Welcome to the first chapter of the pirate years! ;) This chapter will also introduce Denmer, who I use a lot throughout this world, especially when the chapter is focused around Mindfang. And it's much longer than the last one too.
Note: While some chapters about Mindfang and Dualscar during their times as seafarers technically occur before the Signless' life, I'm still going to number them after the Signless' chapters because it makes more sense to me that way.
Word count: 3, 536
The Marquise leaned over one of the multiple tables set up on the deck of her ship, her cerulean eyes narrowed as she looked over the report her quartermaster had handed her. Because she had a tendency to covet power, her quartermaster served as more of a first mate than anything else, and was often referred to as such. She had ensured the loyalty of her crew and her position as the only leader a long time ago; anyone who tried to change that met a quick and brutal death. "Are you telling me," she asked drily, "that we should travel twenty miles off-course to steal a boat-load of paint?!"
Her quartermaster chuckled, by now immune to her sharp tongue. Only a shade lower on the hemospectrum than her, he was tall and fierce-looking, with long, hooked horns and wild, braided hair. Multiple gold bands sparkled on his right horn. "According to the intelligence report, they're worth a fortune."
The Marquise stared at him. "How did it say these paints were made?" she asked.
Her other officers were gathered around the table as well, and the master gunner read aloud, "'Made from assorted dyes. Naturally colored.'"
She nodded, the wind tossing her mane of dark hair over her shoulders. One of the passing slaves stopped briefly to stare, no doubt noticing the way her tight-fitting clothes clung to the curves of her body. If anybody noticed that she allowed the slave to stare, they didn't say anything. "'Naturally colored,'" she repeated, "Do any of you idiots have any idea what that means?"
The quartermaster asked bluntly, "Troll blood?"
She slapped the table with her hand. "Exactly. I refuse to have that on my ship."
"But it's worth a fortune!" protested the second mate, her eyes glittering as she looked at the numbers.
"And we don't have any means to preserve it until we find some city to sell it," she retorted, "Who the hell is going to buy dozens of barrels of troll blood?" Seeing the quartermaster opening his mouth, she added, "Denmer, don't you dare say another word."
The officers chuckled and Denmer hastily said, "You didn't even know what I was going to say!"
She shot him a deadly glare that would have made anybody else faint right on the spot. "I am never making any kind of deal with the Grand Highblood. We've talked about this. Unless you want to put it to a vote again?" she added sweetly.
He scowled. Although willing to take ridiculous chances, the gamblignants drew the line when it came to the subjugglators. The last time he'd suggested making a deal with the Grand Highblood, it had been nearly unanimously voted down.
"Besides," she snapped, "He only likes using blood as paint when he harvests the blood himself. Otherwise it's too boring for him."
"Alright," Denmer said with a sigh, "How about the jadebloods? They pay good money for blood."
The Marquise shot him a look. "Shut up, unless you want me to rip your think-pan out of your mouth."
He threw his hands in the air, and the second mate added absentmindedly, "Spinneret, we all know the jadebloods are rainbow drinkers."
The Marquise threw her dice across the table; on instinct, everybody else scrambled away. The dice came to a halt at the feet of the staring slave. With a pale face, the slave could only watch as the dice summoned up a fountain of acid and blasted the slave's feet. With a sigh, the Marquise gestured to the master carpenter to grab her dice for her as the injured slave bounded away, shrieking and trying to get the acid away. "We all know," she said firmly, "But I'm not having the rest of the crew find out."
Denmer shook his head, lips twisted wryly. "Come on, Marquise. Just a quick hit-and-run! We won't get caught, and we're heading towards the jadebloods' caves anyways!"
Pocketing her dice, the Marquise stood. "Fine," she conceded, "Denmer, go ahead and grab those two rustbloods we nabbed from the last raid — you know the ones — and use them to bring over the paint. It'll be heavy."
Her quartermaster frowned at her. "You're not coming?"
She glared at him. "You think I want to waste my time on something like that?" She stretched out her mind, briefly seizing control of the two rustblood slaves who had been captured from their last attack, having them find something to write with and something to write on. After informing them both that if they followed orders they'd be rewarded, she added that if they ran away, they'd be hunted down like the animals they were. Once she'd made her point clear, she released them and turned to Denmer. "I don't have any part in this," she said, "Grab a couple more people; you shouldn't need too many. If you get caught on such a stupid heist, then you better be dead when I find you." As dramatically as ever, she stood and stalked away, her dark hair rippling behind her.
Denmer grimaced. "You heard her," he told the other officers, "Let's hop to it."
It all started with the smell. Mindfang knew, reflexively, that she was dreaming, and so she didn't think much of it at first. Her dreamself went down to the hold, where her monstrous lusus guarded their loot and supplies. Unfortunately, that also meant it was nearly impossible to get things out of it when they wanted to. Mindfang knew there was no danger; she was only dreaming, after all.
Her lusus greeted her as warmly as ever, and she had to be quick on her feet to avoid her. Unfortunately, the dream started to flux, becoming steadily more dreamlike and abandoning all pretense of being the true world.
The ground began to tip and curve beneath her, making her trip and stumble. That horrible stench hit her full on, and she gagged, unable to pinpoint why she recognized it.
Suddenly, something in her mind clicked. The spider-lusus vanished, and the world fell still. Mindfang stood alone in the hold of her ship, listening to an eerie silence that should never exist out in the ocean.
Just as abruptly as it had been emptied, the hold suddenly filled with trolls. Not just any trolls, however. Dead trolls, with moon-pale eyes and festering wounds. The smell hit her again, and this time she recognized it.
The smell of corpses.
The trolls moved towards her in a single wave of blank eyes and limbs that trembled and fell apart with every movement. Scrambling backwards, Mindfang struggled not to scream or throw up. The stench was overwhelming, and her heart was beating so quickly that not breathing simply wasn't an option.
You're dreaming, she thought fiercely, closing her eyes and trying to destroy the lingering images of long-dead hands that reached hungrily for her, You're dreaming.
But that didn't stop the feeling that twisted in her stomach as the screaming corpses grabbed at her hair and pulled at her clothes. Thrashing, Mindfang twisted and fell onto the floor beside her bed, gasping for breath as sweat soaked her nightclothes.
For a second she lay there, trembling and fighting the urge to vomit. She hadn't had a nightmare she couldn't control in a very long time, and the aftereffects still lingered within her. The worst part, she thought, as she dragged herself back up and into her bed (the recuperacoons had all leaked recently; she'd have to remember to get new ones), was that she could still smell the horrible stench of rotting corpses.
The Marquise's cerulean eyes flew open wide and she staggered to her feet upon the realization that the smell hadn't just been in her dream. Frantically grabbing an overcoat and her favorite red boots, she raced from her cabin, retching drily as the stench hit her full on.
The smell clearly hadn't woken the rest of her crew, but where on Alternia could it possibly be coming from?! Nobody on her ship was stupid enough to kill somebody and leave the body to fester. As far as she knew, they normally tossed the bodies overboard in the hopes she wouldn't notice (she did). Bursting up onto the afterdeck, she spotted her first mate and snarled, "What is that stench?!"
Denmer whirled around and hissed, "Shhh! It's the middle of the night!"
Silently wishing she'd remembered to grab her dice, the Marquise snapped, "What the hell are you doing, Denmer?"
The blueblood troll grimaced at her. "We got the paint."
The wind shifted, blowing the smell towards the Marquise. She gagged and hastily decided that it would be better to be closer to the source of the smell, which was several barrels, than it would be to be downwind of it. The trolls she had sent with Denmer to steal the paint were sitting around him, all of them looking faintly queasy. The only two who appeared unaffected were the two rustblood slaves who had gone with them. "And what did you do, bring back a shitload of corpses?!" she demanded, struggling with the instinct to cover her mouth and nose. She swore upon inhaling another mouthful of the foul air, "Do you know what that's going to do to my lusus?!"
Denmer paled. "Doesn't she know that these aren't real corpses?"
That stopped her short and she blinked, momentarily confused. "What else could be making that smell?"
One of the sailors who had gone with Denmer muttered weakly, "We thought it was just the paints."
"Oh my god." The Marquise ran a hand through her mussed hair. The smell was making her sick. "Paints don't smell, you idiots!"
Denmer narrowed his eyes, examining his captain. It was clear that she was annoyed if not completely furious, but there was also a shadow behind her eyes. They must've caught her right after a nightmare. The first mate sighed and sat down, leaning against one of the barrels. There would be no reasoning with her in this state. "I would've opened it to see what it was, but I would rather not get a full whiff of this stuff, y'know?"
Her scowl deepened and she stalked forwards. "Why did you grab it if you weren't sure they were paints?" she hissed, eyes like twin flames.
Her gestured to a label on one of barrels. At first glance, it looked like a messy capital p or d. Upon closer examination, it didn't become any clearer. Raising her eyebrows, she asked, "And?"
Denmer shrugged loosely. "The other barrels were labeled with nothing but yellow and brown stickers. We assumed the p meant paint."
Mindfang buried her head in her hands, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, "Why do I have to be stuck with these idiots?"
Raising her head, she opened her mouth, no doubt to give them the worst verbal lashing they'd ever experienced. Just in time, something thumped against the side of the ship, sending it rocking in the water. Having been thrown off-balance, everybody struggled to get back on their feet, swear words of varying vulgarity flying through the air.
The Marquise whirled around towards the source, and spotted a large seahorse as it flew over the deck and stopped before her. She scowled at it, but didn't make a move to hurt it. Denmer finally caved in and wrapped a scarf around his mouth. The seahorse lusus handed her a slip of paper, and she read it quickly. Almost instantaneously, her scowl vanished, replaced with a smirk that revealed her fangs. She beckoned to one of the rustblood slaves. "Bring me something to write with," she ordered. As the slave scurried away, she added, "Something blue!"
When the slave returned, she scribbled something on the back of the paper and handed it back to the seahorse. "And for god's sake, don't hit the boat again." Turning away as the lusus vanished over the deck, she twitched two fingers at Denmer, beckoning him to get up. He did, reluctantly, because that smirk rarely meant everything good. "Tell the carpenters to prepare the catapults," she declared, "And put those barrels off to the side. I'm heading back to my cabin."
Looking at her warily, he asked, ". . . why?"
She tossed her hair over her shoulder and shot him a flippant look. "Dualscar's coming." With that, she turned and vanished below.
Denmer stood still, staring after her. Spending several moments doing nothing but swearing vehemently, he gestured at the watching sailors. "You heard the Marquise! Do what she said!" They laughed and ran off, leaving the two slaves lingering. He examined them. "Move the barrels there, and then head down to rest for an hour or so." As they, too, left, he ran his hands through his hair, mentally cringing. Nothing good ever happened when Dualscar visited. People died, the ship got damaged, and Mindfang got brazen and cocky for days afterwards.
The worst was when they decided to pail right there, in the middle of the deck. Shuddering, remembering the last time he'd had to clean that up, Denmer hurried off to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.
The carpenters spent more time trying to get their supplies past the spider lusus than they did actually setting up the catapults the Marquise had requested almost as soon as she'd been made captain, which had been designed to be dismantled and put together quickly and during emergencies. The Marquise was soon above deck, dressed in her normal clothes and bright red boots. As always, she moved throughout the crew as they worked, touching, speaking, flirting whenever necessary to keep their spirits up. For all that she pretended otherwise, she cared for them all and, though they pretended differently, they gave the utmost respect and loyalty to her.
The Marquise found Denmer with the navigator, both of them discussing the route they would take after Dualscar visited, taking into account the fact that they might need to stop to buy supplies for repairs. The conversation halted as she propped an elbow on Denmer's shoulder and examined the map they had spread over the barrel. "Hello, boys," she said mildly.
The navigator rolled his eyes. "What d'you need?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Nothing from you," she said crossly. Her cerulean eyes found Denmer again, and he interrupted whatever she'd been about to say, already irritated even though Dualscar's ship wasn't even visible yet.
"Spinneret, what the hell do you expect us to do with those corpse-barrels?"
She patted him lightly on the head, fingering one of his braids. "Did you check to see what they were?"
"No."
She nodded affirmatively and tugged one of the rings on his horns. He shot her a glare, and she grinned impishly. "Go do it, Denmer." He groaned and she added, "Don't worry. I have a plan to get rid of them."
Denmer shot her a suspicious look; he had no doubt that she was doing to catapult the corpse-barrels at Dualscar. What he didn't know what how she expected to get away before the Orphaner shot a hole in their hull.
Grumbling, he unceremoniously shoved her elbow off of him and walked slowly over to the corpse-barrels. The stench was, if anything, even worse than he remembered it. Tying a scarf around his nose and mouth, the gamblignant set to work. Once he managed to pry the tops of the barrels off, he found that the corpse-barrels were actually full of lumpy, vaguely oval objects that were roughly the size of his head. They were covered in sharp thorn-like protrusions, and the smell rose from their green-brown shells.
As soon as he could, Denmer replaced the lids, gagging and retching. They'd looked oddly like fruits, although he would never in a million sweeps taste them. Still shuddering, he ran off to find the Marquise. She was helping the carpenters, but she stopped when she saw him. "Well?"
"They're fruits of some sort," he replied, "With shells. Should shatter pretty nicely against Dualscar's deck."
She blinked up at him innocently. "Whatever do you mean, Denmer?" Rolling his eyes, he waved a hand at her.
Bidding the carpenters goodbye, the Marquise darted up into the crow's nest and perched there, eyes on the horizon, as she waited for her kismesis to come.
The tension in the air was nearly palpable as Dualscar's ship came in beside theirs, Mindfang standing near the gangplank, one foot out so as to make it impossible to lower it. It started just like normal. Dualscar stepped out, his cape flaring out dramatically in the wind. She caught sight of him and smirked. "Took you long enough, fishboy."
He glared at her, "Spiderbitch."
Denmer just thanked god that he didn't have his gun with him.
The Marquise snatched a handful of ropes and took a running leap, easily clearing the space between the two ships and joining Dualscar on his. While she diverted his focus by smiling and touching seductively, her crew began to move.
They loaded the strange fruit that had been inside the barrels into the catapults as quickly and silently as ghosts. The Marquise pressed her lips to her kismesis's neck, and he let out a strange sound, his large hands dropping to her waist. Her cerulean eyes flashed to her ship, checking her crew's progress. Denmer flashed her a thumbs up. She winked at him and drew away from Dualscar, turning so that his back was to the commotion on her ship, still smiling that infuriating grin of hers. Her cerulean eyes flashed warningly to his crew, daring them to warn their leader.
"I'd love to stay and chat—" she began.
"Who said you could leave?" Dualscar challenged, voice rough. He grabbed her arm and dragged her over, kissing her again. She hissed angrily, feeling his teeth biting into her lips. In a flash of movement, she twisted her arm away and stepped down on his foot — hard.
The seadweller didn't scream, unfortunately, but he did bite her tongue. Furious, she bit him back, struggling to untangle herself from his iron-like grip. But his arms — held firmly against her back — didn't move. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, the Marquise cursed her kismesis for being so much larger than her. The tangy taste of blood felt sticky in her mouth, and she hissed as well as she could, "If you don't let me go, I'm feeding your slaves to my lusus."
Dualscar didn't release her immediately, allowing his touch to linger, letting her know that he wasn't completely accepting defeat. She slapped his hands away and drew her sword. The blade flashed twice, cutting two shallow slits in his palm, before it vanished back into its sheath.
He glared at her and made to grab her again, but she danced out of his reach. "That was for touching me without permission."
Denmer tossed her a rope and she snatched it, swinging back to her ship. Several things happened at once.
Dualscar whirled around and saw the catapults; his violet eyes widened with horror as he realized he'd been tricked. The slaves and carpenters released the catapults, sending the corpse-fruits slamming into the hull and deck of Dualscar's ship. The anchor was pulled all the way up, and, by a stroke of luck, the wind picked up. The psionics on the crew — both slaves and freemen — added their power to the mix, using techniques stolen and modified from the airships, to make it go even faster.
Perched against the mast, one arm wrapped securely around the rope, the Marquise blew her kismesis a kiss. "Take care of those for me, will you?"
The wind shifted just slightly, throwing the full stench of the corpse-fruits into Dualscar's face. He reacted as if he'd been struck, staggering backwards and bringing a hand up to his mouth. His crew was in chaos, trying to raise the anchor and rushing around in a futile attempt to get rid of the corpse-fruits; they'd shattered across the deck, revealing the source of their smell to the open air. Orphaner Dualscar let out a roar of anger, shouting at one of his slaves to bring him his gun.
"Marquise!" Denmer called, voice warning.
The queen of the gamblignants snatched her dice and threw them to the wind. He didn't see what it landed as, but a huge cannon appeared out of thin air. It fired something large and hot, and soon Dualscar had more to worry about than a couple stinky fruits. Still grinning widely, the Marquise sarcastically saluted her kismesis as they sped away.
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