He fed the book data and it regurgitated information.

　　Finally, he paused, reaching some conclusion, he stared over the top of the page. "How many of these did they have? How long have they had them?"

　　"There were a bunch. Big ones."

　　"How big?"

　　 Chicken pretended to hug a tree.

　　Trevor stood up and walked slowly to the window again.

　　"Is that bad?"

　　 Trevor took a while to answer, but when he did he said, "When you hold the jug upright, no water comes out, right?"

　　"Yeah cause it`s got nowhere to go."

　　"Wrong."

　　"What do you mean?"

　　"The water isn`t coming from the jug."

　　"Where`s it coming from?" Chicken was getting tired of this reverse interrogation. "Just tell us what you seem to know."

　　"It`s coming from somewhere outside. Outside our world. And the portal doesn`t close. The water stops pouring out of the jug because it`s finding another hole to pour out of."

　　Amerigo gestured frantically.

　　"What`s a drop-off?" Chicken asked.

　　"He probably means the continental shelf," Trevor said, his attention still hanging out the side of the boat. It snapped back to him suddenly.

　　"These creatures, the ones that attacked your village. They came from the deeps?" he muttered, half to himself. The image of an inky black spire in a dark abyss, pulsing like a heartbeat.

　　"No," he said, his gaze far and away.

　　"Yes?" posited Chicken.

　　"I can`t explain it," Trevor said slowly, "but I know what we`re looking for."