“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I’m savvy. But what if the ettin gets away?”
“What if you think you can do something you can’t, only this time, you don’t have any more luck to spend?” she countered. “Just read the damn thing.”
“I think right now my time would be better spent trying to come up with a plan. Just give me a few, I’ll think of something great. You’ll see.”
Zoey snorted. “Yeah. I bet. That stunning eight INT is going to come in handy for that.”
“Fine,” Ethan said, caving to her demand. “I’ll make a quick flip through of the important stuff. Okay?”
Zoey breathed a massive sigh of relief. “Finally,” she said before unslinging and digging through her pack. After a couple of moments, she produced a small leather book that had no lettering on its cover whatsoever, but it did have a set of three interlocking rings with a pair of crossed swords behind them embossed on the cover.
Ethan took the manual and started flipping and reading at the same time. “Let’s see, yadda…yadda…lore…yadda yadda, character creation. Talents…bestiary. Oh, that might be handy—”
“You think?” Zoey said with a snort.
Ethan ignored the remark and flipped to the appropriate section and then scanned down the list until he reached the ettin section. There wasn’t much, maybe a couple of paragraphs along with a picture of the brute they’d encountered. Though he wanted to toss the manual back to Zoey, especially since the more he read, the more it made his head hurt, he didn’t. He’d made a promise. He was going to read. “‘The Oregons of ettins—’”
“Origins,” Zoey corrected.
“That means where they come from,” added Maii with a devilish grin.
“I know what Oregonians—origins—means,” Ethan said, cursing to himself as his brain misfired yet again. God, he had to do something about this low INT of his. It was getting harder and harder to pretend that it wasn’t affecting everything he did.
“Keep going,” Zoey prompted.
“Right. Well, it says, before I was so rudely interrupted, ‘the origins of ettins are unknown, but these large brutes have an aff-in-it-tee—there, see? I got that one on my own—have an affinity for violence but can carry around interesting items from time to time, should one manage to bring it down.’”
Ethan looked up from the book, unimpressed by it all. “There. Happy now? I read your manual, but I don’t see how any of that helps right now.”
Zoey nodded reluctantly. “Yes, you read it. Now read some more.”
“Well, there are some stats,” Ethan said, looking back at the text. He didn’t read these aloud, and most of them didn’t interest him as they seemed obvious. Ettins seemed like they had enough strength they could chuck a clipper if they wanted and high enough vitality they could shrug off a six-pound cannon shot. Well, maybe that last bit was stretching it, but it didn’t matter. Ethan hadn’t brought one along, regardless.
Then there was the bit about them being highly skilled with smashing and clubbing and throwing things, which meant he’d probably not be able to aim and shoot a cannon before it was too late, anyway. That said, there was one little bitty stat he noted and liked. “An ettin’s INT typically scores at a whopping six,” he said.
Maii snickered. “Finally, someone you can marginally outwit.”
Ethan shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ve always said I’d rather be lucky than good.”
“Can’t rely on it forever,” Zoey said. “Trust me. I’ve seen that strategy go three sheets to the wind, fast.”
Ethan nodded with a bright smile. He’d been toying with an idea for a few seconds, and now he was certain it would be nothing but spectacular, so he was ready to share it with the group. “All we have to do is get the ettin to fess up to what he’s scared of, right?”
“According to him, yes,” Zoey said, gesturing toward Maii with one hand.
“What if I can make him scared, does that count?”
“I can work with that,” he replied, initiating another tongue bath with a forepaw. “But he has to be honestly frightened.”
“I’ll stop you right now,” Zoey said. “There’s no way in the nine hells of the deep you are going to intimidate this guy.”
Ethan shook his head and grinned like a little kid who’d discovered the secret behind stealing someone’s nose. “I know but hear me out on this: All I have to do is get inside his head.”
“You think you can do that?”
“With my eight INT versus his six? You bet,” he said.
“Mind filling us in?”
“Well, it’s a work in progress,” he admitted. “But I figured if I was dumber, what would I believe?”
“And?”
“And with the right coaxing, I bet I can make him think he’s surrounded by witches,” he said.
“How’s that?”
“Well, he was starting to buy into that Monty Python bit earlier,” he said. He then made a sweeping gesture of the woods they were in. “You know, witches. Wood. Wood, forest. That kind of thing.”
Maii tilted his head. “Who and the what thing?”
Zoey, on the other hand, clearly knew the reference. She rolled her eyes and gave an exasperating sigh. “This is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard. It’s never going to believe the forest is a bunch of witches in disguise.”
“Or is it so stupid, it will work?” Ethan said, raising an eyebrow.
“Things don’t work that way. Ever.”
“Only because you’re too smart to give it a try,” Ethan countered. He then tapped the side of his head. “Look, Maii, all you need to do is be ready with some illusions to help sell it all. I promise, to beat this guy, we’ve got to think dumb. And apparently, I’ve got that down.”
Maii chuckled. “No argument there.” He then turned to Zoey and flashed his teeth at her. “When this doesn’t work, I get his ribs.”
Ethan opened his mouth to scold the jackal when a heavy crash of foliage interrupted the rest of whatever was left in the conversation. Ethan spun to see Barnaby plow through the brush with a club held high and a stupid, happy look on both of his faces.
Chapter Fifteen
Round Two
“Oh, thank the seven seas you’re here!” Ethan cried out, running toward the ettin as fast as his legs would carry him. “You’ve got to save us from all the witches! We’ll do anything you want! Anything!”
Ethan’s pleas, though overdramatic for anyone with an ounce of brain, were enough to halt Barnaby in his tracks. The two-headed giant twisted both of his faces into huge balls of confusion while keeping his club raised.
“Wot you’s on ’bout?” one head demanded. “We’s knockered that ugly ole witch already.”
“Dun thumped it right proppa,” the other added as he smacked his club a few times into a meaty palm.
“And now we’s going to thump you a second time. Serves you scrawny right, not dying when you should.”
Ethan backpedaled, hands up defensively. “They’re everywhere! Look around you! They said you weren’t smart enough to see them, but I know that’s not true. I know you can see each one and thump them all right proppa.”
“We’s smart,” the head on the left said with a growl. “Who’s says we wasn’t?”
“Smart enuff we thumped that witch we made before she turned all tricksy on us.”
Ethan nodded enthusiastically, grateful that they hadn’t forgotten the details of their previous encounter. “Remember when I said everyone knows witches were made of wood?”
“Yeah, wot of it?”
“I was wrong. They’re not made of wood.” Ethan paused so he held both heads’ undivided attention and then spoke slowly and softly, hunching his shoulders and inching toward the giant as if he was about to pass on the most coveted secret ever to grace the lands. “The woods are made of witches.”
Barnaby straightened. All four of his eyes darted left and right, and he laughed nervously. “No. That’s not right, is it?”
“It is! You think I’d run up to an ettin that just smashed me in the head if not?” Ethan said. He then dropped to his knees and clasped his hands in front of his face. “Please, please, please, bash them all!”
At first, Barnaby seemed excited, eager even, at the news. However, when Ethan caught Maii out of the corner of his eye, whispering, the expression on the ettin’s faces changed from enthusiasm to trepidation.
“Did you’s see that?” the head on the right asked. “Dat tree right ’ere is lookin’ at us funny. “Little bugger might be right.”
“Then we thump that tree till it stops staring at us and then—” The left head stopped midsentence. “Hang a second. Runty’s trying to be tricksy with us!”
The right head growled and furrowed his brow. “I’s not like being trixied with. Dat deserves an extra thump’n.”
Ethan’s eyes went large, and he started backpedaling as he realized that yes, even an ettin wasn’t as stupid as his idea was. “No, no,” he said, now in a near full retreat. “I’m not trying to trick anyone. I’m—”
Barnaby attacks!
Barnaby missed!
“Crap!” Ethan yelled as he came out of the roll that had saved his life. As he pushed himself up, he realized just how close to death he’d come, and just how cozy with death he was about to be. And in that brief instant, he had a new idea. One that seemed a little smarter than his last and could work, but it did rely on Maii casting a spell or two at the right time, as well as one hell of a coin trick. Or fungi trick as the case may be.
“Okay! Okay!” Ethan said, holding up his hands. “I was trying to trick you. But the witch made me after she brought me back to life. She doesn’t want you to have her powers. But if you spare me, I swear I’ll tell you how to get them. Then you can conjure up all the horses you want to eat.”
Barnaby stopped a few paces away, club raised, and tilted both his heads. “Talk, runty. Or I’s gonna make you even deader again.”
“The glowing mushrooms,” Ethan said with a hushed voice. “They eat them, and that’s how they gain their power. That’s all I know.”
“There’s ain’t no glowy mushrooms here,” the ettin replied, grunting. “We’d have seen them a long time ago.”
“They’re rare! I swear!” Ethan said. His eyes darted left and right, scouring the forest, and when they found a small patch of death caps, they lit up. “There’s five right there! Look!”
The ettin turned to where Ethan pointed, and right as he did, sure enough, five mushrooms inside a clump of ten started to glow while tiny, harmless flames of white and red danced across their caps.
“Those mushrooms all glowy for you’s?” the left head asked the right.
“They sure is,” the right replied. “But I still says somefin’s not right. Those them death ones. Kill you right proppa, they will.”
“No, not the magic ones,” Ethan said. When Barnaby narrowed all four of his eyes and let slip a growl, Ethan edged toward the mushrooms, knowing it was all or nothing at this point. “I’ll prove it. Okay? I’ll eat one, and then I’ll glow with some of their power, and you’ll see.”
“Ha! I’s like to see a little humie eats himself to death.”
Ethan nodded and hurried over to the death caps. Carefully, and making sure the ettin could plainly see, he picked a small one lit with magical fire, pinching it off from the base of the stalk. “You can only eat the cap because the rest is poisonous,” he said, taking the top off and tossing the rest. Then in one smooth motion, he popped the cap in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
At least, that’s what he hoped the ettin thought he did. As he kept the cap palmed in his left hand, he extended his right, palm up, and stared at it with such intensity, the ettin was drawn into the show as well. “Watch,” Ethan whispered, eyes still focused on his hand. “I didn’t eat that much, but we should see the magic start to flow.”
A moment passed, then two. Then three and four.
“I’s not seeing nuffin’ flow,” Barnaby said with equal amounts of skepticism and annoyance.
“Any second now,” Ethan said, keeping his voice steady. “You’ll see.”
Thankfully, a heartbeat later, flames, tiny and painless, engulfed his fingers and raced over his hand before running up his arm. Ethan smiled broadly, and as the ettin gasped in astonishment, he took the opportunity to discreetly pocket the death cap he had in hand.
“Out of the way, runty!” Barnaby yelled, nearly trampling Ethan as he stormed the pile of mushrooms. To the ettin’s credit, he avoided picking the non-glowing fungi. To his detriment, he picked—and ate—the other ones, which, as it turned out, were just as deadly. With three already swallowed whole, Barnaby was about to eat the fourth when his face went rigid, his skin turned scarlet, and his legs gave out.
The two-headed giant crashed to the ground in a heap.
Ethan exhaled sharply and wiped some sweat that had formed on his brow. “Holy crap, that worked,” he said. Pride filled his chest, and his face beamed. “What do you guys think of my ideas now?”
“Not bad,” Zoey said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Not bad at all.”
“Sorry, Maii, if I ruined your dibs on my ribs,” Ethan said, looking over at the jackal.
To Ethan’s surprise, Maii not only didn’t seem disappointed, but he, too, looked at Ethan with hints of respect. “Do that a few more times, and you’ll start making a name for yourself,” he said. “A name I might allow myself to be associated with.”
“Thanks,” Ethan replied. He then looked back to Barnaby, and while the giant was still on the ground, he hadn’t entirely stopped breathing yet. “Uh, shouldn’t he be dead?”
Zoey’s face twisted in revulsion. “I don’t even want to think how much he’s suffering right now. Go finish him off.”
“A vampire with a heart?” Maii scoffed. “Now, I’ve seen it all.”
“If you think my heart isn’t dark enough, I could always dine on yours,” Zoey said, dropping her hand on to the butt of her pistol. When Maii stayed quiet, she prompted Ethan once more. “Go. Make it quick.”
Ethan pressed his lips together, not liking what he was going to have to do. For some reason, poisoning a giant that was about to smash his head in was a lot higher on his morality scale than executing one who was gravely wounded, foe or not. Should he show the giant compassion by ending his suffering? Or was it justice that Barnaby should die by his own stupidity, even if that end was a painful one? Or was there something spiritual at stake here, something about all life being sacred, and now that the giant wasn’t a threat, he should have a chance at life? Should Ethan maybe try and find a way to neutralize the death caps? Zoey had those potions, after all. Maybe the giant would see the error of his ways and join them?
He didn’t mean to balk and weigh those choices for any considerable length of time, but apparently, he did.
“What’s wrong?” Zoey asked.
“I feel like this is a big decision, is all,” Ethan said. “Like, really big.”
“Big like…?”
“Like one of those things that’ll affect the future, big,” Ethan admitted. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, only that he did.
“Oh,” she replied. “I’d suggest reading the manual, but you might not have enough time, to be honest. No decision, in the end, is still a decision.”
“Can you give me the short version?”
Zoey nodded. “From time to time, you’ll hit a crossroads. Your actions may permanently alter stats—virtues and vices, especially. Not to mention, open and close doors with people you encounter later.”
“Then what should I do?”
Zoey shrugged, which was every bit as unhelpful as her reply. “Do what you think is right. Or hell, do whatever it is the person you want to be would do. It’s your choice. Not mine.”
Ethan grunted. And after a few seconds more of internal conflict, he made his decision. “Can I borrow your pistol? I think I should use two.”
Zoey nodded
and handed the weapon over.
As Ethan walked over to the giant, everything became automatic, and he felt as if he were watching the scene unfold as an onlooker, not a participant.
A pace away, he addressed the giant. “Sorry, Barnaby,” he said. “This will be over in just a moment.”
He then watched himself take aim on the first head, fire, and then do the same to the second. Each shot, made from three feet away, struck Barnaby dead on.
Barnaby killed!
+1 Compassion gained.
You feel a lot more experienced.
You feel like some skills could improve after some rest.
“I guess that’s that,” Ethan said, surprised at how little he felt about it all. As he handed Zoey back her weapon, he asked the only question that came to mind. “Now what?”
Zoey smiled. “Now, my budding swashbuckler, we collect our reward, celebrate you no longer being a total noob, and get that gem.”
“I like the sound of that,” Ethan said with a nod. “I like the sound of that a lot.”
Chapter Sixteen
Thirty-One and a Bone
Ethan flipped the shilling.
It sailed upward, light from the busy tavern glinting off its coppery surface and hypnotizing everyone around the table. As it came back down, Ethan swiped it out of the air and slammed it onto the oak table.
“Alright, lads,” he said, giving the four men around him a bright smile that had been bolstered by plenty of ale. “Let’s play for more than pennies. What do you say?”
Looks of concern and amazement circled the table. Two of the four grumbled before adding their own shillings to the pot. One did so eagerly, a portly man with no hair and a pair of flintlock pistols jammed in the red sash across his waist. The fourth man, a wiry, greasy-haired fellow who apparently was an apprentice leatherworker and was already down ten pennies—a sizeable amount of money—simply shook his head and left, muttering that the game was rigged.
“I guess things were a little too rich for his blood,” Ethan remarked with a shrug. “What do you think, ladies?”
The Pirate (Captains & Cannons Book 1) Page 14