XXX: The Slaves
Conrad stopped the ship when it was a safe distance away from shore and dropped the anchor. They needed to get organized before they continue. Conrad couldn't stand it when things weren't organized. Haphazardly going places did not suit him. He wanted to make sure everybeast knew what they were doing, and where they were going. So, he called for a meeting of every creature onboard.
The fox had them all stand in their own little groups. On the port side of the ship were the old slaves, now released by Conrad's generous paw. On the starboard side of the ship were the new slaves, all captured by Conrad's iron will. In the center of the ship was the crew, numbering seventeen including Conrad himself.
"Now, I've got some business I need to tell ya," Conrad yelled, standing at the front of the ship proudly, "First order of business: No more of just callin' me 'Conrad'. It's either 'Cap'n Conrad', or "Cap'n', or 'sir'. Ya got that? Nuttin' else."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n Conrad!" saluted Swiss. Conrad ignored him.
"Second order of business: My crew. Weltsnout, yer goin' to be the first mate, which is basically just the second-in-command, so nuttin's changed there. Jeld, yer still the supply chief, an' I guess Tadds is still yer assistant."
"Ooh, Cap'n Conrad, can I be the steersrat?!" asked Swiss anxiously.
"How can yew be the steersrat?" Curvetail snapped, "Yew ain't even a rat! Yer a fancy pine marten, or wotever they're called."
"A pine marten?" scoffed one of the new slaves, a ferret named Telson, "That isn't no pine marten! An' trust me, I seen one afore! They got these bushy tails, and these ugly pointed faces. I used ta fight alongside one, name was Molfe, nice enough feller until he got his head lopped off in some battle or another. Ooh, his guts went everywhere! All over the pl—"
"Ah, nobeast asked yew," Curvetail snapped, "I'm tellin' ya, Swiss is a pine marten. So, if he were to steer the tiller, he'd be called a steers-pine-marten, and that jus' doesn't sound right."
"Why don'tcha jus' ask him wot he is himself?" Telson snapped.
"Cuz he don't know! Do ya, Swiss?" Curvetail smiled and chuckled. Swiss merely shrugged.
"Ahem," Conrad interrupted, "Swiss, ya can't be the steersrat, or the steers-pine-marten, or the steers-something. I wouldn't trust ya with something that requires ya to be so… focused. So, Abren's gonna be our steersweasel, considering that he's also our navigator. I just thought that it'd make sense that way."
"So, um, what can I be?" Swiss asked hopefully.
"Yew can be annoying, that's fer sure," grumbled one of the crew, a weasel named Crowley. General laughter followed this. Conrad waited for it to subside before continuing.
"As I was sayin'," the fox muttered, "Abren's gonna steer the tiller an' navigate. That's the whole reason why he's here. Now, Murkeye's gonna be the cook, considering she already was afore. Curvetail can be the bosun, whatever that is. I sure don't know. You know, Abren?"
The weasel shrugged. "There was one on my old ship," he said, his large hat bobbing up and down, "But I don't know exactly what he did."
"Well, once we figure it out, Curvetail's gonna be it," Conrad announced, "What does that leave…? Kleid, yer gonna be the lookout, ya got a good eye. Garland an' Yugu, yer both gonna guard the slaves, like ya did afore. Crowley, you can be the… er… ship musician, yer good with music."
"Yeah, but Jeld won all my instruments in gambles," Crowley muttered.
"Speak up," Conrad snapped, "I can never hear what ya say, yer always mumbling. Except when ya sing, of course. Now, moving on, that only leaves a few of ya… Ah, you'll just do odd jobs 'round the deck, whatever I need done. Ya got that?"
"Can I be the head odd jobber?" Swiss asked.
"Fine! Just don't bug me! Oh, an' one last thing. Davian, yer big an' scary, you'll be the slave driver."
The lizard was expressionless, but many of the slaves groaned. "I do az azked, Cap'n Conrad!" Davian announced, standing at attention as he had done when he served King Kirrent, a season and a half ago.
"Now, that brings me to my third an' final order of business: the old slaves. Yer lucky enough I let ya all stay on here, I shoulda just thrown the whole lot of ya overboard back when we were fightin'. We're gonna go north a ways an' drop you off, ya got that? You'll be gone afore the end of today, I promise. Now, until then, I don't wanna hear a single word from you lot, considering how nice I've been to ya."
The old slaves all nodded simultaneously, none daring to speak. Conrad motioned to Garland and Yugu, and they began leading the new slaves down to the galley, where they could get settled in and start rowing. The old slaves felt sympathetic for them, considering they had just been trapped, doing the same thing, but not one was about to speak up against Captain Conrad. Plus, most of those slaves had probably thought it fun to kill and hurt, and deserved what they were getting.
Garland, now sufficiently dried off, prodded Buvul with his spear. The stoat rubbed his aching tail and moved forward, giving the ferret a wary glance. Yugu walked in front, having them all sit in benches, two to a bench.
"Com'n, lovebirds, siddown," she snapped at Reyla and her mate, sitting them in the first bench. Then she forced Skrobb and a fat stoat into the next bench, and a couple of vermin the next, and so on, and so on. Lastly, both she and Garland shoved Buvul and his unfortunate partner, an annoyed-looking rat, into the last bench.
"There's still more benches," Garland pointed out.
"Like I didn't already know that," Yugu shook her head in exasperation, "Garland, you're pretty dumb sometimes. Now, it don't matter that not every bench is filled, it just means we won't go as fast, but there's less of us altogether anyways, so we'll probably end up goin' the same speed, since we won't weigh the ship down as much."
"Uhh… Wotever," Garland replied.
Davian slowly walked down the stairs, his peg leg hitting every step with a dull thud. The slaves watched on silently as their new slave driver descended. The lizard's yellowed fangs were exceptionally sharp-looking, his claws likewise. His eyes rolled around madly as he inspected the prisoners. He reached the bottom step, looked directly at garland, and spoke, in a dry, threatening hiss, "How I zlave drive?"
Garland was taken off-guard. "Um… Well… Ya take that whip o'er there, an' ya whip the slaves ta make 'em row faster." He pointed at one wall, where a coiled-up whip was hanging lifelessly.
Davian grabbed the whip and examined it closely for a few moments. Then, completely unexpectedly, he swung it. The whip cracked right on the face of Reyla's mate, slicing it open directly down the middle. Reyla's mate screamed in pain, covering his face with his shackled paws.
Reyla shrieked out in terror. "Karder! Look wot ya did ta pore Karder! Oh, he's bleedin' bad! Somebeast, help!" She attempted to help Karder wipe the blood from his face. Davian looked down at his whip as if it were something magical.
"Who izz next?!" he shouted, swinging the whip again. It cracked, this time only in mid-air, but the slaves got the message. Immediately, they all began to row as quickly as they possibly could.
"That lizard's a natural," Yugu murmured to Garland, "I wish I were that talented, maybe then I wouldn't have to be paired with you so much as I am." She let out a slight chuckle.
"Now, wot's that s'posed ta mean?" Garland demanded as Damian cracked his whip again, "Yew sayin' that yew don't like workin' wit' me? Yew ain't never complained afore!"
"Nah, I love workin' with you, you're so silly," Yugu remarked as Davian whipped Buvul for not rowing fast enough, "It's so fun to pull those little practical jokes on you… You react to 'em so perfectly."
Garland frowned. "Wotever, Yugu. Wotever."
---
Now that the ship had finally begun to move again, Abren had gone to the tiller, and was now steering it. Conrad had wanted to go north. Well, that wasn't exactly the direction they were heading. Abren smiled. This was the kind of plan Ballantyne would make, he was sure of it. And he guessed that was a good thing. Ballantyne's plans had always been successful.
"'Ey, Abren!" exclaimed Jeld, who had walked up to the weasel and taken a seat, "Ya wanna play a card game?" The stoat held out a deck of cards, each with the face of some famous vermin warlord on them- Cluny the Scourge, Slagar the Cruel, Ublaz Mad Eyes, and many others.
"Eh, sure," Abren replied. He had already gotten the ship moving in the right direction. Well, at least, the right direction for him. "Y'know, Ublaz was a pine marten." After Abren had said this, Jeld simply looked at him blankly.
"Wot?"
"Ublaz. On the card." Abren held up the card with the picture of the famous corsair on it. "This is a pine marten. You can compare it to your friend; the one nobeast seems to know what he is."
Jeld grabbed the card and examined it closely. "Heh, the… eyes…" Jeld froze, as if hypnotized, and then began to slowly sway back and forth. Abren quickly snatched the card back.
"I guess they didn't call him Mad Eyes for nothing," Abren muttered, glancing over the card skeptically, "So, do you think your friend is a pine marten or not?"
"Uh, well, that Ublaz character on the card is too pretty, nuttin' like Swiss. He's all dressed up too fancy, too. I still can't really tell, although I can see the resemblance, all right. Now, ya wanna play?"
Neither of them had noticed, but Crowley had snuck up behind him. He had always been sour at Jeld for swindling all of his instruments, every last one (and he had had quite a few; Crowley was surprised that the stoat didn't have his own bag just for his instruments). Now, stuck in a job that made him have nothing to do, he decided he'd entertain the new addition to the crew.
"'Ey, afore ya begin, Jeld," the weasel suddenly appeared, shocking the gambler, "How 'bout ya let me show yer new friend a magic trick wit' those cards. Hand 'em ta me, please."
Jeld quickly gave Crowley his deck of cards. Turning back to Abren, he whispered, "Ya oughtta watch this. Crowley's got good magic tricks. I wonder which one he'll do… There's the one where he had ya draw a card, an' then there's the one where he makes a card hover in the air…"
"Okay, I'm going to make this deck of cards disappear afore yer very eyes," Crowley sneered, "Watch very carefully." Suddenly, Crowley flicked his wrist, and the entire deck flew over the side of the ship. The cards fluttered down into the water, where they floated around slowly. Laughing, Crowley strolled away casually.
"That was my lucky deck, ya swine!" Jeld shouted. Crowley's laughter merely increased in magnitude as he walked to the other side of the deck.
"That was… some trick," Abren said.
Jeld reached into his cloak and pulled out a completely identical deck. "Good thing I keep a whole slew o' these, or else I wouldn't be able ta play any o' my card games! So, how 'bout we get that game goin'? Course, yer gonna hafta wager sumthin' first."
"I'm just a beginner, I'll probably lose," Abren pointed out, "I don't want to bet anything valuable."
"Then don't," Jeld replied, shrugging, "Bet wotever ya want ta bet, if that's the case."
"Well, I really don't have anything that I'd really want to wager and possibly lose," Abren explained, "How about we just sit here and talk? I want to know a few things about Conrad and the rest of the crew."
"Nah, that ain't part of the bargain," Jeld responded, "If yer not gonna play cards wit' me, then I'm jus' gonna go back and ensure none o' my supplies are stolen or anything, ya never know with characters such as Crowley roamin' 'round. Either ya bet sumthin' or I'm gone."
Abren frowned. He contemplated just letting Jeld go and trying to coax the information he needed out of somebeast else, but Jeld was loose-tongued and likely to tell him everything without too much trouble. Silently, he pulled a dagger out of one of his incredibly long sleeves and slammed it into the deck point first.
"I'll bet this. And in return, I want that saber of yours. It's a very nice saber."
"Oh, this?" Jeld exclaimed, holding out his weapon, "I got this jus' recently. Got it from some half-dead weasel, crawlin' along the ground. His legs were all butchered up. He was wearin' this beat-up golden armor, too, an' I considered takin' that, but y'know, the pore creature was prob'ly gonna die soon anyways, an' at least that armor was keepin' him sorta safe…"
Abren looked at the stoat silently. Jeld bit his gold coin nervously, then tossed his saber down onto the ship deck before shuffling his deck of cards.
"So," Abren said, breaking the silence, "About that one stoat, Wemys… Did he have an older brother or something?"
Jeld immediately stopped shuffling his cards. "How'd ya know?" he muttered quietly.
"Because he looked exactly like a stoat I used to work with. Can you describe this brother to me? What was his name?"
Jeld chewed on his golden coin a bit before answering. "His name was Percival. He was really big, an' he was always mad, except every once in a while he'd stop bein' mad and instead be really sad. It was really weird. We was all 'fraid of him, thought he'd chop us all inta pieces in our sleep. Then, 'bout five seasons ago, maybe a bit more 'n that, he jus' up an' left. Never saw him again. He still alive?"
"I'm afraid not," Abren replied somberly, "He died fighting the Long Patrol." Percival? Deathblaze was actually named Percival? Well, Abren didn't blame him for changing his name… But, still…
"Ah, that's too bad," Jeld replied, "At least he died doin' sumthin' he loved, fightin'. I guess I oughtta tell Wemys."
"Nah, not now," Abren quickly said, "Maybe later. But now's not the time. I also don't feel like playing that card game anymore, although I would've liked to win that saber. It's very nice." The weasel grabbed the dagger he had slammed into the deck and hid it back into his oversized jacket. Jeld did likewise with his saber and deck of cards.
"Well, uh, nice meetin' ya," the stoat said, standing back up, "See ya later." Then, he quickly marched off.
---
Lounging on the top of the deck were all the creatures that didn't have to do anything at the moment- Swiss, Wemys, Limptail, Crowley, Curvetail, and the last two members of the crew, Rebule the ferret and Lersot the rat. All seven of them (well, six; Swiss didn't really notice anything at all) had been watching Jeld and Abren's conversation, although none of them could hear what exactly was being said. Then, Jeld had walked off in a hurry, going to his room to check up on Tadds and his supplies.
"Sumthin' got Jeld in a huff," Crowley pointed out astutely.
"Now, as the head odd jobber, that makes me in charge of all of you, right?" Swiss suddenly said, interrupting the conversation.
"Ya ain't in charge o' me," Curvetail murmured, "Now, shut yer trap, nobeast wants ta hear ya talk. Gaah, I wish I knew wot exactly a bosun does, then I could actually do sumthin' instead of talk ta yew morons. I'm gonna see what Conrad's doin', it's gotta be more interestin' than this."
As Curvetail left, Wemys continued the conversation. "So, does anybeast here actually trust Abren?"
"'Ey, don't get too close to the edge there!" shouted Limptail at two hedgehogs that had done just that. They backed away slowly.
"Eh, jus' leave 'em," muttered Crowley, "If they fall overboard, it's their own fault. An' no, I don't trust Abren. Jeld's a fool fer talkin' wit' him."
"Yeah, I always found it funny how he jus' showed up an' said he wanted to be our navigator," said Lersot, "An' Garland sed that Abren jus' snuck by 'em all stealthy-like. That's why he hit Abren wit' his spear, he thought we was gonna get attacked."
"I wonder why he wears all those big clothes," Rebule murmured.
"Ta hide all his weapons, o' course!" Lersot was quick to reply, "I betcha he has hundreds o' knives an' daggers stashed away somewheres! Just more of a reason not ta trust him."
"Bah, I don't see why we shouldn't trust him," Limptail spat, "He seems nice 'nough. An' he's helpin' us out a whole lot. Wot's the big problem?"
"The problem is that he seems fishy," Wemys replied, "He claimed that he was a corsair before, but he sure doesn't talk like one. He talks kinda fancy, even."
"There ain't no rule that pirates has ta talk like pirates," Limptail pointed out, "Maybe he was a smart pirate, which prob'ly is the case."
Further conversation ceased as the door to the captain's quarters was suddenly flung open and Conrad stepped out, now wearing a floppy pirate hat that didn't suit him very well. "Okay, this is far 'nough," he proclaimed, "Abren, go steer us towards shore, we're gonna drop off our passengers now."
---
The ship was stopped as close to shore as possible, and the old slaves were finally released, free at last. All of them except one, that is. Deep in a corner of the ship, hidden where no one would find him, was a young mouse that was bound, gagged, and unable to move.
Author's Note: Okay, any guesses as to who Abren REALLY is? I reveal it next chapter, so this is going to be your only chance to figure it out. Think about it: he's a weasel who knows about Ballantyne and Deathblaze. That kind of narrows it down...
Oh, and Awsomewriter, I actually made them seem nice on purpose, so I could juxtapose later on in the story. I'll point out what I mean when I get to it.