Glen

A new plan

 

 

Glen blinked once then rubbed his eyes, right hand still numb from trying to defend against the pirate brutes’ attacks. Thank Luthos, for father’s blade and the Knight’s teachings, he thought, and examined again, what appeared to be a bloody piece of flesh, with a bit of hair still attached to it.

Uh.

After checking around that no one was looking, Glen kicked it over the deck’s lip and into the sea.

“You’re okay there lad?” Emerson asked, almost catching him in the act and turned him around to see him proper. “Ye did good, stopped ‘em right when it was needed.”

“Aye, for a moment I thought we were finished,” Glen replied, casually accepting the praise, while trying to flatten his unruly hair with his palm. The sea air and moisture had turned them all wiry, a right mess.

“The girl saved us, I reckon. Both of them,” Sir Emerson noted continuing. “We lost nine sailors, Captain Gray says. The ship took some damage also. So it was a close call.”

“Well, at least we made it into the straits. Right?”

“Hmm.”

“You don’t think, we are out the woods yet?” Glen asked, seeing him thinking it.

“Reckon we are. They came from the Pirate Reefs more like, don’t see them returning anytime soon,” The knight replied.

“Thought Regia kept them away from the straits,” Glen had heard the sailors mention it the other day.

“They are. Or used to. It seems the Navy has its mind on other plans now.”

“You mean like—” But Emerson stopped him from finishing his sentence.

“Best not to talk about it out in the open, lad.”

The way Glen saw it, politics was a bit like thieving; lots of whispering away from prying ears, the constant need of secret planning and untruths. A whole lot of them.

 

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“Whoa there, you look like a corpse,” Glen told a wallowing Jinx. She was the most hurt from their group… well, he thought, calling them that is pretty reasonable, right?

“Fuck would ye know?” Pretty mumbled, dark red circles under her eyes, even her voice sounding tired. “Almost killed meself to save yer worthless arse!”

“Wow! Wait a fuckin’ minute there!” Glen replied insulted. “I remember myself risking life and limb to save you!”

“Yeah?” The Gish, raised a pink brow. “Why did ye do?”

Yelled really loud?

“All I could,” He said instead, leaving it vague.

“Must’ve been very little.”

“Who can tell? Battle is a blur now… so many things happened,” Glen threw a bunch of random stuff in, to appear more legitimate.

“You know, ye can’t con a conman right?” Jinx asked him sourly. “You are not even that good, kid.”

What? Haha, you foolish small girl… wait a god darn minute here…

“I’m not a kid,” Glen defended himself incenced. “Nor that easy to read through also.”

“I don’t know where she is,” Jinx said eyeing him cooly to make her point.

“Who?” Glen asked crooking him mouth, playing at innocence.

“Kid, I’m hurt. Leave me the fuck alone,” Jinx replied and kicked him out of the blue, her leg catching him in the stomach, doubling him over.

“Gah!” Glen cried almost puking out, what he’d wolfed down with Soren, not ten minutes earlier. Getting ambushed by pirates, also worked him up quite an appetite.

“Eh, it’s my bloody fault,” He protested, red in the face. “I came here to check—”

“Oh, for cunt’s sake, she’s atop the foremast,” Jinx snapped, cutting him off. “Here a word of advice. Don’t go up there, you’ll kill yourself.”

Glen glanced up, trying to see between the Marquette’s open full sails.

“I can make that. Easy,” He decided after a contemplating moment.

Jinx eyed him suspiciously. She’d a smell on her, weirdly exciting, but Glen just couldn’t make out what it was.

“Are ye sure you’re a squire kid?” The female Gish asked, her voice taunting. “Because nothin’ I’ve seen ye do so far reminds me of one.”

 

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Glen was just about ready to start climbing the railing ladder, when he caught part of the conversation between the knight and the Captain of the Marquette, Aron Gray.

“…we are currently sailing understrength. Now I don’t trust the scumbags frequenting Deadmen’s Watch, as much as I can throw them, so I won’t get anyone from there. On the other hand, we can’t reach Raoz without help. So I plan on stopping in Colant’s Refuge, hire some local lads from thither.”

This can’t be good, Glen thought, changing priorities. He approached the two older men, a look of interest on his face.

“So you’ll stop at Whitford,” Sir Emerson said and seeing Glen listening in, he added. “Where were you living lad? The name of the place escapes me.”

“Shroudcoast,” Glen answered, voice neutral. “But Whitford is the bigger town. More hands for hire there,” He added to help the captain and himself.

Also, truer words had never been spoken on that deck.

“It’s also on our way,” The captain agreed, combing his beard with a hand.

“I was hoping to get in touch with your man,” Emerson said, a little miffed he lost his chance. “Get your side of the story strengthened.”

“Why is that?” The Captain asked.

“It’s not important,” The Knight replied, wanting to end this line of questions right away.

“Aye, it’s unfortunate,” Glen agreed, pretending he was sad. “But we can try again, when our situation is not as desperate.”

“Hah, the young lord has a sound mind, Sir Knight,” Captain Gray said with a chuckle. “Ye can tell, he’s of fine Reeves stock.”

The best, Glen thought. In fact, I don’t think there’s ever been a Reeves like me.

Like ever.

“We shall revisit the matter at a later time,” Emerson said in his turn with a frown. Probably not as convinced as the captain. “Reaching our destination, must take priority.”

 

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“You’re a lord?” One of the chained pirates asked, stopping him from resuming his search for the Zilan. The whole ‘search’ thing not a big deal really, just a casual check on her wellbeing. A small attempt to brag, about his… well, substantial involvement. Surely Glen had done as much as everybody else. Captain Dante for example had spent most of the fight on his back and too dazed to continue, allegedly.

Hailed himself a right hero now to everyone listening.

“Did I caught that right?” The man had a black leather patch over his eye and Glen remembered Lith talking about him, before the fight started.

“My grandfather is the Lord of Altarin,” Glen said, trying to stand a little straighter against the tallish, but rather thin Lorian.

“We can work for ye,” the man said, showing him his teeth in a unsettling smile. He’d at least four gold ones in there and a couple of gaps, with no teeth at all. “Pay our debt. Aye, we are pretty skilled, ye see.”

“I don’t know…” Glen started, noticing the rest of the wretched men watching him with hawkish eyes. “Well, what can you do exactly?”

“Dig. Really deep,” One of them said, all serious, long blond hair running down his ring-covered ears, round bald spot on the top of his head bleeding from a cut.

“Ahm.”

“Get rid of yer enemies, milord,” Another chipped in. “Or friends.”

“See ye get, what you’re owed,” A third said. “Hypothetically.”

“We’re cheap,” Added a fourth honestly, a short but muscular Issir, his eyes a pale green.

“That’s… a lot of skills. Quite diverse,” Glen agreed, not sure how to get them off his back. Granted, you’re going to need some muscle in a gang, but his life had taken a different turn now. Hopefully.

Even more, he was kinda too rich already to be a fully committed criminal.

“All of ‘em skills, be gone to waste,” The first man said, his words dripping misery. “If yer captain, takes us to the authorities.”

The punishment for piracy was hanging, so Glen could see, where the man was coming from. It was a frequent punishment for heavy thievery as well. Something Glen -adding up his most recent score- surely qualified for as well.

The thought dried the spit off his mouth.

“I don’t think, I can help,” He decided, turning to move away.

“Ye can sire. If ye takes us to Altarin,” The man said desperately.

Glen turned on his heel.

“How?”

“A high Lord, can have our sentence change,” The pirate explained, adding looking at him with that sole cunning eye of his. “If his grandson, asks for it.”

 

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The Marquette didn’t stop at Deadmen’s Watch. She traveled through the night, men working double shifts, to cross the Krakentrap Straits and reach the Shallow Sea. Three days later, Soren found him staring at the huge opening, returning him to familiar waters.

Sort of speak.

“What are ye thinking Glen?” The Northman asked. “Ye seem troubled.”

“Just stuff. My life is a little complicated at the moment.”

“Ye should drink more. Ale, if ye find it. It helps a lot.”

“Ahm, yeah. I don’t think it does,” Glen said, glancing at huge Northman. The man was almos seven feet tall. “Plus, I’m not really allowed.”

“Is it a squire thing?” Soren inquired, appearing startled.

“Aye, it is.”

“Pfft, you’re a young Lord!” He put his spade-size hand on his shoulder, locked his eyes on him. Glen thought for a moment, he was gonna shove him over the rail and into the dark sea. “Ye can do whatever ye want,” The Northman said instead, staring the former thief meaningfully.

As if he just told him the biggest secret in the world.

Glen greatly relieved the danger was over, scrunched his face trying to find a counter to his ‘big’ argument.

“Being a young Lord, as you say, is a lot of work Soren.”

“Are young Lords, not allowed to drink whatever they want?” The Northman asked, probably having a point somewhere there, though Glen couldn’t see it.

“Of course.”

Soren shrugged his huge shoulders.

“There ye are then. Be a young Lord. It’s better than you are now. Right?”

Glen looked at him for a long moment, in a mild stage of shock.

Huh.

Gods darn it.

“You know,” Glen said, his mind working overtime. “You’re not exactly in the wrong here, my friend.”

“Haha, that’s a good one,” Soren guffawed, a big smile on his face. “Being wit them fools for almost a year, no one called me his friend,” He opened his large hand and spat on it. The splotch huge and spreading. Offered it for a handshake. Glen stared at his hand, then at the big man’s grinning face, undecided. The moment dragging.

Find allies for your cause, came a strange thought, its meaning obscure, much as he understood it.

But it felt important.

 

 

So Glen shook the Northman’s hand.

Put a new plan in the works.