Storm of Sharks

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘A backstabbing, lying, thieving bag o’ blubber,’ Vega stated plainly.

  Ghul laughed. ‘I’ll only take offence at that last bit. Those other three things? Well, we’re pirates – that’s what we do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Some, perhaps, but there’s a code that many abide by. You broke that code long ago, many times over.’

  ‘I make the law, just as you did before me!’

  ‘I abided by the law, even when I ruled in Cutter’s Cove, just as I did aboard the Maelstrom. All men are equal in my eyes.’

  ‘Some are more equal than others.’ Ghul laughed, his tentacles recoiling as he slowly shifted back to human form.

  The woman raised a hand between the two men, signalling an end to their confrontation. ‘I didn’t travel from Highcliff, Lord Ghul, to witness your spat with the Sharklord.’

  ‘Forgive my impertinence, but why have you travelled here, Opal?’ asked Vega. ‘An interest in my predicament? Make no mistake, I’m terribly flattered that one as important as yourself has my well-being at heart.’

  ‘So you know who I am, Count Vega?’ said Opal, looking down the length of the fortress wall.

  ‘Your reputation precedes you,’ replied the Sharklord. He’d heard tales of how striking Opal was, and now that she stood before him, he could see they weren’t mere rumours. ‘As your brother’s might is spoken of throughout the known lands, so is your elegance. If Onyx is the Beast of Bast, then you are indeed the Beauty.’

  Opal faced him again. ‘I wasn’t expecting such eloquence from a man who has been chained to a wall, facing the elements, for the last three weeks. You flatter me,’ she said with a smile, while the sneering Ghul looked on.

  Vega’s teeth sparkled as he threw her his best roguish grin. Wars were fought on many fronts. This wasn’t the first time Vega had been held captive by the opposite sex, and it was a game in which he was well versed. Even ravaged and exhausted, manacled to a rocking tower by silver and steel, he wasn’t entirely unarmed. He still had his charm.

  ‘No flattery, though admittedly not all accounts have been so kind. You do, after all, represent an invading force in Lyssia. I’ve met the odd soul who described you as a monster, but I see now that such stories are ludicrous propaganda.’

  The count wasn’t a fool. He knew that Opal was almost as deadly as her brother. He’d heard about what she’d done in the Horselord palace of High Stable, publicly murdering Duke Lorimer before ordering Lucas to slay the captured Bearlord, Broghan. He needed to win her over, and from there perhaps escape, but he also needed to be careful. He was playing a dangerous game with a deadly foe.

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Ghul. ‘He deceives you!’

  ‘Quiet, Ghul,’ said Opal, her eyes fixed on the Sharklord with unblinking fascination. ‘You don’t think me a monster then?’

  ‘I’ve yet to see anything that would give me that impression.’

  ‘You don’t know me, Vega.’

  ‘Nor you me. I understand if you consider me your enemy. But look at us – we’re being civil, are we not? Our differences don’t have to end in bloodshed.’

  ‘They don’t have to,’ she said, as the fortress rocked suddenly once again. The Catlady almost lost her footing, and Ghul reached out and grabbed her by the forearm.

  ‘Be careful, Opal,’ said Vega, his voice thick with concern. Ghul’s jaw fell open, annoyed that the Shark had stolen his thunder. ‘You risk much already by climbing down these walls to speak with me. Why not move me inside the tower so we can continue our discussion? Keep me manacled, by all means – I am, after all, your prisoner – but perhaps we could conduct this conversation in more hospitable surroundings?’

  ‘Don’t worry about my safety, Count Vega,’ Opal said as she disengaged the Kraken’s hand from her arm. ‘I’m a Panther of Bast. I’m sure-footed anywhere, even on your White Sea.’

  ‘Of course, how silly of me,’ he said with a smile.

  Opal stepped right up to Vega until they were nose to nose. Her perfume assailed him, sweet and intoxicating, while her flawless skin glistened with sea mist. He might have been laying on the compliments, but he wasn’t lying. She was truly one of the most attractive women he’d ever encountered.

  ‘I find you fascinating, Vega,’ she whispered.

  ‘The feeling’s mutual,’ he replied.

  ‘In more peaceful times, perhaps something beautiful might’ve blossomed between us.’

  ‘Something may yet.’

  ‘If it did, would you give me your loyalty?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you give me your heart?’ she asked breathlessly, moving her face past his, her lips brushing his cheek.

  ‘I fear I would.’

  ‘Would you give me your ship?’

  Vega sucked air through his teeth. ‘That’s a devil’s question to ask a pirate prince!’

  ‘You’ve caused us a great deal of trouble in recent months, Count Vega,’ the Catlady said huskily, sniffing at his sweat- and salt-soaked shoulder. He felt her fingertips tracing a circle over his heart. ‘You must understand, that makes the high lords of Bast and the Lion of Westland most unhappy. We’re grateful to Lord Ghul for capturing you. You were proving quite a thorn in our side.’

  Vega laughed as the Kraken smiled proudly. ‘Take off my manacles and let me hug my old friend, show him how thankful I am,’ the pirate prince dead-panned.

  Opal continued, ignoring Vega’s jest. ‘You and your friend from the north, Baron Bosa, have systematically dismantled the king’s navy from Moga to the Cold Coast, leaving King Lucas’s fleet in disarray.’

  ‘That’s some of my best work,’ he replied cheekily. She opened her hand, her fingernails now brushing the skin of his chest.

  ‘I’ve been sent here to bring you to account, to escort you back to Highcliff where you’ll stand trial for crimes committed against the Lion of Westland.’

  Vega winced as he felt a nail snag his skin. ‘A trial, you say? A fair hearing before Lucas?’

  ‘I didn’t say it’d be fair,’ Opal replied as her nails caught his flesh once more, deliberately this time. He’d misjudged Opal, badly. ‘King Lucas has a terrible temper. One should avoid crossing him at all costs.’

  ‘The fool’s crowned himself?’ snarled Vega. ‘It means nothing. The only true king is the Wolf!’

  He gnashed his jaws, fighting to keep his own inner beast back for fear of having his hands severed by the manacles.

  ‘I see you do have some fight in you after all,’ observed Opal. ‘Perhaps we’ll become better acquainted and I’ll get to see more of the shark as we sail back to Highcliff. But if you’ll bear with me, I have work to do first. As you can see, Lord Ghul’s been busy rounding up the remnants of your dwindling fleet. There are plenty of sea captains once loyal to you who need questioning. They’re fighting with one another to tell me Bosa’s whereabouts. It’s amazing how persuasive one can be when one imprisons the families of every pirate in the White Sea.’

  ‘Chaining folk to a sea fortress tends to focus their minds,’ agreed the Kraken. ‘It helps one see what’s at stake when loved ones are strung from the walls.’

  ‘While also making your fortress unassailable,’ added Opal. ‘After all, who’d launch an attack on this structure without fear of harming their family?’

  ‘You’ve been taking innocents hostage?’ shouted Vega as he felt Opal’s forefinger jab into his chest, the clawed tip cutting a bloody trench into his skin.

  ‘None are innocent – they all sided with the Wolf,’ she replied as she concentrated on her handiwork.

  ‘They’re all guilty by a
ssociation.’ Ghul laughed.

  Vega cried out as the Pantherlady’s claw completed its ragged circuit across his torso. His head hung limp as he looked down at the crude heart shape Opal had scored into his skin, directly over the one that beat within.

  ‘As for you, sweet Vega, I’ll hold you to your word,’ she said, smiling all the while. ‘I’ve been away from my children for far too long. While I fight a war in the name of my nephew, they remain in Bast, apart from their mother’s bosom. This pains me. You might understand if you had children of your own: it’s a love like no other. So, I’ll take you up on that offer. Once I deliver you to Lucas and he removes your head from your shoulders, I’ll take your heart from your chest. Call it a memento of my Lyssian adventure. It’ll be a pleasing gift to take back to my homeland of Braga, a delicacy my dear children may feed upon.’

  Opal stepped along the walkway, taking hold of a ladder rung.

  ‘He’s all yours, Ghul,’ she said. ‘Just don’t kill him. That honour shall be the king’s.’

  With that, she scaled the fortress wall, back into the belly of the tower.

  As the Kraken stepped up to the shattered Sharklord, he shook his arms out in both directions, the limbs splitting and rippling into four monstrous tentacles. Florimo turned away, unable to watch what would follow.

  ‘Now,’ said the Weresquid, as a serpentine length of flesh caught Vega beneath his chin, lifting his head. ‘Had something smart to say to me, did you?’

  Vega spat at the monster.

  ‘Good,’ said Ghul, wiping the spittle from his face with his shoulder. The tentacle gripped the count’s jaw, holding his head in place while another squirming limb recoiled, preparing to strike the Sharklord.

  ‘That was just the answer I was looking for.’

  4

  Strange Counsel

  ‘That’s a lot of keys,’ said Ringlin.

  ‘There are a lot of cells,’ replied Hector.

  Ibal unhitched the brass ring from his belt and stepped up to the door. His chubby fingers rifled through the jangling keys, his master watching patiently. While Ringlin had assumed the rank of captain of the Boarguard, empowered to command the Ugri in Hector’s name, Ibal had been given the position of head jailer in Icegarden, managing the cells below the palace. They had sat empty before the magister and his allies took the city, but no longer: the jail was now occupied by former members of the city watch, terrified courtiers and any others who opposed the Boar and the Crows. The cells of Icegarden had never been so full.

  ‘I’m not sure why you keep coming back here, my lord.’

  ‘Did I ask you your opinion, Ringlin?’

  ‘It’s just … I’m not sure what good speaking to him does.’

  I can’t say I blame him, hissed the Vincent-vile. Why do you seek the counsel of this pathetic creature when you have me to call upon? Who knows you better than your dear, sweet brother?

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand, Ringlin,’ said Hector, ignoring the vile. ‘I just need you to obey.’

  ‘As I always have done, my lord, and shall continue to.’

  ‘That you dislike this prisoner comes as no surprise. You have clashed with him before, have you not? You may wait here if you find his company so unpalatable.’

  ‘No,’ said the former thief, a look passing between him and Ibal as his shorter friend finally found the key he searched for. ‘I’ll stay with you, if that’s all right. I’d prefer to hear what he has to say, sift the lies from the truths.’

  Hector turned to Ringlin while Ibal turned the key in the lock.

  Hector closed his hand into a fist to emphasize this point. It wasn’t lost on Ringlin, the captain shuddering at the thought of the dark magicks his master commanded and the vile that did his bidding. Ibal pushed the door open and stood to one side as his friend and his liege entered the cell.

  A torch guttered in a bracket beside the door, an unusual concession for a prisoner but one Hector had been happy to permit. The chains that kept the man captive ensured he couldn’t reach the flaming brand. The metal links were secured firmly to the wall, the finest Sturmish steel restricting him to the corner of the cell. A bucket was positioned as far away from the rear wall as possible, a mattress running the brickwork’s length providing the only comfort for the prisoner. The man sat on the rough bed, a blanket draped over his shoulders, the end of the chain manacled about his left ankle. He looked up and smiled as Hector and Ringlin stepped into the chamber, the sea serpent tattoo that rode the right-hand side of his face rippling into life.

  ‘You come to empty the slop bucket, Ringlin?’ asked Bo Carver. ‘Be a good chap, try not to spill it.’

  ‘You’re lucky you’re not wearing it, Carver,’ said the former thief with a sneer, as he took his position by the door. The torch crackled beside his face, casting shadows across his glowering visage. ‘This was still a jail cell, last time I looked. You want to mind your lip, Thief Lord.’

  ‘You’ve made quite a success of your sordid little life, haven’t you, Captain Ringlin? Both you and the waddling simpleton out there.’

  Right on cue, Ibal peered round the open doorway, a sickly giggle escaping his wobbling lips. Carver smiled as Hector looked on in silence.

  I do like it when they fight, whispered the Vincent-vile giddily, as he made invisible circuits around the magister.

  ‘Seems any footpad can rise up the ranks in the Boarguard,’ said Carver, ‘if he’s prepared to leave his principles behind.’

  ‘You’re one to talk. You’ve been a prisoner for Brenn knows how many years, first in Highcliff and now here in Icegarden. Lord of Thieves? Lord of Jails, more like.’

  ‘I sleep with a clear conscience, though, Ringlin. I may be on a filthy mattress in a dingy cell, but I know I’ve never betrayed a fellow thief. I fear you can’t say the same.’

  Ringlin stepped forward, towering over the chained prisoner.

  ‘I sleep in a luxurious bed, in a warm room, the hot food in my belly lulling me to a land of pleasant dreams. You think about that, Carver, as you’re lying here in the dark, the torch dead on the wall and only your “morals” for company.’

  Hector clapped his hands.

  ‘I think that’s enough posturing from you pair of peacocks,’ said the Boarlord, sitting down on the cold floor in the cell’s centre. ‘Ringlin, be a good man: go and see if Dame Freya requires anything from us. I feel badly that we parted on such … cross words earlier. Fetch her any food she or her fellow Daughters require. I’m in a generous mood,’ he added, before turning his back on the rogue.

  Ringlin scowled at the smiling Carver for a moment longer. ‘As you wish, my lord,’ he replied before turning and heading through the door. ‘But the sewage bucket can stay here.’

  ‘That’s no way to talk about dear Ibal,’ called the Thief Lord after him. The jailer giggled beyond the threshold in the dark corridor, as Carver settled back on to his mattress.

  Hector adjusted the metal brooch that held his cloak together, a charging boar fashioned upon it, before straightening his cloak.

  ‘A trinket of tin from the Dalelands?’ asked Carver. ‘Bit sentimental for Lord Blackhand, the Monstrous Magister of Icegarden, isn’t it?’

  ‘Prince or pauper, I feel it’s important to remember where one comes from,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m still the Baron of Redmire, and it’s brass, not tin.’

  ‘So,’ said Carver, knitting his hands together and resting them on his raised knees, ‘back for another inspiring talk?’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Carver. I don’t come to you seeking advice, though I do find you to be a tremendous vessel
to pour my thoughts into. Who would have imagined you’d be someone I could tell my innermost secrets to?’

  ‘The feeling’s not mutual, I’m afraid,’ said the Thief Lord, giving the steel links a brief shake. ‘Keeping a man chained has a way of breaking down his trust in you.’

  Hector smiled. ‘I don’t come here to torment you. You and I have an understanding. You know you’ll never leave this cell. You simply can’t: you know too much about my business, about what’s gone on here, my intentions –’

  ‘And about your little demon,’ interrupted Carver, waving his hand through the air.

  The Vincent-vile hissed like a cornered alley cat, itching to be released. He thinks he knows me. Let me acquaint myself with him, brother; give me a moment alone with Master Carver …

  ‘It’s no secret that I have command over certain forces. It’s called communing, Carver.’

  ‘Necromancy would be a better word, no?’

  Hector cocked his head. ‘You know more about magistry than I expected, though your choice of words is questionable. Necromancy has such chilling connotations.’

  Carver laughed. ‘Whereas what you practise is utterly benign, dear baron? What harm could possibly come from speaking with the dead?’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be sinister,’ said the Boarlord irritably.

  ‘Whatever innocent reasons you might have once had to dabble with the dark arts have long since vanished. It’s consumed you, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Consumed? It’s enlightened me. The scales have fallen from my eyes.’

  ‘So much so that you abandon reason and good judgement. You surround yourself with murderers and cut-throats, Hector. The Crowlords as brothers in arms? They’re despised by their own mothers, let alone their neighbours!’

  ‘A means to an end, Carver. Allegiances shift all the time.’

  ‘You’ve changed your allegiances more often than Ibal changes that bucket,’ he said, gesturing to the slop pot in the corner of the cell. ‘Nobody will trust you before long, Hector. You’ve betrayed everyone you’ve ever sided with. You think the Crowlords trust you? They’re killers. I’d be dead if they had their way; it’s only your sick interest in my welfare that’s kept me alive. No doubt Flint’s already plotting how they can exclude you from their future tyranny.’