“Oh aye, what they gonna do? Take an eye an' keep me locked up in a cell fer three months then threaten ta burn me?” Betrim spat again. The sooner he was out of Sarth and back to the wilds the better. Folk like him didn’t belong in
civilized
society.
Arip sighed and stared at Betrim's empty eye socket with a grimace. “Reckon somethin' needs doin' about that?”
“It's fine,” Betrim said with a little annoyance. “Arbiter who patched me up said it were healin' good.”
“S'not what I meant. It's givin' me nasty little tingles down me back every time I look at it.” Arip raised his voice and shouted up to the ship. “Rilly! Rilly, get ya scrawny arse down here.”
A few moments later a young girl vaulted over the railing of the ship, fell a good ten foot to the dock and landed on all fours with the sureness and undeserved confidence of youth. She stood and swaggered over to her father with a smirk on her dirty face. “What is it, Da'? Holy shit. That's the ugliest fuckin' witch hunter I ever seen.”
Betrim had a sudden urge to slap the girl but he restrained, giving Arip the staring of a lifetime instead. Arip just chuckled and flipped a single silver piece to his daughter. “Get yaself to the market an' pick him up a eye patch. Make sure it's black. Get us some meat an' all, good stuff; bird or somethin'. Just no more fuckin' dog, eh.”
Rilly looked at Betrim and a grin spread across her face. “Aye aye, Da'.” And with that she ran off before Betrim could swing for her, of course in his weakened state chances were the little bitch could have beaten him even if he’d caught her.
“She don't even remember you,” Arip said after watching his daughter run off, a wistful smile on his lips.
“Aye, probably for the best. Must a' been over ten years since we last met an' what's she now?”
“Sixteen.”
“That'd make her...” Betrim took the time to do the numbers in his head. “Three. Don't reckon I remember much from three.”
“Come on,” Arip said. “Lets continue this little reunion aboard
the Bride
. I got some rum in me cabin, good stuff too.”
“Aye. Don't really drink so much no more though, Arip,” Betrim put in.
“Eh? Since when?”
“Since the last time I got stinkin' drunk it cost me a perfectly good eye.” He didn't add it also cost him two perfectly good friends.
Arip wasn't wrong about the rum; it was the good stuff. Betrim sipped at it all the same. He didn't want to get pissed and truth was he hadn't eaten since the Gods knew when and he was out of practice having been locked up and strapped down for a few months. Still, the Black Thorn wasn't used to sipping at drinks. Back before he lost his eye he'd have necked the entire bottle given half a chance.
Betrim had known Arip since before he had become Captain Winters, they were cut from the same stock, but the beefy captain had made something of himself. He wasn't the same dirty, long haired, murdering, thieving backstabber he used to be. Truth was Arip had cleaned up his act somewhat. He had commissioned a ship, hired a crew and made a semi-honest living. He had also taken to regular washing and hair cutting by the looks of things. Still had the same square jaw carved from stone, the same cleft nose, the same shit brown eyes but now he was clean shaven, with a short pony tail and clothing that screamed
money
. His cabin reflected the change too; everything had its place; the desk with its curios, writing implements and nautical charts; the cupboard to Betrim's left, no doubt made from some fancy hardwood and containing all sorts of expensive wares; the rum being served in glasses of all things. Betrim was fairly sure it was the first time he'd ever drunk anything out of a glass. Truth was he felt more than a little out of place in this setting.
He nodded towards a bookshelf, two sturdy-looking doors could be closed to keep the books secure but for now they hung open, a wide variety of coloured spines on display none of which Betrim could read. “You learned words, Arip?”
His old friend smiled. “I know a few, enough ta get by. Those are more fer Rilly, made sure she knows how ta read. Don't want her growin' up like I did.”
Betrim grumbled and made an effort to put his glass of rum down on the desk. Arip refilled the glass and, despite not being sure he wanted it refilled, Betrim grunted his thanks all the same.
“Lets get down ta it, Thorn. What do ya need?”
Betrim grinned. “Some food, some new clothes, ones 'at fit, not like that fancy shit you wearin', somethin' plain. An axe, hand axe'd be best. Some knives. An' a trip ta Chade.”
Arip sat back in his chair behind his desk and steepled his fingers. No doubt he was weighing up the debt he owed Betrim against the requests. It was a long while filled with silence and hard stares before he answered.
“Can't take ya ta Chade, Thorn, an' ya don't wanna go there anyways. As fer the rest, done an' done. Next port o' call fer
the Bride
is Solantis. Ya wanna come along then ya welcome, so long as ya pitch in.”
Last thing the Black Thorn could claim to be was a sailor so Betrim guessed
pitch in
was meaning help out with the odd bit of piracy. “What's wrong with Chade?”
“Last time you were there, Thorn you murdered two members of the ruling council...”
“One,” Betrim corrected his old friend.
“What?”
“Actually I didn't kill either o' 'em but my crew only killed the one o' them. Jus' got blame fer the other. Never did find out who did it.”
“Well then ya marched up ta Hostown and killed Gregor H'ost an' all,” Betrim thought about correcting his old friend again. It was, after all, Thanquil who had killed H'ost. “An' ta top it off ya slaughtered half the town despite there bein' an army camped right outside.”
“Now that bit weren't me. That were...” Betrim paused, hard to explain that it was done by some sort of demonic shades summoned by H'ost himself. “It weren't me!”
“Don't matter who it really were, Thorn. Rumour is you did it.”
Betrim almost spat but he didn't reckon Arip would take too kindly to it given the gaudy rug he had covering the floor looked like it cost as much as one of those expensive whores; the fancy ones from the Five Kingdoms that called themselves
mistresses
. “Rumours is shit, Arip. You know that well as me. Seem ta remember there was one 'bout you an' a horse back in the day.”
“Aye. You should remember it, you bloody started it!” They both had a good long laugh at that but, after sobering, Arip's face dropped back to being serious. “Rumour or no it was enough fer the good folk o' Chade ta put a price on ya head, Thorn. A big fuckin' price!”
“How big?” Betrim asked with a grin, he’d had a variety of bounties on him for as long as he could remember.
“Big enough that if it weren't fer me owin' ya fer savin' Rilly back then I'd be tempted ta turn ya in my own self!” Arip paused and let out a sigh. “Fifty thousand bits.”
Betrim made a face that said he knew how much that was. Truth was he had no idea but it was certainly a lot. It also didn't escape his notice that it was the same amount he was supposed to get paid for his part in killing H'ost.
“Solantis then,” Betrim said, his eye still fixed on Arip. “Can't think of a reason I'd want ta go there but anywhere's better than here right now, I guess.”
“An' after this we're done. No more debt,” Arip put in quick.
“Aye. You get me ta the wilds an' we'll call it even.”
“Good. Now how about you pick up that glass an' fill me in on what really happened back in Chade an’ Hostown?”
Jacob Lee
It had been so long since Jacob had been out he had almost forgotten how wonderful a place the world truly was. The morning sun glinted over the tops of the white marble buildings giving the city of Sarth a beautiful soft glow that seemed to radiate from the city itself. The sounds of the early morning; shop owners setting up their wares and calling to each other in friendly tones, a couple of mange ridden dogs barking at each other over the remains of a half-eaten rat.
To his right a group of slaves walked by; going about their tasks under the ever watchful gaze of their loving overlord. To his left a small canal boat floated along; peaceful in the sparkling blue waters. Its load, a large net too big for the small boat, filled with the early morning catch of fish. Some of the fish struggled in the binds, attempting to break free; others went merrily to their fate.
There was a wonderful smell in the air. A strange mixture of freshly baked bread, some foreign spice; possibly cumin, and rotting garbage. Jacob spied the source of the latter leaning against a large white building; greenery for the most part, lettuce he believed, though he wasn't going to go over and check. Despite his curiosity he didn't have the time for such a luxury.
Two women were standing arguing over the ownership of a man who was nowhere to be seen. One of the women demanded she had two children with the fellow, while the other woman claimed that the two were in love and he was going to leave his old hag of a wife. Both women looked ready to come to blows but both stopped and stared at Jacob as he passed. They fell silent and looked more alarmed than comforted when he smiled at them.
Back when Jacob had been just another Arbiter he had been used to such fearful stares; in a way he had almost missed it. Now he rarely received any stares at all, except for the rats that sometimes found their way into his cell; they tended to glare at him through confused eyes as if it were strange for him to be there.
A small glob of white landed not two metres to Jacob's right. He looked up to see a large bird; possibly a pigeon or a seagull, he had never bothered to learn the difference between the two, land on one of the street lanterns. Its head twitched about in a nervous fashion that made the Arbiter smile. Then the bird let loose a long, mournful
coo
before leaping into the air and disappearing over the top of a building marked
the Tired Mule
. There was a time when Jacob might have visited such a tavern, after all, he'd met Sarah in a tavern.
“Arbiter! The man chasing me is a heretic. A witch,” shouted a man barrelling towards Jacob at high speed. He wore fake-silk finery dashed in outrageous colours that may have been the current fashion but Jacob had been locked away for too long to be sure.
The man chasing was bald, bearded and burly like a blacksmith but without the tell-tale difference in arm muscle. He wore an apron spotted with blood.
Most likely a butcher
, Jacob concluded.
As the man in fake-silk passed, wearing a wild grin, Jacob's right hand shot out. Two fingers punched into the man's side and he stumbled a few steps before collapsing onto his knees, clutching at his side and coughing blood. A few moments later he rolled into the canal and stopped moving, he floated along slowly, face down, his red blood swirling and mixing with the blue water. Jacob never broke his stride. The butcher stopped for a moment, stared at the dead man and at Jacob then he muttered a thank you and ran off.
Not far to the docks now. The sooner we get the Black Thorn back the sooner we can put me back in my cell.
Jacob thought to himself. It was comforting knowing his stone prison was waiting for him and always would be.
When he reached the docks Jacob couldn't keep the smile from his face. It was even more wonderful than he remembered. Salt air assaulted his eyes and nose and he breathed in deep; experiencing the tang and flavour of it. The noise was a loud rumble of hundreds of voices all raised at once and combined with the creak and groan of ships at dock, of rope being stressed and water lapping at the hulls. A horse drawn cart rumbled past him, the poor beast was oblivious to everything but that directly in front of it; blinders they called them and people wore them all their lives without even realising. Not Jacob though, his blinders had been removed long ago, he saw everything, heard everything, smelled everything. What some people might call an assault to the senses was a joyous torrent of experience to him.
Back in his cell, when he chose to look out of his window into the Inquisition courtyard Jacob had seen many people, but even at the busiest time no more than a hundred. Here at the docks of Sarth there must have been thousands. It shouldn't have surprised him; Sarth wasn't just the capital of the kingdom of Sarth, it was also the kingdom's main port; nestled as it was in the bay of storms with the Gods' Rest peninsula to the north and the Black Rock cliffs to the south.
People didn't stare at him, they stared away from him; looking elsewhere as they walked around him, none wanting to attract the attention of an Arbiter. Some glanced sidelong at his coat, no doubt wondering why it was black instead of the usual brown. Arbiters were a common sight in Sarth but none of the people around Jacob would have seen a black Arbiter coat before, after all his was the only one.
Jacob set to scanning the crowds for the Black Thorn. He had been told what the man looked like; tall, standing just over six feet; wasted muscle where once there was brawn; a shaven head; the left side of his face badly scarred, burned and missing the eye; only three fingers on his left hand. Jacob had memorised the description and determined he would be easy to recognise, not many folk survived that sort of list of injuries.
After hours of standing in one of the most central areas of the docks leading up to the piers themselves Jacob had seen more faces than he could count. Some he'd seen multiple times; sailors and captains and merchants and slaves all coming and going, some he'd seen only once; just people passing through. Some had weather-beaten faces, some had the pearly soft skin of the pampered. Some had striking features; large, bulbous noses, crooked, brown teeth, the odd lazy eye, some looked as plain as Jacob did himself. None of the people he saw were the Black Thorn.
Jacob decided to give up on his current course. It appeared his likelihood of just happening upon the Black Thorn was low. Questioning the captains of the ships might be a more fruitful course given that Thorn would likely be trying to escape back to the wilds. Starting at the north end of the docks and moving south, questioning every captain along the way seemed the most logical course, though with hundreds of ships it could take some time. Thankfully patience was one of Jacob's few virtues.
