Chapter 13: From Within
“The mind sees what it wishes, but we can convince it what to wish for.”
Hallow Man, Master Mind Mage
5854 – Thon – Talsā – Uthr
Cite leaned against the rail of the quarterdeck and watched the isle grow smaller. He was glad to see Stadia Isle disappearing over the horizon behind them. If the time spent on Paradise Island had been relaxing, then the visit to Stadia had balanced it out. Pirates ran the whole island, which was not bad, but they had a more relaxed attitude when it came to behavior. Crime did not seem to be a problem, but they also held a different standard of what was a crime.
The Lady Luck had been making good time from what the Captain and crew had told them. Another two or three days and they should see Edgewater, the final port of their journey. Cite watched the seabirds that accompanied ships, when near land, become fewer as the land became further. The weather was calm, and a gentle breeze brought the scent of fish caught in the nets of the boats around them.
Cite puffed on the pipe Rogen had purchased for him in port and sighed. The pipe was a long stemmed one and the tobacco, coated with rum and honey for a sweeter taste, was a specialty of Stadia Isle. Cite smoked it slowly, because it tended to heat up and blister the inside of his mouth if he didn’t. Rogen had told him of other tobaccos that did not do this. He promised he would look for some nice Midnight with a blend of Exotic and Spice in it. Apparently, there were men who spent their time doing nothing but designing tobacco blends, putting them in barrels and aging them. Rogen had quite a few of Lord Pease’s blends in the desert, but could not get to them now much to his dismay.
The urgent sound of the Captain calling Tildan came from the main deck and Vonka, the pilot, and Bezel, the mate, both looked up from the wheel. Cite joined them as they went to the rail overlooking the main deck. They arrived just as Tildan and Warton disappeared into the forecastle. The Captain stood below Cite, her hands on her hips. Her posture was tense and angry. In less than a minute Tildan, Warton, and Jumper dragged a man out of the forecastle. Warton was yelling ‘No!’ over and over again, while punching and kicking the form that was hidden by the three men. The rest of the crew stopped what they were doing to see what was going on.
“Warton! Stop it!” the Captain commanded. Warton stepped back, ashamed, and looked at her. Cite saw who had been dragged forward. It was Rogen. Warton’s face was red and he continued to clench his fists. Tildan and Jumper brought Rogen, each with a hand under one arm of the Rokairn, forward to the Captain. They stopped a dozen feet from her. Rogen looked around, saw Cite on the quarterdeck, and shook his head as if to warn him of something. Cite’s heart pounded and his head was swimming. He was not able to get his mind to reach out to his stout friend’s mind.
“Did you kill him?” the Captain asked. Rogen looked at her, his face impassive.
“Kill who?” he asked.
“You damn well know who!” Warton screamed and punched at Rogen again. Warton was almost as big as Tildan, but less than half as bright. No one wanted to get in his way and stop him, lest he turn upon him. Cite turned to run down the stairs to pull the large man off his friend, but was stopped by the Captain’s voice.
“Warton! If you touch him again without my express command, I will have you clapped in irons and thrown below deck until you can learn to control yourself,” she said in an even voice, as she looked straight at her cousin who would not meet her gaze. “Am I understood?” she asked.
“Yes, Sir,” he said, as he shuffled his feet and glared at the bearded captive, as if Rogen were responsible for Warton attracting the wrath of the Captain.
Cite could see the swelling on Rogen’s face. His nose was crushed and blood ran down his chin from a split lip. One eye was swelling closed and the other did not look much better. Rogen looked at Cite and Cite felt a push in his head, as if he wanted to remember something. He felt the man’s thoughts, but could not calm himself enough to bring across whatever it was. He looked at Rogen, gave a slight shake of his head and shrugged, hoping the man understood.
“Did you kill Maurence?” the Captain asked Rogen.
Rogen looked surprised and pulled himself upright, realizing his fate was at stake here. “No, I did not. When did this happen, Captain?”
“It is not your place to ask questions.” She turned from him, opened the door that led to her formal room and reached inside. She turned back around, holding Rogen’s hammer. It was covered with blood and gore. She tossed it on the deck between the two of them. Cite could see emotions cross her face and felt the strong push of them as he focused on her. Rage, grief, and confusion tore through the woman. Her face calmed as she regained control of herself.
“Is that your hammer?” she asked the Rokairn. Rogen knew what she had to do here. He had led small groups, and he had led armies. She was Captain of this ship and had to maintain that authority at whatever the cost.
“It appears to be, but I cannot be sure. Perhaps you could have Tildan check my things to see if my hammer is among them, and then inspect that hammer also. He has seen my hammer before and should be able to recognize it.” Rogen knew they would not let him do either task.
Tildan looked at his niece who nodded. “Cutter, Conald.” Tildan boomed out the ship’s surgeon and carpenter names like a command. “Come hold this man until I return, do not abuse him.”
“I will gladly allow myself to be shackled until this is all figured out,” Rogen offered. Tildan cuffed him across the back of the head so his head snapped forward. It was not enough to hurt, and Rogen recognized the show Tildan had to put on for the others.
“You do not speak, you do not offer, you do not suggest. If you speak when not spoken to, you may not even exist anymore, understand?” Tildan said. Rogen nodded as Cutter and Conald took the duty of holding the prisoner with Jumper.
“While Tildan retrieves the prisoner’s baggage and searches it,” the Captain said as Tildan went to the forecastle, “someone tell me if you saw something.”
A chorus of voices went up and the Captain held up her hands for silence. “All crew, gather here on the main deck. Jumper, you also. Conald, Cutter, bring the prisoner up to the Quarterdeck. Vonka tie off the wheel but stay up there.” Dawn pulled her shoulders back, and made her way to the quarterdeck in front of Rogen and his guards. She swept her hair back and tied it as she walked to stand in front of wheel. She was every inch Captain Redblood at that moment. There was no mistaking her commanding presence.
Tildan came back on deck with Rogen’s personal possessions and, crossing to the Captain’s quarters, entered, and closed the door behind him. The Captain commanded everyone’s attention again.
“Eyes forward, gentlemen. I want two word answers at most. Who saw something?” she asked. A half dozen crewmembers shouted two word or less statements showing that they had indeed seen something, including the Ship’s Master, Vonka.
“Mister Vonka, what did you see?” she asked.
“I saw him,” Vonka pointed at Rogen, who was now held between Cutter and Conald, “come out of the forecastle and cross the deck and go into the door under us, the one that goes into your formal room.”
“When did you see him do this?” the Captain asked.
“Just about five or ten minutes before you came out of that same room and called for the Quartermaster.” Vonka wiped his brow.
“Did he have that hammer with him?” she asked, as she point at the hammer that lay on the deck below.
“I don’t recall, Captain, he may have, but…” Vonka held his hands out to show he was not sure.
“Thank you, Mister Vonka. Who else saw him enter the door below at that time?” Captain Redblood asked, turning back to the assembled crew below. The Mate, Bezel, and one of the swabbies, Tart, voiced that they had.
“Tart, what did you see?” she asked the skinny lad who dressed in mostly red.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n, I saw that one up there,” he said as he pointed at
Rogen, “and he did be havin’ his hammer. That one right there on the deck. No mistaken it, ‘cause he looked right at me and he gave me a wink. I saw him smilen’ as he headed in there to do that horrible thing. I saw him come out too. He didn’t have no hammer then though. He waved both hands at me, he did. And smiled again. He did it. I know he did.”
“All right Tart, you did fine, thank you. Shut your hatch now. Mister Bezel, what did you see?”
Bezel was somewhat shorter than most of the crew and a bit rounder in the middle. He wore it with pride though. He put his hands behind his back and began to pace.
“Mister Bezel, no theatrics now,” the Captain warned. “This is my court, not the ones you knew on land.” Bezel stopped pacing. He looked up, opened his hands and smiled.
“Of course, my Captain. I saw the same as Vonka. I was standing beside him at the time, and like him, I do not recall Rogen,” Bezel said the prisoner’s name with emphasis, “having a weapon upon his person. I do, however, recall him looking at Tart, but could not tell what expression he may have shared with him. Also, I do not see why our guest would ever commit any…”
“Thank you, Mister Bezel!” the Captain interrupted, cutting the Mate off with a glare. “Did anyone else see him enter?” No one answered. “Who saw him leaving then?”
Tart shouted he did and the lad next to him, Puffer, raised his hand shyly. The Captain heard the door below her open, and Tildan came into sight.
“Come up here, Mister Tildan, and tell us what you found,” she said. Tildan stopped and, bending over, inspected the hammer on the deck, then climbed the stairs and came to stand at her side opposite of where Vonka stood.
“I did not find another hammer. The one on the deck appears to be his. I also heard your last question, Captain, and I saw him leaving the cabin minutes before you came out and called to me.” Tildan’s one eye wandered as he looked directly at the Captain with his good one. Dawn nodded and sighed, as if she wished it were otherwise.
“Tart, you already told us you saw him leave. Puffer, what did you see?” she asked.
The dopey-eyed youth turned his face up to look at the quarterdeck, never quite making eye contact with the Captain or anyone else. “He waved, he did,” Puffer answered with hesitation. He came out and waved at Tart. I thought he was getting sweet on Tart, but I saw the blood. He had blood on his hands.”
Dawn looked back at Cutter, who understood the meaningful look and grabbed Rogen’s hands, one at a time, looking for blood. He looked back at Dawn, shook his head and said, “Not even under the nails, but he had time. He could have washed them.”
She looked at the short man that was being held by two of her crewmembers. There was no blood on him, except what had fallen from his own wounds, a line down the front of his shirt and a smear on his cuff from where he had wiped at his bloody face. No spatters appeared that should have been there if he had bashed a man’s head in less than half an hour ago. Of course, as Cutter said, he had time. He could have changed his shirt also.
“What about those that brought him out? Tildan, Warton, and Jumper, what was he doing when you found him?” she asked, and looked at Tildan, then the others.
“Sleeping. Peacefully too, from the look of it,” Tildan replied.
“He had the Morning Watch and I don’t think he slept before it. He stayed up all night, then took the four AM to eight AM watch?” Tildan nodded. Her annoyance was clear as she asked, “When did we begin assigning watches to passengers, Mister Tildan?”
“He offered. Said he was up at all hours anyway.” Tildan shrugged.
Dawn turned to her cousin. “Warton, what do you say he was doing when you went in?”
“Same thing Pop said, I guess,” the large cook replied, his brow crinkling. “I didn’t think about it much, but I had seen him go in to sleep a little more than an hour ago.”
“Jumper, anything different to add?” she asked the small man who was leaning on the rail.
“Nope, sounds about right,” he said, as he spat on the deck.
“Did any of you see anything he could have washed with? Any bloody clothes? Any blood on anything?” All three shook their heads, showing they had not seen any such thing.
“Clap him in irons and take him below. I will adjourn to my quarters to think this over. But let me make this clear, he will not be abused or harmed in any way.” The Captain looked at her crew with steel in her eye.
“I will lock him in my quarters.” Tildan announced.
Dawn looked at him surprised, and then nodded her consent, “Join me in my quarters afterwards. Bezel, you also. Warton, you and Cutter prepare Maurence for his final voyage.” She went down the stairs to the door that led to her cabin before she turned towards Cite. “You may want to join us, this concerns you.”
Once Maurence’s body had been taken out of the formal room to be prepared for his burial, and they had all gathered in the Captain’s quarters Dawn looked at Tildan.
“Well, what do you think?”
“The crew wants to kill him Captain,” Tildan said. “They don’t want to keep a murderer aboard. They have ropes ready to hang him from the yardarm or to keelhaul him. They don’t care which. Some have even volunteered to gut him or bash his head in, like he did to Maurence.”
Cite stepped forward to say something, but was stopped by the Captain holding up her hand.
“Tildan, do you think he did it?” she asked, her voice did not sound as strong as it did when she was on the quarterdeck.
“I don’t know,” Tildan rubbed his chin. His face showed the conflict inside him. “I like the fellow. He seems decent. I know what he does for a living though, and you don’t get to that level of power without being able to put on a face and seem trustworthy.”
“Bezel, I stopped you on deck because you were going to say things that I did not want said in front of the crew. Please, go on now.”
Cite interrupted before Bezel could speak. “Wait, you said this concerns me, and I think I should get a say! I know Rogen, and I know he wouldn’t do this. What reason would he have to do it? It makes no sense!” Cite stepped towards Dawn. Tildan stepped between the two and put a gentle hand on Cite’s shoulder.
“Calm down, lad. She will give you your say. But this is not the best time to be flying off the handle or making demands. Half the crew would string you up right next to Rogen just because you knew him. The other half would do it because you came aboard with him. You are in here for your safety more than for your input. Just relax and listen. You will learn more by listening than having outbursts.” Tildan guided Cite to a chair.
Cite sat down without thinking. He cocked his head as he realized that the giant was right. Cite had abilities that didn’t seem to work when he was tense and emotional, but worked well when he was relaxed. Cite looked up and nodded at Tildan, who smiled.
“I’m sorry, you’re right Tildan. It just that my nerves are shot. Could I have a drink? Please? And would it be alright if I smoke?” Cite asked.
“That is a good idea, Tildan, pour us all a drink,” Dawn said. “Cite, normally I wouldn’t allow it in my private quarters, but this is an exception. Go ahead and smoke a pipe if you like. I can’t open a window though; I don’t want our conversation drifting to the crew.”
Tildan poured rum for everyone. He gave Dawn her glass first, and she finished before Cite was handed the second glass. Cite downed his with a single swallow and a grimace, and held his glass up for more. Tildan guffawed, and poured one more for the Captain and Cite.
Bezel watched the whole proceeding with his hands clasped behind his back, his head turning to watch each person as they spoke, and his eyebrows slightly raised. As Tildan handed him a glass of rum, he held it up to the light then brought it to his lips and took a sip. He stepped into the middle of the room and addressed the Captain in his slow confident tone.
“Let us begin with why he would do it, so we may get the stupid arguments out of the way, shall we?” Bezel asked rhetorically. “
The man is not human, thus he may enjoy killing us. He is a slaver, thus has no regard for life. He wanted to keep his identity secret and felt killing the Captain, as that was clearly his goal, would allow him to control the ship and enslave the rest of the crew.
“He showed one man the murder weapon before he went in, and two of the ship’s officers did not see it when they looked. The man the Rokairn showed the murder weapon and received a two handed wave from Rogen when the Rokairn exited, but a different man saw the blood, but not the one who received the wave. Tildan saw him leave the formal room outside this door, but did not see blood. I know Tildan well enough to say if he were drunk or otherwise occupied, he may miss the obvious, but even though he does not have two working eyes, he does notice most things. I think perhaps that he would have noticed bloody hands.
“Rogen did not have any blood, except his own, upon him. There was no blood on the doorknob leading out of the formal room, where a man with bloody hands should have left some. Rogen is not an idiot. He has led a prosperous business with the money making equivalent of a kingdom.” Bezel paused to sip at his rum.
Cite had relaxed quite a bit. He had drunk his rum in quick gulps, then packed and lit his pipe. He leaned back and puffed slowly, letting his ears hear what Bezel said but opened his mind to more than just words. His head spun as the alcohol and tobacco took effect. Bezel continued.
“I know you refused to call him by his name, because as the Captain you became an impartial judge when this event happened. I know you had to pull yourself back from the brink that losing someone close pushes you towards.”
Cite felt an emotional flood from Dawn when Bezel said that. He had impressions of a man, a woman, and some younger people, all with the emotional tie of family. Cite was stunned that he had received actual pictures from her thoughts. He realized the pictures were continued in a torrent. The man and woman strung up on wooden X’s. The younger people being tortured. Dawn had seen this all. The pictures were fast and incomplete. When Cite looked at Dawn, she had her eyes squeezed shut and was shaking her head as if trying to stop the unwelcome memories. ‘By the Traveling God, did I cause these memories to surface?’ Cite wondered. Tildan had gone to Dawn’s side and Bezel had stopped talking and stared at Dawn with his eyes wide, not in surprise, just in an expression of curious interest.
Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One Page 18
