Jeremiah made his way back to the small fishing vessel a little shaken. Deacon had tossed half of a burning corpse over the railing of a ship that subsequently caused three others to fall to their deaths. Their combined weight smashed right through the dingy they launched to escape from him. Jeremiah had seen cruelty but never such raw violence. There was so much blood seeping into the ocean from the lower decks that these waters were about to become infested with predators. That thought served to hasten Jeremiah’s trip. No sooner did he reach the fishing ship than the horn of Carachorus was spotted in the distance.
“Carachorus sighted, fifty leagues stern!” yelled one of the fisherman on deck.
“That’s unfortunate. Ms. Sophie, we should make for the port as soon as possible. We do not want to be in these waters should the Carachorus surface. Tis a horrible beastie best avoided,” said the Captain.
“That’s very true,” said Jeremiah as he climbed onto the deck, “I’ve seen one rip a warship to pieces.”
“You’re back! Was Deacon able to take the ship?” Sophie asked trying to change the subject back to something more relevant.
“I believe he has,” replied Jeremiah.
Several people exchanged coins during that declaration. Even the captain flipped a copper coin over to Hani. Sophie had a disappointed look on her face before she turned back to regard the captain.
“Aye, a deals a deal. Besides your white haired friend just got me that new ship over yonder and it is worth more than that measly copper anyway. Men! We’ve got salvage rights to exploit. Let’s get over there before the beasties take a liking to our size difference,” the captain called out.
The few sailors he had with him got the anchor up and headed toward the slave ship Deacon had captured. From this side of the ship they would be hidden from view of the other ships in the blockade. The plan was to tie the ships together and sail into the harbor leaving the pirates with only four out of five ships blocking the cove entrance to the port.
Deacon watched as the fishing vessel started to turn in his direction. He’d switched back to Nether energy after his fight with the captain. Right now he had a deck filled with confused and angry slaves. The few that were hoarding the weapons dropped by the dead slavers were gathered near the captains quarters below the wheel. One of them was trying to get the door open with a knife.
“Are you going to do anything about them?” an older woman asked with both elbows leaning on the railing next to Deacon.
“They were just freed, and they aren’t really harming anyone. Probably just scared. I have some partners coming over to take the ship and bring you all to shore. Won’t be long now,” Deacon assured her.
“You do realize that not all slaves were good people, right? Some are prisoners that cities sell to slavers. Easier than keeping watch over them and feeding them every day. You should probably think about that,” she said before heading back over to a group of older looking slaves.
Deacon never once considered that. Freeing enslaved people was just instinctual to him. Maybe he should step in before something happens to make a bad situation worse. That’s when he heard the sound of a rope snapping. One of the long poles used to secure one of the main sails broke its bindings and swung down right in front of the captain’s door. The guy trying to jimmy the lock open got brained and was now lying on the ground in a pool of his own vomit. If the fishermen didn’t arrive soon, Deacon didn’t know if this ship would survive the storm winds.
“Alright step aside. I’ll check out what’s in the cabin and open the door from the other side,” ordered Deacon as he approached the men.
“Thanks for freeing us but we we’ve got it from here hero,” sneered a man brandishing that rapier that destroyed the door to the bottom deck.
“Oh you misunderstood. I wasn’t asking,” said Deacon as he walked right passed the man.
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For the briefest of instants as he passed, he thought the thug was actually going to stab at him with the weapon. His shoulders tensed up and his heart rate increased, then nothing. The thuggish man just turned his attention back to the other slaves that were milling about.
“Hey, what are you doing over here. We said everything in the captains quarters were ours. Don’t you have someone else to bother?” asked a skinny looking man with stringy black hair and an obvious hunch in his back.
“I just told your guy near the bottom of the steps; I’m going in there. You’re welcome to try and stop me but you’ve seen how well that worked out for those bastard slavers. You’re buddy was smart enough to not make a problem for me. Also I’m still pretty much covered head to toe in blood,” replied Deacon.
“Fair points all around. As you were,” nodded the skinny man.
Deacon didn’t believe this one. As he stepped past him a knife appeared in the skinny mans hand. He lunged for Deacon’s left side only to be met by his opened palm. Deacon slapped the man across the face like he was scolding a child. Then Deacon outstretched his index finger and waived it at him.
“That was a dumb thing to do. Now give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tan your hide right and now in front of all of your friends?” asked Deacon.
The look of shock on the mans face turned to fury as Deacon dressed him down as if he was his father. Something about that lit a fire in him. It could have been the years of prison he had to suffer through. The gangs and riots. The constant stabbings. Then being sold to the damn Sharkfins and forced to row day and night for years. Any perceived slight being met with the crack of a whip. All this man saw was another oppressor obstructing his path to happiness. He gripped his dagger tightly and screamed as he ran at Deacon who was a mere five feet away now.
Deacon knocked him out with a spinning left backfist that caught him right between his left cheek and ear. The skinny ex-slave dropped like a sack of potatoes to the floor. The knife he had in a white knuckle grip fell loose before floating up into Deacon’s bag.
“That one’s going to be trouble,” commented Deacon before turning back toward cabin door.
At this point, the one that was trying to break into the cabin had come too and two of his buddy’s had him propped up against the wooden wall of the steps that lead up to the commanders wheel. Deacon just waived at all of them as he ghosted his way into the cabin. Inside the captain of this ships cabin was a hammock wide enough for two people, a wall covered in decretive whips, a desk and chair against the back wall that held a window box, and a large chest on the eastern wall. Those were all the standard things Deacon noticed upon first entering the room. The thing that stood out to him was the large painting of the ocean propped up on an easel. The water in the painting was matching the pitch and sway of the boat. Every time the boat would list a little to the left, the water in the painting would do so as well.
Deacon walked over to the painting fascinated by it. It took him a few seconds to realize the point of view of the artist was from the docks. There were now pirate ships in the painting but everything else was the same. He turned and ghosted out of the cabin, racing toward the other end of the ship as Sophie and the others came aboard. There was a spyglass bolted to the railing hanging over the gunnel. He peered through it to get a closer look and people on the docks were going about their daily lives like nothing was wrong. Is this why no ships have been launched to break this blockade. Deacon didn’t understand what it had to do with the painting.
“Deacon, what’s wrong?” asked Ralph.
“It’s better If I show you. Take a look through this and tell me what you see,” said Deacon as he waived the rest over.
After a few cryptic minutes of them looking through the spyglass and asking each other why no one on shore seems to see the pirate ships. Then Deacon lead them all back to the captains cabin. The thief was attempting to open the door again but scurried away at Deacon’s approach. Deacon popped back into the cabin and opened the door from the inside allowing his party members in. He brought them directly to the painting.
“It’s not a very good painting but it’s definitely enchanted. I’m not familiar with this type of magic,” said Hani.
“It’s illusion magic. Very specialized and focused illusion magic. What I don’t understand is why would it show the view from the docks but not the blockade?” Tantus asked allowed.
“I think I can answer that one,” said the captain, “When we were originally attacked, the Sharkfins came out of nowhere. The air seemed to peel around their ship. But your lass there noticed the rain wasn’t moving.”
“That’s right. I also remember when I went to speak to the Hascavir’s on your behalf they brought me to an art studio where the paintbrush was doing all the work. What was her name? Venita, first daughter of House Hascavir,” Sophie replied excitedly.
“But how does any of this help us?” Deacon asked.
“Don’t you see. If we can prove she painted these for the pirates to keep them hidden until they attacked, then we can tie the leading house of the Stone Council into a conspiracy to attack the city. We can exonerate you,” Sophie explained.
“How can we prove though?” Deacon asked scratching his head.
“She was such a stuck-up pompous windbag that I’ll bet she signed them without even thinking about it,” answered Sophie.
Hani grabbed a nearby lantern and they all leaned in to see a VH emblazoned on the bottom right corner of the canvas.