by C. Vandyke
Jess crept along behind Braddock, Andrea and Draper following behind. Andrea had her hands on her pistols while Draper rested a hand lightly on the hilt of a blade in his belt. Braddock was occupied, completely absorbed as the Map tugged him forward.
“What are you doing?” Jess murmured.
The Captain glanced at her. “The Map calls to itself,” he replied softly. “It was whole, once. It wants to be whole again.”
Jess twisted her mouth, wanting to demand more—but Braddock had already turned away. The rippling movements of the Map led them to a portrait of Lord Albrecht Delacroix III. The large painting hung on one wall of the study, the old man’s imposing gaze surveying everyone who entered. Carefully, the three pirates removed the painting, revealing a thick steel safe concealed beneath. Braddock glanced at Draper.
“You’re up.”
The other man grunted, shouldering his way forward. He produced an odd-looking device—two cups attached to long wires that connected to another, larger cup. Placing the smaller cups over his ears, he pressed the third against the metal. He began turning the dial, and a few minutes later the safe clicked open.
Braddock stepped forward, reaching in. Clinking coins and rustling papers sounded softly as he drew out the much-folded scrap. All four of them crowded around, staring at the page in his hands. Jess swallowed down her gasp at the shifting images on the page. A different stretch of ocean this time, and a different set of islands. But still those images moved beneath the surface.
“Does it… is it true?” she asked quietly. “The Map really shows other worlds?”
“Oh, it can do more than that.”
Jess shrieked as a hand clamped around her arm, another over her mouth, dragging her away from the pirates. Light flooded the room, and Jess found herself pulled backwards against a hard body. She craned her neck, trying to get a look at her assailant.
It was the red-eyed man she’d run into earlier. He stared at Braddock with a smirk on his face, while Braddock glared at him furiously. Laughter echoed behind her. Whoever this red-eyed man was, he had friends. Just on the periphery of her vision, she made out two other figures.
“Jackal,” Braddock growled. “I might have known.”
“Good to see you again, Braddock,” the man holding her—Jackal—replied. “I was hoping we might run into each other.”
“Let the girl go. She’s not part of this.”
“Ah, but then I’d lose my leverage.” Jackal smiled. “And you know how much I hate doing that.”
Jess stiffened at the sound of a gun cocking, and one of Jackal’s companions stepped forward, an odd-looking firearm in his hand. “Set both pieces of the Map on the floor and back away,” he said.
“We’re not—”
The man fired, and a bright red streak of light shot past Braddock’s head, burning a hole in the wall behind him. Jess started. That was certainly not a Flintlock.
“Set them down and back up,” the man said again, “or the next shot is through your head.”
“I’d do what he says,” Jackal said easily. “He’s fairly trigger happy.”
Jess’s heart beat fast. If they took the Map, they’d take her future with it. Assuming they didn’t just kill her. She steadied herself, eyeing the man’s gun. If he had one, then her captor probably did, too. What had Braddock said earlier? Someone’s light fingered.
She let her free arm drift backwards, gently feeling for a holster. Braddock crouched to the floor, slowly setting the Map pieces down. Her fingers met cold metal.
Grasping the butt of the pistol, she whipped it out, taking aim at her captor’s foot. She pulled the trigger, and the blast shook her entire arm. Jackal roared, releasing her and sending her flying forward. The red-hot light streaming from the pistol swept over the room, sending tongues of flame erupting from anything it hit. Jess yelped as the metal grew too hot for her to hold, and she released the gun.
The room was suddenly ablaze, her captor screaming in pain. The pirates took their opening, and a pair of gunshots went off. Jackal’s men dropped, one of their weapons discharging and sending that same red light zipping over more bookshelves and setting the room alight. Jess struggled backwards, breathing fast, until her hand met paper. She glanced down, gasping as she saw the two pieces of the Map. She grabbed them, rolling them up and tucking them deep in the pocket of her uniform, when a hand clamped around her shoulder.
She whirled, ready to lay whoever it was flat, but it was only Braddock, smiling at her madly.
“Nice shot,” he said over the roar of the growing flames. “Now, I think it’s time to go.”
Throughout Port Iberia, the fire bells rang. Flames licked up the side of the Delacroix manor and had long ago jumped to the fine neighboring houses, creeping down towards the town. The fire brigade was out in force, doing their best to beat back the conflagration.
Amidst the confusion, no one noticed a sleek, black-sailed ship weighing anchor and slipping from the bay. No one noticed the four figures who scurried aboard at the last minute as the ship slid silently from the shores of Isla de Luz, making its way towards the borders of the night.
The deck of Braddock’s ship seethed with activity. Men and women rushed about, clambering up the masts, tightening ropes, and any number of things Jess could barely put a name to. She stood in the midst of it, feeling as though she’d stepped from one maelstrom into another. The race from the manor to the dock had been swift, and she hadn’t really had time to think about what she was doing, the choice she’d made, until the ship pulled away from the dock. Now, with the land receding behind her, there was no turning back.
She stared across the water towards the bright flames leaping up around the Delacroix manor. Her nest egg was probably on fire in the servants’ quarters, the gold and silver of pilfered jewels melting into useless puddles. Here she was, aboard a ship at last, but her pockets were empty.
Not quite empty. She reached a hand in, fingers brushing the delicate edges of the Map of Ages.
“Green-Eyes!”
Jess jumped, turning to find Braddock behind her. He’d shed the butler’s uniform and again wore his brown coat and a wide smile. “Come on.”
The crew parted around them as Braddock led Jess to the bow of the ship. He leaned against the railing, gesturing for her to do the same.
“Thought you might want the best seat in the house for leaving the night,” he said. Then, after a pause, “And I was very much hoping you’d give me my Map back.”
Jess crossed her arms. “I picked it up. Doesn’t that make it my Map?”
“In a world of thieves, I suppose it does.” Braddock shrugged sheepishly. “But I can keep it safer than it will be in your pocket.”
Slowly, Jess pulled out the two Map pieces. One piece, she realized with a start. They’d merged in her pocket, and now she could see one contiguous stretch of undulating ocean. The texture of the paper felt smooth beneath her hands, almost like glass.
“Those men,” Jess started, handing the Map to Braddock. “They aren’t from this world, are they?”
“They are not,” Braddock said bitterly, stowing the Map in its leather case. “They arrived here from their own world some years ago and have been a thorn in my side ever since. Jackal wants my copy of the Map, you see. He plans to use it for his own ends.”
“And you don’t?”
Braddock shrugged. “I’d like to think I’m not as mercenary as he is. I’m a pirate, not a murderer. Not most days, anyway. Oh!” He snapped his fingers, withdrawing a pair of spectacles from his jacket and holding them out. The glass in them was nearly black. “Here, you’re going to want these. The light can be overwhelming the first time.”
Jess took them, running a finger over the wire rims before turning towards where the water churned away beneath the prow. “I didn’t bring my funds with me,” she said softly.
“I suppose that means you’ll be looking for employment.”
“Probably.”
The ship surged forward through the water. Jess’s breath caught as the shadow’s edge drew nearer. She slipped on the glasses, world dimming to complete shadow.
“You know,” Braddock murmured. “I can always use a pair of light fingers. A competent thief is hard to find. What do you think, Green-Eyes?”
The ship cut through the darkness, slicing out into sunlight that skittered over the ocean, making the water glitter as though inlaid with diamonds. Even with the glasses, Jess winced at the sudden light, gasping and staring outward. White-capped waves and unending blue stretched in every direction. It was more beautiful than she ever imagined. And it was hers at last.
She glanced at Braddock, who watched her keenly.
“Jess,” she said, smiling. “My name is Jess.”
Cat ‘O Nine Tails
Jack Kaide
‘Scuse I, sir. Mind if I take a seat beside? What with you bein’ by the fire an’ all. Tis’ cold as a witch’s tit in ‘ere, an’ my bones are achin’ with the damp an’ suchlike. This damned innkeeper needs must mend the holes in ‘is roof an’ the bricks in ‘is chimney. If he weren’t such a miser, I’d not bother ye, sir, not at all.
Thankee kindly, sir, thankee kindly. There aren't so many gentlemen as ye would be so obligin’ to an old salt such as I. Another log on the fire? Aye, sir, that’d be grand, that’d be grand. Mayhap two logs, if you’d be so kind?
Aye, sir, ‘tis a true tempest we ‘ave tonight, with the wind a’ batterin’ and the rain ‘eavy as musket balls come a helter-skelterin’ from the clouds, an’ the sea’s thick and foamy as beer. Speakin’ o’ which, you wouldn’t mind buyin’ me a jar, would ye sir? Tis a cold, cold night, an’ me bein’ so old an’ infirm with the ague, I could do with a little ‘victual’ comfort. If you catch my meanin’ sir? I am but an old, luckless beggar what has to rely on the kindness o’ strangers.
Ah, yer a gentleman, sir, a true gentle-man if ever I did see. I’d pay my way if I ‘ad the purse, ye understand, but times are ‘ard, an’ I’ve nary two coins to rub together. I’d be sleepin’ out there, in a ditch somewhere’s, if I ‘adn’t a-spied the lanterns over the inn. Yes, yer right, sir; times is ‘ard. Times is ‘ard, indeed. Thankee sir, an’ I’ll drink to thy name! An’ what be thy name, if I may be so bold as to be askin’?
… Ye’d rather not say. Fair enough, sir, fair enough. A man’s business is ‘is own; that’s what my old man always said. I’ll just drink to yer health, then. To ‘ealth, ‘appiness, an’ the tides o’ fancy!
*Muurp*. ‘Scuse I, sir. Must be mindin’ me manners in front o’ company. I was raised proper, you understand, but a few years at sea soon makes a man turn coarse an’ scurvy. I’m ever grateful for yer kindness sir, but ye gods, this beer ‘tis rank as goat’s piss! All the same, ‘tis a comfort, a true comfort. When you’ve reached an age such as I, there’s not much can stir a man’s soul best as a warm fire, a drop o’ somethin’ befuddlin’, an’ good company.
So, what brings ye to St. Madeleine, if you don’t mind me askin’? ‘Tis a rare thing to see a fine-dressed gentleman such as ye brave the storms an’ thunderclaps to reach this accursed place. Most o’ us drift here on the tides, like flotsam. Others are pulled t’ward the land like we was called to this place. Well, some o’ us anyways. Your story could be different, as it has every right t’be.
Ah, piss-blood an’ heart’s o’ bastards! Will this storm never end?! I’ve been ‘ere a ‘forty years now, an’ never ‘as there been a day t’was clear and free o’ clouds an’ thunder! My bones ache fierce, an’ the unrelentin’ damp is curdlin’ my lungs somethin’ awful. A man is not made for these conditions, says I. This is a cursed land. I spit upon the rottin’ bones o’ he who first set eyes upon it an’ thought to call it home.
Sorry, sir, I was interruptin’. Ye were saying? Oh, don’t mind me, sir, I have my fits an’ tremors oft’ such as this, an’ I’m prone to grumblin’ an’ carryin’ on when I’m in my cups. I’m known in these parts for bein’ a nuisance, but an old man cannot help what he’s made of, says I.
* * *
‘Tis business that yer after then, sir? Ah, I see. And come by ship, ye say? Well, ye must have a fierce captain an’ a brave crew, sir, if you came ‘ere through the storms. The walls o’ this inn are made with all manner o’ timbers an’ planks from many a ship that ne’er made it to port. I can show ye a piece o’ mast taken off a frigate, if ye like, over by old Crofton’s barn. You can see the grapeshot what struck it from times past. But, no, yer right, sir, perhaps another day. An’ ‘tis a terrible night to be wanderin’ the streets in search o’ thing’s what matter so little.
Well, sir, as ye can see, I’ve a habit o’ pokin’ me nose in business what’s not my own. ‘Tis an occupation that will see me dead one day soon, or so my old man would’ve said. He met a bad endin’ sir, a very bad endin’ indeed. Died in a fire, many years gone by. They never found ‘is body. Or my mother’s. Come to think o’ it, my sister’s body neither. ‘Twere such a terrible, terrible thing to ‘ave happened, sir. The men who did it to ‘im… all over nothin’. Just rumours, that’s all. Just stories an’ lies.
Another drink? Oh, ye will kill me with kindness, sir, so ye will. I shall ne’er forget this day when a stranger bought old Jack not one, but two jars o’ St. Madeline’s finest! There must be a way I can repay ye, sir. A song perhaps? A little medley o’ me own devisin’? I know a good ‘un about a chambermaid from Port au Rei who led the bishop’s wife astray… Aha! I know just the thing. Now, sir, I’m not so qualified as to do anythin’ beside drink, sleep an’ f-
… I mean, drink, sleep and fornicate, sir. Must be mindin’ me manners. As I was sayin’, there’s but one thing I consider myself a dab hand at doin’, an’ that’s tellin’ stories. Any tale ye like, be it long, short, tall, proud, filthy or pious, I can tell it. My mind is like a library, sir, filled with stories from antiquity an’ such like. Legends o’ old, and tales of ‘orrors what lay beneath the deep. Darin’ deeds an’ tragic ’eroines, who sailed the oceans far an’ wide in search o’ plunder an’ glory. Ah, my family ‘ad a fine library once, sir. ‘Twas very beautiful, an’ folks from miles around came to see it. Full o’ books and maps an’ the like. Such a shame. Such a cryin’ shame.
So, sir, what be yer fancy? A tale o' woe, o' dalliance, o' buxom milkmaids an’ comely countesses? Or do ye have somethin’ else in mind? A tragedy, a mystery, a tale o' ghosts an’ sorcery?
… Sir, that is surprisin’. Very surprisin’ indeed. I’d never ‘ave thought… But surely, none speak o' it no more? And ye, sir, are far too young to know o’ such things. I really shouldn’t, not here, not now. Very well, sir, ye do persuade me. Very well.
So it shall be, a tale concernin’ the Map of Ages. The lost chart that spans all the known continents an’ many more besides. Four hun’red years an’ twenty old, or so they say. An’ so accurate that it shows the very edges o’ the world itself to within the breadth o’ an angel’s wing. And, if I may be addin’ here, sir, ‘tis nought but a fairy-tale, such as it is. No man has seen the map or at least none that are still breathin’. ‘Tis a tale lost to the ages, as my old man would’ve said. But first, sir, we must start at the beginning. I must tell ye o' a ship’s captain. Braddock was ‘is name. or at least, they say ‘twere. It changes with each tellin’, such as it is. For now, we shall say that were ‘is name.
Braddock was a fiend, a scoundrel, a cutthroat an’ rebel second only to the devil ‘imself. The oceans were ‘is ’untin’ grounds an’ the ships that sailed upon it ‘is quarry. ‘Tis said ’e once threw a king’s ransom worth o’ silver an’ gold into the deep, just to spite Neptune with ‘is plunder. ‘E gave no quarter, took no prisoners an’ was the scourge o' all who saw ‘is black sails ‘pon the horizon. At least, ‘tis what people say.
On Braddock’s ship, the Midnight Scythe, ‘e kept a crew o’ fifty men at arms. T’were the fiercest, bloodiest pack o' dogs ye’d ever set eyes upon. Each vile as the last, a
n’ not an ’onest one among ‘em. Well, all except for nine o’ them.
For on this ship, there were nine brothers. Aye, nine I says! An’ these nine brothers, they were fierce loyal to their captain. They’d sooner slit their own throats than betray ‘is trust. ‘Tis a rare thing, sir, amongst them who’d sail under a pirate’s flag: most o’ them buccaneers would sell their mother’s virtue for a chance to escape the hangman’s noose. An’ Captain Braddock, ‘e knew the brothers’ loyalty was iron-fast. And it ‘twas o' this, that ‘e imparted a great secret between the nine o’ them: the mystery o' the Map of Ages.
The map ‘ad come into Braddock’s possessin’ by ‘appenstance, given ‘im by an old priest from Marshgrave. No one knows why the old priest did it, ‘anding such treasure to a buccaneer, but the Lord does keep strange bedfellows. Anyhow, the captain kept it to ‘iself at first, not even lettin’ ‘is second-in-command ‘ave a peek at the map. But the nine brothers aboard the Scythe, he trusted ‘em. ‘E knew they would never, ever tell ‘is secret. So old Captain Braddock, if that was ‘is name, got to thinkin’. Sooner or later, someone would come lookin’ for the map. An’ Braddock was gettin’ no younger.
He would ‘ave to find a way to keep it safe so as ‘e would be the only man in all creation with access to the map. An’ ‘e came up with a plan. A plan that were so devious, ‘twas as if Lucifer ‘imself had whispered it into Braddock’s ear.
He took these nine brothers, an’ on each o' their bare skins, he ‘ad a piece o' the map tattooed in black ink. It were only a portion o' the map, see, not the ‘ole part of it. That way, it couldn’t be followed ‘less all nine men were brought together an’ their skins bound in some way to make it whole again. An’ Captain Braddock, if that was ‘is real name, ‘e set these nine men off in nine o’ ‘is finest ships, to all the furthest corners o’ the world. So ‘is secret would be safe with ‘em. An’ when ’e ‘ad need o’ them, he would know where to find ‘em.
