"So what do you think of our new accommodation? Not as comfortable as the Mermaid eh?" Kerian took the opportunity to re-examine the man before him. He stood about five-foot-ten in height and had the dark looks of a gypsy. Curly jet-black hair, skin weathered by exposure to the elements, a shadow of beard growth and slight gauntness to his muscular frame. Dark trousers, scuffed leather boots which had seen better days and a blood-stained leather tunic completed his sparse wardrobe.
"Why did you run from me this morning?" Kerian asked. "I only saw you briefly last night so why flee from the horse stall?"
"I mistook you as a friend of the guard I beat at dice." His fellow prisoner confessed. "I see now that I misjudged you and for that Octavian Silvestri apologises from his heart. It was a simple mistake to make, kindness is something I have rarely experienced in life and when someone shows an interest in me, I am usually right to be suspicious." Octavian looked down at his feet as if reflecting on the truth of his own words.
"There is tragic sentiment in what you say." Kerian replied. "If our positions were reversed, I may have also felt that way."
"I also recognise that you remained near me when I lay helpless in the alleyway. Why would you do this for me?" Octavian asked, jumping to his feet and extending a hand. Kerian took his hand and shook it, accepting the thankful gesture for what it was.
"My name is Kerian Denaris." He offered. "I stepped in because the odds were not in your favour and that guard meant to kill you. I have done many wrongs in my life but after recent experiences I have decided I will not stand by and do nothing if someone is in need. However, I have a distinct feeling you did not win your dice game on luck alone." Kerian watched Octavian's face and the flush that came to the man’s cheeks at the accusation, confirming the knight’s suspicions.
"Octavian is no conman." He shook his head still looking sheepishly down at the floor. "I merely liberate funds from fools who do not understand their true value."
"So how do you do it?" Kerian asked. "Are the dice loaded?" Octavian reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pair of die shot through with blue and gold, rattling them loudly in his hand before handing them over for inspection. Kerian regarded the two cubes in his hand, the edges rounded by repeated use.
"May I?" He requested. A slight nod of his associate's head allowed Kerian to roll the dice on his bunk and they reacted like any dice would. A three and a five showed on the upper faces. Kerian rolled again, a one and a six. The rolls appeared random enough. He checked the sides. All present and correct. One to six represented on each. No side of the dice felt weighted to his scrutiny. He returned the dice to their owner none the wiser as to how this sleight of hand was being achieved.
Octavian winked with his mischievous brown eye.
"Lady luck be with me." He smiled slyly, then kissed the die in his hand. The cubes clattered across the bunk and landed six and six. Then the conman collected his dice kissed them and rolled again. Double six showed on the upper faces.
"Give me those." Kerian smiled leaning forwards and sweeping the dice up. He stared hard at Octavian' s face, then cast the dice. One and one.
"Snakes eyes." Octavian teased. "You lose."
"How?" Kerian asked, intrigued by the method to this man's good fortune.
"It's all in the wrist." The conman explained, sweeping up the die, kissing his hand then throwing them again. Double six showed as expected, accompanied by a devious smile.
"Where ever did you get these dice?" Kerian enquired, suddenly eager for the backstory.
"They were included in the dowry that I accepted when I married my wife." Octavian confessed. "Rumour has It that there are two sets of these dice and that my family used them to trick a devil out of a great treasure. Alas there is now only one pair. I know not where the other is. If I had both sets, the chaos I could cause." He stared down into his hand at the two cubes he held, shaking his head despondently at memories only he could relive. "I just fear that these dice are not enough to help me now."
Octavian looked up and met Kerian's intense gaze with his sad dark brown eyes, then turned his head away as if ashamed at discussing the matter with a relative stranger. He wiped his face on his sleeve, then cleared his throat before regaining his feet and started to pace within the small confines of the cell. After a moment or two of quiet reflection, Octavian turned to Kerian and attempted to change the subject.
"Enough about me," he muttered in a voice suddenly hoarse. "Tell me that tale of the man who sailed into Wellruff with saddlebags over his shoulder, yet no horse to go with them and is there any truth to the story those bags are filled with gold and jewels stolen from the back of a giant sea horse that took you to a city beneath the waves." Kerian rolled his eyes at the fabricated tale of his arrival.
"I'm sure you do not want to hear all about my dull adventures." Kerian smiled. "Indeed by the sound of things you have invented plenty of stories that make the truth definitely boring in comparison."
"Oh come now Sir Denaris. Why are you so secretive? Do you not wish to unburden your heart to Octavian? Why this unhealthy need to be so insular?" That devious smile reappeared as the con artist within his cell mate rose to the surface and attempted to disarm Kerian's guarded nature.
"Like yourself," Kerian bristled, not falling for the man's suave approach one bit. "I find it hard to trust people. Everyone I have ever trusted has betrayed me, so I tend to just say what needs to be said and no more. The pain is less that way. Do people really say I have treasure in my saddlebags?"
Octavian nodded, moving to elaborate further then stopped as he noticed the sudden agitation on Kerian's face. Kerian was clutching at his chest, pulling through the loose folds in his ripped shirt, untucking the material before removing his shirt entirely. Octavian looked on as Kerian dropped to the floor and started searching around in the straw beneath his bunk. Despite the disgusting mess he was digging through the man would not stop looking, making Octavian feel decidedly uncomfortable watching him.
"What is the matter?" He asked. Kerian ignored him, raising the discomfort Octavian felt at seeing the actions of the man. Kerian spun out from beneath the bunk and looked directly into Octavian' s wide eyes.
"Have you seen my pendants?" Kerian asked breathlessly, his face displaying a sense of panic that put the conman at considerable unease. Octavian shook his head, denying any involvement in his fellow prisoner' s loss.
"You must have." Kerian yelled. "One with an emerald off centre about this big." Kerian held up his thumb and forefinger to show the approximate size. Octavian shook his head; sure he had never seen this item of jewellery.
"The other one is gold, inlaid with pearls. It has a large grey pearl at the centre." His voice was becoming more frantic at the telling. Clearly the necklace meant a great deal to Kerian.
Octavian held up his hands trying to calm his cellmate down.
"When do you last remember having them?" He asked. "Try to calm down and think." Kerian furrowed his brow in concentration.
"I remember having them at the market." He confessed, images of the earlier skirmish rushing through his mind. Had he felt material ripping during the fight? He could not be sure. Had he lost them then? How could he have been so stupid not to check sooner? Kerian stood up and paced in agitation, checking the jail cell door, confirming it was locked fast.
"I need to get out of here and back to the market as fast as I can." Kerian confessed. "Is there a guard we can call. The longer we wait the greater the possibility my pendants and Colette are lost."
"No one is in a hurry to release us." Octavian confessed. "Don't you realise we are in here accused of murder. Until they recognise that we have no weapons on us that could have caused the wounds they have seen, they will be in no hurry to let us out."
"Murder! You can't be serious." Kerian snapped, banging hard on the bars. "I need to get out of here now! Guard! Guard!" As predicted his calls for assistance fell on deaf ears. Octavian placed a
hand lightly on Kerian's shoulder.
"Please do not antagonise matters. They cannot hold us much longer." He looked up at the sky through the barred window and noticed the fading of the daylight. "They will let us go soon, otherwise they will have to feed us and if I have these guards down right, they will not want all the extra work." Octavian licked his lips nervously and sniffed the air as if this somehow confirmed his suspicions.
Kerian sank back down onto the bunk and cursed in frustration. His pendants could be anywhere, moving further away the longer he sat here powerless to pursue. He would not lose Colette this way, not after everything he had gone through but what could he do? He sat in silent frustration, his face grimly displaying a determination and quiet resolve to get his property back. However, deep inside his heart, there burned nothing but pure unadulterated rage.
Blinded by such emotion, Kerian had no idea that If he had taken a moment to calm down and consider his situation, he would have realised that when he had first seen Octavian in the alleyway, the conman's eyes had been blue and not brown.
* * * * * *
"Get a gate open now!" Thomas yelled, "and this time keep it open!" Colette spun her head around, magic energy spitting and dancing around her fist, her eyes blazing with anger.
"I warned you this could happen!" She snapped. "Don't you dare shout at me. We are in this position because of your recklessness not mine. If you think you can do better grab hold of this..." she gestured at the writhing energies crackling around her hand. "...and then let’s see what you can do."
Thomas bit back a bitter reply as Rowan's hand came down on his shoulder. Her eyes warning him that this meaningless conflict would only cause further problems. He took a hard swallow then closed his eyes for a second to gather his thoughts, hearing the curses of his crew trying to hold back the trawler and free the chain from where it dragged against the hull. Howls continue to fill the air, much closer now as the Scintarns moved towards them eager for a feast. He opened his eyes, breathed in a deep lungful of fowl air, then turned back to Colette, his sense of control now recovered.
"Colette, please forgive me. I did not intend to shout at you. You know we need you to open the gate. Please pick one and do your best to hold it open. I have faith in you." He turned from the mage, aware he would still have to pay for his outburst later and looked at Rowan.
"Rowan please go and tell Commagin of our predicament. We need something to sever that chain as soon as possible." Rowan moved to action his request but Thomas laid a hand on her arm making her look at him once more.
"Thank you." He mouthed silently, acknowledging his loss of control and his thanks for her guidance. Rowan stood up on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"I'll be back before you know it." she smiled, then she darted off heading for the lower decks where the engineer had his workshop. Thomas turned towards Austen as the sailor ran across the deck to assist the crew struggling against the trawler.
"Austen, take one other crewman, get down to the ballista and get a grappling hook secured to the end of the line, we may have to pull ourselves out of this."
The air crackled behind him as Colette chose an archway to open and threw her magical energies at the ancient stonework. The sky split with a shriek and water rushed into the graveyard, setting the boats and ships creaking and groaning in protest as the current moved them around. A huge cloud of mist poured from the opening accompanied by a perpetual roaring, as if a monstrous beast were in pain and Thomas tried to steal a look at their destination, but it appeared as if a bank of fog blocked the view. Despite the roaring and the likely danger, it represented, they had no further options. Colette had no more power. There was no other choice. It was through this archway or nowhere.
A scream snatched Thomas's attention back to the men struggling to fend off the trawler. He ran for the side and gazed down on an unfortunate sailor who had slipped after his safety line became tangled. It appeared that as he had struggled to free it from the ship, he had fallen and his leg had become trapped between the trawler and the El Defensor's hull. Mathius and several other crew were struggling to pull him free but he was securely pinned and his screams confirmed the severity of his pain. Thomas threw himself over the side, slipping and sliding on the deck of the slime covered trawler. He pushed vainly from its deck trying desperately to move the much larger galleon away as the man continued screaming in agony below him.
"Move damn you!" Thomas cursed, throwing all his might behind his push. Several other crew slipped down onto the trawler, taking their captain's lead, pushing with all their power and having as much effect as a mortal king trying to hold back a relentless tide.
"Please help me." the man begged, as the two ships ground agonisingly against each other. Thomas kept pushing ineffectively with the rest of the crew, his eyes darting about frantically looking for something to move the situation in their favour.
“It’s okay…” Thomas paused, struggling to remember this man’s name. He used to be so good at this and the fact the injured man’s name did not readily spring to mind showed how poor his focus had been of late since leaving Stratholme behind them. “Don’t worry Monahan. We will have you out of here soon.” There was a loud twang as the grapple line shot out past where they struggled, trailing a line behind it as it sailed through the archway into the billowing cloud. The slack was swiftly taken up but the hook found no purchase and came back through the gateway without resistance. Thomas's heart sank as he knew it would take valuable time before they could re-prime and fire again.
A loud crunch and a jet of blood, followed by a much weaker scream of agony galvanised Thomas into pushing harder but his efforts seemed more for his own benefit and the struggling crew alongside him, rather than the poor man who was clearly going to lose his leg if they ever managed to free him. Monahan’s eyes were glazed with pain and he was showing obvious signs of delirium. If they did not free him soon, losing his leg would be the least of the man's problems.
* * * * * *
Commagin, chief engineer for the El Defensor stomped up onto the deck with all the authority a four-foot-tall dwarf could muster, his white beard bristling beneath a strawberry red nose upon which balanced a set of wire rimmed spectacles set with lenses so thick you could use them as coasters. A set of rusty bolt cutters slung over the left shoulder of a stained brown work coat covered with pockets filled with blunt pencils, rulers and short candles. Around his tubby waist slung a belt with more pouches and tools that were probably never used but simply added to his senior technical appearance.
Rowan came up behind him and tapped Commagin on the shoulder, gesturing to the side of the ship where the taut chain holding them in place groaned and creaked, its large rusty links twisted and strained from the tension of holding the El Defensor in check.
The Dwarven engineer examined the problem with his poor eyesight as his little associate, a three-foot-tall Gnome with ragged clothes and holed boots staggered up on deck with a tool bag almost as heavy as himself. This assistant wore a stained apron with a couple of pencils stuck in the pocket in a direct copy of his senior colleague, his name spelt out in uneven mismatched embroidery over his right breast.
Barney was Commagin's apprentice, a thankless role for one so small, as often he was used as the analyte for all the engineer's mad experimental ideas. Recently he had been used as a test pilot for a risky diving suit apparatus and he knew there were other equally dangerous propositions lined up for the near future. These moments of sheer terror were interspersed with periods of tedium as Barney's other role consisted of cleaning up the results of the said failed experiments. He had often voiced his belief that his skills with a broom and dustpan were now as good as they would ever be.
The apprentice dragged the bag of tools over to his mentor and peered over the rail to take in the situation, trying to guess the solution his ingenious master would devise. The chain was huge. The links straining against the pull of the El Defensor so ti
ghtly that the air almost hummed with the tension in the line. His little mind raced at the challenge. Even if they managed to sever the links the tension was so high the chain could cause serious damage as it snapped back. The link would need to be removed at either the far pillar, or wherever the other end of the chain was attached.
Tutting heavily, as he was professionally trained to do, Barney ran back across the deck on his little feet and looked down onto the group of sailors struggling to free the trapped man wedged against the hull. Beyond them, on the deck of the ruined trawler lay links of chain wound repeatedly around an old mast. The answer was clearly simple. Grab a hacksaw and start sawing through the mast. He smiled to himself and ran back across the deck eager to hear his mentor's take on the situation.
"Ah, glad you finally had the need to arrive." Commagin chided, unaware his student had been weighing up the scene already. "See that pillar over there... I want you to climb down the side of the El Defensor, move along the chain hand over hand, then cut a link free when you get to the other side." Barney's eyes widened in horror as he took in the foaming water and the rushing current caused by Colette having opened the gateway. As he looked several large fish leapt from the water, then the sea exploded as a large silver eel leapt up after them, snatching the fresh meal from the air.
"Can't we simply cut the mast from the trawler and release the chain?" Barney asked. Commagin sighed heavily, shaking his head, despairing of his apprentice.
The Labyris Knight Page 8
