by M. Walsh
“Hope you fight better than you talk trash,” she said.
“Maybe I’m just being a gentleman.”
The fight was more of a spar than battle. Neither attacked to wound or kill. They exchanged more childish banter and danced around each other. They traded possession of the chest like in a game and gave chase only to fight some more. There were points where they were pressed against one another, looking into each other’s eyes.
This continued for over an hour, but it seemed to pass much faster. They ended up somewhere in the woods before stopping to rest. Both Katrina and the thief were sweating and trying to catch their breaths. They held their weapons, and the chest was between them, but they only stared at one another, smiling.
“You know,” he said. “This is fun and all, but how about we call a truce?”
Out of breath and wanting to settle down herself, Katrina nevertheless kept up the banter. “Oh, looks like someone’s afraid of losing.”
“Luckily for her,” he said. “I’m being nice and letting her save face.”
She snorted. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”
“Much obliged.”
They sheathed their weapons, and the thief picked up the chest. “You’re good,” he said. “You’d make a pretty good thief yourself, you know that?”
“Thanks,” she said. “I guess.”
“Hey, nothing wrong with being a thief,” he said. “It’s an honest trade.”
Katrina cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Well,” he added, “with guys like Tyrell running things, it’s as close to honest as you can get.”
She laughed, feeling unexpected relief in hearing him badmouth Armand Tyrell. But she stopped when she realized how long she’d been away from her camp. Day off or not, she had to check in and let them know she was okay.
“Oh,” she said. “I have to go!”
He also noticed how much time passed and replied, “Yeah, I’m running behind, too.” Clutching the chest, he darted off, but stopped to ask, “Say, what’s your name?”
She hesitated, realizing that all this time they’d never said each other’s names. On reflex, she told him the false name the rebels told her to use: “Rien.”
She wondered if he knew that wasn’t her real name. She didn’t like lying to someone she just met—and liked, she later realized—even if he was a thief, and looking back, she was sure her shame was noticeable.
For a moment, she thought he was going to continue running without answering. Instead, he replied, “Name’s Ryggs. Jagger Ryggs.”
“Will I see you again?”
Before leaving, he smiled and said, “I hope so.”
* * *
Katrina was jerked from her sleep by the sound of a bell ringing and shouting coming from outside. The small cabin was filled with the scent of sea air, and a warm breeze blew through the small porthole just above her cot. The bell continued ringing, and she realized that meant the ship was close to docking.
She sat up and tried to regain her bearings. She’d slept on ships at sea only a handful of times in her life, and she was sure she’d never get used to it. She didn’t get seasick, but her stomach never felt sure of that.
Probably doesn’t help that I keep worrying about it, she thought, rubbing her eyes and yawning.
Out of habit, she looked for a flask or bottle of liquor, but found nothing waiting for her. Since learning Jagger might still be alive, she decided to stop drinking—or at least cut down on it. In the weeks since Lester, she sometimes wondered if things might have gone differently if she hadn’t made a drunken, violent fool of herself. She didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
Glancing out the porthole, seeing the shoreline approaching, she remembered there were more practical reasons to stay sober. DeLance pointed her southeast after Jagger. She managed to learn of a man matching his description briefly working in Aster before moving on. From there, she followed his trail south to a small port at the northern tip of the Spade Sea where he (she hoped) worked as a dockhand. He apparently spent a few months there before heading further southeast.
When the ship docked, Katrina emerged from her cabin with her few belongings and stepped ashore. The badlands beyond the outpost seemed to glow in tones of sepia and yellow. She stuffed her coat into her satchel and headed into the outpost squinting in the glare. She had to wait for her trusty steed to be unloaded, so she indulged a cigarette.
Nearby, an elderly Graigman was tying off the ship. He was hunched over, sunburnt to a bright red, and stunk of fish. When she got his attention, he stretched his back with a loud crunch. He looked at her, scratching his scraggly white beard and—taking a moment for his vision to register—straightened up, as if in the presence of a Lady.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“Have you worked here long?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said. “Name’s Zurn. Malko Zurn. I been manning these docks, oh, close to twenty years, I reckon.”
“You wouldn’t happen to remember a man working here in the past six years,” she said. “Tall, brown hair—a small scar by his right eyebrow. His name was Jagger Ryggs.”
The Graigman thought, scratching at his beard. “Can’t say I recall. I see all sorts of people pass by this ol’ dock. Name don’t ring a bell, I can tell yeh that.”
“I thought so,” she said, sighing.
The sun beat down on her, and she wiped her brow. It was already hot, and she knew it would get worse as she went further into the desert. The craving for a drink was there, but she resisted and settled for a swig of water from her canteen.
“Where’s the nearest inn?” she asked.
“That would be in Gain,” Malko said. “Couple miles east.”
“Tell me, what’s out there for someone to find? What kind of work is available?”
“Blood-work, mostly,” said Malko. “Seba’s a few days ride south. You do know what goes on there, don’t you?”
“I do,” she said, feeling a chill despite the heat. “That can’t be it, though. Can it?”
“There’s supposed to be mining in Gain.”
“Really..? Isn’t this Goblin territory? I thought they hated outsiders mining their lands.”
“You don’t need to tell me, ma’am,” he said, chuckling. “Believe me. I fought in those wars.” He cleared his throat. “Tell the truth, I don’t know what Gain has worked out with the Goblins. After my people were driven away, mining was supposed to have dried up—yet I always see folks headin’ that way, looking for work in the mines.”
“Could it be a front?”
“Could be. They say Gain answers to Seba,” said the Graigman. “I’ll say this: if yer headin’ into those parts, you take good care of yourself.”
She sighed and took another swig from her canteen. As his trail led further south, Katrina’s hope she would find Jagger working somewhere along the Spade dwindled. She could only pray now she’d find him in Gain. Otherwise, she might have to keep going to Seba, and she didn’t want to go anywhere near that place.
“What keeps you here?” she asked.
“I keep my head down. No one bothers me.”
“I know the feeling.” Nearby, she saw Hyde being brought off the ship. She thanked the Graigman and flipped him a silver coin.
As she walked off, he said, “Say, I might as well ask: you run into any trouble on the sea?”
“Trouble..? No. What kind of trouble?”
“Hm,” he replied, scratching his beard again. “There was this band o’ pirates that was terrorizing the Spade. Ran a ship called the Kraken.”
“Didn’t run into any of them.”
“Yeah, I figured. Word is they ain’t been seen for a while. But I ask folks that come in from the sea if they’d seen or heard anything.”
Katrina nodded and said, “No sign of pirates. Pretty easy sail.”
“Good to know,” the old Graigman said, returning to his work. “Good riddance, I say. You wouldn’t believe t
he stories I heard about them Kraken pirates.”
“What do you suppose happened to them?”
“Can’t say. Though the rumor goin’ around is the Kraken ran afoul a far worse monster.”
10
When Jessica—that is, Audra Fay—set the mission on fire, she also used the opportunity to steal some money Brother Lucas had hidden away. She chartered a ship that would take her and Krutch across the Spade Sea to Frank, one of the three districts of Seba. Sailing across this part of the Spade was a two day voyage—most of which Krutch spent hunched over the railing, feeling like he was going to puke his guts out.
“I wouldn’t feel too hung up about the mission, Lee,” Audra said, rubbing his back. “Eren wasn’t even a real Brother.”
With great effort, he turned to her—his face pale with a greenish tint—and moaned, “Huh..?”
“‘Brother’ Lucas,” she said. “Eren. He was no Brother. He was a marauder, mercenary, and occasional pirate. Kind of like you, I suppose. He killed the guy who was actually running the place.”
He slumped down against the railing, taking deep breaths and trying to ignore the nausea playing havoc with his stomach. “Then why was he..?”
“Acting all holy-man?” She shrugged. “I think after he killed the real Brother, he had this … I don’t know. Epiphany..? Next thing I knew, he was walking around wearing the guy’s vest and yammering on about the Deity and redemption. Did you notice the vest didn’t quite fit?”
He had, but didn’t want to talk. Talking made him want to vomit.
“I can’t tell you how excited I was when we found you,” she said, sitting beside him. “I thought I recognized you, but I couldn’t be certain. Then, when I found your weapon, I knew it was you. Krutch Leeroy! The Krutch Leeroy!” Her eyes lit up. “I knew you’d save me. I knew if anyone could get me out of that place, it would be the great, legendary Krutch Leeroy!”
He nodded, accepting what she said, and didn’t think to question what she was doing with a guy like Eren Lucas in the first place. Instead, he muttered, “Neat,” and hunched over the railing again. After another day of throwing up, they docked that evening and once back on solid ground, Krutch felt better.
Around Seba were three districts known as the Three Sons. Aside from Frank, located on the west by the Spade, there was Noel in the north and Ivan on the southeast.
Frank was a packed collection of inns, saloons, brothels, and shops. There were houses and tenements, but they all looked run-down and filthy. The place stunk of fish and sea water, and men and women crowded the streets. Almost everyone had a sinister look on their face—glaring at people who came too close or looked them in the eye.
Hovering over Frank was Seba itself. The city was built atop a large plateau and loomed overhead like some ominous, sleeping beast. Surrounding Seba was a great wall of black stone that appeared to reach fifty feet into the air, not even counting the plateau it was built on. From the sea, the tops of some buildings and towers could be seen—resembling devilish spikes and blades contained within.
Standing in Frank, all Krutch could see was the wall. If one wanted to enter the city, they had to climb a rocky road that wound back and forth up the plateau’s side before reaching the gate. The city looked impressive from a distance, but up close, he felt Seba’s imposing presence bearing down on him. He could only imagine how it must feel for people that lived in the Three Sons daily.
Audra directed him to a saloon that rented rooms named the Ugly Pig. The place was crowded, but they found a spot at the bar. The top was wet with the spilled drinks of whoever was sitting there before, and crushed cigarettes and broken glass littered the floor. The place stank like the nearby sea, and Krutch found himself imagining this dive serving seafood—which did his uneasy stomach no favors.
“Two beers, please,” said Audra to the bartender.
Krutch considered declining, fearing if he drank any alcohol he’d throw it up, but said nothing. He sat at the bar, hunched over, with his face propped into his palm. He thought he heard some whispers of his name coming from behind and suspected—with dismay—he’d been recognized.
Luckily—likely because he looked so miserable—they assumed he was in a foul mood and chose not to stir trouble with the feared Krutch Leeroy. Thank the gods for small favors, he thought.
Once the beers were served, Audra asked, “So what’s the plan, Lee? You figure we head into Seba tomorrow?”
Why is she calling me Lee?
“I don’t know, Audra,” he said. “I’m still—uh—gathering myself.”
“Yeah,” she said, drinking her beer. “No need to rush. If anything, we should figure out how things are run here before we make any moves.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”
Having spent most of his trip across the sea throwing up, Krutch hadn’t had much chance to get to know Audra better. She was cheerful and energetic—thrilled to be away from the mission—but she was another person who bought into his cursed reputation whole-heartedly. She seemed nice, but was expecting an adventure Krutch wasn’t sure he wanted to provide.
The truth was, now that he was in Seba—or near it, at least—he was terrified. Going by his reputation, a man like Krutch Leeroy should be right at home here. But he wasn’t that guy. He was nobody—a slacker with no business in a city of cutthroats and murderers. Even his famed pistol was useless now. He was a poser amidst real killers and real pirates.
He looked at Audra and felt a cold sweat go down his back. His presence generated a few whispers, but he knew without looking she was attracting attention of her own. What happens to her if some macho idiot challenges him to a fight, wanting to go down as the guy who killed the “great” Krutch Leeroy? What happens if someone thinks they can steal her away by beating or killing him?
He didn’t want to be responsible for whatever might happen to her if (no, when) his phony reputation caught up to him and he wound up in tiny pieces spread throughout Seba and its Three Sons.
“Audra,” he said, clearing his throat. “I think you should—”
“Yeh don’t talk back to me, yeh BRASTID!”
The gruff bellow was followed by a crash, and Krutch’s first instinct was to duck and hide. At the other end of the saloon, a massive man was kicking some poor clod around the floor. The bigger man was distinguished by his thick body-armor which made him look like a metallic monstrosity. He had beady eyes and an evil grin as he threw his smaller opponent around like a toy.
“If I tells yeh I want yer woman,” he snarled. “Yeh gives her to me, yeh BRASTID!”
The smaller man pulled a knife and lunged, but the blade didn’t so much as scratch the metal armor. In turn, the larger man revealed his weapon: a massive war-hammer. With a single swing, the mallet crashed into its victim’s chest with a sickening crunch and his limp body flew across the saloon in a heap.
The woman who was the source of the conflict looked sick, but didn’t scream. When the big lug with the hammer turned to her, she forced a look of good cheer and offered no resistance when he took her in his arms and engulfed her face with a sloppy kiss.
The dead body was dragged outside while the large man took his apparent prize and went to the upstairs of the saloon. The woman’s face was marked with a strained smile and desperate pleading in her eyes as he held his war-hammer in the air and let out a roar of triumph.
“Every night,” said the bartender, refilling Audra’s drink.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“Calls himself Brick,” the bartender replied. “Enforcer for the Brute Squad and tax collector from Seba. He usually ends his nights getting drunk, killing someone, and stealing a whore. Not always in that order.”
“Taxes..?” Audra asked. “Taxes for what?”
“Whatever the hell they want,” the bartender said. “They say it’s to keep the Goblins out of here, but that’s a crock. Goblins do what they want, and frankly, they’re no worse than Brick and the rest.”
&nb
sp; The bartender left to serve others, leaving Krutch and Audra. After a few moments, she tugged on his jacket and said, “See, Lee? We need to get into Seba. The districts are the boonies. The city is where the real action is.”
He barely heard her. He kept seeing that guy’s body after it was hit with Brick’s hammer—dead instantly. He saw him crumble to the floor like a ragdoll with his chest caved in and blood spewing from his mouth. The woman’s face was etched in his memory.
He mumbled something indistinct and walked out of the bar, feeling dazed and sick. His illness was not helped when he saw the body had been dumped into the street like trash. Looking at it, he saw how easily that could and probably would be him.
I’m going to die here.
* * *
In all her years wandering Graylands, Katrina had never traveled east of the Spade Sea. This part of the country was a barren land of desert and mountains. The air was dry and dusty, and the summer heat took hold early this year. The afternoon sun bore down on her, making her sweat and forcing her to squint even with the tinted glasses she bought at the outpost. Hyde snuffed and spit every step of the way, showing as much appreciation for the climate as his rider.
After a short but uncomfortable ride, Gain came into view. There wasn’t much to it, reminding her of dismal villages like Melba and Fane. The roads were dirt, and there were no homes—only saloons, brothels, a drug den, and a tenement or two. The only structures of note were a relatively large house at one end of town and a wooden building with no windows at the opposite end.
She dismounted Hyde and led him to a trough filled with water. All was quiet and still, save a few surly looking men walking up and down the dirt street. She assumed most of the residents were occupied in the mines or hiding from the sun. In front of the brothel were a handful of loitering prostitutes—male and female. Some watched her with expectant looks, as though she was an apparent rescuer or unwanted intruder.
