Chapter 32: Afterparty

“Only one thing is sacred in the Free Cities. Revelry.”

-Paladin Sarcho Valento, 184 U.E.

Dryden was in exceedingly good spirits, even after his loss. He insisted that the Wenezian Crew stay behind for a proper feast. As night fell over Last Leg, fires sprung to life along the shore. Stephan was helping the Barandi Crew roast a whole pig on a spit. He provided spice and garnish, gesturing angrily whenever the pirates ignored his advice.

The opposing crew seemed to have taken their captain’s failure in stride as well. Dancing, laughing, drinking amicably. The only exception was the first mate, Izja, who glared daggers at Torch whenever she got the chance. She pointedly ignored Kazzul, who was trying his very best to woo her.

Dryden presented Quintilla with the four map pieces, announcing it in front of both crews. When he handed them over, he did so with a smile and a hearty handshake, which Quintilla hesitantly returned. Both crews cheered.

Torch wasn’t able to enjoy much of the get-together. He could barely move at all. He sat on a box in the sand, far from the fires, listening to the sea lap against the shore. The pain in his arms, head, and torso ensured that he couldn’t get comfortable. Stephan had patched up the worst of the injuries, but he was no doctor, and certainly no miracle-worker.

He was happy despite it all. Shut his eyes, felt the salty breeze on his face, and sighed.

“Some day, huh?” he said to himself.

Pinprick stars twinkled just for him. A crescent moon reflected in the dark sea.

Footsteps in the sand made him turn around. Dryden walked towards him, carrying an empty box. He plopped down next to Torch, wheezing through bloodied nostrils, and looked out over the horizon.

One of his ears had burnt down to a nub, and the skin of his bare chest was slick like melted wax, large water blisters forming.

“You know, I was angry,” Dryden said. “I came here to duel Wenezian. Heard loads about her. Didn’t expect much from a runt like you.” He looked up, fixed Torch with dark eyes, and smiled. “I’m happy it turned out like it did. One of the best duels I ever fought.”

“You saying you had better?” Torch asked, grinning.

Dryden chuckled. “Don’t get a big head, now. I fought a captain once. This was years ago, mind. His name was… Great Worms, what was his name? Tormond! Captain Tormond. Fists only. He fought like a bear, that one. We went on for hours. Sun was going up when we started, and we were still slugging each other by the time it was going down.

“Finally I struck the blow that did it. Right across the temple, like so.” He put his knuckles against the side of Torch’s head. “Man fell down, never got back up. I think I rattled his brain too hard.”

“I suppose it’s what we live for, men like us,” Torch said.

“That’s the honest truth. Nothing purer than challenging your fellow man and seeing who measures up. You get that.”

“If you came here for a quick snog in the sand, I have to tell you, I’m not interested in that sort of thing.”

Dryden laughed. “No, gods. No offense, but you’re ugly as sin.”

Torch looked the captain up and down. “I think you might beat me on that front.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Dryden itched his nose. “Right you are. Regardless, I’m here to discuss something else. I want you to join my crew. Could use a mad fucker like you. I pay better than Wenezian, I’ll tell you that. You’d see more action, too.”

Torch didn’t need to think about it. “No thank you,” he said. “This mad fucker isn’t looking to trade up.”

Dryden drew his brows together in puzzlement. “Why? You know Wenezian’s little treasure hunt isn’t going anywhere, don’t you? Why do you think I gave up those pieces so easy?”

“You call that easy?”

The captain shrugged.

“It’s not about the treasure,” Torch said, “it’s about the crew.” He glanced up the beach. Towards Stephan lecturing the pirates on their cooking, Kazzul sprawled out next to the first mate, Yin riding on Taira’s shoulders, the two kithraxi licking the last drops out of a vodka bottle, Kurko being doted on by a pair of cooing female pirates, and Quintilla outpacing the whole Barandi Crew in drinking.

“I never thought I’d find another family. But that word applies to them.”

Dryden was quiet for a long while. “Soft words,” he finally said. “Hadn’t expected that from you.”

“I guess I’m unpredictable like that.”

“That you are, little man.”

The captain got up and left him to his devices. Torch looked out over the sea, and he smiled, at peace.

No screams haunted him that night.

*****

Stephan worked on Torch in the cargo hold, a plastic sheet laid out beneath them to catch the blood.

His belly was still full from the previous night, a pleasant taste on his tongue. They had left Last Leg early in the morning, setting a course back to Tumba. Four pieces richer, and not a standard lighter. He had never seen Quintilla so ecstatic.

Torch had his back to him, a bloody gash in his shoulder where the axe had caught him. Two med-patches had taken care of the splintered bones, mostly, but there were still a few shards that had needed to be extracted.

Stephan had never done any surgery before, but Torch was a stellar patient. A few licks of Rainbow and he couldn’t feel a thing while Stephan rooted around in his flesh. He cleaned out the bone shards with forceps, and all that was left was to stitch up the skin.

Stephan wiped down the area with a clean towel and put the needle through the skin, settling into a repetitive motion as he pulled the sagging bits of flesh together.

“So, Torch,” Stephan said, figuring he might as well say something to pass the time. “I realize we don’t actually know much about each other. I don’t even know your real name. I’m assuming your mother didn’t name you Torch.”

Torch said nothing.

Stephan pulled another stitch taut. “You’re Concordian, but you don’t like the Concord much. Something must have happened.”

“Something,” Torch said with a snort. “It was something, alright.”

“Want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

“You’re a decent cook. Pretty much crap at everything else.”

“Ouch. That stings.”

Torch giggled. “I was a soldier, back then. Walked where they told me, shat where they told me, shot who they told me. It was easy. Easiest my life has ever been. It doesn’t feel like me, remembering it. Feels like someone else.”

“What happened?” Stephan asked.

Torch screwed his eyes shut. His breathing quickened, and Stephan stopped needling.

“The battle. The last one. Everyone died. Everyone I knew and trusted. They were supposed to die, you see. That’s what was expected. But I survived. Couldn’t fit in after that, because I was supposed to be dead. The one fool who got buried alive.”

Torch chuckled to himself. Stephan’s mouth went sour. He struggled to make sense of what the man had told him.

He stitched up the rest of the wound. Passably well, he thought. Torch didn’t say anything else, and Stephan didn’t push.

Torch wasn’t just born crazy, Stephan thought. Someone cracked him open like an egg and scrambled the insides.

He cleaned the wound site and got up to leave when Torch spoke.

“Don’t you ever betray the crew,” he said, staring bug-eyed into the floor. “If you do, I’ll make sure you get worse than Dryden.”

Stephan swallowed hard. “I won’t.”

END OF 'WESTWARD' ARC