by R J Hanson
“That is interesting,” the remaining vampire said.
She perched on the top of the mainmast, at least sixty feet up, but her voice came to them as though she stood next to them.
“A Lord of Order?” she asked. “You must tell me how you accomplished such a feat.”
“Come down here, and we’ll show you,” Jonas said.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” the vampire said. “My master will be very interested to know Lord Jonas travels with just such a companion. Tell me, how did you coax him to travel with the likes of you, Lord Jonas? Does he know of your many sins? Does he know about your dead woman? Surely, he does not.”
“In life, you were Ussa, were you not?” Jonas asked in reply. “I hear he developed a taste for them after his mage from there left him. So what are you? A sad attempt to replace a companion he can no longer have?”
The vampire hissed and bared her fangs.
“We can’t let her escape,” Jonas whispered to Dunewell.
Dunewell, with the speed of a lightning strike, leapt from the deck of the ship, swiping his enchanted hammer in an arc meant to take the head of the undead creature. The hammer struck only shadow as the vampire disappeared. Dunewell landed heavily onto the top rail and scanned all about.
“Curse your slow blade!” Jonas yelled at Dunewell; all his cheer now gone. “Track her! Find her now!”
“She teleported away,” Dunewell said. “If there is a way of tracking someone using magic portals, I don’t know it.”
Dunewell dropped to the deck and allowed Whitburn to recede within him.
“You knew there would be a vampire attack,” Dunewell said. “You knew and did not warn these men. How could you justify such a callous ploy?”
“These men were dead the moment their captain took Slythorne’s gold,” Jonas said, working to let his anger and disappointment abate.
“Who is Slythorne?” Dunewell demanded.
Jonas extended Dunewell’s shortsword back to him and then laid it on the deck when Dunewell did not reach to accept it. Jonas then walked to the rigging and began securing the windlasses and ship’s wheel.
“Who is Slythorne?”
“We need to furl the sails lest we blow out to sea and a certain death,” Jonas said, not taking his eyes from his work.
“You cannot avoid this conversation,” Dunewell said as he worked to take a calmer tone. “These men are dead. You are accustomed to keeping your own counsel. No more. You will tell me of this Slythorne, and what is going on in Split Town, or our road together is at an end.”
Jonas whirled on Dunewell then.
“You took an oath to the Sword Bearers and have been commanded by them to help me,” Jonas said with an edge in his voice.
“Help you, yes,” Dunewell replied. “Serve you, no. You will tell me about Slythorne, or our road together ends here and now.”
Jonas glared at Dunewell for several long moments. Dunewell was coming to understand why Jonas had traveled alone for so long.
“He is a master vampire,” Jonas said begrudgingly. “However, he is not content to simply maintain a hidden lair and terrify and feed on the local populace. He has worked to support pirates and warlords to overthrow entire regions and nations. He has assisted in political assassinations and intrigue against the Kings of Lethanor. Even before becoming a vampire, he was a superior swordsman and an astute tactician. He has spent centuries plaguing the efforts of mankind. He is as dangerous to the future of the goodly races of Stratvs as Ingshburn himself. He is in, or near, Split Town. He is our target.”
Dunewell had no doubt there was more to Jonas’s anger than what he had said. Dunewell thought he knew Jonas well enough to believe the man a cold, efficient professional. Yet, when it came to this Slythorne, Jonas’s attitude and passion were anything but professional.
“How do you know he was in Split Town?” Dunewell asked, wondering how long this flow of information might last.
“My informant described him in detail and said he was in communication with a High Cleric who was attempting a coup of sorts led by the church of Fate there,” Jonas said. “I know that sounds crazy, and you want to know more. So do I. That is all I have, which is why I’m eager to capture any of his thralls or get to Split Town to investigate for myself.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Dunewell said.
“I told you we have an informant in Split Town,” Jonas said.
“Yes, you did,” Dunewell said. “Perhaps you forget that I am… was an inquisitor. You didn’t answer the question. You answered a question I did not ask. I know the trick well. You have known Slythorne was either in or headed to Split Town for some time, haven’t you? The assassin in Ivantis, and then the skinshifter, were just ploys to draw us closer to Split Town.”
Jonas’s silence was answer enough for Dunewell.
“Do you have a plan for when we get to Split Town?” Dunewell asked.
“No, not exactly,” Jonas said.
Dunewell tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at Jonas.
“I think I have enough information to approach the thieves’ guild there,” Jonas said. “That part of it we’ll have to play by ear. I’m going to approach them as a merchant looking to invest in smuggled goods and the trade of information. Hopefully, that will lead us to information about Slythorne. If I don’t get a good feeling from the sit down with them, then I’ll kill most of them and torture their leadership for information about him.”
Dunewell noticed that Jonas wasn’t bragging but just stating the facts as he saw them. Whether it was feasible or not, Jonas fully believed he could kill the thieves and assassins of Split Town at will.
“My role in all this?” Dunewell asked.
“Play your part as my Esquire,” Jonas said. “Watch my back and keep your eyes open. I don’t discount your skills as an inquisitor, but keep in mind that you have never really faced a Shadow Blade. I have captured two and killed half a dozen. You have been investigating the criminal underworld for what, four years? Five? I was immersed in it for over forty-five years before you were even born. So, keep your ego in check and pay attention to your surroundings. If something I say or do offends you, write it down on a scrap of paper and use that paper to wipe with the next time you go to the jakes.”
“I don’t think the two of us can sail this ship,” Dunewell said, changing the subject.
“No,” Jonas agreed. “I hoped me being on deck without a weapon would tempt Slythorne’s cully into coming after me herself. I thought she might turn one or two of the crew for backup, but I didn’t foresee this.”
“I have an idea,” Dunewell said. “But I’m not sure what should be done with the ship. We were seen leaving Bolthor on her as passengers. If we go back to Bolthor, there will be questions. Even if we could get her to Split Town, there would be questions. We can take the longboat to shore; I could easily row us that far or farther if need be. But I don’t know what to do about the ship.”
“Help me with the sails,” Jonas said. “I have an idea. You won’t like it, but it may resolve our problems.”
Dunewell was not surprised when no more information was forthcoming about Jonas’s idea. He decided that perhaps he’d pushed hard enough for one day to peek inside the ever-planning mind of Jonas, also known as Steward Ruble of House De’Char.
Dunewell didn’t know much about rigging and even less about sailing, but he did know ropes and knots. He worked much slower than Jonas, but his sails were secure. After almost an hour of climbing up and down the masts and rigging nets securing sails and yardarm lines, Dunewell began to learn a new respect for sailors and their profession.
“Now help me with the anchor,” Jonas said once the sails were furled and the ship’s wheel was secured.
“Why didn’t we lower the anchor to begin with?” Dunewell asked.
“You’re just full of questions today, aren’t you,” Jonas said.
“You do realize, in the same amount of time it takes you to
dodge a question, you could just simply answer it,” Dunewell said.
Jonas smiled a bit and nodded.
“Fair enough,” Jonas said with a sigh. “You don’t want the anchor dropped while there’s still a chance a current or wind could push against the ship. The only time you drop an anchor while you’re moving is if you’re desperate.”
“Seems you know a lot about sailing,” Dunewell said as they both moved to the large windlass that controlled the anchor chain.
“I know my share,” Jonas said. “We’re going to take the longboat to the northeast. There’s an island a few hundred leagues that way. I… I have friends there. Can you row us that far against these waves?”
Dunewell nodded. Dunewell, although it went against his nature, also let go the fact that Jonas was clearly withholding important information. They both pushed the windlass and lowered the anchor. Jonas took a good look at the stars and consulted his compass, recently taken from the body of the ship’s captain. Then he took some notes on a scrap of paper and nodded to Dunewell.
“Get our gear into the longboat,” Jonas said. “I have some final things to take care of, and then I’ll join you.”
Dunewell gathered their packs and weapons, along with several waterskins and a few days’ worth of jerky and hardtack just in case, and placed it all in the longboat. He checked the oars, and they at least seemed serviceable, unlike the rest of the Sea Trollop.
Dunewell worked the pulley rope and lowered the longboat to the waterline. He then climbed down the rope ladder and was set to push off when Jonas finally arrived.
Jonas had undergone a complete transformation. He no longer looked the shrewd merchant Steward possessing a wealth of knowledge about wines and rates of interest. His clothes were dirty and torn, his face smeared, and his hair disheveled. He had taken a woodsman’s hatchet from one of the crew that he tucked in his belt and carried another rusty cutlass in his hand.
“Cap’n Noon, General of the Kolvic Sea Pirates, at your service,” Jonas said, adopting some southern accent Dunewell couldn’t exactly identify. “My lads and I hold an out of the way, and unobserved, harbor on a small island off that way. I’ll tell ‘em how you’re my prisoner. I’ll tell ‘em how I turned the Steward you was traveling with loose in another small boat so he could collect a ransom for you and meet me in Split Town. I’ll tell ‘em how I had to kill the rest of the crew cause they tried to double-cross me. I’ll tell ‘em where to find this ship, and they can do with it what they like as long as they hold my share for me.”
“And, when they sell the ship and inevitably retell the story, they will be providing a cover story for us,” Dunewell said appreciatively.
“Just so,” Jonas said. “Like I said, you won’t be likin’ this none. But this’ll be how it is ‘til we gets a boat from there to Split Town.”
Dunewell surprised them both by laughing at Jonas’s ridiculous accent. It garnered only a scowl from Jonas. Dunewell grabbed the oars and began to pull. The wake created by the longboat, and Dunewell’s remarkable strength, impressed even Jonas.
Jonas double-checked their heading with his compass and a glance at the stars. Nodded to himself, seeming satisfied, and rolled into a blanket opposite Dunewell and went swiftly to sleep.
Jonas awoke to Dunewell kicking his foot. He saw that the sun was well into the sky, but it was still a few hours before noon. He also saw the silhouette of the island over Dunewell’s shoulder.
“I assume it wouldn’t do for the mighty Capt’n Noon to arrive asleep and in the care of his prisoner,” Dunewell said.
Jonas was amazed at the distance they had traveled in such a short time. He looked at Dunewell, who was only now beginning to break a sweat and seemed as though he could row like that forever.
“Slow down,” Jonas said in his own voice. Then, changing to Capt’n Noon’s accent, “Slow down. Can’t have ‘em seein’ an Esquire of House De’Char rowin’ along like the leviathan himself. Head toward that western point. See that tall rock? We’re bound for a point on the other side of the island, due north of that rock.”
Dunewell rowed in silence while Jonas kept an eye on the shoreline.
“Someday, you’ll have to tell me how many names you wear,” Dunewell said with a smile.
“Don’t count on it,” Jonas said.
“You really are a pirate captain?” Dunewell asked, still incredulous about the idea.
“Not really, no,” Jonas said. “I pose as one, certainly. The crew we are heading to meet think they’re pirates, but they’re not. At my direction, they only raid ships owned or operated by House De’Char. So, in that way, it’s not theft because the property belongs to me. All my crews for House De’Char know when a pirate raises the black sail to surrender that way no one gets injured or killed by accident. The benefit is twofold. I can move about as a pirate captain and gain access to places I normally wouldn’t be able to find, and, as a respected pirate captain, I put the word out to the other pirates that the ships of House De’Char are mine to hunt and mine alone. You see, it saves me a number of actual pirate attacks against House De’Char and gives me credentials among the cutthroats of Grief’s Pass and Lavon.”
It amused Dunewell to realize Jonas was not always tight-lipped with information. It seemed when Jonas was in a mood to teach and the information tied directly to the lesson, he was very forthcoming. Dunewell also pondered the mind that could contrive such intricate plots and designs.
Less than another hour of rowing brought them to a cove concealed by an overlap in what appeared to be a sheer rock face. There was a deep and wide alcove that would accommodate a large seagoing vessel, but it looked not even big enough for a ship to turn around. Yet, once inside the alcove, the rest of the inlet could be seen, and indeed there was a large brig, a swift three-masted vessel with Ivant’s Folly painted on the side, hidden within the pirates’ lair.
Although not yet noon, Dunewell was struck by the smell of rum as they maneuvered their way through the small channel and toward the dilapidated docks.
“I’ll be skinnin’ me a guard if I get no challenge soon!” Jonas roared.
There was a splash from the dock, and a surprised sailor bobbed in the water, struggling to regain the dock. Apparently, he’d been asleep when Jonas’s call surprised him. His awakening jerk sent him from his napping spot on the barrels of the dock into the water.
“Capt’n?” the choking pirate called.
“One and the same,” Jonas said.
“You ain’t been back for a while,” the pirate said. “We was…”
“Which one are you?” Jonas demanded in the odd accent adopted for this alias. “You look like Simms, but Simms ain’t so dumb as he’d ever be questionin’ his Capt’n! Now catch this rope and pull us in. Got me a prize, and another prize for you layabouts.”
Jonas tossed the end of the rope and the pirate, still treading water, barely managed to catch it. Simms clambered from the water to the dock and pulled the longboat in.
“Does he need tyin’ up, Capt’n?” Simms asked as Dunewell climbed from the longboat to the dock.
“Simms, you ask me one more question, and I’ll be splitting my loot with one less jabber-mouth,” Jonas spat. “I know what I got from this one’s sea chest. When I come back, if a single coin or bootlace is missing, you’ll be answerin’ for it.”
“Aye, Capt’n,” Simms said, straightening his back.
Jonas led Dunewell from the dock toward a side-cave entrance seventy yards away. Dunewell could see with the use of Whitburn’s abilities without trouble, but, as they moved farther from the cave entrance, Jonas had to rely on torchlight from the side-cave entrance. They walked through the large entrance, which ran only eight to ten feet, before entering a much larger inner cavern, also lit here and there with torches and lanterns.
The inner cavern was a shamble of bunks, cots, tables, chairs, mattresses, crates, cookfires, kegs, and card games. Pirates slept, ate, guzzled rum, sharpened cutlasses, coile
d ropes, threw daggers, and played cards in small lumped groups throughout the underground lair. Crates marked with the red and white strip of House De’Char could be seen all about.
“Capt’n Noon?” one lanky pirate, wearing only a pair of ragged pants that ended just below the knee, called out.
“It is, Ords,” Jonas said in his odd accent. “Get me a map, bring Fruellen and Tate, and be quick about it.”
Ords bobbed his balding head and headed off among the snoring and cussing of the pirate horde. Jonas led Dunewell to a table nearby, swept tankards and plates from the tabletop, pulled up a chair, and took a seat.
“Nope,” Jonas said when Dunewell grabbed the back of another chair and moved to place it at the table. “You’ll be sittin’ at my feet ‘til I get paid fer ya.’”
Dunewell ground his teeth, and Jonas raised an eyebrow and patted the hatchet in his belt. Dunewell, hoping his performance adequate, stomped to the side and took a seat on the sandy floor of the cavern.
Soon Ords, a dark-skinned and burly chap called Fruellen, and a halfling with a shaved head by the name of Tate, made their way to the table. Ords had a plate of potatoes and roasted chicken and carried a tankard of some strong-smelling ale that he sat before Jonas. Tate sat several maps on the table and took a seat, and Fruellen stood with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.
Jonas took a bite of chicken and chewed with his mouth open while he began to speak.
“Tate, the map we’ll need is for the sea just west of here,” Jonas said around a jaw packed with chicken. “There’s a ship anchored there, the Sea Trollop. She sets unmanned and still loaded with cargo.”
Tate was busy unrolling the proper map when understanding began to dawn on him. He looked up to Jonas with a question painted on his face that he wouldn’t release from his lips. Jonas only smiled.
“You lads will take two longboats and twenty men to collect her,” Jonas continued after a long drink of ale. “I’ll be taking Ivant’s Folly to Split Town and gettin’ me a ransom for this one,” Jonas jerked a thumb at Dunewell’s glowering face.