Sparrow on a Plank Chapter 8: A Sparrow on the Altar

Rick smiled at Wastch. The cabin boy was cute and knew it, worse, he had been away from any form of civilization for far too long. This meant that he may as well have been half octopus: The barmaids were doing their best to avoid the teenager, but no matter which way the barmaid approached him his hand ended up on her buttocks. Although his attention had been sort of fun earlier, as the evening grew older and he grew drunker, the attention became less fun. It had hit the point where the tavern keeper's apprentice was serving him, and even he was starting to get worried; the kid had been too long at sea.

The kid reminded him of himself at an earlier age. He sighed: At an age before he had met Sal.

Between attempts at defending the barmaids from the wayward cabin boy, Rick was regaling the tavern's crowd with tall tales of his personal history. If he were to be believed, then even the legendary kraken was but a small fish compared to him. While everyone (including Rick himself) knew the stories were as solid as a siren's song, they were drawing crowds in because he was entertaining.

“...and so I was forced to run through the center of the Cruz Vert marketplace in nothing but a yard of the bluest and softest silk cloth---”

“No. I was at Cruz Vert during the Little Shrimp Party. There's no way you would be wearing blue in that area!” Some of the crowd stared at the heckler; he was large, unkempt, in rags, and those were his best features. He could take on any man in the room, and they knew it but a number were willing to bet that a group could take him. Others were looking at the chairs and glasses, and wondering what kind of damage they could do. Rick just smiled larger.

“So, my experienced sir, what would I be wearing in that area at that time?”

“I don't know, but it wouldn't be blue. Wear blue during the Party, and you're bound to be tarred and stuck to a boat for the night.”

“Well, if you had just waited a moment, kindest sir, I would have gotten to that. And my inevitable escape from that particularly unkind punishment.”

“No, you wouldn't. You're nothing but a---” There was a crash and the man fell forward. Behind him stood Sal with the remains of a chair in her hands and the rest falling on the man in front of her. Sal was smiling the kind of smile usually only seen on cats.

“Anyone else not to wanting to listen to the end of the tale?” Everyone either smiled or shuffled their feet, but there were no audible disagreements. “That's what I thought. Please, first mate, please continue to regale with your fabrications and prevarications, sprinkled with just a pinch of that wonderful spice of truth.”

Rick smiled, unsure if he had just been called a liar or not, and continued with his tale, starting with how he had managed to escape a crowd of thousands looking for him and he having nothing but a yard of blue silk to defend himself and his modesty. The crowd cheered as found a nook to hide in, and the door at the back of the nook that led to a clothing store, where he was able to festoon himself in much more appropriate colors.

When he was done, he saddled up next to Sal. The kid serving them made sure that their beers were full and quickly disappeared into the crowd, watching Watsch's hands nervously. Sal looked up from what she was writing. “Well, that was interesting. Do you often need to deal with critics like that?”

“Not usually. I will need to remember your particular technique of dealing with critics, however. Probably seed the audience with a person to do just that in the next port.” He noticed that she wasn't smiling at either joke and so he dropped all pretense of merriment. “What's wrong?”

She didn't even look up as she corrected something. “I failed tonight, and I need to do something about it.”

He quickly looked around and realized something. “I just realized you were lacking a shadow.”

She looked up at him. “When I fail, someone always pays the price.”

“You don't need to be so grim about it.” He put his elbows on the table and then put his head on his hands in a deliberate show of non-interest in what she was writing. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Are you sure? It's not exactly legal and it could be dangerous. It's one of those 'lucky if you're killed' kind of things.”

“Legality is never an issue. You know, part of being a pirate and all.” She brightened a bit. “As for the other, we'll just have to be a bit more careful than you were.”

“Well, if you're sure. Ever hear of the cauldron priests?”

“It would be hard not to in this neck of the woods. Great duelists, very efficient at finding what they want, and Coldport's biggest joke when it comes to security. They're actually part of the local mages' and thieves' guilds' lessons on how not to set up security.”

“Geez. Now I'm really humiliated. I really need to rescue Hajime or we'll both die of total embarrassment. Well, I'll die of embarrassment; he'll probably die from some really nasty torture first.”

“Guess that means that we need to work on a plan and in a hurry.”

“Yep.” She smiled, and then one end bent a little further. “And just out of curiosity, why were you running around in a blue piece of silk?”

He blushed a bit. A very little bit. “Let's just say that she was as beautiful as the moon, and her father was as angry as the sun. Fortunately, I was as fast as the wind.”

“Next time, you should be a little faster. Blue really can be fatal during the Little Shrimp Party. Let's just say that I should know.”

“Oh?”

“But that's my little secret. For now.”

They started planning the rescue. She had the intelligence garnered from previous reports and current experience, and he had apparently far too much experience burgling even for a pirate. She was feeling a bit better about the rescue, which she would have had to go alone just a few hours previously. She was happy to have another sword along, especially one that knew how to pick a lock without using a flintlock.

After an hour or so of planning, double-checking, and debating secondary plans if things should go awry, they left for the rescue. Well, after putting young Wastch fto bed by himself. The kid who had served for the last hour fell against a wall, relieved, then charged back into the fray.

* * * * *

A number of cauldron priests were milling through the meeting hall around their sleeping prisoner. Each wore the finery of a duelist, with loose red pantaloons, a loose jacket with red and black stripes, and black gloves, boots, and codpiece. They normally brought terror into the hearts of their potential victims, mostly because of the pointed steel at their side, a well-crafted rapier with enchantments backed by a master fencer's skill.

The hall was inscribed with runes, every foot of basalt and marble, drawn from some dark mythology. They told the story of their fell lord betrayed by one more powerful than he because of their lord's need for power and how their lord was hidden away in the depths of a frozen sea, given the means to communicate his orders to those he was allowed to command. He was allowed freedom once each year, just long enough to meet the others of his rank and confer so that their overall strategy would remain a secret from their inferiors.

The cultists may have failed in the security department, but they knew that the sparrow they had captured was probably not a sparrow. They had to do some quick research to find out where the scroll with the appropriate magic was kept, but once they had done that they simply had to read from the scroll and Hajime was transformed from bird to boy. They restrained him on the sacrificial altar, with a weighted cord; if Hajime transformed into a sparrow he would likely lose his wings and legs.

They didn't want to deal with any potential curses from the ring, so they didn't touch it and left it around his neck, right where it was. They did blindfold and gag him as a precaution. Hajime's soul would soon be helping keep their Stygian god warm in his icy prison.

[The last chapter is here. The next chapter is here.]