by Robert Bevan
“But we could be at sea for weeks!” said Tim. “Months, even! We can’t live on booze that whole time.”
“Don’t say that until you’ve tried it,” said Cooper. “This shit is –hiccup- fantastic.”
“Jesus, Cooper!” said Tim. “Are you wasted already?”
“I’m telling you, man,” said Cooper. “This stuff goes down like Dave’s mom.”
Dave chose to be the bigger person, in spirit if not in stature. “Fuck it,” he said. “It’s not like we’re going to get in any more trouble than we’re in right now.” He got slowly to his feet. His stubby dwarf legs were not meant for the sea. He grabbed a bottle from the open crate. “We’ll have a drink and figure out our next move.”
Plunk.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to get shitfaced when we could get attacked by pirates at any minute?” asked Tim.
“Sounds like a fine idea to me,” said Julian. “It’ll take the edge off of being murdered.” He stretched out his arms in front of him as he carefully walked past Tim. And then he stopped. “Wait a second. This is stupid.” He took a knee and felt around on the floor until he found a loose, rusty nail. “Light.”
Dave’s vision blurred as color flooded in. He shook his head until it cleared. “Good idea. Thanks.”
“Dammit, Cooper!” said Tim. “Did you piss on the floor already?”
Dave peered around the crate. Sure enough, Cooper was standing in the middle of a circle of wood noticeably darker than the rest of the floor.
“Where the fuck am I supposed to piss?”
“I don’t know,” said Tim. “Maybe piss on the stairs or something. Give those fuckers something to slip on when they come to kill us.”
Cooper nodded and pointed a finger at Tim. “Now that’s smart thinking.”
Julian grabbed a bottle and unstoppered it. Plunk. He took a small sip, and the tips of his long ears turned red. “Wow,” he said. “Cooper’s not wrong. This is amazing.”
Tim sighed. “Fine. Give me a bottle.
Somewhere between thirty minutes and five hours later, by Dave’s best estimate, the four of them were completely hammered. The stairwell was covered in piss. At one point they held a contest to see who could reach the highest step, but it wasn’t really a contest at all. Cooper’s stream was nearly forceful enough to blow the hatch off its hinges. Tim gave it his best effort, but only barely managed to reach the fourth step.
The slipperiness of the stairs was tested when Cooper decided he had to throw up. As soon as he got that familiar look in his half-orc eyes, Tim urged him to do it at the top of the stairs. He didn’t make it three steps before a misstep sent him face first into a stair. The ensuing crunch sent a chill up Dave’s short spine, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it a little. Hell, Cooper breaking his face on a stair incited hysterical laughter in all of them, but the warm feeling it gave Dave inside was something that he thought he’d still treasure in his heart even after he sobered up. (This last sentence is a little awkward.)
Cooper’s broken face nearly made the big idiot forget he’d gone over there to vomit. When the memory came back, it came back in force. It looked as though his head had just exploded. Dave couldn’t believe how purple it was. Cooper was obviously drinking on an empty stomach. It almost looked good enough to drink again.
Dave immediately wished that thought hadn’t occurred to him, but the damage was done and he couldn’t unthink it. His stomach began to rise into his throat, and he had only just enough time to make it to the staircase before he dropped to his knees and joined Cooper in spilling his guts all over it.
Tim and Julian were nearly pissing themselves, they were laughing so hard. Even Cooper, who was bleeding profusely from his broken snout, wheezed out a laugh at Dave’s expense.
Dave crawled away from the stairs feeling like a hollowed out pumpkin. The ship rose suddenly on a big wave, sending empty bottles rolling around on the floor and spilling the one he hadn’t yet finished. Dave wished he had something more to throw up. He reached out to rescue what little was left in his bottle, but his supporting hand slipped out from under him. His face hit the floor hard.
When Dave woke up, he determined that doing so had been a serious error in judgment. The air was moist and salty and fresh, with no trace of piss or vomit. The light which flooded into his pounding head through his stinging eyes was not the light of an enchanted nail. It was natural sunlight. They were on the deck of the ship, and he was as sober as a fencepost. Fuck.
He forced his eyes open and saw a makeshift table in front of him. It was really nothing more than two crates with some planks hastily thrown on top. On the planks sat eight empty glass bottles. The bases were wide and round, and then necks were long and slender. The sight of them turned Dave’s stomach.
His eyes opened wider, and he noticed about two dozen sets of eyes staring back at him. The eyes were all human and half-orcish, and they all looked curious. None of them, interestingly enough, looked at all angry or threatening. Well… one of them did. One of the sailors, whose arm was in a sling and whose clothes were stained purple, gave Dave a quiet snarl and a threatening glare. He must have been the first one to discover them. But aside from him, everyone else merely looked curious.
Before Dave had time to be relieved by that, he realized the reason why they weren’t threatening. They didn’t need to be. Dave and his friends were completely helpless. His left arm, his leopard arm, was in a manacle. About a foot and a half of heavy iron chain secured his manacle to the one on Cooper’s right wrist. Looking further along, he saw that Cooper was chained to Julian, who was then chained to Tim. They were all still asleep. Dave made a quick survey of his surroundings. They were all on the edge of the deck, with only a chest-high wooden wall keeping them from falling into the sea. They were fucked.
“Ahem,” said a little voice at the back of the crowd, which immediately parted in the middle as if a truck were about to drive through.
What they revealed was not a truck. It was a halfling. And not just any Halfling. It was that little guy who was taking inventory down at the docks. Only, he was no longer dressed like a dockworker. He was decked out in brightly colored silk, gold jewelry studded with gemstones, and a hat with a brim at least as wide as he was tall. On his belt he wore an ornate scimitar. It must have been for show, because this wasn’t the sort of weapon you’d want to get any blood on.
“You fellows have a good time last night?” said the halfling.
Dave’s jaw moved up and down, but no words came out of his mouth. He tugged on the chain connecting his arm to Cooper’s a couple of times, but to no avail. He sat up straight, grabbed Cooper’s forearm, and used it to slap him in his own disfigured half-orc face.
“Ow!” shouted Cooper. “Fuck, that hurts! What happ—where are we?”
“You are aboard the Seventh Serpent, my friend,” said the halfling. He patted the main mast affectionately. “And a fine ship she be.”
Cooper flicked Julian in the head a couple of times. After that failed to wake him up, he sucked on his finger and put the tip of the claw in Julian’s ear.
Julian batted Cooper’s hand away. “Hey, knock it off, man. I’m – holy fucking shit!” He sat bolt upright and started shaking Tim.
“Huh?” said Tim. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve been captured,” said Dave.
Tim yawned. “Of course we have.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Cooper asked the halfling. Dave slapped his wrist.
“Do you see the hat atop me head, mate? Don’t nobody here wear a bigger one. Now you tell me, my boy. Who do you think I be?”
“Um…” said Cooper. “You kind of look like the Hamburglar.”
Tim and Julian giggled. Even Dave let out a little snort. He couldn’t help it. It was true.
The halfling squinted his eyes and shot curious glances at a few of his crewmen, but only got blank stares and shrugs in return.
&
nbsp; “I’m the captain, you daft bastard!” He nodded up at the sailor next to him.
The sailor stomped forward and kicked Dave in the ass. “You stand up when the captain addresses you!”
The four of them rose unsteadily to their feet. Dave, ever aware of his own armor and the open sea just behind him, gripped the wall firmly with his right hand. He caught a glimpse of Julian shielding his eyes as he peered up at the crow’s nest. When Julian furrowed his brow and shook his head ever so slightly, Dave followed his gaze. Ravenus was perched up there with his wings outstretched, maybe trying to look intimidating. He lowered his wings in response to Julian’s order. He must have been hiding out up there. How appropriate.
The sea behind him was quiet, still, and vast. The only disturbance on the water was the ship cutting through it. Dave had a pretty good view, and the only land in sight was a speck of an island off on the eastern horizon. He didn’t think he could swim that far. Not that it mattered. With his armor on, he’d have to make the trip on foot.
“That’s more like it,” said the captain. He spread his arms out, gesturing at the empty glass bottles lined up on the table. “Now, who can tell me what we have before us?”
One of the crewmen, a half-orc on the pudgy side, raised his hand. The captain shot him a wicked glare, and he immediately lowered it.
“Look,” said Tim. “We get it. We drank your booze. We’re sorry. Let’s roll this along, huh?”
Dave felt his bladder let go as a warm stream of piss flowed down his leg. What the fuck was Tim doing?
“I’m sorry, lad,” said the captain. “Am I boring you?”
“Yeah,” said Tim. “You kinda are.”
Dave looked up at Cooper, but even he had a stupefied look on his face.
“Hey,” Julian whispered at Tim. “Chill out, man.”
“Don’t tell me to chill out!” Tim snapped. “I’m tired, my neck hurts, I’ve got a massive fucking headache, and I’m not in the mood for games. If this little prick wants to kill us over some fucking booze, I’m just about ready. I’m sick of being three feet tall. I’m sick of sleeping on the floor of a fucking tavern. I’m sick of getting my feet chewed off by giant fucking rodents. I’ve had enough. Let the slaughter commence.”
The captain unsheathed his scimitar, walked around the table, and held the blade up to Tim’s throat. Tim lifted his head, exposing as much of his tiny neck as he could. The captain’s grimace slowly melted into a grin, and he lowered his weapon. He walked back around to the other side of the table and continued talking.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your friend has been captured by pirates before.”
“Doubtful,” said Cooper.
“That’s a smart thing he did,” said the captain. “If you ever find yourself in this situation again,” he said, smiling at Cooper. “Doubtful. Always try to antagonize the captain. You might get lucky and be rewarded with a swift death by hanging or stabbing. Sadly, that won’t be the case for you today.”
“You’re not going to – ” Julian started, but then doubled over to throw up. The chain connecting his wrist to Cooper’s made him sway that way and throw up on Cooper’s foot. It must have digested some since last night, as it was a significantly paler shade of purple. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “… kill us?”
The captain looked at Julian with disgust. “Not just yet.” He glared at Tim. “That fucking booze you spoke of. Do you have any idea what that is? How rare? How valuable?”
“I’ll grant you it was tasty,” said Cooper.
“That’s Whistlethorn Brandy you idiot’s were gulping down like goblin grog! That fucking booze sells for over six thousand gold pieces per bottle!”
“Sorry,” said Cooper.
“Not half as sorry as you’re about to be, my friend.” The captain’s smile returned. “It’s a lonely life out here at sea. I’ve decided to let my men have their way with you for the next couple of weeks. If any of you are still alive when we reach the Slaver Islands, I’ll see if I can’t recoup any of my losses.”
With that, the captain took his leave and stepped below deck. The sailor who had kicked Dave, clearly the first mate, took over the proceedings.
“Softy,” said the first mate. “You won the first pick of round one. Which will you have?”
Dave took another look at the sailors’ faces. He wasn’t sure if he had mistaken lusty hunger for simple curiosity before, or if it had since turned into that since then, but there was no mistaking it now. The whole crew eyed them like big slabs of rape-meat.
Julian wiped some of his vomit-sticky hair out of his face.
“I’ll take the elf,” said Softy, a bare-chested and heavily tattooed half-orc sailor. “He’s real feminine and pretty like. It’d almost be like fuckin’ a real lady, I reckon.”
“Be careful,” Cooper warned Julian. “Half-orc dicks are scaly and covered in bumps.”
Softy raised his eyebrows at Cooper. “No they ain’t.”
“Oh, right,” said Cooper, looking down at his vomit-covered feet. “I was… um… I was just joking.” He reached under his loincloth to scratch his junk.
The first mate frowned distastefully at Cooper before carrying on. “Mr. Grumm, you’re next. Who’ll it be?”
“I’m partial to the little guy,” said Mr. Grumm, a gangly human sailor with a thick, bushy beard and a voice like throat cancer. “He reminds me of me niece.”
Tim hung his head. “That’s wrong on so many levels.”
“Philo?” the first mate called out. “Where’s Philo?”
“Here I am!” A young boy, no older than sixteen by the looks of him, pushed his way through the crowd with a mop.
The first mate smiled at him. “Ah, there you are, Philo. Go on now. It’s your turn to choose.”
“I’ll go with the half-orc,” said Philo.
The first mate bunched his eyebrows together. “Really?”
“Father says the ugly ones are easiest.”
“Your father is a wise man,” said Cooper.
“Shut up, you!” shouted the first mate.
“Listen, boy,” Softy said, putting his huge half-orc hand on Philo’s shoulder. “One’s as easy as another when yous rapin’ them.”
“He makes a fair point, Philo,” said the first mate. “Do you want to take a minute to think about it?”
“Come on!” cried an eager little man in the front row. “He’s made his decision. It’s my turn!”
“Quiet, Stuart,” the first mate said. His voice was pleasant enough, but Stuart knew his place and clamped his mouth shut as if the order had been barked out by a drill sergeant. “This is Philo’s first time at sea, and we all want it to be special for him, right?”
The crew all nodded their agreement. Several of the men gave Philo a friendly punch on the shoulder or mussed up his hair. Philo took it all in with a sheepish grin.
“Have you made up your mind?”
“I have,” said Philo. “I’m still going to take the half-orc. He’s got big titties.”
The crewmen all laughed and wished the boy luck.
No one looked happier at Philo’s choice than Stuart. “Ha ha!” he said, rubbing his wiry hands together. He licked his lips as he stared at Dave.
“Hold on a second!” shouted Dave. The sailors stopped their bickering and looked down at him. “I get picked last? After Cooper? This is unacceptable!”
Stuart frowned. “I was gonna pick you.”
“Fuck you,” Dave shouted at the little man.
Stuart lowered his head.
“Dude,” said Cooper. “That was kind of harsh.”
“Tim!” Dave called out.
“Uh,” said Tim. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to need you to unbuckle my armor.”
“What? You want to show off your goods?”
“Just be ready,” said Dave. He took a step forward, and Cooper let his arm reach out to allow it. He picked up two of the empty bottles by their necks and
held them upside down.
“What do you think you’re doing with those?” asked the first mate. He put his hand on his hip and cocked an eyebrow.
“Everybody just back off,” said Dave, brandishing the two bottles as if they were swords.
“Seriously though,” said Cooper. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Dave backed up until he was against the low wooden wall. “Sorry to spoil your fun, but nobody’s getting raped today.”