The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  And then one day, years from now—when Tooney was older, fatter, and the grief of his dead children was, perhaps not gone, but tolerable—the Jackal saw himself walking in, greeting him with a hearty smile, and finishing what he started.

  He reached over the bar and snatched the girl by the hair. Tooney, his face red and eyes bulging, tried to attack—though “attack” would be a generous description. Rather, he hurled his thick arms at the Jackal, only to be slapped away. The fat man fell to the floor in a comical fashion—comical to the Jackal anyway—and witnessed his daughter’s heart clawed out.

  The Jackal watched the fat man splayed the floor, bawling like an overgrown infant. It was a hilarious sight, and it made him laugh. Laugh longer than perhaps he should have. The fat man was asking why.

  He imagined leaving Tooney and returning someday years from now. Yes, that would be very funny. But just as quickly as the thought appeared, he got sick of Tooney’s whining. With a hiss, he tore into the fat man, leaving a butchered pile of meat on the floor for the rats.

  Grabbing a bottle of liquor, he sheathed his claws and hopped over the bar. He sat there for some time, thinking of Tooney’s question. Why?

  Why?

  Why indeed. Did the Jackal even know anymore? He wasn’t sure.

  He stared at his scarred face in the bar’s mirror and asked himself the question. Slurping a shot of liquor, he offered the only answer he could think of:

  “Because no one is stopping me.”

  He slammed the bottle on the floor and left the Roadside Inn. He had business elsewhere—in the north.

  He would reach Aster by nightfall.

  Part IV

  Quicksand

  38

  The name on the sign read, Huffine Inn.

  It was another stifling and unwelcoming day in Seba. The dog days of summer were on the horizon, and it seemed as though the entire plateau was cooking in the desert sun. Between the heat, the hood he was wearing, and the sense of certain doom, Krutch Leeroy was sweating profusely.

  Things had been quiet while he, Audra, and Arkady laid low in Frank. Although he heard the Goblins were acting nastier than ever, none found him. No assassins appeared at the Ugly Pig looking to cut his head off on the orders of Sebastian Clock or Jonathon Gash. Aside from Evelyn Clock’s note, not even a messenger.

  As the days passed, Krutch wondered if that meant he was in the clear or that a sword was hanging over his head. He changed his mind about accepting Evelyn’s invitation back and forth a dozen times before the day finally came. Even with Audra’s assurance it would pay off, he felt little confidence.

  After making a stop at Arkady’s loft on Fink Street—since no one trusted leaving the gold in Frank—they found the Huffine Inn just outside Roller’s Place, a few blocks shy of Mannix Square. As the note suggested, the streets weren’t as packed as usual. The crowds were gathered around Malison Coliseum to watch the fights, but the relative lack of people somehow made Krutch more paranoid.

  Audra and Arkady hid in a nearby alley to mind the horses. They agreed to keep an eye on the outside in case of trouble—although, if the trouble was inside waiting for him, there wouldn’t be a damn thing they could do about it.

  He looked at the Huffine Inn and stretched his hand. His scars felt stiff. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

  “We’re here with the horses,” said Audra. “We’ll be waiting when you’re finished.”

  “We got your back if shit goes sour,” said Arkady.

  Audra hugged him and gave a kiss on the cheek. “You can do this,” she whispered. “You know what to do. Show them who Krutch Leeroy really is.”

  Despite only being a ten foot walk, approaching the inn felt like the longest journey Krutch had ever taken in his life. With every step, he expected something to strike him dead on the spot. He glanced over his shoulder and realized why. Just over the buildings, he could see the top of Clock’s tower.

  Yep … still watching me.

  Hanselton met him in the lobby and led him to the apartment Evelyn rented. No assassins or ambushes. No trap doors dropping him to his doom. They climbed the stairs and reached her room without incident. So far, so good, he thought—although that still left the question of what he hoped to accomplish.

  The Huffine Inn was smaller than Treehorn Plaza, but that didn’t stop Evelyn from getting the nicest room available. The floors were polished wood, and the walls were painted a warm shade of red.

  He found her on the velvet sofa, wearing a purple dress and drinking a glass of wine. Her golden hair was draped over her shoulders, and her legs were crossed to allow a clear view of her thighs.

  She greeted him with a cat-like smile and said, “I’m pleased you accepted my invitation.”

  Hanselton clicked his heels and left them alone. Krutch remained standing and could smell her perfume from across the room. Her jewelry glittered in the afternoon light, and between her hair and tanned skin, she looked like she was glowing.

  “Would you care for a drink?” she asked.

  “No, I think I’ve done enough drinking,” he said. “Listen, erm, Evelyn, I …” He trailed off, having no idea what to say.

  “I assume you’re concerned about my husband,” she said. “And that mess in the Tombs.”

  “Pretty much,” he said. “Should I be worried about … anything..?”

  “I cannot make any promises,” she said. “But if my husband wanted you dead, you’d know it. He tends not to dawdle with that sort of business.”

  “Gee, that’s a relief,” he said, sitting on the sofa. “So he’s not pissed at me about the Tombs?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Okay,” he said, though he felt little comfort. He supposed he should be relieved to learn he hadn’t burned his bridges with Clock, but the prospect of keeping the game going had lost its luster.

  “You shouldn’t worry so much about my husband,” Evelyn said, inching closer to him. “He presents a formidable exterior, but if you know the way, you can wrap him around your finger.”

  “Right,” he said, not paying attention. He replayed that night in the Tombs in his head. Not just finding the Goblins, but witnessing the chaos and fighting that followed. A single question kept recurring: Why am I here?

  Evelyn shifted closer, caressing his neck. “You just have to take the necessary step,” she said. “You have to do what he can’t. What he won’t.”

  Her perfume was overwhelming. He looked at her, and though it was difficult to tell due to her make-up, he noticed the healing cut on her lip and faded bruise near her eye. “Did someone hit you?”

  A smile flickered on her face, and she placed her wineglass down on the table. “You’re not at all what I expected, Mr. Leeroy. You’re not like Sebastian or that wretch Gash.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair. He remembered Audra insisting he would know what to do.

  “I know you were at the Tombs,” she whispered. “I know you were watching. You know what he did. Sebastian fears you. He knows if anyone can take this city from him, it’s you.”

  “Evelyn, I honestly doubt that.”

  “I know you started that fire,” she continued, pressing herself against him. “You had that woman burn Gain and try to kill Gash. I don’t know what you’re planning, but let me help you.”

  “Whoa,” he said, inching away from her. “Okay, um, I think maybe you—”

  She kissed him. More than kiss—she jammed her tongue down his throat.

  “We want the same thing,” she said, cupping his crotch. “Let me help you, and we can get rid of my husband and Gash and every other scumbag in our way. We can burn this damned shit-hole to the ground. Let me join you. You could go far. We could go far.”

  She kissed him again and practically pinned him down. She whispered encouragement in his ear, claiming she would help him get her husband out in the open. She claimed to know things—secrets he could use. She had connections her husband didn’t know about, and
with her help, Krutch could take Clock’s place as the top man. From there, he could wipe out Gash and Dune and Elliot …

  It reminded him of the sorceress calling him a great conqueror who would be feared all over the world. He thought of Audra and the things she’d been saying since they got to Seba.

  You’re Krutch Leeroy … You know what to do … Show them who Krutch Leeroy really is … It means whatever you want it to mean …

  “I’m not that guy.”

  He thought of the storehouse in the Tombs—all those weapons and Goblins and the fire and screaming. He thought of Dune and his Wraiths butchering people in the street. Gash and the slaves he sold. He wondered how many countless men and women died for them to gain power and how many more died for them to keep it.

  Sebastian Clock and Jonathon Gash were cruel men who commanded other cruel men. Krutch wasn’t that guy, and he never would be—no matter how much Audra or Evelyn Clock might whisper in his ear and stroke his ego. He was in a city full of dangerous people who were all much smarter and far more ruthless than him.

  He could be anything he wanted to be, but he would never be that.

  “Nope!” he said, slipping free of her. “Nope, nope, nope! This isn’t happening! I’m done!”

  Evelyn stared at him, her mouth hanging open in shock. He guessed, from the look on her face, she’d never been rejected in her life. He took advantage of her stupefied state and fled the room before she could get angry and attempt to murder him.

  Once outside, Krutch ran across the street and hopped on his horse without saying a word to Audra or Arkady. He’d made enough enemies for the time being.

  It was time to leave Seba behind.

  * * *

  Although similar in architecture, unlike the tower in Mannix Square, Katrina felt no chills or unease around Malison Coliseum. It seemed right at home in the sweltering heat, and the mass of people gathered gave her the impression of flesh-eating ants scurrying around a harsh stone in the middle of the desert.

  Even with the sunglasses she bought, she had to squint in the afternoon glare. Her mouth was dry, and it was difficult to breathe with so many people packed together—not to mention the cigarette Scifer was smoking behind her. The fights had garnered a massive crowd, and even though she had a hefty price on her head, Katrina was confident no one would pick her out among the spectators.

  After the Tombs, she—not unlike Krutch—decided to lay low. According to Scifer, Jonathon Gash was sealed in his mansion under heavy guard. He also put a price on her head, but luckily for her, all he had to go on was a woman with black hair and white streak armed with a black-bladed sabre. Scifer claimed he didn’t even have a name, which she found noteworthy as it meant Clock hadn’t told him.

  “Probably because he doesn’t care whether you kill Gash or not,” Scifer had said.

  So Katrina remained in her rented room, letting her wounds heal until the fights. Left by herself, she pondered what her next move would be should the Last Vigorian turn out to be Jagger. Her gamble attacking Gash backfired, so she would have to find a way of getting around him.

  As she thought, a question came to her—one she’d been too occupied to consider. If the Last Vigorian was Jagger, why didn’t he ever escape? She remembered the mediocre fighters, weak security, and inept management of Carmine’s pit. Surely he could’ve gotten out of Carmine’s clutches like she did. They even said he was too good and that was why he was moved to Seba. How did he not escape?

  Maybe he didn’t want to, she thought with a chill.

  She pictured him leaving the remains of their people near Lester and drifting south—making his way to a city of criminals and cutthroats. She imagined him getting taken by slave traffickers and being forced into fighting pits … and welcoming it.

  Since Vigor’s fall, she experienced terrible lows. She imagined Jagger—always so confident, carefree, and devil-may-care—the boy with a cocky smirk on his face that she loved, reduced to a broken man allowing himself to become a gladiator slave, hoping every fight might be his last. Or worse—maybe he developed a taste for blood and death?

  The image of the Enforcer came to her, and Katrina convulsed.

  By the day of the fights, she was recovered enough to move. She tied her hair back with the white streak hidden. She left her sabre in the room and kept close to large crowds.

  Her stomach churned as she entered the arena. Today was the day—if Jagger was the Last Vigorian, she was about to find out.

  * * *

  With so many people at the fights, Krutch felt even more exposed. He rode along the edge of Roller’s Place, feeling like a target was on his back, and kept his eyes locked forward. He expected Wraiths or Goblins to appear from the shadows. His skin crawled with certainty Sebastian Clock was watching and would, at any moment, strike him dead from the top of his tower.

  The horse trotted along at a brisk pace, clopping on the cobblestone streets like he was on a joy-ride. Despite his lack of riding experience, Krutch was tempted to push the animal harder.

  “Boss!” Arkady called, catching up to him. “How did it go?”

  “Lee!” said Audra, riding at his other side. “What happened?”

  He said nothing, keeping his eyes forward. He would not feel relaxed until he was on a ship going anywhere else.

  “You all right..?” Arkady asked. “You look sick.”

  He slowed his horse, but didn’t stop. He glanced at Arkady, then Audra, and said, “We’re done. I’m done. Let’s get our stuff from your loft and get out of Seba.”

  “Damn, boss. What did you do?”

  Audra smiled and caressed his cheek. “What he needed to,” she said. “This was the right move, Lee. Now they’ll know.”

  He looked at her, confused. “What..?”

  “What happened back there?” Arkady asked. “What did the wife want?”

  “Pretty much what I thought,” he said. “She wants me to overthrow her husband, and she tried to bang me.” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know about you two, but I’ve had my fill. I say we ditch town.”

  “Whether we stay or not,” Audra said. “We should keep a low profile a while longer. But I think Clock will get the message.”

  “What message? If anything, she’s probably pissed at me now and going to tell him to—”

  “Wait, wait,” Audra interrupted. “You mean you didn’t..?”

  “No! Why would I?!”

  Her eyes flared, and her mouth turned into a threatening grimace. Her shoulders hunched up, fists clenched, and she sucked in her breath with a hiss. She looked and sounded like she would let rip a horrible bellow of fury.

  Completely taken aback, Krutch felt compelled to apologize, as if she’d burst into flames and he just wanted to put her out.

  “Lee!” she said through gritted teeth, although he couldn’t tell if she was angry or horrified. “You were supposed to..!” She stopped herself and pressed her hands against the sides of her head.

  He glanced at Arkady, and he seemed equally confused. “Audra..?”

  “It’s okay,” she muttered, not looking at him. “Okay, I get it. I can handle this.”

  “Audra,” said Krutch. “What are..?”

  “I got this!” she said with a cheerful smile. “Don’t you worry, Mr. L! I’ll fix this! Wait for me on Fink Street, okay?”

  She gave him a quick kiss, turned her horse around, and rode off.

  Caught off guard, Krutch yanked the reins and tried to call her back. His horse whined and stood on its hind legs, making him lose his balance and fall to the ground. There was a quick patch of darkness before his vision cleared. His horse trotted off without him, and Audra was gone.

  Rubbing his head, he looked at Arkady, and from the look on his comrade’s face, he wasn’t the only one feeling lost. “What the hell just happened?”

  “I have no idea, boss,” said Arkady. “To be frank, I think your dame is a little cracked.”

  “What makes you say that..?
”

  “Look,” he said, dismounting his horse and helping him to his feet. “I didn’t want to say anything because she’s your woman and all, but … for starters, I don’t buy she’s a runaway farm-girl.”

  “Why not?”

  “She talks too fancy,” he said. “Every so often, she drops these big words. What was that stuff she said about Clock..? Pretonious..? Sanctentious..?”

  Krutch hadn’t noticed the way Audra spoke. Education was an erratic thing around the world. His mother had been a teacher and encouraged him to read, so he never paid attention to anyone’s vocabulary. But thinking about it, he recalled some things Audra had said …

  Alliteration is a poor choice for an alias.

  He had this … I don’t know. Epiphany..?

  To take this untamed land, subjugate it, and turn it into something clean.

  “I mean,” Arkady continued. “I got some schooling. I can read and write a little, but I’m no learned man. No way some farm-girl out of Melba talks like that.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I’ve seen broads who latch onto pirates and outlaws. She keeps talking about making bold moves and sending messages. I don’t know—from my experience, those types have issues. The kind that can bite a guy in the ass if he’s not careful.”

  Krutch shook his head and wondered if Arkady had a point. Audra did get a little too excited by the prospect of pirating, and she never did explain how she wound up paired with Eren Lucas.

  Feeling a lump and headache form from the fall, he sighed and asked, “What should we do?”

  “We gotta get our stuff from my loft anyway,” said Arkady. “We could wait for her, but I think you made the right call. Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I think we—”

  Two massive, but well-dressed men appeared from a nearby alley and snatched Krutch and dragged him away. He had a moment to see Arkady look confused before reality hit him. He didn’t even struggle. He only went stiff as a board, convinced this was how he was going to die.