Blackjack Wayward

Chapter Three



I searched the ship for the little imp I had spent the night with but found her missing, and in fact, no one even knew who I was talking about. And that wasn’t the strangest thing that happened to me after drinking over a gallon of the crew’s awful concoction. My head was spinning, not just from the vertigo of three-dimensional sailed flight but also from the powerful grog, so I’m not sure if I managed to convey my meaning to the crewmembers I met. Besides, most of them were also under the fiery liquid’s spell. But it didn’t matter; the imp was gone, as if deleted by a magical eraser, and I was renounced to a night lacking company. I went amidships and leaned against the gunwale, looking off into the swirling mists.

We were sailing near a large shard, populated by a dense jungle whiting pulsing with thousands of tiny lights, denoting some sort of settlement deep within the tree cover. It was a deluged swampland, like a dense mangrove forest, and above flew one of the largest creatures I have ever seen. It was thin and translucent, with only a hint of azure along its long tail. It reminded me of the famed and rare oarfish from Earth, except reptilian, and with a five-mile-long head that was more Komodo dragon than fish. The thing moved by streaming its pelvic and dorsal fins and curving against itself. The Lady’s Nightmare was too small to even be a morsel to the beast, who seemed content to strain against the same head current we were tacking into. It was fighting the headwind just enough to stay almost motionless above the shard, as if waiting for prey to pop up from the underbrush.

A figure approached, interrupting my thoughts. I turned, hoping to find my impish companion once again but seeing instead Drovani. He approached bearing a glass decanter of reddish-clear fluid, like diluted wine, and a pair of crystal goblets that were trimmed with gold. He nodded, taking his place beside me and handing me a glass.

“This is Artenanka, Blackjack,” he said, all tone of hostility gone from his voice. “It is a delicacy in my home world, one of the few we were able to replicate in this place despite our present condition.”

He filled my glass first, then his own, and placed the decanter on the bulwark, raising his glass up for a toast. It was a fluid much like spent motor oil, but it had the sweet smell of jasmine.

“We’re playing nice now?” I asked.

Drovani smiled, displaying his sharp canines.

“Yes,” he began. “A measure of apology for my earlier behavior.”

Our glasses met and let out a high-pitched harmony that lingered in the air, then was lost in the breeze. He drained his flute and raised an eyebrow when he noticed I hadn’t, so I downed mine as well. It was like wine, but much stronger, and the fluid had a strange effervescence much like champagne. The tickle persisted once I had swallowed.

“Interesting,” I said.

“I hoped you might enjoy it.”

“You have to understand,” I started, in an apologetic tone, not even knowing why I did it. “The Mists just attacked us, and the folk from that village. We were just defending ourselves.”

He nodded. “Indeed, it was their mistake.”

“I just think it’s important you know that we didn’t incite them.”

“They were led by the most foolish and bombastic,” he said, pouring us another round. “And it cost them dearly.”

“Are they even around anymore?”

Drovani shook his head, “Just a few of their former warlords, tucked away in shards with a few solders. Mostly fighting each other these days.”

“Well, that’s good. Those guys were a*sholes,” I said, sipping the wine.

“The passing of the Mist Army provided opportunities as well. For example, to my people.”

I studied him for a moment, wondering what he was getting at. He was unarmed and, while a formidable creature, far smaller than I. If it came to a tussle, he’d bear the brunt, but he didn’t present a threat at the moment. Drovani was interested in something, more than just the mission he had hired the ship for. He wanted something from me.

“I wasn’t here long enough the last time to get to know the local politics.”

He laughed.

“I suppose not,” he shrugged and poured more of the wine to top off our glasses. “A dozen years ago, my people fought the Mists, and won. We were victorious, but they had great numbers, and their armies were easily replenished, whereas ours ... well, my people are long-lived, longer perhaps than any other of the aliens gathered in this world, but we could not expect to survive a long war of attrition against the Mists. A treaty was proposed and accepted by both parties, wherein the Mists would rule all places save the remnants of our world. There we would be autonomous, and the treaty held for eleven years. Until you came and made it void, by destroying not only the Lords of the Mists, but also their ruling council.”

“You’re welcome,” I joked, and he raised his glass to me.

“Yes,” he continued. “There is an opportunity now, a chance to change this place, for the better. No more Mist gulags, like the one you encountered. No rendition of able bodied males to serve in their ranks, nor of attractive females to serve their needs. No more stealing of harvests to feed the armies.”

“Peace,” I said.

“In a word, yes. My people could bring this.”

“In return for what?”

Drovani’s eyes snapped at me, “Nothing. My people are peace-loving. We do not wish to rule this world, but to free it from the yoke of those who founded it.”

“The Lightbringers?”

He nodded.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, not wanting to let him know that any effort against the Lightbringers would be destined to fail. They were god-like beings, with mastery of matter and energy, and perhaps even time itself. I should know: I stood before one and was utterly at its mercy, in both body and mind. In fact, when it communicated with me, I recall it utilizing my own thoughts and memories, organizing them in a way for me to best understand its meaning and intentions. I had never felt so helpless. So powerless. Drovani and his people might be formidable warriors, but nothing could stand in the face of the Lightbringers, and to claim to want to fight them wasn’t just folly – it was ridiculous.

“So tell me about your people,” I asked, not wanting to get into an argument with him.

“We know ourselves as Vershani,” he began, “and our people come from a lush forest world, a planet called Calaqmul. I don’t know where your world is, in order to give you a reference.”

“Earth,” I said. “Our planet is called Earth, it’s in the Sagittarian arm of the Milky Way galaxy.”

He thought for a moment. “Those names mean little to me. But it is no matter. My people had reached the pinnacle of civilization, after many wars of unification, and were united as one. A single powerful force that ruled our star system, and several others.”

Which was interesting, and contrary to what he had just said about a “peace-loving people,” but I said nothing, content to enjoy the fragrant wine and let him continue.

“It was at this highest point in our culture’s history when the Lightbringers came and ripped our world apart. We fought, of course, but we were unprepared, and what is left of our people now exists here.”

He paused, watching me, and I suppose, wondering what was going through my mind.

“For a time, we were scavengers, much like the people you first encountered in that gulag. But in the time since, we have endured, and then thrived, despite much toil and hardship. We have been preparing for this moment since our arrival here, and soon we shall achieve what no other race in Shard World could ever hope to: freedom for all the peoples of this place.”

“Sounds nice, but what do you need me for?”

He smiled, “We, in fact, do not need you, but you will make things much easier.”

Then he went on to talk endlessly about his culture and his people. I have to be honest, I zoned out for much of his dissertation. It wasn’t just the drink, which by then was starting to get to me. The wine had a kick even the crew’s grog had lacked, and the bottle seemed to have no end to it. Drovani was content to keep pouring the stuff into my glass, and for my part, I was content to drink it. The drink had little effect on Drovani himself, and he matched me drink for drink.

In any case, he went on about his people and their gods and their foods and whatnot, and the only thing that sparked any interest was that their gods were living. In fact, much of what I managed to retain made his people seem much like the Mesoamerican peoples of Central and South America, with their strange rituals and customs, down to sacrifices and stepped pyramids, but somehow intermingled with futuristic technology like high-tech communications and interstellar travel.

It was evident, the more he spoke, that Drovani’s people were a warmongering tribe, simply more successful than some of the others in Shard World.

Talk then turned to his pantheon of gods, and like those of the Aztecs or Mayans back home, the Vershani gods were living members of their culture, not just avatars; much of the struggle that went on among the Vershani resulted from the whims and infighting of their gods, and the Vershani efforts to appease them. Our present mission had much to do with that, though he was rather nebulous and when pressed, he found an excuse to change the subject.

“Forgive me for boring you with my culture,” he said, eager to move on to something else, reaching for a wrapped bundle that lay nearby. “I have a gift for you, Blackjack. Something to help you in our fight tomorrow.” With much pomp, he reached into one end of the oblong package and unfurled the wrapping, revealing a pair of sheathed swords, the silver etched, decorated scabbards attached to a similarly adorned leather belt. He handed it to me and I wrapped the belt around my waist.

“Test them,” he said, taking a step back to give me room.

I drew one, then the other, revealing a twin pair of flawless blades, so sheen they were slightly translucent, despite their heavy feel. The balance was perfect, and they left a long trail behind them, a particle effect that faded after a few seconds.

“Wow,” I said, impressed.

The blades were heavy and thick, almost as if designed for a man my size. Each one would correspond with the equivalent of a bastard sword, large enough for a strong man to wield it single-handed, but long enough, in blade and hilt, that a smaller man could use them two-handed.

“What is that?” I asked of the lingering particle effect.

He answered it by drawing a laser weapon of intricate design and firing into it. I expected treachery, and to die in an instant, but to my surprise, the effect acted as a shield, blocking the laser bolt from Drovani’s weapon. I lowered both weapons, both frightened and angered by the live-fire demonstration, but he just smiled.

“Easiest way to explain it,” he said, shrugging.

I nodded, “It’ll block anything?”

“Small arms fire, for certain. More than that, I can’t say. The blades belonged to my youngest brother, before he was killed in war three years ago. He was large, like you, and he preferred a powerful hacking weapon to the usual more elegant blades of my people.”

Drovani holstered his pistol and drew his sword, which was thin and elongated, closer to the dueling saber of a musketeer.

“Thank you,” I said, as he sheathed his blade and reached for the wine.

He poured me another glass and handed it to me as I put my blades away. “You will need them. Come this time tomorrow, we shall be knee-deep in the dead.”

He seemed to want to go on, to tell me all about his people’s proud past, as if it were something I had to know, as if I cared, but I used a slight moment’s respite in the conversation to excuse myself. I said I had to relieve myself from all the drink, and I did, but more than that, I wanted to extricate myself from all the pointless chatter. I longed for action, to move ahead, to move forward, and leave things unsaid behind.

I had saved the world, after all, saved everyone on precious little planet Earth, when no one else was there to. When all our heroes were impotent, it was I who stood on the side of right, and for that I was promptly banished, proving the adage that no good deed goes unpunished.

A sharp kick on the rump from one of my fellow crewmembers woke me, and rising, I noticed I wasn’t the only one fighting the effects of the late-night drinking. We were like a bunch of turtles trying to f*ck a football, and I was glad, for my sake, that I wasn’t the only one. One by one, the crew assembled at a bundled series of barrels where we dunked our hands and drenched ourselves with cold water to wake us from the stupor. After that, we mustered to the quarterdeck, hurried by the ship’s officers.

Captain Nicatrix strolled out of her cabin under the poop deck and leaned on the railing overlooking us. Even before she came out, Zann and a few others passed flasks and wine sacks of the fiery liquid, which did little to ease our sore bellies. The crew welcomed the captain with a rousing cheer, and it was clear they loved her. Last night, many of the crew had lauded her and shared stories of victory, loot, and glory. To hear it from them, Nicatrix couldn’t be beaten in ship combat, and most potential prey simply surrendered rather than risk her notorious wrath. She was known throughout Shard World; no one could run from her, and giving up was the only chance you had.

Once the rowdiness died down, she began.

“Now I know you’re all as anxious as little children to find out what the big hubbub is all about,” she began, getting a few rowdy whistles in return. With a wide sweep of her hands, the crew went silent again. “I can’t tell you many of the details, but I can let you know about our target. It’s the Vershani.”

This both shocked and appalled the crew, but no one spoke. Instead, they just looked at each other, unsure how to respond.

“I know,” Nicatrix continued. “We’re going after the big boys. This is going to be like no mission we’ve ever run. This is the rainmaker, boys. After this, we’ll all retire in style. Even you, Skeetrix. Maybe you’ll marry that whore you visit every time we make berth in Mangalore.” The crew responded well to one of their number, their greatest warrior, being singled out and lauded. They enjoyed seeing him pleased. The Captain knew what she was doing, and in an instant, she had turned apprehension to a raucous joy again.

“I’ve one question, Cap’n,” Zann said, as if thinking aloud.

The Captain silenced the crowd and motioned for him to continue.

“Well, if we’re going against the Vershani, well ... I was just wondering,” he started, unsure how to finish.

“You’re worried about the Vershani warrior we have onboard,” she said, following Zann’s line of thinking even if he didn’t himself. Zann nodded, and this drew the attention of the crew. “There’s a bit of a fight brewing between them,” she said. “And we’ve got the insider’s bit on where a big fat merchant ship’s going to be, come a few hours from now. She’ll be lightly guarded and moving fast, so Mr. Picklett and the boys in the rigging will have to set every stitch of sail to keep her in range of the forward battery. But we’re faster, and she can’t get away. She’ll be coming this way in a while, and I intend to intercept her right here. We’ll be hiding behind that shard yonder,” she pointed to a floating rock formation in the distance. “And once she comes past, we’ll blow out her masts, board her, and make her loot ours.”

Again, the crew exploded in merriment, half-drunk and half-elated.

“And if you have any doubts about this one, bear in mind who will be leading the boarding action.” She swept out her hand to me, and the crew truly lost it, throwing things my way in jest and surrounding me, each taking a turn to poke or touch me, to grab my clothing as if I were a Beatle in a throng of crazed fans.

“All right, settle down,” Nicatrix said, fighting back laughter herself. “Skeetrix will lead the boarding party like always,” she continued, mollifying the cat-man, who alone amongst the crew didn’t seem too happy to have me along. “But Blackjack will be on the front line of the fight, clearing the way for us and leaving a bloody wake, no doubt.”

She let the crew yell and holler for a few moments before going on.

“Things are liable to get dicey. Vershani aren’t the easiest folk to deal with, and they know how to fight. But I’m told their ship will be laden with cargo and valuables, and it’s all ours for the taking.”

Zann leaned over to me and punched my arm, “I hope you’re as good as you say.”

“For my part,” the captain said. “I just want that ship’s flag. I want to wrap it on our mast along with all the others,” she said, drawing the adulation of her crew. Only then did I notice a few dozen flags hanging from the main mast, starting just below the tie to the main mast yard arm, draping down like a fluttering row of scalps. A testament to Nicatrix and her ship’s success.

“There’s one last thing,” she said, lowering her voice so the crew had to strain to listen. “There’s a dignitary onboard the ship, and we’re to keep all our grubby paws, tentacles and fingers off. Is that clear?”

Zann shook his tentacle, now fully healed, and laughter spread through the men.

“How are we to know who it is?” Skeetrix asked, ever to the point.

“Our new Vershani friend will accompany you and identify the target.”

The crew jeered, and when Skeetrix asked his follow-up question, it was exactly what I was wondering.

“How will we recognize him from any of the others, Captain?”

“I’ve just seen him,” Captain Nicatrix said, pursing a smile on her lips, as if privy to an inside joke. “Believe me, it will be easy to identify him from the rest of his countrymen. In any case, he will accompany you, Skeetrix, and guide you to the location where this dignitary will be. I expect the Vershani to guard this individual, giving up their lives to the last man.” Then she came down from the poop deck to join us on the quarterdeck as she said, “But we will have surprise, we will have superior weaponry, and most importantly, we will have Blackjack!”

And with that, the crew lost all semblance of control.

Our men up in the crow’s nests had far sharper eyesight than I did because I didn’t even catch a faint glimpse of our target until ten minutes after one of them cried out, “sail ho!” At first the Vershani ship was but a speck against the swirling orange-black sky, but she was moving fast and in no time you could make her out. My first impression was that it was a swan in mid-flight. The cheetah-man Skeetrix was nearby and handed me his spyglass to get a good look at the ship. She was an open-hulled vessel, like ours, but that was where the similarities ended. Her hull was polished white, as if carved from a single massive piece of alabaster or marble, seamless and perfect. At her bow jutted an upturned and forward-curved figurehead, much like the head of a swan, which, when combined with a sail pattern that opened wide and broad like wings, gave the ship an impression of a winged creature, approaching our ambush.

She came straight for us, oblivious to us, as the Captain had positioned the Lady’s Nightmare behind a floating rocklet, leaving only the topmost part of her masts clear to spot the oncoming ship. Nicatrix ordered us back farther behind cover, now that we knew our prey was coming. A winged crewman flew off to cling off the nearby rock to watch where we couldn’t.

As our ship retreated, she was putting her stern into the wind, forcing a more and more aggressive usage of the reverse thrusters, which lay a few decks below me along the bow. The Lady’s forward thrusters rumbled and strained against the wind that filled our sails. The quartermaster had only minimal sails set, just a topsail on the main and mizzen mast, and the bowsprit, but the winds howled across the deck, creating a vortex that rolled around the ship and forced her forward. The action of the two forces served to keep our ship relatively motionless behind our concealment, but we were also like a coiled cobra, waiting to strike when the enemy ship sailed past. Releasing the forward thrusters would throw us forward like a rock from a slingshot.

“How much longer?” Captain Nicatrix asked, and the signal man sent up a set of flags to the scout that hid along the floating rock. He was a brightly colored creature and his replies using his wings like flags were relayed back to the captain.

“Another minute or two, she says,” the quartermaster replied.

“Can she hold?” the captain asked the pilot, who nodded.

“Should hold, Cap’n.”

“Get ready for action, boys! Roll out the bow chasers, Mister Skeetrix,” the captain roared from the poop. “Perhaps you can get Mister Blackjack to aid you.”

Skeetrix motioned behind me, where a pair of fifteen-foot-long cannon lay side by side, surrounded by a gathering of crew, Skeetrix’ men, who were already throwing open the two port holes. Others were loading the guns, ramming canvas-wrapped bags of gunpowder, slamming the ball of round shot atop the bags. Then came several armfuls of padded cloth as wadding, and finally one man rammed the whole package down the muzzle to the rear of the gun, nice and tight. Once both weapons were loaded, the guns were rolled out, and that’s where I lent a hand, pulling on ropes tied to the gunwale on swivels and back to the gun carriage, until the rolling wheels slammed into chalks. Darmelia, the orc woman, came next, piercing the rear gunpowder bags of each gun with a long metal hook, pouring small volume of powder as a priming charge, and sealing the whole thing with a trigger, like one you’d find on the back of a toy cap gun.

No sooner did we have the guns ready than our winged crewman returned, yelling “Here she comes!”

We got a close look at the Vershani ship. She was a huge thing, easily four times our size, with a dozen masts jutting in each direction, even beneath her deck. In fact, she had sails front and aft, and coming from just about everywhere, but she had a long pair of masts just behind amidships, much longer than any of the others, which gave the impression of wings. These more massive masts had smaller sub-masts protruding down their entire length and were probably the main form of propulsion, as she lacked the thruster banks that made the Lady so fast and so maneuverable. Another thing I noticed she didn’t have was gun ports on the sides of the hull; most of the length of her body was nearly invisible beneath the overlapping layers of sail.

The swan head at her bow was nothing of the sort, instead some sort of beaked serpentine creature in the middle of a savage roar, her eyes a pair of burning green gems.

“Fire at your leisure,” Captain Nicatrix said, and Skeetrix knelt at the right-most gun, peering across its length, using the trigger as a sight, taking a long time to aim. Darmelia stood at the left bow chaser, the trigger string held taut and ready, watching Skeetrix’ every move.

The Vershani ship passed in front of us, her crew completely unaware, and it was so large that it would take over a minute for her entire length to be clear of our guns. The cheetah-man took his sweet time, fiddling with a pivot lever that could raise the cannon a few degrees on the gun carriage.

“Six,” he said, his eyes never leaving his makeshift gun sight. Darmelia leaned down and made a matching adjustment to her gun, before returning to her standing post just beside her weapon, to be clear of the recoil. No sooner had she taken her spot than Skeetrix stood and stepped aside. “Fire!”

Both guns barked, hurling their deadly shots at our enemy ship and slamming the gun carriages back to their stopper chalks, straining their holding ropes. The effect of the cannon shot was instantaneous, as both shots found their mark, powering into the base of the massive starboard ‘wing’ mast. It was masterful gunnery, and the damage done to the enemy ship was crippling; the structure that kept the mast in place exploded, releasing the whole thing from the hull of the ship. If not for the webwork of rigging, the entire mast would have fallen off into the abyss. As it was, the long mast rolled downward, ripping and straining at the ropes and making the mast and all the sub masts and yardarms into a breaking sail, slowing the ship and sending her reeling downward and to starboard.

The crew roared in victory. The tiller released the forward thrusters, unleashing the Lady’s Nightmare forward at breakneck speed toward the Vershani warship.

It’s hard to describe how fast we were going, and how quickly we were catching up with the reeling enemy ship. The damaged sail had the effect of not only slowing the Vershani warship, but also creating a heavy drag to starboard that no pilot could correct, making catching her that much easier.

Once our tiller, Dal’naeth, released the breaks holding us in place, our ship thrust forward like a shell shot out of a cannon. Once she sailed past us, we were perpendicular to her, and the captain did nothing to correct course and send us after her. Instead, she whispered an order to the quartermaster, Mr. Picklett, who yelled, “Man the starboard guns, open the gun ports and ready to fire.”

I half expected Skeetrix to run to the growing ruckus of men in the quarterdeck below, but he stayed at his post and watched as the men reloaded the bow chasers.

“We don’t help down there?” I asked, but he flashed an expression that I took for a confident grin, though it gave his feline features a more savage look.

“Gav is in charge on the gun deck,” he said, realizing that the answer was insufficient for me. “He is ... territorial.”

“Ah.”

“And besides,” Darmelia began, eyeing me closely, noticing the blades strapped to my waist, “we’ll be boarding her soon enough. That is the fun part.”

I looked at the Vershani ship, which was heeling to starboard, crippled by her fallen mast.

“She looks big,” I said.

“Crewed by a thousand or more,” Skeetrix said matter-of-factly. We had less than one hundred aboard the Lady’s Nightmare.

“Not good,” I shook my head. “It’s a suicide mission.”

“Afraid?” Darmelia said, almost scoffing.

I laughed, “That gold fellow we have onboard, if they have a thousand like him, then I’m afraid a lot of you might not live to see tomorrow.”

Darmelia exploded, almost drawing the wicked two-handed axe that lay in a strap across her back. “I am Darmelia of Kerduk, daughter of Krithnia, son of Dulaq. I am more than a match for–” she started, moving toward me with clenched fists, but Skeetrix and another crewman intercepted her.

“Hey, I’m sure you can handle yourself,” I said, “but what about the blue furball with the big mouth, or the red jizz guy.”

“Gav and Deglet,” Skeetrix said, identifying the two crewmen to quell Darmelia’s confusion.

She laughed, “Gav is as fearsome a warrior as you’ve ever encountered. And Deglet is a creature I highly recommend you never quarrel with.”

The tension somewhat lessened, Skeetrix and the other man let her step toward me.

“What about you? How do we know you won’t wet your pants and run at the first sign of trouble?”

I was about to talk about my encounter with the three Mist Lords in my previous visit to Shard World, or my victory over the superhero Epic on Hashima Island, but instead I looked over at the crewmen struggling to run out the bow chasers. Most had stopped what they were doing, expecting a fight between Darmelia and me, but a couple still tugged at the lines, slowly doing the job that many would have made easy. I reached over and picked up the gun carriage, cannon, ropes, and all, including a dangling crewman who threw himself atop the gun in fear when I picked it up. It was effortless, pressing the many tons of metal and wood above my head, then holding it there with just one hand. I smiled, as his expression of hostility and disdain faded, replaced with awe, and perhaps a bit of horror. The crewmen around us just gawked, amazed at the feat of strength, an effort that did little to tax me. Skeetrix alone was unimpressed and the only voice of reason.

“I hope you’re not thinking to throw the thing at the enemy ship,” he joked. Those gathered around us joined in laughter as I returned the gun carriage to its rails and helped the man climb off.

“Now I’ll have to re-aim,” Skeetrix said, hitting my arm and crouching behind the gun, just as the heavy cannon from the gun deck barked, almost in unison, sending a deadly broadside of lead at the rear of the enemy ship. From my vantage point, I saw the brilliance of Captain Nicatrix’ plan. Not only had we disabled the enemy from our hidden vantage point, we now had sailed behind the enemy ship, effectively “crossing their T”, or positioning ourselves perpendicular to the enemy so our guns could fire without having to endure return fire. We had, in fact, the most advantageous position in naval warfare, right behind the enemy, able to fire deadly rounds into their weakest armor, sending hot lead raking through their decks to kill men and destroy the ship’s interior structures.

“Full thrusters ahead,” Nicatrix shouted to the quartermaster, who was now below, directly commanding the gun crews. I was about to ask Skeetrix about how that would sit with the blue-furred alien, Gav, but the thrusters below us fired and I had to scramble for a handhold. A firm, gloved hand grabbed my arm and kept me from flying over the gunwale. Darmelia held on to me, a wan smile on her face, which despite the grim expression and two tusks jutting from her lower jaw was somewhat attractive. Her eyes were green and freckled with brown, nose was slim and feminine, and lips were full and wide. She had some bony ridges on her forehead, and long green hair that was stuffed under a metal helm, jutting out the sides and draping over her broad, muscular back.

“There will be time enough for that later,” Skeetrix growled.

Darmelia pulled me closer, helping me get my feet under me and flashing a playful grin, and for a moment there was something so familiar about her. Beneath all the orcish features, heavy armor, and the weightlifter’s bravado, there was a face that I knew, but couldn’t identify. She shoved me back with surprising strength once I had steadied myself.

“Perhaps,” she said coyly, returning to her gun and barking orders at her men to finish reloading, and turning her back to me.

I shot a glance at Skeetrix, who knelt next to me. He laughed, finishing his adjustments to the gun and standing beside me and threw a brawny, furred arm around my shoulder, his laughter growing, “You may be able to defeat a thousand adversaries, unarmed, but that, my friend,” he motioned to Darmelia, who was just out of earshot, “is something I doubt you can handle.”

Soon we were swathed in a cloud of gun smoke, the stench of sulfur and saltpeter that made your eyes tear and left a salty taste that no amount of water could wash away. The Captain kept our ship to the rear of the Vershani vessel and fired broadside after broadside into her stern.

The situation aboard the enemy ship deteriorated in just a few minutes as each shattering shell wracked her. Top decks became a hellfire of flaming fallen masts and sails, spattered with blood and remains of the dead. What few live crewmen were visible fought the storm of fire that had spread across her rear.

“See?” Darmelia motioned to the enemy ship. “Not too hard for you now?”

It looked like our task would be far easier than any of us could imagine, for little could live now on that ship. The pounding of our guns had beaten the fight out of the enemy ship, and I doubted there would be any resistance among the survivors.

The guns rumbled below as another broadside slammed into the stricken Vershani ship. The Lady’s Nightmare lurched in the opposite direction and I shot a glance back to the aft castle, where Captain Nicatrix was peering through her spyglass at our target while listening to a conversation between the quartermaster Mr. Picklett, the pilot Dal’naeth, and Zann. She nodded once and snapped her spyglass shut, and Mr. Picklett came down the main deck, shouting below, “Stow the guns, batten the portholes, and come top side. Secure the bowsprit and ready for a rear boarding action, boys!”

The crew cheered, like a Stones crowd at Wembley Stadium, and then doubled their efforts. I could hear the rolling of the guns as the crews brought them back inside the ship and hammered their wheels in place. Outside, the portholes banged closed, and above, the rigging men came forward to remove the two triangular sails that jutted forward along the bowsprit, a mast that spurred ahead of the ship. Two of the men that scrambled along the rigging were massive creatures, and one I recognized as a pigrilla creature, though smaller than the ones I had faced against when I fought the Mist Army. The other was ape-like, white-furred, and huge, wearing heavy armor that did little to hamper his lithe movement along the ropes.

“Get a move on, Morloki,” Skeetrix roared at the bigger of the two; without stopping his agile ambling across the rigging, Morloki growled, “Go f*ck yourself, furball.”

The half-dozen crewmen made short work of the sails, but the gun captain beside me continued to harass them every step of the way.

“Gonna drop a f*cking yard arm on one of your balls,” yelled the big white simian, waving a twenty foot sail spar with intimidating ease.

“Quit screwing around and do your job, white monkey,” Skeetrix replied, drawing laughter from his crew.

“You all laugh?” the ape yelled, now hanging upside down absentmindedly, removing a tie to the last yard arm. “I’ll come down there and eat your soft insides! You too, Darmelia. I’ll f*ck you by your entrails!”

But despite his threatening tone and thunderous voice, Skeetrix and his crew were wracked with laughter, helped in large part by the volumes of alcohol they had all consumed. They were unafraid of the alien, whose furred arms were as thick around as my midsection and whose canines were like eight-inch daggers. When his part in clearing the fore sails was done, the ape dropped down among us; though he was hunched over, his bulk dwarfed me.

The crew was silent for a moment as the ape glowered among us, his gaze finally settling on me.

“You’re lucky they sent that weakling Zann to fight you instead of me. I would have eaten your brains and f*cked your headless corpse.”

He took a few steps closer to me and arched his back to seem taller, though it wasn’t a natural posture.

“You think you can beat me?” he snarled.

I smiled. “Easy.”

Skeetrix’ men laughed, to the detriment of our newcomer, who scowled at them all as if taking names.

“I’d like to see that,” he said.

“Anytime you’re feeling lucky,” I said, the cocky smile still there, taunting him, egging him on, but I could tell that he was play-acting. Maybe it was how aggressive he was, something that wouldn’t last long on a ship with these many men, or perhaps it was the raucous laughter of the whole crew. It was an act, maybe a big joke. Or so I hoped, because this guy was bigger even than Epic.

“I’m always lucky,” he snarled, brushing back the pale white hair on his arms. “Ask Darmelia.”

“Not even in your dreams, Morloki,” she snapped.

“I would be gentle with you at first,” Morloki started, ignoring me and our stand-off at once and moving toward her. “But after time, I would revert to my ways, I would have to make love to you like my people do. You could not handle it.”

The men laughed at Darmelia’s expense, but by the smile on her face, it was clear that this was an old joke.

“My last lover’s heart exploded when I was only half-satisfied,” Darmelia said, waving him off.

“Then you shouldn’t have chosen one of Blackjack’s people to sleep with, woman,” he said, and the crew’s laughter now included me.

While this was happening, Captain Nicatrix ordered the ship turned to port as the thrusters shot us forward, closing the gap between the two warships. Again I almost lost my balance and would have fallen to the deck if not for Darmelia.

“I think it was one of your kind, Morloki – a big, useless ape. Sadly, I had to finish myself.” She mocked tears, gripping my shoulder tight. “I think if my dear Blackjack shows the courage to withstand the Drookah love embrace, he would be up to the challenge.”

She eyed me, taking her time, and I felt like a well-cut piece of venison. It was provocative and demeaning at the same time.

“His hips are narrow,” she said. “But I’d rather take the risk of poor Blackjack dying on me than endure the boredom of love-making with a tiresome ball of white fur.”

She won that round, and the crew let Morloki know it, but he took it all in stride, leaning over to me.

“You’re going to want to be careful with that one,” he said, matter-of-factly despite our previous stare-down, confirming that it had all been a joke. “Her idea of mating is more like slow, torturous homicide.”

Meanwhile, the Lady’s Nightmare was coming to top speed, chasing the foundering Vershani vessel. Fires roared aft on the enemy ship, consuming, sails, masts, crew and materiel alike, a long column of smoke trailing behind it as she slowly descended away from us. Our pilot, Dal’naeth, kept us in the chase, but it wasn’t hard to stay with the stricken ship.

“So you’re Blackjack,” Morloki said finally, as if now was the proper time for introductions.

“I remember this bastard,” the new alien said. He was similar to an Earth lesser primate, like a hunched over macaque or lemur, but man-sized, perhaps five-feet tall if he were to straighten up. His fur was patterned with subdued colors, with a long tail that was ringed with black and light gray. He wore a ridiculous trench coat and hat, and a pair of huge hand cannons were tucked in at his waist. His arms were strong and muscular, straining against the jacket’s material.

His companion on the ropes also came down on the forecastle, landing beside Morloki on the gunwale.

“My name is Brutalis, and I was there when you destroyed the Mist Army.”

“Really?” I said.

The crewmen around us settled down at talk of that day.

Brutalis nodded. “I’d like to know where you found that big monster thing.”

“It was in that lake,” I answered. “I just pissed it off and sent it in your direction.”

Morloki laughed, “I was too smart to join those worthless bastards.”

“We ruled this place,” his smaller companion said.

“And now you tie down the yard arms,” Darmelia said, drawing some muted laughter from the crew. But it was clear that as much as Morloki was a jokester, Brutalis was morose and serious, and the laughter died down quickly.

“If there’s any hard feelings left over....” I started, wondering if I was going to have to kill the monkey boy, or his larger friend. Or both.

Brutalis laughed, revealing an ape-like mouth with four nasty canines.

“We lost, you won. That battle was already fought. And I lived,” he added, “So I proved smarter than you that day.”

“That’s a good point” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to worry about any retribution.

“No time for love-making, you sour, drunken bastards,” Skeetrix roared as he drew his weapon and pointed it at the approaching burning ship. “There’s bloody work left to do.”

As if on cue, the whole crew began to chant and roar, and to slam the hilts of their weapons on the gunwales of the ship. It was a terrible sound, a hundred pirates raging in unison, shouting the same word over and over again as we came closer and closer to our prey. I had been the victim of the horrible thrum not even a day before and found it interesting that I joined their harmony so easily.

“Death!”