The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  Elliot must have sensed his gaze, because the Magistrate seemed to shrink. After a brief silence, he placed his cards on the table and said, “I fold.”

  Krutch only observed, indulging a small sip from his drink. Unlike the brown liquor he received in Elliot’s that tasted like cardboard, this was clear and stung his throat.

  “Man’s liable to bankrupt your city paying for his Graigthing’s make-up,” said Vel-Etta, gesturing at Gojhi. “Bloody thing looks like some nightmarish doll.”

  “It’s still an improvement,” said Phelps. “Slather enough make-up on them, the stunted freaks could almost pass for a human.”

  “Who are you kidding, Jemas?” said Clock, looking at his cards. “You’ll stick your cock in anything with tits.”

  “Pulse optional,” Vel murmured.

  “All the same,” Clock said. “There’s good reason why Graigish should stay in their mountains. That reminds me—Dune, what’s this I hear about Gain?”

  “Too soon to tell,” Dune replied, throwing some chips into the center of the table. “Few days ago there was a fire. Early word is the pit fighters went out of control.”

  “Aye,” said Vel. “We’ve even heard. Sounds like something ugly went down there.”

  “Gods,” Clock grumbled. “Carmine and his damned fighting pit. I warned him that would bite him in the ass.”

  “I fold,” Gash hissed, slamming his cards on the table.

  Clock smirked and took a gulp from his drink. “That’s bad news for you, Gash. You lose your Gain connection, that’s a heavy loss.”

  “We dwell in a prosperous city in an expanding country,” said Gash, staring at his own drink. “There’s plenty of power out there for those who seek it.”

  “Indeed, Gash.”

  Krutch took another sip and noted Clock said Gash’s name with a slight slur. At first he thought it was just the way he talked, but Clock seemed to be emphasizing it. It reminded him of the way Brother Lucas kept pausing every time he said Dirkwood.

  “Although,” Clock continued. “I wonder how much of a future there is in the mining business anyway. Last I heard, there wasn’t much worth selling from Gain these days.”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Gash. “You never know what might come up.”

  Krutch looked from Gash to Clock and sensed there was some deeper meaning behind their exchange. Elliot, meanwhile, appeared uncomfortable. Vel looked bored. The rat-faced guy—Krutch had already forgotten his name—was focused on his cards. Only Dune seemed to be paying attention.

  “Gojhi!” Clock barked. “Another drink!”

  * * *

  A thin haze of clouds hovered around the apex of Clock’s tower. The lit windows glowed like eyes, and it seemed to watch over the city of Seba as though it was a demonic creature.

  Audra Fay stood outside one of the taverns in Mannix Square, looking up at the tower. She tried to imagine what was going on up there—trying to picture what people Krutch was meeting and what was being discussed. Based on what she’d heard about Seba, she expected a cabal of cutthroats and murderers. Hard men and women who relished the prospect of chaos.

  “Are you planning to wait all night?” Arkady asked behind her. “The boss said not to bother.”

  “I know what he said,” she replied, rolling her eyes. She took a sip from her beer—Audra hated wine—and sighed. “I wish I was up there. I want to know who this Sebastian Clock is.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But I’m sure the boss has everything in hand.”

  She didn’t say it aloud, but she hoped so. She couldn’t believe her luck when she found him shambling outside Lucas’s mission in the rain. She knew all the tales of Krutch Leeroy and his exploits. Although she sought the life of a pirate, when she ran away from home she dared not dream she would one day find herself alongside the man himself.

  But Krutch, as it turned out, was not what she expected. He was quiet, subdued, and seemed uninterested in pirating. As they approached Frank from the sea, she came close to thinking she’d made a mistake and he was a fraud pretending to be Leeroy.

  Then she understood how much that dragon incident haunted him.

  “How long have you known him?” she asked.

  “Close to a year now,” Arkady said. “I hooked up with him through Lemmy Hobbs.” He paused and mumbled under his breath, “Things got a little weird with Hobbs, but me and the boss worked things out and I’ve been with him ever since.

  “To tell the truth,” he continued. “I was surprised when I first met him. Not at all what I expected. But then I realized he acts like that to throw people off. I like that.”

  “That dragon thing really hurt him though,” she said. “I think he lost his confidence.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “He’d been pretty out of it through the winter. I wouldn’t worry. The boss will get back on track. I’m sure of it.”

  Audra kept her eyes on the tower. Krutch might have lost his edge, but that only meant he needed her. He needed her to boost him up when he was low and perhaps even take up the slack from time to time. He was already getting better—she could see that.

  “Come on,” said Arkady. “Let’s head back to the hotel. There’s no telling how long this game is going to last.”

  She guzzled the rest of her beer and nodded. As they left Mannix Square, she took a final look at the tower and smirked. Once Lee was up to speed, the real fun would begin. Clock, Gash, Elliot—whoever else—what could they do when Krutch Leeroy was unleashed?

  Her smirk shifted into a grin as she imagined herself by his side along the way … watching the world burn.

  * * *

  The game progressed. Krutch bet modestly and folded more often than not—having little idea what he was doing. He nursed his drink until the ice melted and tasted more like water. Clock dominated much of what conversation took place. The others rarely contributed, save Vel-Etta who made a sport of antagonizing Gojhi at every opportunity.

  After a few rounds, they took a break. Dune and Elliot joined Gojhi at the bar. Gash remained sitting, while Serk whispered in his ear. Clock and Vel-Etta walked to his desk and talked in private. Krutch was curious what they were discussing, but another death-glare from Vident made it clear he was not welcome.

  Instead he stood by the window and kept to himself. The rat-faced man approached and started talking, but Krutch didn’t listen. Whatever these annual card games were on previous nights, this one was a show for him in particular. The way Clock singled out each man, one by one, and either belittled them or made it clear they answered to him. The way he commanded any and all discussion, cutting others off and making himself the focus.

  Sebastian Clock was indeed the top dog in Seba, and he wanted to make sure Krutch knew it.

  He took a sip from his drink—not just watery now, but warm—and pondered the implications of the Goblin’s presence. The Goblins were said to terrorize the Three Sons and were supposed to be held in check by the Brute Squad controlled by Jonathon Gash. And yet, here they all were, enjoying a friendly game of Liar’s Bluff.

  So the Goblins do as they please, he thought. The Brute Squad collects taxes without doing anything, and everyone answers to Clock at the top—leaving the people at the bottom to suffer and pay.

  The rat-faced man was still talking, but Krutch heard none of it. He wanted to know what Clock and Vel were saying. It was difficult to make out any more than words and phrases from across the room, but he did pick up one thing mentioned multiple times:

  Tombs.

  “Leave Mr. Leeroy alone, Jemas,” said Gash, limping to them. “He clearly isn’t interested in any of your schemes.”

  The rat-faced man mumbled something and returned to the table. Gash sighed and took a gulp from his glass. Whatever he was drinking must’ve been strong because it provoked a hideous grimace on his face.

  “Fetch me another, Tetra,” he said, handing Serk the empty glass. With a moan, he said, “So have you been enjoying our host’s little showcas
e?”

  “I’m learning a lot.”

  “I’m sure you are. I wonder, though, what you are learning.”

  Gash glared at him with beady, dark eyes. Serk returned and handed the glass to him, and Krutch found himself looking up at two towering figures. Feeling uneasy, he took a sip from his warm, watery drink, but said nothing.

  “What you should know, my friend,” said Gash, leaning forward. “Dune answers to Clock, but the General has no loyalty to him. Elliot and Phelps are worms. They’ll follow along with whoever holds the power. And Vel-Etta …” He hissed. “There are ways of dealing with Goblins.”

  “That just leaves you and Clock,” Krutch said.

  Gash’s face contorted into a smile, and it was a foul thing to behold. “And you in the middle.”

  “So do you have an interest in blood-sports, Mr. Leeroy?” Clock asked, approaching. “Were you giving our guest a tour of our illustrious coliseum when you met, Gash?”

  “Merely introducing myself, Sebastian,” said Gash. “As you have said, Krutch Leeroy is a man who warrants attention.”

  While they were speaking, Krutch watched Vel-Etta stride to the bar to fix another drink—making a point to impose himself on Gojhi as he did. The Graigman scowled, but said nothing as he tried to create distance between himself and the Goblin.

  “I find it interesting to see you guys so chummy with the Goblin Chief,” Krutch said. “Since I got here, all anyone says is the Goblins are a problem.”

  “It’s a delicate arrangement,” Clock said. “One of … tolerance. The Goblins can be difficult, but we keep them contained to the Three Sons. Gash’s Brute Squad does what it can to mitigate them. The truth is, there is no getting rid of them—”

  “If only,” said Gash.

  “—so we do our best.” Clock sipped his drink and another phony smile came to his face. “At the very least, we can profit from it. And isn’t that what it’s all about? Mutual self-interest?”

  “Until something better comes along,” Gash added.

  Krutch forced a smile of his own—wishing his pistol was loaded.

  Clock clapped his hands and declared it time for another round of Liar’s Bluff. One by one, everyone went to their seats.

  “When the time comes to choose, Krutch Leeroy,” Gash whispered before going to the table. “Choose wisely.”

  * * *

  The game continued as it had—with Clock imposing himself, everyone playing along, and Vel taking cheap shots at Gojhi Olgorn. Krutch did little aside from listen and observe—managing to win a hand or two by dumb luck. As far as he could tell, he broke even when the game was over, which was fine by him.

  After another hour, the game wrapped up. The players collected their winnings and got up to leave. Clock told Dune they would need to speak the following day about whatever happened in Gain. He also reminded Gash and Vel-Etta of a meeting at a future time.

  “Oh, and Leeroy,” he said. “I wondered if you would stay. I was hoping we might speak in private.”

  Although Krutch didn’t show it on his face, he wanted to groan. He had more than his fill of Sebastian Clock for one night and was eager to be on his way. Nevertheless, he agreed to stay.

  After everyone was gone—leaving just Clock, Krutch, and Vident—Krutch was led to an outside balcony. The night was clear and comfortable, and from Clock’s tower, he could see the entire south of Seba, with the Spade Sea glittering to his right. Before him, he saw Mannix Square and a road leading directly to Malison Coliseum.

  “Pleasant view, yes?” said Clock, winding his pocket-watch.

  “Yep.”

  “This tower has a history,” Clock said. “It was built almost fifty years ago to be the stronghold of Roderick Bane. Do you know who Roderick Bane was?”

  He did know—everyone knew who Bane was—but he also knew Clock liked hearing himself talk:

  “Bane was probably the last great Dark Lord of the Realm—a powerful sorcerer and master of the dark arts. It was said he could’ve been the next Dark Emperor. His rivalry with Grant Nolan was legendary. He built this tower with a combination of Goblin slaves and magic. He also had the coliseum built in honor of his lover.”

  “That would certainly explain the architecture,” said Krutch.

  “Yes, I suppose it is imposing. I find it’s best to make an impression before meeting someone.” Clock let out a chuckle that had no genuine life in it. “After all, we can’t all have such grand reputations, can we?”

  “Yeah, well,” he muttered. “You’d be welcome to have my reputation for all I care.”

  “They say Bane had something buried beneath the tower, though no one is sure what. There is a large vault in the lower levels, but even after all these years, I still cannot get in.”

  “What do you think is in there?”

  “Who knows,” said Clock. “Some say treasure. Some say a terrible power. Maybe both. To be honest, I have no interest in magic or the dark powers.”

  “No..?”

  “Not at all. I’m sure you noticed the lift. I had that constructed here among other things. Technology is the way of the future, Leeroy, not magic. You of all people should know that.”

  Krutch nodded, although he didn’t know what Clock meant by that.

  “I’m glad we have this opportunity to talk in private,” Clock continued. “As you no doubt already know, when a man of your reputation enters a city like this, it causes quite a stir.”

  “I do seem to be a popular guy,” he said.

  “Why are you here?”

  “You invited me.”

  Clock hesitated and sighed. “Why are you in my city?”

  “I’m hiding from Sentry Elite.”

  “Yes, you’ve said that. Is that all?”

  He thought it over. “I might have some ideas.”

  Clock’s eyes narrowed, and Krutch saw the real man hidden beneath the phony smile and barking laughter. Clock spoke and dressed well, and he might present himself as a gregarious man, but what Krutch saw in those pale blue eyes reminded him of a wolf. Whatever he might seem, Sebastian Clock was a predator.

  “Leeroy, I hope you realize that, your revered reputation notwithstanding, you are in Seba. And Seba, my friend, is my city.”

  “I’m not denying that.”

  Clock nodded. He looked at Krutch as though he was sizing him up. Krutch wasn’t sure whether to expect a handshake or to be thrown from the tower, but he kept his eyes locked with Clock’s. It felt like that stare-down with Eren Lucas again.

  After some time, Clock said, “I think we can work together. I think you and I can accomplish great things. If you are willing.” They shook hands, and gripping Krutch’s hand tight, he leaned close. “But I only tell you this once, Leeroy: do not test me.

  “Do not. Test me.”

  23

  “Fight time.”

  The rumble of the crowd could be heard from Katrina’s cell. There had been at least two or three fights before the guards came for her. She saw fighters pass her cell on their way to the cage and bodies dragged out after. The dungeon was stifling, and the stench of death was in the air, but she remained calm.

  She was sober and clearheaded. There was no hint of panic. She wasn’t yet sure how she would escape, but that didn’t trouble her. Her thoughts were of Jagger. If he was alive—enslaved—he was somewhere out there and needed her. And if he was dead … killed because of these bastards …

  “Ready..?” said the guard, opening her cell.

  “Are you?”

  They led her down the hall where the sound of the crowd grew louder. She emerged from the dungeon into the fighting cage and was greeted by a cacophony of cheering. Men whistled, and some lewd phrases reached her ears through the yelling and shouting.

  There were stains of blood on the floor, and the arena stunk of sweat and cigarette smoke. Standing across from her was the Gobliness she’d seen before. Xin-Erva smirked and licked her lips, looking eager for the fight.

 
; Standing on a nearby platform, in his top hat and rumpled suit, the announcer raised his arms to silent the crowd and bellowed, “And now our main event! Our first combatant … the undefeated Gobliness, Xin-Erva!” The crowd roared in approval, but Xin kept her yellow eyes locked on Katrina. “And her opponent,” the barker continued. “Introducing a new fighter … the raven-haired beauty, Lady Rien!”

  The crowd cheered again. Above the fighting pit, Katrina saw Dean Carmine in his private box, flanked by two bodyguards. He raised his glass as if toasting her presence.

  The gong sounded, and Xin took her crouching insect pose, ready to attack. Katrina didn’t move, barely paying the Gobliness any mind. Indistinct hollering came from every direction—some cheering on Xin, some Katrina, and some that just wanted to see blood. Carmine watched with a greedy grin on his round face.

  Katrina looked at Xin and said, her gravelly voice harsh, “I have no quarrel with you. Get out of my way.”

  Xin hesitated with a confused growl. “Master says he wants me to play with you,” she said in a hissing voice. “He says he wants you to scream. I like making the pretty ones suffer. I like—”

  She was cut off by Katrina ramming her with a running knee to the chin. Xin was thrown against the cage and bounced off with a shocked look in her eyes.

  She stumbled forward, and Katrina flipped her onto the floor, dislocated her shoulder, and finished the assault with a forearm to her face that made her nose pop in a splatter of blood.

  The fight was already over, and the crowd was awestruck. Katrina looked up at Carmine, and he seemed equally shocked. With a smile, he snapped his fingers and waved at the guards standing by the dungeon’s entrance, but she didn’t pay attention. She estimated his balcony about ten to fifteen feet over the floor. There was a way she could get up there.

  I haven’t done that in years …

  The crowd roared again as she heard heavy footsteps enter the cage behind her. She turned and found the huge fighter, Gratto. He leered with a disgusting smile and said, “Really? They want me to take you on?” He cracked his knuckles and laughed. “Okay. I can have some fun with—”