Deadhouse Landing

‘It’s floating.’

Surly looked to Cartheron; he noted that she was being careful to mask her own reaction. ‘You’re in charge. I want it hauled up and repaired.’

Cartheron rubbed the back of his neck, almost wincing at the mountain of work ahead. ‘We’ll have to replace rotten planks, recaulk, recoat the hull, repair the decking, replace all the canvas … where’s the coin going to come from for all that work?’

‘We’ll squeeze it out of our holdings.’

That will take some squeezing, Cartheron reflected. ‘There could be trouble.’

‘I don’t care. This is our ticket off this wretched island. Fix it.’

‘All right … I’ll see about getting it hauled up.’

She turned to his brother. ‘Urko, you and Shrift stand guard here day and night. I don’t want anyone interfering.’

Urko grunted his assent. ‘Well, they sure as the Abyss ain’t gonna set fire to it.’

‘See that they don’t.’ Surly walked off and Cartheron followed just far enough for some privacy.

‘Any word from our erstwhile employers?’

She halted. ‘No.’

‘Any idea when they’re comin’ back?’

‘No.’ She hesitated, her thin lips compressed. Finally, she let out a breath, saying, ‘They might not come back at all.’

Cartheron raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? What in the world’re they doing?’

‘Judging from them? Either murdering someone or stealing something.’

Cartheron cleared his throat. ‘Ah. I see. So, what do we do?’

‘Just continue on and ignore them.’

He rubbed the back of his neck once more. ‘Well, okay. But how do we know whether—’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she cut in. ‘Just do what you have to do.’ And she left him.

He watched her go and slowly shook his head. Everyone else might be relaxing their attitude towards rank now that they were so far from the Napan palace, but, understandably, it was much harder for her. He returned to his brother who was still studying the vessel, hand on chin.

‘I don’t want to be seen on this piece of crap,’ Urko finally announced.

‘Wear a hat,’ Shrift suggested.

‘We’ll need a team of horses to haul this up,’ Cartheron said neutrally.

‘No horses on this island,’ Urko grumbled.

‘Donkeys, then. Or asses.’

‘Plenty of them about.’

Shrift choked out a laugh then leapt round, drawing her sword and eyeing the piled cargo behind them.

Urko and Cartheron shifted, wary. ‘What is it?’ Urko asked.

‘Thought I heard something…’ She edged towards the heaped barrels, rope-tied bales of provender, and great wide-bellied baskets woven of sisal. ‘In here!’ she yelled, kicking a barrel.

A hairy creature exploded from the barrel, making Shrift scream in surprise. Urko cursed, ducking, and Cartheron flinched away. The thing bounded to the side of the pier and in an instant was up and over the side of the Twisted.

‘What was that?’ Shrift gasped, a hand at her throat.

‘No idea,’ Urko supplied; then he studied her. ‘Did you just actually scream?’

‘Shut up! It surprised me, okay?’

Cartheron was scratching his chin. ‘I think I saw that beast hanging round our employer’s quarters.’

Shrift’s eyes widened. ‘You mean like a familiar? A daemon of some kind?’

‘Maybe.’

The woman pulled up an amulet that was hanging round her neck and pressed it to her forehead in a warding gesture against evil and ill-luck.

Urko just snorted. ‘Looks like our employer’s claimed his property.’

Privately, Cartheron agreed. ‘Let’s keep up the story that it’s haunted – that’ll keep everyone away.’

‘But it is haunted,’ Shrift said.

Cartheron rubbed his forehead in exasperation. ‘I told you…’

She was shaking her head, her hand gripping and regripping the worn leather handle of her longsword. ‘No way – that ship’s cursed. Plain as day.’

He threw out his arms. ‘Fine. Whatever. Doesn’t matter.’

‘Matters to me,’ Shrift muttered under her breath. Urko nodded his agreement.

Cartheron waved them off. ‘Let’s go. I have to find some asses – other than you two.’

Walking ahead of them, he heard Urko say to Shrift, ‘Lots of asses on this island.’

‘I’ll say,’ she answered. ‘They’ve overrun the place.’

*   *   *

The island of Seven Ruins south of the peninsula that arched from the horn of the continent of Genabackis didn’t have a permanent settlement in the usual sense. Its one town wasn’t truly a functioning community; just a collection of huts and shacks atop cliffs above a set of piers which serviced the deep-water harbour that was the real reason anyone ever stopped at Seven Ruins.

Which was widely known to be the second most haunted island in the region.

Lars Jindrift was sitting in the one open tavern, Funal’s the Full Sail, when the stranger entered. He heard him before he entered: he didn’t walk like any other resident or visitor to the island. His footsteps were slow, heavy, and firm, quite unlike the drunken stagger or wary beaten-down shuffle of most of those who found their way here.

Such as himself. Though it was all the fault of that laughing minx. How was he to know she’d survive like that? She shouldn’t have been out alone; it was all her damned fault for trying to yell for help – and for leading him on, of course.