Swamped

Your thoughts are still pretty jumbled, between the gas and the blow to the head.

You start asking "how are the others" before realizing that you don't know if you arrived alone. You pause a moment and then pop out "greblings?" before you gather yourself.

"How are the greblings?" the medic asks. "What do you mean? We've only got a few on board, and none of them have been exposed to the gas so far."

"Sorry," you mutter. "Thinking of something else."

At least this isn't a slave ship, then. But that makes you wonder: what sort of ship is this?

The question slips out suddenly. You weren't really expecting to ask it right then.

"We're on a journey to the other continent. We hope to establish a regular trading route. I have to say, I'm skeptical, though. We're barely a third of the way there and already had quite a few close calls. And I can't imagine every ship coming through here is going to be able to pay for a wizard."

He mentions it so casually. As if wizards were easy to find, just hard to afford. It's been years since that was the main problem with hiring a wizard.

But then it occurs to you that a wizard might be just the sort of person you should talk to.

"Have you got a wizard, then?" you ask.

"We do. He's not the friendliest fellow, but he takes his job seriously. I understand he's busy with something now."

Hmm. And given that they have no idea who you are, it'll probably be tough getting to talk with him. You'll have to save that for after the questioning, you suppose.

The medic seems helpful. Maybe a little too open with information, even. You wonder if you should ask more questions, or just let him get on with his work and prepare yourself for your own questioning.