Goblin Rogue

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “So have I. They can’t be beaten in combat. They don’t die when wounded. They murder in the night and suck eyeballs from the heads of babies. Those are the same stories that we like spread about us. They inspire fear.”

  “They’re true,” Wes said. “The entire crew of the Wood Duck was slaughtered by the Cormorant.”

  “Aye. And which of all the dead told that tale? Captain Sun was a smuggler, not a fighter. They got caught. It’s the risk we all take.”

  “Well, we’re at half crew and can’t fight the Cormorant.”

  Middle Finger limped forward and adjusted his eyeglasses. He stared each crew member in the face before stopping at Wes. “So you’re going to challenge me for the Sin Nombre.”

  “I have the votes.”

  Spicy felt his own impatience growing. Every minute they wasted meant the Cormorant had that much more of a lead. He stepped forward. “You can’t do this now. You want the secret to the bombs. The dragon Fath will share it. He’ll tell me and you’ll be back in business.”

  Wes gripped the handle of his knife. “If that were the case, we wouldn’t have wasted our time and come all this way. We’ll deal with you once we finish here, goblin.”

  Goldbug motioned for Spicy to be quiet.

  Middle Finger studied Wes for a moment. “I remember once when I was young I stole a basket of eggs. I knew I could eat them. I was starving, and six eggs was a feast. But then I remembered the baker in the town, a man who had once caught me stealing, was hard up on finding ingredients for the local noble’s fancies. The man loved those swirly donuts, but making them without eggs meant cutting corners, and the nobleman was going to find another baker quick if the man couldn’t come through. All the local fowl were suffering from the tremors. The meat and eggs were no good. The animals and their product had to be destroyed.”

  “Get to the point,” Wes growled.

  “But the farmers out in the swamps kept their birds healthier. I had six eggs which I was going to sell for a pretty profit, which would pay for a week of hot meals from the hashery. So I went to the baker. ‘You have eggs?’ he asked. ‘I do,’ I said. ‘Five pennies each.’ He was outraged. He fumed. He threatened to kill me. But when I turned to leave, he offered me ten for the lot. Ten pennies for six eggs. More money than I would have seen in a month, assuming I survived that long.”

  Wes looked around at the crew. They too were growing restless.

  “Please, good men; indulge me,” Middle Finger said. “Ten pennies, because the noble wanted his favorite cook to make him swirly donuts. But I was too smart. I had left the eggs behind, worried that the baker or someone else would steal them. Imagine my surprise when I went back to my stash only to find a badger had discovered the basket. The eggs were gone. So was my fortune. And that damn animal almost ripped my hand off.

  “Here’s the deal. The Cormorant is heading for the mud village to take the dragon. ‘Fine,’ most of you are thinking. ‘Cut our losses. Start over.’ I’d agree with you. That’s the kind of thinking that kept me alive for so long. But if all you want to be is a piss-poor boy stealing eggs to survive from week to week, then follow Wes. I want to be the man who owns the chickens. And let’s not forget Bird’s Landing.

  “Some of you have family there. Wives. Children. Maybe they’re just whores and whoresons and daughters to some of you. We’ve all heard the stories of how much he’s been wanting to find our dragon. He’s been searching for years, sending bounty hunters and entire expeditions, which have all failed. But he’s got a solid lead. Gentlemen, he will murder each and every soul he finds in Bird’s Landing. Most will be questioned first, in case they know anything. So cutting and running means we turn our back on everyone who has given us comfort and shelter as well as our crewmates we left to defend the dragon. I won’t cut and run. The Sin Nombre crew doesn’t fail its own.

  “So who’s coming with me back to the delta?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Sin Nombre had its sails down and was leaving Pinnacle’s harbor. In the early gray, a few fishing boats were also readying to leave, but the pirate vessel was first out. Wes and two other crew members stood on the nearest barge and watched the boat depart. The captain was glum, giving curt orders to Spicy and the crew as he rested heavy against the railing.

  “We’re shorthanded,” Spicy said.

  “We’re four hundred and fifty pounds lighter, with three fewer mouths,” Middle Finger said. “Now get on the bow and retie that line. Your knots are sloppy.”

  Spicy was about to move away to check his knots when the captain grabbed his arm.

  “What you said about the bombs and you getting the recipe. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know,” Spicy said. “I don’t know what Fath knows. But I will try to get him to share.”

  “This is like chasing smoke. Maybe Mr. Wes is right. We need a new business plan.”

  Spicy didn’t know what to say. He waited for Middle Finger to let him go, and then went to check the knots. Goldbug had already retied them. He appeared cheerful enough as he brushed past, hurrying to adjust a swinging boom as the boat moved towards the mouth of the harbor.

  Spicy reached up and held the boom steady. “I think the captain is mad at me.”

  Goldbug finished off a bowline knot. “We’re light on crew, he’s lost his first mate, our holds are empty. It’s not all your fault.” Spicy was starting to feel somewhat at ease. Then Goldbug added, “But some of it is. Is it true you could get the bomb recipe from the dragon?”

  Spicy answered in a hushed tone. “He won’t want to share, if he knows it. But it might be in one of the books in the library in the cave.”

  “All the way back. We sure came a whole long way for a heap of trouble. You and your books. Look at what books did to the captain. All that reading is bad for the eyes.”

  They sailed out onto the bay. Middle Finger surveyed the waterway now illuminated in morning light. A dozen other boats were out from other harbors, and more were anchored nearby. The sails caught wind and the Sin Nombre built up speed. The remaining sailors were sullen. They eyed Spicy with unmasked antipathy.

  Spicy didn’t blame them for their anger.

  Their voyage had become a fool’s errand, and now the families they had left behind were at risk. Worse, the crew had been diminished further, with no food and bleak prospects, all while chasing the archduke’s boat, which was filled with a large force of trained and better-armed soldiers.

  One of the sailors began to sing. Spicy didn’t understand the words. The other men picked it up and soon all were singing, even the captain. Something about the tone of the tragic melody made Spicy feel homesick. It hit him in the gut how badly he wanted to see his sister once more. The familiar hills and woods of Boarhead felt so far away.

  Now that they were sailing, there was little to do but stay out of the way. Spicy watched the water before them. He could just make out the Cormorant. It, too, had its sails filled with wind. Their speeds were closely matched, and the smaller Sin Nombre was even gaining on her.

  The captain noticed and had the sails trimmed. They matched speed. Over the course of the next hour, the two boats crossed much of the central bay, heading north and east into the wider waters that led to the delta and Orchard City. Middle Finger kept peering through a telescope. With a pencil, he made small notes on a piece of paper.

  “Won’t they see us following?” Spicy asked.

  “There’s a lot of traffic out here. I’m getting a count of how many men they have on board. Leave me be.”

  Spicy had been hoping for a chance to look through the scope, but he moved to the opposite side of the boat. He had to hang on as the swells occasionally struck the bottom of the boat as if something beneath the water surface were kicking them. It reminded him of when the troll Hog had upset the mercenary boat during its crossing of the Inland Sea.

  The other sailors took the swells in stride.

  To their rear, the other traffic on the bay ha
d grown distant, except for a boat following in their path. A red flag topped its mast. It was an identical banner to the one on the Cormorant.

  “Captain!” Spicy cried as he pointed.

  Middle Finger turned his scope towards their rear. Then he taught the goblin some new words. “They’re with the archduke. Flying his color.”

  “Are they after us or just heading the same direction?” Spicy asked.

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Middle Finger gave the order and the crew went into motion making adjustments to the sails. They veered off, heading towards land on the eastern shore of the upper bay. The boat at their rear changed course and followed. The weather was clear. There would be no losing their pursuer in the fog and the Pinnacle ship was catching up. The crew couldn’t take their eyes off the oncoming boat.

  “Heads down, men, and to your tasks,” Middle Finger said. “We have some distance on them yet.”

  “They’ll catch us,” a sailor said. “They have more sails. There’s probably thirty men on board. And what then?”

  “They haven’t caught us yet, Mister Alvarez. That happens to other vessels, but not the Sin Nombre.”

  “Why can’t we go faster?” Spicy asked.

  Middle Finger studied the shore with his telescope. “Perhaps if you pushed.”

  The Sin Nombre sped towards a flat coastline. Middle Finger navigated straight at a pair of brightly painted buoys. Dozens of poles topped with strips of bright ribbon stood jutting out of the water just past the floating markers, indicating a path towards shore. A village lay just beyond. A flat, sandy beach had a shallow inlet where churning water frothed as it flowed to the bay.

  As they passed between the buoys, floating baskets lay beneath the water. Broad sandbars were visible. Several of the baskets bumped the boat as it passed over them.

  “They’re not dumb enough to risk bottoming out, are they?” Goldbug asked. “They’re trying to cut in behind us.”

  The pursuing ship had adjusted her course and was angling towards the buoys. Their path would take them through a few of the outermost depth markers. On the bow stood two bald men dressed in black and holding bows. The archduke’s sons. All the sailors on board the Sin Nombre were busy with the rigging. None of the Sin Nombre crew held weapons ready. The men were busy with the boat while staying low.

  Goldbug tucked himself behind the mast. “They’re in range!”

  Spicy kept low and peered over the side.

  The two tall archers weren’t just similar but identical. They dipped the tips of their arrows into a burning brazier. Then, as if agreeing upon some unseen signal, they fired. Arrow after flaming arrow came streaking in towards the Sin Nombre. The two sons continued without letup until a score of missiles had struck the boat. Where each arrow hit wood, a small pool of flame erupted.

  Spicy pulled arrows out as fast as he could and threw them overboard. Some broke, leaving the tip embedded in the wood. The fire spread into multiple pools at his feet. Goldbug broke from cover to dump buckets of water on the burning patches but the flames only spread.

  The sails now had burning holes in them.

  One of the sailors screamed as a missile struck him. The man shrieked as the fire blossomed over his back. Another man began to smother the fire out with a tarp as his fellow sailor writhed. The flames on the sails threatened to engulf them.

  “Cut the sails!” Middle Finger ordered.

  Spicy assisted the remaining sailors as they chopped the lines to the mainsail. The billowing canvas rose above the main boom as it was swallowed by fire. Ash rained down on them as even more arrows came in. The boat slowed to a crawl and began to turn on the water.

  The Pinnacle ship was moving past them now, and the archers no longer had a shot. Its hull crashed into some of the depth markers. But it too slowed as its sails were furled. Oars emerged. They were about to cut in front of the Sin Nombre and would board her in moments or else finish them off with a barrage of arrows.

  Then the Pinnacle boat shuddered and stopped.

  “Dumb luck,” Goldbug said. “They’ve hit ground!”

  Spicy rose to watch the Pinnacle sailors begin pushing their oars into the water as they tried to dislodge their boat. He searched for a weapon but saw none. The archduke’s sons were racing to the stern, their bows and quivers in hand. But their boat was twisting in the tide.

  But the Sin Nombre had also come to a complete stop as the last of the burning sails were thrown overboard. Several pools of flame continued to burn, and they had to avoid the stern where the fire had taken hold. The struck man lay still, the tarp over him like a shroud.

  “Jump and swim for it!” Alvarez cried.

  “No one abandons ship,” Middle Finger said.

  He snapped his fingers to get Spicy’s attention and began unpacking a new sail from a bundle of unburned gear. Goldbug and another sailor moved to help and soon they had the sail out. They all moved frantically, needing no orders. The replacement square mainsail had to be fixed with fresh lines. Spicy had to retie several of his knots as he hurried to help. The new sail was hoisted up the mast. But it was the only spare. All the secondary sails were burned and Spicy could find no other undamaged replacements.

  The sail filled and the Sin Nombre began moving, but at what felt like a snail’s pace. Not only did they lack the sails, but the wind had subsided. The Sin Nombre plodded towards the shore away from the Pinnacle ship. The enemy sailors continued to work their oars, but the boat remained grounded.

  Spicy ran to the bow. The water before them only grew shallower as they approached the beach and its inlet.

  “The Cormorant is out of sight. We have to turn to catch it.”

  “We’re out of the chase,” Middle Finger said. “The second boat will be free in minutes. Right now, we escape with our lives.”

  “But what about Bird’s Landing? Your families?”

  “I’m not going to throw our lives away for no reason. If they’re after us, it’s to kill us. We’re on fire and have one sail up. It’s enough to get us to ground. We’ve lost her. Now be quiet.”

  Spicy tried to get Goldbug’s attention even as the young pirate swatted a pool of flame out with an empty wet sack. The stern deck was ablaze. Spicy felt helpless. The archduke would attack the mud village. Fath would be caught. Rime and the others, who had come so far and survived so much, would be murdered.

  The inlet had a settlement on one bank. A group of villagers were standing and watching as the Sin Nombre slid into the shallows amidst several rowboats and a small sailing vessel. Behind them, the pursuing boat remained outside the inlet.

  “Small blessings,” Middle Finger said. “Looks like they’re unstuck but they’re hesitating. It’s too shallow. But if they want us bad enough, they’ll land nearby and come ashore. We have to be quick. Take only what supplies you can easily carry.”

  There wasn’t much to take. Spicy looked for an easy cask of wine to carry, but there was none. He settled on a waterskin and a single-edged carving knife. Then at his feet he saw the black flag of the Sin Nombre, with its white hand and the extended center finger dark with soot. It was tangled in the tarp that had held the spare sail. He stuffed it in his shirt.

  The boat thunked into the muddy bank.

  Goldbug helped Spicy down into the waist-deep water. The crew waded ashore as the fire on their boat spread. A few of the villagers moved to help the men climb out of the water. Spicy pushed a hand aside as he trudged onto the beach. Out beyond the inlet, the Pinnacle boat had turned and was moving between the buoys and out onto the bay.

  “They’re just leaving,” Spicy said.

  Middle Finger grunted and then watched the Sin Nombre burn. “They don’t know who we are, just that we were following. Doesn’t matter now. They’ve stopped us. Now they’ll continue with their mission.”

  The other sailors stood around, appearing dazed and utterly exhausted.

  “We can’t just stand here,” Spicy said.


  “Will you be quiet for a minute, Mr. Spicy? My boat is lost to me. It was my home. I was part of the crew when Captain Hill took over. Did you know he kept cats on board? Why, he even—”

  “Shut up!”

  Middle Finger flinched and stared at the goblin. The rest of the crew watched with open hostility. Even Goldbug wore a shocked expression.

  Spicy fought to control his breathing so he could speak clearly. “Just…shut up. There isn’t time for a story. We might all be alive, but we can’t just give up. I have my friends to save. You have family, wives, children. If the archduke takes the dragon, it will mean more problems for everyone. If you’re going to quit, then that means I made a mistake in ever trusting any of you to help.”

  One of the crew spat in the sand. Another clenched his jaw. With a word from the captain, they would kill him, but at that moment he didn’t care. He met each sailor’s gaze in turn.

  Middle Finger’s swollen face made his expression unreadable. “And what do you suppose we do?”

  Spicy pointed to the rowboats moored in the shallows by the village. “What about those boats? We start rowing.”

  Middle Finger let out a joyless laugh. “There’s a time in a man—or goblin’s—life when you admit you’re beat. Never have anything in life you won’t walk away from, no matter how much of your heart they might own.”

  “Wait a minute, captain,” Goldbug said. “We can’t race the Cormorant or her sister ship over open water. But what about overland and through the swamps?”

  “We’ll never beat them. We don’t have the boats or the horses, and to get to Bird’s Landing we’d need both. There’s a reason everyone takes to the water or the shore roads and avoids going overland when heading to the delta.”

  “Not everyone, sir.”

  One of the men pulled a necklace out from under his shirt and kissed a pendant.

  Spicy nudged Goldbug. “What are you talking about? Is there a shortcut to the delta or not?”

  It was the captain who answered. “If you were to draw a straight line from here to Bird’s Landing, then yes, there’s a possible route. We’re in Duke Tarrow’s lands. Inland beyond his realm lies a stretch of unpatrolled wilds and bogs occupied by backwards mud farmers and beset with bandits. But it’s what’s past all that which keeps even rogues like us away. Some call it the path of the glyph wardens. All the traders and smugglers avoid it for a reason. It’s cursed. Folks who take the forbidden path don’t survive to brag about it.”