A/N: Chap 12 review responses are in my forums as normal. We're now moving into a few of my more favorite chapters. Taylor's a pirate now.
Thank you all for reading.
Chapter Thirteen: The Absence of Dental Hygiene
It should not have surprised Taylor that Groleo was familiar with Torturer's Deep. Familiar enough, in fact, to draw a map.
"It's a good, sheltered harbor," the newly named admiral of Taylor's fleet said. "Requires oars to get through the mouth of the harbor, but once in you have shelter from storm and wave. The harbor can hold fifty ships at anchor easily. The town there has all you need to shore up or repair a ship. Food. And a curtain wall around the whole town that gives it natural protection."
What he drew was a giant volcanic caldera, long extinct. Or so Taylor hoped. The interior walls of the remaining caldera were sloped down to the ocean on the far side of the island, but sheer basalt cliffs on the inside. From what the admiral told her, the cliffs were easily two hundred feet tall at their lowest point..
Rezhal scratched his chin as he looked at the charcoal drawing. He'd brought two of his men with him for the planning session, as well as (no surprise) Grey Worm. "Radiz, what do you think?"
Radiz na Sharzhaeq was only a few years younger than his cousin. He spoke a dozen words of the Common Tongue, so didn't try. In the patois of New Ghis, he said, "Unsullied can abseil the cliffs. Easier going down a cliff than up."
He turned to Gray Worm. Taylor was pleased to note that the free men of New Ghis didn't seem to care about the Unsullied status as former slaves. They treated them as soldiers, and the Unsullied, as far as Taylor could tell, responded well. "Unsullied repelled the cliffs of Ghozai."
Gray Worm nodded. "We can abseil." He didn't comment on how dangerous it would be in the dark, which is the only time they would be able to do so without risking being picked off the walls by arrow or crossbow fire.
"So what would happen if we sail...say, three ships into the harbor?" Taylor asked the admiral.
"Depends on what flags we fly," the old sea dog said. "We fly Volantine or Lyesni flags, they scatter or attack. Same with Westerosi flags. If we fly the black and white? That means we're one of them."
Taylor turned to her officers. "How long would it take to get four thousand men down that cliff?"
Radiz looked at Gray Worm. "No less than two hours. Plus the time to get there."
The Unsullied nodded somberly. It was his default expression.
Rezhal scratched at his beard. He'd stopped dying it since joining them, and it was no longer greased. Instead, it was just thick, black and bushy. "The Hulks will have to hang back and make landfall after sunset."
"Sadiq, I want you and Gray Worm to lead three thousand men over the lip of the caldera," Taylor decided. "Rezhal, I want to fit as many Unsullied as we can into the three captured galleas. Bare supplies. Admiral, if you're willing, I'd like you to sail those the three ships into the bay with me and my party during the day. Ser Jorah, you'll supervise the blockade at the mouth of the harbor toward dusk. If the sides of the mouth are accessible, try fortifying them."
She touched a finger to the center of the natural harbor. "As soon as night falls, we move. We'll need as many dinghies and longboats as we can load on the three lead ships. Send Unsullied out to seize as many of the pirate ships as we can. Even if we only get three or four, that's three or four we'll be able to use in our invasion.
She met every man's eyes. "Only kill combatants. Anyone who throws down their sword is to be left alive. I don't care what the Lyseni want, I have no desire to slaughter everyone in the place. I'll lead a small party to shore to assess the situation that morning. I leave it to you men to work at the details and specifics. Questions?"
"What if they all fight?" Rezhal asked.
"The lives of my people are more important than the lives of those people," Taylor said in an even tone. "I don't want indiscriminate murder, but if someone is a risk, remove that risk."
"Understood," the Ghiscari officer said.
Taylor turned to Quaithe. "And you, my friend, are going to help me with a disguise."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
"It's been a few years," Groleo told Taylor two days as his crew furled their sails and set the oars in the water. "But there's a rare man at sea who wasn't done a bit of pirating here or there. Tyrosh will offer letters of marquis against Myr, or Lys, and vice versa. The lure of gold will touch any man. I didn't have the stomach for it, though. I didn't mind the fighting, so much. It was all that came after I didn't care for. Took a wife instead of a slave, and just saw my second grandchild born before I left on this commission back in Pentos."
Taylor felt bad that she didn't know even that much about the man. "Do you think you can get us in there?"
"Getting in's easy, your grace. Getting out again will be a problem."
The deck of the ship had only sailors-a mix of Groleo's original crew, a handful of captured pirates who Taylor judged were dependable enough and not too deeply steeped in blood; and Unsullied dressed for the part.
The same held true for the other two ships sailing within shouting distance. And ahead, Torturer's Deep loomed up before them.
The island was, just as Groleo described—a massive, shattered caldera. The rim of the caldera rose much higher on the northern side, tapering down on the southern side where it looked like the ancient volcano spewed out its guts. In the ages since, the southernmost tip of the caldera broke away, forming a perfect doorway to a deep, crystal-blue harbor with black sand beaches and, judging by the density of the jungle beyond, a fertile crescent of sheltered land.
It looked like paradise, which made her wonder if the name Torturer's Deep was just to keep people away.
The three galleases rowed their way through the mouth of the harbor. Taylor found herself studying the two cliffs that formed the mouth of the harbor. The walls were jagged, rising only twenty feet above the water on that end of the island. It would take a great deal of time and work to raise fortified towers there.
It could be done, though. Even with medieval technology, it could be done.
Wilis Toyne climbed up onto the deck. He'd dressed for the occasion, wearing homespun trousers and a plain linen blouse, with a wide leather belt holding a Dothraki arakh at one hip and a foot-long knife on the other. He'd found an old, beaten leather hat that made him look like an extra from one of Dinah's favorite pirate movies back home.
He casually made his way up the stairs to the aft castle where Taylor and Groleo stood near the tillerman. Taylor wore her culottes but left off the armored kilt she'd picked up in New Ghis. She did wear her heavy leather vest, though, since it was essentially the closest thing she could come to a bra. She'd also sported a hat, because evidently real pirates wore hats. She's also accepted several golden arm bangs, because evidently real pirates also wore their gold, and a small earring with an enchanted ruby that Quithe fashioned for her. To any who looked at her, her eyes were green.
"You know, you're not that bad looking for a freakishly tall cunt," the Toyne aid by way of greeting.
"And yet you are just as stupid as you look," Taylor countered.
Toyne laughed. "Aye. That cunt Strickland outsmarted me, sure enough."
She'd decided to bring Toyne and his men with her onto shore because of the simple fact that he and the men had all been there before. Many of the Golden Company had served not just as sellswords, but also sellsails, taking berths aboard various ships for passage around the oceans in exchange for their blade in any fights or boarding actions. And all pirates eventually anchored either in the Basilisk Isles, or the Stepstones.
None of other ships challenged them. She could see sparse crews on the twenty or so ships at anchor. Most were smaller single-masted sloops or cogs. There were a few galleases and even a great three-decked, two-masted dromund larger even than the volantine ships she was gifted.
"That's Black Tooth Tara's ship," Toyne said with a nod to the monstrous ship out there. "Helped move some of me pa's men to Hangman's Rock, few years back. Nasty bitch, that Tara. You'd like her, me thinks."
Groleo made anchor. There were no wharfs or piers, just a long, curving black sand beach lined with dinghies and longboats. A glance at the sky revealed hours yet before sunset. In the back of her mind, she could feel her dragons with the Force steadily coming closer. They were with the main fleet, sailing north of the island where they would split and descend on their target from two directions.
They boarded the dinghy and made for shore, just her, Wylis Toyne and the eight other Westerosi men. She knew they could all betray her at a moment's notice, but the Force told her they would not. And behind? She left behind almost a thousand men between the three ships, crowded together until the sun set.
Torturer's Deep felt like a movie set, with everyone in character. The many buildings even looked like sets-brickwork where visible and rotting wood behind. The air was not nearly as stifling as that of Volantis, with the smell of overwhelming numbers of people crushed into tight spaces. But it didn't smell good by any measure.
She saw raw sewage being dumped into the harbor, where it wasn't just left in open cesspits on the edge of the rough settlement. But within the settlement itself?
It didn't look that much different from the foreigner's ports of Qarth, New Ghis, Tolos or Volantis itself. She saw inns and alehouses, brothels and private homes. The construction consisted of wide windows and high roofs for easy airflow. Men in homespun or tattered linens lounged about with drink or prostitutes on their knees. Some worked, smithing or barrel making or whatever other professions kept the place moving.
It didn't look like a pirate's den. It looked like a fledgling colony. No uniforms of any kind. Just people trying to make due.
"You! You're 'spose to be dead, you feckin' cunt!"
Taylor turned at the surge of anger from her left and watched as a great big Westerosi man in a leather hauberk and woolen half-pants pulled a sword and charged right at them. Toyne reached for his own arakh but was blind-sided by the sudden attack.
Taylor stepped forward and, conserving her momentum, high-kicked the man in the chin hard enough to snap his head back and take him off his feet.
"Former boyfriend of yours?" she asked over her shoulder.
"That there's one 'o Strickland's pets," another of the Westerosi men, Pate, said.
"And he never goes anywhere alone," Toyne added.
The brief bout of violence brought more attention. Armed men emerged from buildings all around. Most bore no armor, and their weapons ran the gamut from swords and spears to sickles and hammers.
Instead of attacking, though, they gathered around and just stopped to see what was going on. The crowd parted, though, when another Westerosi came. This man led a party of four and was one of the few people Taylor had seen taller than herself. He wore heavy plate armor that must have been sweltering in the tropical environment. He didn't wear a helm, though he was an ugly enough man he probably should have. His nose had more crooks in it than a ski slope, and his face had five various knife scars on it.
Four men in leather armor similar to the first came behind him. All of them stopped just inside the circle of onlookers to star at the fallen man, then at Toyne.
"Willis Toyne," the armored man snarled.
"Torman," Wylis said with a nod and a death's head grin. "What, you wanna fucking kiss? Pull your sword, ya fucking bastard."
"Next man pulls his sword loses his balls," Taylor snarled. She turned and glared at Toyne. "Stand down, or finish your days as an Unsullied!"
"Too late for that, beggin' pardon," Pate said. "Toyne here's pretty sullied already."
Wylis, though, got the message. Taylor turned to the armored man. "I'm Tall Taylor, Captain of the Maiden's Bane. Toyne is my man. He came with the ship I took. You have issue with him, you take it up with me."
Torman pointed his drawn sword at the man on the ground. "That cunt attacked one oy my men."
"Your men attacked us, and I put him on the ground," Taylor countered. "He's not dead, just really, really stupid. Now, are you stupid too, or are we done here?"
"You gonna let some dumb fucking whore talk to you like that, Peake?" one of the other of Torman's men said.
Taylor couldn't help it. The whole situation just was so ludicrous that she had to laugh. "Wylis, be a dear. Hold my spear while I beat the stupid out of these men."
"You're not going to use any of that Asshai magic shit are you?" Wylis asked.
"No," Taylor assured him as she handed him her short spear and shield.
"You think I'm going to hold back 'cause you're a fucking woman?" Torman shouted.
"That'd be a really stupid way to die," Taylor said.
"Stop calling me stupid!" He lifted his sword and charged forward with a powerful downward slash. She had to admit, it was neither clumsy nor slow. If not for the Force and several years of combat experience and training, he'd have cut her head in half.
Instead, she stepped clear, kicked his knee out from under him, hooked his neck in the flat of her hand and slammed him into the ground as hard as she could. The three men behind attacked together. Taylor lifted the choking, shocked Torman's sword from his numbed fingers. It was a lot heavier than a lightsaber, but allowed her to block the blow from the man on the left.
She spun in and elbowed his head before somersaulting over his shoulders to bring both her boots down on the man in the middle. That left the third man scrambling to gain a better position for his sword. He surprised her by gripping the tip of the blade and shoving it at her almost like a garrotte. Again, neither clumsy nor slow, the man had training with his weapon.
She bent backward to avoid it, then ducked under a powerful back swing before lashing out with her fingers at his throat. The blow surprised him enough to make him stumble back in time to receive another powerful front kick.
A surge of warning in the Force sent her rolling forward just in time to avoid Torman Peake's powerful downswing. He followed up, limping but enraged. Taylor didn't give him a chance to attack a third time, launching herself into a powerful knee-kick to his chin. She grabbed the plate armor as she flipped over him. Using the Force to overcome mass, she flipped the man awkwardly over her shoulders, tumbling him right into where the first of his cronies had recovered.
"That was fun," Taylor said. "Wylis, you want a go at him?"
"Not like you left me much," the former slave whined.
Torman, meanwhile, was slowly picking himself up when yet two more men in plate armor emerged from the crowd. Taylor felt a bit of alarm when she saw they had to be Torman's brothers, since the only thing that set them apart were the number of breaks in their noses and cheeks, and the beard the eldest wore.
Rather than attack, the newcomers looked at the five men on the ground, then at Taylor, then Wylis Toyne. The eldest laughed.
"Torman, you fool, did you just let another woman kick your fuckin' ass?"
"Shut it, Las," the first armored man growled as he slowly, painfully picked himself up. "My fight was with Toyne, but the bitch made it her own."
"Brother, it looks to me like she made you her own." The crowd which had been watching burst into laughter and cat calls.
The bearded man stepped past the pile of his men toward Taylor. He made no move to draw his sword. "You'll have to forgive my little brother. I'm fairly certain our mother dropped him on his head too many times. I'm Ser Laswell Peake of House Peake, at your service."
"Tall Taylor," she said. "Captain of the Maiden's Bane."
An eyebrow that had more in common with a caterpillar than anything that belonged on a human face rose up in surprise. "Maiden's Bane? Surely no one so beautiful could sail on a ship with such a name."
Taylor fought back a laugh. "I like you, you're funny. Are we done here? Whatever history your people have with Toyne, he's mine now. He came with the ship I took."
Laswell turned to Wylis. "My brother's Stickland's lackey, boy. I had no part, nor knowledge of what happened 'til the deed was done. Myles was a good man, and a good Captain General. I have no issue with you. And while I'm head of House Laswell, neither do my brothers."
"Strickland sold him to Ascon the Red," Torman Peake said, now fully on his feet. "Ascon was a friend to the Company."
"Big guy, with pearls in his beard?" Taylor asked.
"That was he," Ser Laswell said.
"He attacked my ship. So, I killed him and half his crew, took his ship, and freed his slaves. Like I said, Wylis came with my new ship. He's an ass, but he's mine."
"Just a slave of another cut, then," Torman said.
"Ser Laswell, do I need to beat your brother up again? Or can we finally get some drinks?"
Unlike his brother, Laswell viewed the whole thing as a joke. "Aye, my lady, that sounds like a splendid idea."
She pointed to Torman. "First round's on him. I'll cover the second."
"Peace it is, then!" Laswell agreed.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The pirate cove had rum. They called it sugar wine, but it was rum. And it was fully distilled, though not as strong and a little sweeter than what Scapetti introduced her to in Hawaii. Laswell Peake actually looked disappointed when she didn't choke on it, as if she and Emma hadn't been sneaking her Dad's Jameson for years.
Her performance with the rum served as a test, especially when she downed her first shot and said, "Not bad. I've drunk liquor that would rot your gut, but this isn't half bad."
That earned her a roar of approval, and eventually all the excitement settled down. The table they occupied looked out over the bay through a series of open windows with a spectacular view of the natural harbor. The caldera wall already cast much of the bay in shadow. Long rushlights were hung about the place, held secure in little iron clamps. It made for a strangely romantic setting.
Except for the stench of unwashed bodies and rotting food scattered with old rushes across the floor, of course.
Beside herself, Laswell, his middle brother Pykewood, and a woman of their acquaintance, the table was just large enough to hold Toyne and two of his men. The others sat nearby. Torman sat opposite Wylis with their men.
The only other woman there was half Taylor's height, twice her girth, and with a horridly rotted front tooth, lanky pale golden hair and purple eyes. Black Tooth Tara was, to Taylor's surprise, one the most powerful of the pirate captains in Torturer's Deep. Her first husband kidnapped her from her village in southern Essos, ended up marrying her, and when he died, she took over his ship and added a fleet of ten more.
"One of those ships is the Maiden's Bane," Tara said when she was introduced. Her voice sounded hoarse, as if she'd been gargling gravel while smoking through her nose for twenty years. "Yours now?"
"Aye. It attacked my ship. So I took it."
"Ascon was a right vicious bloke," Tara said. "A crew o' cutthroats and rapers. Almost as bad as Euron Greyjoy. The Reaper can take him. Still, ain't never seen ya nor heard o' you. Yer young yet, w' skin that smooth. Where you come outta?"
"Asshai," Taylor said.
Tara shared a long look at Laswell Peake. "Ain't never heard tell o' any girl out of Asshai 'cept that Targaryen pretender."
Given that Taylor had sailed directly from Volantis, she had to wonder how anyone had heard of her. "I might have an acquaintance with her grace," Taylor noted. "She has a Shadowbinder with her for magic. More importantly, she travels with the former captain of King Aerys Targaryen's kings guard. If she's a pretender, she's a damned good one."
"They say she has black and gold eyes, like her dragon," Tara said.
"Many from Asshai do," Taylor lied. "It's a mark of the sorceries they have to perform to keep the darkness from killing us."
Laswell gave Toyne a piercing look. "Have you met this pretender?"
"Aye," Wylis said. "And I met Ser Barristan Selmy himself, standing right beside her. The same fuck as killed old Maelys Blackfire back in the day. Know who else is there? Old Ser Jorah."
"Mormont?" Laswell said. "Truly? That whore wife of his is still strutting around on Tregar Ormollen's arm. Had the man's actual wife shaking in her boots. Last I heard of Mormont, he'd taken up with the Beggar Queen. Didn't that bastard brother of hers marry her off to some Dothraki?"
He already knows all this. He knows Daenrys had dragons. He knows she's dead. And he knows Rhaenys Targaryen has them now.
"You seem very interested in her grace," Taylor said as she sipped more moderately at her sugar wine. "Has the Golden Company been hired to fight her?"
"Right now the Company's under contract with Myr," Laswell admitted. "It changes all the time. Who knows who will hold our contract tomorrow?"
Someone began playing a lute, to the roaring approval of those not so far into their cups to listen. A pair of pipes followed, playing a rolling, jaunty little tune. Taylor was waiting for some half-baked pirate to get on the table and dance. Instead, a woman stood and began dancing with a man in a corner. Not bawdy, not raucous. Just slow, joyful dancing.
"Are there any men with golden eyes in Asshai?" Laswell asked. "Surely her grace is a lonely woman."
"Her grace requires any man who thinks himself fit to stare down one of her dragons. They're big enough now to take a man's face off with a single bite."
"Sounds worse than my da," Tara said. "You don't seem to be bothered by it."
"I have lots of adventures before me before I feel the need to tie myself to a man," Taylor admitted. "What about you, Tara?"
"I have plenty of men," the pirate queen said with a blackened smile. "Sometimes two or three a night, if I'm feeling an itch."
Taylor couldn't help herself. "Does the itch come before or after the men?"
Tara stared back for the longest time before bursting out in raucous laughter. "I like this cunt, Las! She has a fierce fight in her and a brain behind those pretty green eyes of hers. Like her indeed."
Before anything else could be said, a bell began to ring. Those pirates not too drunk rose slowly to their feet. A woman came running into the inn. "Sails past the harbor! Sails past the harbor! It's a blockade!"
"What flag flies, Betha?" Tara demanded.
"Can't see in the dark."
"Saltwind's burning!" a sailor shouted. "Thieves in the harbor!"
Indeed, through the window Taylor could see one of the ships burning. Against that illumination, everyone in the inn could see the small flotilla of dinghies and long bows making their way across the water.
I don't recall burning ships as part of the plan, Taylor thought.