Beside the Rock and Cloud

by Pete Draper

  Cassi unscrewed her face, then looked at the gathering crowd marching up the hill. They were chanting. “Andersson!” And, “One of us!”

  “I guess Andersson is president now.” Murta wiped colours from his mole-covered face and warty nose but missed half of it, he looked like a bad painting.

  “I always liked Diamondson, he was relaxed.” Cassi thought about it. “It made our job a lot easier. Change is never a good thing, especially in the Green Sea.”

  “Diamondson’s had his day.” Murta brushed white powder from his grey hair. “Tirty years as president is a long time.”

  Cassi headed further up the hill, dodging as more powder came flying towards her. “Who is Andersson?”

  “Your man’s been an admiral for a while,” said Murta, “He rose trew the ranks after that tready with Levac a few years back.” He stroked the sharp black stubble on his chin, “I say a few years. It was more like twenny.”

  “I don’t like the military types becoming president. They are always trouble.” Cassi wiped her coat as she walked, the powder was gradually coming off. She sighed; it didn’t look like it would ever be as white as it had been. At least she could afford a new one.

  “Well your man’s done some good tings; they took Coraltin back from the Shades not so long ago. I was there.”

  “That was bad for us.” Cassi thought about her brief encounter with Karoson, she didn’t look forward to more of those. “A good job we had you on board. He called you something, vapenbroder? What does it mean?”

  “It means…” Murta thought for a moment, “We’re veterans, we’ve been trew the wars together. Seen a lot you know? Blood and guts, that sort of ting, killed a lot of men, seen our friends die.”

  “But you are so gentle.” Cassi looked up at her giant companion, his face and posture looked so calm. He didn’t look the type to kill a man.

  “I can get pretty nasty when I want to.” In less than a second, Murta’s shoulders had risen, his bulging arms were the size of tree trunks. His eyes had that killer glint.

  Cassi took a step back.

  The silver lining shone around his huge body; his posture slumped back to its usual relaxed look. “But I’m very protective. Particularly when it comes to my Cap’in.”

  Cassi smiled, looking at the gash in his coat where the glass had cut him. “And I’m grateful for it.”

  The building was on the right, dull black slates covered it, thick stones poked out of the walls at different angles. A couple of barrels taller than Cassi stood either side of the door.

  “This is the place,” Cassi nodded at the Mjoed brewery. “Translate for me. I find the best way to get a good deal in the Green Sea is to pretend I don’t know the language, since I don’t know what a good price is around here. When I know, then I’ll get us the best deal.”

  “You got it Cap’in,” Murta said with a nod. “Yous’re a clever lass, I can see why that crew follow yous. Be careful with that Taylan though.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” said Cassi, “His bark is bigger than his bite. Besides, Barolos keeps him in check.”

  “You got it Cap’in. I’m enjoyin’ the journey so far.” Murta nudged the door open.

  “Hello, how can I help you?” The brewer asked. He was a short man, not much taller than Cassi. Heavy round glasses with a bronze rim magnified his tiny eyes.

  Murta stepped under the cracked step, nearly smacking his head on the low beam. Cassi followed, looking at the barrels with a raised eyebrow. The place stank of stale old ale, it reminded her too much of Carilyo.

  “You like the Rockland lager eh?” The brewer looked at Cassi.

  “Hi there,” Murta interrupted. “My Katalian employer here wants to buy some lager to sell in Levac. The wee lass doesn’t speak the language see.”

  “Please, come in.” The brewer smiled at Cassi invitingly. “I guess you’ll have to translate. How long have you known her?” The brewer looked Cassi up and down like his next meal.

  “Only just met her.” Murta glanced at Cassi. She was inspecting the different barrels and bottles with a look of awe on her face as though she cared.

  “Well, if you want to make a bit of money, just play along. I’ll even throw in a keg of Corsov’s Hammer, the new stuff in the back.” The brewer smirked at Murta. His smile was less deceiving as he turned to Cassi, but she’d already seen the deceitful glow in his eye. Even if she didn’t speak the language, she’d know not to trust him.

  “Sounds good.” Murta smiled at the man before glancing at Cassi out of the corner of his eye.

  “We have Mjoed and Steinby’s finest; Oel.” The brewer stroked a barrel like it was his pet. “How much are you looking to spend? How much does she have?”

  “A lot,” Murta replied. Both men burst out laughing, they looked at Cassi, who joined in. “Golden Empire setags.”

  “She’s not much to look at,” the brewer said. “Not much of a rack, but her face isn’t too bad, and she’s slim enough.”

  Murta inhaled, cringing. Cassi smiled brightly; she never failed to keep a straight face.

  “Look at her, doesn’t have a clue what we’re saying.” The brewer chuckled. “Help me out with this, and I’ll make it worth your while. How does half a setag sound?”

  “Sounds great,” Murta said.

  “Tell her I’ll give her twenty barrels, a setag each.” The brewer offered. “She’ll want them for less. I’d normally sell them half a setag each. See if we can get three-quarters out of this little bitch.”

  Murta leaned over to Cassi. “What should I tell him? He wants to rip us off.” He rolled a hand around as though he was trying to find the right words in translation. “What number should we start with?”

  Her eyebrows sagged a little, then she cupped her hand around Murta’s ear. “Tell him, I’ll pay eight setags, that is the going price in Traki.”

  Murta nodded, the powder in his dark hair flittered over Cassi. “She says eight setags. But I think you’ll be able to talk her up over your usual ten.”

  “Hmm,” the man stroked his chin. “Tell her fifteen.”

  Murta leaned to her again. “What do yous think?”

  Cassi snorted. “Tell him nine is my final offer.”

  “She says nine. Final offer.”

  The man looked into her eyes, instantly deflecting away from her vicious glare. “She looks a bit miserable, but feisty,” the man said. “I could bend her over the counter there and give her a good seeing to, that’d cheer her up. She’d be screaming my name. Then she’d pay my price.”

  Murta’s eyes shut tight like he was bracing himself for an oncoming blizzard.

  Cassi smiled again. “A tempting proposal,” she said in Levacian. “What else would you do with me? I mean, I’m not much of a looker. But I’m pretty flexible, I bet you could get your wrinkly old cock deep in me, so long as you can still get it hard.”

  The man was taken aback.

  “I speak perfect Levacian, you fucking idiot. Now you’re going to give us a fair deal.” Cassi pointed her sharp finger at him. “And you can take a setag off. No, two setags, for the insults. I am a very powerful trader. If you ever want my business again, I’d suggest you’re more hospitable next time.”

  The brewer nodded rapidly; his cheeks burned red, his thick glasses misted.

  “Twenty barrels, eight setags,” Cassi demanded. “And don’t talk about me like that again.” She waggled a finger at him.

  The brewer nodded like a dog.

  “I’ll send my crew to come and get them, they’ll pay you then.”

  Cassi and Murta strolled out of the door, avoiding the low beam on the way out.

  Murta smiled. “That was the best ting I’ve ever seen Cap’in. Yous’re truly magnificent. I bet yous could make even the hardest of marines shit their pants if they were left in a room with yous for ten minutes.”

  “Thank you, you played your part well too. I suppose this is goodbye,” Cassi sighed. She wrapped her arms as far ar
ound Murta’s frame as they would go.

  “I’ve been tinkin’ about that, and after seeing what yous did just there, maybe I’ll stay on your crew for a while longer. Cap’in”

  I’ve Got to Give It Up

  It was the picture of happiness, people chinking steins and glasses, sloshing beer all over. A colourful mix of powder filled the air and everyone’s clothes. Carilyo entered the pub with a confident stroll; he didn’t need to drink to have a good time.

  A band with banjos and an accordion played Fountains of Mjoed on the step in the corner, they were halfway through. A man with the thickest, most glorious mutton chops strummed the guitar.

  “A wanted man I was, the prisjagar came-a-knockin’.” The deep voice filled the room.

  “I swung an’ I missed, alas I was pretty pissed.” Carilyo shouted the line himself, it was always his favourite line. None of the other patrons seemed to be enjoying the song as much as him though.

  He clapped in time with the beat of the drum, then offered a hand to a pretty looking lady. She looked at him like something the cat dragged in; so Carilyo decided to dance on his own.

  “The ship hit the rocks, by the Passage of Corsov.” Mutton-chops kept singing, “The sea set us free, t’was little use for me. Waddling along, with me ankle chains-a-jangling. Up in the mountain, there I saw the fountain. Sparkling as clear as day.”

  Carilyo’s Rockland accent and Levacian language were awful, but he didn’t care. “I couldn’t believe mee eyes, a miricil in disguise. A fountain of Mjoed.”

  “Bring me to my fountain, my fountain of Mjoed. Hey!”

  “Hey!” Carilyo smiled and sang along, catching the eye of another man as they both shouted it. The band’s percussionist hit a hollowed-out barrel with a skin over the top; Carilyo stomped a foot in time with it.

  “I’ll drink ‘til I drop, never will I stop. ‘til the prisjagar drags me away.”

  Carilyo bounced, savouring the atmosphere, the banjo plucked away merrily. In all his excitement, Carilyo felt cold beer splash all over his arm. He turned, still smiling.

  “Why don’t yer watch where yer goin’?” A furious Rocklander with pointy eyebrows glared.

  “I’m sorry.” Carilyo stepped back, standing on another man’s heel.

  “What’s yer fuckin’ problem mate?” The second angry man scrunched up his face. “These shoes are worth more than yer fuckin’ life, piss-head. Maybe yer shouldn’t drink so much, yer look a fuckin’ mess.” The man looked him up and down, turning up his nose at Carilyo’s scruffy, dirty clothes.

  “I am sorry.” The smile was wiped away from his face.

  “Yer will be sorry.” A fist came flying at Carilyo’s head. He ducked in time; the knuckles crunched into the first man’s nose. Carilyo backed away into the crowd as the men traded more blows.

  In a room in the back, he sighed as the door shut behind him. It was dark and dingy, he could make out the dirty, cracked mirror in the corner, leaning up on the wall at an angle. It had a brass border, which sank in different levels towards the glass.

  “Do I really look that bad?” Carilyo asked the mirror.

  His reflection frowned back.

  His cheeks were flat, his face was almost skeletal. His once-bright blonde hair was dull and sticky, even the beads had lost their colour. Carilyo tugged on his shirt, it was torn and ripped. He sniffed at it; it was pretty rank. Maybe some new clothes will help.

  The reflection shook its lowered head.

  Maybe a haircut? Carilyo stared at the mirror, hoping to see his old self. The only part of himself he saw was the dark insipidness of his dejected eyes.

  With his head dropped, he scraped his sandals on the floor and moped back towards the main bar. He sighed to himself, “The drinking has ruined me.” I’ve got to give it up.

  “Yer look like yer could use a drink.” A friendly looking Rocklander with a long black beard patted him on the arm, a bright glint lit his eye. “Let me get yer one.”

  “Thank you, but I’ve had enough.” Carilyo felt his sad cheeks wrinkle.

  “Nonsense.” The Rocklander insisted, his beaming smile was inviting. “Come and join me and me buddies, I’ll even sing yer a song. ‘ow’s that sound?”

  The grey face lifted a little, he felt his cheeks inflate.

  The Rocklander wrapped an arm around Carilyo, dragging him to a booth which contained some interesting looking characters in colourful clothing.

  “Evening all, this is my new friend from Kataly.”

  “Well met laddie.” A bald man with a white beard raised a glass.

  After their introductions, Carilyo slumped into the booth, watching everyone having a great time throughout the bar. The colours had dulled to a thin grey. He felt like crying but couldn’t in front of his new friends.

  “Have a drink.” Nils, the bearded man slid the empty glass in front of Carilyo, then picked up the pitcher of Mjoed from the centre of the table. “It’ll cheer yer up.”

  “Thank you.” Carilyo rubbed his face, nudging the glass away. “You are most kind, but I really shouldn’t.”

  “Well.” Nils filled the glass with frothy lager. “In these parts, it’s rude not to treat your guests.” He slapped the glass in front of Carilyo when it was full, the froth bubbled, leaking over the rim invitingly. The smell was strong.

  Carilyo stared at it a while, determined not to give in. The band had begun to play The RRRs, the song about the Rockland Republican Resistance and how they overthrew the ruling Levacian imperial forces. It was one of his favourites, but he’d never been less in the mood for it.

  His new companions got up to dance and sing. Nils tried to drag Carilyo out, but he was heavier than a boulder.

  Even the cheery singing sounded bitter to Carilyo’s ears, he’d never disliked Rockland songs before. “Tell yer kids what a hero you were, when yer made that village burn. On the outskirts of Sholtorn.”

  Carilyo surveyed the room, the bright clothing blended to a dismal grey. He took a long blink, then saw Nils and his friends dancing, clapping, cheering and singing and wished he could be that happy.

  His eyes looked at the flat, warm drink, it was more tempting than when it was fresh. The sweet smelling lager was all he could sense. He leaned his head over it, hoping the aroma would be enough to feed his addiction.

  Spinning the glass between his fingers, Carilyo sulked to himself.

  “Come on Carilyo!” Nils motioned him over.

  The banjo jangled away. The whole band were joined by most of the bar in raucous voice. “Tell ‘em how our war chants, made yer piss yer pants. In the battle of old Steinby.”

  With another spin, lager splashed on his hand. Carilyo placed the glass back down, licking his hand clean.

  He stared at the drink again. Drinking is the only thing that makes me happy.

  Reluctantly, he took a sip, then got up and sang along.

  There’s More to Life Than Drinking

  To say it looked as good as new would be a lie. The bulwarks were no longer shiny, or nicely rounded; the unpainted, unvarnished planks of wood sat on their supports at an awkward angle. Dexos had done a good job though, given the timeframe and the circumstances. The crater was filled well; it was obvious it had been patched up though.

  Once the barrels were loaded and they’d found Carilyo in the hole he was hiding in, they were back on their way. He hadn’t been too hard to find this time. His cheery demeanour made him easy to shove back onto the ship.

  “Hey what’re you talking about?” Cassi asked, looking at Taylan and Barolos.

  The two of them shifted sharply.

  “We were just saying how we need to keep de cargo hold key away from your brother.” Barolos smiled. “Or he’ll drink all of dat lager before we get to Levac.”

  Cassi smirked. “You’re right, let me get it from him. Where is he?”

  “I saw him go below deck,” Taylan grunted.

  “Little shit. If he’s opened one of dose barrels, I’ll wr
ing his grubby little neck,” Barolos said. “Shall I stop him?”

  “No,” Cassi shook her head, “I’ll go.”

  Cassi crept below deck, stepping as deftly as possible. She passed Sofiya and didn’t even have to ask, the mute girl nodded towards the cargo hold. Cassi felt the steam escape her nose.

  As she reached the door, she saw Carilyo look over his shoulder. She backed around the corner when he turned, would be better to catch him in the act. He slipped the key into the lock.

  Cassi waited for the click before confronting him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Oh, Cassi. I was just…” his eyes looked dead ahead.

  “Just what? Drinking the lager I bought?” Cassi shoved past him, standing between her brother and the door.

  Carilyo’s arrogant eyes narrowed at her. “We bought it, with our money. Who set up the job we are doing? You shall earn so much more when we get to Argosa, because of me.” He pointed at himself with his thumb, thudding it into his chest a couple of times.

  Cassi thrust her palm up in frustration. “You sent me to buy it. Like you always do, you treat me like your servant.”

  “Never mind that.” Carilyo’s pink eyes turned sour. “I just came to say hello to Samia and see how her and Doriya are getting on.”

  “Pah! Horseshit! You came down for a drink.”

  “So what if I did. It’s mine as much as it is yours.” One side of his face sagged. One of these days he’s going to have a stroke.

  “We’re selling it in Levac, it’s not for drinking. You’ve got plenty of fucking rum we bought in Traki. Drink that. The lager will make a good profit in Levac.”

  “Profit,” Carilyo snapped back, taking a step into the cargo hold. “It’s all you care about. One barrel will be fine, you can take it out of my share, it’ll be an advance.”

  “Take one more fucking step.” Cassi’s eyes burned. “And I’ll slap you into the middle of next week.” His smug face was the most annoying thing she’d ever seen. “It’s not happening. Now fuck off back above deck. You’ve drunk enough lately; I’m sick of you.”