(002)

[datbunz]

Part 2



Seven days, it’s been. One without food, and two without rum. Most men in their positions would’ve broken down at the thought, two days at sea without rum. In foreign lands, no less. Yet Heiner and Armin aren’t your average sea-faring men. No, they were right-honest pirates, if ever any existed, hailing from the islands far to the south-west of the old-realm and the new. Headed, they were, for the ne’er ventured lands to the North, away from the Tyranny of the Southlands. A new realm, they thought, where a man, or woman, could do as they pleased. A place of fable, it was. Said to be the home of Clara the Red, scourge of the New Empire, and these brothers wanted a piece of what she had to offer ‘em. Even if it meant crossing an ocean in a rowboat.

“What’dya reckon, Heiner? East, or west?”

Heiner looked up from his near-slumber, and thought a moment. “Mmm, Eastward mate. You can‘t hear that? It’s the sound of rum, callin’ to me. Definitely from the east…”

Armin scoffed at the thought, but steered the boat East-bound regardless. After a mile or two, he noticed a black speck in the distance. “Heins, hand me the scoper, aye?”

Armin’s brother rummaged through the duo’s belongings, tossing aside the empty rum bottles, and empty coin purses, until he’d found it. He handed it to his brother, and with tiny, rusty telescope in hand, Armin peered through the eye-piece for a better look.

“It’s a south-realm ship, flyin’ the flag of the empire… But what would the Empire be doin’ this far north?”

Heiner chuckled to himself, adding, “Perhaps they’re thirsty for the red-eye as well, aye? If‘n that‘s the case, we’d better make use of this honest air and get movin’!”

Armin and Heiner, both wanted men in the South, ware reluctant to be anywhere near an Empire vessel. Yet still, they thought it a good plan to tail them for a bit. Out of sight, of course. Perhaps the lads would be able to find a port town nearby.

“Well, they’re Eastbound too. That’s got to count for something. Let’s just not cry havoc, aye?”

“Aye,” said Hainer. “So long as they don’t drink all the rum.”  

[datbunz]

The drop point and the landing were but half a day’s journey apart, yet even so, Ivan the Gray had his doubts that they would ever make port. A ship half this size, perhaps he could manage to dock that on his own, but Imperial vessels, like everything the Empire made, tended to be larger than was practical. It would take a crew of half a dozen, at least, to guide this juggernaut to land without it smashing to splinters.

Half a dozen. Ivan may have been an optimist, but not so much that he was a fool for it. There wouldn’t be half a dozen able-bodied men left within the hour. The plague would take his fellow seafarers soon, the uneven, clumsy footfall from the men above deck was evidence enough of that. It wouldn’t be long before he found himself surrounded by useless, heavily armed, plague-eaten madmen – madmen with little recollection of how to sail a ship. This was the unfortunate way of things of late. It seemed the contagion was getting fiercer by the day. These last few months, the journey North had been far less comfortable than South, if only for this reason. But before now, the imperials onboard had at least had the decency to wait until docking to succumb completely.

“Ah, but I am a tolerant fellow,” Ivan chuckled to himself. He nibbled at the core of the last apple of his stash, the sweet smell of juice and prisoner excrement filling his nostrils. He breathed it in, breathed it out, and felt a pleasant blanket of familiarity warm him against the wet gusts that cut into his cabin. There was nothing to take fault with in this. Not with the ship, nor the empire, nor the North. One could not get into the habit of taking fault with much of anything in his line of work. Complaints were unbecoming, and worse yet, unproductive. What any decent tradesman knew to focus on was opportunity, and at present, it was the opportunity to preserve his cargo and, preferably, his life. He needed a solution, and comfortable though he was in the damp stench of the lower deck, he wasn’t about to find one here.

Tossing the apple core out the port hole and pinching the flame from a nearby candle, Ivan made his way topside. The midday drizzle seeped into his coat as he strode down the deck toward the wheelhouse, having to skirt around a few stumbling, mad-eyed imperials along the way. The man at the helm, his eyes red and swollen with tears, was staring in blank awe at the golden emblem of the Empire billowing above them. Ivan gingerly slipped the spyglass from the man’s belt and surveyed the northeast horizon. The mists were heavier up ahead, as they always were near the rocky shores of the North.

“You realize, sir, that we’re coming up on land?” Ivan asked the disturbed man beside him, “And rather quickly, I might add. The sails are at full mast.” Ivan lowered the spyglass and stared into the mist. This was hardly the view he was hoping for.

The man’s eyes broke from the sails and cut into Ivan with menace. “Watch your tongue. The sea already knows. The land cannot stop the wind.” He gave Ivan a warning glare before returning his gaze to the sails, quiet bliss overtaking him once more.

A worm of disquiet wriggled in Ivan’s belly.  

[datbunz]

Heiner and Armin rowed at the fastest pace they could muster, which, in their current famished state, was little to behold. Worse yet, the farther they paddled, the thicker the fog become, until the lads were covered in a blanket of grey.

“Ah, bleedin’ blaggards...” Armin moaned as the empire vessel was wholly lost to the mist. His telescope made a loud clank as it was discarded into a pile of empty jars and bottles. “Right then. Whose idea was it to come way out ‘ere?”

Heiner thought a moment, his paddle slowing to a halt. “You recall the night at Harpo’s brothel, aye? When Salacious Sally gave us that wicked lashin’?”

Armin let out a sigh of sentiment at the memory. “Dead broke, we were. Whipped until the blood ran dry. Still better than in this blighted sea…”

“We swore an oath, brother. By all that is good and worthy, we’d make it someplace better. The new lands? This will be our someplace better.” Heiner cracked a wide smile. “Imagine it, Armin. Sailin’ with the Red Scourge, the Soul of the Sea could hardly wish for better company!”

Armin’s face drops in an exhausted frown. “Good company means nothin’ to a couple o’ corpses.”

Just then, the two lads hear a seagull squawking in the distance.

“You ‘ear that, Heiner? That’s a gull. Gulls mean land nearby!”

Excitedly jumping to their feet, the duo nearly capsized their boat. Yet their excitement was short-lived.

“What’s that, then?” Heiner points to a large chunk of wood floating in the water. “There’s one ‘ere, too.” Then the lads saw another, and another, and soon the water was filled with wreckage. An empire ship had smashed against the rocks.

“Ah, shite…” Armin groaned.

“Enough with the moanin’, mate. This is a good thing! A ship like this, there’s bound to be some fine plunder.”  

[datbunz]

Shipwrecked. Isn’t that something?

“Now now, Ivan, let’s not turn bitter. This is an opportunity. This is… Oh spirits, I can’t sell this one.”

Ivan’s shivering body jostled back and forth in the dark, frigid waves at a healthy distance from the newly decimated imperial vessel. That he was able to throw his cargo overboard before diving into the waters moments before the crash offered him small satisfaction, and still the bone-chill of the sea reminded him that he did not have a swimmers build. The clumsy paddle he’d attempted as he gathered what he could of his shipment left much to be desired. As fatigue wore on him, he stilled himself and let his body float belly up, his eyes staring at the mists above as his tired limbs bobbed at his sides among the charms and vials and other, less exotic goods.

Find the positive, Gray, he told himself. After some time, the bright side came to him, and grew brighter with every thought.

The daylight was not yet fading. That was one.

And there was no need to think of a method of cheating the imperials out of their agreed upon travel fare, given that they were dead now.

And shipwrecked or not, he had found a potential client on the voyage North. Even if most of his supply drowned here, he still had the assurance of a new witch that would soon come looking for him when he replenished what was lost to him. Yes, that ginger haired child alone was treasure enough to keep Ivan from regretting taking the ship he did.

With that, his mood was sufficiently elevated, even as he remained stranded among the waves and waited for the ocean to wash him to land. Yet even that wasn’t so terrible, now was it? After all, he always considered himself a man who was at his best when he was on his back.

Ivan let out a soft chuckle and closed his eyes.

All was well.

***

Eventually the daylight did begin to fade. More and more of Ivan’s supply was waterlogged and barely staying afloat. The memory of the witch’s bright orange hair was growing dull.

“Mother of the spirits and the trees, but the tide is taking its sweet time coming in,” Ivan grumbled under his breath. And just as he did, a splash of salty water lapped into his open mouth, resulting in a rather unpleasant coughing fit. Speaking truthfully, if he was to describe this evening, “rather unpleasant” would not be a wholly inaccurate term to describe every moment he’d struggled through thus far.

In one last attempt to take stock of his fortunes, Ivan reminded himself that though his throat and eyes stung with the sea’s salt, his ears might aid him yet.

He craned his neck forward and lifted his head from the water, shaking what he could from his hair and ears. In an overwhelming stroke of luck, he picked up on the muffled sound of oars hitting the waves. He pulled at his ears to drain them further before listening more intently.

“… a good thing! A ship like this, there’s bound to be some fine plunder,” spoke the voice of a man some distance away.

Well now, the spirits were toying with him, weren’t they? Pirates made for poor saviors, not to mention Ivan was currently surrounded by more precious cargo than the men could ever hope to carry to shore. However many men there happened to be in that row boat, would one of them know the worth of a string of teeth? Would they realize that the right blood could be traded to a desperate man for their weight in gold? At the very least they would take note of the brilliance of flesh gems, whether they understood their purpose or not. Ivan was certain to be robbed, if not murdered on sight.

Unless he spoke first, of course.

“Hail! My good men, can you hear me?!” Ivan shouted, praying to the spirits that one of them did not carry a crossbow.  

[datbunz]

“That was our golden bird to port, mate.” Armin grew more distraught by the second. “I don’t think you’ve fully realiz-“

“Aye, shush now!” Heiner interrupted. “I can’t handle any more of yar blighted grumblins.”

In that moment of silence, as Armin prepared to lunge at his dear brother, the lads heard a shout echoing in the near distance.

“… Good men, can you hear me?!”

“Good men, ey? I don’t suppose he’d talkin’ about us.” Heiner cracked a wry smile. He shouted back at the mysterious voice, “No good men on this crew, laddie!”

“By the Sea, would you SHUT UP, Heiner? Nobody thinks yer funny!” Armin saw the opportunity that had presented itself.

“I think I’m funny... You there, dyin’ off in the distance! Do you think I’m funny?”

Lost, hungry, and rumless, the lads nodded at each other in recognition of the situation, and began to paddle towards the voice.  

[datbunz]

Ivan was never the sort to find anyone but himself to be truly worth a chuckle or two, but these were desperate circumstances, and if the pirate wanted to be funny, he was funny.

“Ah, yes, sir! A tremendously humorous man! Grade A comedy, to be sure!” He had to bellow out his words to be heard, but he didn’t mind. It made him sound intimidating. Or at the very least he came across as a man who felt he was in control of the situation, despite the opposite being very much the reality.

He was not in control. This was not a normal state for Ivan the Gray, master smuggler.

You are a master of nothing and a smuggler to nowhere without a ship, aren’t you? spoke an obnoxious little voice in his head. Somehow, it wasn’t the shipwreck or the pirates or the loss of stock that reawoke that earlier worm of disquiet. It was that singular thought that he might lose his image.

No. He would not lose status over a minor hiccup like his. He would find another ship, and soon be peddling body parts to the cursed as though nothing had happened.

But the ship isn’t the problem. The sickness is the problem. You are the problem, Gray.

When he heard the sound of the oars cutting through the water toward him, Ivan’s thoughts were cut mercifully short. No time for contemplation. He was a salesman, not a thinker. He’d do best to keep his spirits in a row, so to speak.

Ivan did a lazy sort of backstroke in the general direction of the pirate’s voices, confident that he would not lose his life – the spirits would never allow it – but still mildly concerned that an altercation might lose him something just as precious. Best to meet potential violence half way, he figured. And if he could keep the men from venturing close enough to spot his goods, he might preserve just enough of his stock to turn a profit yet.

What was it the comedian pirate had said? No good men on this crew, laddie. But that was a joke, wasn’t it? There was no rule that pirates couldn’t be reasonable, not that Ivan had ever heard, anyway.

Keep talking, Gray. You don’t need another damnable scar on your face.

By now, Ivan had wandered close enough to them that he need not yell to be heard, and his voice took on the practiced fluid rapidity it always did when he spoke with potential customers. He resumed where he’d left off earlier, hoping he could weave a convincing tale as he went.

“You are, however, mistaken, I’m afraid – or not quite afraid -- not afraid at all, truthfully, but rather quite fortunate, as the case may be. What I mean to say is, I am not dying. No sir, far from it! Alive and virile, and quite enjoying a midseason swim, I might add! But I fear I’ve grown tired – or, not tired, not in a weak sense, but I rather meant that I am through with the water, and would very much enjoy rowing along with you in your quaint little boat, if you gentleman are so inclined to the company of a businessman such as myself.”

Ivan was beginning to wonder if perhaps he was a nervous talker.  

[datbunz]

Closest port, he said. This certainly suggested an unfamiliarity with the area. As though it was not evidenced enough by their accents, it was now clear that these two were not from the North. Ivan did his best not to chuckle at the realization.

The smuggler maneuvered his body upright in the water and edged toward the side of the boat. Closer now, he could make out their faces fairly well, despite the ocean mist spraying into his eyes. These supposed pirates certainly had the rugged image down, but something about their exchange with one another suggested inexperience. Indeed, they must be. Their faces were fresh and young, younger even than his own.

Gray, you were a fool to have feared this sapling duo. And you’ll be so all the more if you don’t find a way to profit from this.

“That is a fair offer, my friends.” Ivan took hold of the side of the boat and reached a hand up for one of them to help him out of the water. “I’ve a handful of business partners in the city nearby who would be delighted to room you for the night free of charge with nothing but a good word from myself.”

This was a lie. There were no inns in the port town of Mavering. Nothing so established, anyway. It was customary to sleep on the ship you sailed on and to expect nothing from the few distrustful merchants and hermits that dwelled within the ruins of what was once a bustling city. For Ivan’s purposes, there were literal holes in the wall in which one could technically sleep, and these would make for the pirates’ quarters tonight. As for food and drink, these ignorant Southerners surely had crude enough palates that anything he could scrounge up would suffice.  

[candy man dont!]

"We close yet, laddie? I think I can feel the red-eye callin' me again." Heiner let out a weak chuckle, sounding more exhausted than amused.

Armin's guts were grumbling fiercely, and his brother looked as thought he'd just come off of a nasty firewater binge. Rowing, even at this modest pace, was no easy task on an empty stomach. In each second that passed, with every heave and hoe of the paddle, their weakened limbs and spirits drained further in vigor.

Armin grabbed at his stomach as a pang of hunger set in. "By the Depths, I could eat a horse..."
"Aye? You reckon they eat horses 'round these parts?" Heiner cracked a smile at their guest. "You lot even 'ave horses?"  

[datbunz]

Do we have horses? Ivan put effort into keeping the amusement out of his thin-lipped smile. “We certainly do,” he spoke sincerely. “The beast in mind is horse enough, anyway. You’d likely never want to ride them, as their skin sloughs off with the mildest of scrapes, but I imagine, for your purposes, they’d taste quite similar.” Ivan gave another glance toward where the shore ought to be and saw with great relief a single pier jutting into the fog and disappearing somewhere inland, its rotted wood looking like a charred finger bone. “But there’s no need to suffer for horse meat, my friends. We’re nearly to port. I’m sure grilled fish sounds a mite more appetizing.”

Nearly there, then. If these lads intended to kill him, now would be the time for it. He’d really rather it not come to that, not when they were already so close to Mavering. And there was still the matter of getting his supply back to town. Gray thought now was good a time as any to mention Amila. “So the two of you, you’re brothers, aren’t you? You look it. If you’re not, you really ought to tell people you are. People like that sort of thing for some reason. The family unit, and all that. I’ve never really understood it myself, being an only child.” He paused, pretending to gauge their reactions. “Ah, forgive me, I forget. It must sound quite shocking to a southerner, a family of only one child. We in the North tend to have few children. Our women are often too thin for families, I think is what it is. And the ones that aren’t, well… the babies never seem to form quite right… I…” Ivan trailed off, letting his face fall into a deeply solemn expression, his eyes wandering toward the horizon and losing focus. He hoped he looked like a man recalling a tragic and deeply person event. After a short moment of silence, he glanced back at Armin and Heiner, gave them a small apologetic smile, licked his chapped lips, and continued, “Whatever the reason, it forces us to find families in others. The only person I really have that I could say is something of a sibling would be Amila. She’s a very passionate woman, clever, shrewd in business.” Gray tried to inject pride where there was none. “You should meet her, when we get to town. I’m sure she’d offer some gratitude for pulling me from those waves. She might even be looking to hire hearty newcomers like yourselves.”

Ivan let the offer settle amongst them and said no more. That little story he fed them was the best he had and he knew it. A decent performance, he was sure, but he could only come out on top so long as these men were driven by compassion or greed. What compelled these wanderers could be something much darker, or worse yet, they could have no motivations at all to manipulate. The thought gave Ivan a shiver.