The Wrath of a Shipless Pirate (The Godlanders War)

by Aaron Pogue

  “But…but…you must tell me what you know!”

  “I know a place not far from here that serves a proper glass of rum.”

  “But—”

  “You’ve already cost me more than I could ever claim in ransom for your sorry bones. Be glad that you convinced me on that point, and gladder still that I choose to set you free. In my line of business, that counts as a lucky break.”

  The scholar scoffed. “What would you really have to gain from hurting me?”

  “Your two thousand livres, for one,” Corin answered, casual. “And I’d still have Charlie’s book to sell to some other sad scholar somewhere.”

  Corin turned away from the ashen scholar. Suddenly he did not feel at all friendly. Charlie came to meet him, but Corin spoke beneath his breath. “I’m going for a drink. Don’t you worry. Tesyn will not really pass up the book, although he may pretend he’s lost his purse. Press him, take your time, and you’ll get all your gold.”

  “But what about your share? You done your part. I can’t keep all the money.”

  With Tesyn’s fortune already tucked inside his cloak, Corin felt a pang of guilt at Charlie’s concern. But he had important business to do. And after all, Charlie had left him to burn in the fires of Jezeeli. He could afford to lose an easy score.

  “Whatever you can get from Tesyn,” Corin said, “consider it your own. I don’t need anything more than I already have.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “Stow that talk. I’m not your captain anymore. You’re your own man now, Charlie Claire. Revel in it.”

  “But…surely you still need a crew.”

  Corin stopped, one foot already out the door. He didn’t turn back, but he did consider the matter for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I am alone in this, Charlie Claire. The path I plan to walk…who could possibly walk it with me?”

  Charlie’s hand closed warm and strong on Corin’s shoulder. “I’ll go with you, Captain.”

  Corin shared his sad smile with the empty night and spoke over his shoulder. “I know you will, Charlie. I believe it. But…”

  In the end, he shook his head, shook off the sailor’s hand, and headed down the narrow lane. As he went, he finished the thought silently, for himself alone. You couldn’t follow where I’m going. You aren’t bad enough.

  Night was always quiet over Khera. Back home in Aepoli, the cruel investigators fought hard to enforce their lord’s curfew, but the caliph faced no such challenge here. The bitter cold of desert nights did far more than thumbscrews and burning coals could accomplish in civilized lands.

  So Corin stalked through empty streets as he left his inn behind. The silence suited him well. For as much as that was worth, the cold suited too. He wrapped his long black cloak more tightly around him and strode through shadow and silence and gloom.

  He should not have been so disappointed. He knew that, but the knowledge didn’t help. An hour ago he’d only hoped to score a handsome bounty, but for a moment there in the room—for one brief instant—he had thought he’d found an ally. He had thought he’d found someone who’d understand.

  Charlie couldn’t understand. The man was true enough and brave to a fault, but he had been the third dumbest of all the men in Corin’s crew. No, Charlie Claire could never really help him in his quest. But Corin had hoped that perhaps the scholar, the same man who had pointed him to Jezeeli, who had spent his lifetime scouring the world for clues, could at least share an understanding of the things Corin had seen.

  And with that thought, Corin understood why he felt so sour to discover the scholar’s inadequacy: He needed help. His quest…gods’ blood, it made his knees quake to consider it. What was his quest? Revenge, but it would be no easy blow. He still hoped to save the girl, but she could yet become one of the many scores he aimed to settle with the traitor Blake.

  Not Blake. Not Ethan Blake, as he had called himself, but some blasted Vestossi’s son or cousin. For all he hated them…for all the secrets he had learned, how could Corin hope to cut down a Vestossi and survive? And if he did survive, he had another promise to fulfill. He had a god to kill.

  Unconsciously, he closed his hand around the hilt of the sword on his hip. Godslayer. There was one answer, anyway. He had the means. But how was he to find Ephitel? How was he to face him?

  Corin laughed despite himself. It scarcely mattered. He had no way of settling with Blake, so plans for Ephitel could wait. In all likelihood, some unseen knife from the Vestossis’ thugs would settle Corin before he ever came close to his first goal.

  He was so thoroughly lost in these thoughts that he nearly missed the sound of footsteps trailing him. How had Charlie uncovered his deception so quickly? He’d expected it to take at least half an hour before the two men realized that Corin had stolen Tesyn’s purse. Still, he felt confident he could sort things out. He put on his most innocent expression and spun around. “Listen, Charlie, I can explain everyth—”

  But it wasn’t Charlie Claire. It was a woman, judging by her frame, but Corin spotted little else to know her by. She was draped in miles of the light white fabric that the natives wore, her face concealed behind a veil and obscured by the dark.

  She froze in place for half a heartbeat, but Corin found himself just as shocked. The woman recovered first. She raised one arm toward him like a marksman aiming a flintlock pistol. She might even have concealed one in the voluminous folds of her sleeves. But she made no threat. She asked no questions. She backed slowly to the nearest crossing alley, then darted off with a slipper-soft step.

  Instinct drove Corin after her, but he only went two paces before he caught himself. Concealed though she was, something in the woman’s stance had felt alluringly familiar. But who could he know in Khera? This one had been too small of frame for Iryana, and he could scarcely believe the fierce slave girl would have run. But who else? His life left little room for female entanglements.

  No. His desire for some companion had fooled him into seeing what wasn’t there. Surely. Far more likely she was some local lady on an errand, frightened to encounter an outlander alone on these dark streets. Aye. He nodded to himself. Far more likely, she was just a stranger.

  And not the only stranger in the night. Before Corin could turn back to his path, he spotted a pair of shadows approaching down another side street. Cautious now, Corin concealed himself within a narrow alcove and watched them approach. These men too carried a familiar aura, but this time it was one Corin placed easily enough.

  They were pirates. He knew it at first by their rolling gait, and then by their dress, and then by the stink of them. A sinking suspicion settled over him as he remembered some of the things Charlie Claire had said before. He and Tesyn had chosen Khera because it was not a safe place for pirates anymore. That meant these two men wouldn’t be here without some pressing business.

  And they were not just in Khera. They were here, in this neighborhood that Old Grim had so much preferred. They were rounding the corner and heading back up the street Corin had just come down. They were heading toward Charlie Claire.

  An angry snarl tugged at Corin’s lips. These were no strangers at all. These were Ethan Blake’s men, come to punish Charlie Claire for daring to leave their ranks. It wasn’t enough that Corin had robbed him; now the poor sod was going to get his throat cut.

  Run, Corin thought, shouting the order in his own head. Get clear of this place. It’s their business now; let them sort it out. You’re supposed to be hunting Ethan Blake.

  And yet he didn’t move. He stood frozen in place, staring down the dark street after the retreating figures and thinking of poor Charlie Claire sobbing in a corner. The man didn’t deserve to die like this.

  You’re nobody’s hero, Corin Hugh. He licked his lips and clenched his fists and fought to restrain an angry growl. He wasn’t a hero. He had more important business to do. And yet he couldn’t make himself move.

  Then a thought struck him. Charlie wouldn’t just die. Charlie would
talk. Charlie would tell them everything, and then Ethan Blake’s thugs would go rushing back to him with news that Corin Hugh was still alive. That Corin Hugh was hunting him. That Corin Hugh had strange new magic powers.

  Somehow, that realization eased the weight on Corin’s chest. He was no hero—that was sure. But he wasn’t about to lose his only advantage over Ethan Blake. He had no choice but to stop those men. He checked his sword within its scabbard and the dagger on his belt. Then he ducked his head and, silent as a shadow, crept down the road behind the stalking pirates.

  He’d lingered too long in his hiding place and couldn’t catch the men before they reached the inn. Still, he was not more than a hundred heartbeats behind them when he slipped into the inn and up its narrow stairs. The door to his old rooms stood open just a crack, and Corin stood a moment on the landing, motionless, listening for some clue as to what was happening in there.

  For a moment there was nothing, and Corin began to wonder if the pirates he had seen were truly Ethan Blake’s at all. Then Charlie cried out in surprise, and a moment later a violent blow landed with a wet crack against the sailor’s skull. Corin cursed and moved like lightning. He burst into a sprint even as familiar voices carried out into the hall. “Oh, Charlie, you never shoulda run on us.”

  “Never shoulda stole the captain’s rightful booty,” another answered.

  “Never shoulda showed your face. Never shoulda come back for more.”

  “It’s all ours now! Search ’im, Billy!”

  Billy Bo. Corin’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. One of Ethan Blake’s favorite cronies. And that would make the other—

  “Slit ’is throat, Tommy?”

  Tommy Day. Dave Taker’s half-brother. Two of the cruelest men Corin had ever known, and he’d been seven years a pirate.

  An animal grin twisted Corin’s mouth. He wasn’t a pirate anymore; he was a vengeful spirit. And these two men had a reckoning to pay.

  The sword escaped its sheath as Corin spun into the room. With his left hand he drew a heavy dagger too and put it almost immediately to use. Tommy stood two paces closer to the door than Corin had guessed, and the fiend reacted to his old captain’s appearance without a moment’s hesitation. He swung the same heavy cudgel that he’d used to club poor Charlie, but Corin caught it on the guard of his dagger and then plunged three feet of silvered steel into Tommy Day’s abdomen. The old sailor didn’t even scream, but he fell away.

  Corin flung himself aside half a heartbeat before Billy Bo’s hooked axe slashed through the air where he had been. Corin landed on his shoulders, looking back on his attackers, and he kicked out hard with both feet. Corin’s boots found Billy’s shins, and Billy did scream. Corin sprang right up, ducked a wild swing of the axe, and dropped Billy with a vicious backhand.

  Still, old Tommy hadn’t made a sound. Corin turned that way, curious, and found Tommy stretched out on the floor, his shoulders propped against the wall. The man’s right arm was extended, and in his hand he held a flintlock pistol.

  Something cold and crushing closed around Corin when he saw the weapon. He hated guns.

  Tommy grinned, and his teeth were red with his own blood. “Give my regards to Ephitel.”

  Corin fought down the icy panic and grinned right back. “I’ll add them to the list.”

  Tommy roared in anger, his hand clenching convulsively around the pistol’s grip. Corin closed his eyes and stepped through dream. The pistol’s crack was loud enough to drown out Tommy’s roar, but it came too late to harm Corin. Faster than a man could blink, Corin sprang ten paces across the room. The gunshot flared and roared and faded, all more quickly than it should have, and Corin already knew it was a waste of effort when he hurled his dagger across the room.

  The blade buried itself a hand’s width deep in painted plaster. Full daylight flooded the room, blinding Corin for a moment, but there was no enemy left to take advantage of it. Everyone was gone. He’d stepped through dream again, and once again he’d lost hours or days.

  “Gods’ blood,” Corin said, then stopped to catch his breath. “I’ve got to get a hold on that.”

  He strained his ears for a moment, but the house was strangely quiet. Midafternoon then, when all the locals retired from the searing sun for prayers and meditation. But Corin wasn’t interested in locals.

  A bloodstain marked the place where Charlie Claire had fallen. It was no sure sign that he was dead—scalp wounds always poured like summer storms—but Charlie had left a larger pool than even Tommy Day’s.

  Corin curled his lip at that. Tommy Day was gone, his debt yet unpaid. And Billy Bo as well. Corin had quite hoped to wring some news of Ethan Blake from them before he put them down. Worse still, they’d seen Corin alive, and seen his new magic firsthand. Grays take them both, Corin thought. They’ll tell it all to Blake.

  A groan from the far corner caught his attention. He took two hurried steps that way and half-drew his sword again before he saw the sad figure who’d been left there.

  Corin heaved a weary sigh. “My lord.”

  The young scholar groaned the louder. “What more could you ever do to me?”

  “I could tell you everything I know about Jezeeli,” Corin said, and some mad joy bloomed in the scholar’s blackened eyes.

  Corin shook his head. “But I am not that unkind. You have suffered enough.”

  “But—”

  Corin didn’t stay to listen. If the scholar were still here, just waking, then Oberon’s magic had not stolen days or weeks this time. Midafternoon suggested hours. Corin had a guess where he might find his former shipmates, but he had to hurry.

  He went two steps toward the door and then stopped. In the wreckage from the struggle, beneath a broken side table, Corin spotted the corner of the book that Charlie Claire had stolen. He scooped it up, weighed it in his grasp, and flipped the priceless treasure underhand across the room to land in the scholar’s lap.

  “Keep better care of it this time,” Corin said. “Next time we meet, I’ll want a full report.” Then he left the room, cloak flapping, and hit the empty streets at a full sprint.

  Midafternoon in Khera was not much unlike midnight, although the daylight boiled where the night wind seared with chill. Still, the streets were strangely empty, the shops closed up, and Corin crossed the deserted city with an eerie sense of déjà vu. That sense was only heightened when he turned a corner and ran full-tilt into a woman—the only other living soul on Khera’s streets. She was shorter than Corin, thin and light, but she barely gave a step when he hit her. Instead she pirouetted, graceful as a University swordsman, danced around his momentum, and sprang free.

  Corin nearly lost his own balance, startled as he was by her agility. She fell back a pace and watched him through a smoky veil. Her head was covered, her garments plain, but once again he got the eerie feeling that he knew the stranger watching him.

  Corin brushed the dust from his knees and elbows, unthreatening, and offered her his most disarming smile.

  “Are you stalking me? A pretty little thing like you—”

  Too late he remembered she was armed. Her right hand came up, lost within the folds of her robe, but he didn’t doubt she held a pistol of her own.

  “Age of Reason!” he screamed and turned on his heel. “Does everyone in Khera have a gun?”

  He had no wish to lose more time to Oberon’s dream travel, and the city streets gave him more room to maneuver than the crowded inner chamber had offered before. He vaulted an abandoned fruit cart, feinted to the left, then sprang and rolled to the right. He went half a block down the next street, then took another alley. Three quick jogs—left and right and left again—and half a mile separated him from that strange woman.

  He slowed, but only to a trot. He did have somewhere to be, and time was precious. He had to catch Tommy and Billy before they left the city. But as he headed for their most likely point of exit, he thought back on that strange encounter. Who was this woman following him? It
couldn’t be coincidence that he had met two such figures under such circumstances. And yet, how could she have found him? Hours apart, the timing made more random by his strange magic movement. Yet twice she’d stumbled on him. She’d seemed surprised both times, but she’d been quick enough to draw her gun.

  And yet, she hadn’t fired. He had no doubts she had the skill—not after that martial display—but she clearly meant her arms to pacify him, not to injure. That was something, anyway.

  For a moment he regretted leaving her. He glanced back to see if she had followed, but flight came as easy as breathing to a boy grown in the dark streets of Aepoli, and Corin had truly lost her.

  It was likely for the best. The girl was some kind of mystery, but Corin had a purpose. Ethan Blake. And all his hopes for revenge were likely leaving with the tide. Corin ground his jaw and sprinted harder despite the searing sun. There was somewhere he had to be.

  Khera had no Nimble Fingers; the elite network of thieves and fences kept themselves to more civilized climes. But Khera’s next best thing was Ahmed the Fig. Ahmed ran a dirty little brothel outside the city. He was famous for it, though no one seemed much interested in hiring his women.

  But…perhaps it mattered that his fine establishment backed right up to the river. Perhaps his private jetty saw an inordinate amount of traffic—mostly by the sleek, fast ships so suited to smugglers and slavers. Perhaps the caliph’s guards were well rewarded for overlooking Ahmed’s business.

  Every pirate on the Medgerrad knew of Ahmed the Fig, but Corin almost always kept away. Old Grim hadn’t liked the man, and Corin knew better than to doubt his mentor’s judgment. Still, Corin knew the way as well as anyone, and he was willing to bet everything that Billy Bo and Tommy Day would be at the Fig’s place now—if they were not already gone.

  The sun was sinking low when Corin reached the brothel. A hard-packed footpath curled past wild dunes in an empty stretch of desert. As he approached the run-down clay building, Corin searched the horizon carefully, but he could spot no other signs of life. The river’s floods never touched this high spit of rocky land, but it was likely Ahmed’s reputation, more than the challenging agriculture, that kept him short on neighbors.