by Jon Monson
The trainer kneeled down and put his hands in cupping shape, and Gamila realized she was supposed to ride the elephant. The young man’s white robes were loose fitting, but Gamila could tell by the way he carried himself that was used to a life of hard work. His muscles seemed to be more than adequate for the task.
She placed her foot onto his hand, and the man boosted her onto the elephant’s back. She had expected the skin to be scaly like that of a kerton, but it was much more human-like than that. It felt soft and yet durable at the same time.
The elephant’s breathing was strong, and she could feel the animal’s sides expanding as its lungs filled with air. Its head shook, and another trumpet escaped the massive trunk. Gamila had thought she’d seen power in a kerton, but there was a strength to this animal that was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
“Now, everyone please give a round of applause to our lovely volunteer,” the portly trainer bellowed, and he was followed by a roar from the assembled crowd.
The man pulled out what appeared to be a large needle, clumsily attempting to hide the object from both Gamila and the crowd. She opened her mouth to ask what he was intending when the man jammed the piece of iron into the elephant’s leg.
Another trumpeting escaped the animal’s trunk as it rose to its hind feet in fear and anger. Gamila had nowhere to grab and she fell backwards. The world spun as she toppled to the ground, hitting her head on the hard stones. What sounded like gunshots mixed with the screams of the crowd.
Head spinning, Gamila looked up to see the elephant stomping furiously. Strong hands grasped her arm and she could feel her dress tear in a few places as she was dragged across the stone.
The face of the beautiful young man who had helped her mount the elephant filled her vision. For some reason, his eyes seemed brighter with the look of concern on his face. His brow furrowed, accentuating the lack of hair on his scalp.
“Get out of the way, she’s mine,” a voice snarled, and the young man’s face was pushed from her field of vision. It was replaced by the mustachioed countenance of the showman. His plastered smile was replaced by a snarl, and he held a knife in his hand.
The man raised the dagger, his snarl growing stronger. A sharp crack sounded from behind the man, and a look of confusion overtook his countenance. Gamila’s ears began ringing as blood began to pour onto the man’s clothing. The would-be assassin fell forward and Gamila screamed.
Chapter 19
Spindly shadows danced in the lantern light as beads of sweat formed along Barrick’s brow. The crew’s quarters, located much too close to the ship’s furnaces, felt more like a sauna than a place meant for men to sleep. Still, it was preferable to the deafening silence of his own quarters.
Of course, the sweat wasn’t just caused by the stifling heat. In his hand were some of the worst cards he’d ever been dealt in his many years. Of course, that was the idea. Even though the cards played right into his strategy, he still didn’t relish losing.
“I’ll see your lira, and raise you two shillings,” said a rough looking sailor across the table from Barrick as he pushed the two Albonan coins across the table, adding to the sizeable pile.
A dozen other sailors stood crowded around the table, each craning to see over the others. There was more money on the table than any of them made in a month, and three other players had already bowed out. Only the burly sailor sitting in front of Barrick remained.
The man had a Lusitaan accent, and he often used unfamiliar words. His thick, bushy eyebrows were raised slightly, which all night had meant he held a winning hand. Perfect.
“I’ll see your two shillings, and raise you a gold crown,” Barrick smiled as he pushed the large coin into the center of the table. The sailor’s eyes went wide.
“You know I can’t match that,” the man sputtered. Barrick knew this to be true. The single coin was easily worth the entire pile.
“Well I guess it’s time to lay down our cards,” Barrick replied with a smile before spreading his hand on the table.
“You put in an entire Crown with those cards?” the sailor laughed as he displayed a rather mediocre hand. Barrick was glad he had put every decent card he’d received into the discard pile. Apparently, the man’s eyebrow raise didn’t always mean his cards were superior.
“Oh, you know, the rules are a bit different where I come from, mates,” he drawled as the sailor raked in the pile of coins.
The crowd gave a laugh at his stupidity, and he could practically feel the warmth of the crew’s affection. For a few pieces of silver and gold, he had made himself quite a few friends. He wasn’t sure how strong those bonds of friendship were, but any connection at all would be useful.
Beyond the company, there were other reasons to ingratiate himself with the crew. These men would likely be in a good position to hear conversations on board the ship, and while they wouldn’t knowingly act as informants for him, the men did love to gossip. There was little other entertainment on the ship.
The men worked hard, and when they were off duty, they drank terrible beer, smoked cheap tobacco, and played cards. The natural companion to that would be gossip. He needed to know all he could in order to find out who the messenger was.
“Well, my thanks to you fine gentlemen for allowing me to pass an evening in such a pleasant way,” Barrick said as he grabbed a large canvas sack at his feet. He had purchased it, and the clothing and toiletry items it contained, from one of the crew. He felt some amount of regret for leaving his belongings back in the palace in Palmas, but he couldn’t have risked not getting on the ship before it left port.
His boots thudded loudly on the steel steps as he climbed up to the deck. The cool night breeze was refreshing on his sweaty skin. After the stench of tobacco and unwashed bodies, the ocean air smelled almost too good to be true. Barrick didn’t consider himself a snob, but he definitely preferred the aroma of fine tobacco in a fine leather armchair to the stench of whatever it was the men below put in their pipes.
As his eyes began to adjust to the moonlight, Barrick saw a small family at the stern of the ship. A young father held his wife and small son, looking back towards Palmas, whose lights had long ago disappeared behind the horizon. The boy clamored in vain to catch a last glimpse of his homeland.
The father looked to be about Barrick’s own age, and the comparison surprised him. It was odd to think how differently life turns out for everyone. Thoughts of the children that could have filled his home began drifting into his consciousness.
“It’s okay, son,” the young man said comfortingly to the boy. “You’re going to love your new home. Uncle Anthony is going to take good care of us. You’ll make lots of new friends, I promise.”
Apparently, the words did little to comfort the boy. His tiny face scrunched up further and tears began to leak from his eyes. Smashing his face into his father’s chest, the boy began to sob violently.
The scene reminded Barrick of the day so long ago when he had sailed away from Albona for the first time, leaving everything he loved for a strange land. Of course, he’d been much older and his father hadn’t been nearly so understanding. That day, his tears had come for a different reason.
A board creaked behind Barrick, and his muscles tensed, ready to strike.
“By Okuta’s flame, it’s Master Barrick! I thought you were in Maradon.”
Barrick turned at the sound of the booming voice. Behind him stood as thick a man as Barrick had ever seen. Every ounce of him appeared to be muscle, and he towered a full head over Barrick. His blonde hair was cropped short in the fashion of Albonan soldiery, and a long, thin scar extended from an inch above his left eye down to his jaw.
“Hello there, Deidrick,” Barrick said slowly as his muscles began to relax. “What brings you on board the Maiden?”
“Oh, I’m accompanying Master Sanborn, sir,” Deidrick said, enveloping Barrick in a bear hug. “We’ve been in Genodra for the past three months. Negotiating contracts, you see.”
“Sanborn, you say,” Barrick said, gently pushing the giant off him. “He must be a fun travelling companion.”
“Oh, you know how he is,” Deidrick smiled. “I should take you to him. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to see you.”
Barrick held back a shudder at the thought. Sanborn was the craftiest snake Barrick had ever met, and he’d grown accustomed to a rather tough crowd. Yet Sanborn was worse than even the dirtiest thugs who would gladly slit a throat for a few coins.
Sanborn was a close confidant to Barrick’s father. That right there made him someone worth avoiding. It certainly didn’t help that he’d learned more than a few of Arathorm Fortescue’s tricks over the years. Whenever they spoke, Barrick felt like he was just talking to a younger version of his father.
“I can’t wait to toss back a few drinks with ole Sanborn,” Barrick smiled. He almost immediately regretted the words – he had better things to do than to spend time with that snake.
I guess I can put up with the man for a few minutes, Barrick thought. He’d already accomplished what he’d needed on the first night. There was no harm in appropriating a portion of Sanborn’s assuredly fine liquor.
“What were yeh doing in Palmas?” Deidrick asked as they walked to Sanborn’s private cabin.
“I came with Prince Aydiin,” Barrick replied. “Did you hear that he’s going to marry Byanca – the Doge’s daughter?”
“I did hear something of the sort,” Deidrick nodded. “Still off adventuring, then?”
“Not anymore,” Barrick sighed. “He’s actually going to marry her – no more adventures for Aydiin. I’ll have to find a new partner-in-crime, I guess.”
“I know we’d all like it if you came home,” Deidrick said. “I know your father misses you terribly.”
“My father doesn’t miss anyone,” Barrick drawled. Deidrick only nodded in response. They walked in silence for a moment before reaching Sanborn’s room.
Deidrick rapped quickly on the wooden door, and a gangly Genodran with hair slicked straight back answered the door. Barrick didn’t recognize him, and, judging by the man’s demeanor, guessed he was Sanborn’s servant.
“Ho, Sam! I’m here to see Master Sanborn,” Deidrick smiled at the servant. “He’ll want to see who I ran into on deck.”
“Sorry, Deidrick, but my master doesn’t want to be disturbed. I’m afraid his orders were quite clear on this.”
“Nonsense! His orders were to not be disturbed. How could a visit from me be a disturbance?” Deidrick barreled past the servant and into the cabin.
The room was sparsely furnished, as was to be expected on a merchant ship, although it was slightly bigger than the one he had shared with Aydiin on the trip to Palmas. A small desk sat crammed into a corner of the room, next to a small cot where Sam obviously slept. On the other side of the small room sat a slightly larger bed, on top of which sat a none-too-happy looking Sanborn.
“Deidrick, you idiot. We’ve been together for the three months! Give me an evening away from you,” Sanborn slurred.
Apparently, Barrick wasn’t the only one who thought time at sea was better spent in a haze. He forced back a smile, however, so as not to anger the man. Sanborn was an angry drunk, but that was preferable to his sober state.
“I was just hoping yeh’d be willin’ to share some of yer fine spirits – I can’t handle the swill the crew drinks,” Barrick bellowed as he stepped out from behind Deidrick, motioning to the bottle filled with amber liquid sitting on Sanborn’s desk. He smiled as he saw the look of confusion on the drunk man’s face.
“Why, it’s Master Barrick! What a pleasant surprise,” the man slurred. “Please, take a seat. I meant no disrespect.”
Barrick suppressed a grimace as he sat down on a rough wooden chair and Sanborn set his bottle on an equally rough table. Sanborn was always so respectful to the boss’s son. Barrick might have believed his performance if he hadn’t known how viciously the man attacked his character behind his back.
Deidrick followed, his bulk causing the chair to groan as it accepted his weight. Sanborn stumbled out of his bed, and joined his two companions at the table.
“Boy, get us some cups,” Sanborn stumbled. “Then leave us. You’ll be sleeping in the crew’s quarters tonight.”
The gangly servant scowled at Deidrick, yet he did as he was told before leaving quietly through the cabin door. Sanborn had already downed his first glass by the time Sam’s footsteps faded.
Barrick couldn’t decide if the drunkenness was a ploy or not. Sanborn was crafty, and he couldn’t put such a trick past the man. Yet Barrick was choosing to bet on himself tonight.
The night went by as the three men told dirty jokes and spoke of what they would do when they returned to Maradon. Barrick was very careful to let as much of the strong spirits dribble down his chest while maintaining the appearance of drinking heavily. His heart broke a little with every mouthful that made it onto his shirt rather than down his throat, but sometimes sacrifices were necessary. It took a few hours, and just as many bottles of brandy, before his two companions were fast asleep.
With Sanborn face down on the floor and Deidrick snoring loudly in his chair, Barrick slowly rose to his feet. As quietly as he could manage, he made his way across the room to the small table in the corner. He quietly shuffled through a few loose papers, but there was nothing out of the ordinary among them. A few contracts, a newspaper - the sort of papers he would expect to find in the man’s room. With a quiet sigh, he made his way back over to Sanborn’s sleeping form.
He lifted up the man’s coat from his back, and tucked into the seat of his pants was what he was looking for - an envelope. On the back of the envelope was a wax seal depicting three ravens circling the sun. It was the same insignia as the one imprinted on the coin he’d found in Aydiin’s rooms back in Palmas.
Knowing he couldn’t break the seal, Barrick turned away from the inebriated Sanborn. He didn’t have to open the letter to know what it said. Now all he had to do was follow the man when the Maiden reached Maradon.
He had found the messenger.
Chapter 20
Aydiin’s ragged horse plodded into Vernetzia, the small town situated at the base of Mount Pietra. The poor beast had already been put out to pasture years ago and a trek across the Genodran countryside was the last thing it needed. Aydiin descended from the saddle and led the tired mount by the reins.
“We’ll need to find a place for him to rest,” Aydiin said to Seb, who was still riding his slightly more vigorous horse.
“Agreed,” Seb nodded. “Horses won’t be of any use where we’re going anyway. There should be some place that will take them from us.”
Aydiin hoped he was right. Vernetzia was a very small town – barely more than a village. It existed largely as a stopping point for the pilgrims intent on experiencing the monastery nestled into the slopes of Mount Pietra.
A single cobblestone street meandered through brightly colored homes, eventually turning into the path that led up the mountain to the monastery. A collection of small inns and shops were interspersed among the homes while small side streets branched off from the main avenue, leading to the rest of the town.
They passed in front of a building with a sign in front which read simply General Store. Aydiin supposed that fancy names in a place like this weren’t really necessary for commercial success. Local farmers and the sojourning pilgrims could either purchase goods from here or not – the name wouldn’t really sway them either way.
“I’ll get some supplies if you want to drop the horses off somewhere,” Aydiin said, handing the reins to the old soldier.
“Right, I’ll meet you where the path begins up the mountain,” Seb nodded and kept moving. Aydiin moved towards the building and pushed on the door, entering the little shop.
Despite the simple name and exterior, the General Store was clean and seemingly well-stocked. Shelves and displays showed off a much broader array of items to be p
urchased than he would have expected in such a small place. There must be more traffic to this town than met the eye.
“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” a shopkeeper called out. The man was tall with the typical light brown hair and eyes of the Genodran countryside. He wore a clean white shirt and a brown apron with surprisingly few stains.
Aydiin nodded in acknowledgement and the man went back to stacking cans of beans into a pyramid. He didn’t quite understand the appeal, but the man was quite intent on finishing his project. Aydiin decided it was a good time to see what was offered.
The trek up to the monastery would take most of the day, which meant they would need to sleep in the ancient edifice. Anticipating this need, several bedrolls sat in special made shelves with compartments that each fit one roll. Pulling one out, Aydiin realized he would miss sleeping on piles of hay, as he had done throughout their journey across the Genodran countryside.
Next to the rolls, half a dozen heavy coats hung on a rack. The weather was supposed to be cold at the higher altitude year-round. Even at the base of Mount Pietra, Aydiin could tell winter was more advanced than along the coast.
Aydiin grabbed two coats and two bedrolls, then he grabbed two backpacks to store everything. Thick wool socks were a must, along with knitted caps. A pair of thick boots caught his eyes, and he looked down at his own shoes. They would do.
“So sorry to keep you waiting,” the shopkeeper said, brushing his hands onto his apron. He must have seen Aydiin pick up the items and realized that he indeed intended to make a large purchase. The bean pyramid sat unfinished. “So I take it you’re on the Pilgrimage, and you need supplies to reach the monastery.”
“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Aydiin replied. “I think I have found everything needed.”
He’d spent the past few days telling everyone he met – mostly farmers selling food – that he was a pilgrim on his way to the monastery at Mount Pietra. He of course couldn’t say that he was searching for more practical answers. Yet with each telling of his cover story, he found himself wishing it were true.
