Waves of Riches – Part II - Now with added
plot, free! Well it's better than a small plastic dinosaur right? (See
disclaimer at end of text)
Lets recap; Fourteen days and nights have past
since The Minoria sailed in a blaze of glory from Ankh-Morpork docks. A huge
crowd of two pigeons, a small toad, and a man going by the name of Cynthia, had
waved them off that fateful day. Well not waved, they were just kind of there.
Life has a way of providing witnesses to dramatic events no matter how
unlikely. It is a widely known fact that stories are alive, moulding the world
around them to fit their all-important tale. They are an ancient force capable
of bending reality, and like any good moving pictures director, stories need
control of their cast. Take a man lost in the desert for example. He could walk
for years upon years never seeing another soul. He could think of ideas never
before imagined, cures for disease, solutions for poverty, a way to open milk
cartons without ending up wearing the contents, but no one would be there to
hear them. You can bet, however, that the one time that man would trip over his
tunic head first into a pile of camel dung, a coach load of Klatchian tourists
would be there grinning and taking iconographs. The pictures would be in the
Anhk-Morpork Time's funny pictures section within the hour, right next to the
amusingly shaped turnips. The bottom line is, people are but pawns at the mercy
of the world. Life will lead them to wherever it wants them, and if they're
late, life will wait. Continuing with similar logic, the simple answer to the
age old question 'If a tree falls in the woods but there is no one there to
hear it, does it cause a sound?' is no, because it simply wouldn't fall if
there was no one about, it would just wait patiently for an unfortunate
traveller to aim its descent at.
Whether waved off or ignored, the ship had sailed.
The Minoria was the mightiest (and only) flagship of Captain Jason Tre'bar, the
newest, and keenest pirate on the disc, and coincidently the ex-cabin boy and
latrine cleaner of the late, great, Captain Threadlock. A loyal crew of seve… five accompany him on
his mission. There was first mate Tunish, a huge, strong, heavy, troll… with a
suit fetish. There was Lieutenant Nobbs, formerly Corporal Nobbs of the city
watch and slime bag extraordinaire. Nobby is a human and has the certificate to
prove it, although 'Hodges and Hodges' of Ankh-Morpork are currently preparing
a legal appeal on behalf of the opera house company who enforce a strict 'no
animals' rule. Third is Midshipman Dennis Boot, the armless wonder and
part-time dead rights campaigner. He claims that being a zombie has set him
free. What it has set him free from, aside from his arms, is perhaps more of a
mystery. Assigned to look out duty is Ensign Bill Door. He's good with a
scythe, and its always handy to have an anthropomorphic personification on
board. Finally, there is Ensign Ironwood. This dwarf, along with his chain mail
lifejacket, completes The Minoria's crew. Inter-species integration has another
triumph.
Together this crew plan to conquer the sea, avoid
the river Ankh, and strike fear into the hearts of everyone who've heard scary
stories about them (inevitably exaggerated). Their deeds will be remembered for
days, nay weeks, to come, and will probably once be told by old men to their
grandchildren. Once, being the operative word.
*
Is everyone up to date? Good, now just to get
confusing on a grand scale lets go back four weeks in time to start part two.
*
Gerard Leathersmith shuffled uncomfortably on the
hard wooden bench. He hated dingy offices with their dank smell of stale smoke
and dust. He hated office workers with their pale serious faces, and their
general disapproval of everyone not face deep in papers. Gerard was an outside
person. The sun, wind, and rain were all his friends. Well all except the wind
and the rain, no one likes to be cold and wet. He didn't even know why he was
here, it didn't make sense; he'd just found piles and piles of sunken gold off
the shore of Ankh-Morpork, why did he need a loan? He was rich now wasn't he?
It had been his daughter's idea.
"It's an investment father." She'd said.
"In-vest-unt?" He'd asked, "Why would I need a
vest in this weather?"
"To recover the gold, we'll need tools, men,
provisions." She'd counted it out on her fingers, "Men won't work for promises
you know. They won't go to sea with no food either."
Gerard could at least see the logic in that, he
conceded. He just hated these pen pushing clerk types. Why couldn't he just borrow
from Chrysophase the troll like normal people? You knew were you stood with
him.
"Knew where you knelt more like." His daughter had
countered, "You wouldn't get to stand until you were anchored to the bottom of
the river."
Sophianna, his daughter, was a bright girl. Much
of her mother in her, Gerard had always thought.
"Ah, Mr Leathersmith?" The voice was oiled and
smooth.
"Yes."
"Thank you for considering our humble business
suitable to your needs. Please come through to my office."
Gerard flinched at the 'O' word, but followed. The
room was magnificent. Extravagance oozed from every corner. Bronze, silver,
gold, the colour of money glittered from the furnishings. Gerard could see no
expense had been spared. He managed to stop his chin dropping, reminding
himself just in time he was in the lair of a glorified clerk. Mr Morrissey
ushered Gerard to a chair and took his own seat behind the huge desk.
"Well" he began, "How can we help you?"
Gerard began to pour out his story. He told of how
he and his daughter own a small fishing vessel, and spend the days fishing for
curious squid off the sunken city of Leshp. He told of how he'd raised the
anchor one evening, after another barren day, to get the shock of his life. Up
with the anchor had come five solid gold coins. Further tests with the anchor,
and eventually, an exploratory dive, had show there to be full mountains of
gold on the seabed. It had stretched for at least fifty metres. A king's
ransom, all left to the fish. Gerard explained how he could never hope to
recover all the gold by himself. He would need a small fortune for men,
equipment, and numerous other expenses. Even the gold he'd already brought up
would not cover it.
Mr Morrissey listened in silence.
When Gerard had finished, Morrissey started
wearily on the compulsory questions… How much did he need? When would he pay it
back? Did he understand that interest would be payable? Did he understand that
his kneecaps were at risk if he failed to keep up repayments?
There were no other bankers in the room. If there
had been, they would have been surprised to hear Morrissey then start to ask
some non-compulsory questions. Highly irregular questions even… Where was the
gold located? Who else knew about it?
Finally, he seemed satisfied he had all the
information. He shuffled his papers and leaned forward over his desk.
"The answer is no, Mr Leathersmith. I'm afraid I
do not believe I can offer you this loan."
Gerard was caught in two minds. On the one hand he
never really wanted to borrow money from this man with his fancy office and
well pronounced 'r's, but on the other hand he was angry at being refused.
Didn't a wise man once say 'men will always long for such that they cannot
have'? Or was it a drugged up man? Either way they knew what they were talking
about.
"Why not?" Gerard demanded.
"Because, Mr Leathersmith, it is too big a risk.
You are a fisherman are you not? You own a sea worthy vessel do you not?"
"Best ship in the docks." Answered Gerard proudly.
"So what, pray tell Mr Leathersmith, is to stop
you concocting this story, tricking money from my good self, and taking to sea
never to return? You haven't even brought me a sample of this gold, I don't
even know it exists."
Gerard felt his anger rise.
"Are you calling me a liar?" He rose to his feet.
Morrissey smiled. "Not at all. I am merely asking
you to consider the issue in the way I must. It isn't anything personal, you
understand, but I would be a poor man if I could work with trust alone."
Gerard couldn't think of anything to say. He stood
staring at the man in front of him. This man that had brushed his words aside
as no more than a fairy story.
"If there is nothing else Mr Leathersmith? I am a
busy man." Morrissey watched the man physically shake with rage before storming
out. He leaned back in his chair deep in thought.
"Mr Sakes?" he called.
"Sir?" A large figure entered from the back study.
"I have a small task I'd like you to carry out for
me."
A smile formed on the big man's lips.
*
"So you were denied?"
"That's what he said. May as well have called me a
worthless thief." Gerard stopped and thought. He looked around nervously and
added "A non-guild thief of course. Not those fine fellows at the Thieves
Guild." Well you never knew who was listening, and here outside the banker's
office was prime thieving territory.
"Nothing for it now. It'll have to be
Chrysophase." There was a touch of triumph in the voice.
Sophianna's face screwed up in distaste at mention
of the troll. They walked on in silence. It was market day and the streets were
full of people going about their legitimate business. There were also a fair
number going about their not so legitimate business. This could be argued,
though not proved, of the smiling tradesman addressing a medium crowd gathered
around his stall.
"I tell you," Dibbler was saying, "I'd never seen
a man eat ten before. He could even still see afterwards." He stood back to a
chorus of gasps. "Yes, a pirate he was. Known him for years I have. By the way,
could I interest anyone in a gen-u-ine pirate t-shirt? Indorsed by captain
Threadlock himself, I kid you not!"
Dibbler noticed Gerard, and with a grin, left his
audience to catch him up.
"A fine day Gerard."
"Wha… oh, hello Dibbler."
"So… um… you're a docks man. You'd know what's
what down at that end right?" Dibbler didn't even pause for an answer.
"I heard a small rumour Gerard. Word on the street
is that you may have come into some money?"
"Those are the rumours yes. Look I haven't got
time for this Dibbler, I have to see a troll about a boat." Gerard tried to
brush him off.
"You are but a fisherman, Gerard, and a fine one
at that I grant you," Dibbler crooned, "But me? I'm an old hand at the money
business. I could double, no triple, your money in less than a month! …And
what's more, Gerard; since you're my old mate I'll settle for just fifty
percent. Just fifty, and that's cutting my own throat."
"Your stall is being ransacked Dibbler." Sophianna
answered for her father.
Dibbler's smile froze. He twisted round and began
to speed back along the street. "We'll speak sooooon." He called as he
disappeared.
"We don't need help from the likes of him that's
for sure." Said Sophianna. "How will we bring it in with no men though father?"
"We'll get it in," he answered quietly, "Even if I
have to bring it all up alone with my own two hands."
They turned the corner away from the busy market,
heading back towards the docks. Three dark figures met them in the narrow
street. The largest of the three figures smiled and began towards them.
"Can I help you?" Gerard sounded uncertain.
The big man stopped in his tracks, a puzzled look
forming on his face.
"Well you could give yourself up and come
quietly," he mused, "That would really help me. The drink was flowing last
night, you see, and I do feel a little fragile to be honest."
"What? No, I mean…"
Gerard didn't get to finish… a sack was rudely
shutting out the light.
Sophianna stared in horror as the huge man slung
the sack over his shoulder, sighing as the muffled noises came from within.
"Well now, that isn't exactly what I'd call quiet.
How about you miss? What way are you coming?"
"Painfully." She answered, and brought her foot up
sharply into the nearest man's private area before taking to her heels. She
reached the end of the alley and fled into the market crowds.
"Ah, let her go." Said the big man dismissively.
"He never mentioned a girl anyway."
*
So that just about brings us back to the present,
four weeks since Gerard had acquired a bad back sitting in the banker's dingy
waiting room, and two weeks since The Minoria had sailed in a blaze of rather
pathetic glory. Reading and time travel huh? Sorry if anyone feels sick.
*
"Look its really very simple." Jason was saying,
"When they surrender and offer us the money, we stop hitting them."
This line of thinking was all very new to Tunish,
a veteran of the hitting business. Still, he was always willing to try these
new fangled ideas; no one could say he wasn't. He hadn't eaten a human since he
left the mountains months ago.
Against all logic, the crew of The Minoria had
actually become quite a formidable band of cutthroats, without even cutting any
throats. Could it be fate? Could it be luck? Could it be their victims are too
busy laughing to defend themselves? Well whatever it was, it was serving them
well. They hadn't actually made any money of course, but the potential was
definitely there. Or so Jason was telling them anyway. Their attack methods
were hardly customary, but compensations were developing to mask any shortfalls
in their swordsmanship. The ship's guns were proving to be of questionable
worth too. They were loud, scared the ship's cat (as had something that goes
SQUEAK in the night, but that's a different story), and Dennis had managed to
fire himself at the enemy twice during loading mix-ups. Tunish, they found, was
much more effective at close range than the cannons anyway. They would pull
alongside their chosen prey, and Tunish would step over to their deck and smash
things up manually. He was marginally brighter than the ship's guns as well.
Nobby had found his best attack proved to be simply standing next to his
target. He would offer a friendly smile and watch as they chose to jump
overboard, or in one case, choose to hack themselves to death with a boat hook.
At the time, nobody had noticed the young girl with the streak of black in her
blonde-white hair. She'd only stayed a moment, flashed an accusing look at
ensign Door, and disappeared. Nobby hadn't seen her anyway. He was too busy brushing
up on his fighting technique by searching the body for valuables. It was a
wide-ranging technique, almost like a whole martial art, Jason thought. One
time when the victim was too disgusting to care about his presence, Nobby had
simply reverted to a trademark swift kick to an important area and saved the
day. Incidentally, Bill Door had found the Nobby 'standing near' method worked
for him too… but in a very different way.
"Wot if dey don't have any money?" Tunish's great
brow was furrowed.
"What?"
"Wot if dey surrender but don't have any money,
sir?"
"Then we let them go… intact, with all their limbs
Mr Tunish." Answered Jason, "…and their clothes Mr Nobbs." He added as an
afterthought. Nobby grinned.
"It still surprises me that we're allowed to just
take people's money" Said Ensign Ironwood, "You could almost say it's like
stealing!" He chuckled at his joke.
Jason sighed.
"Yeah you could… cuz it is stealing" Said
Nobby matter-of-factly, "We're like one big, happy, thieving family."
Ironwood stared at him.
"You mean this is illegal?"
"Yep."
"What if the watch catch us?" He paused and
considered the likelihood of such events.
"Well what if the thieves guild catch us then?"
Nobby shrugged. "Out here? It isn't even their
territory."
"We're no worse than the thieves guild anyway,"
now Jason spoke, "We're not going to be hurting people physically."
"Unless dey don't surrender." Added a pleased
looking Tunish, thinking he'd finally got to grips with the politics of life.
Dennis was getting to grips with a copy of the
Times.
"We're mentioned in the paper again cap'tin." he
called, while skilfully turning the page with his teeth. Tunish made a
dismissive remark and headed down below deck. He was secretly still upset at
being mistaken in yesterday's paper for the ship's ugly figurehead. The
remaining crew gathered around Dennis.
"It says… 'More glory for the heroes of the waves'.
Hey, it reports on that gold merchant's ship we raided. You know that one that
was full of the gold looking stuff… what did he say it was? Oh yes, roof
insulation." He flashed Jason an accusing look, "Bloody heavy for roof
insulation in my eyes, a bit too glittery too."
"Their captain was adamant it was just insulation
Dennis. I did ask him twice, let's not be distrustful."
"Well he certainly gave us a good report here. He
says we were perfect gentlemen to him."
"Yes, its nice to be appreciated by your… err…
clients."
"Be nicer to make some profit." Muttered Dennis
sulkily.
"I've never been called a hero before." Nobby said
wistfully.
Jason looked him up and down. "No," he said, "I'd
guess you probably haven't."
*
Morrissey peered around the thick oak door. He was
a clever man and had learnt never to discount rumours without investigating
things fully. The rumour in question was concerning the university's librarian.
Stories were rampant that a magical accident had 'gifted' him with the form of
a large slobbering orang-utan. A form he was bizarrely unwilling to let go.
Morrissey would be less inclined to believe it if it wasn't for the involvement
of those mentally unhinged wizards. With them involved it was, in fact, more
likely than the poor man being normal shape. Something rustled and he jerked to
attention. There, over on the left, was that movement? He reached down into his
pack and retrieved a large banana. Ears alert and eyes peeled he entered the
room.
"Hello?" He ventured. There was more rustling
behind one of the ancient shelves and a large grinning face rose into view.
"Ook?"
"Ah, the librarian?"
"Ook."
Morrissey held the banana out at arms length. "I
wonder if you might be so good as to direct me to the books on local marine
history?"
"Ook." The librarian reached out and took the
banana. He then gestured for the man to follow. Morrissey resisted the urge to
run as he passed a floating book fighting it's chains. Magical libraries had
rather unique dangers. He put it out of his mind and followed the ape five
shelves along.
"Ook."
"Thank you." He fished in his pack for another
banana, which was accepted with a snatch.
One hour later Morrissey had located a likely book
and was well into his study. Ten hours later he shut his final book in
satisfaction, Morrissey was not a man to do things by half. The gold had been
easy enough to identify. Five hundred years ago Anhk-Morpork had seen it's
first major sea battle. It was, as usual, against the Klatchians, and was
fought over ownership of the sunken island of Leshp. Fourteen ships had been
lost that fateful day, one of General A. Tacticus' most interesting victories.
Among those ill-fated ships had been a Klatchian supply vessel carrying the
army's gold reserve. Even back in those days the heathen Klatchians had had the
strange idea that soldiers should be paid in pure gold. This rather went
against the Ankh-Morporkian tradition of paying in promised gold that never
actually materialised. He guessed that the gold must have been disturbed from
it's watery home when the island had risen again recently. There had almost
been a war over it then as well, Morrissey recalled. It was a cycle that played
out every 500 years. The island would rise to the surface and Ankh-Morporkians
and Klatchians would fight over it… then 2 weeks later it would sink back to
the bottom of the sea to be confined to memories and dreams. The last cycle
must have recently uncovered the gold. It was all very obvious. The rightful
claimant of the gold was a more clouded issue. As far as he could tell there
were no living relatives of the Klatchian lords who had supplied the gold. Even
if there was, Morrissey doubted they could successfully prove it, or even prove
that it actually was the gold in question. Also, the fact that it was now in
Anhk-Morpork waters expelled the Klatchians further. It was therefore a fight
exclusively between Ankh-Morporkians. Salvage rights were the key, he'd
decided. The trouble was the salvage rights for the area were owned solely, and
clearly, by the fisherman's guild. It was right there in black and white. That
fool Leathersmith had no claim on the gold anyway, it would have been taken
away the moment the guild had got wind of it. The trick now, he thought, was
retrieving the gold from the popular fishing grounds, and relocating it to his
pocket with no one else finding out. He smiled as he gathered his notes.
Morrissey liked a challenge. He left the university, and after a quick stop to
purchase the latest copy of The Times, he headed back to the luxury of his
office to begin his meticulous planning.
Nobby lifted a lid of a barrel and peered inside.
"Nothing in here either sir."
"It definitely came from somewhere around here."
Said Jason. "Keep looking."
The crew had been startled some minutes beforehand
by a noise sounding very much like a coughing fit. A female coughing fit, to be
exact, which was rather odd seeing as there were no females aboard. The crew
had consequently spent the last five minutes searching the ship and smoothing
their hair.
"Its no good sir, there's nothing here." Said
Dennis emerging from the hold.
"And you see nothing Bill?" Jason adjusted his
gaze up to the look out.
Death paused while he considered the question. "I
SEE MORE THAN YOU CAN POSSIBLY IMAGINE. I SEE LIFE, I SEE DEATH. I SEE
DIFFERENT DIMENSIONAL PLANES. I SEE TIMES LONG FORGOTTEN, I SEE TIMES YET TO
COME."
"Yes, but do you see anything that could've caused
that coughing noise?"
"NO."
Jason was slowly becoming used to the ways of
Ensign Bill Door. He was strange, that was for sure, but the same could be said
for any of the crew, and hey, he did make a fine look out. He massaged his
forehead and turned to Dennis.
"Ok, so we've checked all the cabins, we've
checked the hold, and we've checked all barrels and other likely hiding places,
yes?"
"Yessir."
"Ok, and…"
"Except the small cabin sir, but no one can be in
there because it's locked from the inside."
"OK, but we… what?" Jason recoiled mid-sentence.
"So let me get this straight. We've checked everywhere except this small cabin
here," he indicated with a finger, "…this cabin here which happens to be
located in the exact area we heard the coughing from. Is that right?"
"Yessir."
Jason stared at him and sighed.
"Well I don't have any arms sir, I have enough
trouble with doors with locks on the outside." Dennis explained indignantly,
"Nobby could have checked it if he wasn't so busy trying to make himself
beautiful." He turned to Nobby. "I saw you scraping the black bits from
underneath your fingernails."
"Well I wasn't the one cleaning my teeth furiously
then practicing smiles in the captain's mirror." Nobby countered.
"Look, it doesn't matter. Let's just concentrate
on getting this door open." Jason paused. "Have you polished your breast plate,
Nobby?"
Nobby muttered something about it being a good
soldier's duty to look his best. Jason turned his attention to the cabin.
He felt the door for strength. "Ok, stand back
everyone." He took a few steps back for a run up and flung himself forward at
the door. A thumping noise accompanied Jason as he bounced off the wood and
proceeded to skid along the deck towards the hold. He got up, brushed himself
down, and mustered his remaining dignity.
"Tunish!" There was no answer. Tunish had gone
below during the communal paper reading.
"Tunish?" Jason repeated. "Nobby, go and find
first mate Tunish please." Jason rolled up his sleeves and took another run up.
Then another… then another…
Eventually the heavy wood gave way to his efforts.
Not before time, he thought, as his shoulder felt as if it had some giving way
to do of its own. Like very slow magic, Tunish arrived from the galley. "Hey, I
could have done that for you, cap'tin."
Jason lifted his eyes to the heavens and swung
open the door. A young girl sat hunched against the far wall, tearstains lining
her cheeks. She squinted at him, her eyes unaccustomed to the bright sun.
"Go away!" She said, somewhat hopefully Jason
thought, seeing as he'd just spent the best part of twenty minutes trying to
break in.
He stared at her in bemusement as he rubbed his
shoulder. "A stowaway?" (*)
Another fit of coughing was his answer.
The meeting was only minutes old yet already an
agreement had been reached in principal. Morrissey had been busy.
"How much can I expect to earn?" The voice was
like a grunt, rough and harsh against the tranquil tones of Morrissey.
"Substantially more than you have now." Came his
reply, "It is a huge amount of gold we are talking about, and the work should
be easy for a man of your… abilities." Morrissey coughed in the smoke. This inn
was worse than the Broken Drum. His mind wandered wistfully to his spacious
office with all its finery. It was a pity that some business had to be
conducted in a more discreet location.
"What if we meet this other ship?"
"Destroy them. It would just mean less people to
question our story." Morrissey rose. "Now I must go. I bid you good day, Mr Hack."
He paused at the door. "Do not fail me." He added
without turning.
Morrissey left the meeting a very happy man. His
plan was unfolding nicely, and his scapegoats were being led like lambs to the
slaughter. He allowed himself a conservative smile. All that was left now was
to decide how to spend it all. Perhaps a little more office decoration was in
order.
*
…To be continued (unless I'm bribed not to
*hint*).
(*) Remember the shadowy figure watching them
leave in part one? Huh? Huh? - By the way, for the dirtier minded of you… it's
a star inside brackets and I'm just using it as a marker. It isn't meant to
symbolise anything else ok? :)
***************************************************************
Disclaimer: Not really.
Sorry if I've contradicted anything I wrote in the
first part, I was too ashamed to read it back to check. Also, my apologies if
this isn't all strictly to Pratchett style, I had to suddenly add a sinister
plot that I should have had in part one, leading to the recap rubbish messing
up the styling. Anyway, I'll never be anywhere near touching distance of the
great TP and it would only hamper the story flow if I was too pedantic about
it.
Oh, and sorry that this doesn't follow on very
well as a chapter to the first part, I didn't know you could add to old stories
until I'd written this as a whole new part with a recap and everything…
durgh@me. I've banned myself from alcohol for a whole week as punishment.
*Shameless plug* Please look out for my short
story 'Justice Circles' I plan to upload early next week (probably in the
novels section just to be awkward). It isn't discworld, it's my own, but it is
written using a similar style of ironic humour and I spent a lot longer on it.
I would appreciate any feedback. Thanks.
