by Kyle Spencer
“Ha! No worries, lad! With as much as you’ve drunk I’d be surprised if you remembered yer own name. And it’s Teach. Jus’ call me Edward though.” The wolf besides me grins and scratches at his smoldering beard. Seriously. Smoldering. He has it braided into eight thick tentacles that reach down to his chest. Each tip glows like the end of a cigarette as smoke curls up, clouding his face and adding to the sinister air around him. In fact, the whole tavern is thick with potential menace, like everyone here would slit my throat for half a coin if given the chance. Well, they would if they weren’t having such a good time. And I’ve got to admit, despite the numerous scars and missing ears, eyes, and teeth, they are a charming bunch of bastards. Smoking beards and all.
And damn to they have good alcohol.
Archy and Aami seem to be having a good time also. Well, at least Archy is; he’s in a far corner impressing a crowd by downing a keg of beer. Aami looks more confused than anything else, like someone who just woke from a deep and vivid dream and trying to discern what’s real.
“So,” I grab another mug, trading the earthy tones of 酒 for the crisp sweetness of a blueberry shandy, “How did you get here exactly?”
“I can only speak for meself,” Edward absentmindedly strokes one of his hair-tentacles, “But I have no bloody clue how I got here. Memory’s a bit fuzzy o’ that part. Not that I care anyhow, ain’t that right, boyos!” He raises his mug to a resounding cheer and everyone at the table downs their drink.
“That doesn’t bother you?” I cock an eyebrow at him.
“Not in the least.” He cocks one right back. “Here there’s alway good food, good ale, good gambling, and good lasses. Ain’ that right, sweetheart?” He pinches the ass of a barmaid who is walking by with another tray of mugs. They’re nabbed and drained without ever touching the table.
“But I’m sure someone has tried to leave.”
Edward looks over his drink and around the table. Everyone’s eyes meet each other for just a brief moment and then look away. In that span of no more than a second I notice a curious thing: despite drinking their weight in alcohol each, none of them are drunk. Or maybe I’m just too drunk to notice. Maybe…
“Aye, lad.” Edward gazes into me with the hard eyes of a killer. “There was one attempt to leave this place. One. See those three over there? Them’s Anne, Mary, and Jack. A while back they got curious and thought they could ride through the storm. So they went around and got some willin’ souls to help with the sailin’. They took Anne’s ship, William, and headed out.” Edward eyes the three sitting there in a corner with utter contempt. “Only those three made it back here, clingin’ onto a shiver of mast. After that, no one else has dared that fool’s errand.”
“Speaking of others, who is actually in charge of this place? Who cleans and stocks and whatnot?” The next drink is a ruby ale that lingers pleasantly on the back of the tongue.
Everyone at the table shrugs. “Ya got me, lad.” Edward says between gulps. “Place is always clean in the mornin’ and the ale never stops flowin’. But if you’re lookin’ for a de facto leader around here, well, take a look around and see if you can guess.”
The entire room is full of tables like ours. Each one has four or five people in circles, some chatting and laughing, some gambling, some singing along to the flitting melody of the tin whistle. But all of them drinking.
One corner is different, however, eschewing the normal beer-slicked tables for a landslide of colorful pillows. Snuggled into these pillows is a panda wearing a silk green robe that’s lazily opened almost to the point of exposure. Her languid movements are fluid and graceful. Around her is a harem (is harem the right word if they’re all males?) tending to her every need. The whole corner is wrapped in a misty cocoon of smoke that gives the room a sweet flowery smell underneath the common funk of alcohol.
“That there,” Edward points with a fresh mug, “Is Madame Ching.”
“Why do I know that name?” I ask the bottom of my tankard. The familiar tingle of get the fuck out! works its way from the base of my tail up and into my brain. I study the panda - this Madame Ching - as she draws in smoke from a long thin pipe and puffs out perfect rings. Madame Ching...Madame Ching...Ching Ching Ching Ching why do I know that name...
“Without a doubt the greatest who ever lived.” Edward goes on to explain, “Take every other bloke in here and combine their fleets and you still won’t equal the number that she commanded. Seventy thousand souls and around two thousand ships. And with the savvy to gain a pardon from her government and retire to a life of luxury.”
“Ah, of course! That Madame Ching.” I laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound too fake.
There are two feelings worse than anything else in the world. The first is getting kicked square in the balls. The second is getting kicked square in the balls with steel-toed boots…okay, there are three worst things. The third is going from happily drunk to immediately sober in the span of a heartbeat. It’s not the sober part that’s bad (although I guess it depends on who you ask) but what causes it. Usually its something shocking and/or terrifying and/or disturbing that just grips your guts and twists. The revelation of Madam Ching fits at least two of those criteria.
And holy shit I gotta get to Archy! “Ah, will you all excuse me one second? I’ve got to ask my friend over there something real quick.” I hurriedly shift out of my seat, careful not to knock over the fortresses of mugs stacked up around the edge of the table.
“No worries, boyo! But haste ye back, we’re ‘bout to start a game of Liar’s Dice!” The dice rattle their siren song of fortune and fun, beckoning me to lose any money I have as well as the robes off my back.
I wave my acknowledgment as I weave through the crowded tavern. The professor seems to have gathered quite a following in his little corner of this pub. He also seems to have gotten quite drunk - drunk enough to tell his ‘Horse Story’. And it looks like he’s at the ‘best part’ as well.
“So here is best part,” Archy’s eyes are half-closed and clouded in the fog of booze. “I told horse, ‘Go find your own prostitute…’” He leans in close, drawing the whole crowd with him like a guru ready to impart the meaning of life to his disciples, “…Motherfucker!” Roars of laughter shake the walls as back slaps are passed around. But I know that behind that wide toothy smile and ale-glazed, ice-blue eyes lurks the insatiable need to explain things, which inevitably leads to… “You see, because horse was actually fucking prostitute’s moth- oh! Hello Bow, my friend! Is this not great place or what? You should meet my new friends!”
“Sounds great, Archy. Come here real quick; I gotta talk to you.”
“Of course, my friend, of course. Excuse me, new friends. I must squeeeeeze through here. Please keep seat warm and I shall be right back. Barkeep! Another round for this table. Is on me! Now, what is the matter? You look worried ow!ow!ow!” His massive upper body follows the downward tug on his ear.
“Clear the drunk out of your head right now!” I hiss. “We need to find Aami and we need to get the fuck outta here!”
A tiny wince as the bear transitions to sobriety (it sucks for everyone) and he’s right there with me. “What is wrong?”
“Check out the panda in the corner.”
“You mean the one with the harem? Wait, is harem the correct word?”
“Who the fuck cares?!…Yes, I think so. Anyways, her name is Ching Shih aka Madame Ching aka the The Pirate Queen of the Middle Kingdom.”
“She looks like one who, how do you say, is not one to be fucking with.”
“Eh, close enough. But yes, most definitely. And she’s also dead.”
“…what?” Archy blinks a few times.
“For a while now. And I’ll bet that everyone else here is dead too. Archy, we might be dead.”
“Nonsense! We would remember dying.” His paw runs down his mouth and chin. “Wouldn’t we?”
“Good question.” I mimic Archy’s chin stroke. “Hold on, got an idea. Psst! Leena!�
�
“Mrgrgh…what?” A muffled voice barely escapes my clasped paws.
“Are we dead?”
“Of course not. Dumbass.” She snorts.
“Oh thank the gods.” Archy and I both heave a huge sigh of release.
“As for everyone else here,” Leena goes on, “Yes.”
“I knew it!” Oh shit, a little too loud. “I knew it!” I whisper.
“I thought that would be obvious.” Leena sighs. “Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Sure sure. Alright big guy, let’s find Aami and make our escape.”
“Do you think they’ll just let us leave?” Archy asks.
“Shit. I haven’t really thought about that.”
“In case something happens,” Archy pats a small satchel slung at his waist, “I have Plan B.”
“Archy, we don’t even have a Plan A yet.”
“Either way, is good Plan B.”
“Whatever you say. Just help me look for Aami. You tower over everyone else here, shouldn’t be hard for you too find her.”
Archy waves away the thickening haze in vain and scans the crowd. After a few seconds he turns to me and shrugs.
Shit shit SHIT shit-shit-shit.
“Hold up!” I point to a staircase lodged in the far corner. “I’m going to go check upstairs. Just, uh, tell another prostitute story and have that Plan B ready to go.” I just hope it isn’t like his last backup plan, the one before I explained to him that not everything should be taken literally. Ugh, so many bees…
“And where do you think yer going’, boyo?” Strong paws (holy shit they’re strong!) grab my shoulder and hurl me - not unkindly - into a seat. Five beautifully carved dice and an overflowing mug slide in front of me. A table of eye patches and roguish glints stare me down. Edward lifts a tankard. “Before you go anywhere you owe us a game and an empty mug.”
“Fair enough.” I’m antsy to continue my search for Aami, but you just don’t say no to the mean-looking wolf with the octopus beard. Besides, I’m familiar with how to play from my voyage to Aquarian on The Flotsam; Liar’s Dice was the only game I was any good at and the only way I kept the robes on my back. Scooping up the scrimshawed cubes I deftly dance them along my knuckles (a neat little trick I learned from No-Eyed Jim, The Flotsam’s lookout. “So what’s the bet?”
“If you win,” Edward chuckles, “We let you leave in one piece.”
I instantly regret picking up the dice. “And if I lose?”
“We get your soul.”
Dice, Decisions, and Death
“Hah! Call me a liar!”
- Famous last words of Jameson the Truthful
“M-my soul?” At this point I’m not really surprised by the wager, just indignant. “That’s so fucking ridiculous…ly reasonable of course I’ll wager my soul.” Without skipping a beat I fling the dice into the mug and give it a quick shake. The lip of the mug slams down on the table and the dice finish their death rattle. But before I can make my wager Edward holds out a paw. The octopus on his chin dances a tiny jig as his lower lip quivers. The rest of the table has a queer look on their face, like they’re trying to hold back a sneeze. Or worse.
“MmmBAHhahahaha!” The table shakes as everyone around it tries to keep themselves upright. Edward holds on to the table with one scarred paw while the other wipes tears from his eyes. “HaHAha this crazy bastard here didn’t even hesitate! Just like that, *snap*, he put his soul on the dice. Oh boyo, boyo, you’re either one crazy landlubber-”
“You guys actually say ‘landlubber’?”
“-or you’ve seen some shit in your travels. Either way, hats off to you boyo. Ain’t that right lads?” The rest of the table tips invisible hats in my direction.
“So… you’re not going to take my soul if I lose?” I’m almost knocked back by another round of laughter.
“Hahahahooo…oh shit I haven’t laughed like that in about a day. Of course not boyo! But I’d be lyin’ if I said you wouldn’t be good company. And your friend over there has the best stories.”
I blink a couple of times at the smiling faces around me. “You know you’re dead.” They all nod. “And you know that I know.” More nods.
“You’ve been readin’ too many ghost stories, lad. We’re not going to try and haunt you or kill you or take your soul; we’re having too much fun to bother with that anyways!”
“Not gonna lie, that’s a huge relief. But can I go upstairs to look for my friend?”
Edwards face drops. “You can, but you don’t want to. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because your friend already found what she’s looking for.”
“Then I need to get going. Oh! And I’ve got five sixes. Call me a liar.” I push away from the game and make a beeline for the stairs.
“He’s a liar!” Edward laughs. There’s a slight pause followed by a string of gasps.
“Holy shit he’s right!”
“He cheated!”
“You all saw him. He didn’t cheat.”
“Damn he’s good.”
“Shit! Maybe I really should’ve taken his soul. Bahaha!”
Climbing up to the second floor is like climbing up the stairs of a swaying ship. I keep bumping into the walls and it takes me a minute to figure out why: the geometry of the stairs is all kinds of fucked up. Some slant to the left while others to the right. Just when you think you have the pattern figured out they’ll tilt forward or back. Needless to say, I’m relived (and a bit queasy) when I reach the top.
And what comes next doesn’t help. The hallway I stumbled onto just…continues forever, ending at a pinpoint way off in the distance. Two rows of identical wooden doors march off into eternity. Cautiously I step forward and my whole body suddenly feels likes it’s been trebuchet-ed a few hundred feet. The doors on either side zip by me until they blur into one. I manage to catch myself but not the contents of my stomach, which form a frothy, bubbly, hoppy puddle before me. I turn around to see how far I’ve gone. Right behind me is the stairwell like I had never moved in the first place.
Girding my loins (if I have any more loins left to gird after that last step) I take note of the 349 on the door to my right and step forward again. This time my body tries to lurch backward. Not anything strong this time, no worse than the one and only time I was shoved by Archy. We were drunk and began arguing over who was the better shot with his pistols. It’s obviously me, but Archy didn’t see it that way and shoved me. Granted that was after I told him he couldn’t hit the broad side of his mother, so I guess the shove was warranted.
The door on my right still has 349 blazoned in gold leaf. Why this door? Hm, it’s not locked. Before I pull on the handle I press my ear to the door. On the other side is a language I don’t understand peppered with sniffles. The voice…voices are familiar, albeit muffled.
The door opens just enough to let light escape and allow curious eyes to peer in. A massive hammock spans the length of the room. Pillows and blankets that would make a rainbow jealous turn it into a hammock fit for royalty. Sunk into a large orange cushion in the center are two otters. One rests her head on the other’s shoulders with a tear-stained gaze into eternity.
Aami doesn’t blink as another tear runs down her cheek. The other otter gently strokes the top of her head and hums a tune. I think it’s a shanty, one that sounds familiar although I can’t put my finger on it. The taller stranger turns to lightly kiss Aami’s forehead, revealing in her right ear an earing of sparkling stars held together with golden thread. Aami has the same one in her left ear and…oh. She tied the other one to Prisha’s sail during the funeral a few days ago.
“No, you’re not.” Prisha’s voice is a lullaby coated in honey. But it only causes Aami to violently shake her head.
“Yes, yes I am. I’m staying here. And there’s nothing you can really do to stop me.” Her voice wavers despite the sternness behind it.
“But you don’t
-”
“-belong here.” Aami snorts. “Don’t give me that shit. I belong with you. Wherever you are.”
“Ｉ’m not going to change your mind, am I.” Prisha smiles a little.
“Could you ever?” Aami pulls her partner in for a kiss as the door gently closes.
But not by my paw.
“I think it is time we went back.” Archy whispers in my ear.
“But we can’t just leaver her.” The words ring hollow. He and I know that nothing we do will convince Aami to return with us.
“It is not your choice to make.”
“But we’re - I’m the reason she’s here.”
A pause.
“That is true.” Archy nods. “But maybe it is not necessarily bad thing?”
“But she’ll be like, like them.”
“And so shall we, if we do not act soon.” His finger and thumb form a vice that turns my chin around so I’m looking into his frosty eyes. “One cannot stay in the land of the dead for too long. We both know this.”
The stairs have somehow straightened themselves out on the descent, and the jovial ruckus has died (no pun intended). All eyes are on the two of us as we reach the final step and begin to make our through the crowd. I keep waiting for the moment when the throng falls upon us and makes us one of theirs forever. But no such thing happens; we reach the entrance before anyone even moves. As my paw reaches for the handle everyone turns toward us again. There’s Madam Ching in her endless fog, the rabble that hung onto every word of Archy’s ridiculous stories, and there’s Edward with his beard aglow and another ale in his paw.
And there’s Aami and Prisha, standing at the bottom of the stairs with their arms around each other’s waists. Smiling.
