The night breeze moved across the wide wooden deck, strong enough to add a chill to the air but not to steal the words from Reyes and Obie's mouths as they sat overlooking the passing water.
Obie passed the little flask back to Reyes, and the elderly sailor took another quick sip of the rum before he continued.
"I mean, it all depends where you been in the past really, doesn't it? I got the job 'cause I sailed with old captain Hereford for twenty years, up and down the coast. I knew every port, every customs man, every old inn that welcomes sailors, and I got that job 'cause I'd been part of the rigging crew on the state ship as a young man, doin' the circle past Zenance and back every week. You ask me, when we get back to the Foul Mouth, go talk to the lads up at customs. You make friends there, it'll get you places."
Obie nodded solemnly. 'Decades of back-breaking hard work' hadn't been the advice he'd been hoping for. He scratched his hair, unwashed and matted with weeks of seawater.
"Yeah... I mean, just want to see something new I guess. Always wanted to see the south isles."
Reyes was staring off into the dark seas stretching out before them. Black waves were slapping quietly past the side of the ship, the horizon clear and empty.
"You want adventure, you'd be better off on a pleasure ship, boy. You want to see beautiful sights or do you want to get paid?"
"Well, both; don't I?" Obie shrugged.
"Then you should get yerself on a pirate ship boy," he gave a snarky laugh, "Riches an' the women of the southern islands. You know, I hear one of those islands down there, fruit trees everywhere, an' all the women wear nothin' but as a hat to shade their eyes, all year round."
Obie snorted, not half as outrageous as most of what Reyes had told him though. Obie reached back for the flask. As he turned his gaze out to the sea, a face stared back at him from the water.
Wide eyes, black. Glistening skin. A wave crested over the face, and it was gone.
"Reyes, you...you see that?"
"See what, kid? Beaches of beautiful women? Lots... I once found myself on..."
Obie cut him off, pointing into the sea.
"No, there was a girl, in the sea there."
Reyes nudged him,
"It's been a while, I know, believe you me you get to the point where you'll be able to find a nice pair of tits in the knots in the planks above yer bunk."
Obie stared into the black waves. He wasn't the type to have his eyes play tricks on him.
"Let me guess, big blue eyes like that girl in the bakery shop you're always talking about?"
"No, black eyes, black and horrible."
Reyes went silent. He found his feet and leaned over the deck, peering down into the ocean. His old eyes darted left and right suspiciously.
"Couldn't be, not 'ere. We're too far west."
Obie tugged at the old man's ragged shirt.
"Too far west for what?"
"Never you mind, stay 'ere, keep an eye out. I'm going to knock on the captain. You see anythin' else you scream," Reyes said as he turned and began striding across the deck, "an' I mean you scream like a bloody banshee, you hear?"
"Reyes, what are you doing? Captain'll go radge if you wake him up now; it's not dawn for hours..."
Obie shook his head, watching the old sailor go. He turned the flask in his hand, only a drop left. He tilted the thing back the whole way and felt the last sliver of rum snake down his throat.
When he turned his eyes back to the black seas, the faces were watching him. Black glossy eyes staring back at him, glistening faces, scales, teeth.
He thought he saw three at first, then five, then he couldn't count anymore.
Obie screamed.
Chapter 1
Cerce stood peering out into the gray fog that was sweeping in over the sea. Mornings in the Foul Mouth were always drenched in mist and fog, slowly boiling off throughout the morning as the sun rose drearily behind the perpetual clouds.
She'd arrived at the docks early, and had been watching the many jobs unfolding around the galleon. Adamas wasn't the biggest ship in the bay, but it was well known. Most of the other ships around had probably chased it at some point.
She swallowed, trying to unseat the deep feeling of dread that was gripping onto her guts with tight little claws, and continued what she had been saying.
"I mean I like the sea, don't get me wrong. Grew up in Belerion. Used to sit for hours down by the coast, watching it, when I was little. Just don't much like being at sea. As soon as I can't see the ground beneath my feet. Something about that feeling..."
Cerce gave a roll of her shoulders and cringed.
"Fear of the unknown, greenie," said Red Tom Flint as he came clomping over the gangplank to grab another sack of provisions. His long black hair jingled and glittered with the dozens of assorted coins, bones, and bits of junk woven or matted into it. Tom's white shirt was open to bare a lean, hairy chest and the edges of various tattoos.
He stopped before Cerce, and spread his hands wide, red painted nails miming claws.
"The feeling that, just out of sight, in the inky depths, there's eyes and teeth and gaping, stretching maws waiting for you. Waiting for some unseen horror of the deep to engulf you whole like so much shrimp."
Cerce inclined her head. Her thick white hair was blowing in the sea breeze, and although most of her frame was strapped in leather armor, goosebumps rose on her bare arms.
"Well, yeah. Pretty much. No one likes the idea of getting eaten."
Red Tom gave a smirk and slapped her on the side.
"'Course we don't. That's why every sailor has those fears, and we all get over them. For the most part."
Cerce followed Red Tom up the plank, her heavy halberd resting over her shoulders. Red Tom tossed his hair and looked back at her as he went on.
"When you're actually out there, you mostly forget about the existential dread of the great black unknown when you start dealing with all the other shit. Like dying of thirst, mold, getting sick all the time, losing a hand to a rope burn gone nasty, some nutter castaway leaping aboard in the night to steal your salvage and cut your nuts off while you sleep, you know."
Cerce nodded, "...I guess."
Red Tom's crew were making the final checks before they set sail. A hardy dozen, bare chests and sun ruddied skin to a man. Cerce didn't know any of them personally apart from their Captain.
As she walked, her boots stomping on the gnarled wooden deck, she strode by Red Tom's first mate. Ben the Black was sitting on the deck cross legged. His whole body was practically a knot of muscle, and he whistled to himself as he ran a whetstone over the blade of a little handaxe.
Cerce let her gaze stay on him for a while. Ben bore a freshly shaven head, a ragged blonde beard, and a chest that was a patchwork of scar tissue. From what she'd heard, not so long ago being anywhere near a port would have got Ben a good hanging. Ben looked up suddenly, the whites of his eyes a rheumy yellow, and gave a toothy smile to that set the back of Cerce's neck to tingling.
Red Tom gave her a nudge, and pointed off down the jetty where silver guard armour glistened as a tall figure made his way towards the ship.
"Our charming benefactor arrives." Red Tom yelled, loud enough for Wib Revan to hear as he came to a halt before the ship.
The Captain of the Guard put a hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the emerging sun.
"Captain Flint." Revan acknowledged.
"Red Tom, Wib. It's Red Tom. Going to be joining us on our merry way?"
"Afraid not, Tom, no time for sailing. The Foul Mouth needs me here."
"That is a damn shame, we could always use another one to mop the deck."
Revan didn't smile, but he didn't grimace either. He strode up to the side of the ship and placed his hand upon it.
Looking up, he met the gaze of Red Tom and Cerce.
"I have missed your wit, Tom." Revan said.
"You too Wib, whatever happened to us?"
"I grew up, Tom, and you became a professional pain in my arse."
Red Tom put his hand to his chest,
"I'm glad I still have a special place with you, me old mate."
Revan pulled a rolled up paper from his jacket, and waved it towards the pirate Captain.
"The map you asked our friend to draw. He managed it, but it is a bit shaky."
Red Tom dropped from the ship down to the pontoon, and the whole thing rocked under his weight, nearly sending a deck hand staggering into the drink. Revan didn't so much as wobble.
Red Tom took a glance at the map, squinting up his big brown eyes a moment, before turning the thing on its side and tilting his head the other way.
"You really think it was Merrow done this?" Red Tom asked, "You don't see them out this far. They stick to the eastern islands. I'd bet money it was a ship that put the blades to them. Been a while since we seen the Boneshaker, might be back in business."
"I'm well aware of the proclivities of local pirates, Tom, I chased one in particular for eight years."
"I always could run faster than you, family man. How's the wife by the way?"
"Regardless," said Revan immediately, "the bodies we pulled out of the ship were torn apart. No human did this."
Red Tom folded the map and stashed it somewhere in his spacious trousers.
"Well, that's why they, and by they I mean you, pay us the good money. If it's pirates, we know how to deal with 'em. If it really is a rogue pod of Merrow. Well, we know how to deal with them too."
"You're my best man on the job, Tom. Don't mess it up."
Red Tom have a chuckle as he climbed back aboard and sent his crew swarming for their posts with a wave of his hand.
"Wib, you of all people should know how hard Red Tom Flint is to kill. And thanks to your far reaching connections, we have the Stormbringer."
Red tom gave Cerce a hearty clap on back that had her grabbing for rigging to steady herself.
"And if all the stories are true she single-handedly smashes mountains in half and blasts lightening from her eyes. Isn't that right?"
Cerce gave a shrug and nodded down to Revan.
"Thanks for this, Wib."
"Captain Revan." The Guard Captain corrected, and gave Cerce the slightest of nods.
"Alright you hairy bastards! Time to get sailing!" Yelled Red Tom, raising an arm in the air. The crew sprang to it.
Red Tom noticed Cerce's clear apprehension, and gave her a nudge.
"Come on Stormbringer. What you worrying about? Worst things happen at sea don't they?"
-
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