“Right,” his voice trailed, but then he repeated what he’d said one more time a little more forcefully. “Right. Right. Okay. I can do that. And this gem is going to get me the fastest ship on the high seas.”
“Ah, well,” she said with hesitation. “Your share will get you a ship. Or part of one. It all depends on what we can get for it. But you know, there’s probably plenty of other treasure where we’re going. We could come back with enough gold for a king’s ransom if we do it right.”
Ethan perked, liking the sounds of that. However, reality blunted his dreams right after. “If this place is so loaded, why haven’t people taken it all already?”
“First off, I presume others are trying, or will again shortly, which is why we need to hurry,” Zoey replied. “Second, the fortress itself wasn’t loaded with anything until Lord William Belmont recently decided to make it his home. So there hasn’t been a lot of time for people to learn about it, let alone raid it.”
“Hang on a second,” Ethan said, holding up a hand. “You never said we were stealing from a noble.”
“He’s more of a lich than a noble,” she said. “The lord part is a self-appointed title from what I’ve gathered.”
“Now he’s a lich?”
Zoey nodded. “I take it you know what that is?”
“An insanely powerful undead wizard?”
Zoey nodded again. “Pretty much. But don’t worry. I don’t plan on fighting him or his hordes of undead minions. There are some old tunnels that he doesn’t know about we can use. All you have to do is help me slip inside, and I’ll steal the gem, and we’ll both be set.”
“This is insane,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “There’s no way it’s that easy.”
“Honestly, it’s not.”
“I figured that. Details.”
“Lord Belmont loves finding trespassers,” she said. “He sets up all sorts of traps to capture them, and when he does…”
“Let me guess, he tortures and kills them.”
Zoey laughed and shook her head. “No, he’s a lich, remember? He turns them into undead servants. Last I checked, over the past month or so, those servants have tripled in size.”
Ethan’s shoulders fell. “Please tell me you’ve got a plan that will let us not end up like the others.”
“I’m putting together a raiding party that will get the job done, yes,” she said.
Despite her affirmation, Ethan looking at her warily. “By raiding party, do you mean a massive army that can storm any citadel?”
“Not exactly.”
“Powerful guild with a vault overflowing with enchanted items?”
“Afraid not.”
“A full company of veteran wyrm slayers? Temple full of ninjas? An orbiting battlecruiser that’s locked on and ready to bombard our foe with the fury of a thousand suns?”
Zoey pressed her two forefingers together as her lips tightened. “Let’s just say adding you has significantly increased our ranks after some minor setbacks.”
“How significant are we talking?”
“Well, you might have doubled the numbers I was fielding as of this morning.”
“Doubled! It’s only you? You said you were putting together a raiding party!”
“I did! And I am!”
“Then when and where are we getting everyone else?”
Zoey tried to stay upbeat, but her body deflated, and she shook her head. “Okay, I should be upfront,” she said. “You deserve that. My reputation around here isn’t too hot, which is going to complicate things when it comes to getting help.”
“What do you mean?”
“My previous party was the last formal group to go in,” she said. “I’m the only one who made it out—penniless, but alive, obviously. No one is going to join us with me as a failed party leader, especially when there’s a high risk of being turned into a skeleton, zombie, or ghoul.”
“I could be the party leader,” Ethan said, thinking the answer obvious. “Then we could get a lot more help.”
Zoey cracked a half grin. “You can barely lead a group to scrape barnacles off a rowboat. No one is joining with you at the helm.”
“Are you saying it’s going to be the two of us, no matter what?”
“Most likely.”
“Going into certain death. Or eternal, undead servitude.”
“Possibly, but it’s not a certainty,” she said. “Look, we both need that gem, and we can make it work.”
“Why do you need it?”
“I need my reputation back,” she said. “And honestly, the crowns from the sale will go a long way to lifting my spirits.”
“There has to be a better way to get money for a ship,” Ethan replied.
“In less than two weeks? I seriously doubt it,” Zoey said. “I know this sounds scary, and it is, but don’t forget, I’m going to be doing this with you. If I didn’t think we could pull it off, even with you being here less than a day, I wouldn’t push it at all. Do you honestly think I want to get caught and turned into an undead minion?”
“No, I don’t think you’d want that at all,” he said. He then went back to drumming his fingers on his side. He hated every bit of this plan, and he had no idea how they’d pull this off, but at the same time, he felt like the payoff if they succeeded was more than enough to at least explore the risk.
“Okay, I’m tentatively in,” he said. “What’s our first step?”
“First, we get your gear and check out your character sheet,” she said. “Then we’ll have a better idea of what we’re working with when it comes to your skills. After that, we need to head to a town called Weynock. There, we can pay for a ferry to take us to the southern side of the island, provided there’s one available sporting at least a dozen eighteen-pounders.”
“Eighteen-pounders?”
“Cannons,” she explained. “Ships that don’t have big enough guns tend to wind up as snacks for Myriden.”
Ethan cringed as he had flashbacks to his intro to this world. “I’d rather avoid him again if I could.”
“We will. Don’t worry,” she said. “Anyway, let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Great. How do we do that?”
Zoey motioned toward a small wooden chest tucked in the corner. “That’s where all your stuff will be,” she said. “It won’t be much, but it’ll be something. Also, it’ll be based on whatever your answers were with Madam Nataliya. So good god, I hope you answered well and didn’t get stuck with a shepherd hook like the last guy.”
“Me too,” he said, thinking it best not to ask what had happened to whoever she’d come across last. Probably retired to a nice estate in a coastal town after finding a lost idol inside a forgotten, goblin-filled dungeon and was now sipping mead while watching the sailboats come and go. Yeah, that was it. Definitely.
With that, Ethan walked over to the chest and opened it. Inside he found a bound scroll along with a leather cuirass that would be lucky to stop a butter knife. There were also two vials containing red liquid, a coin purse the size of his palm, a small backpack, and a worn cutlass that looked duller than a five-volume series on the historical significance of table lint. Despite being greeted with such items, all Ethan could do was chuckle and shrug. “Guess as a starting character I can’t expect much more than this, huh?”
“Nope,” she said, taking to her feet. “Get your stuff, so we can go.”
Ethan grabbed the sword.
You have taken the cutlass.
“What?”
“What, what?” Zoey said, tilting her head.
“You said I picked up the cutlass,” he said.
Zoey stifled a laugh and then recomposed herself. “Sorry, forgot to mention that. That’s Narrator. You’ll notice him from time to time.”
“Narrator?”
“Well, I don’t know what else to call it, but yeah,” she said. “He tells you what your character is doing. I guess you could call it a console but more for your mind? Anyway, I like ca
lling it Narrator more. Feels more likeable, you know?”
“Ugh. Why do I have the feeling this is going to get incredibly annoying, incredibly fast?” Ethan said as he took the rest of the items from the chest. When he did, the voice inside his head sounded four more times:
You have picked up the leather cuirass.
You have picked up two vials of red liquid.
You have picked up the coin purse.
You have picked up the backpack.
When his face soured, Zoey laughed. “Don’t worry. You can learn to tune him out if you want. But if you want some extra fun, try taking the mirror in the corner.”
Ethan eyed it suspiciously. “Why?
“Just do it. You’ll see.”
“If this turns me into a frog, I’m jumping in your hand and peeing all over you.”
“Not if I step on you first.”
“Rude.”
“Says the one trying to pee on me,” Zoey said. “Now, take the stupid mirror already.”
Ethan shrugged and reached for the mirror, vowing to out hop any stomps she might send his way. But as he went to take it, he pulled back as a thought struck him.
You don’t feel the need to take that right now.
“Say what?” he said, straightening. “The hell I don’t.”
Ethan tried again. And again, he pulled back.
You don’t feel the need to take that right now.
Ethan sighed and shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m a total puppet to this narrator?”
“No, but he will get in the way from time to time, sorry. Game limitations, I guess. I told you, sometimes this place is like an old-school RPG. As a word of advice, when that happens, all you can do is roll with it.”
Ethan grumbled. “As if I have much of a choice.”
“Exactly,” she said. “How are your stats?”
Ethan opened the scroll and immediately wished he hadn’t. There was a lot of writing on it, the flowery kind that looked nice but made it hard to read. “I know cal…cali…califly…”
“Calligraphy?” she offered.
“Yeah, that,” he said. “I know it’s supposed to be fancy and make things all pretty, but for the record, I’m not a fan of it.”
“Why’s that?”
“I like things simple,” he said with a shrug. His eyes scanned the parchment. “What are these stats out of? Nine? Ten?”
“Twenty.”
“Aw, man,” Ethan said. “I was hoping to have giant strength.”
Zoey grinned. “Yeah, don’t we all wish for that. Now then, what do you have?”
“Strength, twelve. Reflex, eleven,” he said, reading. “Charisma, fourteen—told you I was cute.”
“No, you tried to hit on me the first chance you could and failed miserably,” she said. “You’re not that cute.”
“I try to date up, what can I say?” Ethan said, unapologetically shrugging his shoulders. Zoey drew back the corner of her mouth in genuine amusement, and Ethan mentally gave himself one point before continuing with his reading of the stats. “Let’s see what else I have,” he said. “A big fat fifteen on the intelligence, yeah, baby. Oh! Oh! And super lucky. I have eighteen points of that.”
Zoey raised an eyebrow as surprise splashed across her face. “You’ve got two high stats?”
“I guess. Why?”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure I can read,” Ethan said, looking it over again.
“Maybe.”
Ethan cocked his head as her voice trailed. “Maybe?”
“Keep going,” she said. “Maybe something else will make sense of it all.”
Ethan shrugged and did as she asked, but most of the rest went right over his head. Most, that is, except for a couple of lines on the right. “Says my class is Gambler.”
Zoey sucked in a breath and bit her lip. “That could be handy. Maybe. Or completely disastrous, to be honest. What starting skills did you end up with? That’s going to tell us what you can and can’t do more than anything.”
“Where are they?” he asked. “Ah, never mind. At the bottom. Give me a second. Skills: pistol, novice; swordplay, novice; cooking, novice; gambling, proficient; sailing, novice; swimming, competent; sleight of hand, competent; Hobby: card tricks, competent.”
“Typical group. Just so you know, any skill you’re not at least novice at, you take severe penalties for when trying to use.”
A thought popped into his head, and Ethan scanned his sheet, hoping to find the answer. “Where are my hit points?” he asked once he gave up searching. “I have those, right? All it says is ‘healthy.’”
“A lot of damage and health is under the hood, so to speak,” she said. She then went on to explain, using her fingers to illustrate each point. “Aside from being healthy, you can be lightly, moderately, seriously, critically, and gravely wounded. After that, you’re dead.”
“Simple enough.”
“Only in what Narrator and your sheet tells,” she said. “Like I said, there’s a lot under the hood. We can talk about the details later. What about your other traits?”
“Traits…traits…traits, ah. Traits,” he said, running his finger down the sheet. “Sweet. I’m exceptional.”
Zoey’s face soured. “Ugh.”
“What? Don’t be jealous.”
“Believe me. I’m not,” she said with a snort. “That’s not a good thing.”
Ethan shook his head. “I don’t see how it isn’t.”
“It’s covering up for a negative trait. Or two. Or three. You think you’re awesome, but you’re not, even if you did get a slight bonus to other base stats.”
“Or maybe you’re jealous.”
Zoey folded her arms over her chest. “And what would that get me?”
“I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t.”
Zoey shook her head and sighed. “Look, you’re going to have to trust me on this. You could be anything from harebrained to overconfident.”
“I doubt I’m the latter, but the former seems pretty good,” Ethan said. “You know, probably a good thing to think quick like a rabbit.”
“It means you’re rash and foolhardy.”
“Oh,” Ethan said, slumping. “Are you sure?”
“Quite, and I’m starting to think your INT isn’t near fifteen at all.”
Ethan frowned before he glanced at his character sheet once more, specifically his primary stats. “Well, according to this, I’m not as dumb as a box of rocks. So maybe this negative trait of mine is something else, like adorably forgetful.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Could be.”
“It’s not.”
“First time for everything, you know.”
Zoey furrowed her brow. “You’re quickly sailing into mildly annoying.”
“Sorry,” Ethan said with a sheepish grin. “We’ll figure it out. I can always fix it later, though, right?”
“Yeah, you can,” she said, visibly relaxing a little. “It’s not easy to buff out a negative trait, but it can be done with a lot of work once you know what it is.”
Ethan grinned. “Perfect. We’ll do that, then. What say we get moving?”
“I say that’s a pretty good idea. We’ve spent enough time here as it is.”
Chapter Ten
Maii
The two had been on the road for nearly an hour, traveling down a wide dirt path through a forest lightly populated by pines and the occasional scrub. The terrain was a little hilly, and the path they were on at times was broken and rocky, but the track wasn’t anything Ethan couldn’t handle, even if the most he usually hiked was from the far side of the parking lot to his front door when all the spaces were taken.
Since they had left Ethan’s shack, he’d been practicing swinging his cutlass. It felt as normal as any other sword as he swung, not that he was a master dueler back home by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, the last sword he’d ever used was a little wood
en one he’d gotten at the medieval fair when he was seven. Its expert forging had lasted precisely three blows against the neighbor’s bush before the blade snapped at the handle. Ethan prayed the cutlass he now possessed would last a touch longer, especially if he were to fight with it.
“This is really doing a number on my shoulder,” he said, taking a break from practicing and sliding the weapon back into the sheath on his belt. “Don’t suppose we’ll find some aspirin later? I think I’m going to pay for this tomorrow.”
Zoey paused in the middle of the dirt road and shook her head. “The game’s not that detailed,” she said. “You won’t be sore from a little exercise.”
She was going to say something else but stopped when the sounds of a distant argument drifted through the air. She held up a finger and then began to creep into the forest.
“Who’s yelling, and is this something we want to get mixed up in?” Ethan whispered, trying his best to stay quiet as he hurried up next to her. “I thought you said this place was dangerous.”
“It is for the most part, but the stuff around here isn’t too bad,” she said. “Besides, someone might need our help.”
“Well, if we run into a two-headed giant arguing with himself, I vote we leave him alone.”
The corners of Zoey’s mouth drew back. “If we run into an ettin, you’ll be voting by yourself, because I won’t be around to form the committee. Those guys are way more trouble than they’re worth.”
They pressed on a little deeper into the woods, and soon they found themselves at the edge of a campsite where three little creatures with hunched backs and gnarled skin covered in warts argued amongst themselves. They were dressed in baggy clothes that looked like they’d been tossed away from a beggar’s wardrobe on account that they weren’t fine enough. Each one had a black pipe stuck in its mouth, and as they would argue their points, they each would take their pipes out and wag them at one another. Next to the arguing trio, a few feet away from the campfire, sat a wooden cage with iron bars. Inside said cage was a small canine-like pup, with wet, dirt-covered fur and a look of resignation upon its face.
The Pirate (Captains & Cannons Book 1) Page 8