THE CORSAIRS OF AETHALIA
by PD McClafferty
Copyright © 2014 PD McClafferty
All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Marko the Mouse didn’t even bother looking up at the magnificent rings that circled the world. He was running for his life. Multi-hued shadows turned the land to rainbow colors for a few short minutes a day, when the sun was straight overhead. Inevitably, store owners, patrons and guards alike gazed in wonder at the sight. Today Marko put his head down and ran. Behind him guards, dressed in purple and gold livery and waving expensive stelwood crystal swords, gave vigorous chase. Sometimes, when they could catch their breaths, they would shout threats or curses at the young thief. A guard’s foot slipped on a piece of rotting bannfruit peel and he fell, rolling into a gutter. Another guard, unable to stop in time, tripped on the first and fell flat on his face in the same gutter. The dumpings from the night’s chamberpots splashed over his head and back, to coat him from head to toe in a foul smelling ooze. Marko laughed over his shoulder and ran harder, clutching his bag of prizes closer to his chest.
Skirting the burned section of the old town, Marko made sure that the guards were out of sight before taking a running jump, catching the edge of a crumbling brick wall and nimbly pulling himself up onto the top of a burned shell of a building. He thought that it might have been an inn at one time—maybe twelve or thirteen years ago. Sitting in a small cubby, cleverly hidden in a pile of the rubble, Marko pulled loose a brick and removed a small flask of water he had hidden for just such an occasion. He listened quietly to the running feet of the guards. They stopped just below his hiding place.
“Did you see where the little rat went?” The first voice asked, wheezing.
A deeper voice replied. “Probably disappeared down a bloody hole. This flamin warren is full o them.” There was a pause. “We’ll never find him now. Hells, we’re late for lunch as it is. Might as well go on back.” There was a sniffing sound. “You don’t smell so good, Arry.”
There was a curse. The voices faded but Marko waited silently, sipping his water, letting his heartbeat return to normal. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably closer to a handful of minutes, there was another quiet curse from below him and the sound of retreating steps. The guards always left someone behind to catch stragglers, or thieves who left cover too soon. Mouse smiled and put the cork back in the bottle. After another five minutes he left the cubby, jumping to the ground and walking confidently down the street, a small sack slung straight over his shoulder. Now he was just one more dirty street urchin in a slum filled with grimy hungry people.
He stopped at a prosperous chandler’s shop and looked in. Only well-heeled merchants and nobles could afford glass windows. The reflection that looked back at him was that of a medium-tall skinny boy of indeterminate age. Marko thought he was about eleven or twelve years old. A shaggy mop of chestnut hair hung down and framed a serious face set with brilliant green eyes, eyes the color of the sea. He ran dirty fingers through his hair and frowned. There was a definite hint of red in that dirty brown shock of hair today. His hair wasn’t the only place that was filthy. Dirt was smudged liberally across his face. It was a good disguise as any. He wiped at it with a sleeve and managed to transfer some of the dirt to his clothing. He smiled at the reflection.
The hideout was an abandoned dovecote set high above a dilapidated inn in the poorer section of town. Marko had purposely loosened the only set of stairs leading up to the hideaway, removing half the rickety steps, and as a result they were spared the worry of unwanted callers. A hidden rope, with knots to aid climbing, provided their own access. The smell, especially on rainy days, was the biggest drawback.
Gantolomas Jengzu, or Gnat as he preferred to be called, shared the less than spacious home. Gnat was a small boy of 8, and thin to the point of emaciation (although he ate like a horse) with lank black hair and dark eyes. He prided himself on the ability to worm into any building. They used to have other members of their band: Sava, a fat pickpocket, who died of the coughing sickness and Abasi who was taken by the guards and executed. Marko’s feet stopped outside the dovecote. He remembered the day Abasi was killed. He had watched from a bush at the edge of the cliff. It was simple. Guards tied Abasi’s hands behind his back, walked him to the end of a long pier built out from the top of the cliff behind the castle, and threw him off, like a sack of garbage. He fell for a long time before he hit the water. The rocks tied to his ankles insured that even if he survived the fall, he wouldn’t survive the cold ocean. On that final note, he shook off the memory.
“You took your sweet time, didn’t you?” Gnat’s voice was high pitched and shrill and he lounged on a pile of old blankets that he called his bed, scratching idly at a flea bite. “Did you get much?” His eyes were bright as he got to his feet.
Marko just smiled, and poured the contents of the cloth bag out onto the dirty floor. A small gold cup bounced out, a roll of parchment and a handful of small marble-sized crystals of different colors that were used for money. Lastly, the young thief took out a small boot knife, the length of his foot. The hilt was wrapped in genuine shark skin. He slowly pulled the blade from the ornate leather sheath. It was translucent blue and seemed to glow with an internal radiance.
“Real stelwood crystal.” Marko murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “It will never break or get dull. This is mine.”
Gnat wasn’t listening. He held up the gold cup. “Is this real gold?” His voice had a touch of awe to it. “If it is real we are rich. We can...” Gnat seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. “We can leave the warrens. We can live like kings.” His fingers caressed the side of the cup. “I wonder what Yasarin would give us for it.” Yasarin was a greasy slug of a man who lived several blocks over, and handled all of their stolen items, for a cut—usually a big one.
Marko wasn’t paying attention. With the knife tucked into the waistband of his pants, he spread the parchment out on the floor, weighting the corners with the larger pieces of money.
“Look at this, Gnat.” He smoothed the wrinkles as best he could. “It’s a map of the world.”
Still holding the gold cup firmly in one dirty hand, the small boy squatted by Marko.
“Most of the map is blank.” Gnat complained, wiping a runny nose on a dirty sleeve. “Some map.”
The ellipse that covered the parchment was mostly blank, however, on the left side, halfway between the center of the map and the top, there was a cluster of small looking islands. Each of the islands had a tiny, finely written name under it: Aion,
Ischia, Prangli, Aethalia, Rakiura, Vaigach, Xicocu, Little Wassaw, Lasos, Greater Wassaw, Dewar, Urt, Elandia and finally Oki-retto. “THALASSIA ~THE KNOWN WORLD” was written in flowing script across the top of the map. Mouse knew, somehow, that if he were to draw a circle around the small looking cluster of islands that was the known world it would be about 8000 leagues. That would mean that the whole world was, what? Fifty or sixty times the known world? His mind reeled and he quickly rolled the map back up. It was too much to grasp, but his imagination had already been caught. All that blank space. What was out there?
Gnat stared at the golden cup, his finger running around the top rim. “I’ll bet Yasarin would love to get his hands on this.” He said under his breath.
Marko blinked. “No! Not Yasarin.” His voice was sharp. “I don’t trust him.”
“Aww, Mouse.” Gnat’s voice was a thin whine. “You’re being stupid. We could be living like kings.”
“We sit on it, Gnat. In a week or two I’ll find a fence on the other side of town or down by the docks who doesn’t know us.”
“But I’m hungry now!” Gnat’s voice rose in pitch.
Marko tossed him a crystal from the pile, the smallest denomination he could find. It would feed them for a week, with care. “Go and get us a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. Oh, and an apple too, if they have any left.” He lifted a floor board and began stuffing the stolen items in, beginning with the golden cup. “I need some sleep. It’s been a long day.” Gnat muttered something nasty and stared hard at the floorboard before he turned and left.
Three mottled brown pigeons sat disconsolately on a window sill, cooing and adding their droppings to the pile already on the floor when Marko opened his eyes. The sound of the birds was sad. Marko grimaced as the sour smell of bird dung turned his stomach. They had to get a better place to live. A bottle of wine, a loaf of bread and a wrinkled winter apple sat on a ledge over the mat where he slept. Sitting up, he frowned. The floorboard where he had stashed the fruits of his labors was slightly ajar. He lifted the board, almost knowing what he would find. The scroll was there, the crystals were there, the boy felt under his blanket—the knife was still there. But the golden cup was missing. He carefully packed the remaining loot back under the floorboard, keeping out only the knife. He cursed quietly and steadily for ten minutes, never once repeating himself. Then he opened the bottle of wine and took a long drink. He cursed some more. After consuming the sour vinegary tasting wine with the stale bread and the tart green apple, Marko heard soft footsteps on the roof outside of the dovecote. The knife slid silently from its sheath as he moved into the deep shadow next to the door frame. A short shape moved through the doorway, stepping into the dovecote and he moved quietly behind it, wrapping an arm around the neck, knife point in the back.
“Can you give me a reason not to kill you?” He hissed into the smaller boy’s ear.
“I... I can explain. I really can. Oh, gods, don’t kill me.” Gnat held out a fat bag. “Yasarin paid me for the cup. We’re rich! No one saw me come or go, I swear.” He started to cry a thin weepy sound.
Marko opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped. There was a faint crunch of a footstep in the street beneath the dovecote. Then there was another. His heart thudded in his chest.
He brought his mouth close to Gnat’s ear. “You’ve killed us both, you greedy sot. I hope you’re happy. Yasarin sold us out.” He pushed the younger boy roughly into the dovecote and then twisted away. Three running steps and he jumped off the edge of the building. Across the street and one story lower he landed, rolled, came to his feet already running. There were shouts behind him. A crossbow bolt hummed by his right ear, sinking to its flights in the wall next to him. He wasn’t laughing this time.
Behind him Gnat screamed. Marko jumped to another building. He rolled and got to his feet. Four guardsmen were waiting for him. Yasarin must have known all his escape routes. He ducked and slashed with the crystal knife, taking the first guard behind the knee. The burly man screamed and fell. The second lost three fingers when he tried to grab him. A fat, greasy looking man swung a cudgel at his head and he couldn’t ...blackness.
~~~
It really didn’t smell too much worse than the dovecote. Actually, a distant part of Marko’s mind thought, it smelled somewhat better. One of his eyes managed to open. The other seemed to be stuck shut. Dim, flickering light came from infrequent torches set in sconces high on the gray stone walls. Occasionally they would hiss as a drop of moisture fell from the ceiling of the dungeon onto the sputtering flame. In the far recess of the opposite wall, high up and near the ceiling, stood a small, heavily barred window, but the shadowed light it let into the dismal room below did nothing to brighten the surroundings. He shut his eye again. So that was what the inside of a royal dungeon looked like. He moved... that is, he tried to move. Things didn’t seem to be working so well, and he also appeared to be chained to the wall. Curious. He tried to move again. PAIN! He tried to scream, but only moaned. Blackness swallowed him.
The second time he woke he managed to sit up and get both eyes open. The pain had receded a bit, and at least he could think. Across the cell from him Gnat hung limply, chained to the wall. Marko couldn’t tell whether or not he was breathing. A noise made him turn his head.
“Ah, awake at last.” A smooth cultured voice said in a lazy sort of way. “Good. The Adjudicator, Lord Balzej, prefers to pass sentence when his prisoners are awake enough to appreciate it.” A jaded, lazy smile split his face as he considered his own thin humor. He waved a perfumed handkerchief at the two liveried guards. “Oh, take him away—and the other one too. Be gentle with that one. You wouldn’t want him to die before his execution, would you?” The fop laughed out loud and moved out of the cell, sniffing his perfumed handkerchief.
The Adjudicator, Lord Balzej, resplendent in his flowing purple and gold robes, looked bored. He rolled his mud-colored brown eyes set in ponderously fat cheeks as he listened to the list of crimes the two stood accused of. His bald head glistened redly in the morning sun.
“Gold goblet?” He muttered aloud. “Where did they manage to steal that?” There was a hurried whisper from his right. “Oh, the Lord Jax’s home.” A plucked and waxed eyebrow rose a half inch on his face. “Well, well.” He smiled unpleasantly. “The good Lord Jax must not have been aware that it is illegal for a private individual to own gold. The cup is forfeit to the crown.” He looked down in distaste at the two prisoners before him. “Tell me what you did with the rest of the stolen items, thief.”
Marko hung from the supporting arms of the guards, and looked up at the sweating face of the Adjudicator. “Why should I? What are you going to do if I don’t tell? Kill me twice?”
The fat man tisked, rolled brown eyes and murmured to a crony standing on his right. “It looks as though Lord Jax is having a very bad day. All he got back was his little knifey.” His laugh was cold and mean. “What are these two still doing here? Execute them immediately, and clean up that blood they’re leaving on the floor. I so hate a mess.”
Marko’s legs finally started to work again—ten feet from the end of the execution platform. A dozen wild plans darted through his mind, however his limbs seemed to be frozen, held in place by the guards, and the rocks tied to his feet. He watched in numb horror as two guards the size of mountains lifted the unconscious Gnat and calmly threw him off the platform. Then they turned and picked him up, rocks and all. He tried to struggle. The mountains of flesh on the right and left didn’t even notice.
He was falling. How long does it take to fall one hundred and fifty meters? Not that long, he discovered. Below him he could see the spreading ring where Gnat had hit. Poor Gnat.
There seemed to be a chuckle in his head.
ater hit his body like a solid blow. Vaguely he felt the ropes on his wrists snap.
His lungs burned like fire and there were bright flashes in his eyes when he suddenly felt himself scooped out of the water.
“Well. Lookee what we got arselves here.” A rough voice boomed somewhere. “A really big fishie.” He took a huge breath of chill air and consciousness fell away.
Chapter 2
The ground beneath him didn’t seem particularly stable. It swayed side to side and back-and-forth in an uncomfortable corkscrew motion. Marko’s stomach lurched and he swallowed bile. Putting a shaking hand down, he touched smooth scrubbed wood. The hereafter should have something better than wood floors, he thought. The air smelled of the sea, salty and fresh. It smelled of freedom.
“Well, now.” The voice was rough and gravelly and seemed to be coming from somewhere over him. Marko opened his eyes. “Well now.” The voice of the big man standing over him repeated. “Seems as though we won’t have to throw our little fishie back after all. Drink this.” A ham-sized hand held out a steaming cup and Marko found his teeth were chattering.
“Where...” Marko began, but was interrupted.
“Drink I said, boy.” The deep voice was a growl. Marko drank and felt the hot, salty liquid course through his stomach and then spread out to his arms and legs. The spices he smelled in it were tart, tangy, unfamiliar. He started to cough and a hand took the empty cup from his grip. “It’s all right, boy. Cough up that there sea water. Better out then in, I’z always said.” A rough sea-browned face looked down at him. The man, Marko noted, seemed to be missing his left ear. “Now, who be you, boy, an how did you get out here in the middle of the shipping lane? It’s all of a league to shore, so you can’t have swum. Now, out with it.”
The Corsairs of Aethalia: A Thalassia novel Page 1
