Chapter Eleven: The Kiss

The men had come in half past the 18th hour. They did not ask for anything, they were not looking for drink, pleasure, nor company, only violence. A single pistol shot in the air had been enough to clear most of the bar’s patrons, the rest were easy enough to toss out. Then they locked the door.

They started with the furniture, wrecking tables and chairs with axes and mallets, swords and rifle stocks, their bare hands, tossing everything out the windows, shattering glass. The booze was the next to go, the men taking shots at the bottles on the wall, the containers exploding in showers of rum and beer. With heavy blows they broke open barrels of grog and bumbo, flooding the floor with their contents.

If only this was the extent of their depravity, if only a portion of their humanity remained, but there was no love in their hearts, no compassion. With rough hands they dragged the women from their rooms, laughing at their struggles as they kicked and screamed, spat and cursed.

“No, you brutes! Let me go, Cap’n Reis will hear of this!” Cried a defiant woman, wrestling against a foul smelling man who held her from behind. Another man laughed, walking up to her. He grabbed her by the face, squeezing her cheeks with callous disregard.

“Of course he will.” He turned her face from side to side, looking over her features with unsavory intentions. She trembled, looking at him with hate filled eyes, trying to remain strong, but knowing how this was going to end.

The men took the girls, throwing them to the ground, holding them down as they took what they wanted without payment, laughing like soulless devils. They traded places, violating the women again, and again, giving no heed to their cries, their hearts black. When they grew bored, they beat them, laying into them with vicious brutality, bludgeoning them with fists and hammers. When it was done, they dragged the half dead girls out into the street, firing shots into the air before running back to their rat holes. In the bar top, amidst all the broken glass and dripping alcohol, was a single black dagger, stuck deep into the wood

…

Ryan and Jim stood alongside a hundred other individuals, all of them staring at the same thing. The Mermaid’s Kiss, or, that is… what was left of it. The house of pleasure and company, one of the Crimson Terrors’ primary sources of income, had been completely ruined.

Chairs and tables overturned and broken, thrown out of shattered windows, every keg and bottle of booze smashed, saturating the ground with the smell of rum. This is not what caused the disbelief amongst the crowd, this was not what caused their shock, kindled their rage. On the ground in front of the brothel, was every girl who worked there, bruised, beaten, violated; They were barely breathing, laid out like meat for the world to see.

“Don’t just stand thar, ya bleedin sacks o filth! Someone fetch a doctor!” Ryan looked to see Bull Shark Jack pushing through the crowd, his face filled with murder and hate. “Where are they!? Where are the cunt bastard fucks who be thinkin they can beat and rape unarmed women in our house!?” He looked about, eyeing each person. “Our house!” People shuffled nervously in their feet, avoiding his gaze, some walked away, smart enough to put distance between them and the man’s wrath. Jack saw Jim and Ryan in the crowd, the two standing there like a couple of gasping fish. “You!” He barked, pointing at them. Ryan’s heart dropped in his chest, Jack made him nervous even when he was in a good mood, if he had a good mood. They moved past a couple old women and a man with a peg leg.

“Yessir?” Said Jim, less talkative, even he knew when to shut up. Jack just looked at them with barely contained rage, still pointing at them.

“You two run to the Den, Cap’n Reis needs to know bout this. Not tomorrow, not in an hour, NOW.” When they were still standing there, he took a step towards them. “GO!” He bellowed. The boys ran off, practically tripping over their feet as they hurried to tell the captain, to tell the man that war was here.

…

Captain Kreek was in a rather good mood. Leaned back in his chair, resting his legs up on his desk, drinking a Kendorian Red in a stemmed glass. Despite the hour, he was still fully dressed in captain attire, but he felt more comfortable with it on anyway. The candles flickered on the walls, lighting the room nicely, he stared into their flames, quietly sipping his wine. He glanced at the clock on his desk, half past the 21st hour, which meant any time now there would be-.

There came a loud knock on the door, Kreek smiled. Right on schedule. He finished his wine, and set the glass on the table. “Enter.” The door swung open and Scattershot Tom lumbered in, shoving his bulk through the entry. He stood there, breathing laboriously, if Kreek did not know him the way he did, he would have assumed the man was unhealthy. But Kreek had seen what Tom could do, and underestimating him had killed more than a few hardened men, needless to say, he was second in command for a reason.

“Sir, they’ve gone and done it, I told em we needed to hold back, let things settle, but they gone and started a war.” Kreek just poured another glass of wine.

“You’re rambling Tom, why don’t you get something from the cabinet and calm yourself.” Tom did not need to be told twice, the man hastily walked over to the liquor, grabbing a bottle of rich man’s rum. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, spitting it across the room before taking a long drink. Kreek just looked at him with amused interest, sipping his wine before setting the glass back down. “Now, tell me, what is it that has you so riled up?” Tom wiped his mouth, still looking troubled, but at least his breathing had settled.

“It’s the Mermaid’s Kiss, some of our boys trashed it, not two hours ago, I told em we needed to wait, I told em, and now we’re-” Kreek held up his hand, silencing him. He pick up his glass, staring into the wine as he gently spun it around in slow circles.

“Tell me, how have the Crimson Terrors handled such… unfortunate news?” Tom looked at him, puzzled, he did not know how to respond. Kreek looked at him with mild impatience, stopping the glass’s rotation.

“Umm, er, they’re furious, Jack is demandin blood, when Reis gets word, he’ll likely do the same… but… you already knew that, didn’t you?” Kreek just smirked, taking another sip of his wine.

“Call it… a necessary action to achieve a desired outcome.” He finished his wine and set the glass down, his hand hovered over the bottle, contemplating another drink, but decided against it. He reached out and plucked the cork off the desk, stopping the wine. Tom stood there, confused, but after years of working with the Melcanian, he had given up trying to figure out his motives.

“Sir, Reis won’t take this lying down.” Kreek tossed the corked bottle at Tom, who caught it without effort. He sat back in his chair, overly content.

“I’m counting on it.”

…

Jim and Ryan sprinted all the way across town, not stopping until they were literally pounding on the door to the hideout, both boys frantic and out of breath. The commotion was such that, after a moment, the heavy iron door swung open, Reis himself looming in the entry, his face red and angry.

“What in the Nameless are you doin hammerin out here like o couple o drunken fools!? You’ll give the whole hideout away you louts!” Ryan and Jim did not say anything, still trying to suck in air. Reis saw their panic and looked up and down the street, his face softening a bit. “Get in here, before you draw even more attention.” He ushered the boys inside, closing the door tight behind them. He looked down at them, not as a friend, nor as a sympathizer, but as their captain. “Tell me…” He finally spoke, his voice low. “Where did they hit us?” Ryan and Jim looked at each other, Jim looked at Ryan with a face that told Ryan to speak. Ryan cleared his throat, his voice coming out weak under the weight of the giant’s gaze. “T-the K-kiss, Captain, they hit the Kiss.” Jim nodded furiously, adding silent testimony to Ryan’s words. For a time, Reis did not speak, and Ryan and Jim shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Then Reis punched the door hard with his fist, startling the boys. The iron rang from the blow that would’ve killed a man, the force causing the very walls to tremble. Reis removed his hand, blood trickling from his knuckles, but he showed no discomfort.

“War it is then.” He said quietly, nearly to himself. He looked at Ryan and Jim, still standing there like fools. “The waters be turning for the worse here boys, we might be fighting a storm bigger we be. But if Kreek wants to fight, if all those Blade cunts want to fight… WE’LL GIVE IT TO THEM!!” Reis punched the door again, even harder than before, Ryan half expected the hinges to give way. Reis looked back at the pair, collecting himself. “Run along home now, boys, I don’t want to be involving ya in this anymore than I have to.” Ryan turned to leave, but Reis put a heavy hand on his shoulder, turning him back around. “But if I call on you, you will come, and be ready to follow orders.” He released Ryan’s shoulder, and Ryan left out the door with Jim. As the pair hurried on their way, Ryan felt for the first time, a strong sense of foreboding and regret about being in the gang.

…

Month of Storms, Valtroy, Kgnaska

The carriage carried on at a sluggish pace, pulled by two hearty Kgnaskan stallions, hauling their enormous cargo with mild difficulty. The wood and iron vehicle, painted in black and gold, creaked and groaned, protesting the weight of the impossibly large man that dominated two thirds of the seating. Governor Bakker sat like a king, fanning himself under the shade of a large parasol that, remarkably, was able to cover the entirety of the happy fat man. Desmond sat across from him, baking in the open sun, silently miserable, and regretting wearing his official robes.

It was a rare thing indeed, for the Governor to venture outside the castle, considering everything he needed was right there, food, his bed, food, his bath, food. Every once in a while, though, the man enjoyed a little ride through the city, observing the functionality of the people, as he put it, though Desmond was sure the man did not know what the word meant. He speculated that the real reason for these tawdry trips though, was that the Governor wanted to remind the people that he was in charge.

The two rode rather casually through the cobblestone streets of the upper district, avoiding the more ruined areas on the north side, escorted by half a dozen guards on foot. Desmond looked at their black armor, suddenly grateful for his robes, Gods, how did these men stand this heat? Bakker groaned, wiping his brow with an embroidered handkerchief, shifting uncomfortably.

“Wish we would have brought some food, I say, I’m feeling quite famished.” Desmond rolled his eyes, only half listening to the man as he observed a woman sweeping beside the street. The Governor had just eaten no more than an hour before, and people wondered why there was a food shortage in the territory. He turned his attention back to Bakker, smiling courteously.

“My Governor, if you are in need of sustenance, then perhaps we should cut our ride short and return to the castle, the day is ill suited with this heat anyhow.” Bakker harrumphed, continuing to fan himself, too stubborn to admit defeat to the sun, nor to his stomach, for that matter.

“Nonsense, we’ve only just begun, an esteemed delegate such as myself does not let such, minor inconveniences, keep him from his duties.” There came another rumbling from inside him, loud enough that even some of the guards took notice. Bakker grimaced, placing a hand on his gut. “Although, it is not written anywhere that we can’t observe the market.” He looked over Desmond’s shoulder at the driver, taking on a noticeably haughty tone. “Driver, take us to the main market, do try to be quick about it, but don’t let the ride get too jarring.” The man nodded, acknowledging the order, and sent the horses into a light trot, the guards unamused as they now had to jog in order to keep pace with the vehicle.

The streets were relatively vacant, but they usually were when the Governor made his trips. Bakker was not a popular man, though his hubris would argue otherwise, and Desmond often wondered what would happen if the people rose up to take him. They rounded the corner, passing dangerously close to three men repairing the street, the startled workers scrambling out of the way of the royal carriage as they hollered and cursed.

They passed a group of Imperial soldiers, members of Kliin’s regiment, marching in a line, undoubtedly heading out of the city for some task or another. Desmond did not put much thought on such matters, if the Emperor had need of soldiers here, who was he to question? Though he considered the royal guard plenty in regards to security. The carriage came to a stop, nearly startling him, he had not noticed their arrival at the south market. One of 4 such locations in the city, the south market was by far the largest, and most popular center for trade in the city.

All around, the sounds and sights of commerce were taking place, copper, silver, and even golden Imperios being traded back and forth, changing hands as men, women, and children purchased everything from food, to farming supplies, to furniture. Bakker gestured over at a nearby bread stand, a burly, mustachioed man pulling fresh pastries from an impressive brick oven, setting them out and proceeding to slather them with jelly glaze. The aroma was so intoxicating that Bakker was practically beside himself, looking longingly at the mouth watering morsels.

“Yes, yes, I think those will do quite nicely, quite nicely indeed.” Bakker wiped the excess saliva from the corners of his mouth. “Desmond, go over there and get me those, those, whatever those are.” Desmond nodded, groaning as he climbed down to the street.

“Yes, my Governor.” He paused, looking at the stand, then back at Bakker. “How many does his excellency wish to obtain?” Bakker answered without hesitation.

“All.” Desmond’s face fell in a look of shock, but recovered quickly. He gestured to a few of the guards.

“You heard the Governor; you men go over there and ask the proprietor to donate his stand. The men’s expressions were masked by their black helmets, but they complied without pause, eager to throw their weight around. Desmond stood next to the carriage, watching the guards march over to the stand. It was too far away to hear much of what was said, but there were a lot of gestures at the pastries, the stand, the carriage, the fat man in the carriage. Finally, the man hung his head in defeat and the guards began gathering the jellied treats, clearing out everything they could find. Bakker sat impatiently, fanning himself ever faster as he waited for something to shove in his mouth.

“Wow, look at the size o him.” Said a small voice near the carriage. Desmond looked around and saw a group of children standing a short way off, pointing, laughing, puffing out their cheeks and putting out their hands to mimic someone of considerable weight, someone who was too preoccupied to notice them, much to their fortune. Desmond silently gestured at them to stop, trying to quiet them, if only for their sakes. However, this only encouraged them, as they tried even harder to get the Governor’s attention.

“All hail his Lardship!”

“Look! The moon’s fallen down!”

“Hey! Someone help get that whale back in the water!” Bakker broke from his daze, turning to see what all the commotion was.

“Oy! It moved, run, before it eats ya!” The children broke out in fits of laughter, giving each other playful shoves. Bakker looked upon the youths with pompous disdain.

“Get out of here, you insolent brats.” He spoke haughtily and with great authority, waving them away. He went to turn back around, but a half eaten squash struck him in the head with a sickening, wet, splat, sliding down the side of his face in a sticky, gut drenched, slime trail. Bakker reeled, furious, his pallid complexion turning shades of red and violet as he turned to the children, but they seemed just as surprised as anyone else. Desmond looked around and noticed that juveniles were not the only ones eyeing them. All around, nearly every face was turned in their direction, the market that had been bustling moments before, grinding to a near halt as everyone looked upon the Governor with emotions ranging from fear, to hate, to disgust.

The man who had thrown the squash, a dirt covered individual with tattered fisherman clothes, still stood with his hand outstretched, as if he could not believe he actually hit his target. Bakker pointed violently at the man, putting the full weight of his position upon him as he screamed to the guards.

“TAKE HIM! I WANT THAT MAN ARRESTED!” The guards dropped the pastries, Bakker’s appetite clouded by rage, and started moving on the delinquent, pulling out coshes. Several people stepped up next to the man, standing defiantly against the Governor’s goons, causing the black armored thugs to hesitate. Desmond looked at the sea of faces, angry, bitter faces, and was suddenly afraid, a handful of guards, imperial or no, would not hold against a horde. Bakker was too angry, and far too arrogant, to notice the disparity in their situation.

“What are you waiting for!? I said arrest that man!” The guards moved forward, but even more people stepped up, blocking their path, pushing them back, spitting and cursing, a few people threw stones, striking the Melcanians’ armor with loud clangs.

“Go back to Melcania!”

“You’re no ruler!”

“Fat swine! You’re starving us!”

They began throwing stones at Bakker, the situation quickly unraveling as the guards began striking back, shattering jaws and fracturing skulls as they tried to beat back the throng. The fat lard man sputtered, never having seen such blatant defiance, still blindly confident in the small number of men they had to protect him.

“Shut this market down! Shut it down I say! I command it by the Emperor’s authority! No more business here, now, or EVER!” Desmond jumped into the carriage, leaning over to the driver.

“Go! Get us back to the castle, we have to protect the Governor.” The driver whipped the horses, sending them into a gallop, tearing over the cobblestones. As they rode, a good number of guards ran past, and even a few soldiers, heading to disperse the mob. Desmond looked back and saw that the men they had had with them had already been overwhelmed, lying on the ground, bashed in with stones and other bludgeons, their blood flowing and staining the jellied treats that had been left upon the ground. He cringed from the awful sight, surely it could not get worse than this?

…

One would think that any rational man would have taken time to calm himself, to realize the greater good and actualize it, rather than feed his own petty self interests… Bakker… well, let us just say he was not a rational man.

Less than seven days after the dreadful events had transpired in the south market, Governor Bakker ordered the immediate cease of operation and business within the area, shutting down the largest center of commerce in the city. When people tried to resist, the imperial guards were sent in force, fortified by soldiers from General Kliin, armed with flint rifles. Those who did not back down were shot without quarter; Thankfully, most people chose life over any sense of justice they might have had when faced with guns.

Many vendors lost everything, as their stands were overturned, and their inventory confiscated or downright destroyed. With no money, they were forced to live in the slums of the Lower District, or to flee to the vagrant camps set up outside the city walls.

All the while, Bakker lorded over the people inside the confines of the castle’s security, stuffing his face like a filthy pig as he laughed and carried on, blind to the wants of the people, ignorant to their needs, deafened to their cries and protests, for what could they do to him? He was their Governor, ruler over all of the Kgnaskan Territory, anointed by Emperor Alric himself in the light of the gods. With no one else to stand behind, no other option but the Empire’s rule, the people would bow, as they always did, if not for love of their sovereigns, then out of fear of them.