The Ebony Blade - A tale of Arcadia.
Chapter One: A Thorn in the Side
The three men sat at the table aboard Captain Serron's ship, the Red Arrow, none of them looking at all comfortable in each other's presence. The lounge was the kind only the rich could afford. Yafutoman silks, oak furniture with leather covers and stained glass windows were a few of the many things in the hall-sized lounge. At least two dozen card tables stretched from one end of the room to the other, each one a host to gamblers from colourful backgrounds who favoured their chances at the games. Chips were thrown down, money was changed and cards were flicked. The sounds of men laughing, men cursing their luck and cheers from onlookers filled the lounge almost as much as the smoke from the pipes and cigars. But amidst this seemingly jolly atmosphere the three men sat, mute and inanimate. No cards were on the round, shining oak table, just the crystal glasses of loqua on their coasters.
These men were as well-dressed as all the others in the room. Their suits of black and white, along with the rather impressive top hats reflected their status as rich men. Had they been talking or playing cards, they would have fit in perfectly with the rest of the crowd. The man nearest to the lounge's bar took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead, smoothing back his long blonde hair as he did so. The Nasrean weather was brutal for a Valuan, even at this time of night when it was cooler. The blonde-haired man looked with his soft grey eyes to his compatriot, who sat on the other side of the circular table. His compatriot, a man about his age with greying hair and wrinkled skin, shrugged wearily. They were waiting for somebody. The man sitting in between them didn't seem to mind the heat. He was sitting perfectly still, playing with four gambling chips in his hand and wondering when the fourth man was going to show up. He looked at the two men, his brown eyes assessing how much quicker they could reach for their pistols and shoot before he could. Clever for them to sit at opposite sides of the table; there was no way he could kill both of them without being shot himself.
"Your boss has poor judgement of time." He smiled sardonically at the man to his right, the blonde man. "What's the matter, are you too hot?"
Provocation was the last thing the assassin resorted to, but he was bored and he wanted some form of entertainment other than inhaling smoke. Fiddling with the gambling chips had provided all the fun that it could.
"Can you imagine," the assassin spoke up cheerfully again, "that if you'd stayed in Valua, then round about now you'd be having a wonderful ice- cold drink in one of the Upper City loqua bars? It's a shame you have to be out here in the middle of Nasrean airspace."
He looked at the blonde man, whose eyes were fixed on the table top. Oh yes, he was getting there...a few more remarks and one or two insults, then the party would begin.
"- Gentlemen," a familiar-toned voice spoke from the assassin's left, "sorry to have kept you waiting."
The dark-haired bodyguard moved his chair so his boss could have a seat next to the assassin. The boss was a tall man of slender build, with long grey hair down to his shoulders and hazel-green eyes. The hair was tied back in a tight ponytail tonight, but the assassin didn't bother noting that. He was more interested in the boss' nose. It was an ugly thing, completely out of proportion with the rest of the boss' face in that it was too big. Such ugliness was rare; it fascinated rather than repelled. The assassin forced himself to smile at the boss as he took his seat beside him. The boss was dressed in the same manner as they were; black suit, shining black shoes. The only thing missing was the top hat.
"Mr. Archer," the boss spoke to the assassin in that haughty Valuan tone, "it was so good of you to come aboard my ship, the Red Arrow. You flatter me with your presence."
The assassin called Archer simply looked at his host, neither returning the polite greeting nor ignoring it.
"Did I have a choice?" He asked.
"Oh, but of course you did, Mr. Archer. You could have come here to see me or been killed. Personally, I think you made the wiser of the two choices available. Now, what will you have to drink, hmm? I trust you are thirsty?"
"If I wanted to poison myself I'd ask for some bread in Lower City Valua." Archer said coldly. "Can you tell me why your baboons dragged me here?"
The boss smiled at the remark and helped himself to one of his bodyguard's drinks, not bothering to ask if he could. The black-haired bodyguard glanced at his boss for an instant before averting his gaze back to the assassin. Archer had never seen a man more desperate for a fight than that one before, he was just begging for it with those eyes of his. Like daggers, they were.
"Simply put, Mr. Archer, I have two problems." The boss spoke again, having finished the bodyguard's glass of loqua. "One of those problems is you. You owe me some money for your gambling. The other problem is a man, an air pirate to be more precise, who has proven to be quite a pain in my business affairs. I believe that, if certain terms are agreed, both problems can be solved with a single effort."
Archer sighed above the general racquet of the lounge. He looked up at one of the three chandeliers, twinkling at him with its six tiny electric lights. The curling brass arms of the chandelier gleamed in the light and Archer wondered if he could shoot the thing down. If he succeeded it would crash into the table, giving him more than enough time to belt out of the lounge and head for the lifeboats. He wasn't actually going to do it, but Archer liked to think about how to "escape" out of certain situations, it was a part of what he did for a living.
"I'll pay you what I owe," he told the boss, looking into his eyes without flinching, "and that'll be that problem out of the way for you, won't it? I've got the money. But the other problem's got nothing to do with me."
The boss shrugged. "Well, I don't need your money, Mr. Archer. Look around. Everything you see here, the cards, the tables, the drinks, the glasses, the room, everything belongs to me. Even the gamblers in this lounge belong to me, to one degree or another, that's what I am. I'm a collector, if you like, of commodities. There's not one person in this room I invite out of the kindness of my heart, not a single one! Everyone here does things for me and I do things for them. You are no different, Mr. Archer. I will do something for you and you will do something for me, a service that will be mutually beneficial, I can assure you of that."
"Whatever gave you the idea that I can perform a service to you?" Archer smiled, but the boss was no longer smiling.
"Please, do not insult my intelligence again." The boss warned. "I have little patience left and these two boys here can give you a really hard time, if I want them to. Now pay attention to what I say. You owe me money, but it just so happens I do not want it. What I do want, however, is a certain air pirate dead. You're one of the best...ahem...workers on the market, so if you do me this one favour you can consider yourself free of any debt you owe me."
Archer scratched his chin, considering what had just been said.
"You may be happy to know this pirate is with the Blue Rogues that pass regularly through Nasrad." The boss continued. "He's quite popular with the local wildlife, you will not have any problems tracking him down. Killing him might prove to be, shall we say, difficult. The man has Lady Luck herself on his side and he's escaped from several prisons both in Nasr and Valua in the past. His criminal record is small-time. A thorn in the side, as you might say."
"Wow." Archer made an act of being impressed. "All of that information. Did you forget his name while you were finding that stuff out?"
"So you will settle the debt you owe me?" The boss asked, looking keenly into Archer's eyes.
"On one condition."
"And what's that?"
"If I do this for you, I don't want to see your men near me for at least a full lunar cycle. I don't want any party invitations, no birthday gifts - nothing."
The boss smiled and offered a wrinkled, but strong, hand. Archer took it and felt the man's grip pressing hard on his skin, like the boss' fingers were made of stone.
"It is agreed." He said.
"So, you going to tell me his name or do I have to guess it?"
The boss shouted at one of the boy waiters to bring him a glass of loqua before turning his attention back to Archer.
"His name is Gilder," the boss said, "just Gilder. He travels on a vessel called the Claudia and has a rather troublesome habit of attacking my cargo ships."
"Your cargo ships are armed with ten inch cannon coils and sky torpedoes," Archer shrugged, "you should know better than to think the Blue Rogues wouldn't go for something like that."
The boss smiled. "Well, it's either the Blue Rogues of the Black Pirates. I will take my chances with the Blue Rogues any day, only this one has made a fool out of me for the last time. When you do kill him, be sure to leave his remains for someone he cares about to find. An example has to be made, Mr. Archer. A man of your profession can surely understand that."
Chapter One: A Thorn in the Side
The three men sat at the table aboard Captain Serron's ship, the Red Arrow, none of them looking at all comfortable in each other's presence. The lounge was the kind only the rich could afford. Yafutoman silks, oak furniture with leather covers and stained glass windows were a few of the many things in the hall-sized lounge. At least two dozen card tables stretched from one end of the room to the other, each one a host to gamblers from colourful backgrounds who favoured their chances at the games. Chips were thrown down, money was changed and cards were flicked. The sounds of men laughing, men cursing their luck and cheers from onlookers filled the lounge almost as much as the smoke from the pipes and cigars. But amidst this seemingly jolly atmosphere the three men sat, mute and inanimate. No cards were on the round, shining oak table, just the crystal glasses of loqua on their coasters.
These men were as well-dressed as all the others in the room. Their suits of black and white, along with the rather impressive top hats reflected their status as rich men. Had they been talking or playing cards, they would have fit in perfectly with the rest of the crowd. The man nearest to the lounge's bar took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead, smoothing back his long blonde hair as he did so. The Nasrean weather was brutal for a Valuan, even at this time of night when it was cooler. The blonde-haired man looked with his soft grey eyes to his compatriot, who sat on the other side of the circular table. His compatriot, a man about his age with greying hair and wrinkled skin, shrugged wearily. They were waiting for somebody. The man sitting in between them didn't seem to mind the heat. He was sitting perfectly still, playing with four gambling chips in his hand and wondering when the fourth man was going to show up. He looked at the two men, his brown eyes assessing how much quicker they could reach for their pistols and shoot before he could. Clever for them to sit at opposite sides of the table; there was no way he could kill both of them without being shot himself.
"Your boss has poor judgement of time." He smiled sardonically at the man to his right, the blonde man. "What's the matter, are you too hot?"
Provocation was the last thing the assassin resorted to, but he was bored and he wanted some form of entertainment other than inhaling smoke. Fiddling with the gambling chips had provided all the fun that it could.
"Can you imagine," the assassin spoke up cheerfully again, "that if you'd stayed in Valua, then round about now you'd be having a wonderful ice- cold drink in one of the Upper City loqua bars? It's a shame you have to be out here in the middle of Nasrean airspace."
He looked at the blonde man, whose eyes were fixed on the table top. Oh yes, he was getting there...a few more remarks and one or two insults, then the party would begin.
"- Gentlemen," a familiar-toned voice spoke from the assassin's left, "sorry to have kept you waiting."
The dark-haired bodyguard moved his chair so his boss could have a seat next to the assassin. The boss was a tall man of slender build, with long grey hair down to his shoulders and hazel-green eyes. The hair was tied back in a tight ponytail tonight, but the assassin didn't bother noting that. He was more interested in the boss' nose. It was an ugly thing, completely out of proportion with the rest of the boss' face in that it was too big. Such ugliness was rare; it fascinated rather than repelled. The assassin forced himself to smile at the boss as he took his seat beside him. The boss was dressed in the same manner as they were; black suit, shining black shoes. The only thing missing was the top hat.
"Mr. Archer," the boss spoke to the assassin in that haughty Valuan tone, "it was so good of you to come aboard my ship, the Red Arrow. You flatter me with your presence."
The assassin called Archer simply looked at his host, neither returning the polite greeting nor ignoring it.
"Did I have a choice?" He asked.
"Oh, but of course you did, Mr. Archer. You could have come here to see me or been killed. Personally, I think you made the wiser of the two choices available. Now, what will you have to drink, hmm? I trust you are thirsty?"
"If I wanted to poison myself I'd ask for some bread in Lower City Valua." Archer said coldly. "Can you tell me why your baboons dragged me here?"
The boss smiled at the remark and helped himself to one of his bodyguard's drinks, not bothering to ask if he could. The black-haired bodyguard glanced at his boss for an instant before averting his gaze back to the assassin. Archer had never seen a man more desperate for a fight than that one before, he was just begging for it with those eyes of his. Like daggers, they were.
"Simply put, Mr. Archer, I have two problems." The boss spoke again, having finished the bodyguard's glass of loqua. "One of those problems is you. You owe me some money for your gambling. The other problem is a man, an air pirate to be more precise, who has proven to be quite a pain in my business affairs. I believe that, if certain terms are agreed, both problems can be solved with a single effort."
Archer sighed above the general racquet of the lounge. He looked up at one of the three chandeliers, twinkling at him with its six tiny electric lights. The curling brass arms of the chandelier gleamed in the light and Archer wondered if he could shoot the thing down. If he succeeded it would crash into the table, giving him more than enough time to belt out of the lounge and head for the lifeboats. He wasn't actually going to do it, but Archer liked to think about how to "escape" out of certain situations, it was a part of what he did for a living.
"I'll pay you what I owe," he told the boss, looking into his eyes without flinching, "and that'll be that problem out of the way for you, won't it? I've got the money. But the other problem's got nothing to do with me."
The boss shrugged. "Well, I don't need your money, Mr. Archer. Look around. Everything you see here, the cards, the tables, the drinks, the glasses, the room, everything belongs to me. Even the gamblers in this lounge belong to me, to one degree or another, that's what I am. I'm a collector, if you like, of commodities. There's not one person in this room I invite out of the kindness of my heart, not a single one! Everyone here does things for me and I do things for them. You are no different, Mr. Archer. I will do something for you and you will do something for me, a service that will be mutually beneficial, I can assure you of that."
"Whatever gave you the idea that I can perform a service to you?" Archer smiled, but the boss was no longer smiling.
"Please, do not insult my intelligence again." The boss warned. "I have little patience left and these two boys here can give you a really hard time, if I want them to. Now pay attention to what I say. You owe me money, but it just so happens I do not want it. What I do want, however, is a certain air pirate dead. You're one of the best...ahem...workers on the market, so if you do me this one favour you can consider yourself free of any debt you owe me."
Archer scratched his chin, considering what had just been said.
"You may be happy to know this pirate is with the Blue Rogues that pass regularly through Nasrad." The boss continued. "He's quite popular with the local wildlife, you will not have any problems tracking him down. Killing him might prove to be, shall we say, difficult. The man has Lady Luck herself on his side and he's escaped from several prisons both in Nasr and Valua in the past. His criminal record is small-time. A thorn in the side, as you might say."
"Wow." Archer made an act of being impressed. "All of that information. Did you forget his name while you were finding that stuff out?"
"So you will settle the debt you owe me?" The boss asked, looking keenly into Archer's eyes.
"On one condition."
"And what's that?"
"If I do this for you, I don't want to see your men near me for at least a full lunar cycle. I don't want any party invitations, no birthday gifts - nothing."
The boss smiled and offered a wrinkled, but strong, hand. Archer took it and felt the man's grip pressing hard on his skin, like the boss' fingers were made of stone.
"It is agreed." He said.
"So, you going to tell me his name or do I have to guess it?"
The boss shouted at one of the boy waiters to bring him a glass of loqua before turning his attention back to Archer.
"His name is Gilder," the boss said, "just Gilder. He travels on a vessel called the Claudia and has a rather troublesome habit of attacking my cargo ships."
"Your cargo ships are armed with ten inch cannon coils and sky torpedoes," Archer shrugged, "you should know better than to think the Blue Rogues wouldn't go for something like that."
The boss smiled. "Well, it's either the Blue Rogues of the Black Pirates. I will take my chances with the Blue Rogues any day, only this one has made a fool out of me for the last time. When you do kill him, be sure to leave his remains for someone he cares about to find. An example has to be made, Mr. Archer. A man of your profession can surely understand that."