“Who do we have here?” came a mocking voice from the foot of the stairs. “Is it an innocent nobody caught alone on the water? Or could it be Torsten the Bastard?”
Felix watched as a spiffy pair of highly polished boots joined Torsten’s socked feet. Silence followed briefly, soon broken by the sound of a fist connecting with flesh, and then Torsten’s knife clattered to the floor and bounced beneath the bed. Instinctively, Felix reached for it, grasping the handle with a shaky hand. More people had entered now, one of them carrying a lantern. From his hiding place, he could see four sets of feet, including Torsten’s as he was roughly dragged away from the bed.
“Definitely the bastard, I think,” decided the voice in a slow, confident drawl. “You have that look about you that comes with being an unwanted child. But, hmm, you know, you have another look about you, too. And the bed has a look about it, as well. Do you know the kind of look I mean?”
As the others laughed, Torsten remained silent, but Felix could practically hear his eyebrows sinking into a vicious scowl.
“You both look as if you’re missing a companion,” the voice answered for him, and then, addressing the others in the room, “Let’s have a look beneath the bed, shall we?”
“I’m alone!” Torsten protested, but it was too late. Hands reached for Felix, gripping his ankles, and he was dragged from his hiding place, where he could now clearly see the horrors that awaited.
Torsten’s hands were tied behind his back, and he was being held by two men. The third man, the one who’d pulled him out, now yanked Felix to his feet. He wore a black tricorn hat with a fat, purple feather sticking out of it and a long, leather duster with shiny brass buttons. His skin was tanned, as if it were the height of summer, his hair was carefully trimmed, and his goatee was artfully shaped and groomed.
Felix groaned. This man was no royal guard.
“Now, you don’t look the type to be armed,” assessed his latest captor, sizing Felix up with amusement, “but I believe it’s usually a mistake to discount the innocent-looking ones.” His eyes stopped their journey along Felix’s body at the arm he held close to his side, his hand hidden behind him. The man grinned, grabbing for his wrist, but Felix was already swinging with Torsten’s knife. He aimed for the pirate’s face, missed, and the blade was knocked from his hand and kicked across the floor.
“Ha! What did I tell you?” The pirate grabbed Felix and spun him around, making quick work of tying his wrists with a length of scratchy rope. When he finished, he leaned around to look him in the eyes. “You aren’t innocent at all, are you?”
“Stay away from him!” Torsten yelled.
The pirate held a finger to his ear and tsked. “Let’s not shout, please, until we’ve moved this excitement above deck.” He smiled at Felix and then shoved him towards the stairs. He snapped his fingers at the men holding Torsten. “Follow.”
There was a lot of pushing and pulling next, Felix trying to look over his shoulder at Torsten, and Torsten trying to throw off his captors. He almost succeeded, but then one of the pirates pulled his sword and poked him threateningly.
When they made it up the steps and onto the deck, Felix cried out in surprise. “Gods!” An enormous boat was alongside their small one, one long board lowered to connect them. Indeed, this was a proper ship, with giant sails and a deck with ample room to move about, and Felix looked around in amazement as he was led up the ramp. And though he couldn’t be certain, given his level of fright and the surrounding darkness, he believed it was one of the larger vessels he’d seen at the river town, anchored offshore. He would have been in storytelling heaven, if not for their impending doom taking the fun out of everything.
Once upon the ship, they were manhandled to the far side of the deck. Felix was handed off to one of the other pirates there, and Torsten, glaring furiously at the man in the feathered tricorn, was brought to stand beside him.
“Captain,” one of the men called, approaching with Felix’s satchel and Torsten’s pack. “This is all we found.”
Another appeared with Torsten’s bow and quiver. “And this weapon. If they’re hiding more, they’ve done a fine job of it, sir.”
The man with the feather, the captain, hummed thoughtfully, then put a hand in the air and brought it down with a sweep. Felix’s legs were kicked out from under him, and he fell to his knees, a sword held to his back. With a twist of his head, he discovered Torsten had been brought to his knees as well, although there were two swords aimed at him.
“You’re not hiding more weaponry in your underclothes, are you?” the captain asked Felix with a contemplative smile.
“Leave him alone,” Torsten growled.
The captain rolled his eyes and turned to Torsten. “Oh, do simmer down. I’ve heard all about your dramatics. All you noble-borns are exactly alike. Shall we skip the part where you threaten to skin me alive if I dare touch a hair on this boy’s head and get on to business?”
“Business? What do you want?” Torsten demanded.
“The only thing I want is to get paid for a job well done. While I admit it’s unfortunate for you and your companion that this entails seeing you both dead,” he said, clasping his hands together, “I’m afraid my men have already determined that you lack the coin to tempt me otherwise.”
“Listen to me,” Torsten pleaded. “Whatever the job, whoever you’ve made a deal with, it has nothing to do with him!” He nodded at Felix. “He’s only a flautist!”
“That’s funny, because he looks like a bandit to me.” The captain touched a hand to Felix’s neck and offered another smile. “I love the bandana, by the way. The eye makeup on the other hand—not my style.”
“You think I’m a bandit?” Felix squeaked, looking up.
“If the unwashed hair fits, darling. No offense.”
Felix frowned. It had been a while since he’d had a proper wash.
“My instructions were clear,” continued the captain. “Stop Torsten the Bastard from reaching the Guardians’ Guild and exposing the guildmaster. Kill him and any traveling companions he may be in league with. That would be you,” he said, pointing at Felix. “My sympathies.”
“Who hired you?” demanded Torsten, right as Felix asked, “Expose the guildmaster for what?”
The captain rubbed his hands together, blowing warmth into his palms before reaching into the pockets of his coat for a pair of fine leather gloves. “Since I’m a fan of occasional honesty, I’ll answer one of those questions.” He knelt before Torsten. “I was hired by a man named Malcolm,” he said, and Torsten’s face paled. “I believe you may know him. He’s a councilman to the queen. For the record, I’m not a fan, but being as I’m a man of little moral standing, I don’t need to be. I simply go where the coin takes me, and tonight, his coin has brought me here to you.” He smiled, then stood, pulling on his gloves.
“Torsten, who’s Malcolm?” Felix asked.
Torsten turned to him, his eyes glistening. “Malcolm is my father.”
“Ooh, it stings,” the captain said, holding a hand to his heart, “right here, doesn’t it?”
“Whatever my father has told you, it’s not true.” Torsten said, his body shaking with anger, his voice tight with it. Felix had never seen him so angry.
The captain held up his hands and shook his head dismissively. “No, no. I will not be lured into your family drama. I was told you might be found on the river sometime soon, and here you are. That’s all I need to know.”
Torsten made an aggravated noise deep in his throat, something between a scream and a growl. “Kill me if you must,” he said, “but let the flautist go.”
“Would that I could,” crooned the captain, “but as I’ve stated, my instructions were to kill you and any companions traveling in your party.”
“But he isn’t my companion,” Torsten argued. “He’s just an innocent boy trying to return home, a flautist I met at an inn and offered a ride to. He has nothing to do with any of this, whatever this is.”<
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“Hmm.” The pirate knelt before Felix, tilting his head up curiously. Felix found the captain’s eyes to be shockingly blue up close, and something about the shade was jarringly familiar.
“Don’t touch him!” Torsten yelled, struggling hard against his ropes.
Felix watched the pirate’s blue eyes roll in annoyance as he wiggled his hands at Torsten. “Not touching. See?” Then he zeroed in on Felix again, amused and far too pleased with himself. “Well? Are you just a flautist?” he asked. “I play the violin, but I’m not just a violinist.”
Felix glanced at Torsten—he couldn’t help himself—and then nodded. “Y-yes.”
“And where is your flute?”
“In my satchel,” he answered quickly, eyes darting to the pirate holding his bag. Something occurred to him then, a crazy idea that tried to flit away, but he seized it, clinging desperately to its edges. “I can play for you,” he offered. “I’m very good. I can play anything you want to hear.”
The captain smiled. “Let me guess. If I like your playing enough, I’ll let you live?” He narrowed his eyes. “I somehow doubt you’re that good a flautist.”
“I’m not just good,” Felix stated boldly. “I’m the best you’ll ever hear.”
“Are you really?” asked the captain, sounding intrigued. “Well, I suppose it would be a shame to miss such a golden opportunity.” He sprang to his feet, ripping the satchel from his crewman’s hand. When he opened it, his eyebrows rose in surprise, and he held up a small vial of oil, rolling it between his fingers. “For Merric and Felix,” he read aloud from the pasted-on label. “Charming,” he said, chuckling at the deep blush that appeared on Felix’s face as he dropped it back inside and continued his perusal. “Let’s see . . . a bit of bread, some string, and it seems you have two flutes,” he noted with interest. “That’s a bit overkill, in my opinion. Which one would you like to play your last song on?”
Felix straightened his shoulders. “The silver one, please. With the flowers.”
The captain pulled out the queen-gifted instrument and held it up to glint in the moonlight. “Astounding craftsmanship. Very pretty. Where did you acquire such a flute?”
“The Queen of Viridor gave it to me,” Felix answered, not seeing the use in lying.
The captain laughed as he signaled his men to cut the ropes binding Felix’s wrists. “The Queen of Viridor, indeed. You’re funny. It’s a shame you chose your traveling companion so poorly. I hate to see potential go to waste. It’s one of my least favorite things, in fact.”
Felix rubbed at his chaffed skin and gave his wrists a flex. Still on his knees, he held out his hand. The captain handed over the flute, and Felix sighed as he felt the delicate weight settle onto his palm. As he gazed down at the slender, silvery instrument, he sent up a prayer to the Gods that he was not delusional, that the flute in his hands was magical, and that, when he played it, all the pirates on the ship would fall unconscious. He prayed for his survival, and Torsten’s, and he prayed for more time, with all his heart.
“The suspense is killing me,” drawled the captain with a hand on his hip.
Felix stole a glance at Torsten, and their eyes met. He offered a small smile, and, to his surprise, Torsten smiled back. His chest filled at the sight, and it was without hesitance that he brought the flute to his lips and began.
When he’d first been made to play for his life, he’d thought it a once in a lifetime occurrence. But no longer. If he survived this second round of “amaze me with your music or die”, Felix vowed to create a list of “please don’t kill me” melodies to keep with him at all times, so he wouldn’t be left scrambling for a proper tune when his life was on the line and he was being stared at expectantly by a ship full of pirates.
He floundered for a few moments before landing on the tune he prayed would suffice. It was the song he’d played for Scorch the night they’d first met in his own village’s tavern so many nights ago, the same night Flora was killed. It had an uplifting crescendo and always left patrons feeling generous with tips. It was also delicately measured, the perfect pace. It shared the same rhythm as Torsten’s breathing when he slept.
He thought of sleep as he played, picturing how it would look for each pirate to slowly nod off until he and Torsten were the only wakeful souls on the ship. He closed his eyes to the mesmerized smile on the captain’s face, focusing on the nimbleness of his fingers as they danced across the keys and his breath giving life to the notes.
And he prayed, he prayed, he prayed.
His eyes remained closed until the flute was snatched from his hands, and the pirate captain stood above him, twirling it. All around them, the crew lay on the deck, unconscious. Felix looked at Torsten, finding he was awake and watching him with big eyes, his lips parted in surprise.
“Just a flautist?” asked the still-conscious captain. “With a magic flute?”
Felix couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of relief. It was good to hear someone else say it, even if that someone was a murderous pirate. Then he frowned, looking at the captain in confusion. “But—”
“Why didn’t the magic work on me?” he interrupted, continuing to inspect the instrument with great curiosity. “I’m interested in that myself. It might have something to do with this, though.” He raised his hand, palm up.
At first, Felix didn’t understand, but then he felt the drops begin to fall on his skin. He glanced up to see a spherical mass of water hovering in the air just a few feet above him.
“You’re an elemental!” Felix squealed with an uncontained burst of delight.
“I am!” the captain responded with nearly equal glee. “Looks like your magic flute won’t work on me. Or maybe I’m just too strong-willed. I have been told so, numerous times. Not to boast.”
Beside him, Torsten was looking up at the floating water, mystified. His hair was already matted down on his forehead from the rain, and his shirt was becoming wet enough to see through. Felix eyed the flexing of his muscles as he strained against his ropes, for though the pirates surrounding them were asleep, he remained tightly bound.
Felix, however, was not.
While the captain was enjoying his moment of reveal, he surged to his feet and grabbed one of the swords the snoozing pirates had dropped. It was heavy, and he had to squeeze the grip with both hands as he pointed it at the captain. “Let us go!” he demanded in his rarely used voice of authority.
“You’re making it so much harder to kill you and not regret it, little flautist,” chuckled the pirate. “What is your name? I would love to know you better before I make you walk the plank. I assume it’s either Merric or Felix, if I’m to go by the vial. But I must say, you don’t really look like a Merric.”
His arms were trembling with the weight of the sword. “It’s Felix.”
“Felix,” repeated the pirate. He removed his hat and delivered him a sweeping bow. “I’m Captain Ellison Quinn. It has truly been a pleasure.” He flicked his wrist and the ship lurched on a sudden wave, knocking Felix to the deck and the sword from his hands. “But I think we’ve lingered with pleasantries long enough.”
Felix scampered back to Torsten’s side as Quinn sauntered forward, whipping his own sword from its sheath. Felix tried to get Torsten’s ropes untied, but his fingers couldn’t get a catch on the knots. His satchel lay beside him and he grabbed it, throwing it around his neck as Torsten came to his feet.
“Get behind me!” Torsten ordered, moving protectively in front of Felix, who, spying another sword beneath a slumbering crewman, lunged for it. But before he could reach it, Quinn brought the sphere of water down on their heads in a suffocating deluge. Felix could neither breathe nor see, completely encapsulated by the sphere. As he flailed, he was grabbed, his arms twisted behind his back. His lungs began to burn as scratchy rope bound his wrists.
Just as he was certain he would drown, the water fell away, splashing onto the deck. Felix gasped for breath, thankful to hear Torsten coughing up water bes
ide him. It was not the first time an elemental had tried to drown him—one had nearly killed him in the courtyard battle—but the sheer terror, and the ache of his lungs, and the adrenaline that continued to thump through him was no easier to bear. And now he was bound again, and as useless as he’d been in the queen’s courtyard. But here, there were no dead bodies to hide beneath.
The captain poked him in the shoulder with the tip of his sword, and then poked Torsten a bit harder. Torsten, still coughing, moved in front of him again, and Felix could see the charmed smile on Captain Quinn’s face.
“Impressive bravery, even at the end. I’ll be sure to report that back to Malcolm after I’ve collected my pay. Now move. It’s been fun, but the world doesn’t revolve around the two of you. I’ve things to do, people to see, a crew to kick awake.” He poked Torsten with his sword again and nodded toward the end of the deck, where a set of wooden steps led up to—Felix squinted—a plank.
“You’re really going to make us walk the plank?” he asked, staring at Quinn in disbelief. “I thought you were joking.”
“Sometimes I’m a traditionalist,” shrugged Quinn. “Now start walking.”
Torsten didn’t budge.
The captain sighed. “Either walk or I slit Felix’s throat and let him bleed out in front of you instead of letting you die together. If I were you, I’d choose the plank. It’s far more romantic.”
“It’s okay, Torsten,” Felix whispered at his shoulder, even though it wasn’t. “Let’s walk.” He moved to his side.
“Good for you. Way to take initiative,” the captain complimented. “Now get moving. There’s a bottle of wine in my cabin waiting for me. I’ll be sure to drink a toast to your health when this is over.”
They walked slowly across the deck, their arms brushing. Captain Quinn followed at their backs, the tip of his sword between Felix’s shoulder blades. When they reached the steps, Felix stepped up to the plank. The board was wide enough for two, and Torsten stepped up beside him.
The King's Whisper Page 17
