by Alex P. Berg
I couldn’t understand a word of it.
Maybe ten percent, if I was being honest. As it turned out, The Pirates of St. Gustifere wasn’t performed in a foreign tongue, but that didn’t make it any more intelligible. I caught snippets here and there, something about the man’s past as a carpenter turned sailor and the appearance of a press gang. I had to admit his booming voice and rich baritone made for a final product that was pleasing to the ears if hard on the gray matter.
The gang of pirates returned, as did a woman who I gathered was the love interest. The pirates threatened the man. The woman pleaded for his life, and they all joined together in song. The orchestra intensified, further muddling the already jumbled vocals, and I began to lose interest.
As I did so, my eyes wandered. They’d finally adjusted to the light, letting me see into the furthest reaches of the balcony, which wasn’t that far away, all things considered. Each balcony contained a modest three rows, four seats wide apiece. The accommodations seemed a little finer than those in the central portions of the theater, and I wondered just where our tax dollars had gone if not to provide Shay and me with the finest luxuries possible.
As I scanned my eyes across the balcony, I spotted a pair of familiar faces in the back of the one furthest from the stage. Jimmy and Ghorza, with their elbows in a heated war over the shared armrest between them. How they’d come to be seated next to one another in such a spacious theater I had no idea, but despite the cramped quarters, they didn’t appear particularly displeased. In fact, it seemed as if they were talking. Was Vlad back there, too? I couldn’t spot him, even accounting for my dark-adjusted eyes.
I glanced at Steele who had her eyes trained on the stage. The corners of her lips turned upward, and her eyes sparkled in the dim light.
I dipped my head low next to hers and spoke in a hushed tone. “Jimmy and Ghorza. Balcony, left side. Sitting together.”
“Hmm?” She glanced in their direction before immersing herself back in the action. “Oh, yes. Good find.”
Good find? Did she even care? Why were we at the opera, anyway? With the mixer, our presence had purpose: to meet our fellow poker competitors and learn their strengths and weaknesses, or at least a little of their backgrounds. But with the opera? Shay had mentioned nothing of the sort. She’d simply insisted we attend. And how would we perform reconnaissance, anyway, with us restricted to our seats and limited by social norms? All of which meant she’d seen the event as nothing more than an opportunity for us to spend a nice evening together.
Why wouldn’t she, though? I enjoyed the luxuries offered to us by the cruise: the food, the drink, the time with Shay. It was only fair she do the same.
I let her bask in the show while I scanned my eyes over the rest of the crowd. After a bit of effort, I located Orrin, a few rows in front of us near the aisle. I didn’t envision the gruff dwarf as a fan of opera, but his intense focus on the stage said otherwise. I did, however, expect to find Verona and perhaps even Johann at the show, but try as I might I couldn’t spot them among the crowd. Neither could I spot Wanda, but that didn’t surprise me. She’d already proven herself a recluse. Theo was another matter. He seemed just the sort to enjoy a boisterous show, but just because I couldn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. With his stature, I’d be surprised if I had laid eyes on him. I wondered if perhaps they reserved the front row for gnomes and other breeds of similar stature. Within our capitalist society, probably not.
I glanced back at Ghorza and found the situation in the gallery had deteriorated. She and Jimmy no longer amiably shared space, instead appearing to be involved in a heated if hushed argument. Jimmy jabbed an angry finger in Ghorza’s direction, and his mouth moved quickly. The opera attendees in front of them looked back at them with stern eyes and pursed lips.
I nudged Shay and nodded in their direction. “Check it out. Squabble at eight o’clock.”
Shay looked again. As she did so, Jimmy stood and stormed off through the back of the balcony. Ghorza threw up her hands before crossing them over her stomach, shaking her head all the while.
“Think I should go over there?” I whispered.
“To do what?” asked Steele.
“Spy on them. Talk to Ghorza. Follow Jimmy. I don’t know.”
“Don’t you think they’d find all that a mite suspicious?” whispered Steele. “Remember, we’re here to enjoy a few days of luxury on the high seas. You can’t poke your head into other people’s matters willy-nilly. And unless you can fly, you’d have a hard time tailing Jimmy.”
Shay had a point. By the time I shuffled past the other guests in our row and hiked up to the back of the balcony, Jimmy would be long gone.
I shook my head nonetheless. “I don’t like it. What are Jimmy and Ghorza talking about? Jimmy’s already out of the tournament. Do you think he and Ghorza have a deal? That he threw his hand for her?”
Despite our hushed tones, our neighbors had started to give us less than pleasant glares as well.
“Perhaps these are things you could investigate after the opera,” said Shay, “when we all retire to the bar.”
“There’s a post-play mixer?”
Shay nodded.
Now I understood. Even if Shay had intended our operatic outing as a pleasurable one, she’d hadn’t meant it purely as such.
“Why don’t you focus on the performance?” said Shay. “Try to enjoy yourself for once.”
I sighed, pushing down my suspicions as I turned to face the stage. Given the nature of the beast, enjoying myself might be a stretch, but for Shay, I’d certainly try.
21
Shay and I filed out of the theater, following the other patrons as we snaked our way into the adjoining hallway.
“Oh, that was lovely, don’t you think?” said Shay, her hand resting over my proffered arm. “Despite the publicity associated with the Prodigious’s maiden voyage, I didn’t think they’d get top shelf talent for their onboard entertainment, but I’m glad to have been wrong. Stanislaw Thatcher was superb as Captain John James Ringleford the third, and Betty…what was her last name? Well, she was a revelation as Elizabeth Beets. So strong and feisty and clever. I loved her.”
“I wonder why,” I said.
“Oh, come off it,” she said. “I’m nothing like Elizabeth.”
“I seem to recall you asking for a thesaurus earlier,” I said. “Maybe I’ll include a dictionary when I gift it to you, because your definition of ‘nothing’ isn’t the commonly agreed upon variant.”
“Well, perhaps in attitude we’re similar,” said Shay. “But in terms of dress and mannerisms and our situation in life, we’re polar opposites. Besides, I’m far more elegant than she. And I don’t care for sand between my toes.”
“I can’t comment on that last part, but I do agree with you on the elegance.”
“Good. Because if you didn’t, there’d be something wrong with you.” Shay nodded toward the stairwell. “Should we head to the lounge?”
“If we can make it there.”
We waded through the sea of humanity and up the steps to the promenade deck, then back over to the bar where we’d wet our lips with champagne the night prior. Crowds hadn’t yet packed the space, but I had no doubt they’d be close behind, as I hoped would our poker compatriots. As it stood, only a single member of the crew had arrived, but at least it was the right one: Jimmy, who sat in a corner with nothing but a drink to keep him company.
Shay noticed him, too. “If you want to talk to him, go ahead, but I’d take a cautious approach. Don’t pepper him with questions, otherwise he’s liable to clam up. Or leave. Or punch you.”
“You don’t plan on joining me?” I asked.
She shook her head. “In the little time I’ve spent with him, he hasn’t warmed to me. Not that he has to you, either, but at least your personality type matches his better than mine. Besides, if the two of us go over there, he might feel overwhelmed.”
&
nbsp; “Fair enough,” I said. “So what’s your plan?”
“Head to the bar. Get a drink. See if anyone else comes in and play it by ear.”
“Don’t overexert yourself.”
“I’ll try.” Shay leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek. “I’ll send a waiter over with a drink.”
“Make it two,” I said. “Keeping Jimmy well lubricated is part of my plan.”
Shay headed to the bar, and I worked my way toward the corner, where Jimmy sat hunched over in a booth, resting his forehead on intertwined hands. He didn’t look up as I approached.
“So, I take it you’re not a fan of the opera,” I said. “Or pirates. Or both.”
“What do you want?” Jimmy’s voice rumbled forth, sloppy and slurred. How much of the tipsy had he already imbibed, I wondered?
I helped myself to a seat. “Between your bad luck on the draw of the cards and that spat with Ghorza in the theater, I figured you might need a friendly shoulder to lean on. But try not to lean too hard. As stout as I am, I’m not sure I could support you if your angle gets too acute.”
“If my what gets too cute?”
“Never mind,” I said. “That was a geometry joke and not a very good one. My point is, how are you holding up?”
Jimmy lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot. Had he been crying, or was it just a side effect of all the booze he’d slammed down his gullet?
“Why do you care?” he asked. “I’m out of the tournament. I’m not a threat to you anymore. Isn’t that enough?”
“That’s precisely why I do care,” I said. “Look, I’m here to make money, not enemies. Ask Theo, or Orrin. I told them the same thing. And now that you’re out, I can risk extending a helping hand without fear of you ripping it off. So tell me. What’s the problem? Is it girl trouble?”
“Girl trouble? What are you talking about?”
“You know. The spat. With Ghorza.”
Jimmy blinked and shook his head, through the action seemed to pain him. “You think I like Ghorza?”
“Hey, I don’t know,” I said. “Some guys are into that sort of thing…I suppose.”
Jimmy snorted and retreated back into his hands. “It’s not a…relationship problem.”
He didn’t elaborate, so I tried to figure out a way to further the conversation without seeming like I was prying.
“Mr. Waters?”
I looked up. A waiter had arrived, carrying a tray of drinks. “From your wife at the bar.”
“Thanks.” I accepted the drinks. I kept the apricot whiskey sour for myself and extended the other to Jimmy. “Whiskey and soda?”
Jimmy looked up again. “You remember what I drink?”
“We’re all poker players. Keeping track of minor details is kind of our trademark, isn’t it?” I lifted my beverage. “Cheers.”
I paused for a moment to see if Jimmy would meet my glass with his, but when it became apparent he wouldn’t, I went ahead and took a sip. Despite choosing not to partake in the toast, the big man did bring the glass to his lips. He hummed in approval and set the glass back down.
“Hmm. Good whiskey.”
“Some of the best,” I said. “Do you take yours malted?”
Jimmy nodded.
“Good man.”
We sat there for a moment letting the liquor seep into our veins, or out through our pores in Jimmy’s case. As the silence stretched, I took another stab at the conversation.
“I hope I’m not being presumptuous,” I said, “but I never pegged you as a loose player. Clearly your bluff worked on me.”
Jimmy blinked. “My bluff?”
The alcohol must’ve been dulling his mental faculties as it had during the poker game. “You know. The off suit jack ten. I mean, it’s not a terrible starting hand, but betting five thousand crowns on it is a bluff in my book. And it would’ve worked if not for Verona.”
“It would’ve worked if not for that damn nine that came up on the river. But…argh, I don’t know.” Jimmy sighed and wiped a meaty hand across his face. “I keep playing that hand over and over again in my head. Jack ten. Two pair. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone all in. What the hell do I know? I just…made some mistakes. Not only on that game, but leading up to it. Played some hands I shouldn’t have. Not my fault though. I wasn’t feeling like myself. It’s like I couldn’t… Couldn’t…”
“Think straight?” I offered.
Jimmy lifted his glass. “Yeah.”
“Maybe it was the all the whiskey and sodas.”
Jimmy drained his beverage and slammed the empty tumbler back down. “It wasn’t the drink.”
“All I’m saying is when I have a few too many—”
“It wasn’t the drink.” He glared at me and blinked a few times. It might’ve been my imagination, but in doing so, some of the redness in his eyes faded. “What the hell are you doing here anyway? Get lost.”
“Just sharing a drink with—”
“Get…lost.”
I knew when a retreat was in order. I grabbed my glass, gave Jimmy a truncated wave, and headed back to the bar. There I found Steele, seated at a stool with a cosmopolitan in hand and with her legs crossed such that the slit in her dress displayed the creamy skin of her calf.
She wasn’t alone. A pair of young men, one human and one elf, both handsome and well-dressed, fawned over her, standing tall, laughing when she laughed, and flashing their pearly whites.
“Well, this looks like a fun conversation,” I said. “Mind if I join?”
“Ah, Thomas,” said Shay. “Meet Bertrand and Fanduil. A pair of fellow opera enthusiasts.”
“Enthusiasts is too light a word, I think,” said Fanduil, unless he was Bertrand, in which case the other young man’s decidedly human parents had played a cruel joke upon him at birth. “The Pirates of St. Gustifere has always been one of my favorites, and who would’ve expected such a marvelous performance of it aboard a ship, of all things—although it’s rather appropriate considering the subject matter. Let’s hope we all avoid contact with any Ringlefords, however.”
“What about you, Mr. Waters?” said Bertrand. “What’s your favorite Smotrycz and Gullivan?”
“I’m more of a Frank and Gregg man myself,” I said. “Though I can honestly say it was the most spirited performance of Pirates I’ve ever experienced.”
The looks of confusion on the pair’s faces told me my mystery writer joke had gone over their heads, but both were too polite to put a voice to their questions.
“I hate to cut our conversation short,” said Shay, “but do you mind if I have a moment alone with Jake?”
“Of course,” said Bertrand. “Mr. and Mrs. Waters. A pleasure.”
He nodded his head, as did Fanduil, and the pair moved off. They laughed and joked and Fanduil clapped Bertrand on the shoulder in a brotherly manner.
“You know, as I first walked up, I was sure they were here to gain favor with you,” I said. “But now I’m not so sure they’d be interested.”
“Either way, you dealt with it well,” said Shay, taking a sip of her bright red drink.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’ve had jealousy issues in the past.”
“And I plan to keep them there,” I said. “Besides, neither Bertrand nor Fanduil has quite the same seasoning I do. I’m the far tastier treat.”
“Are you saying you’re old?”
“Salt and pepper are the most fundamental of the spices. I hear you’re into both.”
Shay smiled. “Find anything useful?”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Not especially. But there’s definitely something going on between Jimmy and Ghorza. I’d bet money on it. Speaking of which, you didn’t seek her out?”
“She hasn’t come in yet,” said Shay. “Orrin arrived, but he’s such a drag. You can’t blame me for choosing to spend time with a pair of charismatic young opera lovers over a bitter, ill-man
nered dwarf.”
“Who also happens to be an opera lover,” I said. “Seriously, I saw him. He was fully absorbed by the performance.”
“Excuse me? Mr. and Mrs. Waters?”
I turned at the familiar voice and found our intrepid baggage compartment worker and fellow confidant standing behind me. “James? What brings you here?”
The crewman bobbed his head. “I bring news, from, ah…Mr. Steck. If you could come with me?”
James had resorted to twisting his hands and shuffling his feet again. I didn’t take that as a good sign.
“Very well,” I said. “Lead the way.”
22
“Could you at least tell us where we’re going?” We exited the stairwell onto the bottom level of the Prodigious and headed up the hallway.
“I’m sorry, Mr., um…Waters,” said James. “We’ll be there in a moment.”
James had been less than talkative as he led us into the ship’s underbelly. I’d wracked my brain trying to think of what piece of news would be important enough for Steck to have called us to him—the list of people with luggage in the hold, perhaps—but if the implications from said news were so dire, why not come to us himself? And why bring us to…well, wherever it was we were headed? It certainly wasn’t back to the hold.
We reached another bulkhead door, this time with a burly crewman standing guard at the front. James gave him a nod, and he nodded back.
James gestured to the door. “After you, sir. Madam.”
“And this is…?” I asked.
“The pool, sir,” said James.
The pool? Did Steck have a late night dip planned? I cranked on the handle and let myself in.
Dim light glimmered off the water within, water that shifted back and forth gently in tune to the rhythm of the ship’s swaying—swaying I couldn’t even feel, but my mass was a tiny fraction of that which filled the twenty-five by sixty foot pool. Warm moisture wicked through my jacket and into my shirt’s armpits, and the smell of pool chemicals drifted through the air into my nostrils. Bubbles burbled to the surface at either end of the pool, warming the body of water with waste heat from the ship’s engines. In the center, ripples trailed out from the end of a long pole. Boatswain Olaugh held the other end from the edge of the pool deck.
