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  Into the Dust, Chapter Two

  by

  Ren Cummins

  Into the Dust: Avast by Ren Cummins

  Copyright © 2012 by Ren Cummins

  All rights reserved.

  Originally published in the United States by RenWritings through Amazon Kindle

  The characters and places found in this work of fiction are constructs of imagination by the author, and, even where incidentally inspired by actual people or events in a purely subconscious sense, any similarity to actual persons or places is unintentional.

  Story, cover and concept by Ren Cummins and Kiri Callaghan

  Amazon Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your favorite eBook seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Into the Dust:

  Chapter One: Lost

  Chapter Three: The Lily or the Tiger

  Chapter Four: Hollow

  Chapter Five: Labyrinth

  Chapter Six: A Mermaid’s Tale

  Chapter Seven: What Dreams…

  Chapter Eight: All That Glitters

  Chapter Nine: Shadow

  Into the Dust: The Collection

  Other books by Ren Cummins:

  The Chronicles of Aesirium

  (A young adult Steampunk adventure):

  Book One: Reaper’s Return

  Book Two: The Morrow Stone

  Book Three: The City of the Dead

  Book Four: Reaper’s Flight

  Book Five: Into the Blink

  Book Six: The Crook and the Blade

  The Middle Age: A Geek’s Journey from Boy to Man

  Quests & Answers: a Talaria Press Anthology

  Music by Ren Cummins:

  Obsidian Bridges

  Also by Kiri Callaghan:

  Funeral Potatoes

  Into the Dust, Chapter Two

  Avast

  By Ren Cummins

  The crew was silent as the Monkey’s Duffle eased its way towards port. The waves and the creaking ropes offered a rhythmic orchestration to the noises that came from the high sails as the winds brought them back home. At least, “home” was a word only few on the ship could comfortably use for describing the sole town on Uphoria’s core island. They came back here every few months when necessary, and never stayed long, just as they did with all the island communities on their cyclical route across the sea. But, after all, it was to be expected, based upon their collective profession: piracy. This town, now, was thought of less than a home and more a victim of their pirating activities.

  All the ship hands – all pirates, either by trade or association – had begun their journey on or around the island, sure enough, but time had eventually seen them onto the deck of this or one of the other privateering vessels that frequented the region.

  Four-Eyed Robert had maintained the helm the last few hours, steering the ship past the tall columns of natural stone that the local townspeople called the Shadow’s Fangs. Though treacherous, they also marked the relatively safest entrance into Nikada bay, where the main docks for Uphoria port had been constructed. How long ago had they been built? They’d been old long before the arrival of any of them; one of the many mysteries about this place, he shrugged.

  The men were already climbing the rigging to draw up the sails; inertia and tide would carry the ship the rest of the way into the harbor. The first thing, though, was the striking of their false colors – Jimmy Doubloons was already taking down their normal flag, the bleach-white skull on a field of black that marked them for their truer natures. He’d replace that with one of their other flags, usually one that they’d taken in plunder. Robert hissed up at him as he noticed Jimmy was tying the flag off upside-down. It took Jimmy a full minute to realize his error and he scrambled to correct it, doing so only a moment before their ship would be in full view of the harbor master’s perimeter station. Sure enough, he’d barely had time to hunker down before a voice called out to them.

  Trouble with making port after nightfall is that they always suspect us for pirates, Robert thought. Which would only be insulting if it weren’t also the truth. It was a true catch-22, he observed, for if they cast ashore during the day, then of course their nature would be obvious. Thus, the only feasible alternative was a quick foray into the harbor after nightfall, with the intention of being gone before sunrise. Generally, it was effective. Generally.

  They lashed up at the docks, three of the men dropping down to tie off the Monkey’s Duffle’s main lines. Robert tied off the wheel and nearly tripped over a loose rope on his way back to the main deck. He had to pause and clean his glasses; they’d picked up a bit of spray and had gone fuzzy without him even having noticed. They were in bad shape, his glasses; he’d had them ever since he could remember, but there weren’t any folks what could repair something so delicate here, so he’d had to make do with the options remaining available to him. As a result, the glasses looked more like a pair of goggles than how they’d been when he’d arrived here. Now, a hardened leather band and a softer, pliable strap kept them affixed to his head. They were as secure as they were going to be, but they still seemed to attract dirt and sea salt like it was mating season.

  Without them, he was effectively blind; he couldn’t see much further than his hands without squinting, and from bow to stern he was useless. Still, he was the ship’s captain, potential blindness or otherwise. His background made him the most tactical of the crew, and after a pair of near-defeats at the hands of some of the other pirate clans proved the end for the Duffel’s former Captain, the crew turned to him to lead. It’d been…years, he calculated, though it was nigh-impossible to have a true appreciation for the passage of time. Between the life as a pirate captain and the odd way time seemed to flow here in Uphoria, Robert figured that he’d been here somewhere between fifteen days and seven years. Give or take a decade.

  He tried to track this as best as possible by refusing to cut his hair. He’d grown it out once in college – back when it was apparently cool to do so – and it had taken a year to get his hair to reach his shoulder blades. It was now drawn back into a thick braid that reached down to his belt, adorned with random coins and baubles they’d acquired along their way.

  College, he thought, his forehead scrunching up beneath his bandana. Where did that come from? When did I go to college? Strange thoughts occurred to him from time to time, without sense or reason as to their origins. He used to have a recurring dream about sitting in front of a dull mirror, filled with mystical lights and words and strange images, in which he could obtain all knowledge, simply by asking the proper questions, or transport his mind into faraway worlds where he lived a thousand mysterious lives. In these other worlds, he was a soldier, a practitioner of dark arts, a god, a demon. Wasn’t one of those dreams about him being a pirate? He paused, one foot on the deck and one on the bottom step that led astern towards the wheel.

  What if the dream is real? His mind spun. What if my dreams are the reality, and this is the dream? What if… A hand clapped him on the shoulders, jarring him from his thoughts.

  “Ho, Cap’n,” came the voice beside him.

  Robert’s jaw jerked upwards in a gruff nod. “Gadrick,” he said.

  Gadrick No-Nails was his Master Gunner, so named for an unfortunate incident in the early part of his career involving cleaning up a barrel of spilled gunpowder and someone else’s brilliant idea of daring Gadrick to run his dirty hands over an open flame. An otherwise reliable enough man, prone to drink too much and talk too loud, but few could match his precision with the heavy guns. Then again, Gadrick was the perennial pirate. When Robert was given the wheel, Gadrick was at that time his most vocal opponent. But with the crew behind Four-Eyed Robert, Gadrick had had nothing else to do but tow the line.

  “Catch ya dreamin’?”

  Sliding the glasses back over his eyes, Robert allowed himself a brief chuckle. “Just looking forward to an evening in town, is all,” he lied.

  Gadrick’s echoed laugh trailed off as his gaze dropped to the captain’s belt. “Goin’ ashore a bit…naked, ain’tcha?”

  Robert’s hands went to his belt and he cursed silently. He’d left his bandolier and weapons belt back in his cabin. The rest of the crew heard Gadrick’s comment and paused, regarding them both. Robert jerked a thumb towards the town. “Won’t be long, you and the men run on ahead,” he ordered. “Tyler Tats,” he said in a soft voice which still carried well across the deck, “you keep a boarding crew on hand and fire off a flare if there’s trouble.”

  “Aye,” Tyler replied, pulling a small contingent of crew aside to defend the ship. Gadrick pushed through the throng at the plank, and led a crew of three dozen along the pontoon-supported dock and up towards the town. It was the best part of the town; the depth of the harbor allowed for even the tall ships to pull in fairly close, even at low tide.

  Provided the men kept their cool, they could be back on the ship and heading for open waters before the watch was alerted. And even if not, Tyler and his team – making up just less than half the total crew – would be enough to handle the ship. Either way, speed and silence were key. With them, the whole plan was smooth.

  Then again, Robert thought as he moved quickly back
to his cabin, how many times has that happened?

  Slipping the bandolier over his shoulder and quickly strapping on his second belt, he double-checked his rapier and pistol, weighed his powder horn and was already loading a round as he emerged onto the deck. “Keep the engine warm,” he said to Tyler and his men, even though their confused expressions made more sense to him than the statement.

  Engine? He wondered, shaking his head. No more rum tonight for this pirate, he decided.

  He wasn’t even to the end of the dock before he came across the first body. By the look of him, he was little more than an unfortunate victim of location and bad timing; his clothing didn’t even mark him for a constable, and he was probably just walking the docks for spare goods left abandoned by the day’s traders. Robert raised him up into a sitting position against one of the raised pilings, arranging his hands to make it appear as if he was simply sleeping. At least they didn’t shoot him, Robert grimaced. That would’ve cut this whole trip really short.

  It had taken a while, but he’d managed to convince his crew to focus their search and plunder missions. Time was, their escapades resulted mostly in murder and raping, and over time, he thankfully was able to replace that segment of the crew due to being hoisted on their own petards. Now, however, they worked in particular teams, all fixed to acquire specific materials; food, tradable goods, weapons and rum. The categories had been easy enough to insist upon, though the prioritization had taken a while. He had been firm on one other rule: no raping. There were plenty of other pirate crews out on the water that gave them all a deservedly poor reputation, but Robert was resolved to giving them at least one less reason to be feared and hated.

  It was doubtful that pirates would ever have a favorable image in the eyes of the citizens of Uphoria, but perhaps in time… he shook his head. Get your game face on, Robert, he told himself. We’re in play now.

  He moved quickly and quietly through the streets, his right hand holding his flintlock pistol up and just at the lower edge of his vision. For some reason, it just felt more comfortable to have it right there as they went ashore on their scavenging missions.

  The door to the harbormaster’s office was opened; Robert clucked his tongue twice, and, after a pause heard three in return. Satisfied with the countersign, he peered inside to see two of his men hefting the lockbox. A muffled bit of jingling could be heard coming from inside the sealed container, and judging by the greedy smiles on his men’s faces, it was clearly heavy with loot.

  “Good job,” he whispered as he stepped aside to let them pass. A third man accompanied them, pistols out and at the ready. They exchanged nods as they moved past him towards the docks, walking as swiftly as they dared.

  Across the street, a pair of men had just opened a locked doorway to the smithy. Robert was of half a mind to join them; the hilt on his own rapier was getting loose and he could do with a fresh one. He was sure he’d mentioned it to the crew earlier, though, so he chose to hope they’d remember. If in fact they came across something that would be to his liking, at any rate.

  Past the next cross street, he found the third team, who had broken into one of the storehouses for the marketplace; a typically secured location. Robert walked to the doors and sounded off again, and waited for the agreed-upon response. A small smear of blood remained on the doorjamb, evoking a brief frown on the Captain’s face. Well inside the room, he could see a pair of bare feet emerging from behind a desk, the boots already plucked from the poor bastard’s still-cooling corpse.

  Though he wasn’t universally opposed to violence, Captain Robert preferred as low a body count as possible. Sometimes, however, it was simply out of his hands. May they return to life in a better place, he thought.

  As the three men that comprised the third team stepped back into the room with a series of crate in their hands, the second man glanced ashamedly at the corpse on the floor. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n, but he’d’ve raised the alarm had we letten him live,” he said soberly.

  Robert nodded slowly. “You did fine, gentlemen, it’s no slight on your honor. Move on, now, quiet as you like.”

  As the men obeyed, the Captain stood a moment longer over the body. Was this to be his life, then? Pillaging? Murdering? Scavenging at the end of a cutlass for the sustenance his crew required?

  Distorted memories of his childhood passed his thoughts; the insistence and enforced premise that pirates were evil, that they stood in rank defiance to the laws and order which kept society moving, that piracy of all manner was wrong. He had to admit that statements like that made his blood boil furiously. Who are they to say I am evil? Do not some laws require by their nature an act of defiance?

  But who says such things? The church, he answered himself, and the government. He spat on the floor, as if trying to purge a sudden bitterness from his mouth. Well, I don’t fear the government or the church. They should fear --

  A woman’s scream two buildings away cut through his musings like a gunshot. He ran in pursuit of the sound, even as he could hear voices stirring in the buildings around him.

  Ahead of him stood one of the town’s three pubs, its door slightly ajar. It’s Gadrick, he realized, knowing full well that Gadrick always positioned himself to claim the rum on their inland forays. Damn fool is going to get us killed.

  The clatter of crockery greeted him at the doorway. He looked quickly inside to see two of Gadrick’s men moving towards the door, carrying one large barrel each. Robert stepped aside, pushing the door open for them.

  “Hurry back, lads,” he muttered, wincing in response to additional cries coming from the next room. He quietly closed the door behind them, and walked towards the source of the cries, which by now were coming in a horrifyingly steady rhythm. Robert moved across the wooden floor, taking each step in time to the cries, just in case a wayward creak might give his presence away.

  Robert stood to one side of the arched doorway that led to the kitchen, glancing quickly into the room to take inventory of the situation. It didn’t take much.

  Gadrick had thrown some poor young woman over the far table in the kitchen and hitched up her skirts. He had both her hands in one of his and was holding her by the waist, struggling in his furious efforts to assault her.

  Robert double-checked the flintlock’s frizzen; the powder was still ready to fire. Stepping out into the doorway, he held the pistol up and directed it towards his Master Gunner. “Gadrick!” He cocked the pistol, letting the distinct click-clack of the mechanism punctuate the man’s name.

  Gadrick stopped, standing upright but still holding the struggling woman down. Without even glancing back over his shoulder, he nodded.

  “Thought I’d had another few minutes to meself,” the man said. “T’isn’t polite to interrupt a man’s pleasure.”

  “Less polite to disobey your Captain,” Robert replied. “Step away from her and let her go, and maybe you’ll only spend a week in the brig.”

  Turning his head slightly to look back at his Captain, Gadrick shrugged. “Jus’ havin’ a bit of fun, there, Cappy, jus’ me an’ m’girl, here, ain’t that right, luv?”

  But Robert could see enough in the sobs and the tear-streaked face to know the lie for what it was. Worse, he knew Gadrick well enough already to be dubious of the man ever having a willing partner.

  “I said to let her go. Now.”

  The other man slowly stepped back from the girl, and she fell over onto the floor in her desperation to get away. Gadrick eyed her briefly, the faintest flash of vitriol passing his features before looking back up to his Captain. He pointed downwards, indicating his breeches that remained about his ankles. “One tic,” he mumbled. “Jus’ gonna tuck meself back in.”

  Meanwhile, the girl had managed to stand up again and was rushing to stand behind Robert.

  “Make it quick.”

  With a curt nod of his greasy head, Gadrick disappeared briefly behind the table. He came back up a moment later with a pistol in hand.