by Rob J. Hayes
“Tie their hands. Just those three, leave the barman,” Kain ordered and the other men obeyed.
Betrim and Henry stood side by side and shared a look. Wasn't the first time either of them had been in situations like this and both knew their best chance of escape was to bide their time, wait for an opening, most likely it would come at night. Darkness provided plenty of chances to escape.
“You three set loose the slaves. Cost the Brekovichs a lot of bits, I reckon. We're betting Lord Brekovich will be right grateful ta get his hands on ya.”
Anders groaned, Betrim snorted and Henry laughed and spoke over her shoulder. “Reckon the place is yours now, Josef. Good luck.”
Jacob Lee
Jacob had lost track of how long he'd spent in his new cell, though most of the sailors called it a cabin. The ocean posed a difficult situation for Jacob; he could not go up on deck, could not be close to any of the sailors at any time in case he heard the music. Being stranded at sea did not appeal. So he locked himself in his cabin and one of the boys delivered food every day; knocked once and left the tray outside. It was much like being in his cell back home except that instead of listening to other Arbiters and clerks talking about the world and their days, he listened to the creaking and groaning of the wood beneath him, above him, all around him. He listened to the water as it swayed and churned and slapped and sloshed. Sometimes he would hear the voices of the men tending to the great wooden beast but not often. It was always challenging being aboard a ship for prolonged periods of time but life was a series of challenges and Jacob had faced his hardest long, long ago.
Now he was looking at the city he could see he was about to be faced by an entirely new challenge. Almost, the Captain of Jorge's Peace, the sleek ship from the Five Kingdoms that had carried him to Solantis, didn't put into port. One look at the fires and the wreckage, even from afar, and anyone could tell Solantis was not a safe place to be right now. The Captain had wanted to sail back, head south and find his way to a city called Korral but Jacob was having none of it. At first the Captain had resisted but he had relented after his first broken bone and had agreed to put into port just long enough for Jacob to depart.
If need be Jacob could always commandeer another ship to take him elsewhere, though he believed he would find Thorn in Solantis. Judging by the man's reputation the current state of the city had the Black Thorn written all over it.
As soon as he could Jacob hopped over the side of the ship and landed on the wooden pier. Already he heard shouts from the Captain to put the ship back out to sea. Jacob turned and gave a wave but neither the Captain nor any of the sailors were paying him any attention.
Three men dressed in an assortment of tattered armour approached him, each bore an ugly tattoo on their left cheek. Jacob's own tattoos were much more intricate with fine inkmanship and none more so than the tattoos around his eyes.
“Who are you?” demanded one of the men.
“I am Jacob Lee, here on official business,” Jacob responded in the most pleasant tone he could muster. There was an acrid smell on the air he knew came from burning human flesh and he could hear the sounds of battle somewhere distant in the city.
“An Arbiter... here... already?” asked one of the men.
“Already?” Jacob asked, confused.
“It’s only been two days.”
Jacob looked from one man to the next to the next. “Two days since what?”
“The revolt.”
“Oh. Is that what this is?” Jacob looked up at the city stretching out before him. There were bodies on the docks, soaked in blood. The fires belching black smoke into the pale blue sky. The sound of metal clashing against metal far off in the distance. Jacob felt something in his blood stir a little. Somewhere, very distant, he thought he heard the first note of a song.
“I'm looking for a ship named the Bloody Bride. She would have made port here no more than two weeks ago. Is she still here?”
The first man looked back at the other two. The one that spoke was missing his right hand and more than a few of his teeth. “That's Cap'n Winters' ship. He was lookin' fer some folk ta replace a few o' his men. Said he didn't care who, slave or not s'long as they knew how ta sail.”
“Captain Winters; that's the man,” Jacob toned in. “Is he still here?”
“Aye, the Bride is still here.”
“Would you mind taking me to him? Right away,” Jacob smiled.
The one handed man looked suspicious. “What does an Arbiter want with Cap'n Winters?”
Jacob stepped towards the man, gently pushing the blades pointed at him out of the way. “Take me to Captain Winters right away.”
The Bloody Bride was much as Jacob remembered it though last time he had only seen it sailing away from him and now he saw it floating at the pier with its gangplank down and a couple of lazy sailors playing dice as if the bloody revolt happening all over the city concerned them not at all. The first sailor to spot Jacob cursed and sprang to his feet; attempting to bolt up the gangplank. Jacob caught the man by the hand and twisted until he heard the pop of his shoulder coming out of its socket. He let the screaming man drop to the floor and focused on the other.
“Is Captain Winters aboard?” the terrified sailor nodded fervently in reply. “I would like you to take me to the Captain's cabin immediately.” Again the terrified sailor nodded and led Jacob up the plank.
Jacob didn't bother knocking. He put his shoulder to the door and pushed. The lock gave and the door burst open inwards, shards of wood coming loose and scattering across the carpeted floor. Both the man and the girl inside were on their feet in a moment and both were brandishing weapons.
“Shit,” said the man.
“Captain Winters?” Jacob asked.
“Uhhh… no,” Jacob didn’t need to be an Arbiter to know the man was lying.
“I would like to ask you about a recent passenger of yours. A man by the name of the Black Thorn.”
Captain Winters swallowed. Jacob could hear the man's heart thumping. “Never heard of him.” Another lie.
Jacob walked a few more steps into the cabin. “That is disappointing to hear. He was on your ship when it left Sarth. I saw him myself and I have excellent vision.”
The Captain glanced towards the girl. “We did have a passenger. Didn't know who he was. Not really my business ta ask.”
Even from here Jacob could tell the Captain was sweating into his brightly coloured clothing. He was a well-dressed man and finely groomed though clearly he was raised from poor bearing. He also still held a sword in his hand and the presence of weapons was not endearing to Jacob.
“Arbiters ain't got no authority here,” the girl said, starting forwards. “Jus' throw him off the boat an' be done with the bastard.”
“Rilly...” Captain Winters leapt over his desk but it was too late. Jacob's hand shot out and grabbed the girl by the throat. She tried to stab him with the knife in her hand but Jacob swatted the blade away with his other hand; he might have broken a bone in her wrist at the same time but he couldn't be sure.
“Wait... please,” Captain Winters was frozen in place. His face was a look of pure terror.
“A little young for a lover,” Jacob said. “Though some do like them young. A daughter perhaps...” The girl’s eyes were bulging in her head and face was turning and odd blue colour. Jacob squeezed just a bit tighter. Her mouth was open and trying to gasp for air but his grip was far too tight for that. She clawed at his hand with her own and her feet scrabbled, tried to find purchase on the floor but Jacob held her too high.
“Rilly, was it?” Jacob said, staring at the girl as he strangled her. He could just see her eyes beginning to dim. “She doesn't have long, Captain. Will she suffocate first or... her neck is so close to snapping.” The girl's arms dropped to her side and her feet stopped kicking.
“STOP! PLEASE!” Captain Winters screamed, his sword clattering to the floor.
Jacob kept his grip for a second longer and
then let go. The girl dropped to the wooden floor unconscious. It was faint but Jacob could just about hear her heart still beating. Captain Winters rushed forwards and checked himself to make sure his daughter was still alive. Jacob gave him a moment then pulled the Captain to his feet and with a light shove sent the man flying backwards into a book shelf.
Captain Winters dropped to the floor stunned but Jacob didn't allow him the time to recover. Again he hauled the Captain to his feet and gave him a light slap to the face. The man spat a mouthful of blood onto his fine fur rug and his eyes focused on Jacob.
“Good. Now tell me about the Black Thorn, Captain. The truth this time please. I do not believe your daughter could survive your lying to me again.”
The Captain nodded. “He was here, on board. Passage from Sarth ta Solantis and then he left. Got chased off by a few o' my crew who wanted his bounty.”
“Where is he now?” Jacob asked.
“I don't know. I don't. Last I heard he was stayin' at a tavern called the Dog's Laugh somewhere in the Broken Sword territory. Place is owned by some woman he knows. That's it. All I know.”
Jacob nodded. “No, it isn't. What aren't you telling me, Captain?”
When Captain Winters stopped screaming Jacob knew the man was dead. His daughter, Rilly, never woke. With a definite sense of accomplishment Jacob left the Bloody Bride and leapt down onto the pier. There were no sailors this time, no slaves dressed in arms and armour. Jacob would need to find someone who knew where to find the tavern. His journey and his mission would soon be at an end and he could return to his cell. For now though there was something far more pressing.
As Captain Arip Winters last screams had died away Jacob heard it clear as day. The first notes of tawdry ballad about one Lord Falters and the fisherman's wife. He knew the tune well; it had been one of Sarah's favourites though he had never heard it played on the pipes before.
In front of him, lounging around the docks, were a number of armed slaves and an equal number of the unarmed kind. It was perfect. It had been so long, after all, since Jacob had had anyone to dance with.
Part 2 - Old Friends, New Enemies
Suzku
Pern Suzku was Haarin. He had received, benefited from and excelled at the most rigorous, gruelling and extensive training to be found anywhere in the wilds. His masters had been hard and demanding, even cruel at times but Pern had always believed it was necessary in order to train him to be ready for any and all circumstances. Nothing had prepared him for this. How could a woman, even a small woman such as this one, manage to fit herself inside such a small box?
A contortionist, the woman called herself, and although Pern did not know the exact meaning behind the word he was starting to understand. She stood at no more than five feet tall, when she was standing, and yet managed to fit herself into a small wooden crate a quarter of her size. Her feet were somehow up over her shoulders, her arms seemed bent back on themselves with her hands out of sight and hidden beneath the pool of human flesh in the crate. Her face peered up at them like one of the small rodent-dogs that lived in the desert and burrowed beneath the sand with only their eyes and nose showing, waiting to ambush passing insects.
“Um...” was all that Swift managed. Pern had been with his client for months now and never before had he known the man to be lost for words. “What d'ya think, Suzku?”
Pern glanced at Swift and shrugged. Truth was he was finding it hard to understand what he was seeing. Under such circumstances forming any sort of vocal response seemed impossible.
Swift sniffed, looked like he was about to spit then seemed to think better of it. “Can you... um... get yaself out o' that?”
“Yes sir,” her voice was high yet quiet and soft.
“Well go on then.”
The scene of the woman removing herself from the box was even more disturbing than that of her entering it. First her feet wriggled free and then her arms began to move, twisting as if she had not a bone in her body. A hand appeared and then another and grabbed hold of the sides of the box and began to push upwards. More and more of her body came free of the wooden crate and after no more than a few seconds the woman uncoiled and stood in front of the two men, naked as her name day and without a single hair on her body. She quickly lowered her eyes to the floor and stood waiting for Swift’s next instruction.
She was not pretty, not compared to many of the women Pern had become used to seeing in Swift's service, and Pern found her baldness off-putting, not to mention the fact that her body looked almost like that of a child's. Swift, however, leered at her all the same.
“Do ya always do it naked?” he asked.
“Yes sir. It is not possible with clothing because of the friction.”
“Right,” Swift said, nodding. “Friction, aye.”
The woman smiled, she was missing one of her front teeth and her eyes were mismatched in colour. Pern found himself fascinated by the sheer oddity of the woman.
“Well I reckon ya hired,” Swift said. “What d'ya think, Suzku.”
Pern couldn't think of anything to say so he just stared at the woman with her stick-thin limbs and tiny breasts. She met his eyes for an instant and then looked away, discomforted by his gaze. Her aura was almost translucent and so thin it hardly appeared at all.
“Aye,” Swift said once he realised Pern had no intention of replying. “Get yaself out an' tell Yardly ya hired. He'll find ya a place ta sleep an' get ya sorted. Don't let him try ta fuck ya, though.”
The woman looked alarmed for a moment then nodded and backed away towards the door; taking her small wooden crate with her. A few seconds later and she was gone, the door shutting behind her with a loud bang that echoed around Swift’s office.
“Reckon I want that one's first blood all ta myself,” Swift said grinning at Pern. Pern stared back, an impassive look on his face. “Unless you want it, Suzku. Reckon she caught ya eye. Might do ya some sort o’ good ta stick ya dick in somethin’.”
“I am Haarin,” Pern stated.
“Aye,” Swift replied with a sigh. “That ya are.”
Pern nodded and went back to standing at his post located just in front of Swift's desk between him and the door. Since beginning his contract almost three months ago Pern had witnessed seven attempts on his client's life and had been instrumental in stopping at least two of those. Truth was his client had a powerful incentive to stop the attempts himself and Swift was more than capable of stopping all but the most determined and skilled of assassins. At times Pern felt almost superfluous but it was not his place to judge whether he was needed; the simple fact that his client had employed the services of a Haarin would no doubt be enough to deter many would-be attackers.
Swift rounded the great slab of polished wood that was his desk, slumped into his chair, leaned back and rested his feet on the shiny wooden surface. Slaves cleaned and polished the desk daily but none had managed to remove the scuff marks that arose from Swift's feet buffing the surface.
Other than the ostentatious desk Swift's office was an austere place. There was no hearth as it never truly got cold enough to need one in Chade, no bookshelves so there were no books so that Swift's illiteracy would not be revealed. Two large wardrobes kept an assortment of clothing from the fanciest of finery to dirtied rags to boiled leather armour. A small weapon rack housed a variety of weapons most of which would never be used; Pern knew well enough by now that his client was always armed to the teeth even when he appeared empty handed. A grandiose painting of a very regal-looking man graced the eastern wall between the doorway and the desk. The painting was of the departed Lord Gregor H'ost. Swift claimed he hated the artwork but it served a purpose to remind folk that he was H'ost's only living son, bastard though he was.
“Right, who's next?” Swift said, eyeing the servant standing by the door with all the attention a wolf might give to an ant.
“Willian Flame-gorger,” the servant said, nervously glancing at Swift like an ant might glance at a wolf.
/>
Swift laughed. “What sort o' name is that?”
The servant swallowed with practised precision before replying. Pern watched the man, assessing his threat level for the sixtieth time in the past hour and concluding once again that the man was as far from a threat as a man could be. “He is a fire eater, my lord.”
“Aye? Could be worth a laugh or two, I reckon. Send the fool in.”
The servant bowed low; as most folk did to Swift when they wanted to avoid his attention, and set to opening the door and allowing the fire eater entry. The man was tall and thin with a dark complexion and dust coloured hair slicked back across his skull. He had a crooked nose, a few days’ worth of red stubble and a smile that seemed fixed upon his face and far too wide. Pern was already moving by the time the fire eater bowed.
“My lord,” the man whined in a high voice and as he stood a small throwing knife appeared in his hand. The fire eater's wrist flicked with a casual ease and the knife flew towards Swift. Pern reacted in an instant; reaching out and grabbing hold of the knife mid-air with his left hand and then dropping out of the way as his client's own blades whipped through the air and embedded themselves in the fire eater's neck and face. The man went down in a gurgle of blood to the sound of laughter and the clapping of hands from behind.
A man of middling years in an impeccable red cotton tunic, a matching set of trousers and a long but light, brown over-coat stepped over the bleeding corpse; still clapping and laughing as if he had just heard the funniest jest of his life. He was handsome, of that Pern was certain, with strong, fine features, short cropped hair the colour of dark oak and a fashionable scattering of stubble. His bright green eyes seemed to shine from his face and his teeth were perfect and white except for a single gold canine that glittered in his mouth. Both of the man's ears were pierced in the lobe; one with a single gem-stone stud and the other with a gold ring. The newcomer was armed with a single visible long sword but Pern could feel the danger of the man as if it was a tangible thing, smothering the room in a dark, smoky cloud of menace. It was the same feeling he had gotten the first time he had seen his client. A purple aura surrounded this new man like a blaze; dangerous intent and control in equal measure.