“That’s all?”
“Aye, sir. Isn’t it enough?”
I laughed. “I thought I had more enemies than that!”
“The fair’s young yet, Captain.”
“So it is.” I grinned and he grinned back. We were much alike, List and me. “What did you do to them?”
“I almost took away their power of speech—but I remembered what you said about using magic.” He shrugged. “They were beaten and sent on their way.”
“Good. Any reply to the runners yet?”
“I think one’s coming now.”
Turning, I saw Captain Catwen Op striding down the street toward me. He was tall and emaciated, with dark eyes that always seemed to stare down on the world. He wore gold robes and slippers. Two large, heavily muscled men followed—bodyguards, I guessed. That was just like him. He wouldn’t have dared to hire anyone to kill me; somehow, it figured he’d be the first to come for a coin.
I could still remember the first time we’d met. He’d been a sea captain then, and his Sea Snake had been the most notorious tradeships ever to sail the Seren Sea. His crew consisted of dozens of young children he’d bought at slave auctions. Whenever we’d met, I’d take not only his trade goods, but half his boys as well—they’d begged to come, to get away from his abuse.
But I put on a pleasant look for him and extended my hand in greeting as he entered. “Captain Op!” I said. “How good of you to visit!”
He stared at my hand until I withdrew it. “I’ve come for that gold coin,” he said. He produced the invitation and threw it at me.
“Ah, but you must play by the rules! Come into my booth and see what I’m selling—and leave your friends out here.”
Sniffing, he said, “Very well.”
I threw open the door and led him inside.
It took his eyes a minute to get used to the dim light. Then he gasped and ran forward, ripping open a cloth bundle that bore his personal seal, a pair of sea-snakes rampant. Shimmering silver cloth spilled out.
He turned, enraged. “You stole this from me!”
“You must be mistaken. That’s part of my trade goods. You’re welcome to buy it, if it appeals to you.”
“But it’s mine!”
“Not,” I said, “anymore.”
That made him pause. “How much?”
“Oh, two hundred silver ought to cover it.”
“That’s—that’s—”
“About half what you can get for it. Are you interested, or should I find someone else?”
Cursing softly, he produced a pouch from some hidden pocket, then proceeded to count out my money. “There, thief!”
“You should be more grateful,” I said. “Where else could you find such a bargain?”
“Seff!” he shouted. One of his bodyguards ran into the room. He pointed to the bundle. “Take that back to my booth,” he said.
With a grunt, Seff lifted the cloth and carried it out. Catwen Op stalked after him.
Then List said. “Captain, Vern Nuli’s here.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Send him in.”
It was beginning to look like a very busy morning.
* * * *
By twelve o’clock, the inside of my booth lay completely bare.
Seventeen captains had stopped by during the last five hours. They’d taken away everything from boxes of rare spices to pouches of rubies, from silks and furs to small ivory statuettes of the gods. They’d left enough gold and silver to fill two small chests.
As List and I carried our profit back to the ship, Captain Jastar Fiseltis ran up and planted himself firmly in my path. I stepped around him. When he grabbed my arm, I stopped and turned.
“Release me or I’ll call the guards,” I said.
He let go. “I want to talk to you.”
“What do you want? Our business is over. No refunds.”
“I heard you snuck in and haven’t paid your fair tax!”
“What if I did?” I turned and walked on.
He followed me. “Is it true?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“I can find out easily enough!”
“But,” I said, “that will take time. You want to know now.” I smiled. We were on the dock by then, almost to the Pamah Reach. I called one of my crewmen over and handed him the chest. As the man carried it aboard my ship, I turned back to Jastar. “Very well,” I said. “I’ll tell you the truth for a gold coin.”
He paid quickly, eagerly. I pocketed his money. Then I leaped over the half-foot gap to the Pamah Reach and cast off the mooring line. Jastar stared at me in bewilderment. The anchor had already been hauled aboard. We drifted away from the dock.
“I don’t believe in paying taxes, and I certainly wouldn’t pay a fair tax!” I called to him.
“I knew it!” He turned and ran as fast as he could toward the center of Caluur, toward the tall, spiral-topped building where the fair’s council met.
I threw back my head and laughed.
* * * *
We drifted toward the center of the harbor, sails ready but unraised. I stood in the bow, money chests beside me, and watched the docks. Huge crowds had gathered and the guardsmen gave up trying to keep order. Boys threw rocks that fell two hundred yards short. Shouts and taunts carried over the water.
“Thief!”
“Pirate!”
“You’ll be hanged for this!”
I waved and blew kisses to the women.
Then I saw a boat being cast off, then another, and another. In the first stood the same three councilmen who’d come to see me the day I’d arrived. In the others stood dozens of well-armed guardsmen, swords already drawn.
“Now!” I shouted. “Raise the sails!”
My men did so. The sails billowed out at once, catching the wind, cracking and snapping. The Pamah Reach began to move.
List stood behind me. He began to speak in an odd, sing-song voice, working the spell that had brought us to Caluur’s harbor, working the spell that would take us safely away.
Phantom breezes whispered. I could feel the air around us changing, growing heavy and charged with electricity—
The deck tilted and we began to rise, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Then the Pamah Reach moved a dozen feet above the water, well beyond any guard. My men let out a cheer.
“Hard a-port!” I shouted.
“Aye, sir!” called the man at the wheel.
We moved to the left, circling around, back toward the docks. Still we rose, twenty feet high, thirty—
We swept past the crowds on the dock. The people had grown silent. They stared at me with awed, amazed expressions.
Then we passed them and moved over the ragged tent-camp of the poor who’d come to Caluur Fair in search of fortune. I picked up the first box of money I’d taken from the ship’s captains, flipped open the lid, and began scattering coins to my left and right.
I heard cries of surprise and wonder as money hit the ground. Hundreds of children swarmed from the tents to pick up coins. I waved at them, but they were too busy to notice.
The first box was empty. I put it down and looked at the second.
“Not that one, too!” List pleaded.
I grinned. “It’s only money. There’s plenty more where it came from.”
Then I emptied it as well.
By now we had passed over all of Caluur and its fair. A forest lay directly below, and a good day’s journey by air beyond, the sea waited.
Now I was content to return to my home on the waves. I’d done my impossible feat. They’d talk about Fel Blackmane’s trip to Caluur Fair for many years to come.
THE BROTHERS LAMMIAT, by John Gregory Betancourt
I
Hilan Lammiat
I jingled the jewels in my beard with one meaty hand. The diamonds and rubies sparkled like the sun at noon, despite the tavern’s dimness, and brought a quiet gasp of awe from the scantily-clad serving girl behind the counter. I leered at her. The je
wels weren’t real, of course—not even I, Hilan Lammiat the Pirate, would wear my valuables into a dive like Slab’s Tavern.
“So, my pretty,” I said, louder than the bedlam of swearing, dicing, fighting and general mayhem behind me. “Let’s slip out back for a bit and—”
“Hey, Hilan!” The greeting was immediately followed by a hearty clap on the back that sent the breath whooshing from my lungs. I am not a small man, nor a patient one. Few people—very few—would’ve dared to pound me on the back.
I choked, gasped once, then turned with a low growl—to face my brother. “I see you found me after all,” I said.
Nollin stood there and grinned back, a slightly shorter, less heavily muscled version of myself. We even dressed much alike, with gold rings looping ears and nose, crimson and silver scarves around our necks and heads. I wore a plain blue shirt and black silk pants that puffed out between waist and knee; he wore black and silver. Matching curved swords, gifts from our father before the Great Lord of Zelloque hanged him, dangled jauntily from our belts.
Father hadn’t been able to tell us apart as children, so one day he’d given me a dueling wound on my right cheek that had left a jagged white scar. I stroked the scar and wished he’d given it to Nollin instead.
“You look well,” Nollin said.
“Would’ve been better never to see your face again.”
“Now, now, Hilan, you must have patience with your kid brother. Blood’s thick, eh?”
“Thick enough I haven’t killed you. Yet. What do you want?”
He laughed. “Drink up. Then we talk.”
Casting a disappointed glance at the serving girl, who fluttered her long, dark lashes coyly, I drained my mug then slammed it down. Then I tossed a copper coin onto the counter, stood, and followed my brother out to the cobbled street.
Midnight had scarcely come and passed. All the dockside taverns still rang with the boisterous sounds of sailors at ease. After two months at sea, I wished I were back inside Slab’s place, away from the chilling night air and the monsters that haunted it. Still, it was my brother that had come…best to see what the boy wanted.… The two of us strolled silently past the inns and bars, through puddles of light and shadow cast by dim lamps and open windows, heading toward the long, dark piers stretching into the harbor. Small ships tied to the nearer pilings bobbed like corks on the low waves. Further out, tall, high-prowed, triple-masted sailing ships of the Viandas Mercenaries slowly rolled, proud banners fluttering against the wash of stars. And there were other ships, too, traders from Pethis and Coran, galleys from Lothaq and Selambique, even a few slavers on the long voyage between Losmuul and Volise. Scattered among the craft were a few unmarked ships belonging to lesser Lords of Zelloque or to privateers like Nollin and me.
Still silent, we passed onto the pier. Drunken sailors lolled on the decks of some ships, snoring, eyes rolled back, mouths open. I shook my head. Spirits of the night could enter a man’s body through his mouth, stealing his heart and draining his blood.
“Whose ship?” I asked.
“Mine,” Nollin said. “I have something to show you.”
At last the two of us reached the Serpent, Nollin’s ship, and crossed the rope gangway to its deck. A small, wiry man dressed in white breeches and shirt ran to Nollin while other sailors watched from the shadows, eyes wide and white as marble. Covertly, I studied his ship. The entire crew was present, to all appearances ready to sail at a moment’s notice.
“Ship’s tight, Captain,” one of the mates called.
“Good,” Nollin said. “We sail in an hour.” He turned to me with a half-mocking gesture of welcome. “After you.”
We went aft to the captain’s cabin. Behind us, waves lapped at the Serpent’s sides like the pulse of a human heart.
* * * *
A single lamp burned overhead. We sat at the chart table and watched each other warily for a moment. Then I gave up being patient and demanded, “Well?”
“We’ve never trusted each other,” Nollin said, “and yet I feel responsible for you. Therefore I pass on this warning: soon, perhaps this very night, Zelloque will be destroyed. The Great Lord will be murdered and a Tyrant will usurp the throne. Leave Zelloque or you will be killed and your ship taken.”
I felt my face flush at the thought, and almost screamed back a challenge for anyone who’d dare to try. Almost. I knew my brother well enough to realize he thought he spoke the truth. But how could a Tyrant kill the Great Lord of Zelloque, who lived apart from the world in his palace? The city guard would protect him—and the whole Zelloquan army, if necessary. It didn’t make sense. The whole tale didn’t make sense!
No, someone had lied to Nollin. That was the truth.
I said as much.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” Nollin said. He stood and strode to the door to his sleeping chamber, swinging it open.
An old woman sat quietly on the bed inside, her tear-streaked face a web of wrinkles, her eyes dark and downcast. She held herself with the humility of a peasant, yet dressed richly, as a noble might. The image disturbed me. I stared at her, forehead creased, until my brother shut the door again.
“Who is she?” I demanded.
“Loanu, once the High Priestess of the Shrine of Shon Atasha.”
“Once?”
Nollin shrugged. “She dreamed of the coming Tyrant and destroyed the shrine before he could debase it. Now that she is no longer touched by the god’s power, she is half blind. I found her wandering the streets in a daze, trying to warn people. They stoned her as a witch.”
“You’d believe an old woman?” I snorted. “You’re not my brother!”
“Listen to me! She wept as she spoke—spoke not only of the coming Tyrant, but of great visions of far lands, of gods, of dead kings and their treasures! Her tales will set your heart afire as they have set mine. All you must do is listen to her!”
I shook my head. “No, Nollin. The witch is crazy. Turn her out for the nobles to take care of.”
“Come with me. I’m sailing for Pethis in an hour. Together we could win a kingdom!”
“Nollin.…”
He sighed, and I knew I’d won. “Very well,” he said. “I can see you’re not interested. Go, then, brother, but remember my warning. The Great Lord will soon be dead, and when he is, you must flee. Promise me that.”
“I promise—if the Great Lord dies.”
We stood and started for the door. There I made my mistake: I turned my back on Nollin. Brother or not, I never should’ve trusted him. I realized it the moment I caught a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. He struck me in the head with something hard and heavy.
Darkness washed over me.
II
Nollin Lammiat
Nollin set the brass candlestick back on the table, then sighed as he looked at his brother’s still form on the cabin floor. A trickle of blood ran from a shallow cut behind Hilan’s left ear. A minor wound; he’d soon recover.
Quickly he stripped Hilan of clothes and jewelry, then bound him with rope taken from a chest next to the door. He changed into his brother’s blue shirt and black pants, then stood in front of his looking glass, adjusting the scarves around his head. Satisfied, he turned—found Hilan glaring up at him with slitted eyes.
“I trust I won’t have to gag you, brother?” Nollin asked.
Hilan spat.
“Not on the carpet, Hilan. Remember your manners.”
“I’ll kill you for this!”
“You’ll thank me soon enough. You always were stubborn, and now I’m going to save your miserable life. Ah, how ironic!”
Hilan growled. “More of your talk. I’ll see you in Hell!”
“I promised father that I’d look after you. I mean to keep that promise, whether you like it or not.”
“You promised!” He laughed long and hard. “Promised!”
“What’s wrong?” Nollin demanded.
“He made me promise the same thing! Neve
r meant to keep it, though. I always hated you.”
“Then keep hating me. It’ll keep you alive.”
Nollin opened the door and stepped into his sleeping chamber.
Loanu lay quietly now. He shook her awake. “Witch!”
Opening rheumy eyes, she peered up at him. “Who is it?”
“Nollin. You must help me, if we’re to escape the Tyrant.”
Her thoughts seemed to clear, for she looked at him with some measure of recognition. She sat up. “What do you ask of me?”
“Use your magic. Make me look like my brother for an hour!”
“I have seen your brother,” she whispered, “in my dreams.…”
Nollin shook her again. “Do it!”
She stared at him. Her lips began to move. He heard nothing at first, then the barest trace of a whisper, then a low crooning song which jangled his nerves and made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. He shivered.
A blue glow surrounded her hands. She raised them to his face, touching his skin gently, tracing the line of his jaw, then his nose, then his forehead. Still she sang.
Nollin’s vision grew cloudy and distant, as though he looked at the world through a mask. His cheeks felt heavy and numb.
Loanu sank back on her bed. “The magic is done.”
Hurrying to his looking glass, Nollin stared at his image.
Hilan’s face looked back at him. He smiled; Hilan’s face smiled. He laughed; Hilan laughed. The illusion was perfect.
Turning to Loanu, he gently pushed her back on the bed and pulled the covers around her shoulders. “Sleep well, my witch,” he said.
He opened the door and hurried through the chart room, ignoring Hilan’s curses, and went on deck. A light breeze gusted from the east, heavy with moisture and electricity. Pausing, he studied the sky. The storm would soon break.
“Wait for my return,” he called to the mate on deck, who knew his plan, “but have everything ready.”
“Aye, sir,” Klaff said. “Ready we’ll be.”
* * * *
Nollin went to the Falcon, Hilan’s ship, and strode up the gangplank like he owned the world. Just as Hilan would’ve done. He felt a moment’s fear when one of the sailors ran forward, but thrust all thoughts of failure from his mind. Since he looked like Hilan, he was Hilan…at least to simple-minded sailors like these.
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 347