Beastly (16 page)

Poogs lifted his head, the last of a chuckle falling from his mouth. “It’ll be weeks before...” The pirate slumped back into his arm, seized by a laughing fit.

“Before what?”

“Before they realize those coins were false,” Poogs whispered with a wry grin. He pulled a coin from his purse, bent it between his teeth and flicked it away into the sea of people.

The Beast panned the room. “Won’t they come looking for you?”

Poogs sucked down a refreshing quaff. “How would they know? Besides, I’ll have reached fairer port by then.” Poogs finished his ale, wiping his mouth with an exaggerated flourish.

“And even if they did, I’d think of something. I always do.”

Pirate or not, Poogs played the part of host well. Every man present seemed to know him. A constant stream of faces dropped by their booth,
sharing sea stories and laughs at the other’s expense. A bevy of women did likewise, but the Beast averted his ears when they arrived. He was quite certain those tales were best left unheard. A pretty brunette fell into Poogs’s lap to the annoyance of a second lass who stormed away in a huff. Poogs shouted a few names into her wake. None were correct.

The pirate shrugged
his shoulders. “Oh well,” he sighed with a broad smile. And then buried his muzzle into the brunette’s neck.

Maybe it was
Poogs’s
infectious charm. Maybe it was Meridian’s twilight shine. But in the scant hours since his arrival the Beast had transformed from wraith to right hand man. He even managed to tell a joke of his own. Maybe he had been wrong about people. These folk seemed more than amiable once Poogs provided introduction. He finished his drink and set the empty stein down.

Then again maybe it was the ale.

A lumpy skulled man watched the reveling pair from the bar’s far end, salivating at the prospect of turning in his bounty. He lifted an arm from under a brown cloak, signaling to an unseen associate. Just a simple, unassuming rub of the right eye, code amongst his guild for ‘he’s here, with company’. Outside, Tavril nodded and silently flashed a signal of his own into the alley. He hopped down from the crate, cursing his dwarfish stature under his breath. He squinted at the shadows, searching for his men.
Men who were supposed to be watching for the signal. A moment later, the alley remained silent as an abandoned graveyard. Tavril sighed.

Idiots
.

He whistled through stubby fingers. A crash answered.
Then a curse. A slapping sound and then a second curse. A mumbled apology followed. Two men chased the racket out of the alley, one rubbing at a sore spot on his head.

“You two are
gonna
be the death of me. Of all the muscle the boss could have sent,” Tavril said, flaring his arms wide in mock embrace, “he gives me you.”

The men mounted a protest, but were immediately stifled by Tavril’s stubby fingers. If only the dwarf had come unaided. The job would have gone quick and clean, seen everyone paid and sent home. He regarded his associates. Both were twice his height and bulkier than a team of oxen.
They would have to do
.
What the boss says goes.

***

Hours later the pleasant throng spilled into the night, arms draped over shoulders, singing of mermaids. An inebriated Poogs had babbled the night away with fantastic tales of forgotten temples and heart stalling escapes, each tale more outlandish than the last. As an orator, Poogs had no equal. The Beast cocked his head to the side, finding it sloshed with every subtle move. Keeping up with
Poogs’s autobiography had fast become a herculean undertaking. His snout tingled, his tongue felt too wide and he was quite certain that a cloud had leaked into his skull. The room lurched to the opposite tilt.

“...and that, my
friend, is how I came to captain the Reaper’s Song.”

Poogs’s lips were moving. But his words were distorted echoes. The Beast tossed his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs.

“...changed my name when I left...”

Poogs’s garbled stories overlapped into one sordid diatribe. The Beast wavered in his seat, trying to manage the litany of details.

“Enough about me,” Poogs said, “What glorious tales of adventure has the fabled Beast of Briarburn brought to my humble table?” Poogs had matched the Beast drink for foolish drink all night, showing no signs of slowing.

A pirate’s life...

“I have no glory to share. There is not a single moment I wish to relive.” The Beast’s tone hardened. “You said you knew where I could find the Wakeful filth. Do you?”

“In good time, my savage friend, in good time. Malachai is indeed in Meridian. But one does not simply demand an audience with the good captain. Tell me of your past, surely there is something more than the desire to feel the sting of Wakeful steel.”

The Beast fumbled under his cloak, snagging the medallion after a few errant gropes. He pulled the chain taut, yanking his head forward.

“This is the only tale worth telling, pirate,” the Beast slurred, “and I haven’t a clue what it is. The amulet drew an intrigued look from Poogs
whose hand slowly reached out. The Beast, suddenly sober, snarled and jerked the medallion away.

“That’s close enough,” the Beast rumbled, “any closer and you will not get it back.”

Poogs fell back in a drunken slump, sulking like a disappointed child. “Oh, I was only after a look-see.”

The Beast tucked the medallion away and swiped up the last of his tepid ale. Poogs grinned. “Was it a gift?
From a fair lady-friend perhaps?” The Beast shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to discuss the details of the medallion. Instead, he spoke briefly of life on the Great Road. Something about Poogs labelled the pirate trustworthy. He recognized a shadow of sorrow behind the charismatic glint in his eye. Something he had lost, perhaps.
Or something taken.

Poogs pointed at the firestone. “I have heard of such stones.” He leaned over the table, shielding his mouth from eavesdroppers. “Your medallion is of the
Aether, crafted of the stars themselves.”

The Beast lunged, grabbing a fistful of
Poogs’s shirt, lifting the pirate from his seat. “Have you seen this stone before? I must know.”

A lingering crew of rough looking longshoremen abandoned their drinks and cast Poogs a sympathetic glance. None were interested in being caught up in the scuffle despite his exuberant hospitality. Only Tavril’s lumpy skulled associate remained at the bar.
Janten hadn’t even flinched when the Beast’s roaring interrogation had begun. His orders were clear: take Poogs by any means necessary.

Poogs felt the warmth of the Beast’s ale laced breath on his face. Glowering amber orbs stared back at him over a pair of ivory white fangs. For the first time since their meeting, Poogs panicked. He knew struggling was out of the question. The Beast could likely crush his skull with a thought. He had to keep him talking. Poogs raised his hands in mock surrender, willing his grin to re-appear.

“If you’d kindly put me down...”

The Beast pulled Poogs in closer till they were nose to snout, close enough for Poogs to be brushed by coarse fur.
A warning.
The Beast released Poogs who immediately set about repairing his disheveled appearance. The Beast towered over the preening pirate, awaiting his answer. He growled a guttural rumble. Poogs shot the Beast an annoyed expression.

“Well
it’s
your fault I look of riffraff! Would you have me cowering in such disarray? What if, oh, what’s her name with the mole were to come back?
Hmm? What then?” The pirate finished his tirade and seated himself gently, like a Lord holding court. “Now, if you would be so kind as to join me in a more civilized fashion.”

Poogs
rambled a lengthy prologue to the medallion’s origins, but the Beast only heard a portion of it. He had finally noticed the Rusty Rudder’s lone remaining patron. The lumpy skulled man sat motionless like he was part of the decor. The Beast’s suspicion was tripped, but he was inclined to give the man a pass.
Probably a regular, allowed to stay on late
, he thought. Poogs’s voice melted into babble. The Beast tapped a claw on the table, impatience preparing its coup. Poogs was arriving at some semblance of point when Janten finally stirred at the bar.

Janten flashed two fingers up and across his throat. At first the Beast thought it an itch being scratched, but a second gesture caught his attention. He recognized the combination for what they were: signals. A silent code used throughout the criminal underworld of thieves guilds. Code for ‘take them both’. The Beast quickly scanned the bar room without moving his head, checking reflections in windows and hanging coats of arms. He had to maintain a pretense of oblivion, but the situation was plain.

Malachai had set a trap...

Chapter 19

The Beast exploded from his seat. He grabbed Poogs around the waist and hurled a stool at Janten, then barreled through a maze of tables. Janten dove from his seat, dodging the missile by inches. The bar-keep ducked behind the bar, covering against the storm of flying furniture. The Rusty Rudder’s doors exploded open and the Beast darted off into the night.

The Beast sprinted down Meridian’s main street, knocking aside a group of sailors. The men cursed as they picked themselves up, but quickly thought better of pushing the issue. A confused Poogs jostled atop the Beast’s shoulder, cloak flapping at his face. As the world bounced, he caught a glimpse of the familiar dwarfish features of an old colleague. It appeared the guild had caught up to him. He would have to move on once more.

After he collected his bounty.
..

“Faster! Run faster!” Poogs yelled to his improvised mount. “At the fountain turn left and then immediately right into the alley.”

The Beast grunted acknowledgment, lowered his shoulder and bolted on. The shallow fountain grew larger with each stride. A life-sized brass statue of a woman poured water back into the pool. The Beast rushed
past, cutting left at the intersection, earning a sharp slap on the back as he blew by the next turn.

“No, no! Go back, go back!”

The Beast twisted at the waist, skidding to halt. Poogs flew from his perch, innate athleticism flashing to life. He landed on a shoulder, tucked his limbs and rolled. He sprang up from the tumble like a lithe acrobat bored of a rusty routine. Poogs brushed his coat clean and then raced for the missed turn.
“This way. Come quickly!”

The Beast hesitated. How much better than a few drinks did he know the pirate? The side street Poogs indicated disappeared into a nest of tightly knit buildings that blocked the moonlight.

Poogs gestured for the Beast to hurry. “Come on then! Those fools will be along any minute.” The pirate’s concern appeared to be rooted in the genuine. He hadn’t resisted when he was snatched up and kidnapped and he knew more of the
medallion, that much was clear. The Beast hurried to weigh the facts against the dangers.

“Silence your braying nag,” the Beast grumbled. He ducked into the side street, catching up to Poogs in a half dozen strides.

The pirate navigated the twisting streets of the merchant’s enclave, periodically turning back, checking for signs of Tavril’s men. He pulled up in front of a nondescript shop bearing no signage. Its windows were dark and yellowed by a layer of grime. The Beast snorted. “I don’t think they’re open.”

Poogs produced a key from a coat pocket, brandishing it in a column of pale moon. He inserted it, turning a half-twist before abruptly stopping. His eyes glinted, privy to a private humor.

“You might not want to stand there.”

The Beast shrugged and trundled a few steps back. Poogs turned the key home. A sharp click was followed by the thud of a falling counterweight. A square of road, wide as the door frame, dropped away into blackness.

A trap door, hidden in plain sight.
..

Poogs chuckled at the clever security system. He invited the Beast to peer over the side. The Beast declined with a shake of his horned head.

“Suit yourself. In that case, welcome to my humble workshop.” The pirate nudged the door open, ushered the Beast inside,
then reset the trap.

The Beast spit shined a peephole on the grimy window and peered outside. The trap’s outline was gone, vanished into the street. The workshop was dark save for a few sickly traces of moonlight penetrating the windows’ filth.
Acrid fumes from the forge were tinged with hints of alien scents the Beast could not identify. Rows of crude shelving filled with chipped beakers and other equipment were stationed around the open floor. The Beast nodded at the general disarray. “Too busy to tidy up for company?”

Poogs answered from behind a wall of shadow. “Company is typically reserved for my ship. The Reaper’s Song is much more accommodating.”

Ceiling chains dangled broad canvases, obscuring several large structures on the workshop’s floor. The Beast counted a dozen rust-stained coverings. Some were spotted with
mold,
others bore the singe of forge work. The unseen mysteries lurking beneath poked at their shrouds. A draft gently rippled the canvases, giving them the illusion of ghosts at play. Poogs confidently wove through the junk laden shelves, boots crunching on layers of saw dust and discarded parchment. The sounds of burrowing rustled through the silent workshop. The pirate grunted then cursed in the dark, kicking at something. “Damned contraption is stuck.”

A moment later, grinding gear works clanked to life. Wall mounted metallic rings of a varying sizes flooded the workshop with a sterile white glow. Enormous sprawls of hand drawn sketches and architectural schematics filled the spaces between the rings. The three largest rings, a man’s arm length in diameter, were mounted onto wheeled bases.