No sense wasting time. I sat up. Then I kept right on going. At first I thought my pockets had split and disgorged their stones, but then I realized that the rock I had been sitting on was in fact a stout treasure chest, which was now connected to a grappling hook being hauled up from above.
Overhead was the underside of a rowing boat, a stark black turd shape against the moonlight. I tried to get away, but by the time I figured out that the grappling hook had also snagged a big handful of my robe, my head was already breaking surface.
In the darkness, I couldn’t make out the occupants of the boat, but they didn’t look like adventurers, or at least not like any of the ones I’d seen with Barry in Yawnbore. I decided to hope for the best and play dead, a role for which I had unmatched qualifications.
“Don’t remember this lad bein’ ‘ere when we sent the chest down,” said a gruff voice in a strong sailor accent.
“Did we kill anyone last time we hit town? I can’t remember. I was pretty drunk,” said a slightly more refined voice.
“Hey, Slippery John knows this guy!” said an extremely familiar voice. “How’ve you been? Slippery John was wondering where you ended up.”
I kept my tongue firmly lolled.
“’E’s dead, Slippery John, ’e’s not gonna talk back,” said the first voice.
“Nah, nah, nah. He’s not dead. Well, Slippery John means, he is dead, but he still talks and moves around. Look, you can tell he’s not properly dead ‘cos the corners of his mouth are twitching.”
I gave up. “Look,” I said, prompting a yelp of fright from the two pirates. “You could just throw me back and forget this ever happened. It would make all our lives a lot less complicated.”
“Slippery John was hoping Slippery John would run into you again,” said Slippery John. He looked the same as always, but now he was wearing an eyepatch, as was each of his two new friends. “Wondering if that quest idea of yours is still open?”
“What quest idea?”
“That quest where Slippery John escorts you to Lolede City. Slippery John’s been onto some of Slippery John’s contacts in the Suicide Squad and they’re really into the idea.”
“What Suicide Squad?”
“You know, the Magic Resistance. The secret council of magicians who are investigating ways to end the Deleter plague and restore death and entropy to the universe.” He looked at me in silence for a moment. “Slippery John is wondering if he should have said all that.”
“Wait.” I jerked a thumb vaguely in the direction of the cacophony of demolition work coming from Yawnbore. “You’re not working for Barry?”
By now the two pirates flanking Slippery John were over their initial shock at my reanimated status and had drawn themselves to their full sitting height to look down at me through their nostril hairs. “The Bloated Rats don’t work fer no man but Cap’n Scar,” said the one on the left. I was adjusting to the dark, now, and could make out that he was in fact a bloated pirate with a ratty beard.
“Or first mate Dodgy Bill if Captain Scar’s sick,” added the other pirate, who was thin and probably from a higher class background, given that his blond hair looked like it occasionally came within earshot of a comb.
“Or second mate Smilin’ Phil if they’re both out of it.”
“Slippery John wouldn’t work for Barry again,” said Slippery John. “Maybe it’s one of those strange thief-senses at work but I swear there’s something a little bit odd about him now.”
“A little bit, yes,” I said irritably.
“Slippery John was trying to buy passage with these boys when he brought that barrier down.”
“Yes, about that, we should be getting back to the ship,” said the posher pirate. “Will you be coming along, mister?”
“I suppose so,” I said, with a sigh.
“First the fishin’ trip, now this,” muttered the stout pirate as they took up the oars. “Why do we always get stuck with the smelliest loot?”
—
The Black Pudding was a small but well-armed affair with large numbers of cannons poking out from the top deck like seasick tourists. It was painted entirely black and was concealed from the eyes of Yawnbore in a cheeky little cove just around the bay.
The moment I clambered up onto the deck, Slippery John’s two escorts grabbed me by the shoulders and flung me onto my face. A gap-toothed cheer went up among the assembled crew.
“Aharr!” went a booming voice from above. “What ’ave we ’ere, my lads? Not much meat on ’im, is there? Maybe we should throw ’im to the sharks!” The crew cheered raucously, raising their cutlasses to the sky.
Slowly, I looked up. A pair of gigantic black boots came into view. They were followed by the tattered hem of a black woollen dress over a dense network of petticoats. My gaze continued traveling upwards until I could look the wearer in the eye.
“Ew,” she said involuntarily as she took in my face. “Looks like someone already did.”
“We dredged ’im up from the bay, Cap’n Scar,” said one of my handlers. “’Parently he’s some new kind of dead where yer get to be a bit alive an’ all.”
Captain Scar was an enormous, matronly woman, whose tattered, old-fashioned dress appeared to be held together by a swordbelt and bandolier. She reminded me very much of the senior dinner lady from my old school, who had once took on the entire school cricket team at Tug o’ War. She hadn’t won, obviously, but no-one could deny that the woman had balls.
Her pirate crew—every single one of whom were sporting eyepatches—was certainly in awe of her. There were twenty of them clustered around the sides of the deck, giving her a wide berth as she stood with hands on hips. They watched with the terrified but respectful eyes of trapped zoo patrons watching an escaped gorilla decide whose children to eat first.
“It’s cool,” said Slippery John, smiling fearlessly from behind his impenetrable shield of stupidity. “He’s with Slippery John.”
Captain Scar relaxed, and most of the crew began to sheathe their cutlasses. All that jeering and threatening business had apparently been some kind of formality. “Er,” I began. “Are you the ones who looted the hotel?”
“Saw that, did ye?” said Captain Scar proudly. “Did a nice bit of work on it, aye?” She pumped her fist obscenely. “Weren’t very satisfyin’, though, like. Everyone just lay flat on their back an’ took it, and the spark just weren’t there, ye know? Sort of like me first marriage.” Up until then, I’d never been sure how one laughs “uproariously,” but Captain Scar demonstrated it beautifully.
“I’m looking for passage to Lolede,” I said, rising up to my knees.
“Aye, well,” said Captain Scar, before firing from the corner of her mouth a mass of chewing tobacco the size of my fist. “Ye’re gonna ’ave trouble there. Firstly we’re not a soddin’ taxi service. And secondly there’s a barrier stoppin’ us from leavin’ the bay.”
“The magic barrier?”
“Aye, it extends a few ’undred yards out to sea. We can sail right up to it but at the last second we jus’ get pushed away. Sort of like me second husband!” She slapped me between the shoulder blades hard enough to rattle all my remaining teeth. “We sail in fer some shore leave and find everyone in the town’s come over all weird. So we’re about to pack up and go when that Barry lubber arrives with ’is catapult and puts ’is magic barrier up.”
“It’s a trebuchet,” I said.
“No it’s not, it’s a magic barrier. Don’t be stoopid. So ’e put it up and we’ve been stuck ’ere fer about a day. Hidden in the cove, mind. ’E doesn’t know we’re ’ere, yet.”
“If I help you get past the barrier, can I get a ride to Lolede?”
Captain Scar stroked her chin. It was like watching someone caress a brick with a ham hock. “Ye know anythin’ about magic?”
“I’m a mage,” I said, deciding not to reveal that I’d never technically graduated mage school and only knew four spells: two for combat, one for conjuring water a
nd one for dog grooming. “Also, I can pass through the barrier.”
“Oh aye, and what makes ye so special?”
“Because . . . I’m undead. I’m dead as far as the rules of nature and magic are concerned.”
“Sounds like me third marriage.” I nimbly ducked as laughter broke out again and a hand like a bagful of steaks swung through the air. Then she thought in silence for some time, stroking her impressive chin as her mental cogs turned. “So,” she said, finally. “How would yer go about switchin’ off the barrier?”
I put on my best expert voice. “Magic fields only turn off if the caster wills it, runs out of mana, falls unconscious or dies.”
“We could’ve figured that out, lad.” She snapped her fingers with a sound like a sausage striking a kettledrum. “Nah, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t yer just make us all undead?”
“Er,” I said. “Er . . . er.”
“Aye,” said Scar, grinning excitedly and chewing a black thumbnail. “If yer make us all undead like you, we’ll all be able to go through the barrier!”
“But we’ll be undead forever,” piped up a nameless pirate.
“We’ll be ghost pirates!” cried Scar. Some of the pirates looked at each other in confusion for a moment, then the realization sank into their brains with a burst of childlike joy.
“We’ll become legends!” cried first mate Dodgy Bill, leaping to his feet. “They’ll be scarin’ each other with stories of the ghost pirates across the seventeen seas!”
“We’ll set up base on an island with a big mountain shaped like a skull!” went Vacuous David.
“I’ll cut the sails up so they look all shredded and scary like!” added Corpulent Neil.
“We’ll invade coastal towns and walk through walls and look at all the teenage daughters in their underpants!” added Smilin’ Phil. This brought on a round of particularly lusty “aharr”s.
“I can’t walk through walls!” I yelled over the growing chorus. It only silenced them for an instant.
“I thought yer said yer could,” said Phil.
“Magic barriers! I said I can walk through magic barriers!”
“Then we’ll walk through magic walls and look at all the wizard daughters!”
Captain Scar silenced her excited crew with a single clap of her hands that violently blasted air into my face. “Right then, it’s decided.” She pulled her lacey collar away from her massive neck. “Me first. Give us a quick bite. Not too ’ard. And don’t worry, I won’t get too attached.” She nudged me in the ribs.
I stared at a large and prominent vein on her throat, which was thumping as if playful kittens were rolling around inside. “No . . . no, this is extremely wrong.”
A noticeable darkening of mood signaled that I had just put my remaining foot in it. A subtle hiss of disapproval was running through the audience. Captain Scar covered her neck and drew herself up, nostrils flaring. “Do ye know what ’appened to the last man ’oo said ‘no’ to the Bloated Rats?” she said, levelly.
“You gave him a ride to Lolede?” I said, being a stupid bastard.
“No.”
“We did, technically,” said Dodgy Bill helpfully.
Captain Scar grinned. “Oh aye, yeah, we sent him to Lolede. Also we sent him to a few other places. Simultaneously, like. So ye might want to reconsider yer position before we reconsider it for yeh.”
I reconsidered, but my position wasn’t showing any improvement. “I can’t . . . make you undead, I just—” I had to stop talking because a cutlass the size of a surfboard was pressing on my vocal chords. Instantly the rest of the pirates followed Captain Scar’s lead and drew their swords with a deafening scrape of metal, until twenty lengths of sharpened steel were pointing at my heart. Slippery John sat on a nearby keg, cheerfully watching the drama unfold.
“So undeath’s too good fer the likes of us, is it, fancy-pants?” said Captain Scar touchily.
“It’s just not transmittable by bite,” I said, trying to move my adams apple as little as possible. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Aye, all right,” said Scar reasonably. “Maybe we’ll just chop yer into bits and see if we can figure out how it does work.”
I could see that honesty wasn’t doing me any favors in this company. “All right, all right,” I said, attempting to nudge the cutlass away with a fingertip. “You have passed the test. Your insistence and base threats have proven you worthy of my, er, wondrous dark gift.”
“That’s more like it,” grumbled Scar, withdrawing her sword. The pirates reluctantly followed suit, but kept their blades unsheathed in case I tried being difficult again. “Where do yer want us?”
“Well, that’s sort of the thing. It’s a complicated process. I need to get hold of some reagents, some, uh, dragon . . . moss. And the . . . eyes of a . . .” I took a desperate glance around. “ . . . Seagull.”
“Men!” bellowed Captain Scar. “Take arms! We’re goin’ into town to loot the magic shops!”
I displayed my palms and shook them before the “aharr”s got too loud. “No no no, wait wait wait. If you do that, Barry’ll know we’re here!”
“That’s another three ‘no’s, laddie. Ye’re walkin’ a pretty fine line. It won’t matter if ’e figures out we’re ’ere. We’ll swipe what we need, leg it back to the ship, you work yer oogie boogies and we’ll be off.”
The audience were getting more and more unruly the more times I tried to pull them back from a state of beard-chewing overexcitement. “N— I mean, yes, but we still wouldn’t be able to pass through the barrier.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I looked down. “The floor.”
“What?”
“I mean, the ship. The ship wouldn’t be able to pass through, because . . . it’s . . . made of wood. Organic. It’s technically life, the barrier wouldn’t let it through.”
They seemed to buy it. They put their pillaging sacks down and scratched their heads, thinking.
“I suppose,” said Scar, “we could kill that vicar, then, while we’re there.”
Relief flooded out of me like a burst of gas from a volcanic vent. I nodded as fast as I could, causing something to dislodge inside my skull and rattle around. “And then you’ll take me to Lolede?”
“Suppose so. We were ’eadin’ there anyway for Slippery John. And the music festival’s comin’ up there soon.”
“Slippery John wants to take a quick look around the countryside before we go,” piped up Slippery John, hopping onto his feet. “Slippery John wants one last chance to look for Drylda.”
“Drylda? I left her in a wheelbarrow on the way into town,” I said, because my guard was down and I couldn’t stop myself in time.
“What?! She was with you?!” It was the first time I’d ever seen Slippery John genuinely angry, rather than just stupid or pleased with himself. “What perversity have you been inflicting upon Slippery John’s woman, villainous lich?!”
I put my hands up as the swords came out again. “I didn’t do anything! I was just taking her to get her looked at! Since when is she your woman?”
“She’s Slippery John’s fiancée! Slippery John asked her to marry him just before the Battle of Applewheat!”
“And she said yes?”
He looked momentarily guilty. “Sort of. In a fashion. Didn’t say no, at any rate.” He turned to Captain Scar. “Slippery John has to go get her.”
“Oh come on,” I said, determined to not take at least one person’s bullshit today. “We don’t have time.”
“Maybe yer don’t know who yer dealing with,” said Captain Scar, the cutlass finding my throat again. “That’s Slippery John, that is. King o’ the Lolede Thieves. Slayer of the Necromancer Lord Dreadgrave.” Slippery John coughed. “An’ if ’e says we’re goin’ back for ’is woman, we’re goin’ back for ’is woman. Or to be more specific . . .”
SEVEN
To be more specific, we were going back for his woman. As in, Slippery
John and me, alone, in the rowboat. Barry and his cult were distracted by their demolition work, so at least we wouldn’t have to worry about them, assuming they had all recently undergone severe brain injuries.
This was the plan: We’d land at the very end of the beach, far away from Barry and his crew, reunite with Drylda, and push her barrow around the force field to the cliffs north of town, where the Black Pudding could stop to pick it up once the barrier was off. When she was in position, I’d cast a firebolt into the night sky as a signal for the pirates to begin the assault. Unfortunately, it would also be a fairly obvious signal for the newly-empowered Barry.
“So, creature of darkness,” said Slippery John, after several minutes of rowing in awkward silence. “When they were stitching your corpse back together, did they put the lungs in backwards?”
I treated him to a long, glowy-eyed stare. “What?”
“Slippery John was just wondering if that’s how you got so good at talking out of your arse.”
The first stare went down so well I gave him another. “You’ve been working on that for the last twenty minutes, haven’t you.”
He was puffed up with triumph. “You might be able to fool those grog-addled corsairs, but nothing slips past Slippery John.” He leaned back, repulsively pleased with himself. “Which is ironic, when you think about it.”
The rowboat landed not far from where I’d first submerged myself, near the pier. In the distance the creaking of a trebuchet alternated with the crunches and rattles of masonry in distress. Barry’s crew were hard at work in the soon-to-be-not-so-high-rent suburbs in the south end of town.
I immediately hopped out of the boat and began scraping up a fresh supply of shingle for my robe pockets.
“What’re you doing, undead?” said Slippery John.
“I’m going to swim to Lolede.”
“Why? There’s a ship going there.”
“Yes, and when the crew figure out that I can’t make them into ghost pirates they’re going to fire all my body parts out of different cannons.”
Mogworld Page 12
