Shadow Rogue Ascendant

by Mike Truk

  “Anchor stowed!” shouted a sailor and the lampetraman ducked down underwater.

  The hawsers began to move, sliding forward through the water till they radiated out before the prow in a quarter-circle, and then, when they were at their fullest extent, the Bonegwayne began to slide forward.

  Havatier returned, and together we stared at the quivering mooring ropes as they towed us gently through the ocean toward the fog.

  “It should take us about two hours to clear the maze,” said Havatier. “Unless its grown considerably since we were here last. It’s delicate work. The lampetramen keep the coral carefully trimmed so that only exact knowledge will allow a craft to sail through; we’ll slow down when we get to the trickier bits.”

  We slid into the fog which parted at the bow, obscuring the water and rippling just below the gunwale so that it looked for all the world as if we sailed through an ocean of spectral mist. I peered out, trying to catch sign of any landmark, the forest, perhaps, forming the edge of the coast, but couldn’t discern a thing.

  “It’s a broad delta here,” said Havatier, voice tense. Was he speaking with us to ease his nerves? “There are countless small islands of coral covered in muck across which iridescent crabs the size of turtles crawl. A Port Lusander delicacy - ask for the sapphire crab chowder when ashore.”

  Nobody made a comment. I glanced about the ship; sailors aloft on the ratlines were peering with equal unease ahead, while Maestria had returned to her raised deck to stand in obvious frustration, a telescope in one hand, peering into the fog.

  “If these lampetramen can be trusted,” I asked, “why is everyone so nervous?”

  To my surprise it was Cerys that answered. “I’d imagine no captain or sailor enjoys giving control of their ship to another.”

  “Cerys is correct,” said Havatier, “and though the lampetramen have yet to double-cross any paying customer, no captain relinquishes the helm without misgiving.”

  The fog swirled about us. The ropes remained taut and leading directly ahead, and then, after perhaps five minutes of silent progress, a rope on each side of the ship went slack, drifted to stern, and then went taut again.

  “To control our forward motion?” I asked. Nobody responded. There was no need.

  And as we continued, a dance began, the dozen or so mooring ropes moving back and forth, to the sides even, tugging and relaxing to guide us through the invisible channels beneath the fog and waves. Sometimes they would flash forward, moving with startling speed to go taut immediately, checking our progress, whereas at other times they would relax, allowing us to drift as if without any concern.

  “A question, Master Havatier,” asked Pogo, who’d appeared at our sides and was peering out between the railing. “These lampetramen are paid in gold, are they not?”

  “Indeed,” said Havatier. “Passage in usually costs about a hundred gold crowns.”

  Pogo nodded sagely. “And I’d imagine it costs double to leave?”

  Havatier raised an eyebrow. “An excellent deduction.”

  “A captive demographic,” said Pogo, shrugging as if he weren’t inordinately pleased with the praise. “But what, pray tell, do they do with this gold?”

  “I’ve often wondered the same,” said Havatier, “but I don’t know. Perhaps if you ever have a chance to speak with one of them you could ask yourself.”

  Pogo scoffed. “I am hardly one to engage in such mean conversation. But I am curious…”

  On we were pulled, twisting about like a cork caught in invisible currents, sometimes coming to a complete halt as we turned ninety degrees, other times picking up speed and making good progress. Havatier stepped away with a polite smile that was almost a grimace, and with him went any hopes of mending bridges.

  “Fog’s clearing,” called a sailor from above, and then we knifed out of that spectral world into a small bay encompassed on both sides by greenery amongst which shacks and rickety homes were built, while Port Lusander proper rose before us, five large hills framing it from behind.

  Wharves, jetties, docks and spindly piers bristled about the base of the town, from which arose a forest of masts on boats as varied as sloops to Heshaman junks. Port Lusander’s trident flew from a half-dozen masts, but it was obvious that the majority of the ships were foreign; the docks were as busy as those of Port Gloom’s, and I saw dozens of ships loading and unloading goods, cranes swinging large nets filled with barrels or crates onto decks or over the water onto the docks themselves. The largest ship was a vast galleon flying a black flag emblazoned with a nautilus shell; it was massive, a lumbering monster nearly twice the size of the Bonegwayne, and commanded its own private pier.

  The town itself wasn’t large. Having grown up in the sprawling monstrosity that was Port Gloom it seemed to my jaded eye almost quaintly small, perhaps a quarter the size of my home city, and composed of a medley of crudely built wooden edifices by the docks, larger, more stately homes that rose to several stories further in, and actual manors built upon the lower slopes of the hills. Upon the peak of the highest hill loomed a moldering monstrosity of a castle, its curtain wall breached in a dozen places, half of it collapsed and covered in vines, though a pennant bearing the Lusander Trident snapped from the top of the tallest remaining tower.

  “Home,” said Iris, and I wasn’t sure if I heard resignation or quiet contentment in her voice.

  The hawsers were still pulled taut ahead of us, and we were guided to an open space alongside a broad pier. As we drifted in, twenty or thirty lampetramen swarmed up out of the water onto the dock itself to fasten the hawsers to the wooden bollards that emerged from the pier’s edges.

  I gaped.

  The lampetramen were hideous from the neck up, but their bodies were paragons of human beauty. Their skin was pearlescent and flawless, their bodies covered in long, defined muscles from a life spent swimming, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and thighs that rippled as they braced themselves upon the pier, triceps that snarled into sharp definition as they tugged.

  Moreover, not all lampetramen were male. I stared, amazed, at the visions of feminine perfection that worked amongst the men, bare chested and dripping water, completely unabashed of their nudity.

  “The lampetramen…” said Cerys, voice hesitant. “They’re… mammals?”

  Yashara snorted. “I’ve never seen fish with tits before, so, yes.”

  My gaze would flicker up to their eyeless, hideous heads, then down to their perfect bodies. Up - then down - and the result was a sickening disorientation as I failed to reconcile the two constituent parts.

  A meaty hand clapped me on the shoulder, and I jumped as I turned to see Samel grinning at me. “You are not the first to be curious, my friend! There is a brothel, I forget the name, but you can ask, I am sure, where it is said lampetrawomen can be sampled for only a dozen crowns.”

  “You’re joking,” said Cerys, face wrinkling in disgust.

  Samel laughed. “It is a wide and wonderful world! If you go, be sure to take a bag to pull over her head!” Laughter redoubling, he walked away, smacking his huge belly and shaking his head.

  “He was joking,” said Cerys with firm conviction. “I mean, he had to be.”

  The Bonegwayne drifted gently up to the pier, a half-dozen mooring lines controlling her approach from the far side, and then bumped against the pier, her sides cushioned by rope fenders. The lampetramen tied off the lines and slipped back into the water without a splash.

  I shuddered.

  A gangplank was lowered to the pier, where three officials in ornate coats were waiting, a half-dozen guards lounging behind them. None of the sailors seemed alarmed, however, and when the officials boarded the ship Jonas appeared to speak with them, bringing forth several folders which he handed over for the men to inspect.

  Tamara emerged from below deck, Netherys one step behind. “We’re here? We’re here! It’s - it’s smaller than I expected.” She frowned at the town, eyes rising up to the distant castle. “
Not exactly a welcoming place, is it?”

  “A city is what you make of it,” said Netherys, leaning out over the railing as she studied the docks. “Even then, you can never grasp the whole. There is very little in common between the city that a nobleman lives in with that which a beggar experiences. Each sees but a facet. The challenge one faces, therefore, is to find the facet most fitting to one’s temperament, and there make your home.”

  “Perhaps,” said Tamara. “I still don’t like the look of that castle.”

  “Over there,” I said, pointing out an iron dome that rose between the larger homes. “Is that the White Sun temple?”

  “Yes,” said Tamara, hugging herself. “And a large one, it seems. Oh joy.”

  “What is the plan?” asked Yashara.

  “The plan,” I said, “is simple. We go ashore and learn what we can of the goings on in town. The local news. We keep a low profile, see what we can dig up about Beauhammer and his dungeon, and plan accordingly.”

  “That is not so much a plan as a desire to come up with a plan,” said Yashara.

  I smiled. “Fair enough. But what use is a plan that doesn’t take into account local variables? For all we know Beauhammer may be dead. Let’s get the lay of the land. Iris, how friendly are the locals to, ah, different types of people?”

  Iris was pulling her black veil from her satchel. “Different kinds of people? I don’t understand.”

  “Half-orcs,” I said, “or dark elves, or war trolls…?”

  “Not very. There is a lot of ignorance here.” She considered Netherys. “Dark elves would most likely be pursued and burned. A war troll would lead to your being brought before Beauhammer to have your intentions interrogated. Yashara and Pogo? Tolerated, though Pogo should not walk the streets alone.”

  “That should not be a problem,” said Pogo, voice rich with distaste, “as I have no intentions whatsoever of treating this like a vacation of any kind.”

  “For now,” I said, “let’s keep things simple. Cerys, Tamara, and I will perform our initial reconnaissance. We’ll return to the Bonegwayne once we have enough information to work with and make further plans.”

  Yashara’s eyes slitted. “I’ve been on this boat long enough. If the locals have a problem with me, they’re welcome to address it to my face.”

  “I doubt they would,” I said, “that is, if they have any instincts of self-preservations. But my goal is to not cause a stir right off the boat. Give me an hour or two. Once I know the basics, we can go from there. All right?”

  Yashara crossed her arms and gazed sullenly out over the bustling docks. “Don’t dally.”

  “No dallying, got it.” I fought not to smile. “Cerys? Tamara? You ready to take a stroll?”

  “Perhaps… perhaps I should remain behind,” said Tamara.

  “What? Why?”

  “The Order of the White Sun… if they’re a strong presence here, we might run into them. And if we do…”

  “Can they tell that you’re Foresworn?” I asked.

  Tamara glanced down, brown hair falling before her face. “I don’t think so? But perhaps… perhaps we shouldn’t risk it.”

  “Tamara.” I reached out and touched her arm. “I know this is difficult for you. But it sounds like you’re choosing to hide in the ship not for fear of being discovered, but out of a reluctance to face your past.”

  “Very smoothly put,” said Netherys with a smile, leaning back on both elbows on the railing. “Absolutely no chance of leaving her flustered and at a loss for words.”

  Two spots of crimson appeared high on Tamara’s cheeks. “I am not at a loss for words. And, as a matter of fact, I am not hiding from my past. I was simply being - well - cautious. But if caution isn’t called for, then lead on, fearless leader. I shall follow you into whichever tavern you choose to visit first.”

  “Now we’re talking,” I said. “All right. With a little luck we’ll back in a few hours. And may Blind Fortuna shake her bellicose breasts in your general direction until then.”

  Yashara snorted. “Keep those kinds of blessings to yourself.”

  “Would that I could,” I said with a grin. “Ladies?”

  Cerys hefted her gloom bow. Tamara pulled her hair back, tied it off in a ponytail, and gave a curt nod.

  We made our way toward the gangplank, but Maestria peeled away from the officials she was speaking with to intercept.

  “Leaving without saying goodbye?”

  “I’d never do such a thing,” I said. “We’re just heading ashore to learn the lay of the land. We’ll be back shortly to enjoy your company once more.”

  Maestria raised an eyebrow in obvious skepticism and placed her hands on her hips. “You think the Bonegwayne’s going to act as your inn while you gallivant onshore? I’ve a mind to tell you how much I’ll miss your bony ass and then kick you off my ship once and for all.”

  “First off,” I said, ticking off my fingers, “I’ve it on good authority that my ass is decidedly not bony. Second, I know you’d miss me too much to get rid of me like that. Admit it, Maestria. I keep things interesting. Thirdly, how are you going to get your gold if you kick us out in such manner? No. Far better to let us linger a little longer, and then wring every gold crown you can from our innocent fingers.”

  Maestria snorted, but I saw an amused gleam in the depths of her dark eye. “You’ve a way with words, I’ll give you that.” She considered me, and something subtle about her expression changed. Something that caused my pulse to quicken. “Very well. You do owe me payment after all. Here is my offer: you and yours can remain aboard for as long as you desire at a rate of a gold crown a head. Failure to pay will be ameliorated by your joining me for a private dinner each night in my cabin.”

  I laughed. “Dinner it is!”

  “Very well.” She looked me up and down. “Don’t be late. I get very hungry when I’m forced to wait.” And she turned to rejoin the dock officials.

  “That didn’t just happen right in front of us,” said Cerys.

  “Did that just happen?” Tamara looked to the Crimson Noose assassin. “Did she just bargain to sleep with Kellik in exchange for letting us all stay aboard the ship?”

  “You’re leaping to conclusions!” I began walking toward the gangplank once more. “We were simply discussing dinner. And why are you all so shocked that the good captain would desire the pleasure of my company? I am a witty conversationalist, and can discourse skillfully on a variety of stimulating topics.”

  “I don’t believe this,” said Cerys. “I am not going to sleep on this ship if you’re paying for my bunk with your ‘stimulating topics.’”

  I shrugged and leaped onto the spring board that descended to the pier. “Your call, my dear Cerys. But think what you could be depriving yourself of if I satisfy Maestria early enough in the night: I might wander the deck seeking new people with which to discuss the economics of Port Gloom’s supply chain or the best way to con large discounts out of wary stall keepers.”

  “I’m going to shove you into the water,” said Cerys, “and let the lampetrawomen have their way with you if you keeping talking.”

  I shuddered. “You think Samel was serious about that brothel?”

  We stepped down onto the broad pier. The boards were broad and thick but warped by years of exposure to the salt water, faded by the sun to a light gray, and so splintery that it would be death to walk on them unshod. Sailors were already unloading goods from the Bonegwayne and hurrying them over to a demarcated loading zone where other officials were tallying the crates and checking the contents against Jonas’ ship manifest.

  Tamara rubbed her upper arm uneasily. “I sincerely hope he wasn’t.”

  Cerys sneered. “Yet my knowledge of human nature and the depravity of which we’re capable of says it’s entirely possible. The Hanged God have mercy.”

  “That he never does,” I said, leaving the pier for the broad docks proper. They wrapped around the curve of the bay, multi-tiered a
nd bustling with activity. Despite being completely different from Port Gloom’s, I felt strangely at home; I’d grown up amongst such bustle, and the cries of vendors, porters, and costermongers blended with the calls of seagulls, the sound of shanties being sung by men mending sails and nets, the laughter and cry of children racing in ragtag groups through the crowds, the stench of fish and tar, the savory scents of cooked meat and woodfires. Everywhere I looked I saw the multifarious faces of humanity, everyone intent on their own business, pursuing their own goals, believing their needs to be the single most important one in all of the world.

  Just as I did my own.

  A two-masted frigate caught my eye. There was nothing distinctive about it; if anything the ship looked old and run-down, the hull and gunwale in need of a fresh coat of paint, the crew that moved about its deck doing so in a sluggish manner.

  But the name.

  The Filthy Spume.

  “Cerys, Tamara, that ship over there.” I pointed it out. “Why’s that name sound so familiar.”

  Tamara studied it for a moment before shrugging, but Cerys opened her satchel, rummaged through the thick sheaf of papers she’d accumulated over the past few weeks, and pulled forth an official looking document.

  “Here,” she said, sounding excited, “this is why. Remember? The Filthy Spume belonged to Elias, the bastard who was holding my leash back in Port Gloom? Here’s the deed or whatever you call the document that proves ownership.”

  I took the paper, scanned its legalese quickly, then handed it back. “Does that mean it’s ours?”

  “No,” said Cerys, storing the sheet away. “Elias would have to sign it over to us, and there may be some more documents involved. I don’t really know. But I know someone who would.”

  “Pogo,” Tamara and I said in unison.

  “Exactly. I don’t see why we’d want to claim the ship with the Bonegwayne available to us, but it’d be an interesting notion to explore.”

  “Good to know,” I said. Relaxing, thumbs in my belt, I led the way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for a likely tavern in which we could gather the local news.