by Rob J. Hayes
“Where’s Drake?” Beck said, sparing only a momentary glance at the spectacle of Fortune’s Rest.
Princess pointed out across the ship they were tied to and half smiled, half grimaced at the woman. “He went that way.”
Beck waited for a moment, clearly hopeful Princess would say more, then sighed and leapt across to the ship. Princess considered letting her go; in fact, he put some real thought into it, and hoped she would manage to get herself lost or killed. Unfortunately, Princess was as loyal to his captain as anyone would ever be, and he knew just how disappointed Drake would be if the Arbiter found herself an untimely end. With that thought, and admittedly a desire to be off the ship – even if off the ship meant on another ship – Princess hopped across the gap and set off at a jog after Beck.
He didn’t manage to catch up to her. The Rest had a number of problems when it came to navigation, and especially so for anyone who, like Princess, believed they knew where they were going. The further in towards the centre of the floating pleasure house one ventured, the more connections to other ships each vessel had, and it didn’t take long for a ship to have up to six different avenues of escape. There was also the fact that the configuration of the ships was always shifting.
Princess clearly remembered The Ajax being lashed firmly to Fires in the Sky, but now he found himself standing on the deck of The Ajax and recognising none of the ships it was connected to. He hated to admit it, but not only had he lost track of Beck, he himself was now lost. Luckily he found some consolation to his failure; unless the interior of The Ajax had changed, right below his feet was a tavern that specialised in getting folk very, very drunk.
Just as Princess remembered, the tavern on board The Ajax was dark and dirty, and smelled of stale beer and sweat. It was exactly the sort of place that made him feel right at home. Princess had grown up in a tavern just like it, serving drinks, collecting empty mugs, getting beaten for stealing dregs. It all seemed like someone else’s life now it was so long ago. The smells brought it all back and put a wide grin on his face.
Despite whatever had happened aboard the Rest, the tavern was busy. Plenty of drunkards lay about on tables with forgotten drinks resting in their unconscious hands, and even more folk were still awake and still buying booze. In one group sitting around a large table near the bar, Princess counted twelve folk in all, and their conversation seemed lively, if a little one-sided. Princess sauntered over to the bar, ordered himself an ale, and took the opportunity to eavesdrop.
“I hear he’s a devil,” said a man who looked like a sailor by trade and a drunkard by choice. “That’s why they’re after him. Killed more folk than most men have hot meals.”
One of the two women in the group, a tall wench with the tattooed face of a Riverlander, snorted. “Ain’t a devil, jus’ a man. Fuckin’ dangerous one, aye, but a man is all.”
“Can’t be,” said the sailor. “Way I hear it, blooded folk are droppin’ like shits in a privy. Ain’t no way a normal man could do that. Must be enchanted, or some such witchery.”
“Well, my dear men, women, and… I’m afraid I’m not entirely certain of your particular alignment, but nevertheless I shall include you anyway,” slurred a man in well-worn green trousers and a coat to match. “I had the profound pleasure of very recently being located within the Wilds and knowing the man in question by sight.”
“You seen the Black Thorn?” The woman leaned over the table, sloshing a little ale from her mug.
“I did, in fact, seen the Black Thorn,” the man in the suit said with a wave of his mug, spilling some of his own booze onto the table. “Oh, bugger, what a waste. Another round.”
A cheer went up from all the folk gathered around the table except for one, a large man dressed in a white shawl, with a white turban on top of a bronze half-helm. It might have been that the man hadn’t cheered because he wasn’t drinking, but Princess found the fellow’s eyes too disturbing to pay closer attention to him, and looked away.
“So what’s he look like?” the sailor pressed.
“Who?” said the man in the suit.
“The Black Thorn.”
“Oh. Right. Well, he’s a giant, you see. Ugliest monster you’ve ever laid eyes on. Well, except maybe for you. If any of the gods truly exist, they were not kind to you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Have you ever heard the saying ‘a face only a mother could love’? Well, I’m guessing she hasn’t seen yours in a while, eh?”
The group fell silent for a moment.
“What?” the ugly sailor looked like he might have been angry if not for the free booze headed his way.
The man in the suit sighed. “It really doesn’t matter. I sometimes wonder how you pirates are able to tie a rope so well when the simple concept of language so easily escapes you. No matter. So, he’s big and ugly…”
“Who?” asked the sailor.
“The Black Thorn. Please do keep up.”
Princess grinned and sipped his ale. He’d seen the Black Thorn once, when Drake had taken a ship the sellsword had been a passenger on; he couldn’t really claim to have met him though. Thorn was big and ugly, and no mistake, but he wasn’t really a giant. Still, he was plenty scary.
“I heard he sacked Carsington all on his own. Ran that bastard D’roan right out of his own city and left him poorer than… well, us,” said the sailor.
“Well, yes, that’s more or less the way of it. He may have had some three thousand men behind him, but he was certainly the first through the walls, and he cut a very striking figure in the process. Honestly, there are songs about it. I’m especially fond of the lyrics from ‘Fire in His Eye’, but then I’ve always been partial to dirty limericks. Say, does anyone know a rowdy shanty we could sing?”
“What about Jogaren?” The sailor seemed to have completely forgotten his earlier anger.
Princess saw the man in green exchange a glance with the man in white before answering. “What have you heard?”
The sailor looked uncertain. “Was a few months back, might have been shit. Lad came by from that way an’ said the Black Thorn camped his army right outside o’ Reingarde an’ challenged Willem Jogaren to a duel, what with him bein’ such a famous fighter an’ all. So Willem trots out on this big horse, wearin’ all shiny armour the likes o’ which ya find on Five Kingdoms knights, all plate an’ mail. Turns out the Black Thorn is as dark as his own reputation, an’ he had the blooded lord feathered with arrows before cuttin’ off his head an’ stakin’ it outside the city.”
The man in green paused his consumption of ale for a brief moment. “Yes, that’s the truth of it.”
“But the folk o’ Reingarde refused to surrender, even with their ruler dead, an’ a couple o’ days later every one of those blooded Jogarens turned up bloody in their beds. Word has it Thorn snuck in an’ cut ’em all up while they slept. Murder, plain an’ simple.”
“I believe Thorn is calling it pre-emptive revenge, actually.” The man in green nodded. “Regardless, Black Thorn and his Rose have vowed to rid the Wilds of the blooded and unite everyone under their rule. Who’s to quibble over the nefarious methods they use, so long as they get shot of those who have been choking the life out of the Wilds for generations, hmm?”
“That include the Brekoviches?” Princess said with a wide grin.
“I’d say it almost certainly does.” The man in green turned to the bar. “They are, after all – oh, fuck. Hello, Princess. I’d say it’s nice to see you, but I’m trying to cut down on the lies, you see. I presume it would be far too much to hope that you’re here alone?”
“Aye, Anders, far too much, mate. Sailed in just now. Gotta say, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Well, no one likes surprises, Princess. May I suggest pretending I’m not here? Most people tend to find their lives so much more fulfilling upon taking that course of action.”
Princess shook his head. “I reckon Drake might want to see you.”
�
��Of course he doesn’t.” Anders’ smile looked about as genuine as a pickpocket’s fingers. “I’m such a terrible wastrel that no one is ever pleased to see me.”
Princess knocked back the last of his ale and stood. “Come on, mate. Don’t make this hard on me. My life is already a right fucking chore these days.”
The big man dressed in white rose slowly and positioned himself between Anders and Princess.
“Pern here seems to agree with me, and he’s a very worrying person.” Anders grinned as he peered around his bodyguard. “You know he killed six of those Drurr all on his own.”
Princess opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short of threatening the bigger man. “What Drurr?”
Chapter 39 - Fortune
There was a hole in the Rest. Actually, there were quite a few, and Drake couldn’t give a damn about most of them, but the one he was staring at now changed everything. That hole, where once a ship had floated, meant that while he had once been one of the richest men in the known world, he was now no better off than an average merchant. Drake couldn’t abide being average.
Coloured Sky had been more than just another ship in the Rest; it was the only one that hadn’t offered pleasures to the public, and the only one that had boasted a seasoned crew and a veteran guard. Drake wasn’t so stupid as to put all of his eggs in one basket – his fortune was spread out over many of the vessels he owned – but the majority of it had been right there, where now there was only water. Millions of bits down in the drink, where no one, not even him, could ever go.
None of the nearby ships had been touched, none of them sunk. Reports from his men aboard the Rest claimed that while most of the inhabitants had been fighting against the Drurr and the living dead, a small band had crept inwards and found Coloured Sky. They had apparently pierced the hull with magic. Just how they knew which of his ships housed his vast fortune was still a mystery. His men had killed the Drurr who had sunk his treasure ship and, even better, they had captured one of the bastards.
“Drake.”
“It’s about time you found me,” Drake said as Beck joined him. They stared down at the ocean where the Coloured Sky had been. The Arbiter had been furious, and then some, when he told her he suspected the Drurr had a necromancer aboard their ship. Even after Drake had explained that they had no way to find the corsair after the storm, Beck had been beside herself. Now they could both get some answers. “Reckon I could use some of that magic of yours again.”
“What?”
“Got one of the fuckers that did this trussed up and awaiting interrogation.” Drake turned a hungry grin on Beck. “Drurr bastard from that ship we passed in the storm.”
“Where is it?” The fury in Beck’s voice matched Drake’s own. He found it curious that she was so angry. The Drurr had done so much to Drake, they’d taken so much from him, that it was natural for him to hate them. As natural as it was to draw breath. He wondered if Beck, too, had suffered at their hands, or if it was just the hatred the Inquisition peddled to all its followers.
“In the cabin,” Drake said. They were aboard Rising Night, the largest of the ships in the Rest and far larger than any but a Man of War. It was also a ship devoted to some of the more vicious, carnal pleasures. People paid to be tortured aboard Rising Night, or sometimes paid to watch others tortured – maybe even take part themselves. It was a ship devoted to pain and blood, and once he was finished with the bastard in the cabin, Drake intended to have him pinned to the front of the ship as a grisly warning to all Drurr.
The Drurr’s eyes flickered open, and there was a moment of pure panic as he realised where he was and how much trouble he was in. He was a handsome one, and no mistake, but he wouldn’t be by the time they were through with him. Like all Drurr, he was paler than any man had cause to be, and his skin seemed just a little too tight across his face. His eyes were black – not just the pupils, but the irises as well – and his mouth was too wide and full of too many teeth. There was very little difference physically between Drurr and humans, Beck reflected, but enough to mark them out as what they were. Heretics.
With a groan, the Drurr closed his eyes and slumped in his restraints. Beck itched to start questioning the creature, but she would follow Drake’s lead. The man seemed to have an intimate knowledge of the Drurr and a history with them that Beck needed to know more about.
“Do I know you?” Drake said.
The Drurr opened his eyes again and stared at Drake. A smile slowly spread across the creature’s face, a smile that would have seemed too wide upon human features. But the thing bound and kneeling on the deck was not human. It shook its head.
“Do you know me?”
The Drurr nodded. It looked around at the others on the deck, first gazing at Beck, then the men and women who had captured it. It was impossible not to feel uneasy under the intensity of that dark glare, but Beck hid her discomfort as well as she was able to.
Drake grinned. “That’ll make things a whole bit easier then.”
“You… were… here all the time?” the Drurr asked in a voice clearly unused to the common language.
“Nah,” Drake said. “Just arrived. Passed you bastards in the storm just back.”
The Drurr laughed, a haunting sound of disjointed melodies that would make a strangled cat ashamed. “That was… you. If only we had known.”
“You came here for me?”
Again the Drurr shook its head. It let out a groan and slumped down to the deck.
“Bastard took a couple of blows to the head. Only way to put him down,” said a scarred sailor.
“Anything you can do, Beck?” Drake said.
“Concussions are a problem of focus, not consciousness.” Beck didn’t take her eyes off the Drurr, in case it should be feigning ailment and try to escape. They were devious, hateful creatures, and heretics one and all. It was well within her right to put the creature down right then, but she wanted answers as much as Drake. The Drurr had never before been known to use necromancy. It had, after all, brought down their entire civilisation long ago.
“No spells or charms then?”
“Arbiter!” the Drurr lurched upwards onto its knees and spat at Beck. The insult fell short and did nothing but wash the deck. There was no denying the hatred plain on the creature’s face.
“My presence appears to vex it.” Beck smiled, enjoying how easily she could enrage the creature.
The Drurr attempted to stand, but the scarred sailor put two big hands on its shoulders and forced it back to its knees, where the creature continued to seethe, mumbling to itself in a language Beck didn’t understand.
“He’s cursing you and your entire order,” Drake said.
“I don’t feel very cursed,” Beck replied, meeting the Drurr’s hate-filled eyes.
“Oh, aye. The thing about your god, Arbiter, is he protects you from more than you know. But let’s try this again.” Drake turned his attention back to the mumbling Drurr. “So you came here looking for me?”
“We came here to… destroy you.” The Drurr seemed unsure of its words, and it was trembling with rage.
Drake spoke quickly in the Drurr’s language, and the creature responded in kind. Beck hadn’t thought it was possible that a human could not only understand the Drurrs’ language, but also replicate it. There was certainly more to Drake that she was yet to uncover.
Drake appeared to be growing angrier and angrier as the Drurr spoke, and once it had finished, the pirate turned and let out a wordless scream. The Drurr laughed.
“They came here to destroy me by sinking my fortune,” Drake said, turning back around. “And they picked the worst possible fucking time to do it. Pissing bad luck, they got here just before me.”
“Why?” Beck's compulsion passed through Drake, but as usual found no purchase. “Why are they coming after you?”
“Because she will never let him go,” the Drurr said.
“Shut up,” Drake snapped.
“Who?” Beck asked, he
r compulsion once again proving ineffective.
“You were her favourite,” the Drurr hissed. “And… she will never let you go. She will destroy you over and over again until you come crawling back on your knees… and beg to be hers again.”
“Who?” Beck leaned closer, her fists clenched.
Even as the Drurr opened his mouth to speak, Drake snatched one of Beck’s pistols from its holster and, before she could stop him, put a bullet in the creature’s chest. The Drurr collapsed, writhing and struggling to breathe. No one made any attempt to save its life. They all stood there and watched it die.
Chapter 40 - Fortune
The Drurr gurgled his last breath, and Beck turned to Drake. “Who?”
“Don’t.” Drake’s nerves were long past shredded, and the reminder of his years with the Drurr had put him in a mood fouler than a week-old corpse. “Some things are better left buried, Arbiter.”
“Like why the Drurr have themselves a necromancer?” Beck moved in front of Drake as he made to leave, blocking his path. “I needed to question that thing.” She pointed at the body of the Drurr.
Drake shook his head. “Your boss sent you to watch my back, protect me, aye?”
Beck nodded.
“Ever think this might be why? These bastards are coming for me. Don’t much matter why. All that matters is that you’re right by my side to set the heretics on fire when they do come.” For all Drake knew it might even be true. Hironous was his brother, but the man kept his cards even closer to his chest than Drake did.
Beck seemed to mull it over for a minute. “I still want to know who she is.”
“It ain’t pertinent,” Drake growled. It was bad enough that he had to live with the memory of what he’d endured, and even worse that she was still alive and looking for him. The very last thing he wanted was anyone else to know, especially Arbiter Beck. For a while they stared at each other, neither willing to be the one to back down.