Death Whispers 3: Matters At Hand

Author’s Note: Death Whispers of the Etherwave is a serialized fiction story that is a part of Legends of the Privateers. Each chapter will appear bi-weekly.

Missed a chapter? (or ‘Episode’ if you like!) Well, never you worry, as we’re only just getting started! The full list of chapters will appear here later on!

Transformed by the cataclysm of 1712, Doctor Pedro Sangre and his four courageous privateer companions confront mysterious and evil forces that plague innocent people. Together, they grapple with uncanny forces and myths come to life, risking everything to preserve peace and set right what has gone wrong.

July 24, 1722. Harbor Street, Kingston, Jamaica. Brewed Gambit Alchemy Shop. Where the end was just the beginning.

“You were waiting for us, weren’t you, Captain?” I thought aloud to the shadows in my shop. “Who sent you? How did you even know we would be there? That wasn’t chance. You were too well prepared.”

The scent of fresh jasmine mint tea was the warm hug I didn’t know I needed. I took a slow, thoughtful sip of the hot drink, then set the cup down on the stained mixing table in front of me. After three days sail across the Caribbean Sea, followed by a good night’s sleep, I felt almost back to normal. Any nightmares of what happened would fade given time, but there were some things not even a good, long rest could cure. I flexed my right hand while I stared at the spiderweb of scars from where I touched Captain Storm’s amulet.

Jagged, thread-thin dark lines wound around my hand like a manic lightning bolt. Emerald green stains surrounded the blackened burns in patterns like elaborate Celtic knotwork. Pain had erupted in my hand the day after we sailed for Jamaica from San Andrés Island. Along the trip back, I brewed up a few healing elixirs to dull the feeling. They did ease the aches, but didn’t do much for the rest. Those emerald green stains, like swirls of sinister spilled ink, appeared right before the Silk Duchess reached Jamaica.

“You would think by now I would know better than to grab strange relics with my bare hands,” I said in a grim tone.

A disgruntled snort from my gargoyle, Sebastian, rumbled from the shadows on the far side of the room. Bright eyes blinked at me slowly, then looked away. I shook my head, then pulled on a black cotton glove to cover the marks on my hand.

“Snort all you want, but you weren’t there,” I replied. “You wanted to stay aboard the Duchess with Captain Blackwater, remember? Which really turned out for the best. I’d rather not risk you against a lair of thesaurus crabs.”

I desperately wanted to know what Storm’s amulet was, but no matter what book of mine I searched, I hadn’t found a thing. That worried me. Was it a curse? It could be a curse, which would serve me right for trying to grab at it. I let go of a heavy sigh, then closed the gray canvas-covered recipe book next to my tea. After another sip, my eyes and thoughts wandered across the other well-worn books I kept on shelves between jars of powders, dried herbs, and more.

Not knowing what it was made me more curious than ever, and three times more worried.

A chaotic tumble of purple freckled sandstone gargoyle the size of a large bobcat landed onto the worktable next to me. Sebastian was a flurry of large fruit bat wings, tail, and a small whine when he landed. After a quick shake, he bumped his head softly against my left arm. I smiled as I scratched behind his pointed ears. This earned me a purr that sounded like a soft tumble of pebbles in a whiskey barrel. I glanced down and raised my eyebrows at him.

“Worried?” I nodded at the idea. “So am I. But I’ve sent a message to Lucien about it. If there’s anything in the Marquee Brotherhood’s records about that amulet, he’ll find it.”

Sebastian let out a short, soft bark, then rubbed the side of his miniature hippo snout against me. Then he took off in a lumbering flight over to his perch next to the front door. A door he fixed with a meaningful stare. I nodded a little at the dramatic display.

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s time to meet the others and our employer. I’ll get your leash.”

Once I had my hat, coat, and the Codex, I set out with Sebastian in tow. A short walk later in the humid afternoon, we arrived at the East end of Tower Street outside the Word to the Wise bookshop. The others had already arrived, save for Captain Elara Blackwater of the Silk Duchess.

Elara appeared a moment later as she flew over the rooftops to land beside me. The captain had gone to some lengths to dress for the occasion with her chestnut hair pulled back into a sensible braid. That was coiled up behind her head and secured with a wooden hair stick. She folded her shimmering dragonfly-like wings flat against her back like a cape, as would any thayan. Between coat, vest and more, she looked every inch the captain.

“Good to see you, Elara,” I greeted her with a smile and a nod. “Ready?”

She smiled back, but a faint frown kept it away from her jade-gold eyes.

“Yes, but only to get it done. This warrant was harder than most to finish, and our employer is… ah…”

I raised an eyebrow as her words trailed off.

“Unusual?”

She grimaced and fidgeted with the pommel of her ghost blade.

“Uncomfortably focused,” she replied with a terse look.

Hard to argue against the truth. So, without another word, we headed inside.

The back room of the shop was an office that had memories of its former life as a wide storage closet, complete with a faint musty smell. Sunlight eased in through a tall, dusty window across the room. Bowed, wooden tan shelves still held a few volumes, some new, others old. Gaps between the books contained maps, small statues, and jars with curious plants suspended in colorful liquids. Everything was labeled to a staggering degree.

I took the closest seat by the door next to Lysander, Elara, and the Terrason brothers. Sebastian made the rounds to greet them, before he settled down between Elara and myself at a worn spot on the carpet. The gargoyle eyed everyone curiously while he quietly gnawed on the iron bolt Elara had given him to eat. Meanwhile, I set the Codex Luminari on the battered wooden desk, then slid it over with a small flourish to our employer, and the shop’s proprietor, Joshua Argall.

“As requested, Señor. One Codex Luminari, intact and unharmed. At least, not harmed by us.”

Argall leaned across his desk to clutch lovingly at the red book. He was a small human man, not so short and stout as a grimling but almost Elara’s height at five foot four, if I had to guess. Topped with thinning sandy hair, he was dressed in a plain brown suit that hung on his rail-thin shape. Despite his frail, retiring appearance, his deep watery blue eyes came alive behind his spectacles at the sight of the book.

“The Codex Luminari,” Argall said in a hushed voice. “Delightful, Doctor. Just delightful.”

He lightly caressed the book’s scarred cover with the tips of his pale fingers.

“You, all of you, have earned every coin I promised. It’s taken five long years, but here it is.” The man blinked as if a thought suddenly ambushed him. “Wait. Doctor, your message said there was some sort of trouble?”

I swapped an uneasy look with the others.

“Ah, yes. There was the expected trouble of wild animals that had decided to make themselves at home in the ruins. But the pirates that ambushed us? That was an unexpected trouble we didn’t need. We lost crew, Señor. Good people.”

Argall’s narrow eyebrows leaped up over the edge of his spectacles, then plunged into a scowl.

“Pirates?”

The word dripped with more panic that I expected. Also, it was hard to ignore that he didn’t comment about anyone we lost. But that was sadly the life of a privateer. The sharp comments I wanted to say about that tasted like bitter oil when I swallowed them. Fortunately, Elara came to my rescue.

“Yes, pirates,” she said with a smooth smile. “A pirate crew under the command of a very cruel man named Dryden Storm. We managed to deal with him and his cutthroats, but the fact they were there at all was a nasty surprise, sir.”

I gestured to Argall and his mysterious book.

“Señor, it’s very possible that someone else might be after your book. You might want to be careful for a few days. Perhaps you should contact the Marquee Brotherhood and see if they can spare a hunter? You know, to fend off any sort of problems that might show up with a knife.”

“Oh.”

The man said the word with such weight that it was hard to overlook. A thousand thoughts raced across his eyes at that moment. None of them seemed good. He eventually nodded vigorously to us with another frown.

“Thank you, Doctor. That’s a good idea. I think it would make me feel better.”

I exchanged a quick, wary glance with my friends.

“Would you like us to stay until a hunter arrives to watch over you?” I asked.

Argall shook his head. “No, no, that’s all right. I’m sure that I’ll be safe here. Once all of you have left, I’ll send a message to the Brotherhood. They’ll get here quick enough. Thank you, though.”

“You’re very welcome,” I replied carefully.

A sense of impending dread traced its sharp claws along my spine. I did my best to ignore it, but impending dread is nothing if not persistent. Something felt very wrong.

Once several seconds dragged themselves by without a sound, I swapped an uncomfortable look with the others, then cleared my throat. Joshua Argall had descended into a cloud of his own thoughts while he caressed the book with his fingertips again, as if he petted a cat. I half expected the book to purr at any moment. It was a little uncomfortable, but we couldn’t leave yet. After all, we still had unfinished business.

Elara leaned forward in her chair. The squeak of wood was sharp in the quiet room.

“Pardon, Mr. Argall? I’m very sorry, but there’s still a matter of payment. The price that was listed in the warrant to recover your book?”

Argall twitched. A confused look crossed his face, as if he hadn’t seen us before. Then sharp understanding dawned in his eyes while his pale cheeks flushed pink. He nodded once more, then set the book down in front of him. Carefully, he rummaged through one of the lower drawers on his side of the desk. I heard the sound of a key meeting a metal lock.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “Please forgive me. I was entirely lost in thought, and I’m not used to hiring privateers.” A pleasant smile lit up the man’s face. “I have your money right here with extra to account for your lost crew members. Oh, your message also said something about unexpected expenses, along with the surprises?”

I returned the smile with a thin one of my own.

“It did, Señor. You see, as I said, there were these animals. A nasty type of crab that prefers to wake up and choose violence in the morning…”

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Hoist the Colors is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. Actually, when it's not swinging off the rigging, or shivering some timbers, it's rather shy and retiring. Did I mention it enjoys baking? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. So he really is all to blame here.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, shoved overboard, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author's, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.