From Blood and Magic

by Dave Skinner

  Chapter 2

  Business in the pleasure house was well underway when Nails returned. He was able to eat a quick meal before he took up his assigned tasks: clearing tables and washing dishes. Susin sat with him for some time while he ate. She was excited. Her brown eyes were sparkling beneath her curly brown hair and there was a big smile on her face.

  “Nails, we will have a treat tonight if I can make enough money. One of the new girls has a copy of a scroll that I have always wanted. If I can get ten silver pieces together, she will sell it to me.”

  “Ten silver! That’s a lot of money,” Nails mumbled through a mouthful of food.

  “I know, but I have to have this scroll. It is wonderful. You will enjoy it too because one of the characters has a name like yours. He was one of the Dragon Men who helped save Waysley from the pirates. His name was Nailmoe, and he was a great lover.”

  Susin picked at the food on Nails’ plate. She liked to do that sometimes, and he always thought she should eat more, so he said nothing about it.

  “Do you have any money, Nails?”

  He glanced around at the tables close to them before he leaned forward. “I have five copper,” he whispered. “I will get it for you if you want.”

  “Let me see how my work goes,” she said with a smile. “Jacko says some miners will be in tonight. I always make good money when they come.”

  It was a busy night. The crew of miners from the interior of the island showed up with their month’s pay, and Nails had to bring in three beer kegs before things started to slow down. Jacko sat at his usual table with a large smile plastered across his face. He loved three keg nights, and he always watched the action when the miners came. Everything went smoothly until Nails spilled beer on a miner as he was clearing the table.

  “Watch what you’re doing, fool,” the man said as he jumped to his feet. “Look what you did to my new pants.”

  Nails looked, but he hadn’t realized that he had dropped beer on the man’s lap. To his mind, it looked like the man had peed himself, so he said so. “No, you stupid lump of clay, you did this.” The miner drove a fist into Nails’ stomach, but Nails had seen it coming and tightened his muscles. He felt the scales appear on his abdomen. The man’s fist bounced off and he shook his hand in pain. “I’ll teach you,” he said as he pulled a knife from his belt, but before the man could use it, Jacko and two of his thugs were behind him.

  “Easy friend,” Jacko said. The words were friendly, the tone was not. The miner’s upraised arm was being held by one thug while the other one eased his hand open and removed the knife. “You can get this back when you leave. This table is getting a round of drinks on the house.” Jacko’s smile was a scary thing when it didn’t reach his eyes, but the other miners at the table cheered. “You can let go of him,” he said to his men before he turned away. The miner gave Nails a hateful look as he retook his seat, and Nails started to gather more mugs. One of Jacko’s thugs slipped up behind him.

  “Jacko thinks you should work in the kitchen now,” he said quietly.

  Nails returned to the kitchen and finished scrubbing the pots and pans from the evening meal. Cook gave him a last piece of pie before they both went to seek their beds. The girls would entertain men until much later but Cook and Nails were early risers.

  ***

  Raised voices followed by banging on the wall of his closet woke Nails. At first, he thought it was Susin’s signal for him to join her, but as he became more awake, he realized it was something else. He was at Susin’s door pushing it open in moments. A man had Susin by the throat. He was choking her and pounding her head against the wall.

  “Try to steal from me you little whore,” Nails heard him say. He took in the fear on Susin’s face as she clawed at the man’s hands. Nails’ bare feet made no sound as he crossed the room. He grabbed the man’s hands, pulled them away from Susin’s throat and pushed the man across the room.

  “You!” the man screamed, and Nails realized he was the miner he had spilled ale on. The man quickly moved to where his clothes lay on the floor. Nails thought he was going to cover his nakedness, but after reaching down to the bundle he straightened, holding a knife. “I’m going to gut you and the whore.”

  Nails stepped between the miner and Susin, as the man started towards them. Something whispered in Nails head, this is not a warrior, wait for your chance. Nails had not been in a fight since he was a young child. Back then, he had simply curled into a ball and waited for the beating to end, but somehow he knew that this time he would have to fight. He also realized he knew exactly what to do. He concentrated and felt the scales cover his whole body. The miner’s eyes grew large as they appeared. For a moment, Nails saw his anger replaced by fear, but it only lasted a moment before the man lunged forward. Nails’ right arm plunged down, pushing the knife to the side. He felt the blade slide across the scales of his chest. His left fist lashed out, straight into the miner’s face, and his right hand closed into a fist as he drove it up into the exposed chin. The man’s head snapped back with a crack.

  “Well, it appears our Dummy has some talents we were not aware of,” he heard Jacko say from the doorway. “You would make us money as a fighter,” he continued, walking over to examine the miner. “Unfortunately, this fellow is dead. His friends will take their business somewhere else if I don’t do something about this.”

  “Don’t hurt him, Jacko,” Susin managed to croak out. “He was protecting me.”

  “I appreciate that, Susin.” Jacko considered the dead body for a few moments before he made his decision. “Get dressed, Dummy, and gather your possessions. You have to leave Delvingford. I’m going to get you a job on a ship.” He turned to one of his henchmen who was waiting just outside the door. “Take Susin to Ronda’s room and keep her there. The story is that the Dummy killed the miner, but he was cut badly and died of his injuries. We got rid of his body.”

  Susin put her arms around Nails and hugged him. “Thank you Nails,” she whispered before she was escorted away. Nails returned to his closet, dressed and gathered up his other clothes before tying them up into a small bundle inside his second shirt. When he got back to Susin’s room, Jacko was talking quietly to one of his henchmen. He looked at Nails slyly when he arrived.

  “Slim will take you to the dock and arrange to get you on a ship. Do what he tells you. Do you understand?” Nails nodded his head. “You will probably be a rower. If you come back in a year or two when this incident is forgotten, I’ll train you as a fighter. From what I saw you have a natural ability.” He turned to Slim. “Get going.”

  Nails followed Slim down the stairs and out of the house. He looked back once. There was a light in a window on the second floor, and he saw a small figure waving to him. He felt a tightening in his chest, dropped his eyes to the ground and then had to hurry to stay with Slim. Before long, he could smell fish and the pitch from burning torches. Up ahead, three ships were being loaded by torchlight. Susin had told him once that Delvingford had a large number of smugglers because the Bentmen were very strong here. Slim led him to the ship that sat at the farthest point on the wharf.

  “Wait here while I arrange this,” he told him. Nails lost sight of Slim after a while but found him again at the top of the plank that led to the boat’s deck. He was talking to a large man with a black scraggly beard and pointing back towards Nails. They appeared to be haggling, but then the man passed money to Slim and they both came down to the wharf and walked up to Nails. “This is the ship you will work on,” Slim told him. “Remember what Jacko said. Do what they tell you to do.” He turned to the bearded man. “He’s all yours.”

  “Come on,” the man said. He led Nails through the men moving cargo and up the plank. Once on the ship, they continued across the deck and then down three steps into an area that ran along beside the gunwale. Oarsmen were sitting and lying on long benches in the lower area. “One more for you, Smithy,” the bearded man said to a person who was crouc
hed beside a glowing bowl. Smithy shifted to look at them, and Nails realized that he was a blacksmith who was attaching leg irons to one of the rowers. “I’m putting him behind the crossbreed. Once you get him hooked up, we’re done. Come see me for your payment.” Nails was led down to an empty bench. “Sit here,” the man told him.

  “What are the chains for?” Nails asked. The man looked at him and placed his hand on a club in his belt.

  “You makin’ trouble?”

  “No.”

  “Good, Slim said you wouldn’t be any trouble.”

  “I just wanted to know about the chains.”

  “You’re not here to ask questions, so shut up and do what you’re told. Now stretch your leg out and let Smithy finish his work. We leave at first light.”

  The smithy put the leg iron around Nails’ ankle and closed it with a slug of metal in the pinhole. While he worked, Nails looked around. Many of the oarsmen seemed too scrawny to row. Most were stretched out on the benches asleep. He realized that the man on the bench in front of him had his eyes open and was staring at him. As their eyes met, the man shook his head a little and mouthed a word. Nails could tell what he said. He had heard the word “stupid” many times before.

  Chapter 3

  “Up you get, men, time to earn your keep.”

  Nails had been asleep on his bench and for a few moments he was unsure of where he was then his memory came flooding back. He sat up. The grey early morning gave him enough light to make out the other rowers moving about on their benches. He smelt urine as some men stood and relieved themselves over the side of the ship. Nails followed their example.

  “Get ready to cast-off,” he heard someone call.

  “Finish your business and take your positions,” bellowed a big man with a scar running down one side of his face from eyebrow to chin. He was walking beside the benches with a coiled whip held in one hand. As he moved, he smacked it against his pant leg. “New men! Sit and get your oars ready.”

  Nails had spent most of his life watching what others were doing in order to fit in. He mirrored the actions of the rower on the bench in front of him who was reaching down for a long oar that lay at his feet. Nails followed his example and picked up his own oar, positioning the blade end by a slot in the ship wall beside him. He heard the whip crack, and someone cried out.

  “Did I tell you to put that oar out? Keep it onboard until you receive my order.”

  A man, who looked as bewildered as Nails, scrambled to pull his oar back in and then rubbed at a red welt on his neck.

  “Cast-off,” was the next order given by the black-bearded man from the night before. He was standing on the raised deck at the back of the ship beside a large upright wheel. Nails felt the ship start to move, and the warehouses of Delvingford floated away. Sailors in a riot of colourful, mismatched clothing were standing by on the deck beside ropes that seemed to go every which way. “Oars,” Blackbeard ordered.

  “Get those oars out,” Scarface said.

  “On the beat,” Blackbeard called.

  “New men, hold your hands forward with the oar out of the water ready to engage. When you hear the drumbeat let the oar sink into the water as you pull back on it. At the end of the stroke, lift it out of the water and do the same thing again.”

  Nails heard a drumbeat. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he mirrored the rower in front of him again. He felt the strain in his back and shoulders, but he was able to move his oar along with most of the others. After a few strokes, he was in time and the ship was cutting across the port waters, heading away from Delvingford. The buildings behind grew smaller, and soon they were past the outer arms of the harbour. Nails felt the ship’s up and down motion change as they reached open water.

  “Let’s work the kinks out of them,” Blackbeard called. The drumbeat continued. The rowers found their rhythm and then had to increase it as the drum beat faster. The ship’s front end swung around slowly until the rising sun was in Nails’ eyes when another order was given. “Sail up,” he heard Blackbeard bellow. Scarface’s whip cracked again.

  “Keep the time you slacker,” he called. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  Nails could see a long length of timber with canvas attached to it being hauled up the mast. It reached the top and the sail billowed out as it was released. Below, the sailors continued working the ropes until the sail was secured and full of wind.

  “Lift those oars and bring them in,” Scarface called. Nails lifted his oar up and then laid the whole thing down at his feet.

  “Turn it around,” the rower in front of him said. “Always keep the blade by your feet.” Nails stood and flipped the oar around.

  “Thank you,” he said to the man. “Do we eat now?” There was a bark of laughter from Scarface who had come up behind him.

  “You eat after the crew is finished.”

  “I thought we were crew,” Nails said. Scarface laughed again.

  “I thought Slim was having us on, but you really are stupid.”

  Nails lowered his eyes, for as many times as he had been called stupid, it still bothered him.

  “Crossbreed,” Scarface said. “Make sure this dummy understands his job and his position.” Nails looked up to see the rower who had helped him shaking his head.

  “I’ll try, Bulger, but it might be impossible. He appears to be slow in the head.”

  “True, but try. I can help your words sink in with a whipping every so often. For both of you.” Bulger continued walking towards the front of the ship and stopped beside the man he had whipped for putting his oar out too soon. He was rubbing at the mark on his neck again. Bulger put his foot up on the rower’s bench and rested an arm on his knee.

  “Still hurts?” The man nodded. “It could be worse. I went easy on you because you’re new. You wait for my order to do everything. Understand?”

  “Yes,” the man said, nodding his head vigorously.

  “Good because you only get one warning. If it happens again, you will bleed.” Bulger smiled down at the man, stood erect and walked away across the deck.

  “I doubt he will last a seven-day,” the man in front of Nails said as he stretched out on his bench.

  “Why?” Nails asked.

  “Too soft. Not enough muscle.”

  Nails held his leg-iron up with one hand and rubbed at his ankle with the other. There was a small burn from where the smithy put the hot pin in. He wished he had used his scales when it was being done, but he hadn’t wanted to draw attention to himself.

  When the man said nothing more, Nails asked him a question. “Are you going to teach me like Bulger said, Crossbreed?” The man gave him a look that oozed with distaste.

  “Not if you continue to call me that.”

  “Call you what?”

  “Crossbreed.”

  “I thought that was your name. I heard Bulger use it.”

  “My name is Brayson. Crossbreed is a crude term referring to my heritage.”

  “Your what?”

  “Heritage,” Brayson said. Nails’ face must have shown his puzzlement because the man explained before Nails could ask. “Who our parents are.” Nails smiled at him.

  “What are you smiling for? There is nothing about what is happening here that would make anyone smile. We are slaves. You, me, all of these rowers here are slaves. There is nothing here to smile about.” Brayson turned away.

  “Sorry, crossbreed is a new word to me. From now on I promise to call you Brayson, and thank you, for explaining what heritage means. My name is Nails.”

  Brayson kept his face turned away, but Nails continued to stand there, looking at him. Brayson finally met his eyes and Nails smiled. “I made a friend today, so it wasn’t all bad. I’m smiling for my friend, but I see the point you are making. I’m not smiling because we are slaves. From what I’ve seen so far, slavery is not pleasant.” Nails let his eyes fall from Brayson’s face. “I thought this was a job, like the one
I had at the house where I lived, only this house floats. I would rather not be a slave.”

  He pulled at the leg-iron that tethered him to his bench. This comes from being stupid, he thought, from trusting others to look out for you, instead of looking out for yourself.

  “I’m stupid, Brayson. Teaching me about the ship is going to be difficult. I’m sorry. We will probably get whipped. I’m not looking forward to that.”

  “Then we better try to teach you about this job, before that happens.” Brayson rubbed his shoulders back and forth on the bench. “I’m not interested in experiencing a whipping again either.”

  Brayson closed his eyes and said nothing more, so Nails sat back down on his bench and considered his new friend. He had noticed the blue colour of his eyes before he closed them. His red hair was long, hanging to his shoulders, and it hid the points on the top of his ears most of the time. Although not large like himself, the man looked reasonably muscled. Nails estimated he was close to Scripter’s size. His skin had a dark tone to it, and there was a scruff of beard on his face which suggested to Nails that he was young, little more than fourteen he guessed. Nails decided that he could like this person, and he would work hard to learn whatever Brayson taught him.

  ***

  Brayson had thought through his problem and decided that the first step was to figure out what he was dealing with. He could not get a read on Nails like he sometimes did with big-people, which might have been because his talent was erratic, or it could have something to do with the man. Nails was unlike anyone he had ever seen before. The first thing he noticed was his size, Brayson was tall for a Cross, but the top of his head only reached the man’s shoulder, and his skin was so fair that it looked like he had spent almost no time outside at all. He was bald, or close to it apart from a fine coating of tiny, almost-white hairs that covered his head like the beginning of stubble on a chin, and his eyes were grey and unshaded by subterfuge or knowledge. Despite his size, his face had a youthful look about it. Brayson got the impression from the lack of lines around his eyes and on his forehead that thinking was not something that he did often. But the health of Brayson’s back and neck depended on teaching this man about being a slave. First step, evaluate.