by Simon Archer
Mary laughed. “I agree but give me a moment.” She sauntered over and squatted down, reaching over to lift the man’s chin gently so that their eyes met. Her evil eye blazed for a moment, and she whispered something I couldn’t hear.
The injured man answered, his lips barely moving and his voice unintelligible. Then, with a sigh, he fell back and breathed no more. My witch stood and dusted off her hands.
“Imperials,” she confirmed. “They’ve a witch in town for passing messages, but she wasn’t involved in the ambush. I would suggest we move quickly.”
“Sounds like a bloody good idea to me,” Shrike muttered.
“Let’s go,” I agreed as I gestured for Shrike to lead the way.
From there, Shrike turned us down more alleys and along winding paths that offered us a chance to be the ambushers, should we notice anyone following us. It took a bit longer than I expected, but the tactical advantage justified it. Still, it wasn’t long before we were deep in the shadow of the cliff and close to our destination.
Shouting ahead of us brought our guide to a halt, and he held up one hand while the other dropped to one of his long knives. I merely shifted my grip on my great axe and repositioned a bit, widening my stance in readiness. Mary drew one of her knives as well and whispered something unintelligible.
“Fight up ahead,” Shrike warned unnecessarily and started forward again.
We rounded a corner into a short alley into a courtyard or something in the shadow of the cliff wall. Past the seven or eight men facing off in the dimly lit space was a gilded door with a painted sign of a grinning, wide-eyed man touching a woman’s hand that was half-pink and half-gold.
I was about to plunge past Shrike and through the gathered crowd when the door of the Touch o’ Gold swung wide, and a lean man with jet black hair and a tidy, well-trimmed beard sauntered out. Behind him and a bit to the right walked a wild-eyed woman with thick, red, curly hair that haloed her pale face like a lion’s mane. Bright green eyes burned as she looked over the patio courtyard.
Shrike hissed and faded back with a single word, “Bill.”
That made the woman Cerridwen.
The pirate captain was dressed all in black silk and adorned with silver and jewels that fairly dripped from his cuffs and neck. Both ears were pierced with ruby-adorned hoops, and a pair of cutlasses rode at his hips, along with a pair of cocked pistols.
Cerridwen wore a leather halter and a short kilt that left her belly, arms, and legs bare. Like Mary, she was barefoot. Whorls and angles of blue adorned her pale skin and seemed to shift independently of her movement. A pouch was clutched in one slim-fingered hand and a long, rune-carved staff in the other.
Bill spread his hands magnanimously and spoke. “Gentlemen! Surely we can resolve this dispute in a more civilized manner. Perhaps over a game of cards, or a few drinks?”
One of the buccaneers that had been in the faceoff stepped forward and glared at Bloody Bill. “Why don’ ye back the hells off, ye whoreson? Our quarrel ain’t with ye.” The man spat and puffed up, anger pouring from him in almost palpable waves.
Bill shot him dead.
The body toppled backward as the well-appointed pirate drew his second pistol and held it in a steady grip, aimed at the rest of the men in the courtyard. Neither he nor his witch seemed to have noticed us yet.
“Any o’ the rest o’ ye want to argue?” Bill snarled. “I ain’t like to tolerate a group o’ scurvy castoffs wantin’ to rumble on me very porch. Next one o’ ye to open his gods-damned gob gets a ball in it, an’ I’ll feed the rest o’ yer souls to me witch here. Now shove off before ye get dragged off!”
Silence fell over the buccaneers, and they exchanged wide-eyed looks with each other. Without another word, they gathered the body of their fallen associate and drug him off into the darkness. When they disappeared, Bill tucked his flintlocks away, pretty as you please, and looked sidelong at Cerridwen with a faint smile on his lips.
“The light ain’t gonna burn ya, Captain Bardak Skullsplitter,” Bloody Bill Markland said as he focused his gaze on the dark alley where we stood. “An’ I ain’t going to shoot ye or yer crew.”
Mary swore suddenly, a whispered curse that probably curdled milk and caused a miscarriage or three. Her hex bags hadn’t worked for some reason, which I knew must have been a blow to my little witch’s ego. Before Shrike or she could stop me, I stepped into the light, axe held casually in my right hand, my grip near the heavy head.
“Good for ye, Cap’n Bill Markland,” I said with a fierce grin. “Ain’t like I’d stand still for it like yon gobshite.”
Cerridwen’s eyes narrowed as Mary padded out with me, then Shrike. A soft hiss escaped the lips of the red-haired witch, but she straightened and stood at Bill’s right hand to face the three of us across the rough cobblestones.
“Mister Shrike,” Bill said with a sigh. “Are ye the only one to escape the noose?”
I held up a hand to stop my mate’s retort. “I freed him from the dungeon of Ismere.”
“Is that where you found the little witch?” Cerridwen snapped. “Last I saw, the Commodore wanted her for his collection.” She put a peculiar emphasis on the word ‘saw,’ referring to her talent, I assumed. Had she been keeping an eye on Mary for some reason?
“Aye,” I said. There was no reason to lie, not yet. “Ye seem marvelously well-informed for folk I ain’t ever met. Do ye ken why we’re here?”
Bill nodded and smirked through his beard. “Aye, I do.” His eyes lingered on Shrike, and a shadow grew in his bright blue eyes. “Will ye accept my hospitality for you an’ yours, Captain? Flag o’ truce an’ all?”
I wanted nothing more than to get to the fight, but there was more we could learn across the table than crossing blades.
“Truce, then,” I said as I switched my axe to my left hand, spat into my right, and offered it to Bloody Bill.
He stared at it for a moment as if I’d offered him a days-old, gutted fish, then clasped with me in a ritual as old as seafaring. “Truce. An’ that goes for ye, too, Cerri.”
“I understand hospitality, Bill,” his witch spat.
“Good.” With that, he turned and led us into the establishment, sweeping ahead of us like he owned the place and, from the reactions of the staff and guests, he probably did.
Mary and I exchanged looks as we followed Bill into the dark interior. The place was lit by smokey lanterns hung from brass hooks over each round table. Small clumps of people of various species sat around most of these, only barely glancing up at us as they pored over the cards in their hands. Gold and silver glinted in piles near each intent player.
I stifled a sneeze from the stink of the bittersweet smoke that mingled in the thick air with the acrid smell of the lamp oil. The place was hot, crowded, and the overwhelming odor of the incense, oil, and clientele made my keen nose next to useless, but I still had my eyes and ears. I picked out at least a handful of roughnecks armed with various weapons ranging from cudgels to cutlasses keeping a weather eye on us as we followed Bill and the witch.
Our host led us into a back room, one of many carved into the cliff side itself. The stone of the walls bore rough chisel marks, but the floor was worn smooth by years of traffic. This was an old structure, possibly even one of the first built during the construction of Tarrant. It had the look of a hideaway, too, separated from the rest of the establishment.
A broad desk sat opposite the door, and Bill made for the chair behind it. Coincidentally, or perhaps not, three chairs were pulled up before it. I eyed them then watched the Captain settle into his chair while Cerridwen lurked at his shoulder. Once he sat, so did I, settling my axe across my knees as Mary and Shrike followed suit.
“So…” Bloody Bill Markland, scourge of the seas, probably the most wanted pirate ever to sail the archipelago, steepled his fingers and leaned forward, elbows on his desk as his eyes locked with mine. “What brings the vaunted Captain Skullsplitter to darken my humble door?” His s
ea-brogue was gone once more, replaced by something more cultured.
All the stories said this legendary bastard was low-born like most pirates, press-ganged into service before he rose through the ranks and took his first captaincy in a duel.
“All quarrel ye an’ my man Shrike might have aside,” I said, keeping my own accent, “ye have somethin’ we want.”
“Oh?” he asked brightly. “What might that be?”
Our host carried himself like a man who held all the cards, and he probably thought he did. I didn’t expect overconfidence from Bloody Bill, though. Violence, yes, but not any sort of misplaced over-estimation of his own position.
Maybe I gave the man too much credit.
“Ligeia’s comb,” I replied flatly. “She’d like the bloody thing back.”
Cerridwen’s eyes widened, but Bill betrayed nothing. “That old trinket?” He laughed. “She actually missed it?”
“Apparently, aye.” I kept my eyes on the man as Mary shifted a little in her chair. She was focused on Cerridwen, and there was a dangerous undercurrent in the air between the two witches. Shrike bristled as well. It wouldn’t take much to send my own crew into violence. “If ye have it, perhaps we can strike a deal.”
Parley first, blood later. Those were Sturmgar’s words to me in his service, and while they didn’t always work, they certainly had gotten me places an orc wouldn’t necessarily go. If Bill still had the comb, it might be possible to get it back and be gone well before the Commodore or Admiral came into sight of Tarrant.
Bill’s witch leaned down and whispered in his ear. I caught a few words here and there: Pale Horse, coming, siren, and bitch. Apparently, Mary caught at least a word or two as well, and she started to rise until I dropped a cautioning hand onto her thigh. A deep breath later, she settled back into her chair, one hand placed atop mine.
Unfortunately, Bill hadn’t missed that exchange. His eyes lit up a bit, we’d given him ammunition to use against us. We locked eyes again, and he smirked.
“Seems ye lot have attracted some attention, and that gives me a couple of choices.” He broke eye contact and studied the nails on his right hand. “First, I can treat with ye, make a quiet deal, and we all go our merry ways. Or… I can take ye and offer ye up as a peace treaty with Admiral Death.”
I tensed slightly. This wouldn’t be the worst position I’d been in, but it was far from the best. How many men were between us and the door?
“Now being as I am a man of hospitality and greed, I am disinclined to take the second option,” Bill continued.
Cerridwen blinked and stared at him in blank disbelief.
Me, I almost laughed. This was an interesting turn of events.
“Now, I reckon that since none o’ ye have snatched up arms and threatened us, that ye be open to palaver.” The pirate leaned back in his chair and looked up at Cerridwen with a smile before his eyes returned to me. “Any gripe o’ Mister Shrike’s notwithstanding, I think that we have somethin’ of a common enemy.”
I gave a noncommittal grunt and nodded, my eyes narrowed a bit. Commodore, Admiral, or both? Would it be worth it to partner with this man, considering the history some of my crew had with him? These were important questions that I just did not have the time to ponder.
“What do ye propose, Cap’n?” I asked at last.
“An alliance,” Bill answered. “Until such time as that…” He waved a hand off in the direction of the sea. “... is dealt with.”
That left quite an opening for the pirate to turn on us. I glanced from Mary to Shrike. She gave me a faint nod, but he just sat immobile, glaring at his former captain.
“Answer me this,” Mary spoke up. “How did ye know we were coming?”
Cerridwen laughed. “The vision is not so easily blocked, Mary Night. Neither ye nor any witch living can evade my eyes.”
I let out a low growl as Mary tensed, looked my way, and then settled back. Bill’s hands were out of sight below the table, and I readied myself for a fight.
After a moment, he laughed again, put his hands on the desk, and smiled disarmingly. “So, my erstwhile buccaneers, what’ll it be?”
22
All three of us were silent for a moment before I said, “Ye make a good point, Cap’n Markland, but ye don’t address one o’ my weightiest concerns.”
“What might that be?” he asked with a curious tilt of his head. Both hands pressed together on the desktop, fingers intertwined. The man was so sure of himself, so absolutely confident that he had us right where he wanted us.
“If we’re to work together against the Admiralty, then ye need to make things right with my crew. Ye can start with Mister Shrike, here, who ye left to ride the scaffold along with who knows how many other men what served ye loyally.” I allowed myself a bit of internal gloating as the man’s face fell in disbelief. “When he be satisfied, then there’s the matter o’ that comb. Ligeia ain’t regaled us with the whole sordid tale, but I’m thinkin’ ye broke her heart when ye stole it.”
I leaned forward and continued before Bloody Bill recovered from the shock of my statement. “An’ before ye think the pair o’ ye can call for aid or overpower us, ye might want to recall what ye know o’ me an’ my reputation. I killed four o’ Broward’s mercenaries without breakin’ a sweat, usin’ one o’ them as a flail, then carried the bastard out an’ added his head to my collection.” My eyes bored into his. “Now, ye can satisfy me, or I can drag ye an’ yer witch out o’ here an’ take what I want. Savvy?”
Bill went silent, and something stirred in the depths of his gaze. His eyes flickered over me, Mary, and Shrike, then lit for a moment on the door behind us before he turned his head and looked up at Cerridwen, a hint of a smile on his face. She nodded slightly, and our host returned his gaze to me as one of his fingers twitched on the table.
He wanted to challenge me, that much was clear, but at the moment, we had the numbers, and if Bill and his witch knew anything about me, they knew at least a little of what I was capable of. I kept my gaze impassive and waited.
“Ye sound certain, Captain,” Bill drawled.
“I am certain,” I said. “My crew is my clan, Bill Markland. I do right by them, an’ they do right by me. As it stands, ye might be able to take the three of us, but what are ye going to do ‘bout me ships waitin’ out there?” I leaned forward and grinned. “An’ what are ye gonna do when Tiny cracks yer Witch’s Promise in two an’ ye’re flounderin’ in the water with the big bastard an’ his mistress?”
Cerridwen let out a soft hiss. I shifted my gaze to her as she started to do something. Shadows gathered around the witch, and her green eyes turned black.
Several things happened at once.
Bill shouted, “Stand down!” At the same time, Mary, moving faster than Shrike and me, bounded to her feet. A blue-white flash blazed from her blue eye, and Cerridwen just froze in place.
“Aye, ye bitch!” Mary pointed at the tattooed witch. “I’ve mastered the Eye an’ much else besides. Ye won’t find easy prey for yer darkness here.”
Bill froze for a moment, then carefully lifted his hands in surrender as Shrike and I both bolted to our feet in Mary’s wake. “Parley?” he said quietly.
I ignored him for a moment and looked at my crew. “Witch-bind her,” I said coldly. “Methinks we need a proper hostage, an’ she’s the one thing Bill won’t leave behind, I wager.”
Markland’s eyes darkened. “The Admiralty were fools for letting ye go, orc,” he said quietly. “Not even the master o’ The Pale Horse cows ye, I reckon.”
“Admiral Layne’s just a man,” I growled as I pointed my axe at Bloody Bill. “I’ll be callin’ on him once the Commodore’s settled.”
He barked a laugh and didn’t move as Mary and Shrike quickly moved to truss the paralyzed Cerridwen. My own witch made sure to bind her fingers properly, gag her, and strap a blindfold over her eyes.
“What now, Cap’n?” Shrike asked.
“That’s up t
o Bloody Bill,” I replied. “Ye want to parley, do ye? Let’s head down to The Hullbreaker an’ finish this. Anyone o’ yer bully boys try to stop us, yer witch gets a second smile, courtesy o’ Shrike, an’ I split yer skull first before I break yer crew.”
He huffed a sigh and nodded. “Shall I disarm, then?”
“Nay, Cap’n,” I answered with a snort of derision. “Ye couldn’t stop one of us from killin’ ye, so I don’t think you’ll try.”
“Unfortunately, ye be right.” Bill sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment and pushed his chair back, then rose. “Ye've got a ship at harbor. Tell ye what, Captain, I’ll walk fore and make sure that none of mine molest us. Perhaps this will prove my good intentions.”
I shouldered my axe and motioned for him to go, but I made no attempt to hide that my right hand hovered near the butt of one of my pistols. He didn’t miss the veiled threat, sighed again, and took the lead to escort us out of the Touch o’ Gold. Hostile eyes followed our progress as we followed behind the Captain. Mary held Cerridwen’s arm and guided the blindfolded witch with at least a modicum of care while Shrike guarded the rear. None of us really trusted Bloody Bill, and I don’t think we would have been surprised if he sacrificed his witch to save his own skin.
Much to my surprise, it didn’t happen. We made it out of Bill’s establishment, through the dark and uninviting streets of Tarrant, and boarded The Hullbreaker without incident.
“Oy, Cap’n!” Daka bellowed from the ship as we reached the gangplank. He and his brother faced us from their posts guarding the ship.
“What d’ye got, there, Cap’n?” Dogar asked.
“This here be Bloody Bill Markland an’ his witch Cerridwen,” I called back. “He’s here for a bit o’ palaver, an’ she’s stayin’ with us a bit longer.”
“Aye, then, come aboard!”
It was a standard ritual. Watch always challenged anyone coming to the gangplank and formally invited them aboard if they were deemed acceptable. I smiled faintly as Bill gave a mock bow and preceded the rest of us up the gangplank.