Where Loyalties Lie (Best Laid Plans Book 1)

by Rob J. Hayes

Something close to a frown pulled Byron’s features into a strange mimic of the expression. “I like Carol.”

  “I know,” Drake said. “Come on, let’s get us a drink, eh? Just one for you though.” With a friendly wink Drake took hold of the giant’s arm and led him through the door.

  Inside, the tavern was busy but not bursting. Pirates and residents of Sev’relain occupied the tables in equal numbers, and Drake spotted a few of his own crew wisely spending their shore leave in the company of alcoholic substances, some drunk, some spilled. Why folk felt the need to waste good drink by spilling it was something Drake would never understand. The mood of the tavern seemed merry despite the recent ominous news, and an energetic musician with a trio of pipes was quite loudly making his presence known. A cheer went up from Drake’s boys when they spotted him, and the owner saw him only a moment later.

  “He ain’t allowed in here!” the tavern keep stated very firmly, hurrying over towards Drake and his strange procession.

  “Aye, he is,” Drake stated even more firmly. “He’ll be quiet as a breeze. You won’t even know he’s here.”

  “I don’t give half a shit how quiet he is. He…”

  “Listen,” Drake said cheerfully as he put one hand on the owner’s shoulder and the other in front of his face. “We’re all staying, Byron included. Now, here’s one for the privilege.” With a flick of his fingers a silver bit appeared in Drake’s hand. “And two for the drinks.” Another flick, another bit. The man’s eyes went wide with greed.

  “Quiet as a breeze?” he said as he reached for the coins.

  “A particularly calm one at that,” Drake cooed as he handed over the two silver bits. “Grog for me and all my crew, eh.”

  As the owner scuttled off, Drake waved over to the table where his crew were seated. “Pip, look after Byron. One drink and then you take him back to the ship.”

  If Pip harboured any ill will about being made sitter for the giant, he showed none of it but instead leapt up and swaggered over to take charge of Byron, leading him back to the table.

  Drake selected a table of his own and sat down. Waiting patiently for his drink, he leaned backwards and placed his boots upon the table. Beck, thankfully not wearing her Arbiter’s coat, sat down opposite Drake and shot him a curious look.

  “You didn’t bring him along to intimidate?” she said over the general din of the tavern, and Drake shrugged off the nagging feeling of her compulsion attempting to lock onto his will.

  “Oh, Byron may be intimidating, but he’s less than useless in any sort of altercation. No, I brought him ’cos if I don’t get him off the ship from time to time he’ll never leave. He ain’t much one for social situations unless someone drags him. He enjoys himself a drink when he’s out though. And the crew shine on him some.”

  Two mugs arrived and Drake took a deep swallow. He tasted rum heavily watered down by ale. It wasn’t fine drinking, but it was close to the best Sev’relain had to offer, at least this side of town. Opposite him, Beck picked up her drink cautiously, sniffed at it, and with a shrug followed Drake’s lead.

  “What happened to Carol?” Beck said eventually, much to Drake’s satisfaction. He’d wondered how long she’d be able to last before asking. The thing about people accustomed to hearing the truth from folk is that they’re curious by nature. “Why didn’t that man want Byron in here?”

  “Ain’t really his fault. Byron simply isn’t all there.” Drake tapped his head. “Never met anyone quite so good with numbers and what not, but…” Drake drummed the fingers of his right hand on the table. “Ain’t really my place to say.”

  “Quit the false modesty, Morrass,” Beck said with a snort that was out of place with her delicate features. “I’d bet you know everything that happens with your crew, and you consider it all your business as much as theirs. My guess is you just enjoy being able to withhold information from an Arbiter.”

  “I reckon it does more to darken your mood than it does to lighten mine,” Drake said after another pull on the rum. “Byron doesn’t fight. He keeps the books, watches the money, and stays below when there’s trouble or piracy to be done. Far as I’m aware he’s never picked up a weapon, nor swung a fist in anger.

  “About a year back we were merrily docked here at Sev’relain. Couple of the boys took Byron for a few drinks under my orders. Carol was always nice to him but… well, Byron went outside for a piss and a few ticks later someone heard him scream. Folk rushed outside to find Carol’s head a mite thinner than it used to be and Byron with the red of the crime all over his hands, shouting about the darkness having tried to take them both. No one could make any sense of it, and the townsfolk didn’t take too kind to what was clearly murder.”

  “Pirates up in arms over a murder?” Beck asked with a grin that made her look cruel and callous.

  “This ain’t the lawless Wilds, Arbiter. We’ve got rules here. Laws, you might say if you were so inclined. A good old-fashioned beating is one thing, but murder…” Drake grimaced as he remembered the night. “They had the lad strung up by the time I arrived, crying, and without a clue as to what was happening or why. A lot of folk wanted him dead, folk that live here and pirates that don’t, though I wager many of those just wanted to see a spectacle and didn’t much care where it came from.”

  Beck shot Drake a disgusted look.

  “Said we’ve got laws, didn’t say we were civilised. Besides, you lot are known for burning folk alive – hanging ain’t a touch on that for barbaric.”

  “There’s a cleansing power in fire,” Beck said defensively.

  “Aye, no doubt. Bet it still hurts though, eh.”

  “You stopped them from hanging him?”

  Drake grinned. “Either that or I brought him back from the dead.”

  “You care about your crew.”

  Drake‘s grin vanished. “Loyalty deserves loyalty, Arbiter.”

  The door to the tavern burst open and the music stopped. All eyes turned to see Princess standing there, casting about the place. He spotted Drake and started forwards, his mouth open to speak, just as the door burst open again.

  The figure in the doorway now was shorter than Princess, but stockier, scruffily dressed with a round hat on his head and a shaggy main of straw-coloured hair. His eyes settled on Drake, and he started making his way towards him, pushing past Princess. From the corner of his eye Drake saw Beck’s hand inch towards one of the pistols strapped to her jerkin; he held a placating hand to the Arbiter and stood to meet the man in the bowl-shaped hat.

  “Drake,” said the man.

  “Poole,” said Drake.

  “Call me Daimen.”

  “No.”

  “Probably for the best – only me ma calls me Daimen. Bless her.” Poole cracked a grin, showing a gap where one tooth was missing and the others were stained a dirty brown from the regular smoking of casher weed. He extended an open hand to Drake. “Good ta see ya again, mate. Who’s the little lady?”

  Drake took the man’s hand and gave it a shake. “Newest member of my crew and steadfast protector of my back. Got enough folk thinking to put a knife there these days. What is it, Princess?” His first mate had been desperately attempting to get Drake’s attention as the two captains greeted each other.

  “Captain Barklow…” Princess started, stepping forward to stand next to Poole.

  “You been stealin’ work crews now, mate?” Poole interrupted.

  Princess sent a quick glare at Poole before continuing. “Barklow is over at Herence’s shipwrights right now, threatening to gut the man for pulling his crew from repairs on the Hearth Fire. Herence is throwing your name around everywhere, Cap’n, but it ain’t coolin’ Barklow down one drop.”

  “Bollocks,” Drake spat and started for the door. “Lead the way, Princess. You coming, Poole?”

  “Aye, mate. Wouldn’t miss this one fer all the wet in all the seas.”

  Outside, Drake let Princess take the lead. He knew his way around Sev’relain fo
r the most part, but the town was big for a pirate settlement, full of twisting alleyways, and new hovels could spring up or disappear overnight. It was a town with a constantly changing layout around a more permanent core, and it would be the seat of Drake’s empire one day.

  Despite the criminal nature of the Pirate Isles, thievery was uncommon. Honour among thieves was a good way to describe it. Folk didn’t steal from folk who were likely to steal right back. It was a tense peace, but one observed almost everywhere. Instead, merchants, or those pretending to be, attempted to fleece drunken pirates out of their hard-earned bits by selling useless trinkets at extortionate prices or useful trinkets at even more extortionate prices.

  “Might be I can offer a fair suggestion, Drake,” said Poole as they followed Princess through the maze of roads and alleyways, “that could lead t’a better resolution o’ your upcoming confrontation.”

  Treating the offer with the rightful scepticism it no doubt deserved, Drake nodded to his fellow captain to continue.

  “Well, I know ya usual course would be ta go in there all scary and throw about ya big, fancy name and ya dark reputation an’ all that, but I don’t think that’ll win ya any allies here and now.”

  “What makes you think I need or want allies?” Drake asked with a sideways glance.

  “I ain’t a fool, Drake. I can see which way the wind’s blowing, an’ I know well as any it’s better ta let it take ya where it will rather than break ya ta its will.”

  Drake stopped. They were on their way through a narrow alley with high stone walls on either side. It was about as private a place as any they were likely to find in Sev’relain. “This your way of siding with me, Poole?”

  Poole grinned. “Mary’s Virtue’s been sided with ya for longer than you realise, Drake. Better the devil ya know than Tanner Black. I’ve been ta Sarth an’ I’ve been ta Land’s End; folk don’t build that many ships ’less they plan ta use ’em.”

  “The Five Kingdoms are building a fleet?” Drake said quickly. “I thought it was just Sarth.”

  Poole shook his head. “Way I see it, they’re either goin’ ta war with each other, or us. Bad times are comin’, mate, an’ I don’t much fancy Tanner as leadin’ us through ’em. So if you’re thinking o’ stepping up, an’ I reckon I know ya well enough ta see that ya are, I’m right here with ya.”

  Drake needed time to think and time to plan, and for that he needed privacy. He’d expected Sarth to come after them, but if the Five Kingdoms joined them in a purge of the Pirate Isles… There was simply no way the isles could stand up to that magnitude of pressure. Despite the whirlpool of thoughts and possible plots spinning through his head, Drake kept himself calm and decided to deal with the matter at hand first.

  “Keep on, Princess,” he said, effecting his usual self-satisfied grin. “Let’s stop this Barklow from killing our shipwright, eh?”

  The situation wasn’t hard to find once they got closer. The shouting was drawing people in from all over Sev’relain, and by the looks of things some blood had already been spilled. Drake approached the edge of the crowd with his hand on his sabre and Poole, Beck, and Princess in tow. Despite the mounting threat of violence he was determined to fix the situation with diplomacy rather than his usual tactic of a healthy dose of threatening behaviour followed by sharp pointy objects inserted into the offending party.

  There was the unmistakeable sound of fist hitting flesh, followed by a cry of pain. As Drake pushed through the last of the gathered crowd, the shipwright with the impossibly square jaw and one eye hit the dirt and rolled to a stop at his feet. The man’s empty socket had swollen shut and his mouth was bloody. He clutched at his face as he stumbled to his feet and noticed Drake standing in front of him.

  “Help,” the shipwright slurred through a bloody mouth and broken teeth.

  Facing Drake and his growing entourage were six men ranging from large to larger in stature, and one man dressed in what appeared to be the last remnants of some sort of naval uniform. His jacket was unbuttoned and faded and his pantaloons were stained from years of hard wear. He wore an impossibly large hat which bordered on the ridiculous, and at his side hung a sturdy-looking and well-used sabre. The other six were also wearing what looked to be the old, tattered remains of naval uniforms. They would no doubt jump to their captain’s commands without hesitation.

  “Give us the fool shipwright and crawl back to whatever tavern you stumbled out of, friend,” said the biggest of the six sailors, a man with scruffy brown hair, a thin moustache, a shirt bulging with muscles, and the unmistakeable accent of the Five Kingdoms. He also had bloody knuckles, and most of it undoubtedly belonged to the shipwright who was even now cowering behind Drake.

  “Hold there, Jerem,” said the man with the giant hat as he stepped forward and put a hand on his companion’s meaty arm. “I believe this may be the offending party. Fits the description. Are you Captain Drake Morrass?”

  Drake tipped the front of his hat. “And you must be Captain Barklow. I’m afraid I haven’t managed to catch your first name.”

  “Merridan. Merridan Barklow. And this is my bosun, Jerem Fields.” If any of the other men under Barklow’s command were put out by their lack of introduction they didn’t show it. Drake did, however, notice that all of them were armed with a variety of threatening weaponry.

  “Well, this here is my first mate, Princess, and it’s possible you might already know Captain Poole,” Drake said, purposefully not introducing Beck. “Now by the looks of things you appear to be having some form of disagreement with my friend… um…”

  “Herence,” said Princess.

  “Herence.” Drake spared the bleeding shipwright a glance. “How’s about we talk that over somewhere a little more private?”

  Captain Barklow laughed. “Lure us away so the rest of your crew can work us over until we submit? Not fucking likely, Morrass. I know the way you operate. Everyone here knows the way you operate. Only I’m not about to roll over and let you have everything your way. There’s one captain here in Sev’relain with the stones to stand up to you yet.”

  A couple of folk nearby, passersby from the town most likely, gave a small cheer at Captain Barklow’s words. Drake couldn’t allow dissent among the people; he needed their support as much as the other captains’. They all needed to see him as their hero, not a villain.

  “Actually, I was just going to suggest getting out of this damned heat, but if you like we can do this here. Why are you beating on my shipwright?”

  Barklow glared at the assembled crowd before letting his gaze fall on Drake. “We paid for his time, paid for his service to fix the Hearth Fire, and he took our money, agreed to do the job. So what do I find earlier today but his men packing up and leaving my ship half fixed, the job half finished. I asked why, and what did this bilge water say but Drake fucking Morrass has acquired all the shipwrights in town to fix his ship first.

  “So I asked him, politely of course, to tell this Drake Morrass to go bugger himself, because those men rightfully belong fixing my ship. The man says he can’t do that. So I took it upon myself to educate him in proper etiquette.”

  Drake pulled an affronted expression. “I reckon there might have been some mistake, Captain. It appears he pulled his boys away from your fine ship before I had a chance to approach you myself. I have in fact been trying to find you since this morning to discuss just this matter.” It was only half a lie.

  “You have?”

  “Aye. See, the Fortune has had a bit of bad luck of late…”

  “Not so fortunate,” said the giant bosun with a snigger. It was perhaps telling that no one else joined in, and so Drake ignored the interruption.

  “In need of a few repairs here and there…”

  “That doesn’t mean you get to jump the line, Morrass,” said Captain Barklow. “We were here first.”

  “Usually I’d agree, Captain, but these are exceptional circumstances. You might have heard about the fate of Black Sands.�
� Many in the crowd started talking, or making protective signs in the air. “Well, you see, the boat that did that – Five Kingdoms navy, I might add…” Another lie well worth telling.

  “We left their ranks long ago,” said Captain Barklow defensively.

  “Deserters, is it?” Drake said with a grin. “And who could blame you? Ain’t a more noble profession on the seas than piracy. But this ship, I believe it to still be in our waters, making ready to destroy another one of our towns. Well, my crew and I don’t hold to that, and as soon as the Fortune is shipshape again we’re gonna hunt the bastards down and make them pay for what they did and who they killed.” It sounded heroic enough, even if Drake had no idea how to go about it.

  A cheer ran through the crowd. Barklow narrowed his eyes at Drake.

  “Now that being said, if you think your Hearth Fire is better equipped for the job then we’ll hand over the task to yourselves.”

  “I, uh…”

  “There’s also the matter of compensation,” Drake continued.

  “What?”

  “I’m well aware that pulling the men from work on your ship will delay your departure from Sev’relain, and that could well cost you some income.”

  “That’s right,” Captain Barklow said quickly.

  “Which is why I was looking for you, Captain – to discuss compensation for that delay. Monetary compensation.” Drake knew there was little that bought allies quite like the glint of gold.

  “Uh, Captain…” Princess started, but Drake held up a hand to silence him.

  “Well, I suppose that does sound fair,” Barklow said slowly. “Assuming we can agree on an amount.”

  “Good. Then we’re agreed. So how about we go find that place out of the sun, preferably somewhere with some liquid refreshment, and discuss what we both consider to be an agreeable figure.”

  Chapter 7 - The Phoenix

  Keelin studied the chart, Yanic made a sour face, and Morley, the quartermaster, sucked in a whistling breath through his teeth. They were crowded around a barrel of salted beef in Quartermain’s office, looking at what was claimed to be a chart of the seas around the Forgotten Empire. Quartermain stood nearby, attempting but failing to show little interest in the crew of The Phoenix.