Chương 37: 36 Trident of Destiny

My forehead dropped onto the desk in the Captain's quarters, and my strength drained from me. I melted into myself, exhaling into lacquered wood. The mask, the portrayal. While I was out there, it came naturally, perhaps a little too innately. When I found a moment to myself, however, the tax was sent to collections all at once, with interest. I picked my head up, blinking heavy eyes. Two days. Two full days at sea, and I had to maintain the facade.

I fished a ring out of my pocket, rolling the simple loop of copper between my fingers. I needed to start wearing it again. Every time I sent a message to Naomi, I'd find Othess watching me, as if he'd lain in wait and caught me with my hand in the ship's coffers. The desire to go to the brig, to check in on Ingred and Bianca, clawed at me. Surrounded by a crew, and still, the isolation poked at me. A knock came at the door, and my eyes snapped up. I palmed the ring, squeezing it in my fist.

"Enter." The door cracked, and Mordisco ducked in, his bun brushing the beam.

"Cap'n," he grunted. Needles padded in behind him. I forced a calm into my muscles. Even among my mercenaries who knew my true identity, I had to wear another mask. That of someone with more experience. A leader with the confidence to warrant respect. Who was I kidding? I was making it up as I went.

"Gentlemen," I said.

"You have a report?" Mordisco nodded, leaning against the footlocker that ate a decent portion of the modest space.

"Crew's coming along. They can all load a cannon and are actually decent at the dry run, but until we're taking fire, there's no knowing how they'll respond in combat." I leaned back, scratching my chin.

"Have each crewman fire a live round once. I won't have them flinching from the noise when it matters." Mordisco folded his arms.

"You're sure? We may not get the chance to restock anytime soon." My fingers drummed the table as I nodded.

"This is important. Also, I need Vurel to be comfortable with the Scorched cannon mechanics. They're not like Paradise guns." Needles swaggered over to the low cot and perched on the frame.

"The men will enjoy burning some powder," Mordisco said.

"Might help morale. Hopefully, no one hears us."

"Two days at sea and not a sign of anyone," I pointed out.

"We're nearing the Drift soon. We'll restock there." I traced the ring's edge idly with my forefinger.

"How's the cargo?" I asked. We were presently in shroud protocol—no breaking character even when we thought no one was listening. After Barkley and Captain Snapfist, I'd learned my lesson on eavesdropping.

"Cramped," he said.

"Not many complaints, though. We might think about cleaning them up. Once we get chains, they should have more room." He considered.

"Until we fill up with new stock."

"I don't see any reason to clean them," I said casually.

"Leave them where they are. It'll be safer for everyone." That had been for the benefit of anyone who might have been listening. I had six people crammed into a brig with space for two. They barely had room to sit without spilling into each other. The ring rolled, and my right index finger trapped it against the table. I refused to let myself forget what my teammates must be going through. So long as I walked free, I'd worry about them. It was a price I demanded of myself.

"What's that?" Mordisco asked, nodding at the ring.

"This?" I picked it up, and my terminal flashed. <<Magic Item: Ring of Stat Concealment: While wearing this ring, you will register to other Users as a non-User. Warning: While wearing this item, you cannot access your HUD or your inventory. >> I slipped it on, and the explanation blinked away. That'd be for the best. It'd stop me from sending messages to Naomi. My serpentine quartermaster was always watching.

"Just a personal memento," I said in compliance with our protocol. Breaking down the system's meta could make me out as a Cousin to the wrong ears.

"Captain, if I may," Mordisco lowered his voice.

"You're doing a fine job for someone so young, but you're making some amateur mistakes." This was a dangerous line of conversation, but if there were gaps in my persona, they needed to be addressed.

"Go on."

"You have a tell. An hour at the card table and I'd have all of your winnings." I tried to relax, but being critiqued by goblins had a way of putting me on the defensive.

"What tell?"

"Your left eye twitches when you lie," the Hobgoblin said.

"Othess has picked up on it." My chest tightened.

"And that," he nodded at me.

"You take shorter breaths when you're nervous."

"I do not," I objected, then glanced at Needles.

"Do I?"

"Sorry, boss." Needles nodded.

"Then there's your character," Mordisco said.

"You started heavy-handed, but now you're coming across as too friendly. The inconsistency is straining expectations."

"No," I challenged.

"That one's by design. We might all be bad guys, but that doesn't make me maniacally evil. This is a ship, and I'm the leader. I can afford to learn everyone's name, to keep my calluses tough, and get to know the men." Mordisco's voice dropped further.

"But are you sure that's wise, sir? In the end, they all get burned."

"No," I said, irritated by the mercenaries' soft violation of our cover.

"Those are my men. That makes their well-being my responsibility. I take that charge seriously." He was right, of course. These were convicts, hardened criminals; this wasn't a leisure cruise. I'd tossed them the mantle of slaver, and most of them had happily snatched it from the air. They would pay for that, soon—but so long as I was Captain Anton the slaver, they were my men. Mordisco exhaled.

"Try to work on your tells."

"I will," I assured him.

"Also," he added.

"You're spending too much time at the helm. The other men need to practice." I snorted.

"My ship."

"Which makes you the captain, not the helmsman." I shook my head.

"We'll appoint a few alternate helmsmen, but on my ship, I lead from the wheel." Mordisco's jaw worked as I rejected his advice.

"At least you stand by your decisions," he mumbled.

"Even if some are foolish."

"Is there anything else?" I asked sweetly, the contrast masking my irritation at the insult.

"Crew observations," Needles piped up from the cot.

"Go on." The Goblin picked at his nails with a long dagger.

"It was hard to pick up at first, but they've evolved into three groups. Four, if you count the ones who don't play politics."

"Break it down for me," I said.

"First there's the Snakes," Needles said.

"Othess and Brace. Jofred, the Derk-Feykin, seems to play along with their camp."

"Othess is crafty," I noted.

"Doesn't miss much. Keep a special eye on him."

"I do," Needles assured me.

"But you should know, they have enemies."

"Someone else doesn't like snakes on the boat? What a surprise. Who?" You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Mostly Flast. Lizard-kin and Naga-kin have been fighting for as long as anyone can remember."

"Maybe I can use him as a foil to Othess' influence," I said, pinching my lips.

"Vurel can't stand him either," Needles said, sliding the dagger back into its long sheath.

"Makes sense. He lost the quartermaster position to him. Ukark hates him too." So the Minotaur and my master gunner didn't like the quartermaster. I could work with that if things got out of hand.

"So we have the Snakes and the—" I struggled for words.

"What are we going to call them?"

"Loyal puppies?" Mordisco suggested.

"No, the only thing they share is that they hate the Snakes," Needles clarified.

"The Hammers," I injected.

"A lot of brawn in that trio."

"Next, we have the group I call the Draggers. The ones who complain and are lazy. Bruno's lot."

"Bruno has friends?" I asked, nose aching as it wrinkled.

"He lost a lot of respect when you beat him. He's trying to build it back up," Needles explained.

"Tomaso, Teefs, and William are all in his camp."

"William?" I asked, disappointed. That was my gnomish gunsmith; I'd hoped the position would instill some responsibility in him.

"William and Teefs are both small, and Bruno's a bully." The Goblin's eyes hardened.

"I'm small too; that maggot has a little too much bass in his voice when he talks to me. If he puts his hands on me, I'm going to sew him up."

"You know," Mordisco said.

"I could arrange an accident. What if he got too drunk one day and slipped off the quarterdeck?"

"No," I cut in firmly.

"Cap'n, now's not the time to be soft. He's not your sailor, he's a liability."

"That's not it," I said.

"If I need to cut out one of my own crewmates, it's going to serve a purpose, be a spectacle, a show to teach the others." Mordisco's expression shifted into something closer to approval as he nodded slowly. A chill settled over me as I realized my words were true. I'd been idealistic, but surrounded by evil, this mission was corroding me at my core.

"The last group I call the Crew," Needles said.

"Sliplock and the others. They obey orders and seem reliable."

"Loyal?" I asked.

"I doubt very much if they care who's calling the shots," Needles said.

"They're just glad to be out of prison." I exhaled slowly.

"Any talk of mutiny?" I asked.

"If you're going to have any problems, it's going to either be the Snakes or the Draggers." Needles shrugged.

"No open talk yet. You might have deserters when we make port."

"Yes," I said.

"I suspect we might."

"Captain," Mordisco said, fingering the hilt of his wedge.

"What's the next step in this plan? Get to the Drift, buy chains, then go to Prime Rock to become actual slavers?" His head shook.

"I don't get it." I glanced his way.

"Jaser told us his boss's name," I said, lowering my voice. Breaking character, even for a moment, was dangerous.

"Thaddius Calder, so what? You're going to sail the World Archipelago, asking pirates and nomads if they know him?"

"If you were Thaddius, would you forgive Jaser for helping a young upstart? What if you learned he exposed your identity to outsiders?" Mordisco snorted.

"Not a chance."

"So now put yourself in Jaser's shoes. What are you doing the moment you earn your freedom?" The Hobgoblin folded his arms and thought for a moment.

"I would run straight to the big mean boss. Framing the story in a way that paints me in the best light. Let the new guy take the fall." I nodded.

"Jaser reacted a certain way when I mentioned we were going to Drift Port," I said.

"Why?" Mordisco asked. Needles slid off my cot, small boots thumping against the ground.

"Because Drift Port is exactly where he wants to go."

"Exactly," I said.

"I'm almost certain there's a Guild footprint there. A contact, a cell. Whatever it is, Jaser will waste no time making sure he gets to them first."

"So we follow him," Needles said.

"To the next echelon," I agreed.

"We climb the ladder until it takes us to Thaddius."

"Not bad, kid," Mordisco said, a smile tugging at his lips. I shrugged. I wished I could take the credit. It had been Naomi's plan. Not mine. A knock came at the door, and my gaze shifted.

"Yes?" It cracked open, and Othess peeked in, slitted eyes scrutinizing us each in turn.

"Captain," he purred, "We're under attack, I think? It's confusing." Casting a final glance at my companions, I rose. On deck, the crew rushed to the port bow. Godalterio, the half-orc, rushed up from the hatch, a black powder musket clenched in either hand. He tossed one to Ezio, who tore a paper cartridge before he began reloading.

"Drogo?" I called. The hobgoblin turned to me, glancing over his circular black glasses.

"A vessel, sir," he announced. The crew parted as I stepped up to the deck, scanning the sea. Their chant carried across the water as my gaze fell on their ship. Well—boat really. Over a dozen figures crowded on a long boat, each no bigger than Needles. A makeshift sail that might have been a bedsheet hung on two broomsticks lashed together flapped about as uselessly as a banner. A tiny black flag bearing a hand-painted white Orc skull flapped defiantly in the wind—pirates.

I squinted, trying to discern the nature of the small raiders. Cracked and pebbly flesh overlapped like shale on their arms, faces, and long ears. Wedge teeth lined their mouths on their wide, lemon-shaped heads. Kobolds. I glanced at Teefs, my Kobold, who openly gawked at the pirate rowboat. They sliced the water with oars, stroking in time with a drumbeat from a fat one in the center. Their voices coalesced into discernible words.

"The trident! The trident! The trident!"

"Are we sinking them?" Vurel asked, staring down at the adorable pirate ship.

"No," I said, a smirk crawling across my lips.

"Now I gotta know. Ever seen anything like this before?" The Dwarf shook his head. One pivoted a full-sized pistol mounted on a pole, as if it were a swivel cannon, and several of my crewmembers cursed, ducking behind the bulwark.

"Cap'n, they've got guns," Sliplock called.

"A baby with a knife still has a knife!" The fat one at the drums rose from his seat in the center of the long boat with great effort. He wore a crown of shells and seaweed.

"Prepare to be boarded!" he sneered, raising a fist.

"Your ship is now ours!"

"Trident, trident!" The others called, picking up knives and slingshots. I watched the trajectory cones from their slingshots waver, giving special attention to the much stronger projection from the mounted pistol.

"And just what do you plan on doing if we resist, Captain—" I drew out the words, giving him the opening to introduce himself.

"I—" the Kobold thumped himself on the chest, "Am Clod the Mean, wielder of the Trident of Destiny!" He thrust his fist high, and the crew let out a war cry, shaking sticks and knives.

"Trident, trident!" I frowned, squinting to see what was in his hand. I blinked in surprise. It appeared to be a fork, one of its four tines bent the wrong way.

"Is that your trident?" I asked, confused.

"It is!" he shouted up at me, "See it and tremble. This legendary artifact was given to my people by Jorg, the world serpent. It is a powerful weapon, and a sign of my divine right to rule these waters." Snickers broke out from my crew, but I tensed. From where I stood, it looked like a mundane piece of silverware. Still, legendary items took many forms.

"Jorg gave that to you?" I asked, skeptically.

"Aye!" he leered.

"And now you will surrender to us, or I'll use it to destroy you!"

"Should we capture them?" Brace hissed, turning his scaled python snout my way.

"We could add them to the inventory."

"Don't waste the space," Jaser said.

"No one will pay for a Kobold."

"Hold on," I called back down to Clod.

"You're telling me, Jorg, the World Serpent gave it to you?" I shook my head, and a few of my men snickered.

"With what? His hands?"

"He came to my predecessor in a dream," Clod declared.

"The next morning, he found a dead snake by the river, arranged in a circle. The Trident lay in the center." My shoulders slumped, my smile returning. It was probably just garbage then.

"Now! By the authority of the Trident, I compel you! Disarm yourselves and cast down a ladder. Your ship is ours." A victorious chorus of jeers erupted from the fourteen others.

"Hmm," I bit my lip, curious to see how this was going to go.

"Don't think I will."

"Very well!" Clod said gravely, raising the fork high.

"You've brought this upon yourself. Crew, attack!" The pistol discharged, blasting a pit into the bulwark. My crew's snickering died all at once as sharp shells and stones snapped up from slings. Godalterio snarled through his short tusks, bracing his musket on the bulwark.

"Wait!" I cried, flinching as pebbles and shrapnel rained onto the deck. The half-Orc cursed as a shell flew up, clipping his cheek. I grinned at my crew, who met my smile with mixed reactions.

"This feels wrong, like kicking a puppy, or stealing candy from a baby." I meant it to be funny.

"We're slavers," Othess hissed.

"You feel remorse about defending yourself?"

"It's not that, it's just," I said, peering through a scupper. Two of them worked on something covered by a tarp.

"They're so pathetic!" Vurel snickered, nodding in agreement. Two of the Kobolds threw back the tarp to reveal what appeared to be a large toy boat with a clockwork spindle on the back and dynamite lashed to the deck. My eyes widened. That changed things. They grunted and tossed the clockwork vessel in the water. The spindle chirped mechanically, a propeller slicing the waves and driving the vessel toward our hull. I cursed, leaping to my feet and drawing my pistol.

Training the weapon on the improvised torpedo, I centered my trajectory cone on it. The pistol jerked as it discharged, the bullet spitting harmlessly into the water. I cursed. I should have used my sights; I was relying too much on Trajectory Read.

"Brace!" I called, dropping. The clockwork boat bumped against the hull's plating and detonated. The Ash Zephyr swayed, a jet of water leaping skyward. I pulled myself back to the side, staring down. The charge had blackened the armor's plating, even warping it in the center, but it didn't appear to have breached the plate.

"Witness the might of my crew!" Clod declared theatrically, shaking the fork in a clenched fist.

"Whoever possesses the Trident of Destiny is the rightful ruler of the world!" Godalterio popped back over from his cover, aiming.

"Hold on," I called, backing up. Whoever possessed the Trident, eh? A few startled cries went up from my crew as I vaulted the bulwark. I dropped fast, my Aerial Combatant feat activated, and I angled for the longboat. My boots slammed down hard, rocking the boat and sending three Kobolds crashing into the water. I plucked the fork from Clod's upstretched fist. His eyes went wide.

"I've got the Trident!" I called, waving it for the flinching Kobolds to see. A whisper rippled through them, and they exchanged startled looks.

"Wait, what?" Clod blinked at his empty hand.

"The Trident!" the others called as one. Then they bowed to their new king. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 01: 00: 12: 22: 23>>