Ch: 137 A Jug Of Punch
They took most of the day sailing and riding the canals to reach the edge of the mangrove swamp, where the shallow sea stretched off forever.
The shore road laid back some fifty yards from the waterside, seventy five, from water deep enough for Seahorse to sail without fear of grounding.
Woolcrabs roamed all around placidly feeding with their absurdly tiny and numerous claws. Each beast’s ‘face’ was a symmetrical rosette of folding and unfolding pincers on long, skinny arms with way too many joints.
Shepherds… Crabherds? Whatever, kids watched over the creatures, guiding them here and there by clacking two sticks together noisily, driving the things too and fro.
Watching the tranquil creatures feed was hypnotic, and slightly horrifying. They would flick their multitude of reachers and grabbers in rhythmic waves, scouring the stones of detritus and small invertebrates.
“Weird…” Gary muttered, as they set up camp on a sandy spit of low dunes. He and the gang watched the sun go down over the shallow sea, from the sandy bank below the outer wall. They were sprawled out to soak up the last warm rays, before the mist could rise.
“It’s crazy that there’s no waves…” He whispered into Shai’s ear, where she was laying, her arm flung across his chest.
The last rays died slowly, diffused into a pink and red glow by the rising mist, the tranquil mood lasted for a few minutes.
“Reegee my friend!” Reegil announced from the water’s edge.
“My friends in Mudwallow village are very pleased, your payment will be coming by trade boat next week. The girl with the dolphin will bring it to you.” He stood a ways off and had a vigorous shake and roll in the sand to dry off.
“Is this bog wraith a problem for you too?” Gary wondered aloud, feeling happy, warm, dazed and comfy, despite his surprise visitor.
“No, we avoid human roads at all times and simply avoid this thing wherever it floats, in this place, waterways are better than dryland roads.” He chirped with self satisfaction while having a groom at his whiskers. That veteran human male… Khan, was setting the bar high.
#
With the fog in place and the house lights up, the kids went to play with Annie in the warm and comfy stable. The grownups tried to prepare themselves for yet another undead experience.
“It’s apparently been floating around the bogs for years, when it shows up, people just avoid the area. Usually a bog wraith has a… duration. Mindless nibblers and simple decomposers are not frightened of ghosts, so these things can take care of themselves in wet regions.”
“That’s… I don’t wanna say ‘lazy’ and ‘disrespectful’ or anything…” The musician used fingee quotes to try and take the sting out, but Khan huffed anyway.
“Not everyone has the affinities and gifts needed to contest with the undead.” The lancer grumbled at his weird duckling. “Those few who do possess them are more valuable elsewhere, in more important tasks than laying shades and performing funeral rites in the wilderness.”
Luna joined the assault, with her two bits. “Aura and sound based wardings are difficult for most people to approach, never mind breech.” She chided him gently. “Remember your fig tree? Still, duke Rummel’s troops could not get close to the tree and ruin.”
“It guards lord Figaro’s empty grave yet.” The tall, quiet Order knight whispered reverently.
“Anyway, leaving corpses to rot is not exactly…” He pulled an unpleasant face at them. “...and the poor soul trapped there and just lingering. Bogus.” The musician complained. “Poor spiritual and physical hygiene, if you ask me.”
“When we wish to ask a human witch to lay their dead, it is always troublesome. You have so few and they are always such obnoxious shits. Why is that, Reegee?”
“Bro, you need to stuff that ‘Reegee’ business, Reegil. We aren’t tight like that. So, you just came by to visit?” He asked mildly, with Shai’s hair spilled across his lap on the rug by the fire.
“My sept dwells among these ottergroves. Your boat is a very loud… and I must say, obnoxious noise.” He flapped his nose open and shut a few times in annoyance and chuffed through his teeth.
“I told my kin I would come and chase you off. They do not understand. We have shared fish, we are kin now, after the ways of my people. Streeka told you this… you shared fish with her as well. Few humans are so welcoming.”
“Great… feels like there’s some cultural context missing, but sure. My boat is too loud you say… I’ll talk to my guy, he’ll probably use big words like ‘vortex’ and ‘cavitation’, it’s really impressive… then Tallum and I’ll just screw around until we, or rather, he… finds an answer that works.”
#
Tallum did have some great ideas, his creativity kept bringing surprises. His singing mace Idea for Ivy had led directly to Gary’s musical baton. Now the enchantments he used to impel the tuned rings and chimes of his weapon were showing promise in other directions.
“What matters it, whether the propeller moves or not? As long as the water is pushed from the front of the boat, to the back…” The big man muttered during their early morning secret coffee meeting. The coffee was secret, not the meeting. Ivy was convinced that only the first pot of java brewed in the house was any good, everything after that was trash.
Ivy also believed in waking as late as possible when she didn’t have breakfast duty; hence, secret coffee.
“So a fixed impeller ring… I wonder…” Gary muttered softly. “I should have Dante show me how his gift works… He uses his mana and Will to shift the water, but I don’t understand the mechanism.”
#
At second bell they rode out, up the coast road towards Port Clement. After an hour’s pleasant journey, they started feeling a weird and eerie sensation that their presence was unwelcome, accompanied by a soft, distant wail.
“We passed a nice open spot just back there. Let’s post up here. Who wants to come and help me put this ghost to bed?” Gary chimed happily, seeming unaffected by the unearthly wailing. His kids also seemed unimpressed.
#
“My liege, we have new reports from Port Clement… Our agent got a peek at a secret communique between Rummel and Belen, it was a painting of the one you have been asking about…”
Hassan seemed strangely reticent, despite the good news. “Our agent made a tracing of the work, but I am not certain…”
“Show me man, I’m fumbling around in the dark, at least put a face to this… ‘Garyward’ orphan.” Abed grumbled. “Kline left more questions than answers, with his nonsense.”
“This is only a tracing my lord, done in haste and secrecy, you agent risked much to gain access to the information…”
Hassan took a large sheet of thin vellum from a scroll tube and carefully unrolled it, placing weights at the corners of the thin curling document.
They stood in contemplation of the thing for a few moments, in silence.
“Am I being mocked?” Abed asked gently. “Not by yourself, nor by my agents… This feels like a jest, a gag. Like Belen, or some japing fool from Port Ellis is having a bit of fun at my expense.
A tall, fit young man with brown hair and eyes, but otherwise unremarkable features appeared to be in some distress, on the crinkly sheet of thin paper stretched across his desk. He was dangling by his feet over the maw of some kind of carnivorous tree monster, about to be consumed entirely, while pleading for aid.
The tone of the work was purely comic, the man was dressed in the most unlikely, impractical and ludicrously feminine armor the duke had ever seen, even in his naughty woodcuts. The man’s bodice and breast guard gaped emptily, while his frilly skirts obscured most of his face, as they were dangling as well.
He struggled and flailed, attempting to cover himself with those traitorous garments. Despite that, his adorable and very brief panties were on display, even down to the sweet little ribbon bow at the front.
“Our agent reports the full work is… ‘delightfully naughty and filled with life, action and color, a work of whimsical genius in oil and brush.’... my lord.” Hassan said grimly.
“This… work is clearly unserious, no doubt some farcical correspondence intended to amuse. As my lord noted, Port Ellis is known for such foolishness.”
“Excellent pantsu work, I would like to get to know the artist. The bulge is always challenging when drawing femboys.” He muttered while contemplating the sketch.
“This is, of course, worthless. The face is obscured, it could be any one of a thousand young men in any city.” He eyed his cousin critically for a long moment.
“This could be you, a few years and pounds ago, Hassan. You should join me in my training sessions, cultivation is a journey, not a destination.”
#
Julius unrolled the canvas and set the parchment inner scroll aside, it was perfect. The golden light of a late afternoon shone down on a haunted fig tree, equally golden in its own right.
Rich hues of green, brown and dark black shadows lent weight and immediacy to the work, while the darling, pale dusty blue panties barely guarding his new friend’s modesty were hilarious.
“Have this suitably framed and hang it in an appropriate location, Philip, I will be procuring the entire series.” Julius leaned back in his new, plush chair and plopped his slippered feet onto the desk with a smile.
“Tacked to a discarded window shutter and nailed up to plug a roof leak in the gardener’s privy, my lord?” He asked mildly, with a bit of the sass he had when they were children.
“Why is my garden privy leaking? Keep up this attitude and I will have this hung in your chambers.” The young duke paged through a few reports idly, peering over the sheets at his closest confidante.
“Check on my orphanage Phillip, I want to see things put right and for pity’s sake, smile once in a while, it really doesn’t hurt…” He shot Emma a wink as she placed the tea service on the sideboard and began pouring for the two lords.
Her radiant smile warmed the entire room, somehow. “That will be all for today Emma, take that young cook of yours… Ken, for a walk in the sunshine.”
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“As my lord commands.” She made an elegant courtesy and then spun too quickly by far, before skipping out the door and down the hall, whistling a slightly familiar tune.
“The ‘Cuckoo's Nest’, again…” Philip sighed. “I’d think that week was a strange fever dream, were my tenders not so damnably comfortable. The slipper technology alone is worth the madness and terror those fools bring.”
“You were singing a different tune, when Siraz’s refugees came trooping up the coast road. Now we need as many hands as can be put to work. The conservatives are all too busy jockeying for lordship over these forgotten domains to mind a few little reforms... “ He grinned wickedly.
“And I have a wedding to attend in a few weeks. I have never been on a state visit before… Well, not as lord in my own right. This should be exciting.”
“Your travel preparations are underway, there is a complication on the coast road to the south, in the mangrove forests. Some boggart or spook is disrupting traffic. I have dispatched a mercenary team to attend to it.”
“Someone good, I hope… I set our young friends from Wheatford on that before parting ways with them.” Julius noted, with deep interest.
“It seemed a trifling matter, I sent ‘The Fist’, mercenaries of War. They have a reputation for direct action and thoroughness. A blunt instrument, if you will.” The older man stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps I have erred there…”
“I’m sure it will be fine. Trade season is just starting and already things are… chaotic and highly profitable. I wish this trend to continue unabated.” He shot a highly significant look at his shelf of ledgers.
“Ease Way Village and the nearby hamlets have been surprisingly productive. Some new commodity has been trading very actively, ‘skeetersacks’? It matters not, reforms are costly, Philip… Keep those roads open, squeeze some coins from our local traders and merchant guilds.”
“Very good Julius. The Patissier’s guild seems to be suffering some severe downturn, sadly that steady revenue stream is fading quickly. My own investments with them have been a complete disaster lately.” He grumbled.
“Youv’e tasted the Sweet Tooth Guild’s chocolate. The Patissiers need to compete or sell, before duke Belen rules on their idiotic case. You were wise to refer them to another court, now they are the architects of their own downfall.” Julius buttered a biscuit with sublime joy on his face.
“Keep trade flowing and don’t let uncle Reginald borrow any of my erotica while I’m away. Is there anything new?”
“The pornography boat has been very active, but the smut supplies have been scant, your grace.” Philip said very coldly, with a twinkle in his eye and a hint of a sneaky smile.
“The woman seems to have shifted the focus of her trade. Shall I inquire in shadowy alleys or perhaps commission a set of etchings from some depraved artisan?”
“Go home to your wife, Philip… Were I as fortunate as you, perhaps I would not enjoy ‘porno’ so much. I am under constant assault, lately.” He sighed gustily, with crumbs scattered across the ducal lips.
“We have been deluged with marriage offers since I took the seat, now that I have all these untended lands… A break and a journey are just the thing!”
#
“Gods damn it Herve, I can’t break the thing, that glass Must be half a foot thick! I’m an archer, not a siege engine!” Linus rattled his nearly empty quiver at his team leader. “I can’t pull arrows from the air, brother, if I could, I still couldn’t break it.”
A hundred yards off, nestled in the roots of a huge mangrove tree and mostly submerged, their prey waited, still emitting that horrifying keening wail. Broken arrows littered the water all around, slowly drifting on the feeble tides.
Its horrible face, distended in an endless scream peered out through a thick, surprisingly clear glass cylinder. The corpse of a man, with his throat slashed thrice and arcane obscenities scrawled on his torso, floated in the tight confines. Suspended in some clear liquid under a chunky glass stopper, sealed with bronze that dripped down like melted wax; it was a very disconcerting sight.
“Ideas?” Herve asked, eyeing his five comrades.
“Anybody know how to build a trebuchet?” Kent asked, hopefully. That went nowhere fast. They spent a few uncomfortable and spine chilling minutes discussing the problem.
“Back to Port Clement, then we draw something from the armory for this… mess.”
While they discussed matters, from the other side of the wide, shallow bay, there was movement. A small troop on a funny little boat, sailed directly into their operation.
Herve raised his horn and gave a long warning blast at the tiny boat, which changed course and sailed over to their side of the bay at a rapid pace.
The boat was even more bizarre upclose, with its bold, equine figurehead and strange lines. They dropped a plank, quickly tied up to a convenient mangrove and formed up ashore.
A young man in extraordinary puma armor spoke first, crisply and very professionally. “This is an Adventure Guild operation, duly contracted. We are a detachment from Ginger Dreadnought, out of Wheatford.”
“The Fist, mercenaries of War… we have also been contracted for this… though it seems…” Herve grumbled sourly. “Guild law allows us a number of ways to resolve our contractual conflict… do you have an answer for that thing?”
The compact warrior glanced at a red armored figure, hovering at the back of their very competent looking, if young group. The man shrugged. “This thing is messed up, seriously. You should all go back to camp and let me talk to him privately… I need to think about this one.”
“No chance Gary. Shai would slice me up for sandwiches if I left you here with that.” He turned to the War troopers with a sigh. “Is this your entire contingent?”
Herve nodded crisply, pointing his thumb to their modest camp, back among the hemlocks and alders. “We came afoot, horses can’t abide these things. Will you be joining our camp? It’s a little close, but not too soggy.”
“I was going to suggest you return to ours, a mile down the road. Since you have no mounts, let us help you break camp, our expert suggests this will take at least a little time.”
He removed his menpo and helm, hanging them from a belt hook with a smile, despite the horrid noise continuing from behind them.
“Liam Kinnis, Adventurer apprentice, these are Tallum, journeyman smith and apprentice Adventurer, Ivy, journeyman mage and apprentice Adventurer. Finally, we have Gary and sergeant Becky, apprentice Adventurers as well.” He nodded happily and held out his hand to his counterpart.
“All apprentices…?” He muttered in confusion. “You are all… what are you doing wandering these marshes alone kids?” He demanded quietly.
“Are you runaways? This won’t work, no one will believe you are really a chartered Adventure party… we will clean this up and bring you back to Wheatford, if that is really your home.”
“We are what we say we are, brothers and sisters. Ginger Dreadnought, chartered Adventurers based out of Wheatford’s orphanage. Our activities are well within both law and tradition.” He said coolly, still offering his hand.
The slightly older man took it, and shook. “We will accept your invitation, if just for a boat ride and to collect the rest of your band.” He eyed Becky up and down all four feet, two of her with deep suspicion.
“Even the Adventure Guild can’t allow children on the front lines, what is your indenture holder thinking?”
“We are not yet indentured… Brother.” Liam put a little crisp attitude on the end of that, to make his point.
“Forgive me brother Liam, I am sergeant Herve, leader of the Fist, my comrades are Linus, Kent, Bronwynn, Pri’ann and Finn. Journeyman all, out of Port Sunderland.
In the uniform red hardened leather of War cutists, they presented a very martial and professional demeanor. Despite shifting nervously as the sorrowful noise behind them slowly rose and fell.
“Gary, help them pack up, please supervise him, sergeant Becky, you know how he gets.” Liam ordered crisply. “Ivy, Tallum, on me, let’s get a closer look while they work.”
The giant smith and tiny mage joined their leader on the road and strolled closer to the terrible reliquary. They stopped a dozen yards away, appraising the thing without showing any distress from its awful wail and ghastly aura of despair and horror.
The Fist watched in curiosity and some discomfort, as the kids walked through that miasma of death and sorrow, chatting calmly among themselves…
“Oh yeah, that’s our cult alright.” Ivy said quietly. “Don’t leave him unattended near this thing, maybe we should move closer… or farther away.”
The kids came trotting back, still unaffected by its terrifying moan and wide staring eyes.
“All done here gang!” Becky called from the campsite under the trees, as she and the big red armored man emerged from the shadows. “You guys pack light!” She swatted her companion on the rump cheerfully.
“Everybody, on the boat, we need to get back and plan… yes, you too Gary. We all have to follow orders, brother.” Liam called, as the tiny girl dragged her big subordinate aboard the boat.
They freed the vessel and pulled in the gangway in quick order, once everyone was seated. Without fanfare, the sturdy little boat started moving smoothly along.
“If I’d gotten closer to it maybe…” The lobster complained softly. “I could almost make out his lyrics.”
“Nope, this was exploratory only, Shai’s orders. You know how you get around things like this.” The tiny, dark girl muttered. “Even you have to admit, that thing is awful.”
“Awful? Certainly, but the crafting of it… there are clues there, someone was plotting something and I wanna know what, before the rest start popping up.” He grumbled.
“The rest?” Kurt interrupted, from the bench in front of the pair. “You think there are more?”
“I guarantee it, at least a few. Probably an uncomfortably large number… somewhere. Did you see those bronze knobs sticking out from the seal?” He said just a little louder, addressing the entire boat. “Connectors, conduits, this thing is a part of something bigger and more complex.”
Liam and his small crew nodded grimly. “What class is your contract, sergeant Herve?” The leader asked.
“Class C, low threat monster, interference with commerce and trade.” He leaned back, enjoying the boat ride with these strangely steady kids.
“Sorry, ours is a ducal signet, special instructions, confidential. We have clear priority… we can buy you out at face value if you wish.” Liam sounded apologetic, and just a little pleased with himself as he related the news to the reclining veteran.
“Kid, now I know you are fucking with me, Phillip Rummel is as stingy and tight with a coin as any three normal bureaucrats, he’d never give a pack of greenies a blank ticket.” He grinned like a man who had everything under control.
“I also know that nobody sees the duke of Port Clement. They keep that guy bottled up like our friend back there.” His kind, patronizing smile swept over the whole boat.
“I hear Wheatford is pretty nice, for a backwater… they shouldn’t be too tough on you when we drag you home.”
“I expect we will be headed home after we wrap up this job, or at least this little part of whatever is going on.” Becky said from the steering bench. The man, now dressed in common clothes somehow, was sitting at her feet leaning back on her knees, looking frustrated and cranky.
#
They tied up to a dock attached to a very nice inn, that the veteran band had never seen before, on several trips down this very road.
“Welcome to our home, please follow me to the baths, we will be having lunch soon. Our supervising elders will be along shortly, once we have been debriefed.”
The garden and outdoor baths should soften them up for the repeated shocks they were in for, or so Liam hoped.
#
Herve looked around the huge, swirling pool of green tinted hot water, at his floating comrades. “This is a little concerning. Any thoughts on… all this?”
Before anyone could answer, a tiny, naked boy shot out of the water outlet with a mad giggle of childish glee. An instant later, two more babes emerged from the torrent.
“Wilford Brimley Ward! You come back here now!” a tiny girl with impressive lungs shouted. “You have’ta stay with us till these weirdos are…” She stopped still for a moment, looking over the bathing warriors all around her.
“Hi weirdos, I’m Amy, that’s Wilf, he’s Rio, we're ‘Venturers too… we uhh.. Aren’t wearing our badges right now… do you know any fun songs?”
A huge, red haired woman dressed in very finely tailored common clothes swept in, scolding her children happily.
“Fie, ye graceless an uncouth brats, let our guests bathe in peace, ye’ll have time aplenty tae pester them whilst we crack this nut. Back intae the private baths, kids.”
#
“I still hear him… He’s not even angry anymore, now he’s just sad and filled with despair. He’s been in that bottle for a long ass time.” Gary complained. “It feels weird, just leaving him there like that. Maybe I could just nip out on seahorse and…”
“No!” The entire crew chorused.
“Ye will nae be anywhere near that thing, ere Luna, Tawny, Ivy an Becky decide it be safe.” Shai had that look in her eye, the one that suggested that he might wind up sleeping in the stables, if he didn’t step carefully.
“Well what about our guests? They seemed… I dunno, bossy and confident, even though they were just flinging arrows at it.” Gary grumbled.
“Bog wraiths are a zero threat entity. Breaking the corpse up enough that it begins to decompose more quickly is a common tactic. Most mercenary bands don’t have mages or clergy along.” Khan explained softly.
“What’s up with mercenaries of War? Are they sworn cultists?” Khan started looking nervous when Gary asked that question. “Seriously, what’s the deal?” He insisted.
“Mercenaries are indentured orphans, but rather than their indentures being the property of the cult of war… They are privately owned. Their indenture owner must send them if War demands, but they are subcontractors, working for a private individual or commercial entity.”
“So, a platoon of slave soldiers owned by some asshole came out here to just womp some pitiful corpse into goo… for the profit of that asshole, who stays safe at home.” Gary spoke slowly and coldly, keeping himself under tight control.
Shai disliked the expression on his face intensely, it was less ‘Stabbing Gary’, more like ‘Unpredictable Gary’. That was even worse, Tawny could fix a simple stabbing.
“Dinnae speak of it that way tae them boy, remember, tis long how we hae done things, tis nae shocking to other folks.”
“Someone could buy us and send us out into the wilds Adventuring, as an investment?” He asked in disbelief. “That’s legal?”
“It is, though it is not done in the lands of duke Belen, nor his vassals. The duke has always guaranteed War’s bids at the auction, up to one gold moon, preventing most private indentures, as did his predecessors for generations.” Tawny said primly and with satisfaction.
“Orphans sent to War are at least under the eye of the clergy and lords… there are tales from other lands of orphans sold and vanished forever.” Becky murmured.
“They say an illegal debt indenture prostitution ring got busted up in Port Fallon a few weeks ago. We all know about slavers…”
“Now I really wanna get home… I have questions for those slavers, even if I have to summon them from the bloodstains on the forest floor.” He growled.
“Rio, get yer drum, call master Waller here please, ere Gary’s blood boils away.” She whispered to the lad, giving him a kiss and a swat on the butt to send him off. “Amy, ye kin distract him wi help frae Fats, yes?”
“Aye aye captain! Wilford, keep an eye on Gary, the dread pirate Shai is counting on us!” A few seconds later, when the drum started, Wilford’s uke thrummed and hummed along.
The tiny songbird hopped up onto the pianoforte and pulled that long, slender, bronze mounted stick from her sleeve. Between one eyeblink and the next, the portly, smiling pianist with the impressively mobile face was seated at the keys, tinkling his way through ‘Honeysuckle Rose’.
“No fair!” Gary complained, when Shai took his hand and began twirling him about with his own gifts. By the time they finished ‘Ain't Misbehavin’, he was back in command of his emotions.
“Aye better, but I did hear some things in yer memories… whilst looking fer that song that ye gave only tae me.” Shai whispered, nuzzling softly on his neck as they swayed close on a slow number.
Liam and Dannyl’s guitars began the liting, swaying melody as they crooned.
Too-raloora loo, tooralooraloo,
Too-raloora loo, tooralooraloo,
What more diversion can a man desire,
Than to sit him down by a snug turf fire?
Upon his knee a-a pretty wench,
Aye, and on the table a jug of punch!
“That’s cheating, lover.” He sighed softly.
#