I am doing a
little experiment. I am going to write a series of chapters in a fantasy
world of my creation and see if it goes anywhere. Since I have not
prewritten this story and have no outline, it will probably end up a convoluted
mess. I do not know how often I will be able to update this or if it will
ever finish. This is the link to CHAPTER 1. (I have also found that I have to go back and clean up
very broken sentences in previous chapters. This is why I need an editor.
I understand what I am writing, but I need to make sure other people do
too.)
Chapter 8: Exile
As Pasgard
walked off toward the tea house, Malachite rubbed the sides of his head. He knew that there was a way to secure
passage out of Orchard Town, but he was going to have to mention how important
his family was, rather than relying on how amazing he was. His frustration mounting, he found resolve,
"Yeah, I'm doing this now."
A random
man walking by glanced over thinking Malachite was addressing him and then kept
walking after grunting dismissively.
Malachite
went to the holding house he had been keeping his armaments, cloths, and coin,
and changed. Holding houses were common
for those who moved along the river with any frequency, keeping an account of
coin allowed access to a secure room to keep a chest of valuables. This also meant not having to carry physical
currency everywhere, instead relying on paper notes that could stand in for the
money, if the holding house burnt down it would be impossible to claim your
money, or they could be robbed and you possessions taken, but overall it
allowed hard currency that might otherwise sit in a pocket to instead sit in a
secure building, also allowed the holding house to make investments in
shipments or even parts of LLC's, or farms to draw earnings from. Most holding houses were part of a larger
guild that could connect and insure the validity of the bonds in multiple
cities, using numerous books and messages to help everyone keep track. Since Malachite's family had coin and goods
in every city on the Southern fork of the Color Line he could store his things
safely in nearly any city on the continent.
Malachite
striped off his flashy doublet, mismatched pant legs, gold codpiece, and giant
black velvet hat. Donning in place his
dark green doublet emblazoned with the dark red two headed bull, brown slacks,
and a bronze circlet with the little bronze bull horns which never looked
properly symmetrical. The circlet being
the only clothing that was more preposterous than what he had worn before. Then ruffling thru a box of rings and jewelry,
finally locating his own signet ring, the rest having been plundered from some
raid in the Confederate Kingdoms or the Caliphate.
The seal of
Viscount Malachite Johansson the IV of the County of Hasenburg, (future) Warden
of Southern Color, and Emissary to the Painted People. A leather binder of parchments holding his
title to office and a credit slip. In
the six years he had not been home he had avoided using his father's credit to
buy one scrap of clothing, now he was using it to ship some old fat man who had
yet to pay him anything.
Perhaps I am under spell, he
wondered. Perhaps I just pity him.
Leaving the
holding house he started walking the docks.
Pass, pass, pass, yes. It was the first LLC mercenary sailor he
could see with an important looking hat standing next to a ship that looked too
gorgeous to have ever been in a real fight.
"Hello, I am from Hasenburg," he said in introduction,
tightening his posture and adding a slightly posh accent to his voice. "Have you perhaps done business with my
County in the past?"
The sailor
turned, black leather breast plate, polished bronze shoulder pauldrons, a bicorn
hat with a bronze broach of two fish, and a face so bearded there were little
whiskers that connected the eyebrows to the sideburns. Sun brown, taller than Malachite, a golden
tooth filled smile, and a bottom lip packed with slop (a weed that was treated
with flavors to be sucked on thru the day to freshen breath or get its user
euphoric dependent on the strength).
"Aye," he said, extending a hand. "I am Captain Quintus of the Freshwater
Shark. You a baron who needs a ride
home?"
"Not a
baron, and no," said Malachite, shaking hands and looking over the ship. "I am trying to get to Bone and would
like passage."
"I
never head to Bone," said Quintus.
"Their navy doesn't hire sell sails."
Liar on both counts, thought Malachite,
pacing and looking the ship up and down.
"That is a shame, because I notice that your ship looks fantastic,
if they did pay you would earn top dollar."
"It
is," said Quintus. "And it
does with others."
"How
many Bloody river pirates have you fended off?"
"Never
need to," said Quintus. "They
run when they know what is coming."
Another lie.
Why lie? Especially when he's
clearly bad at it. Mercenaries are
not pristine, and a pristine ship would not stay pristine. A ship would take arrow hits, burns from
dropped lanterns, something needed to be broken having shown some kind of
combat. "So you are just in Orchard
to fill up on oarsmen who can swing swords?
And heading where after that?"
"We
are taking on men and headed south to your fiefdom," replied Quintus. "I really would help you if you were
going our way or if we ever went the other.
You seem well to do and I wouldn't leave you hanging if it weren't any
trouble. I'm somewhat part of the
informal Navy of Hasenburg."
"Watch
that language Captain," said Malachite.
"Bit potentially treasonous there, Hasenburg has no Navy that they
would wish to challenge any power that wishes to regulate the Color Line. We are cowboys and free rafters, not a
military," and Malachite winked.
The Maunder Empire despised the idea of other militaries having any
presence near them. They knew about them
and did nothing about them so long as they were not called a formal military.
Quintus
returned the wink. And they both took a
pause. "I think you should come
aboard," said Quintus.
"The
Freshwater Shark looks more beautiful even from the deck," said Malachite
to his host. "The sort of place
that makes one's hair blow majestically, caught in the winds of adventure even
when only following the current."
"Showing off that reading we royalty are so known for?" said the Captain.
"Showing off that reading we royalty are so known for?" said the Captain.
"It is
rare that I run into someone else who had to suffer it," said
Malachite. "Which cousin of mine
are you."
"Who
even knows at this point," said Quintus smirking. "My father named me after his captain
from when he served in the Maunder Legion.
My mother is from the romantic kingdoms way in the south. And I work for a living."
"The
silver fish are freshwater sharks, that means you are the distant ones, past
Red Clay near Port Padre," said Malachite.
"No,"
said Captain Quintus. "You got
it. Red Clay. We're the Brickers, the ones with the
fort."
"When
did you get a fort?" asked Malachite.
"And for that matter, when did this ship get built? A week ago?"
"We
started building the fort the first time one of us took a trip to Orchard Town and
noticed Maunder Troops taking accounting," said Quintus. "Counting the buildings, counting people,
counting ships, counting orchards, they were or are looking to project out and
so we started turning the red clay into red bricks."
"At
least it isn't expensive," said Malachite.
"Hasenburg had to ship stone from the Mountains when building its
bridges."
"It's
expensive in Man power but has had the unexpected benefit of making the river
run faster and deeper in our area, so we are making good money as the place
people can lighten their loads before the river gets steadily shallower. I am rambling aren't I?"
"Don't
be embarrassed I do it all the time," said the Viscount.
"I am
guessing you are the Run Off Bull?" said the Captain.
"The what?"
"Malachite?"
said the captain leaning against a mast.
"My Lord? Is that the proper
address?"
"You
know we don't do that," said Malachite, waving off the title as he took a
seat on a short rum barrel, Quintus opened his mouth and raised a hand to
object, but then waved it off. "And
yes, that is me. Though that is a nickname
I hadn't heard yet. Sounds alright. Bit cowardly for my taste."
"Malachite,"
said the Captain pausing to gather his questions, while still looking at the
barrel Malachite was sitting on.
"What do you need?
Really? I can take you home,
you've got to have enough glory by now."
"Slaughtering
mountain tribes that had been harassing people isn't very noble."
"Sounds
alright to me."
"They
were hungry."
"Less
alright."
"They
owned the route and were gathering a reasonable tithe," said Malachite
glowering. "The kind I've had paid
a hundred times just as part of trading."
"Okay,
now you sound more like a bandit," said Quintus, walking toward the head
of the ship face toward the docks and Malachite got up to follow. "Trade is complicated, and more and more
of it is getting controlled by fewer and fewer people. Men like you and I have lots of good starting
positions to be one of the people holding one of the leashes of trade. But there is that one things standing in the
way."
"A stupid
sense of right and wrong," said Malachite.
"It is
the damnedest thing."
For a while
they stood quietly, looking over the people moving around the piers, and out over
the crowd Malachite saw Pasgard lumbering from the tea house shielding his eyes
from the sun and headed over to a shop selling heavily seasoned and lightly
charred lamb meat with cucumbers and probably 3 types of gourd.
"I am
helping out someone who has a sort of legend about him," said
Malachite. "He's shady in his own
way, mostly that he is foreign and dark skinned even by the standard of where
he comes from."
"Skin
color important to you?" asked Quintus.
"No,"
said Malachite, embarrassed to have phrased it that way. "But I know that
even here in Orchard, a place that sees people from the Oases all the time, the
people here still act like he is going to take their children back to the
Caliph to be transformed into some kind of fire warrior. He's not some kind of djinn, just an old guy
who wants one last adventure before he finally feels he did his last
adventure."
"What's
in Bone?"
"I
have some friends that will be helpful, after that I will..." he stopped
and looked back over the ship. "It
occurs to me, you never told me when this ship was built."
"What
do you mean?"
"Why
is this brand new ship here?" asked Malachite. "You're building a fort. This boat is new. Is something happening?"
"Just
like you can't say out loud where you are headed," said Quintus. "I can't tell you everything that is
going on."
"I am
a Viscount. I out rank you. Don't you have to tell me?"
"You
are the Run Off Bull," said Quintus.
"When you go home you can ask."
"Wonderful,"
said Malachite.
"That's
why I know you," said the Captain.
"You're the fool in the codpiece."
"That
was an expensive codpiece."
"I'm
sure," said the Captain. "You
should go home, you can't be in too deep with this desert man yet. Just go home."
"Home
for scolding, for admonishments, for answers to why you have a new boat,"
said Malachite, slightly sneering. "I'll
put it off."
"Well,"
said Quintus. "I won't tell anyone
I saw you."
"That's
a relief actually."
"I
will also take you to the River's Fork if you want," said the
Captain. "I tend to stop there for
food anyway, they have really fresh everything."
"Maybe
I could catch a ride there once a cargo lets off some of the load from here to
there."
"It's
your best option," said Quintus.
"There is a reason you can't find passage all that easy."
"Which
I will discover at home?"
"Yes,
another answer you'll find at your father's house," said the Captain, who
then paused. "Where is the
codpiece? It's like meeting Achilles
without his shield. Why are you dressed
like that if you aren't going home?"
"I
thought I might use my father's credit with the shipping people to secure a
ride," stupid plan. "Or I missed dressing plainly."
"Maybe
you should go home and find out."
"No,
but that you for comparing my penis to a demi-god," said Malachite.
"Complement?"
asked the Captain in a tone. "I
compared him to a warrior that died because of hubris."
"The
fate of all great penises."
"HA!"
"I
will go find my friend," said Malachite, standing. "We have a cart, horse, two big
chests. Lot of your space we'll be
taking up."
"I can
make room," said the Captain.
"I owe
you," said Malachite. "One of
these days I will show up and offer you a job that will too good to resist, and
you will become a great friend."
"Good
to know."
"You
have a nickname by chance?"
"Not
that I know of," said Quintus.
"How
about I call you Captain Quintus the Shark," said Malachite.
"Seems
an excessively fearsome name considering I am taking you one port and kicking
you off."
"It
will help me remember you," said Malachite. "Better than Captain Quentin the
Ferry."
"I can
see how that name might confuse people," said the Captain.
"I am
otherwise awful with names," said Malachite.
"What's
your black friend's nickname?"
"He
has been given more names by more foes, than people I have yet to meet."
And so
Malachite headed back to the holding house, and changed again, circlet, doublet
and trousers away. Slashed sleeves
shirt, mismatched tights, and golden codpiece on. I am
wonderful. And then he left orders
for his things to be ready to ship in an hour, and headed to get Pasgard... And
some delicious over seasoned goat meat with various gourds as a side.
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