The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  “You’re coming with us, you son of a bitch!” snarled the one on his left.

  “Someone wants to talk to you!” hissed the other.

  He was dragged down the street and thrown into a fancy carriage. The door slammed shut, and he heard Arkady yelling after him, but his partner was kept from getting in by the men outside.

  “Start talking, you stupid shit!”

  Still trying to catch up to what was happening, Krutch adjusted himself and climbed into one of the carriage’s seats. Sitting across from him, Jonathon Gash looked like a malformed creature ready to attack.

  “I’m sorry, what..?”

  “Did you send that assassin to kill me?” Gash shouted.

  “What..? No! What assassin?”

  “The bitch who burned down Gain! She tried to kill me in the Tombs! Is she working with you? Did you send her to kill Carmine?!”

  He hesitated, his head spinning. “Look, I’m telling you, I—uh—I don’t know anything about that. Honest.”

  Gash grumbled, and Krutch got the feeling he didn’t believe him. “Assuming you are telling the truth,” he said. “Why haven’t you retrieved the item yet?”

  “What item..?”

  “Bane’s Gauntlet, you cretin!” Gash barked. “You said you were going to get it! Why are still even here?!”

  Krutch blanked—trying to remember if and when he agreed to get any gauntlets for Gash. He stuttered and stammered, scouring his memory, and the closest he could recall was a drunken fog in which Gash asked him something, but he couldn’t remember what.

  “Well,” he said. “I—uh—that is to say, I’m … I intend to—”

  “Vincent Dune is on the trail!” Gash roared. “It’s only a matter of time before Clock learns what’s at stake! When that happens, we are both DEAD MEN!”

  “Okay, hold on. Just relax and—”

  “Relax?! The edge of the cliff is approaching, and no one is at the reins!”

  “Okay, look,” Krutch said. “I, uh, I am going to get your … your thing, like I said. But, I’m—uh—I’m not just going to, you know, rush out into the, the desert. Like all blind and not sure what I’m getting into. You know..? I mean, come on, you want the job done, or do you want it done right?”

  Gash stared at him. His stretched face turned red, and a vein pulsed in his temple. He grasped at his cushioned seat and clenched his fists—clawing the fabric with an audible ripping sound. His lower jaw jutted out and looked like it would engulf his upper lip.

  “Do you know who Trayze Kilnerova is, Mr. Leeroy?” Gash asked, his voice turning low and toneless.

  “No.”

  “Do you know who the Jackal is?”

  “No.”

  Gash took a deep breath and cracked his neck with a loud pop. “Mr. Leeroy,” he said, his voice still low, but burning with contained fury. “Since you have betrayed my trust … and unrepentantly sabotaged my ambitions … you have left me no choice but to proceed from here in a state of emergency.

  “Trayze Kilnerova—the Cursed Eldér, as he’s known—is a far, far more ruthless and powerful man than either myself or Sebastian Clock. He had a stake in my quest to retrieve Bane’s Gauntlet, but because of you, Krutch Leeroy, he feels betrayed.

  “Therefore, because of you, Krutch Leeroy, the Cursed Eldér has unleashed the Jackal—a man whose exploits have been said to give even the staunchest of warriors nightmares. He is now seeking the Gauntlet as we speak, and if he gets it, he will come to this city next. And when he does …

  “Because of you, Krutch Leeroy, this city will bleed. And make no mistake, before this is over, I shall see to it that not only does Sebastian Clock put forth the full brunt of his forces against you, I shall also see to it that both Trayze Kilnerova and the Jackal know of your involvement in this debacle. I don’t need to kill you, Mr. Leeroy.

  “I already did. Get out.”

  Gash leaned back and crossed his arms on his chest. He stared at Krutch with beady eyes and allowed his speech to sink in. A thick, heavy silence came over the carriage, and Krutch could only sit there, feeling like he’d been blindsided with a club.

  “So,” he said. “Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

  “GET OUT!!!”

  As Krutch climbed out of the carriage, he was given a parting kick to his backside, and he greeted the street with his face. The two bodyguards who kept Arkady at bay stepped over him, climbed into the carriage, and rode off.

  “What the hell was that about?” Arkady asked. His face was bruised and bloodied—apparently another gift from Gash’s men.

  “We need to get out of this city,” he said. “Today, now, immediately.”

  39

  Sebastian Clock sat at his desk, high atop his tower, puffing on a cigar. He’d just finished reading the latest message from Vincent Dune and took inventory of the past few days. He considered he’d been too compliant.

  Apparently, Dean Carmine was involved in some kind of deal-gone-wrong in the north. Whether or not this factored into his death, Clock didn’t know, but what was relevant was Jonathon Gash was pulling the strings. He didn’t yet know what Gash was scheming for, but no doubt it was something he hoped to use against him. It seemed he’d underestimated the man.

  What to do about Gash? Was it time, Clock wondered, to finally do away with the deformed bastard? With Gain gone, his slave-trading operation was crippled. The Brute Squad was by no means essential and could be handled by someone else anyway. Perhaps it was time to reveal the truth about Gash to the world?

  That might help placate the Goblins, as they were still furious. The mess in the Tombs somehow escalated into a fight with the Wraiths, and Vel-Etta did not take kindly to having his jaw broken by Krutch Leeroy.

  Speaking of which, there was still Leeroy to consider, who had been oddly quiet since the fire. Clock grimaced at the thought of him. If he had been too easy on Gash and Evelyn, he was far, far too accommodating to Leeroy.

  He had known there was a chance the pirate would go snooping around the Tombs. But he never thought the man would rile up the Goblins and start a fire. That was beyond ambition and treachery. It was madness, and there was only one way to deal with men like that.

  “Master Clock,” said Vident, entering the chamber. “I found her.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “Is she watching the fights?”

  “Yes,” said Vident. “She’s at the arena now.”

  “Good. Is my private box ready?”

  Vident nodded, and Clock prepared to leave. He’d almost forgotten about “Rien.” He still couldn’t believe the woman attempted to assassinate Gash. Although Vident assured him she had no affiliation with Leeroy, he wasn’t convinced.

  It was becoming too messy. Leeroy, Rien, Gash, the Goblins … Evelyn..? He knew she played her games, but what if she went too far? If he had underestimated Gash, who else had he overlooked?

  “I’ll be off,” he said. “Vident, why don’t you track down Leeroy and—”

  “Master Clock,” another guard called. “There’s someone here to see you.”

  Clock frowned and motioned the guard to send the person in. It was the servant-boy, Hanselton, and he rushed into the office sweating, but also pale and out of breath. Despite his large size, he was wringing his fingers and afraid to look either him or Vident in the eye.

  “What is it, boy?” he asked. “I have someplace to be.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” said Hanselton, barely above a whisper. “It’s your wife …”

  * * *

  The coliseum was a grand structure of stone and concrete and pillars. Massive statues of men, women, and monstrous creatures overlooked the entire arena. The seats circled around a central pit of sand where the gladiators would face one another and battle. There was no roof or wind, so unless seated in the shade, spectators cooked under the sun.

  From what Katrina saw, the gladiators seemed more skilled and competent than the ones in Gain, but she paid little attention. She felt
jittery. Every time a new set of fighters emerged, she anticipated one might be the man she knew. But she’d yet to see anyone who resembled Jagger or hear the announcer call out the Last Vigorian, so she waited.

  Scifer sat beside her, smoking a cigarette. “So, assuming the Last Vigorian is your man,” he said, sounding bored. “How are you planning on freeing him? I assume the bridge with Gash is burnt.”

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she said, keeping her eyes on the entrance to the fighting pit. “I’ll see when I get there.”

  Scifer murmured, as if unimpressed. She glanced at him and noted how irritable he looked. Was he expecting something from her? Was he frustrated by her lack of a plan? She frowned and ignored him, deciding it wasn’t worth the thought.

  Finally, the announcer called for the main event. First was a male Goblin with dull green skin and a thick, muscular body riddled with scars. He greeted the crowd with a savage roar and held a battle-axe over his head. His name was Kul-Rak, and he was described as a veteran of the Goblin-Graigfolk wars.

  Katrina held her breath as the announcer built up his opponent—an undefeated champion who’d been fighting in Seba for years, a survivor of the dreaded Red Plague—and she saw enter the fighting pit a tall, lean man wielding a spear. He had long brown hair, but his face was obscured by a leather mask covering the lower part of his face.

  “THE LAST VIGORIAN!”

  The crowd roared in approval and the fighter greeted them with an impressive twirl of his spear and bow. Katrina leaned forward, squinting to get a good look. Was it him..? Could it be..?

  “So..?” Scifer asked, still bored. “That your boy?”

  “I …” she said, straining to see. She wanted to believe it was him. She wanted it so much. “I don’t know. It looks like him. It could be, but …”

  “It could just be some bloke who looks like him.”

  “Yes,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment.

  But, she started to rationalize, if not Jagger, how and why was he the Last Vigorian? If he was some random drifter sent into the fighting pits, of all the names and titles they could’ve given him, why Vigorian? He had Jagger’s build and brown hair, but that was hardly definitive proof. She hadn’t seen him in nearly ten years. Why would he wear a mask..? The same reason he refused to give out his real name perhaps..? If only there was some way …

  “That is him!” she shouted, springing to her feet. “Jagger!”

  Scifer was taken aback. “Okay, what..?”

  She watched the gladiator fight. She watched his moves and mannerisms. She sparred with Jagger hundreds of times, and she’d recognize his fighting style anywhere. He might have traded his daggers for a spear, but she was sure of it. The Last Vigorian was Jagger. She found him.

  “That’s him,” she repeated. “Those are his moves. I’ve seen Jagger fight enough to know.”

  Scifer stared into the fighting pit and shrugged. “Well, there you go,” he said. “So now what?”

  Katrina stood in place, feeling her heart pound in her chest. That was Jagger—finally, she found him. He was right there. A part of her wanted to charge into the pit herself, kill the Goblin, and break him free that very moment.

  But she kept under control. This wasn’t Gain, and she wouldn’t be dealing with Dean Carmine and his semi-competent guards. She already made an enemy of Jonathon Gash and had a bounty on her head. If she was going to get Jagger free, she’d need to have a plan and act carefully.

  The crowd erupted when Jagger drove his spear into the Goblin’s gut, pinning him into the ground and vaulting over his body. Katrina herself couldn’t help but feel giddy. He was there, and he was alive.

  Hold on, baby, she thought. I’m coming for you. Please … hold on.

  * * *

  “So what’s the move, boss?”

  After Krutch fell from his horse, the animal ran off and was apparently stolen by the time Gash was through yelling at him. He now sat on the curb, holding a handkerchief to his nose which had been bleeding since getting kicked out of the carriage.

  He looked at Arkady and said, his voice high from holding his nose, “We get our stuff, find a ship, and start putting some miles between us and this city. That sound good?”

  “I have no problem with that,” said Arkady. “And Audra..?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding and snorting. “We need to find her first. And fast.”

  He stood up, and the two of them headed toward Fink Street—Arkady walking his horse along. What worried him more was the question of where they would go after Seba. Back the way they came, where Sentries might still be hunting them? North, where this Jackal and Trayze Whatever-His-Name might be?

  “Arkady,” he said. “You ever hear of Trayze Kripperwrapper?”

  “Who..?”

  “Um,” he said, realizing he couldn’t pronounce the guy’s last name. “Some bad Eldér guy. Trayze … something.”

  “Trayze Kilnerova..? The Cursed Eldér..?”

  “Yeah. Him.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” said Arkady. “He’s a major player out west. I guess he’d be there what Sebastian Clock is out here.”

  Except far worse, according to Gash.

  “Oh, okay. West, right..?” he asked. “Not north—west..?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Just something Gash said,” he replied. “What about the Jackal?”

  Arkady stopped in his tracks, his brown skin turning lighter. “What about the Jackal?”

  “Um … who is he?”

  Arkady stared at him, his eyes wide. “Not good,” he said. “Did Gash mention the Jackal?”

  “He said he might be making his way to this city.”

  Arkady sighed and wiped some sweat from his brow. “Okay,” he said. “I can see why you want to get away from here as soon as possible.”

  “Gash did say he was going to make sure the Jackal was after me.”

  Arkady’s face contorted, as though he received a sudden shock. His shoulders shot up to his ears, and Krutch thought he was having an attack. “Did I hear that right, boss? The Jackal is after you?”

  “Well, not yet. But Gash said he would see to it the Jackal knew I was involved in this mess. He kind of implied he would then be after me.”

  Arkady looked around, shifting his weight, and scratching his head. Finally, his face strained, he said, “Boss … look, I love you, but you’re on your own. Be seeing you.” And with that, he climbed on his horse to ride off.

  “What?!” Krutch yelled. “Where are you going?!”

  “Look, boss,” said Arkady—talking, but not stopping. “I’ll stick with you through a lot. Hell, I have stuck with you through a lot. But the Jackal … that’s trouble I want no part of.”

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “Time out. Who is the Jackal?”

  “I only heard stories,” said Arkady, looking uncomfortable just thinking about it. “You know when you think about ‘evil’ people, you imagine sorcerers and dark mages and, you know, guys like Roderick Bane. Loons who are into the Black and that shit.”

  “Yeah..?”

  “And then there’s the Jackal. No magic, no sorcery—just a guy who kills people to watch them bleed. He’s not really a mercenary—more like a psycho-for-hire. The Jackal is the guy you send when you want no survivors. Wherever he goes, he leaves a bloodbath. He’s done things …”

  He looked like he remembered something and shuddered.

  “Look, I’m not going to tell you all the nasty shit I’ve heard the Jackal’s done. Simply put: if that guy’s gunning for you … nice knowing you—even if you are the Krutch Leeroy.”

  He was about to ride off, but Krutch stopped him. “Okay, Arkady … what can I do about this..?”

  “All right, look … you said Gash was going to sic the Jackal on you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then my advice to you,” he said, patting Krutch on his jacket where he kept his pistol. “Take that gun of yours and either ki
ll Gash before he gets word to the Jackal, or blow your own head off.”

  And I’m all out of bullets.

  “Okay,” said Krutch, rubbing his temples. “Maybe I can—”

  “Lee!”

  He put his face in his hands and groaned. It was too much—Clock, Gash, Goblins, Evelyn, Audra, and now this Jackal. He wanted to find a hole to hide in and sleep.

  Audra appeared, looking excited. Her eyes were aglow with more than just mischief. She looked almost frantic. She dismounted her horse and wrapped her arms around him with a wide grin on her face. He thought she was going to dance with him.

  “I did it, Lee!” she said. “Just like you wanted!”

  “Did what?”

  “Evelyn Clock,” she said, still grinning. “She’s dead.”

  40

  To Krutch, it was as if the world stopped. The bustling city of Seba might as well not be there. He was aware of Arkady next to him, but his comrade was like a vague shade. He stared at Audra, and her words echoed in his mind again and again until they became a thudding rumble—like the sound of a large and angry creature walking toward him.

  “I,” he said, “beg your pardon..?”

  “I killed Clock’s wife,” said Audra. “I caught her while she was still in Huffine’s and cut her throat in the lobby.”

  He sucked on his teeth, the image of Evelyn face-down on the floor in a puddle of blood flashing before his eyes. It was followed by Sebastian Clock reaching into his chest and pulling out his heart. A number of emotions clashed inside him—horror, guilt, panic, anger, confusion—but above everything else, he swore he could hear the sorceress who cursed him laughing.

  “Wh-wh-wh-wh,” he stammered. “Why would you do that?”

  “To screw with Clock,” she replied, as if it was obvious.

  His eye twitched. Turning to Arkady, he said, “You know what—by all means, run away. Run far away from me.”