Where Loyalties Lie (Best Laid Plans Book 1)

by Rob J. Hayes

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Drake started in a loud voice that instantly quieted all the others. “For matters of booty procurement all requests shall be dealt with, as always, by Byron. You can’t miss him; he’s the tall fella up on deck with an extraordinarily small head.” Byron was one half simpleton, one half genius, with an intimidating manner that was matched by his intimidating size. He was certainly not the brightest of folk, but he knew the inner workings of numbers like no one else alive and also happened to be even more loyal than the average dog, so Drake let the man manage the books.

  “For any matters of employment or payment for rendering of services I direct you to my first mate, Princess.” Princess looked less than pleased to be given yet another responsibility, but Drake couldn’t really find it in himself to care – and what was the point of a first mate if not the delegation of the more boring aspects of the job of captain.

  “Now it may be some of you have already heard some of the rumours regarding Black Sands…”

  “Where do I go for matters of retribution?” said a dishevelled young man with fuzz on his chin and none on his head. He wore an old, faded tan jacket and sailor’s leggings, and a cutlass dangled at his hip. Drake also couldn’t help but notice that the man’s boots were, if anything, even more polished than his own.

  Drake smiled at him. “Reckon ya might be looking in the wrong place, boy.”

  “You killed my father!”

  “Probably.”

  The man began to draw his cutlass, and five of Drake’s pirates surged forwards, carried him to the ground, and proceeded to give him what Drake assumed was the worst and last beating of his life.

  Stepping around the group murder taking place on the pier, Drake continued his way into Port Sev’relain proper. Some of those who had accosted him on the pier stopped to watch the young man die, and others followed in Drake’s footsteps.

  “As I was saying,” Drake said, “some of you may have heard of Black Sands, some maybe not. Any that want to know can join me over at the Piper’s Flock, and I’ll treat you all to my very own retelling.”

  The Piper’s Flock was about as fancy as a tavern got in a town founded by a crook and populated by pirates. The floor was clean, for the most part, and the tables were new and sturdy. Unfortunately, no matter how sturdily the tables were constructed, they tended not to last long in a place that saw more blood than the average battlefield. The ale wasn’t exactly what anyone could call safe for consumption, but it had one thing going for it over what was served in the other taverns in Port Sev’relain, and that was that it had never given Drake the shits.

  Drake took a seat at the centremost table in the common room and took his hat from his head, laying it on the table next to a gold bit. The barman and owner, a portly man by the name of Arst, didn’t take long in slithering over to the table to stare at the coin, a greedy glint in his eyes.

  Drake gestured to the entire room. “This round is on me.” Without a word Arst snatched up the gold bit and scurried away.

  Now Drake found himself the real centre of attention, and he counted a good thirty-three people in the tavern, including two burly bruisers by the front door, and every single one had quietened to hear what he had to say.

  As Arst began bringing drinks around, starting with Drake, one of the visiting pirates lost patience. “Ya said ya had rumours about Black Sands?”

  “Do I know you?” Drake said.

  “Sienen Zhou. Captain of Freedom, out in the port.”

  The man had distinctive tattoos around his left eye and cheek. “Slave?” Drake asked.

  “Use ta be, ’til the Black Thorn set us free.”

  Drake almost laughed, but he settled for a grin. “Well, you don’t know me yet, Captain Zhou, so I’ll tell you this for free. Drake Morrass doesn’t deal in rumours. Everything I’m about to tell ya is cold, hard fact, and you’d all do well to listen with the utmost concentration. First things first…” Drake paused to take a large gulp of foul-tasting ale. “Black Sands ain’t there no more.”

  The reaction was much as Drake expected: a mixture of shocked silence, outspoken denial, and fervent disbelief. He rocked his chair back onto two legs and basked in the whirlpool of attention.

  “What do you mean, it ain’t there no more, Morrass?” came a voice that Drake could only describe as big. He looked around for the owner and found it belonged to a tall, broad man with olive skin and a stark white tattoo of a skull painted on his face, which gave him the appearance of a walking, talking, glowering skeleton.

  “It’s been a long time, Captain Burn. Didn’t see your little boat out there. Could it be you’ve gone and got her sunk, Deun?”

  “I never bring Rheel Toa into port,” Captain Deun Burn said around a mouth of teeth all sharpened to points. “Answer my question, Morrass.”

  Drake shrugged and dismissed the threat implied in the Riverlander’s voice by turning away. “Black Sands is gone, wiped off the charts if ever she was on any, burned to the ground. Saw her turn to ash with my own two eyes.”

  Captain Burn pushed his way through the gathered crowd and leaned on the other side of the table. The man’s visage was beyond ghastly and more than a little off-putting, yet Drake stared right on back.

  “And how much of a part did you play in its end?” Burn asked, his voice gravelly.

  For just a moment Drake considered drawing steel and attempting to run the man through. Unfortunately he wasn’t as confidant of his ability to do so as his own legend would suggest. He also hated to admit it, but he needed Deun Burn. He needed all the captains on his side. Then something caught his eye for a moment, a small figure wearing a flat-brimmed hat that obscured her face. She drew a weapon and manoeuvred herself to stand behind the skull-faced captain. If Drake couldn’t kill the man himself, he sure as all the Hells couldn’t allow someone else to do it for him.

  Drake rocked his chair back onto all four legs and stood, placing his hands on the table in a mirror of the Riverlands captain and keeping eye contact all the while.

  “Just this once, Deun, I’m gonna pretend you did not just insinuate that I may have had something to do with the death of over two hundred of our brethren.”

  “Dead?” asked another man. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye. All of them dead. Sent a boat ashore to check. No survivors.” Drake could see the woman with the flat-brimmed hat now, and she had at least six pistols strapped to her leather jerkin and another one in her hand. Drake couldn’t see the woman’s face, obscured as it was by her hat, but he could tell by the way she stood that she was ready for a fight. Right then he’d have paid good money to know her identity, yet he had the more pressing matter of his audience to attend to.

  “Who did it?” someone asked.

  “Why?” asked another.

  Drake sucked at his golden tooth. “Can’t say as to the why, but the who – my boys spotted a ship sailing away from the other side of the island. Warship flying the colours of Sarth.”

  That set the whole tavern to shouting, and even Deun Burn had the good sense to look worried. Any navy vessels braving the waters of the Pirate Isles were bad for business; that they were willing to raid a pirate town and slaughter all the inhabitants was almost unheard of outside of a purge.

  “Is that it?” asked an old sailor with fewer teeth than fingers and only one hand. “They stoppin’ with Black Sands? Or are they comin’ for us?”

  The whole tavern went deathly silent again as the patrons waited for Drake to answer the old sailor. This was exactly where he needed them, scared shitless and looking to him for answers. He briefly considered sitting back down, but decided it would look more commanding if he remained on his feet.

  “Doesn’t seem likely to me they’d stop. If Sarth is willing to burn one of our little towns, don’t reckon they’ll be stopping there.” He paused and looked around the room. “I reckon Black Sands is just the beginning.”

  Again the tavern burst into sound and activity. A few pira
tes bolted out the front door, while Arst set to frantically wiping down a nearby table. The old sailor with only one hand collapsed back into a seat, and a woman nearby wearing the trappings of a merchant made a sign in the air to ward off evil sea spirits. Drake almost mentioned to the woman that making such signs on land was a good way to draw the attention of said spirits, but he decided to leave the foolish in their ignorance.

  “What do we do?” The voice broke through the general din, and Drake recognised it as belonging to one of his own crew, playing their part perfectly.

  “For now all ya can do is warn folk,” Drake said loudly. “Make sure everyone knows the danger and keep an eye out for unfamiliar ships on the horizon and such. Be ready, aye.” He turned his attention to Deun Burn. “Leave the rest to me and my fellow captains. Together we’ll see all of ya through.”

  Some of the crowd began to disperse, folk taking Drake’s advice and running to tell their fellows about the massacre at Black Sands and the potential threat to Port Sev’relain. Captain Deun Burn remained, staring at Drake through his ghastly tattooed mask.

  Drake had never credited any of the Riverfolk with having an abundance of intelligence. They had some strange magics, that couldn’t be denied, but they also had some strange beliefs and practices that involved regular human sacrifices and the subsequent cannibalism of the victims. Cannibalism didn’t sit particularly well with Drake, and he was thankful it was one of the few things he’d never been accused of. Despite his general dislike, distaste, and poor opinion of the Riverfolk in general, Drake needed the support of this particular one. So instead of following his first instinct and having the man drowned in a puddle of his own blood, he waited while the Riverlander made up his own mind.

  “Is this real?” Deun Burn asked eventually, once they were all but alone.

  “Said it, didn’t I? I’m many things, Deun, but I ain’t a liar,” Drake lied.

  Captain Burn stood up to his full height, a good inch shorter than Drake’s, and nodded gravely. With that the man walked slowly from the tavern, leaving Drake none the wiser as to whether he’d just gained his very first ally.

  The woman with the pistols was still standing by the bar; her hat was tilted, so Drake couldn’t see her eyes, but he fancied she was watching him. He had no idea who she was nor what her intentions might be, but long ago Drake’s mother had told him that fortune favoured the bold, and Drake would never allow anyone to call him otherwise.

  As Drake approached, the woman tilted back her hat, giving him a view of her face. He treated her to one of his most charming smiles, the same one he’d practised in front of a mirror hundreds of times long ago. She had fine, strong features, golden hair, and blue eyes the colour of the sea. The fact that she had six small pistols strapped to her chest, and another hanging from her belt, was a little disconcerting, but then Drake had never been one to stay away from a woman on account of danger.

  “Who are you?” he said as he stepped within stabbing distance of the woman.

  “Straight to the point.” The woman’s voice was sweeter than honey and twice as dangerous as the bees that made it.

  “Well, you had me covered back there, and I reckon I’ve never met you before, so that puts me thoroughly in the thinking of who the fuck are you and what do you want with me?”

  The woman shot Drake a thoroughly unimpressed look. “I am Arbiter Beck.”

  Surprise wasn’t good for Drake’s reputation, but right now he was well and truly shocked. After taking a moment to compose himself, he let out a chuckle and scratched at one of the tattoos underneath his shirt. “Don't all you witch hunters have one of those fancy coats?”

  “That wouldn’t be very discreet,” Arbiter Beck whispered. “And it would have made it much harder to get so close to you.”

  Drake inched his hand towards the sabre sheathed at his hip. Beck’s eyes flicked to the movement and then back again.

  “I wouldn’t advise it, Captain Morrass,” she said. “I’m faster than you, and at this range, I promise you I wouldn’t miss.”

  “Aye? Where would you be aiming?”

  “Unfortunately, not at your heart.”

  Drake raised an eyebrow. “There’s worse places you could be aiming for.”

  Arbiter Beck smiled. “Then I’d aim for one of those.”

  “Right.” Drake pushed away from the bar. “Lovely banter, Lady Beck. Reckon I’ll be on my way now. Feel free to bugger off.”

  “I’m going wherever you go,” the Arbiter said with a sigh.

  “What’s that now?”

  “From now on, Captain,” she said, spitting the title as if it were distasteful on her tongue, “I am your new shadow and a marked improvement on your old one. Much prettier, you see.”

  Drake let out a groan. He saw his brother’s hand in this. He couldn’t see any other reason for a witch hunter of the Inquisition to be stalking him; they had far more important things to do, such as burning folk alive and generally putting the fear of their god into anyone and everyone they met.

  “I have been ordered by an Inquisitor to protect you, Captain Morrass,” Beck said, confirming his suspicion.

  “Aye. He happen to tell you why?”

  Beck narrowed her eyes. “No. I presume it must be because a heretic is trying to kill you. I can’t see any other reason. You strike me as just another common thief.”

  “I prefer pirate.” Drake grinned.

  “I don’t care what you prefer. My orders are to follow and protect you until further notice, and that is exactly what I intend to do. Feel free to refuse my protection and sail away without me. I will happily return to the Inquisition with the knowledge that I tried.”

  Drake was fast forming a dislike for this woman. Unfortunately, if Hironous had sent her then it was for Drake’s own good. His brother had the sight, the ability to see into a person’s future, and Drake had long ago learned to both trust and rely on his brother’s advice.

  “Fine. When you’re on my ship you follow my rules and do as you’re told.”

  The Arbiter snorted. “Not likely. I will require my own cabin, which will be completely private. Anyone caught snooping around will be killed on sight.”

  Drake sucked at his golden tooth as he glared at the woman. “You can have my first mate’s cabin. Don’t go killing folk just for walking past though. Good?”

  “I will also require use of the ship’s galley. I will prepare my own food.”

  Drake waved away the demand. “You can take that up with Curden, he’s the cook.”

  “You will also inform your crew that I am not fair game. If any of them so much as attempts to touch me, I will kill them.”

  Drake laughed. “Rule on ship, you want folk to leave you alone then you tell them yourselves. Violence is acceptable…”

  “No,” Beck said in her honeyed voice. “You will tell them, and make it an order. If any of your crew so much as touches me, I will kill them and ten more. Unless you can afford to be captaining a ghost ship, Captain Morrass, you will acquiesce to this.”

  Drake didn’t just want to lay a hand on her; he wanted to lay a fist on her, and more than one at that. But there were some things Captain Drake Morrass wasn’t allowed to show, and frustration was one of them, so he let out a jovial laugh and decided he’d make his brother pay for sending Arbiter Beck to him.

  “I can see why Inquisitor Vance sent you.” Drake started towards the tavern exit, not waiting to see if she would follow.

  “How do you know which Inquisitor sent me?” Beck asked from behind, and Drake felt her compulsion, her magic, attempt to lock on to his will and force the truth from his lips. To be fair to Beck, her will was strong and would have easily dominated most men, but Drake was not so ignorant to the tricks of Arbiters as most men. The tattoo branded onto his skin countered her magic, allowing his will to slip away from her grip, and her compulsion failed.

  As Drake reached the door he gave the woman a withering look over his shoulder and relished i
n her confusion. “Not quite so common as you might think, Arbiter.”

  Chapter 3 - The Phoenix

  Yanic didn’t like the situation one bit. “I don’t like this situation one bit, Cap’n.”

  Captain Stillwater turned an incredulous gaze on his first mate. “It was your bloody suggestion to come here. Quartermain giving the best prices and all that.”

  “That was before I saw Starry Dawn sat at dock, Cap’n.” Yanic had been with Keelin on The Black Death, and he’d seen the two of them together. Nothing good ever came from their close proximity. “I was there on The Black Death with ya, Cap’n. Seen you two together…”

  “I’m well aware how much of a shit storm that was, Yanic.”

  “Beggin’ ya captain’s pardon, but ya really ain’t.”

  Keelin turned a dangerous glare on his first mate, and Yanic decided to shut up and take a real interest in a gull that had landed on the The Phoenix’s figurehead, a beautiful carving of a bird emerging from an egg surrounded by fire.

  The sea around the Isle of Goats, a descriptive rather than artful name, was stained a permanent brown-green colour that was off-putting to look at and stuck to the hull of a ship long after she’d left its waters. The Isle of Goats was one of the larger habitable land masses in the Pirate Isles and was vaguely crescent shaped. There were three ports to speak of on the island, but only one town, Fango.

  Legend had it that long ago, the old Captain Black, the most notorious and bloodthirsty pirate ever to have lived among the realms of men, had pirated his way across the seas for decades before his death. Captain Black had amassed a fortune, a sum to rival even the wealth of the merchants of Acanthia. The old, dead Captain Black had reportedly hidden his riches on the Isle of Goats. In more recent memory the new Captain Black, a man equally as bloodthirsty but lacking in fortune, had settled the island as his own personal haven, and, as was like to happen around powerful men, folk had followed him. Before long the town of Fango had arisen, and it soon became one of the most populous of all the pirate towns. Unfortunately Fango still had very real ties to the new Captain Black and that put Yanic, Captain Stillwater, and the whole crew of The Phoenix in more than a little jeopardy every time they visited the town.