Sea Queen (16 page)

Gammond chuckled. “What does a rat want with a girl, eh?”

“I apologize for my friend,” said Gill. “He is thoroughly insane.”

“What about the girl?” Talon urged.

“Make the rat shut his feikin mouth, for Thodin’s sake” Gammond screamed.

“You’re Skomm!” said Talon, hoping to break through to…one of him. “What tribe are you from?”

“Tribe?” Gill asked. “I am from no tribe, good lad. I am Lord Gillian McMillus of Altuar.”

“You’re a feikin lunatic is what you are!” Gammond chided.

The two voices began to argue, changing so rapidly that, for a terrifying moment, it seemed as though two people really were bickering in the darkness.

Talon wanted Chief with him more than ever.

“Gammond? Gammond!” Talon called out.

“The rat wants to talk to me, not you! Hear it squeaking for me?” said Gammond. “Now shut your noble gruel hole before I stuff it with shyte!”

Gill fell silent.

“What does the rat want to know, eh? About the girl?”

“Yes, the girl,” said Talon. “What of her? Have you seen her?”

“I know nothing about no girl!” Gammond screamed, startling Talon. “Give ‘em what they want, they kill you right dead. The only thing a rat can survive on besides cheese…is secrets.”

“Nonsense!” said Gill.

“Don’t tell him a word for Thodin’s sake!” Gammond pleaded. “They’ll hang us for sure.”

“He just wants to know about the red-haired girl is all.”

“Yes!” Talon cried. “The red-haired girl, with more freckles than the heavens got stars…and a scar on her cheek.”

“See,” said Gill, pleased with himself.

“Rats are tricky, tricky, tricky,” Gammond sang. “Don’t believe it now, no way, no how, no what for!”

“That’s enough out of you,” Gill threatened. “Another word and I call the guards—tell ‘em where the treasures buried!”

“You wouldn’t…”

“I would and I will.”

There was silence.

Talon waited, wondering which side of the lunatic would win.

A pathetic whimpering began in the other cell. It was Gammond.

“He saw her a while back…They brought her down here to keep her secret…from the other Skomm,” said Gill between his alter-ego’s sobs, only adding to the eeriness of the experience—or was Gill the alter ego?

“
He
?” Talon asked.

“Gammond, of course,” said Gill with slight indignation. “I was sleeping. But he told me all about her.”

“What did he say?”

“Rats don’t speak for none but cheese, and he ain’t got no cheese,” said Gammond.

“Don’t make me give up
your
cheese,” Gill warned.

“My cheese be your cheese. You ain’t no lord, you’re just a rat in a cage!” Gammond screamed.

“A chest full of the captain’s gold, so heavy it nearly sunk the boat,” said Gill.

“No!” Gammond gasped.

“Three men dead and buried with it. Three men who called you friend,” said Gill accusingly.

“Stop it!”

“You’re a killer you are, no better than a—“

“They were all rats, and rats want cheese. Now it’s hidden deep!”

“What about the girl!” Talon screamed into the darkness.

A slow cackle answered.

“The rat ain’t wanting no real cheese,” laughed Gammond. “He got his own…red-haired cheese. Either way, the girl, the cheese—it’ll get you killed.”

“Where did they take her? Where did they take the girl?” Talon asked.

Chains shook and rattled in the other cell, and Talon could just imagine the madman choking himself.

“I’m sick of your stinking Skomm mouth always fouling up a perfectly good conversation,” Gill yelled.

“Who asked you anyway?” Gammond yelled back.

“That’s it!” Gill cried. “If the rat wants the cheese, he’ll get it.”

“No!”

“The captain’s gold—“

“Stop it!”

“85 north, 23 west,”

“Speak no more. No more, please!”

Gill’s voice became frantic now, as if someone was trying to silence him. “Graveyard…crying mother…murderer, murderer…murderer!” he managed to utter as his voice was choked out.

Talon hung from his chains, listening to the silence that followed. Not so much as a jingle of chain sounded in the darkness. He memorized the lunatic’s coordinates and clues, not really sure why he was doing so, but figuring they might come in handy at some point.

A soft moan began, seeming eerily close as it echoed through the hall.

“Now you’ve done it, you stupid, filthy, Draugr…rat! You’ve given away the cheese,” Gammond screamed.

“I’ve told you to keep quiet in there!” came another voice, this one farther away.

An orange glow appeared through the small window, and Talon realized the other voice belonged to a guard.

“Now you’ve done it,” said Gill.

Gammond whimpered.

A key sounded, a lock disengaged, and the lunatic screamed in protest as the guard began cursing and beating him.

In those dark depths he shall find despair, but also a friend. – Gretzen Spiritbone, 4985.

He hung from his chains in the pitch black darkness, his body burning up inside. His mouth was dry and stale with the taste of blood. Having no choice, he had been forced to soil the floor when he could hold it no longer, but hardly noticed the smell anymore. The whimpers and cries of the other prisoners were his only company. Listening to the chorus of keening only intensified his fears, and he struggled not to join in.

Think, Damnit! How do I get out of here?
He fought against his chains, but even with Kyrr’s strength they would not be broken.

Talon thought about Chief. He couldn’t let McGillus summon him…or could he? Tyson had, only to have Chief somehow dismiss himself when ordered to kill Talon. He wondered if Chief could gain the strength to disobey without returning to the trinket. With the powerful spirit wolf, Talon could take out McGillus and Grimald easily.

As he hung there, chained in the dark, he eventually began to give in to despair. What had he been thinking, talking to the crowd like that? Everything had been going fine, but he let his emotions get the better of him. Now he had set himself back considerably, and would have to start over in gaining the captain’s trust and respect. From now on he was going to have to be more careful about what came out of his mouth. He needed to be cunning and patient.

The door opened and blinding light stung his eyes. He squinted against the glare as a figure strode forth. Someone grabbed ahold of his shackles and unhooked them from the wall. He fell, sprawling out on the wooden floor. A bucket of cold water jolted him to life.

“Get up!” came Grimald’s low growl.

But before he could, Grimald kicked him in the stomach, making him sick, and then shoved his face in the vomit.

“Now you begin to understand your place, Skomm. You can run a thousand miles away from Volnoss, but you can’t run away from who you are—a weak, insignificant piece of shyte. Maybe a few days with your people will help you to remember.”

Talon fought the urge to retaliate. His body buzzed with energy, but he held his tongue.

Strong arms lifted him up from both sides and two Skomm crewmen dragged him from the cell, up the stairs to the deck, to stand before Captain McGillus.

Stars twinkled brightly in the sky, and a warm summer breeze pushed the slaver through the choppy waters. To his right, the hatch to the main hold stood open. McGillus held his arms behind his back, wearing a look of mock concern.

“Against Grimald’s better judgment, I have decided not to kill you for your outburst in the arena. You have been spared…for now. If you redeem yourself in the next arena, I will consider allowing you to live longer. The choice is yours.”

McGillus nodded to his cronies and Talon was roughly thrown down into the hold. He tumbled down a flight of stairs and into several other Skomm.

The hatch slammed shut.

“Get off!” said a Skomm whom he’d landed on.

“Feikinstafir!” said another. “Find your own place!”

He did his best to maneuver and find a place to stand, but it was no use.

“Move over!” barked a man to his left.

“I can’t,” said Talon, struggling with the heavy chains still shackled to his wrists and ankles. The stench of the hold made him gag.

“There ain’t no room this side either!” a woman to his right complained.

Someone kicked him in the back. “Move!”

The Skomm were packed so tight in the hold he couldn’t imagine how bad it had been before they sold the last batch in Hornhollow. He had only been here for a few minutes, and already the cell was preferable—biting shackles and all.

“Where the hells did this one come from anyway?” someone asked, giving Talon an elbow.

“Why don’t you go back to where you was?” said another.

“You know I can’t go nowhere, quit shoving!” Talon yelled.

He wanted nothing more than sleep, even if it was here in this disgusting hole. Those around him eventually settled down, and he became lost in the gentle rocking of the slaver.

After an eternity, the hatch opened again and the crewmen began tossing down bread. Talon found himself suddenly crushed under the weight of all the thrashing Skomm fighting to get a piece.

Someone was yelling over the tumult, urging them to collect the bread, but not eat it, so that it might be divided evenly—no one seemed to be listening.

A loaf of bread flew over his head and he was battered by elbows as the bigger folk stretched and dove for it. The hatch closed, but the many fights over the food raged on. Talon hadn’t gotten his hands on any of it. After a time everyone settled back down to their cramped positions.

“What have I told you?” came the voice of the Skomm who’d told them to share. “Do you expect to be treated like anything but animals when all you do is act like them?”

Those who were guilty of hoarding the bread said nothing, too busy were they gobbling it down and fending off the groping hands of others.

The pleading man went on. “This is a hellhole to be sure, and your behavior is only making it worse.”

“Quit your bellyaching, Forrest, you godsdamned bikkja!” a large Skomm yelled as he gnawed on his bread loaf.

“I’ll say it again,” Forrest went on. “If half of us stand while the other half sleeps, there will be room to do so comfortably. And if we ration the food—“

“Don’t make me come over there and shut your Draugr mouth.”

“Leave him alone!” said Talon. “What do you think you are, some kind of feikin Vaka?”

The big Skomm burst into laughter, and said, “What are you gonna do about it, runt?”

“Ah leave him be,” said Forrest. “Come on over here, lad.”

His eyes had gotten used to the darkness, but Talon could hardly make out the man speaking. Trying hard not to step on anyone, he made his way slowly toward his voice.

“There you are, lad,” Forrest called to him.

Talon came to an area where half the people stood while the others sat back to back in neat rows. A few loaves of bread were being passed around, with each person tearing off only what they could chew.

Forrest stood from his place against the wall and offered Talon a spot beside him. On the other side slept a Skomm who looked to be as big as a Vald.

“Thank you, it’s much better here,” said Talon.

“You are welcome, and yes it is. If I could get the rest of these greedy bastards to listen, it would be better for them all,” he extended his hand. “Forrest Winterbane”

He looked to be in his forties, with short black hair and a week’s worth of dark stubble. His eyes shone green in the faint light, with a slight squint reminding Talon of Jahsin.

“Talon…Windwalker,” he said shaking the offered hand.

A light of recognition crossed Forrest’s face and he lit up. “Did you say Windwalker? Of Timber Wolf Tribe?”

Talon nodded.

Forrest whistled. “Well, I’ll be frostbitten.” He leaned in a little closer and spoke a little lower. “You the one escaped from Chiefson Fylkin, right out from under his nose?”

“Your gods damned right,” Talon grinned.

“There was a girl too, right?”

Talon nearly choked. “You know of her?” he asked hopefully.

Forrest shook his head, seeing he had given Talon false hope. “I’ve heard of you both is all, lad. I ain’t seen her or nothing. Hells, everybody’s heard of you two. They say you fought off the chiefson himself to see your woman off during the Eye of Thodin. Then, when you was hung and left for dead, you up and disappeared.”

Talon noticed how the other Skomm nearby looked at him. There was admiration, even reverie in their eyes.

A woman seated across from them handed over a loaf of bread to Forrest, calling him, “Folkhagi.”

“They call you leader,” Talon noted.

“Folkhagi, yes.” He grinned. “I’ve been called worse.”

Talon laughed.

“About the red haired girl…” said Forrest.

“Akkeri,” Talon informed him.

“Akkeri,” he repeated, and then stood to address the others. “Has anyone heard of or seen Akkeri? The red haired girl who escaped Volnoss?”

Talon looked around hopefully, but no one said anything.

“Thanks for asking,” he told Forrest.

“If the stories of her beauty hold any truth, she wouldn’t have been put in here with us anyway,” the folkhagi told him. “Her kind is…kept elsewhere.”

“I know about the pleasure houses,” said Talon.

Forrest sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. McGillus alludes that he has her somewhere safe. But who can believe that bacraut? Do they ever supply water?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Occasionally they bring us up topside to drink our fill.”

Talon hoped it was soon.

A man across from him—with only one good tooth showing beyond his crooked smile—offered Talon his shirt. “You can piss on your shirt, wait a while for it to cool a bit, and drink it. Here, you can squeeze some out of mine.”

“No thanks,” said Talon waving him off, disgusted.

“Please, Dragonfly, lets retain a little dignity while we can, shall we?” said Forrest shaking his head.

The man shrugged and sucked on his shirt. Talon fought back his gorge.

“Yeah, Dragonfly. Have some digity,” said the giant of a man beside Forrest. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and stretched out, encroaching on the space of those near him.

“Talon, meet Crag. Crag, meet Talon,” said Forrest.

Crag offered Talon a giant hand. Thankfully the big man was gentle.

“Hi,” he said with a stupid grin. “I’m Crag. I ain’t no piss drinker.”

Talon chuckled. “Hello, Crag.”

“So how have you been?”

Thinking the question queer, as he had never met Crag before, Talon ignored the strangeness of the enquiry and answered, “I’ve been better.”

Crag burst out laughing as though he had never heard the common response.

“So has Crag!”