The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  But she couldn’t relax surrounded by men and women who cheered one man beating another to death. Her hand shook, and she wasn’t sure if she was on the verge of panic or rage.

  The second fight was another hand-to-hand contest, pitting an Eldér woman named Aria Serrena against a Goblin woman named Xin-Erva. Aria was a Woodlander Eldér with orange skin, long red and purple hair, and a toned physique.

  Xin, typical for her kind, had greenish-yellow skin and thin, yellow-white hair. Like most Goblins, her nose was hooked—though crooked, like it had been broken more than once. Her ears, like the Woodlander, were large and pointed—one half torn off—and her teeth were more like fangs. The Gobliness’ physique was also impressive, but she was lankier and more ripped than toned.

  The gong sounded and the two fighters circled one another. Aria took a pose like she could as easily start dancing, while Xin squatted down and hopped around with movements that reminded Katrina of an insect.

  The Eldér made the first move, striking with elegant spinning kicks and swipes, indeed looking like a dancer. The Gobliness evaded her attacks and countered with some of her own, which Aria dodged as well. Unlike the previous fight, these two appeared to have some skill.

  The fight took a turn when Xin slipped beneath one of Aria’s kicks and connected with a blow to the midsection. She pressed her attack, tackling the Eldér into the cage with her hands wrapped around her throat. They struggled for control until Xin hit a pair of elbow strikes and bit down on Aria’s neck.

  Aria grimaced in pain and forced her opponent off. A stream of blood poured from her wound, but she resumed her fighting stance. Unfortunately, the battle deteriorated for the Eldér from there. Xin tackled her into the cage again, focusing on the neck. Aria struggled to push the Gobliness off, but to no avail. She was weakened with more blows to the face and body before Xin bit down on her neck again.

  They crumbled to the floor with Xin on top, tearing away at Aria’s neck and shoulder with her teeth. With the Eldér helpless, Xin pounded on her face and it became evident the fight was over. The Gobliness let out a triumphant roar and went back to ripping and tearing at her opponent’s throat.

  The crowd cheered in approval, and Katrina groaned in disgust. Unable to watch any more, she made her way outside for a cigarette.

  The late afternoon sun was bright and gave the land an almost golden glow. Anywhere else, she might consider it beautiful, but the overwhelming fact of Gain couldn’t be ignored.

  This place was a hole, and the people inhabiting it were degenerates. What kind of mining town could be so enthralled by mindless brutality? Aside from the fighting pit, she was surrounded by brothels and bars packed with slovenly mouth-breathers. Three men attacked her the night before and were left dead in the street, and no one paid any mind.

  She decided the sooner she left, the better, but she was no closer to picking up Jagger’s trail. Though, given what she’d seen in Gain thus far, maybe it was just as well she found no trace of him there.

  With a sigh, she looked across town toward the old mansion that belonged to Carmine. Although she was eager to be on her way, she supposed she could still ask him if Jagger had been through Gain. If nothing else, she—

  “Pardon me, madam.”

  She nearly jumped hearing it. The voice came from a short, round man with receding hair and a patchy beard. He was wearing an old suit that didn’t seem to fit properly and a pair of sunglasses. He was flanked by two large men armed with axes.

  “My name is Dean Carmine,” he said. “I would like a word with you.”

  14

  “If you’ll come with me, Mr. Leeroy,” Gojhi Olgorn said. “A carriage is waiting outside.”

  Krutch sat there, half-chewed bacon in his mouth, staring at the Graigman. He was so used to people trying to arrest and/or kill him, his default instinct was to flee, dive into the sea, and swim home. But a polite invitation with waiting carriage left him at a loss.

  “Am I under arrest?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” said Gojhi.

  The Graigman wasn’t alone. Waiting by the door was a tall, grim man with dark brown skin and short black hair that wrapped around his chin in a thin beard. Despite the heat, he wore a dark blue coat over black clothes.

  “Your buddy over there doesn’t look reassuring.”

  “Don’t mind him,” said Gojhi. “The General is only here to ensure my safety, not your harm.”

  “What’s this about?” Audra asked. “Who are we meeting?”

  “My master, the Magistrate of Seba,” he said. “He wishes to speak with Mr. Leeroy.”

  Krutch saw Audra’s eyes widen, and he couldn’t help but feel surprised as well. “The Magistrate of Seba wants to see me..?” he said. “Why?”

  Gojhi’s eyes shifted to him, revealing little aside from disdain. “Perhaps you should ask him yourself.” He sighed and added, “I give you my word, Mr. Leeroy, this is not a trick. We are not leading you to your doom.”

  “If we wanted you dead, we wouldn’t bother talking,” said the man at the door, his voice blunt and deep.

  Krutch looked at Audra, and she shrugged. He looked from her to Gojhi to the bartender to the man at the door and back to Audra. Every instinct told him to run and hide, but at that moment, he was tired of running.

  “Yeah, okay,” he said. “We were heading into the city anyway.”

  The Graigman waited as they gathered their few belongings and led them to the carriage outside. The seats were cushioned and comfortable, and it was cooler than expected. Krutch sat at one end, and Audra sat beside him. After taking a seat opposite them, Gojhi shut the door and knocked on the ceiling, signaling them to move.

  The dark-skinned man didn’t join them, instead riding his own horse. “So, uh,” said Krutch. “Who’s your pal? Your bodyguard?”

  “He is Vincent Dune,” Gojhi replied. “He is in charge of Seba’s militia. He maintains law and order in the city.” Seeing him gulp in response, the Graigman added, “As he said: if we meant you harm, we wouldn’t bother being so cordial.”

  “So what does the Magistrate want?” Audra asked.

  “My master did not say, Miss..?”

  “Audra Fay.”

  “He did not say, Ms. Fay. I was sent to retrieve you, and General Dune was tasked to accompany me.”

  Krutch nodded, but suspected everything was not as rosy as the Graigman implied. Maybe the Magistrate, whoever he was, did just want to talk, but sending the commander of the militia along sent a pretty clear message: tread carefully.

  The early portion of their ride was bumpy and silent. Audra seemed to be waiting for Krutch or Gojhi to speak and would say nothing herself. Gojhi sat with his arms crossed, and Krutch tried not to stare at the Graigman’s make-up. Up close, it was very evident and thick.

  As they rode on, he wondered how he should play it when he met the Magistrate. Given the city’s reputation, he supposed the Magistrate would have to be a big deal. The fact he sought out Krutch to meet in person was nothing to dismiss. How he presented himself could make all the difference.

  “It’s comfortable in here.”

  Gojhi cocked an eyebrow, not expecting such an innocuous statement.

  “It’s cool,” he continued. “How do you get it so cool in here?”

  “We employ low-level mages for menial tasks,” Gojhi replied. “Such as casting minor spells to make a place cooler during a hot day.”

  “Really?” he said. “There are people who just sit around all day and make rooms colder when it’s too hot out?”

  “Or warmer on a cold day, though that’s less common,” said Gojhi. “They’re also helpful in creating ice for drinks and preserving foods.”

  “So what you’re saying is, I could go to wherever mages learn magic, master a freezing spell, and I could get hired to make ice and cool off people’s houses? They would pay me for that?”

  “I believe there’s a guild for it. They operate all over the world. You’ve n
ever questioned how certain taverns and markets are able to have ice?”

  “I didn’t know that was how they did it.” He paused, scratching his hair. “Does it pay good?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Leeroy,” said Gojhi. “I suppose depending on the workload, they can earn a reasonable living.”

  “No shit.” He sat back and sighed. “I’m in the wrong business.”

  The rest of the ride was in silence, but Krutch was no longer uneasy. He felt confident he projected that he wasn’t intimidated. A notorious outlaw with his reputation certainly should not be frightened by anyone—even if he didn’t have any idea where he was going, who he was meeting, or why they wanted to see him.

  At least I learned something new today.

  The carriage traveled the winding road up the plateau, allowing a view of Frank below. It somehow looked even more dismal, and Krutch recalled the bartender’s complaint about taxes and roving gangs of Goblins. Looking down on Frank, he got a sense of how things ran between Seba and its Three Sons. The grand city—however corrupt it might be—loomed up above, and the lower districts wallowed down below.

  They entered Seba’s western gate, which led directly into what Gojhi called Roller’s Place. This corner of Seba was the spot for gambling, brothels, and drug dens. To the south, Krutch could see a massive stone structure looming over the rooftops, which Gojhi called Malison Coliseum.

  Being early in the day, Roller’s was less crowded than normal, so the carriage was able to pass through quickly enough. Roller’s gave way to the market and shops, and past that they emerged in the center of the city: Mannix Square.

  They came to a stop, and upon stepping outside, Krutch was struck by the massive black tower standing in the northern portion of the Square. There was a moat surrounding the place, and the base of the building was built like a fortress of solid stone and steel with tiny slits of windows lining the upper portion.

  The tower itself reached higher than any building he’d ever seen. So high, he suspected, the top probably went into the clouds on certain overcast days. It appeared to be made from stone, reinforced in certain parts by steel, and the spire on top resembled a crown. It looked like the kind of tower a fairy tale villain might dwell in—only in the middle of a large and crowded city rather than some secluded spot in the mountains.

  The only way in or out was a steel drawbridge which led to a stairway of gray stone. Atop the stairs were massive metal doors with imposing statues that resembled demonic lions at either side.

  It’s like a more evil version of Daredin’s tower, he thought.

  He’d been calm the whole ride, but upon seeing this devilish structure, he thought coming here was a bad idea. “I’m not meeting your guy in there, am I?” he asked.

  “No,” said Gojhi. “You needn’t concern yourself with that place. My master conducts his business over here.”

  Krutch was led to a far less threatening building of brick and stone with stained-glass windows that looked like a converted church. That brought relief, but he had trouble taking his eyes off the tower overlooking Mannix Square, which felt like it was watching him.

  * * *

  Dean Carmine lived in the house at the end of Gain. In comparison to its surroundings, it was luxurious enough, but that wasn’t saying much. The inside was dim—everything dark shades of brown, purple, and green. There was an unpleasant smell of age and dust everywhere. Maybe once, decades ago, it was nice and welcoming, but now the house and everything in it looked as though it had been left to rot.

  Before entering, Katrina was asked to hand over her sword—which she did without argument, having no fear of Carmine or his men. She was then led to his private office, and the entire house creaked with every step. He sat at his desk, which might have once been polished wood, but looked scuffed and dull now, and she took a seat across from him in a torn leather chair, noting he had two men standing behind her and another two at the door.

  Considering the type of place Gain turned out to be, Katrina had second thoughts about going to Carmine for information about Jagger. That he came to her first made her uneasy and looking at the round little man and—more notably—his armed escort, she got the feeling their meeting would not be pleasant.

  “Would you care for a drink, madam?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” she replied.

  He snapped his fingers, and after a moment, a guard appeared with a filled glass. Despite being inside, Carmine hadn’t taken off his sunglasses, and he took a sip with a loud slurp. It was a hideous sound.

  “So,” he said. “May I ask your name, madam?”

  “Rien.”

  “Ms. Rien?” he asked. “Or do you prefer Lady Rien?”

  “Just Rien is fine.”

  He smiled, revealing crooked, yellow teeth. “I noticed you watching the fights. How did you enjoy them?”

  Choosing not to get into it, she replied, “They were fine.”

  “Not for everyone,” he said, sensing her distaste. “Our little fighting pit is nothing compared to the arena in Seba. We’re more of a minor league, I suppose. The better fighters will find their way to the city eventually.”

  “Right.”

  He took another loud slurp from his drink. “I’ve no doubt you’re wondering why I asked you here.”

  “Crossed my mind.”

  “Those men you killed last night.”

  Katrina tried not to show it on her face, but her body tensed. There didn’t appear to be any militia or law enforcement in Gain, and no one seemed to care about the deaths, but that only meant Carmine would handle it himself. Especially if …

  “Those men worked for me.”

  She braced herself, waiting for him to continue or another shoe to drop. Her heart pounded, and her body was ready to spring. Although she didn’t want to come across weak or off guard, she felt sweat on her brow. She expected violence. Even unarmed, she could fight her way out if need be. Her only worry was another panic attack might catch her by surprise.

  Carmine’s face eased into a smile that reminded her of some kind of shyster. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They weren’t essential, and I understand the three of them could be rather … unbecoming toward women. No loss.”

  She nodded, but would not relax.

  “I am curious,” he continued. “What exactly do you do, Rien? Mercenary..? Assassin..?” He grinned. “Pit fighter..?”

  “Oh, er,” she stammered, not sure what to say. “No, I’m—uh—I’m nothing. Nobody.”

  Carmine took another loud slurp from his drink and sucked on his teeth. “Curious,” he said. “You obviously have some fighting talent and an impressive sword by the look of it. Yet you claim to be … nothing.”

  “Graylands is a dangerous place,” she said, her hand shaking. “A lady has to know how to defend herself.”

  “I see,” he said. “And your friend?”

  She hesitated.

  “I understand you were not alone in killing Misters … whatever their names were.”

  “Oh,” she said, realizing he was referring to Scifer Olc. “I don’t know who he is. I don’t know why he helped me last night.”

  “Just the kindness of his heart, I suppose?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “Indeed,” he said, sighing. “So what brings you to my town?”

  “Just passing through.”

  “I also understand you were asking around the taverns last night, looking for someone.”

  “I was,” she said. “His name is Jagger Ryggs. I’m looking for him.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t a mercenary.”

  “He’s a friend,” she said. “The trail led here.”

  He stared at her through his sunglasses and drank with another slurp. The sound made her skin crawl. She was eager to get out of there as quickly as possible. Even if he did know where to find Jagger, she guessed that information would not be free or cheap—whether Jagger was important to him or not.

  “Hr
m,” Carmine moaned. “I’m afraid I cannot help you. I don’t know anyone named Jagger Ryggs.”

  She almost sighed in relief—anything to end this.

  “Well,” he said, standing up. “That will be all, Rien. However, given your talents, if you should ever need work, feel free to offer yourself to me.”

  He grinned, and Katrina got the impression his choice of words was meant to be a double-entendre. She said nothing and got up to leave. Her sword was returned to her, and it took great effort on her part to not run from Carmine’s house at top speed.

  “And if you don’t mind my saying,” he said as she left. “I wouldn’t mind seeing how you do in the cage.”

  * * *

  Although the outside of the Magistrate’s resembled a church, the inside had the feel of a library. It was cooler, similar to the carriage, and the front hall was dominated by a large desk where a frumpy old Graigwoman wearing almost as much make-up as Gojhi sat.

  To Audra’s disappointment, she was asked to wait in the lobby. She took a seat with a frown while Krutch was led by Gojhi and Vincent Dune upstairs. He tried to keep his cool and ignore the tumbling in his stomach. Despite the assurance the Magistrate only wanted to talk, he made certain to be aware of potential escape routes.

  The leader of a city famous for brutality wanted to meet a pirate infamous the world over. Unskilled in skullduggery he might have been, Krutch knew such a meeting would likely not mean good things were afoot. He didn’t know what these people would want with him, but he knew—whether he intended to play along or not—it was important not to show weakness or hesitation.

  The Magistrate’s chamber took up the entire floor, and the ceiling curved upward. The walls were lined with books, and there was a large window which allowed a view of the sinister tower across the square. The desk was polished and neat with stacks of papers carefully piled and spaced evenly.