The Trophy Chase Saga

by George Bryan Polivka

  Packer took a deep breath. He wished it were swords. But if it was to be spears, he had the right weapon. His rapier would allow him quicker movements than this broadsword, but he would have trouble using its thin blade to block the thrust of a spear’s shaft.

  “You’ll do fine,” Delaney told him.

  Packer only then realized how worried he must look. “I’ve never been in a battle.”

  Delaney smiled. “But God has been in every battle that’s ever been fought. You know Him. You’ll do fine.”

  Packer nodded. “I keep thinking of Marcus. What would he have made of this?”

  Delaney nodded. “I been thinkin’ about him, too. And I’m glad God spared him the Achawuk. I truly am.”

  “Land ho!” came the cry once again. A third island was spotted off the starboard bow, just where the first had been when it came into view.

  “Steady,” Scat said.

  The wind kicked up, heeling the ship a few degrees. Scat studied the rigging, decided to let it stand.

  “We get in a scuffle,” Delaney whispered, “you watch the Cap’n. He’ll be a madman. Never saw anyone fight like him.” Delaney’s eyes grew bright with memories. “You know why they call him Scatter, don’t you?”

  Packer shook his head.

  “’Cause he scatters his enemies across the decks.”

  Cap Hillis was delighted to be back in the streets of Hangman’s Cliffs, with a cart full of ale and two gold coins left in his purse. This would be a good year, thanks to Scat Wilkins and Packer Throme. He was even more pleased to see a horse tied to the post outside the Firefish Tavern. That meant a stranger, maybe two, looking for ale. Few fishermen owned horses, and he knew most of those sorry beasts on sight.

  As he entered the front door, he knew immediately that this stranger meant business, but not for Cap’s coffers. He was a lawman, wearing the badge of a deputy of the Sheriff of Mann, and he waited at the bar. Hen, serving from behind it, took one look at Cap and came running.

  “Cap, Cap, thank God you’re back. It’s been terrible, just terrible! Panna’s run off and Riley’s hurt and Duck and Ned—”

  “Ma’am!” the man said sharply, cutting her off. She put a hand to her mouth, but didn’t take her eyes off Cap. “I told you I’d need to talk to your husband alone,” the lawman continued. He was a square man, angular and defined, with a droopy mustache and a furrowed brow. His voice was deep and melodious. He looked fully the part of the competent, confident deputy. “I’m sorry to bark at your wife like that, sir, but I need to find out what you know and what you don’t.”

  Cap looked from Hen’s terrified eyes over to the lawman and back. The two gold coins in his pocket suddenly seemed heavy and leaden. His heart sank. “Well, don’t you worry, Hen. It’ll be fine. Just fine. I’m sure. You go on upstairs.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll talk to him.”

  She searched his eyes, her chins trembling. She found some small comfort, smiled, and was gone.

  “How long have you been waiting here, Deputy?” Cap asked lightly, pouring him a fresh cup of coffee. Cap had offered ale, as Hen had done, but the lawman preferred strong coffee, which Hen had brewed. Cap had closed and locked the tavern door, made a spot for the two of them to sit. He chose the same table where he and Packer had shared a pitcher of ale three nights ago.

  “Oh, not long. An hour or so, give or take.”

  Cap nodded, setting the pot on the table. “So,” he said, trying not to betray his nervousness, “how can I help you?” Whatever the issue, it was plainly obvious that nothing good had come of Packer’s efforts.

  “I’m Deputy Sheriff Marshall Bromley,” the deputy said.

  “Nice to meet you, Deputy. Or rather, Marshal.”

  “I know it’s a mite confusing, but Marshall is my given name.”

  “Ah. Deputy Marshall.”

  Bromley sniffed. “Deputy Bromley. Anyway, we’ve got some trouble here, and the people of this town keep sending me to you.”

  “Is Packer okay? And Panna?”

  “I’ll tell you what I know. But first I wonder if you’d mind giving me a statement.”

  Cap didn’t see that he had much of a choice. “Sure. I mean, no.” Cap swallowed. “That is to say, I’d be happy to.” Cap was not sure what the deputy meant by “giving a statement,” but he figured it out quickly enough when the deputy pulled a sheaf of parchment from his bag, and then a bottle of ink and a quill, and began writing down everything Cap said.

  “Let’s see, I have the date here. You’re Cap Hillis?”

  “Yes.”

  “That your given name, is it?”

  “Caspar. Actually. Cap is what my parents called me since I was a tyke no higher than a down thistle. See, I used to like to wear—”

  “Caspar. That’s fine.”

  Cap nodded.

  “You know a man named Packer Throme?”

  “Sure I do. Everyone does. Least around here.”

  Deputy Bromley dutifully wrote each word. Then he looked at Cap thoughtfully. “If you could see your way clear to answer the questions with just a yes or a no, I’d appreciate it a lot.”

  Cap nodded sympathetically.

  “When did you see him last?”

  Cap thought a moment. “Yes. Three days ago.” He watched as the deputy wrote, noticed he didn’t write down the “yes.”

  “Did he say or do anything suspicious?”

  “I…don’t understand what you mean.”

  “I mean, did he yell at anyone, or fight, or make threats, or anything that might make you think he was dangerous?”

  Cap rubbed his beard with his fingernails. “He fought Dog.”

  “Dog?” the deputy asked as he wrote.

  “Yeah…” Cap had to think a minute to remember his real name. “Doogan. Doogan Blestoe.”

  “Who started the fight?”

  “Dog did. Doogan.”

  “How?”

  “He insulted Packer’s father, said no one needed him around.” There was so much more to it than that. “See, Packer’s father died a few years back. He wasn’t always one of the boys, if you know what I mean, and Dog—”

  The deputy’s look stopped Cap.

  “Sorry.”

  Bromley looked down at the blank part of his page and grimaced. “I’m just going to write, ‘Insulted his father.’ That okay with you?”

  Cap shrugged. “Sure. Fine with me.”

  “Swords, knives, pistols, or fists?”

  “Swords.”

  “And who drew first?”

  “That’d be Dog. Doogan.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “Naw. Dog got a couple of scratches. Packer coulda killed him, but had mercy.”

  Bromley sighed deeply, wrote it all out.

  “Sorry,” Cap offered.

  “And have you seen Packer Throme since the fight?”

  “Yes.”

  The deputy wrote, didn’t look up. “When did you see him last?”

  “Oh.” Cap took a deep breath, blew it out. “That same night I…closed him in a barrel, if I recall. And then, let’s see, yes, then I sent the barrel with the pirates to Scat Wilkins’ ship.” Cap coughed, cleared his throat, sniffed, and waited.

  The deputy didn’t write. He put his quill down and looked hard at Cap.

  “Is that too much to write down?” Cap asked hopefully.

  “You mean you smuggled him?”

  “No, no. No smuggling. He was…stowing away. That’s all.”

  “Friend, do you know what you’re saying?”

  Cap sighed, nodded. “The truth, I’m afraid.”

  Now the deputy dipped his quill. “ ‘Closed him in a barrel.’ Whose idea was this?”

  “Packer’s.”

  The deputy wrote for a while, but Cap couldn’t read what it said because Bromley put his hand in front of it. “And that’s the last you saw him?”

  “Yes.”

  The deputy sat back. He didn’t look happy.

 
Cap squirmed, rubbed his beard. “Can I ask you a question you don’t write down?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What happened? You know, I didn’t think it was such a good idea for him to stow away, but he was determined to get on board that ship. I was a good friend of his father’s and felt I owed it to him. I hope nothing bad has happened.”

  “Nobody’s seen Packer Throme. Or Panna. But there’s been violence ever since those two disappeared.”

  Cap shook his head. “What violence?”

  Deputy Bromley shuffled through his papers. He found one and consulted it. “Man name of Riley Odoms got beat up next night, night afore last. Man name of Nedrick Basser, known as Ned, and a man name of Domm Tillham, known as Duck, got killed the following day. Yesterday.”

  “Killed? Ned and Duck got killed?”

  Bromley nodded. “Ned was shot and Duck was stabbed while out in the woods looking for whoever it was beat up Riley Odoms. Panna Seline’s belongings were found with them. Unless she’s dead, or she did it herself, she’s likely with whoever it was who killed them. Doogan Blestoe was a witness. Says it was Packer did the killing.”

  Cap was shaken, and shaking. His voice quivered noticeably. “Deputy, whoever it was, it wasn’t Packer Throme did that. He wouldn’t do such as that. And if he did, he was protecting Panna’s honor or some such thing. And you can write that part down.”

  Bromley nodded, sympathetic. “I will. I know he’s a friend of yours. But I got to tell you it looks real bad. People say the Seline girl would go anywhere, do just about anything for that boy. Is that right?”

  Cap had to nod. “Maybe. But Packer wouldn’t do that.”

  Bromley shuffled some more papers. “Says here Packer got in trouble in sema…sem…in school for attacking a priest.” He raised his eyebrows and watched Cap’s reaction. It was one of resignation. “And somebody took a fishing boat from the dock at Inbenigh, cut the tie ropes, rode it out into the storm last night. That had to be someone who could sail. He grew up in boats like that. And you’re telling me he left here wanting to join up with pirates.”

  “There’s a mistake, though. It couldn’t be him. He was in a barrel.”

  “Well, maybe he got out of the barrel.” Cap looked so glum that Deputy Bromley felt the need to help out. “Look, it’s not a closed case. If Packer didn’t do it, we’ll find out. Eventually.” He started writing.

  “What are you putting down there?” Cap asked, trying to read it upside down.

  “Just a minute…There.” Then he read, “ ‘Last saw Packer Throme when closed him in a barrel, sent him with pirates to Trophy Chase. At Throme’s request. Not seen him since. Doesn’t believe him guilty.’ That okay?”

  Cap nodded. Nothing was okay. “So what’s going to happen now?”

  Deputy Bromley stroked his mustache. “I’ll take all this back to the Sheriff, and he’ll decide. But I’m afraid he won’t have much choice. He’s going to have to swear out a warrant for Packer Throme’s arrest.”

  “Warrant?”

  “Yes, sir. For murder.”

  The winds were not steady, so the great cat did not reach the appointed waters until just before sundown. An island to the northeast was the only land visible, maybe a league away.

  “Tell me what your daddy expected to see here,” a tense Scat Wilkins asked Packer Throme after calling him down to the quarterdeck. Packer had not been looking forward to this exchange. He had no way to calculate the Chase’s position, but he knew they’d been inside Achawuk territory for a very long time, without a trace of Firefish. Sooner or later, they would have to arrive at Packer’s bearings.

  Packer looked around him. He shook his head. Why had he come here? Why had he done this? “Firefish, sir.”

  Scat was irritated by the reply. “Why here? What’s so special about these bearings?” Scat bore into Packer with the question, expecting a significant revelation.

  It was more than a fisherman’s hunch, of course, which brought them all here. The idea that Firefish fed in these waters had been reinforced, or maybe even generated, by a visit Dayton Throme had paid to Packer’s benefactor in the City of Mann years ago. Shortly after Dayton had returned home from that visit, he had begun talking about Firefish, and not long after that, about the Achawuk territory. Long before Scat Wilkins began harvesting the Firefish, Dayton Throme had been dreaming of it. Packer knew nothing for certain, but he had always believed that something or someone in the City of Mann had fired his father’s imagination—something or someone extremely reliable.

  Packer had nothing to hide. But none of this helped. None of those facts seemed solid enough to offer up to a snarling pirate looking for instant results. “We’re thirty-nine leagues north-northeast of the Freeman Reef?” Packer asked instead. His voice sounded weak and puny.

  “Yes. Yes.” More irritation.

  Then a thought struck Packer. “How big is the Freeman Reef?” he asked. The captain again stared hard at the boy. But he didn’t back down. “I mean, north to south. How long is it?”

  Scat spoke through clenched teeth. “About a mile and a half east to west and four north to south. Why?”

  Packer nodded. “And are we thirty-nine leagues from the northern tip, or from the southern?”

  “From the bay at the south, boy—that’s the only navigable point. It’s the only way to plot a course or measure a distance. If you knew anything about seafaring, or if your daddy knew anything worth teaching you, you’d a’ known that.”

  Packer nodded. “My father didn’t know much about plotting courses on the open seas. Maybe we should sail further, thirty-nine leagues from the northern tip.”

  The two held one another’s gaze for a moment. “That’ll buy you about half an hour.”

  Panna slept deeply and without dreams, waking only when she felt and heard the prow of the fishing boat scratch along the ground.

  “Wake up, little desperado,” Talon said in her heavy accent, rapping sharply on the wooden decking above Panna’s head. “I am going to scout the area.”

  Panna hated to leave the comfort of sleep and the warmth of the blanket, but she struggled into her wet, cold clothes. She was shivering severely by the time she got out on the deck. Once there, she was quite pleased to find the small boat had been tethered in the sun among tall rushes. The air was warm, and full of the sound of frogs and katydids.

  Panna reached down alongside the stern and splashed water onto her face. She tried to get her bearings. The image of Tallanna riding the wind, her eyes ablaze, and the ferocity of her commands, the force of the blows that had slapped Panna awake, these all seemed like a dream now. She had the strong sense that Tallanna was a dangerous person, but dangerous to whom? To her enemies, certainly. But Panna was not her enemy.

  “I have found an inn,” Talon announced from behind. Panna turned, startled. She had not heard her approach. “You will have a hot bath and fresh clothing. Do you have any money?”

  Panna nodded before she thought, then swallowed hard. “Some.”

  “Good.” Talon climbed aboard, sat down on the ship’s stern, and looked Panna in the eye. “I have decided to trust you,” she announced.

  “Okay,” Panna said, feeling relieved. Why did she fear this woman?

  “I am a Drammune warrior. My ship was overtaken by the pirate, Scat Wilkins.”

  Panna looked shocked.

  “Yes, it is amazing I am still alive. He takes no prisoners.”

  Panna’s eyes were wide, her heart was in her throat. “The Trophy Chase attacked you?”

  “Yes. Of course. He took all that was of value, and then burned our ship. He killed all aboard. It is his way. But I slipped into the water unseen and escaped, somehow making it to shore, where you found me.”

  “But I had heard that Scat, that is, that he wasn’t a pirate. Anymore.”

  Talon laughed cruelly. “He would be glad to hear of such rumors. He likely started them. Such foolish talk makes his work easier.”

&nb
sp; Panna’s eyes grew distant as her heart faltered.

  Talon watched with satisfaction. “What is it? What is wrong?”

  “That’s where Packer went.”

  “Your lover? He went where?”

  She looked Talon in the eye, desperate for help. “He believed…”

  “What?”

  Panna put her head in her hands. Tears welled up from within. “He went to join the Trophy Chase. He didn’t think they were still pirates.”

  Talon stared hard at her. Finally Panna looked up, and saw something akin to sympathy in the warrior. Talon nodded. “Foolishness. But now we can help one another.”

  “How?”

  “I am a Drammune warrior washed ashore in Nearing Vast, with no papers, no passage. I will be put in prison if I am found. They will believe me a spy. I need safe passage home. If you help me, I will help you find the Trophy Chase, and learn the fate of your Packer.”

  “Of course I will help if I can. Of course I will.” Tears streamed now down Panna’s cheeks. “But how can you help me?”

  “I am not a spy. But there are Drammune spies in this land. They know people who are not…friends of Nearing Vast. Outlaws, you see, are drawn to one another. I will find those who may know where the pirates make port. Perhaps some who even know its charted course.”

  Panna had to believe that Packer was still alive, that somehow he had not been killed. He had known the whereabouts of the Trophy Chase. Certainly there were others who did as well. But hope was draining from her.

  “Where will you find these people?”

  Talon smiled. “The inn nearby. It has many guests who do not wish to be known. I will make inquiries.”

  Panna shook her head, very uneasy. “What kind of inn is this?”

  “It is not what you might call a nice place. But do not worry. I will protect you.” Talon’s smile vanished. “But you must do what I command. Precisely. With no questions. Will you do this?”

  Panna didn’t answer.

  “It is good you hesitate. Think hard about it. You must swear to me that you will obey me, no matter what I ask.”

  Panna couldn’t breathe. Everything in her said this was not a good thing to do. But she felt she had no choice. She was an outlaw. She had no friends in this new, dark world she had entered. She had little hope of finding Packer, and all her hope rested with Tallanna. She had made her choices already. “I swear it.” The words sounded hollow to her.