by James Dale
"The Seawolf!" replied Tarsus. "Returning for the Council meeting and a bit of reveling!"
"Ahoy Seawolf!" shouted the sloop's master. "Welcome home Brothers. My name is Dersh Manuez. How went your sailing?"
"Not good," replied Tarsus. "We lost eighteen of the ship’s crew to a Norgarthan patrol, along with Cullibranos the captain. I, Tarsus Aernin now command the Seawolf."
"Congratulations on your captaincy, Tarsus," said Dersh. "I am sorry to hear about your loss but, the Seawolf has been luckier than some. We've lost three ships with all hands in the last two months to the Norgarthans."
"How many have returned for the council meeting?" asked the Amarian.
"You are the twenty ninth ship to return since the call was put out a month ago."
"Then we have enough for a quorum of captains?"
"Aye," replied the sloop's captain. "The council sits tomorrow at noon."
"Then lead us in good captain," instructed Tarsus. "If I must endure a council tomorrow, I'll need to get good and drunk tonight."
"Then follow me," laughed Dersh. "I'll see if I can get you into Brimcohn before the taverns are full."
The Seawolf followed Captain Manuez through the winding pathway that led to Brimcohn. To Jack Braedan's untrained eyes, it appeared the two ships made an unnecessary number of turns in the open water between the islands, but the captain of the sloop was taking a route that was strict and unforgiving to any who deviated from its course. A few yards to the right or left of the path they followed and the Seawolf would have become grounded upon hidden sand banks or its hull ripped open by jagged rocks submerged just below the surface.
It was a complex network of twists and turns that few escort captains could navigate without consulting the charts they carried, charts which never left the Felnor Islands. But Dersh Manuez knew the labyrinth like the back of his hand. The two ships sailed around the curve of an island one hour later and Brimcohn burst into view.
"There she is Jack," said Tarsus with a small amount of pride. "Brimcohn, city of the Brotherhood. Its location has been sought by every kingdom of Aralon for over a hundred years."
It was an impressive sight. Brimcohn's spacious harbor was filled with over fifty ships at anchor. Sloops, twin masted brigantines and frigates and captured, three masted merchant ships choked the harbor. Off the port side, Braedan watched a tender as it returned to the beach after ferrying out casks of water and crates of food to a pirate ship, while beyond it, pirate traders in small, single masted vessels raised sail and weighed anchor. Off the stern of the Seawolf, a refit crew was busy converting a captured merchant into a raider for the Brotherhood. At the docks a crew was offloading their ship's booty onto carts and wagons that would haul the loot to the warehouses close by. Some of the cargo would be taken to the markets and bazaars on Brimcohn to be sold or traded among the inhabitants of the city, but the bulk of the treasure would be stored in Brimcohn until it could be resold on the black market in one port or another in Aralon.
"It's impressive. I must admit," Jack observed.
"Only the tip of the iceberg my friend," laughed Tarsus. "Here lives the scourge of the high seas; murderers, cutthroats, thieves, and sailors of every description. No swords are allowed in the city. Couldn't have all those plunderers running around armed with real stickers, could we? Only daggers and knives can go ashore, but there are plenty of those. So have a care. I'd hate to lose my new lieutenant to a robber in some dark alley."
"No need to worry," Braedan assured him. "I think I'll be able to handle any trouble that might come along. Hell, I'm carrying so many knives I have to be careful how I walk, or I'll lose a limb. And I'll have Heath to protect me. Won't I Heath?"
"Don't worry none Cap'n Tarsus," Heath nodded. "If something comes along Mister Jack can't fight his way out'a, I'll lead'em on a chase through the back streets that'll have'em lost for a week."
"No doubt you will boy," laughed the captain, patting the young Heath on his back. "Just don't lose Mister Jack while you're at it."
"Let's shove off Heath," Braedan smiled. "We're burning daylight."
"Don't forget the directions I gave you to the Shark's Tooth!" Tarsus called out to them as they made their way down the gang plank connecting the Seawolf to its berth. "Dorad and I will be looking for you at sundown."
"I'll be there!" Jack nodded.
"Have you any coin?" asked Tarsus.
"Just half of Dorad's winnings from my duel with Danos," he answered, jingling a pouch tied to his belt.
"I'd put that somewhere safer!" the captain advised. "This is the city of pirates after all."
"Yes mother," Jack sighed, and put the pouch of gold coins into his shirt pocket.
"That man's going to find trouble for sure," Tarsus sighed to himself. "Yh have pity on Brimcohn when he does."
"Well Heath," Jack said when they made their way off the dock where the Seawolf rested. "You're the guide. Where do we go first?"
"If it's alright with you Mr Jack," replied the boy, "I'd like to visit my mother first. She don't live far from here and it's on our way."
"Whatever you want," Braedan nodded. "We aren't in any hurry."
"Great!" cried Heath. He grabbed Braedan's hand and they were off.
Heath's mother was named Jessica. Widowed now for over a year, she and Heath lived in a small apartment above The Wounded Stag, the tavern where she worked as a barmaid. At first the proprietor of the inn did not want to let them in, it being only three hours after sunrise, until he recognized Heath.
"Come in m'boy," said the little man, wiping his hands on a dirty apron. "Come in. Come in. My name is Gep," the inn keeper said shaking Braedan's hand.
"Jack Braedan," replied the Seawolf's second mate.
"Where's my mum?" Heath asked.
"She's at the bazaar," he answered. "You just only missed her. She won't be back for some time if I know your mother. There's been a lot of goods brought back by the Brotherhood recently and you know how your mother loves to shop."
"Would you do me a favor?" asked Heath.
"Certainly lad."
"Don't tell her I'm back yet. I'd like to surprise her."
"Surely, surely," smiled the little man. "She'll be pleased to see you that's a fact. I swear you've grown half a foot since I saw you last."
The boy swelled with pride. "I've been taking sword lessons too. Mr. Jack's been teaching me."
"Is that a fact?" grinned the inn keeper. "Well then, thar's no sense fer such a strong yonker like yourself to be hanging around here with an old ale slinger like me. You run off now and find yourself some mischief and I promise I won't tell your mum you're back."
"Thanks Gep."
"Run along now," Gep said, shooing both Heath and Braedan away. Then the little inn keeper went back inside The Wounded Stag.
Heath lead Braedan through the winding, twisting streets of the city, some of them were paved with red cobblestone, some were simply packed dirt, but all of them were covered with the refuse of Brimcohn. Garbage lay in heaps beneath windows where inhabitants had thrown it. There were food scraps, old clothes, broken pottery, and other things that were quite indescribable. Heath looked up at Jack, embarrassed by the squalor.
"Me and mum are gonna move to a better part of the city when we save up enough money," he explained. "We only like a little more before we can afford a different place. Not one above a noisy barroom either, but a real apartment. Maybe down by the Farmers Market or the Street of Wares out of this mess."
"You mean it's not all like this?" Jack asked. He knew the conditions of the old cities of Europe during the middle Ages, cities which were probably similar to this. Disease and rats running rampant, people defecating in the streets, garbage pushed away to form a path from the street to the door of some dilapidated hovel.
"Oh no!" cried Heath. "The rest of the city is much cleaner. This district is where the laziest of the Brotherhood live. Brimcohn is a good city. It only has its bad sections."
"So does the rest of the world kid," Braedan sighed, placing his arm across Heath's shoulders. "So does the rest of the world."
Heath's words were true. Soon he led them from the slum district of Brimcohn and Braedan found the rest of the city was indeed somewhat cleaner. The dirty streets gave way to quiet lanes where women hung laundry out to dry while trying to keep their children from straying too far from sight. And though the streets weren't spotless and beautiful as Heath claimed parts of the city were, they at least were free of the piles of refuse cluttering the district where the boy and his mother were currently forced to reside.
Heath was hailed by a few of the older children who asked him to stop and play. But he refused them in the manner of youngsters who thought themselves too grown up for childish games. He was on business, man's business, he told them, and had no time for their games.
Braedan was asked to play also. Not by the children in the streets, but by a few women who weren't busy hanging laundry or chasing children. Their invitations were colorful and interesting, but he politely declined. He was on business too. The business of reconnaissance. Though he had to admit some of the offers were tempting, gathering information horizontally would have to wait until another time.
Heath turned out to be a surprisingly informative guide. He took Braedan through the outskirts of Brimcohn, pointing out various items of interest and answering questions when he could. The boy recounted the history of the pirate city, how it came into being, and some of the more interesting tales of the exploits of its more famous captains. He told the story of Eridel, Captain of the Shark's Tooth, and how he once captured Erkhelm, Prince of Annoth, and ransomed him for his weight in gold. He told the tale of Eridel's last battle against three warships of Doridan and how the valiant man took his own life when his ship was overrun, less he be forced to reveal the location of the Felnor Islands. He told stories of courage and valor, treachery and murder and of love and hate.
When the two passed the Great Council Hall of Brimcohn, Heath explained the workings of the pirate government to Braedan. The Free Brothers of the Sea he discovered, were ruled by a Council of Admirals and a Council of Captains. There were five admirals on the council; Narkirk of Hoss, a province of Annoth, Civin of Brimcohn, who was seventy years of age and the oldest of the admirals, Yanis Kuldur of Kadin, who had lost both legs below his knees three years ago, Poul Larkin, who once commanded the Seawolf, and Jon Kailmax, called Bloody Max by the Brotherhood, a living legend. Those five men were the supreme voice of the Brotherhood. They weighed the advice of the Council of Captains, the fortynine men who commanded ships in the fleet of Brimcohn, but they made the decisions and their word was law in the Felnors.
It was from Heath that Braedan also learned the lieutenants of the Brotherhood also sat at council, and although they could voice opinions, had no vote in the proceedings. Tarsus and Dorad had been lax in their instructions about the workings of the pirate councils, so he paid close attention, hoping to gain some insight and not be totally ignorant when he entered the Council Hall tomorrow.
After the history and civics lesson, Heath took Braedan to the bazaar. There was a carnival atmosphere in the market because of the return of the fleet. There were jugglers and acrobats and fire eaters and all other kinds of entertainment. There Braedan found shops and booths of every description; silks, jewelry, weapons and armor, clothing, delicate pottery, most anything your heart desired could be purchased at the bazaar in Brimcohn.
Braedan bought a beautifully crafted dagger with mirror polished guards, a leather and wire wrapped handle and the brotherhood's death head on the pommel. The knife was six inches long and split down the center, creating a double bladed, razor sharp weapon. It was one of the finest works of cutlery he had ever seen. He had Heath haggle the price for him with the shop keeper and when it was over, several coins from his pouch were missing. Afterwards he purchased a plate of roasted beef, a loaf of dark bread and two mugs of weak ale, and he and Heath sat down in the shade of one of the booths to eat and watch the crowds go by.
"Would you like to have your palm read?" Heath asked when they were finished with their meal. "It's kinda expensive but I know of a seeress who can really tell the future."
"Sure," Braedan shrugged. "Can't spend a day at the bazaar without having your fortune told.”
Heath led Jack out of the Street of Wares, through the Farmer's Market, to the Street of Seers. There, many Soothsayers sought to entice the pair into their booths, but Heath passed them without a second glance and led him to a brightly colored tent that was the largest on the street. A large man sitting on a wooden stool rose when they approached.
"We'd like to see your mistress," announced Heath.
"Would you now?" growled the man. "Can you afford the readings of Gretta?"
"How much for me and the boy?" Jack asked.
"One silver Dhakkon for each of you," he replied. "Then Gretta will call up the Sight."
Jack reached into his pouch and selected the smallest gold coin he could find, one with a picture of a ship stamped on one side and a dragon stamped on the other.
"Will this do?"
The man took the coin from and balanced it in his palm, then he placed it between his teeth and bit. "That it will," he grinned. "I may even close early today." He raised the flap of the tent and motioned for Jack and Heath to enter, following them in.
Inside there was a small parlor with a table and two chairs. The man opened another curtain and went into another part of the tent, returning with another chair which he placed at the table. "Be seated," he instructed, then went back to the curtain. "Gretta the Seeress!" he announced in a booming voice. "Mistress of the Sight! She who gazes into the void! Hear her visions if you dare!"
The curtains parted and Gretta flowed into the parlor. She was a large woman, well over three hundred pounds, wrapped in billowing folds of silk that made her already immense form appear even larger. Around her neck hung a great, golden amulet with a single red stone in its center. Her ears were pierced by looped rings and her face was covered with cosmetics that did little to hide her haggard features. Her eyes were hollow and vacant, as if she'd looked into the future and the sight of it haunted her dreams. Gretta sat down, her chair creaking beneath her, as her man stepped back to the rear of the tent and squatted down on the canvas floor.
"Who seeks the visions of Gretta, Mistress of the Sight?" she asked.
"Jack Braedan," Jack smiled. "Second Mate of the Seawolf, and Heath."
"Son of Baldric," the boy added in a small, frightened voice. Jack grinned at his apprehension. It was obviously his first visit to a fortune teller and he was awed by the gaudy proceedings.
"Do you dare look into the future?" she asked.
"We do," replied Jack, answering for them both.
"Who will be first?"
"Let me Mr. Jack," Heath asked. "Please?"
"Sure Heath," he smiled. "Whatever you want."
"Give me your hands," Gretta instructed the boy.
Heath placed his hands into the large palms of the seeress. Gretta closed her eyes and her double chin dropped to her ample bosom. After a few minutes of meditation, a weird moaning began deep in her throat and her eyes fluttered open with only the whites showing. Heath started in surprise and tried to pull away from her, but Gretta's hold on his hands was tight and he couldn't break free. Braedan was impressed. She was putting on good show.
"You are fatherless," she whispered.
"Y…yes," replied the frightened boy.
"I see a ship," the woman continued. "Running with the wind. A wolf leads it."
"The Seawolf!" Heath cried. "It's the Seawolf!"
"I see battle," Gretta moaned. "Fire. In a harbor far away. There is much smoke and fighting. A great victory for the wolf of the sea."
"Hurrah!" shouted Heath, his fears vanishing at the mention of a Seawolf victory.
Standard fame and fortune crap, Jack thought to himself. I'll get the same when it's my turn
.
"I see another battle," the woman continued. "A woman runs from a stag that is bleeding. She weeps."
"What does it mean?" asked Heath.
Gretta's eyes fluttered open. "I can see no more."
"What does it mean?" he asked again.
"I must rest," replied Gretta.
"What does it mean?"
"Nothing Heath," Braedan told him reassuringly. "Don't worry about it."
"Do you doubt the words of Gretta?" she asked.
"No," he lied. "But you were a little vague, weren't you?"
"A skeptic!" Gretta snorted. "Give me your hands."
Jack offered his hands to the seeress and as soon as she touched him a current ran up his arms like a jolt of electricity. Her eyes widened with surprise and frightened looked came over her. "I see…aaaggh...I see," she stammered. What Braedan saw was stark terror overcome the woman and he began to grown uneasy.
"Dark," she tried again. "Sooooo dark," Suddenly she her gaze locked on Braedan and her grip on his hands tightened painfully. "You should not have come," she hissed, her voice suddenly becoming as cold as death. "There is but a whisper of blood in you, Son of Bra’Adan. Too long hast thou been in exile. You may have escaped my pet! You will not escape me. I will cut out your heart and feast… I will feast…on…on…!" Gretta shuddered and with a thin, anguished wail, pitched back-wards to the floor.
"What the hell did you do to her?" her man shouted as he rushed to Gretta's side.
Jack couldn't reply. A roaring filled his ears and his hands burned like he'd been holding hot coals.
"Mister Jack!" Heath cried, tugging at his sleeve frantically. "Let's get outta here!"
"What did you see?" Jack demanded, kneeling down by the fallen woman. "Tell me!"
"Please?" Heath pleaded, scared and desperate. He was terrified Gretta would revive and begin speaking again in that awful voice. "Let's go now!"
Braedan allowed Heath to pull him outside. A crowd had gathered around Gretta's tent, attracted by her piercing scream, and they looked at the pair suspiciously.
