A fifth character!
It didn’t help that Mercer looked the part: thin, tall, slicked-back black hair with the obligatory white streak, and wearing those ridiculous archaic suits that the Yankees still wore. He even had on a tie, for Heaven’s sake! …And a silver cross on one lapel, which Mercer obligingly touched with bare fingers. “See? No scorching, ladies, gentlemen,” he said; his voice was a rich baritone. “I’m a Catholic, myself. Quebec Rite, you understand.”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem. We’re very ecumenical in the Fleets,” Jack replied, smoothly extending a hand. Mercer gave him a slight nod as they shook. Mercer’s hand was… well, he had a lower body temperature than an elf did, and that was that. It didn’t feel like a corpse’s hand, though; more like a golem’s, or maybe one of the fabled androids of the Old Americans. “There’s no oungan on the Firepot, but there’s a temple in town that should suit you.”
“I’ve been.” Were Mercer’s lips repressing a smile, or a disgusted look? It was hard for Jack to tell. “There have been… divergences in the doctrine, shall we say? In both directions. But let’s not worry about that. To answer your most likely questions: I have an Able Bodied Seaman ticket from the USMA, and I’m halfway to Bosun; I am highly allergic to garlic and sunlight, but can cross running water; I can survive most nicely on a steady diet of raw fish, although some red meat would be nice, from time to time; and I’m never, ever sick at sea.”
“What, never?”
That’s the next line. 🙂