Author's Note: Ok, by rights I should've waited for a bit more attraction before settin' up this chapter. But I couldn't resist. One thing is: Even though 2 have somehow reviewed this, I can't actually see it on the main page (I have to go into my profile to see the story and reviews). Perhaps I could be enlightened here? By the way, jade, lemme tell ya, this isn't the elder you think it is. Trust me. I've got all the twists ready and waiting. In fact, the next chapter will bring the first plot twist; see if you can decipher it. This chappie, though, is just some gory fun with my pirate friend.
Chapter III – The Trouble with Venice
A black flag, blazoned harshly with pure blackness, fluttered from the mast of the cold, calculating vessel that drifted over the waters of the Adriatic, bringing an air of grimness and ill winds with it as it neared the Italian coast.
Cervantes de Leon's dead eyes, glazed over with malice-filled white, glanced out over the oceanic expanse, watching the waves heave and the oversea sky envelope the qualities of a lingering storm. Cervantes liked storms; they gave him an absorbed sense of peace for some reason which not even he knew. Sighing a gruff sigh, the pirate fixed his stern gaze on the small multicolored dots that pockmarked the horizon; a coastal city, most likely the city of Venice. Venice was not where he was headed, but he needed a checkpoint at least. 'Now then, it's been far too long since there's been blood on my blades,' he murmured mentally to himself, diverting his pensive thoughts from grog and rum, 'Perhaps Italy can boast some willing donors.'
The bustling commune of elegance and culture would be perfect for a little break from the usual crude pillaging. Despite being one of the boorish buccaneer lot, ever since his run in with the powers that be (so to speak), he'd realized that once could always create more in life. Being immortal, he didn't need food, sleep, or most things that other humans needed. Luckily, he had not been desensitized to life's pleasures. He planned to enjoy himself in Venice...considerably. He turned, removing his arms from the ship's pulpit. He turned, swiveling on his heels to survey the ship. He had commandeered a roomy four-masted barque and furnished it with a number of gilded ornaments eviscerated from merchant vessels. He'd keep its maiden name, the 'Charybdis' and set sail for the inland gulf of the Adriatic, hoping to head upward into Europe. The pirate supposed he wouldn't immediately dive right into a raid. That was far too blunt and he ran the risk of destroying delectable valuables. He could simply dock his vessel in the crowded harbor and then overtake the place when he found the time. He could simply settle somewhere nice, in the lap of luxury, until he saw it fit to continue on his journey into Europe's heart.
Cervantes de Leon had been sailing for weeks now, across the boundless Mediterranean, searching for more clues and subtle hints as to where he could locate more swords, or the twin of his own blade itself, the male Soul Edge weapon. The few clues he gained led him here.
"Helmsman!" he called to the bellicose-looking fellow behind him, "Hard to port, set new course; north by northwest." the helmsman, who was leaning wearily on the ship's gold encrusted wheel, nodded glumly. Cervantes gave an indignant snort as he walked past him and onto the vessel's main deck. He had a relatively full crew, very diverse at this point. Brigands of all sort jumped at the opportunity to serve under an invincible pirate with promise of vast riches to appease them. They were from all manner of place, mainly countries surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. Most were strong, quality pirates who had adopted a chauvinistic loyalty to their leader, Captain Cervantes de Leon. The ship began swerving, leaving ripples in its massive wake.
The dark shadow that always preceded Cervantes wherever he went was cast over the beautiful city of Venice, Italy, as the mighty barque Charybdis lurched into the dock. It was the grandest of ships to be seen there in ages, furnished with all manner of material and power from other unfortunate ravaged vessels that had made the blatant mistake of crossing its captain, Cervantes. There, moving, almost lurching along through the bay was the ship. It stretched a seemingly infinite length, with a massive hull of dark wood, decked with plates of ebony metal bound together with iron cords. Above the lower hull which was submerged in the river sat three layers or levels of the ship, each a deck with long and thin walls with countless circular perforations, through which came great oars, each at least five times the size of any man. These oars rowed, slapping the water in rhythm and perfect union with a bizarre eeriness. Above the hull and three decks was a taller deck with only a few windows, each more elaborate and larger. This deck had walls that were inlaid with silver and a glistening material that resembled gold. Each window was surrounded by carvings of serpents, dragons, and incomprehensible shapes, perfect in every detail. Directly on top of that deck was a strange level with no perceivable purpose. Its walls were smooth obsidian with infinite shards of chipped jade dotting them.
Finally came the main deck, which itself seemed to prove the size of the ship. This deck alone had three very narrow levels, each larger than the one beneath. The first level was thin and shaped around the next level, flanked at front and back by two raised decks. The second level was beneath the forward and aft decks, surrounding a final gargantuan platform covered with ropes and riggings. This highest level held four sturdy masts as thick as the mightiest of trees. The masts held two great black triangular sails, with the pointed tip of each facing downward, and one above with the pointed tip up. Above everything, beyond each mast, deck, and level, sat the crowning glory. Each of the four masts held a banner, fluttering in Venice's wind. The banners were all the same, bearing a black background and the white silhouette of three blades with the hilts facing inward to form a circular trinity. These banners seemed to swell as the winds carried them, absorbing the gaze of all eyes that fell upon them.
The great hulk of iron and wood drifted to a halt near one of the wharfs of Venice's inner harbor and four large hooked anchors were hefted by several brawny figures to the four corners of the vessel and dropped into the waters, creating four simultaneous ripples that seemed to rock the wharf with their force. The ship fully stopped beside the swaying wharf as harbor workers, sailors, merchants, and simple passersby slowed to a stop around the wood buildings that pockmarked the dock. The gangplank of the vessel slowly peered downward, lowering onto the wharf. Cervantes proceeded past the elevated deck with his crew of surly brigands falling into a surprisingly neat rank behind him as he strode off the ship, down the makeshift bridge, and onto the dock.
"Nice place," he remarked to the crewmember behind him on whom the witty comment was lost, "Too bad I have to destroy it someday."
"Excuse me...umm...sir." murmured a plump fellow in a gaudy suit who was now attempting vainly to keep up with Cervantes, "You have to pay for that ship you docked. I'd say a pretty hefty sum considering how much room it takes up." He was a vain-looking fool, fat and round and oversized, in all honesty. His face sported more chins than Cervantes cared to count, and his thick, frazzled head of brown hair was lined with strands of stress-induced gray.
The man uttered a nervous laugh, obviously uncomfortable as Cervantes' dead eyes turned to him, looking grim, irritated, and filled with some horrible glee. The man scooted back, still walking alongside Cervantes, but slightly out of his range. The dread pirate merely turned away, stalking towards the city. He overlooked the beauteous, scenic Venetian skyline, his glazed over eyes, icy like frosted winter, surveying the evergreen shingles, lavish waterside apartments in the distance. Gondolas arched their ways gracefully over simmering paths made of crystal and calm water that lapped at the boat's sides. The folk about Cervantes wore lavish clothes, some extreme, gaudy, and tawdry, some with a more refined elegance.
His crew had busied themselves removing necessaries from the grand bargue behind him and mooring the Charybdis to the wharf firmly. They were milling about on the dock now, mingling eerily, chatting conspiratorially, and whispering with leering mutters in their tone as fancily clad women strolled by along the watery sidewalks not far off. They spread out, exploring the area around the harbor with feline curiosity not befitting a piratical brigand.
"Umm..sir? Did you not hear me? You have to pay for tha-"
Cervantes cut him off, stopping sharply and whipping Nirvana to the miserable fellow's double chin. He turned swiftly and emitted what sounded like a gruff and gutteral growl of a most animalistic fashion from the pit of his throat.
"I am inclined to disagree, you pathetic whelp. My ship stays where it is and payment for its presence is unnecessary. Is that clear?" He pressed the blade in slightly, the rest of his bod perfectly rigid and calm as if he was not holding a blade to someone's vital parts and perfectly prepared to sever his head from his shoulders without hesitation or a second thought. "Y-yes, sir. But what of all the other ships who want to dock?" The harbormaster gulped, his adam's apple bumping against the precise point of Nirvana and drawing a bead of blood that made its way down the length of his tawdry waistcoat.
"That's your problem, friend, not mine." snarled the pirate, lowering his blade as he continued walking forward, away from the man. Suddenly, he stopped again. He paused in mid-step for a long and drawn out moment as his pallid head turned to glance at the hapless man.
"Actually, I have the perfect solution to your problem." he said, grinning a ghastly grin as his whole body spun back towards the harbormaster. "Really?" he replied enthusiastically. Cervantes kept smirking that smirk that caused the eager harbormaster to stutter as he spoke. "You don't want to be burdened by the presence of my ship?" The pirate's voice let loose a dripping of unholy pleasantness, so decked with sugar that it was practically sickening. Still, the harbormaster was enthusiastic.
"Indeed, I must say that is the case." Muttered he, now fidgeting with nervous anticipation and rubbing his flabby hands together.
"Fine. You won't have to deal with it, or anything else, ever again."
The man didn't even have time to grunt as his limp body slid off Cervantes' gun-sword and crumpled in a pathetic heap on the wooden planks of the dock. There was, of course, an inevitable number of shrieks and interjections from those on the wharf, but Cervantes ignored them as he kicked the body into the waiting sea and the water slowly become diluted with its oozing blood. "That oughtta solve his problems." muttered the pirate, swerving expertly on his armored heel and strolling into the city as other harbor-goers took notice of his unfortunate victim, bobbing in the water like a misplaced buoy. There were screams and shrieks and horrified yells, but they just blended into a perfect harmony in Cervantes. He escaped the roar of the crowd with ease, his exuberant garb blending in synch with the strange clothing of Venetians. He headed towards the watery roads, moving away from the stuffy innards of the swelling mass of people that had gathered around the blood-soaked wharf and were gawking at the thing floating face down in it.
Cervantes, followed by his dull crew who lurked around behind, following their captain loyally and dutifully. Cervantes only required a few for the job ahead and dismissed the rest to pillage as they pleased in Venice. He would indeed be pleased if they picked out some nice stuff for his growing collection, some admirable trinkets. They would probably stoop to picking pockets without his mastering hand to guide them. It didn't take long for Cervantes to spot an uninhabited gondola floating wistfully along Venice's roads of water with no passengers to heed it.
"Good day, signore." he said in simple Italian. Being a pirate for decades allowed one to pick up aspects of most of Europe's major languages, since he often needed to speak to the foreign traders he looted and murdered. Clever witticisms are always lost on your victims if they don't understand what you're saying. The gondola swerved slightly, drifting sideways as Cervantes walked along the mooring beside it. Not waiting for the Italian to reply, as was customary, he leapt squarely into the watery vehicle and tugged the vessel sideways again. Deciding to go with the flow for a good tip, the gondolier shrugged it off and rowed. "Dove voi gradiscono andare?" queried the gondolier, rowing in stride as the small ship seemed to glide over gentle waters, despite all of the people in other gondolas who had taken notice of the ominous pirate sitting in this particular one. Cervantes analyzed momentarily, gritting yellowed teeth. ''Where are we going?' was what he said.' concluded the captain.
"Just keep rowing 'till I say stop." said Cervantes curtly.
He surveyed the beautiful houses of Venice, borne on the ranking elevated platforms above oceanic roadways for the Venician equivalent of horses, the sleek gondola. This section of the city was not quite as well furnished as the mansion-brimming sector, not far from where Cervantes' vessel was currently floating. One large house stood out, almost overly tawdry in its incredible extravagance. It was studded with gleaming decadence of perfectly polished alabaster with a row of narrow columns on the broad patio in front which stretched down onto the water's edge with a small decked wharf for personal gondolas and lined on each side with the Venician bazaars which seemed to flock around the great villa.
"Chi ha casa e quello?" murmured the pirate, his cold, dead eyes staring keenly at the structure as he leaned on the gondola's bow. 'Who's house is that? Who does that villa belong to?' "Oh, that is the house of Signor Massimo Senicci," said the gondolier, struggling with Cervantes' crude English, "He is a wealthy landowner who lives in Roma. That is merely a villa he purchased for retreats."
"Do you think Signor Senicci would mind terribly if I took care of that house for him?" grinned the pirate as the gondola pulled up alongside it.
"Perdono? Che cosa era quello, signore?" 'What did you say?' translated Cervantes swiftly.
"Oh, nothing." muttered Cervantes de Leon, now ignoring the gondolier. As the gondola bounced gently on the moored sidewalk, Cervantes stepped off nimbly and brushed some stray droplets of water off the waistcoat hanging at his shoulders. The gondolier tapped him indignantly on the shoulder. "The tip, signore..." he said, both insistent, confident, and intimidated. Cervantes grinned away from him, "Ah, yes. The tip."
Cervantes didn't even bother turning around. His sword was out in an instant and stabbed behind him. He strolled forward without a second thought, letting the corpse of the gondolier drag for a moment on his reversed blade before it peeled off and collapsed in a pool of blood on the shimmering whiteness of the marble stairs. 'Two down, but that just whets my appetites.'
It was certainly a nice villa. Very large, roomy, showy, a real piece of artwork. It surely contained all manner of things Cervantes might like. Of course, he would have to make it his entirely, and add a few alterations when he found the time. It was a long walk across above-water courtyards ripe with flowery bushes to the actual villa, which was decked with angular verandas and porches that stuck out, hanging delicately over the water's surface. Though he paid no heed to his instincts, something about this mansion drew Cervantes towards it. He walked up onto the final flight of long steps, almost miniature porches in themselves, and up to the grandiose, silver plated double doors of the Senicci villa.
To his shock and pleasant surprise, his force wasn't needed to gain entrance. As he knocked firmly upon the metal, the door creaked and shrieked in protests as its un-oiled hinges bowed to the enterer and swung open. The door had been open already. Curling his fingers nimbly about the icy steel of Nirvana's sheath, rubbing his finger on the gun built into it and caressing the muzzle of the firearm as he prepared to whip it out and dispose of anyone who stood in his way, Cervantes stepped carefully inside, quickly scanning the small but well lit foyer.
An all-too-familiar smell filled his nostrils. It was the scent of blood, the scent of death, wafting all around him. His clean white eyes darted down and a malicious grin creased over his rotting flesh as he saw what lay on the scarlet-hued carpet in front of him. There, on the ground, swimming in a pool of fleshy ooze, was the corpse of a young girl in the dress of a maid or servant. Her hand was still clenched around air as it would have been if the dead female had been holding the great doorknob. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, cuts covered her body, and her humble dress was torn open at the chest in a great red hole where both murky fluid and great lumps of organ spilled out onto the floor around her, bleaching the intricate designs on the lavish carpet. Someone had gotten to her before Cervantes.
The pirate, sniffing the smell and sighing happily, continued through the foyer and into the smaller hallways. He smelled more blood, more death and decay. In another room, hanging out of the threshold, was on older female whose face was invisible under the gooey mess of splattered blood that now covered the floor beneath her imploded cranium and body torn to ribbons by some short-range weapon, knives perhaps. Finally, as Cervantes de Leon headed suspiciously down the hall, he heard a sound other than the gushing of crimson fountains. It was unfamiliar, but the dread pirate followed it all the same into the more dimly lit hallways until he reached a room with the large, wooden door hanging open. Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and headed inside, his eyes swiftly falling upon the only figure in the room, rooting through something at the other end.
"You again!" he roared, recognition flowing into his astonished face, his sideburns practically bristling on his stubbly face. The only response he got was a sinister hissing sound from the other man's face. 'Voldo!'