Chapter 18: Treachery

Marlo was humming merrily to himself, as one does when undertaking charitable acts. Most would be pleased to receive his good intentions, Castain, however, was suffering from a nasty dose of cabin fever—the only excuse for which was a lack of movement and sunlight for a few hours, “I can darn well, go and get my own food, you don’t need to baby me.” The Pirate captain’s greeting was a verbal example of said ailment.

Marlo ceased cheerful humming to offer polite words, “Morgan said, you need another day of rest, and that’s even before you can start going for light walks. Why don’t you try some of these sweet cakes, they are to die for.”

“Darn it man, you worked for me first,” Castain grumbled.

Marlo was about to challenge the rather inflammatory comment when a glance out the porthole produced considerable alarm, “Speaking of to die for, that’s not good,” He exclaimed.

“Looks like the Garrisons, not on our side after all,” Castain said, the casually worded assessment required considerably higher alarm than the sight of six long boats filled with heavily armed kingdom solders.

“You don’t think it’s a surprise inspection?” Marlo asked, his hopeful comment silenced by realisation. Because he was insanely intelligent, a lot of thinking happened in a very small amount of time, the outcome of which was decisive, “I need to go and help the crew, you need to get out of here, if they find you, you’re dead.” He pushed on a panel behind his bed, it slid open to reveal a passage, “This comes out below Morgan’s cabin, just don’t be seen, now go and find Morgan’s Party and rescue the prince.”

“Where can I get a weapon?” Castain asked, all business.

Marlo suppressed a shiver that was brought on by Castain’s untoward calmness, eager to get to the crew he snapped a response, “Just wait for them to search Morgan’s cabin, push on the window glass and it will swing open, then take your pick.” Impatient, he strode towards the door.

 “Don’t do anything rash, it will keep them alive longer,” Castain called, the chilling words following him out into the hallway.

Before long, Marlo’s legs delivered him to the main deck where he proceeded to bellow orders, his stress levels ensuring that they were incrementally unsavoury. The result of his efforts was to have the whole crew above decks and looking rather non-threatening as the well-armed Garrison men climbed aboard. The soldiers who boarded used the flimsy excuse of a snap inspection to invite themselves onto the ship, their excuse soon invalidated when everyone was stripped of anything sharp, then herded below decks. After being bound, he was well on his way to getting a worrying picture of what was next. Marlo knew he needed to do something, but nothing sprang to mind, in fact the more that he racked his brain, the more frustrated he became. All a sudden, he realised that he had been remiss in his duties, cursing he proceeded to do a head count. Completion of his task brought momentary happiness, all fifty-six crew and one Aiden accounted for, then he realised that he had no clue what to do next but simply wait for the inevitable. The inevitable came moments later in the form of a bored-looking lieutenant who ordered his lackeys to start sending men back above decks, apparently to be interviewed. It took Marlo well before the words were completed to understand what the result of such an action would be. “I will go first, I am happy to tell you anything you need to know, sir,” he asserted meekly, not at all finding it hard to add a rather undignified croak into his voice. Of course, the soldiers who carried out the lieutenant’s orders didn’t question him, they simply proceeded to lead him upwards, the knowledge that he was being led to his death set legs to wobbling. An all-consuming numbness descended overriding all but the unpleasant realisation that he was about to die in a horribly tedious fashion. Once above decks his captors walked him towards the portside rail, probably because it made any clean-up job easier. Inside the numbness his brain still ticked, it was still searching desperately for a way to escape, a way to save the crew. Yet, despite working through all possibilities, he could not come up with a solution that overcame bound hands, crossbow bolts cocked behind him, and another pair of guards ready to spring into action on the quarter deck. Forced to kneel, the act of testing the repressive tightness of his bonds turned his thoughts toward the end, a simple question invaded his muddled mind, “I’m not supposed to die today, am I?” He took in the sight of a calm sea, serenity closed in, then the feeling of a crossbow bolt being pressed against the side of his skull sent his eyes to a close. 

“Let’s have a bit of fun, shall we?” A cocky faceless voice delivered Marlo from despair, and when he opened his eyes, he was greeted with a wondrous sight. Castain, adorned in bloody bandages, his offset stance advertising broken ribs. The pirate captain was leaning casually against the rail, his wonderfully handsome face, paired with a grin that complimented yet another taunt, “Bet you can’t hit me with that!”

As Marlo watched on in amazement, a crossbow bolt that should be in his skull flew past where Castain had been a split second before, then a second bolt also missed. With their available weapons now harmlessly spent; it took only a lightning-fast flick of Castain’s wrists to dispense both soldiers. The pirate captain known as Castain was said to be wonderous to watch amidst his fun, yet to Marlo the moment brought untapped joy, “Told you,” Castain said coldly, as he stood over the newly departed, who were collapsed in an undignified heap at his feet, blood pooling, shuriken in their necks.

Marlo shivered, then let out a breath that he wasn’t aware, he was holding onto, “Thanks, wait—did you just come to my rescue armed with only shuriken’s? Of all the weapons you could have chosen, that was what you picked up.”

Castain used a dead soldier’s sword to cut his bindings, then handed him the weapon before replying, “Do you think it’s easy wielding a sword with broken and dislocated fingers. Where’s the gratitude, would you have preferred that I left you to die or rummaged around for the right weapon?”

Bristling, Marlo watched as Castain engaged with the two guards who had rushed them from the quarterdeck, “I had this handled,” he affirmed, “I was going to do a sweeping leg thingy.” The absurdity of his words caused him to channel frustration into finishing another guard, which funnily enough, went a good way to making him feel much better.

“It’s okay to admit that you didn’t have a plan, Marlo. Sometimes, being the brains of the outfit gives you too much to think about.” Castain was clearly unaware of how rude his words were.

They proceeded to walk in the direction of the hold, all the while continuing their banter, until they had despatched the small contingent of soldiers left on the ship. When the crew were set free, Castain didn’t stop, instead he walked towards the ladder and the long boat below. Marlo knew the set of the pirate captain’s shoulders it was useless to try and stop him, “You can’t row that thing by yourself, take Gruth, Brady, Ameile, Cheese and Sam—they are our best fighters, just bring them back in one piece. Morgan would not be pleased if they were scratched or bruised.” It didn’t matter what Castain thought about his command, the crew members in question had been waiting for just such an invitation, the named already climbing down the ladder. It was then that a wonderous idea popped into Marlo’s head, “Don’t go anywhere near those Kingdom ships on your return trip,” He yelled towards Castain’s departing party before turning to find the rest of the crew staring at him expectantly. Of course, he did what he was good at, below orders, “WHAT ARE YOU ALL WAITING FOR? CLEAN UP THIS MESS, AND READY ME ANOTHER BOAT.” The blasphemy that accentuated his bellowed commands did nothing to speed up the crew, but it certainly made him feel better.

 

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“For a day that started with coffee and a smile this isn’t ideal” Morgan’s waking thought, quickly followed by the realisation that her aching head was threatening to empty what was left in her stomach. As her vision cleared the sight of Bella’s concerned features greeted her, a sharp pain behind her eyes sent a groan from her lips. She decided to wait for a moment, letting herself rest upon Bella’s lap.

The sound of Sha’s voice visited her, bringing with it his uplifting warmth, “Is she okay, I mean really, why would you knock out people before taking them to your den? I mean it’s stupid, wouldn’t it be easier to simply tie them up and walk them there, in a dignified manner. Stupid Black Cloaks!”

Sha was in fine and normal form, Morgan responded to the concern in his voice, “I’m okay. Where is Meena?” Her heart skipped a beat.

“Is right here,” Meena replied dryly. The confirmation that her friend was alive was all she needed to attempt an upright position. Unfortunately, her body had other plans, the resulting spin sending her back to horizontal. As Morgan rested upon Bella’s lap, she was given a run-down of their situation, they had been separated into two cells, Sha and Meena in one, and Bella and Morgan in the other. Her friends were in decent shape considering the circumstances, Meena had rope burns and a nasty bump on her head, her vengeful friend killed two Black Cloaks before they had knocked her out to quell the rampage. The only other injury seemed to be Sha’s wounded pride.

The tale of Meena’s braveness brought a trickle of guilt, it was closely followed by worry and fear. Morgan’s eyes started to moisten, and a lone sob escaped, she was close to letting go when Bella gripped her shoulders and uttered some very out of character words, “Morgan snap out of it, we all signed up for this.”

Bella’s stern comment was all that was required to force her feelings back to a place where they could be dealt with, later. Morgan pushed herself upright, emptying her stomach contents in the process. Realisation dawned as she waited for the world to stop its spin, the black cloaks thought that she was a merchant, a fact that was evident in the lack of guards or bindings, her enemy’s mistakes would allow her to scheme, and it would cost them. A plan formed in her throbbing head, she didn’t like it, yet like an arrow fired, the momentum had begun. “Goddess hear me, I will throw my cloths overboard and DO MY DUTY IN MY under garments, if we make it out of this alive!” Morgan’s loud declaration drew her friend’s attention, she continued, “Meena, can you remember anything about Kurja that could help, I need to know if he has any weaknesses?”

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Hours later Morgan found herself face to face with a vain tyrant. The first part of her plan had involved the King of the Black Cloaks coming to lord himself over them in his arrogant manner, Castain had described this tendency, and Meena had since confirmed such. Kurja had done the expected, his first words to her laced with boredom, “So this is the famous, Morgan Jones, merchant extraordinaire.”

Morgan’s reply was paired with a mocking smile, “Love the dark and broody vibe you have got going on. I would have added a few skeletons in the corner though, just to add that certain something.”

On queue and before Kurja could respond to her deliberately sarcastic comment, a voice spoke behind him, “Well, if it isn’t dear old dad.” Meena emphasised the world old, Morgan was already impressed by her performance. Kurja turned sharply, clearly off guard. “What, no, how are you, dear. I’ve missed you. I’ve been waiting to pass to you my favourite sword, so that I can die in peace.” Morgan suppressed a snicker at the last, the lowly growl that escaped Kurja’s lips was an indication that Meena’s jibes were on the money. “Gee, dad you have some pretty big lines around your eyes, mouth, and well, everywhere since we last meet.”

Kurja finally got a word in, his voice thick with anger, “I should have known when I heard the story of the fighter who couldn’t even take down six of my worst men; they were talking about my useless excuse for progeny.”

Astoundingly, Meena continued with the charade, “Aww shucks thanks, why don’t we cross sword like old times. You don’t have to feel afraid of taking me on in your old age.” Morgan felt a sense of pride, her friend was facing down a man who had chosen the title abuser over parent.

Snarling, Kurja spat a reply, “Of course daughter. You will have the death you so desperately crave, and it will be in front of your friends in an hour, all you are to me now, is another black dot.” The King of the Black Cloaks turned to leave, he probably wanted to get some space from that which made him feel old and ugly.

“Because we are going to die anyway, tell me, what is the symbolism of the black dot?” Morgan called in the direction of his departing form.

Kurja’s reply was strangely ominous, “A black dot signifies a sacrifice to the master.”

Sha’s tirade started before the enemy’s footsteps faded, “Well, that’s menacing, isn’t it? Who the heck is the Master? Why do some of them have them on their eyelids, and some on arms.” Morgan was beginning to wonder when Sha would take a breath, “Also why does the Master require sacrifices in the form of black dots, and is there a parallel to the pirate slang black spot?”

“Sheesh Sha, calm down will you I’m trying to think here,” Bella exclaimed, she started to giggle, probably because she had interrupted someone. Morgan joined with Meena adding to the mirth, the situation calling for a bit of laughter induced stress relief.  

“Man! Women are so random,” Sha grumbled, clearly confused by the whole interaction. All laughter died, “I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Sha stated uncomfortably.

Morgan shrugged, her mind had already shifted to the next problem, “I think we need to do this before it’s too late,” she declared before fortifying herself.

Grimacing, Bella placed her thumbs either side of her nose, then she applied enough force to align the bones, eyes watering Morgan’s pain preceded a scream that echoed of the walls.