Pirates of the Decian Sea, Page 2

  “I just didn’t want to keep the captain waiting.” David slowed their pace as they walked down the cobblestone street.

  “I don’t think the captain will be done with the silk merchant’s guild yet. David, why didn’t you go with him? You usually do the negotiating for him.”

  “There’s nothing to negotiate. This wasn’t a commodities run, we were under contract.”

  Corwyn nodded.

  They arrived at The Royalton five minutes later. The restaurant was decorated with Macedonian style columns, along with marble representations of the old Macedonian gods.

  “Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Tanner! Always good to have you here,” the Maître d'hôtel said.

  “Thank you, Phillip. Three of my fellow officers will be dining with me today,” David replied.

  “Very good, sir. Please come with me.”

  They followed the well dressed man over to a table with a lace tablecloth.

  “Here you are, sir. Your server will be with you soon. I shall send your companions to you when they arrive.”

  “Thank you, Phillip,” David said.

  Phillip gave a quick bow and left.

  “Why didn’t you tip him?” Corwyn asked.

  “In high class establishments like this, tipping is meant as an insult. Sort of like ‘you are too incompetent to earn a living with your skill, so out of pity I shall give you coin so you don’t starve.’ Make sense?” David asked.

  “Yeah, I suppose.” Corwyn looked around the room noting the upper crust of society that served as the Royalton’s clientele. Well, for the most part, as an officer of the sea merchant’s guild had just walked in.

  The sea merchant’s guild traditionally invited crews to join voluntarily. Flying a guild flag protected a crew from most of the pirates, as if a ship under guild protection was attacked, the offending pirate would be hunted down and made an example of. The gold that was captured was used to pay restitution to the captain who was attacked.

  That was until Gaeceric took over the guild. Now, they were little more than criminal extortionists who would attack independent crews who refused to pay their guild dues. Captain Karinga was the owner of one such independent ship. Before they brought David Tanner on board, they were generally not bothered due to the small amount of profits they made. Now they had become a major target.

  The guild officer, Captain Frigmar, spotted them and headed towards them. Frigmar was about two legs tall, gaunt, balding, and walked a bit hunched over.

  “I didn’t realize the Waverunner was in port,” Frigmar said. “And by dining at such an establishment, I’m assuming you had a particularly profitable run!”

  David looked up at the older man. “Well, if it isn’t old Hunchy Frigmar! How’s the pirating going, Hunchy?”

  Frigmar scowled at the young Yeoman. “Don’t call me that! Don’t ever call me that!”

  Tanner smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry Hunchy! I didn’t realize I was mispronouncing your last name! My deepest apologies, Hunchy!”

  “Tanner, you are pushing your luck! What do you say I have the Morning Star follow your little Waverunner when you put to sea? I wonder what your clients would think when you never arrived at your destination?” Frigmar shot David a smarmy smile.

  David reached into his jacket pocket and slapped the piece of parchment on the table. “I do believe the Royal Bank would say ‘Why did the guild attack a ship carrying our gold? I suppose we had better liquidate them and seize all of their assets!’ I swear to you, Frigmar, if a guild ship comes within a league of us, the bank will be all over you like vultures on a corpse!”

  Frigmar snarled. “Fine! You will not be touched by a guild ship on this run. But your time will come, Tanner.”

  “There’s a good Hunchy. Now won’t you be a lamb and send a pigeon to Pirate’s Cove and inform the rest of your rat bastard associates?”

  Frigmar nodded angrily, turned, and headed out.

  “Bye, Hunchy! Always a pleasure!” David hollered after him. He leaned back, folded his arms and chuckled.

  “David, you certainly believe in living dangerously,” Corwyn said.

  Tanner waved dismissively. “Frigmar is a buffoon, promoted beyond his level of competence. I would never talk that way to Laudabacker, Ferndock, or Donegal.”

  “What was Frigmar so pissed off about?” Karinga asked.

  “Oh, hi captain, Edge,” Corwyn said. “I didn’t see you come in. Tanner here just put him in his place. The guild won’t be a problem on this run.”

  “Good,” Jax said, sitting down.

  Edge sat down next to him as the server walked up to the table.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the server said. “What can I get for you?”

  “Meat!” Edge said. “The biggest steak you have and a light ale! Don’t get me wrong, I love Decia, but on an island nation like that, if you don’t have a taste for fish, there are few culinary options.”

  “I’ll have an herb roasted prime beef with a side of cheesy potatoes and some fresh greens. And a creamed whiskey. Please make sure it’s cold if possible,” David said.

  “Excellent choice, sir!”

  Karinga rubbed his chin. “I’ll have the same as David, but with a dark beer.”

  “Do you have skilligalee? I’d like that with some grog, please.” Corwyn asked.

  The other three looked at him with disdain. “Really, Corwyn?” David asked. “A hardtack based dish? Don’t you get enough of that crap on the ship?”

  Fyke shrugged. “I love it! What can I say?”

  The server wrinkled his nose. “I’m sure I can have the chef whip something up along those lines.” He turned and headed off to the kitchen.

  David handed the parchment to Karinga.

  “Oh, you got it! Excellent!” the captain said. “When are they delivering it?”

  “Tonight. I suggest we set sail with the overnight tide,” David said.

  “I am inclined to agree,” Jax said. “Edge, keep the drinking to a minimum tonight.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “David, can you load up our hold by the time we set sail?”

  “Don’t worry, Captain. Corwyn and I will head over to Dickenson’s after lunch, and then we’ll go see what old man Grayson has in his warehouse. If anyone has quality weapons forged in Lystra, it will be him.”

  * * * * * * *

  Captain Jonathan Frigmar headed to the city’s Pigeon Post Service. Damn that Tanner. He would pay for his insolence someday. Laudabacker insisted on convincing him to work for the guild, but it would be just as well to see him run through. For now, though, Admiral Gaeceric was more interested in some of the other independent fleets and said he would get to the Waverunner soon enough.

  If only a pirate were able to attack them. Frigmar paused and smiled as a devious plan formed in his mind. Four months ago, the guild had captured the notorious pirate Black Jack Mulligan and kept it very quiet. The bigger the threats out there, the more likely captains would join the guild for safety. And while the guild couldn’t dare touch the Waverunner while it was working for the Royal Bank, maybe Mulligan could do their dirty work for them!

  He walked into the Pigeon Post building. Hundreds of the small gray and white birds sat in cages, cooing and flapping, eager to go to their destination. The smell was awful, as always, but it could be tolerated.

  “Afternoon, Captain,” the attendant said. “Where to?”

  “Guild headquarters.”

  “Aye, we have a few of them left. If you don’t mind, I’d like to attach a second message requesting more birds from there.”

  Frigmar waved his hand. Who could be bothered with such trifles. He walked over to the writing desk and scrawled out the message. “Here. I want this sent to Gaeceric today!”

  “Three gold, please.”

  Frigmar grumbled and dug out thee coins and placed them on the counter. If all went well, the Waverunner
would never reach Port Cauldwell.

  * * * * * * *

  Corwyn sat in the office of Grayson’s Warehouse & Exchange watching David Tanner dance his negotiating dance with a man with years more experience. Once again, David was proving that he could wring profit from a stone. It was always a spectacle to watch David’s amazing negotiating skill.

  “I assure you, Mr. Tanner, that these weapons were forged in Lystra, hence the premium,” the older man said.

  David gave him a disbelieving stare. “Please, Mr. Grayson, whoever sold these to you may have convinced you of their origin, and thus charged you a premium, but I will not be the one who pays for your error in judgment.”

  Grayson ran his hand over the sample sword and shield in front of him. “How can you say that about these beauties? Look at how beautiful they shine! You can almost see yourself in them!”

  Corwyn winced. Grayson had a point. It looked like, for the first time, David was going to lose a negotiation. He almost said something, but stopped. David had severely chastised him the one time he spoke at negotiations. He said those five words had cost the crew a gold each, and he let everyone know it.

  “Mister Grayson, may I?” David asked, motioning to the weapons.

  The old man nodded.

  David picked up the shield. He rolled it over a few times in his hand until he found what he was looking for. “Yep, just as I thought. The steel does indeed come from Lystra, but do you see this?” He pointed to some markings on the shield. “That is the mark of Avis Moran, a blacksmith who works out of New Portsmouth. He uses steel ingots out of the cast-off pile, and forges them into display pieces. If I were to sell these as war quality weapons, two hundred men would march to their deaths. They are not worth seven gold each, but a mere three.”

  “Blast! I overpaid for them!” Grayson said, unconvincingly. “Very well. I’ll be taking a loss, but you can have them for three apiece, but only if your crew comes to get them.”

  David smiled. “I believe we have an agreement.” The two shook hands. “I’ll have some of the men come pick them up within the hour.

  * * * * * * *

  Fyke and the young Yeoman walked through the busy streets of River’s End under the warm afternoon sun. Women flooded the market district seeking to purchase what they needed for their family’s evening meal. Hawkers called out to them, trying desperately to attract attention.

  “David, how do you keep it all straight in your head? Avis Moran? I never would be able to remember smiths’ markings like that.”

  “I don’t know, I guess I just have a knack for it. I am very disappointed in Grayson, trying to cheat us like that. We’ll be able to sell them to that home décor shop in Port Cauldwell for five gold each, but if they were high quality real weapons, I could have bought them for five gold and turned them around for ten or eleven with Lady Malceour.”

  “Hm,” Fyke said. “I’m sure the captain won’t mind, though. It will still be four hundred gold profit.”

  “He’d be happier with eight or nine hundred.”

  “Don’t let it worry you, Davey. The weapons, the cloth, the whiskey, it’s all gravy! The bank’s gold is the real pile of potatoes.”

  David sighed. “Yeah, lumpy gravy at best. Damn, I wish weren’t so pressed for time!”

  “The captain will understand.” One of the problems with David Tanner, Corwyn thought, is that he held himself to a high standard, much higher than anyone else. He didn’t like watching him beat himself up like that. Over the past three years, David had become like a nephew to him, a brilliant nephew. Jax felt the same way.

  They arrived at the Waverunner. David climbed up the gangplank and grabbed a young crewman. “Billy, do you know where Dunkirk is?”

  “Down in the hold, Mr. Tanner.”

  “Thanks, lad.”

  Corwyn followed him down the ladder into the dark hold of the ship. Dunkirk had moved all of the ships provisions to the stern of the ship, maximizing the room for the new cargo. Doc wouldn’t be happy, having to lug the provisions an extra half of the ship’s length, but it would provide plenty of room for all they needed.

  “Afternoon, Tanner,” Dunkirk said. “Do we need anything to be up on the pallets this run?”

  “Yes. I’d say about sixteen pallets will be fine. We can’t be selling bilge soaked cloth, after all. Oh, and Dunkirk, can you send some of the crew over to Dickenson’s brewery and to Grayson’s Warehouse & Exchange?” David handed the gaunt man a parchment. “Here is the manifest of what I purchased.”

  “Couldn’t shake a delivery out of them, eh?” Dunkirk asked.

  “No, not with the small profits we’ll be making on them. With a delivery, we’d barely break even.”

  “If we had more time, David would have done a lot better,” Corwyn said in his defense. “But look at it this way, in less than half a day; he’s managed to fill the entire hold! And we’ll be able to sell it all in Port Cauldwell.”

  Dunkirk shrugged. “I suppose we’ll be having to deliver them too. Alright, boys. I’ll grab some of the more strapping lads and we’ll head out.”

  “Better go soon, Will. Captain’s going to want to set sail at midnight,” Fyke said.

  “Yes sir.”

  * * * * * * *

  Oh, how he hated waking up Gaeceric this late at night, but it was important. Commodore Donegal hurried through the hallways of Guild Headquarters towards the Admiral’s room, small rolled up message in hand. A bold plan like this he expected more from the warped half insane mind of Captain Ferndock, but Frigmar was usually far more cautious and level headed. He arrived at the Admiral’s door and gave three quick knocks.

  “This better be damned important!” the deep voice hollered from the other side.

  Donegal opened the door and stuck his head inside. Gaeceric, the head of the guild sat up in his large feathered bed. His large muscles on his bare chest and arms bulged as he stretched and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Two sleeping women on either side of him stirred, but did not awaken.

  “So, what is it?” Gaeceric asked.

  “I received a pigeon from Captain Frigmar, sir. He says that the Waverunner has secured a contract to transport half a million gold from River’s End to Port Cauldwell from the Royal Bank.”

  Gaeceric ran his hand through his long blonde, frizzy hair. “Of what use is that information to us? We can’t touch a ship working for the bank.”

  Donegal cleared his throat. “Sir, he is suggesting we release Black Jack Mulligan, give him back the Griffon, and let him take care of the Waverunner.”

  “Hm. That is a bit bold for Frigmar. But with that much gold, Mulligan would most certainly retire.” Gaeceric paused to yawn. “Plus Karinga’s boldness has inspired a number of other independents to not pay their dues. Seems that will kill two birds with one stone. We will be rid of the Waverunner, and we won’t have to feed those 150 pirates every day. Do you think they will be sea-worthy after four months locked up?”

  “I think with that much gold, they will have plenty of motivation.”

  Gaeceric nodded. “I agree. I’ll let you handle it, Donegal. Close the door on your way out.” The large admiral lay back down and pulled his covers back over him.

  Donegal quietly stepped out of the room and closed the door. He headed towards the dungeon. A bit of pride filled his chest. Three years ago, something of this much importance, Gaeceric would have most certainly handled himself!

  As he walked through the sparsely decorated castle, he passed the office of the captain of the guard. He peeked inside to see Captain Ardmore finishing up his morning duty roster. “Captain Ardmore, a moment please?”

  The red headed man stood to attention. “Yes sir, Commodore sir.”

  “Would you please gather twenty five guards and meet me down in the dungeon? Also, take all of the weapons we captured from the Griffon and have them placed back on board. I want that ship ready
to sail within the hour.”

  Ardmore looked at him quizzically. “The pirate ship, sir?”

  “Yes. We are probably going to be setting them free. Admiral Gaeceric’s orders.”

  “If you say so, sir. Excuse me, sir. I have a lot to do. See you down there in a quarter of an hour, sir.” Ardmore hurried off to perform his assigned duties.

  Donegal continued towards the dungeons. He descended the spiral staircase to the pits. The smells of unwashed men hit him as he reached the bottom level of the castle. The dark room was lit only by torches with hay covering the dirt floor. He walked over to the jailer. “In which cell is Captain Mulligan?”

  The overweight, bald man stood, grabbing a torch from the wall sconce. “This way, Commodore.”

  The jailer led him through a maze of cells, the men inside starting daggers at him. They stopped before a large cell holding about a dozen or so men. “This is it, sir.”

  “Captain Jonathan Mulligan?”

  A tall, large man with a long black beard and hair to match stood up and walked over to the cage door. He was dressed in standard prison rags. “What do ye want, ye bloody Jack-tar?”

  “I want to set you and your crew free.”

  All conversation stopped and all eyes turned to Donegal and the Captain.

  Mulligan leaned forward. “Look me in the deadlights and say that again.”

  Donegal looked him in the eye. “I want to set you and your crew free, and give you back the Griffon.”

  “And why would ye be wantin’ ta do that?”

  Donegal offered him the small rolled paper.

  “Bah!” Mulligan said with a dismissing wave. “If’n I could read, I never would have become a bloody pirate!”

  Donegal unrolled the parchment. “According to Captain Frigmar, an independent merchant ship, the Waverunner, is carrying a cargo of half a million in gold on behalf of the Royal Bank. It is sailing out of River’s End as we speak, heading to Port Cauldwell.”

  “I see. Ye be want’n us ta do yer dirty work for ye.”

  “Something along those lines. You keep the gold, the cargo, and kill the crew to the man, with one exception. I want the ship’s Yeoman, David Tanner, left alive. I want you to put him in a lifeboat with oars and enough provisions to get to shore. I also want you to tell him that he was left alive by the guild’s orders.”