by M. Walsh
The
J I N X E D
P I R A T E
M. Walsh
Back Weeds Publishing
Brooklyn
Table of Contents
Title
Prologue
Part I: Someplace to Belong
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Part II: Pit of Scorpions
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Part III: Albatross
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
Part IV: Quicksand
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
Part V: The Burning City
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
For Grandma & Aunt Patti
“Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.”
- Albert Camus
“I always had the same feeling: to become nothing, and yet to destroy that nothingness!”
- Vladimír Holan
Prologue
I’ve always been of the belief anonymity and solitude are precious and underrated things.
Too many people in the world are anchored to this pack mentality I’ve never been able to truly comprehend. They scurry about, seeking out something or someone to join—determined to etch some kind of mark upon the world.
I myself have never had this problem. Personally, I find most people are—aside from the occasional project—utterly exhausting. Although I have some vague reputation in certain parts of the country and a handful of presumed aliases here and there, I am, for the most part, unknown and forgotten wherever I go. Not only is it infinitely more enjoyable, it allows me to indulge my hobbies without much notice.
I was reminded of this as the gambler seated next to me kept talking. “I got connections in Seba,” he said, a gaunt man with receding hair. “They’re going to get me right back on track, yessir. I’d be happy to include you, depending on your trade. What did you say you do?”
My fellow passengers and I were seated at a long table in the ship’s galley, eating supper. Aside from myself and the gambler were a dark-haired woman, a handful of Graigfolk, and a soldier I believe was formerly Sentry Elite. I never bothered to learn their names before they died, but the Graigfolk kept to themselves, and the woman said little, preferring to gaze at her navel, as did the ex-Sentry.
The gambler did much of the talking. Although he never said it, I suspected he was a man who’d accumulated a sizable debt and was fleeing to the east. He either despised silence, or he was looking to rope one of us into his schemes, because he’d been talking to everyone since we left port that morning.
And, lucky me, it was my turn to have my ear chewed off.
“What did you say you do?” he repeated.
“I didn’t,” I replied.
The soldier—an older fellow in his early fifties by the look of it—glared at me, but said nothing. I thought little of it and continued eating the mediocre stew the ship’s cook prepared for us.
“Well, what I’m saying is,” the gambler continued, “I know it can be rough in Seba. I was thinking, if you happened to be a fighter of sorts, we could work together..?”
“What would give you the impression I’m a fighter?”
“Meaning no offense,” he said, chuckling. “But them scars on your face tell me you’ve seen some action in your time.”
“Maybe I just had an unpleasant childhood.”
“What is it you hope to accomplish in Seba, Mr. Fitz?” asked the quiet woman, her voice like a mouse.
“If I’m lucky,” he said. “Big things. I tells yeh, Graylands is the place to escape all the old baggage and start fresh. And that’s just what I aim to do.”
“You really think you’re going to do that in Seba?” the soldier asked. “I’m sure you know what they say about that city.”
“That I do,” the gambler replied, a cocky smirk on his face. “You needn’t worry about me, old-timer. Seba is exactly the place a guy like me can make do.”
“Or get yourself killed.”
The soldier left on that comment, and the gambler’s bravado seemed to deflate. He muttered and grumbled under his breath, but thankfully chose to focus on his stew rather than continue jabbering.
“I just hope we make it across the sea,” said the quiet lady. “I overheard the Graigmen talking with the crew earlier. They say the sea is treacherous.”
“Aren’t all seas treacherous?” the gambler asked.
“Some more than others,” one of the Graigmen said, finishing his supper with a satisfied burp. “They say a monster haunts these waters.”
“Horseshit.”
“No, it’s true,” said the cook, digging at his nails with a small knife. “I say it’s a kraken, but some think it’s a creature of the Black, swum up from the Dread Sea. Leaves no survivors.”
He seemed cavalier about such a creature, and I wondered if perhaps he was merely trying to spook us. The quiet lady remained so, but looked distressed. The gambler frowned and tried not to let his fear show, but his skin paled and turned shiny. The Graigmen didn’t appear worried.
As much as I would’ve loved to hear further legends regarding the Spade Sea and its mysterious beasts, I used the opportunity to head up to the deck for a cigarette.
The sky was clear, allowing a vast sea of stars to shine upon our humble vessel. A bright moon shined from above and left a flickering reflection on the calm waters. Although the night air was cool, as would be expected on the open water, the end of winter was evident. The snows were melting, and the days were growing longer and brighter.
With spring on the way, I had chartered a ship called the Skinner off a port a few miles shy of Eaton that would take me across the Spade Sea—so named because it has the shape of an ace of spades. I thought I’d indulge a trip to eastern Graylands and see what the desert land might offer. It’s said a lot of holes are dug in the deserts near Seba and very few are for gold.
Color me intrigued.
“I know you.”
I turned to find the grizzled soldier had also come to the deck for a smoke. He puffed away on a wooden pipe and looked me up and down with piercing eyes that were bright even in the dark.
“I’ve heard of you,” he said.
“That so,” I replied. “And what have you heard?”
“I don’t know your name,” he said. “But I’ve heard some call you a mercenary. I’ve heard some call you a soldier. I’ve even heard some call you a hero.” He frowned and spit at my feet.
“You, sir, are a jackal.”
“I’m pretty sure there already is a guy who calls himself the Jackal,” I said. “Can I be a hyena instead?”
The soldier wasn’t amused
. He stepped closer, trying to intimidate me with his height. “You’re no warrior. You’re a mockery of good men.”
I smiled, but said nothing as he walked off and returned below deck. He would not be the first time I’d encountered someone with a vague awareness of what I am. But even with his grumbling, spitting, and calling me a jackal, he didn’t know what to make of me. Those misplaced righteous types always amuse me.
With a sigh, I finished my cigarette and flicked it overboard. It would take at least a week to sail across the Spade Sea, depending on the wind. Being stuck with these people wouldn’t bother me, but I suppose the prospect of Seba on the horizon sparked my eagerness.
My last project had been a month prior, and although quite satisfying, I could feel the Itch brewing. It wouldn’t be long before I would need a new playmate. But with a voyage ahead, it would be patience that needed to be exercised.
Or so I thought, at least.
Funny world we live in.
* * *
The second day of our voyage found our ship off course due to a thick fog and strong winds. The Captain assured us there was nothing to worry about, but the delay was inconvenient, I must say.
I noted some apprehension among my fellow passengers with talk of the mysterious kraken sparking up again. I paid little mind to these worries. Although getting swallowed by some giant sea-beast was not the way I would prefer to meet my end, I accepted there was little that could be done should it come to that.
That night, however, we of the Skinner indeed met the fabled “kraken,” though it was no monstrous squid or deformed beast from the Dark Lands. It was a pirate ship.
They attacked while everyone was eating supper. Having had no interest in another round of eating with those people, I remained on the deck to enjoy my solitude. The pleasant silence of night was broken by frantic bell-ringing from the lookout as the Kraken glided in from the fog like a plague.
It all happened too fast for the Skinner to mount any defense. Before all hands could even reach the deck, the Kraken’s crew was already aboard to meet them with swords and axes. Those of the Skinner that fought back were killed with ease—including the cook, no less—forcing the Captain and whoever remained to surrender.
The passengers, aside from one of the Graigfolk who was also killed, didn’t attempt resistance. Not even the old soldier could help, as he was dragged from his cabin before he realized the ship was under attack.
I could’ve done something, I suppose. Score a few quick kills, some casual bloodshed, and endure the gratitude of those I saved—amusing in its own way. But I wondered if a potential project could be found among these pirates, so I instead kept myself hidden and watched the whole sorry affair.
With the Skinner secured, the remaining crew and passengers were forced onto their knees in a line. The Kraken’s crew numbered eleven in total and was a collection of hardened men with scowling faces, dark eyes, and scarred flesh. Among their number was a low-level mage who was responsible for the fog and mist that preceded the attack, which I will admit was clever.
Climbing aboard from the pirate ship was a buxom young woman with curly blonde hair. I would later learn her name was Candi, and she was the First Mate of the Kraken. She sashayed in front of the prisoners, hands on her hips, like someone with new toys.
“How’s everyone doin’ tonight?” she said in a high-pitched, child-like voice. She giggled and leaned close to the quiet lady. “Aw, what’s the matter? Scared?” She flicked the quiet lady’s hair—causing her to flinch—and turned to the gambler with an exaggerated pout on her face. “Don’t you want to be our friends?”
She giggled again and skipped to the railing as the Kraken’s Captain emerged. He was a tall, thin man with long, greasy hair and a face like a vulture. At his belt, he wore a selection of knives and daggers, but in his hand, he held a spiked mace. His name was Styx, and he hopped aboard with a satisfied smirk.
Looking over the prisoners, he sighed and rubbed his forehead, as though he was a man of great intelligence surrounded by simpletons. “Aren’t these a sorry lot, eh?” he said. “They look like someone just shit in their stew, am I right?”
Candi and the other pirates laughed, though for the life of me, I cannot say what was so funny about Styx’s observation.
“Well, I’m awfully sorry folks,” Styx continued. “I surely am. But I’m afraid your regularly scheduled voyage has hit a snag.”
“Please,” said the Skinner’s Captain. “We don’t have much. Just take what you want and go.”
A crooked grin formed on Styx’s face, and he spared a glance at Candi, who puckered her lips at him. “You must be the Captain,” he said, pointing his mace at him. “Am I right? That would be you?”
“We won’t fight you. Take what you want and—”
He was cut off by Styx smashing his mace off the top of his head. There was a wet smack as the man’s skull caved in, and he collapsed to the deck twitching. The remaining crew of the Skinner and my fellow passengers let out gasps of horror and shock—which I’ve no doubt was the intended response.
“You know what they call this?” Styx said, waving his bloodied mace around. “Asserting dominance. One captain here, kids. You’re looking at him.”
The gambler gawked at the body, his mouth hanging open and flesh turning white. “Let me go,” he mumbled. “We … we can make a deal.”
“Shut-up!” Candi barked, stomping her foot.
“I know people in Seba. I can get—”
“I said be qui-et!” she shouted with the petulant whine of a toddler.
Drawing a knife, she snatched the gambler by his hair and slit his forehead. She didn’t quite scalp him, but had she pulled hard enough, she would have. The gambler squealed as blood gushed from his hairline.
“That’s what you get!” said Candi before turning to Styx. “These people are stinkers.”
“That they are, my dear,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, come on people! If you’re going to play this game, show me something substantial!”
Asserting dominance, I thought. Substantial. Fancy words for a pirate. Captain Styx has an education.
“Show me life!” he said, gesturing theatrically. “Show me originality! Don’t just sit there and roll over or plead!”
“They’re not going to do nothing, babe,” said Candi, flicking the quiet lady’s hair again. “Same poop we catch all the time.”
I watched this performance—which is exactly what it was—and was not impressed. The prisoners were already dead, whether they knew it or not. Styx and Candi were just putting on a show for their own amusement.
It was so forced—Styx with his grandstanding and Candi with her abusive child shtick. I think what displeased me most was their unearned self-satisfaction. How proud they were terrorizing a bunch cowering normals. Tedious.
“Alas,” Styx said. “An artist does not complain about his materials. He simply does.” He sighed and finished, “Bring them aboard, take the supplies, and torch the ship.”
“Coward!”
Most of the prisoners offered no resistance, but the soldier would have none of it. He threw down his assailant and snatched a sword from another’s belt. Styx watched this with some amusement.
“Fight me!” the old man barked. “Or do you only prefer helpless men and women who can’t defend themselves, you cur?”
“Well, well, well,” said Styx. “At least one of you seems interesting. What’s your endgame, pop? Kill me and … what..? You think my boys will just let you and everyone else go?”
It was a valid question, and I guess the soldier hadn’t thought that far ahead because he offered no answer. He instead charged at Styx with a roar. The Kraken’s pirates made a circle around them, cheering their leader on as he sidestepped the attack.
“So you think you’re a hero, old man?” said Styx, twirling his mace. “You think you’re going to save these people and put me down?”
The soldier charged again, but Styx slipped
past him with ease. Whatever else could be said about the Kraken’s Captain, he was fast.
“Because I got bad news, you sorry old bastard,” he said. “There is no happy ending in store for heroes. Not in this world. Not in this country.”
Styx held up his mace and made like he was going to fight. The soldier braced for the attack, but failed to see Candi behind him. She slid her knife into his back, and the old man’s face turned pallid.
“Not on my ship.”
He sank to his knees, and Styx greeted him with a running kick to the face. The ex-Sentry crumbled to the deck, his jaw a mangled mess of blood and broken teeth.
“Please!” the quiet lady cried. “Please, just stop! Why are you doing this?”
Styx and Candi laughed as if they were sharing a private joke. “I’d think that was obvious.”
“You,” said the quiet lady. “You people are monsters! You’re evil!”
This inspired another round of laughter. He handed the mace to Candi and knelt in front of the quiet lady. “Evil..?” he said, caressing her hair. “Such a strong word. Do we look like demons to you? Are we creatures of the Black? We’re just people getting by in this world we live in.”
The quiet lady’s face was a mask of confusion and repulsion. “How can you say that?” she asked. “How can you act like this?”
“It’s the proper order,” he said. “People like me … we have that extra something in us that enables us to thrive. It puts us on top. People like you, your old pal here … you’re on the bottom for us to use.”
The quiet lady said nothing, and honestly, what could she say to such twaddle?
“And this is what happens to the people on the bottom.”
He took a dagger from his belt and bent over the soldier. I couldn’t see what was done, but the old man screamed and squirmed beneath him. The quiet lady tried to look away, but Candi forced her to watch. The gambler turned a shade of green before throwing up. The crew of the Kraken let out a great cheer, and before long, the soldier went silent and still.
The Skinner was raided for supplies as its crew and passengers were locked away below deck of the Kraken. The ship was then burned as the pirates sailed off into the fog with their prizes. No one noticed me when