by D C Ware
“That was foolish of you!” The voice appeared to rise from the bubbling pool of sweat. Then slowly a mist formed and out of that mist a figure stood in front of Morcai. So close to him that Morcai’s face was staring into its stomach. Morcai arched his head and looked up at its face. It was him. The Dark Stranger.
“I only sought to win her to our cause.” Morcai said dropping his head.
“You contend with powers you don’t understand foolish monk. You sought to inquire of her and she sought to take your measure. And know that if you had been found wanting she would have destroyed you.” The figure dissolved back into a mist and began to swirl around Morcai. “I lent you my power and in doing so I revealed myself to those of my kind. I am discovered. Are you prepared to pay the price?” The cove grew dark and the mist became a smoke.
“I am.” Morcai did not move. His heart beat rapidly and he waited.
“You once asked for knowledge you had no right to. You once claimed you were ‘worthy’. Clearly you are not. Look then at what you would find. See a speck of the knowledge you would possess!” All at once the mist congealed and twisted into a knotted cord that plunged straight into the wizard’s left eye like a flaming spear.
Morcai’s head went back, he mouth gaped open and he screamed. He screamed and shook and writhed. The knotted mist appeared to swirl throughout his body like a leech twisting around his skull, his neck, across his shoulders, up and down inside his chest and then shooting back out both nostrils.
When it was over The Dark Stranger once again stood over Morcai.
“The price is paid for this request. Now recover and when you do see that you heed my words. The Lady must die. She must die and she must die soon. For now she is not only a threat to you but to myself as well.” The voice faded and sunk back into the puddle of sweat that slowly ceased to boil and then drained away down the twisting stairs leading to the upper cove.
Morcai lie unconscious. Barely breathing. Blood oozing from where his left eye used to be.
It was Oxley’s first day off The Adamante since he had been press ganged. Quartermaster Lucretia had instructed one of the hands, close to his own age, to stay with him. His name was Arnold but the rest of the crew called him ‘Arsehold’ because he tried to hide in a barrel when he was first press ganged into service but his arse was too big to fit in and was sticking out the barrel when he was caught. All in all the crew liked him though. That was three years ago he told Oxley.
The two had taken in most everything Kings Harbor had to offer - some rum, some women, some more rum, a bar fight or two and some purchases of good blades and duds. Now they were heading back to The Adamante. During their time together, Arnold had shared stories of his first days on The Adamante with Oxley including the time the ship sailed all the way to The Joint Kingdoms and the Kingdom of Monet where the alliance’s Royal Navy was harbored.
The stories had made Oxley feel a lot better about his life on board The Adamante up until now. In fact Oxley had not even thought of trying to escape once since he and Arnold had been together. He had even come to realize that he did not want to escape. He didn’t know whether it was because he was starting to like life on a ship and being a pirate or a sailor. Or if it was because of the Quartermaster - Maria. Even though he knew it was foolish to mistake her kindness for him as anything more than part of her duty to incorporate him into the crew, he could not help feeling that she had some genuine interest in him. As if she was watching him, waiting for him to prove himself worthy of her and then, and only then, she would confess her love and desire for him. And only him.
“Haymaker, Haymaker?” Arnold was pulling on Oxley’s shirt sleeve trying to rouse him out of his daydream.
“Oh. Yeah Arnold, what is it?” Oxley looked to where Arnold was pointing.
“There is something up on The Adamante! Come on we have to get back!” Arnold started running toward the ship, waving for Oxley to follow him.
Oxley paused. Now was his chance. If he was ever going to abandon the life of a sailor that he had been pressed into, now was the time to do it. All he had to do was turn and start running in the opposite direction. He would be lost in the throngs of people at the harbor in moments.
“Wait up Arnold, I don’t know the way back by myself!” Oxley slung his small pouch over his shoulder and took off after his crew mate. He was one of them now and for better or worse he meant to prove himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Consequences
Maverick took the lady from the Bouncing Bess outside. The Lady explained that her name was Myrna and that she had spoke with Bess the afternoon that she was killed. Mryna said that Bess had told her that a ship named The Crimson Oar had made port and that Bess was sure its captain, a Captain Tartoga, would be coming to see her; as it was his custom to do. Because of this Bess had told Myrna that she could not go with her to the dress maker that afternoon but asked her to come back in the evening and they would go to the tavern together.
Well Myrna said, she had come back that evening and called at Bess’ door but Bess did not answer. Myrna said she thought nothing of it at the time and assumed that the Captain had paid for extra so she went to the tavern with some other girls and did not look for Bess again until the morning.
In the morning when she called on Bess, again Bess did not answer. This time she used her key that Bess and her had exchanged with each other for emergencies. That is when she saw her. Dead. Her throat had been cut and her room had been rummaged. The funny thing was that nothing valuable had been taken. There were coins, clothes and expensive oils left lying about in the room.
Afraid that she would be accused of complicity in the murder for having the key or worse that she would be asked to testify about what she knew about the Captain, Myrna had left the key in the room and left.
It was later that afternoon that the scallywag who watched the door of the hostel for them told her that someone had left an inquiry for Bess about the fat kid with the purse of money. He told Myrna that he had not seen Bess come down all day and that no customers had come for her since some pirate looking guy had left last night. He asked Myrna if she would take the message up to Bess.
Myrna told him that she had not seen Bess either and had a ‘house call’ in town but she would take the message with her and give it to Bess when she got back.
“And that’s how I found you.” The red haired Myrna was still shaking and clutching the slip of parchment Maverick had scribbled his inquiry on when she finished her tale.
Maverick did not speak at first.
“Give me my slip.” He said opening his hand to Myrna. She looked at it and handed it to him.
“Have you told anyone else of my inquiry?” He asked.
“No. I did not even know who you were until I had read the whole message. And then I came straight here.”
“What about the scallywag?” Maverick asked.
“He don’t know how to read. He just knew what you told him when you left it. But other than that he don’t know who you are.”
“Good. You can’t return there. Do you hear me?”
“But I works there. It’s how I make my living.”
“Well you better make it somewhere else or you won’t be living!”
“This Captain Tartoga is not the type of man to be answering to constables. And whether they accuse you of complicity or not, once that scallywag finds Bess dead he is going to get the constables and then tell them about you and the message. And you know what happens after that.”
“Then what should I do? Where should I go?” Myrna put her face in her hands and started sobbing.
“Go home Myrna. Wherever home is or wherever home used to be. Pick up your emergency stash and go home.” Maverick gave Myrna one last look after referencing the emergency stash which he knew all women who worked in her profession kept at another hostel just for situations like these. The ladies at the Bouncing Bess would have ladies at Puss Le Cat that would hold theirs and they would h
old stashes for the ladies of the Puss Le Cat.
Myrna started wiping her eyes and Maverick turned to head back into the tavern and pay his tab and then find Lyla.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Thank you.”
Morcai was still weak. And he looked like hell. He had a black eye patch covering his left eye; or what was left of it. A new permanent fixture to his face. He had several cuts and scratches across his face, nose and forehead from the thrashing and sparks of power. He had also cut his hair. The long black locks no longer contributing to his once good looks. And he thought his nose was broke. It was bent and he had tried three times to heal it using the old healing arts he once learned at the monastery but it, like all his other wounds, had resisted every healing ward, or potion he had used or consumed.
He had come down from the cove and now sat in his study at his desk again. The Dark Harbinger was specific, plans had to be set in motion to kill The Lady. The Oathbreaker had told him that she was being escorted by Friar Damian - the traitor monk - and the Sons of Cain, fanatical former acolytes of the monastery now mostly mad or insane. Which meant subterfuge was not an option. And The Ferret was either still on his mission, or more likely, now in hiding since accomplishing it and would not be taking work again for some time.
That left his Nemesis Knights. He normally preferred to have The Oathbreaker lead them in combat because of his expertise and knowledge as a former knight of the land. But even if he could send word for Heymann to return he did not intend to use Heymann to lead them on this mission. This was not a battle or skirmish that had to be fought. This would be bloody murder. Thorough and complete murder. And there was one person perfectly suited for such a task enjoying sanctuary in his castle right now. The Warlord Hermunn Maxx! And Morcai had sent for him.
Hermun Maxx aka “The Warlord” as he was called when he commanded constables in five of the seven provinces of Milestill, was a large burly man with a powerful build. He usually wore a jerkin with no sleeves so his huge muscular arms were showing. He wore a full beard and it was black, like his short curly hair. He had large lips and a flat nose. His behavior was crude and foul like his appearance.
There was a bounty on his head in the Town of Milestill where he used to work for Mayor Brufson. Brufson and the people of Milestill had always tolerated Maxx’ transgressions until he went too far one day by ordering that every female, married or not, in the five provinces under his jurisdiction from the age of fourteen to thirty four be brought to his Great Hall to perform “weekly service” for him and his men.
The people refused and rioted. When it was all said and done over fifty inhabitants of Milestill had been killed and all one hundred of Maxx’ personal guards lie dead. Unfortunately Maxx got away. But not before a twenty five hundred gold piece bounty was placed on his head. He had been splitting his time between Zafton and Fire Castle since that time hiding out and/or seeking sanctuary whenever any bounty hunter got close.
“You sent for me!” Maxx stood in front of Morcai’s desk chewing on the remains of a large roasted pig leg. “What happened to your eye and face?” Maxx put the pig leg down. “Don’t even tell me you want me to go after the person or creature that was able to do that to YOU?!”
Morcai balled his right hand into a fist. A coruscating blue light started to form. Then he relaxed and opened his hand.
“Occupational hazard I assure you warlord. And no. I do not want you to go after the creature that was able to do this to me.” Morcai closed his eyes and chuckled. “Unless your soul is as well endowed as your body, you could not so much as stare at him as long as I endured this. And knowing your deeds I know your soul to be quite pathetic.”
Morcai opened his eyes and gave the warlord a stare that seemed to originate from the nether pits of hell. Maxx straightened up.
“Well…what do you want Morcai?” Maxx said at last in a voice that was almost timid.
“There is a lady that has offended me and she must die. She is guarded by a significant force of monks and their friar and I intend to send you and a troop of my Nemesis Knights to kill her.”
“A force of monks and their friar!” Maxx started to laugh. “Keep your Nemesis Knights I can handle this all by myself!”
“I assure you, you cannot Warlord. These are no ordinary monks - though knowing the martial arts that even ordinary monks are trained in - I doubt if you could handle a significant force of them either; these are fanatics. Untrained but quite fanatical nonetheless. Each one will die on command. So much so that if the friar leading them, who is quite fanatical himself but not mad, were to order one to impale himself on your sword so as to deprive you of it, that monk would do so without question. Now do you understand?” Morcai lifted a cudgel on his desk and knocked on the desk three times with it.
“So they’re lunatics? Well that’s different. I’ve crossed swords with some of those cultists before and you’re only half correct about what they’ll do on command. I’ve seen some as likely to swallow my sword as impale themselves on it.” Maxx turned and looked over his left shoulder as the Nemesis Knight that Morcai had summoned entered the study.
“This is Lieutenant Rendahl he will accompany you and command The Nemesis Knights. You will command him. And Lieutenant?”
“My liege?” Rendahl stepped forward.
“You are to follow The Warlord’s commands without question. Is that understood? Without question!”
“Understood my lord.”
“Now Warlord go do what you do best.”
Maxx started laughing, patted the Lieutenant on his back, started eating his pig leg again and walked out the study.
“Whatever I command huh? Without question…? Help me get into my armor,” was what Morcai could hear him say as they moved out of sight and down the hall.
When Oxley and Arnold arrived at The Adamante other members of the crew that had been on shore leave were also pouring in. It was apparent that The Adamante was under attack by another pirate crew. Arnold drew his long knife and pointed to the Quarter Deck where Captain Milan was surrounded by three attackers.
“To the Captain! To the Captain!” Arnold yelled and sprinted up the gangway. Oxley drew his long knife and followed, his heart racing but too overwhelmed to be afraid. Arnold never made it to the quarter deck. A dark Dimmerian pirate from the attackers crew intercepted him on the spar deck and locked a strong right arm around Arnold’s throat lifting him high in the air.
Arnold’s legs kicked and he swung wildly with his long knife but the Dimmerian was holding him outside his arm’s length. With a wild eyed expression that succeeded in putting fear in Oxley’s heart the dark skinned Dimmerian snarled and wagged his tongue at Arnold and then thrust his curved cutlass into Arnold’s belly. “Hah!” he yelled. Oxley was tempted to run toward the dark pirate but realized there was nothing he could do now for Arnold. Arnold was dead and if he faced that dark skinned savage he would be dead to.
Instead Oxley continued his sprint toward the Captain where three other members of the crew were heading including Bosun Rodrigo.
Rodrigo made it to Captain Milan first and brought his short warhammer down on one of the attacker’s skull crushing it in a splay of blood and bone. He drove his left fist into another so hard it sent him over the side of the ship and onto the pier below breaking his neck. There were still three men surrounding Captain Milan but now Milan quickly dispatched one with a sword slash and a dagger thrust. Three more attackers joined the remaining two but Oxley and the other two members of the crew with him arrived just as they did.
One of them rushed at Oxley with a club raised high. Oxley backed off against the side of the ship. He blocked the first blow of the club with his left arm. Pain shot through his shoulder but he ignored it. He swung quickly with his long knife but only sliced air. His attacker tried to press his attack further but the other crew member with Oxley had already dispatched his own opponent and now drove a sword into Oxley’s opponent’s back. He grabbed Oxley by the hand and pulled
him off the railing.
“To the Captain Haymaker! And don’t leave his side.” It was the sailing master, Alonzo.
Oxley hurried up the stairs to the quarter deck and stood behind the Captain who was relating what had taken place to Rodrigo.
“It is Tartoga and the crew of The Crimson Oar! He has come for his precious compass!” He could hear the Captain saying. He then heard Rodrigo reply.
“Lucretia has the blasted thing, May The One Bless Her soul she will never give it up short of her life.”
“Then get to her Rodrigo. Get to her with all the men you have. I will drive Tartoga off!”
Rodrigo headed down the steps of the quarter deck stopping only briefly to glance at Oxley and give him a crooked tooth smile “Enjoying the fight Haymaker!” He said laughing as he patted Oxley on his shoulder and headed down.
Captain Milan finally noticed Oxley by his side and spoke to him.
“You are the boy with the compass? No? You and your friend sold it to me correct?”
Oxley panicked. He had no idea that the compass would cause this much trouble or get this many people killed. He was sure Captain Milan meant to make him pay.
“I was with him Captain but in truth it was never my compass.” He said without breathing.
“It would seem it was never mine either good boy! I say that makes us compatriots, no?” Milan smiled as he wiped his cutlass and headed toward the steps. Oxley exhaled and smiled as well.
“Come,” said the Captain “let me show you who that cursed compass really belongs to and we two shall reason with him. No?” Milan held up his cutlass and started down the stairs. Oxley followed him, noticing as he followed that he had dropped his long knife when he was attacked by the sailor with the club.
He spotted the club in the corner between the steps and the railing deck and picked it up. It felt good in his hands and the weight was hefty but not too heavy. He also noticed for the first time that it was studded with metal studs up and down its length no doubt allowing it to better break bones. Good thing for him the small sailor that was wielding it against him didn’t have the strength to put it to its full effect.
