“So…what do we do now?”
“We wait.”
So Ven waited. He tried staring at his talons; he gave the room a few surreptitious sweeps; he tried memory games he’d been taught early in his hunting career, designed to sharpen his mind and keep it honed. The other patrons seemed listless, even oblivious; their eyes and noses focused on the drinks in front of them. For a supposed pirate bar, this place is just…square.
Finally, after a few minutes, he asked, “So, uh…does waiting include getting some food?”
“I don’t see why not,” X’on said, “though none for me, thank you.”
Ven grinned. “Afraid you might look unprofessional?”
“Afraid the attention to sanitation might be a bit lacking for my taste,” he said.
Ven rolled his eyes, but the grin didn’t falter as he stood up and sidled over to the counter. After a moment, the minotaur tending bar looked up from the glass he was cleaning--why do bartenders always seem to be polishing glasses? Ven thought idly--and growled out, “Can I help you, son?”
“Yeah, I was hoping the kitchen was still open,” Ven said.
“Open all night,” was the terse response.
*
Tirith, as Ven learned the minotaur’s name to be, turned out to be as quick with his hands as he was with his words, and Ven was returning to his table with a heaping plate of shepherd's pie only a few moments later. He was surprised to see that in addition to X’on, another had joined their party. The stranger’s overcoat was a patchwork of grime and stains; his speckled gray fur was mangy and matted with dried seawater; his dreadlocks rocked backwards with every fresh gale of laughter, which was often. X’on was apparently quite the cut-up this evening. His scent was an acrid, unpleasant yellow. Ven had no idea what to make of the fellow.
As he took his seat, he saw the Captain was a Shifter; probably a hyena, from the look of it. Even in his transitive state, his rounded ears lay back against his head, and his muzzle pulled itself into a doggy grin. There were deep creases around his eyes and mouth that spoke of a being who was no stranger to mirth. He chortled and said, “Ahoy, mate.” His accent was thick and rough around the edges. It grated against Ven’s ear canals.
“And this is the traveling aide I mentioned,” X’on said, his own tone genial. Ven cast a withering glance at X’on--traveling aide?--but said nothing. “Ven, this is Captain Drednam. He’s prepared to ferry us to the Outer Shores across the ocean for a very nominal fee.”
“If you say so, mate,” Drednam cackled. “I thought me price rathah steep, meself.” He pulled a map from the small satchel at his waist, spread it out on the table before them. He pointed at the big empty spot between the squiggly lines that Ven assumed meant shore, and safety, and not ocean. “See that theh?” He tapped it and guffawed. “Theh Be Monsters, mate.”
“Monsters?” Ven piped up, his grin wolfish. “And what do you think we are?”
“Chumps,” he said, with a fresh burst of giggles.
Ven shoveled another load of pie into his beak to keep from saying something untoward. X’on appeared unphased by the insult.
“You want me to sail me an’ mine that deep inta barely charted waters, yeh bettah make it worth the risk, yeh?”
“And when do you think you will be able to leave port?” X’on asked, a portrait of calm.
“Soon as ya pay me, mate.” Drednam scratched behind his ears, a movement Ven assumed happened with regularity. “Let me…hrmm. I’ll be right back, I think I…need a drink.” The laughter was dying in his throat. He seemed suddenly puzzled. He stood and made his way to the bar.
“And how are we gonna pay him?” Ven muttered around a mouthful of pie. “We don’t have a lot of money left, and I doubt he’s open to taking an I.O.U. Besides, how do we even know ‘Captain’ Drednam has sailed that far before? How do we know he isn’t going to take us out far enough to dump our bodies once he’s claimed anything valuable?” Ven threw his spoon into his empty bowl and sighed. “He’s the first offer we’ve had, X’on. Surely there’s someone better.”
“You’re still upset he referred to you as a chump, aren’t you.”
“Damn right! Who the hell does he think he is? He’s the chump, that arrogant little--”
Drednam cut Ven off as he sat back down before them. “Aw’right, lads, maybe I was a little harsh. It’s me uncouth upbringing, is wha’ it is. Tell yeh what, we sail when Master Doth says, yeh? Me crew ain’t had a job in a bit, they’ll be happy for the work.”
X’on smiled. “We’ll meet you tomorrow night, moonrise. You’re ship is the…Sea Wyvern, correct?”
“That’s me baby,” Drednam chuckled. “We’re docked in Pier 94.”
“Good name,” X’on said. “A good name to inspire good fortune.”
“And fear,” Drednam laughed. “One hopes for fear.”
Chapter 26
To Ven’s considerable chagrin, they ended up selling his breastplate later that night. X’on attempted to add the sword to the bargain, but Ven had put his foot down.
“It’s a necessary sacrifice,” X’on said in a placating tone.
“Why is it we always necessarily sacrifice my cool stuff?” Ven asked, talons still wrapped tightly around the weapon. He seemed afraid that if he relaxed his grip, X’on might make off with it. “Why can’t we sell your useless crap?”
“One of the benefits of being a poor scholar,” X’on said. “I own nothing of value but the clothes on my back--that is to say, I own nothing of value.”
“Don’t they give you all, like, begging bowls or something?”
“You’re thinking of monks.”
“Ugh.”
Not for the first time, Ven eyed the Book in X’on’s ever-present satchel. That, of course, was never on the bargaining table. That was never up for discussion. X’on didn’t even talk about it anymore. It was almost as if X’on had forgotten it existed… but the moment Ven showed any renewed interest in it, even let a thought of it cross his face, X’on would run a finger along the smooth leather binding of its spine, as though reassuring himself of its presence. It was a habit Ven had come to find unnerving… not for the first time, he wondered if the book held more secrets than just those locked in language.
“Fine,” X’on said, breaking Ven of his reverie. “But we still need to come up with the rest of our fare. His face brightened. “Follow me.”
“Where?” Ven asked, but X’on was already through the doors of the all-night blacksmith’s pawn. Ven jogged to catch up.
“The nearest den of iniquity,” X’on said. “We are going…to gamble!”
He said the last bit with such a carnival barker’s aggrandizement that Ven hooted out a laugh. “Seriously? X’on, do you even know how to gamble?”
X’on’s neck craned hither and yon as the pair charged up the street, giving each sign a cursory examination before dismissing it as unsuitable. “I’m afraid not,” he said as they walked. “Not a skill they taught at university.” He stopped so suddenly Ven stumbled to keep from running into his back. “Ah, here we are,” X’on said, in front of a building with a sign that read “Lisboa Palace.” He turned to look down at Ven. “But you do.”
Ven grimaced. “Well, yeah, but I’ve never been very good at it. Besides, look at the sign on the door!” He pointed a talon at a crude etching beneath the establishment’s name, which looked something like a sideways scimitar. “That’s code for ‘dangerous.’ It means the clientele are sharks, that they get their rocks off hustling unsuspecting amateurs. And if somebody gets in too deep, they end up floating in the Bay.” Ven shook his head. “No, I can handle myself, but I’m not in that league. Nowhere near. Come on, let’s get in on one of the street games. I can play these suckers like a fiddle.”
“I’m afraid the pot in such an enterprise would not yield enough for our expenses,” X’on said. “Now, after you, I must insist. You’ll do fine.” His big hand fell across Ven’s shoulders yet again, and yet again, Ve
n felt as if he were being guided with care and compassion into the lion’s den. “By the by, you play the fiddle? How absolutely delightful, you must perform for me some time.”
“It’s an expression,” Ven growled, his beaked gritted.
*
“Lisboa Palace” was bright--staggeringly bright, considering the time of night. Thousands of candles rimmed the ceiling and walls, giving the room a cast Ven felt must appear suspiciously similar to the daytime. It was also clean: every surface had been buffed and polished until it shown, and everything stank with the faded orange traces of antiseptics and bleach, thick and pungent enough to almost cover the deep red blood smells beneath. The place wasn’t crowded --a few marks wandered around the tables with that greedy, hopeful look of the truly desperate, and one or two tables almost smoked from the heated games of cards or dice or numbers being run on them.
Just as Ven had suspected, the chimera in the opulent suit seated alone and shuffling a deck of cards with lazy paws was more than happy to let Ven share his table. X’on, the bastard, left Ven as soon as their remaining monies had been converted to chips. While his opponent manipulated the cards with a showman’s flourish, the half-giant took a seat at the bar, where he ordered water with ice cubes and pretended not to notice them. Ven’s heart sank. So this is how it ends. Torn apart by a three-headed gangster next to the most boring creature in the Known Lands. With a miserable surrender to inevitability, he picked up the hand he had been dealt…
…and saw that he was holding a clean straight, right off the deck.
The Chimera had dealt itself three hands, each head looking at its own in turn. The lion’s head made a great show of folding, it teeth grinning and sleek with saliva as it did so. The goat glared at Ven for a moment before pushing in the ante amount, setting the minimum bet. The snake head hissed under its breath, but matched. All three looked expectantly at Ven.
“Uh…all in,” Ven said.
The creature’s heads turned to each other in shock; clearly this hadn’t been in their plans. After a moment of careless consideration, the goat head matched the bet, tossed two cards, and drew two more. The snake head folded, nosing its hand into the discards.
Ven lay down his cards without embellishment or melodrama. The Goat bleated, sharp and staccato; the Snake hissed in what could have been laughter; the Lion merely sat, his paws together, his nose quivering slightly.
“Shall we again?” Ven asked, the picture of civility.
And so it went for close to an hour. Ven’s luck was so good it was almost offensive, his hands requiring little to no modification, while the Chimera continued to muck out, deal after deal after deal. Ven noticed the creature even had a particularly obvious tell--it would casually bat at the lion’s ears when any one of its heads was about to try a bluff, as though chasing away a fly.
Soon Ven had chips of all colors piled before him, unable to keep his beak from breaking into a grin. The Goat gnashed his teeth and threw itself about, as though trying to dislodge itself from the body in its anger. The Snake had curled itself around the leg of its chair; it had busted out early, and appeared to be catching up on some sleep while the others gamed. Only the Lion was still in, his placid demeanor unchanged despite its growing losses.
“Full Hovel, Elves full of Knaves,” it said, satisfaction coloring its tone.
“Quad dragons,” Ven replied, standing at a hunch to reach for the chimera’s remaining chips. Over his shoulder he heard what sounded like a snort from X’on, which made him grin a little more widely.
When he thought back on the incident, Ven figured it was probably the snort that did it. Until that moment, even in the face of unimaginable bad luck and ridiculous losses, the Lion had maintained some small air of composure. But just after that faint, derisive intake of air, which had brought a touch of a smirk to Ven’s face, the chimera roared, grabbed the edge of the table in one paw and hurled it across the room. It smashed into another near the back of the establishment, and the room exploded in poker chips and splinters and cries of hurt and indignation.
Ven ducked as the other paw swiped for his head, but it was a feint; the first rounded back and caught him square in the jaw. For the first time in weeks, pain exploded within him, his eyes blinded by stars, his teeth throbbing in his beak from the impact.
The Lion roared again, the Goat bleating in time, the snake bobbed and weaved behind them; all three were chanting the same word in guttural, feral tones: “Cheat! Cheeeeaaaat!!!”
If Ven had had time to think, he would have been insulted; he hadn’t even needed to cheat, though he’d been planning too. Instead he rolled to the left as the creature lunged again, knocking over another table in the process. A couple of Cyclopses protested and kicked at him as he tried to regain his feet; one screamed when the Snake sank a vicious bite that had clearly been meant for Ven’s throat into its shoulder. Ven spun low, pulled the dwarven sword from its scabbard, and cleaved upward, separating the Snake from the chimera’s body. The Lion and Goat bellowed in syncopated, anguished agony. In that moment Ven charged forward, thrusting the sword deep into the Chimera’s abdomen. The beast swung out a wild haymaker; it connected, and Ven was sent sailing into the wall again. He collapsed against it, sucking air, gulping, trying desperately to catch his breath.
The Chimera had crumpled to its knees, its paws wrapped around the hilt of the blade buried in its guts. With feeble groans and pathetic whines, the creature appeared to be attempting to pull the sword out. Its fine cravat and tailored pants were slick and crimson with its own blood, its paws nicked and sliced open where it tried to handle the exposed blade. Finally, after more than a minute of yowling, blubbery effort, it slumped down, shoulders sagging, dead.
The room held still and quiet, as though the space itself were holding its breath and waiting to see what happened next.
Then a dozen pale, pink imps in studious dress clothes came out of a hole in the wall that nobody had seen before and that disappeared behind them. They began the tasks of cleaning up the corpse, removing the broken furniture, and sorting out the credit due to patrons. One even handed Ven his winnings in gold and said, without a trace of malice, “We would appreciate it if you and your companion exited the premises in haste.” He then turned on his heel, pulled a mop out of his sleeve that stood half again as tall as he was, and began sopping up the blood beneath them.
Ven took a moment to remove his property from the deceased, then jogged to catch up with X’on, who was already moving at speed toward the exit.
“Not quite how I thought our evening would end,” X’on said, holding the door for Ven.
“I’d be lying if I said I was surprised,” Ven said. He hefted the sword in his talon, then gave it a light spin. “I told you we should hang onto this.”
Chapter 27
The next night, the pair met Captain Drednam and his crew at the pier. The Sea Wyvern was a fine brig, with a dark polished pine hull and two towering square-rigged masts that, even now, were swarming with burly, barrel-chested creatures of all species preparing the ship for its unusual departure time. Drednam himself greeted them at the dock, taking their coin with avaricious gentility. He led them up the gangplank and onto the ship, where Ven did his best not to look down at the ocean beneath them. He scurried up what he felt was the perilously thin bit of wood that kept him from falling in.
Once aboard, the captain led them to their makeshift quarters in the cargo bay--“Nay rooms available for passengers, seein’ as how our cargo is traditionally not the breathin’ type,” he chortled-- where, among dried and waterproofed boxes of fruits, nuts, salted meats and ale, two ramshackle bunks had been cobbled together. Ven took a seat on the smaller of the pair; it was stuffed with straw, and smelled like a goat’s arse, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Besides, everything stank aboard this ship. Everything.
“So how long are we going to be on this boat?” Ven asked X’on, who was inspecting a notably large box labeled “Pig Lard”.
; “Two weeks, if the weather’s good,” he said, without looking up.
Ven fell into the cot and tried to keep his stomach from turning over. We haven’t even started sailing yet. That is not a good sign.
It was another two hours before the ship drew anchor and began to sail. X’on spent the time idly droning on about the history of sailing, and the construction of this line of ships in particular; Ven, as always, made a cursory attempt to pay attention, but soon his thoughts drifted elsewhere. He did his best not to think of the unending chasm of water beneath them, and instead focused on what this new land would look like, and what secrets it might hold. What creatures would roam such an untamed wilderness? Would there be enough edible vegetation and minerals to survive, or even thrive?
Maybe…maybe I should consider the possibility that I don’t want to come back. It was an idle thought, but it caught him off guard. Still, was it really such a mad idea? There was nothing left for him in the Known Lands, after all. There, he was a hunter, a murderer, a façade. Maybe the reward X’on was offering was a chance to start over. A chance to escape the shadows of his past that had haunted his days.
Or maybe they were headed to an inhospitable cesspool whose sole highlight was whatever magical trifles he could stuff into his pockets and hock back in Buzzard’s Bay. No way of knowing until they got to the end.
Still…it’s a nice dream, anyway.
His reverie was broken by X’on saying his name. It was the same gentle tone the half-giant almost always used, but Ven could detect the slightest note of expectancy behind it.
“I’m sorry?” he said.
X’on smiled. “No need to apologize, my friend, though I have been trying to call your attention for some time now. I thought we might try to find a bite to eat. It sounds as though the crew have manned their stations; with any luck, that means the cook is at his as well.”
“This time of night? You sure?” Ven glanced around. “Hey, if you’re hungry, you should crack into something around here. They’ve got plenty, by the looks of it. Besides, I’m not sure my stomach can take the strain.”
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