by Rob J. Hayes
She had to restrain herself from attacking the leering bastard. She was armed with a sword and he only a wooden kosh, but even if she did prevail and send the monster stabbed and bleeding over the edge to his death below, her father would find out and punish her for it. Sometimes it was better to forget and live on no matter how difficult, and now was unfortunately one of those times. Elaina strode past the man, feeling his eyes on her the entire time, and fought the urge to hurry. Fought the urge to scream. Even worse was the knowledge that she would have to suffer him again later. If she used a different exit the bastard would think she was scared of him, and she couldn’t have that.
Pushing open the door and stepping over the threshold, Elaina was struck by everything she hated about brothels all over again. The smell inside was tragic, and the noise was viscous, but the atmosphere was contagious. Pirates sang, pirates danced, pirates fucked their way through a dozen prostitutes, and pirates paid respects to the man who allowed it all to happen around him.
Tanner Black sat in a large alcove, surrounded by whores and pirates all hanging on his every word and drinking on his generosity. The rest of the world may hate him, but here in Fango he was a king, and soon the rest of the isles would see him that way too.
An effeminate young man with plucked eyebrows, oiled hair, and a shaved chest sauntered over to Elaina. He was dressed only in shallow britches, and his sun-bronzed chest was hard with muscle. Some might mistake Quell for just another male whore attempting to stake a claim on a newly arrived customer – they would be wrong, and then some. He was the host, and management of both the house and the whores was his responsibility. Those who knew Quell respected him, and those that didn’t soon learned their mistake. There was some debate as to whether Quell preferred the company of men or women, but those that shared his bed, if any, kept quiet on the matter.
“Elaina,” he said softly. “Wonderful to see you again. Would you like a drink brought over to your father’s alcove?”
“Do ya have any mulled spirits? Rum can get a little tiresome, living aboard a ship.”
“Thankfully not all of the patrons share your misgivings,” Quell said with a practised smile of his silky lips. “We have some spiced whiskey from the northlands of the Five Kingdoms.”
Elaina narrowed her eyes at him. Goods from the Five Kingdoms were becoming rarer and rarer out in the isles. “The big bastard here just a couple of weeks ago?”
Quell nodded. “Captain T’ruck Khan. Apparently he still has some contacts from his homeland.”
“Aye, bring me a mug.”
“As you wish. And…” He flashed Elaina a genuine smile, though it was laced with pity. “I heard about… well, you know. Please try not to anger him here; I have a business to run, and violence is not it.”
Elaina stepped close to Quell, close enough to smell the sharp perfume he wore and see the individual hairs on his head.
“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little face about that, mate. I’ll try not to get myself raped in your establishment.” It was all she could do not to spit at him, a man she usually got on very well with.
“I never meant to imply…” Elaina had heard it said that it was hard to make a whore blush, so what it said about her that the host was now turning an uncomfortable shade of red, she’d rather not know. Without waiting to hear the rest of his apology, she turned and approached her father’s court.
Tanner Black, never one to miss a beat, had likely been watching Elaina since she entered the brothel. Now, his eyes followed her all the way to his alcove, where any number of his men stood ready between him and any newcomers. It was a carefully chosen position within the brothel, as defensible as a fort, with high wooden chairs either side and a table as sturdy as a bulkhead that could be tipped up to provide extra cover. Elaina thought about speaking first, before her father could greet her in his usual derogatory way, but Tanner Black always had to get in the first and the last words. To deny him either would only rouse his anger, so Elaina waited for him to acknowledge her.
“Well, boys, will ya look at that,” Tanner said, ignoring the two whores and the female pirate all crowded into his court. “Arrived this mornin’, me daughter did. Sailed right up next ta me own ship, an’ only now does she think ta come an’ see Cap’n Black.” Her father had an annoying habit of talking about himself as if he were someone else. It was something Elaina had always hated.
“Rude, is what that is, Cap’n,” said one of Tanner’s crew, a burly pirate with a mouth full of rotting teeth.
“Careful, Flow.” Tanner glanced at the pirate. “That’s me daughter ya speakin’ of, an’ she’s worth ten of all of ya.”
Elaina almost smiled, but her father would turn on her if he caught it, and she was counting on staying in his good graces this visit. “I went ta see Ma.”
“Aye?”
“Aye.”
All of Tanner’s court went silent, and the music and singing and fucking nearby seemed all the louder for it. Everyone knew that Elaina’s mother was cracked in the head and crazier than a deep blue storm, but no one dared mention that fact with Tanner around. The last man who had had found himself staked down and cut open from groin to collar, left to rot for a week until maggots erupted from the open wound and ate him from the inside. It was the first and last time anyone but family had mentioned Oljanka’s illness to Tanner’s face, and even family only spoke of it in private.
“Is she well?” Tanner’s dark eyes searched Elaina’s face for any hidden message. She gave none.
“Strong as a woman half her age,” Elaina said proudly, knowing that much was true at least.
“Aye. Well, she misses you.”
“She asked after Blu.”
Tanner growled. “Ungrateful cur hasn’t been ta see her in years. Carried an’ raised him, an’ he don’t even know he’s born.”
This time Elaina did smile; turning her father against Blu had always been one of her favourite pastimes. Unfortunately, turning Tanner right back against Elaina had always been one of Blu’s.
“I’ve a hold full of goods ya might like, Da,” she said, deciding not to push her luck. “Fancy spice wines from the desert. Some rugs look like they’re made of snake skin. And a bunch of gems right for the cutting.”
“Aye? Well, girl, ya best take a seat an’ get ta drinkin’ that shit Quell’s brought ya. Cap’n Black ain’t nothin’ if not generous ta those that are generous ta him.”
Just like that, Elaina found herself back in her seat at her father’s court and back in his good graces. She knew full well the trick would be staying there.
Chapter 29 - The Phoenix
Everybody always said Drake Morrass was the man with the plan; this time it was Keelin Stillwater’s plan, and he was more than a little proud of it. That it seemed to be lifting the spirits of everyone involved, both pirates and refugees from Sev’relain, only deepened his satisfaction.
The beach had, as far as they could tell, been cleared of sand monsters, and sixteen rotting carcasses littered the far west end as a grim testament to the sacrifice of the seven folk who had died making the landing safe. The fact that the smell of decaying flesh drifted all the way down the beach, even in such little wind, was a small price to pay for the reminder of how dedicated everyone was to establishing a new home for the dispossessed folk of Sev’relain.
The Man of War had been beached, and her hull now rested on the sand, keeled over and attached to nearby trees by its rigging. Carpenters and their work crews were taking it apart piece by piece. It was hard work and hot, but it would be worth it once a town and harbour were built from its bones.
Water was fast becoming an issue, and Keelin was debating sending some folk into the jungle to find a fresh source. The stores they kept aboard ship could only last so long, and with the heat and distinct lack of breeze, folk were already bordering on dehydration. But the jungle scared Keelin. Even in the height of the day it looked dark and dangerous, and he knew just how perilous the forested a
reas of the Pirates Isles could be. Elaina Black had shown him the terrors of the Isle of Goats, and he had no wish to repeat the experience on an isle named after a multitude of deaths.
There was also the issue of Drake’s crew. The men of the Fortune were beginning to get anxious, and they weren’t alone. Keelin shared their worries.
It had been three days since Drake and the Arbiter had entered the jungle, and they had yet to return. Their disappearance along with the continued roaring from whatever beast called the interior its home, everyone was starting to come to the same conclusion. Drake had failed, and the monster had eaten him.
It was hard to gauge how the Fortune’s crew would react if their captain didn’t return, and soon. They might elect Princess as the new captain and continue Drake’s plan to become king of the isles, or they might simply sail away to resume their life of piracy. Given how zealous the crew were when it came to their captain, they might storm the jungle and attempt vengeance on the creature.
The biggest problem, Keelin was quickly realising after only a few days in charge, was that he was the captain of a pirate ship, not the governor of a fledgling town.
“Accommodation,” said Breta, a large woman with an even larger voice and a distinct Five Kingdoms accent. “We can’t camp out under the stars forever. We’re not beasts, and the women need their privacy. We can’t walk five paces out here without being leered at by some pirate, or by some bereaved fool thinks the death of his wife is a boon.”
“Aw, fuck, Breta. I loved my wife, ya know that. But she’s gone now, an’ I’m still of a givin’ age.” This from Po, a former slave from the Wilds who had earned his freedom by way of mutiny. Keelin knew this from the tattoos along his arms and chest.
“The only thing you have to give is the pox. We need houses.”
Keelin wiped sweat from his forehead and glanced out over the bay towards his ship. A large part of him was tempted to pack up, sail away, and leave the refugees and Drake’s crew to themselves.
“Captain Stillwater. We need houses,” Breta insisted.
“Twoson’s team is working on housing…” Keelin started.
“Not quickly enough. All of your teams should be…”
“There are other concerns, Breta,” Po said, leaping to Keelin’s defence with a wink towards the besieged captain.
“Oh, I’m well aware you want that whore house up and running as soon as possible.” There was more than a little venom in Breta’s accusation, and without intervention the argument threatened to turn to violence. Unfortunately, Keelin was sick to his gut of all the arguing.
“By Rin’s watery minge, Stillwater, what the fuck are ya doing to my prize?” The shout came from somewhere up the beach, and Keelin couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it. Despite any misgivings he had about the man, he found himself more than a little glad to see Drake had survived the jungle.
Keelin stood from the barrel he’d been using as a chair as Drake drew closer, Beck behind him. He looked sweaty, pale, and weak, and when he was only a handful of feet away he stumbled. The Arbiter caught Drake before he could hit the sand, and helped him back to his feet. He struggled forwards, into the middle of Keelin’s meeting; all the gathered pirates and townsfolk were silent as the captain took his rightful place. Keelin couldn’t help but notice that all work on the beach had stopped as pirates and refugees alike quit their jobs to catch a look at Drake, as if he were some returning hero.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Drake, but you look like shit.” Keelin smiled as he stepped aside to let Drake take the barrel.
Drake let out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh and lowered himself onto the makeshift seat. “Water and food wouldn’t go amiss,” he croaked. “For Beck too.”
Keelin glanced over at the Arbiter and realised for the first time that she didn’t look much better than Drake, save she didn’t have a broken arm or a black eye swollen to the size of a fist. They were both dishevelled and sweaty, and looked in dire need of a few months’ sleep.
“Why is my prize beached?” Drake said before any water or food could appear. “Refurbishing?”
“Repurposing.” Keelin smiled. “Folk here need a town, a port, a place to live and make a living. Figured that beast could provide it, since it took it all away in the first place.”
Drake seemed to think about that for a moment, and Keelin watched the anger drain out of him, leaving only weary acceptance.
“Aye, sounds good. First thing’s first, get a tavern built, just up the beach but before the jungle.”
Breta stepped forward. “We were just discussing…”
“And pull that nameplate off the hull. Hang it above the tavern door.” Drake grinned. “Show those bastards what we think of their ships, eh?”
“Housing must be a priority,” Breta forged on, undeterred by Drake’s interruption.
Drake turned a tired smile on the big woman. “Housing can wait. Ain’t none of you gonna hurt from a few more days camping out under the stars. What you folk need – what we need – is a place to relax a little. Ease tensions, you might say. Aye?”
Breta looked stunned by Drake’s earnest appeal, but still pressed her point. “The women need privacy for women things.”
Drake nodded as a pirate handed him a mug of water. He took a few small sips. “You’ll have it. We’ll get you some temporary shelters set up. Any bilge scum who gets a bit over eager with any of you can answer to me. Ain’t gonna have any rape here in… Let’s call it New Sev’relain.” He paused and swept a gaze over the gathering. “That includes throwing a couple of bits at a woman and telling her she’s paid. All manner of ways to punish men who are a bit too amorous, eh?”
A nervous laughter rippled through the crowd, yet no one argued with him.
“Now if you wouldn’t mind, I need a word or two with my fellow captain here.” Drake left it in no uncertain terms that everyone else was dismissed, and as people started to wander away, the taskmasters took control and directed their workers back to their jobs.
Princess sauntered into the little clearing carrying a small, unmarked barrel no more than a foot high. He carefully set it down on the sand and stood in front of his captain. He looked relieved.
“Good ta see ya, Cap’n.” Princess almost sounded choked with tears. “Safe ta say, me and some of the boys were starting ta get a little worried. Reckon ya’ve proved us all fools now.”
Drake grinned back at his first mate. “You should know never to bet against me, Princess.”
“Hell of a shiner though,” the pirate said, looking at Drake’s black eye. “That beastie give you a pummelling?”
“There is no monster in the jungle.” Drake sighed.
Keelin noticed Kebble Salt drifting into the clearing, silent and watchful as always. He found himself glad of the man’s presence, but wished Morley were there. Unfortunately the man was needed on board The Phoenix, as Keelin didn’t entirely trust every member of his crew.
“The roaring and shaking is just a geyser,” Drake continued. “Erupts every so often. Nothing to be worried about. It even comes with a hot spring, if anyone fancies a nice dip.”
“So how’d ya get the black eye, Cap’n?”
Drake’s face soured, and he paused to take a long swig of water, glancing at the Arbiter. “I tripped.”
“There are some dangers in the forest,” Beck said. “Magical traps would be the best way to describe them. We triggered one and it almost cost us. I found another few as we were returning and disarmed them, but there may be more.”
“Of course you would know how to disarm a magical trap,” Keelin spat.
Drake seemed to perk up a little then. He looked between Keelin and the Arbiter and let out a heavy sigh. “Like that matters. Question is who set ’em and why, and how many more are there?”
“Got a solution, Cap’n?” Princess said.
“Of sorts. Beck here says she can make us some charms that’ll warn folk when one of these traps is
nearby. For now it’ll have to do. Nobody goes into the jungle alone, and not without a charm.”
Keelin felt the anger burning in his chest. He already knew the Sarth woman was an Arbiter, but now it appeared that Drake knew as well.
“Found this when we started gutting the Man of War,” Princess said, pointing to the barrel. He pulled a small cork from the lid and tipped the barrel at a slight angle. Black powder spilled out of the hole, and Princess quickly put the cork back in and kicked sand over the small pile.
“Would you mind moving that barrel into the shade,” Kebble said. “Black powder is unstable and best kept away from any heat sources; I would suggest that includes the sun.”
Princess looked at the barrel sceptically, but moved it under the shade of some hanging canvas all the same. “How much do ya reckon a barrel like that is worth?”
“A small fortune,” the Arbiter said. “A pouch can cost upwards of five gold bits, depending on the merchant. A barrel that size, hundreds at least.”
Princess grinned. “We found ten of them.”
There was a stunned silence. Keelin could hear the work crews hammering and sawing, and even the jungle birds cawing from far away.
“How many barrels would it take to explode a ship?” Drake sounded beyond tired.
Kebble and the Arbiter exchanged a glance, and it was Kebble who answered. “That depends on how you mean. One barrel, placed correctly, would put a hole in a ship large enough to sink it. To turn a ship into debris, such as at Sev’relain… five might suffice. More likely ten or more.”
Drake sat in silence for a while, his eyes closed. Keelin was about to check whether the man had fallen asleep when he sat up straight and the ghost of a grin passed his lips.
