Critical Failures VII

by Robert Bevan

  “Jordan Knight?” said Rothgar. “Have you heard him?”

  “We have not.”

  “By the gods, you have not yet lived! He sings this one song, it sounds like, Oh, oh, oh, –”

  “Yes, yes! We've heard ye sing the cursed song.”

  Rothgar's excitement flickered. “Well, I couldn't possibly do it justice.”

  “I understand Master Knight has gained quite a following in the Slavelands.”

  “He certainly has, but you can't really call it the Slavelands anymore, since he freed all the slaves.”

  Captain Longfellow raised his eyebrows. “All the slaves, ye say?”

  “Every last one. He has been playing across the Barovian peninsula, gaining himself a larger audience with each city he liberates. Now he moves his adoring masses down toward the Eastern Kingdoms. We have seized the port at Hollin and commandeered all the ships to spread word of his song and seek that which has been stolen from him.”

  “And how far from Lymn be his adoring masses?”

  Rothgar shrugged. “We left more than a week ago. They may have taken Lymn by now.”

  Captain Longfellow muttered as he stroked his beard. “Every ship in the port. We'll have to change course.”

  “Permission to speak, Captain,” said Randy.

  “Aye.”

  Randy addressed Rothgar. “When you said Jordan Knight was looking for that which has been stolen from him, you was talkin' about the dice, right?”

  “That is correct. Wicked men stole the master's dice because they were jealous of the power of his song.”

  “Do you know what he'll be able to do if he gets his hands on these dice?”

  Rothgar smiled. “He will reclaim his rightful dominion over this world and everyone in it.”

  Randy frowned. “You don't see a problem with one man having that kind of power?”

  “Jordan Knight is a benevolent ruler. He has freed us and given us his song. When he takes back what is his, the world will be at peace.”

  “These dice,” said Captain Longfellow. “They sound like quite a prize. A trinket like that might fetch a man a small fortune. Mayhap enough to retire on his own island.”

  “Captain Longfellow!” said Randy. “Ain't you heard what he said about Mordred – I mean, Jordan Knight taking control over the whole world?”

  “The politics of the civilized world mean little to men like me. What care I for who governs what fickle speck of land, so long as I can govern me own?”

  “It matters to a lot of people! You can't just –”

  Captain Longfellow slammed his cup down on the table. “Ye been warned too many a time about telling me what I can and can't do, paladin!”

  There was no point in arguing. Who knew how many thousands of people Mordred already had out looking for his dice. One more was just a drop in the bucket. The best thing to do was lay low until they reached whatever destination they ended up going to, then redoubling their effort to find those dice before Captain Longfellow or any of Mordred's minion's could.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “I got an idea,” said Denise to the captain. “I reckon I can give you exactly what you need to forget about those silly dice.”

  Randy might have to mind his tongue with regard to how he spoke to the captain, but he didn't have to mind squat for Denise.

  “That's enough out of you, Denise!” he snapped. “You need to stop all this right now! Look at you. You look like you're in your seventh trimester with walrus triplets. Don't nobody wanna put their wiener in your filthy mouth. Don't nobody want to squirt their load on your big dwarf titties. I'm beggin' you, Denise. For once in your life, try to show a modicum of self-respect!”

  Captain Longfellow, Jay, and Rothgar stared at Randy with wide eyes. Denise's eyes were narrowed.

  “Are you finished, Randy?” she asked coldly.

  Randy took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes, I am.”

  “Then maybe you should go say some prayers and get your dirty mind out of the gutter. The captain said he wanted to retire on his own island, and that's what I was proposin' to offer him. Nothing more, thank you very much.”

  Randy had heard some impressive backpedaling from Denise before, but this one might take the cake.

  “And where do you think you're gonna find an –” Randy instantly knew the answer to his question. And judging by the smug look on Denise's face, she knew he knew it. “Nazere.”

  It was like Rothgar's and Captain Longfellow's expressions leaped onto each other's faces.

  “Did you say Nazere?” asked Rothgar, suddenly alarmed.

  Captain Longfellow snapped out of his astonishment at Randy's outburst and laughed. “What want have I for some godsforsaken frozen wasteland, Ice Queen or no Ice Queen? What good is a life of freedom if I spend it plucking icicles off me sandbags?”

  “It ain't like that no more. The ice started melting as soon as we killed the Ice Queen.”

  Denise cleared her throat.

  “I apologize,” said Randy. “As soon as Denise killed the Ice Queen. Her ice castle nearly killed us when it collapsed. I reckon it's back to being as warm and pretty as it was before she ever set foot on it.”

  “You cannot possibly believe this,” Rothgar pleaded to Captain Longfellow. “A simple-minded human and a fat dwarf could not possibly have challenged the Ice Queen of Nazere's power.”

  “I'm pregnant, motherfucker,” said Denise. “And I fucked that ice bitch up.” She turned to the captain. “Not only is Nazere now a fine plot of land to settle down on, but it's also got some history behind it. I reckon it could turn into quite the tourist destination. Maybe even a thriving seaport one day. A man who got in on the ground floor staking his claim there might retire very comfortably.”

  Captain Longfellow swished his drink around in his mouth before gulping it down. “Aye, he might.”

  “Captain, please!” said Rothgar. “You can't –”

  The captain shut him up with a look. “But how do I know ye don't be filling me with fanciful fish tales? Mayhap ye never did make yer way to Nazere, and this be a ploy to trick me into taking ye there on yer mad fool's errand?”

  It seemed preposterous to Randy that the captain still held on to doubts about their claims, but he supposed that was no more preposterous than the claims themselves. He had no idea how to convince him.

  “So this Nazere,” said Jay. “This was a tropical island that got taken over by some Ice Queen, right?”

  “That be correct,” said Captain Longfellow. “And once a ship be trapped upon her icy shores, ye can all but forget about seeing those sailors again. Those few who leave the island aren't the same men as they were when they arrived there. Her magic changes ye, and I intend to have me wits about me when I be burning in the fires of the Abyss.”

  Jay nodded. “That's fair. Nobody wants their mind fucked with. I get that. But how close do you need to get to the island before you can see the ice or feel the cold?”

  Captain Longfellow shivered. “I've felt the unholy chill of that island on more than one occasion when I mistakenly believed me course be far enough away. It feels like an icy hand gripping yer very balls.”

  Randy and Denise exchanged a glance. It was cold, sure, but the captain was clearly taking some dramatic liberties.

  “Then I don't see the problem,” said Jay.

  “Ye don't see the problem?” Captain Longfellow bellowed. “Have ye got whale sperm in yer eyes?”

  Jay grimaced. “I don't think so.”

  “Did I not make plain enough the danger?”

  “You did. All I'm saying is that we can get close enough to tell whether or not Randy and Denise are telling the truth without getting close enough to be trapped, can't we? You just said yourself that you've passed close enough to feel the queen's magic, but you lived to tell the tale. Is there any reason we can't just turn around at the first hint of a chill in the air?”

  The captain stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment
. “Ye make a fine point, African.”

  “My name is Jay.”

  “We can't very well continue our course to Lymn. Not with all these bard-worshiping fools seizing ships from the ports.”

  Rothgar's lips tightened at the captain's insult. “If you give his song a chance, you would understand.”

  Captain Longfellow stood up and opened his cabin door. “Alexei! In me quarters at once!”

  Randy leaned toward Denise and Jay. “Katherine and the others should be in Nazere by now. We got to tell them about all this Jordan Knight stuff when we get there.”

  Denise shook her head. “Goddammit, Randy. Why the fuck you think I brought up Nazere in the first place? I just passed up the chance to watch you fight that fuckin' captain.”

  About a second after Captain Longfellow returned to his chair, Alexei was standing in the doorway.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Our plans have changed. We need to set a course for a new destination.”

  “I understand. Where are we going now?”

  Captain Longfellow flashed Randy a quick grin and wink before answering his first mate, as if to say, “Watch this.”

  “Nazere.”

  Alexei stood there for a second with his eyes bulging and mouth agape. He looked at Randy, then Rothgar, then back to the captain.

  “Humblest apologies, Captain. But did you say... Nazere?”

  “Ye heard correctly.”

  Alexei swallowed, then composed himself. “I will give the order, but I cannot guarantee the crew will obey me.”

  Captain Longfellow grinned. “Nobody never said being a first mate was easy. Imagine what it be like to be a captain.”

  “I do, Captain. Each and every day.”

  “Then let us see if ye have the chops for it. Give the order.”

  “Yes, Captain. Right away.” Alexei stepped out and closed the door behind him.

  Randy waited for him to shout the orders, but no shout came.

  “You could have explained the precautions we're planning to take,” said Jay.

  “Aye, I could have,” said the captain. “But what good would that do me?”

  Jay shrugged. “It might prevent a mutiny. I don't know about any of you, but I haven't heard any orders being given, and you wouldn't believe how fucking good these ears can hear. For all we know, your first mate thinks you've been brainwashed by us and this dwarf. He could be organizing a posse to come take you down right now.”

  “Ye speak no falsehoods, young African.”

  “Jay.”

  “A captain must trust his crew, and that trust must be reciprocated. It need be earned on both sides. But a ship's crew be as fluid as the sea we float upon. Some men perish. Others settle down with some tavern whore. And still others move on to other ventures. With every harbor we stop at, we lose some men and gain others, not all of whom we know we can trust to follow orders. It be times like these that test a man's mettle and loyalty. I would not send Alexei out there if I didn't know in me heart that he'd take a harpoon in his poop deck for me. Mayhap he be plotting against me, or mayhap the reason we don't hear him bellowing out orders like a gods-damned buffoon is that he too has those under him whom he trusts more than others. When it comes time to deliver an order like this one, it be wise to have as many on yer side as ye can.”

  “So you purposely withheld reassurance that we weren't sailing to certain death because you want a portion of the crew to resist?”

  “Sounds daft when ye put it like that, but yes. When the seas get rough, it be best to know who will have yer back. Chum the waters with the rest of them.”

  Five minutes and a couple of grunts and splashes later, Alexei reappeared in the doorway.

  “We've lost two men, Captain. And we've set a course for Nazere.”

  Chapter 43

  With one arm still shoved firmly up the chicken's ass, Fazul clapped his other palm on top of the bird, spreading his fingers as wide as they would go across its buttered and herbed skin.

  “Propylene Glycol Alginate!” he said, shortly before his hand burst into flames.

  “SHIT!” said Chaz. “Help! Julian, do something!”

  “What's all the fuss?” demanded Felania as she waddled back into the kitchen. “Hush, or you'll wake the baby.”

  Fazul stared curiously at Chaz and Julian as he continued to rub his fiery hand all over the chicken skin, which was turning golden and crispy. With his other arm, the one fisting the chicken, he was slowly pumping deeper, then pulling back out in a way he shouldn't have felt comfortable doing with his wife standing in the same room. It sure as shit made Chaz feel uncomfortable.

  “Mayhap the two of you do not take well to teleportation,” he said. “The sudden change of night to day can be disorienting for some.”

  “We're fine,” said Julian. “We were just a little surprised when your hands caught on fire.”

  “I would have guessed you were a spellcaster, the way you dote on that talking bird of yours.”

  “I am. A sorcerer, actually.”

  “A dabbler, you mean.” Fazul's tone was snide and dismissive. “The forces that make up the fabric of this universe are complex and powerful. Magic is not a toy to be fiddled with by those who cannot be bothered to devote the time and study to understand it. You would do better to pursue your career as a clown. As flat as your jokes may fall, they will do far less harm than the reckless wielding of arcane power.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Julian just a little curtly, his Diplomacy roll clearly right on the edge of success. “I will take that under advisement.”

  Fazul removed his arm from the chicken, revealing that his other hand was also on fire. It made sense that he'd want to make sure the bird was thoroughly cooked inside and out, and it made Chaz feel a hell of a lot better about that slow and sensual fisting motion he'd had going on.

  “How dare you insult my cooking, woman!” Fazul beamed down at the chicken. “Have you ever laid eyes on such a fine bird?”

  Felania smirked. “I'll admit it looks better than the charred leather and bones you cooked up last time.” She eyed Chaz and Julian up and down. “These must be special guests indeed.”

  Fazul went to the basin to wash his hands. “They are. We have much to celebrate tonight, and mayhap we can convince our special guest to play us a song once our bellies are full.”

  “I'd love to,” said Chaz. He was almost prepared to agree to suck a dick if it got him closer to tearing into that chicken.

  “Ganny! Lidon! Findle!” Felania shouted. Chaz thought she was casting a spell until her three oldest kids came running out of their room. “Wash your hands. It's time for supper.”

  Ravenus staggered out behind them, his feathers sparkling with purple glitter and his beak painted cherry red.

  “Ravenus!” cried Julian, running over to scoop up his familiar. “Are you okay? What did they do to you?”

  “I would prefer not to say, sir. I've never felt quite so... violated.”

  “She's called Princess Blackfeather,” said the daughter. “Isn't she pretty, Daddy?”

  Fazul beamed at his daughter. “Indeed she is, Ganny. You did a fine job with her.”

  Ravenus ruffled his feathers. “Please, sir,” he pleaded with Julian. “Please don't leave me alone with –” He stopped and tilted his whorish red beak up in the air. “Whatever is that delicious smell?”

  “Chicken?” said Julian.

  “I thought so!”

  “Wait a second. After all the gross things I've seen you eat, are you telling me you actually find the smell of roasted chicken appealing?”

  Ravenus looked down at the chicken on the table. “Of course not, sir. That smells absolutely disgusting.” He squirmed his way out of Julian's arms and flapped down onto the rim of the viscera bucket. “Is this for me?”

  Julian looked to Fazul for an answer.

  “I was going to bury it in the garden, but Princess Blackfeather can have it if she wants it.”

&
nbsp; “It's Ravenus,” Julian corrected him. “And he's... never mind. Go head, Ravenus.”

  Fortunately, Chaz didn't have to suffer the echoing slurps and scrapes of Ravenus inside the entrails bucket for very long. Their hosts led them back into the main room of the house, which also served as its dining room.

  The meal was even more delicious than Chaz had anticipated. He'd never had a clear idea as to what exactly porridge was, aside from the dish of choice for fictional anthropomorphic bears, but he wolfed down two bowls of it before he tore into a chicken leg. By the end of the meal, though, he determined that his own hunger had been the secret ingredient that had made the meal taste so good. Once his belly was full, he nibbled at what was left of his chicken, finding it bland and dry.

  He hadn't intended to get too drunk too fast, both because he knew he would be expected to perform after dinner and because the wine they were serving wasn't very good. It was sweet and kind of syrupy, like cheap vodka mixed with the juice in cans of fruit cocktail. But it got that dry chicken down his throat. By the time his plate was clean, he had a solid buzz going.

  “Do you like the wine?” asked Fazul, who had been pounding it back since he finished fisting the chicken. “Felania makes it from wild berries that the children collect.”

  “It's delicious,” said Julian, who was still on his first cup. “Great job, kids.”

  The kids were drinking what looked like the same thing but poured from a different pitcher. Chaz guessed it was unfermented juice from those same berries.

  He hadn't paid attention to which pitcher Felania had been pouring her own drinks from, but her cheeks were rosy and she didn't seem quite so confrontational as before.

  “So I hear you are this amazing performer,” she said to Chaz. “Please, enchant us all with this great talent of yours.”

  Fazul wiped wine and chicken grease from his beard. “Felania, dear. You are being rude. These men are our guests.”

  “We are partners in business now, are we not? Is it unreasonable that I would want to see what my dear husband has invested our children's future in?”

  Despite the fact that, monetarily, Fazul hadn't invested jack shit into the partnership, Chaz thought it was a reasonable request. “I'd be happy to –”