DISCLAIMER: I most certainly do NOT own Skies of Arcadia or Skies of
Arcadia Legends, nor its affiliated characters, situations and locales. I
think that covers it, but if I missed something, I'm sure ye get the
general idea.
A/N: Many thanks to all my reviewers, and sorry about the loooong delay, eh? Cheers.
*~*~*~*~*
Episode Two: Restless Hunter II
As consciousness slowly returned, the pain of the ropes cutting into his wrists became more acute, serving to pull him even further into wakefulness. It wouldn't have hurt quite so much, had he not apparently been hung from the ceiling by his wrists so that the tips of his boots barely scraped the floor.
"'ere-I reckon he be comin' around, Cap'n."
The voice sounded harsh to his ears, and only served to remind that aside from the pain in his wrists, he also had to deal with the dubious blessing of a splitting headache.
"Excellent," another voice broke in, from behind him. "You may leave, Boothe. I'll call ye when I need ye."
There was a grunt of assent, then the heavy sound of someone shuffling out of the room. He kept silent, a chill beginning to spread through his heart. He thought he recognised the second voice, although he prayed to all the six moons that he was mistaken. Better some unknown privateer than.
"Wake up, Larry-me-lad," came the voice again, and this time there was no mistaking it. "Not that ye aren't awake as it is. Ye can't fool me, boy. Y'never could."
Slowly, the usually mute helmsman raised his aching head, willed his heavy eyelids open, focussed his light-blinded eyes onto the face of the man addressing him and answered, coolly: "I prefer 'Lawrence.'"
The grizzled, bearded face of his unwelcome companion broadened into a mocking grin. "Oooh," he said, feigning awe before breaking into a low chuckle. "Aren't WE posh, now? I c'n still remember a time when I could call ye what I wished and make ye feel the back o' my hand if'n ye didn't grant me yer undivided attention."
"Indeed," he replied, with a calmness he most certainly did NOT feel. "That was rather a long time ago, as I recall, Baltor."
Baltor, still chuckling, set himself down into a creaking, heavily ornate high-backed chair, probably booty from some raid. "Not all that long ago, lad. So"-he leaned forward, put both hands onto his knees and regarded his captive with an intent stare. "How exactly is it that I find ye in a lifeboat from the ship o' me greatest enemy, an' kicking around my Nasr stompin' grounds? An' don't try to dissemble with ME."
Lawrence let the silence following that question linger for a while before answering, stiffly, "That's not your business, Baltor."
An instant later, his head was bowed and his teeth clenched against the throbbing in his cheek. Baltor's blow had been a combination of slap and punch and Lawrence cursed himself for not expecting it. His time in Vyse's crew had made him SOFT, curse it! Beside him, a voice purred with menace: "Now, lad, is that any way to treat your old cap'n? Honestly, I ask simple question n' all I get is stroppy backchat. Tsk."
"That's strictly confidential," Lawrence replied through gritted teeth. In response, Baltor seized his thick mop of hair and forced his head up to look at him. He tried again, deliberately making his voice sound arrogant and haughty. "Wouldn't want to jeopardise my relationship with my client."
At this, Baltor released his hair and allowed his body to convulse with laughter. "'Client'?" he wheezed in between peels. "Ye mean he PAYS ye to fly his ship? Hah! I do recall when a crust of bread and a warm spot to sleep was enough, but now ye get paid?!? Can't let this get out. Hah! I'd have a bloody mutiny on my hands!" He roared with laughter again, his cabin resonating with it. When he was finished, Lawrence had recovered from the earlier sucker punch and was glowering at him, his fear gradually becoming mixed in with new anger. In return, Baltor regarded him with an amused, infuriating stare. "So, does that mean I c'n make ye a counteroffer and then ye'd work for me?"
"Not on your life," Lawrence spat, and was rewarded with a furious punch to the belly. He saw it coming this time, but in his present, bound position there was little he could have done to steel himself against it. He slumped, gasping for breath, as Baltor massaged his fist, glancing at him thoughtfully.
"I'll put it simply, Larry," he said, quietly, all the humour gone from his voice. "So pay attention. Finding ye on Vyse's crew changes ev'rything. Before, 'twas all I could do just to keep up wi' that flyin' fortress of his, let alone do any damage at all to it. But now"-He seized Lawrence's hair, forcing his face up. "But now-now I have an IN. Why fire useless cannon shells at the problem when ye can burrow inside it an' kill it off wi'out putting a mark on it yourself?"
Lawrence spat at his captor, but the projectile missed its mark. He snarled instead, and replied, tightly, "You want me for your spy? Keep dreaming, Baltor. I'm done with you, and have been for three years. I'm not some hand you can have a go at with the Cat if I don't do our bidding."
Baltor made a motion with his hand, causing Lawrence to flinch before he realised that the grizzled Black Pirate only intended to straighten his collar with it. He cursed his weakness once again. Baltor chuckled, delighting in the effect the tiny motion had had on the pilot. "I could kill the boy, y'know. And that flashy dandy wi' the telescope."
~Ah!~ Lawrence thought, masking his relief with a grimace of disgust. ~They're alive! He hasn't killed them!~
"Then do," Lawrence growled, coldly. "Marco's been ready to die since he was old enough to toddle, and you'd be doing the species a favour by making that idiot Domingo walk the plank. They mean bugger-all to me." Only the last part was a lie.
"Ah. Marco an' Domingo. Those're their names, then?"
~Shitshitshit~ he chastised himself. Baltor's knowledge of Lawrence's presence among Vyse's crew was bad enough without him learning the names of anyone else. He toyed with the idea of taking a stance of silent defiance, but said instead: "Besides. Right now, you're just a nuisance to the captain. Kill those two, and you'll turn him into your sworn enemy, and believe me, THAT is something you really, really want to avoid." He was exaggerating slightly, of course. Although he'd certainly begun to grow into his new role, Vyse was hardly one given to fits of vengeful wrath.
At this, the Black Pirate's grin resurfaced. "Heh. Shoulda known that threatening yer mates wouldn't move ye. It didn't back in the day, eh?"
At this provocation, Lawrence's eyes widened in outrage and he tried to lunge forward at his tormentor. But his bonds held him back, and the way he was bound meant that he only injured himself, the ropes cutting even deeper into his flesh, almost enough to draw blood. Before him, a safe distance beyond the reach of the suddenly lively prisoner, Baltor laughed a full, throaty laugh and launched his foot firmly into Lawrence's throat. That checked his outburst, and he hung where he was, wide-eyed and coughing.
Baltor sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers and regarded Lawrence thoughtfully. "Oh, I think ye'll help me out, Larry. Ye say ye're done with me, but I ain't done with you. Ye'll help me bring down Vyse, all right, one way or another. 'Til then," he snapped his fingers, summoning his burly mate back into the room. "I'm sure Boothe, here, will do his bit in bringin' ye 'round to my point o' view. Until then, try and remember how to show a bit 'o respect to the man who's got yer life in 'is hands."
The lesson concluded, Baltor strode from the room, taking pleasure in the way Boothe's fists made soft, dull, satisfying thuds against Lawrence's helpless body.
*~*~*~*~*
"Crikey, Domingo! That was bloody awesome!"
Domingo clenched his teeth at Marco's incessant chatter and ran a finger along the circumference of another of the portholes that lined the brig in which they were incarcerated.
"Mate, when we went down, I was sure it was curtains! I mean, Lawrence was down 'n 'alf buried in sand an' I was banged up pretty bad too."
No good. The window was nailed shut, and had never been designed to allow for opening, much less a desperate escape. And of, course, there was the little matter of a straight-down plummet into deep sky should an escape attempt be made using that route.
"An' then you leapt to yer feet, pulled out yer flintlocks an' said 'Stay back, lad. I'll handle these wankers!'"
Domingo banged a palm against the porthole in frustration. He'd noted the somewhat manic edge to Marco's chatter, and he dreaded being reminded of what was coming up next in his chatter.
"O' course," the urchin continued, his cheerfulness assuming a palpable edge. "Ye'd clean forgotten t' load the buggers when we set out from Crescent Isle, but 'ey-'tis the thought wot counts, innit?"
Domingo growled, and spun around on the snot-faced little brat with some bleak threat already formed on his tongue. But Marco was saved from being blasted by the creak of the brig's hatch. It swung open inside and Domingo instinctively tensed to spring at the new arrivals before he noticed that the first newcomer had his hand perched on a particularly businesslike pistol in the sash which served as his belt.
The newcomer regarded the two captives as they squinted in the light pouring into the brig from outside with a look of disdain, before motioning to someone behind him. At once, rough hands launched a purple and grey bundle down the three steps leading into the brig. It tumbled down them limply before coming to a halt in an untidy heap on the hardwood floor. The exhausted groan which escaped it was drowned out by the sound of the brig door slamming shut behind it.
"Lawrence!" Domingo and Marco surged forward toward their comrade, turning him over and making him as comfortable as they could. Domingo noted with dismay the bruises and cuts which had joined his scar on his face. "Moons--- what did they do? What was the point of this?"
"Our old mate---Baltor," Lawrence wheezed with some difficulty after a breathless moment. "Don't think he needs much of a reason, really." He rubbed a hand across his face, covering his eyes with it grimacing at even that small movement. "What day is it?"
"Wednesday, I think," Domingo replied, with a small frown. "You thinkin' on waiting for the cap'n to come back? He'll only come through here again on Friday, and by then it'll be too late. I'm surprised we haven't left these skies already."
From somewhere beneath the hair and the hand came a muffled chuckle. "Oh, they're setting off tomorrow for Maramba skies.only, we're not goin' with them."
For a moment, Domingo allowed a moment of elation. Baltor had realised what kind of trouble he was in, kidnapping the hapless trio, and was setting them free! He was probably scared so shitless by now that he'd probably already tried to repair their jolly-boat. Hey, who knew? Maybe if they were quick, the three might actually be able to fulfil their mission and have some kind of discovery in their journals with which to buy back their captain's favour.
Then Lawrence brushed his hair out of his eyes and stared glumly up at the ceiling, face pale and lips twisted into a rueful, ironic smirk.
Marco's attention shifted in turn from Lawrence's curious expression to Domingo's look of dawning comprehensive horror and back again several times before venturing; "Does tha' mean Baltor's gonna plop us back down in the desert and leave us be, then?"
*~*~*~*~*
"Well, lads," Baltor purred at the three Delphinus crewmembers lined up before him. "The pleasure at 'aving ye off o' me ship is ALL mine, believe you me." He grinned a fetid grin at the three, who glared at him in stony silence, with even Marco managing to remain defiant. His belly shook with mocking laughter at them before he spun around and barked an order at his somewhat motley crew.
"EXTEND THE PLANK!"
Before him, the crew leapt into action, the speed at which they unearthed the three metre long, worm-riddled plank betraying their eagerness over the coming festivities. As they moved to set up the simple apparatus, Marco nudged Domingo uncertainly and quipped in a voice which quivered only slightly; "You first, mate."
"Now, now, kid," Lawrence replied before Domingo could make any reassuring reply. "Women AND children first, remember?"
Domingo spun on Lawrence with a glare, but Lawrence's face was grim and his eyes stared straight ahead at the busy black pirates, as if he was unaware that he had, possibly for the first time in his life, made a funny. Marco paled for a brief instant, before the years spent on the streets of Valua recalled him to his characteristic insubordinate defiance. He scowled at the grim helmsman and would most like have uttered an oath not normally found on the lips of one so young when he was interrupted by a cry of "Plank ready!" followed by "Ready, aye, ready!" The various air pirates clustered around the gap in the wooden railing through which the plank extended into the boundless sky beyond, with a space cleared to allow the first luckless victim of their chief form of weekend entertainment to proceed unhindered to his doom. All were grinning madly.
Baltor himself paced grandly up and down before the trio, appraising the plank-walking suitability of each of them in turn. Finally, he extended a gnarled finger toward Marco. "You. Care f'r the honour o' being the first?"
There was a moment of silence as Marco's inscrutable glare met Baltor's lazy smile. Then he made a great show of shrugging and made as if to step forward. And then suddenly Lawrence was in his way and the sound of flintlocks being cocked by the various pirates guarding the trio echoed through the air, carrying by a slight wind. Even Baltor felt sufficiently threatened to dart for his own sword before he realised that Lawrence had only moved to place himself between the boy and the pirate captain.
"Hope you'll forgive me if I claim that honour for myself," Lawrence stated blandly, eyes focussed squarely on Baltor's face. He kept his hands squarely at his sides while the black pirate looked him up and down suspicious as various crewmembers kept weapons firmly trained at his head. Finally, the captain gave a disdainful snort and waved a hand in the direction of the plank. "Whatever, Lad. 'Tis all as one t' me."
There was cheering and jeering on the part of the pirates as Lawrence walked jerkily forward, the rhythm of his pace interrupted by one particularly ratty-faced buccaneer insistently poking him between the shoulder-blades with a long, blunt pike. Behind him, Marco hurled obscenities at him and struggled against Domingo's grip as the increasingly ashen-faced explorer futilely attempted to prolong the boy's life as best he could.
Then suddenly, he was on the plank, staring into the horizon. It was late afternoon, and the sun seemed to him just a fingernail above the horizon. The heat of the day had subsided and evening's chill had yet to sweep in from the South. He stood there, perfectly balanced and oblivious to the sheer depths over which he stood. Behind him, most of the crew crowded around the gap in the wooden rail through which the plank extended, and then that bloody rat-face poked him again, with that blasted pike.
Afterwards, Domingo would say, as he told the tale, that Lawrence's movements had been too swift to see. Marco claimed the opposite, how the silent helmsman moved as if through treacle.
However he did it, the rat-face was caught completely off-guard as Lawrence seemed to leap straight up, twist in mid-air and catch the end of the pike with one hand, jerking it forward. Then even before the pirate realised he'd be best served by simply letting go of his end, that same end was forcibly thrust backward, thrusting bluntly and painfully into the man's belly. He cried out, stumbling backward into the crowd behind him, whose brains had yet to grasp that they really ought to be doing something.
Then Lawrence jerked the pike back out, let the far end fall just a little way down past the plank then used its inertia and all the strength he could muster to spin in place and bring it swinging around in painful arc, catching a good number of the pirates not yet knocked down by the rat-face a nasty knock. Then, when the crowd of black pirates who'd been so enthusiastically goading him to his death were in various states of disarray, he lowered the pike in front of him like a lance and charged.
He roared his way off of the plank, stepping rudely on various pirates along the way, and sped straight toward the explorer and the street-urchin, who yelped and flung themselves out of the way. This was much to the consternation of the single pirate who'd been standing behind then on guard, as he found himself with a blunt pike sharply poking his chest, making him drop his pistols, backing him up to the rail opposite the plank and, inevitably, beyond.
As the screams of their former guard receded as he plummeted to his death, Domingo wasted no time in picking up the discarded pistols---noting with delight that they weren't flintlocks, but the newer, repeating variety--- carefully aiming both at the fast-reorganising tangle of black pirates and squeezing the triggers. These, he noted with satisfaction as the pirates scattered about the deck as their captain ordered them at once to pull themselves together and to try to recapture the Delphinus crew alive, were most CERTAINLY loaded---
*~*~*~*~*
Shortly.
It had been an interesting few minutes.
It had started predictably enough. Domingo had regained his typical bluster the moment his hands were coiled around a pair of pistol handles. He bellowed some "all for one and one for all" gibberish at the pirates, who had sorted themselves out and had begun to circle the trio with increasingly determined looks on their faces. Once he'd finished what he presumably thought was an heroic oratory, he turned with a comradely grin to Lawrence. Lawrence had simply rolled his eyes, reached over, plucked a pistol out of Domingo's hand and, after taking careful aim, had fired a single shot into an unassuming cluster of barrels at one corner of the deck.
The kilos of gunpowder contained therein had rather an adverse reaction to the bullet, and the explosion had the added effect of disorienting the black pirates even further, giving Lawrence the opportunity to snatch someone's sword and dive into the crowd, never making a sound even as Domingo showered his targets with a steady stream of invective. Marco and Lawrence excused this undignified behaviour: The man really WAS a good shot.
And so it went, for a time, with Lawrence scything in and out of the too- bunched up black pirates and Domingo taking advantage of the confusion to pick them off at his leisure. He left his back wide open, of course, which could have turned the battle ugly quite easily if Marco hadn't somehow got a cannon unchained from its bearings and rolled it randomly across the deck with him astride it until it somehow went off. No one was hurt, save for the two pirates who had been about to surprise Domingo from behind, and the only major casualties had been the various stolen objets d'art which had decorated the cannon's target: the captain's cabin.
But in the end, they were outnumbered, and it wasn't long before those frantic few minutes of activity came to an end, and the three luckless Blue Rogues found themselves on the foredeck with their backs to the bow facing the two dozen crewmembers who hadn't been sliced by Lawrence's sword, winged by Domingo's pistols or savaged by Marco's teeth. At their head stood Baltor, trembling with fury.
"D'ye know how bloody long it took to build up that collection?!?" he roared, pointing a quivering hand in the direction of the still-smoking ruins of his cabin. "How many Valuan warships? Or merchant vessels?"
"Gee, cap'n Vyse usually pays f'r HIS day-cor"
"Shut up, boy!" He folded his arms across his chest and grinned, his slick, dangerous façade back in place. "Now. Put yer weapons down, all o' ye. And I'll go easy on yer."
Lawrence spat over the side. "Oh, I see. Does that mean you'll blindfold us before making us walk the bloody plank again? Screw that, Baltor."
"Yeah! You'll have to come and get us yourself, mate!" Domingo chimed in, levelling his pistols at the crowd of pirates in a heroic fashion. Lawrence refrained from informing his that he only had a couple of shots left. Marco rolled his eyes and put his face in his hands.
Baltor nodded, slowly. "Fair enough," he growled, drawing his sword. He was about to raise it above his head in a signal to attack when the ominous whine of a cannon-shell tore through the air just a second before the Blackbeard shook from timber to timber.
*~*~*~*~*
"Holy shit!" Vyse cried, leaning forward against the wheel as he watched in disbelief as the shell tore straight through the forward section of the ship below decks before ripping its way out the other side. Even in the dimming light, the damage was quite visible.
He calmed himself somewhat, grabbed a speaking tube and barked into it. "Belle! When I said to fire a warning shot across the bow, I did NOT mean THROUGH the bow!"
"Ack!" came the tinny, dismayed exclamation. "Sorry Cap'n!"
"Right. Keep the guns trained on the Blackbeard, but don't fire again until I give the order!" He pushed the tube away from him and peered thoughtfully at the motionless ship, just barely making out his three crewmen, mostly thanks to Domingo's bright orange jacket.
Beside him, Aika his vice-captain shook her head wryly and grinned before asking "So, Vyse-we gonna be doing some boarding or what?"
Vyse flashed her a smile of his own. "What-board that yellow-bellied, thieving jackal, Baltor?" He turned his gaze back to their quarry, where tongues of flame had begun to spill from the hole in the hull. The captain's quarters seemed to have been displaced as well. "Nah. I think after this afternoon, Baltor'll only be too glad to get those three off his hands without any prodding from us--"
*~*~*~*~*
"Ye three! Head belowdecks and get those flames out! You! Secure the cargo on that deck! And as for you-What the hell d'ye want, Boothe?!?"
Baltor ceased bellowing orders long enough to glare murderously at his second in command, who meekly pointed in the direction of their three captives, who seemed to be standing around aimlessly, quite at a loss as to what to do now that no one seemed to want them dead anymore.
Baltor stared thoughtfully at them, meeting Lawrence's inscrutable glare. Then suddenly he burst out into a grin, as if he suddenly felt that all was not lost after all. "We'll simply do what needs t' be done, Boothe," he answered, grip tightening on his sword before he bellowed out a new order.
"Hoist the truce flag!"
*~*~*~*~*
"-And if I catch you doing shit like this again, Baltor, I'll bloody well SINK your goddamned ship," Vyse finished, leaning on the railing of the Delphinus and glaring sternly at Baltor, who stood on the deck of his own ship hanging dead in the sky a few feet away looking not in the least contrite. "This is my crew. If you mess with them, you mess with me, and I think you should have got the idea by now what happens when you cross me."
He flashed Baltor an insolent grin and turned away. Marco stuck a tongue in the direction of the ship and did the same, scurrying inside. "Come on in, Domingo," Vyse called over his shoulder. "You're gonna show me what incredible discoveries you've made, right?"
Domingo's grin was waxen as he nodded slowly. "Right. Sure, Captain. Be right there." As Vyse disappeared, he shook his head ruefully. It seemed that he would have to display the imagination he usually used in situations like these.
He turned to go inside, but out of the corner of his eye he saw that Lawrence had not moved. He still leaned on the railing, staring after Baltor's ship, which had already begun to be left behind as Don manoeuvred the vastly superior Delphinus northward, towards Maramba.
He thought about going over there to talk to him-he'd had a rough time, after all-but decided to keep his peace instead. He had no idea what had passed between the silent helmsman and the cut-throat black pirate, but Domingo was certain it had not boded well. Best to let the man sort it out for himself, or else talk to Vyse or Fina.
He shrugged, and continued on inside. He was probably worrying over nothing. It wasn't as if he couldn't trust his companion or anything.
*~*~*~*~*
NEXT: Robinson spent years of solitude in the Dark Rift. But since his rescue, he's finding that after that kind of torment, you can't just walk away.
A/N: Well, that wraps up the two parts of the pilot episode, I s'pose. Anyway, as the above sentence has already announced, the next 'episode' will focus on Robinson and Polly. And while I'm at it, any votes as to whom the chapter after that should feature? Any favourites? Anyway, cheers and, as always, r/r, por favor!
A/N: Many thanks to all my reviewers, and sorry about the loooong delay, eh? Cheers.
*~*~*~*~*
Episode Two: Restless Hunter II
As consciousness slowly returned, the pain of the ropes cutting into his wrists became more acute, serving to pull him even further into wakefulness. It wouldn't have hurt quite so much, had he not apparently been hung from the ceiling by his wrists so that the tips of his boots barely scraped the floor.
"'ere-I reckon he be comin' around, Cap'n."
The voice sounded harsh to his ears, and only served to remind that aside from the pain in his wrists, he also had to deal with the dubious blessing of a splitting headache.
"Excellent," another voice broke in, from behind him. "You may leave, Boothe. I'll call ye when I need ye."
There was a grunt of assent, then the heavy sound of someone shuffling out of the room. He kept silent, a chill beginning to spread through his heart. He thought he recognised the second voice, although he prayed to all the six moons that he was mistaken. Better some unknown privateer than.
"Wake up, Larry-me-lad," came the voice again, and this time there was no mistaking it. "Not that ye aren't awake as it is. Ye can't fool me, boy. Y'never could."
Slowly, the usually mute helmsman raised his aching head, willed his heavy eyelids open, focussed his light-blinded eyes onto the face of the man addressing him and answered, coolly: "I prefer 'Lawrence.'"
The grizzled, bearded face of his unwelcome companion broadened into a mocking grin. "Oooh," he said, feigning awe before breaking into a low chuckle. "Aren't WE posh, now? I c'n still remember a time when I could call ye what I wished and make ye feel the back o' my hand if'n ye didn't grant me yer undivided attention."
"Indeed," he replied, with a calmness he most certainly did NOT feel. "That was rather a long time ago, as I recall, Baltor."
Baltor, still chuckling, set himself down into a creaking, heavily ornate high-backed chair, probably booty from some raid. "Not all that long ago, lad. So"-he leaned forward, put both hands onto his knees and regarded his captive with an intent stare. "How exactly is it that I find ye in a lifeboat from the ship o' me greatest enemy, an' kicking around my Nasr stompin' grounds? An' don't try to dissemble with ME."
Lawrence let the silence following that question linger for a while before answering, stiffly, "That's not your business, Baltor."
An instant later, his head was bowed and his teeth clenched against the throbbing in his cheek. Baltor's blow had been a combination of slap and punch and Lawrence cursed himself for not expecting it. His time in Vyse's crew had made him SOFT, curse it! Beside him, a voice purred with menace: "Now, lad, is that any way to treat your old cap'n? Honestly, I ask simple question n' all I get is stroppy backchat. Tsk."
"That's strictly confidential," Lawrence replied through gritted teeth. In response, Baltor seized his thick mop of hair and forced his head up to look at him. He tried again, deliberately making his voice sound arrogant and haughty. "Wouldn't want to jeopardise my relationship with my client."
At this, Baltor released his hair and allowed his body to convulse with laughter. "'Client'?" he wheezed in between peels. "Ye mean he PAYS ye to fly his ship? Hah! I do recall when a crust of bread and a warm spot to sleep was enough, but now ye get paid?!? Can't let this get out. Hah! I'd have a bloody mutiny on my hands!" He roared with laughter again, his cabin resonating with it. When he was finished, Lawrence had recovered from the earlier sucker punch and was glowering at him, his fear gradually becoming mixed in with new anger. In return, Baltor regarded him with an amused, infuriating stare. "So, does that mean I c'n make ye a counteroffer and then ye'd work for me?"
"Not on your life," Lawrence spat, and was rewarded with a furious punch to the belly. He saw it coming this time, but in his present, bound position there was little he could have done to steel himself against it. He slumped, gasping for breath, as Baltor massaged his fist, glancing at him thoughtfully.
"I'll put it simply, Larry," he said, quietly, all the humour gone from his voice. "So pay attention. Finding ye on Vyse's crew changes ev'rything. Before, 'twas all I could do just to keep up wi' that flyin' fortress of his, let alone do any damage at all to it. But now"-He seized Lawrence's hair, forcing his face up. "But now-now I have an IN. Why fire useless cannon shells at the problem when ye can burrow inside it an' kill it off wi'out putting a mark on it yourself?"
Lawrence spat at his captor, but the projectile missed its mark. He snarled instead, and replied, tightly, "You want me for your spy? Keep dreaming, Baltor. I'm done with you, and have been for three years. I'm not some hand you can have a go at with the Cat if I don't do our bidding."
Baltor made a motion with his hand, causing Lawrence to flinch before he realised that the grizzled Black Pirate only intended to straighten his collar with it. He cursed his weakness once again. Baltor chuckled, delighting in the effect the tiny motion had had on the pilot. "I could kill the boy, y'know. And that flashy dandy wi' the telescope."
~Ah!~ Lawrence thought, masking his relief with a grimace of disgust. ~They're alive! He hasn't killed them!~
"Then do," Lawrence growled, coldly. "Marco's been ready to die since he was old enough to toddle, and you'd be doing the species a favour by making that idiot Domingo walk the plank. They mean bugger-all to me." Only the last part was a lie.
"Ah. Marco an' Domingo. Those're their names, then?"
~Shitshitshit~ he chastised himself. Baltor's knowledge of Lawrence's presence among Vyse's crew was bad enough without him learning the names of anyone else. He toyed with the idea of taking a stance of silent defiance, but said instead: "Besides. Right now, you're just a nuisance to the captain. Kill those two, and you'll turn him into your sworn enemy, and believe me, THAT is something you really, really want to avoid." He was exaggerating slightly, of course. Although he'd certainly begun to grow into his new role, Vyse was hardly one given to fits of vengeful wrath.
At this, the Black Pirate's grin resurfaced. "Heh. Shoulda known that threatening yer mates wouldn't move ye. It didn't back in the day, eh?"
At this provocation, Lawrence's eyes widened in outrage and he tried to lunge forward at his tormentor. But his bonds held him back, and the way he was bound meant that he only injured himself, the ropes cutting even deeper into his flesh, almost enough to draw blood. Before him, a safe distance beyond the reach of the suddenly lively prisoner, Baltor laughed a full, throaty laugh and launched his foot firmly into Lawrence's throat. That checked his outburst, and he hung where he was, wide-eyed and coughing.
Baltor sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers and regarded Lawrence thoughtfully. "Oh, I think ye'll help me out, Larry. Ye say ye're done with me, but I ain't done with you. Ye'll help me bring down Vyse, all right, one way or another. 'Til then," he snapped his fingers, summoning his burly mate back into the room. "I'm sure Boothe, here, will do his bit in bringin' ye 'round to my point o' view. Until then, try and remember how to show a bit 'o respect to the man who's got yer life in 'is hands."
The lesson concluded, Baltor strode from the room, taking pleasure in the way Boothe's fists made soft, dull, satisfying thuds against Lawrence's helpless body.
*~*~*~*~*
"Crikey, Domingo! That was bloody awesome!"
Domingo clenched his teeth at Marco's incessant chatter and ran a finger along the circumference of another of the portholes that lined the brig in which they were incarcerated.
"Mate, when we went down, I was sure it was curtains! I mean, Lawrence was down 'n 'alf buried in sand an' I was banged up pretty bad too."
No good. The window was nailed shut, and had never been designed to allow for opening, much less a desperate escape. And of, course, there was the little matter of a straight-down plummet into deep sky should an escape attempt be made using that route.
"An' then you leapt to yer feet, pulled out yer flintlocks an' said 'Stay back, lad. I'll handle these wankers!'"
Domingo banged a palm against the porthole in frustration. He'd noted the somewhat manic edge to Marco's chatter, and he dreaded being reminded of what was coming up next in his chatter.
"O' course," the urchin continued, his cheerfulness assuming a palpable edge. "Ye'd clean forgotten t' load the buggers when we set out from Crescent Isle, but 'ey-'tis the thought wot counts, innit?"
Domingo growled, and spun around on the snot-faced little brat with some bleak threat already formed on his tongue. But Marco was saved from being blasted by the creak of the brig's hatch. It swung open inside and Domingo instinctively tensed to spring at the new arrivals before he noticed that the first newcomer had his hand perched on a particularly businesslike pistol in the sash which served as his belt.
The newcomer regarded the two captives as they squinted in the light pouring into the brig from outside with a look of disdain, before motioning to someone behind him. At once, rough hands launched a purple and grey bundle down the three steps leading into the brig. It tumbled down them limply before coming to a halt in an untidy heap on the hardwood floor. The exhausted groan which escaped it was drowned out by the sound of the brig door slamming shut behind it.
"Lawrence!" Domingo and Marco surged forward toward their comrade, turning him over and making him as comfortable as they could. Domingo noted with dismay the bruises and cuts which had joined his scar on his face. "Moons--- what did they do? What was the point of this?"
"Our old mate---Baltor," Lawrence wheezed with some difficulty after a breathless moment. "Don't think he needs much of a reason, really." He rubbed a hand across his face, covering his eyes with it grimacing at even that small movement. "What day is it?"
"Wednesday, I think," Domingo replied, with a small frown. "You thinkin' on waiting for the cap'n to come back? He'll only come through here again on Friday, and by then it'll be too late. I'm surprised we haven't left these skies already."
From somewhere beneath the hair and the hand came a muffled chuckle. "Oh, they're setting off tomorrow for Maramba skies.only, we're not goin' with them."
For a moment, Domingo allowed a moment of elation. Baltor had realised what kind of trouble he was in, kidnapping the hapless trio, and was setting them free! He was probably scared so shitless by now that he'd probably already tried to repair their jolly-boat. Hey, who knew? Maybe if they were quick, the three might actually be able to fulfil their mission and have some kind of discovery in their journals with which to buy back their captain's favour.
Then Lawrence brushed his hair out of his eyes and stared glumly up at the ceiling, face pale and lips twisted into a rueful, ironic smirk.
Marco's attention shifted in turn from Lawrence's curious expression to Domingo's look of dawning comprehensive horror and back again several times before venturing; "Does tha' mean Baltor's gonna plop us back down in the desert and leave us be, then?"
*~*~*~*~*
"Well, lads," Baltor purred at the three Delphinus crewmembers lined up before him. "The pleasure at 'aving ye off o' me ship is ALL mine, believe you me." He grinned a fetid grin at the three, who glared at him in stony silence, with even Marco managing to remain defiant. His belly shook with mocking laughter at them before he spun around and barked an order at his somewhat motley crew.
"EXTEND THE PLANK!"
Before him, the crew leapt into action, the speed at which they unearthed the three metre long, worm-riddled plank betraying their eagerness over the coming festivities. As they moved to set up the simple apparatus, Marco nudged Domingo uncertainly and quipped in a voice which quivered only slightly; "You first, mate."
"Now, now, kid," Lawrence replied before Domingo could make any reassuring reply. "Women AND children first, remember?"
Domingo spun on Lawrence with a glare, but Lawrence's face was grim and his eyes stared straight ahead at the busy black pirates, as if he was unaware that he had, possibly for the first time in his life, made a funny. Marco paled for a brief instant, before the years spent on the streets of Valua recalled him to his characteristic insubordinate defiance. He scowled at the grim helmsman and would most like have uttered an oath not normally found on the lips of one so young when he was interrupted by a cry of "Plank ready!" followed by "Ready, aye, ready!" The various air pirates clustered around the gap in the wooden railing through which the plank extended into the boundless sky beyond, with a space cleared to allow the first luckless victim of their chief form of weekend entertainment to proceed unhindered to his doom. All were grinning madly.
Baltor himself paced grandly up and down before the trio, appraising the plank-walking suitability of each of them in turn. Finally, he extended a gnarled finger toward Marco. "You. Care f'r the honour o' being the first?"
There was a moment of silence as Marco's inscrutable glare met Baltor's lazy smile. Then he made a great show of shrugging and made as if to step forward. And then suddenly Lawrence was in his way and the sound of flintlocks being cocked by the various pirates guarding the trio echoed through the air, carrying by a slight wind. Even Baltor felt sufficiently threatened to dart for his own sword before he realised that Lawrence had only moved to place himself between the boy and the pirate captain.
"Hope you'll forgive me if I claim that honour for myself," Lawrence stated blandly, eyes focussed squarely on Baltor's face. He kept his hands squarely at his sides while the black pirate looked him up and down suspicious as various crewmembers kept weapons firmly trained at his head. Finally, the captain gave a disdainful snort and waved a hand in the direction of the plank. "Whatever, Lad. 'Tis all as one t' me."
There was cheering and jeering on the part of the pirates as Lawrence walked jerkily forward, the rhythm of his pace interrupted by one particularly ratty-faced buccaneer insistently poking him between the shoulder-blades with a long, blunt pike. Behind him, Marco hurled obscenities at him and struggled against Domingo's grip as the increasingly ashen-faced explorer futilely attempted to prolong the boy's life as best he could.
Then suddenly, he was on the plank, staring into the horizon. It was late afternoon, and the sun seemed to him just a fingernail above the horizon. The heat of the day had subsided and evening's chill had yet to sweep in from the South. He stood there, perfectly balanced and oblivious to the sheer depths over which he stood. Behind him, most of the crew crowded around the gap in the wooden rail through which the plank extended, and then that bloody rat-face poked him again, with that blasted pike.
Afterwards, Domingo would say, as he told the tale, that Lawrence's movements had been too swift to see. Marco claimed the opposite, how the silent helmsman moved as if through treacle.
However he did it, the rat-face was caught completely off-guard as Lawrence seemed to leap straight up, twist in mid-air and catch the end of the pike with one hand, jerking it forward. Then even before the pirate realised he'd be best served by simply letting go of his end, that same end was forcibly thrust backward, thrusting bluntly and painfully into the man's belly. He cried out, stumbling backward into the crowd behind him, whose brains had yet to grasp that they really ought to be doing something.
Then Lawrence jerked the pike back out, let the far end fall just a little way down past the plank then used its inertia and all the strength he could muster to spin in place and bring it swinging around in painful arc, catching a good number of the pirates not yet knocked down by the rat-face a nasty knock. Then, when the crowd of black pirates who'd been so enthusiastically goading him to his death were in various states of disarray, he lowered the pike in front of him like a lance and charged.
He roared his way off of the plank, stepping rudely on various pirates along the way, and sped straight toward the explorer and the street-urchin, who yelped and flung themselves out of the way. This was much to the consternation of the single pirate who'd been standing behind then on guard, as he found himself with a blunt pike sharply poking his chest, making him drop his pistols, backing him up to the rail opposite the plank and, inevitably, beyond.
As the screams of their former guard receded as he plummeted to his death, Domingo wasted no time in picking up the discarded pistols---noting with delight that they weren't flintlocks, but the newer, repeating variety--- carefully aiming both at the fast-reorganising tangle of black pirates and squeezing the triggers. These, he noted with satisfaction as the pirates scattered about the deck as their captain ordered them at once to pull themselves together and to try to recapture the Delphinus crew alive, were most CERTAINLY loaded---
*~*~*~*~*
Shortly.
It had been an interesting few minutes.
It had started predictably enough. Domingo had regained his typical bluster the moment his hands were coiled around a pair of pistol handles. He bellowed some "all for one and one for all" gibberish at the pirates, who had sorted themselves out and had begun to circle the trio with increasingly determined looks on their faces. Once he'd finished what he presumably thought was an heroic oratory, he turned with a comradely grin to Lawrence. Lawrence had simply rolled his eyes, reached over, plucked a pistol out of Domingo's hand and, after taking careful aim, had fired a single shot into an unassuming cluster of barrels at one corner of the deck.
The kilos of gunpowder contained therein had rather an adverse reaction to the bullet, and the explosion had the added effect of disorienting the black pirates even further, giving Lawrence the opportunity to snatch someone's sword and dive into the crowd, never making a sound even as Domingo showered his targets with a steady stream of invective. Marco and Lawrence excused this undignified behaviour: The man really WAS a good shot.
And so it went, for a time, with Lawrence scything in and out of the too- bunched up black pirates and Domingo taking advantage of the confusion to pick them off at his leisure. He left his back wide open, of course, which could have turned the battle ugly quite easily if Marco hadn't somehow got a cannon unchained from its bearings and rolled it randomly across the deck with him astride it until it somehow went off. No one was hurt, save for the two pirates who had been about to surprise Domingo from behind, and the only major casualties had been the various stolen objets d'art which had decorated the cannon's target: the captain's cabin.
But in the end, they were outnumbered, and it wasn't long before those frantic few minutes of activity came to an end, and the three luckless Blue Rogues found themselves on the foredeck with their backs to the bow facing the two dozen crewmembers who hadn't been sliced by Lawrence's sword, winged by Domingo's pistols or savaged by Marco's teeth. At their head stood Baltor, trembling with fury.
"D'ye know how bloody long it took to build up that collection?!?" he roared, pointing a quivering hand in the direction of the still-smoking ruins of his cabin. "How many Valuan warships? Or merchant vessels?"
"Gee, cap'n Vyse usually pays f'r HIS day-cor"
"Shut up, boy!" He folded his arms across his chest and grinned, his slick, dangerous façade back in place. "Now. Put yer weapons down, all o' ye. And I'll go easy on yer."
Lawrence spat over the side. "Oh, I see. Does that mean you'll blindfold us before making us walk the bloody plank again? Screw that, Baltor."
"Yeah! You'll have to come and get us yourself, mate!" Domingo chimed in, levelling his pistols at the crowd of pirates in a heroic fashion. Lawrence refrained from informing his that he only had a couple of shots left. Marco rolled his eyes and put his face in his hands.
Baltor nodded, slowly. "Fair enough," he growled, drawing his sword. He was about to raise it above his head in a signal to attack when the ominous whine of a cannon-shell tore through the air just a second before the Blackbeard shook from timber to timber.
*~*~*~*~*
"Holy shit!" Vyse cried, leaning forward against the wheel as he watched in disbelief as the shell tore straight through the forward section of the ship below decks before ripping its way out the other side. Even in the dimming light, the damage was quite visible.
He calmed himself somewhat, grabbed a speaking tube and barked into it. "Belle! When I said to fire a warning shot across the bow, I did NOT mean THROUGH the bow!"
"Ack!" came the tinny, dismayed exclamation. "Sorry Cap'n!"
"Right. Keep the guns trained on the Blackbeard, but don't fire again until I give the order!" He pushed the tube away from him and peered thoughtfully at the motionless ship, just barely making out his three crewmen, mostly thanks to Domingo's bright orange jacket.
Beside him, Aika his vice-captain shook her head wryly and grinned before asking "So, Vyse-we gonna be doing some boarding or what?"
Vyse flashed her a smile of his own. "What-board that yellow-bellied, thieving jackal, Baltor?" He turned his gaze back to their quarry, where tongues of flame had begun to spill from the hole in the hull. The captain's quarters seemed to have been displaced as well. "Nah. I think after this afternoon, Baltor'll only be too glad to get those three off his hands without any prodding from us--"
*~*~*~*~*
"Ye three! Head belowdecks and get those flames out! You! Secure the cargo on that deck! And as for you-What the hell d'ye want, Boothe?!?"
Baltor ceased bellowing orders long enough to glare murderously at his second in command, who meekly pointed in the direction of their three captives, who seemed to be standing around aimlessly, quite at a loss as to what to do now that no one seemed to want them dead anymore.
Baltor stared thoughtfully at them, meeting Lawrence's inscrutable glare. Then suddenly he burst out into a grin, as if he suddenly felt that all was not lost after all. "We'll simply do what needs t' be done, Boothe," he answered, grip tightening on his sword before he bellowed out a new order.
"Hoist the truce flag!"
*~*~*~*~*
"-And if I catch you doing shit like this again, Baltor, I'll bloody well SINK your goddamned ship," Vyse finished, leaning on the railing of the Delphinus and glaring sternly at Baltor, who stood on the deck of his own ship hanging dead in the sky a few feet away looking not in the least contrite. "This is my crew. If you mess with them, you mess with me, and I think you should have got the idea by now what happens when you cross me."
He flashed Baltor an insolent grin and turned away. Marco stuck a tongue in the direction of the ship and did the same, scurrying inside. "Come on in, Domingo," Vyse called over his shoulder. "You're gonna show me what incredible discoveries you've made, right?"
Domingo's grin was waxen as he nodded slowly. "Right. Sure, Captain. Be right there." As Vyse disappeared, he shook his head ruefully. It seemed that he would have to display the imagination he usually used in situations like these.
He turned to go inside, but out of the corner of his eye he saw that Lawrence had not moved. He still leaned on the railing, staring after Baltor's ship, which had already begun to be left behind as Don manoeuvred the vastly superior Delphinus northward, towards Maramba.
He thought about going over there to talk to him-he'd had a rough time, after all-but decided to keep his peace instead. He had no idea what had passed between the silent helmsman and the cut-throat black pirate, but Domingo was certain it had not boded well. Best to let the man sort it out for himself, or else talk to Vyse or Fina.
He shrugged, and continued on inside. He was probably worrying over nothing. It wasn't as if he couldn't trust his companion or anything.
*~*~*~*~*
NEXT: Robinson spent years of solitude in the Dark Rift. But since his rescue, he's finding that after that kind of torment, you can't just walk away.
A/N: Well, that wraps up the two parts of the pilot episode, I s'pose. Anyway, as the above sentence has already announced, the next 'episode' will focus on Robinson and Polly. And while I'm at it, any votes as to whom the chapter after that should feature? Any favourites? Anyway, cheers and, as always, r/r, por favor!