Eternal Gambit

by St Clare, Kelly

  Two

  On the left side of the semi-circle passage platform were steep steps. The steps were cut into the black cliff face and led to the bottom of the cavern. They didn’t zig-zag to the ground in a switchback that would’ve made sense. Instead, the stairway had been carved in a straight line so sloped that Ebba knew she’d nearly be crawling if climbing up. The steps proved both slippery and treacherous, and Ebba didn’t have time to dread what was coming as she clung to Peg-leg’s belt for fear he’d slip and fall to his death.

  They descended fifty feet, and the knots in her shoulders didn’t ease until their group reached the bottom. The uneven floor of hell was made entirely of the black-and-crimson stone, as she’d glimpsed from above.

  Pockmark led them over the rocky ground and parallel to the purple stream. To her right, on the other side of the stream were the grimy people she’d seen from the platform. The ground over there was mostly flat. But on this side of the water, to her left, were boulders of the unusual stone. The closest boulders only rose to her knees, but they became larger and larger toward the cliff-face borders of the cavern. From her vantage point on the passage platform, she knew the shipwreck was nestled in those boulders at the top-left corner.

  The heavy sensation in her gut increased as Pockmark turned away from the purple water and led them between the boulders in that direction.

  He was taking them to the ship. And Ebba could guess that Mutinous Cannon would be waiting for them. Her rage seemed to have left her hanging as the fear over what might happen to her fathers swelled into panic territory.

  The stone underfoot had a distinct worn look that told her their current path through the boulders was the common route between the ship and the purple stream. And as she’d seen prior, the height of the black boulders grew progressively. Soon, they towered over her.

  They continued winding down the path toward the top-left corner of hell. Ebba tilted her head back, peering up at the black stone ceiling and cliff faces as they drew nearer.

  How had they landed themselves in this?

  She shook her head, facing forward as the path opened into a larger space.

  At the far end of the circular space, the mostly-intact stern end of a ship was wedged between numerous boulders. The mast had snapped off just above the lowest boom; the bilge door was still there, as were the bulwarks and wheel. The rest of the ship lay in pieces scattered around the edges of the flat area where they stood.

  The boulders underfoot had been hacked and chipped away with brute force, by the uneven, sharp look of the ground.

  But those small details were lost as pirates—tainted pirates—began to creep out of the bilge door of the shipwreck like cockroaches out of cracks in a wall. They climbed out through the gun ports dotting the hull and emerged from behind the ship. Her heart pounded as the black-eyed pirates shuffled forward, some of them stopping at the base of the splintered ship deck, and the rest of them pushing around behind her crew, blocking off the path they’d entered on.

  Black eyes. All of the pirates were contagious.

  Her fathers rearranged themselves around her. Ebba elbowed her way between Stubby and Plank. She wasn’t having any of that shite.

  The pirates erupted into hoots and jeers, and Ebba lifted her chin as she surveyed them. Gold fillings, yellowed teeth, and pirate garb blackened with filth. They waved rusted cutlasses in the air, hands resting on their pistols.

  “Come on then, ye sorry excuse for misbegotten smallpox,” she shouted back at them.

  Barrels cleared his throat. “More of them than us, my dear. More of them than us.”

  Aye, Ebba just didn’t want to look like she’d go down without a fight. Which one of them was Mutinous Cannon? Her rage was back again.

  She was good for a few rounds.

  “Caspian,” Barrels said. “What does the veritas say? Is everything around us tainted?”

  If so, they’d already have caught it. Which was bad, bad news.

  Amongst other things, the veritas showed the truth in any present moment. Goodness and truth were shown as a shimmering white quality. Anything evil or false gained a shadow.

  Caspian took hold of the sword’s hilt above his belt, and they waited, ignoring the catcalls of the pirates. At least the scum hadn’t advanced from the edges yet.

  “Uh, not . . . great, I’m afraid,” Caspian answered quietly.

  Stubby sidled closer to him. “How ‘not great’ are ye talkin’? Have we already caught the taint? Out with it, lad.”

  “Everything barring the black-and-red stone is tainted. The ship, the pirates are absolutely crawling with shadows. The taint in Pockmark is confined within him, not escaping through his skin yet, but he’s the only one.”

  Which they’d known because Pockmark’s eyes weren’t black.

  “Stay back, ye blackened scum,” Pockmark roared at the tainted pirates.

  The tainted scuttled back like rats over rotting food. Every single one of them.

  “Go get Captain Mutinous,” he ordered Swindles.

  She whispered to Locks over her shoulder. “Cannon ain’t here yet, I take?”

  “Nay, lass. He always did like to make an entrance.”

  “So what be the plan?” she hissed at her crewmates.

  Locks’ emerald eye blazed. “We be in Davy Jones’ Locker, lass. There ain’t such thing as a plan. But Mutinous never did anythin’ for the sake of just doin’ sumpin’. The Satyr gave us the parts for a reason, and I can be guessin’ who the parts be for.”

  Ebba had put together as much. And if the taint was here, it meant Cannon wasn’t really the one in charge. His actions would be governed by the pillars of six.

  Stubby turned to them. “Ye heard Caspian. Nothin’ but the stone be safe to touch. Most o’ the cavern is made o’ the stuff, but we need to stay away from the tainted pirates and everythin’ else.”

  Fear stirred like nausea in her stomach. She didn’t need to be told twice. She’d vowed to never be tainted again. Ebba knew what she was made of, and she wasn’t sure if she could survive going through that twisted terror a second time.

  Pockmark whistled, and the jeering pirates immediately skulked back to the shipwreck, disappearing in the same scuttling way they’d arrived that drew bile up through her gullet.

  Once back inside the ship, some of the tainted crew peeked out of the gun ports at them.

  “On yer knees, Felicity,” Pockmark sneered, strutting before them.

  “Are we still called Felicity, lads?” asked Peg-leg. “She did sink.”

  The question made her heart ache with the memory of watching her beloved ship disappear to never be seen again. She hadn’t even had time to properly mourn the loss of their home. Her eyes slid to Plank of their own accord to check his reaction to Stubby’s comment. He’d been acting strange, almost lifeless since Felicity sank. Sure enough, his lips were pressed firmly together, showing angry white.

  “Yer ship be sunk?” Pockmark asked. He threw back his head and laughed. “Ye always were sorry excuses for pirates. Then again, yer ship was a sorry excuse for a ship, too.”

  Ebba jumped at an inhuman roar from Plank, who lunged for the Malice captain with both hands outstretched and a wild look in his rounded eyes.

  That was it, then.

  She and Stubby leaped for Riot, Barrels and Grubby not far behind. The others rushed to Plank’s aid. But they couldn’t touch the tainted pirates. Only Pockmark wasn’t contagious.

  “Ye measly coward,” shouted Plank, chasing after the younger pirate. “Why are ye runnin’ from me? Stand and fight.”

  Pockmark scrambled to stay out of his reach.

  Crack.

  A pistol fired.

  She stilled alongside the others, whirling in a panic to see if any of her loved ones had been shot.

  “My, my,” a mild voice said. “What is all this, Pockmark?”

  Heart thundering, mouth suddenly bone-dry, Ebba faced the base of the splintered shipwreck.
r />   Three

  Mutinous Cannon wasn’t what Ebba had expected. Though clearly a pirate from his garb, he had an air of distinction, further reinforced by his purple-and-gold doublet and black tricorn hat. Where Pockmark was the kind to choose the hat with the largest feather, this man seemed inclined to choose practicality. His boots were clean but well used; his dark gray hair was confined in a leather tie at the base of his neck, much like Barrels wore his. Rings adorned most of his fingers, but these were his only jewels aside from the gold hoop in his ear. He clasped his hands behind his back and drew his shoulders back to display his full, lean frame, about the same height as Plank.

  All in all, if Ebba had met him in a tavern, she might not have thought anything amiss, barring one thing: his yellowed, bloodshot eyes made her insides feel like ice. They changed him from a normal pirate into someone she’d never turn her back on for fear of a dagger finding a home under her ribs. In his eyes, she saw the taint, she saw the pillars’ control; she saw the end of her life and everything she cared about.

  This was his domain, and she wasn’t in charge here.

  Pockmark was panting hard, sweat trickling down the sides of his face from the cloying heat. “They attacked. . . .” He trailed off as Cannon turned his head and rested his attention on his grandson.

  “Another excuse, I see,” Cannon said, tutting softly.

  Pockmark’s face fell, but he straightened his tunic and strode to Cannon’s side. Ebba ran her eyes over the older captain, wondering how Pockmark appeared almost harmless when placed beside a pirate like Cannon. They’d really gotten themselves in shite this time.

  Mutinous Cannon hadn’t come alone.

  Three black-eyed pirates stood either side of him on the deck. Ebba stole a peek at her fathers. Sink her, they weren’t looking too flash. Caspian and Jagger seemed okay.

  . . . In fact, Jagger appeared almost curious.

  Typical. His survival compass needed calibrating.

  Cannon gestured around the shipwreck clearing. “But are the pirates of Felicity not happy to see me?” He smiled for the first time, and Ebba’s insides stirred in warning.

  “I could be angry at ye, I s’pose,” he said. His entire face warped into a snarl that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

  The warning in her gut intensified. Beneath Cannon’s mild manners was a vicious, snake-like temper.

  Cannon rearranged the simple ruffles of his clean tunic. Clean. Everyone else was filthy. “Ye did desert me right afore the battle that took my life. But,” he added, “seein’ as ye’ve brought me—”

  “Sorry, matey,” Ebba interrupted. “It be soundin’ like ye have a whole lot to say. Who are ye exact-like?”

  She listened to her fathers’ muffled gasps, all except Plank who snorted loudly. A sound behind alerted her that one of the crew had shifted to stand at her back, but Ebba didn’t shift her attention from Cannon.

  Honestly, his reaction didn’t give her as much satisfaction as she’d anticipated.

  Cannon settled his full attention on her, and it felt like hot oil pouring over her head. She managed to keep her gaze levelled on him. Just.

  The pirate stepped off the shipwreck and onto the black stone ground, approaching her. “Ebba-Viva Fairisles. Princess o’ the Pleo tribe. Adopted daughter o’ six o’ my old crewmembers. Eighteen years old, quick to anger, slow to put things together, and adamant-like that she be a pirate.” His eyes shifted to her chest and then over her hips to her bare legs. “I see ye dressed for the occasion—in a dress, as ye should be.”

  Did he mean to hurt her by listing her traits and heritage? She’d come to terms with that identity long ago. He’d clearly received his intel from Pockmark.

  “Aye, I did at that.” She smiled right back at the bastard, struggling not to fidget.

  His gaze shifted behind her, and Ebba took a shaking breath.

  “Jagger, I presume. Prior first mate to my . . . grandson.” Cannon glanced at Pockmark. “And from what I can tell, far worthier o’ the title ‘captain’ than he’ll ever be.”

  Phew, harsh. Ebba almost felt sorry for Pockmark. Then she saw the hate-fueled look Pockmark directed at Jagger. That was Cannon’s game, then? Just like he’d done with her fathers, he was manipulating his grandson, breaking him into a malleable mold for future orders.

  Jagger didn’t answer.

  “Then we have the six o’ my old crew who betrayed me,” Cannon continued. “Here we are, mateys. Now, ye’re all as old as me. There’s one thing to be said about Davy Jones’,” he said, gazing around at the sheer cliffs. “If ye get old and die, it’s hard to be eternally imprisoned for yer misdeeds, ain’t it?”

  The pirate ambled down the line, stopping before the prince.

  “And last, but not least, we have Caspian, king o’ the Exosian realm. What an honor.” Cannon bowed low. The black-eyed pirates behind him followed.

  Horror trickled through Ebba. Davy Jones’ was the worst possible place for the prince to be. Royals and pirates didn’t mix. And Caspian was the son of the man who’d beaten Mutinous Cannon in the final Battle for the Seas. She stilled, not daring to look at her friend.

  Instead, she scanned the filthy, rag-clad pirates before her. Pockmark was slightly cleaner than the others, but dirt covered the rest from head to toe. Their hair was limp and greasy. Their souls belonged to the pillars, so self-care was probably a barren concept to them.

  “We have a gift for ye, my one-armed liege,” Cannon said.

  Swindles and Riot were carting a box down the deck. The box appeared to be made of the black-and-red stone too. They set the heavy box on the uneven ground at Cannon’s feet.

  She jolted as the captain kicked the box. The stone lid clattered on the ground, and the object within flew out to land with a ring as it bounced over the hacked, uneven ground.

  A simple golden crown landed with a clatter, ten feet from Caspian.

  Ebba gave up the battle and cast a look at the prince. He stared back at Cannon, expression smooth.

  “Please, King Caspian, won’t you put it on?” Cannon said, throwing a cruel grin over his shoulder.

  The pirates behind him laughed, as did the tainted peering out of the gun ports. Ebba heard the sound echoing within the shipwreck as the message spread to the rest of them lurking in the hull.

  Caspian took a step forward. “Certainly.”

  “Oh, but ye can’t walk, King Caspian. Ye’ll be needin’ to crawl. Ye should be used to that with naught but one arm, methinks.”

  Caspian arched his brows. “It’s actually surprisingly hard to crawl with one arm.”

  Ebba choked on a laugh.

  “Let me make the choice easier for ye,” Cannon snarled.

  Faster than her eyes could track, the pirate had a pistol out and pointing at her head. Her fathers surged forward with a chorus of yells.

  “Stop,” Cannon ordered them. “Or I’ll put a bullet through yer pretty daughter’s skull.”

  Her fathers froze on the spot.

  Ebba stared down the barrel of a black pistol, breaths shallow, no longer able to pretend she wasn’t afraid.

  “Crawl, great king.” Cannon slid his yellowed gaze from her to Caspian. “Ye be a servant o’ the people, after all.”

  Ebba closed her eyes. Why did this have to happen to her friend? After everything he’d been through, every time she thought Caspian might be getting back on his feet, something happened to crush his confidence.

  She opened her eyes and found Cannon was smiling at her, his cold, bloodshot eyes filled with triumph.

  His cocky smirk filled her with trembling rage.

  “It be nothin’ to crawl,” she informed him. And promptly sank to her knees.

  Silence filled the clearing in the boulders before the shipwreck. It filled the space up to the black stone ceiling and the surrounding cliff faces.

  “My legs be right tired all o’ a sudden,” Stubby announced brightly, doing the same.

  Locks lo
wered with a groan. “Much better.”

  “I thought we weren’t kneelin’ because we ate sand bags and were fat,” Grubby said, sitting cross-legged on the ground. “Did we change our minds?”

  Barrels and Plank sank to their knees without a word.

  The crew looked at Peg-leg.

  “Ye know the humid heat affects my joints,” the cook complained.

  “We’re makin’ a stand for Caspian, ye lazy bugger,” Locks hissed, emerald eye flashing.

  “I am standin’ for him,” Peg-leg argued, gesturing down his body. He gazed over them again and sighed. “Fine.”

  Ebba cast a look at Jagger.

  “I ain’t doin’ that.” The pirate shrugged.

  That. Right there. That was why the amare had to be wrong. Sure, she was intensely attracted to Jagger, and she’d accepted that without issue, even feeling a jolt of excitement about it. But all-consuming love?

  The amare was drunk.

  “How quaint.” Cannon watched them. Ebba remained silent, perceiving he was peeved to no end over their show of comradery.

  Caspian swallowed hard when she glanced at him. Thank you, he mouthed. She nodded and didn’t comment as he lowered to his knees and crawled to the crown, hopping slightly to replace the anchor of his missing arm. The prince picked up the crown and straightened to a kneel to place it on his head.

  “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it, King Caspian?” Cannon said, replacing the pistol in his holster. “Really, the show from the rest o’ yer crew wasn’t needed. I think ye’ll find we’ll all get along fair well, especially if threatenin’ Ebba-Viva here has such a reaction every time.” His lips curled.

  Shite.

  Still kneeling, Ebba formed tight fists, feeling more hate than she’d ever felt in her life. She would kill this man. For everything he’d done. For what he was doing now.

  “If ye don’t harm a hair on her head, ye’ll find us obligin’,” Peg-leg told the captain. “The minute ye do, we’ll all be takin’ turns wringin’ the life from ye.”

  Cannon crossed the uneven rock at a leisurely pace and stopped immediately before her father. It was the first time he’d put himself within five feet of her crew.