Critical Failures IX, page 22
part #9 of Caverns and Creatures Series
“What need has an upstanding ship's captain like yourself to fear the Kingsguard?” he asked. “Those who obey the laws of the land need not fear those who enforce it.”
Captain Longfellow spat on the deck. “The laws of the land can suck me sea cucumber. There not be but one law aboard this ship, and that be mine.”
“You ain't got to worry,” said Randy. “Righteous recently retired his position in the Kingsguard. He ain't got no authority to enforce nothin'.” He felt both Longfellow and Righteous could benefit from that reminder. “I think we can all agree that all of our individual goals would be better served by a smooth and speedy voyage.”
After a moment of tense silence, Righteous nodded. “I shall do whatever is required of me to ensure we reach our destination as swiftly as possible.”
“Aye,” said Captain Longfellow. “Ye can start by staying out of me crew's way.” He took a swig from a newly opened stonepiss bottle, then stepped up onto a higher tier of the deck to address his men. “Pay your whores and pull up your drawers! We set sail in one hour!”
“Goddamn,” said Denise, holding Fatty's face firmly against one of her hairy breasts. “I didn't realize we was leaving so soon. What's got such a hot fire held up to your nuts, Cap'n?”
Longfellow stepped down from his elevated position and peered out at the spires of the king's palace, his expression as dark as the columns of smoke rising over different parts of the city. “I have never had so easy a time recruiting new crewmen. Seems every semen-guzzling half-wit and his uncle be itching to get out of this city. Whatever be transpiring here, I want it far in me wake as soon as possible.”
Randy spent the next hour chatting with the crewmen he was familiar with and introducing himself to the new recruits.
“Hi there,” he said to a sweaty plump half-orc who was on his hands and knees vigorously scrubbing what appeared to be a blood stain on the rear deck. “I'm Randy.”
The half-orc stopped scrubbing and looked up at him. “I am Ovaud.” He looked exhausted, and perhaps a little overdressed for this type of work. His brown suede doublet seemed more appropriate to a merchant or low-level aristocrat than to a deckhand.
“This your first time working on a ship?”
“Is it that obvious?” Ovaud frowned at the stain he'd been scrubbing. “As hard as I scrub, it just won't come out.”
Randy shrugged. “Sometimes, stains are just stubborn like that. I seem to recall that stain being there since before the first time I boarded this ship. Did the captain tell you specifically to clean it?”
Ovaud shook his head. “I am a tailor by trade, or at least I was. I have no experience at sea, but I thought my skills may be of use for mending torn sails and nets. In the meantime, I seek to make myself useful in whatever way I can.”
“The tailorin' business ain't doing so hot?”
“My shop burned down,” said Ovaud. “Since the king's passing, things have been bad in Shallow Grave. I count myself fortunate just to have gotten out of there alive. Sometimes, I feel like it was a mistake to have ever fled Meb Gar'shur.”
Randy laughed. “Things ain't exactly rosy over there either, I can assure you.”
“You have been to Meb Gar'shur?”
“We only just got out of there. Me, the captain, most of this crew, we was all down in the fighting pits for the past month.”
Ovaud laughed as he got to his feet. “That was you? I heard rumor of an uprising and that the arena had fallen, but I did not believe it.”
“It's true.”
“How did you escape?”
Randy started recounting his adventure in Meb Gar'shur from their capture off the coast of Nazere. As he went on, a few more new crew members stopped what they were doing to listen to his tale. Even Righteous, who had recently heard the story, and Denise, who had lived it, seemed to enjoy Randy's increasingly dramatic retelling.
But just as he was getting to the chaotic climax of the Full Moon Brawl, commotion from the front of the ship diverted his audience's attention.
Cardinia was miles behind them by now, and the sun had gone down, but the moonlight was bright enough for Randy to make out an angry mob of sailors kicking the snot out of one of their own.
“The fuck's goin' on over there?” asked Denise.
Randy stood up. “Should we go and help?”
“I'm always up for a good bit of ass-kickin', but I reckon they've got it covered pretty well.”
“I meant help the guy who's getting his ass kicked.”
“Are you out of your fuckin' mind, Randy? Those motherfuckers is mad as hell about something. Ain't no good gonna come from jumping in on the wrong side.”
Randy ignored Denise's advice and started making his way toward the mob. Fortunately, Captain Longfellow stopped the commotion with a single shouted word.
“ENOUGH!” he said, standing on the small raised platform at the front of the ship. He was holding something in front of him about the size of a head of cabbage, but heavy enough to require both hands.
Two of his men picked up the guy they'd been beating on and held him up by the upper arms before the captain.
The man struggled to wrest his arms free of his shipmates' grips, but the effort proved futile. “Please, Captain!” he cried. “Nothing happened! I swear it!”
Captain Longfellow stared down at him with pure contempt in his eyes. “There be little I cannot tolerate in how a man behaves, few lines crossed I shan't abide.”
“Captain, please! Listen to me! Nothing ha–” A swift punch to the gut allowed the captain to continue speaking.
He shook his head. “Wallace, ye have sailed under me well long enough to know me thoughts on stealing the innocence of one so young.”
Ovaud gasped next to Randy. “Ollie!” he whispered.
“Who the fuck is Ollie?” asked Denise.
Randy shushed them so he could try to get a better idea of what was going on.
Captain Longfellow dropped what he was holding. It landed with a loud thud and a rattle of chain at Wallace's feet.
Wallace looked down at it in horror. “No, Captain! Not the Deep Penetration!”
“Goddamn,” said Denise. “Longfellow must be feeling extra frisky tonight.”
Randy hoped that he and Denise had both misinterpreted Wallace's fear.
Wallace struggled in vain as another crewman clamped an iron collar around his neck, then shoved the heavy metal ball it was chained to into his gut.
“Release him,” ordered the captain, drawing a sword and pointing it at Wallace. “Ye know the drill. Gods know ye have seen it performed enough times by better men than yerself.”
Wallace stumbled backward, cradling his heavy load, toward two men who were picking up a large wooden beam.
“Holy shit!” whispered Denise. “You think that's going up his ass?”
“No, I don't,” said Randy. “I reckon he's about to walk the plank.”
Denise shrugged. “That's almost just as good.”
Randy's suspicions were confirmed when the two men extended the beam out from the side of the ship. While he felt some small relief that Wallace wasn't about to be butt raped, Randy couldn't idly stand by and watch a captured prisoner be murdered in cold blood.
“Captain!” he called out.
Captain Longfellow shot him an annoyed glare. “I shall be with ye in a moment, Randy. I be a touch busy at present.” He stepped down from his platform and wagged his sword at Wallace, who backed away from it slowly as the crewmen stepped out of his way. They formed solid lines on either side of him, leaving him nowhere to go but toward the plank.
“This ain't right, Captain,” said Randy. “You at least ought to hear him out.”
“Stand down, Randy,” said Righteous. “Need I remind you that this is not your ship?”
Randy glared back at him. “You picked a fine time to get petty. How can you say that? That man's about to be executed, and we don't even know what he's done wrong!”
“Bring the child!” shouted Captain Longfellow.
One of his men shoved a small half-orc boy out onto the deck. He didn't look to be more than ten years old. His black hair was long and disheveled, and his face was covered in soot.
“Ollie!” cried Ovaud.
“Father!” the boy cried back.
Denise scratched under her tits. “Well, I reckon that's one mystery solved.”
“Wallace here was discovered in the cargo hold, knickers 'round his ankles, set to bugger this boy,” said Captain Longfellow. “'Twas only by the mercy of the gods that he be discovered in time. To let the crime go unpunished would be akin to pissing in their divine faces.”
“I meant no harm to the boy,” pleaded Wallace, taking his first backward step onto the plank. “I was only having a wank is all.”
Randy sighed. Wallace wasn't doing himself any favors.
“I ain't saying not to punish him,” said Randy. “But this is murder.”
Denise cleared her throat. “Hey, Randy. You sure this is the hill you want to die on? It ain't such a good look for you, especially considering your... history.”
“I ain't got no history, Denise! And I don't give a rat's hairy behind about my look. This ain't right!”
“This is not your fight, Randy,” said Righteous. “I say that not out of pettiness, but as a man of the law. We are beyond the jurisdiction of Cardinia. This ship is governed by the laws of its captain. And I, for one, will shed no tears at the loss.”
Captain Longfellow advanced slowly toward Wallace, sword held out. “Me sword has drawn not a drop of Wallace's blood. The choice be his to die like a man or live like a sniveling sea slug.” He lowered his sword and scowled at Wallace. “What would ye choose?”
Whatever the captain had in store for those who opted not to walk the plank, it must have been a fate worse than death. Wallace offered Captain Longfellow a small nod before jumping into the water.
“NO!” cried Randy, unable to refrain from trying to stop a senseless and avoidable death. He made for the side of the ship, but Denise must have anticipated the move. She responded quicker than an Olympic sprinter, wrapping her arms around his leg to hinder his movement. Randy could have shaken her off if Righteous didn't grab him by the opposite arm.
Still, Randy struggled to break free of them and rescue Wallace from a cold dark death at sea. Captain Longfellow and his remaining crew stood back and watched with mild interest. One thing life on a ship lacked was an abundance of entertainment.
“I'm really angry!” shouted Denise, as if she thought she could distract Randy by suddenly opening up about her feelings. But when she suddenly got as heavy as a baby elephant, squeezing the circulation out of Randy's thigh, he remembered that phrase was how she and Cooper invoked their Barbarian Rage.
“It is too late,” said Righteous, relaxing a little now that Denise had Randy pretty well immobilized. “There is nothing you can do to save him.”
“AAAAUUUUUUGGGGGHHH!” Denise added, punching Randy hard and repeatedly in the gut.
The crew howled with laughter as Randy lost his balance and fell backwards on the deck.
Randy didn't want to hurt Denise, but he couldn't take much more of a pounding before his internal organs started rupturing.
“I smite thee!” he shouted, slapping his hand lightly against Denise's cheek. The idea was to minimize the attack damage, hoping that the added Smite damage would be enough to bring Denise out of her Rage. But when his palm made contact with her beard, he didn't feel the divine power flow through his hand.
And Denise didn't appear to have felt anything at all. She continued shouting like a hairy banshee and pounding the tar out of Randy. Fortunately, Righteous, Ovaud, and one of the new orc crewmen restrained her and pulled her off of him. Denise struggled for a moment, but soon deflated down to her normal size.
“Has everyone gotten the madness out of their systems?” asked Righteous as he released Denise.
Denise sat back against the bulwark, catching her breath. She gave him a thumbs up. “Sorry about that, Randy. I got carried away. I ain't gonna lie, it felt pretty damn good to lay into you like that. But it was for your own good.”
Randy nodded. “I know. I reckon that's why my Smite didn't work on you. It's supposed to be used against evil, but you was only trying to save my life.”
“It's all water under the bridge now. Between my Rage fatigue and Fatty sucking all the life force out of my tits, I'm fuckin' bushed. You ready to turn in?”
Resigned to the fact that he'd done all he could, and Wallace's life was now beyond his ability to save, Randy was more than ready to put this day behind him.
“Not just yet,” said Captain Longfellow, coming toward them. “There still be the matter of the wee orc anklebiter aboard me ship.” He was glowering at Ovaud. “Might ye know something about this?”
“Apologies, Captain,” said Ovaud. “I meant no harm. You were not even supposed to know he was there.” He winced just after he said it, as if suddenly realizing how bad that sounded.
“He ain't meant nothin' by it, Captain,” said Randy, now understanding why Ovaud was trying to make such a good impression. He had more than his own life on the line. “His tailoring shop burned down, and he's just trying to get him and his boy somewhere safe to start over again.”
Captain Longfellow shot Randy an exasperated scowl. “Has not the authority ye hold upon me vessel, as well as the weight I lend to yer opinion, been made plain enough to ye yet? Me trust has been breached, and punishment must be served.” He held out his hand, palm up, and one of his crewmen slapped the handle of a cat o' nine tails down on it.
“Oh, come on!” said Randy. “This ain't that big a deal. It ain't enough for you to send a man to his death?”
“The sea be a dangerous place, Randy. Apart from the terrors that lurk beneath the waves and cutthroats who would board me ship and take it as their own, there be the matters of isolation and limited resources. Not that I need explain meself to ye, but it does the crew good to be reminded every now and again. The less trust I have in me crew, the more risk we all run of starving to death or falling prey to a rival captain with a better-disciplined crew. Rest assured, I take no pleasure in flogging one of me own men, but the wounds will heal. The lesson, one hopes, shall remain in the memories of all who bear witness to it for some time to come.”
There was logic there that Randy wasn't sure he necessarily agreed with, but couldn't outright deny. Still, Randy felt compelled to save at least somebody today.
“Let me take his place,” he said.
“No, Randy,” said Ovaud. “The crime was mine. I shall take the punishment.”
Randy shook his head. “Your boy's been through enough tonight. I can't let him watch his daddy get flogged on top of that.” He turned to Captain Longfellow. “Whip me instead. Everyone can bear witness, just like you said.”
Captain Longfellow scratched his neck behind his beard as he considered Randy's proposal. “Ye be a persistent barnacle on me arse, Randy. But ye have caused in me a change of heart.”
His crew murmured quietly behind him.
Randy was shocked. Had he actually gotten through to Captain Longfellow?
“Does that mean you ain't gonna flog me?”
Captain Longfellow laughed. “Oh, I'm going to flog you, all right,” he said. “But for once, I just might take some pleasure in it.”
Chapter 19
“BRAVO!” shouted Julian, clapping loudly as Chaz wrapped up an impressive performance of Billy Joel's Uptown Girl. They were nearing the agreed-upon minimum number of songs for the set, but the bar was filling up and Chaz was finally losing himself in the adoration of his growing audience again.
They wouldn't make a ton of money tonight, but Julian needed Chaz to give every show the same energy and enthusiasm he would give a Superbowl halftime show if they were ever going to book comparable venues. The sooner they paid back Akane, the sooner they could get back to the task of helping their friends.
“What is an uptown girl?” asked Akane when the applause died down.
Rather than try to explain the complexities of class struggles in his world when she wasn't exactly tuned in to the cosmopolitan norms of her own, Julian made up an easier answer he hoped would satisfy her.
“An elf,” he said, hoping that didn't come off as arrogant. “Female, of course.”
Akane looked like she might ask him to elaborate, but then Chaz began playing Journey's eternal barroom favorite, Don't Stop Believin'.
Julian was happy to see him expanding his repertoire from strictly Neil Diamond songs. It was healthy for him and good for the show, especially at small venues where he could test the crowd's reactions to new songs before attempting them for larger audiences.
“What kind of music is this?” asked a middle-aged elf who had squirmed his way through the crowd to stand next to Julian. At least, he looked middle-aged. Julian had no idea what that might be in elf years. He might have been seven or eight hundred years old. His bright orange tunic and the way he kept his long slightly-graying black hair back in a ponytail suggested that he was still trying to hang on to his youth, but that might have just been the style among elves in this part of the world.
“Classic rock anthem,” Julian responded before considering how that might lead to a further series of questions that he had neither the time nor the patience to get into with a complete stranger.
“Are you this kid's manager?”
That made the hairs on the back of Julian's neck stand up. Could this be another Mordred? That was the last thing he needed while he still had Akane to deal with. He turned to give this (hopefully) complete stranger his full attention.
“How did you know that?” he asked.
The older elf tapped the tip of one of his long ears. “I hear things.”
Julian relaxed a little. “Of course you do.” After a few weeks of being plagued by his extra-sensitive elf ears, Julian had grown accustomed to tuning out background noise. But if he wanted to, he could listen in on nearly any conversation in a crowded room.
He offered his hand. “Yes, I'm his manager. My name's Julian.”
