Cera’s heart swelled. Lily!
33
Skye
Skye stepped out of the airship, with Hawke following closely behind. The taste of salt in the air announced that they were on the coast, even before the harbor became visible through the shifting fog.
“I hate fish,” Skye muttered and headed toward the village.
“You’ve been here before?” Hawke asked as they walked.
“Briefly. I caught a ride from here on a sailing ship bound for Bayre, but I never really spent time in the town.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“Raise a navy.”
“Ambitious. How do you propose we start?”
“We go where the sailors are.”
“Which is?”
“If they’re fogged in, they’ll be where you’ll find any sailor in port – in a bar.” With that, he headed toward the waterfront, where he hoped he’d spot a tavern.
They arrive at the piers to find a fair number of ships tied up, a few sailors moving about on their decks.
He turned back toward the town. If I were a sailor, flush with coin, where would I go? Skye asked himself. He picked the most inviting street and walked down it. The street was lined with numerous likely establishments, and they stood in the middle of the road, trying to decide where to start when a drunken sailor stumbled out the door of a tavern called the Mermaid’s Tail.
“I have no idea what a mermaid is,” Skye confided to Hawke, “but this looks to be as good a place as any.”
They stepped inside and were greeted by sounds of laughter over top of a fiddle score. Serving women in low-cut tops circulated among the tables, depositing tankards in front of every man. A sailor slapped the behind of a serving girl, who turned and slapped him hard across the face, then sat on his lap.
“Sailors,” Skye muttered.
Surveying the goings-on in the room, Hawke surmised, “I’m guessing a mermaid is a woman of some sort.”
Skye looked about the room for a familiar face and spotted the cook for whom he’d peeled potatoes aboard the ship he’d briefly sailed on. He steeled himself and marched over.
“Potatoes, reporting for duty,” he told the man.
The cook’s eyes focused as he tried to grasp the context, then it hit him like a lightning bolt, and he sloshed his beer.
“Potatoes? Gods-damn it, man – you left me halfway to Bayre. Who does that?”
Skye looked down a little guiltily.
“You’re here with your friends, I imagine,” the cook said, steadying his precious beer and taking a draught of it.
“They’re here?” Skye asked, not having seen them.
“They’re in the toilet. Gower looked green.”
“Thanks,” Skye said and slapped the man on the arm, making him spill a little more beer. He sped away before the man could take out his annoyance on him.
Skye headed to the back of the building, where he surmised the toilets were, and Hawke followed. He found himself standing in front of two doors. One had a sign with a fish carved on it, and the other a sign inscribed with a hock of ham.
“What the hell?” Skye muttered and pushed open the door marked with a ham, wondering if he was about to get his face slapped. It appeared that he’d guessed correctly because he saw the back of his friend Dayl standing outside a stall, surveying another man bent over the toilet, who Skye guessed was Gower. Dayl was telling him, “No, you’re not going to die.”
Skye hailed his friends from the doorway and Dayl pivoted at the sound of his name.
“Gower, you’ll never guess who just graced us with his presence,” Dayl said to his friend, but quickly realizing that Gower was in no position to play guessing games and told him. “It’s Skye!”
Gower dragged himself to his feet and wiped his face. His excitement made him forget how terrible he felt.
“By the gods, man, it’s good to see you,” Gower said to Skye but had the presence of mind not to try and hug him in the condition he was in.
“We’ve got a table,” Dayl announced. “It’s far more civilized to talk out there than in here. Come on, Gower, you’ll survive.”
The four men made their way back to their table, but it had been taken over by a party of young sailors.
“Push off, lads,” Dayl told them, even though he was barely a few years older than they were. “This is Potato – he’s a legend.”
The sailors vacated the table, leaving it to Dayl, Gower, Skye, and Hawke.
“What’s with the ‘potato’ thing?” Hawke asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.
“Skye here fought off an invasion of pirates with nothing but a bucket of potatoes,” Dayl announced.
Hawke looked at Skye skeptically.
“I think I had help,” Skye said with embarrassment.
“Plus, he saved my life,” Dayl added and rose to his feet for a toast, having stolen the beer of a passed-out sailor nearby. He turned to address the bar.
“Don’t, Dayl, you’re drunk,” Skye said to rein him in before it was too late. It was too late.
“We’re all drunk,” Dayl countered and rapped his mug on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “You’re attention, please.” He looked at the fiddler. “Maurice, a moment, if you will.” The fiddler stopped playing, and the bar quieted.
“The conquering hero has returned to us,” Dayl announced. “Behold – Potato!” He turned and lifted his mug in salute.
The bar was silent for the briefest of moments, then erupted into cheers.
“Oh gods,” Skye said, acknowledging the fanfare, but also trying his best to disappear into the upholstery. Soon, drinks began arriving at the table, sent their way by appreciative sailors. Girls came over, but Hawke waved them off. “He’s spoken for, ladies,” he told them, but thought the whole affair was great fun.
Dayl settled back into his seat. “Pardon Gower. He’s just upset that his girlfriend left him for the blacksmith.”
Skye patted poor Gower on the shoulder. “There’s plenty of other fish in the sea, man. Cheer up.”
“That’s what I said,” Dayl piped in.
“Maybe a mermaid, even,” Hawke added, at which Dayl looked at him strangely.
“Not like her,” Gower blubbered, and hunkered down over his beer.
Skye turned his attention back to Dayl. “Where can I find the Captain?”
“Sure as hell not here,” Dayl laughed. “The captains frequent the Admiral’s Nook up the road.”
“Then that’s where I’ve got to go,” Skye concluded and got up. “Care to join me?”
“They’d never let a sail monkey like me in that place, and besides, someone has to stay here and nurse Gower. Do come back, though. We’re not shipping out anytime soon, with Bayre under siege and all.”
“That I can do,” Skye replied and drained his drink for courage. He and Hawke got up and headed out into the street. The air outside was fresh but cold and clammy in contrast to the heat and mugginess of the tavern.
“If Bayre’s under siege, we’d better hurry,” Skye said to himself.
They turned up the lane looking for the Admiral’s Nook, spied it, and entered. The doorman raised an eyebrow at their attire and Hawke’s weaponry but otherwise didn’t rise from his seat.
Skye spotted his former captain dining with two similarly-dressed men that Skye surmised were captains of other vessels. He walked over and stood before their table. “I’m sorry to intrude, gentlemen.” he began.
Recognition lit his former Captain’s face, despite Skye’s thinking the man didn’t know him from a plank. “Back from the dead, lad. That alone is worth the intrusion. What’s your business?”
“I need a navy, sir,” Skye replied seriously.
“Well, that’s a tall ask. Why, pray tell, do you need a navy?”
“Soren’s forces advance, and we aim to stop them.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Ever
yone not allied with Soren, led by his Scourge,” Skye replied, although he cringed inwardly at calling Kala by that ridiculous title.
“An interesting proposition,” the Captain concluded, leaning back in his chair. “The war has been terrible for business, that’s for certain,” he said, to the nods of his colleagues. “But I can tell you that my men are not fighting men like you.”
Hawke kept a straight face, to his credit.
The Captain continued. “I’m happy to ferry supplies if that helps the effort. Hell, I think we’d all be,” he added, to the assent of the gentlemen at his table and several around the room who had gone silent to listen in on the curious conversation. “But, I can’t promise you the lives of my men. You need fighting men, and my men are not that,” he concluded flatly.
There was a definite finality to his statement, so Skye bowed his head. “I thank you, gentlemen, and hope to take you up on your offer of support.” He turned, dispirited, for the door.
Hawke placed a hand on Skye’s shoulder. “The man is being reasonable. We just have to accept that you tried, and it wasn’t to be.”
A man rose from his seat at a lone table far in the back and intercepted them as they exited into the street. “You need fighting men?” he asked them.
“Yes,” Skye replied, unsure of where this was going.
“I know where they are, and I can take you to them,” he said. Skye must have looked a little skeptical despite himself, so the man added, “Look, my nephew was aboard your ship when the pirates attacked it. I owe you a favor. Please allow an old man to repay his debts.”
Skye’s skepticism abated a little. “Where are these men?”
“Pirate’s Cove,” the man replied.
Skye and Hawke found themselves rowing a skiff into a fog bank with the old man giving them instructions from the prow.
“This is great exercise,” Hawke enthused.
Skye looked at him like he was insane, and shifted positions to ease his tired muscles and sore bottom. “Is this safe, rowing through the fog?” he asked the old man.
“Of course not,” he replied dismissively but kept them at it. “If you’re going to crash a pirate party unannounced, better to do it under cover of darkness or weather.”
That did not reassure Skye.
The old man guided them around rocks that drew the small craft to them with a force like gravity. Skye and Hawke had to put their backs into the rowing to prevent the tiny craft from being sucked into them and smashed to splinters. They rowed over shoals that scraped the underside of the craft. When they finally rowed onto a small stretch of beach sheltered by two rocky outcroppings, Skye was so relieved he had to resist the urge to kiss the ground.
“The pirate village is that way,” the man said, gesturing up the shoreline. “Perhaps a quarter of a day’s walk.” He started to push the craft back into the waves.
“You’re not staying?” Skye asked.
“There’s no point. In a short while, you’ll either have allies, or you’ll be dead. Either way, you don’t need me.”
“Thank you for your help.”
“My pleasure,” he said, jumping into the boat and positioning himself between the gunnels. “Don’t die,” he added and began to row away.
“We’ll try,” Skye muttered to himself and turned to look up the beach. It wasn’t going to be an easy walk along the rocks, but what choice did they have? He sighed and looked at Hawke, who was fresh as a daisy and looking forward to the trek. “You’re insufferable,” Skye told him and headed out.
They hiked down the beach, over rocks, and in and out of the trees until they spied the pirate village. It was hidden from view of the sea behind a long finger of rock that provided shelter to the vessels tied up alongside a wharf. Skye could see why they’d selected the location as their base. He wondered if airships traveled even here, and shuddered to think of any youth transported into the midst of pirates.
Skye and Hawke squatted down behind a pile of rocks within view of the village.
“How should we play this?” Skye asked.
“I don’t think there’s any other way than bold. There’s no point in sneaking up, then announcing that we need their help.”
Skye sighed and summoned his courage. “Let’s do this, then. No point delaying the inevitable.”
They rose and walked toward the town, which looked to have been constructed almost entirely of found wood, even the two-story buildings. Rough-looking characters leaned on railings or hung out of windows and watched their advance with feigned disinterest. Hawke could tell that they were tracking their progress.
A door swung outwards from a building halfway down the street. The building was adorned with the flags of captured or sunken vessels. An enormous man emerged from the open door, followed by three equally thuggish-looking men. Two of them carried pool cues, and the third a bottle. They looked miffed at having their entertainment interrupted and walked into the street to intercept Skye and Hawke.
Hawke turned to Skye. “Want to take care of this, Potato?” he joked.
Skye looked a little green, so Hawke patted his shoulder. “Okay. You can have the next one.” He strode forward toward the four men. “Shall we?” he asked.
The leader frowned at Hawke’s nonchalance and waved his three colleagues forward. They advanced, brandishing their improvised weapons. Hawke stood his ground as the first man swung his pool cue at him. Hawke ducked under it and rose quickly to smash his fist into the man’s chin, knocking him staggering back. He turned to his next assailant, stepping just out of range of the swung bottle. He awaited the next swing, then punched the man’s forearm hard, making him drop the bottle. Hawke flipped it up with his foot and, in one smooth motion, smashed it against the man’s temple, sending him crashing to the ground, out cold. He turned to the third man, noting that he’d dropped his pool cue in favor of a knife.
“Smarter, but not that smart,” Hawke smirked.
The man rushed forward, and Hawke grabbed his arm, disarmed him of his blade, and peppered his knife arm with four or five stabs. The man howled and held his bleeding arm. Hawke tossed his knife aside and turned to face their leader.
“So you can fight,” the man spat. “Doesn’t mean shit. What do you want?”
“Your help, but only if you’ve got more skilled men than these three louts,” Hawke replied.
“Not my call,” the man sneered.
“That’s right,” a voice called out. Hawke turned to face a good-looking man leaning casually against the doorway of the establishment that the four men had just exited. “It’s mine.” He surveyed Hawke, then waved him and Skye inside after him.
Skye walked up to Hawke and looked at the open doorway. “Is this a good idea?” he asked.
“Probably not,” Hawke replied and began walking up the steps toward the door.
The man with the bleeding arm took a step forward, and Skye hurried to join Hawke. The man stalked off to bandage his arm, while the other two dragged the unconscious man out of the street.
Skye and Hawke entered the building and were surprised to find that it was reasonably tidy inside. There was a pool table in a corner and several tables at which men and women lounged, drinking.
The leader returned to his table at the back and gestured for Hawke and Skye to join him. He motioned for the barkeep to bring over three drinks. She nodded and began preparing them.
He turned to face them as they sat. “Ballsy, walking into my town,” he observed. “What’s this about needing the help of pirates?” he smiled broadly at the absurdity of it.
“You may have noticed a reduction in ships of late,” Hawke began.
“I have.”
“That’s because the siege of Bayre has stalled trade along the coast.”
“That’s not news,” he said and accepted the drinks that arrived. “And how do we figure into this, besides sitting here bored between prizes that too infrequently sail past?”
“We aim to bring the fight back t
o the forces besieging Bayre, and your men look like they’re spoiling for a fight,” Hawke replied.
“Why would we trouble ourselves to help with someone else’s fight?”
“Soren, who leads the siege, has plundered the continent on his way to Bayre. That treasure should be a good enough incentive.”
The man leaned back, insulted. “So you think plunder is all that motivates us?” he asked.
“Frankly, yes,” Hawke replied.
“Okay, that’s probably fair,” the man admitted, relaxing and leaning forward again.
“Why don’t I just let you walk out of here without killing you, and you can consider that you came out ahead?”
Hawke whipped out a dagger and slammed it into the table. It sat there, quivering, as the room went silent. “If your preference is to kill us, get it over with. I’d just rather die in the thick of battle than in this hidey-hole.”
The pirate leader pulled the dagger out of the table and examined it. “Why would I kill you when you amuse me so much?” He handed Hawke back his knife and turned to the barkeep. “We’re going to need more beer.”
34
Kala
Kala and Grey directed the airship into Bayre during daylight so that they could survey Soren’s encircling army from its windows. The force looked to be nearly ten thousand strong. Grey had the ship land at the airfield inside the city. When they opened the door, they simply pushed past the confused guards. One guard reached for his weapon, but a look from Kala and a shake of Grey’s head caused him to lift his hands away from it. They headed for Celeste’s to wash up and rest after the long flight.
“Let’s go past the temple,” Grey suggested. “Protocol would dictate that it be abandoned by now, but this might not yet be known by the populous.”
Kala agreed, and they walked toward it. Neither of them noticed Roml watching them from a window that overlooked the airfield. About time, the assassin thought and turned for the door.
Kala and Grey marched up to the closed gates of the temple. Kala banged loudly, but they remained unopened.
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