by Robert Bevan
Across the web of ropes which were holding the two boats together, Katherine recognized the horn-blower. The last time she'd seen him and his goofy green and white striped pants, he'd been holding a crossbow rather than a horn. Both of those would be up his ass by the time she was done with him.
The man next to him, dolled up in furs and jewels so as to make sure everyone knew who the captain of that ship was at the very first glance, was too fat to have lived a life at sea. His hair was long and brown, perfectly curled, and absolutely a wig. His face was powdered white and his lips painted red. He was like a caricature of royalty that wanted to be taken seriously.
“Good day, captain of Maiden's Voyage!” said the other captain in a voice he should have been ashamed of.
“Aye,” said Captain Longfellow, his voice filled with resignation. “Good day, captain of Nightwind.”
“I offer you an end to this needless bloodshed. Would you hear my terms?”
Captain Longfellow beheld all the dead and dying on his deck. Many more of those whose blood painted the deck red were under his charge.
“State your demands, Captain.” He spat out the last word, as if he was disgusted by having to recognize such a man as his equal.
Nightwind's aptain smiled and took hold of the rope the horn-blower was offering him. Katherine followed the rope up with her eyes, and found it was hanging from a yard jutting out from the main mast. Neither the rope nor the yard seemed to serve any purpose but to provide an easy swing for someone who wasn't used to swinging from boat to boat.
Even with a pre-constructed junior pirate swinging rope set up, the captain's swing across was anything but graceful. Katherine held her breath when it looked like he was going to fall in the water, but two of his men caught him by the arms and pulled him aboard the Maiden's Voyage.
“Greetings, fellow seamen!” Nightwind's captain announced, prompting a snort from Randy. “You may call me Captain Martinoli. I very much look forward to commanding those of you I find worthy to man my vessels.”
Randy snorted again, then tried to play it off as a sneeze. Katherine thought it a stretch to take anything dirty from Captain Martinoli's last statement, and assumed that Randy was just having a fit of the giggles.
“And those ye don't find worthy?” asked Captain Longfellow.
“Those who are able-bodied will be sent to work in the Kastiglian volcano mines. Those who aren't will be... made use of in other ways.”
Katherine's first interpretation was that he meant to feed those who had lost limbs in the fight to monsters they kept domesticated on their islands. She hoped she was wrong, but Captain Longfellow's sigh suggested her instincts were spot on. She didn't envy the choice he had to make right now. He could save some of them, as far as sending them to spend the rest of their lives as slaves in volcanic mines could be considered “saving”, or he could refuse Captain Martinoli's offer and condemn them all to a quicker death here and now.
“As for my demands,” Captain Martinoli continued, “I expect nothing less than your unconditional surrender, your boat, and whatever cargo you have on board.”
“This is a passenger vessel,” said Captain Longfellow. “We carry no cargo.”
Captain Martinoli shook his head as he sauntered over to the cargo bay. “I had hoped that our relationship would begin on better terms. Honestly, what's the point in lying to me now? I did my research, consulted my little fish. I know the Maiden's Voyage was scheduled to deliver a load of dire tiger hides to Stormwind on your way back from Bharan.”
“Yer little fishes gave ye bad information. The Falcon was caught up in a storm. The delivery's been delayed.” Captain Longfellow's tone was smug. Even if he was forced to surrender his boat, he could at least have the spiteful satisfaction of knowing that Captain Martinoli wouldn't be getting the cargo he'd expected from him.
Captain Martinoli sighed. “Open the cargo door.” Two of his crewmen went to the rear of the ship and started cranking the winches which lowered the cargo door.
Katherine considered that Captain Longfellow may have had another trick up his sleeve. He was looking at Randy now, who knew what was down in the cargo hold and had as good an opportunity as anyone on the ship to give Captain Martinoli a little shove, now that the Nightwind crewman who'd just been next to him was now turning the winch.
Unfortunately, Captain Longfellow and Randy were operating under two very different codes of honor. Katherine appreciated how Captain Longfellow had orchestrated the conversation so that this opportunity presented itself before he formally declared his surrender, but a paladin's code was much less letter-of-the-law than that. Randy wasn't about to sucker-shove an unarmed man into a cargo hold to be eaten by a giant lizard.
“I might have let you continue to captain this ship,” Captain Martinoli continued to Captain Longfellow. “Under my direct command, of course.”
Captain Longfellow's expression grew grim as Randy failed to act on his nods and winks and his fate seemed further sealed. Katherine felt bad for him and for all the crewmen and passengers who would be sold into slavery or fed to monsters. But more importantly, she had shit to take care of, and this fat curly-wigged fuck was delaying her. She lay down flat on top of the Bag of Holding and pointed the spyglass nozzle at Captain Martinoli, who was still droning on.
“But I fear I cannot trust you just yet. You may serve as crewman on Nightwind, working your way up the ranks, and perhaps one day be allowed to serve aboard the Maiden's Voyage as first mate to a captain whose loyalty I needn't ever call into question. If you perform to his satisfaction, then maybe someday –”
“ALL THE WATER!”
If the initial blast of water didn't crack Captain Martinoli's sternum, the spyglass tube certainly did when she lost control of it. Katherine hadn't been sure how much water she had left to work with and wanted to make this shot count. As it turned out, it was a hell of a lot, and it packed quite a bit of force.
Fortunately, the initial blast and spyglass tube were enough to push Captain Martinoli backwards into the cargo hold where his yelp turned into a mixture of screams and chomps, then got suddenly and uncomfortably quiet.
In the following awkward silence, Katherine discovered that Captain Martinoli's death didn't necessarily guarantee that his men would surrender. She found it difficult to believe they'd had any sincere sense of loyalty to a man who'd obviously acquired his position through money alone. The loss of Captain Martinoli did absolutely nothing to shift the balance of power, should they all decide to start fighting again, and any one of Nightwind's crew could progress from a mere deckhand to the commander of a two-ship fleet and rightfully claim he'd earned it.
But which one would it be? Nightwind's men were all sizing up each other rather than paying attention to any of the crew or passengers of the Maiden's Voyage.
“I was first mate,” said the man with the bushy red beard who'd laughed at Katherine when his buddy shot her in the ass. “It stands to reason that I am now the captain of Nightwind.”
“You were a good first mate,” said a shirtless muscular black man with hieroglyphic-looking tattoos covering his bald head and running down his neck and out to his shoulders. “But there is more to captaining a ship than sucking Martinoli's cock.”
Several of Nightwind's men standing near him laughed. Those would no doubt be his faction if things turned ugly.
“I have sailed the longest of any of us,” the large man continued. “It is I who should be captain.”
A man with a bloodied steel pitchfork for a left hand stepped forward. “The crew should decide who they wish to sail under.” After a round of agreeing cheers, he added, “I nominate myself.”
Katherine had a stupid idea and decided to run with it. She got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. “Fuck all that,” she called down, drawing the attention of both ships' crews. “I killed Martinoli. I'm your new goddamn captain.”
The crew laughed, which she'd been expecting. She waited for it to die d
own, then addressed the deck again.
“You're already bickering among yourselves. You'll kill each other before you unite and agree to sail under one of your own, then there won't be enough of you left to fight the crew of this ship. Sailing under an outsider is the only option most of you have if you want to see another sunrise.”
The opposing Nightwind factions eyed each other. Their choices came down to killing each other or sailing under Captain Kat. She tried to not look too smug.
The large black sailor looked up at her, his face serious. “If you agree to set free those of us who do not wish to sail under you, we shall recognize you as captain of Nightwind and take you as far as the first port you wish to travel to.” He turned around, inviting the rest of the Nightwind crew to agree with the terms he'd just laid out. He was met with a bunch of nods and resigned grunts.
Katherine sought Captain Longfellow in the crowd. He shrugged and nodded. There might be a better deal to be made, but this would do. It would be wise to release those crewmen who wanted to leave and keep only those who would be loyal to her.
She made and held eye contact with the big black guy. “I accept your people's terms.” Shit! “And by that, I mean the crew of Nightwind, of course.”
The sailor eyed her warily. “Of course.”
“Obviously,” said Katherine, despite Randy encouraging her to stop talking by wagging his fingertips in front of his throat. “Because what else would I have mean by that? Let's just get back on the ship, okay?”
As her new crew swung, swam, or climbed across ropes back to Nightwind, Captain Longfellow barked orders for his own crew. Tend to the wounded. Save the dead and severed body parts for chum. Swab the deck. Then he pointed at Katherine. “I'll have a word with ye, Captain, if ye don't mind.” Even though his tone was heavy with sarcasm when he said the word Captain, Katherine liked the way it sounded. While he started climbing the ladder, Katherine beckoned Butterbean and went into the captain's quarters. She wiped water off a chair with her hand, then sat down.
“That was some impressive negotiation ye did down there,” said the captain as he entered through the door and gloomily surveyed the scorched walls and the charred remains of the shelves. “And a fine job ye did putting out this fire.”
“Thank you,” said Katherine, sensing he was about to follow up with a But.
“But,” he followed up, “a captured ship is a captain's prize. I know ye live by land customs, but such are the ways of the sea. Mighty grateful I am for ye saving me ship, me crew, most of me passengers, perhaps even me life. But I cannot allow you to –”
“That's not all I saved.” Katherine placed the Bag of Holding on the table and smirked down at Lord Shitflinger. Reaching inside the bag, she said, “Captain Longfellow's shit.” A pile of old junk spilled out.
“Me treasures!” The captain's face was like a child's who'd just gotten a puppy for Christmas. “I cannot believe it! I thought for sure they were lost in the fire.”
“Lord Shitflinger told me how important all this stuff is to you, so I thought you might appreciate me keeping it safe.” If there was ever an appropriate time and place to call in a favor, this was it. “So what is it you were saying?”
Captain Longfellow paused, looking up from the bronze statuette of a large-breasted naked woman's torso he was admiring. “Now that ye mention it, I can't seem to recall, Captain.” He emphasized Captain again, but this time it was loaded with acknowledgment rather than sarcasm.
Katherine put the Bag of Holding on the floor and held it open for Butterbean. “Come on, Butterbean. Let's go check out our new ship.”
Chapter 31
Hollywhirl delegated tasks and duties to her pixie kin in preparation for the morning's journey. Five would stay behind to look after the secret glade and continue to produce more Light Wards, which kept the Dark Ones at bay or at least easier to spot. It wasn't a perfect solution, as Dimplethorn had explained to Chaz when he'd asked about them. The trees and forest creatures depended on the natural cycles of day and night. Permanent Light would weaken the forest, and so few pixies as they numbered could only hope to patrol a limited area. Still, it was the best idea they could come up with, so for the time being they would continue to make Light Wards.
Dimplethorn had been assigned the task of tending to the animals, which included feeding the boar and healing Ravenus's wing, which had broken when Hollywhirl shot him unconscious in-flight.
“Be still, little bird,” she said in a British accent, cradling Ravenus's head in her lap as he groaned. She held a tiny pixie-sized waterskin that looked like it was made out of a squirrel stomach, over his beak, ready to upend it down his throat as soon as he started to behave himself.
“I don't want to drink it!” squawked Ravenus. “It smells of honey and wildflowers. Absolutely disgusting.”
“It's good for you. It will mend your wing and allow you to fly free again.”
“I'd rather walk!”
“Come on, Ravenus,” said Chaz. “Just drink it. Julian would want you to drink it.” He didn't give a shit about Ravenus or his wing, but he wanted him to shut up.
“Very well then,” Ravenus huffed. “I'll do it for my master's sake.” He made a show of coughing and gagging as Dimplethorn poured the potion down his throat, like he thought he deserved a Purple Heart for getting it down. When it was finished, he let out a loud inarticulate squawk and ruffled his feathers. Then he breathed heavily as he flapped his wings. “My, but that was refreshing.”
Dimplethorn smiled at him. “Didn't I tell you? All better now?”
“I wouldn't object to having my cloaca rubbed.”
“Perhaps another time.” Dimplethorn shoved Ravenus's big bird head off her lap, stood up, and walked over to Chaz. “You dress more colorfully than other humans I've seen.”
Now that she was done with her official duties for the evening, it was apparently time to annoy Chaz with observations about him and questions about life in the city, most of which he didn't feel qualified to answer.
His annoyance had more to do with him being preoccupied with the fact that he still had barely enough Strength to lift his head than it had to do with her genuinely being annoying, and he reminded himself every time he spoke to not be an asshole.
He knew he should have been grateful that she was kind enough to talk to him at all. Most of the other pixies were either shy or distrustful of him and Cooper, and Zanzifurl to a lesser degree. Dimplethorn, either because she was enlightened enough to know that all outsiders weren't dangerous, or because she thought she could easily take him in a fight, chose to remain visible in such close proximity to him. She had pale blue skin, green hair which matched her form-fitting dress made of woven long-bladed grass, and shiny orange wings. If he looked past the facts that she was only two and a half feet tall and part bug, she was a very attractive woman.
And also to Dimplethorn's credit, Chaz didn't find her to be careful about how she answered his questions or selective about what information she was giving him. She could give as well as she received, which would have been great if Chaz could have thought of anything useful to ask her.
“It's what I was wearing when I arrived in the ga–” He still had to stop himself from referring to these people's entire world and existence as a game. “I'm a bard. We tend to seek attention.”
Dimplethorn clapped delightedly. “Oh, that's fascinating!”
Chaz was so accustomed to being ridiculed for his class that he had to replay her response in his head a number of times to determine if she was making fun of him. Against his ego's self-preservation instinct telling him it was a trap, he came to the conclusion that she actually thought it was cool that he was a bard.
Why wouldn't she? Bards were the rock stars of this game. They create magic through the power of rock. The only people he'd spent any significant amount of time with since he'd been here were all gamer nerds who looked down on bards for not being able to kick as much ass in a straight up one-on-one fight a
gainst someone of a different class. He should have been out making bank, fucking groupies, and getting the sort of respect he was due.
He shrugged. “It beats working.”
“Can you play me a song?”
“A song?” said a nearby pixie voice. It could have been male, but it was difficult to tell. “Does this one play songs?”
“I play songs,” said Zanzifurl.
“We've heard satyr songs before.” Dimplethorn stood on her root and gestured at Chaz like he was an exhibit. “This one is a bard... from the city.”
“Oh, how exciting!” said a male pixie, which Chaz could only be certain of because he made himself visible, landing next to Dimplethorn and taking a seat on her root.
A female became visible right next to Chaz, nearly causing him to fall backwards off the root he was sitting on. “Play us a city song. Something you'd play to a burly group of ruffians and ne'er-do-wells.” Her knowledge of city life in this game world sounded close to his own.
“I'm sorry,” said Chaz. “I don't have an instrument. My lute was destroyed when I fell out of the sky and landed on a giant tomato.”
Dimplethorn turned to Zanzifurl. “It would give us great pleasure if you would allow the bard to blow your instrument.”
“Holy shit,” said Cooper, materializing at the perimeter of the glade as he walked out of the illusory terrain between two Light Wards. “Did I come back at the wrong time?” He thought for a moment. “Or is it the right time?” He looked at Chaz. “Just so you know, it wouldn't arouse me in the least, but if you're going to blow a goatman, I think I'd want to watch.”
“I am not a goatman!” cried Zanzifurl. He was still sulking about nobody wanting to hear him play his own pipes. To take his pipes away from him and play to an adoring crowd would be kicking him while he was down, especially right after the goatman comment.
