18. Bay of the Sea Devils, Part 1
864 16 44
X
Reading Options
Font Size
A- 15px A+
Width
Reset
X
Table of Contents
Loading... please wait.

After two days sailing, and one night hugging the coastline in fear of being spotted by the Ecean navy, I find myself standing under clear, sunny skies, on a tiny spit of land you could barely call an island. Posca and I approach some kind of idol carved out of the tallest rock thereupon. It resembles a fish emerging nose-up from the ground, open mouthed, beady little eyes on the sides of its head. The closer I get to it, the more I notice it’s carved in remarkable detail. Right down to the individual scales.

Posca saunters up to the idol’s open mouth, reaches for the coin purse at his belt. Then he holds it high overhead for a moment, before opening it and pouring its contents into said mouth. Gold, silver and copper glint in the sunlight before clinking around inside the fish’s belly.

“What is this, a sacrifice?” I ask.

Posca chuckles, glancing over his shoulder at me as he fastens his now-empty coin purse to his belt again. “I’m not one for religious observances, no. We’re paying our toll.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t see any any toll collectors around here.”

He grins, nods his head in the direction of the water. “You’re not looking in the right places then. The Keteltu already know we’re in their waters.”

I look off in the direction he indicated, and see nothing but sunlit sea. I’m about to look back at Posca and ask him if he’s fucking with me, when I stop, squint. There’s a shadow moving just under the surface of the water, something roughly the size of a human, a bit larger perhaps. But it’s not swimming the way a human would, it’s undulating through the water like an eel, and it’s moving fast. After I see the first one, I begin to see more. There’s a cluster of three or four of them, and they’re circling around this island as if on patrol.

I’ve never had occasion to spend much time around sailors. Even so, I’ve heard of the Sea Devils of Calnevari Bay. Most people have. But, like most people, I just waved it off as exaggerated sailor talk. It’s a little difficult to believe in a race of aquatic monsters who prey on merchant ships. When I hear the word ‘monster,’ I tend not to think of something interested in gold and commercial goods. The ideas don’t fit together.

I’ve been spending too much time around Eceans.

We return to the ship, which I’ve learned is named The Dove. I might have guessed that, judging by the carving of a dove taking flight on the prow. But I did depart from Ecea while unconscious, and spent the rest of that voyage snuggling with Arcadia. Then she and I climbed a mountain in the dark, skulked into a library, admitted our feelings for each other, stole a book, and did battle with a flying chariot. It’s been an eventful couple of days.

Once we’re aboard again I volunteer to man one of the oars, partly to endear myself to the crew, partly to have something to do besides fret about Arcadia. She’s been awake a couple of times in the last few days, to take food and water and medicine, but she has such a terrible headache that speech is painful. Not to mention sunlight. It makes me grateful the trip here has been uneventful so far. Arcadia needs the quiet time.

As I wrap my hands around the heavy oar and heave, I keep my eyes on the water. The shore is on our port side, dark green swampland stretching for miles and miles to the east and west, as far as the eye can see. It is the massive delta of the Almara river, which I’m told makes its way northward through the whole continent, from the Ecean Empire to Norgard itself. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I spot a few more of those little squads of patrolling Keteltu swimming alongside us from time to time. They’re not trying to climb up into our ship and murder us, so I suppose Posca’s toll satisfied them.

Posca steers us closer to the shoreline, and as he does, the lizardfolk swim into a tighter formation around the hull of The Dove, latching themselves onto it to help guide us into the swamp. At first I’m surprised the water is deep enough to accommodate us, but then I see that we’re passing between the massive black trunks of trees whose roots are somewhere deep under the opaque water. The canopies of those trees are tall enough to brush the tip of our mast, giving us shade from the sun. We float deeper, and deeper, into the swamp.

I feel the hull bumping against things submerged in the water. Sometimes we brush too close by the trunk of a tree and it scrapes against our side loudly. The trees seem to crowd in against us the farther we go, their foliage obscuring the sun, thick vines and creepers dangling from their limbs.

Then, all of a sudden, the way opens. Sunlight greets us again as we float out into a vast lagoon. There are a number of other vessels here, everything from trade ships like Posca’s, to Norgadian longships, and Ecean style triremes. One or two ships look too exotic for me to figure out where they’re from. But there are no docks here. Every ship sits still in the water, anchors down, well spaced from its neighbors. On the far side of the lagoon I see a town of surprising size sprawled out across the shoreline, beneath and between the vast trunks of the trees. I even see dwellings built up in the trees themselves, connected to each other by a web of rope bridges.

I see Posca leave the helm and give the order to drop anchor, before heading in my direction with a gamely smile on his face.

“Ready for a little treasure hunting?” he asks.

I frown at him, let go of the oar and stretch my hands a bit. “I wouldn’t call this treasure hunting. Armed robbery, more like.”

He smirks, holds up a finger in objection. “Ah, actually, it is the rightful collection of a legitimate debt. And you, my puissant friend, are the very arbiter of justice in this scenario. Without you, such an opportunity would have been out of our reach.”

I give him a withering look. “You didn’t have muscle and now you do, in other words.”

Posca laughs, and pats me on the arm, before turning toward his cabin. “Don’t sell yourself short, Rekka,” he says, as he walks away from me. “You’re the very best muscle money can buy!”

I knew that. But it doesn’t come off as a compliment, in this case.

As I head to my own cabin to get ready, I see a lone Keteltu rowing a canoe up to our vessel to take us ashore. It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever had a look at one. He has a head like a snub-nosed crocodile, and a scaly, long limbed body. His chest and belly are soft blue, which darkens to almost black around his limbs, and there’s a row of wavy ridges going down his back, all the way to the end of his long, pointed tail.

I walk by a sailor on the deck, who’s throwing a length of rope down to the lizard man and his canoe as I pass. They’re talking to each other, but it sounds strange. Almost comical. A language of growls and warbles and clicks. I’m a little surprised a human can make these sounds.

But I don’t want to loiter and listen to the odd conversation. I want to get this over with. The cabin door creaks open and the instant I see Arcadia, I have to swallow a mouthful of guilt and worry like it’s bitter medicine. It’s been three days, and it hasn’t gotten any easier. She’s asleep still, under the covers, fresh bandages wrapped around her wound. As quietly as I can, I step up to the selection of arms they picked off those First Legion soldiers before Posca’s crew dumped them in Ecea’s harbor.

I choose a gladius for my left hand, consider a dagger for my right, but then I decide against it, belting on two swords instead. For armor it’ll be a pair of their steel gauntlets and boots. The breastplates, fine as they are, aren’t fitted for a woman, and I don’t feel like crushing my tits for a little extra protection that might not even be necessary. This day promises to be unpleasant enough as it is. I take one last look, frown when I glance at the dagger, grab it and stick it into my right boot. Just in case.

Before leaving, I lean over Arcadia and place a kiss on her forehead. She stirs, murmurs something I can’t quite make out. But it’s cute, so I kiss her again. She doesn’t open her eyes, but I notice her smiling before I turn to leave.

I meet Posca on the deck, note that he’s fastened a sheathed dagger to his belt. He winks at me when he sees me glance at it.

“Can’t be too careful,” he says.

It’s my turn to smirk at him. “I thought I was the best muscle money can buy.”

“Indeed you are,” says Posca. “But you never know what might happen in a place like this. Just stay close, and let me do the talking.”

I shrug at that, resist the urge to roll my eyes. If he knew what my training entailed, he might not feel the need to explain such a thing. But I don’t feel like giving him an education. I feel like going back into my cabin, stripping these arms and clothes off, and cuddling into bed with Arcadia until she’s all better. With plenty of kisses to help the medicine along.

Posca climbs down the rope to the Keteltu’s canoe first, and I go after him. It rocks a little when I touch down on it, making me sit quickly. Once we’re aboard, the lizard man places a clawed hand on the hull of The Dove and pushes, sending our canoe away from it before he dips his oar back into the water.

I’m staring up at the cabin window as I watch our ship recede. Posca notices, gives me a pat on the shoulder.

“These waters are sacred to the Keteltu,” he says. “No violence or skulduggery is permitted out here. Believe me, there’s no safer place for Arcadia to be right now.”

“I didn’t know pirates held anything sacred,” I say.

He smiles wryly. “They don’t see themselves as pirates. You and I might call them such, but to the Keteltu, ‘pirates’ are simply fellow hunters. Make no mistake though, they rule this place. They don’t often meddle in the affairs of others here, but when they do, their judgment is absolute.”

I frown, lean back against the canoe and turn my gaze to the city of Calnevari Bay growing ever closer. If it could really be called a city. It’s more like an immense shanty town, a hodgepodge of architectural styles from all over creation. I see one of those Zhou dwellings, with the peculiar sloping roofs. A pagoda, I think it’s called. Right next to it sits a Norgardian longship that’s been flipped over and turned into a tavern. The crudely made buildings are all stacked against and on top of each other haphazardly, and there are no streets between them. Only canals, which pass under an uncountable number of zigzagging footbridges.

As our canoe begins to slide down one of these canals, dilapidated buildings looming over us on either side, I look back at Posca as a blend of anxiety and reluctance begins to stew in my gut.

“Give me the run down again, please.”

A big grin splits Posca’s face when I ask, as if he were bursting for an excuse to tell the tale. He leans in closer to me, glances about in a conspiratorial kind of way, before half whispering the story to me once more.

“The Baroness Rae vi Riis of Tarascon recently fell victim to a famous thief,” he says. “A fellow they call Adabrin Threehands. Very accomplished con man he is, quite good with the opposite sex. He seduced the Baroness, and while she slept, he made off with a rather well known and valuable piece of jewlery.”

“The Star of Advuri, right,” I say, not bothering to conceal the boredom in my voice.

His grin widens, and he nods. “Yes, good.”

I wave my hand at him impatiently, gesturing for him to continue, and he does so. “Well, the only reason I know of this is because a friend of mine recently came into its possession. A fence by the name of Gredder. He told me about it as a boast, I think, because he didn’t imagine I was any sort of threat to him.”

“This is the part where I come in, right?” I ask.

“Right you are!”

“So does this Gredder actually owe you money, or are you just taking advantage of the situation?”

Posca’s grin turns wicked. “Let’s call it both.”

I sigh. My gaze wanders over Posca’s shoulder, to a few sets of glistening, catlike eyes peering at us from the darkness inside a passing hovel, before they’re taken by disinterest and look away. I have no idea what manner of creatures they were.

“You know, when I first saw you I wouldn’t have taken you for a criminal,” I say.

Posca smirks, leans back against the side of the canoe. “Legitimate business is safer, sure. But we all had to get our start somewhere,” he gestures out at the city passing us by. “This is where I got mine.”

I don’t have anything to say about that, so I let the conversation expire for now. Our canoe floats on, guided by the silent Keteltu I half forgot was even with us. He’s a big boy, but a quiet one. Eventually Posca turns to provide him with directions in his own language, and not too long after that, our scaly gondolier is bringing us to the edge of the canal so we can disembark.

Posca hops out of the canoe, turns to offer me his hand. I leave it hanging, step onto solid ground without his assistance, and he gives me an annoyed look before turning to point down the street.

“That’s one of his usual haunts,” he says.

I look at the building he points out, chuckle a little when I see what its architect was trying for. It’s a faux-Ecean statehouse, with white steps and columns in front, except they’re quite obviously painted wood rather than concrete. A sign over the doors reads, ‘Edeline’s Elysium.’

“Shall we?” asks Posca.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes, let’s,” he says. “Again, let me do the talking.”

I shrug. “Talk all you want.”

There’s only one person here I want to talk to. She lies on a bed, in a ship, in the middle of this stinking lagoon.

Edeline’s Elysium looks nothing like its exterior suggests. It is a cramped and remarkably dirty place, a few rebuilt bench-style tables arranged in front of a guttering hearth. Two drunk men sit near it, having some kind of barely intelligible conversation I’m sure they think is brilliant. There’s a bar, of sorts, that looks as though it were cobbled together from random pieces of driftwood. Behind it stands a young man polishing a tankard with a dirty rag. He has little watery eyes and a long nose, like a rat. Those eyes dart between Posca and I, and he sets the tankard down with the rag still inside it.

“We got pork stew,” he says, as he wipes his greasy hands on the front of his apron. “But the ale’s gone bad. There’s some cider left if you fancy that instead.”

Posca puts on a charming smile as he sidles up to the bar. “Actually, I’m looking for an old business partner of mine. He frequents this ah,” he gestures at the shabby room. “Fine establishment of yours.”

“Your partner got a name?” asks the young tavern keeper.

“He has several, I expect. But folk around here call him Old Gredder.”

The instant the name escapes Posca’s lips, I see the young man go rigid from head to toe, his beady eyes as wide as they can get. Then he turns and bolts through the door behind him, into the kitchen and, I assume, the back door to the tavern.

Posca blinks. Then he looks at me incredulously.

“Well?” he asks. “What are you waiting for, get after him!”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Holy crap you guys WE'RE NUMBER ONE! WOOOH!!

From Catgirl and I, thank you all so very much for your support! I honestly didn't know how well we were gonna do, I've never tried writing a web novel before. I've never tried writing a story this long at all. Thanks, pandemic unemployment. ;)

But hey, we're all in this together, so let's keep the story going! Glad you're with us!

44