Page 26 of Blow Me Down
“Aye.”
“He didn’t sack the town or burn the buildings or any of those piratey-type activities?”
“Nay.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the side of the ship. “Then why is Bart so riled up about Corbin? Clearly the man is all bark and no bite.”
“Ye’d call murderin‘ sixty-five men in cold blood no bite?”
“What?” My eyelids snapped open as I turned to stare.
“Aye,” Pangloss nodded, his face hard. “When the cap’n told Black Corbin that he be havin‘ a strong crew, Corbin called down a curse on ’em. Less than a day later, the black flags of Corbin’s crew were sighted off the leeward side of the island. Fearin‘ a sneak attack, the cap’n sent the entire crew off to meet him and send Corbin’s scurvy bones to the salty depths. But Corbin, he be as black as the devil’s heart, and he had men and cannons hidden onshore. Our crew was caught between their fire, and every last blessed soul— sixty-five there were—
all of them perished. Ye’ll be noticin’ there’re not a lot of men on Turtle’s Back.
Black Corbin killed ‘em, all but what were foragin’ with me, that’s why.”
“Oh, my God,” I said, my throat suddenly tight. “That’s awful.”
“Aye,” he said, his eyes dark with pain. “I lost a brother that fateful day, and swore an oath of me own to see Black Corbin dance with Jack Ketch.”
“Er…” I said, confused.
“I’ll see him hanged,” Pangloss explained.
“I don’t blame you for feeling so strongly, although I’m not a believer in capital punishment. So what happened after the crew was so brutally murdered? Why didn’t Corbin take the town then?”
“A storm came up as if summoned by the good Lord himself. It drove Corbin’s men back off the island, and by the time it blew itself out, they were nowhere to be seen. Bart himself met with every grievin‘ widow and mother and promised retribution. He used his own gold to hire a few men to start rebuildin’ the crew, bringin‘ ’em to Turtle’s Back to defend her shores against the murderous devil who swore he’d be back to take what doesn’t belong to him.”
“How horrible,” I murmured, my mind full of the image of all those dead men and their grieving families. How could anyone act in such an inhuman manner over a piece of rock in the ocean? How could a man live with himself knowing what he had done? How could he appear so damnednicewhen he was really a monster?
Telling myself it wasn’t a real world didn’t help wipe out the sense of horror I felt. Within the context of the game, it was real—the people here thought it was real. I’d been here long enough to realize that they were remarkably well fleshed-out. The people herewerepeople, in every sense but one. In this world, they existed; joys, sorrows, warts, and all.
“He might have fooled me once, but he won’t do so again,” I told Pangloss a short while later as we ported. I had recovered enough from my usual bout of seasickness to snap out an order or two. “Belay those lines, Prudence.
Impulsive, mainsail, please. Tar, please fix the break in the fiddle block; then you’re through for the night. Bas, stop picking your ear with your hook—
there’s nothing there you haven’t seen before.”
The twins, less intelligent and thus quicker to follow my orders, jumped to it, but Tar spat over the side of the ship a few times, picked something out of his teeth with the point of his dagger, examined the tip of the blade for a moment or two, then nodded his head and shambled off to where the jammed fiddle block (pulley) sat.
“Ye did that right smartly,” Pangloss said with a satisfied nod. “And as for that devil Black Corbin—ye’ll not be likely to see him around these waters again.
Captain Bart has pressed men from other islands to serve on the watch and crew. Corbin won’t be skulkin‘ around Turtle’s Back again; that I can promise ye.”
That thought made me strangely sad. I tried to give the emotion a good long look while I went through the checklist of tasks related to putting a ship in port, sending my three crewmates off with a few copper coins that Pangloss had given me for that purpose, as well as my profound thanks. The first mate toddled off after he corrected a couple of my mangled knots, telling me the first tankard of ale would be on him when I joined the crew at the Inn Cognito.
“I’m just tired, that’s all,” I told Bas as I tucked away the captain’s logbook that I used to write down sailing notes and details about the booty we’d plundered.
Thus far the sum total of my plunderage consisted of a piece of tattered sailcloth I’d found on the remains of a wrecked sloop, and a pretty ruby necklace that I’d won sword fighting a fat merchant. I jumped off theSaucyWenchand hurried down the dark dock toward the soft glow of light coming out of the inn’s windows. Although I had the foil Bart had given me to protect myself, I preferred not having to use it against any of the unsavory pirate-types who hung around the dark edges of town.
“Aye, Bran and I are, too. It’s all them baths ye keep makin‘ us take—they’re wearing our skin out.”
“Do we remember rule number eighteen?”
Bas’s lips thinned. “No complainin‘ about the baths, washin’ me hands after I’ve used the privy, or discussin‘ what I find when I blow me nose?”
“Very good.”
