“Beware the snake that withholds its bite.”
-Governor Orelius Chaesim, 181 U.E.
The Bliyzarra, Barandi’s pleasure barge, beckoned off-shore. It ran a plodding course, a bulky disc with reflective windows all around the sides, the paint job a shiny purple.
Kazzul set an intercept course and flashed a friendly signal. The Bliyzarra returned the signal, and the two ships drifted closer together over the next few minutes, gentle like shy lovers.
Most of the crew stood assembled on the main deck, discounting only the pilot and the kithraxi, who would be staying behind.
Stephan fiddled with the Rivello on his belt, but kept it holstered.
“When we board, be on your best behavior,” Quintilla said, a bag full of cash slung over her shoulder. “Barandi’s not like Dryden. He’s more… refined. There probably won’t be a fight, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep your wits about you. Barandi isn’t half the fighter Dryden is, but he’s twice as shrewd.”
“So, does that mean we’re not allowed to shoot him in the face?” Torch asked, reluctantly sticking a gun back inside his pants.
“Not unless he shoots you in the face first,” the captain said, voice soft like a patient mother speaking to her child.
The two ships joined at the shoulder, docking tubes extending from both and connecting down the middle. The doors to the Bliyzarra opened, letting loud music and thumping lights bleed through. A reedling with spiky hair, messy eyeliner and glitter on his lips swayed in the entrance, a full mane of chest hair bursting from his half-open shirt.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.
Quintilla stepped onto the thin walkway running through the docking tube. “Quintilla Wenezian. I wish to parlay with your captain.”
The reedling stuck his head inside the Bliyzarra. “Captain!” he shouted over the music. “Who the fuck is Quintilla Wenezian, and should we let her on the ship! She says she wants to parlay!”
He awaited a response. “Parlay, not parfait!” A pause. “Yeah!” Another pause. “Okay, I’ll tell ‘em!”
The reedling turned back to them, crossing his arms and looking them up and down. “Captain accepts.”
Quintilla strode across the walkway. “Good. Let us pass.”
The reedling shook his head. “Nah. Captain says stay here.”
She halted, frowning. “Why?”
“Crew needs time to prepare some refreshments for you. Barandi never parties halfway. He couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t properly taken care of.”
Quintilla looked like she had half a mind to trample the reedling. Instead, she sighed and took a step back. “Fine. But tell Barandi to hurry.”
The reedling nodded and headed back inside the ship. The doors slid shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the music.
“I dunno about you all, but that sounds promising to me,” Torch said. “Kazzul’s gonna be jealous.”
Some ten or twenty minutes later, the reedling appeared and led them into the Bliyzarra. He introduced himself as Blink, the ship’s first mate.
The doors closed behind them, cutting out all sunlight. Blackout curtains covered the windows of the large, open room they entered into. Color-shifting, spherical magelights set Stephan’s head spinning, and electronic music clawed at his ears. The air was smoky and thick, seeming to adhere to his skin and cling to his throat.
Barely-clothed men and women lay on shaggy furs. Their entangled forms jittered in the strobe lights as they engaged in every sin imaginable.
“You know the drill,” Stephan said, taking off his tie and handing it to Yin.
The girl sighed, but reluctantly tied it on as a blindfold.
Blink led them across the room, stepping over naked, supple forms of every nationality and race under the sun. Hands and fingers brushed against his legs, yearning, trying to pull him down. He shivered, sticking close to the group.
Torch was approached by a man holding up a baggie of fine powder. The demolitionist’s eyes widened, and, licking his lips, he let the man take him aside.
The rumbling bass hammered on Stephan’s skull. The blinding flashes made him stumble. Too loud. Too bright. Hard to think.
They were taken through another, more intimate room where a small group of women passed a hookah around. Through there was the captain’s cabin. It was spacious, walls lined with rich fabrics, the room dominated by a large, round bed with silk sheets. There was a couch and a low table on the right-hand side of the room.
A lubbard with yellow-and-green skin lay on the bed, arms behind his head. He was fully naked, a feathered hat covering his crotch. A woman on his left and a man on his right were both trailing kisses up his slim torso.
He regarded the pirate crew with an unguarded smile, making no attempt to cover himself up. “Quintilla Wenezian! To what do I owe the pleasure? I didn’t take you for the fun type.”
“Good, because I’m not here to party,” Quintilla said. “I’m here for the one thing you love more than that.”
“Wealther food?” Barandi asked. “Dear Wenezian, you shouldn’t have. You’re too kind, truly.”
“Money.” She unslung the bag and opened it so that the rival captain could see the stacks of colored bills inside. “That’s over a hundred thousand.”
Barandi whistled through pointed teeth. “Impressive.” His face betrayed no emotion other than faint amusement, however. “I assume you won’t be giving it away for free.”
Stephan caught a whiff of something pleasant over the cloying smell of sweaty bodies. Something like fried fish with herbal undertones. He sniffed at the air.
What is that? Could it be some kind of…? Hmm.
As the two captains went on, he found his interest in their conversation waning. Blink brought through a tray of neon blue drinks in tall glasses, and Stephan took one to sip at. Yin—peeking over her blindfold—tried to snatch one, but Stephan took it from her and placed it back on the tray.
“Come on,” he said, leading Yin by her hand out of the cabin. “Can you smell something cooking?”
Yin tilted her head and drew in a sharp breath through her nostrils. “Yeah, I do. Smells pretty nice. Salmon, I think.”
“Right, that’s what it is! Can you tell where it’s being prepared?”
“I’m not a bloodhound.”
“Of course not! But…”
Yin snorted. “Fine. Follow me.”
She took him out into the large lounging area, through a darkened observation chamber, and down a set of stairs to what seemed like the crew deck. The magelights here gave off a regular, even glow, and the thumping music seemed faraway.
Stephan sighed with relief, sipping on the sugary drink he’d been given. The alcohol burned nicely on the way down.
The smell of food grew stronger, and it didn’t take Yin long to find the kitchen where it was being prepared. It was maybe quadruple the square footage of the one on the Tits Up. Four cooks labored over a line of pots and skillets. They looked up with ready smiles when they saw Stephan and Yin enter.
Stephan immediately laid eyes on what he was looking for. A large platter stacked with salmon cakes, fish egg treats, and Aqithi rice balls. It was placed on a table next to several plates laden with other kinds of appetizers both cold and hot, savory and sweet. Stephan and Yin looked at each other and grinned. They were both thinking the same thing.
“Is it alright if we have some of these?” Stephan asked, pointing to the platter of salmon cakes.
“Certainly, sir, madam,” one of the cooks replied with a deep bow. “The captain has made it clear that you shall be left wanting for nothing.” He repeated the same in flawless True Speech, to Yin’s delight.
Stephan swept his drink, and they both dug into the food. It was nice not having to do the cooking for once, and he didn’t think he could have done the salmon cakes better himself. He tried a few fish egg treats as well, whereas Yin favored the rice balls and some pink-frosted cupcakes from another platter.
Stephan quickly realized he had been eating too quickly as he felt a sharp tug in his stomach. He caught himself on the tabletop, vision blurring, and fanned himself with his free hand.
“Oh my,” he said. “That was… something else. I think I should stop before I burst.”
“Yeah, so good!” Yin worked out as she forced three cupcakes into her mouth at once.
Stephan clutched his stomach as the pain increased. His face screwed up, and he felt a hot wash of bile at the back of his throat. The ship swayed as if in a storm, and he struggled to keep his feet beneath him.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Yin asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. Her hand left a trail of afterimages in his vision, and her features bled into a blurry mess.
“I, uh… don’t feel so good,” he said, holding a hand over his mouth as he pushed back vomit.
“Your friend here must have a sensitive stomach,” said the Aqithi cook with a smile that creased the corners of his eyes. “Let me find a cot for him to sleep it off. You can go on eating, young madam.”
He was ready at Stephan’s side, catching him when he got too wobbly to stand.
Yin’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze flitted between the platters of food and the empty glass. “You mix those drinks pretty strong, huh?”
The cook nodded. “It is the captain’s favorite. He prefers it strong.”
Stephan tried to speak, tried to tell Yin that it was alright, but all that came out was a slurred jumble of syllables. He threw up on himself, wiped his mouth, and threw up again.
“Oh, thrice fucking damn it, let’s just kill them already,” said another cook, looking up from his work station. He reached into the back of his pants and pulled out a pistol, switching off the safety.
Stephan blinked. The cook’s arm came off at the elbow, the severed limb landing in the salmon cakes. He blinked again. The man’s head bounced across the floor.
The cooks were yelling, scrambling. Stephan fell to the floor. He heaved, pushing up blue puke.
Blood spattered the walls. Three fingers flew into the growing puddle of neon vomit, pumping blood. Shots rang out. He felt Yin’s foot push off his back.
More blood, seemingly leaking from every corner of the room. Everything went quiet apart from Stephan’s own dry heaving.
Face beading with sweat, vision slowly clearing, he looked up. Yin stood over him, face spattered with tiny droplets of blood. She nudged one of the dead cooks onto his back, found a clean patch on his shirt, and used it to wipe down her swords.
“What the fuck… just happened?” Stephan asked, only now regaining control of his tongue.
“Seems Barandi’s a little less friendly than he seems,” Yin said. “Will you live?”
“I’ll be fine. I think I threw up most of it.” Stephan’s throat screwed up. “The crew… They’ll be in trouble.”
Yin helped him back to his feet. With her help, he stumbled out of the room, Rivello clutched in a shaky grip.
I hope the rest of them stayed together.
Lesson to be learned today: never trust a hedonistic fishman.