by Mike Truk
“Blind Fortuna wept,” rasped Ernie as he turned around, sticking two stout wrists out behind him. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Didn’t you hear?” I turned to consider the small room in which we stood. Rudely built, the gaps between the planks caulked with black tar, it featured Ernie’s stool, a small fire burning down to embers in a metal pail, and a large bell set within easy reach on the floor. What might have been half a scarf along with a ball of wool and knitting needles were resting on the stool. “Name’s Kellik. Kellik of Port Gloom. Now, what lies beyond this door, and what’s the protocol for going through?”
“Ah, it’s… it’s… ah….” Ernie was staring, wide-eyed, as Pony levered himself in through the door, having to lower himself almost to his knees to swing his head inside.
“Never mind,” I said. “I think I can take it from here.” I paused by the inner door, listened, heard nothing, so pushed it open and stepped within.
And stopped, surprised and impressed both. Whomever Jessie might be, and regardless of her misfortunes in shipping, she was clearly a lady with a taste for finery. The interior of the warehouse was a massive space, vaulted high overhead with rafters and for the most part dark, but a good third of it had been artfully screened off and illuminated by scores of large candles clustered in attractive groups here and there by the bases of ornamental stone pillars; large, white enameled vases from which great leafy bushes grew, upon side tables with glass tops or before hammered bronze mirrors so that their glow was magnified. Thick carpets of luscious crimson and burgundy were strewn across the wooden floor, while piles of battered, plush red pillows were formed into mounds that invited one to plunge into their midst and never be seen again.
Armchairs, recliners, and chaises formed a nucleus at the center, all of them arranged around a coffee table on which trays of pastries and finger foods were displayed along with wine glasses, decanters, more candles and finger bowls. In one corner a blindfolded young Mendevian girl with skin as pale as milk was playing a violin, the tune mournful and haunting, and I swore I could hear a pleasant splashing sound as of a fountain coming from somewhere just out of sight.
A half-dozen individuals were reclining on the chaises and chairs, while another six or seven men were seated off to one side around a circular table playing a game of cards.
My entrance drew idle glances and then immediate consternation; Bennie cast down his cards as he jumped to his feet and pointed a quivering finger at me. “There he is! That’s the fellow from the Mermaid!”
The scrape of chair legs filled the air as the other thieves and thugs stood, but I ignored them, searching out the reclining figures for Jessie.
There were three men and two women, all of them sitting up. Two of the men had the appearance of soldiers, or nobles playing at being soldiers, their hair trimmed short, their shoulders square, their faces darkening with anger. The third was more of a dandy, a fox fur scarf tossed around an aristocratic face painted bone white.
But it was the women who caught my eye. Both were attractive, both young, both with calculating gleams in their eyes as they considered me.
One, however, was easily more striking than the other; the right side of her head was shaved clear to the skin, with her honey-blonde hair raked over from the top to fall past her left shoulder. Wide lips, an angular jaw, high cheekbones and deep, cobalt-blue eyes, but there was something more to her; a sense of danger, of amusement, of wary appraisal that was devoid of true concern. As if she were a visitor here, and nothing that could unfold could really affect her in any way.
The other woman was dark-skinned, her frizzy black hair pulled back so tightly across her head that it lay smooth until it burst out of its binding into a cloud. Wearing a bronze dress that was layered and wrapped around her slender form, she gazed at me with something akin to outrage; her eyes narrowed in haughty anger, and she was clearly on the verge of giving me an imperious command when Pony ducked into view.
A better man than I wouldn’t have anticipated this moment with quite as much relish. It was all I could do to not grin. The thieves and thugs let out a series of curses and moans as they swayed back on their feet, while the two angry soldier-types sat back down on their chaises, their surliness immediately replaced by an emotion somewhere between shock and dismay.
The dark-skinned lady’s mouth sagged open so that instead of barking a command she merely gaped, but it was her companion whose reaction interested me most; she smiled, as if being presented with a gift, and leaned back into her chaise, drawing up a leg so that she could rest her arm on the knee.
“Good evening, everyone.” I stepped forward, hands linked behind my back. “Excuse the interruption. But as I promised Bennie over there - hello, Bennie - I promised to come pay a visit, because I really do understand how these things work. Jessie?” I glanced between the two women. “Which one of you is Jessie?”
“I am,” said the dark-skinned lady, regaining her composure and raising her chin.
“A pleasure to meet you. I’ve come to apologize and hopefully reach some manner of agreement. Can we talk?”
And to her credit, Jessie was able to regain her composure, smoothing down her dress and giving a stiff nod, as if it really had been a request on my part. “Stand down,” she said to her table of men.
Yashara and Tamara had entered by this point, and the half-orc mercenary queen drew almost as much attention as Pony had. Pony, for his part, had picked up a small tray of what looked like breaded cheese rolls and was sniffing at it curiously.
“What do you want?” asked Jessie. She was fighting to regain what was no doubt her normal character; imperious, commanding, impatient. Apparently, that was tricky to do with a war troll sniffing your hors d'oeuvres.
“As I said, to talk and reach an agreement. My name’s Kellik, newly arrived and most recently of Port Gloom. I had an unfortunate exchange with your man Bennie over there earlier today at the Mermaid -”
“I heard,” said Jessie.
“And as promised, have come to set matters straight. Let me make something clear. I have no intentions of taking over your operations, of meddling with your affairs, or causing any of your people trouble. In fact, none of your sentries outside have even been hurt. At least, nothing more than receiving a bump on the head. All I want is for you to exempt the Mermaid from any emergency taxes or special requisitions as you move forward, and to not come after me to save face after our meeting tonight.”
Jessie sat back down and took up her glass of wine. “Oh, sit down,” she snapped at the two soldier-types who had regained enough of their composure to rise and bristle at me, hands on the hilts of their blades.
“Yes,” said the blonde lady with the partially shaved head. Her voice was caramel rich and low. “Do sit down, gentlemen.”
The men glowered but did as commanded.
Jessie considered me, then studied Yashara, Tamara, and Pony in turn. “You’re clearly a man of surprisingly resources, Kellik of Port Gloom. I’m amenable to being, if not allies, then clearly not enemies. What brings you to Port Lusander? Are you related to Matteo from the Mermaid?”
“No, not family.” Nicely done, I thought. Way to shift the balance of power. I moved forward, poured myself a glass of wine, and took a sip. “I just took a liking to the artwork on his walls. As for why I’m here, well, it’s a quixotic quest, but I’ve a mind to learn more about Port Lusander’s storied history, and perhaps to do a little exploring while I’m at it.”
“Lusander’s history is steeped in blood,” said Jessie. “This city was built by the labor of slaves, and on such labor it lives on still. Blood is mixed into the cement and bone meal into the bricks.”
“Hmm, reminds me of home.” An idea came to me. Neat, simple, and something Jessie would believe. “Actually, since I’m here, I have a proposal for you.”
She leaned back. “I’m listening.”
“I may be about to enter into a tidy sum of money. I heard from Bennie that you are loo
king for business partners with which to launch your next trading venture. Would you be open to a partnership if I funded half of your next mission?”
A gleam entered her eye. “In theory. The Hanged Devil, of course, dances amongst the details.”
“Of course. I’ve just the man to discuss the contract with you. I’ll arrange to have you meet with Master Pogmillion tomorrow at some point to discuss possibilities.”
Jessie ran her finger around the rim of her cup. “If such was the thrust of your interest, you could have simply knocked without all this… fanfare.”
I tossed back the wine - it was shockingly good, actually - and set the goblet down. “Then you wouldn’t take me half as seriously, would you? Now, if you’ll excuse us. We’ve a big day tomorrow, and need to make an early start of it.”
“Stay,” said Jessie, sitting forward. “You’re an interesting man, Kellik of Port Gloom. I’d hear more about your business in Port Lusander. You haven’t even introduced us to your friends.”
I glanced around her opulent warehouse, my gaze lingering for a moment on the enigmatic blue eyes of her friend, and then gave a courtly bow. “I’m afraid I must decline. Familiarity breeds contempt, and I would hate to lower myself in your esteem. Until the next time, Mistress Jessie.”
She rose and gave a shadow of a curtsy. “Until the next time, Master Kellik. And pray may it not involve a war troll.”
I inclined my head, turned, and strode back out the door. Past Ernie and his two sentry companions, out into the small courtyard, and as I marched past the warehouse’s double doors, Cerys leaped down from the shadows above to join our group.
“Business partners?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I had to come up with something that would make sense to her. If I remained too enigmatic she’d only pry and draw attention to me. Now, she thinks me but a common enterprising merchant, and can fit me into a box and label me. And all this, our confrontation with Bennie, our breaking into her home? She’ll think I did it to impress her as to how worthwhile a partner I am, and feel both flattered and a little contemptuous of me. Leaving Matteo out of future exchanges should be a negligent matter in comparison to my funding her next trip, and as such, all is resolved neatly and without cause for bloodshed.”
Yashara grunted. “Well done. These are the kinds of operations I prefer. Well planned, well executed, and with a clean extraction.”
Tamara smiled sidelong at us. “And I am always happy to be extraneous. I think this is the very first time you did anything that doesn’t result in almost everyone dying, Kellik.”
“I’m growing wise in my old age,” I said, smiling back.
“How serious were you about this business venture?” asked Cerys. “You anticipate coming into some coin?”
Before Yashara could speak, I raised a hand. “First, any coin I earn will go toward my debt with the Mailed Fist. But who knows? We may find a fortune squirreled away beneath Beauhammer’s castle. If so, it will be a small thing to give Jessie a few hundred gold crowns to remain friendly to our cause.”
Cerys gave a grudging nod, and with that final seal of approval, I felt my spirits lift. Leading my friends through the fog back to the Bonegwayne, I felt focused, efficient, and capable of handling whatever came at us. We were coming together as a team, had operated flawlessly while handling Jessie and her crew, and we were slowly regaining that sense of trust we’d lost since I’d revealed my heritage to the others.
I waved to the guards as we climbed the gangplank back onto the Bonegwayne, not particularly caring if whomever Jessie had sent after us was watching. Tomorrow we’d figure out how to get into the ruins below the castle, and then our real trials would begin.
Chapter 8
We arose with the dawn, dressed, armed ourselves, and were on the Bonegwayne’s deck as the sun’s first light stole into Port Lusander through the five hills that framed it. The air was brisk, the fog gone, and already the docks were alive with activity. Men shouted, cursed, laughed and grunted, while costermongers hawked their wares, vendors shouted their repetitive refrains from their doorways, bells clanged, the waves lapped up against rotting pylons and sagging piers, and everywhere activity stirred.
The docks above the private company ships were astir with business dealings; large numbers of crates stamped with either griffin heads or rams’ horns were being carried by porters down to the ships waiting below, though almost half of the activity belonged to the Nautilus crew; they weren’t loading their ships, but rather selling the crates to merchants and captains, amongst whose number I thought I saw Maestria, watching as Jonas called out bids to a large team of Nautilus officials who were marking them all down on paper.
I felt filled with a vibrant energy that was tempered with a steely determination, and eager for the day’s events. Accepting a ship’s biscuit and hunk of cheese from a cabin boy, I led the way down the gangplank, onto the old pier, chewing energetically as I surveyed the great arcing docks in all their multi-tiered glory. They were perhaps a third the size of Port Gloom’s, yet seemed almost as busy; cargo was being rowed out to ships too large to actually dock, while everywhere else boats and sloops and even galleons were packed cheek by jowl.
Here and there I saw youths laughing and jeering at each other as they hung up decorations; these were mostly long, narrow bolts of cheap white cloth that they wrapped around anything tall enough to hold them up, so that they extended from the taverns and shops down the several tiers of docks to masts, tall pylons, or even the uppermost of a pile of lobster crates. Atop these other teams were affixing painted masks of what looked like demonic entities, their expressions greatly exaggerated, their mouths filled with fangs, eyes wide and dripping flames.
I guessed the Nautical Equinox was right around the corner.
Pony, Yashara, Pogo, and Netherys had opted to remain behind; with me therefor were Cerys, Tamara, and Iris, though our necromancer had allowed herself to be persuaded to don more normal garb, and now wore a white blouse under a tan corset, a pair of leg-hugging pants that made me aware of how tight and perfectly curved her rear was, and knee-high boots of fine brown leather.
I’d almost asked where she’d found such elegant, tailored gear, but then decided that was a line of inquiry I’d best leave alone. Instead, I walked up the ramps, tipping the three-cornered hat I’d borrowed from Samel to everyone who glanced my way. I’ll admit I might have become a trifle cocky due to last night’s successes.
A number of avenues, streets, and alleys speared deeper into Port Lusander, and I strode toward the largest of these, a broad thoroughfare of packed dirt flanked by tall buildings at least three to four stories tall. As I moved forward through the crowd, fending off costermongers, street waifs, and the evaluating eye of less savory characters, I started to notice a strange dichotomy to Port Lusander’s architecture; behind the gaudy finery, the colorful awnings hung before ground-floor shops, beneath the peeling paint and moss, lay hints of a city that might once have been.
A triumphal arch rose to an impressive height over the avenue, its decorative statues defaced, its murals lost to time. Buildings with elegant, almost alien lines, fronted by curving, organic balconies, their windows narrow and tall, their very walls seeming to have a strange curvature to them as if their architects had spurned all straight lines. Where the paint peeled or was chipped away, the raw stone was revealed, and this was a green so dark it showed almost black, like obsidian, but which, when caught at the right angle to the morning light, glowed with emerald depths as if more glass than rock.
Yet over these buildings, these ancient signs of what once may have been, the residents of Port Lusander had built and layered a patina of their own less-than-glorious presence; wooden shanties clustered in alleyways or crowded what might once have been broad squares; new stories of crude wood were built atop the ruins or even rubble of now demolished ancient homes; coats of paint everywhere hid that dark rock, and altogether new buildings arose to crowd out the old, like eager
young country cousins shouldering aside elderly city uncles.
“You know, I quite like this place,” said Tamara, munching on a spit of meat that she’d acquired from the Hanged God knew where. “There’s an energy here that’s lacking in Port Gloom, you know? As if they haven’t quite realized yet just how awful the world is.”
And she was right. That oppressive sense of the Family’s dominance was lacking here; something I’d grown so used to that I’d not imagined any other city could be any different. Yet here voices were raised brashly, laughter spiraled out of large second-floor windows, people moved with purpose, shoulders thrust back, and without casting furtive glances about them all the while.
“I’m not seeing many guards,” said Cerys, walking on my other side. “You notice that? There were private guards on the docks - especially where those three companies were operating - but here? No patrols, no military presence at all.”
“Maybe that’s why everyone seems so cheerful,” I said. “Nobody’s pretending to look out for their best interests in the name of justice and the law.”
We entered a large square. The sun was just clearing the hill on which Beauhammer’s castle stood, and shadows streamed across the ground, though precious little of it was visible. A hundred stalls were set up here, without any order or logic. I slowed, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, but my sight leaped from a tinker’s cart piled high with pots and pans to a man selling what might have been exceptionally scrawny chickens. Beside them a woman was bellowing something about her swamp turnips, while beyond her was a cooper, his barrels gleaming atop his improvised table.
Nothing like Port Gloom’s Market Square, where different trades banded together, where everyone knew where they were going and how to find what they needed. Here…? Chaos, with a maze of narrow paths winding between the stalls.