Private Tales Run Swift, Run Silent

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran always felt more at ease when back by Cortosi. The coast was as close to home as he could get. The various warring principalities and city-states might vehemently deny their similarities but common ties of language and culture still kept them connected. Though most of the realms had possessions on land, it was to the sea they looked to for wealth.

Mantessa was one of the larger city-states. A natural harbour, a bustling hub of commerce, and a tireless navy. Ferran had enough experience with them to not wish a repeat. It wasn't unusual for cargos to be 'inspected' before being escorted into the city to sell their wares, regardless of their intended destination. Only a fool would refuse when confronted by one their hulking galleons or when under the artillery of their coastal forts. There was a reason they were one of the top powers on the Cortosi Coast.

He had mixed feelings on it. His own home of Baleri had skilled sailors but they were no match for Mantessan or Aniran ships in a pitched battle. An ideal port sheltered by rocky islands and headlands but the rough terrain yielded sparse agriculture. Mantessans had a worrying lack of humour he felt, he'd yet to see a customs inspector or naval officer smile.

The markets were the real wonder, a close rival to Alliria. If it wasn't to be found in Mantessa, it probably wasn't worth getting. The taverns and inns saw a lively trade, dealing with sailors and merchants from a dozen different nations, the babble of many tongues filling up the streets.

It was there he saw her. Their last parting hadn't been unpleasant but Ferran remembered waking with the mother of all hangovers as well as numerous aches and pains throughout his body. She'd not quite torn the skin off his back or bitten through his throat but she'd made a good attempt at it. Even now he felt a pang at remembering that long form dressing herself before she'd left the cabin.

"Mi non credir" he muttered, "Buongiorno donna!"

Gal

 

[Gal]

In her idle moments, Gal amused herself with her surroundings. There were plenty of idle moments on a ship at sea, and so she’d gotten rather good at weaving stories out of empty circumstance.

Right now, for example, she found herself amidst a flux of inspiring vignettes. Three guards squeezing through the narrow pass between the stalls; a pair of fishmongers arguing loud enough to drown out the bell sounding noon; a priest haggling for fresh lobster, robes held high to avoid the pier muck.

She sighed and peered into the shaded doorway where the shopkeeper had disappeared with a hasty “I’ll only be a moment, miss!” Seeing neither hide nor hair of the man, Gal turned her black gaze to the other side of the market.

There was a charlatan playing a dazzled crowd like a fiddle while two of his cohorts relieved them of purses; rangy dogs fighting over an upturned barrel of fish eyes; sailors yelling at each other as they rolled barrel after barrel from moored ships; a well-toned arse straining its well-tailored breeches as some Mantessan dandy bent over a stall; the ruckus of drunken deckhands being banished from a nearby watering hole by a broom wielded as deftly as any sword.

“Miss,” the shopkeep cleaned his throat again. She tore a reluctant gaze from that arse and faced the nervous man with a smack of her lips. “I’m afraid I can’t… buy these jewels from you. It’s not that they’re not quality, of course, it’s just… ah, you’ve no bill of sale, and the Qarantia just this week cracked down on unscrupulous merchants, and I’m no unscrupulous man miss, I go to church every Domindia, and bow before the Donna always, and…”

Gal tuned him out at that point, snatching the heavy golden necklace from his sweaty fingers. It was another donna that had caught her attention.

“Cazz’,” she swore under her breath. “Ah knew ah seen dat ass before.”

She met his gaze for but a moment, tilted her head aside, and slipped away with the next ebb of the throng.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

"Grazie donna, grazie" Ferran said with a winning smile as he left the stall owner. His expression soured once he was away from her. "Thieving witch". The prices for fresh fruit had been more extortionate than any Mantessan tax. The bad thoughts evaporated when he bit into the fruit. Thoughts of long winters and salted fish made him savour it all the more. He praised the stallkeeper to the gods.

He casually sidestepped as a cart was pushed by with two sweating apprentices behind it. It was good to hear his home tongue again, even with the distinctive Mantessan accent. Besides that there were other Cortosi voices and dialects audible. It certainly beat Cerak. It could even give Alliria a run for its money.

 

[Gal]

The differences between the urban jungle and the real thing weren’t so many as city-folk might expect. At least so far as the Cortosi republics were concerned, and the Outer city of Alliria as well. Instead of insects they swarmed with people, and the long shadows were cast by tall buildings instead of tall trees.

All of this to say – Gal could stalk a man just as well as a beast through this thicket. Rather than crouch in the underbrush, the Nazrani slipped from stall to stall. Downwind or upwind mattered none when the stink of fresh fish drowned everything. A passing noble’s palanquin became her moving cover, and then she was behind him, a warm hand at the small of his back.

“Ah see ye stuck in da cittá too, Mistah Elmahir. Povera Lucia.” She sing-songed, “Drinks in da Gabbiano Ubriat’?” laughed, and disappeared into the writhing crowd once more.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran was no knifeman or footpad. He hadn't a notion anyone was creeping up on him. The touch to his back nearly made him jump out of his skin though he was relieved to find it wasn't a blade. The laughing voice was all too familiar and it sent shivers down his spine, a delightful feeling. He turned to catch an all too brief glimpse of her before she melted back into the crowd.

Too late to catch her, he spent the next forty minutes hunting for the Rabbiano Gabriat and had two false starts before he stumbled across the Gabbiano Ubriat more through blind luck than any intelligent planning on his part. It was doing lively trade and he had to turn sideways to squeeze his way in past the bouncer and an irate client.

He elbowed and shouldered his way to the bar, going on tiptoe to keep his eyes open for her.

 

[Gal]

Trouble was, the pirate in question – bronze skin, red lips, black eyes, have you seen her? – she wasn’t on the main floor. Instead her legs were crossed at the ankles on a rickety chair as she thumbed the cards held close to an infamous bosom. The laces were already undone – a courtesy of two hands lost – but long as her boots stayed on, Gal considered herself a winner on the whole.

The rest of the table weren’t quite so merry, but then nobody was when their smallclothes lay in a pile in the middle of a trionfi game.

Just as she was about to swoop in and take the pot, a harried server poked her head in the door. Everyone stopped and looked up from their cards.

“E una Carmen qi?”

Gal lifted an expectant eyebrow. “Si. Qe volet’?”

“L’ommo qe sei descrit’ e arrivat’.”

“Alto, bello, culo fermo?”

She nodded, a blush creeping across her cheeks.

Gal winked. “Allora mandelo dentre.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran's search was futile but while he hunted about the bar, a frantic server came to his side. Ferran flashed his best smile but the tavern wench didn't seem interested in propositioning him for a brief spell upstairs. She tugged him along while chattering in Mantessan so thick that he missed every third or fourth word.

"Si, mi comprendere" he tried but he cut off his words as he caught sight of the card game. He would have recognised that chest anywhere, the Nazrani was the centre of attention at the table. The barmaid patted his arm before slipping off. The others seemed to be sheepishly trying to melt into the background while Gal admired the pot she'd won.

"Ciao" Ferran managed, as greetings went, it was better than standing there slack jawed.

 

[Gal]

“Ferrie,” Gal drawled into the smoky air, eyes alight with an internal fire. Greed, ostensibly. “Pull op a chair.”

While the others shuffled about to make space for another player, the pirate eagerly raked her earnings onto the pile she’d already acquired. The day was still young, the ale hadn’t yet run out, and the blockade wasn’t breaking up anytime soon.

“So dey don’ let yer honest ass oot neither, do dey? Sheym.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran found himself seated and handed cards before he could protest. A tankard of ale made it clear he was going to be here for one drink at least. "How do you know about the blockade at Baleri?" he demanded, it was like she'd read his mind. The Nazrani had that crooked smile on her again, the one he'd last remembered flashing at him before she'd left his cabin, leaving him to recover.

He tried not to grumble, "Mantessa seems to be wringing her hands and saying what a shame. But no ships are getting in and out of there while Kasmetran ships keep that blockade".

 

[Gal]

“Becoos on’ o’ me mates is stuck in da cittá,” she said simply, watching the dealer with rapt eyes as they each received a new hand. There were no qualms about cheating in this back room, and a knife the only repercussion for getting caught.

“Can’ sail oot wi’oot ‘im. An’ das bad fo’ bisnis.”

The other woman at the table measured the smuggler before speaking up, her voice a cool Mantessant’. “We’re hardly wringing our hands, mister…”

“Petazzi,” Gal supplied without batting an eye.

“Mister Petazzi. As I’m sure you’re aware, any act of outward aggression would disturb the tentative peace we enjoy with Kasmetros. If an outside party were to slip past the blockade, however, we wouldn’t be adverse to rewarding their efforts with a… stimulative sum.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran bit back a sharp comment. Commenting on Mantessa or making disparaging remarks about the city was one way to wind up in the water with a knife in his back. They were a regional power for a reason. A Mantessan would tell most in earshot how they were the greatest city in the world, they did not take slights to their honour well.

Gal cut in before he could introduce himself. He kept his mouth shut until the other had finished speaking. "That blockade is meant to be impregnable" he said, reaching for his cards. "There's artillery dug in on the shores, galleys patrolling the shoals, and even meant to be mages hired by them".

"So a sum would want to be very...encouraging"

 

[Gal]

The woman regarded him impassively, gathering up her cards with the dignity of a baroness even as her tits hung out for all to see. Proud though they were of their city, Mantessans cared little for propriety enforced in the high echelons of Vel Anir and Alliria.

Even whilst northern nobility denounced them as decadent filth, their cousins in the Cortosi embraced the epicurean lifestyle with open arms.

Hot blood, Gal had always assumed. It led to orgies as well as blood vendettas – nobody was perfect, after all.

“There are… goods that the Qarantia wishes be delivered posthaste.” And nobody kept the Council of Forty waiting if they were at all interested in their own good health. “The Kasmetran blockade had the unfortunate consequence of delaying said goods.”

She slid a stack of three docatte into the center of the table before meeting Ferran’s gaze again. Her eyes might’ve looked livelier on a corpse.

“You understand what the Qarantia can pay, don’t you, Mister Petazzi?”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran forced his eyes to meet hers. Baleri's colder climate gave its inhabitants a bit more of a puritanical feel though Mantessans made Allirian brothels look respectable. This woman could be a minor city official or next in line to rule, the pride made it hard to say which.

"I understand" he said. Their reach was long and he had no intention of crossing them if he could help it. "Though I'm curious what could be so important that it has to be delivered during a blockade". He matched her bet. Baleri was a treacherous port to approach at the best of times. "And those shoals usually require a pilot" he made sure his accent stood out now.

 

[Gal]

“They do,” she agreed in that same flat voice, running spidery fingers across her cards. “And from Carmen’s smile I take it you are to be that pilot.”

Gal looked entirely unapologetic – for the fake name, for roping Ferran into a shady plot, for upping the bet as she aimed to bluff her way down to the blonde’s knickers.

“And what the delivery contains is none of your concern. In fact, consider it part of the egregious fee.” Her thin lips curled into something resembling a smile as she placed her card on the table. “Honest men do not ask questions, Mister Petazzi.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran's mouth half opened then stopped before he could say anything incriminating. So Gal was under a new persona too. Not surprising in a city where they happily hanged pirates for the mobs to enjoy. "No, honest men don't" he agreed, "But it's a foolish captain who lets something unknown aboard".

He didn't want his ship suddenly combusting or something to come snarling and foaming at the mouth from the cargo hold. "But I will settle for an assurance" he admitted. He grimaced at his card selection but slid forward a few coins to throw his own bet in the pot. "And I'm sure Mantessa won't forget captains who provide this service?"

 

[Gal]

“Why would we pay you so much only to have your ship sink with the cargo?” She lifted a single pale eyebrow at Ferran, clearly unimpressed with his protests. Another card left the grip of her claws, another step closer to her victory. Gal frowned at the other side of the table, sacrificing a weak color to a round she clearly wouldn’t win.

“An assurance from the Qarantia is surer than any binding contract,” the blonde dismissed him after claiming the pot. An expectant silver gaze swept across the gamblers, wicked delight hiding in the corners of her mouth.

Gal rolled her eyes and untied the blue silk of her bandanna. Dark curls tumbled down her shoulders as she cast it to the middle with an exaggerated sigh. Soon a pair of fine leather boots joined the fabric, followed by a gold-embroidered jabot and silver cufflinks.

“Mantessa never forgets,” the woman spoke, raking her eyes over Ferran with a cool smile.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran didn't dignify it with an answer. For all he knew they'd turn a ship into a second sun, a fireship destined to destroy a whole fleet at anchor. Or find he was carrying a consignment tainted with the plague.

He nodded. It's why they'd pay without the worry others would have. Ferran would accomplish the task if he was paid for it. If he absconded with the payment....he'd be found, his ship sunk, and he himself would be hanged, drawn, and quartered, or whatever other fate they could dream up.

"Nor does she forgive" he said, meeting her gaze. You did not cross Mantessa. They'd fought wars over their honour. "It is agreed then. I'll pilot a ship in past the blockade".

 

[Gal]

“Of course you will,” the blonde replied blithely, as if his agreement was a foregone conclusion. She leaned in and ran a cool hand down his cheek before rising from the table with her winnings.

Including the clothing.

Gal, who’d lost but a strip of fabric – fine though it was – hardly batted an eye, but the rest of the players were left with a pair of pants and a doublet between the three of them. “Qe peccat’,” the pirate drawled, ogling every bit of exposed skin as they struggled to put together something reasonably decent for walking the streets in broad daylight.

They trickled off one by one, each reserving a few choice words for the delighted little waves Gal sent their way. When they were finally alone, the nazrani swung her legs off the table and finished off the dregs of her ale.

“Come on, Signor’ Petazzi,” she grinned, patting his shoulder. “We don’t wanna keep the Qarantia waiting.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran shivered at the cool touch. There was a bewitching quality about the Mantessan. There would have been even if she wasn't half naked. He wondered who she'd been. One of their many spies or plenipotentiaries most likely but one could never know in Mantessa. She might have been one of them herself.

"Carmen is it now?" he asked as Gal patted his shoulder. He didn't need to stare, tempting as it was. His memory could fill in the blanks. He wasn't quite sure what he'd agreed to but a mixture of stubborn pride and duty had bulldozed him into it. "I'm doing it because of Baleri" he told her with a chiding finger, "Not just for you".

 

[Gal]

She arched a brow in passing, casually lacing up her tunic again. "And what was it before?" He'd never gotten a name, after all. Not even after a night of savage fucking.

Nudging the door open, Gal returned to the bustle of the tavern with a wide smile. She deposited the bouquet of flagons back on the counter with a thankful nod from the barmaid, then turned back to Ferran. "Your ship or mine, Elmahir?"

For once it wasn't an advance.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran was able to flash a grin there. "I just asked your crew" he beamed but he obediently followed after her. The Nazrani showed manners by dumping the empty flagons, he hadn't expected that. He shook his head at the question, "For now mine will do, we've got the charts. There's a lot of work to do before we set sail though".

He knew most of it like the back of his hand but the charts would help him remember what he couldn't The pilots guarded their trade secrets with jealousy. But it was a hard port to venture into even with the charts. He led the way towards his berth, shouldering his way through the crowd. "How did you end up in Mantessa?"

 

[Gal]

She grimaced and made a note to have a conversation with her crew about what details to give out to one night stands.

Amateurs.

“The southern wind brought me here,” she quipped, and said no more on the topic. The Lucia was in better shape than she remembered, the damage done by her ship since repaired.

She stopped in front of the vessel and beamed up at the high gunwale. “What else do we need?”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

"And the northern one will take you away?" he asked, laughing at his own joke. Someone had to. He shrugged, "I'll show you what's needed once we're aboard. Too many ears here". He was paranoid to imagine agents Qarantia had followed them. In all seriousness though they'd probably already marked where he was berthed.

The cabin was as cramped as she remembered. Ferran retrieved a key from a cubby hole before unlocking his chest and yanking out his rutter and charts. He put them on the table before rooting through. "Grab a seat" he invited her, pointing at a stool. He grimaced, hunting for the one he needed.

"Baleri has one....maybe two routes that deep water vessels can use. The Kasmetrans know this and they'll have them covered. Even at the best of times, it's awkward sailing. But there's at least a half dozen others that a shallow draught could attempt...."

 

[Gal]

Gal nodded slowly, boots propped up on the edge of the small table as she lit her pipe. A small spark jumped between her finger and the leaves, and then the cabin was full of smoke.

“And the Lucia can do this.” It wasn’t a question. She remembered well the cargo he’d been hauling when they first… met. The goods in his hold were the sort to incur a brutal tariff – if they were allowed through at all.

“An honest man like you…” she puffed out a blue plume and grinned, “bet you could sail through those shoals in the middle of the eclipse.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran fetched glasses and poured out two helpings of red wine. Sitting himself, he winced at the smoke, brushing it away from his face. "I don't think she can" he admitted, "She's not a bad ship but those shoals would cut the keel off her. And she's too likely to stand out".

Her smile was infectious, he had to reciprocate. "You can't sail in Baleri unless you know them. Every one has to be a pilot there". He sighed, "Something low down, a cutter but I don't know what rig would be best. It'd be an awkward time to sail there but it means we're less likely to be blasted out of the water by some mage".