If I Were a Herald
Chapter 32
Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off
Disclaimer: The psychologist I mentioned? He's my dad. And no, I still don't own it. Kudos to Joe Nichols for an awesome song. Joe Nichols is now ranked among my favorite singers. Along with Alan Jackson, Toby Keith, and Michael Longcor.
A/N (12/14/05): I changed the title of the chapter because, well, I remembered what happened to me at a few parties, and this song just about sums it up. I distinctly remember running about Second Court lounge wearing nothing but a bikini… which I had been wearing under all my clothes because I knew they were coming off. I ended up singing karaoke in my pirate pants and bikini top.
A/N (12/15/05): The next chapter is already written. Actually, I wrote it before I wrote this one. This chapter just didn't want to get written. But, well, here it is.
Fireblade: I love you! The guy kissing Mortimer is a great idea. And the tying knots with one hand might actually work. And I'm glad you find amusement in my—er, her—drunken exploits.
D2queen: Yes, I'm going to end it. This story actually has a plot, ergo it must end sometime. My next project that I'm planning is a rework of "Daughter of a Pirate," which is a PotC fic. The first paragraph is good, and it goes downhill from there.
Dark Angel Lytha: Happy birthday. I'm glad you're continuing to like my story. Perhaps I could direct you to some of my other stories, as well?
Tempeste-Silere: Thanks! I'll see what I can do with your suggestions.
Jerry Unipeg: Time is indeed getting short.
Nawyn: Words do seem to flow when one is drunk… as long as one can still say them without tripping over one's tongue!
"Break out the ale," Jacoby announced. "We got good pickin's from this ship. We're gonna have us a party!"
At the word "party," my ears perked up. Ooh! Party, Lake Evendim style. That meant, well, no food fights, since we didn't have enough food. But I could certainly spray alcohol at people.
It was Friday night. My true induction into the life of piracy had occurred earlier that day. I had until Monday to figure out a way to get rid of Mortimer without killing everyone aboard the ship. Three days. Spending one night partying wasn't going to hurt, was it? A party would do me good.
The water was shallow enough in this area to drop anchor. Only the gods knew why the Dhorisha Plains were a featureless flatland, while Lake Evendim was studded with islands and almost-islands that rose from the lake bottom. Possibly it was due to the water currents. Frightening to think of a lake large enough to have currents of its own.
Drop anchor we did, so the ship wouldn't wander off course while the crew was too drunk to tell the difference.
Yeller came up behind me and placed an arm on my shoulder. I elbowed him in the stomach.
"Oof! Tha' wasn' necessary," he protested.
"Oh yeah? And did you really want me to wait until Jacoby noticed?"
"'Tweren't nothin' like tha'! I jus' amembered tha' ye'd said once tha' ye'd made some moonshine."
"Aye."
"I was wunnerin' if ye'd oblige us by makin' it again."
"Well," I hedged, "it was pretty complicated, and I—a friend…a visiting Hawkbrother named…Rainwater, had to build a special sort of Gate. But if our resident mage will cooperate, I believe we could recreate the conditions, or at least near enough that it'll be some pretty potent brew."
"Ye'd 'ave to ask Mortimer?" Suddenly Yeller wasn't nearly so keen on having my moonshine.
"Oh, sure. Look, it's nothing. Mortimer! Mage-boy! We've got a use for you."
Mortimer glared at us across the deck of the ship. "Bloody pirates."
"Aye, well, at least we bleed. Look, death mere, I've got a request for you." In a few short sentences I outlined what I wanted him to do.
"And what do I get in return?"
"You get an invitation to the party. Otherwise you're not allowed to participate. After all, you were absolutely no help overpowering the merchant ship."
It took some cajoling, but eventually Mortimer agreed. "Understand, it's only because the sky is absolutely clear. I don't know what your Hawkbrother friend told you, but Gates wreak havoc with the weather patterns."
Like I didn't already know that.
"Yeah, whatever. Just make the damn moonshine."
This batch didn't quite glow an emerald green, but it did glow in the dark, just like the stuff I'd made. The bubbles were a sickly yellow color. Nobody wanted to touch it.
"Ah, yer all bleedin' cowards," I said to the pirates, my use of their brogue adding to the insult. They could laugh away being called cowards by a lady who'd never seen danger a day in her life, but not by own of their own. Not by the quartermaster who'd been the first across to the other ship. And not by a lightweight who couldn't stand the taste of beer. Not when said lightweight poured herself a shot of the moonshine and knocked it back without even closing her eyes.
Not that I didn't want to close my eyes. And not that I didn't want to spit the stuff back up after I'd swallowed it. Talk about nasty. But at least it was just alcohol-nasty, not the pissy taste of beer. And it burnt all the taste buds right off my tongue.
"Tell us some tales o' Bardic Collegium," Jacoby suggested.
"Aye, d'ye know any tha' ye can sing?" Kent added. He was a real softy for verse.
"Well, I don't know. There was a pair of Herald Trainees I used to hang out with. Those two girls would get themselves into the damndest situations."
"Herald Trainees?" Now I'd caught everyone's attention. They knew so little about Heralds—the thought of them actually getting in trouble was new and exotic.
"Oh, sure. Now, one of them, her name was Kali, she wanted to be a pirate. The other was her roommate, Jorjetta. Jorjie grew up on Lake Evendim—"
"Hold on a minute," Jacoby interrupted. "Did ye say Jorjetta?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did."
"Slim little thing, kinda small, blonde hair?"
"That's Jorjie all right." Jacoby had known Jorjie? Well, hell. Of all the strange coincidences. But—at that—Jorjie had mentioned knowing a pirate. I got out my journal and flipped through the pages until I found an entry almost six years old. There it was. Jacoby. "Bloody hell."
"Wha'?"
"She mentioned you."
He craned his head to read the entry. I closed the journal before he got more than a glimpse. "Uh-uh. This stuff's private with a capital P. Do not read on pain of death." Heaven help me if he did read it. There was enough in that one entry to label me as Jorjie's roommate, and fellow Herald Trainee.
"What'd she 'ave to say abou' me?"
"Oh, just that she couldn't see why a nice boy like you would take to pirating. Her words, not mine. Anyway, I was telling a story. About her and her roommate, Kali. This happened about six years ago. I wasn't there, mind—I mean, I was a Bardic Trainee, and this happened in the Companions' Field—but I was on the palace grounds at the time. And I got the story straight from the two of them."
The pirates shuddered a bit at the thought of me, their fellow adventurer, being on speaking terms with a pair of Heralds.
"Here's what they did. Kali had some paint, and the two of them sprayed it all over the Companions. Painted them green and red. The Heralds were mortified."
"Sounds just like somethin' little Jorjetta would do," Jacoby agreed. "So—she became a Herald?" His expression was almost pained. "I'd allus wunnered what happened to 'er, but I never imagined—we were friends, damnit!"
"You make it sound like some sort of crime," I accused. "You don't choose to become a Herald. You're Chosen. It could happen to anyone. Hell, it could happen to—to little Jimmy." It happened to me.
"Don't say that."
"But it's true," I pressed on relentlessly. "He's got the compassionate heart. The drive to help people. I've seen it in him. He's even got the Gift of Animal Mindspeech—that one's rare. We—the Heralds could use a boy like him."
"To stamp out crime. To keep poor folk like us from makin' a livin' the on'y way we know how. Jimmy would never participate in tha' sort o' thing."
Jimmy doesn't approve of your life of piracy. Maybe if you'd spend more time with him, you'd have learnt that. "That's not what Heralds do. Heralds protect Valdemar from people who would cause her harm. They protect the innocent folk who can't protect themselves. And they can't be bribed or bought. That's what's really sticking in your gullet, isn't it? You can't bribe them to look the other way." The accusation was entirely unfair; I knew that as soon as it left my mouth. But it was already too late to recall the words.
"If ye remember, ye were the one 'oo bribed the jail guard. Did 'e ever get 'is money, I wonder?"
"That's none of your concern." As a matter of fact, I had sent him the promised gold coin, before our departure from Belt. He didn't deserve them, but my word was my word, no matter how many layers the deceit under which I hid. I took another shot of the moonshine to steady my nerves. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you're not that kind of pirate. It's just—try to go easy on the Heralds, would you? They're just doing what they perceive as right. I know Jorjie. If she—if she caught you stealing, she might not even turn you in. She'd make you give back whatever you stole, and probably lecture your ears off about right and wrong, but she wouldn't hand you over to the authorities to hang."
"I'm sorry, too," Jacoby said. My head came up in shock. Jacoby, apologizing? He stared at his toes. "I shouldna been so hard on ye. They're yer friends, aye?"
"Aye."
"Then there must be some good in 'em. It's just, they don' tend to think abou' what us poor folk 'ave to do to stay alive."
"Then I'll make them think about it," I promised. "I'll write songs about what being a pirate is really like. And I'll tell them your tales. That is, if you'll tell them to me."
As the pirates spoke, about the various things that had driven them to piracy, I wrote their stories in my journal. I would write songs about them, and for them—if only to open my fellow Heralds' eyes about what was really going on. That, and the song "Daughter of a Pirate," might just convince them that my obsession with piracy wasn't just morbid fascination. Yes, most pirates were evil. But that didn't mean they had to issue a blanket condemnation. The punishment for piracy was death by hanging. No exceptions. But what about these men—these good men, who hadn't killed any of their prisoners, who had left the merchant ship intact and the men on board, with fully enough provisions to get to port? What about Jacoby, who had ridden to the rescue of the damsel in distress?
"I wanted to be in th' Navy," Jacoby admitted. "I wanted it bad. But poor boy like me, I'd never 'ave been more than, than…." He hesitated, searching for the right word or phrase.
"Cannon fodder," I supplied. "Common soldier, barely trained, thrown on the front lines so the enemy has one more body in their way." The early autumn night was becoming too warm. I divested myself of the long coat I'd taken to wearing over the rest of my outfit.
"Aye, tha's it. But there was still Lake Evendim. I'd allus heard 'er call."
"Like the ocean," I murmured. The ocean was still calling me, a directionless call. I didn't even know where the nearest ocean was. Maybe it was the Atlantic, calling to me. Calling me home. I didn't know. After this was over, I was going to have to hunt down that ocean. One way or the other, I had to answer its call.
"So I became a sailor. Common sailor, mistreated, bossed around by the captain. It wasn't the life I wanted, but I was sailin', an' for a while tha' was enough. Then we were attacked by pirates. I was given a choice: join or die. Eventually, they elected me their captain. Tha' crew wasn't much, didn't like them at all, but when that ship sank, I found another, an' recruited a crew. I never looked back, until Jimmy was born."
Then it just wouldn't do but I had to tell another story. I chose to sing "Dirty Dancing." Yes, I'd memorized it. Hell, it was about me. It might be annoying for people to write songs about me, but I was still human. I liked being the center of attention. Besides, it actually got most of the details right—a miracle where bards are concerned. Because the wind kept snatching at my hat, I took that off, too. Then I sang a song called "Brannigan's Special Ale." "Within the town of Sutterdown there is a tavern tale. You never do think you to take a small drink of Brannigan's Special ale." It seemed appropriate. The mice on my head were definitely dancing. And the ocean was looking kind of purple.
Then, of course, I couldn't get off without singing another crazy drinking song. "Good sailors sing songs of lassies and bravery and fortunes, how the sea fills their hearts with the courage to do mighty deeds. But I'll sing a song of a lad that I met in Jamaica, who tested the bravest of brave in all seven seas. It were Happy Jack's Undrinkable Ale. One mighty sup puts the wind in your sail. It's Happy Jack's Undrinkable Ale."
"Is all forgiven?" Jacoby asked. "Can I look at yer journal now?"
"All's forgiven, and no, you can't look in my journal. If you do, you'll learn—something I don't want you to know."
"Wha's yer secret? Wha' can be so important? I already know yer friends with Heralds. What could be worse'n that?"
The fact that I am a Herald. "Nothing. A girl likes her secrets; that's all." There was a bottle of whiskey positioned conveniently near my right hand. I grabbed it and chugged the whole thing.
Jacoby left to go look over maps in his cabin. He said he wanted to check to be sure that we weren't going to hit any reefs after we weighed anchor, but I suspect he realized that I needed some room. We were getting better at reading each other.
"Aw, the cap'n's gonna miss the party," a pirate who went by the name of Sharky said. "Let's bring the party to 'im." After that, nothing would do but that every last crewman crammed themselves into Jacoby's small cabin, singing drinking songs loudly and off-key. I wound up shoved into a corner, wincing whenever they hit the high notes. They were really doing a number on that song. I took another shot of the moonshine in the hopes that it would lessen the din.
It really was very hot. I shrugged out of my vest. That didn't seem to be helping very much, so I opened several of the buttons on my shirt, as well. It took me a little bit to realize that Jacoby was staring open-mouthed at the expanse of skin I'd revealed.
"Yer drunk," he announced, dragging me out of his cabin, away from the other pirates.
"No, no, no," I shook my head, then stopped when that made the world spin crazily on its axis. "I am not drunk. I on'y had four shots. Four." I held up the appropriate number of fingers.
:Actually, love, you're only holding up three fingers: Lyrna corrected me. :Which is, coincidentally, the number of shots you had. Three shots plus a whole bottle of whiskey.:
One of the slightly more educated (but obviously not very smart; if he'd been smart he would never have followed Jacoby and his half-dressed woman) pirates had followed us out of the cabin. "Ah, one, two, four, fi', shish." No, that couldn't be right. I was only holding up one hand. Shish—I mean six—fingers would take two hands. Obviously the man was drunk.
"You can't count," I informed him.
:Well, he skipped three: Lyrna observed. :And he's probably seeing double, because he counted five fingers.:
"I can too count!" he blustered. He became quite belligerent about it. Eventually Jacoby had to wrestle him to the deck. I hunted about until I found cold water to throw over his head.
Barely into the party, and already these men were loaded to the gunwalls. Except this was Velgarth, so they didn't have any gunwalls. They didn't even have any guns. But no matter. The phrase was still valid. So was cannon fodder. It just didn't make any sense.
The drunk and spluttering pirate got to his feet, then went after me with intentions that were far from honorable. Before Jacoby could react, I slugged the pirate a good one in the temple. Hell, a girl can't always wait for her white knight to ride to the rescue. Sometimes she's got to take matters into her own hands. The pirate fell to the deck. "I've been humilated," he wailed, "positively humilated."
I suppose it is very "humilating" to be beaten by a girl. Especially a lightweight who's drunk quite as much as you have.
The "humilated" pirate stumbled into Mortimer, and tried to kiss him, too. Mortimer was positively horrified. He locked himself in his room for the remainder of the party. Heh, so much for being shaych. I suppose there're some things even evil overlords can't stand. Pirates must be beneath his notice.
"Maybe we should get ye to bed," Jacoby suggested to me. "It looks like ye've had quite enough to drink."
:Hmm. Bed.:
Hmm. Bed.
:If you seduce him now, he might not kill you when he learns that you're a Herald.:
That made entirely too much sense for my way of thinking. :Um, how about I kill Mortimer, then seduce Jacoby? I still can't afford a distraction.:
Lyrna sighed and went back to doing whatever it is Companions do when they're not pestering their Chosen.
Jacoby managed to get all the revelers out of his cabin, and me in the bed, before I passed out or threw up. Then he left me to my wonderful roller-coaster adventure of falling asleep.
The next morning, when I woke—still drunk—the party was still in full swing. Oh. So this wasn't just a one-night thing. There was some reason that was bad, but I couldn't for the life of me remember it. So I had some more alcohol, hoping that would jog my memory.
No luck.
My holster for my lightning throwing knives was digging into my chest, so I loosened the strap and dropped it near the bed.
The pirates were busy watching some sort of contest. With a few questions, I gathered that it was a knot-tying contest, but the participants could only use one hand. "Oh, that's easy," I said as I muscled my way to the front. Using teeth, foot, and hand, I managed to tie a rather admirable square knot. The other pirates had a hell of a time trying to get it undone.
Childhood craziness does have its benefits. Tying knots one-handed was one of the challenges I'd made for myself as a youth.
Evening drew nigh. One man sat on top of the captain's cabin, pouring alcohol down onto his mates. Some of it made it into their mouths, but most ended up in their hair or on their shirts.
Speaking of shirts, mine had disappeared. I was wrapped in a bit of sailcloth at Jacoby's insistence. I was wearing a bra underneath. A sports bra, too. Jacoby didn't seem to think that was enough. Especially when it was soaked in alcohol.
Woke up next morning. It was—what, Sunday? There was something important I had to do. But that was tomorrow. It could bloody well wait until tomorrow.
One sailor—Sharky again—tripped over his own clumsy feet. He swore fluently in Karsite. Very fluently. I hadn't known he spoke Karsite. I grabbed his bottle of beer—he was doing a good job spilling it all over the deck; waste of good beer, in my opinion.
Wait a minute. I didn't even like beer.
No matter. The moonshine had already burnt away any taste buds I might have had. And the beer did wet my throat.
"You speak Karsite?" I asked in that language.
"Yeah. What of it?" he replied, in Karsite.
"Long way from Karse," I observed, still speaking the foreign tongue.
"Same for you."
I shrugged. "I'm a bard. I need to know languages."
"I was going to be a bard. Trained for a long time. Didn't have the voice."
Yeah, well, I had that figured. He didn't have the pitch, either. He'd been one of the men singing very off-key in Jacoby's cabin Friday night. "Being a bard isn't for everyone. Piracy seems to suit you just fine."
"Yes, it does." I noticed that when he spoke Karsite, he didn't mumble nor use slang. Then again, mumbling and slang came with a language one spoke very often. Not a language one learned in order to sing songs for that people.
Since I was already speaking a foreign language, I figured it wouldn't hurt if I slipped into Latin and Greek. Didn't know much French, but I tried that, too. "Je m'appelle Kali. Je suis de Melbourne, Florida. Je suis un pirate." Poor Sharky was left entirely in the dark. "Athanatos hé psukhé," I announced, as if it were a very profound philosophical statement. Deathless is the soul. Very poetic. And entirely unoriginal. I'd found it in my Greek book in college.
And we weren't the only ones stumbling about on deck. It was only, oh, half an hour—candlemark, whatever—since dawn, yet there were several pirates up and about. And drunk as lords.
What do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning?
Throw him in the long-boat 'til he's sober.
Leave him there and make him bail her.
Shave his belly with a rusty razor.
Put him in bed with the captain's daughter.
Put him in the bilge and make him drink it.
Hang him from the mast as a Jolly Roger.
That's what you do with a drunken sailor, that's what you do with a drunken sailor, that's what you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning.
To my reviewers: If there's anything else you want to see in this story, you'd better speak up quick. I'm planning to end around Chapter 40. I've got about six more chapters planned out, with room for a few more. We're coming up on the end pretty quickly. I'm also going to go back and edit it; there are some places that could use expanding, and some things I left out. One of the edits is going to be Greek and Latin profanity shouted at Mortimer. Because he deserves it. I just don't have the necessary books in my possession. Oh, and by the way, I love you all.
Jay: Remind me about Gates playing merry hell with the weather systems. I'm going to need it.
Still working on that Christmas chapter. Anybody know any good Christmas songs?