All the bedrooms consisted of a similar single bed and a bucket for waste that Brehan wished they would empty more often than they did. The beds barely got used since the pirateers never slept. He had heard the raucous partying from his room at all hours of the day and night. He had been woken up at random times by the hooting and hollering. Kopar had also warned him not to fall asleep in the brothels because the strumpets stole the men’s gold while they slept.
The little city-town of Shant Island was set up in the shape of a squared horseshoe near the middle of the five-mile piece of land. As he stepped out of the shade, Brehan felt a buzz as the sun’s heat hit him with full force. The sky shot heat down on the men as clouds ran thin and scarce. Kopar pulled his hood down to shade his face. The albino wore a long, hooded cloak to avoid the sun. It was mid-morning and a rowdy bunch of drunken men passed by, leering with shifty eyes at Brehan and Kopar.
The sleeping rooms occupied most of the east wing of the horseshoe. Across the sandy walkway, Brehan looked at brothels, taverns, eateries and specialty stores. The facades ranged from unfinished wood to white washed to delicately painted storefronts. He even saw a large house with a red cross dedicated to health care for the pirateers. The apothecaries would come to your room if you gave them enough gold. Kopar had been paying the best and most expensive healing men to take care of Brehan. You could get anything you wanted with enough gold on Shant Island. Brehan noticed mostly brothels and taverns as they continued toward the small end.
“You’ll see some men lose ten years of wages in one seating of gambling. Almost every pirateer on this island is royally rich at some point in time. Some may have fifty thousand gold rounds one day and an empty sack stuffed full of misery and mangled memories the next. That’s where men become desperate and turn to stealing and killing. That’s why I told you to take your valuables and sword everywhere. Do you gamble?” Kopar asked.
“Only In battle,” Brehan forced a smile through the pain. “Well, be careful. I’ve heard that same cutesy response from men who wanted just a little taste of the excitement. The next day you will see those men begging in the port for more gold to gamble with,” Kopar warned in a fatherly tone.
“Why do these places have pictures above the doors?” Brehan wondered.
Kopar quickly replied, “Most pirateers can’t read. They aren’t castle bred like you and I, poor souls. See the picture of the girl on her knees?” “Yes.”
“And what that girl is doing with her mouth in that one?” Kopar pointed to a storefront. “Well, that is the house specialty. Any strumpet will do whatever you fancy if you pay her but everyone has to have one particular talent, I would think. The big Ts mark the taverns, and some buildings you just have to enter to find out what they are,” Kopar said as he increased his pace and Brehan tried to keep up.
“Doesn’t seem like very much to do here,” Brehan noticed.
“Drinking and whoring keep me pretty sustained and occupied. For someone who’s been thrown away by his family and looks like an albino, this is the perfect life. Besides, everyone seems to love me here. I feel a brotherhood with the pirateers that I never felt with my natural family. It’s no coincidence you see mostly brothels and taverns because most of these broken, ugly men are seeking the same things as me. These have become the pirateers’ favorite pastimes,” Kopar informed him, covering his face with the thin black gloves he wore on his hands. Brehan felt awful that Kopar had to constantly protect his weak skin from the sun.
Brehan looked at a store with monkeys outside. The owner had them performing tricks to entice buyers. One monkey walked upside-down on its hands and shook the owner’s hand on command. He had only heard about monkeys in stories from Count Sproul but they did look like hairy little men as described in the tale, Sir Reemand Goes to Hallerion. He smiled at the fuzzy creatures he could see through the open windows as they passed.
“Who would buy a monkey?” Brehan had to know. “Captains. Most of them have at least one or two. About seven years ago, a man named Captain Iranto took a monkey along for a job and had the biggest score of all time,” Kopar said.
Brehan interrupted, “How did that compare to our score?” “About twenty times more than our booty count. Back to the story, so the next year Captain Tokem took two of the animals along and had an even bigger heist. After that it became superstition and some captains were taking ten or more monkeys with them to capture the next big bounty,” Kopar stated.
Brehan’s body was already sore from the walking. He asked, “Why didn’t Bluebeard have any?” “He isn’t superstitious and doesn’t believe in that bunk, I think is what he called it. Perhaps he should have brought a few along,” Kopar told Brehan.
“He said we were bamboozled and by the time he noticed, it was too late to turn away,” Brehan defended the former captain.
“Speak of the man himself. Or what used to be a man. Would you take a look at this,” Kopar said in disgust.
Bluebeard looked worse than a sinking ship. He lay on his back with his head propped up on the front wall of the tavern. His huge left foot rested atop his right ankle. Dried vomit was smeared over his bare chest and long beard as the man mumbled to himself. “Leave him. Let’s get inside,” Kopar instructed with hate clear in his words.
“I’ll be in, I am going to have a word with him,” said Brehan as he motioned his head toward Bluebeard. “If wasting words upon the dead is what you wish to do with yourself, I shall see you when you are done,” replied Kopar. He tore off the cloak and gloves and walked into the tavern.
Brehan leaned down, grabbed the man’s shoulder and shook him awake.
Bluebeard surlily snarled, “Looks like ye wants some teeth knocked out.”
“I come as a friend, Bluebeard.” “I have no friends, none. Do yeself a service and get as far as ye can from me. I’ve been cursed by the Gods,” the broken man responded.
Brehan sat down next to the former captain who stank of stale booze, puke and urine. The relentless sun beating down on the exposed island didn’t help his smell. Pain shot through the back of Brehan’s wounded shoulder as it made soft contact with the store face.
He winced and spoke, “You aren’t cursed by the Gods. You made a mistake. You already paid dearly. Don’t badger yourself over it. I still wish you would take some of this,” Brehan shook the pouch of coins.
“I can’t. They didn’t bamboozle us, stupid landlubber,” the pirateer revealed. “What?”
“Ye heard me. They didn’t change their flags. I fuckin’ lied. That’s why I hid the looking glass. I let me hatred for Livingstone get the better of my actions. I didn’t think they would have that many men stuffed aboard. It was like a bunch of slaves headed for Rotundo. Ye hear, I didn’t think, landlubber. I should have just killed the men meself for all it was worth,” Bluebeard dejectedly stated.
“You saved my life,” Brehan tried to help.
“And lost fifteen others. Those men trusted me. I signed that trust in blood and then I abandoned that trust. What kind of pirateer am I?” Bluebeard said.
“I was a knight who failed to protect the family I was sworn to. The two most important men I had to protect are now dead.” I won’t bring up the fact that you killed one of them. I guess a lot can be forgotten when someone saves your life.
“I have failed and basically killed the family I swore to keep safe but I will never give up. I am not going to sit around and feel sorry for myself. And after seeing what you can do with a sword, I won’t let you give up either. We are both broken men but we can always be put back together.” Why am I being nice to the man who killed Riceros and put my life in danger? Broken spirits must mend together, I suppose. Holding grudges won’t help solve anything. I feel some sort of kindred spirit with the broken soul.
“Actually, ye are right, landlubber. I do feel awful for the men but sulkin’ aint solving anything. One last thing before we squash it,” Bluebeard said, speaking as light as the sparrow.
“And what is that?�
�� Brehan asked. “I am sorry for puttin’ ye life in danger, Sir Brehan,” Bluebeard closed the conversation with a smile in his eyes that never made it to his mouth.
Brehan returned the friendly look. He stood up and pulled the giant Bluebeard to his feet. They entered the tavern and Brehan went to sit with Kopar, while Bluebeard went the other way and sat alone. Around forty men and a few women occupied the tavern. Tables and mismatched chairs were scattered haphazardly across the filthy floor. Two pirateers near the back looked ready to fight as they screamed at each other.
Three men sat with Kopar, and when Brehan got close to the table, he heard Kopar say, “Brehan, meet Sea Wolf and Gator, and you know Rando.”
“How ye feelin’, kid?” the much older Rando asked. “I’ll be fine. The little scrape has finally stopped bleeding,” Brehan reported.
Sea Wolf seemed like a strange nickname for a man without a hint of hair on his face or head. Gator had long curly black hair and a beard to his belly. Both men had dark, sunken eyes and serious faces.
“He also lived in that shit bucket known as Donegal,” Kopar told the men. “I hear you can handle a sword quite well, Sir Brehan,” Sea Wolf said. “Are you a jester? He looked like he fought on the high water his entire life,” Kopar lauded. “I think I can handle a weapon, yes. Where do you hail from, Sea Wolf?” Brehan asked.
“The story I’ve been told by many, and the one I believe, says that I was born at sea and my mother dropped me when trying to show me the water. They say I washed up on land and survived by being raised by wolves. I thought the family that found me just wanted to make me feel better for being a bastard but memories developed as life went on and I can see the wolves as if they were right here. I suppose officially I was born on the Rocky Sea. I would think that explains my name.”
Brehan nodded his head and turned to Gator, “I suppose you were raised by alligators?”
“Not quite. Have you ever knowed a man what has killed ten gators?” the pirateer asked. Brehan quickly answered, “No.”
“Ye do now. They tastes pretty good if you cook it right and ain’t a skirted sheep. Why should we trust this guy, Kopar?” Gator questioned.
“He’s perfect for what we need. He is a knight who acts with honor,” Kopar defended.
“That’s the perfect way to get killed among pirateers. How can I trust a man I have only just met?” Sea Wolf rhetorically asked.
Brehan immediately responded, “Two days before the attack I had just met Kopar. I took the pledge and became a pirateer by sworn blood. I sliced through the better portion of those Livingstone soldiers in the name of the pirateer brothers. I will do the same in the future if ordered, until I denounce the articles or die defending them and my brothers,” he stated confidently, pounding his fist on the table and causing the drinks to jump and spill.
Kopar smiled, “He’ll be perfect.” “Perfect for what?” Brehan wanted to know.
“Alright,” said Sea Wolf. “We will briefly discuss this, but if I hear that any of you even mentioned this to anyone, we will gut you and wear your insides as a badge of honor,” Sea Wolf warned in his stern but light voice. It was the complete opposite of Bluebeard’s deep, gruff talk, but just as menacing.
“Have you heard of banking?” Sea Wolf asked in a low, even voice. Brehan waited, as two whores passed, to ensure the women wouldn’t overhear. Kopar had told Brehan that some captains used the whores to spy on the pirateers. Brehan paused until the women were out of earshot in the noisy tavern. “I think so. I know it involves exchanging money for promises,” Brehan said.
“Sometimes lots of money, and that is all you need to know. The bankers store enormous amounts of gold and silver. We have inside information about an operation less than a mile inland. It’s relatively small by normal banking standards but it will keep us in tits and ale for at least a few nights,” Sea Wolf said as he raised his mug into the middle of the table. The other pirateers clinked their tankards against his.
JON
Jon wondered if this life was better than death. At least in the forever life, he could re-join his wife, Camelle. Half of his heart had died when he heard the sick, disturbing news. His mind and body were still recovering from three months of darkness, starving and animalistic thoughts. “Right, father…father?” Ruxin asked. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Jon’s mind drifted frequently and he had trouble staying focused. “I asked what you thought about moving your sleeping quarters to the fourth floor for safety reasons.” Ruxin repeated.
“No. I have too many fond memories of your mother in that room. For her sake, I will never move,” Jon said emphatically.
“We have pulled extra men from the border and sent them back to their homes,” said Ordrid. “That’s fine, but keep them ready. His first name is Ali-Ster but Wamhoff blood still runs through him. This could all be an elaborate ambush again,” Jon warned.
Count Sproul weighed in, “I do not doubt your skepticism on that matter but he did release you. They also have told me the new King has been going into poor villages with a wagon full of food and coin. He rides unarmed and the citizens are starting to love him more as the stories of his generosity spread. However, as you say, we should always be prepared, my Duke.”
Jon was still getting used to being called Duke again. When he had been rotting away in that dungeon, he’d almost forgotten his own name on several occasions. He had to feel his busted nose to remind him of the tourney accident and his identity.
“I saw the king of the scholars over at the salon. He said for you to stop by and perhaps spur your mind. He has quite a creation for you to see, my Duke,” Count Sproul said. “Thank you. I’ll be certain to make my way over there. Is there any other news I must know?” Jon asked. There was a silence and everyone looked at each other, signaling the end of the meeting.
“Ruxin, stay back, I wish to speak with you,” Jon told his son. Everyone left and his son sat back down. “When was the last time you saw your great-uncle Hambone?”
“So long ago I forgot why they call him Hambone,” Ruxin replied. “They call him Hambone because he would wrestle the dogs for the bones. Ham bones were his favorite. I know we haven’t been to the Black Hills in probably six years, but I think we should see him.”
“Is he going to yell at us the entire time again?” Ruxin wondered. “Probably,” his father said. “Do I have a choice in the matter?” “Sure, you can choose whether we leave at two bells or three,” Jon forced a smile. He hadn’t truly smiled in a long time. The look on Ruxin’s face showed relief that his tortured father was finally able to joke.
The men embarked on the two-hour ride north to the Black Hills. The dark, rich soil and enormous black wood trees contributed to the name. They were also well known for the Black Hills coffee. The residents drank it by the kettle and were always talking fast and running around.
Jon screamed to his son as their brown stallions forged ahead, “My uncle moved up here shortly after Jasper’s rebellion. He had decided after only a fortnight that castle life wasn’t the life for him. Uncle Jasine stayed and helped me rule. Damn that Sea of Green for taking him.”
The cloudy sky provided some relief to Jon’s eyes from the intense sun, but the roasting heat still broke through. The fast riding helped to cool him down as they approached the hills. The two went up the initial hill about two hundred feet, and the landscape leveled off. This plateau housed most of the people of the Black Hills. The horses trotted up to the biggest tree in the forest.
“Who in all the damn hells has done come to see me?” a voice rang from above. Jon looked up to the second floor of the tree house to see Jebson Colbert, better known as Hambone. The tree stood as wide and long some of the biggest houses in Mattingly. The residents had carved out the inside of the enormous black tree for housing and provided lookout windows around the tree. His uncle limped through the ground floor entrance.
“Uncle Jebson, do you remember my son Ruxin?” Jon asked. “Not r
eally, no, he was but this high when I seen ‘em last,” Hambone said with his hand at Ruxin’s stomach. “Sure did get big quick, bigger than yer daddy over here. Heard you ‘bout got the whole family killed foolin’ with that king?” The older man talked fast aided by his jittery hands, which constantly moved. His uncle wasn’t concerned with the accepted rules of the common tongue, but he seemed to exaggerate his rough speaking when with Jon.
“That’s what I came to tell you,” Jon stated. “Shoulda come fore you almost got killed yerself. That’s why I come up here all them years ago. We fought cuz the Beverleys was gonna kill us. We didn’t like them rulin’ but we wasn’t never meant to be rulin’. Yer daddy and Jasine liked the whole game of it, but not me. Ya gotta rely on promises from men you can’t look in the eye. Ya gotta count on men who are known liars. Ya know who I rely on here?” Hambone posed. “Nobody,” Ruxin humored his great uncle.
“That’s right, my ears don’t get broke tryin’ to listen to whispers and I got no worries. All Jasper ever did was worry bout who was doin’ what and why this guy was talkin’ to this guy. I seen enough a that horse hay and I told him we Colberts is simple. We stood up and fought against the Beverleys but the Colberts ain’t meant to rule. ‘Member what happened to yer daddy, and yer daddy too,” Hambone looked at Ruxin.
“Look, I came to give you the news of the tragedies as a family courtesy and out of respect. I don’t need a lecture after all I have been through,” Jon sharpened his tone. “Alright yous, come on in and we can talk over some coffee,” his uncle invited them in.
Fractured Families (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga Book 2) Page 15
