The Wrath of a Shipless Pirate (The Godlanders War) (5 page)

Corin raised an eyebrow, feigning unconcern. “He played his part in a mutiny against me. Kill him and I’ll thank you for it.”

Ahmed called his bluff. The Fig clapped his hands once, and the guard standing close behind Charlie Claire knotted a fist in the sailor’s blood-soaked hair. He hauled back hard, jerking Charlie’s chin up and eliciting a groan despite the knotted gag. With his other hand, the guard whipped out his heavy dagger in a wide arc and brought it slashing back toward Charlie’s throat.

Corin screamed, an animal protest, and flung himself
forward
to intervene. But two hands fell like blacksmith’s
hammers
on his shoulders and clamped tight, dragging him back into his place. Still, his reaction seemed to be enough. The guard stopped the dagger just before it tore the deckhand’s throat open, though it came close enough to draw a thin new flow of blood. It looked to be a graze, but bright, fresh blood washed down to damp the drying clot on Charlie’s shirt.

Corin rolled his head to glare back at Ahmed. “Let him go! What has he ever done to you? He’s just a stupid deckhand. Let him go!”

“Ah, but he has
value
to me in this current state.”

“What could he mean to you?” Corin snarled, but he saw the answer even before Ahmed said it.

“He gives me power over you. Power over the legendary Corin Hugh. And that is worth something.”

Corin caught a deep breath and then forced it out slowly. He calmed his hammering heart and wrestled his emotions into order. They were doing nothing to serve him now. He took another calming breath, then rolled his shoulders. “Have your thugs release me, so we can talk like gentlemen.”

“Oh, no. You struck a truer note before. We are not
gentlemen
, but
businessmen
. Still
…
” He clapped his hands, and those iron clamps on Corin’s shoulders relented. Corin stretched, wincing, then turned back to face Ahmed.

“You’ve always shown a
…
flexible nature,” Corin said. “And a shrewd sense for seizing an opportunity. I can respect that. But this time you’re mistaken. I’m worth nothing to you.”

Ahmed raised his eyebrows, doubtful, but he said nothing.

Corin pressed his case. “I was a famous pirate captain once, it’s true. But I have been marooned. I’m nothing now. I have no crew, no ship, no more treasure than the purse on my belt. I do understand a smart businessman seizing a chance that falls into his lap, but I am not the prize you think I am. I’m worth almost nothing to you. Same as Charlie here.”

As he said it, Corin turned to gesture back to Charlie Claire, and with the gesture shifted half a pace closer to him.

The Fig didn’t seem to notice. “Can it truly be? Corin Hugh has fallen so low?”

“I am afraid it is.”

Ahmed clucked his tongue, disappointment clear in his expression. “Ah, such a shame. And here I thought I had some better use for you than the one Tommy Day has already paid
me for
.”

Corin swallowed hard. “Tommy
…
what?” He stifled a curse. He’d taken this all for an act of Ahmed’s own initiative, but if Tommy had already placed on offer on the table, then Corin had misplayed his hand.

Ahmed nodded earnestly. “Oh, yes. He was here an hour gone. Paid a handsome fee for safe passage to Marzelle; then he paid me double that to lay a trap for you and see you dead.”

“And
…
and Charlie?”

“Half a livre to make him disappear. It would be insulting at four times the price, but I had my own reasons to take Charlie off their hands.”

Corin gaped. “So you could
kill
me?” He still had an ace up his sleeve. He took a confused step toward Ahmed and then two steps back toward Charlie. Six hostile gazes followed him, but no one yet moved to intervene.

Ahmed did come a step closer, overflowing with his victory. “Aren’t you listening? I never planned to kill you. I planned to
use
you. But now you say you are no use
…
”

Corin laughed and forced an uneven hiccup into it. “Wait! Wait! That’s not what I said.” Both hands rose defensively, and he backed slowly away from Ahmed. Two paces, three, until he bumped into the guard standing over Charlie Claire.

Ahmed showed his teeth in a predatory grin. “Are you prepared to change your story now? You might still have one last little bit of value?”

Corin sighed. “I suppose I do at that. You said Tommy Day took passage to Marzelle?”

Ahmed blinked, surprised by the sudden change in topic. “What? I
…
yes, but—”

“And he’s already gone?”

“Yes! But
you
are here! And I have Charlie Claire.”

“Had,” Corin corrected. He dropped his hand on Charlie’s shoulder and stepped through dream again.

It was a perfect exit. Except, somehow, it all went wrong. Something in the magic faltered, and Charlie Claire began to scream.

T
he world went soft and gray around Corin, but it didn’t instantly transform this time. Instead, everything went still. Ahmed the Fig, mid-clap. The guard behind Charlie Claire, slashing with his dagger. Four others starting forward, frozen on their first step.

The room receded, dwindling to a point in Corin’s vision, while everything else was thick gray fog. Then he began to move, soaring northward above the nothing, while the Fig’s
establishment
rolled to the horizon. But Corin had barely gone far enough to cross Khera before he slammed to an abrupt stop. And there in the air before him, surprised as ever, was the woman he’d met twice in the city streets. She cried out in shock, and
perhaps
Corin did as well, but the sound was gone a moment later. The vision was gone, and that strange woman with it.

Corin was back in Ahmed’s private room. The others still stood frozen, but perhaps they had begun to thaw. Perhaps Ahmed’s hands came closer together. Perhaps the guard’s dagger shifted downward. Corin ground his teeth and focused his will on a
bolthole
he knew in Marzelle, and tried to step through dream again.

Again the gray world rolled away, and Corin felt himself rushing down the same path he’d taken before. With an effort of will he heaved himself off course, veering sharply out around the city’s edge. Some touch of color lit the world below, just shadows and hard edges, but it was enough to show Corin the coastline flashing by, the stormy Medgerrad he knew so well, and moments later he saw the distant shape of rich Ithale.

No sooner had he passed over the land than another
figure
sprang into the air before him. This one Corin knew all too well. Ephitel himself, the tyrant king of gods. Shock and outrage washed across his face in the fraction of a heartbeat that passed before Corin reached him.

For his part, Corin felt nothing but animal rage. Before he could even think, the sword was in his hand. Corin swung with all his might, slashing at the monster’s throat—

And he was back in Ahmed’s office. Corin roared his fury, closed his hand more tightly on Charlie’s shoulder, and leaped away again. He went west this time, not east, but somewhere in the desert he encountered a new figure—a total stranger who had the grace and bearing Corin had learned to associate with the ancient elves. Again, as quickly as they met, Corin was thrown back. He closed his eyes and fixed his will and jumped. Another path, another interloper over Meloan. Another path, and an elf on the high seas near Jebbra Point.

A furious panic now clawed at Corin’s heart, as every time he returned to Ahmed’s lair, he saw the flashing dagger, saw the closing trap. This
had
to work! If it didn’t, Charlie was a dead man, and Corin likely was too. He caught a heavy breath and leaped again.

Yet another path, and Corin steered a wild course between the points he’d learned to avoid, like deadly rocks off the Spinola coast. Somehow this time he dodged them all. He crashed home in Marzelle—blackest port in all of Raentz—rushing down toward the cellar he’d imagined. That room exploded in his mind just as Ahmed’s had receded, until Corin saw himself standing there in gray-fog darkness, Charlie Claire beside him, still tied to that expensive chair. Corin blinked his eyes, gasped for breath, and shook the spell away.

It took a moment more, but at last the eerie gray faded to black, and time returned.

Charlie never once stopped screaming in his ear.

“Steady on, sailor,” Corin said. “We are safer now.”

“What was that? What happened? Where are we?”

“Marzelle.”

“Raentz? You bring me to Raentz? We may as well have stayed to die at the Fig’s brothel!”

“Be still!” Corin hissed again. “Marzelle is not so bad a
s t
hat.”

“For us it is! Storming seas, Captain, this is Dave Taker’s home port!”

Corin turned slowly to face his loyal follower. His voice came out a dangerous growl. “You knew this and you didn’t tell me?”

“You asked about the girl and Blake—”

“But Taker’s his first mate!”

“I’ve told you more than once. The ship is sunk. The crew’s split up. And Ethan Blake is gone!”

Corin closed his eyes. “This changes things.”

“Yes! Take us away from here!”

“No! Be still.” Corin turned away, pacing. “So Taker finally rose to first mate, then lost it within weeks. That might serve m
e we
ll.”

“On a spit, perhaps. Can’t you guess how angry that has made him?”

“Oh, aye. But that anger belongs to Ethan Blake.”

“Perhaps it should, but he directs it at the crew. At the men who rejected Blake’s command.”

“Fascinating,” Corin said.

“Terrifying. You know this man! You saw how his cronies treated me.”

Corin hesitated. Blake’s men had found Charlie just after Corin betrayed him and abandoned him, but Charlie hadn’t thrown any accusations yet. Perhaps he didn’t know. Corin tried to argue in his own defense. “It’s just a shame you weren’t able to see how I punished them for that.”

Charlie offered Corin a grateful smile, without any sign of accusation. “Oh, I saw Tommy Day bleeding from his gut. Pale as a ghost and wailing almost as bad as one. Billy had to hold him up. I just wish you’d done the same to that sneaking scholar. He tried to rob me, just like you said he would.”

Corin shook his head in mock outrage. “The knave! Well, you’ll be glad to know I settled all our debts with him. And now we’ll settle up with Taker and his cronies.”

Charlie swallowed hard and looked away. “Why
…
why now? If you’re so anxious to do battle, why’d you leave me to ’em back in Khera?”

Corin shook his head. “Tommy had a pistol, and I had to step quick.”

“Ah. You worked your magic?”

“Aye, and it lost me hours.”

“Well
…
you came for me anyway. And for that I thank you. But I’ll beg you now—take me somewhere else!”

“Steady on, sailor. Steady on. We have our tasks to do, but there is glory in it.”

Charlie shook his head, then had to reach up to steady
himself
. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry, Captain, but I can’t face Dave Taker. I stole from him. Don’t you understand? And if he finds me here
…
”

Corin heaved a weary sigh. In Khera, he’d tried to leave Charlie Claire, and Charlie had avowed his faithfulness. But faced with Dave Taker—no, faced with the very city Dave Taker was staying in—Charlie quailed.

And that made Charlie into a risk. Corin didn’t dare turn him loose, and unless he could calm some of the deckhand’s fears, Charlie was going to bolt. Chances were all too good he’d dash right into the hands of their enemies.

So Corin caught Charlie’s shoulder and gave it a strong squeeze. “You’ve convinced me, Charlie. I owe you better. I’ll find you passage.”

“Us! This place is no safer for you.”

Corin hesitated; then for Charlie’s sake, he lied. “Aye. I’ll f
ind us
passage. Where’d you like to go?”

“I hear good things about far-off Ellena.”

“Good man! Far indeed, but the architecture’s lovely there. I’ll see it done. You just get some rest.”

Charlie looked around and patted the cool earth wall. “What is this place?”

“A safe house. Aren’t you in the Nimble Fingers?”

“Sorry, Captain. Never been a cutpurse. Honest sailor all
my life
.”

“You’re missing out. The Nimble Fingers is a powerful brotherhood.”

Charlie rubbed his recently split scalp. “Better brothers than a pirate crew?”

“Oh, quite! If it had been the Nimble Fingers, you never would have felt a thing.”

For a long time, Charlie said nothing. Then he crossed the room to kick at a straw-stuffed mattress on the floor. “This is all for us?”

“For anyone who needs it. This isn’t the nicest house in town, but it’s usually pretty empty. You get some sleep. Heal your
hairline
. I’ll leave our marking at the door and then go see what ships are sailing soon and what they’d cost us.”

Charlie dropped down on his back, staring blankly up at the dirt ceiling. “I’ll work. Don’t have to pay
…
I’ll earn my way.”

“Nonsense. I’ve
…
got a bit of coin. I’ll be glad to pay yo
ur w
ay.”

A smile touched the sailor’s lips. “Sounds
…
sounds good.”

Corin watched his old crewman for a moment, then turned and headed for the stairs. He’d find Charlie passage and get him safe aboard his ship. But first, he had to find some old friends.

The cellar room had its own exit to the alley behind its house. Corin’s senses strained as soon as he closed the door behind him. A warm night lay over Marzelle, and the city provided a strong contrast to desert Khera. Lamps glowed on every street corner, showing the reserved locals, who went quietly about their
business
in modest working clothes. Here and there among them were the swarthy sailors who made the port town so wealthy.

Corin spent little attention on the locals, though he blended easily among them in his plain black clothes and long, rich cloak. No, his attention focused on those who moved with the easy, rolling lope of seafarers on city streets.

He saw no sign of Dave Taker or his vicious cronies, but there were certainly familiar faces here and there. Corin saw old
crewmates
—none from his command, but more than one who should have recognized him from his days aboard the
Chariot
under Old Grim.

But Corin had been more than a pirate. Even without
touching
Oberon’s strange magic, he had his tricks. He drifted down Marzelle’s city streets like a dim reflection over still waters. He adjusted course and hugged the shadows and turned his face before any old compatriot might recognize him. And he did it all without ever breaking pace. It was almost as good as
coming
home, to walk the shady streets of a port town in the proper Godlands once again.

He drifted absently, guessing at which ships might be in port, which crews might be broken up, by nothing more than the
occasional
familiar face. And all the while he made his way toward the east, toward a Nimble Fingers tavern that might offer him more precise information.

Halfway there, he slipped around a corner into what should have been an empty alley and, for all his grace, he crashed into a woman moving fast the other way.

Both figures spilled apart, down to the cobblestones, but even as the woman fell—even as she spat a vile curse—she raised her right arm to keep her weapon trained on Corin.

“Gods’ blood!” he shouted, as astonished as he was angry. “It can’t be you again!”

But even as he said it, he registered what he was seeing. She no longer wore the long white robes of Jepta, but a tailored
cotton
dress that left her arms bare and revealed quite clearly the
outlandish
weapon she carried.

It was something like a flintlock pistol, but smaller, with a glossy casing of glass and precious metals. Seemingly too
delicate
, too light, too small to be any serious threat, but Corin knew
better
. He’d seen this thing in action—twelve hundred years ago, but less than a week to him.

An instant after he set eyes on the druids’ poison pistol, he saw her face. And then he understood why she had felt so
familiar
. He knew her. He had met her in the streets of Jezeeli just before it burned, but he would never forget that face. This was the woman who had rescued him, who had defied the tyrant Ephitel to stop a war, and who had clung to Oberon’s rules even after he relinquished them.

This was Aemilia, a one-time moneychanger in the city of the gods. And here, at last, he’d found a friend who might truly understand him.

“I don’t know what you are,” she said, “but if you so much as move, I will make your body a prison for your mind. Do you understand?”