Chapter 18

Part B

“Today, my friends… is a great day!”

“““AYE!!”””

Sophia slowly came to herself to the sound of shouting and cheering. She found she sat in a chair. The ground pitched back and forth slowly under her. The wind howled even over the voices. Wood creaked all around like a giant rocking chair, and cloth flapped loudly, reminding her of laundry days at the Temple when the attendants hung all the bedsheets out to dry.

“Today, is the day we settle our debt!”

“““AYE!!”””

Her mouth felt dry and numb, and she was blind—although, not completely. Light filtered to her eyes through a mesh of fabric. It surrounded her head on all sides, rubbing on her ears, hair and neck. Someone had shoved a bag over her head, she realised. She tried to move, but she was tied to the chair—chained, more like. She could hear the metal rattling whenever she shifted her wrists and ankles.

“Today, comrades, we are free!”

“““AYE!! AYE!!”””

The cheering exploded, accompanied by metallic bang against metal and heavy stomping.

“I present to you, Lady Freedom!”

The bag was abruptly pulled off, ripping several hair strands tangle with it. Sophia yelped. Sunlight blinded her. She tried to shield her eyes, but the shackles restrained her.

“““AYE!! AYE!! AYE!! AYE!!”””

When she finally blinked the black spots out of her eyes, she saw the crowd for the first time, and she recoiled.

She was on the deck of a ship, at first glance about twice the size of the Beatrice, and packed with a motley crew of men and scattered women—all staring at her. They sat on tied down kegs and crates, on the wooden railing and atop rowboats hanging over it. They stood on the stairs leading up to the quarterdeck and leered down from it. Some even hung in the mast nets.

They were clad in cracked leathers, worn underneath a messy assemblage of colourful sashes, too many belts, wooden jewellery, and other misused articles of clothing. A few wore typical sailor garbs, but unclean and patched up. Their faces displayed the ravages of violence and bad hygiene, the women as badly as the men. The expressions all around ranged from savage glee to bloodthirsty scowls—not a friendly face in sight.

Sophia’s eyes roamed around, searching for clues as to what was going on. The ship looked strangely white. The floor, the bulwark, the stairs, the cabin door, the three masts… all of it was built out of a disturbingly familiar white wood. Above her, the large sails rippled and cracked in the gale. Something about the sails struck Sophia as odd, but before she could confirm her feeling, she spotted the black flag hoisted at the mainmast.

“Pirates!” she hissed.

“And as Captain, pleased I am to have you in our... company, Miss Lehtinen.” An affectedly honeyed voice reached Sophia’s ears, and preceded by sharp knocks on the deck, a hobbling shadow fell on her. “Welcome aboard the Dove’s Heart. I am Captain Exus Slashtoe, and I shall be your… host, for the duration of your stay. Arrr!”

The man was decked in black from head to toe: a black hat, trimmed in faded gold, a black coat with silver buttons, one single black glove on his one single hand (the other was a silver hook), black pants, black boots, a broad black belt across his torso, which held a bulky black pistol in a black holster, and a black-handled sword in a black sheath. The only touches of colour on him were the mangy green feather on his hat, and a dark red bohemian scarf tied around his waist.

His face was something of a nightmare. Mottled by pockmarks, it also looked to have been mauled by a beast. Exus Slashtoe was missing an ear and a nostril, and his cheek was a mangled mess of badly healed scars. Stretched and lumpy furrows of bald skin spread through an otherwise thick black beard, which he had braided with wood beads—black wood beads, evidently. His sclera was yellow like that of a sick wolf. And when he smiled, his chapped lips uncovered dark gold teeth.

As Sophia had observed, in place of his left hand was a sharp metal hook, and a wooden peg also replaced of his right foot—knocking the deck with each step.

He was, all around, a very asymmetrical person, and it set Sophia’s OCD on edge.

“I hope you’ll forgive the discomfort of your circumstances, milady.” Slashtoe twirled a beaded beard-braid around his hook, his expression one of mock sincerity. “But it meant a lot to us that you took part in this little… celebration of ours. Only an appetiser of tonight’s festivities, of course, no doubt dreadfully boring for someone of your urbanity. Alas, we are but humble pirates. Exuberance and effusion are part of our unfortunate provincial temperament, I’m afraid.” He shelled out for an obsequious bow, fanning the air with his cavalier hat. A wave of snickers passed through the crew.

Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever you think you’re doing, pirate, you’re making a grave mistake.” Surprising even herself, her voice came out calm and steady despite her quivering insides.

The captain’s mouth formed an ‘O’, and his eyes widened comically. He spun to face his crew. “Gods blight me! You hear that, fellas? We made a mistake! Hells below! We better return this fair maiden to her home, then.” The entire ship erupted in raucous laughter. Slashtoe turned back to Sophia with a sneer and an exaggerated helpless shrug. “It seems my crew does not acquiesce with your assessment.”

“Oh, stop with your obsequious pretence! You’re nothing but murdering pirates!”

“You wound me, milady! I assure you we’re victims of bad press. It’s all very exaggerated. Look at us! We’re a festival of conviviality!” He raised his hand empathically. Again, the crew cheered. One man close-by grinned crookedly, and he only had three teeth left, holding precariously on infected gums. Sophia thought she might feel sick.

“Maybe,” she sneered back instead, “I would be more inclined to believe you if you hadn’t drugged and kidnapped me!” Dry throat, numbness in the tongue, and a temporary dulled emotional response, these were three side-effects a powerful and rare narcotic drug, derived from a flower found only in the oases of Musmer. The Devil’s Kiss, it was called, after an old tale of a devil embracing a maiden, who then collapsed and slept for a thousand years.

That the pirates had gotten their hands on it at all spoke volume of their resources—or luck. But Sophia had little belief in luck.

It was also one of the very few potions fast-acting enough to bypass Sophia’s healing abilities. Anything slower, she would have detected and countered before the effects took hold. But how did they administer it? Her memories after parting with her grandmother were hazy, another side-effect—thankfully temporary. But she remembered enough, already.

Her eyes scanned the gathered crew and narrowed at a familiar face. “You…”

“Ah, yes. I believe you’ve met our dear Scalper. Many a crazy rascal, I’ve sailed with, but few who’d be so nut as to break their own leg. He’s always been a gambler with a devil’s luck! Again, a very good job, Scalper!”

“Thanks… Capt… ugh…”

The man looked quite unwell, sitting on a low crate, hugging his leg up against his torso, and staring into the distance as if he might pass out any moment. His face was clammy and so pale he seemed almost translucent. His breathing was heavy, deliberate, and interspersed with repressed heaves.

The captain cocked an eyebrow at him. “What is up with you now, Scalper?”

“Dunno, captain… ‘ver since she healed me up, if been feeling… ugh!” His face turned suddenly from white to green, and his hand jumped to his mouth as his cheek swelled.

Slashtoe frowned, looked from his man to Sophia, and then his hook leapt at her throat. The sharp tip pressed against her soft skin. “What did you do to him?!”

“Nothing! Nothing, I swear!” Sophia leaned backwards, pulling her throat in. “I healed him! He should be fine!” She was as confused as anyone—more so even. She had a vague recollection of finishing to heal the pirate’s broken tibia before her memories abruptly cut off—the work of the poison, no doubt. There should be no lingering issues. It had been an easy fix, since the break had been so clean—too clean, now that she thought about it. But who would suspect a man with a broken leg? In the first place, what sort of madman broke his leg to sneak up on someone?

The captain searched her eyes suspiciously for a while longer before moving his hook away. He looked at the sickly man. “Go lie down below. Let it not be said I treat my deserving men poorly!”

Scalper’s face twitched. “I’d rather not… capt… not with Buck down there…”

“Arrr… Fair enough.” Slashtoe rolled his eyes. “Go pass out somewhere then, but out of the way!” His gaze swept over the crew. “A’right, you wretched scum! The fun’s over! Back to work! Saffron, Juggy, you pick up Scalper and Buck’s slack! Mistral, your fart mage arse is at the helm! Get us back to Devil’s Cove!”

In an instant, the deck exploded with activity. Pirates were climbing up the masts, swarming over the rope ladders and yards like ants. Some picked dirty rags and buckets, and started crawling across the deck, “cleaning” it—or, at least, displacing the filth. Others pulled at ropes or disappeared down a trapdoor or up the stairs to the quarterdeck. So much was happening at once that Sophia quickly lost track of what was going on.

The captain watched the organised chaos unfold then grinned down at the priestess. “Let me show you to your accommodation, Miss Lehtinen.”

He leaned down to unfasten Sophia’s wrist shackles, coming far too close for comfort. A cruel leer creased his horrendous face. His good hand reached to pull a lock of her hair, and he conspicuously smelled it. The priestess found the act far more disgusting than anytime Sam had done it. Maybe because the demon’s action never had any creepy sensual undertones.

Also, Sam’s breath did not reek of rum and rotten meat.

His gloved hand then slid underneath her robe and ran down each of her legs on its way to her ankle restraints, leaving a trail of repulsed goosebumps in its wake.

As soon as both her legs were free, Sophia kicked the pirate in the face.

“Arr!” He jerked away, holding his mutilated nose. She shoved him aside, and ran across the deck for the closest rowboat, ignoring the stunned looks of the pirate crew.

She could see low clouds over the railing, drifting slowly in the distance. Hopefully, those were forming above Fair Isle. If her deduction about the drug was correct, the pirate ship could not be far from the island.

The name of the Devil’s Kiss was misleading. Unlike the myth it was based on—where the woman slept for a millennium—the effects of the real potion did not last long: a little over an hour at most. Taking into account the time necessary to bring her on board, they could not have sailed more than ten-to-twenty minutes away.

She grabbed the pulley that seemed to hold the boat. If I can get… off… Her thoughts ground to a halt when she finally got a good look overboard.

What she had taken at a glance for frothing waves were no waves at all. And the clouds she had seen were not low either.

A white mass rolled and spun in lumbering volutes underneath the ship. The weirdness Sophia had felt about the sails made sense now. Their shape was wrong—for an ordinary vessel—and more sails peeked above the railings on the side of the ship, like the fins of a giant sea monster.

The white mass parted for a fleeting instant, and she spied the ocean underneath—far, far underneath.

They were in the sky.

While Sophia stood stunned, a hand grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and spun her around. She found herself face-to-face with the disfigured pirate captain.

“You have a flying ship!” she gasped, her mind reeling with denial.

He grinned, the smile never reaching his yellowed eyes. “Why, indeed, how very observant of you, Miss Lehtinen. But, I’m curious, after jumping to your death, what is it you planned to do next?” he asked with an exaggeratedly puzzled expression.

The priestess could only gape and shake her head, unable to think of anything to say.

“Such eloquence. Consider me impressed,” the captain sneered. “You were to share my cabin, but as you seem disinclined to behave, I guess we can think of more… appropriate quarters.” He turned her around and thrust her into a pair of massive, three-fingered hands. “Mr Squee! Take our esteemed guest to the brig.”

In her disbelief, Sophia could only stare at the smirking captain. As she was dragged away, a large green parrot dropped from above and landed on the pirate’s shoulder, and the bird seemed to glare at her with its one eye not covered by an incongruous eyepatch.

“Squaaaawk! Bloody imbecile! Squaaawk!”

The priestess was forced down a trapdoor in the middle of the deck. And as she descended into the dark underbelly of the ship, a weight of crushing despair descended upon her.

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