Galows Pole

by Will Molinar

  He shook his head and appreciated the viewpoint at the prow of his ship even more. It was far enough away from the thick of the action, but close enough to see what was happening. This would be a lot of fun.

  His ship, along with the other support vessels, hung back in line as the seven war galleons spread out in formation. They surrounded the enemy merchant crafts and bore down on them. Zandor couldn’t see the front end very well, but no doubt they were about to open their bottom decks and bring their canons to ready positions.

  The man up in the crow’s nest called down new information as it came. Everything was still.

  “My god,” Kurgi said beside him, “it’s all gone crazy I say.”

  His closest compatriots, trusted men and none others, stood nearby. The situation was about to explode into chaos, and he couldn’t wait to see it. A few minutes later, a couple of smaller boats, row boats in fact, broke off from the flag ship and strolled through the make shift barricade. They headed for the dock unmolested.

  “Going to parlay you think, Z?” Kurgi said. The short man scratched his balding head and stared.

  Zandor shrugged. “S’pose. They ain’t gettin’ far that-a-way. That town’s a powder keg, my friend. That ship,” he said and pointed. “That ship is the spark that is gonna blow it all to hell.”

  It would be very entertaining to see it explode.

  * * * * *

  Giorgio felt out of his element. Everything around him was far beyond his expertise and level of experience. Yet everyone around looked to him for leadership. As the two smaller vessels approached like the tide of doom, people stood near him and asked what it meant, where they should be. He had no answers, and the mental confusion of his own physical condition made it harder to focus.

  The Dock Masters were nonexistent. There was no reason to expect anything from Dollenger since the man made it clear, he would have nothing to do with the situation. There was also nothing further from Becket or Crocker. The thief glanced around, frantic and cornered, but there was nothing to do but wait and watch.

  The row boats came closer. The sun was now higher on the horizon and a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors back lit the scene. It skipped across the water far beyond from where they stood. Torches burned at the edge of the warehouses. Man-made light vied for dominance, losing as the day broke.

  No one stood at the edge of the piers, so nothing stopped them from landing at Pier Five. Several people around him nudged closer to Giorgio, and he sighed. Anders was no help. The young thief looked as scared and lost as Giorgio felt while Delora looked confused, also as Giorgio felt.

  Other dock workers and converted thieves stood behind him, along with the security sergeant that had helped him earlier. The man looked at Giorgio with an expectant expression. A few police officers did the same. The veteran thief took a deep breath and faced the edge of Pier Five.

  A delegation from the two boats, including armored men with sky blue uniforms and heavy halberds with tall plumes sticking out from shining helms, strolled down the pier towards them. A couple of haughty looking men with blue cloaks and a royal manner came with them.

  Their looks were ones of menace. Their snobbish bearing annoyed him. They needed to be taken down a notch or two. One man in particular, wearing white robes and holding both hands inside the opposite sleeves, carried himself along like he owned the entire wharf.

  Giorgio flicked his head over and motioned everyone to follow. They came in his wake, and they walked over to meet this impressive group. It felt odd to be leading so many different factions of the city, but it also felt right. A sense of destiny guided him. This was where he belonged.

  These men who came to their shores were foreigners, interlopers with intentions of harm. The mercenaries already present had weakened the city like a cancerous growth. These men represented the change he had fought so hard to stop. They were Castellan’s men, who was a foreign born person himself, and this was the final symptom.

  The two groups grew closer and while each side had several different components: retainers, guards, supposed politicians on one end while Sea Haven had police, security, dock workers and thieves, yet it was Giorgio faced the smug looking man in the white robes.

  The man was of average height and thin. Perhaps forty five or fifty years of age, he had stern features on a clean shaven face with short brown hair. He gave a slight bow and looked around at all of them with a serious countenance that also held confusion. His eyes alighted on Giorgio.

  “Good day, sir. I am Grayme Lautner. I represent the city of Janisberg and the commander of this military force you see around us. Our demands are simple. Return Jonathon Baumgardener along with any other hostages you may have. We also expect the stolen goods or the equivalent monetary value therein. We also demand that the persons responsible for the death of Magistrate Harper be released to us.”

  Giorgio blinked and waved him off. “Whoa, whoa! Hold on. What are you talking about? Jon isn’t a prisoner. We found him hurt bad, but he’s alive. We don’t have any hostages. And we don’t have any money either, so go ahead and head back the way you came.”

  Lautner’s face clouded over and grew sterner, that of a commanding authoritative figure. When he spoke, it was like a teacher speaking to a wayward student caught with his hands where they shouldn’t be.

  “Young man, don’t be foolish. Go and get someone else here that can make official decisions. Either that, or we blow your dock to smithereens.”

  Giorgio gritted his teeth. He glanced around at the people, these men of his, these citizens of Murder Haven. They were hurting; they were angry; they deserved better than to be treated like children or animals. There was no fear in their eyes, only grim resolve. Something deep within Giorgio snapped at that moment. Some welling grotesque thing not born of him girded his loins, and it rumbled out. He turned back to Grayme Lautner and spat in his face.

  The ambassador could not have been more surprised. He sputtered and stumbled back, wiping the offending spittle off his cheek. His men raised their weapons but stayed where they were. Giorgio’s rage held them at bay.

  “Get the hell outta here,” Giorgio said and hitched his thumb towards the waiting ships. He drew two knives from his belt and pointed them at the self-righteous fool before him. “Go back to your ships and rot in hell.”

  The people around him raised their own weapons, the police their cudgels, the dock security their simple clubs, and the thieves their knives.

  Lautner steamed, but Giorgio didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he turned his back on the group of outsiders and stalked away.

  “You’ve made a very grave mistake,” said Lautner at his back. “Whoever you are, you have doomed your city. For now I must blast it to ash.”

  * * * * *

  Every single arena fighter, plus a score of spectators that begged to be included, were armed with their original weapons and armored with whatever they could find in the police station. Most didn’t wear armor in the pit, so they didn’t wear much armor now. Together they joined the bulk of the police force Cubbins could summon and the rest of The Royal Guard. It was an eclectic group, but it would have to do.

  They marched along the center of the road. Muldor hoped they would rally more citizens with them as they march towards city hall.

  “I’ve heard there’s ten thousand mercs in the city,” said Peterson’s captain.

  “I’ve heard twelve thousand,” said another guard, and a trill of apprehension raced through Muldor that would spread to others if it wasn’t squelched.

  The Guild man took the news in stride and hefted his mace. “The number is far less, gentlemen. I have seen the contract orders myself.” This was a lie, but it sounded right. He looked around at all of them. They muttered about this being impossible, that they were too few, so Muldor took their attention.

  “We will not face them all at once. They are fighting rioters the city over. Our enemy at its core are cowards. They fight for money, whereas every man here fight
s for much more. Pride, the defense of their homes, rage, revenge, these are the driving forces in our hearts, and our spirits will not falter.”

  Some agreed, and those that said nothing stood their ground, marching in tune with the rest. Muldor took that as a good sign. “We have many advantages, not the least of which is standing tall with us now.”

  They all knew he meant Thruck. The ogre was indeed a fearsome tool to have on their side. Free of his chains at last, the ogre strode along unfettered, a terrible spectacle for any passerby. The men around him gave the ogre a wide berth, and Muldor didn’t blame them.

  The eight foot tall humanoid wore only a ratty pair of pants that didn’t fit well. His bare grey skin was gnarled with rangy muscles. His arms looped along the ground like a giant ape with incredible strength. The limp hair plastered to his large head from sweat, and his slavering jaws snarled.

  His bootless stride ate up three strides for any normal man. He held no weapon. Muldor knew one was not needed. Thruck was like a dog that had been kicked too many times. He looked for an outlet for its rage. Muldor planned on giving him one.

  They reached pockets of rioters, and Muldor implored all of them to join. Few refused. Soon, the common men and women of their force outnumbered the police, arena fighters and others by a large margin. Muldor felt a rush of pride at the sight of his townsfolk’s bravery. Foolish though it might’ve been, it was not misplaced. In fact, it was welcomed. Muldor only hoped it would be enough.

  Their first contact with the enemy came near the southeast side of town, close to where he and Cutter last spoke. It seemed fitting for the first blood to spill near the thieves’ headquarters.

  Other police not part of their circle had erected a barricade with the help of several dozen mercenaries, designed for crowd control, to block off a section of town. One of the officers saw the mob approach and eyed them with suspicion. He held his hand up, and Muldor bade them stop, so the man could listen.

  “By the order of Lord Castellan, this mob is to disperse at once,” the policeman said. “Failure to do so will result in….” He squinted at the crowd. There were several of his own ilk among them, including his former boss, Captain Cubbins.

  “Perhaps you could spare us a moment of your time,” Muldor said as he and Cubbins conferred with the man.

  The crowd grew restless; Muldor could feel the tension. He told the man The Guild was rescinding their relationship with the mercenaries, and that they were no longer needed. Muldor had had hoped to rid them without bloodshed. There was no need for anyone to get hurt. The mercs could leave if given enough incentive, and that would be that.

  But that wasn’t to be. The crowd, full of regular people more so than trained men, was riled up. They shouted at the mercenaries standing by the barricade. The dark looking sell swords didn’t appreciate the harsh words. They were tired from erecting the barricade and strung out from the fighting the crowd all night.

  The mercs hurled curses back to the people, but then someone threw a rock that hit a sell sword in the head. And that was it. The crowd, long starved and abused over many months, followed the example of their more aggressive member and tossed all sorts of things at the mercenaries. Stones, sticks, and anything they had in their hands. The powder keg that was the city of Sea Haven lit off and violence exploded again on the street.

  Muldor and the few police near him attempted to quell the fighting those first few moments, but it was only a half-hearted effort on their part. The city needed to purge itself on the Alter of Blood in order to survive, to grow.

  And its people, Muldor included, reveled in it.

  Chapter Nine

  Giorgio watched in horrid fascination as the enemy ships lined up and opened fire. The first cannon shots hit the supply vessels standing in their way. They were too close to miss, and people on the boardwalk shouted in fear. The mast of the centermost ship cracked and folded on itself like a toppled tree, crashing into the deck and killing men. The vessel was crippled in one shot.

  A few of the more senior dock workers, began barking orders to assemble some measure of defense. The dock security sergeants did the same, but Giorgio had no idea what they could do.

  Then he saw the three remaining vessels Sea Haven could call upon. They wheeled around from the side of the shipping yard inlet and closed in on the Western Docks. Some people saw them and cheered.

  More of the supply vessels went down. Some struck so hard by the incredible cannon fire, their bows cracked in half. They weren’t built for fighting, and those that could, made way as fast as possible. They no doubt had only skeleton crews, but those that remained faced a complete slaughter.

  Giorgio had no idea what to do. The people around him were scant. Anders stared at him like a lost, beaten dog. Delora looked confused. This was not their element. They didn’t belong here.

  “You two,” Giorgio said. “Get outta here, just leave.”

  Delora didn’t hesitate. She ran off and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Gi,” Anders said, but Giorgio waved him off.

  “There’s nothing you can do here. Go.”

  Anders took a deep breath, but the stern look on Giorgio’s face brokered no argument. The veteran thief watched his colleague go, feeling numb and disconnected to the world around him. A hollow place in his heart chipped away at the rest of his insides, threatening to drown him in sorrow.

  The cannon turned its attention to the boardwalk, and a wall of sound, the splintering wood, the screams of men, the rippling impact from the direct hit on his feet, broke through the fog of his mind. It propelled Giorgio into action. People shouted all around him as he ran to the nearest warehouse.

  “Move it!”

  “Take cover!”

  “Open the long guns! To the sheds!”

  Chaos and fear reigned, but at the center there was a strange sort of calm permeating the docks. The people understood that they fought for the city, the city’s strength and power and wealth. All that they held dear, all that kept them working, kept them fed and clothed, so little as it was. It was like an injured beast, blood pumping from a wound, mind and body struggling to hold on, to live. It would snap and claw and rage against its dying.

  Giorgio followed several men to the outside of the center right warehouse. Around the large corner to the back end, there lied a shed. Men wheeled out a couple of old looking cannons covered in dust with rust spots along the barrel. A few others dragged out casks of powder.

  At that moment another shot from the enemy ships struck the opposite side of that warehouse. The ground shook. Men screamed. The people working the cannon covered their heads while a security sergeant yelled. “Move it, move it, move it! C’mon, boys! Get that thing in line! Now!”

  Giorgio got behind the bulky construction and helped shove it forward, but it was slow going. The wheels had rusted closed. Another man tried to oil it along, but they had to pull it back, shove it forward, pull it back, and rock it along to get the wheels working right.

  They pulled out two more from the shed. Giorgio hadn’t known they even existed. Some of the dock workers looked like they knew what they were doing, and Giorgio marveled at them. Some others mucked about in the shed, looking for ballast and ball shot.

  Another hit to the warehouse made men shout, and Giorgio winced. He almost lost heart. He felt like running, like Delora had. His throat tightened, and his legs grew weak. It would be so easy to forget the whole thing and run off into town to somewhere safe.

  It took some serious effort to move all cannons, but they got the black powder weapons wheeled around in front of the warehouse, and they set up their missile battery there. Every man was scared, Giorgio could see it in their eyes, but necessity was a strong motivation.

  Giorgio had no idea how to work a cannon. He marveled as the others loaded the open end. At the same moment, yells and loud booms from the sea made him cover his ears. All around was fear, a palpable sense of dread, and outright panic.

  The supply ship
s were either sunk or pulled off barricade duty by quick thinking captains, and this left the area around the piers open to attack. Sea Haven’s watery defense consisted of the three remaining vessels from the shipping yards. They were only now coming up the way to engage the enemy.

  The dock was not going away without a fight. Giorgio saw several men working with the police officers, handing out crossbows and lining up to give a steady fire to the incoming ships. They spread out and found cover behind crates, scant protection against a direct hit, but better than nothing, and would give them protection against shrapnel, set up in front of all three warehouses, stretching across the boardwalk.

  “Spread out and lay it down. Move!”

  Giorgio and his team kept at work, and soon the canon was ready to fire. Another salvo struck the dock, blowing apart huge chunks of the wooden palisades and pieces of the pier. With at least six or seven ships firing, they had their choice of targets, and their range and accuracy dialed in.

  “Aim and fire!”

  The order was hard and loud. The thief backed away from the line of cannon to stare in wonder. The men lit thick fuses on the back side after they stuffed large balls of iron down the hole. The fuse burned down fast, and the noise was so loud his head hurt. Smoke filled the air, and in a matter of seconds all three cannons fired off.

  Giorgio breathed heavy and felt his world crumbling. It was so loud, so shocking, so terrifying. He lost all sensibility. He felt like a frightened animal, wailing at the thunder and lightning during a storm.

  Only one of the first salvos struck anything other than water, but even then it was a glancing blow against the side of the lead advancing ship. It thunked off the side in a show of inefficient incompetence. They hurried and loaded again, as fast as possible, and readied for another shot.

  At that moment another round of blustering charge went off to the north, from the home side ships coming closer. These men were more skilled, and one shot struck hard, cracking the side of the nearest ship. The enemy took notice. A full-on naval battle ensued.