I.iii

Driftwood

Kal packed her belongings—including the strange ring and a lot of smoked fish wrapped in palm leaves—into a waterproof sealskin bag, which she threw into the bottom of her coracle. She wasn’t much of a sailor, but she didn’t need to be—the coracle was almost spherical, and if she picked the right current to launch herself into, she could be in Port Black in three days, with little to no effort on her part.

Port Black! Scene of old battles and former lovers; Kal hadn’t been back for almost a year now. She had meant to, but the longer she put it off, the more she wondered if she would ever go back. She was happy alone, and the longer she spent in her new home, the further behind her she could put her old life. But now … her old life had come to find her instead, and all she could do now was to follow the trail backwards and attempt to find whatever it was that had sent assassins after her. She had to find whatever tiny ember in her past she had failed to rake over and left burning.

Find it, then stamp it out.

Port Black had once been a pirate town, but now the pirates had been thrown out and mostly honest trade was once more the order of the day. The Republic had reached out with its grasping claws from Amaranthium, three thousand miles away across the Silver Sea, and claimed Port Black as its own. The new governor enforced Republic rule, and all its associated tariffs, laws and embargoes.

And now, as Kal floated alongside the wharf, evidence of the town’s new status was clear. Frigates and clippers were anchored with their prows facing land, rather than out to sea for a fast getaway. The shouts and insults of criminals hawking stolen goods had been replaced by the shouts and insults of fisherfolk, merchants and traders. New wooden warehouses and brick guild halls were sprouting up everywhere, putting the old ramshackle taverns and stone smugglers’ dens in the shade. On the lush hills above town, trees were being cleared for outrageously palatial mansions.

And over the town hung, a cold grey mist. Instead of rolling down the hills or blowing in from the bay, it seemed to rise up out of the center of town itself. It meant nothing to Kal, and so she ignored it, but in hindsight it was the first warning that she maybe should have stayed on her island.

She abandoned her coracle (like umbrellas in Amaranthium, you never owned one, you just borrowed one from the communal pool)  and sprang up onto the quay. Kal could have bought (or stolen) anything she wanted right then and there—from tea from Indux, to Nubaran coffee; dark wood furniture from the Junglelands, or one-hundred-percent-proof zalka from Zorronov. The world’s bounty was on display, but right now she craved something simpler … and cheaper.

The sun fought its way through the mist and cast a soft light on the brightly painted buildings; it was almost picturesque, but the streets were a bit too busy with people in a hurry, and glancing down an alleyway Kal saw stray dogs rolling about and fighting over bones. The old colourful murals of laughing devils and tricksy demons from the island’s folklore had now been left to fade, and they now somehow looked appropriately menacing. Kal shivered as she bundled down a street where the sun didn’t reach, and she swore when piss dripped from a gutter above and hit her arm.

Following her nose, she dropped into a new (to her) harbour beer hall. A large brick and timber cube with a rough faded facade nailed on. A sign painted in bright white load line paint spelled out DRIFTWOOD.  Inside, sailors and captains were eating and drinking on long shared tables, and boys and girls hauled plates of steaming food and yellow ale to the tables. Further back in the cavernous space, a band was making a lot of noise with fiddles, and people were dancing and standing around other tables of people playing cards. A group of loud, drunk sailors were throwing darts and knives at targets on the back wall. Men and women dragged women and men in and out of private booths on either side. Was there anything that didn’t happen here? It was definitely Kal’s kind of place: somewhere she could blend in, observe, pick up rumours and gossip, and hopefully enjoy a decent drink.

A man in a spotless apron (Kal deduced he worked here, but not in the kitchen) directed her to a stool at the end of the emptiest table.

‘Lamb?’ she grunted. Making polite conversation was something she was going to have to relearn after so long away from civilisation.

‘Spiced shanks, so soft they’ll fall off the bone if you so much as look at them,’ the fake cook said.

‘Bring me two helpings,’ Kal ordered. She was always hungry at the best of times, but now her mouth was literally watering at the prospect of something to eat other than fish or tough, stringy wild boar.

The food came in short order. It wasn’t the divine delicacy Kal had been promised, but it did the job. As she wolfed it down, she scanned the tavern, watching people come and go, and listening to the chatter and laughter.

When she had licked her plate clean and downed a few weak beers, Kal felt ready for action. She needed information, and therefore she needed to talk to people. And the best way to talk to several different people at the same time who all had their ear to the streets was to drop yourself into the middle of a table of gamblers.

Kal had half an eye on a rowdy table of four, and when one guy went broke and got up and shuffled away, tail between his legs, Kal drained her pint and hurried over to claim the empty seat. The men and women at the table were well-dressed and well-funded, and all three of them gave Kal a suspicious glance. Perhaps she should have bathed first. But when she emptied her life savings onto the table, the game resumed as if time was short.

‘Raise,’ a loud colourfully dressed merchant barked, before Kal had even picked up her cards. When it came to her turn, she quickly folded and settled back to watch and listen.

The other woman at the table, a smart captain in a blue velvet coat, matched the merchant’s bets, and they both fell about laughing when they finally revealed their mediocre hands. The man opposite Kal, who had also prudently tossed his cards, flashed her a wolfish smile.

‘Did you wash up on the tide?’ he asked, as the merchant dealt the next hand. ‘My name’s Sorin, by the way. And you are …’

‘Kal. No, I just went out for a very long swim. And now I’m back.’ She picked up her cards and the old surge of excitement came rushing back. She hoped that the others at the table couldn’t see or sense it.

The game was Double Dragon, and every player was dealt two cards. Two Dragons was best, and that was what Kal was looking down at now. Sorin and the captain had both placed mandatory bets of one gold doubloon, so it was now on Kal. She liked to play a straightforward game, so she made a solid bet: five doubloons.

The merchant called the bet, oblivious of the danger. ‘Ignore our friend, Kal. His strategy is to try and get under your skin.’

Sorin laughed, and raised the bet to twenty. His eyes flashed and he licked his lips, as if anticipating a big win.

The captain called the bet. Twenty ‘loons was a lot of money, but captains and merchants had deep pockets. Kal was definitely the one out of her league here, at least financially; she studied her total wealth piled up in front of her about a hundred doubloons) but her only regret was that she didn’t have more to throw at this hand.

‘If you win, you could buy some new clothes,’ Sorin drawled as he stared her down from across the table. ‘Black would suit you. Gold jewellery. You have beautiful green eyes.’

Kal snorted. Sorin was immaculately dressed, in a way that impressed but didn’t attract Kal. His black velvet shirt was expensive, but old, both in cut and age. He was dripping in gold, but his eyes were black voids.

Kal blinked. ‘Call,’ she said, matching Sorin’s twenty. There was no way he could have a better hand than her at this point, but she didn’t want him to know that!

The merchant also called, and since he was also the dealer for this hand he dealt out the next three cards: the field, face-up in the middle of the table. The situation now was that every player had a five-card hand, made up of the three in the field and the two in their hand.

Sorin kicked off the next round of betting with a hefty stack of gold: fifty doubloons. The captain happily called the bet. Kal should have been happy too: here she was with an unbeatable hand and opponents happy to throw money at her.

The band was loud and grated against her nerves.

Kal wasn’t happy. She only had about thirty doubloons in her stack. Sure, she could call the bet and win a smaller pot, but she wouldn’t be able to wipe out the others. If only this hand had come up at the end of the night when she had built up a stack!

A wind instrument wailed. The melody was improvised and untethered. Sorin stared her down with dark eyes, once more licking his lips. She tried to meet his gaze, but his eyes were not on hers. They were lower …

‘What is this tune?’ Kal grumbled.

‘They call it jazz,’ Sorin said. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? The music of the night.’

‘I don’t know what Sorin loves more,’ the captain said, ‘the music or the game. He pays them to play until dawn some nights.’

Sorin’s strategy of getting under the skin was working. Kal felt hot and bothered. It was time to upset the odds. She only had thirty doubloons, but she wasn’t above bending the rules. In her pocket was one more coin …

‘Raise,’ she announced. ‘All-in.’ She shoved her pile somewhat overdramatically towards the centre of the table, and as a final flourish, tossed the coin emblazoned with the bat on top. Adding money to your stack in the middle of a hand was considered, well, cheating, but in the excitement nobody seemed to notice.

One of the trumpet players in the band hit a bum note, and conversation in the crowns seemed to falter.

On her left, the merchant looked like he was in shock.

‘I can’t call that,’ he stammered.

Sorin picked up the coin and examined it. ‘It’s aimium,’ he said. ‘Mined in the mountains of Vorpalore, I believe, on the edge of the Silent Forest. It’s worth a hundred ‘loons. You should know that; you trade in strange currencies.’

The merchant’s head bobbed up and down. ‘I know, I know, but that coin … it’s an omen.’

Kal watched everyone’s expressions carefully. ‘An omen of what?’ she prompted.

‘Of death,’ the captain said, as his cards fell from his hands. ‘That coin has been appearing over and over the last few months here. The only things that never appear again … are the people last seen holding it.’

Kal felt a shiver prickle across from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. ‘That coin?’ The coin seemed to stare back at her from the pile . ‘Or coins like that?’

‘Nobody in town has ever seen two,’ the captain said. She threw down her cards, even though it wasn't her turn. ‘I’m out.’

It was just Sorin left. He looked at the coin, looked at the field. The cards on the table were: a dragon, a knight and a three. Kal was hoping he had two knights in his hand; if so, only the last knight could save him. There were two cards left to be dealt …

Kal knew better than to talk during a vital hand, but she couldn’t resist. ‘Well, Sorin? What’s it going to be? Riches and ruin?’

The band had packed up, and now a young woman played a mournful saxophone alone. People were drifting out, despite it still being the right side of midnight.

Sorin gave Kal a sad look. ‘Who’s to say I’m not already ruined? I call.’ He turned over two knights, and Kal expected, and she showed her dragons.

The merchant turned over the next card with trembling hands: a six.

‘Enjoy your riches while you can, Kal,’ Sorin said.

Kal shrugged. ‘What the hell. Live fast; die young.’

The merchant flipped the final card.

The captain gasped.

Sorin sighed as if resigned to some grim fate.

A knight.

Kal no longer had a penny to her name.

‘Fuck.’

I.iv. Blood On Blood