by R. S. Ford
‘Well,’ said Erral with a smile, ‘let’s hope he’s as quick with a blade as he is with his tongue.’
Josten wanted to tell this fucker that he was quicker than most, but he thought maybe he’d said enough.
‘He’ll get his chance to prove it soon enough,’ said Vek.
Oh I’ll prove it all right, Josten thought. Just you give me the chance.
4
NOT a week later, Josten found himself standing alongside the crew, every man armed to the teeth, ready to slaughter a ship full of traders at the behest of a man everyone said was mad. Strange how life had a way of turning around on you.
The sky was dappled with cloud. A ‘mackerel sky’, they called it. It was a beautiful day but Josten doubted it would stay beautiful for long.
He and the rest of the men could see the ship across half a mile of waves, the telltale yellow flag marking it as a trader out of Canbria. This was their target all right. It looked so far away, but Josten had been assured the Storm Cow could catch anything that floated on the water.
Around him, the other crewmen were getting nervous. Sure they knew the sea, yes they knew how to raid, but Josten reckoned he’d seen more battles than any of them.
In his hands were a cutlass and a knife. He was used to a good sword and a stout shield in a battle, but like he’d said to Vek, he was a quick learner.
Lonik was standing next to him, trying to look tough, trying to look like he was relishing this, but Josten knew the truth. He’d seen it a hundred times before – he’d even been that lad, standing next to the tested veterans, hoping some of their know-how would rub off. It wouldn’t. As a rule, the veterans were just as scared as the new blood. Sometimes more. If you were seasoned in battle you knew what was coming. All the blood and screaming. There was no getting used to it. You just had to learn how to handle it.
‘Been here before, lad?’ Josten asked.
Lonik paused before saying, ‘Yeah.’
Josten was pretty sure that meant ‘no’.
‘Just keep your eyes open. Don’t get too carried away with yourself. If you take a man down don’t stand there congratulating yourself. When your blood’s up there’ll be a voice inside telling you you’re invincible. Don’t listen, it’s likely to get you killed.’
‘I know I’m not invincible,’ Lonik replied.
‘None of us are,’ said Josten. ‘But I reckon we’re more than a match for a trading ship. You’ll be fine.’
The crew on the trade ship had seen them now. They were desperately trying to change course, hoisting sail to get more speed. It was already too late. Or so Josten hoped. As much as he had been assured the Storm Cow was the fastest vessel on the sea, it seemed to take an age to catch up with the cargo ship. Josten had been in more battles than he could count, and the waiting was always the worst part, but this was ridiculous. It was about now he’d be flicking the cross-guard of his sword, but instead he slapped the blade of his cutlass against his leg. The feel of the metal on his thigh calmed his nerves a little, keeping him focused, quelling the panic.
When they were within fifty yards of their quarry, Josten could see they weren’t just chasing helpless traders. Armed men waited on the ship and they looked determined to defend it.
Vek took his place at the prow. The rest of the crew were stripped down, tattoos showing, bare heads gleaming in the sun, but Vek stood stark bollock naked. His beard smouldered, smoking like fresh kindling, and the look in his eyes told Josten where his name had come from.
‘There’s our payday, lads,’ he said, rattling his cutlass at the trade ship. ‘The Kraken demands his due. Let’s give it him in blood.’
An arrow flew overhead, thudding into the mizzenmast. It was quickly followed by a volley, most missing the mark, some hitting the deck. One hissed past Josten’s head and struck one of the crew, who went down with a wail. Vek didn’t seem to care, but then neither did the rest of the lads as they homed in on their prey.
If Josten was going to make an impression, if he was going to fit in with this mob, he’d have to show them he was just as insane as the rest of them. For all he’d told Lonik not to get carried away with himself, Josten was about to do that very thing. But then he’d never been much for taking his own advice.
He tore off his shirt, eyes focused on the ship, on its crew, slapping that cutlass against his leg like his life depended on it. Vek was still talking, rambling on about death and blood and pain and the Kraken. All Josten could hear were the waves lapping at the side of the bow, mixed in with the panicked cries of men on the trade ship and the whistle of arrows. The prospect of battle was in the air now. He had no shield but there was a knife in his hand. He had no armour but there was a tattoo all across his back. He’d soon find out if the Kraken would protect him as well as a shirt of chainmail.
Vek had worked the crew up into a frenzy now: this was it, they were almost upon the ship. Josten wasn’t about to wait for any orders. He pushed past Shark Teeth and Lonik, ran across the deck, past Vek still jabbering on, planted his foot against the bulwark and leapt.
An arrow flew past his face as he jumped, nicking the flesh of his cheek. All he could see were panicked faces glaring at him from the trade ship as this madman came screaming at them through the air. He landed on the deck of the other ship, bowling into an archer, sending him flying. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet and he struck out at the nearest sailor. The cutlass hacked a divot of flesh, blood spattering his arm. He raised his knife in time to parry an incoming blade. Another hack of the cutlass and two men were down.
All he could see around him were desperate faces. Some fearful, some furious. Josten didn’t distinguish, he was in a frenzy of his own now, fighting for his life. There was screaming, but there was always screaming when you were in the thick of it. Another swipe of the cutlass, another dead man.
The surprise of his attack had worn off. He could see the crew of the cargo ship steeling themselves, coming to their senses. Josten was just one man, a madman maybe, but they had the strength in numbers. For the brief moment he took to think, he guessed that death at sea was the same as death on land. It would just be easier for them to bury him.
With a roar, Mad Vek appeared, axe hacking the head from a hapless sailor. He looked elated, face locked in a gleeful grin, smoke billowing from his beard. The sight of this naked bastard put the fear in the sailors. It put the fear in Josten too, but instead of standing there and staring he joined Vek in the joyous kill. They celebrated together, weapons hacking at the crew as the rest of the pirates joined them.
In a blur of violence they bloodied the deck. It was warm between his toes, slick beneath the soles of his feet. He didn’t need a sword and shield, these were his weapons now and they were as good as any.
Another hack of the cutlass and he sheared a red line down a man’s face. Stabbing with the knife he put a hole in his neck for good measure. The man went down silently. Across the deck and through the flurry of hacking pirates Josten spied Lonik. The lad was backed up against the gunwale, strugging with a sailor. For all he was holding his own, the sailor looked strong and desperate.
Josten ran through the fray, lifting the cutlass and swinging it in a deadly arc. The sailor’s head fell from his shoulders, spraying Lonik red. Josten stared at him as the lad stared back, before he barked a laugh.
‘What I told you earlier,’ he shouted. ‘Fucking forget that. You’re invincible, lad. Now show me!’
Lonik kept staring, breathing in hard before his eyes went mad, infected by the slaughter around him. Lips pulled back from his teeth and he let out a snarl before barrelling into the melee with the rest of the crew.
Someone shouted for the crew to surrender. Josten heard it over the din, but his fellow crewmen seemed in no mood to accept. The slaughter went on. No one wanted to face him, the sailors cowering from the merciless blades of the pirates, and Josten stood in the centre of the fray, watching as men were cut down and butchered.
When
the crew of the trade ship had lost all spirit for the fight and the pirates their spirit for the kill, the survivors were driven to their knees. In the silence that followed, Vek called for the captain, and to his credit one of the surrendered crew bravely rose to his feet. He didn’t look much, but then Josten reckoned to captain a trade ship you didn’t have to be the fiercest man on the seas.
Vek stood before him, axe in hand. It was like there was an unspoken agreement between them. The captain just closed his eyes before Vek took his head off with one swipe of that axe.
Then there was a frenzy of activity. Josten could barely focus on any of it. Half the pirate crew rushed below decks, dragging out crates, throwing them onto the Storm Cow. The other half went about executing the crew. It was clear no witnesses would be left. Josten was all about the battle, all about the slaughter, but murdering beaten men was something even he wouldn’t sink to. It sickened him enough that he turned away, looking out over the bow of that ship at the mackerel sky.
‘This is a good day,’ Vek said.
Josten turned to see the captain’s beard had stopped smouldering now, it was just a black twisted mess on his chin. All the madness had gone from his eyes, and he looked more like a friendly uncle, but for being naked, cock dangling between his thighs.
‘Never seen a man so eager to jump into the fray,’ Vek continued. ‘You got some kind of death wish?’
‘Just trying to do my bit,’ Josten replied.
‘You did that all right. And they say I’m mad. If I’m not careful you’ll be taking that reputation from me.’
‘Trust me, there’s no danger of that.’
Vek’s brow furrowed as he thought on that. Then he laughed a deep belly laugh.
‘We’ll see, Josten Cade. We’ll just see.’
5
FERRABY was perched at the northern end of the Canbrian coast, the perfect place for them to drop off the cargo. It wasn’t a port Josten was familiar with, but he supposed it could still be classed as home to him. The signs were there anyway – the temperature had dropped and the sky was overcast. If there was ever any doubt he was back in the Suderfeld, the change in the weather set that aright. All he needed now was to smell the shit-stink of horses and it would be like he’d never left.
How long had it been since he was here? Weeks? Months? Was it a year? Time hadn’t seemed to matter while he’d been at sea. On board, the days didn’t seem to pass like they did on land. Josten liked that feeling. It was like being young again.
‘You’ll be coming with us,’ Vek had said. ‘It will do us well to have a native on shore when we finalise the deal.’
Of course Josten had agreed, despite his fears. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was fearful of, but something about being back in Canbria made him want to stay on the boat. Josten wasn’t scared of any man alive, but this place was giving him the fear. Was he scared of meeting someone from a mercenary company he’d wronged? No, he’d come too far to care about that. Maybe it was the knowledge that once he was back in Canbria that was it; he’d failed. That pact he’d made with Livia all that time ago was done and dusted, and there was never going to be a way to make it right.
By the time they walked down the gangplank to the dockside, Josten had an empty feeling. This place wasn’t home. He had no ties here anymore. No friends, no family, nothing. All he had now was the ship and these men.
They followed Vek through the drizzle to a tavern, but then these kind of illicit dealings always seemed to happen in taverns. When they walked in, it looked like the usual kind of place – salty patrons, salty serving wench, salty tavern keeper. There was even a mangy dog under a table.
Vek didn’t pause to order drinks, he was straight down to business, and Josten liked that about him. The pirate captain saw his contact, Erral, sitting in the dimness of the inn and made his way straight to a corner table. Vek, Josten, Lonik and a one-eyed mariner named Keelhaul all sat around the man. If Erral was intimidated by four pirates, he didn’t show it. Josten thought he looked more out of place than he had in Tallis, with his fine jacket and hat, peacock feather dancing on one side. For a backstreet fence he was pretty conspicuous.
‘Three days I’ve been waiting in this… establishment,’ said Erral. ‘Please tell me it wasn’t for nothing.’
‘It’ll be worth your while,’ Vek replied. ‘We’re ready to unload when you are.’
‘Well, that’s just the good news I was hoping for. The carts will take the goods off your hands at midnight under cover of dark.’
‘And our end?’
‘You get your payment when I have the goods back. You know me better than that, Vek.’
Keelhaul was growing restless, hand straying down to the knife at his side.
‘Sounds reasonable,’ Vek said. ‘Don’t be late.’
‘Am I ever?’ Erral smiled, gold tooth glinting at the back of his mouth.
Vek stood. Josten and Lonik took that as their cue but Keelhaul stared for a moment longer before he too rose to his feet. Josten had learned that Keelhaul, of all the pirate crew, was not to be crossed, so it was with relief that they all left the tavern. Outside in the drizzle Keelhaul was still bristling.
‘You should let me gut that slimy bastard someday,’ said Keelhaul.
Vek patted the man on the shoulder. ‘Someday I will,’ he said. ‘But while he’s useful you’ll have to leave his guts where they are.’
They continued their way through the shitty streets, and Josten didn’t feel safe until they were back on the ship. Then they just had to wait.
This was the worst time. All Josten wanted was for them to cast off, to set sail and get back on the open water. To get away from this place and all it signified.
He watched from the deck as day turned to night. As the bustle of the dock subsided, and the noise of the town turned to silence. When he eventually heard the sound of cartwheels rumbling along the cobbles, his stomach began to churn with excitement. Two carts rolled into view, sitting themselves at the end of the jetty. Everyone was on deck now, the cargo they had stolen sitting in neat piles waiting to be unloaded.
A man walked towards their ship in the silence, holding a lantern at arm’s length.
‘I’m here to collect the payload,’ he said in a thick north-Canbrian accent.
Josten squinted through the dark. This wasn’t the fence they had met earlier.
‘Where’s Erral?’ Vek called from the deck.
The man with the lantern shrugged. ‘You don’t expect that pompous ass to do any of his own dirty work, do you?’
That seemed a good enough explanation for Vek, and he ordered the men to start unloading. As uncomfortable as Josten was with the situation, he mucked in with the rest.
He and Shark Teeth grabbed one of the bundles of cargo and hoisted it off the ship. The drizzle had turned to driving rain as the night drew in, and the sailors were soaked through in no time. Josten and Shark Teeth squinted at each other, water pouring down their faces.
‘Sooner we get out of this shitty weather, the better,’ said Shark Teeth.
Josten was about to agree with him when a crossbow bolt flew out of the dark and embedded itself in Shark Teeth’s neck. The barrel they were holding hit the jetty as the pirate fell. Josten ducked as more crossbow bolts flew from the night. Someone shouted to get back on the ship. It was too late for that. Armoured men were already jumping from the back of the carts, swords drawn, and by the look of them they’d be more than a match for a bunch of rain-soaked pirates.
Despite the look of these knights, a couple of the crew decided they could take on their ambushers and rushed to the fore, taking the fight to the enemy. Josten admired that, even though he knew it was stupid.
Crapper and Keelhaul both ran in screaming. They both died screaming too.
Squinting through the rain, Josten recognised the livery of Duke Lensmar. It seemed the fence, Erral, was either a turncoat or had been captured by the Duke’s men. Not that it mattered now. All that ma
ttered was escape.
Through the confusion and the sound of clashing weapons, Josten spotted his escape route along the dock, but before he could sprint to safety he spied Lonik lying on the ground. His hands were covering his head, protecting himself from the hail of crossbow bolts, not that it would do him much good if one of them hit its target. Josten thought for a moment – just for a moment – about leaving the lad. He might have changed recently, become a pirate, a fearless man of the sea, but he still couldn’t leave the lad behind.
Grabbing the boy by the scruff, Josten dragged him to his feet, pulling him along behind as he fled. There was no skill to running away. You just had to keep your head down and go. Hope nobody saw you. Hope nobody came after you. Hope everyone else was so preoccupied with battle you could just slip away. It was a risk, but not as much of a risk as charging headlong at armoured men with nothing but foul language to back you up.
They ran down the street until the cobbles ended and they were squelching through the mud and the wet. Josten dragged Lonik to one side of the road, pausing for a moment in an alleyway. He checked himself, relieved to find he wasn’t wounded.
The two of them stood there, trying to get their breath back. Everything had suddenly turned to shit. All Josten had left were the clothes on his back and the knife at his side. Not even a pair of boots for his muddy feet.
‘What now?’ asked Lonik.
Josten answered by clapping his hand over the boy’s mouth. Someone was coming down the street. Could have been one of Duke Lensmar’s men. Could have been town militia. Either way, with nothing but a knife he hoped the element of surprise might keep them both alive.
The sound of running feet got louder and when they were almost at the alley Josten burst out from his hiding place, knife in hand.
Vek almost ran straight into him.
Both men stared at one another. Then Vek burst out laughing. ‘You got the same idea as me?’ he said. ‘Live to fight another day, eh?’
‘I guess you’re not as mad as they say you are,’ Josten replied.