Samir shook his head to free it of the fuzziness and regular pounding. Stupid really. He should be more careful. He’d end up in trouble one of these days.
Six months had passed since he and Ghassan had gone their separate ways and Samir would have to admit to himself eventually that he had squandered and wasted most of the time. The first few nights he had frequented some of the less reputable areas of the port district, hoping to make contacts or even friends among the criminal classes.
At the age of twelve, Samir was still small for his age, though the events of the preceding years had given him a slightly drawn and haunted look that advanced his years somewhat. In addition, dark facial hair had begun to manifest recently, surprising Samir somewhat. It had taken some work, regardless of these developments, to gain and maintain access to the drinking and gambling pits of the port. Even with the Pelasian control and a seriously diminished population, these establishments managed to survive. In fact, given the level of misery in M’Dahz, their patronage had actually increased rather than falling off.
At first, Samir had been content to sit and take in the general atmosphere, trying to work out the associations and connections between the various unsavoury patrons he had selected as likely contacts and listening intently to any snippets of conversation he could catch.
Soon, however, he came to realise that someone such as he stood out in these establishments, and not because he was small or young; given the state of M’Dahz these days there were many waifs and strays that made their way here looking for work or a handout. No, what made him stand out was the way he always sat on his own, never drank and was seen to be paying too close attention to things that did not concern him.
The issue had become clear to him after he was dragged from one bar and beaten repeatedly in an alleyway. He had not returned to that establishment, turning his attention to alternative locations. And in what he thought of as ‘phase two’, several weeks after Ghassan had left, he began to throw himself into the part, learning some of the games that went on in the gaming pits and trying several of the drinks on offer until he discovered what was palatable and what was not. And, as he had gradually become accustomed to the drink and the games, and experienced a little success in the gambling dens, he had finally begun to fit in. Two months into his new life, he had at last reached the point where people paid no attention when he entered or left a bar.
Soon he found he was being offered work by some of the other occupants; just small things to begin with; the running of an errand; delivery of parcels or messages. He began to carry his sword with him where he could and a sharp knife everywhere else. Gradually, he became indistinguishable from those other young men who performed small tasks for the underworld of the district.
But what had begun as an attempt to ingratiate himself into the habitat of the criminal classes had quickly grown beyond his control. As the weeks passed, Samir found that he was so busy running dubious errands, making money and maintaining his persona as a small time crook that he had no time to apply what he was learning to any of his grand plans for the future of the town. There was simply not enough time to try nudging these people toward his goal: guerrilla activity against the Pelasian masters.
And yet, with this new life came a certain respect, albeit from the lowest orders of the town. And money and influence, of course. Only two months down the line, Samir had already reached such a stage in his career where he now had three boys running errands for him; he had unquestioned access to most places in the port district and the ear of some of the most dangerous men in the town.
What came along with this as baggage was the carousing. The late nights, gambling and drinking were changing his habits and he had become more or less nocturnal, having to allow at least two hours of an afternoon to clean himself up and let the thumping hangover fade before looking to his daily tasks. He had sought to infiltrate the criminal classes in M’Dahz. Half a year later, however, he had become the criminal class of the town. Ghassan would never have recognised his brother now.
And yet, with all his late night forays and sessions, last evening was unquestionably the worst he had yet suffered. He couldn’t even remember leaving the last place. There had been a fight over a purse of coins. He remembered that and felt his upper lip, wincing as he found the bloody cut and the missing tooth. That explained some of the throbbing. Even wincing made his head hurt. His entire body ached as though he had been attacked with branches, which was distinctly possible given the events of the night that he could remember and the length of time as yet unaccounted for. He tried to smile to himself, but the pain this brought in his gums, lip and head made a smile beyond hope.
He was obviously still somewhere close to the port from the briny smell. At least the gulls were being silent, which was a blessing. The usual morning squawking of a thousand gulls might just have killed him this morning.
Samir shuddered and, very slowly and with great care, pried open his eyes, trying to ignore the fresh waves of pain and nausea that light and colour brought with them.
“He’s awake.”
Samir blinked. A face several feet away from him grinned a malicious grin, showing several missing teeth. The pain in his mouth, face, head and screaming muscles forgotten in an instant, Samir’s reactions took over. Scrambling from his side onto all fours, he backed away and felt himself bump into a wooden structure. What in the name of the great mother was going on?
His eyes became accustomed to the low light, and he focused on the face before him as the other figure came up from floor level into a crouch. The lad was younger than him, though probably bigger regardless. He had clearly seen the losing side of several fights by the marks and old wounds evident on his face and arms. He wore a cloth wrapped around his forehead and a leather waistcoat that allowed him to display the several gold chains hanging round his neck and the bronze armlets and bracers he wore.
“Who are you?”
The boy ignored him and grinned again.
“Awake and conscious.”
“Good” replied a voice from the shadows behind the boy. Samir squinted and tried to make out the shapes in the shadows. There were more than one. Perhaps a dozen people.
“Who are you and where am I?”
There was a chorus of laughter.
“This is not as funny as you think” Samir barked. “I’m an important man. There are some very dangerous people who will miss me and be extremely unhappy with you.”
The laugher moved up a notch and for the first time in many months Samir’s confidence foundered. He licked his lips nervously and winced as his tongue touched the fresh cut.
Slowly, the other figures moved forward out of the shadows. In other circumstances, Samir might have laughed, they were such an assorted bunch. He had once seen a carnival when the great religious festival had been celebrated to mark the millennium of Imperial foundation. His father had called it the ‘freak show’ and this reminded him so closely of it that he found it impossible to avoid smiling. Tall, fat, short, thin; some missing limbs, some with one eye, some with misshapen body parts. Not a one of them older than fifteen at a guess.
Samir sighed.
“I am tired and hung over. I have a lot to do and no time to play. If you intend to rob me, do so now. I have nothing on me of value, barring a few coins left over from the evening. If you’re just wanting to pick on me, then let’s get this over with so I can get to my work.
The laughter from the second boy who had spoken was deep and rich and disturbed Samir further. There was something about this he didn’t like at all. He had dealt with bullies many times. This was somehow different. This other speaker was clearly the leader. Older than most and taller than all, he was bulky and lighter skinned than the rest, almost like the foreign merchants from the north. One side of his face had been tattooed with intricate designs and whorls. Something about the boy suggested he was not one to be taken lightly.
“Show him, Afad” the leader said without taking his eyes from Samir.
Samir kept this tall boy in his sight while trying to follow the movements of the one who had watched him awake. This ‘Afad’ made his way across to a wall in the shadows. There was a bang and a creak and suddenly a square hatchway opened in the wooden wall. Light poured in, illuminating the face of the smiling boy and picking out sharply the shape of the others.
Samir shrugged.
“So? You’re all very pretty, I’m sure.”
The leader laughed.
“You misunderstand. Go and look.”
Trying hard to keep his eyes on the rest of them, Samir, backed away along the ribbed wooden structure behind him, toward that small square of white light and the grinning boy next to it. As he approached, he made motions for the other to move away and, with a shrug, Afad shuffled back toward his companions.
Samir closed on the light, feeling around his belt as he did so. No surprise there. His knife had gone, as had his purse.
And then he reached the hole and, quickly, so as not to grant too much opportunity to the potential attackers, he peered through the hole.
As his world shattered and the shards fled from him, the gathered children in the dark almost entirely forgotten, Samir blinked at the foamy water and the wake flowing past the wooden hull.
“Shit!”
Once again a chorus of uproarious laughter burst out in the shadows.
“Shit!”
“You may have been important in M’Dahz, little one, but here you’re just fresh meat.”
Samir’s heart raced. He was good under pressure and he knew it, but this was so far beyond his territory he really had no idea how to react. He swallowed. The important thing was to stay in control of himself. That way he had a hope of gaining control of the situation as time progressed.
Setting his jaw stubbornly, he turned to the assembled crowd, fighting down the panic and compacting it in his gut into a hard resolve.
“Very well. We’re obviously some distance from M’Dahz now. You’re clearly not a Pelasian vessel and the Empire won’t be sending ships here these days. The militia have gone and merchants are not in the habit of pressing unconscious drunks into service.”
He smiled a smile that he hoped was as irritating and condescending as it felt.
“I assume therefore that this is a pirate vessel and I am now, whether I like it or not, in fact, a pirate.”
Though no one replied, there was a chorus of vaguely affirmative noises from the other occupants of this dark space. Irritating, because now Samir was going to have to build up the respect of his peers from scratch once again and learn the ropes of this place. Clearly, short of a suicidal escape attempt to swim dozens of miles of open sea, he was stuck here for now and would have to make the most of it.
He smiled to himself. Perhaps this was actually a blessing in disguise. While he had entered his new life at M’Dahz with great plans of using the criminal classes of the town to foment rebellion against the Pelasians, he had to admit how easily he’d let himself slide into the simplicity of a life of few morals and lost sight of his original purpose.
Pirates! Pirates could be a great deal more use than a few smugglers and thieves.
His smile widened. All the more reason to push this as far as it would go. If you needed respect, the first thing to do was to test your limits. Once you knew how far you were allowed to go, you knew what you had to continually exceed to gain respect, or at least fear.
“I’ve met pirates several times. Saw a captain behead a merchant in M’Dahz once. And since pirates are, in my experience, grown men with brains and cunning, I can only assume that you are either captives or that perhaps you clean the shitters, yes?”
Several growls greeted this comment. Samir began to relax. Some crowds were so predictable it was almost a shame to play them.
“Well? Any of you young ladies got enough of a voice to tell me what ship this is.”
The leader at the back folded his arms and sat back on a crate.
“You are either exceptionally brave or monumentally stupid, boy. My lads will tear you to pieces for that.”
Samir shrugged.
“Bring it to me. I have gutted Pelasian captains, learned to fight well from a desert warrior and dirtily from the docks of M’Dahz. And I am not remotely afraid of any of your catamites, my friend.”
The figures, barring the leader who remained seated on his crate, began to step slowly and purposefully forward from the shadows. Samir nodded to himself. This was going to hurt, but it was the first step to gaining a level of control.
With a smile, he scanned around and found a rib-shaped piece of timber perhaps two feet long and slightly curved; part of a broken barrel, probably. He hefted it for a moment and turned to face the advancing crowd.
“Alright. Who’s first?”
The white horses of possibility rushed along the side of the ship as they danced from crest to crest, keeping pace with the beatings just audible from within the hull of the great dark vessel.
On the raised rear section of the deck, beneath the large building-like canopy, captain Khmun shifted his gaze from the wide horizon ahead to the two sails which billowed.
“We’re losing the wind, Sharimi. Break out the oars.”
He cupped his hand round his ear and grinned.
“And you’d best go break up the fight. The boys need to take their seats.”
The first officer returned the sly grin and bowed. As he ran off shouting commands, Khmum rubbed his bristly chin and stared off ahead into the distance, focusing on the island that would not be visible for days yet.
The ‘Dark Empress’ was heading home.