by Larry Niven
Gold’s eyes widened. “Aros? What in the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for passage on the Pelican.”
Gold groaned and sank his head back into his arms. “You’ll have to ask the new captain.”
“What happened?”
Gold snorted. “The fates were against me.”
Aros sat beside him. They made quite a picture: the sinewy barbarian and the corpulent captain.
“A month ago, I put Dorgan, my best man, against his in a wrasslin’ match. I wagered everything. Including the Pelican.”
“You lost?”
Gold nodded. “I don’t know what happened. I thought for sure…”
“Did you know your ship is in port?” Neoloth asked.
Gold sank his head in his hands and groaned.
“And did you further know that Dorgan is now the first mate?”
Gold shook his head. “No, that’s not possible. Captain Thorne always brings on his own crews.”
Aros said nothing. Gold slowly raised his head. “Son of a sea turtle,” he said, and then cursed more imaginatively. If a wizard had cursed thus, he might have obliterated the building. “They played me.”
Neoloth nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Gold slammed his fist on the table, and the entire room shook. Suddenly, and at a moment, Neoloth saw a younger man inside the hulking shell. A man who might have adventured with Aros, once upon a long time ago. “I knew it. I knew it! That ape, that betrayer, that goat-eyed, beef-witted canker blossom!”
“Impressive,” Neoloth admitted.
Aros smiled. “Would you like … revenge?”
* * *
The warehouse was packed from wall to battered wall with whooping brawny flesh. The smell of sweat and blood hung in the air until it drowned out the rotted smell of salt-warped boards. The audience was mostly sailors and their women, who were just as scarred and tough-looking.
“You can’t use your magic in here?” Aros asked, and to Neoloth’s satisfaction, the barbarian sounded just a bit nervous.
“I don’t think so,” Neoloth said. He pointed to the carved stone gargoyle over the door. It glared at them balefully. “Gambler’s demon. Detects magic. We don’t want it flapping its wings and squawking in here—we’d get torn to pieces if they thought we were cheating.”
“Can’t you beat it?”
“Given enough time, perhaps. But why are you worried? Since when are you afraid of a bone breaker?”
“Afraid might be too strong a word. Let’s just say I don’t mind a nice, unfair advantage.”
The crowd roared with approval as two mountainous men crashed against each other with a force that shook the room. Knuckles smashed into flesh, ripping skin and bruising bone.
Captain Thorne was a villainous-looking sea dog, perfectly cast for his role. Thin as a sword, with a hawk-sharp face. “Well. Isn’t it the good Captain Gold?”
“And Captain Thorne,” Gold said.
“Admiral Thorne now, thanks to you,” Thorne grinned. “Come to lose another ship?” the slender man asked.
“Come to get my ship back.”
Thorne roared as if that was one of the funniest things he’d ever heard. “That would require gettin’ straight with the moneylenders. Take some heavy coin to balance your scales. Your pockets look a little light these days.”
“I have money,” Gold said. “Enough to wager on my man against your ape, at odds.”
Thorne glanced at the smooth-limbed Aros. Aros without scars looked younger, more innocent. Whereas Thorne’s champion looked like the ogre’s shorter, knottier, uglier brother. Dorgan was almost a full head taller than Aros, and his skull looked thick enough to serve as an anvil.
Aros studiously avoided the big man’s eyes. Thorne grinned. “You ready to die, Az?” An insulting term for “Azteca.”
“Why don’t you meet his eyes?” Gold said, nervous as well. “Dorgan will think you are afraid.”
Aros raised an eyebrow. “And why should I care?”
Neoloth frowned. “I thought all you brawlers wanted to establish dominance. Control each other’s minds.”
“And why should I care what you think?”
“It’s my gold,” the wizard replied.
“It’s my body,” Aros said.
Neoloth couldn’t argue with that. “That’s true. And we need it whole. Try not to get it mangled.”
“Your concern,” Aros said, “is touching.” Aros was seated on a table edge, busily wrapping his thick, scarred hands with leather straps.
“Like I said, it’s my money.”
The two of them were guided through a cheering crowd of drunken sailors. Aros gave the name “Kasha” to the rotund, bearded announcer: the opening gambit of their plan.
“All right, sea dogs,” the announcer said. “We have a challenger! The savage son of the desert—Kasha!”
The crowd jeered as Aros raised his sinewy arms. A couple of the people in the crowd squinted as if wondering whether they recognized him, but his tattoos were different now, and their confusion was soon submerged in bloodlust.
“And in this corner, the champion of the Silver Skull and the Pelican, the bone breaker of the coast, Sailor Dorgan!”
The colossus lurched up out of the corner, raised his arms, and flexed his muscles. This took some time: there were a lot of them to flex.
“Large,” Aros said.
Neoloth was beginning to feel a little worried. “Are you sure you can do this?”
Aros nodded. “You and that gargoyle just be sure this is fair. I’ll deliver the victory.”
Aros walked out onto the pit area. The crowd roared. Sailor Dorgan eyed his tattoos.
“Who are you?” the big man said. He was trying to growl, but his voice was almost child-like.
“Kasha,” Aros said. “You know my name.”
“I heard it,” Dorgan replied.
“You’ll remember it when we’re done.”
Dorgan snorted. “I don’t remember every bone I’ve broken. You’ll be forgotten with the rest.”
Aros crouched on the far side of the ring. The crowd’s roar diminished to silence in his mind. He dug his fingers into the sand and ran a handful between them. Closed his eyes.
He remembered. Aros floated away to the place he always sought when life and death were on the line.
His mother pulled from his hands …
Dragged away and up a pyramid, to execution.
Her loving heart ripped from her chest …
This, Aros had not seen. It was too far away, and he was running. But he had heard the shrieks, and blood was easy to imagine.
When Aros opened his eyes they were reddened. His face was beaded with sweat, his muscles tense and swollen. Neoloth was startled by the transformation.
Aros stood and turned. His head was lowered, his teeth clenched. The barbarian seemed as much animal as man. He glared at the man across the ring as if he wanted to eat him.
“All right, you bastards,” the announcer said. “Anything goes except for bitin’, eye gougin’, and ball twistin’. Winning is by submission, bein’ thrown out of the ring, or gettin’ knocked the hell out. Dyin’ is just another word for losin’. Are you ready? Fight!”
The two men charged full out at each other. At the last instant, Aros ducked under the wild swing and heaved up. Sailor Dorgan flew through the air and smashed into the men standing at the ring’s edge. They heaved him back into the ring, his feet never quite touching the ground. The crowd roared.
“Clever,” Neoloth muttered.
The two men circled each other, arms milling. “Clever won’t save little man,” Dorgan growled.
Fists balled, the two men crashed together. Aros was faster, landing two punches for every one of Dorgan’s. But Dorgan was a monster; no strike seemed to make any difference.
They gripped, fingers biting into each other’s skin, ripping away and scraping as they twisted and pounded each other. Dorgan got a hold a
nd threw Aros, who managed to land on his feet, keep hold of Dorgan’s arm, and reverse the throw. Dorgan hit the ground so hard that the arena shook. Aros was on him like a terrier on a rat, kicking him before he could rise, then smashing him with a knee in the face.
Dorgan’s teeth flew. He rolled and came up like thunder, flying at his man as rutting animals had since before men crawled out of the jungles. Fingers clawed for the Aztec’s eyes. Aros screamed and smashed his way out of the trap, wiping blood from his face.
The Aztec snarled. “I thought this was just a friendly brawl,” he said.
“The next bone that breaks is your neck,” Dorgan said.
Aros looked around the ring and the crowd. Captain Thorne was smirking.
Dorgan attacked. Aros backpedaled. Dorgan hit him, and Aros rolled with it, turning a flip as his hand hit the sand, grabbing a handful. Continuing the somersault, he threw the sand into Dorgan’s open eyes.
Dorgan flailed and backpedaled. Aros ran forward, crouched, and leapt up in a perfect dropkick, smashing Dorgan in the chest. The giant flew back out of the ring, smashing into the men at the edge—who threw him back again.
“What the hell!” Neoloth snarled. “Is every sailor in this damned place your shipmate?”
Thorne’s grin widened.
Cheating, Neoloth thought. Damn it, this man needs a lesson. He looked back at the doorway. Up at the gargoyle. It was a fairly standard gambler’s demon, charmed to awaken if any funny business went on. But it had been a looong time since there had been enough magic in this area to animate it. In fact …
It was possible that the gargoyle’s stone heart had died. Or was so deeply asleep that a small spell could evade notice.
Aros was heaving for breath by now, as much with frustration as exhaustion. “What is it going to take to stop you?” he said to Dorgan.
The giant’s answer was another charge, and by now Aros no longer seemed as fast and lithe as he had only minutes ago. Neoloth was starting to worry. Beside him, Captain Gold looked like he wanted to cry.
Dorgan closed with him again, clasped his arms around Aros’s waist, and bent him backward. “Hear that sound? That’s your back breaking.”
Neoloth made a decision. Blood from this and previous bouts slicked the floor, directly under Dorgan’s feet. Neoloth slipped his hand into the pouch at his waist and grasped the talisman. With his other hand he made a subtle gesture … and the blood beneath Dorgan’s foot froze.
Dorgan’s foot slipped. His grip slipped.
Aros twined his legs up and around like a monkey, clamping them around Dorgan’s neck. His lower body against Dorgan’s superior upper body. Dorgan tried to keep his grip on Aros’s neck, but the position they were in was twisting him like a pretzel. Finally, Dorgan released his grip, tried to pull Aros’s legs away. Flailed. Face reddened.
The crowd began to cheer: “Kasha! Kasha!”
Both men tumbled to the ground. Dorgan gasped and clutched, and his heels drummed against the ground … and then at last his massive body relaxed into unconsciousness.
Aros looked more dead than alive, as battered as driftwood. “And I hope that that … is that.” He groaned.
Admiral Thorne sputtered, rage making his thin face even more skeletal. “I can’t … I don’t believe…”
Audience members were carrying Aros on their shoulders, chanting his assumed name for all to hear.
Excellent. Neoloth’s tension headache was starting to ebb. “They seem a changeable lot,” he said.
Gold radiated glee. “One thing sailors like is a fighting man,” he said.
Thorne looked around the sand. Bent and fingered the blood, coming up with an ice crystal he crunched beneath his trembling fingers.
THIRTEEN
Boarding
Mist rolled in from the ocean like a thin layer of cotton. The ships in harbor rose and sank slowly on the swells of the morning tide. But even before the sun had finished rising, the mood was warm.
Captain Gold’s smile grew broader by the moment. The rotund old moneylender who had engineered Admiral Thorne’s coup was tearing up the contract, and the harbormaster soberly reviewed documents attesting to the fact that the Pelican was indeed once again in the possession of Captain Gold.
“And … your ship is yours again,” the harbor master said.
“Thank you,” Gold said. But as he said it, Thorne strode up, red-faced and furious. “I don’t know what you did,” he said. “Or how you did it. You can’t cheat me.”
“No. Cheating doesn’t work. We know that, don’t we?” Gold smiled at Thorne, and the smaller man snarled, spit, and stalked away.
“This ain’t the last of it!”
“I hope not,” Gold called after him. “Can always use another ship.”
Sailors began to swarm over the Pelican. Somewhat to Neoloth’s surprise, the bruised but massive Dorgan was among them. He stopped before the captain, unable to meet his eyes, scratching at the ground with his toe. “Cap’n Gold…”
Gold’s smile vanished. “And what do you want, seaman?”
“Well, Cap’n, I know I done wrong, but I was lied to. Thorne told me I’d be captain. He only gave me first mate.”
Gold shook his head in disbelief. “Dorgan, you traitorous bushwacker … you know you ain’t got the brains Triton gave a kelp bed.”
He punched Dorgan’s huge chest, rubbed his bruised knuckles, and sighed. “But … damned if you aren’t the strongest swabby I’ve ever seen. You have half your sea pay docked. But serve well, and all is forgiven.”
The big man’s eyes gleamed with hope. “You won’t be disappointed, Cap’n!”
And he ran up the plank. He stopped and looked back at Aros. “You good, little man,” he said. “Two out of three?”
Aros smiled, trying not to wince or touch his tender ribs. “Anytime.” After Dorgan ran up, Aros wiped his hand across his forehead.
“What in the world are you doing?” Neoloth asked Gold.
“Oh, the big lug don’t mean no harm. He’s not too bright, and I yelled at him. Hurt his feelings. So he got back at me.”
“Am I going to have trouble with him?” Aros asked. Visions of broken bones danced through his mind.
“Naw,” Gold said. “He’s strong as an ox, but he don’t know the meaning of ‘fear.’”
“Nor, I suspect, a wide variety of other nouns and adjectives,” Neoloth said.
“You show me a man who’ll climb the rigging in a storm, and I’ll be willing to forgive him a few little foibles as well,” Gold said.
“As you wish.” Neoloth shrugged.
“Besides,” Gold said, “I told Gretel I’d take care of him.”
Aros squinted. “Who?”
“He’s me sister’s boy. Dumb as a stump but stronger’n hell, and fears nothin’,” Captain Gold said, then cupped his hands to his mouth. “All aboard!”
FOURTEEN
All at Sea
The Pelican’s sails swelled with fair wind. Far off, on the horizon, storm clouds blossomed like toadstools to the north, but they continued to recede as their ship passed along, promising fair voyage.
Neoloth and Aros were making the best they could of the tiny, confined space Captain Gold had allotted them. They crouched together, studying a map of Quillia’s capital. A badly outdated map, Neoloth was certain. “It begins now, Aros,” he said. “The sailors on this ship will make port, and when they do will comment on what they see. Make no mistake: there are eyes upon us.”
“I’ve played roles before,” Aros grunted. He moved his arm; Agathodaemon was sliding toward it.
“And for your life, no doubt,” Neoloth said. “But now we’re playing for a life more precious than your own. The life of Tahlia. We don’t know the game that is being played here.”
Aros leaned back and began peeling an apple with his knife. “The snake needs to act like my pet, not yours.”
“She already does. Just let her crawl on you.”
Aros offe
red an arm, and Agathodaemon crawled along it, sniffing, rising toward his neck. Neoloth nodded, satisfied. “All right,” he said. “Let’s take a turn around the deck, try out our new roles.”
“Bring Agathodaemon? Wait now—I’m giving orders here, aren’t I? Agathodaemon stays here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This,” the thief said, grinning like a wolf, “I intend to enjoy.”
The ship outside their cabin was alive with busy men. A working ship, especially one at sea, is always in the process of being torn apart by salt, wind, and water and is in constant repair by the crew.
Captain Gold was using his hand to shade his eyes against the glare, peering up into the rigging. “Dorgan, ye vast shirker! What see ye?”
The giant was up high enough to seem tiny at last. He hailed down. “All clear Cap’n!”
“Good morning, Captain!” Aros said cheerfully.
“All formal are we, today?” Then he remembered their role and fell into it. He eyed his passengers. “Ah, there’s a game afoot, I know. And sooner or later, I’ll reckon what it is.”
“You owe us. Keep that big nose out of our business.”
Gold scratched his balding head and grinned. “Arrrr. Is that any way to talk to an old friend? No harm. We all have our secrets, ay? Ay?” He nudged Aros hard with his elbow. Aros grunted but absorbed the blow with equanimity.
Instead of venting any irritation on the captain, he turned to Neoloth. “Fetch me water.”
“Yes, sir,” Neoloth said. He worked a pump on one of the water casks, drawing a cup of clear fluid. In truth, he was enjoying the journey more than he would have guessed. The sounds of the waves and rhythmic movement of the ship—even the smell of salt-cured boards—was somehow comforting.
Up above him, sailors were shimmying along a boom, singing as they mended a sail with black cross-stitching. The song was something scandalous about the romance of a shark and a mermaid. Neoloth hoped his ear was quick enough to remember it.
“Washelisk!” Aros roared. “My damned water!”