Black Guild

by J. P. Ashman

  ‘I’m guessing he lied?’

  Prow nodded. ‘He lied to me and took me to more of his kin. He took me to the goblins of this ship, to one dressed in black who walked funny, like he was unsteady on the solid quayside.’

  Bosun closed his eyes and muttered a curse aimed at Spyde in particular. He sighed long and hard before continuing. ‘You don’t trust goblins, lass. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘Says you!’ Prow near on shouted, face reddening as she made to surged forward. She checked herself and fell back to her scattered blankets, pain and fear playing across her blotchy face.

  Bosun pursed his lips and nodded. ‘Fair one, Prow, although being aboard their ship doesn’t mean I trust them. It does mean they trust me though. To a certain extent, anyway.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t exactly feeling my best when I put my trust into that little green fuck,’ she said, settling as much as she could. ‘I was cradling my dead lover’s head in my arms when Lugg Puffitt came on by, yellow teeth flashing.’

  ‘Fair one,’ was all Bosun could say to that.

  ‘No, none of this is fair. None of it. If anything, it’s the most unfair—’

  Bosun interrupted with a bark of a laugh. Prow rocked back, her right hand scrunching the blanket at her chest.

  ‘Coming from the bloody Tri Isles, lass, I’d have thought you knew all about unfair, what with those fucking great scales The Three raised up over you.’

  Prow looked to her wool covered feet.

  ‘Why’d he die, your man? Who’d he wrong?’

  Her eyes snapped back to meet his, her defiance palpable. ‘What makes you think he wronged someone?’

  Bosun laughed again, despite the pain it caused her. ‘It’s usually the way, is all. My business is in killing folk, Prow, and I’m damned and bloody good at it. Well, usually.’ He thought to the dark room in the harbour and his missed mark, and his aching ribs. ‘But that means I know all about killing and the reasons why, and trust me, folk don’t often kill without reason, not often.’

  There was near – awkward – silence for a while, apart from the sound of grunting hobyahs and the rush of water on the hull.

  ‘My last man…’ She scoffed. ‘Boy, rather; jealousy, I’d say. That enough of a reason for you?’

  Bosun rubbed his chin and thought about that a moment, as Prow watched on. Motive makes sense, but… ‘This boy, he killed your man?’ Prow nodded. Bosun pursed his lips once more. Thoughts and reasons and methods and likely and unlikely scenarios rushed about his shaved head. ‘He killed your man, this boy, this ex-lover of yours. He killed your man and your man’s officers… and soldiers? All because he was green with jealousy?’ Bosun searched her eyes.

  Prow sneered. ‘I don’t want to talk about it no more. It’s too fresh.’

  Bosun held his hands out to placate her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll ask no more. Tonight.’ He groaned and climbed to his feet, as stooped as that made him. Prow said nothing and watched, face sour.

  ‘I’ll go see Cooker shall I? See if I can’t get some of that shit stew he’s boiling to death.’ He started to climb out of his hole, stopped half way and looked back to Prow, whose blue eyes were glistening once more. She pulled the blankets tighter about her.

  ‘Be sure to apply that balm whilst I’m gone, but be sure to brace yourself as it will hurt.’

  Prow nodded.

  ‘Oh,’ Bosun said, hesitating at the top of his ladder, ‘this might all go smoother if I knew your real name, rather than calling you Prow? It’s been a day now and, well…’

  The girl hesitated before nodding and telling him her name, voice shaking.

  Bosun smiled. ‘That’s a pretty—’

  ‘It was.’

  Bosun’s brow creased and he tilted his head, confused.

  ‘It’s Prow now, my name. The girl who came before is as good as dead.’

  Taking a deep breath, Bosun nodded once before climbing out of his hole. ‘Right you are, Prow,’ he said from up top. ‘Right you are.’

  The hatch closed.

  ‘Spyde!’

  The anger in the human voice shouting his name held Spyde firm in his spot, high on his web.

  ‘Spyde, you shite, where are you?’

  ‘He’s at the top,’ came a voice from the very stern.

  Curse you, Tull, Spyde thought, descending. ‘I’m here, Bosun,’ he dared, squinting into the dim light below.

  ‘Get down here. Now!’ Bosun was pacing, but keeping close to the base of the mast. ‘Pull!’

  The hobyahs surged into motion as one and Spyde, now reaching the bottom of the netted sail, realised they’d been falling asleep. He’s driving them harder than ever.

  Bosun looked up, nose and top lip pulled into a snarl.

  ‘You called?’ Spyde’s voice shook.

  ‘What’s the meaning of all that noise?’ Charlzberg shouted, from beneath his awning.

  ‘Not now!’ Bosun’s roar of a shout silenced the ship, hobyahs and all. The rowing continued when he looked left then right, and when he looked back up, Spyde froze. Charlzberg didn’t say another word.

  He’s taking control, Spyde thought, eyes darting about in an attempt to see the goblin crew that were surely drawing on the man who was shouting down their admiral. There wasn’t another goblin in sight, bar Tull, helplessly hanging as he was and illuminated by the stern lamp.

  Spyde swallowed hard again. He sees me as the only true threat. The only one with brains enough to know his plan. But why now? When he found the woman I could understand, but now? It’s been a bloody day, for Squall’s sake. He taken that long to stew over it? Panicked, Spyde made to climb. A large hand took his ankle in a tight grip and pulled. Fingers left rope and stomach rose in that gods-awful way for a heartbeat before Spyde hit the deck, hard. Bosun made no attempt whatsoever to break Spyde’s fall.

  ‘Pull!’

  ‘Blood God and Squall curse you, Bosun!’ A rush of heat flushed Spyde, anger and fear both. He surged to his feet and stared up at the man towering over him, cowled lamp in hand. Spyde surprised himself with the act of defiance, but before he could think on it, Bosun’s hand lashed out quicker than Spyde could have imagined and struck him across the temple. He was back on the hard deck, head spinning and throbbing. The wind took hold of Spyde’s dislodged black cap and blew it down the deck, towards a gawking, dangling Tull.

  ‘You kidnapped and tied that girl to the prow, didn’t you, you shit?’ Bosun dropped low, his sneering, lamp-illuminated face close to Spyde’s. ‘Didn’t you?’ he shouted when Spyde failed to answer. Spittle from that shout flecked Spyde’s face, who curled into a ball, none of the anger and fear he was feeling lending him strength to stand this time. All he could do was nod meekly and battle not to piss himself.

  ‘Pull! I fucking thought better of you, Spyde. Of you over all the others, you fucking shit!’

  Bosun stood and kicked Spyde hard. Despite knees being high, he felt the impact in his gut and coughed repeatedly.

  ‘That’s what she’s doing down there, you soft twat. Coughing her guts up with Samorl knows what ailment. A cold is all, I hope, but it could be worse and if she dies…’ Bosun kicked Spyde in the head. Spyde grunted and begun to cry. ‘Aye, she’s doing a fair bit of that too, no thanks to you and your little puss-filled pockets of shite.’ Another two kicks to the knee covered gut. More coughing. More crying.

  He’s going to kill me… he’s going to kill me…

  ‘Enough, Bosun!’

  Bosun looked up and was clearly surprised to see Charlzberg standing there, as was Spyde, truth be told; the second-hand dwarven pistol he’d bought Charlzberg was levelled at Bosun.

  ‘Admiral?’ Bosun said slowly, free hand rising as if a shield.

  ‘Do you want me to kill you with this pistol?’

  Obviously, he doesn’t, you prick, Spyde thought, his cries turning to short intakes of breath that hurt his bruised chest. Shoot him anyway!

  ‘Pull!’

  Spyde
winced at the poor choice of word, expecting a bang, but Charlzberg did fuck all. Of all the times he should have reacted, could have reacted, literally, to a spoken word… Spyde felt his bladder weaken.

  Bosun stood straight and held the lamp up high, lowering his other hand, a confident air settling over him. He looked left and right, before locking eyes with a nervous Charlzberg.

  ‘And who would have your back if you did that, Admiral? Why do you think I beat on Spyde so?’ Charlzberg made to speak, but Bosun continued. ‘Do you not remember our earlier conversation?’ Bosun let that sink in and Spyde shuddered at the thought of what might have passed between them.

  Charlzberg looked from Bosun to Spyde, who sobbed once more, curled in black on the floor. Goblin eyes met and Spyde had the hope-filled suspicion that Charlzberg was indeed about to pull the trigger.

  As much as I want him to, surely he’s not got the balls…

  There was a flash and a loud crack, followed by an explosion of metal, wood, blood and bone as the weapon exploded in Charlzberg’s hand, shredding his arm up to the elbow in the process and removing half of his hand altogether. With a guttural scream, Charlzberg fell back, clutching the blood-pumping stump with his left hand.

  ‘Fuck!’ Bosun jumped over Spyde, who rolled out of the way, eyes tight shut, before rolling back to see what happened. He launched himself to his feet, fear and pain forgotten, and ran to the thrashing, screaming goblin on the floor. He slipped on the mess before and about Charlzberg, and came skidding to a stop alongside his wailing face.

  ‘You stupid bastard,’ Bosun said, shaking his head and looking to the remnants of the old pistol. ‘I told you to clean the decrepit thing.’ He worked quickly, tearing cloth and binding the bloody limb whilst struggling to hold it steady.

  Spyde wondered why the man bothered.

  ‘Some help, for your admiral!’ Bosun shouted.

  Multiple boots and bare feet came their way. Spyde remained frozen, unsure what to do.

  The Ptarmigan twins were first by their side, followed by several others that were no more use than Spyde. Cooker arrived with more cloth and a small bottle of rum which he poured unceremoniously over the bloody rags at Charlzberg’s wrist and up his forearm.

  Charlzberg screamed all the more before passing out.

  The hobyahs stopped rowing and looked on, hungrier than ever, gnashing teeth and licking cracked lips.

  Spyde looked from blood and gore to hobyahs and back. He looked to Bosun and to the massing goblin crew.

  ‘Now’s our chance!’ Spyde shouted, pointing at Bosun. He quick-stepped away from the dangerous man and winced at the pain Bosun had inflicted upon him. ‘That man is a mutineer. Take him!’

  Either no one listened or no one dared, for not one goblin looked Spyde’s way. All eyes remained on their thrashing admiral or the hungry rowers. Spyde staggered back at that, especially when the only set of eyes that met his own belonged to the very man he was accusing. Bosun smiled and Spyde shuddered, felt full on sick. He swallowed down bile then felt a warmth down his leg and it was a moment before he realised he’d pissed himself. Without another thought he jumped up, took hold of the web-like ropes he knew so well and climbed to the very top, despite the pain of his gut, chest and throbbing head. Tears welling in his eyes and piss dribbling from his foot, Spyde stared hopelessly into the blackness of the night as he heard a familiar – now dreadful – shout amongst the commotion below.

  ‘Pull!’

  ‘Well?’ Bosun shouted for Spyde to hear. What do you see, you little bastard.

  ‘Another ship, ahead of Sessio!’ Spyde hadn’t come lower than the mid-point of his net for a whole day; since Bosun turned on him. ‘She has black sails?’ Spyde lowered his telescope and looked down.

  ‘Pull, you bastards!’ Bosun roared. He glared at Spyde, who put eye back to lens.

  ‘Yeah, didn’t think you’d make eye contact, you shit.’ Bosun strode to the stern. Once there, he addressed Tull. ‘You ensure those shits down there on the other boat have that thing loaded. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sessio made her way behind us somehow. She’s tricky like that, from all accounts.’

  Tull nodded and jerked about in an attempt to turn and face the boat being pulled behind.

  ‘And thrash about on that rope like never before, Tull,’ Bosun said, turning back to face the prow and the distant Sessio. ‘I want these hobyahs pulling like a teenage boy.’ We’re closing on you now, Mannino.

  Tull laughed and thrashed, but not before giving the order to the canon crew.

  ‘Pull, you useless bastards. Pull!’

  The hobyahs did just that and their pallid green skin ran wet with sweat and spray as the galley surged on towards its prey.

  ‘What’s happening, Bosun?’

  Bosun looked to his hole, where Prow was starting to emerge. ‘Back down, lass. No time to explain but it’s all going to get nasty up here.’

  Prow dropped back down as quickly as she’d appeared and Bosun was genuinely glad. She’s been through enough without witnessing what’s to come. He grunted a laugh. And that’s all I’d need, to come this far and have that lass blow it all by throwing this lot off as a distraction. ‘Speaking of distractions…

  ‘How’s the admiral, Cooker? It’s been a whole bastard day since you disappeared in there with him.’ Bosun looked to the awning and a fleshy goblin head popped out. Cooker stuck his thumb out, horizontally, and moved it up and down before disappearing back inside Charlzberg’s den of a quarters.

  ‘Hear that, crew?’ Bosun shouted. ‘Your admiral is on the mend and ready to take down his nemesis, Captain Mannino. Are you all with him?’

  The goblins howled and cheered. Bosun grinned.

  ‘What of the black ship, Bosun?’

  Turning on the Ptarmigan twins, Bosun realised it was Sister who’d asked, since Brother was busying himself with his arming belt.

  ‘You can rejoice there, lass.’ Bosun grinned all the more. ‘For that big bitch is with us!’ Brother looked to Bosun and the eyes of both twins widened. They grinned to match Bosun’s own, who turned back to the rest of the ship. ‘You hear that, you little turd suckers? The black ship is with us. With us, I say!’

  Another cheer and the galley surged on towards its prey.

  ‘You’re dead, Mannino,’ Bosun said under his breath, as he watched the familiar black ship close with Sessio. And then I can get off this shit of a boat and back to my own ship and guild. Then on to Wesson; home. He grinned. And perhaps I’ll have Prow by my side. Now that’s not such a bad thought. Not a bad thought at all.

  Chapter 29 – Black Guild, black ship

  Alden-Fenn, Martial Master of the Black Guild, turned as a hollow pop drew his attention from the enemy ship they were leaving behind to the centre of his own ship’s aft-castle. Eyes narrow, he took in the robed figure of a scimitar wielding, black skinned man, who set about felling sailors like they were children. Tattooed face raw from Sessio’s opening magical salvo, Alden-Fenn flexed his black gauntleted hands and held them out to the sides, where a man on the left strapped a shield and a man on the right handed him a flanged-mace. Rolling his maille clad neck, Alden-Fenn strode forward, shoving his own men aside before swinging his mace at the intruder’s back, eager to break bones or crush skull.

  Despite Alden-Fenn being surprisingly swift, the robed boarder avoided the attack with apparent ease.

  The boarder’s scimitar swished across Alden-Fenn’s shield immediately after, which was countered by a jab from the spike-topped mace. Again, Sessio’s boarder avoided the blow. It wasn’t that Alden-Fenn wasn’t fast, for his speed was renowned, and not just because of his bulk. It was more that the man Alden-Fenn now faced was ridiculously fast, fast and skilled and fearless.

  Master Parry, Alden-Fenn surmised. Sessio’s infamous blade master, in the flesh.

  The scimitar came across again, only to be narrowly avoided by the adroit movements of Alden-Fenn. He continuously swung and thrust his mace, con
siderable muscles working in a familiar way. The threat of a blow kept Sessio’s unarmoured blade master at bay, enough to allow Alden-Fenn to defend himself at least.

  An assassin attacked Master Parry from behind, but the scimitar came around fast and took the man’s jaw and tongue with a wet swish. He fell away, bubbling and frothing blood doing what a scream could not.

  Alden-Fenn retreated, allowing two more assassins to take his place. The curses, shouts, wet slaps of scimitar through flesh and screams of the one man boarding action continued.

  ‘Bring her about, behind the goblin galley,’ Alden-Fenn ordered, calm as ever, eyes split between the ongoing fight onboard and the swiftly approaching galley. ‘Follow them in and bring me my fucking sword.’

  ‘Aye, Master.’ The man on the whipstaff pulled it to one side and the large vessel turned, pitching heavily as she did so, whilst an officer produced Alden-Fenn’s longsword.

  Satisfied he could now get back to the blade master cutting his men low, Alden-Fenn made to attack once more. Master Parry fell back at that, slicing a bloody path down from the aft-castle and on to the castle-surrounded main deck that resembled a courtyard more than a ship, albeit aboard a heavily augmented cog.

  Alden-Fenn halted atop the steps, unwilling to pursue Sessio’s notorious blade master into the ship’s murder pit. A familiar shout from below the ship drew his attention instead, from the direction of the galley, and he made for the gunwale of his crenellated aft-castle, trusting his skilled assassins to deal with Master Parry.

  ‘Sessio’s coming about!’ Bosun’s fists clenched by his side, grin wide. ‘Pull, you shits! Pull! I want us nudging those bastards with our ram. Fire those fucking guns again!’

  There was another double retort and the deck guns on the prow sent iron grapeshot into Sessio’s stern. The goblins cheered.

  ‘If she turns, we ram?’ Spyde shouted down.