Lacretia held a leather strop in her hand and offered it up to Coinin’s face. ‘Bite down hard on this. It will help.’
Coinin opened his mouth and bit hard on the salty leather, then waited for the next torturous few seconds.
When she was ready, Lacretia bent Coinin’s head to expose his neck and thrust a glowing firebrand on his bare flesh. Coinin’s eyes closed in agony and his legs kicked out which Lacretia expertly dodged. For a few seconds of searing flesh, there came a smell reminiscent of pork and a sizzling sound like that of crackling roasting on the spit. She released the brand, and the deck hand let Coinin go. He spat out the strop and fell to his knees, writhing in pain. Lacretia next picked up a bucket of ice-cold water and doused Coinin’s wound. The water eased some of the agony and she continued to pour until Coinin was no longer thrashing about. With tears staining his cheeks, he was helped to his feet. He looked decidedly green.
‘Take him below,’ Jericho ordered.
On command, Coinin was led from the deck and out of sight.
‘Who’s next?’ Hur’al asked.
‘I will bear that honour,’ Jericho said and walked briskly to where Lacretia stood waiting. Like Coinin before him, he sat and took the strop, refusing to be restrained.
Coinin lay on his bunk and listened to the cries of man after man being subjected to the torture he had endured minutes before, and each cry bit at him like a knife to the heart. The people around him continued to sacrifice so much for him, and he had brought them nothing but pain. He vowed to himself that once they found Lordich all that would go away, and their enemy would perish once and for all. He would ensure that each man was rewarded handsomely for their ordeal.
❖
The following day, Coinin felt the tender outline of his newly acquired brand and grimaced, recalling the brutality of its existence with a sting of pain. He was watching a grey stone tower in the distance growing larger with every passing minute and wondered what it was. It was nearing dusk, and light had appeared in the upper section of the tower.
Lacretia was passing, and he stopped her. ‘Lacretia? What is that?’ He pointed to the tower.
‘Oh, that’s Lighthouse Point,’ she replied and continued on her way.
Coinin called after her. ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
Lacretia visibly sighed and returned to him. ‘A lighthouse is used to warn sailing vessels of dangers in the water such as hidden rocks below sea level. For the pirates, it’s a guiding light to the stronghold. You’ll be pleased to know we are nearly there.’ With that, she strode away.
A nervous knot gnawed at Coinin’s stomach at the thought of walking into potentially the most dangerous scenario to date. He had been in some scrapes recently, though perhaps none as frightening as trying to pass himself off as a pirate, knowing that each of the enemy would skin him alive if they suspected him of being an outsider. He just hoped that the instruction they had received on how to behave would see them through.
Before long, Lighthouse Point whizzed past them, and a soft glow appeared in the distance. In the gloom, they could see the outlines of other sky vessels rising and falling like bees from a glowing hive.
‘We are almost there!’ Hur’al yelled. ‘Follow my orders exactly so that we may land safely within the stronghold.’
First, he ordered that the main boiler be doused, leaving the landing boiler lit. A great steam cloud erupted from below decks with an angry hiss, and then the port and starboard sails were expertly hauled inwards and tied off. The ship dived quickly, and to Coinin’s horror, it appeared that they were heading at full speed towards a solid wall of rock. At the last minute, and to his relief, Hur’al ordered for the landing boiler to be stoked, and what hot air had been let out of the great envelope above them began to flow back into it. It amazed Coinin just how quickly the ship rose. Almost all forward motion had been stopped, the propellers no longer propelling the craft onward.
Coinin looked over the edge of the ship, and a shocking sight met him. Below, a vast city lay hidden within an island off the coast of Lower Rodine. The city and harbour were cut into the rock so that no sign of it could be seen except from this one vantage point, or if one were to sail through a perilous passage of rock and swell. The lights from the city glowed like a multitude of fireflies and illuminated hundreds of rough cave-like dwellings hewn into the sides of the rock walls. A small island occupied its centre, and a grand house sat atop its peak, connected to the gangways by a rope bridge. Several large sky vessels were anchored to iron gangways protruding from the rock under the house.
Around the circumference of the pirate stronghold, a dozen other ships of varying sizes were anchored in a similar fashion and led off to raised gangways that wound their way around the walls, affording access to housing, food stores, and marketplaces. Strings of lanterns crisscrossed the city and illuminated hundreds of figures going about their business below. A dozen or so regular ships bobbed away on the water that surrounded the small inner island, and many hands assisted to offload its cargo into hand cranked cranes that lifted wooden cages to the various levels of the compound.
Iron pipes protruding from almost every dwelling craned angular necks into the air and belched grey smoke that hung thickly above the compound.
Coinin witnessed a sky ship leaving anchor and swiftly making its way to a departure zone. From there it rose quickly into the air and turned south before floating away, disturbing the smoke and creating large swirls as it left.
Hur’al took the departing ship as his cue to line up The Peregrine, or The Falcon as it was now named, for the descent into the midst of the pirate compound. Checking the coast was clear, he barked order after order to those on the deck which Lacretia relayed the same to those manning the boiler below. Slowly, the great ship began to sink, and soon they were level with the lip of the rock walls where the sound of music, raucous laughter and merriment reached their ears. The smell of cooking and other not so savoury smells wafted around them, to their pleasure or disgust. Here and there on the gangplanks, the pirates deposited festering food waste into high piles, producing a gag reflex in anyone who passed by. Coinin spotted one individual taking big shovelfuls of it and filling a wheeled barrow, presumably to dispose of the putrid detritus elsewhere.
Air Ships descending was such a common occurrence here that no one took notice as they sank deeper into the underbelly of the pirate stronghold. They successfully navigated the drop and Lacretia ordered the ship into forward motion.
They were headed towards two thick iron struts that protruded from the rock face and served as a gangplank support and mooring points. The ship would float in between the two struts, and ropes would secure it in position.
With a jolt, the ship came to rest, and ship hands threw tethers to waiting dockers. Deftly they secured the ship's moorings, and an iron gangplank was lowered from the strut by winch to meet the deck.
Hur’al breathed deeply and steeled himself. For the moment, the crew of The Falcon was unmolested. Though, any time now the dock master would seek permission to board and ask the ships reason for docking. The dock master would request to see any loot and estimate the tithe owed to the Pirate King, which was expected to be paid without question, and on time.
Hur’al had grown a beard and now wore a floppy felt hat that created a dark shadow across his face, reasoning that it would be better if he were not recognised. It had been many years since he had been a pirate; nevertheless, the risk was there.
Coinin was having difficulty holding back his stomach contents; the smells around him wafting in the air were overpowering his senses. He had taken to holding his sleeve over his nose and taking shallow breaths.
‘Does it always smell this bad?’
‘Always,’ Hur’al chuckled. ‘You’ll get used to it in no time, I’m sure.’
Coinin looked uncertain that he would ever become accustomed to the stench, and continued to suck in short breaths in the interim.
‘When do
you think the Dock Master will visit?’
Hur’al looked out onto the gangplank at a commotion that had caught his eye. A tall, thin woman with tanned, pockmarked features was striding towards the ship with a determined air. A slight man was hurrying to keep up with her. He carried a ledger in his hands and a quill that was tucked behind his ear. He wore a bright red tunic and had an air of self-importance about him. The woman he followed was dressed in a dark green, full-length leather tunic with a matching green felt hat. What marked her out the most, though, was her very pronounced limp.
As the distance between the ship and the woman lessened, they could see that her face was scarred heavily and had a hideousness about it.
Coinin shivered at the sight, and deciding to make himself scarce, attempted to slip away. Hur’al had other ideas, however, and swiftly grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back to his side. ‘Stay,’ he hissed.
Heavy footsteps signalled that the visitors had arrived. Coinin and Hur’al looked up at the woman towering over them on the gangplank. Hur’al looked away and hid his face.
‘Permission to come aboard Captain?’ the woman asked in a bored tone.
Lacretia stepped forward. ‘Captain Lacretia Westwaye at your service. Permission granted.’
Coinin flashed a look at Hur’al, who returned a wink. Coinin understood that Lacretia had no links to Hur’al’s disgrace as a pirate, and was the logical choice to take his role.
A nervous tension descended across the deck as the woman in green hoisted the short man aboard. They both stepped forward, the heels of their boots clacking heavily across the planks.
Hur’al crept away quietly, not wishing to be recognised, yet stayed within earshot and busied himself with coiling a thick rope onto a spool.
Lacretia leant in and whispered to Coinin, who looked at her puzzled, then nodded. She stepped forward and gestured to him. ‘This is my first mate, Falen.’
Coinin moved forward and was immediately stopped with a hand gesture from the short, pudgy man.
‘Dock Master, I—’ Coinin began.
‘I ain’t the Dock Master, fool. I’m ‘er bodyguard.’
Coinin quickly suppressed a snort. This man was no bigger than a dwarf. Then he remembered the teachings of Archmage Menin who had told him that stature meant nothing if one had skill. He of all people should have realised that fact by now. ‘Apologies, I—’
Lacretia shoved him roughly aside with a clip around the lug. ‘Shut up, idiot boy.’
Coinin held his sore ear and glowered at the woman momentarily, before realising his mistake. No self-respecting pirate would have begged forgiveness, let alone begin to apologise.
‘I told his father he was too young to join our ranks,’ Lacretia grumbled.
‘Yes, well, I ain’t ‘ere to discuss yer recruitment processes. I’m here to check the cargo and yer ship’s manifest. But first, a question. Who are ya? Yer not familiar to me.’
A slow smile spread across Lacretia’s face. Hur’al and she had planned ahead and created a fictional back-story based on real life. ‘My father was Gaviel Two-Toes, and before he died, he bequeathed this ship and crew to me so that I may carry on his work.’
‘Funny,’ the Dock Master puzzled, ‘I thought a crocodile ate Two-Toes?’
‘Partly,’ Lacretia admitted, unflustered by the question. ‘Hence the moniker.’
The Dock Master appeared satisfied by this. ‘Where’s yer manifest?’ She looked about her expectantly.
‘This way,’ said Lacretia, and led the newcomer's aft. ‘I keep it locked away securely.’
‘A wise choice. If yer books are doctored in any way, I’ll find the irregularities, and then the King’ll ‘ear of it.’
The door to the Captain’s cabin opened silently on well-oiled hinges. Lacretia invited the Dock Master to enter. Her diminutive bodyguard entered first, sword drawn. He checked his surroundings with a keen eye and nodded for his charge to follow. The tall woman ducked as she entered the low doorway.
Lacretia took a moment to turn to Coinin and again whispered to him quietly. ‘Go now, while I’m busy with these two. Find your brother quickly.’
He did not need telling twice and raced away to find Hur’al skulking nearby. Coinin threw a dark cloak about him, and the two men boarded the gangplank to meet Jericho who had been waiting patiently for them.
‘Let’s make haste. I have no idea how long this charade will hold up. Do you think it wise to come with us Hur’al?’ Jericho hissed.
‘I know this city like the back of my hand. As long as I keep my head down, there should be no problem.’
‘How long will it take to search the city for Marrok?’
‘Several hours or more. I’d prefer to leave the King’s citadel till last. There is a dungeon within—it’s risky to venture there uninvited. We would need a reason to visit there.’
‘How do you propose we find one?’
‘I’m not without friends, even amongst this rabble. I have a few favours left owing.’
‘Surely Marrok is a high-profile prisoner and would be kept in the citadel?’ Coinin questioned as the group marched along the gangplank.
‘Maybe, but the King has a nasty habit of putting his prisoners to work cutting new dwellings into the rock walls or working in the mines and quarries. Marrok may be tasked to work in one of these locations under guard.’
The gangway swayed unsteadily under their feet. Coinin felt queasy and dared not look down. They were at a dizzying height, and he knew if he looked he would be in danger of freezing altogether.
Hur’al stopped abruptly at the gangplank exit and swung to face Coinin and Jericho. ‘Remember, do not talk or show your faces. They’ll smell a rat a league away. Do as I do, and if we are compromised, run, just run. Got it?’
Coinin and Jericho nodded that they understood. Hur’al donned a thick hood that sent his face into shadow and hopped from the gangplank onto a more solid gangway.
The cast iron walkway wobbled sickeningly with each footstep, and along the route, Coinin spotted the frame holding it to the rock wall had broken away in several places. His heart skipped a beat at the many large holes in the wooden decking that created trip hazards or threatened to swallow them, and it was a job to step over or around them.
‘Give me solid ground any day,’ Jericho growled.
‘Not I, the sea is my home,’ Hur’al added brightly. ‘Though, it’s good to stretch the legs on dry land now and then.’
‘I just want to get off this thing,’ Coinin moaned, his hand trembling as he held the cold metal of the handrail. ‘It’s a death trap.’
‘We shall, very soon. Have no fear.’ Jericho smiled, although inside he was feeling just as uncomfortable.
Coinin felt no comfort at the older man’s words and proceeded ahead swiftly, if not cautiously. Anything to get off the walkway.
The two elder men smiled at each other knowingly. Each had their own individual fears, and it was to be expected that anyone who feared heights would do so this high upon a rickety old walkway that was in danger of collapse.
‘Our first port of call is the mines. If your brother is here, this is one of the most likely places,’ Hur’al said.
Jericho sniffed at the bad air around him. ‘What do they mine here?’
‘Ore mainly, for iron working. Deep underground is a seam of gold that the King greedily covets above all things.’
‘Oh, so that’s why the stronghold’s here.’
‘Little do the other pirates know that they are inadvertently protecting his gold by their mere presence.’
‘How do you know all of this?’
Hur’al looked away wistfully.
‘I asked how you know these things,’ Jericho persisted.
Hur’al stopped and turned to his companion. ‘I was the King’s C’harl before I lost his favour.’
‘What is this C’harl?’
‘It would be what Coinin is to Laliala.’
‘I can
understand then why you don’t wish to be recognised.’
‘Certainly, I shall lose more than favour if I were caught here in Spittock.’
‘Spittock?’
‘Yes, the King’s name for this place. Though I fear we linger too long and should make haste.’
‘Fair enough. Lead on.’
They hurried and circumvented the spiralling walkway swiftly, passing cave after cave chock full of goods and dwellings. Within the residences, delicious smells of cooking wafted enticingly from cooking pots centrally placed within them. Glancing inside one or two, Coinin saw that rough sleeping shelves had been cut into the rock, and on these, beds of straw or rushes afforded the sleeper a modicum of comfort. It was rough living, though perhaps not a harsh a life as at sea. Everywhere children ran, skipped and played at pirates, hacking and slashing at each other with wooden swords, their toothy grins a picture of delight.
Halfway down the walkway, a new ship was just arriving and making port. Coinin and the others stopped for a moment to wonder at the spectacle of the great vessel decelerating and making fast. The walkway vibrated horridly as it did so, and prompted Coinin to hurry, frightened that the whole contraption would collapse and they would fall headlong into the freezing waters far below.
At the bottom of the walkway, they veered right and ventured into a dark tunnel cut into the bare rock. A rather playful black scraggy dog decided to follow them in the hope of receiving a morsel of food, and after a quarter of a mile of dampness accompanied by echoing footsteps, the dog grew tired and wandered away and the tunnel ended in a massive hand hewn quarry of grey rock. There, several men, women, dwarves and elves were chained at the ankles, cracking boulders with heavy hammers. They were severely underfed and looked to be in danger of collapse judging by their appearance. The males were bearded and shirtless, their thin frames sporting protruding ribs that were their dominant feature. The females at least wore shredded garments about their upper bodies. They appeared haggard and exhausted and as grey of face as the surrounding landscape. Their lips were cracked from dehydration. All wore glassy expressions and seemed to be going through the motions. A guard stood in the distance with a bored demeanour. She smoked a long, thick clay pipe held in a bony hand, while the other held a sharp spear. Her upper torso was covered by a thick leather breast protector.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 59