Hangman's Gate (War of the Archons 2) Read online

  ‘Something like that,’ Josten replied, realising he’d probably made a mistake and any moment he was going to end up in irons.

  ‘Little bit lost aren’t you?’

  Lost wasn’t the word. This had definitely been a mistake, but what choice did he have? ‘I’m a mercenary,’ he replied. ‘Just trying to get back to my company. They’ll pay to have me back… in one piece.’

  ‘You’re worth that much?’ The pirate looked him up and down. ‘Because right now you don’t look worth a shit.’

  They’d stopped laughing now. Josten wondered whether it would be best to just turn and run, but he didn’t have the energy to take more than a few steps, and pride wouldn’t let him be chased down and made a fool of by a gang of lowly pirates.

  Then one of them clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’re in luck, mate,’ he said, smiling widely, his teeth filed down to points. ‘We’re heading to Canbria on the next tide. And since we lost three crew in the last week we need all the hands we can get.’

  Josten stared. Was this a joke? There was no way his luck could turn just like that. And should he even trust a man who looked like he was half shark?

  His question was answered when the men turned and made their way back to the ship. He watched them, all the trust squeezed out of him, then the shark-toothed one turned.

  ‘Well? Are you coming or not?’

  Josten didn’t wait to be asked twice and followed them onto the ship.

  They led him to the quarterdeck. Shark Teeth said, ‘Best if you meet the captain before we set sail.’

  With that he knocked on the door set in the aftcastle. ‘What’s his name?’ Josten asked before they entered.

  ‘We call him Mad Vek,’ answered the mariner. ‘But it’s best to leave out the “Mad” part when you’re addressing him.’

  With that, a voice shouted for them to enter. The sailor opened the door and beckoned Josten inside. He walked into the dimly lit room, and was hit by the stench of stale sweat and spirits.

  ‘New hand, Captain,’ said Shark Teeth, before closing the door and leaving Josten alone.

  Vek sat behind a desk covered in nautical charts. Three candles burned, wax dripping over the table edge. A bottle of some spirit sat half empty in the middle of the charts as a paperweight.

  ‘By the Kraken’s eye, you look like shite,’ said Vek, as Josten stood there.

  ‘So they tell me.’

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there making the place look untidy. Sit down.’

  Josten gladly accepted the invitation and slumped in the weathered chair opposite the captain.

  ‘So what do they call you?’ asked Vek.

  Josten told him the truth. He doubted these pirates would have heard of him before.

  ‘You look like you’ve been in the wars,’ Vek said as he poured a glass of spirits from the bottle and placed it in front of Josten.

  ‘You don’t know how right you are,’ he replied, staring at that glass. All he wanted was water. A jug of it. But it seemed the only thing on offer was some rank-looking rum. Josten had a bastard of a thirst and he considered necking the drink, but after swilling it around in the glass, the pungent aroma hitting his nose, he thought better of it.

  ‘Worked a ship before?’ Vek asked.

  Josten had only ever set foot on a ship once and it had made him sick as a leper. ‘I’m a quick learner.’

  Vek seemed to find that funny. ‘Lucky for you we’re shorthanded. But even so, if you don’t pull your weight you’ll be food for the fishes.’

  ‘Sounds like a fair deal,’ said Josten, despite it sounding like a pretty shit deal if he was honest.

  ‘Good. That’s settled then. Kento is below decks. He’ll do the tattooing.’

  Josten thought he might have misheard. ‘The what?’

  ‘You’re part of my crew now, Josten Cade. We all have the mark of the Kraken on us. Otherwise it’s bad luck.’

  Vek stood, pulling his shirt over his head. In the candlelight, Josten could see a tattoo etched on Vek’s back; a huge sea beast rising up from the base of his spine, tentacles winding up and over his shoulders, then down each of the pirate’s arms.

  ‘That’s… impressive,’ was all Josten could think to say.

  ‘And it burned like fire when I was having it done,’ Vek replied. ‘But I suppose you’ll find that out soon enough.’

  ‘I only need passage to Canbria. When I get there I can pay you.’

  Vek closed one eye and stared at Josten through the other. ‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘But I think it more likely you’ll want to stay with us. I think you’ll find this life suits you.’

  Josten wanted to say like fuck he would. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘Ha!’ Vek picked up his glass. ‘Then here’s to the sea, and everything in it.’

  Josten stood, raising his own glass. Vek downed his drink, then looked on expectantly. Josten had never been one to shirk a challenge, and he gulped down his own. The rum stung his dry throat, and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself throwing it back up all over the parchment-strewn desk.

  Vek sat back down with a satisfied grin, and Josten left the cabin. Once outside the air hit him, fuddling his senses, and he almost stumbled across the deck. The rest of the crew were waiting, looking amused at Josten’s condition.

  ‘Captain’s taken a shine to you then,’ said one of them.

  ‘How can you tell?’ asked Josten.

  ‘Cos you’re still alive.’ The rest of the crew broke into laughter.

  ‘I need to see a man named Kento,’ Josten said, when the laughing had died down.

  ‘Sure you don’t want some food first?’ asked one of the younger mariners. ‘You look fit to drop.’

  ‘No. I think it’s best to just get this out of the way.’

  That seemed to spark a grudging admiration from the men. It was clear they respected that kind of tough stubbornness. For a moment Josten thought Vek might be right – maybe this life would suit him.

  They led him down to the galley. Kento was waiting, puffing on a long pipe. Every inch of him from the top of his bald head to his yellow toes was covered in ink.

  ‘This one’s for the Kraken’s mark,’ said the young mariner.

  Kento nodded, beckoning Josten to a table. ‘Assume the position, new-fish,’ he said in a thick accent Josten didn’t recognise.

  There was no turning back from this now, and he removed his shirt, lying on the table and staring at the filthy floor.

  Kento rummaged for something in a bag, pulling out a rolled leather scroll. When he spread it out before him, Josten could see there were wooden needles, ink and a little hammer. He’d seen men with tattoos before but never had the inclination to have one of his own. They generally marked a man out as member of a guild, but Josten had never felt loyal enough to join one. He guessed he was joining one now.

  ‘This is going to hurt,’ said Kento. ‘Want something to bite down on?’

  ‘Let’s just get it over with,’ Josten replied.

  They were words he began to instantly regret as Kento went at him with needle and hammer. Vek had been right – the pain was like fire. Mercifully, just as it started to feel like Kento was tearing off his skin with white-hot pincers, Josten passed out…

  3

  THE tattoo burned like a bastard. It stung him from neck to arse crack, red-hot pain like someone was cutting through his flesh, but there was nothing to take your mind off a new tattoo like being sick ten times a day.

  It hadn’t taken Josten long to realise why he’d never wanted to be a man of the sea. The boat churned up and down on the waves, and not even big waves. The rest of the mariners had laughed at him at first, taking some sadistic pleasure in the way he’d been throwing his guts up over the side of the ship. After two days even they weren’t seeing the funny side anymore.

  Days of walking through the desert had already left him feeling weak, and he needed to eat, get some water in him, but every time he tried to keep
something down the buffeting of the ship would see it come right back up again. All he wanted to do was find a dark quiet corner and lie down, but that hadn’t been an option. Josten knew he had to pull his weight. Had to earn his stripes aboard the ship or he’d most likely be thrown overboard after his own puke like so much flotsam.

  Just keep going, and all this will pass. At least that’s what he’d told himself. And eventually, after three days of hell, he was right. The sting in his back relented and he managed to keep some food down. On the fourth day he was like a new man. And a new man was exactly what it was going to take for him to survive this.

  Whatever he’d expected the pirate life to be like, it wasn’t this. The tales he’d been told about savages of the seas turned out to be so much horseshit. The crew were disciplined and focused, every man had a job and knew it well. Despite the look of them, they kept the ship in fine condition, and Josten’s first job was scrubbing the deck. He kept a shirt on while he went about it, the flesh of his back already tender enough without letting the sun burn it to a crisp, and for those first few days all he knew was the sound of the wire brush scrubbing the wood in between the occasional cry of a seabird and the laughter of the men. It was hard work, honest work Josten had spent years trying to avoid, but it beat dying in the desert or drowning in the sea, so he took to it with all the vigour he could muster.

  Not long after there was a promotion of sorts, and Josten was trusted to learn how to adjust rigging and hoist sail. There were new words to learn like halyard and braces and vangs, and new pain to endure as his hands blistered with every new pull of a rope. Still he didn’t complain, determined to prove his worth, determined to survive long enough to reach home.

  It wasn’t long before Josten was climbing the rigging like he was born to it. Within a month he would often find himself looking out and seeing nothing but open water on every horizon, feeling the salt breeze on his face and regretting he hadn’t sought out a ship’s company as a younger man.

  Their carrack was called the Storm Cow. Josten thought it odd that nobody else found that funny, and at first he thought maybe it was misspelled. The Storm Crow seemed a much more fitting name for a ship full of reavers. Still, it wasn’t really his place to question it. Not since he was one of them now.

  The pain from his tattoo had long since relented. Josten couldn’t see exactly what it depicted but he hoped it was something akin to the other crewmen. Every one of them bore a tattoo depicting a huge sea beast, tentacles winding across shoulders and down arms. He could see the tentacles on his own tattoo all right, winding down his arm to the wrist. Hopefully Kento had done a decent job on his back – he hadn’t suffered so much pain for it to look shit.

  That wasn’t all that had changed. His hair was growing out, the cropped look he favoured now swapped for an unkempt mop that he tied back with a leather band. His usually clean-shaven jaw was covered in stubble and he was enjoying the prospect of a beard for the first time ever. Before, he had cursed the brightness of the desert sun, but now the salt sea air soothed his sunburned skin and he welcomed its touch.

  Josten had also got to know the crew. To his surprise they weren’t the fearsome bunch he had expected. In the mercenary companies Josten had mixed with more cutthroats and murderers than he could care to remember. By comparison this band of mariners were almost civilised. The one with the shark’s teeth who he had first been intimidated by was quite an amiable chap. Predictably they called him ‘Shark Teeth’, but his real name was Dolan. After their first conversation, Josten learned his new shipmate had an encyclopaedic knowledge of history, and took great pleasure in relating tales from the Age of Penitence.

  The young lad who had suggested he take food before having his tattoo was known as Lonik the Fidget, since the lad couldn’t keep still for a second. In fact most of the crew had names that described their looks and habits. The most apt was a man they called ‘The Crapper’. Josten still shivered when he remembered the day he’d found out why they called him that.

  Every man on board worshipped a god they called the Kraken, which explained the tattoos. Paying homage to the Kraken was not to be shirked or questioned, that much had been made clear to Josten from day one. He made a show of it, there was no point being stubborn, but Josten had seen real gods. He knew this Kraken wasn’t real and was nothing to be feared. The real gods were more terrifying than any deified sea creature.

  For days the crew went about their business like ordinary mariners and Josten learned his new trade; climbing rigging, hoisting sail, scrubbing deck. He began to wonder when any actual pirating would occur, but he needn’t have worried.

  It was on one clear night that land finally came into view. A city shone on the horizon, and even in the twilight, Josten could see it was beautiful.

  ‘Tallis,’ said Lonik, tapping his thumb against the gunwale as he stared out at the sight. ‘Always gets me right here.’ He jabbed a finger to his chest.

  ‘I can see what you mean,’ Josten replied. And he could.

  He’d heard of Tallis – the jewel of the Cordral. It was said for all the cities that had lost their splendour after the Fall, only Tallis had managed to increase it. If Kantor was the Cordral’s beating heart, then Tallis was its bejewelled head.

  ‘What business do we have here?’ Josten asked.

  Lonik just shrugged. ‘Ask Vek if you dare. None of us have any clue what that mad bastard’s up to, but he hasn’t led us wrong yet, so we ain’t about to argue.’

  Josten wasn’t about to argue either. Vek had saved his life. If he owed him anything it was to keep his mouth shut and follow. At least until they got back to Canbria, then he’d go his own way no matter what he owed.

  The Storm Cow slid into the harbour of Tallis like a robber, the crew going about their business in silence. They flew some colours Josten didn’t recognise, but he guessed it was to mark them as traders rather than pirates. As they began to moor up, Vek appeared, looking almost respectable. He’d put on clothes of some finery, his beard neat and oiled.

  ‘Right, Lonik, Dolan, with me. Rest of you, stay out of trouble.’ Then, before he moved to the gangplank, ‘And you.’ He pointed at Josten. ‘Let’s see if you’re worth more than scrubbing decks.’

  Josten wasn’t about to protest and he followed Vek ashore.

  His legs felt like jelly as he stepped onto the hard stone of the harbour. Another new sensation to add to the rest. Vek and the others didn’t seem bothered as they made their way towards the city. Josten did his best to walk in a straight line, none too ready to look like an idiot but all too aware he was walking like a man who’d been riding hard for a week.

  Vek led them up to the city, nodding at the harbourmaster who returned the gesture as he walked by. When they reached the midst of the port, Josten was hit by all the sensations he’d missed while at sea.

  The smell of hot spicy food wafted down the narrow street. People chattered in funny northern accents. Two dogs barked at one another in the distance, as though relaying messages above the hum of the city.

  There wasn’t much time to appreciate the beauty of Tallis; its rising minarets were little more than silhouettes against the night sky. The men and women they passed were dressed in loose-fitting robes, hair worn long as was the fashion. Josten had known a few men from the Cordral in his time, men who’d fought for coin in the mercenary companies. For the most part they’d been good talkers, but they couldn’t fight worth a shit.

  Vek led them through the labyrinthine streets until they reached a busy alleyway. Stalls jutted from every dwelling, covered with multi-coloured awnings. Vendors touted exotic textiles and trinkets in between glowing braziers cooking a multitude of spiced meat and fish. Vek ignored them as he made his way to an open doorway. A thick-set bouncer pulled aside a heavy curtain, allowing Vek to enter. It seemed the pirate knew Tallis well, and it knew him right back.

  Josten followed as they walked down a set of well-worn stairs and into a vibrant chamber. A band were p
laying a collection of strange-looking instruments in one corner, making a right racket to boot, but the patrons seemed to love it. Men and women danced, though to Josten’s eye they were more writhing around one another like coiled snakes. Drink flowed and pipe smoke filled the small space, but these pirates were all about the business, ignoring the many temptations on offer.

  Vek spied his contact in the corner, leading the three of them to a secluded booth. A man sat puffing on some contraption that filtered weed through a jug to a pipe stem. It bubbled as he drew in the smoke.

  ‘Erral,’ Vek said, spreading his arms as though inviting the man for a hug.

  ‘Vek, my old friend.’

  Erral slapped the rump of a girl sitting on his knee, and she slid out of the booth, smiling at the pirates as she did so. Lonik smiled back, unable to take his eyes off her. Josten could understand the allure, but there’d be time for that later. For now, they were here on other matters.

  They crowded into the booth as Erral set the bubbling pipe aside. ‘I’m glad you could make it,’ the man said. Josten recognised his accent was from the Suderfeld, though he couldn’t place exactly where.

  ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else,’ Vek replied.

  ‘Then I take it you’re in the market for work?’

  ‘Aren’t I always?’ Vek smiled, but Josten detected a hint of impatience about him.

  ‘Very well,’ said Erral. ‘Then to business. A cargo ship is coming out of Canbria laden with grain. As usual the job will be simple: ransack the ship, take the cargo, and return it to Canbria intact. There, its original owner will take it back and sell the cargo on again.’

  It was a treacherous move. Josten admired the simplicity of it. ‘And you’d be the original owner, I take it,’ Josten said without thinking.

  All eyes turned to him, and he realised he’d spoken out of turn.

  ‘New crewman?’ Erral asked.

  Vek was looking at Josten as though he’d let off a deathly stink.

  ‘Still breaking this one in,’ he replied, clapping a hand on Josten’s shoulder and squeezing it a little too tight.