Elephant Pond 9:

A throat for a dime

They spent days at sea, the ships swiftly moving down the Knife isles, on the Scab Channel. It was the most convenient way to travel long distances in the isles, an ocean current fast enough to turn a month’s voyage into less than two weeks. But the current was usually empty of man-made ships, as the largest and most dangerous sea creatures used it as well, which meant any ships on the current needed blue pearls on board. They were an exorbitantly expensive artifact that made sea creatures ignore ships in a similar manner to sea smiths.

Through their days aboard Daiah’s Locker, Bora had been fulfilling his promise of putting the sea smiths’ skills to use. Each of them, apart from Tory, spent hours every day repairing and reinforcing all three crew’s weapons. Morgan had bitterly complied at first, but eventually became grateful for the opportunity for the considerably fresher air just below the deck, and to be free of his cell, that warped his sense of time.

His father had taken the most shifts, opting to quietly hammer away and fulfill requests while he listened in on conversations between the ship’s crew. After receiving the distressing news; that they were headed for the Kingdom of Korenth, the land of heathens, he’d been trying to gain information ever since. But it didn’t seem like any of the other prisoners knew anything more than their destination and the pirates knew better than to discuss it with Typhon around or at least not loud enough for him to hear.

Time had passed uneventfully, until the night Morgan felt the ship being steered to the right and then it abruptly slowed down. The pirates had steered them off of the Scab Channel.

A few minutes after that, Morgan saw his father coming down the steps, one of their floor’s guards behind him. The pirate ushered Typhon to the cell they shared and locked him in again before leaving.

“We came off of the Scab Channel. I thought we had at least a few more days before we arrived?” Morgan whispered, as his father grunted as he settled into the stiff cot.

“We aren’t there yet. I saw most of the pirates taking empty barrels and crates from storage in the floors above us. It looks like they’re going to resupply wherever we’re stopping.”

“There are places to resupply among the isles?” Morgan asked.

“They’re very, very few and far between but yes. They’re usually small settlements adventuring companies established more than a decade ago. Back in that brief era when dull kings and greedy bankers convinced the average dull man to try taking on and pillaging isles. Funnily enough, that age sprung up mostly because of the King of Korenth’s endorsements, a few years after his army killed the last of the Onyx tribe.”

“And were they actually able to pillage them?”

“To make it through a single one took entire companies of forty to fifty men, sometimes multiple companies at once. And even then their survival rate was quite low and even lower when it came to actually besting them. The few settlements there are, were isles that companies managed to completely clear out and settled down in to mine and harvest the unique resources. I actually saw a few of the advertising campaigns they’d made. Flashy posters and people yelling fantasies of glory and slaying all manner of beasts they’d find in the isles. Although none of those had worked before the Onyx tribe’s slaughter by the hands of dull men. Maybe Korenth taking one of the tribes and winning was enough to convince them that they could take on the isles, as misguided as that proof was.”

News of the outside world almost never reached Khantani, but when a dull kingdom waged war on one of the supernatural tribe of the Knife Isles and actually won, it was hard to miss. Although, there were rumors that the King himself hadn’t actually participated in or even endorsed the war rather he’d spent the entirety of it at his dying wife’s bedside, until he was reduced by his grief to the drunkard he still was today.

“Speaking of, were you able to find out who managed to orchestrate all of this?”

“I tried bargaining with Bora and Dagon alone and together, but they just would not hear it. And there seemed to be no deal sweet enough for Ransom. Whoever they are delivering us to is dangerous enough for these pirates to fear for their lives, over the prospect of coin. And dangerous enough that they are unwilling to even reveal their name.”

“I don’t like the idea of us going into the Kingdom of Heathens, even less when we don’t know who to. Is there nothing we can do?” Maya spoke up from her cell.

“I’ve been thinking about it. But before I try anything drastic, I want to be sure that becoming indentured workers isn’t the worst of it or if it’s the least of our worries.”

Maya nodded.

“Speaking of,” Typhon said. They peered down the walk way at the guard switching out with a shorter, stockier balding pirate, with none of the new jewelry his brethren had.

“Guard!” Typhon called.

“No extra water!” the pirate bellowed back.

“I wasn’t asking for water.”

“Then what do you want?”

“ I hav-” Typhon began.

“No!” he yelled then snickered as he settled into his seat and took a deep swig from beige bottle of liquor.

“I think you’d be interested in seeing what a sea smith has to show you. I’m sure you’ve heard the tales of what we can make.”

He considered it for a second, and then grunted as he got up and marched right up to their cell. He leaned forward and squinted into their cell, his face almost pressed against his bars. Morgan noted how dangerous a practice like that could be, with the less than friendly prisoners.

“What is it you have to show?”

“I can make something special for you if you answer a question for me.”

“I thought you couldn’t make your special weapons out on the sea?”

“We can’t but with my craftsmanship and Khantani runes decorating your weapon, any blade I make will sell for a small fortune, guaranteed.”

He grumbled again and scratched at his scruffy red beard as he considered it, then flashed a toothy grin. The days Morgan had spent on Daiah’s Locker made that expression familiar, and obvious to him that the pirate’s greed had won him over.

“What’s the question?”

“Who is the person that hired all of you?”

He shook his head, instantly, like he’d anticipated the question. “No can do.”

“Fine, then can you tell me where we are going?”

He grumbled as he considered it further.

“Fine, we’re on our way to Korenth, past The Blot.”

“We’re actually going past the Blot?” a prisoner inquired and displeased murmurs abruptly followed and Morgan understood the apprehension towards the idea. The Blot was an island at the very end of the Knife Isles that got its name from being small enough to mistake for an ink dot on a map, whilst being the single greatest deterrent of southern invaders.

“Yeah, the Scab Channel runs that way this time of year. It’d put us four days behind schedule to avoid the cursed place, so Dagon said it was just nonsense and we’d tough it out if it wasn’t,” he said with a frown.

“I wouldn’t call it nonsense,” D said. “Anyone from any of the tribes knows that the four gods on that island are to be feared, at least enough to give their home a wide birth.”

Morgan thought it was odd that he remembered that but no more than the first letter of his own name, but decided against commenting on it.

“I heard they kill dull men on sight, especially the bad ones.” commented the woman from white coast.

“Hey, I’m not here because I gave all my money to orphans..” a voice called.

“Yeah, most of us have bounties on our heads for quite a few ‘not too holistic’ things, does that mean we’re all going to die with the pirates?” inquired the voice of the man from Black Veil.

“Aye, quiet!” the balding man yelled but his forehead was already creased and his hand was clutched in a sweaty fist around the bottle of liquor. They had clearly gotten to him.

“Tell you what,” Typhon offered, “If you give me some basic information about the person that hired you, just so I know that my children will be safe, I’ll persuade my wife to make you a talisman to protect you from the gods on The Blot.”

“I can’t do that…that’s one of the few things I’m under strict orders not to do…” he lamented.

“Look at him throwing away his life for some rich person’s name.” a prisoner called.

“Hey, at least give me your bottle if you’re going to die,” laughed another.

“Fine,” he conceded, “It’s a woman, a royal with a lot of influence and even more money. She bribed off all the royal guards at Korenth’s harbor to allow us to come in when our captains were negotiating the terms of the deal. She even gave us a fortune as down payment before we left.”

“Is that why you all have so much jewelry, aside from yourself?” Typhon asked.

“Yep,” he confirmed. “Captain Bora took my cut because I blabbed to someone about a robbery a couple weeks back and ruined it,”

Morgan and Typhon exchanged looks.

“Anyway, a deals a deal.” he said and held his hand out.

“I’ll make the blade for your tomorrow morning, but my wife can make you that talisman right now, if you get her what she needs,” Typhon said.

“What do you need? Name it and I’ll find it!” he bellowed.

Maya stifled a laugh, “Uhm…some string, pearls or maybe a small jewel. Most importantly, I need the piece of our boat that was confiscated when I came on board, it’s a piece of wood no bigger than my hand, and the rune on it should still be glowing.”

He nodded, then scampered down the walkway and up the stairs.

“You knew we were going past the Blot even before he said it, didn’t you?” Morgan asked his father.

“Of course, any good navigator memorizes the paths the Scab Channel takes, at each time of year. That and I heard other pirates whispering about it to each other. Sounded like they’re deathly afraid of it, especially while they have Plain-walkers and sea smiths locked up below deck.”

It made sense; the gods on the Blot had a history of striking down the boats of foreigners, for similar transgressions against the tribes much less significant than what they were doing. Whether by lightning strikes, massive waves or mist that stole fleets of ships at a time, the gods on the Blot had proven their existence and their claim to infamy among the dull.

A few minutes later their guard came down the steps, his hands empty and said: “Looks like our deal will have to wait. Captain Dagon wants you, all of you.”

Typhon sighed deeply and slowly, and he held his head in his hands.

The four of them sat in the middle of the row boat, their hands restrained by black manacles. They were approaching an isle that resembled a jungle with thick canopies of trees and vegetation that flourished undisturbed except for a string of wooden buildings dotted along the shore and leading inland to a small town of sorts. Surrounding the group of buildings and littered around the island were smooth black mountains of varying sizes, which resembled black eggs half-buried in the earth.

All the while the pirates stared at them unblinking. One in particular sat facing Morgan’s parents, lips peeled back, and yellowing teeth bared in a grimace as, his eyes locked onto them. Morgan was almost sure the pirate hadn’t blinked since they’d left Daiah’s locker.

“If you keep your face like that, it’ll get stuck.” Maya said, but it prompted no reaction from him at all. Then Typhon said: “If your face sticks in a frown like that, I imagine you’ll only be able to get a woman with a mug twice as bad as yours,” and his death glare shattered into a frown.

Tory and Morgan laughed and even the other pirates chuckled. It felt especially nice to laugh, given the tense atmosphere and uncertainty of the situation.

Instead of approaching the settlement, the pirates veered left, rowing to the far side of the isle, where the forestry remained untamed. Where they approached the opposite end of the isle, Morgan saw a group of eight men standing along the shore, illuminated by torches and the faint moonlight. A few of them were holding shovels and pickaxes and heaped in from of them were coals, anvils, hammers and various other tools.

After the pirates docked the boat, they ushered the four of them toward the men. Then one of the pirates behind them grabbed Tory and she screamed. Typhon must have acted instinctively because he leaped forward, fist raised to punch the pirate, but another caught his arm before he could complete the swing.

“I told you boys not to let the haul spoil itself,” Ransom laughed as he gripped Typhon by the arm. Morgan focused on each of their faces, and spotted among them the other two pirate captains, ghoulish and sinister in the flickering torchlight.

“We sent ahead, and got some old friends of ours to help you get that Deep forge up and running so you can sweeten the deal for us.” Ransom said.

“The three of you will prepare the forge with the help of these men, and then one of you will make the weapon. We have till sunset tomorrow before we have to leave this island, else our benefactor will grow suspicious. If you don’t meet that deadline, one of my men will take one of your daughter’s legs. And for every hour you keep us here past the deadline, they will take another limb and another until you would prefer that they finished the job.” Dagon said in a cool, even tone.

“But which one of them should make the weapon?” Ransom asked Bora.

“The mom and dad are likely to make the best weapon, but are also probably experienced enough to try tricks, like what they tried to pull on my ship,” Bora said. Morgan wasn’t sure if he meant Typhon’s half-truths or his bargain with their guard or both.

“So to be safe, we’ll pick you boy,” Bora said to Morgan. “Besides, we have something especially nice for a sea smith of your class to work with.”

He motioned to two of the men and they pulled back a massive tarp to reveal a fish twice the men’s combined lengths. It was a Murk fish. It had a long sleek silver body and a long razor-sharp purple sword like bill oozed black ink from its tip. The same ink it used as a defense mechanism and as a tool to herd and ambush other fish.

Ransom slapped the beast’s corpse and grinned. “Make us something nice, with this eh boy, something that’ll put up more of a fight, at least.”

“Enough, he understands.” Dagon said. “Pick up your shovels and get to work.”