Date: Fri, 14 Jun 1996 23:50:52 -0700 From: Dale Anson Organization: Tasc Subject: INT: A Call To Arms: Aboard The dock area stank of second hand ale and decaying seaweed. Many ships lay about the port, creaking in the slight swell. Conk approached one of the guards on the entrance to the port. "Hello," he said. He treated the guard to one of his bent smiles and leaned as nonchalently as he could on the staff. "We're looking for the 'BlackWind'". Sark corrected him. "Oh, sorry, that's right." "Wot's right?" asked the guard. "You heard her." "Yer, she, I mean it said prrrk." "You must have earwax. She said the ship was called 'The Darkwind'." The guard squinted suspiciously, looking for signs of sarcasm in Conk's smile. "'S over there. Straight down, left at 'The Spaniel', right three ships later, and at the end of that gangway. I fink you'll find the planks bin pulled up, mind you." "Thanks. I should get that wax sorted, if I were you. Bye" Sure enough, the ship was there. Sark floated off Conk's shoulder and lighted on a piece of planking pulled up onto the deck. Conk shrugged and took a few steps backward. Pole vaulting had been a popular sport in the small hilltop village of Endover Apex, where Conk had grown up. He'd never been particularly good, but he was sure he could clear the gap to the deck. His steps thudded along until he planted the staff against a wooden peg in the gangway. Gracefully he sailed over the gap, landing with a great crash on some barrels. He smiled up at Sark's reproachful beak. "Anybody home?" he shouted.