Chương 19: 18 The Cozy Brig

I held a sheet line, tense and watching. The Silver Zephyr held its breath as we eased into the steaming spires. Los Colmillos required us to circle back toward Scorched Rock, close enough that the air felt heavy but not so close that it hurt to breathe. Barkley narrowed his eyes, studying the sea stacks. He rolled the helm a few degrees. The Silver Zephyr's angle shifted. Captain Thalendris stood close by, never taking his eye off the pirate who steered his ship.

One miscalculation, one error, and he'd have us bailing out water as we rolled against the formations. For his part, Barkley hummed a chanty, tapping his foot as he threaded us through jagged teeth. If it was a show to put us at ease, or calm himself down, I couldn't tell, but the cords on his neck tightened as he made another adjustment. Black stone swallowed us on both sides, making me feel suddenly like a morsel sliding down a throat.

"Easy," Captain Thalendris murmured as Barkley gave a sharp correction, turning us around a bend. I glanced at Bianca, who watched the tops of the spires rather than the water or the treachery it concealed. She caught me looking and smiled, nodding. How I envied her—she wasn't much of a sailor, and if I read her right, she had no idea how close we sailed to gouging the hull and taking a drink. Still, it was good having her vigilance focused on other threats.

"See, just gotta know the way," Barkley said as he rolled onto his toes to look at the steam-shrouded gaps in the cliffs.

"The Scorched Fleet hates putting to port here. Too risky for not enough reward. They only come if they need urgent repairs. That's why it's mostly left alone." Scanning the cliffs, my eyes locked onto a structure built on the crags: a small box, large enough for two men. An alarm bell hung over it, suspended on a post. A Vulcan in a Scorched Fleet uniform leaned over the rail, watching us with total indifference.

"A few rules here," Barkley continued.

"It may be a pirate port, but the law keeper is very particular—no violence in the streets. If you have a grudge to settle, drag 'em into a shack or a pub to do your knifing."

"How civilized," Naomi croaked dryly.

"Also, nothing large-scale. Personal scores are one thing, but if anything happens crew on crew, they'll make sure your ship joins the Boneyard."

"The Boneyard?" Captain Thalendris asked.

"You'll see. It's where they store what's left of the ships that break the rules." He picked his teeth with one hand, keeping the other on the helm. The air rushed out of the poor captain before the pirate secured the wheel in both hands.

"Also, don't use Paradise Treasury notes here. Paradise or Wake silver is fine, but no pirate will trust paper money this far from Paradise. Plus, it'll make you look like amateurs." Barkley squinted at a patch of water where the steam had become more intrusive. I tensed, toes curling in my boots as he shrugged before adjusting. Something scraped, lightly, but enough for Captain Thalendris's arms to unfold and his fists to ball at his side. Barkley shrugged apologetically.

When we made it through the "gate," as Barkley called it, the water opened up before us, still and warm. The sound of guitars and an accordion echoed across the foggy mirror, and the crew all leaned in, their gazes fixed on the lights illuminating the buildings.

"Welcome," Barkley said with a flourish, "to Los Colmillos." Naomi leaned forward, her eyes flashing hungrily at the prospect of land. I did a sweep, counting six cannons peeking from the spires that ringed the port, each pointed in, ready to slap the hand of anyone who broke their rules. Barkley pointed to a section of sea where a dozen masts protruded at six different angles. Futtocks broke the surface like whale ribs picked clean.

"Boneyard," Barkley said simply when he saw where I was looking. I scanned the docks, not large, but also mostly empty. My jaw worked soundlessly. A Sirocco-class warbrig waited in port, the same build that the Scorched Fleet used to chase us from Scorched Rock, but with the black plating stripped away, probably in favor of speed. Another Scorched ship, docked just outside the log house, barely more than a single masted sloop. The final two ships made my fingers find the hilt of my cutlass.

A frigate and a brig, both loaded with rusty guns, waited in port. Great curved bones lashed to the exterior ornamented the larger ship, while an arcane deck rose from the very back of the brig's quarterdeck. I didn't need to see the flag to know what I was looking at—pirates. We pulled into port. A Vulcan and an Orc called up to us with instructions as we made ready to tie off. I scanned the dirt street of the tiny settlement, making note of the residents. Orcs, a lot of them.

Full-bloods, half, and mutts of half a dozen blended ancestries seemed to be the primary residents. Vulcans followed, with a few Cind-Primords as well. I exhaled, fingers itching for the reassuring handle of my pistol. It was gone, though; perhaps I could get another.

"Great," Barkley said, studying the ships in port.

"Let's see who we're sharing air with." He pointed at the Sirocco's name, stenciled onto the side. Vulka Del Hierro.

"Cap'n Merelun. Vulcan privateer. He promised he'd lash me next time he saw me." He shifted to the other side, facing the orc ships.

"The brig's the Flying Barb— Cap'n Sofi Manbreaker's ship." He sighed.

"She wants me for my body, but I'm saving myself for marriage."

"Really?" I challenged doubtfully. He snorted, "Her name's Manbreaker for a reason, kid. Stay away from her bed."

"Whose frigate?" Captain Thalendris asked. Barkley squinted, then brightened.

"Good ol' cap'n Yurgar Snapfist." He hesitated, ticking points on his finger as he did some mental math.

"What?" I asked, confused by his abrupt change.

"Trying to remember if we're enemies or friends," Barkley murmured.

"Snapfist is all about balancing debts. You can stab him in the back three times, but so long as you've saved him four, he'll greet you like a brother." The pirate frowned down at his hands, four fingers on his left hand and five on his right.

"I think I'm good."

"Who's most likely to help us?" Naomi asked.

"I'd worry a lot less about who and focus more on what they want in return," Barkley said.

"Merelun's crew will blend in the best at Obcity, but he travels a little too close to Bloodwake law for my comfort. If there's a bounty on you by now, best to make sure you're paying more than the Ash Lords." Barkley jerked his finger back at the orc ships.

"Sophi's boys are tough, and her skill on the water is unmatched, but it's an all-Orc crew. Great for one thing, and one thing only."

"Murder?" I guessed.

"Well, it's not their bedside manner," Barkley hinted.

"Snapfist, though, he's got a diverse crew. One loaded with specialists, that's exactly the type of versatility this job needs. Let's just hope we can pay what he wants." Naomi tossed a thick purse before catching it.

"Are we ready?" I nodded. Elara joined us. Ingred and Bianca would stay on the ship for now with the captain. If something should happen on shore, Naomi wanted a second team ready to respond. Finger-plucked guitar music danced fleetingly from one of the buildings set over the road, and the smell of something cooking made my stomach growl. I strode down the gangplank, cutlass dangling from my belt. A Vulcan dockhand waved for us to follow him.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. We complied, striding down the dock. I followed a pair of Orcs with my eyes as they swaggered past—nearly twice my width, all muscle and scars. One carried a broad cutlass, and battle axes dangled from the other's belt. I shook my head, startled by our casual proximity.

"Remember, we're pirates here too," Naomi said in my mind. It took everything not to yelp at the unexpected mind link. I focused on the nugget of pressure in my mind, sending a mental reply.

"What kind of place is this where we don't attack pirates on sight?" The novelty brought a smirk to my lips.

"We really are cousins now—deep cover." I glanced at Elara, who swept the port with vigilant eyes.

"Elara?"

"Can't hear you," Naomi said.

"It's a lesser mind link. I can only connect with my designated party members, and they need to be Users." I nodded, filing that information away. The dockhand led us to a warehouse turned office, and we stepped into the spacious room. A Vulcan officer in an unbuttoned navy jacket glanced up casually from his ledger. His off-hand reached down, stroking a young Salamander behind the ears.

"Sir, new arrivals," the dockhand said. The officer motioned for us to take seats on the other side of his table. I glanced past the improvised office at the crates and boxes that almost simulated rooms or cubicles with their placement. Naomi took her seat, and I remained standing in the background. Barkley flipped his chair and sat on it backwards, tipping it onto its back legs.

"I'm Customs Warden Vorblek," the Vulcan said, a crusty black protrusion fanning up from his orange brow.

"What's the name of your ship?" Naomi cleared her throat.

"I don't think logging our ship name will be necessary, Warden." She slid the purse across the desk. He cocked his brow, unamused. The salamander at his side let out a whine as he stopped stretching its head.

"It's not an official registry," a high-pitched voice said from within the maze of cargo packed further within the warehouse.

"It's our book of good standing." Feet padded on stone, and a young halfling stepped into the opening, barely more than a child.

"We keep a tight record of who behaved in Los Colmillos." The Vulcan sighed.

"Newcomers, meet my boss, Daezi." I blinked dumbly; the notion of this Vulcan officer being subordinate to this girl was so asinine that I almost laughed. Only—there was no humour in his voice. She stepped to the table, sliding a tome onto it.

"Ship name," she asked, trying again.

"The Silver Zephyr," Barkley offered helpfully. Naomi scowled his way.

"First timers," Daezi said with a nod. She plucked the purse, dumping coins across the table. Her hand moved to count them, but she stopped at the glint of gold mixed in with the silver. She counted off three gold and two silver before sliding the rest back. This time, Naomi's brow rose in confusion.

"No bribes," Customs Warden Vorblek explained at the look.

"No special privileges for more pay. You keep the rules the same as everyone else."

"Here are the rules," Daezi said.

"No fighting in the streets, and no stabbing in the taverns."

"What?" Barkley cried, scandalised.

"Last time I was here, tavern stabbing was encouraged!" The halfling murmured something under her breath about savages, and the word "Orc" slipped through the incoherent rambling as well.

"Our residents have been—" the warden leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers as he searched for words.

"Unruly. Lax perhaps. So we've had to tighten our expectations." Daezi put a hand on the table.

"You can brawl in the taverns, but not in the streets. Clubs and sticks are fair game, but if you need to kill someone, take it to the Bloodpit."

"Bloodpit?" Barkley asked, leaning in, a gleam in his eye.

"Oh yes," the warden said with a nod.

"Just finished it last month; it's quite lovely—seating and everything."

"Maybe we'll catch a challenge later," Barkley said excitedly to Naomi.

"We're not going to kill anyone," Naomi said firmly.

"Just need to restock and patch some damage." Daezi nodded once.

"Feel free to pick materials from the Boneyard," she said.

"If you want a warm meal, I recommend the Cozy Brig. Good food, great music, garbage beds." I nodded once.

"What about weapons? I need a new pistol."

"The Sparklock Cousins," Daezi said.

"Other side of the islet."

"If you stay longer than two days, pay again," the warden said.

"In the meantime, we'll warn all the residents if any official ships come through, but that honestly happens less than twice a year."

"Well, then!" Barkley said, sliding out of his seat.

"While I'd love to stay and chat logistics, we need to make it to the Cozy Brig before the tap runs dry." He offered a sweeping bow.

"Keep the rules," Daezi said a final time. Why did the imperative sound like a threat from her lips? I turned, and we left the customs house behind. Barkley practically danced his way to the tavern. The guitar from the tavern made my toe itch to tap to the rhythm. We passed a Vulcan and an Orc who swayed inebriatedly as they sang a drinking song. Barkley opened the door into light and heat. The Cozy Brig was not a modest establishment.

Over thirty Orcs crowded tables in the spacious common room, another fifteen Vulcans, and a sprinkling of other characters, adding to the crowd. The second level—a balcony that ringed the first—rang with laughter. Tavern Flowers, as my mother would have called them, wagged fingers down at the patrons, calling to them invitingly.

Most of the women were Orc or Vulcan, tailored neatly to the house's primary clientele, but a human woman with honey curls and a blouse that slipped over one shoulder caught sight of me and shouted down. My face went beet red, and I pointedly ignored her. Barkley swept in, swaggering to the bar.

"I think she likes you," this time I did yelp, not realising Naomi had reestablished the link.

"My mother would kill me if she saw me in a place like this," I thought back, shielding my hot face with my hand.

"Troll," she warned mentally. I swept the room, eyes falling on the musicians. A man tapped out a rhythm on the drums, and a fat Orc pumped an accordion. The rapid shrieking harmonized with the guitarist, who was, in fact, a troll. Grey-skinned and blue-haired, the troll towered over his companions, absolutely shredding the quick pluck-tap melody. My head bobbed. These guys were good.

"I don't think he's going to eat you," I sent back.

"The guy's a bard." We arrived at the bar where a Dwarf with ashen skin and tiny horns turned to us. The edges of the brow protrusions trailed smoke.

"A Coredwarf!" I sent to Naomi,"Ingred's going to lose it."

"What are ya drinking?" he asked, leaning on the counter.

"Rum!" Barkley declared happily, then he angled himself toward Naomi.

"You gonna spot me, love?" She rolled her eyes.

"Don't call me that," she slapped some silver on the table.

"Beer," I said.

"Grog," Elara requested. Naomi sighed, "Water, and I'll pay heavily for a little ice." The barman turned to prepare the drinks. Barkley spun, leaning back on his elbows.

"Helmjerker, I'll be," a thin voice rasped. A Derk-Feykin sauntered over, rapier at his side, cool dark grey skin seeking firelight.

"Veril Velk!" Barkley grinned.

"You son of a crab stretcher, are you still running with Snapfist?"

"Made first mate," Velk, the Feykin, said, eyeing Naomi cautiously. She tensed. I exhaled slowly. Naomi's Shad-Feykin skin took on a warmer, lighter grey than Velk's, and her eyes practically glowed violet while his were a brilliant emerald. To the uninitiated, Derk-Feykin and Shad-Feykin looked similar, but you couldn't be further from the truth. Both flavors of Feykin claimed darkness, but in very different ways.

"You're keeping interesting company, Barkley," Velk said, eyes drifting back to Naomi.

"New crew. Much better than the last!" Barkley said.

"Say, is Two Quick still sailing with you?" Velk's head shook.

"Got got by a Submar raid nearly four months back."

"Shame," Barkley said in a voice entirely devoid of remorse.

"Say, he didn't leave behind his wedge, did he?"

"His what?" Naomi asked mentally.

"Wedge—" I projected.

"It's a Hobgoblin razor sword, built to throw flick-knives." Velk twisted to give an Orc who drifted too close a dirty eye.

"I can check his things, if it hasn't already been claimed." He paused.

"If you want to make it worth my time."

"She'll pay," Barkley said, motioning to Naomi.

"That so?" Velk gave my team leader his full attention.

"What a generous patron. Tell me, Shad," he leaned in closer to her.

"Now that your queen has submitted and shares her bed with Bloodshackle, did she allow you to leave your Fel Rock, or are you a rebel?" The air left me.

"Easy," I cautioned over the telepathic link. I shifted, ready to pull Naomi back. This fool didn't realize he wasn't just insulting her queen, but her mother, too. Her hand came up, then her glass drifted through the air from the counter, coming to rest smoothly in her grip. Velk fidgeted uncomfortably at the telekinetic display. She sipped once.

"You've got some mud on your face, Derk," she said simply.

"Probably from when you crawled your way out of whatever nest taught you that was acceptable." Velk stared for a long moment, and Elara stepped behind him. Between the lieutenant and me, we'd break his teeth on the counter before he could swing. Barkley cringed, reading the tension. The Derk-Feykin stared for a moment longer, then he grinned, revealing vulpine fangs.

"For a Shad, you're not so bad," he said, chuckling, which shifted into a dry cough. To the side, Barkley's shoulders loosened.

"Say, we're working a job, might have a cut for Snapfist if he's looking."

"Might well be," Velk said.

"Might be he's busy."

"Too busy for an opportunity?" Barkley baited, shaking his head.

"Not the Snapfist I know." Velk turnned, plucking up Barkley's rum and tipping it back. The half-Hobgoblin's eye twitched. Velk let out a long, satisfied sigh before setting the glass back on the counter.

"The real question is whether you should want Snapfist to find you." Barkley's spine lengthened.

"What do you mean?"

"I hear the Cap'n talk when he's drunk," Velk tapped his temple twice.

"You sure you're in good standing?"

"Tex," Barkley swore.

"Yeah, he should owe me one at this point."

"Really?" Velk asked, a smile deepening into something cruel.

"What about Drake?"

"Drake doesn't count!" Barkley exclaimed.

"We were both betrayed!"

"But you left him to take the fall," Velk taunted, his voice taking a sing-song tone.

"Cap'n counts that as two offences. You're in the negative with the Cap'n, Helmjerker. And Cap'n doesn't treat with those who owe him debts."

"Hmm," Barkley pivoted to us.

"We might have a problem." <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 02: 02: 12: 54: 10>>