The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  “Hope it works out for you, boss,” he replied, patting him on the shoulder and riding off.

  “What is your problem?” Audra asked. “Isn’t this what we’re here for? Isn’t this why we started that shit in the Tombs?”

  “I … but you …”

  He trailed off, unable to think of a response. Isn’t this what he wanted? Maybe not murdering Evelyn Clock, but wasn’t he trying to establish himself as a player in Seba? Wasn’t he plotting to take power? Didn’t he want to tear down Clock and Gash and the rest?

  “Okay, look,” he said. “We … I was trying to, I don’t know, take power here. But even if I thought doing something with Evelyn Clock was a good idea, where in the hell did you get the impression I’d be okay with cutting her throat in broad daylight?”

  Audra looked confused and even a little wounded. “But you’re Krutch Leeroy …” She backed away as though she didn’t recognize him. “This is what you do.”

  “What I do?!” he screamed. “Are you out of your damn mind?! Do you have any idea what’s going to happen?!”

  “I thought that was the point!” she shouted. “I thought you were the great Krutch Leeroy! You’re supposed to be the man who raided the Temples of the Fallen Gods! You’re supposed to be the man who set fire to the Citadel of the High Eldér just to watch it burn! You’re supposed to be the man who spit in the face of the Enforcer himself! You’re supposed to be the man … supposed to be …”

  Krutch pressed his palms against his eyes and let out a groan that was nearly a scream. He suddenly remembered something Sebastian Clock had said:

  I’ve heard all the stories about you. To be frank, many sound contradictory. One tale paints you as a ruthless cutthroat who kills first, never asks questions. Another makes you out to be a master manipulator. Perhaps you are none of these things …

  How could he have been so stupid? All this time, Audra saw in him some kind of half-crazed, uncontrollable killer who’d pillage and burn with a smile on his face. The kind of man who started chaos for fun and treated life and death as if it was a game. That was the Krutch Leeroy she wanted. The Krutch Leeroy she thought she was helping.

  “I’m in a nightmare,” he muttered under his breath. “I am in a nightmare.”

  “Lee, I understand that dragon thing messed you up,” she said. “But you can’t keep letting that haunt you. We can—”

  “Audra,” he said. “No. Just … no. You’ve got me all wrong. It has nothing to do with the dragon. I never … I never intended …”

  He trailed off, unable to find the words. His head continued to throb, and all he wanted was to find someplace cool and quiet to sleep. Wasn’t it just this morning he thought he might be in the clear? How could so much go wrong in so little time?

  “Wait a minute,” said Audra. “Are you saying … you mean, all this time, you wanted to take Clock’s place? You mean you just wanted a throne?” She stared at him as if she’d uncovered some terrible revelation. “And what..? Did you think I was just going to sit at your side like a proper Lady? Was I supposed to be Evelyn Clock to you?”

  “Audra,” he said. “I think we—”

  Her face contorted into grimace of black rage, and with a crazed snarl, she clawed at him, leaving red scratches on his cheek. He stumbled backward and fell onto the curb. With another snarl, she spit on him, mounted her horse, and rode off.

  Krutch sat there in stunned silence. “I guess we’re broken up.”

  * * *

  Katrina remained where she was sitting after the fights were over and the crowd began filtering out. Scifer was lazing beside her. With the patrons around them gone, he put his feet up on the row in front of him and leaned back. He hadn’t said anything and seemed content to wait for her, but she only stared into the fighting pit. She was shaking her knee, like a nervous tic, and rubbing her mouth. A single question kept repeating in her mind:

  What now?

  Since she already made an enemy of Jonathon Gash, she supposed she would have to break Jagger free. The gladiators were probably held in some kind of camp or domicile in or around the arena, so finding him shouldn’t be too much trouble. It seemed simple enough. Worst case scenario, nothing she shouldn’t be capable of handling.

  She grumbled and shifted in her seat. If experience taught her anything, these sorts of things rarely go without trouble. Life, she knew, had a tendency to be a massive pain in the ass more often than not. She could feel in her gut reaching Jagger and getting him free would not be a simple and easy accomplishment.

  “Ms. Rien,” said a thin man wearing a monocle. “I am Harrison Elliot, the Magistrate of Seba.”

  At his side was a well-dressed Graigman wearing make-up. He held an umbrella to keep the Magistrate out of the sun. Katrina thought it would look ridiculous if not for the two armored Wraiths flanking them.

  “Sebastian Clock would like a word with you.” He glanced at Scifer and added, “In private.”

  “Am I under arrest?” she asked.

  “Not at all. He said he has a job offer for you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She looked at Scifer, who looked like he was day-dreaming. Clock had seen her in the Tombs, but he apparently never said anything to Gash. That didn’t mean this meeting would be friendly, she knew, but she also had a feeling if she said no, they would try to take her by force.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Mr. Clock has a private chamber in the coliseum,” Elliot said, pointing to a high balcony overlooking the arena. “He’s waiting for you in there.”

  Elliot escorted her up and around the outer wall of the coliseum to Clock’s private chamber. Scifer followed along, but upon reaching the door, was told to wait outside. He didn’t react to this, only shrugging and lighting a cigarette. Katrina paid no mind and went in with the two guards.

  The private box was a simple, but elegant chamber. Five cushioned chairs were lined up at the balcony, and from there, Katrina could see the entire arena open up before her. There was a bar on one side and, to her shock, a bath built in the other corner. She appreciated a bath as much as anyone, but wasn’t the point to see the fights?

  Clock—standing by the bar and wearing an immaculately white suit—must’ve noticed her staring at the bath. “Sometimes I entertain guests who have no interest in bloodshed. I myself indulge a good soak when the fights are dull.”

  “Interesting,” she said.

  “Drink..?”

  “No.”

  “Enjoy the fights?” he asked, sitting on a leather sofa beside the bar. “Are you interested in entering the arena again?”

  “No,” she said, crossing her arms. “I had my fill in Gain.”

  Clock smiled, looking at his pocket-watch, but it was forced. There was something different in his demeanor from the last time she met him. He had seemed superficially charming, but sinister. Now he appeared sullen and distant. The show was over, and Clock was done playing.

  “My mentor,” he began, “a cunning and ruthless man, was a watchmaker by hobby. He taught me how to maintain and fix the tiny gears and switches that make a watch work. It’s a painstaking craft of machinery that I’m sure seems like total chaos at a glance. And yet, if one knows how, you can create order from chaos.”

  He paused to sip from his drink.

  “I always saw Seba like that,” he continued. “A city of brigands, thieves, cutthroats, drifters, and gods know who else packed together on this plateau. If you understood how the parts move, you could create a kind of order from chaos. Like a clock, which is one of the reasons I chose that as my name.

  “Of course my name isn’t really Sebastian Clock. But I doubt you of all people would begrudge me an alias.”

  He took another sip, and Katrina felt a chill and wished she had her sword with her.

  “It’s about balance really,” he said. “A working clock requires a complex series of gears to function, but if you go too far and allow the machinery to get out of hand, the clock stops running. You have t
o know when to simplify and start fresh.”

  He finished the rest of his drink in a single gulp and frowned. Tension gripped Katrina’s spine. She didn’t take her eyes from him, but made certain to be aware of the two guards behind her. His personal bodyguard, however, was nowhere to be seen.

  “Is there a point to this?” she asked.

  “You attempted to kill Jonathon Gash,” he said, putting the watch back in his pocket. “I want you to finish the job and bring me his head.”

  She snorted. After all that, he just wanted her to kill someone.

  “And why should I?” she asked.

  “Considering you tried once already and the price he put on your head,” he said. “I would assume you’d have no issue with the task.” He stood up and walked to the bar to refill his drink. “More importantly, it would behoove you to get in my good graces, Princess.”

  Katrina hesitated. The word hung in the air for what felt like a long time. While pouring his drink, Clock gave her a defiant look, as if to say: Yes, you know what I said.

  She tried to say something, but he said, “It seems the Last Vigorian’s title isn’t as accurate as we thought. Another one lives.” He turned to her and grinned, revealing the vile man he truly was. “And not just any Vigorian either—the Ghost Princess herself, Katrina Lamont.”

  Although she tried to stay calm, Katrina couldn’t help but feel unbalanced. Taking a breath, she asked, “How did you know?”

  “A person in my position makes it his business to know everything that goes on in his city and beyond.” His grin faded and was replaced with an ugly grimace. “Did you really think you could walk into my city and I wouldn’t find out who you are?”

  He let out a quick hiss and took a swig from his drink.

  “I assume you’re here for your fellow Vigorian. Maybe not … it makes no difference to me. I want Jonathon Gash dead. And I can think of no better candidate to accomplish this than the legendary Ghost Princess of Vigor.”

  Katrina’s face settled into a death-glare that matched Clock’s. She approached him, her body tensed and ready for violence. “What makes you think I’m going to roll over and do what you tell me?”

  “I can think of a few reasons,” he said. “For one: your fellow Vigorian. I can assure you I will see to it you never come within a hundred yards of him for the rest of his life—which will be painfully brief.

  “Second, there’s what I can do to you. Do you really want word to get out the Vigorian Princess still lives? Especially in this city, where I’m sure there will be no shortage of cutthroats convinced a true Princess of the Realm might be worth a lot of money to a lot of people. Or hell, I can have you drugged within an inch of your life and carted off to some whore-house in the Slums.

  “You are, and—if the stories are true—always have been valuable property, Katrina.”

  Fury flashed before her vision. She gritted her teeth and growled, “And what’s stopping me from killing you right here, right now? You think I can’t just because I don’t have my sword?”

  “I’m sure you can,” he said, still looking her in the eye without intimidation. “And I’ve no doubt you can do it before my guards could stop you.” He placed his glass down on the bar and smirked. “But the consequences will be disastrous.”

  “Oh, really..?”

  “Yes,” he said. “If I die the wheels that keep this city from swallowing itself will come crumbling down. Vincent Dune may run the militia, but I am the one who keeps them here. I am also the one who keeps the Goblins pacified. I am the one who makes sure the right people are paid, paid well, and on time.

  “You kill me, and everything that holds this city together comes tumbling down like a house of cards. Without me, the Goblins—who are already furious over that debacle in the Tombs—with run rampant. This city will be consumed in riots and bloodshed. The inmates will rise up and take control of the asylum. The animals will run loose and chaos will swallow this city and everyone in it.

  “You kill me, this city burns. It’s as simple as that.”

  “You think I give a damn?” she said. “Why should I care about what happens to this city any more than I did Gain?”

  “Then kill me,” he said, crossing his arms. “Kill me, kill the guards … maybe you’ll reach your Vigorian friend and free him, and then the two of you can hop on a ship and watch this city burn to the ground from the sea. Make your move.”

  They stared at one another for some time—glaring into each other’s eyes, waiting for the other to blink. The room was hot with tension. It was the strained silence that came before something was expected to explode. By the door, the two Wraiths had their hands at their swords.

  But it would be Katrina who wavered.

  She imagined murdering Sebastian Clock—breaking his neck or ripping out his throat. She pictured the look in his eyes as blood poured down his white suit. She could easily kill the guards, even unarmed. She’d kill Elliot on her way out and escape with Scifer. She might be able to find and free Jagger before word of Clock’s death reached anyone’s ears.

  A part of her insisted he was only bluffing. That he was a little man who thought himself more important than he really was. Or even if he wasn’t bluffing, that he was a fool who overestimated her compassion.

  Kill him, some part of her mind hissed. Kill him and let this damned city burn.

  A part of her thought that, and it was so tempting it frightened her. Some deep, savage part of her so wanted to see Clock die and watch Seba engulf itself in chaos and flames. Righteous fury like the kind she unleashed on Daredin’s cult and Gain and …

  No, she thought. Not again … not that …

  She thought of Vigor. She remembered plunging her father’s sword through Armand Tyrell’s chest and being greeted with, not horror or anger or even regret, but a twisted look of triumph. Tyrell died smiling, and it was only when she felt the castle rumbling and saw the wall of red death billowing out that she understood his revenge.

  Once upon a time, Katrina Lamont killed a man and doomed an entire country with him. Even if Seba was a city of thieves, pirates, and worse … she couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t bring herself to set in motion the city’s destruction. She had watched Gain eat itself. Not again.

  Katrina turned her gaze away, and Clock knew he won. He took his glass and strolled to the sofa. “Good girl,” he said, sitting down. “Now, go kill Jonathon Gash. Kill the Eldér bitch who works for him while you’re at it. Bring me both their heads.”

  She said nothing, only staring at the floor.

  “If you do that,” he continued. “Maybe we can work something out about your fellow Vigorian.” He took a gulp from his drink with a satisfied look of victory on his face. “Now get to it.”

  * * *

  With his face still stinging, Krutch rushed to Arkady’s loft. The fights were apparently over and the already crowded Seba streets were becoming packed. He navigated his way through the sea of people as best he could, but progress was slower than he liked. The afternoon sun was sinking fast, and he was eager to get out of Seba before nightfall.

  He hoped he might catch his comrade and convince him to let him come along. He couldn’t blame Arkady for wanted to separate himself, but Krutch was desperate. Far too much had gone wrong in too little time, and he couldn’t shake a horrible sense of sinking.

  “Krutch Leeroy!” someone shouted as he passed. “I want to talk to you!”

  Krutch nearly fell to the ground again, feeling as though he was going to have a heart attack. He looked at the rat-faced balding man standing before him and couldn’t guess who this one was or what he wanted.

  “Do you remember me?” the man asked. “Jemas Phelps—we met at the card game. I run most of the casinos here.”

  “Wonderful,” said Krutch. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I have a proposition for you …”

  “Oh, no!” he moaned, walking away. “Not another sub-plot!”

  �
�First of all,” Phelps said, keeping up with him. “I love what you’re doing. Playing all sides against the other, doing random shit for no reason just to stir trouble … you got Clock, Gash, and everyone going crazy. I’m telling you, this city’s about to pop.” He grabbed Krutch by the arm to stop him and continued, “Look, I don’t know what your endgame is, but I want in. I know some people, and we—”

  “NO! NO!” he barked, pulling his arm from Phelps’s grasp. He pressed his hands over his ears and ran away, repeating: “No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no..!”

  Despite the crowded streets, he ran to Arkady’s loft on the verge of panic. What the hell is wrong with these people? he thought. What the hell did I get myself into?! I’m not even supposed to be here!

  He reached Fink Street and saw Arkady’s horse still outside. Sweating, he scurried up the rickety ladder, praying, and burst inside. “Arkady!” he said. “Look, I know you said you—”

  He stopped short, seeing what was left of him laid out on the floor like a gift. The head was missing, and his chest had been cut open. Behind the remains, looking relaxed and at ease, Vident sat on the sofa, holding his spear in one hand and Arkady’s head in the other.

  “Mr. Leeroy. I’m afraid Sebastian Clock has had quite enough of you.”

  41

  Katrina didn’t speak a word as she and Scifer left the coliseum. He remained silent as well, but seemed to know something was wrong. He led her to a bar in Mannix Square, got her a drink without asking, and brought her to an upper floor balcony. She guzzled it down in a single gulp and welcomed the burning taste of alcohol down her throat.

  The balcony overlooked the Square, and Clock’s tower loomed over all like a demonic entity. She pictured him sitting in the top chamber, looking down on her and laughing. She grimaced and, without thinking, clutched her glass so tight, it shattered in her hand.

  Scifer looked impressed. “You should’ve killed him.”

  “What..?” she said, picking the shards from her bleeding hand. “You were listening?”

  “Yes indeedy,” he said. “Heard every word. You should’ve killed him.”