“I never bring Rheel Toa into port,” Captain Deun Burn said around a mouth of teeth all sharpened to points. “Answer my question, Morrass.”
Drake shrugged and dismissed the threat implied in the Riverlander’s voice by turning away. “Black Sands is gone, wiped off the charts if ever she was on any, burned to the ground. Saw her turn to ash with my own two eyes.”
Captain Burn pushed his way through the gathered crowd and leaned on the other side of the table. The man’s visage was beyond ghastly and more than a little off-putting, yet Drake stared right on back.
“And how much of a part did you play in its end?” Burn asked, his voice gravelly.
For just a moment Drake considered drawing steel and attempting to run the man through. Unfortunately he wasn’t as confidant of his ability to do so as his own legend would suggest. He also hated to admit it, but he needed Deun Burn. He needed all the captains on his side. Then something caught his eye for a moment, a small figure wearing a flat-brimmed hat that obscured her face. She drew a weapon and manoeuvred herself to stand behind the skull-faced captain. If Drake couldn’t kill the man himself, he sure as all the Hells couldn’t allow someone else to do it for him.
Drake rocked his chair back onto all four legs and stood, placing his hands on the table in a mirror of the Riverlands captain and keeping eye contact all the while.
“Just this once, Deun, I’m gonna pretend you did not just insinuate that I may have had something to do with the death of over two hundred of our brethren.”
“Dead?” asked another man. “Are you sure?”
“Aye. All of them dead. Sent a boat ashore to check. No survivors.” Drake could see the woman with the flat-brimmed hat now, and she had at least six pistols strapped to her leather jerkin and another one in her hand. Drake couldn’t see the woman’s face, obscured as it was by her hat, but he could tell by the way she stood that she was ready for a fight. Right then he’d have paid good money to know her identity, yet he had the more pressing matter of his audience to attend to.
“Who did it?” someone asked.
“Why?” asked another.
Drake sucked at his golden tooth. “Can’t say as to the why, but the who – my boys spotted a ship sailing away from the other side of the island. Warship flying the colours of Sarth.”
That set the whole tavern to shouting, and even Deun Burn had the good sense to look worried. Any navy vessels braving the waters of the Pirate Isles were bad for business; that they were willing to raid a pirate town and slaughter all the inhabitants was almost unheard of outside of a purge.
“Is that it?” asked an old sailor with fewer teeth than fingers and only one hand. “They stoppin’ with Black Sands? Or are they comin’ for us?”
The whole tavern went deathly silent again as the patrons waited for Drake to answer the old sailor. This was exactly where he needed them, scared shitless and looking to him for answers. He briefly considered sitting back down, but decided it would look more commanding if he remained on his feet.
“Doesn’t seem likely to me they’d stop. If Sarth is willing to burn one of our little towns, don’t reckon they’ll be stopping there.” He paused and looked around the room. “I reckon Black Sands is just the beginning.”
Again the tavern burst into sound and activity. A few pirates bolted out the front door, while Arst set to frantically wiping down a nearby table. The old sailor with only one hand collapsed back into a seat, and a woman nearby wearing the trappings of a merchant made a sign in the air to ward off evil sea spirits. Drake almost mentioned to the woman that making such signs on land was a good way to draw the attention of said spirits, but he decided to leave the foolish in their ignorance.
“What do we do?” The voice broke through the general din, and Drake recognised it as belonging to one of his own crew, playing their part perfectly.
“For now all ya can do is warn folk,” Drake said loudly. “Make sure everyone knows the danger and keep an eye out for unfamiliar ships on the horizon and such. Be ready, aye.” He turned his attention to Deun Burn. “Leave the rest to me and my fellow captains. Together we’ll see all of ya through.”
Some of the crowd began to disperse, folk taking Drake’s advice and running to tell their fellows about the massacre at Black Sands and the potential threat to Port Sev’relain. Captain Deun Burn remained, staring at Drake through his ghastly tattooed mask.
Drake had never credited any of the Riverfolk with having an abundance of intelligence. They had some strange magics, that couldn’t be denied, but they also had some strange beliefs and practices that involved regular human sacrifices and the subsequent cannibalism of the victims. Cannibalism didn’t sit particularly well with Drake, and he was thankful it was one of the few things he’d never been accused of. Despite his general dislike, distaste, and poor opinion of the Riverfolk in general, Drake needed the support of this particular one. So instead of following his first instinct and having the man drowned in a puddle of his own blood, he waited while the Riverlander made up his own mind.
“Is this real?” Deun Burn asked eventually, once they were all but alone.
“Said it, didn’t I? I’m many things, Deun, but I ain’t a liar,” Drake lied.
Captain Burn stood up to his full height, a good inch shorter than Drake’s, and nodded gravely. With that the man walked slowly from the tavern, leaving Drake none the wiser as to whether he’d just gained his very first ally.
The woman with the pistols was still standing by the bar; her hat was tilted, so Drake couldn’t see her eyes, but he fancied she was watching him. He had no idea who she was nor what her intentions might be, but long ago Drake’s mother had told him that fortune favoured the bold, and Drake would never allow anyone to call him otherwise.
As Drake approached, the woman tilted back her hat, giving him a view of her face. He treated her to one of his most charming smiles, the same one he’d practised in front of a mirror hundreds of times long ago. She had fine, strong features, golden hair, and blue eyes the colour of the sea. The fact that she had six small pistols strapped to her chest, and another hanging from her belt, was a little disconcerting, but then Drake had never been one to stay away from a woman on account of danger.
“Who are you?” he said as he stepped within stabbing distance of the woman.
“Straight to the point.” The woman’s voice was sweeter than honey and twice as dangerous as the bees that made it.
“Well, you had me covered back there, and I reckon I’ve never met you before, so that puts me thoroughly in the thinking of who the fuck are you and what do you want with me?”
The woman shot Drake a thoroughly unimpressed look. “I am Arbiter Beck.”
Surprise wasn’t good for Drake’s reputation, but right now he was well and truly shocked. After taking a moment to compose himself, he let out a chuckle and scratched at one of the tattoos underneath his shirt. “Don't all you witch hunters have one of those fancy coats?”
“That wouldn’t be very discreet,” Arbiter Beck whispered. “And it would have made it much harder to get so close to you.”
Drake inched his hand towards the sabre sheathed at his hip. Beck’s eyes flicked to the movement and then back again.
“I wouldn’t advise it, Captain Morrass,” she said. “I’m faster than you, and at this range, I promise you I wouldn’t miss.”
“Aye? Where would you be aiming?”
“Unfortunately, not at your heart.”
Drake raised an eyebrow. “There’s worse places you could be aiming for.”
Arbiter Beck smiled. “Then I’d aim for one of those.”
“Right.” Drake pushed away from the bar. “Lovely banter, Lady Beck. Reckon I’ll be on my way now. Feel free to bugger off.”