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A Seafaring SagaChapter 25: Taylor Road's Advice
The crew of the Aterops was subdued. Men who were not in the rigging tiptoed across the deck. There was not boisterous calling. No manly chatter. No, they all kept quiet, lest they disturb the captain.
Captain Horatio Johnson had been in a fowl mood ever since the Aterops had limped out of Anka Dolour harbor. He had been in good spirits after his victory over Korgan and his rabble, but when they had returned to the Aterops, those spirits were squashed. The Aterops was a shambles. Her skeleton crew was either dead or wounded, her ballista was a tangled mass of disjointed timber, her tiller was awry, and to add insult in injury, Johnson’s cabin was a mess. Blade marks scoured his desk, there was ink splattered everywhere, and some of his possessions were missing. In a rage, Captain Johnson had ordered for the Aterops to set sail, and then locked himself in his cabin. Johnson’s first mate, a man by the name of Niles McMurray, quietly contradicted the captain’s order and instead set workmen to repair the tiller. After a long wait it had been patched, and the Aterops fled Anka Dolour. It would become the butt end of jokes in the seedy bars of the slave island for years to come.
Now the Aterops was heading toward Kingdom Isle, for repairs and supplies, before reluctantly heading home to Port Crowne, where more ridicule waited. Not man onboard looked forward to the return journey, especially Johnson. Dark thoughts passed through his head as he contemplated his fate. Demotion. Loss of his ship. Jail time, perhaps? And never being able to hold his head high again. Johnson cursed the Bombardier with a thousand curses. Oh, why had he followed that ship? Why didn’t he just stay and patrol like he was ordered? Johnson pounded at his head as he tried to answer that question. The was a knock at the door.
“What?” snapped Johnson.
“Sir…” came a voice, “We’ve docked at Port Maltressa. We’ve landed at Western Knight’s Kingdom land.”
Captain Johnson went to the door and opened it only to find the sailor still standing there. “Yes?”
“U-um there’s something else you should see.”
The captain was soon on deck and could see for himself what the sailor meant. Sitting next to them in the harbor was the strangest ship he’d ever seen. It was…well, he didn’t really have time to examine it for at that moment he found himself approached by a man of equal oddity.
“Ah, good evenin’ tae ye mister Johnson. Aloow me tae introduce meself. Road’s the name. Taylor Road. Sailor, tradesman an’ merchant extraordinary --”
“No thank you.” said the Johnson, still in a bit of a fowl mood, “I’m not interested in trading today.”
“Aye but I believe ye are. Word on the breeze is that ol’ King Robert’s a-hopen’ tae resurrect the Crusader navy. Aye, an’ that’ll mean findin’ more then a wee bit o’ sailors ifin I’m guessin’ a-right. So a-fore ye start settin’ ye’re press gang tae round up the fine men o’ yeer land, ye might wanna take a wee look at the merchandise I’m peddlin’ teday.”
The captain looked over the gunwhale at the small ship, near sinking under the weight of its passengers.
“They look like pirates.” he said to the peddler.
“Aye, an’ I canna disagree with ye there. I wonna say that they havena played the picaroon in time o’ past. But there salty as they come an’ twice the seamen yeer lubberly pressed men would make. Aye, an’ they’re going fer cheap too.”
Down on the deck of the Apple-Tart Smythe was fumbling in his bag. “Worthless, worthless, useless. Isn’t there anything useful in here?”
“What are you doing?” said Targon, looking over his shoulder.
“What’s it bloody look like I’m doin’? I’m tryin’ ta find somethin’ ta get me out o’ this situation!”
The pirate held up a little vial of glove cleaner. If he remembered rightly, it was pretty much diluted Dragon tears. Hmmm, might be useful.
“Why don’t ya just swim fer it?”
“What! Are ye mad! I don’t want ta get ashore here. Not in Port Maltressa, that’s fer sure. Aye, maybe if this here were Palaceville but…p’raps if I knew how to run this contraption we could escape. No, but we couldn’t outrun the Aterops. Not in this sardine clipper. Aye, we’re in sour pickle here, matey. Gallows-fodder, the lot of us.”
Targon was considerably less worried. He wasn’t a pirate after all. What could they pin on him? Just then Taylor’s head popped over the bulwark and shouted down.
“Alrighty lads, ye can come on up.” when no one moved he shouted again, “Dinna worry lads, ye’re enlisted in the king’s navy now, so step lively.”
Still they hesitated until Peggy piped up with, “Well, it can’t be any worse then stayin’ here.”
And all the pirates agreed. As the pirates began to climb the rope ladder Taylor turned to the captain.
“Just, eh- dinna put them on the same ship, eh?”
“Aye, but I occurs to me that I’ve seen some of these men before. I don’t suppose ya’ve seen a ship by the name of the Mantis around here? My first mate was onboard.”
“Oh, Mr. O’Brien? Aye, I saw him. He was in a wee bit o’ trouble when I first happened ‘pon him, but we got him out o’ that an’ I dropped him off at port… Port, eh -- Well, port sompen er other. It’s up north in Knight’s Kingdom. Aye, O’Brien’s hot on the trail, he is. Hot on the trail o’ the princess.”
“What!?”
Taylor told all he knew, finishing with, “An that, me frien’ is all I ken. An’ now I’m afeared I most be gang.”
And with that he turned and slipped down the rope-ladder on to the empty deck of his ship. Captain Johnson didn’t know what to make of it. But it didn’t matter, because at that moment there were other things to think on. Things like the crew of Corsairs standing behind him on the deck of the Aterops. And even the cheery tune of the lilting calliope couldn’t keep him from frowning.
On board the Apple-Tart, Targon turned to his captor.
“Ok, so ya can let me off here an’ I can find me own way from there. Really, it’s no problem.”
The merchant turned to Targon with a scrutinizing eye.
“Yee’re a strange one, Targon. Aye, an’ that’s why I’m not lettin’ ye out of my sight. Ye know, yeer voice sounds a wee bit garbled taeday. Ifin ye care tae tell me why, I might jus’ let ye go ashore. Why dinna ye step intae me cabin, mister Destructible.”
There was something wrong with Targon. He knew it . He could feel it deep down, but he couldn’t tell what it was exactly. W as he the type who meekly followed orders? Or the type to sit idly by while he was shipped all over the south seas? Two ports they had passed now and Targon was still on this tiny ship with this man who he knew almost nothing about. What was it Smythe had said? Something about the man putting people into trances or something?
Well, Targon thought, If he’s messing with my mind, I’ve got to fight back.
“Weel now, what do ye think o’ me cabin, eh? Suren it may be a wee bit small, but it’s snug an’ cozy an’ I wouldna have it any other way.”
Looking around, Targon saw that Taylor was right. Every bit of the walls was covered with shelves and every bit of the shelves was full of trinkets. Some were broken, some half made. And in the corner there was a desk with a box of tools on it. It reminded Targon of a workshop. In another corner there was a stand with dozens of strange musical instruments that Targon had never the likes of. From the ceiling hung all sorts of dried provisions as well as a hammock and in the far wall, directly opposite the door, was a stout, black iron furnace with a little door on it. Targon guessed that this was what powered the paddlewheel and the calliope and he wasn’t far wrong.
“So how aboot that voice o’ yeers? Ye know the name o’ lass what handed ye that scar?”
“Uh, no.”
“Ye’re lucky ye ken that? Most people canna get theer throat slit an’ live tae tell o’ it. But then again…most people canna get theer head split open an’ live tae tell. Y e were lucky I came aloong when I did.”
The merchant squinted, looking sideways at the Dragon Master. “Aye, very lucky indeed.”
“Are ya tryin’ to say something?” Targon growled.
Taylor looked away. “Heh, that girl kens how tae wield a piece o’ metal, eh? Aye, she isna brave girl but ye dinna want tae make her mad. ‘course I might be mad meself ifin ye’d kidnapped me.”
The Dragon Master closed his eyes trying to shut out Taylor’s voice. What was he getting at? What game was he playing? How did he know so much?
Concentrate Targon. Make him answer your questions for a change.
“You--” Targon rumbled through gritted teeth, “What are you getting at?”
Taylor turned back to the Dragon Master, his eyes soft now.
“Ye really want tae go ashore don’t ye?” the peddler sighed before continuing, “I jus’ want tae tell ye…tae tell ye not tae waste yeer life chasin’ after that stone. An’ tae remind ye too that ye’ll not always be so lucky. One o’ these days ye’ll find yeerself standin’ at deaths door wishin’ ye’d struck a blow fer the side of good. Chodan kens ye--”
“What?” the Dragon Master sneered. Something snapped inside of Targon at that moment, “Chodan? CHODAN? Don’t bore me with the myth of Chodan! I know the way things really work ‘round here! Who’s really runnin’ things! And I don’t like getting morality lessons from a bloody Mountebank! Oh, an’ about the stone? Don’t even begin ta pretend you know anythin’ about that. Nobody knows what it is -- who it is. Not you, not Burtrand… Nobody but me.”
“Weel,” Taylor sighed, “there’s the door Mr. Targon. Ye’re free tae go.”
The Dragon Master turned, and left without a word. But eyes of Taylor Road followed him out and when he was gone the peddler spoke to the stillness.
“An’ ye’re wrong, Mr. Destructible. I ken more then ye think.”
Targon jumped over the last few boards of the dock and onto the sandy soil of the island.
“Ah, free again. No more ships, no more bloody women, an’ no more mystical medicine peddlers! Yessir… I don’t care what the rules are. An’ I don’t care who thinks they’re in charge either. I’m gonna get my kingdom and no one’s gonna stop me! But first…first I’m gonna find my rock!”
On board the Aterops, Captain Johnson looked over his new recruits. They didn’t look like the honest, steady men he wanted on his ship. But then, most of his men hadn’t started out that way. He’d whipped them into shape just like his captain had done to him all those years ago. Now he’d ordered three of his men into the town to buy supplies and materials. That left him with the rest of his crew and the new men.
I wish O’Brien was here. Johnson thought to himself, Maybe that merchant could give me a better idea of where…
But as Johnson was thinking this he heard a strange strand of music floating across the water. Turning, he saw the Apple-Tart paddling its way out onto the seas. The form of the merchant could still be made out against the water, as he stood by the controls. He was holding some kind of new instrument. A bag like thing with pipes. Or, as Taylor called it, a zampogna. And the beautiful, deep, melancholy tune of that instrument echoed over the water as the Apple-Tart went puffing into the distance.
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