Travels With a Fairytale Monster

by Elizabeth Gannon

  “Number 618 on the list,” his companion provided, raising one more finger, “you’re the most immature man I’ve ever met.”

  “You can’t say that for sure.” He reminded her. “You could have met hundreds of men more immature than I am, but you’d have no way of remembering them.”

  Sadly, his partner had memory problems. She always downplayed them, and sometimes outright denied them, but they were there.

  As far as he knew, she couldn’t remember anything about her life before their meeting.

  Uriah had no idea what her real name even was.

  So, she was “Ransom,” simply because he had once hoped to sell her back to her family when they appeared. But they never showed up to claim her, so she stayed with him.

  Not that he cared much what her real story was, since he was perfectly happy with their relationship. If he made a serious effort to find out her history, there was a chance their partnership might change. And Uriah didn’t want that to happen. He depended on her for everything and losing her from his life would be unthinkable.

  She was a vital piece to his life. He needed her to survive.

  Thankfully, she seemed just as disinterested in her history as he was. Perhaps more so, in fact. True, early on she had made a cursory effort into researching it, but it was halfhearted at best.

  He knew the woman.

  If she cared about something, it would get done.

  She was clever, capable, and driven.

  But she had still never uncovered what her story was.

  In all honesty, Uriah suspected that she was deliberately avoiding the issue out of fear of what she might find out about herself.

  Which was fine with him.

  He wasn’t a man who liked change overly much. If things were good, he wanted them to stay good. He was more than happy to continue calling her simply “Ransom” and keeping her on his crew and in his life.

  Her friendship was really the only thing in the world he valued. He’d sacrifice anything or anyone if it meant gaining her good opinion.

  Her… forgiveness.

  Just somehow wash away the shame and guilt he felt every moment of the day, and prove to her that he could be trusted. When it mattered. Instead of being some useless thing that let her down.

  “I’d remember that.” Ransom defended calmly. “People like you have a tendency to be memorable.”

  “Thank you, Dove.” He smiled, genuinely touched. “So often I find that the world is filled with a parade of sameness, all proudly marching in step to the monotonous pounding of normalcy, without any thought given to where it is they are going or what they…”

  “Hey!” One of the men yelled. “I said: give us the money or we’ll gut you right here!” He poked Uriah with the tip of his sword to drive the point home.

  Uriah frowned down at the man reproachfully. He hated being interrupted when he was talking to his partner. In all honesty, he’d forgotten about the entire ‘being held at knifepoint’ aspect of his afternoon. As was typical, when he was talking to Ransom, she was the only thing on his mind.

  “Oh, he sounds serious, ‘Rai.” The bored tone in Ransom’s voice was delivered perfectly, her Adithian accent making everyone else in the world sound like lowbred hooligans in comparison.

  For his part, that classification was absolutely true. Uriah was literally from the worst place in the known world: the Grizzwood. It was a land of bogs, bastards, blood, and barbarians.

  Uriah had chosen to rise above his ignominious beginnings however, and had gotten out of that awful place as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He had spotted his opening and entered into the only honest profession available to a Grizzwoodian: piracy.

  Which was about as “honest” as a Grizzwoodian could ever actually be. They weren’t universally recognized as the world’s criminal class without reason, after all.

  He readjusted his tall copotain-style hat on his shaved head, so that it didn’t interfere with the braided ponytail of dark hair which hung from the back of his head to his waist. There were some elements of life in the Grizzwood which not even Uriah was willing to leave behind, and he had maintained the hairstyle.

  It was a signal of where he was from and what he could do.

  What he had done.

  Very few people outside of his homeland would recognize its meaning, but given the number of Grizzwoodian criminals which seemed to move about in the world, it still served as a very nice deterrent.

  “I want my money, Cap’n!” The man demanded again.

  “Money?” Uriah took on an air of complete bafflement and turned to his partner. “Ransom, do you know anything about this alleged coinage?”

  “I think he’s referring to the money that you were supposed to pay him.” She reminded him calmly, sitting down on a barrel. “Remember? With that treasure you stole from the Cormoranians?”

  “Ahhhh.” Uriah nodded, as if finally understanding. “That money.”

  Last year, Uriah had taken part in a bit of a revolution in the kingdom of Cormoran, and had helped himself to a portion of their treasury. Which, really, was actually less than he deserved for his steadfast service in that whole affair. Without his brave leadership, the entire operation would have crumbled. The kingdom would have been lost. Fire. Death. All of it. But thankfully, Uriah had been there to save the day and avert disaster. His heroism truly was a beacon, guiding those poor lost souls through the darkness.

  It was only right that he should be rewarded for his gallant efforts.

  Granted, the amount and method of his payment had been a unilateral decision on his part, but he hadn’t felt the need to involve his clients in that aspect of things. Bothering them with the insignificant details would have only confused them anyway. They weren’t exactly the fastest ships that ever sailed, when you came right down to it.

  Sadly, the whole world had been fighting for the past decade or so, as The War of Gold and Silver raged. The kingdom of Baseland— the titular “gold” in the war’s catchy moniker— and The Union of the Southern Isles— which was led by a queen whose nickname was “Silver Tree,” thus helping some rather unimaginative person devise the second half of the confrontation’s title— were carving up the world with their allies. Seven kingdoms making a mad rush for power and splitting the world between them.

  The capital of the Southern Isles, Adithia, was where Ransom was apparently from, judging from her exotic appearance and accent. But Uriah had never held that against her.

  People couldn’t help where they’d been born.

  Uriah’s people were mindless savages of the Grizzwood, Ransom’s people were sinister Adithian lunatics bent on bloody conquest.

  But that was the nature of the world.

  And life went on for them both.

  “Yeah. That money.” The man shot back, poking Uriah with the sword again. “You have it. You promised it to me. I want it. You’re going to give it to me or I’m going to stick you right here.”

  Uriah looked down at the blade and pursed his lips. “As a negotiating tactic, bloodshed rarely inspires much in the way of trust between business partners. In fact, it betokens ill-intent.” He heaved a longsuffering sigh. “And after all we’ve been through together. Honestly, I expected better from you, Stiller.”

  “Stillman.” Ransom corrected.

  “Nickname, Dove.” He quickly explained, hating it when he looked bad in front of her. “I’ve always called him ‘Stiller,’ you know that.”

  “True.” She nodded. “You never get his name right.”

  “That’s because we’re so close that we don’t need to use our formal names.” He turned to face her, ignoring the men entirely now. “Friends use nicknames. It’s simply more evidence of our deep bond, and why this betrayal is so especially cutting for me.”

  She snorted in derision. “The closest you’ve ever come to a nickname for Stillman is: ‘you fucking idiot.’” She leaned back against the building again, still sitting on her barrel. “Nu
mber 619 on the list of reasons why nobody likes you: you remember the words to a few thousand shanties about crime and slutty women, but can only name three members of your crew.” She paused. “Counting yourself.”

  “That’s unfair, Ransom.” He protested, pointing at her. “Most of the crew is new. How can I be expected to…”

  “I’ve been on your crew for four years!” Stiller shouted in irritation. “Four fucking years!”

  Uriah pursed his lips in thought, trying to place the man.

  He did look kind of familiar…

  “I’m sick of your shit, Cap’n!” The man yelled again. “I’m through wasting my life waiting for you to do something competent! I’m through watching you fart around the countryside, doing nothing, while there are prizes out there on the seas to be taken! I’m through making up excuses for why every other pirate in the world is getting rich off this war, but I’m stuck in this rathole kingdom, living like a fucking peasant!”

  “Wow.” Ransom sat up straighter, as if suddenly paying attention. “It’s like he’s saying everything I’m thinking but am too bored to say.” She told no one in particular, a small smile causing the spider-web of scars which ran across her otherwise flawless and strikingly beautiful face, to twist upward.

  Uriah snorted in amusement, always loving his partner’s sense of humor, particularly when she smiled. She very rarely did and he found the sight simply stunning.

  True, he was about to be killed in this grimy alleyway, but Ransom’s pretty little smile made this a wonderful day. Even if he were stabbed to death right now, it would have been worth it. Because that woman’s smile was something which affected him on the deepest of levels.

  She affected him on the deepest of levels.

  She always had.

  He found her mere presence erotic but also comforting. She made him feel safe, and powerful, and like if he could make a creature as stunning and capable as she was smile at him, then he could do anything.

  Including dealing with the five heavily armed men he apparently owed a LOT of money to.

  “We Red or Black here?” She asked calmly.

  “Red.” Uriah’s smile never faded as he made his decision on how they’d handle this situation. “Most decidedly Red, Quartermaster.”

  “Aye, Captain.” She nodded, still sounding bored. “I concur.”

  Stiller ignored her. “So, you’re going to give me that money, because I’ve earned it after four long years of putting up with your shit!”

  Insanity and greed lit the man’s eyes, and Uriah was sure Stiller believed what he was saying. He fully intended to kill Uriah right here.

  There was no gratitude anymore.

  No loyalty.

  Uriah didn’t actually remember the man, but he was sure he’d done a myriad of wonderful and benevolent things for him over the years. Uriah was constantly doing good things for the world. Granted, some of those same things got him jail time and/or denunciation from civic leaders and the clergy, but the point remained the same.

  “Very well.” Uriah heaved a weary sigh. “But let’s do this somewhere else, yes?” He gestured to Ransom. “I don’t want the girl to see.”

  “Your girl’s blind, cap’n.” One of the other men— who may or may not have been a member of Uriah’s crew, Uriah wasn’t sure— reminded him. “She ain’t seeing much of anything.”

  “I think he must be their gang’s ‘smart one.’” Ransom told Uriah knowingly, as if impressed with the man’s deductive reasoning.

  He chuckled at her dry tone, but refocused on the men. “All the same, she shouldn’t have to hear me die.” Uriah shook his head. “I fear she might be traumatized.”

  “Actually, it would probably be the lone bright spot in an otherwise dull morning.” Ransom sounded as utterly disinterested as she claimed to be. “We spent most of it in a tavern, looking for a guy who isn’t even here.”

  “But the wine was excellent.” Uriah added. “I don’t know why you can never look on the positive.”

  “Number 620 on the list of why nobody likes you: you’re usually drunk and when you’re not, you’re hungover.”

  “I’ll have you know that I am almost sober today.” He defended in righteous indignation, rounding on her.

  She readjusted the grey hooded poncho she was wearing, which shielded most of her scarred face from view. He had no idea why she chose to do that. If he were half as attractive as his partner, he’d hire a painter to put his image on the sides of buildings. “’Almost sober’ is not the same as ‘sober.’”

  “It’s close enough!” He held up a hand to show his resolve on the issue. “Certainly as close as I’ve come since that time…”

  “Enough!” Stiller shouted. “All I want is the fucking money!”

  “Can you just give it to him, Uriah?” Ransom still sounded annoyed. “Give it to him, so that he can take it and then kill you anyway, and I can get back to my morning.”

  “And just what do you have planned this morning that’s so pressing?” Uriah’s eyes narrowed in almost entirely mock jealousy. “Because I don’t seem to recall having anything else on my schedule.”

  “None of your business.”

  “It quite literally is my business, since it’s my ship!” He insisted, not liking the idea of his partner off talking to other men or other pirates.

  Uriah had no illusions about himself: he was easily replaceable for someone like Ransom. She could do better for herself in the space of an afternoon and he knew it.

  She was brilliant and capable and gorgeous.

  There was no question that she could do better than him, and he didn’t really want her figuring that out.

  “What ship!?!” She pointed towards the harbor, where his long-lost vessel, the Deceitful Whore, was conspicuously absent. “Last time I checked, we didn’t even have one anymore! We haven’t found the Whore after months of looking, and Dobbs took the ship you bought with the Cormoran gold, because you owed…”

  “I WANT MY FUCKING MONEY!” Stiller screamed, obviously annoyed with being left out of this private conversation.

  Uriah took a step away, as if not noticing the man’s anger. “I’d be glad to give you your money, I just don’t want to do it here.” He pointed at Ransom and mouthed. “She’s very delicate.”

  “What?” Ransom questioned, straightening on her barrel again, not able to see him mouthing the words but recognizing that something was going on. “What’re you saying about me?”

  “Nothing, Dove. Don’t trouble yourself.” Uriah waved a dismissive hand, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s none of your concern.” He turned back to the men, putting a finger to his lips to urge them to be silent about the issue. “See?” He mouthed again. “Delicate.”

  “Oh, let’s just do him right here and be done with it!” One of the other possible-crewmen suggested to Stiller. “I’m sick of dicking around here.”

  Uriah took another subtle step back and to the left, causing the men to advance towards him.

  “I think he’s their gang’s ‘tough one,’ ‘Rai.” Ransom informed him dryly, as if keeping track of the individual roles each of the men played in the gang. “His ‘scary voice’ just makes my lady parts quiver.”

  That should have been amusing, but instead it caused him to think about his partner’s body…

  He cleared his throat, trying to push the captivating image from his mind. He took off his hat and held it out. “Well, at least let her hold my hat.” Uriah suggested, shifting to the left again so that his angle on the men was better. “I don’t want to get blood on it. It’s vintage.”

  “I’m not touching that thing.” Ransom scoffed, holding up her hands. “You took it off a corpse.”

  He rolled his eyes. “For the last time, it was a skeleton!”

  “It’s still dead!” She shook her head. “I’m not wearing anything off a dead person!”

  “You’re wearing leather boots! Which are off a dead cow!” He argued rationally.


  “A cow isn’t a friggin’ person!” She threw out her arms, trying to draw attention to his supposed insanity. “I don’t wear corpse clothes!”

  “I said ‘hold it,’ not ‘wear it’!” He groaned in mock exasperation. “You’re always so difficult! Now you refuse to even mind an article of clothing while I go and speak with these fine gentlemen? What kind of quartermaster are you!?!”

  “The kind that’s not your fucking valet, Captain.” She snorted. “And the kind that thinks if you want to wear your creepy dead guy clothes, you should be the one to hold them.”

  Uriah took another small backwards step down the street in an effort to drag the men along with him in pursuit, and put them exactly where he wanted them.

  “Well, my only comfort is that I will remain the best dressed pirate in this alley, then.” Uriah announced. “Sometimes I envy your disability, Dove, as you don’t have to see the sartorial heartbreak which I am being confronted with at the moment.” He made a point of looking at each of the men in turn, as if judging their outfits, then turned back to his partner. “Truly, it’s all I can do not to weep.”

  “On the bright side, today won’t be the first time your clothes have been on a corpse.” She commiserated. “So there’s still hope for these guys adding your tacky crap to their wardrobe.”

  He took another subtle step to his left, stepping away from Ransom so that the men would be between them. “Now that’s enough, Dove!” He chastised. “Why would you even bring up my death like that? You’re ruining my attempts at joining these fine young men in future criminal escapades.”

  “There is an opening in their gang, ‘Rai.” Ransom announced. “I don’t think they have a ‘cool one’ yet.”

  Uriah took on a sickening smile. “I think they’re all the ‘cool one.’”

  “They’re all trying to be the ‘cool one.’” She corrected, then shook her head. “That can’t happen. They can’t all be ‘the cool one.’”

  Uriah took another small step, tempting the men forward. “Perhaps one of them can be the ‘funny one’?”

  “Funny one? Funny one!?!” The man on the right moved forward. “I ain’t amused.” He snarled, barring his broken yellowed teeth. The man’s movement also put his back to Ransom, his focus entirely on threatening Uriah and keeping him from escaping.