That was when the pirates came. Sweaty, greasy, and angry, the dangerous gang of sailors attacked in a wave of destruction. At that point in time, all of it seemed very real. Abraham’s own self-preservation kicked in. The fight became real. Either he died, or they died.
Abraham let out a wild howl. He thrust his sword through a pirate’s clavicle. He ripped it out and chopped down another pirate. He spun away from a sword chop that would have split his head. He countered the pirate’s swing by cutting his sword through the man’s ribs. With the bottom of his boots mopping through the rising blood on the floor, he cut three more men down.
Abraham wasn’t the only one swinging victory after victory. Horace, Bearclaw, and Vern, wearing their tunics over chain-mail armor, overmatched the unarmored pirates. The trio burst through the ranks with wroth force, piercing skin and chopping through bone. Over a minute later, the fight was over. Two surviving pirates dashed out the front door.
The blood-spattered Henchmen panted for breath as they looked over their fallen enemies. The dead pirates’ wounds were ghastly. Abraham counted fifteen in all. Leaning with his arm braced against a wall, he threw up again.
“How do you fare, Captain?” Sticks asked. Specks of blood covered her face like freckles. Fresh blood stained her dagger-filled hands.
He gasped for breath and said, “There’s no explanation for it.”
The stench of new death wafted into his crinkling nose. He didn’t dare another look at the slain. He’d seen more than he cared to see. It never looked so bad in the movies.
“I need some fresh air,” he added.
Horace met Abraham at the doorway and pushed it open. He stepped aside and said, “Good fighting, Captain.”
Abraham nodded at the bald warrior, whose beard was caked in blood. Once he got outside, he sucked in a lungful of air. He took several deep breaths and held out a hand. It was as steady as a rock. Inside his mind, he was shaking like a leaf. He couldn’t believe his body wasn’t trembling.
Iris and the two Red Tunics hustled over to the group. They all carried packs over their shoulders, and their arms were filled with sacks of goods.
Her soft eyes were as big as saucers. “What in the world happened?”
Bearclaw slung the blood from his axe onto the stones on the street. Blood dripped from a gash across his forehead. Another wound bled freely above the knee. “Seaweed-sucking pirates crossed the Captain. That’s what happened. They paid for it.”
“You need care, Bearclaw,” Iris said. She put a handkerchief on his head. “Hold that.”
The Red Tunics’ packs were full to the brim with supplies, and they carried another between them. Their gaze jumped from bloody man to bloody man. One of them swallowed.
“Do we have everything that we need?” Abraham asked.
Iris nodded.
“Get the horses ready,” Abraham said to the pack bearers. “We need to get out of here.”
The waitress from the tavern came outside. Blood stained the bottom of her skirt. She was trembling like a leaf. Without looking at Abraham, she said, “Sire, my lord says that you did not pay for your meal. It’s fourteen shards of silver. Forgive me for asking.”
“Huh… oh.” He looked at Sticks. “Pay her twenty.”
Sticks’s eyes lit up. “What? But their fish stew made you retch.”
His eyes narrowed on Sticks. The fire in her eyes cooled. “Aye, sir.” Emptying a purse full of small coins into her hand, she counted out twenty silver shards. The coins were the size of nickels and shaped like guitar picks with symbols stamped on them. “Here. Go. Tell your greedy lord that we might come for him next.”
The bar maid curtseyed, turned, and vanished back inside the tavern.
“You’re going to need to be stitched up, Bearclaw,” Iris said to the bearish warrior.
“I’ll heal just fine, but you can put those soft hands to work on me if you wish,” Bearclaw replied to the pleasantly plump woman.
Iris smiled. “As you wish.”
“Captain.” Horace nodded down the street. A group of men had gathered several blocks down. They carried lanterns and were gesticulating in their direction. “The death of Flamebeard will travel fast. He has as many friends as he has enemies in the inlet, many of them prominent people.”
It became clear that Horace, and most likely the others, had intimate knowledge of Flamebeard that Abraham had yet to recall. He had no doubt that the loud-mouthed pirate left terror in his wake, and Abraham had killed him.
“It was a fair fight,” Sticks said. “None should have trouble with us. Flamebeard had it coming. He’s a scourge of many.”
Scowling, Vern said, “The sea folk won’t take the word of strangers over the word of sailors. No doubt, the pirates’ lies will catch fire and spread. They’ll all come after us by the hundreds. We need to get to the horses and ride, before the Captain almost gets us killed again.”
“Watch your tongue, Vern,” Sticks warned.
“I can speak for myself,” Abraham said. He stared Vern down. “Is there a problem?”
Vern shook his head. “No, Captain. I still breathe. It’s good.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
With the heat of battle still racing through his body, he didn’t feel like taking any crap from anybody. He’d just killed half a dozen men or more. At least, he thought he had. One thing was sure—it all felt real. Leading the group, he headed down the road, following the steps that led into the city and back down toward the stables. The Red Tunics were leading the horses out of the stables when they arrived. Everyone mounted, Iris doubled up with Bearclaw. The pack bearers doubled up on her horse with one another.
Torch- and lantern-bearing sea folk had formed a blockade at the stable’s exit.
Abraham turned his horse around. The citizens were blocking off the back entrance too. Scores of hard-eyed people were cramming the entrance. The Henchmen weren’t going anywhere without another fight.
22
Abraham stood with his hands on the rail of Flamebeard’s galleon with the morning sun in his face. He’d never ridden on a ship that had sails, or on any large ship, for any matter. Now, he was the captain of a pirate ship. As it turned out, the citizens of Seaport were very grateful that Flamebeard had been slaughtered. The pirate and his gang of surly men were a menace. Since Abraham vanquished Flamebeard, he also had rights to his ship and his men. He swore several pirates into his service. The others, loyal to Flamebeard, were imprisoned. Apparently, the Henchmen, accompanied by the sailors, could handle the sailing of the ship.
Flamebeard’s galleon was named the Sea Talon. It was every bit a pirate ship if there ever was one. Grand in design, the ship had three masts and white sails with flame colors woven into the fabric. The Red Tunics hustled over the decks. They climbed the ratlines and managed the sails. The decks were scrubbed with mops and brushes. Everything was done under the orders of the elder Henchmen.
Back at Seaport, he’d sold the horses and wagons. The Henchmen loaded up the frights and stuck them in the hold. That was Abraham’s decision. No one questioned it, but no one gave him a pat on the back either. But in the past day, he’d slain a notorious criminal and a host of men, and now he had a galleon and all its treasures, plus Flamebeard’s cutlass, to show for it. His fingers drummed on the railing.
Wait until the king sees this. For some strange reason, he felt good. Whoever King Hector is. He still couldn’t picture the man’s face.
Sticks brushed up against his arm. “Good morning, Captain.”
“Good morning. I was beginning to think that all of you were avoiding me.”
“Never. We’ve been busy manning the ship. It’s no easy task to undertake, but it’s all in good order now.”
“I’ll say. And we’ll make it back to Kingsland much quicker. Tell me: why didn’t we take a ship to begin with?”
“The frights didn’t run on a ship. They fled on foot.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry.”
> She showed him a puzzled look.
Abraham got the feeling that Ruger Slade wasn’t a man who ever apologized for anything. He needed to bear that in mind.
The waters of the Sea of Troubles were choppy. Ahead of him was nothing but water. Behind him was the coast of Titanuus, a few miles away. He pointed west. “Do we have maps of what is out there?”
“Captain, there is nothing out there but the Elders. Only the boldest of fishermen travel beyond eyeshot of the coast.”
“Why, will they fall off the edge?”
She tilted her head and gave him a perplexed look. Then that vanished, giving way to her normal, expressionless face. “No, the Elders will consume them.”
He realized again that he should have known what she was talking about but didn’t. But for some reason, he knew many other things that he hadn’t before. He’d never sailed on a ship, but he knew what to call the three masts—the foremast, main mast, and mizzenmast—as well as the many decks—the main, forecastle, quarter, stern castle, charter, and poop. Belowdecks were the cargo hold, infirmary, brig, stores, and galley. He felt as though he’d been taken on a tour and was remembering everything.
He rested his elbow on the railing and said, “Let’s go to my cabin to talk.”
The captain’s quarters was a twenty-by-twenty room with three windows in the back. A queen-sized bed was covered in linens and silks fit for a king. A small table for two was fastened to the floor for eating. A desk and chair sat against the wall. Two wardrobes and several wooden chests and strongboxes sat on the carpet-covered floor.
Sticks started undressing.
“No, I didn’t bring you here for that,” he said.
“Why else would you bring me here?”
“To talk.”
She shrugged. “There isn’t much else to do out at sea. You’ll change your mind soon enough.” She put her bandolier back over her shoulder then sat on the edge of the bed, crossed her legs, and put her hands on her knees. “I’m all yours.”
Abraham knew what she meant. She was as frisky as he was and toying with him. In his new body, he found her hard to resist. Then he caught a glimpse of Jake’s backpack on the bed among the pillows, and it brought him to his senses. He closed his eyes.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. For God’s sake, it’s not real!
Home. That was where he needed to be. He needed to be riding the lonely highways, living the life of a truck driver, and sorting his life out one day at a time. He took the position that whatever was going on wasn’t real—it just felt like it. He decided to take the approach of a gamer. He was an avatar or a player. He’d have to ask questions to find answers about what he needed to do. Was it like the computer games he’d played as a kid? Ask questions that were simple and easy. Find out what you can. Move up to the next level. Complete the mission. Find your way home again. He opened his eyes.
Sticks hadn’t moved an inch. Her pretty eyes remained on his. “Seasick?”
“No.” He sat down beside her. “Tell me about the Elders. Tell me about Titanuus. Tell me about this world.”
“Your questions are very strange. I know that you are not the same, but you still fight like Ruger Slade. If you hadn’t slain Flamebeard, I’d have been worried. The men were starting to doubt. I was too.” She shook her head and grinned. “You tore up Flamebeard. That was a sight to see. No one will doubt you—at least, not for a while.” She touched his cheek. “And I like the new you. The old you was an ass. I hope this one stays.” She leaned toward him.
The skin of his neck heated up. The rocking of the ship cutting through the waters further stirred the desire within him. He kissed her. She kissed him. It didn’t stop.
23
Abraham lay beside Sticks, who was leaning back against the pillows, the sheets pulled up over her chest. With his head on the pillows, he stared at the cabin ceiling. Their impulsive, lustful act left him feeling ashamed of himself, but this time wasn’t as bad as the last time.
I’m sorry, Jenny. I couldn’t control myself.
Sticks’s tomboyish good looks and enchanting figure were more than enough to break any man. He knew. He was used to hearing stories of sexual triumphs and failures in testosterone-filled locker rooms. He didn’t figure he knew any man, single or married, who could turn down a woman like Sticks. And with his body and hers, that made the tryst all the more compelling. He still wasn’t sure whether he was performing his own actions or the actions of Ruger Slade.
“Do you still want me to tell you about the Elders and Titanuus?”
“Huh…? Oh, yeah.” His fingers pinched the top of the sheets to cover his chest, like a frightened kid listening to a scary bedtime story. “Go on.”
“Give me a moment.” She crossed the room to a bar mounted against the wall. She took a bottle of port from the rack below it. “May I?”
“Sure. It’s all ours now.”
She filled a glass goblet with the chocolate-colored port and sniffed the bouquet. “Flamebeard must have had a refined palate. Would you like a glass?”
He held up his hand. “No thanks.”
She sat back down beside him. “Titanuus is the name of a slain celestial giant whose body formed our world. He battled through the cosmos, against Antonugus, the Star Slayer.” She took a long sip and cradled the glass to her chest. “Here, on the waters of this world, they stood toe-to-toe, fighting for the destiny of the universe. Antonugus carried a sword made from star fire. Titanuus was no match for its power. Antonugus gravely wounded Titanuus. He stabbed him right in the heart. He chopped Titanuus’s arms off and one of his legs. Titanuus fell into the waters of the deep, watching Antonugus take to the stars, singing in victory. He pumped blood into the waters, giving it new life as he died. That’s how the world was formed. That is how the Elders were born.”
“That’s a captivating story,” he said, thinking of the map he’d seen. It did resemble the body of a man with arms and a leg cut off. The top of Titanuus even featured a large bump that could be taken for a head. “Wouldn’t that make this giant a thousand miles tall? It seems preposterous.”
She shrugged. “There is no way to truly measure the largest or the smallest of anything.”
“So, what happened to the arms and leg that was chopped off? Did they float away? Wouldn’t they make islands or something like that?”
“The Elders ate them,” she said.
“And the Elders are giant people?”
She shook her head. “No, they are sea monsters. Gods to some. They live far out in the sea. They swallow ships like this whole. That’s why the ships never sail out of sight of the shoreline. They never come back.”
He raised a brow. “Has anyone ever seen one of these sea monsters?”
“Yes. But that was eons ago. I will tell you this: ships that sail too far into the Sea of Trouble do not come back.”
He made a quiet applause. “Yay.” He didn’t mean to be rude, but the story, though intriguing, was little more than a fairy tale told to frighten children. It was little different from the Greek or Norse myths he’d read as a boy. But to Sticks’s credit, the monsters did seem bigger. He scratched his ear. “Well, thanks for telling me. Now everything is making a lot more sense.” He rolled his eyes.
“Captain, I can sense your sarcasm. I assure you that my story is true. Everyone knows it.”
Abraham slid out of bed and started putting his clothing back on. “I’m sure they all do believe.” Putting his shirt on, he turned toward her. “Do you think it’s possible that, farther out in the sea, is another land like this?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “No.”
“I see.” He tucked his shirt into his trousers and slid his boots on. At least he had a better knowledge of the world he was in. Now, he had no doubt it wasn’t real, no matter how real it seemed. For example, his cabin was stuffy and had a musty smell. The featherbed was comfortable but the sheets smelled. Thinking about sleeping in them gave him the willies. He lift
ed the sheets and asked, “Can I get these cleaned?”
Sticks gracefully slid out of the bed toward the wardrobe. She opened the wardrobe double doors. A red coat hung inside, along with other shirts and trousers and a stack of linens and towels.
“I’ll have a retainer reset your room,” she said.
By retainer, she meant a Red Tunic. That’s what they called them. He’d recently caught on to that. Apparently, he called them Red Tunics. As far as Abraham could tell, they were part squire and part fraternity pledge, but without all the fun. He had a lot of friends who lived in frat houses when he’d played college baseball for two years, during and after high school. He made the rounds, and the pledges would serve the brothers, hand and foot, at least when it came to cleaning the frat houses and serving the drinks.
As for the senior Henchmen, like Sticks and Horace, the retainers called them what they were, Henchmen—that or “sir.” The retainers strived to become Henchmen, but Abraham got the impression that they were expendable.
He snapped his fingers, making a loud pop. “Ah, I get it.”
Sticks gave him a curious look. “Get what?”
He didn’t say it, but he thought of the red-shirted security officers from Star Trek. Every time they showed up, they died. The man before him, Eugene Drisk, must have had a sinister sense of humor or been a Trekkie.
“Nothing.” He pulled his shirt open, revealing the brand of the king’s crown. “As long as we are going to be at sea for a few more days, you might as well tell me about this.”
24
Sticks pulled her shirt collar down and over, showing her brand. As far as brands went, the skin was puffed up, but the detail, unlike most brands, was crisp. It didn’t look like a burn or scar, much the way other brands did.
The King's Henchmen: The Henchmen Chronicles - Book 1 Page 9