Page 84 of Captive of the Pirate King
“I see we’ve both been getting cleaned up and comfortable.” Puck grins brightly back at me. “I had to wash that damned fake tattoo off my back. Did you know I maintain a strict regimen of training and exercise just to keep my physique comparable to Locke’s? When I’d much rather lounge about on couches and eat sweets with a few lovely ladies. Throw a man in there, too—I won’t complain.”
“Would you give me a tour of this place, Lord Puckley?” I ask. “It’s so lovely. I’d like to see everything.”
“Lord Puckley? Who the devil told you to call me that?”
“That’s what Thora called you.”
“Oh, Thora—she’s from Ivris. Used to serve in a noble house there, until she poisoned the whole family. They had it coming, don’t worry. Anyway, they’re a damned stuffy lot, Ivrians, and she’s still got a bit of the stilted manners from those days. Hell of a manager she is, though. Ruen pays her like a queen.”
My brain is still fluttering over the revelation that Thora poisoned an entire noble family—an Ivrian family no less. The story digs at my mind, like I’ve heard it somewhere before.
Puckley peers at me. “It’s the poisoning thing, isn’t it? Don’t worry, she only poisons the occasional enemy of Ruen’s now, and only at his request. Well…usually. Once in a while she’ll decide someone else needs to go, but I wouldn’t worry. She likes you, I can tell.”
“Gods,” I mutter. “Anyone else you need to warn me about?”
“Cyprus excels at torture techniques—the extraction of information. Though he doesn’t like to kill unless he has to. When he does kill, he does it fast, usually by some odd method like a silver spike through the eardrum into the brain. Love him like a brother, but he’s a strange one.”
Puck beckons me down the next hallway. We leave it by a pair of swinging doors and traverse a long balcony furnished with small tables and chairs, dotted with feathery plants in urns. “This is the dull wing of the house, so we’ll get it out of the way first. The Pirate King’s private study is there, right across the hall—it’s a bit cozier than the one by the throne room. There are meeting rooms behind those doors, and a library at the end. We’ll take these stairs. The floor right below us is much more interesting. Wine, gambling, darts—Locke likes to punish pirates who don’t respect him by tying them to the dart board naked, and then we see how close we can get without drawing blood.”
If I hadn’t witnessed Locke calmly tattooing the dicks of disobedient pirates, I wouldn’t have believed Puck’s violent tale of him. But at this point, I’m barely surprised. “And Kardon? What’s he like?”
“Kardon is smart. Smarter than Locke, in his own way. And he’s a mage with some rather unique abilities.” Puck casts me a smirk. “I won’t spoil the surprise, though. Maybe he’ll tell you himself someday.”
Puck shows me rooms for gambling, rooms for target practice and training, rooms for drinking and dining. There’s a lengthy room with numerous curtained alcoves that’s apparently for guests who want a moment with a lover or two, away from whatever drunken revel might be going on.
“All these rooms and love-holes will be filled tomorrow night,” Puck says slyly.
“Love-holes—filled—very funny,” I murmur. “You’re the jokester of the group, I suppose.”
“Jokester, pickpocket, sleight-of-hand expert, master of disguise.” He gives me a sweeping bow. “And I can imitate voices. Watch.” He treats me to shockingly good imitations of Locke’s voice, Cyprus’s voice, and Thora’s voice.
“You should be on the stage,” I tell him.
A shadow flickers across his face—a hint of anguish. “I was.” The corners of his mouth kick up again, but this time the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Come, I’ll show you the gardens.”
“And the stables,” I urge.
“The stables, too.”
I’ve always loved horses. When I was younger I would ride my pony while Mordan rode his horse—until he returned on foot after riding alone one day and claimed the horse had fallen and broken its leg, and he’d had to put it out of its misery. I never believed it, but I also never saw the horse’s body anywhere on our property. I still have no idea what he did to it.
After Mordan left, I rode by myself whenever my mother would allow it. I preferred galloping hatless across the moors, with the sun on my face and the wind streaming through my hair—but my mother’s idea of ladies riding was a sedate amble along carefully pruned garden paths or neat orchard lanes.
Locke’s stables are airy, rambling, spacious structures. Most of the stalls are empty, but there are half a dozen beautiful animals in residence. My favorite is the restive blue roan in the far stall. The stallion’s smoky-gray coat is spattered in tiny black flecks, with lighter gray highlights along his shoulders and withers. He tosses his dark mane and shifts a step back from me at first, but when I speak low, with my palm outstretched, he creeps nearer and bumps my hand with his nose.
“That’s Ruen’s horse, Caliper,” Puck says, a soft admiration in his voice. “He doesn’t let anyone but Ruen and the groom touch him.”
“Ruen,” I repeat quietly. “It feels strange to call him that. I know him as Locke.”
Puck shifts, his fine boots rustling through the straw. “He’s a man of many faces.”
“Hmm.” I stroke Caliper’s nose, feeling the flutter and thrum of his heavy breath. It’s so calming to be on firm ground again, and in a stable. The strong animal scent, the shudder of the horse’s skin to banish the flies, the stamp of ponderous hooves—I love it all.
“I’d like to stay a while, if you don’t mind,” I tell Puck.
He puckers his lips. “You’re not planning to steal a horse and run off, are you?”
“Where would I go?” I give him a smile that probably looks as wistful as I feel right now.
