The Wrath of a Shipless Pirate (The Godlanders War)

by Aaron Pogue

  Lucky Lou didn’t run for the docks; he ran to intercept Corin. He didn’t pretend any ignorance either. He’d always been a straight talker. “It’s a fool move, son. I don’t care what you’ve heard, it don’t apply to you. Get out of town.”

  Corin answered in the same low tone. “I appreciate the warning, old man. More than you can know. But nothing’s changing my resolve, and they might make you regret stopping to talk with me.”

  “Regret is a young man’s vice, Corin. The only people in the world with that power over me are Old Grim and Ephitel himself.” He went two paces in silence, then sighed. “And right this moment, you. I don’t want to see you dead over some blasted ship.”

  “It’s not the ship.”

  “Fine. Some blasted mutiny. Not much difference in my books. Listen to an old man’s experience: Count yourself lucky that you survived, and find some new endeavor.”

  Corin shared a smile. “I’ve found one. I’m doing a favor for the good people of Marzelle.”

  “Pfft! Not much reward in public service. Would you really spill a drop of blood for a few stinking Raentzmen?”

  “I’d spill all of Dave Taker’s.”

  “You mean Tommy Day’s?”

  “I mean every rat left of that crew, if I get the chance. Ethan Blake too.”

  Something in that name snapped Lou’s patient resolve. He stopped in his tracks, knotted a fist in Corin’s shirt, and pulled him close. Eyes flashing and voice cast low, he said, “Hear me, son, because wherever you’ve been lately, you’ve lost your bearings good. Ethan Blake is a Vestossi, Dave Taker owns a port in Raentz, and Tommy Day kills off regiments for sport. These are the men you want to tangle with.”

  Every bit as serious, Corin answered him. “I don’t much care what his father’s name is. I plan to put an end to Ethan Blake.”

  Lucky Lou snorted. “As well say you plan to pick a fight with Ephitel. You can’t tangle with a Vestossi.”

  Corin weighed his answer. It served him naught to tip his hand, but he couldn’t stop himself. He shrugged. “One thing at a time.”

  Lou shook him like a child’s doll. “I’m not joking. I’ll tell you one more time: Leave town.”

  “I will. Tomorrow.”

  “Stormy seas, Corin! I never thought you a fool.”

  “Have a little faith. I keep some secrets of my own.”

  “I had some faith. Right up until you defied me.”

  “You never were my captain, Lou.”

  “No. No. But I used to be your friend.”

  “You still are.”

  “If that’s a fact—if you feel any kindness to me at all—abandon this whole enterprise. I have rooms in a country inn an hour outside town. These blackguards don’t reach that far. Come share a drink with me, and I will change your mind.”

  When Corin hesitated, Lou leaned closer still and begged him. “Please.”

  But even as he stood there wrestling with the choice, Corin caught sight of Doug the Gar across the way. One of his old hands, and almost as loyal to Taker as Tommy was. Doug didn’t try for stealth at all. He cried out in alarm and then ran all-out for the docks.

  And that was why Corin couldn’t yield to Lou’s pleas. No matter what he owed the man, Corin’s plans were already in motion. Already word of his presence had reached Dave Taker’s ship. If Corin arrived within the hour, he’d find chaos waiting for him there. If he waited any longer, the First Mate would have time to restore order, lay a trap for him, or send someone to kill him in the streets as he’d done to Béthané’s militiamen.

  Corin dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, Lou. I can’t afford to wait. I would love to share a drink with you. I’m sure there’s much I need to know. But after—”

  Lou spat. “There won’t be any ‘after.’ I won’t hang around to watch those dogs tear out your guts. I’m leaving this town and glad to be done of it. Are you coming with me or no?”

  “I can’t.”

  Lou showed no understanding. He sneered at Corin, disappointed, then turned and stomped off up the street. Away from the docks and everything that waited there. Corin watched him go. Perhaps with the Nimble Fingers’ help he could track down the old man once this mess was settled, but right now he had urgent business.

  And just as he was turning to continue on his way, he spotted another familiar face in the crowd. Not an old crewmate this time, but the blasted druid woman. She was hugging a busy street corner twenty paces distant, watching him with interest and scarcely trying to conceal herself.

  “Gods’ blood!” Corin shouted. “Not now!” Then he turned his back on her and ran.

  He went two miles to the docks, without slowing. He leaped the harbormaster’s wall at full sprint. It only took a glance to pick out the Espinola—the only ship in port with the gall to fly the black flag—and Corin covered half the pier before he remembered his dignity enough to slow to a more stately walk. That was far too late. Already the end of the pier was crowded with curious spectators. The decks of the other ships he passed were packed as well, all work forgotten as everyone in port watched the man in black march bravely to his doom.

  Corin was not too concerned. There were more familiar faces on the deck of the Espinola, not just old acquaintances, but his own crew. Certainly there were some like Dave Taker and Tommy Day among them—vicious hearts who’d been glad to slip free of Corin’s restraining hand—but there were others who were merely followers, who had gone along with the prevailing winds in their mutiny, but who bore Corin no genuine ill will. Likely they had seen hard times since Corin disappeared. Likely they felt pangs of guilt and regret as much as their companions felt amusement watching Corin’s approach.

  Corin sought the guilty expressions as he passed below. He caught those men’s eyes and offered each one a penetrating stare. By the time he reached the gangplank, more than a few up there had slipped quietly away.

  But at the foot of the gangplank, he found a hulking brute who was no acquaintance of his. The man didn’t even look to be a sailor. This was likely one of the local watchmen whose loyalty had been purchased with Blake’s silver. The man did not yield as Corin approached, but drew a heavy sword, notched and scarred with much hard use. “Halt. What is your business here?”

  Corin looked him up and down, trying for dismissive, and gave a weary sigh. “I am Corin Hugh, captain of these men, recently returned from the dead and ready to reclaim my post.”

  The watchman shook his head. “I know the Captain. You ain’t him.”

  “Soldier,” Corin said, packing his voice with contempt, “I am a problem above and beyond what the Captain pays you for. Surely you have heard the rumors.” He waved expansively. “You see the crowds who came when they heard whispers of my name. I am here to speak with your employer—”

  “The First Mate said no visitors!”

  “And I am the exception. If you don’t tell him that I called, after all these good people came to see us talk…why, they may spread rumors that the First Mate was too afraid to face the ghost of Corin Hugh.”

  “Let them say what they will. It’s not my problem.”

  “Oh? And you are sure your master will see things this way? You are sure he won’t blame you for this slur against his reputation, when you were too stubborn, too arrogant to simply ask if he would like to speak with me?”

  The watchman glared at Corin. Corin just gave another sigh. “Oh, very well. You can take me before the First Mate, and if he doesn’t wish to see me, just stab me there. What do you say?”

  “He’ll probably stab you himself.”

  “You see? This whole plan saves you work.”

  The watchman hesitated, his lips moving as he worked through Corin’s argument, but his eyes glazed over too. Corin breathed a silent thanks to Fortune for stupid watchmen everywhere.

  “You know,” Corin said, “I can save you even that much trouble. I’ll go and settle this and tell you what he said.” He brushed lightly past the watchman and made it halfway
up the gangplank before he heard an angry cry from the man below. Corin didn’t tarry any longer. He dashed straight to the top.

  Another watchman waited there, but Corin was no stranger to close fighting on ships. He sprang from near the top of the gangplank, grabbed the ship’s railing off to one side, and swung himself up into the crowd of watching crewmen. That drew a cheer from the pier below, but Taker’s men all shrank away, leaving a clear path for the soldier.

  Corin found a plan. He backed slowly away, luring the watchman all the way to the stern railing. All out of deck, Corin crouched there, waiting, and the hired guard came forward with a glint of anger in his eyes. “Got you now!”

  He lunged.

  “Not yet,” Corin said. He ducked beneath the soldier’s grab, swept his legs from under him, and planted both his shoulders in the big man’s gut. Corin heaved upward, redirecting the watchman’s momentum, guiding him up and over the low railing. The watchman gave a little yelp before he hit the harbor’s water two stories down with a mighty splash. Another raucous cheer rose up from below.

  Corin gave the watching crowd a wave, and then he moved before anyone else could come to stop him.

  Corin dashed across the deck and down a ladder to the door that led into the captain’s cabin. He wrenched it open, darted through, and slammed it shut behind him.

  The captain’s rooms were dark, shutters sealed against the morning light, and spacious even for a ship this size. Corin could not immediately pick out his target in the gloom, but an exasperated voice rasped from across the room. “Storm and fury, Billy Bo, you’re back already? Are you sure you’ve done it right?”

  Corin held his tongue and eased forward into the room. As he went, he drew his sword and, for good measure, the dwarven pistol too. His firearm wasn’t loaded—gods preserve him, he was happier unarmed than carrying around a charge of dwarven powder—but it was an impressive sight all the same.

  But for all his stealth, for all his success in getting this far, he felt a growing dread with every passing heartbeat.

  “Well? Speak, man!” the voice cried again. “Are they ready? Is he here? What have you disturbed me for?”

  Corin could contain himself no longer. As he passed one of the portholes, he kicked its shutters open to flood the room with light. Then he answered with an animal roar, “For vengeance!”

  The First Mate wasn’t at his desk. He wasn’t backed against the wall, a cutlass in each hand. He lay half reclining in his bed, propped up with pillows and pale as a ghost.

  And he was not Dave Taker. He was Tommy Day.

  “Guards!” the First Mate shouted, but his voice was thin and weak. “Where are my guards?”

  “They’re likely coming,” Corin said. “But not soon enough to save your sorry hide.”

  Tommy struggled to sit straighter, but Corin stomped forward and leveled the dwarven pistol at his face. “Don’t move. Don’t even twitch, or I will put you down.”

  Tommy licked his lips. “Well? Just what do you intend?”

  Corin didn’t have a ready answer to that question. He had never guessed he’d find an invalid Tommy Day here. Was this truly the notorious First Mate? Or had Corin come to the wrong rooms?

  Dave Taker didn’t seem the sort to share his cabin, even for someone as seriously ill as Tommy clearly was. Not even for his own cousin. But where was Dave Taker, then?

  There were questions here, but there were answers too. Everything he’d heard about this First Mate—the brutality, the public displays of power—those fit Tommy Day much better than Dave Taker, who always had preferred the anonymity of shadows.

  Meanwhile, Tommy’s illness explained why he’d maintained his leadership by proxy. The man looked wretched, his limbs shrunken to sticks, his cheeks hollowed, his eyes bloodshot and bruised. Clearly two months had not been long enough to overcome the injury Corin had done him in Khera. But that was just another piece of unfinished business.

  Corin held Tommy’s dark gaze. “I’ve come to finish what I started. But I didn’t guess you were so pitiful already. I’m prepared to make a deal.”

  “You will regret this day,” Tommy rasped, “but not for very long.”

  Corin lowered the pistol until the end of the barrel rested over Tommy’s heart. The tiny tremors that shook his feeble frame suggested he believed the empty threat. Corin nodded. “It’s time for you to listen. I’ll let you do your talking in a moment. But here’s the deal I’ll offer you: Leave Marzelle. Take nothing with you and no one from the crew. Run. Run fast and hard, and I won’t bother to chase you.”

  Tommy considered Corin for a long time. Time was not on Corin’s side, but he could not afford to appear concerned, so he counted seconds and left Tommy to stew.

  But when Tommy spoke at last, it was just to say, “I paid the Fig good money to see you dead. I’d almost thought he managed it.”

  “Seems you’ve been paying lots of folks good money to let you down. Where’d you come by it?”

  “Would you believe it was the books? The miserable scraps we stole from your stupid hole in the ground. They’re worth a fortune!”

  “Worth enough to chase down Charlie Claire in Khera?”

  “We’d have chased him all the way across the Endless Desert. No one steals from the Captain and lives.”

  Corin narrowed his eyes. “The Captain. That’d be Ethan Blake?”

  Tommy snorted in contempt. “Blake walked away to be some dandy of the court. Davey was the one was smart enough to see the value in the books. He’s the captain now.”

  “And you’re his First Mate.”

  Tommy showed his rotting teeth. “Important man like him needed someone strong and sharp to run the day-to-day.”

  Corin’s grip went white-knuckled on his sword hilt. Dave Taker had inherited his crew? Ethan Blake was bad enough, but Taker? And the man had made a fortune off their backs. This ship was testament to that, even without the tales of his exploits here in Marzelle.

  Corin growled. “Where is Davey now?”

  Tommy paused again. Time slipped away. At last, the First Mate shrugged. “He’s in the Wildlands on some errand of his own.”

  Shocked, Corin lowered his weapon and took a half step closer. “The Wildlands? What could take him there?”

  “Some task for Ethan Blake, no doubt. Rumor has it he’s a Vestossi lad, and now he’s gone back home to the manor. But he has jobs for us from time to time, and stormy seas, the man pays well!”

  “Where is he?” Corin demanded. “Where’s Ethan Blake? What’s his true name?”

  “Ask the storms, but I don’t know. He’s somewhere in Ithale if I had to guess, but he and me were never chums.”

  “But Taker would know.”

  “If anyone, it’s him. He has to get his orders somewhere.”

  The next question landed on Corin’s lips before he could consider it. “And what of Iryana?” He wanted it back as soon as it was asked, and even more so when he saw the surprise in Tommy’s eyes.

  “What, that desert slave?” He paused to consider it, then shrugged. “Blake kept her as a pet.”

  Some sense of caution gave Corin pause—he could ill afford to show his vulnerability here—but he had to know. He’d all but handed her to Ethan Blake, and whatever became of her, it was Corin’s debt to pay. He swallowed hard against his own restraint, and asked, “How…how did he treat her?”

  Tommy curled his lip in amused contempt. “How would you treat a girl you owned?”

  Corin clenched his jaw. “Somewhat better than Ethan Blake does, I suspect.”

  “True enough at that. But rest your gentle heart. The Vestossis didn’t earn their place by letting their produce spoil. He keeps her clean enough. And not too badly bruised.”

  Corin snarled, raising his pistol again if only to smash the smirk from Tommy’s face.

  To his surprise, Tommy’s smile only broadened. The First Mate shook his head. “You always were too soft.”

  There was some hint
in Tommy’s expression, perhaps some tiny sound somewhere in the room, but Corin felt a sudden, perfect clarity. Tommy had been buying time, stringing Corin right along.

  What had he said when Corin first arrived? “Billy Bo, you’re back already? Are you sure you’ve done it right?” And then a moment later, “Are they ready?” Corin hadn’t really had the time to consider what that meant, but now he recalled the flintlock pistol Tommy had fired on him in Khera. The man must have sent Billy off to charge a pair as soon as he heard rumors Corin was coming to the ship. And now, in this frozen instant, Tommy’s wicked grin suggested Billy had returned.

  Corin didn’t dare step through the dream as he had done before. He was too close now, and he couldn’t let the time escape him. He had to hope that Billy was a lousy shot and trust in Fortune to preserve him one more time.

  Corin didn’t bother turning, didn’t try to confirm his suspicion. He dropped to the ground like a sack of meal, and a heartbeat later came the explosion he’d been expecting. Fire and noise blasted from the direction of the door, and against all his instincts Corin scurried toward the gunman. Behind him, Tommy screamed in impotent rage, but Corin had little attention to spare for him. His eyes were full of Billy Bo, who stood big and dumb between Corin and the door, raising a second pistol to fire.

  Corin had a pistol of his own. It wasn’t loaded, but it was more than ten inches of forged bronze and that made a decent weapon of it, even empty. Corin flung it underhand at Billy, and as the pirate dodged away, Corin closed the gap and perforated Billy’s heart with Godslayer’s flawless point.

  Billy fell back, surprise as much as anything else in his eyes. Corin sent him to the ground with one last kick, then climbed up to his knees, scanning the floor for the loaded pistol Billy had dropped. It was lost in the gloom.

  An animal snarl was all the warning he got, but it was just enough. Corin forgot the gun and spun around in time to see Tommy Day leaping for him. Frail as Tommy was, Corin had overlooked the threat he posed, but Tommy was as much a street fighter as anyone Corin had ever known. He came charging now, and despite his stick-thin arms and scrawny legs, he brought a long, curved knife in each hand.