The afternoon sun had begun to sink and the Runner was coasting in smoother seas. Captain Pidric turned up the lamp on his desk. A knock came to his cabin door.
“Come in.”
His first mate entered the cabin with a nearly finished bottle. He was fat, balding, had a crooked nose. Nothing about him was pleasant to the eye, but at least he always did whatever Pidric asked of him. He wasn’t his father, and he didn’t strike fear in his men like his brother, but here on the Runner, he was captain and the crew listened to him. Here, he could do whatever he wanted.
“I asked the crew to save you a few pours, Captain Petey. It’s rum.”
“Set it down. Have a drink with me. How far are we from Grastenport?”
“Twenty-five knots, Captain. Home in less than two hours.”
"I hate the Scales," Pidric said, sniffing the bottle of rum. "I hate how they don't have whores on the entire island. You fill an island with religious fanatics and that’s what you get. An island without whores. That's why I miss home."
His first mate chuckled. “We've only been gone five days this time. Do you think that's enough time for the whores in the Dancing Duck to mend their wounds for our return?"
"Oh I don't care about their wounds," said Pidric. "From what I can tell I have the king's herald, his bodyguard and some kid we can probably sell to the Yghrs. I've brought great glory to my father. He should pick up the tab for every whore in Grastenport."
"You'll put in a good word for me sir, to your father and brother I mean? I've served you well on these runs?"
Pidric shrugged and filled his goblet with rum. "You've done well enough. We'll not be making any more runs to the Scales for a while. Brandarm should be making his move soon. With my brother’s help the monks won’t know what hit them. The temples will burn. And when the burning dies down, that’s when we’ll make our return. And probably bring the whores! Until then our ships will be patrolling the strait. That’s what Pidroc wants. I'll think about getting you your own ship then.”
“Thank you captain. If I may ask…what are all the bags of bat droppings for? We’ve made a few runs and Brandarm’s people had collected so many bags of it. If this is our last run, maybe you can share why the Baron wants so much of it?”
Pidric laughed. “I guess if I had told the men about how dangerous it was, we wouldn’t have had any crew at all to make these runs. We stow it below, in the dark, because it can burn like the devil. This whole ship would go up like paper in a firestorm. In Grastenport our alchemists have found a way to purify it into something called saltpeter. All that is left is to get a hold of plans for a weapon. That’s what my brother Pidroc is up to, to retrieve those plans.”
“So…that disgusting smell we’ve been lugging around…the cargo of bat droppings is one big unlit match?”
“That isn’t entirely the foulest smell,” Pidric said. “The Runner is starting to stink of too many men on board. I believe my next crew will be all women."
"I'd like to be a gull on that mast," the first mate said, chuckling. "I’m glad we’re almost home. Now that I know what the cargo does, I am a little nervous.”
“You should be nervous,” Pidric said. “If this ship burns up, you might end up uglier than you are now.”
“If there's nothing else, sir, I'll be going topside. I’ll prepare the crew to dock in a couple of hours."
Pidric waved him away. The first mate left the cabin and Pidric sat by himself. He had offered the first mate to drink with him, but he didn’t take it. Pidric began reconsidering if he should reward the lout for refusing a drink.
Pidric finished his goblet and reached for the bottle, which was already empty. He flung it at the door of his cabin. The door opened. "What now?"
Arthero ducked his head and walked through the door. "Now it gets interesting," he said. He looked at the corner of cabin and found his broadsword. "I believe this is mine."
Pidric laughed. “I see you managed to get yourself free. I’m glad for you. We’re about to dock, you should relax and prepare to meet the people’s army, the fiercest soldiers of the north, waiting for you.”
Menquist followed, holding his braided beard. He studied the messy cabin and took a seat on the desk. "You have been less than a gracious host, Pidric son of Visant."
Timlan came in next, a hammer in his hand. His eyes were filled with anger.
Pidric smirked. "And what are you going to do with that, are you about to fix something?"
Kidu then walked in. "Actually, yes."
Pidric shouted at the sight of Kidu. He cried over and over for his men. Kidu let him shout until the captain realized no one was coming.
"His name was Belgred,” Arthero said. “That man you killed and tossed overboard like a gutted, unwanted fish. He served the king faithfully for years. He had a family. A daughter. Friends. He was my friend.”
"I could be your friend, is that what you want?” Pidric said. “I'm honored and…speechless. Yes, speechless. Like your friend when I cut his throat before tossing him into the water like an unwanted fish.”
Arthero lunged at Pidric, breaking the chair. The two wrestled while the others backed away and gave them space. Pidric laughed as if it amused him. Arthero elbowed him across the face. Soon Arthero pinned the captain onto his belly. "Hammer," he said, reaching his hand out. Timlan placed the hammer in Arthero's hand. Arthero slammed the hammer down and Pidric let out a scream. Arthero slammed the hammer again and Pidric let out another scream.
"We need him alive," Menquist reminded the seordmeister.
"He'll live," Arthero said, getting off Pidric. "I've only broken his hands."
Pidric sat up against his bed and laughed as he held his hands against his breast, tears streaming down his cheeks. "When my brother finds you he will be the one that break your hands. Then he will put the hammer in your broken hand and make you break your families' hands. That’s the fate that waits for you.”
Arthero slapped Pidric but the laughing didn't stop.
“Well we can’t go to Grastenport,” Arthero said. “And with all the crew tied up, we’ll need to man this ship. What’s the plan, Menquist?”
“We were planning to go through the Withings and the Vale to get to Lanfrydhall, but now we’ll have to go around the continent to reach the Strait of Airril. We must veer wide away from Grastenport, else Baron Visant’s pirate fleet may spot us. Once we reach the Forelands we’ll be safe.”
“There’s no hiding from my father,” Pidric said. “He rules the open sea.”
“Someone shut him up,” Menquist commanded.
Timlan tore away at a curtain and handed it to Arthero, who wrapped it around Pidric’s mouth.
“If we change course now, we’ll be able to miss Grastenport,” Menquist said.
“Any of you know how to steer a ship?” Arthero asked, looking at each of them. Pidric laughed from behind the gag.
“Some of the crew are just deck hands, not mercenaries,” Kidu said. “We should be able to get them to steer.”
“A pardon from the King’s Herald should do,” Menquist said. “My boy, are you alright?”
Kidu slumped down to the ground, exhausted. He buried his head in his hands. Timlan grabbed a blanket from the nearby cot and draped it over him.
"I saw you fall," Timlan said, kneeling beside the monk. "I thought they would find you but they didn't. I never felt loss as much as I did. And then it became night."
"A ruse, and a test of my endurance," Kidu said. "When they brought me down from the nets and woke, I surveyed the deck. I looked at where you all were, the men and their blades. I saw a loose part of a boat hook near the rear of the boat. I knew I couldn’t just grab the hook so I feigned and stumbled twice toward the hook. That's when I got a hold of it. Then I made my way to the front of the boat where I took my fall. As they looked for me over the ship's edge I was using the hook to make my way to the back of the ship, where I had been holding on to until it was safe. I held on for a very long time, until it started getting dark. The crew started drinking and laughing and let their guard down. That is when I made my move."
"There were a over dozen of them," Arthero marveled. "You ran through so many like wind against leaves. I’ve never met someone like you.”
"He’s never met a Seordmeister either," Timlan said, smiling.
