The Beggar's Past

by J B Drake

  At his words, the pirates began to disperse. Many of them gave Anise a heart-felt glare before leaving.

  “Remember me words, Lucius,” Byron said, when only he and Lucius remained.

  “Yeah,” Lucius nodded.

  “Good,” Byron replied, and giving Anise a heartfelt glare of his own, he turned and made his way to the balcony.

  As the silence returned, Marshalla turned to the Archmage. She was watching the pirate Byron storm away.

  “Never thought I’d see you back here,” Lucius began, drawing both Anise’s and Marshalla’s gaze to him.

  “It’s nice to see you too, Lucius.” Anise grinned as she sat.

  Shaking his head, Lucius sighed as a smile parted his lips. Then, he turned to Marshalla once more.

  “She’s not yours, is she?” he said as he cast a critical eye over Marshalla.

  “I fail to see how that is any of your concern,” Marshalla replied.

  “It’s alright, my dear,” Anise said. “Lucius is one of the better ones.”

  “Ha!” Lucius grinned.

  “She may not have come from my womb, Lucius,” Anise continued, “but she is my daughter.”

  “Hrm,” Lucius muttered, then, nodded as he sat. “Why you here, Grace? What you after?”

  “Sit, Marsha,” Anieszirel urged. “Sit.”

  Marshalla did as the chronodragon urged just as Anise leant forward.

  “What do you know of a gnome named Agril Flutterfoot?” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Agril Flutterfoot?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Supposed to be some mad sorcerer from ages past. I heard he’s the one who turned whatever town used to be in Fa’aldurn into…well…Fa’aldurn.”

  “Why you want to know?”

  “So you’ve heard of him?”

  Lucius shrugged. “Might’ve.”

  “Excellent.” Anise smiled.

  “Why you want to know, though?”

  “I’ve been hired by a man claiming to be his descendant, and the man wants to know precisely how this Agril Flutterfoot died.”

  “What’s so special about how a man dies? He dies.”

  Anise shook her head. “He’s paying me a lot of gold, Lucius, more than enough to still my tongue. But…”

  “But?”

  “This gnome is rich. I could smell the gold the moment he sat in front of me. He could’ve come to Kirsk to check the town records, but he didn’t. He could’ve hired an army of sellswords to comb that place for the answers he seeks, but he didn’t. He came to me, someone who’s never been to this area. Why?”

  Lucius frowned at this. “You think there’s more.”

  Anise smiled. “I’m not being paid to think, my dear, I’m being paid to look into this gnome’s death and return. But…”

  “But?”

  “But, if I were to do any thinking, I’d be thinking there’s more to this tale than I’m being fed.”

  “Go on…” the enraptured pirate leant forward.

  Anise’s smile grew. “What if this Agril’s death marked something larger? What if this gnome hired me because I am an outsider? An outsider who wouldn’t realise what it was she’d stumbled upon?”

  “And you want us Jackdaws to dig into this Flutterfoot’s death for you?”

  Anise nodded. “Precisely. Word is you all know your way around the Marsh. I want to know everything about this Agril Flutterfoot’s death. The secret my employer is after is linked to him, and if we can find it and retrieve it…”

  “We can ransom it back to your gnome.”

  “Precisely!”

  “How much we looking at?”

  “Well, I’d wager three thousand gold.”

  “Three thousand?” Lucius exclaimed.

  Anise nodded. “Three thousand. And we split it right down the middle.”

  “You sure it’ll be three thousand, though?”

  Once more, Anise nodded. “The gnome has the coin, Lucius, for sure of it. And he wants this…thing, whatever it is, desperately.”

  Lucius smirked. “You figuring to get three thousand gold from him, or you figuring to get more, but three thousand is all you’ll deal us in with?”

  Anise smirked in response. “What do you think?”

  Lucius’s smirk grew, but soon dissipated. “You sure he’ll pay?”

  Anise shrugged. “Either he gives me my due, or I take it from him. Either way, we’re splitting three thousand on this.”

  Lucius pondered Anise’s words for a spell.

  “Eighty-five,” he said at last.

  Anise shook her head. “Half.”

  “Jackdaws taking all the risks, Grace. Eighty.”

  “And I’m the one handling the negotiations. Half.”

  “Seventy-five.”

  “Half, Lucius. I won’t budge on this.”

  “Seventy.”

  “Lucius…”

  “Seventy, Grace! Can’t go fairer than that!”

  “Half.”

  “I still got to sell this to Byron, you know. Sixty-five and I can sell it better.”

  Anise glared at the pirate for a spell.

  “Sixty-five,” Lucius repeated.

  “Very well,” Anise sighed. “Sixty-five.”

  “Good!” Lucius exclaimed. “You got a deal!”

  “When can you start looking?”

  “Knowing Byron, tomorrow.”

  “Excellent. How many people can you spare?”

  Lucius smiled at this. “We don’t need many.”

  “Oh?”

  The man nodded. “We got a contact, knows the ins and outs of the place.”

  “Of Fa’aldurn?”

  Lucius nodded. “All we got to do is hear what he has to say about this Flutter…whats-his-name—”

  “Flutterfoot.”

  “Yeah, him. We hear what he has to say, use him to know where to look.”

  “Excellent!” Anise grinned.

  “Yeah, job’ll be done before you know it.”

  “I’d like to meet this contact of yours.”

  “Eh?” Lucius frowned. “What the devils for?”

  A sweet smile parted Anise’s lips. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Lucius, it’s just that…well…I don’t trust anyone.”

  “But how—”

  “How can you possibly betray me? Well, by listening to him, learning what to get, and only giving me half of what your contact says should be there. Something like that.”

  “Grace…” Lucius sighed.

  “Oh, don’t be like that, Lucius,” Anise replied, her smile growing. “It’s nothing personal, truly.”

  “We can’t—”

  “Set up the meeting, let’s all hear what he has to say, and we’ll all know what to expect! Deal?”

  The pirate glared at Anise for a spell.

  “Deal?”

  “Fine.” Lucius sighed at last.

  “Excellent!” Anise exclaimed as she sat back in her chair.

  Shaking his head, the pirate rose. “Best go talk to Byron, get things started.”

  At the mention of the pirate leader’s name, the smile upon Anise’s lips faded.

  “What happened to Luther, Lucius?” she asked. “A snotspit like Byron couldn’t possibly have bested him.”

  Sighing, the pirate stared at Anise a spell, as if weighing his words.

  “Fight was gone in him, Grace,” he said at last. “Old man had been dying since you left, like someone ripped his heart out. Sure, he was still captaining and barking orders and all, but was like it wasn’t him.. Byron didn’t best him, Byron done him a favour.”

  “What?”

  Lucius nodded.

  In the silence that followed, pirate and Archmage stared at each other, neither moving as the air weighed heavy on them all.

  “When will we hear from you?” Marshalla said, eager to chase the silence away.

  “Give me two days,” Lucius replied, turning to her. “Three at most.
Where you two staying?”

  “We’ll come to you,” Anise said, then rose and headed for the door.

  “Right,” Marshalla added as she too rose, then hurried after the Archmage.

  “See you in three days, then,” Lucius called after them.

  “What the bloody hells was all that?” Marshalla hissed once she fell in step beside Anise.

  “Not now,” the Archmage whispered. “Let’s get out of here first, alright?”

  And with that, all three made their way out of the Broiling Seas, a pair of bloodshot eyes watching them closely throughout.

  A Noble Sacrifice

  With her head hung low and her shoulders sagged, Archmage Anise Fairweather stood in silence as Marshalla and Anieszirel entered the room. Their journey back to the inn had been long and silent, not to mention stifling, but, for all its awkwardness, as Anise moved to close the door, she found herself wishing they had yet to return, for she knew the questions would now begin.

  With the greatest of care, the Archmage shut the door, its latch catching almost as silently as she’d closed the door.

  “Well?” Marshalla demanded the moment the door was latched.

  Closing her eyes, Anise took a deep breath, then let it out slowly before spinning on her heels and, ignoring the seething girl, made her way to her bed.

  “Oh, so you’re going to ignore me now?” Marshalla said as the Archmage reached her bed.

  Anise held her peace, picking up her bag from beside her bed before placing it upon the bed and opening it

  “Anise!” Marshalla cried. “Or is it Grace still?”

  Still, Anise kept her peace, pulling free her favourite tunic from within her bag.

  “Or should I be calling you Crimson Blade now?” Marshalla continued.

  But still, Anise kept her peace, and instead began undoing her tunic.

  “Or maybe I should go find you some poor bastard to kill first?”

  “Alright, enough!” Anise barked as she slammed the tunic in her hand upon her bag before spinning to face the young girl square. “Enough, Marsha, enough!”

  “Enough?” Marshalla exclaimed. “What in the holy hells happened in there? Those people knew you!”

  “So?”

  “So? You were a bloody pirate! And that man, you shoved a bloody knife in his ear!”

  “It was a dagger, Marsha—” Anieszirel corrected.

  “Oh, excuse the bloody hells out of me! She shoved it in his ear!”

  “He was going to kill me,” Anise replied.

  “Well, he wouldn’t have wanted to had you not tried to slice his bloody arm off, now, would he?” Marshalla shot back.

  Anise could do nothing save glare.

  “And that story you told!” Marshalla continued. “I was your protection? Really? What if they’d called your bluster? Hunh? What if they’d decided to cut my bloody head off just to see what I’d do?”

  “You were never in any real danger, Marsha—” Anise began.

  “My arse I wasn’t!” Marshalla thundered. “They’re pirates! I know how pirates think, Anise, I’ve lived with that bloody lot before! All it would’ve taken was one blind drunk shite-head in there to test his luck, just one, and I’d be missing a head!”

  “You handled yourself rather well regardless,” Anieszirel replied.

  “Well, what choice did I bloody have?” Marshalla replied.

  “Be that as it may,” Anise replied, “we got the result we wanted, now—”

  “Oh, don’t you dare, Anise,” Marshalla seethed. “Don’t you dare take the high road on this. Nothing we learnt in there justifies what you did. And this pirate thing…how long have you been one?”

  “What do you mean, how long have I been one?” Anise frowned.

  “What do you bloody think I mean?”

  The Archmage took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

  “Listen, Marsha,” she said, as she reached out grasp Marshalla’s arm, “this has clearly upset you, and—”

  “Don’t you touch me,” Marshalla snarled as she squirmed from Anise’s grasp before taking a step back from the Archmage. “Just answer the bloody question. How long have you been one? And does Baern know? Does Naeve?”

  Standing tall, Anise stared hard at the young girl, even as the ache in her heart tore her apart.

  “Very well,” she said, keeping a tight hold on her composure. “If you wish to act like a petulant child, I’ll treat you like one.”

  “Don’t you—”

  “I’m not discussing this with you, Marsha, not until you remember where you left your manners.”

  “My manners?”

  “Yes, your manners. I did what I had to do to get what we needed, and I will not apologise for it, not to you or anyone else.”

  “But you—”

  “I did what I had to do, nothing more. And I will not discuss this any longer. Lucius said he’ll need three days, which means you and I are stuck with each other for the next three days, so I suggest you take some time to think about how you’re going to spend those three days stuck indoors with this filthy, bloody pirate!”

  “Oh, if you think I’m going to sit in here with you, you—”

  “They’re going to be looking for us, Marsha. Their leader and I have a score to settle, and you can be sure he’ll have his men combing the streets for us. So, if you feel comfortable in your abilities, feel free to go show your face out there. Be my guest. Or stay. Either way, I truly don’t care.”

  Without waiting for a response, the Archmage spun on her heels once more and resumed undoing her tunic, and as she did so, the glowering girl that was Marshalla glared at her for a moment longer. Then, cursing under her breath, she marched over to her bed and plopped onto it, her lips twisted into a deep scowl.

  Through it all, the chronodragon Anieszirel had watched both her companions in silence, and as her silence spread to the pair, the chronodragon stared at Marshalla. There was rage in the young girl’s eyes, a great deal of it, and by rights the same red flame should be burning bright in her own chest. But the journey back had given her pause to ponder the Archmage’s actions, and that pause had allowed her gain a clarity young Marshalla lacked.

  “Funny,” she thought, “Marsha’s usually the calm one, and me the one with the temper.”

  Shaking her head, she drifted to Anise’s bed before settling upon it, her eyes fixed upon the Archmage, and in silence, she watched as the Archmage fought to keep her emotions in check as she changed her tunic. It wasn’t till Anise was folding her old tunic away that she noticed the chronodragon.

  “What?” Anise frowned.

  Anieszirel smiled. “I understand you now, Anise Fairweather.”

  Anise’s frown deepened. “Meaning what, precisely?”

  “It wouldn’t have been easy for you to go into that tavern,” Anieszirel continued, ignoring the Archmage’s words, “but you did, and I thank you for it. Marsha’s angry that you didn’t tell us all of your plan before going in, but I know you didn’t because of me. I threatened you, left you under no illusion that I’d hurt you if I knew you’d expose Marsha to any kind of danger, so it’s no wonder you kept the details to yourself. And you had ample chance to lay the blame at my feet, yet you didn’t. For that also, I thank you.”

  As silence fell upon the room once more, Anise and Marshalla stared at each other, their brows furrowed deep.

  “Ani, are you feeling alright?” Marshalla asked.

  Laughing, the chronodragon turned to her. “Oh, I’m alright, Marsha, quite alright.” Then, she turned back to the Archmage. “I thought what you did in there was inspired, though.”

  “There’s nothing inspiring about taking a life, Ani,” Marshalla glowered before Anise could draw breath.

  “Ah,” Anieszirel smiled as she turned to Marshalla, “that was a necessary evil, my dear.”

  “How can you—”

  “Like you said, they’re pirates, and not just any old pirates, these are pirates Anise b
etrayed some time ago.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “They remember her as Crimson Blade, someone I assume found killing to be as easy as breathing…”

  From the corner of her eye, Anieszirel saw a pained wince dance across the Archmage’s face, but she ploughed on regardless.

  “…so it was imperative Anise revive her old role. Those pirates didn’t step forward, Marsha, because she reminded them who she was, and reminded them with blood.”

  “But why say I was there to protect her?” Marshalla replied. “That’s just horse-shite.”

  “Is it? A spectre from their past shows up, and within the first few moments of her arriving, reminds them why she’s a spectre and not just some unpleasant memory. Then, she proceeds to tell them the young girl she was with was there to protect her. If you didn’t have the gall to cross swords with this spectre, would you even consider crossing swords with her protector?”

  Marshalla held her peace at this.

  “And besides,” Anieszirel continued, “if one had stepped forward, well, I was there.”

  Marshalla stared in silence at the chronodragon for a spell, but soon a sigh escaped her lips.

  “I supposed,” she muttered.

  “Precisely.” Anieszirel nodded.

  Marshalla turned to Anise. “Is it true, though? Did killing come so easily?”

  “Marsha, let it be,” Anieszirel soothed.

  “Why?” Marshalla frowned.

  “Because you won’t like the answer.”

  “You think you know me?” Anise said, her gaze pained and her eyes upon the chronodragon. “You know nothing of what I’ve done.”

  Anieszirel smiled. “Don’t I? Marsha said she saw fear in your eyes, just before we went in…”

  At these words, Anise turned to Marshalla, her lips pursed into a thin line.

  “…and she was right, wasn’t she? Only you weren’t afraid of who was in the tavern, you were afraid of who you’d have to unleash. It pains you, doesn’t it, the thought of someone like Marsha knowing you’re capable of such. It’s tearing at you right now.”

  Anise turned to the chronodragon once more, and as Anieszirel stared deep into the Archmage’s eyes, she could see the tears held back behind them.

  “I was trapped in a void sphere for a reason, my dear,” Anieszirel continued. “I’ve been where you are now, hands dripping with blood, yet desperate for atonement. Only, in my case, I never found it. Wherever I looked, however hard I tried, there was always someone ready to brand me a monster. I know your fear all too well, my dear, I spent centuries with it coursing through me.”