The first room they passed through was one of the guardrooms that flanked the gatehouse. In it stood a few old tables, barely upright, each one all but rotted away. From there, they passed through what had once been a set of sleeping quarters—broken bedframes for straw mattresses pushed against the walls.
A short hall later, they entered the southeastern corner of the fort. Old cannons stood on cracked carriages and platforms and pointed out small ports in the walls. Aside from the guns, like the previous two rooms, there wasn’t much to this area, either.
On the trio went, quietly moving through the fort, heading for the chapel which had been built on the second floor on the northern side. At the northeastern corner, they ran up a small spiral staircase, halting for a moment to inspect four more bodies at the base.
“You been spending luck points I don’t know about?” Zoey said in a moment of levity.
Ethan cocked his head. “Say again?”
Zoey pointed to the corpses. “Luck points ensuring they kill each other.”
“No, but if that’s a thing, I’m more than happy to spend all twenty-one to do so once they come back.”
“Sadly, as far as I’m aware of, it’s not.”
Ethan nodded, and after a quick search of the bodies, which yielded nothing of interest, they moved on. The hall they were in ran only a few paces before turning sharply to the right. The area there seemed drier than below, and the stone floors didn’t hold near as much mold along the edges. It was certainly nothing to stop them all in their tracks yet again, but what did, however, were the sounds of laughter.
“Azrael?” Ethan mouthed, brow furrowed in confusion.
“I think so,” Katryna mouthed back, looking equally perplexed. She then nodded toward the doorway halfway down the hall where soft golden light spilled out into the hall. “Definitely coming from the chapel.”
Zoey wrinkled her nose after a quick sniff of the air. “Oh, God. Wet minotaur.”
Ethan became aware of the smell a split second later. It was like a moldy, musty footlocker filled with thoroughly soaked gym clothes that hadn’t been tended to for months. “Great. Now I’m going to have to hold my breath for the next hour.”
“Or four,” Jean said.
“You three wait here,” Zoey whispered, holding up a finger. “I’ll take a look.”
With that, the rogue slipped down the hall, gliding over the stone floor as quiet as a shadow with her cutlass held low. When she drew near the doorway, she flattened herself against the wall and cautiously eased forward. Zoey spent the next several moments waiting, listening, waiting some more, and then finally easing forward.
When she finally got an angle to see inside, she froze, not out of alarm, but rather…what was it? Ethan couldn’t put his finger on the reaction, at least, not before she straightened, relaxed, and waved them over with a resigned look.
“Come on,” she called out.
Ethan and the others exchanged confused looks, and after a shrug from each, they advanced. When they caught up with the vampire, Zoey stepped aside and gestured for Ethan to walk through first, which he did, weapon still at the ready, but not before he quietly ordered the skeletons to stay outside. Having a little extra insurance in the form of a surprise, he figured, wouldn’t hurt.
Two steps into the chapel, Ethan halted. The room itself was a modest ten by twenty feet with a barrel ceiling and a small chancel. A single lit brazier stood in the middle of the room. Seated casually around it were the captains of the Griffin, The Popinjay, and the Red Fish, along with a few crew members from the ships, each man dressed in soaked clothes topped with blood and dirt and further accented with rip and tear. Despite their haggard appearance, they all wore smiles upon their faces.
Azrael’s face lit up even more when his eyes found Ethan’s. “Ah, there you have it, gentlemen. Master Ethan has indeed joined us before we left,” he said. “I believe that’s two crowns apiece you owe me.”
Sedra, who sat closest to Ethan with his back turned, reacted first. The giant minotaur snorted as he twisted around. “I’m impressed,” he said with a nod of respect. “Annoyed at myself that I misjudged you but impressed nevertheless.”
Sir Gideon, on the other hand, simply shot a glare at Ethan over his shoulder before turning back around with a grunt. He fished in his coin purse, muttering, and slapped a pair of crowns in Azrael’s open and outstretched hand.
“What’s going on?” Ethan asked as he refused to believe what his eyes took in.
“We’re weathering the storm in the merriment of good company, of course,” Azrael said. He then motioned to an empty space nearby. “Come. Sit. Warm those bones of yours and enjoy a rest before we get back to the regatta.”
The warmth of the brazier called to Ethan, but its temptations had nothing on the smell of warm blood hanging in the air. His stomach rumbled, and his mouth watered. Behind him, quietly, he could hear Zoey’s stomach growling, too.
To combat the building Hunger, Ethan probed some more. “If all of you in here are rubbing elbows in good cheer, what happened out there?”
“Exactly what it looks like happened,” Azrael said. “But as the storm grew worse and problematic, we negotiated a temporary truce between us all—a truce we’re willing to extend to you, provided you act like the gentleman I know you are.”
Ethan glanced over his shoulders. Zoey’s grip on her cutlass tightened, and though Katryna kept her hands away from her weapons, he could see in her eyes she was ready to spring into action if need be.
“I suppose it’s in the best interest of us all to stay cordial,” Ethan said, facing Azrael once again and sheathing his sword.
Azrael clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! I knew you were a sensible man the moment I met you.”
Ethan and his group took seats on the floor. While Katryna and Jean sat nearby, Zoey cuddled up to his side, rubbing her arms briskly as she did.
“Little cold,” she said with a chuckle.
“You and me both,” Ethan replied. He stretched his arms towards the brazier and enjoyed the warmth that returned to his fingers.
Jean paid the fire no heed and instead stared at Sir Gideon, hands twitching at his side, cords bulging in his neck. Though the man didn’t move toward the Golden Templar, Ethan had no doubt that his self-restraint was but a stray word away from breaking.
The hatred sent by Jean wasn’t lost on Sir Gideon either. The captain lolled his head casually to the side and returned a deadpanned look. “Something on your mind?”
“Do you remember me?” he asked.
Sir Gideon shook his head. “No. Should I even care?”
“Piram,” Jean prompted. “You killed my brother. Left me for dead. All for a ring.”
“Oh, him,” Sir Gideon said with a smirk. “Perhaps if he’d been a more virtuous man, he’d still be alive.”
Jean went for his pistol, but Katryna clamped onto his wrist. Despite the fact that she stayed his hand, his tongue still cut loose. “I’ll have my ring and your life before this day is over.”
“Once we leave, you’re welcome to try,” Sir Gideon said. “But as for the ring, I tossed it long ago.”
“I’ll—”
“Do nothing while we’re in here. Truce and all,” the Golden Templar said, cutting him off. “Lest you want all three of us to cut you down.”
Tension reigned between the two, and after a few moments of silence, Ethan looked to Azrael and blew out a puff of air. “We’re just going to sit here, then, hating each other, till the storm blows over?”
“No, Master Ethan, we’re not,” Death replied. He reached into a pouch that hung off his side and pulled out a small bottle of rum and offered it to him. “In the meantime, we’re going to share drinks and company,” he said. “After which, we’ll race. We’ll fight, and we’ll see who dies and who does not.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bottles & Battles
Three hours late
r, Ethan, with a rumbling stomach, stood in the waterlogged courtyard with his crew at his side, a moderate wind constantly tossing his hair in front of his face.
The lot of them, skeletons included, along with everyone else from the chapel, formed a loose circle across the grounds, some twenty paces across. To his left, standing in front of the old well, were Sedra and his men, while Sir Gideon and his crew waited off to Ethan’s right. Azrael, on the other hand, walked to the center of the gathering and placed a small wooden chest on the ground.
“And there you have it, gentlemen,” he said, stepping away. Azrael straightened his long coat and clasped his hands in front of his hips before letting his gaze sweep over everyone. “Does anyone wish to speak before we start this grand melee?”
Ethan raised his hand, unsure if that was the proper etiquette but wanting to be sure he had a chance to ask his question.
“Master Ethan,” Azrael said with a tip of the hat. “And what fine words of encouragement do you have for us?”
“Not words of encouragement, per se, but more of a question,” he said.
“All the same, let’s hear what’s on your mind.”
“Are we starting on ten or right after?” he asked. “I don’t want anyone getting free shots on us because we misunderstood.”
Azrael drew back the corner of his mouth with amusement but offered no chiding, despite the snorts and whispers that ran rampant amongst the others. “On the count of ten,” he said, putting heavy emphasis on the first word, “anything goes. And, for the record, anyone can take the chest, or the bottle inside, at any time. The melee needn’t resolve, first. Understood?”
“Understood,” Ethan said with a nod.
Azrael clapped his hands together. “Wonderful, then—”
“I have something,” Sedra interrupted. When Azrael acknowledged him, the minotaur snorted and pointed to the box on the ground. “Open it up. I want to see the prize is within.”
Azrael shook his head with a disbelieving snort as he faced the monstrous captain. “Are you accusing me of cheating?” he asked.
Sedra’s nostrils flared, and the muscles in both his arms tensed visibly. “I’m saying I want to see with my own eyes what’s in the box before anything else happens,” he said. “You’re getting rather defensive over such a simple request.”
Azrael laughed again, which did little to ease tensions, but when he held up a hand and casually made his way back to the center of the circle, Sedra and his crew seemed to relax. “I have nothing to hide, my most worthy competitor,” Azrael said, taking a knee. “I’ll not have anyone say our contest wasn’t a fair and proper one.”
Sedra let his hand drop to his side, coming off the butt of his pistol. “Good.”
With a pair of clicks, Azrael flipped the two iron latches on the chest. He flipped the lid back, and the hinges offered a rusty squeak in the process. For a moment, Azrael kept kneeling as his mouth formed a tight line across his face, and he made a steeple with his fingers on which he rested his chin.
“It seems, gentlemen, some of us have taken to thievery,” he said, slowly coming to his feet.
It took a moment for Ethan’s brain to register what was going on, even when pistols and swords were drawn by all. But once he had, he saw that the chest was completely empty, and Sedra’s rage was barely kept in check.
“I knew it!” the minotaur roared, leveling his pistol at Azrael’s chest. “Hand it over.”
“How dare you question my character,” Azrael said, staring Sedra down without even much as making a twitch to draw his own weapons. “I am no so desperate or uncouth to resort to such trickery. In fact…” His words trailed, and he slowly turned his head toward Zoey, his eyes reflecting the tone of disgust in his voice as he went on. “There aren’t thieves among us, but rather, there is but one thief among us.”
In the blink of an eye, half the weapons from Sedra’s and Sir Gideon’s crew went to Zoey, and just as quickly, Jean and Katryna pointed theirs back.
“She didn’t steal anything,” Ethan said, stepping between Zoey and Azrael and raising his blade.
“Once a thief, always a thief, Master Ethan,” Azrael said. “Her reputation is forever impugned, and while I’d hoped she may have reformed by now to prove me wrong, alas, she has not. Now step aside so we may deal with this matter and continue on, or I’ll run you through myself.”
Ethan narrowed his eyes and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “No.”
Zoey came out from behind him a moment later. “I didn’t steal anything,” she spat. She lowered her blade and did a slow spin so everyone could see. “Look at me! I’ve got nothing to hide and nowhere to hide it even if I did. My clothes are in tatters.”
Sir Gideon, who stood off to the left, grunted. “Says the thief.”
“Says the one who was nowhere near that box!” she shouted back. “You’re the one who had the box the entire time,” she said, pointing to Azrael. “And you, Sedra,” she went on, shifting her finger, “were the one sitting closest to him! Why don’t the two of you turn your jackets inside out and loosen those bags hanging from your hips?”
“As if that makes any sense, you stupid hedgewhore,” Sedra said. “Why would I call attention to an empty box if I’d stolen the bottle already?”
“Because you’re looking to slip out in the chaos you create,” Katryna said as she took a few steps forward. “Hell, that’s what I’d do.”
“So, it was you!”
“The hell it was!”
A hundred more curses and accusations seemed to fly over the course of the next ten seconds, and all the while, pistols were aimed and re-aimed just as fast. All the while, Ethan stood his ground, his heart pounding in his chest, skin feeling unbearably hot.
And then without warning, the proverbial powder keg blew.
One of Sir Gideon’s men shot first. Ethan was sure of that much. He caught the sight of smoke and flame burst from the flintlock pistol out of the corner of his eye, though he didn’t see where the shot went. A split second later, everyone else fired their weapons.
Men dropped and staggered on all sides. One of Ethan’s skeletons took three shots to the chest before its head exploded. Its body had yet to hit the ground when Sir Gideon outstretched his arms and spoke with a loud, commanding voice, “Parva Sanctificem!”
Golden rays of light burst from his hands, striking the remaining two skeletons dead center. Their bodies crumpled, their bones shattering into dust when they struck the ground.
Before Ethan could process anything else, he found himself locked into a duel with Azrael as the chaos of battle unfolded around them.
Fires of hate seemed to erupt from Death’s eyes as if the politeness he’d once shown had been nothing but a mask, and his true, terrible self—the one every mortal feared—was on display for all to see. “If there’s one thing I despise more than a cheat, Master Ethan, it is the man who knowingly sides with one,” he spat, launching attack after attack.
Ethan scampered backward, parrying Azrael’s blade in a panicked flurry. The clang of blade against blade filled the air. Another thrust. Another parry. A backhanded blow that Ethan barely ducked under to avoid losing his head.
All of these attacks and more taxed Ethan’s skill to the breaking point over the next several seconds. Then, after another thrust by Azrael, Ethan managed to trap Death’s blade along the hilt of his own and knock it aside. At that moment, Ethan, operating on pure instinct, drove forward, trying to take advantage of the gap in Azrael’s defense and bring this duel to a swift end.
Ethan’s lunge, however, skewered nothing but air. Azrael spun around the attack and stepped forward with the grace of a ballroom dancer, letting Ethan’s blade slide harmlessly by. As he came around, he struck Ethan on the side of the head and sent him staggering backward.
Azrael hits!
You are lightly wounded!
You are dazed!
Ethan didn’t know if
Narrator had actually said that last bit or if he’d made it up on his own, but either way, he certainly felt it. The world around him blurred. Zoey screamed something, and he felt the tight clench of a hand on his elbow before it yanked him back so hard his shoulder nearly popped from its socket.
“Impressive,” Azrael said, directing a flurry of attacks at the female vampire. He knocked her blade to the side and lunged after a few feints. In turn, she beat a fast retreat to recover her guard, but it wasn’t enough. His blade cut across the top of her hilt in what should’ve been a good parry, but at the last second, he managed to raise his arm to dip the blade, letting it slice open the top of her shoulder.
Ethan yelled with an unmatched, unholy fury at the sight. His legs drove him forward with reckless speed, but before he could rejoin the fray, Azrael ended it all. With two strikes of his blade, strikes Zoey barely defeated, Death trapped her sword arm against his side and thrust the point of his main-gauche for a coup de grâce into her neck.
The tip of the dagger nicked her skin a moment before her eyes shot wide, and she disappeared into a fine mist, only to be blown away by the wind.
Ethan’s charge continued, fear and anger surging him forward with a strength and fury that he never knew he had. He came at Azrael with a brutal overhead chop. Death spun on the balls of his feet and managed to deflect the blow, but it came so hard that the blow knocked both his rapier and dagger to the side.
Ethan pressed his attack, wanting—needing—to end this encounter as quickly as he could so he could find Zoey and make sure she was okay above all else. His rear leg sprang him forward, the tip of his cutlass leading the way, and he committed five points of Luck to see it through.
Five points of Luck used.
Luck countered!
You feel a little off!
Azrael’s expert footwork saw him out of danger, and his face brightened as Ethan’s reckless attack failed to land. “Luck will only get you so far, Master Ethan,” he taunted. The smile on his face grew, and he then added: “And it will get you nowhere with me.”
The Crew (Captains & Cannons Book 2) Page 25