Marooned
The tavern was called the Silver Spigot, but Selena thought the Yellow Fog would have been more appropriate. Yellow light from whale oil lamps and candles to suffuse the small confines in a dim yellow haze. She sat at a table stained by yellow beer, pirates leering at her with yellow teeth from every corner. Brassy pots were set in the middle of the room so that the patrons didn’t have to stagger far to release their streams of yellow urine. A drunken man banged on the yellow keys of a rickety piano in one corner. He sang shanties with men hanging on his neck who raised yellow bottles of grog. At the table beside hers, four pirates tossed yellowed ivory dice and either swore or cheered or threatened bloodshed at the results. The Silver Spigot was saturated: sour breath, old sweat, and piss, and the man who sat in front of Selena stank of all three.
The captain of the Sea Scar rubbed his chin with crusty yellowed nails. Rasp-rasp-rasp. She sat fought the urge to slap his grubby hand away from his grubby face and waited for him to agree or to deny her so she could move on. We are running out of time.
Captain Mallen met her eye and Selena didn’t like the lascivious glint. The rum he’d drunk—on her coin—had made him less subtle. His tongue wormed out of his mouth and over his lips.
“I don’t know, lassie,” he said. “I like the color o’ yer gold, but Isle Saliz? It ain’t nothing but jungle over there. Jungle full o’ wild beasts.” He jabbed his finger toward a window. “Bloody Deeps, just out on this boardwalk you can find hawkers selling teeth what come from Saliz. Huge’uns as big as me arm, an’ good n’ sharp at the tip. Cain’t even pronounce the name o’ the beast they was yanked from.” His own teeth—what few he had left to him—were stained with the muddy ichor of chewing tobacco. He grinned. “An’ don’t get me started on the bugs.”
Selena’s hands clenched. “Captain Mallen, let me remind you that you would not need to step foot onto Isle Saliz. I need you to anchor off and provide me a skiff to make landfall. I’ll worry about the beasts and the bugs and whatever else I find there.”
Mallen shook his head and drained the last of his rum as if it were water. His eyes were red and bleary when they raked over her again. “You do paint a pretty picture with yer wee sweet face, don’t you?” He licked his lips again. “The Scar is me pride and joy. If there be great beasts on Isle Saliz, who’s to say what lurks in the deep ‘round it? I won’t risk me brig. Not even for a pot o’ gold from a busty lass like yerself.”
Selena felt a flush color her neck and ears. She rose to her feet. “Thank you for your time.”
“Hold on, hold on.” Mallen grabbed her wrist. “Me time is worth more than a glass or two o’ this grog.”
“Let go,” Selena said in a low voice. The tavern grew quiet as other patrons turned to watch the scene.
Captain Mallen did not let go. He stood and pulled her close to him. The stink of his breath wafted over her and thick spittle sprayed her cheek.
“Why not give old Mallen a kiss, eh? Put those rosy little lips o’ yourn on me cheek and I’ll make sure to put in a good word with the next captain you try to barter with.” He squeezed her wrist harder. “If you put them lips down me belowdecks, I might just change me mind altogether.”
Other patrons barked harsh laughter or cheered lewdly. Selena looked for Ilior and then remembered she’d asked, implored, and then commanded the Vai’Ensai to remain outside the tavern, out of sight to keep from intimidating any prospective sailors.
Thank the god he obeyed. He’d kill the lot of them and then we’d have real trouble.
With a speed that made the drunkards around them blink at what they were seeing, Selena’s hand spun out of Mallen’s grip and took hold of his wrist. She spun again, twisting Mallen’s arm so that it stuck out behind him like a rudder handle. He let out a yelp and then another as she steered him face-first onto the table. She did all this without even lifting her other hand but rested it on her sword. The tavern was absolutely silent now.
“I said, thank you for your time.” Selena gave his arm a final twist, eliciting another yelp and a curse. She left the tavern to mocking cheers and applause.
Ilior was coming in as she went out, his sword drawn. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Although I’m beginning to despair whether—”
The tavern door banged open and Mallen staggered out, his face a grimace of drunken rage. His cutlass shone dully in the light of the oil lamps that lined Port Sylk’s boardwalk.
“Can I help you, friend?” Ilior’s voice rumbled like an avalanche.
Mallen’s red-rimmed gaze craned upwards to regard the Vai’Ensai. He tried to maintain a semblance of dignity as he sheathed his blade, as though he’d decided it wasn’t worth sullying it with Selena’s blood. He spat in the dirt at their feet and staggered away, cursing under his breath.
“He was my best prospect,” Selena sighed.
“Harruk’sha,” Ilior swore in his own tongue and the two began to walk the wooden planks that made up the boardwalk.
On the southern side were the docks where dozens of ships, their sails furled, bobbed like a forest of barren trees set afloat in the dark. More ships sat at anchor farther out; larger brigs or carracks that belonged to the pirate bosses of the various collectives. Lights winked in the cabins of some. The bosses, Selena had learned, ruled Uago, but from a safe distance in the event a quick getaway was necessary. On the other side of the boardwalk, the taverns, inns, shops and brothels lined the street, sagging against one another, their facades white-washed by sun and salt and weathered by wind.
The air was humid and heavy with the smells of sweat, rum, fish, salt, and offal. Night had fallen over Port Sylk, and the denizens and visitors of the port city had come out to play. The oil lamps cast lurid shadows, raucous and drunken laughter filled the air, as did the sounds of breaking glass and curses. Fisticuffs broke out between sailors every few paces and more than once Ilior had to shove aside a duo of brawlers as they spilled onto the street from a tavern or brothel. Prostitutes called from windows curtained with red silk—or more likely linen dyed red—their breasts pushing out of low-cut dresses. Others fanned themselves desultorily, regarding the scene below with flat expressions under garish makeup that ran down their cheeks in the relentless heat. Spice shops made Selena’s nose itch as they passed, and fortune-tellers tried to lure her into their dark shops where hanging crystals glittered in the windows. They ceased their entreaties when Ilior’s shadow fell over them and the sober men on the streets gave Selena and her companion a wide berth.
“I don’t know what to do next,” Selena told Ilior, stopping outside another tavern. A weather-beaten sign above a tavern door proclaimed it The Last Call. The boardwalk ended. Its wooden planks giving way to a narrow dirt road that led to the poorest district in the town, a place named the Jetties. No oil lamps lit and the night was black and breathing.
Ilior wrinkled his snout “The last call, indeed.”
“I don’t have much choice.”
“Wait.” Ilior laid a clawed hand on Selena’s arm. “We are being watched.”
“Where?”
“Where the street ends. I saw movement, fleet and small.”
Selena turned and looked to the blackness. A shadow flitted with a whisper of movement. Before she could call out, the stranger peeked out into the murky light spilling out of the Last Call’s windows.
A young girl, perhaps no older than twelve, peered at them with large brown eyes from under a matted nest of hair that bore braids, beads, and small seashells as ornament. She was skinny and small, her clothes shabby, her feet bare. She gave Ilior a sidelong glance and then fixed her gaze on Selena.
“Selena Koren?”
Selena stepped back. “How did you know?”
“Bloody bones and spit, everyone here knows you. It’s not big, Uago, and Aluren magicians aren’t too common. ‘Specially not ladies.”
Selena nodded, tight lipped. “Yes, that’s apparent.”
“What’s your business?” Ilior asked.
“Not mine,” the girl said. “Jarabax. He wants to see you. Says he’s got something for you and he hired me to take you to him.”
“Who?” Selena asked.
“Jarabax Ruhl,” the girl said in hushed tones.
“The name means nothing to me,” Selena said. “A pirate?”
“A pirate boss,” the girl said. “You don’t mess with him, right? So are you coming or not?”
“No.” Ilior crossed his arms over his fur vest.
Selena laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “What does he want?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “I told you. He’s got something for you. Something that will help you, I think.”
“He told you that?” Ilior demanded.
“No. But I’m a good listener.”
Selena thought for a moment. “If he has something helpful, he can bring it to me. Tell him I’ll meet him at the Wayfarer Inn to—”
The girl shook her head. “He told me you might say that. You have to meet him at one of his places if you want what he’s got. He pays me in scraps o’ food more often than pennies. I can take you there or I can go hungry. You pick.” She crossed her thin arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow at Selena.
Ilior reached for his coin pouch. “We can give you coin enough for a meal—”
“I’m no beggar, lizardface; I earn my money.” She looked to Selena. “Now see here, the whole island knows you’re trying to get a ship out to Isle Saliz. And pretty soon, they’ll see that no one’s coming to get you. That you’re stuck. Pretty lady like you? The longer you stay here, the worse it’s going to get.” She jerked a thumb at Ilior. “Even with him around.”
“She’s right,” Selena said. “We’ve been here nearly a week; wounded fish flapping in the tides while the sharks circle closer.” She turned to the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Hanna.”
“All right, Hanna. Let’s go.”
“I don’t like this,” Ilior muttered as they slipped into the shadows after the girl.
“Neither do I,” Selena replied. She rested her hand on her sword hilt and the dragonman did the same. “But our options run short.”
“Maybe Jarabax’s gift is a ship,” Ilior said.
“And a crew to man it,” Selena added. “I have a feeling we’re not going to be so lucky.”