“Which same argument is it this week? I’ve trouble keeping track of them all.” She peeked over his shoulder, scanning the crew’s table.
“If what we are doing is wise, given the current war and all. We might make so much more money raiding the warring cities, then running cargo to the nonaligned.” With a nervous tick, he glanced over his shoulder.
She laughed. She’d heard this one before. Personally, she agreed with the crew, but better to support her captain in the matter. “I know the arguments for and against. I will take care of it. Is the cargo loaded?”
“Yes, of course it is. You know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t…” He glanced over his shoulder again and moved to whisper in her ear. “Are you sure this is normal? The price is way too high for the trip, and the boxes are strange—” His sentence was cut off as another sailor stumbled up.
“We’ve been missin’ ya, ma’am. How about a drink?”
“I will be there in a moment. I’ve drinking left to do!” She slapped the drunk sailor on the back, sending him back to the crew’s table. “I will talk to them and explain the dangers of their desired course of actions. I will broach the subject again with my father, but he seems set on staying out of the war, no matter the loss of coin. Let me worry about the cargo. It will bring in some much-needed gold.”
“But—” Hakeem tried to continue, but Kanika cut him short.
“You are stealing my drinking time. You should be getting ready for casting off tomorrow as well. Let’s drink and be merry, for tomorrow we set sail into the cracks.”
A smile spread across Hakeem’s face as she slapped him on the shoulders. “Into the cracks,” he cheered after her.
At the table, Kanika stole the closest sailor’s ale. “I hear you all want to make more coin?” she shouted at the top of her lungs, pushing a seated sailor out the chair she wanted.
This brought a round of cheers from the table as talk of more coin always did.
“No matter who we have to sacrifice?” She took a healthy swig from the mug.
One from the end shouted back, “I’d sacrifice the lot of them if’n I could earn more coin.”
“Aye, I am sure you all would,” Kanika shouted back to the man. “I’m sure each of you would sell your mother for more coin, but would you sell yourself for more? You must remember smuggling and pirating is a dangerous business You have to calculate if the gold we would earn would be worth the risk of your neck, not the man sitting next to you.”
The crew grew silent.
“I’m not above risking my life for all of you, though I need to know the reward justifies the risk. Right now, I don’t see it. Our ship might not make the glory of the others, but we are able to keep a life, a home, and a family without the worry of others attacking and killing them because of our behavior. Are any of you willing to give that up?”
The men lowered their eyes, sobering up at the thought of what they might risk if they started a life of crime.
“Now, that is enough talk of becoming privateers. We’ve plenty of cargo to haul. We can make good safe coin.” Kanika admitted there were times the gold sounded good on the far side of the law, but her argument remained valid. She’d not seen rewards high enough for the risks of a prison colony or a hangman’s noose.
Glancing up from her crew, she discovered the strangest man standing nearby, observing the discussion. Covered head to toe, his brown floppy hat and wrapped scarf only allowed his eyes to peek through. Their eyes met as she caught him staring from under the brim of his hat, watching her. If his eyes didn’t seem so vibrant, she would have guessed he hid the coughing disease or some other ailment. Those eyes, the strangest color, a brown so light they looked green. Another peculiar admirer, she thought.
Chapter 3:
Winding along his path to the bay took work. At the higher elevations, stairs had been carved out of the sandstone. Different families made their own tracks over homes that stood in the way. There were no real property lines: one home’s front yard, another’s roof. To form a more direct route, people installed ladders from one terrace to another.
In the darkness, he let the night air wash over him, cleaning the reek of death from his body and mind. He’d been doing this for so long, he should be over the death, but he still felt a loss when he took another’s life. The task was happening on a more regular basis. The years in his chosen profession changed him, made him harder. Over time, the man had held hundreds of names. There were times he was concerned he might be playing one role, run into an old target, and be forced to cover the two different names. The sail maker’s needle always stood by, ready to clear up any problems.
On the lower levels of the city, the slope of the cliff eased slightly, allowing for alleys and even streets to form in places. Curving around an ancient rock fall, they twisted their way between businesses with living quarters stacked on top. Most outsiders would call this city crowded, for the inhabitants it was home.
Fifty feet above the water, the man strolled down an alley and into one of the more reputable taverns in the city—the agreed upon location to meet his contact. Once past the weapons check, right inside the door, sat a table full of the Resolute’s crew, with their first officer addressing them about the dangers of becoming a pirate. Unfortunately for him, though not shocked easily, this time coincidence caught him unawares. The surprise of running into the group caused a moment’s hesitation while his brain processed the incoming vignette, just long enough for his eyes to lock with the ship’s first officer. What were mere seconds seemed a lifetime. Coming to his senses, the man ducked his head slightly, covering his eyes with the brim of his hat. A quick turn to the right, and he dipped back into the throng of people that filled the tavern.
Secure at the bar, he swiftly spotted his female contact kissing another woman the man had never seen. With the slightest motion of his finger, the man signaled he was ready for the meeting, and the older woman disengaged from her partner, sending the woman on her way. With a wiggle of her butt, she worked her way out from behind the table and sashayed to the stairs. One quick peek over her shoulder to indicate for the man to follow.
Quickly he scanned the room. His eyes lingered on the table where the crew and their first officer sat, then moved to the stairs and his appointment. Now following her ten steps behind, he knew the route to their meeting place, but he strolled to ensure they were not being followed. At the top of the stairs, he stopped once more, telling himself he checked for a tail when in fact he wanted another glimpse of Kanika.
Once in the dim bedroom, the couple went to the bed, not out of passion but a business arrangement. “What did you learn?” the woman asked while undressing, her thin dress lifted over her head.
“It was as I thought. You can confirm the cargo is on the Resolute.” The man followed her example.
Her body glistened in the dim light. “You know the crew is downstairs?”
“Yes, I know.” He stood on the far side of the bed from her, no emotion in his voice.
“The first officer has a look about her. Some might call her beautiful.” She lay on top of the covers.
“Some might, it will not matter in a few days.” Now nude, he joined her on the bed. “How long do we need to make this last?”
“At least ten minutes for most. A few, all night.”
“I don’t have all night, but I will make it last longer than ten. I do have my ego to protect.”
<=OO=>
His message delivered, and his ego protected, the Spy strolled down the stairs, his face still covered with the brim of his hat and scarf. The first thing he searched for, the ship’s crew and Kanika. They left during his consultation visit with his contact. He’d never learned who needed the information, but in his eyes, that was irrelevant. Someone wanted information, he fulfilled the task, and he received the payment.
The gold secured in hidden pouches sewn into his clothing, he picked his way through the thinning crowd to the front door. An inspection of the sk
y told him the sun would be up soon. Major had set, and Minor followed not far behind. He would feel safer on his boat and out deep into the cracks.
Honest people still clung to the last few hours of sleep. This time of night, bad people patrolled the streets, looking for prey. He thought about the future fate of Kanika and the Resolute. One way or another, it would all be over in a few days. It wasn’t his fault what happened to the ship, he merely provided the information. It wasn’t his responsibility what the information was used for.
Someone kicked the gravel on the way behind him. Perhaps a drunk swerving back to their pallet for the night, or someone more dangerous with mayhem on the mind. His mind cleared, all thoughts about the fate of the ship left his mind, hearing focused on the slightest sound, adrenaline filled his veins.
A small side alcove approached close to his right, a place many drunks used to lighten the load. He swerved a little and stepped into the darker area, his back to the street, inviting an attack. Two blades were drawn from behind his back and hidden from view as he feigned relieving himself on the wall.
The single attacker took advantage of the perceived vulnerable moment, struck a killing blow at his neck. With training, all senses can be attuned to a high level of keenness. Subtle differences in surroundings can be felt by a body and reacted upon. This can be the meaning of life or death for someone that sells information for a living. The small mirror propped on a brick, for observing behind him, didn’t hurt.
With a sweep of his head to the right, the blade missed its mark, swiping wide above him. With a spin, the dagger in his left hand found the unprotected flesh of the assailant’s abdomen, drove deep and up into the heart, killing him instantly. Footsteps could be heard running up from the direction of the bay. An assassination squad tracked him, only because of some gravel did he miss their ambush. Quick to count the footfalls, he knew at least three more attackers approached. He could stay and fight, or he could run. He did the sensible thing, he ran back towards the tavern he just left.
With a total of four attackers, they must have set up the ambush at the next intersection. The man following him would have struck while he fought the other three. The Spy needed to find a place where the path narrowed enough to make the superior numbers against him irrelevant.
Around the next corner, he came face to face with Kanika, her body slowed with drink, but still the presence of mind to drop her duffle and pull her weapon of office at the sound of rapidly approaching footfalls. Twice in one night, the woman surprised him—she’d a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
His weapons drawn, he had to look a sight rounding the corner in the dark, but the woman had the mind to ask questions before hacking away. Skidding to a stop, the man took a defensive stance. “I’m not here to attack you, but the three behind me may not be so endearing.”
The alley narrowed but not enough for him to take on the three one at a time. On the rise, Kanika inspected the three as they stopped below.
The Spy stood surrounded. He could kill the first officer and run, but that would not be wise. Her crew might come up behind her at any moment.
“Stand aside, wench. Let us have our prize,” the first one hissed through clenched teeth.
“Wench?” The Spy noticed the voice of an upset woman. Kanika wasn’t the one to be insulted.
He slid to her right, side by side in a defensive stance.
“Run away, and you might live to see the sunrise,” Kanika challenged the three.
“Then die, whore!” The two behind followed the lead attacker’s advance.
“Whore?” she growled.
Kanika’s two-handed recurved blade was made for long cutting actions, but years of training to fight on the decks prepared all sailors for combat in tight spaces. The Spy was trained equally well. His dagger on the left easily deflected the thrust the lead man made to Kanika’s sword arm.
With a quick slash from over her head, she just missed the crown of the Spy’s head, and her sword drove deep into the first attacker’s collarbone. The leverage of the two-handed sword sliced cleanly through leather, flesh, and bone, not stopping until she reached the breastbone where her weapon became lodged.
The Spy didn’t hesitate but struck around the dying man, his right hand armed with a long sword. It slipped above the surprised second attacker’s guard, between the ribs, and deep into the man’s exposed chest.
The third, after watching his two fellow assassins dropped in the first seconds of the fight, turned to flee. He took three steps before Kanika threw a marlin’s spike, embedding it in the back of his head.
The Spy stood, impressed. The first officer took out two in the time he took out one man. Few people better him in street fighting.
“What was all that about?” He felt her eyes inspecting him. Too many emotions flooded his mind. He knew what he wanted to say, but he had other priorities.
“Thank you for your help. I need to run.” He sensed her jaw drop as he ran up the path to find his contact.
“Shit!” he heard her whisper behind him, forcing him to stop and turn.
“Good luck and be careful on this next run,” he blurted out before thinking. Shit, he thought to himself, keep your mouth shut.
He must find out what triggered this attack. He needed to find the only person in the city that knew him, his contact. His mind raced. If she sold him out, he wanted to know who came after him. If she didn’t, he might glean the knowledge from her, either by asking nicely or by torture.
For sure, the front door was out, better to come into her room unannounced through the window. The design of the city’s buildings offered little resistance to reach the second-floor windows. With ladders and steps everywhere, it wasn’t hard to reach all but the most secured balconies. Except for the wealthiest of residences, who protected their homes with bars, dogs, and guards.
Outside her window, he risked a peek inside. The space looked like he left it: lamp dim, his contact lay on her side, facing away from the window, her body naked. He spotted no one waiting to attack hiding inside the room, so he let himself in, dagger drawn. Like a cat, he padded to the side of the bed. An uneasy feeling worked its way into his guts. At the edge of the bed, he reached his left hand to feel a pulse at the neck. His fingers drew back, sticky, wet, and covered in fresh blood from the woman’s slit throat. Someone had erased tracks after gaining the needed information.
There was nothing to learn in this room. The safest place would be out in the cracks, water and distance separating him from the death in this city. As far as he knew, the streets were filled with men searching for him. He opted for a route that would take him in an indirect path to his boat. The sun would be up soon, making it impossible to move about the streets undetected. He wanted to be well out of the city before that happened.
Either by chance or skill—it didn’t matter—he made it to the docks and his fishing vessel before an assassin found him. Wasting no time, he cast off to mingle with the other fishing boats. His craft might have looked like the others, nets draped over the side, but close inspection would show they had not seen water for many months.
Outside the bay, he waited for the Resolute to pass. He barely made out the auburn hair of the first officer as she moved about the forecastle.
He wasn’t sure of their fate. It wasn’t his problem, but he whispered a silent prayer for the ship and crew. “May the Eldest Daughter watch over and protect you all.” Not a religious man, he was unsure why he did it, it just seemed proper. A soft prayer to Sinead the crazy goddess of death and the cracks seemed appropriate. Once positive the target steered the intended course, he set a course to the south and cooler weather.
If he caught a favorable wind, he would be home to enjoy the fruit trees in bloom and the flutter-bys hatching. He hoped he would meet the first officer again, but he doubted it. Maybe Sinead the Eldest Daughter would smile on her.
Chapter 4:
Kanika stood amongst the dead assassins and watched t
he man from the tavern she had just rescued sprint off. “What a dickbiter,” she muttered to herself.
Left no choice, she placed her left foot on the first man’s left shoulder and, with a slight grunt, dislodged her blade from his body. With a swift movement, she wiped it clean on his pants. With long strides over the blood-covered cobbles, she bent and collected her errant marlin’s spike from the third attacker’s skull.
The questions concerning the deaths wouldn’t be hard to defend, but being caught by the guards would cause the ship to leave behind schedule—that could not stand. Sure the motherless dogs would not be cried over, she fled the scene, jogging down the path as quickly as possible, the sword in its sheath and her duffle slung over her shoulder.
Before too long she caught up with her crew. Now with them in tow, she would have an easier time deflecting the guard’s questions, if they even found her. She assumed they would be onboard before the guards reached the bodies. Death came quick and often in the cities on the cracks.
The first light made it easier to maneuver down the clogged pier to the Resolute. The braziers on top on the pilings made the obstacle course doable at night, but better to have daylight to keep from falling in the drink, or even worse between the pier and a vessel to be crushed to death from the rolling hulls.
Kanika loved her ship. It’d been her home since she could remember, the twenty crew her brothers and sisters. At sixty feet long, the Resolute stood as one of the larger cargo vessels sailing the cracks. The square sails hung limp, furled to the beam, the rigging clacking against the three masts. She sat low in the water, with forty-tons of cargo loaded and secured in her lowest deck.
Loss of the Resolute: A Dark Fantasy (Fractured Lands Book 1) Page 2
