Where Loyalties Lie (Best Laid Plans Book 1)

by Rob J. Hayes

  “And exactly what the shit do we think is goin’ on here?” Daimen said as the two men made to pass him without once looking away from each other. His own crewman, a man-mountain named Hert, blossomed red around the cheeks upon realising his captain had caught him in the act. Stillwater’s lad looked more worried than embarrassed.

  “We was… jus’ headin’ ta the tavern, Cap’n,” stuttered Hert, his eyes downcast.

  “Aye, that so? Cos I reckon…”

  A distant scream drifted down the street, and Daimen paused, straining his ears for its source. Most of the folk on the street kept walking; either they hadn’t heard or didn’t care. Daimen wasn’t one of those folk.

  “You hear that?” he said to Hert and his boy.

  “Hear what?” asked Hert.

  “Aye, Cap’n Poole,” said the boy. “Sounded like a woman’s scream, from down that way.” He pointed to an avenue leading towards the beach.

  Daimen decided to take him at his word; it was likely his young ears were sharper anyway. With a hand on his sword hilt to stop it from flapping about, Daimen set off at a jog. He found it comforting that both the boy and Hert didn’t hesitate to follow.

  They passed through an alley and then across another street before climbing a hillock, and still Daimen saw no sign of whoever had made the noise. He cast his eyes first back towards the town and then down towards the beach, but the clouds were thick and the darkness was thicker.

  “Down there, Cap’n Poole,” said Stillwater’s crewman, pointing at the beach.

  Daimen squinted, but saw nothing. He decided to trust the lad’s judgement and set off again. It didn’t take him long to see what the lad’s sharper eyes had picked out: two figures, one on top of the other. As Daimen drew closer he could see that it was a woman lying face down in the sand, her hands drawn up behind her, and a man thrusting away on top.

  “You’ll have ta correct me if I’m wrong there, matey, but that don’t exactly look consentional,” Daimen said as he came to a panting stop, deciding he was a little out of shape.

  “Eh?” the man grunted. He was a pirate and no mistake, yet not one Daimen recognised – which put him as one of Khan’s men.

  “Consentional,” Daimen repeated. “Consent… ing? Ah, fuck it. Looks like ya rapin’ the poor lass.”

  “I paid her,” the pirate insisted, but judging by the woman’s tied hands, the gag wrapped around what was visible of her face, and the rest of that face buried in the sand, Daimen doubted the truth of the man’s words.

  “Hert.” Daimen motioned to his burly crewman. “If ya wouldn’t mind removin’ that bastard from the girl.”

  Hert surged forwards, and the pirate quickly jumped up and away, fumbling to put his cock back in his britches. Hert paused.

  “Might be best ya grab hold of him for now,” Daimen said, “’til we can reason out the truth here.”

  Approaching the lass, Daimen could see dark marks on her face; he’d seen the like before, on many a whore. A good, solid backhanded slap left a very distinct wound, and hers was certainly distinctive. With a tender touch, Daimen first untied the woman’s hands and then helped her sit up before removing the gag from her mouth.

  He’d seen the woman around the town and, more often, inside the brothel. She was one of the few whores the town could boast, and definitely the prettiest of them all. With a swollen mouth and a newly missing tooth, she looked a sorry state at that particular moment.

  Daimen pulled a kerchief from his pocket, accepting that it was at least mostly clean and certainly the cleanest thing any of them had on them at the moment, and handed it to the sobbing whore. He looked up at the pirate, who was currently being manhandled by Hert, and frowned.

  “Now generally, mate, when ya pay a whore, and she accepts that payment, there ain’t really no need ta go beatin’ on her. Well, actually, I don’t reckon there’s ever really a need for that sort of behaviour.”

  “I did pay her.” The pirate was attempting to wriggle out of Hert’s grip, and only making the big man hold him tighter. “Three bits, going rate.”

  The whore attempted to spit at the pirate, but with her lips so swollen only managed to dribble the spittle down her chin. Daimen wiped it away. “That true, luv?”

  The woman was staring at the pirate with burning eyes. “Shoved three bits down my top and said I was paid,” she slurred. “I tried to give ’em back, an’ he hit me. Next thing I knew, I was tied and gagged.”

  Daimen sighed. “Were the rules not explained ta you all when ya docked here, mate? ’Cos the penalty for rape is fairly…”

  “Captain’s law,” the pirate blurted.

  “Ah, fuck.” Daimen shook his head, wishing he’d never left the tavern. He looked up into the clouds and weighed his options. He could kill the pirate here and now, and Khan would want an explanation, or he could take the stupid bastard to his captain as he’d asked and see how the man dealt with him. Not much of a choice as far as Daimen was concerned; either way he had an angry piratical giant to deal with.

  “Captain’s law says…” the pirate started.

  “I fuckin’ well know what it says, mate. I am a captain. Got me own ship an’ everything. I’m tryin’ ta decide whether ta just kill you an’ tell your big bastard of a captain you fell onto me sword.”

  The pirate’s eyes widened. “I’ll scream.”

  “How manly you are. Real fuckin’ hero. First you rape a poor lass, then you go an’ scream like one.”

  “He’s invoked cap’n’s law, Cap’n Poole,” said the boy. “Only right to give him to his…”

  “Well, aren’t you a sweet little conscience. I can see why you picked this one, Hert. Arsehole as tight as a miser’s purse strings, I’ll wager.” Daimen barked out a laugh and carried on before anyone could further argue the pirate’s case. “Come on then, let’s go give him ta his captain an’ see what the big bastard says.”

  They marched the pirate to the North Gale, where the ship’s first mate informed them in no uncertain terms that Captain Khan was sleeping and didn’t like to be disturbed. After a few choice insults, along with the threat of drowning the rapist right there in front of his own ship, the first mate went to rouse his captain. Khan eventually appeared on deck, wearing nothing but his black bandana to keep his hair in check and rubbing sleepily at his eyes. He put one giant foot upon the railing of his ship and looked down at Daimen and his captured pirate.

  “Fuck’s sake, T’ruck,” Daimen said. “You mind puttin’ some britches on?”

  “Why?” the giant pirate responded sleepily. “Does my cock intimidate you.”

  “Fuck yes, mate. That thing would intimidate a horse, an’ a well endowed one at that. Tell me, have you ever tried stranglin’ someone with it?”

  T’ruck Khan let out a deep belly laugh and squinted down at the men standing at the gangplank to his ship. “Why are you holding Oppen?”

  “You can let him go now, Hert,” Daimen said, and his crewman obeyed instantly. The pirate didn’t waste a moment in charging up the gangplank onto the safety of his ship and getting behind his captain.

  “Found the dumb bastard up the beach, rapin’ this here poor girl. Seems your man didn’t like ‘no’ as an answer.”

  Captain Khan looked slowly from Daimen to the whore to his crewman. “Is this true, Oppen?”

  “I paid her!”

  Captain Khan took in a deep breath and sighed it out. “You were aware of the rules of this town, Oppen.”

  “Captain…”

  “They were explained to you all.”

  “Captain…”

  “Either you wilfully disobeyed or you were too stupid to listen to me when we arrived here.”

  “Captain…”

  “Did you rape that woman?” Khan roared.

  Oppen staggered back a few steps, and even in the dim light Daimen could see tears in the man’s eyes. He nodded. “Aye.”

  Khan turned to another member of his crew, several of whom had gathe
red nearby. “Rope.”

  “Please, Captain,” Oppen said. “I didn’t mean to. I…”

  Khan levelled a punch at the pirate’s face, flooring the man and, judging by the silence, knocked him out cold. Another crewman arrived carrying some rope and scurried up the rigging to hang it over the mast. The captain knelt down, out of Daimen’s sight, and after a few moments stood again, one end of the rope now in his hands. The giant nodded once to Daimen and began pulling on the rope.

  All by himself, T’ruck Khan hanged his unconscious crewman, pulling on the rope until Oppen’s feet were dangling high above the deck. He held him there while staring down at Daimen and the whore. It was impossible to tell when the pirate finally expired – he never woke from his captain’s punch – but after a while his skin turned pale and lax. Still Khan held the rope.

  “Good riddance,” the whore spat, and wandered away.

  Daimen was vaguely aware of Hert and Stillwater’s boy quietly slinking off, but he felt compelled to stand there and watch until Khan considered the matter complete.

  Chapter 38 - Fortune

  Fortune’s Rest was Drake’s creation. He’d built the floating pleasure house from the ground up, taking captured or derelict ships wherever he could and outfitting them not for long voyage sailing or combat, but for housing and entertainment.

  Drake had made use of any and every ship he could find, from whalers to sloops, galleons to carracks. He’d even found a couple of gargants all but wrecked along a stretch of the Sarth coast; the vessels were slow at sail, dangerous in a storm, and even more dangerous around shallows, so they’d fallen out of favour. He’d hired a small army of shipwrights to restore them, and now they formed the centre of the Rest, easily twice as large as any of the other ships.

  The Rest was the beginning of Drake’s empire, and, far more than piracy or his trading contracts, it was the source of his substantial income. Many folk wondered just how a pirate could become richer than a king, and the answer was floating around right under everyone’s noses.

  It was said a man could purchase any pleasure he could think of at Fortune’s Rest, and any that didn’t already exist there could be found for a price. Aristocrats, merchants, warlords, and even the good folk flocked from all around the known world to the Rest, and many wasted their fortunes there, lining Drake’s pockets even as they emptied their own.

  It was widely accepted that the Rest was out of bounds for those authorities within the empires of man who knew it existed. Why would the noble folk of Sarth, or the Five Kingdoms or Acanthia, agree to sinking a place they all enjoyed visiting? For many of those in positions of power, the Rest was the only place they could find the pleasures they wanted and the secrecy to enjoy them.

  Drake heard of all the requests, of course, and over the years since he’d commissioned the flotilla he’d discovered some insane fetishes. Sable, of the merchant family Fre’tre of Acanthia, requested baths filled with the blood of still-born infants, claiming they gave him eternal youth. Drake had to admit the man looked young for his sixties.

  General Tchar from the southern wilds had a penchant for eating the most dangerous creatures known to man. That had been one of the harder requests to accommodate, as the general had once asked for the thigh meat of a troll, and only the Drurr were crazy and skilled enough to breed those monsters.

  Everson Breen, captain of the Malevolent, had once requested a duet sung to him by female conjoined twins. Drake had never even heard of two people stuck in one body until that one had been put in.

  Despite its wonderful profitability, the Rest was hellish to maintain. With all the ships forever at sea and lashed together with so little individual movement, the hulls had a habit of rotting through. One unfortunate sinking could bring down the surrounding ships, so Drake had ordered a rotation. Every six months, groups of ships were sailed to the nearest shipwrights, where they were given a full inspection and time to undergo any necessary maintenance. Thankfully none of the vessels were flagged as piratical, so they could visit any port in any civilised society, but the costs involved were beyond lavish.

  For five years Drake had run and maintained the Rest, and for five years he had raked in the profits. Now he needed the money, and he needed the ships. Those that could cross deep waters would be put to use as legitimate fronts for the booty that pirates delivered to New Sev’relain. Those that couldn’t cross the deep would be gradually outfitted for war. And he had to manage all of it while keeping the Rest operational. It would be no small feat, and he dreaded the task almost as much as he dreaded leaving New Sev’relain and the Pirate Isles in the care of Stillwater, but Hironous had told him to trust the man as his second in command, and Drake knew better than to ignore his brother’s future-tellings.

  “Debris in the water.” The shout came from one of the pirates tending to the mizzenmast. The Fortune had taken a couple of knocks in the storm a few days back and was in need of some urgent repairs.

  Limping across to the starboard side, Drake peered over the railing and wished, for the hundredth time that day, that his dead crewman hadn’t bitten his damned arm. The wound, the ship’s doctor assured him, wouldn’t fester, but that didn’t stop it hurting like eighteen Hells.

  A couple of planks of wood floated past, attached to each other with a length of rope, a dark stain on the otherwise crystal blue waters. Drake peered out across the sea for any other signs of wreckage. There was an ominous feeling coiling its way through his gut, and either something bad had happened or last night’s salt beef was about to give him the shits.

  “More up ahead, Captain.”

  Drake fished his compass from his pocket and flipped it open. The Rest was dead ahead, and judging by the minute changes as the ship drifted a little here and there, it was close.

  “Any bodies?” Drake shouted.

  “I’m seeing plenty of gulls, Captain.”

  Gulls were a bad omen, and then some. The birds meant carrion, and this close to wreckage, carrion meant bodies. Drake almost ordered more canvas to speed their approach, but the ship was in a bad way and he had a feeling that no matter what they were about to encounter, there was little any of them would be able to do.

  It was only a few hours later when Drake caught his first glimpse of Fortune’s Rest, and what he saw didn’t put him in a merry mood. There was a sombre aura surrounding the ship as it sailed ever closer to its home. Even those pirates not on duty had come up on deck to see the cause of the foul atmosphere. For a while now they’d been seeing more and more debris. Planks of wood, barrels, even a whole mast still dragging canvas as it rode the waves. Even worse than the debris had been the bodies, so many Drake had given up counting. Some were just plain dead, and others looked like they’d been mutilated – and recently, judging by the colour of the skin.

  Drake no longer cared for watching the debris or the bodies; his entire attention was on what was left of Fortune’s Rest. Only six months had passed since Drake had last been home, and back then it had stretched out wide and long. Over three hundred ships all lashed together and floating as one. Now, as Drake looked out over the start of his empire, he wagered the Rest held just half that, and he itched to find out exactly what had happened and why so many of his ships rested at the bottom of the sea.

  Princess had known his captain for a good six years or so. He’d served as second mate while Zothus was Drake’s first, and it had seemed a natural progression to step up once Zothus was given his own ship. The point was, he’d known Drake for a good long while, and though he trusted his captain, there were times when the man scared him. For a start, it was impossible to know where the truth began and ended when it came to Drake Morrass.

  Princess had seen enough to know Rin was real, and more than enough to know she was a power best avoided. In Princess’ experience, women had a habit of being capricious, vindictive, and even vicious, and Rin was undoubtedly female. So when Drake went about claiming he’d met the sea goddess and even hinted at fucking her, well, P
rincess simply wasn’t sure what to believe. Part of him wanted to trust Drake’s stories, wanted to believe that his captain was roguish enough to charm the pants off a goddess. But another part of him wanted to think otherwise, because the less he had to do with Rin, the better. In all the years he’d known Drake, however, Princess had never seen his captain quite so angry.

  The captain hadn’t said a word for hours, letting Princess run the ship, set the course, and order the Fortune brought in to dock with what was left of the Rest. Drake stood at the bow, leaning over the side almost as though he was talking to the figurehead – which, now Princess thought about it, depicted the sea goddess he wanted so little to do with. As the crew tied off ropes and secured the Fortune to the Rest, Drake hopped across to the ship they’d docked to and strode away without a word, a host of folk from the Rest trying to keep pace and no doubt make apologies in the hope he wouldn’t have them killed.

  Princess watched his captain storm away, then turned to find a fair few members of the crew waiting for orders or, more likely, waiting for permission to go and find somewhere to drink themselves unconscious.

  Princess winced at the sudden responsibility and tried to decide what Drake would do in the situation. “Stay ready, lads,” he said. “Nobody leaves the ship ’til the captain figures what has occurred.”

  There was a resounding groan from the men, and just then Beck emerged from below decks, looking equal parts beautiful and dangerous. Princess distrusted beautiful women; they tended to be so much more dangerous than the less pretty ones. Not that his experience with either was that extensive.