XXXIII. Fear and Loathing in Port Vergas

Rassvete lay unconscious, slumped over the bar with a shot glass still in his hand. The raucous pirates had been in a festive mood since they had arrived nearly eight hours ago. They were the crew of Francis Donnelyn, a former Admiral of Aes Sidhe during the war with Rhodarcium over trade routes to Lyresia some twenty years ago. He was a decent man, his exploits even made it into a few textbooks and songs at the naval academies of Aes Sidhe, but he was a pirate, nonetheless. Odell had been drafted into service as a server while the other patrons were beaten and driven away for the pirates’ entertainment. Madden sat guarding the bar nursing a beer as Aislyn lay hidden in a crouch on the other side.

“When the hell are they gonna leave?” Aislyn hissed as she stretched her legs.

“Odell’s getting you a cloak, just be patient.” Madden whispered between glances over his shoulder in search of his young companion.

Throughout the course of the pirates carousing, several local girls were brought in to indulge their lusts. Some were willing if not reluctant, seeking to pay for their family’s safety, and others were brought in for some transgression made by a husband or brother who thought to defy the brigand’s rule over the town. The den had quickly filled with acrid smoke and stench of vomit mixed with blood from the countless fights and several homicides that occurred therein.

“Got any food up there?” Aislyn took a long draught from a bottle of spiced rum.

“Wha’ d’you think?” he grumbled through clinched teeth.

A loud clamor erupted behind them as a rival ship’s crew attempted to crash the party. Odell ran over to the bar, carrying a tray of mugs. He dropped them onto the bar with a clatter of metal and glass. He shot Madden a glare as his companion stifled a giggle at his present attire.

“Shut up.” Odell snapped as he smoothed his skirt. “I don’t see you savin’ our arses.”

“Ain’t wearin’ no tavern girl’s blouse neither mate.” Madden snickered.

Odell retrieved a cloak from his blouse and thrust it at Madden. His shot at the pirate leader had led to him being made tavern wench in exchange for his life.

“Let’s get the hell outta here while they’re at each other’s throats again.” Odell ordered as he slipped out of the bar maid’s uniform. “Slip out the back and—”

“And then what? Find another tavern to hide in?” Aislyn caught herself as her voice began to rise above a whisper. “We still have no way to get to Duvachellé.”

“I know it’s distasteful, but the Death Marsh—” Odell growled as the inevitable complaints ensued once again. “Fine! Whatever, do what you bloody well please, but I ain’t stayin’ here and I ain’t getting back in that bloody dress!”

“And I ain’t going back to that wretched fen!” Aislyn hissed.

“Can’t say I blame ya luv. Death Marsh is a mighty foul place that.”

Aislyn yelped and backed against the counter as the pirate’s leader, the Admiral Donnelyn, reached over and took a bottle of scotch whiskey. Madden sat with his mouth ajar, shocked that the man had managed to sneak up on them so easily. Odell opened and closed his mouth in search of his voice, his eyes as wide as wagon’s wheels.

“Why’re you outta yer dress boy?” he asked coolly as he sniffed and sampled the draught.

“I…I…” Odell stuttered, completely taken by surprise.

“Don’ worry lad, I ain’t here fer yer woman.” The pirate gestured to his crew with the bottle. “Now that lot o’er there, they’ll make a mess o’ ’er inna heartbeat them.”

“What d’ya want then?” Madden puffed up his chest in an attempt to make himself as menacing as possible.

Francis shook his head and smiled at Maddens posturing. “I want the boy there ta get back in ’is dress. Y’all two been awful quiet like, can’t much complain. But that bugger there shot at me. So he gotta put on ’is dress.”

“I ain’t wearin’ no dress!” Odell shouted, causing several heads to turn in his direction.

“Careful lad,” Francis warned mockingly, and tapped his ringed nose. “They can smell ’em. She can stay behind that thur coun’er with none bein’ tha wiser but me an’ yers, or I can send a couple o’ me men o’er ta fetch me rum. All depends on you putting tha’ dress back on lad.”

“Light damn it.” Odell swore as he begrudgingly donned his uniform.

* * *

After much debate, Aichlan had finally agreed to the members of the team that would recon the port of Vergas with him: Séverin, Eth, Ransom and Donough. What he did not agree on was Clarissa and Enyo tagging along with him despite explicit orders otherwise. If they left this ordeal unscathed or unthreatened, then his entire arguments would be void and that could lead them to question orders in the future, however if they left unscathed then it would be a great relief. Aichlan had no doubt that Enyo was a capable warrior; despite her innocent appearance, the scars she wore did not come from child’s games. No, it was Clarissa he feared for. She had no combat skills at all.

“Why is it so bloody ’ot still?” Clarissa whined. “It’s already zee second week of Harvestmoon.”

“Technically, that’s still summer.” Séverin corrected, receiving a love tap to the shoulder in response.

Aichlan rolled his eyes at the spectacle. It was common for relationships to form in co-ed armies, he and Ashe were one such example, but still he worried. It could be both a boon and a hindrance as sacrifice was a necessary part of combat, though he had no interest in halting these relationships, it was interesting to note how something as divisive as war could bring people together.

“Well, let’s just ’ope we can stock up on supplies ’ere.” She sighed, and she fanned herself.

“Did you not hear the part when I said the city is under siege by pirates?” Aichlan asked sarcastically.

“No need to get testy dzen.” Clarissa huffed, hiking up her dress as she rushed ahead.

Aichlan stuck out his tongue in a childish gesture. Enyo snickered and whispered to Donough in Elvish. He blushed and quickened his pace. Between her and Alice, Clarissa could bring out the worst in him sometimes.

* * *

The city of Vergas was situated upon several hills and in the seaside valley with an expanse of the fire plains settled behind the ridges. A dense fog hung over the waters; it was difficult to tell whether it was in retreat or advancing upon the city. Fortunately, the climate was significantly cooler the closer they got to the water. Laundry lines ran across the cobblestone streets, connecting the two and three-story town homes.

Storefronts were boarded up or shattered, trash and filth littered the streets that were oddly empty given the size of the city and time of day. The black sails were furled on their masts as the sloops and schooners rocked on the waves. Aichlan spotted three galleons in port of Aes Sidhean design. That could prove troublesome as those blackhearts were most likely laid off sailors and far more organized than the average pirate was.

“Séverin,” Aichlan intoned.

“Yes?”

“Stay with the Cardinal, she seems to be oblivious to the situation as usual.”

A window shutter fell from its hinges, coming down with a crash behind them. Weapons were drawn faster than a hummingbird’s flight from one flower to the next. Their eyes darted from window to alley and window again. Aichlan finally lowered his sword as it became clear that this section of town was uninhabited or good at hiding.

“Le’s keep goin’ then.” Aichlan grimaced as he peered into the dark alleyways and pane-less windows.

Weapons were reluctantly returned to sheaths; all but Eth’s for he still had no weapon. He had completely forgotten that his second was unarmed, hopefully a replacement was already in the works. The group continued their trek up and over the hills of Vergas in relative silence; the only words exchanged came from Clarissa’s grumbling regarding the lack of shops. Aichlan was more concerned with the lack of people; he was able to catch the occasional small head in the window, only to be whisked away by a parent or older sibling. There was no doubt that the city was being held hostage, but for an entire city to be taken by pirates was unheard of in this day and age.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the city center, and the harlot’s district often associated with such large cities, particularly ports. The fog had since burned away, leaving sweltering heat and humidity in its wake. Aichlan counted ten taverns in a two-block radius, of those ten, eight doubled as brothels. The streets were alive with boisterous brigands and local rogues thriving in the ensuing anarchy the seadogs had brought with them. There was drinking and fighting in the streets, many lay dead or inebriated in pools of filth and bile.

Overworked whores slouched on the balconies smoking and drinking bottle after bottle, screaming for their unwilling colleagues to stop their crying. The sound of pipes and piano’s, accordions and horns filled the streets as drunken singing competed with the violence of barroom insults and bravado. The stench of human waste and spoiled foodstuffs baking under the blazing Rhodean sun was overpowering. The only civilian population present were crooked shop keeps hawking shoddy merchandise and forced laborers.

“Well,” Aichlan coughed and covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, “we know why everyone’s holed up in their homes then.”

“Well I’m not buying any of zis crap!” Clarissa huffed, crossing her slightly tanned arms over her chest.

“I think me an’ Eth should handle this one.” Ransom lit a cigarette as he stepped forward. “We’ll get a boat or two, ’ave ’em meet us at midnight or something.”

“Only two? Dzat won’t ferry all of us!” Clarissa objected.

“It won’t have to.” Aichlan interrupted. “We just need to get the army to Duvachellé; the civilians of Rhode will have to stay behind.”

Aichlan’s eyes began to water as the breeze shifted more of the stink their way. Several gags ensued.

“I agree it would be unwieldy to lead half a million civilians across a battlefield, but we cannae leave them here as pirate fodder.” Donough lit an herbal cigarette.

A drunken pirate who had seen one too many fights in the past hour, was carried over by two of his shipmates, they made an immediate diversion upon spotting Enyo and Clarissa. “Oi! What did we tell you locals about holdin’ out on the booty?”

“Bloody…this is why I wanted you two to stay behind!” Aichlan snapped, and drew his sword.

“Well it isn’t our fault dzey’re craven scum.” Clarissa retorted, discreetly taking cover behind Séverin.

“Hey! I’m talking to you lot! Get o’er ’ere!”

The pirates set down their disoriented crewmember and jogged over to Aichlan and company, cutlasses and ship axes at the ready.

“Let me handle them.” Aichlan jogged over to meet them halfway.

The pirates laughed between themselves and readied their weapons. Aichlan adjusted his gauntlet as he continued his beeline towards them.

“Get outta tha way if ya wanna keep that purty face o’ yers!” The first pirate sneered. “We want the wenches; you and your blokes can go about yer business!”

Aichlan raised his sword and cleaved the first pirate from clavicle to sternum in one deft movement. Before his companion could react, Aichlan wrenched his blade free and sliced him across the abdomen, spilling his entrails. The pirate fell to his knees, trying in vain to stuff his intestines and organs back into his abdominal cavity. He whimpered like a lost child as blood poured out at an astounding rate. The first pirate continued to spasm and gurgle beside them as the street ran red beneath them. Aichlan planted his blade into the pirate’s throat, silencing him, and turned back to the second.

“We just wanted to get our jollies mate! We wasn’t gonna hurt ya! Why ya gotta go an’ cut me open so?” The pirate blubbered as he faded out of consciousness.

Aichlan grabbed the man’s soiled shirt collar and lifted him to his feet. “Stay awake you, where’s yer cap’n?”

“I’ma die! I di’n’t do nuthin’ ta you guv’na! Why you gotta make it hurt so?”

Aichlan struck the man across the face, causing him to nearly pass out. “Shut up. Where is your ship? I’ll not ask again.”

“Cap’n’s at the Eternal tears o’ Sorra ’e is. Ya gotta take me to the doc mate, I…I see light…”

“Then follow it.” Aichlan released the man, letting him collapse in a heap of blood and organs. “Eth, Ransom, with me.”

“An’ what about the rest o’ us then?” Donough grumbled.

“The rest of you go search out supplies. If we can’t get food, at least get things we can use to trade when we reach Duvachellé or use to outfit the army.” Aichlan wiped his sword off on the trousers of one of the fallen. “Clarissa, signal the army when you’ve made sufficient distance from here.”

“What, you plan on liberatin’ this here town? How noble.” Ransom mocked.

“I haven’t any choice. I’m counting on the citizen’s gratitude to supply us at least for a week and sail us to Port Romance.” He sheathed his sword and wiped the blood from his face and hands as best he could with a handkerchief. “What the fuck am I doin’ anymore…”

“Aichlan?” Clarissa stepped forward, unsure if he needed healing or soothing.

“Get goin’!” he barked, causing her to flinch and take a step back. “Eth, Ransom, let’s find this bar our friend spoke of.”

* * *

The Eternal Tears of Sorrow was a side alley tavern hidden away and secluded from the main strip of sin and vice. Upon entering the bar, it took Aichlan several moments to adjust to the dim light and smoky atmosphere. Ransom donned his hood and puffed idly on his cigarette, scanning his surroundings for any hidden threats and escape routes, should the need arise.

“I’ma get a bottle o’ wine, haven’t had a good draught since Marquez.” Ransom exhaled a cloud of purple smoke as he slipped through the rambunctious crowd towards the bar.

“Pick up a bottle for Clarissa as well; she seems a bit high strung of late…” Aichlan trailed off as he scanned the drunken faces in search of the leader or someone of authority.

A young fey in a barmaid’s dress hastily put down his tray of drinks to block Aichlan and Eth’s path to the bar.

“Oi! Who are you two then?” he placed his hands upon his hips and tapped his foot impatiently.

“Just passing through is all.” Aichlan tried in vain to stifle laughs at the young man’s attire.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what I’m wearin’, piss off. This ’ere’s a private party like.”

“We jus’ stopped by fer a drink an’ a word with yer cap’n boy.” Eth snarled and leaned into the boy’s face for added impact. “Therefore, ye can step outta tha way oor hike yer pretty skirts an’ go fetch ’im fer us yeah?”

“I ain’t no bloody pirate ya friggin’ elf!” The boy cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as he looked over Eth and Aichlan with scrutiny. “An’ neither are you two. What’s an elf and a Holy Order’s knight doin’ out this way?”

Aichlan wanted to ask what a crossdressing fey was doing so far from his fairy mound, but decided against. The same could be asked of himself frankly.

“We need passage to Port Romance.” Aichlan tried to muscle his way past the boy, who matched him step for step.

“So does ever’one else in this light forsaken port, what makes you so special?”

Aichlan looked the boy directly in the eyes, fed up with delays. “Listen my confused little barmaid, either you get the hell outta my way or I move you.”

The boy hesitated, though obviously intimidated. “Listen, I can’t. My friends an’ me have been guaranteed safe passage once this lots had its fill of drink and passes out. I can’t jeopardize that unless you can give me a be’er deal.”

Despite his ridiculous attire, the young man was quite shrewd.

“How many of you are there?” Aichlan was willing to get this whole transportation issue underway, but unwilling to drag a bunch of kids around.

“Four, including ma’self. What ’bout you then? Jus’ two o’ ya?”

“No. But two is all we need to get a ship. You take us to the Captain; I’ll take you to Duvachellé.” Aichlan relented, unable to spot the leader in the mess of rogues.

“Sure thin’ mate, but not dressed like that you ain’t. Cap’n Donnelyn don’t much care fer The Order.”

“Oi! Bar wench! Where’s tha rum!” A sailor hollered over the din to the laughter of his compatriots.

“That would be me…” The young man gritted his teeth. “See that big burly bloke at the bar nex’ ta the passed-out monk? Yeah, that’s Madden and Rassvete, talk to the one not in a vodka induced coma though.”

“And the fourth?” Aichlan asked, intrigued by the presence of the monk.

“We’ll discuss that later yeah? Gotta go.” He scurried to assemble his drinks on the platter. “Name’s Odell by the way, you?”

Aichlan rolled his eyes, Odell was a common enough name, but also one that could simply mean boy in their native tongue.

“We’ll discuss that later.” Aichlan grumbled as he pushed his way past Odell towards the bar.

* * *

Madden slouched as the tenth pint of black ale took an effect upon him. He did not notice the hooded fellow taking a seat next to him until it was too late. He rubbed his eyes and belched loudly as he tried to sit up straight.

“What d’you have for wine barman?” The strange man asked as he toked on an elven cigarette.

“Fortune smiles on you; this lot doesn’t much care for the grape stuff. Got a nice draught of Catharonian Sangiovese, provided you got the coin.”

The hooded man withdrew a wad of bank notes and pushed them to the barman. “Give me that and yer second finest bottle of red.”

“Coming right up. Want some cheese with that?”

“That’d be great actually.” He said eagerly.

“Yeah it would, wouldn’t it?” The barman laughed as he went to the wine cellar.

“Then why’d you even ask? Asshole.” He hunkered down and toked at his cigar, eyes shifting under the hood.

Madden rubbed his eyes as he drained the last of the ale, debating whether or not to tell this guy to get lost.

“Psst! Madden!” Madden leaned forward to hear Aislyn out. “Who’s that?”

“No idea.” He slurred.

“Then tell him to get lost!”

Madden belched again and attempted to swivel his stool towards the newcomer. He attempted to blink away the glaze over his eyes to no avail.

“Hey, hey you.” He drunkenly tapped the cloaked man’s shoulder.

The man glanced at him out of the corner of his grey eyes, his face shadowed by his hood.

“You gotta move pal, that’s my seat.”

“But I see you only occupying one at the moment. In the interest of your continued health, I recommend you order another drink and shut the hell up. I won’t be long.” The man went back to his cigarette, completely brushing him aside.

“I don’ think you unders’and,” Madden rose shakily, knocking over his stool, glowering down upon the hooded man. “Tha’s ma bloody seat!”

“Si’down buddy. I’m not the one to kick it off with.” The man said with a smug chuckle.

Madden cocked back his muscular arm and prepared to blindside the man. With deft movements, the man rose and flung his cloak in Madden’s face, drawing two daggers. He placed one to Madden’s throat and the other to his groin. Madden stumbled back into the wall, the impact of which caused the whole bar to shake. Drunk and disoriented he raised his hands, bewildered.

“Now why’d you go an’ do a damn fool thing like that huh?” The man hissed with a devilish grin upon his lips.

Aislyn knocked over a bottle as she tried to tuck herself into the shelf, catching the man’s attention. The man looked up at Madden, curious as to what he could be hiding. Madden shrugged, his mind still in a fog. The man inched over to the bar; his blades still trained on Madden, and peered over the counter. He caught the startled face of Aislyn before she squeaked and retreated into a cabinet.

“Ahhh. Yer hiddin’ a woman back there.” He said with a grin.

* * *