Chronicles of the Dragon Pirate

by David Talon

  Two more wolf-creatures ran at us out of the smoky ash, and Captain Cholula ran to meet them, Karl right beside her. “Run for St. Augustine,” she yelled back at me. “Find Johanna; I’ll meet you there.”

  I needed no prompting, looking over my shoulder as I ran toward the stable. The two wolf-creatures were also bleeding and seemed to be half-mad with pain as one leaped at Captain Cholula. It hit her dead on, but she rolled back with the blow, using its own momentum to flip it backwards with her legs. Like a dancer she rolled with the creature, her Artifact cutlass biting deep into its leg as she went after it. Behind her, Karl laughed as he charged the other wolf-creature, burying his black axe in its chest as he used his hammer to block its jaws from tearing out his throat.

  Another, larger figure was coming out of the maelstrom, and I ran for the stable door, now only a few paces away. But suddenly my legs were swept out from under me and I dropped to the ground, the breath knocked out of my chest. I spat dirt out of my mouth and rolled onto my back.

  The shaman who had turned into a jaguar-creature was crouched over me. Its torso was too hunched over for it to stand up straight, its muscles rippling underneath its black fur as its claws retracted into its paws. The creature’s muzzle was wet with blood, its breath rank with a coppery smell as it spoke in a voice both man and jaguar. “Are you ready to take a trip?” It spoke cultured Spanish, and as I gasped for breath it seemed to smile. “My mother, Olde Bone Woman, dearly wants to meet you.” Its paws were more like a human’s hand, I realized as they reached out to grab me.

  A blazing shadow leaped onto its back. An air-golem wolf of swirling wood chips, ash and fire bit down on the back of the jaguar-creature’s neck with a mouth of flame, and the creature screamed as it rolled away, the air-golem yelling in Smoke’s voice, “Tomas, run!”

  I lurched to my feet. Throwing open the stable door, I saw Master Gomez’s horse was gone, but Alfonzo’s was still in her wooden stall with the half-door closed, the poor beast’s eyes white with fear as I leaped up over the rough planks and onto the horse’s back. “Tiger,” I gasped, “the latch!”

  Tiger had already created a small air-golem manikin from the strength I’d given her earlier, and now she flipped the piece of wood keeping the stall’s door closed. I put my heels to the horse’s flanks as the jaguar-creature staggered in front of the stable door. The horse smashed into the creature and knocked it aside with her shoulder then turned toward the beach path back to St. Augustine, the manikin air-golem bouncing on the back of the horse behind me. I prayed the mare wouldn’t break a leg as she galloped down the path towards the ocean. But the light was good and luck stayed with us as we made it to the beach, the horse swerving toward the hard packed sand close to the water as I looked back.

  The jaguar-creature was right behind us. Its tongue was lolling out of its mouth as it ran, and I feared we wouldn’t escape it this time. But Smoke was at its heels, the rushing air making the flame inside her flare up, although I knew it wouldn’t last. A thought struck me, and I yelled, “Tiger, its legs!”

  She leaped off the horse at once and threw herself into the jaguarcreature’s knees. It couldn’t stop in time and lost its feet, rolling in the sand as Smoke pounced on its back once again. The creature screamed and the horse galloped like the hounds of hell were behind her while I clung to her back, praying I wouldn’t be bounced off.

  We reached the spot where the trees jutted out into the sea before I dared look back again. Smoke and the jaguar-creature were far behind, the fire gone out of the air-golem as the claws of the creature ripped into her, while the little manikin tried to blind it by clinging to its face. I lost sight of them as the horse swerved toward the lights of St. Augustine, now coming up ahead of us. But farther back I saw the light offshore a moment before I heard the cannons roar again, one exploding shell hitting the spot where I knew the mission church stood, while other explosions ripped up the forest nearby. The horse began to slow, and I let her drop to a canter as the fort guarding the city came up on my right.

  Suddenly Tiger spoke excitedly in my ear. “Tomas, did you see that fight? Me and Smoke really took care of him, didn’t we sis?”

  Smoke sounded amused. “I don’t think Kan Balam expected us to fight together. You know I hate admitting you’re ever right, Swamp-rat, but having the two of us work as partners really made a difference.”

  “I never thought it would be so important,” I admitted. “Are you both unhurt? And how do you know his name, anyway,” I added.

  “We can’t be hurt when we take physical form,” Smoke replied, “and his dragon-ghost’s locked into the human body with Kan Balam, so the only attacks they can make are physical. As for his name, your friend Dancing Bear told me, but,” and her voice became peevish, “I didn’t have a chance to tell you because of that Cholula woman. She made a dog’s dinner out of things tonight.”

  That’s one way to describe it, I thought as I approached the fort. “Bide with your talk,” I said quietly as I approached the gate. They both went silent as the soldiers on the roughhewn log walls hailed the guards at the gate to let me in. The wooden gate rapidly opened wide, and I saw all the soldiers were in full armor, their steel breastplates gleaming in the light of the torches they carried. Several of them grabbed the horse’s reins as the guard captain, a big Spaniard with a bushy beard, strode over and stood on the beast’s flank. “Down off the horse, lad,” he said, catching me as I slid off and almost fell. “Master Gomez gave us what he knew before he fled, but he didn’t know what happened to Alfonzo.”

  “Dead,” I gasped as I straightened up and he let me go. “As is Lord Marcus and maybe all of the Draco Dominus that were out there, for all I know.”

  “Lord Marcus dead? Bloody bones,” the guard captain swore, “no wonder they’re shelling everything. The war for succession’s already begun.” Suddenly his face changed and I felt a stab of fear at his next words. “You need to go home, lad; there’s been trouble.” He motioned towards one of the younger guards. “Juan, mount up and take him to the apothecary shoppe, but come right back in case we’re attacked.”

  Juan guided the horse over as the other guards led Alfonzo’s sweat soaked horse away, and the guard captain helped me scramble up behind him. Then we took off at a fair pace down the hard packed dirt streets of St. Augustine. Houses flashed past in the light of dragon-globes set on poles, and the lamps people held in their hands, watching the north coast in fear as more shells flashed red as they exploded, the trees on fire now as screams drifted over the water like the acrid smell of ash in the air, its taste bitter on my tongue. People in clothes all askew shouted questions at us as we passed by, but Juan never even slowed until we’d reached the other side of town.

  The knot of fear riding my back threatened to choke me with cold hands as we reached the apothecary shoppe, the painted wooden sign of a mortar and pestle creaking in the wind. I slid down off the horse. Two soldiers with pikes as tall as I was were standing guard outside the door, while small groups of my neighbors stood close by, talking among themselves. One of the guards called up to the horseman, “Juan, what the devil’s going on?”

  “World’s gone mad,” he replied as he got the horse turned around. “Don’t be surprised if we start getting shelled next. Hiyap!” He put his heels to the horse’s flanks and took off down the street as the guards raised their pikes to let me in.

  The front of the shoppe was ablaze with light from the pair of dragon-globes the guardsmen must’ve brought and set on the back shelf, and I gasped as I looked at the table. Gran-Pere was lying face down on the wooden tabletop with a wood axe driven deep into his back. Blood had flowed out and onto the floor of packed earth, which had absorbed what it could before the rest congealed into a coppery smelling pool. Flies buzzed as they sought out the choicest morsels. One of the guards had stepped inside behind me, and as I looked at him in horror he gave a sympathetic shrug. “Governor gave orders not to move the
body until he’s had a chance to look at it.”

  “But who would do such a thing?”

  From across the room a familiar woman’s voice answered. “It was Seth,” and I recognized her as Mistress Margaret as I turned to look. She was sitting beside the hearth with Belle-M’ere, holding a cup to my foster-mother’s lips. The look Mistress Margaret gave me was grim. “He wanted revenge on you.”

  “Is that Tomas?” I heard Belle-M’ere say as she turned towards me and the knot of fear wrapped itself around my throat like a hangman’s noose as Mistress Margaret put the fired-clay cup down. Belle-M’ere was untouched; she had no bloodstains, no marks of violence, but she was just as dead as Gran-Pere. Her lips were black as the depths of the sea, as were her eyes.

  I ran to her, almost knocking us both into the fire crackling in the hearth, and we wrapped our arms around each other as we cried, Belle-M’ere’s tears leaving black trails on her face. Mistress Margaret spoke quietly in my ear. “Is there truly no hope?”

  My head still resting on her shoulder, I shook my head no. “The fruit of the Goblinsbane stops pain like its root does, but it also causes numbness. Goblinsbane seed makes the body go so numb the heart soon stops beating... and there’s no way to stop it.”

  “Seth came into the shoppe after you left,” Belle-M’ere said as I pulled back to look at her. “He claimed to be on an errand for Master Gomez, and while he was here he asked papa if there were poisons that mimicked swamp-water fever, where you watch the person slip away without being able to do anything about it. Papa didn’t think about who was asking, but told him, showing Seth the seed I’d been saving for next spring’s planting. It was only when Seth snatched it out of his hands that papa realized anything was amiss. He yelled for the guard, and that is when Seth...”

  She broke down in tears and I held her against my chest, blackness staining my shirt as Mistress Margaret said sharply, “Why did you say nothing when Seth began asking questions?”

  Belle-M’ere pulled back and dried her eyes with the black stained edge of her linen apron. “He was cordial to me for the first time ever, and I hoped he had finally gotten over the death of the immoral woman he’d...he had been living with. But his grief has turned to evil.” Belle-M’ere looked at me, her expression the determined one I was used to. “Tomas, listen to me. If dragon-spirits could transmute poison, I know I would be saved, no matter how much strength Smoke needed.” I nodded unhappily, and she took my face in her hands. “Bright-eye tea is keeping the goblinsbane at bay for the moment, but it will not last. I have perhaps two hours, three at the most, but you must be gone long before the last hour approaches.”

  “Belle-M’ere, I can’t just leave you...”

  She shook me. “You can and you must. After he forced the seed down my throat and made me swallow, he told me of Draco Dominus’s plans for you, which he overheard Lord Marcus discuss with Master Gomez. This was his last chance for revenge.”

  Anger blazed like a torch in my heart. “I’ll kill him, I swear it!”

  “No! Tomas, listen to me: save yourself from the black wolves and remain free. Find someone who makes you happy, love her, and you will have a better revenge than killing him a dozen times.”

  “Seth fled,” Mistress Margaret said, “but he cannot survive on his own for long. He will return, and when he does, my husband will make sure he hangs for what he has done. You have my word on it.” She reached beside her and handed me a dark brown leather satchel with a sling attached. “I have prepared you a travel bag. Inside it you will find clothes, your foster-mother’s oat-cakes for the journey, and her savings. You also have a curious gold coin with strange markings she said came from your real mother. Down by the dock there is a small boat waiting; I gave the ship’s mate money for your passage, as well as extra to remain there until you arrived. He will ferry you to the Dutch Flyte bound for Campeche.”

  “Find Master Valencia and Rebekah,” Belle-M’ere urged. “Speak to Lord Tiberius. Draco Magistris will give you shelter.”

  “I will...but, I can stay for a while. If you want.”

  Mistress Margaret spoke in a firm voice. “I know not how long the boat will remain at the dock, especially since this horrid bombardment began.”

  Belle-M’ere hugged me with a fierce grip before pushing me away. “Go, Tomas; fly like the wind and never look back.”

  I took the travel bag from Mistress Margaret and walked toward the doorway, stopping beside the guard who’d heard the whole thing. I turned around. “I’ll light a candle for you every Sunday...at least when I can.”

  Belle-M’ere smiled, perhaps for the last time. “I shall look down from paradise and see them burning.” She grimaced then, and turned to Mistress Margaret. “Help me finish the tea then pray send for the priest. I care not what anyone says: I am a good catholic, and I need to be shriven.”

  “I will drag him here by his ear should he balk,” Mistress Margaret answered as she held the cup to Belle-M’ere’s lips. I said my final good-bye to her in my heart and slipped out the door.

  The dock of St. Augustine stuck out into the ocean a good ship’s length or so, a small crane sitting idle in its center. The empty wooden stalls of the fish sellers, in a ragged row along the dock and the nearby shore, cast long shadows from the dragon-globes set on poles, arranged so the entire dock was illuminated. The seabirds had fled the noise and the ash coming from the fire now brightly burning to the north of us, but the waves rolling in continued their soft murmur as I crouched in the shadow of the furthest stall, the stink of rotted fish acrid in my nose.

  Out to sea a short ways floated a Spanish galleon painted black with gold trim, her sails furled and her gun ports shut tight, with dragon-globes of expensive blue-colored glass hung on the masts or carried like lanterns by the men on her deck. Tied at the pier was her jolly boat, a small craft seating no more than twelve men and powered by oars, the boat black as her mother ship. Another jolly boat was tied next to it, this one of weathered wood. Four soldiers wearing snarling red wolf breastplates were standing on the dock with their muskets grounded, while their leader, wearing the silver wolf, argued with an older sailor who had half a dozen sailors, wearing white trousers and striped shirts, standing behind him. The older sailor, a large framed man with a salt and pepper beard, was practically shouting. “You’ve no right to do this; we’re here on legitimate business.”

  “I know your business, smuggler,” the silver wolf soldier snarled back, “and be glad I’m in a hurry or you’d find it at a permanent end.” He pointed toward the south. “Get back in your boat and push off.”

  The older sailor gave the soldier a dark look. “We’ll go, but I warn you: someday, there’ll be a reckoning.”

  The silver wolf sailor merely laughed. “A reckoning? By who, scum like you that...”

  Three black figures dropped out of the night sky. They hit the wood planks with a bang, and any cry of alarm I made was drowned out by the sailor’s cries as the soldiers gave a start, but then went stone still. They were Artifact golems, designed to look like women in full plate armor, their joints fully articulated but their eyes empty sockets in open faced helms. They had short wings which, I’d been told by Alfonzo, were fixed in place to give the air-golem that transported it a place to hold onto. One of the golems grabbed the silver wolf soldier by the throat while the other two held an Artifact blunderbuss in each hand, each one trained on the four soldiers. The sailors were ignored.

  The silver wolf soldier didn’t struggle. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “The meaning,” the golem said without moving her articulated mouth, and I realized with a start the voice was Shadow-viper’s, “is that Captain Cholula is in a very foul mood.”

  An expression of fear crossed the soldier’s face before he got control of himself. “It was a miscalculation on Elder Sebastian’s part.”

  “Miscalculation? The explosive shells followed the captain ha
lfway back to her ship. Karl was badly injured, but Red-dog’s an excellent healer and the mercenary should be on his feet in a few days. This is fortunate for you...because if he’d died, we would already be storming your ship, and you five would be running for your lives.”

  One of the red wolf soldiers, a man with a large gap in his teeth, hissed, “Sir Alberto, it’s the Sea-Witch!”

  I looked beyond them to where the galleon lay anchored. Close by, a black warship with sleek lines and no lights lit had snuck in behind her and sat in perfect position with the gun ports open and her cannons out. The silver wolf soldier turned his head in the golem’s grip, and swore, “Hell’s bells and buckets of blood!”

  Shadow-viper sounded amused. “There will be if Sebastian doesn’t recall you soon. She wants the boy secured, and she’s willing to let Sebastian’s little...miscalculation, be forgiven, if he will turn tail and run for home.”

  “Elder Sebastian’s no coward.”

  “Truly? In any event, I fear right now he has little choice. As Cholula likes to say, ‘when you have them by their naughty bits, men will dance to the tune you choose’.” The older sailor gave a snort of laughter, and the golem rotated its head in a way no mortal knight could’ve done. “It would seem there’s someone with spirit here. What’s your name?”

  The sailor’s humor evaporated like a tidal pool on a hot day. “It’s Mr. Bierson, mistress. I’m first mate on the merchantman, the ‘Queen Anne’s Regret’.”

  Shadow-viper’s voice sounded amused. “Mistress? I’m not called that very often. Come, Mr. Bierson, let’s play a game while we’re waiting for Sebastian to decide what to do.”