The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  A cacophony of images came to his mind in that instant. He saw Sebastian Clock reaching down from his tower to bite his head off. He pictured himself sleeping with Evelyn, only for her face to turn into the sorceress for a second before turning into Audra—who had a knife in her teeth and murderous fury in her eye. He imagined Arkady running around him in circles, ringing a bell and screaming to abort and flee.

  Snapping back to reality, he muttered, “Why don’t I get back to you on that, Evelyn?”

  She didn’t look disappointed or angry. With a pleasant smile, she said, “Of course. Hanselton, inform the driver we shall be dropping Mr. Leeroy off.”

  They let Krutch out in Mannix Square. Coming from the cool carriage into the hot, sunny day hit him like a punch to the face. He barely heard Evelyn bid him farewell with the promise they’ll speak again and watched the massive carriage roll off into the distance.

  Clock’s tower loomed behind him, and he felt like it was watching him.

  28

  Katrina and Scifer rented a room in a small inn around the corner from Mannix Square. He didn’t stay long, claiming he had some “lurking” to do—whatever that meant. Feeling hot and exhausted, she let him be.

  As tired as she was, though, she couldn’t sleep. Too much was on her mind, so she sat at the inn’s bar and decided to indulge a beer. Contrary to most of the dives she’d experienced throughout Graylands, the place was well kept and clean. It was dim and quiet, with a handful of other patrons sitting around.

  She was eager to be done with Seba as quickly as possible. A mere glance out the front window reminded her of that. Spending a night in Noel and walking through the streets that day told her much about how the classes worked in Seba. The wealthy enjoyed the best the city could offer, where the poor provided or rotted in the streets—and there was a massive gap in between.

  Once upon a time, the sight of such things fueled her drive to overthrow Tyrell and restore her home. Now …

  Not my problem, she thought. Not my responsibility. Just find Jagger and get out.

  She nursed her beer, resisting the temptation to get black-out drunk. She didn’t notice the other patrons behind her clear out of the bar or the bartender scurry into a back room. She also didn’t notice the man in the pink suit sit beside her.

  It was the smell of cigar smoke that alerted her to his presence. “Nice suit.”

  “Much obliged,” he said, looking at a pocket-watch. “Do you know who I am?”

  It was then she realized the bar was empty, save the armored figure armed with a spear lurking just outside the entrance. “Someone important, I gather.”

  “To put it mildly,” he said.

  “You’re not Jonathon Gash, are you..?”

  He chuckled. “Trust me, you’d know Gash if you saw him. I am Sebastian Clock.” He put the watch in his pocket and said, “You are Rien, no..?”

  Katrina took a sip of beer and supposed she should be more disturbed he knew who she was—especially after the mess with Rasul Kader. But she was too tired and had already experienced far too much to worry at the moment. She shrugged and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “You just arrived,” he added. “From the north..?”

  “Are you going to guess my birthday next?”

  “You were in Gain,” he said. “From what I understand, you played a significant part in what happened up there.”

  She cocked an eyebrow—more surprised by how not surprised she was. More important, she realized, was whoever this man in the pink suit was, that he already knew so much was evidence he was not one to be trifled with.

  “News travels fast,” she said.

  “One doesn’t get to my position without being on top of things,” he said. “Details, however, are scarce. May I ask what happened there?”

  “Dean Carmine had me kidnapped and thrown in his fighting pit,” she said. “I did not take that kindly.”

  “Ah, Carmine,” said Clock. “Damned fool did love his fighting pit.” He chuckled. “Pretty impressive. If what I’ve been hearing is accurate, you must have some talent for killing.”

  “I suppose I do,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice her shiver.

  “By trade..?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m a bounty hunter.”

  “Interesting,” he said. “I make a point to know as many assassins, hunters, and mercenaries in Graylands that I can. I don’t believe I ever heard of you.”

  “I prefer to remain anonymous,” she said. “It makes my job easier. If you haven’t heard of me, then I’ve been doing well.”

  He smiled, though it didn’t touch his eyes. He chuckled at her again, but it had no life in it. It felt like an act—as if he believed she was lying. But lying about what? Carmine, being a bounty hunter, or something else?

  “What brings you around these parts?” he asked. “On a job, I’m guessing.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Who?”

  “With all due respect,” she said. “I’ve only just arrived here, and I’d prefer to get my bearings before I play my hand.”

  Clock nodded and puffed on his cigar. Katrina felt uneasy. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or was offended by her withholding information or something else. She glanced around the bar and wondered if any other bodyguards were lurking in the shadows, waiting to spring if she made a wrong move.

  “Tell me, Rien,” he said. “Are you familiar with Krutch Leeroy?”

  “I know of him.”

  “He’s in this city, too,” he said. “Right now.”

  “Okay,” she said, not sure what he had to do with anything.

  “He’s planning something,” he said. “I don’t know what just yet, but Leeroy is a troublemaker. I have no doubt about that.”

  “I’ve heard that,” she said. “What does that have to do with me?”

  Clock looked her in the eye, and she caught a glimpse of the man hidden beneath the fancy suit and phony smile. It gave her a chill. Then the fake smile returned to his face.

  “We’ll see.” He rose from his seat and extended his hand to her. “I’ll be in touch, Rien. I just might have some work for someone with your talents.”

  He left the bar with his bodyguard, leaving Katrina to sit staring at her beer for some time. Her stomach churned, and she felt a terrible dread prickle in the back of her neck. She didn’t know who Clock was or what his intentions were, but if his goal was to throw her off balance, he succeeded.

  * * *

  “You’re treading on thin ice here, Mr. Leeroy.”

  After he was dropped off by Evelyn Clock, Krutch wandered to the nearest bar and ordered an ale. The first pint went down fast, and he ordered a refill. By the third beer he was feeling better, when Magistrate Elliot sat beside him at the bar. Gojhi Olgorn lingered nearby while Elliot ordered a pint for himself. The Magistrate was haggard and sweating.

  “Can I help you, Magistrate?”

  “Your reputation truly does not do you justice, Mr. Leeroy,” Elliot said, sipping from his ale. “I had you pegged as a wild man who would burn hard and fast, like a summer storm.” He let out a cackle void of joy. “That little skirmish you started the first night you arrived here for instance—I figured that was just par for the course for you.” He paused, and his face turned into an ugly grin. “I thought if you weren’t going to leave, you’d get yourself killed by Dune. But no. Turns out you’re much worse.”

  “Sorry..?”

  “You should be,” said Elliot. “I wonder if you appreciate the chaos you are bringing down upon this city. Or perhaps you do, and you get off on that sort of thing.”

  He looked around the tavern. He glanced out the window and saw Mannix Square, bustling with people coming and going as it had been for as long as he’d been in Seba. Although quite drunk, he was confident all he’d done since arriving is meet people and listen to them talk.

  “Have I missed something?”

  Elliot rem
oved his monocle and scowled, as if he was ready to start throwing punches. “I hoped you would leave after I paid you,” he said. “But clearly, that wasn’t good enough for the great Krutch Leeroy. Oh no, you—”

  Everyone in this city talks too much.

  Arkady had a point. They could take their time, build a foundation without rocking the boat, and set themselves up as a power. But he imagined having to put up with Clock and Evelyn and Elliot and all the others—dealing with their cryptic webs and secret schemes. He saw the months (or years) of dull lunches, fake smiles, and seedy dealings he’d have to endure, and he felt miserable.

  No, he thought. If he had a chance at taking down Clock now, he needed to grab it. Audra was right. He needed to be bold.

  “—and you haven’t the faintest idea what the consequences of your actions will be, do you, Mr. Leeroy?”

  Oh shit, was he talking this whole time?

  “Are you even listening?!”

  On impulse, he blurted out: “What’s going on in the Tombs?”

  Elliot hesitated and hissed. “That is none of your business.”

  “Okay,” he said, smirking. “So it’s important, but not so important Clock told you anything.”

  “Who do you think you..?!” The Magistrate stopped himself and tugged on the lapels of his jacket. “I should just have you arrested,” he said. He grumbled and wiped his monocle with a handkerchief. After glancing around, he lowered his voice and said, “If you must know: Mr. Clock is going to meet with Jonathon Gash in the Tombs this Friday at midnight.”

  Krutch blinked at him—surprised he just came out and said it. “Really..?” he said. “About what..?”

  “You, for all I know,” said Elliot. “I believe they meet in Building 237 on Ninth Street and D.” He sighed and drank from his ale. “I would tell you not to go,” he added. “But if you haven’t listened to me thus far, why start now?”

  Krutch was never much of a fast drinker, but having all he needed, he guzzled what remained of his pint—more than half—and with a loud burp, stumbled out of the tavern. He wasn’t foolish or drunk enough to believe Elliot’s reasons for dropping that information were in his best interest, but he didn’t care. He saw an opportunity and intended on capitalizing any way he could.

  Afternoon had turned to evening, and the air wasn’t as hot as it had been. He shambled and swayed across Mannix Square, muttering to himself incoherent words and phrases. With liquor, wine, and beers catching up to him on an empty stomach, he decided to head to the hotel and sleep.

  “Good evening, Mr. Leeroy,” said the Eldér, Tetra Serk.

  Krutch stared at her, blinking. “Which one do you work for again? I lost track.”

  “Jonathon Gash, Mr. Leeroy,” said Serk, rolling her eyes. “You appear intoxicated.”

  “Appearances,” he said, swaying, “are deceptive.”

  “Hm,” Serk murmured. “Master Gash wants to speak with you.”

  “Of course he does. I’m a popular guy.”

  He was led to another carriage where Gash was waiting. It might have been around the corner or the other side of Seba—the walk was a blur. The drinks had taken a firm hold and weren’t letting go anytime soon.

  The carriage wasn’t as lavish as Evelyn’s, but still pretty nice. Inside, Gash sat in a massive armchair that looked like it could swallow him.

  “Drink, Mr. Leeroy?”

  Before Serk could advise against it, he said, “Yes.”

  “What are you having?”

  He stuck out his tongue and said, “What are you serving?”

  Gash smiled and nodded at Serk. “I admire a man who can drink hard.”

  Krutch was handed a glass—filled with ice and smelling sweet, though it wasn’t wine. He was tempted to give Serk a dirty look, but upon tasting it, he found it was strong enough and tasted good.

  “I wonder,” said Gash. “Does Sebastian Clock know you were speaking to his wife earlier?”

  “But I just …” He paused, hiccupping. “What time is it?”

  “Curious. What did she want?”

  “Same thing everyone wants, apparently.”

  Gash nodded and didn’t press the matter. “So, how was your latest meeting with the good Mr. Clock?”

  “He said he’d rather work with me than against me.”

  “Surely you don’t believe that.”

  Krutch began to say, “I don’t know,” but it trailed off into a slurred mumble.

  “Did he mention me?” Gash continued.

  “No,” he said, even though he didn’t remember.

  “No..?”

  “No.”

  “Interesting,” Gash said, glancing at Serk. He folded his hands beneath his chin, looking contemplative—or at least as contemplative as his fake looking face could manage.

  Krutch said nothing, sipping his drink—which was going down faster, in spite of the ice.

  “I suppose it really comes down to what I believe you are hoping to achieve,” Gash said. “But that, in itself, is problematic. To be frank, Mr. Leeroy, you are something of an enigma.”

  Krutch swayed in his seat, feeling like he wanted to fall asleep.

  “I applaud you for that,” he continued. “You’ve managed to put yourself in a position where everyone needs something from you, yet cannot predict your moves. I might be wrong, but I’m willing to wager in the end it’ll come down to who can outbid the other. And in that, Mr. Leeroy, I think I have the advantage.”

  “Think so..?” he asked, not really caring.

  Gash smiled. “I’ll admit, Clock has me in money and immediate power. But he doesn’t like to share. To put it simply, Clock is the short-term prize. I, on the other hand, am the long-term investment.”

  I think these people should just kiss and get it over with.

  “Are you familiar with Roderick Bane?”

  “Name rings a bell,” said Krutch.

  “I’m sure I needn’t tell you he was perhaps the most powerful dark sorcerer of his time. It was said, before he died, he transferred a significant portion of his power into a black gauntlet he would often wear.”

  “Why?”

  Gash frowned. “What do you mean why?”

  “So, what, Bane put some of his power in this gauntlet just for shits?”

  “I don’t know why he did it,” Gash said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe he thought it could be used to resurrect him. Maybe he wanted some of his power to live on after his death. It doesn’t matter. The point is whoever possesses the Gauntlet has the potential to harness the power of one of the greatest dark mages of our age.”

  Krutch finished his drink in a final gulp. He was tempted to tell Gash playing with magical artifacts was a sure way to guarantee a messy end. Pretty sure that’s how I wound up getting blown up by a dragon.

  “The Gauntlet’s location was discovered not long ago,” Gash continued. “And it just so happens, I have connections with the one who found it. I’ve been arranging to have it delivered to me.”

  “And you think this thing will help you overthrow Clock, is that it?”

  “There’s more to it than that, but ultimately, yes, that is among the goals.”

  “Right-o,” said Krutch, going for another sip and forgetting he already finished. “So what do you need me for?”

  “It seems there was a slight …” He hesitated, looking for the word he wanted. “Foul up with the delivery of the Gauntlet. The exchange was to take place up north, but something went wrong. Apparently a troll was involved—the details are irrelevant. What matters is the Gauntlet is missing.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I have—er—had an associate in Gain, who was acting as courier. You know there was an incident there. And that has, ahem, complicated matters.”

  Krutch sneered, wishing he’d get to the point.

  “Vincent Dune has already been sent to investigate what happened. While that might not mean much to you, I know it means Clock suspects something. It will only be a matt
er of time before he learns of the Gauntlet.”

  “Uh-huh,” he repeated, barely paying attention (or staying conscious).

  Gash leaned forward, his voice turning grave. “Find the Gauntlet before Dune does.”

  Silence came over the carriage. It lingered as Gash stared at him, and he stared into space. It took a few moments for him to realize Gash was waiting for a response. “Oh!” he said, snapping out of it. “That it? Find the thing before the other guy?”

  “Well,” Gash said, leaning back in his chair. “You make it sound so simple …”

  “I’ll do it,” said Krutch, his voice slurred and louder than he realized. “I don’t even give a shit. I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Leeroy. Once we have the Gauntlet, I’ll make use of my connections in the west and—”

  “I got all numbers,” he interrupted.

  Gash hesitated, not understanding what that was supposed to mean. “Very well, erm,” he said. “Tetra, inform the driver we’ll be dropping Mr. Leeroy off. Good day, sir.”

  Krutch waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and crunched his face. The carriage came to a stop, and he attempted to stand, but fell back into his seat. He let out a loud chuckle and stuck his tongue out.

  * * *

  “Boss..? Hey, boss!”

  “Lee..?”

  The voices came in waves, drifting through the inky blackness of unconsciousness. Krutch vaguely remembered stepping out of Gash’s carriage, stumbling somewhere, and the floor rushing up to greet him.

  “Lee,” said one of the voices again. “Um … are you awake..?”

  Krutch peeled his eyes open and couldn’t see anything. He was in a room, but everything was a blur of reds, whites, and gold. His stomach was tumbling, and his mouth felt dry. His head pounded, and he couldn’t see straight. There was a terrible, metallic taste in his mouth, as though he’d been sucking on a coin.

  He mumbled something incoherent and managed to sit up. His eyes were puffy, and he could barely see. His balance was off, and he almost fell over. It took a moment, but he realized he was lying on a soft carpet.