“Aboard the merchantman was another like myself who speaks the tentacle-claw-finger language of the sea. Attempting to convince their enormous assailant to grant them their lives and allow them to continue on their way, they plied it with every manner of goods on board. Some the Kraken accepted, like a pair of live bullocks. Others it rejected. None carried the weight of persuasion until it tasted the coffee one crewman brought on deck for the agitated Captain. It also ate the crewman, but apparently humans go well with coffee, and so the overall effect was not significantly diminished.” Ehomba drained the last of his tea.
“It held the merchantman in its grasp and its galley busily brewing until there was no more coffee to be had from its stores and cargo. Only then, with both its taste and anger assuaged, did it allow the ship to depart. Ever since, whenever a vessel has sailed near, it has risen from the depths in hopes of encountering that dark brown liquid again. Until now, it was always disappointed.”
Stanager nodded understandingly. “In every country that I know of, tea and wine are far more common libations than coffee. It is a luxury.” She made a face. “One that will now be denied to us for the duration of our journey across the Semordria.”
“Better to complete that journey with thirst unslaked than perish with full cup in hand,” the herdsman admonished her sagely.
“I agree, but I know of drinkers of this beverage who would not. To them it is not a refreshment, but an obsession.” Looking past him, she watched the monster gingerly drain the last drops from the iron kettle. “Who would have thought to count the Kraken among their number. I hope,” she added at a sudden afterthought, “that having quenched its fancy it will not now request someone to munch upon. I am fond of every member of my crew, and would not willingly give the least of them over to such a fate.”