by Jason Gallagher
in Issue 109, February 2021
Imectas bent down on his knees, a soaking, soapy rag between his hands, and set to scrubbing the deck. Sun warmed the back of his neck. The water turned the worn wood a dark brown, and every once in a while the rag would catch on a splinter or knot. A sliver lodged itself in his thumb. He cursed and stopped scrubbing to see if he could worry it out.
The captain knocked him on the back of the head. “Twiddling your thumbs won’t get that debt paid!” He laughed, a sound like the clatter of bones.
Imectas said nothing. The splinter in his thumb stung.
The ship had only left port the day before. Never had Imectas made such a foolish mistake in gambling. But this time he’d crossed the line, and he’d felt so ashamed and disgusted with himself when he signed the papers and the captain rolled them up and tucked them into his jacket. A year of personal service. And it was backed by the law. He couldn’t explain his foolishness with anything but pride and greed. A soft breeze blew, and he looked out at the expanse of sea around them, port a hazy gray smudge on the horizon. There would be plenty of time to revise this explanation in a way that might let him live with himself.
When the captain returned to inspect Imectas’s work he had nothing to say other than a soft grunt, then walked away. Imectas took that as his cue that he could rest, and that he should get out of sight.
Belowdecks he found a group of men huddled over a table playing cards. The game was Striker’s Prize. Coins clattered on the wood, and a grizzly man Imectas recognized as the quartermaster gave a hearty laugh. Imectas opened and closed his fist. Gambling was a problem for him, but then, he had little to lose, and this was an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the crew. Imectas felt justified to insert himself.
He turned over a crate and pulled it up between the lithe quartermaster and the stocky carpenter. The quartermaster gave him the hairy eyeball, but a few of the other men grinned; he knew they were eager to take his money. “Sounds like you’ve got a fine game going here!” He took the deck of cards from the carpenter, who seemed too surprised at his audacity to protest. After shuffling the cards for a moment, he stopped to look at them. “Gods, this deck is beautiful. You know, a deck this fine, if you use it the right way, can do more than play fun games. You can read the future with it!” He fanned through the cards, discreetly selecting three and moving them to the top of the deck.
He looked around the table, always keeping the cards moving. He was seizing a precious opportunity. With so many credulous spectators, the cards could indeed be used as a vehicle for magic, and with a little bit of magic, he might escape the clutches of the captain. This was a better game than any card game. As he shuffled, he poured energy from his fingertips into the cards.
The expressions on the faces around the table ranged from curious to hostile. Hostile, but not skeptical. A dark woman with a wide-brimmed hat he recognized as the second mate, a highly skilled sea artist, spat on the floor. “‘Tis black magic. Bad luck on a ship at sea.”
He gave her his best smile, the one he used to charm a victim out of their proper sensibilities. “It’s not black magic, it’s prayer. We call the gods with the cards, and they share their secrets.”
The quartermaster scoffed. “Read it, then. What do the gods have to say?”
Imectas set the cards down carefully. “The gods speak best to the sound of coin.”
Fires blossomed in the eyes of those assembled, and Imectas felt his heart quicken in his chest. But instead of beating him, they coughed up their coins, though only coins of bronze. He quickly scooped them up and dumped them into a purse he kept at his belt. Reading the future, influencing the future, there was little difference. “The gods will talk.”
He pushed the deck towards the second mate. She looked up at him, the whites of her eyes startling. “Will you cut the deck, milady?”
She reached out slowly, carefully, her black painted nails glistening in the light of the lantern. She took the top half of the deck and set it aside, as if she were placing a flower on a grave. Imectas swiftly replaced the bottom half on top, adding an extra burst of magic for good measure, then turned over the top card.
“A ha! The Ten of Eagles! I see a swift journey, with the wind in our sails!” The carpenter to his left nodded in approval, but the other faces remained as stone.
The next card he half turned up, snuck a glance, and raised his eyebrow. He paused a few seconds for effect, then flipped it over. “Oooh,” he cooed, “the World. This journey will be a great accomplishment. Riches and fortune far greater than any could imagine.” He glanced around the table and was pleased to see the others were looking on with more interest, though the sea artist still eyed him with distrust.
With a flourish, he flipped over the third card. This was the card that would free him, would free them all. Gasps blew around the table like an ominous wind. Imectas didn’t say anything, and he kept his expression neutral. There, in the center of the table, was Death.
Overnight a storm had blown in from the south. Their intended route across the sea would take them out to the Great Ocean, and there would be plenty of ports to stop at as they passed through the strait. The rain came down hard, soaking the deck and making the sails hang damp and heavy, but there was little wind to accompany it. It made the most sense to continue through.
Those who’d heard Imectas read the cards looked on him with suspicion. Harmless as the rains might be, any weather that came on the heels of the Death card was to be held suspect. As he was fetching supplies for the carpenter to plug a hole in the main deck, he caught sight of the second mate pouring over charts belowdecks. The look she gave him sent goosebumps prickling up his spine and made him shiver.
The look was warranted.
When she looked down, he continued on his way. The door to the captain’s room was open when he passed, and he looked in and saw the captain wasn’t there. No one else was in the hall with him. He walked over to the captain’s desk and opened the bottom drawer. In the back were stuffed a handful of trinkets, including a silver chain with a jeweled pendant. He took the piece out and slipped it into his pocket. A little something to recoup what he’d lost to the captain at the card table. He then collected the supplies the carpenter had asked for and returned topside. After giving the carpenter his materials, hunkered down to await further directions.
“The second mate,” he said.
“Yeah, what about her?”
Imectas sat down and crossed his legs, then picked up one of the nails and twirled it between his fingers. “How did she get here?”
The carpenter reached out and took the nail. “Why are you asking?” When Imectas didn’t answer, the carpenter looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “You got a thing for her?”
Imectas’s first urge was to laugh, but he stifled it. He’d never had a “thing” for any woman, though that wasn’t something he should advertise. Instead he kept quiet and let the carpenter fill in the blanks.
Looking at his work, the carpenter frowned. “Gimme that putty.”
Imectas handed it over, and the carpenter started working it into the seams.
“Kinda like you,” the carpenter said. Imectas hadn’t thought he would talk further. “When the captain gets bored, he gets to be more of a pirate than a trader. He captured her ship, a much smaller vessel. Killed the men in battle, but gave her a choice. Walk the plank, or work for him. Me,” the carpenter looked in the direction of the captain, “I think I might have walked the plank.” He laughed to himself.
Though the barrelman said the clouds had approached from the south and the ship was heading due west, the storm worsened as they sailed on. The waves grew higher, choppy, slapping against the sides of the vessel like the arms of a giant squid and sending plumes of brine up onto the railings. Imectas wanted to go belowdecks, but the carpenter had found another leak and it was easier to plug it topside. “You don’t want to be dripped all over during a rainstorm.” The clouds turned dark and flashed with lightning.
The captain approached, his heavy footsteps making the deck shudder. “You, man!” Imectas was sure now the captain had never known his name. “They said you read this storm in the cards. What kind of stories have you been putting into the heads of my men?”
“Nothing, sir!” The rain began to pour, heavy, rattling on the deck so that he had to raise his voice. “I was only giving them a little entertainment. Only children believe such silly tricks come true.”
“Does this storm look silly to you? My second mate says you cast black magic on this ship!”
“What does your first made say?”
“First mate? He says it’s time for you to go for a swim!”
Just then a squall caught the sails and sent the ship lurching. The captain stumbled and one of the other men fell. Even over the rain, Imectas heard an ominous creaking that made his stomach churn. “Sir, I think it’s best we all get belowdecks!”
Another wave crashed into the ship, making the captain stumble. His eyes were wild under his bushy eyebrows. “Ain’t nothing belowdecks that’s gonna save you now!” He turned to the other men. “Furl the sails!”
But they weren’t quick enough. Another squall came and caught the heavy wet canvas. It billowed out, then a snap cracked through the air like thunder. Imectas stared, dumbstruck, as the mainmast tilted, then fell. It glanced the foremast, which also cracked, then smashed through the deck, shearing right through so Imectas could see belowdecks when the lightning flashed.
He couldn’t bring himself to move, but around him there was a flurry of action. The captain shouted orders he could hardly hear above the pounding rain, and men were hoisting the rowboat over the side. Below his feet the ship swung side-to-side, with the side where the mast fell through tipping dangerously close to the climbing waves. With every flash of lightning he saw the image of the Death card, burned into his memory.
Someone grabbed his arm. “Move, you fool!” He recognized the husky voice of the second mate. Her fingers clasped like manacles around his wrist. She whirled him around, but the rowboat had already been hoisted over the side. Above them, a large segment of the foremast had been knocked loose when the mainmast fell, but had gotten caught in the ropes. It finally fell free, dropping onto the rowboat with a sickening thud. The men who were not crushed underneath cried out with terror as the small boat took on water.
Imectas and the sea artist shared a glance. Her eyes were as white as the lightning-bright sky.
He heard the captain’s voice rise over the raging storm. “Abandon ship!”
The ship sunk as quickly as the storm had come up. Those still on board had broken off chunks of wood with their hammers, hoping to get a piece big enough to help them float. The night was wild, cold, tossing them about on colossal waves that churned with the fury of an angry god. Imectas and the second mate clung in terror to a scrap broken off the main mast. He told himself he could swim without it if he had to, but his limbs ached with cold and his blood was leaden and heavy. Even when the seas stopped raging and the first stars peeked through the clouds, he could not let himself rest. They kicked and they paddled, and by dawn they found themselves on a beach, but they didn’t know where.
The captain had landed on the same beach, as well as two other crew members who survived the wreckage. Imectas should have been horrified to see he hadn’t escaped his captor, but he was too exhausted to care.
The captain strode over, bootless and kicking up wet sand, to where Imectas and the sea artist lay. He drew back his foot, then kicked Imectas with all his might in the gut. Imectas rolled over, planting his face in the sand.
“You dog! Reading the cards on my ship! Look what you’ve done!”
He kicked Imectas again in the back, causing Imectas to cough and inhale wet sand. He tried to spit it out, but he didn’t have the energy. The captain had been about to kick him again when the second mate stopped him.
“Enough! ‘Tis bad luck to kill a defenseless man!”
“I’ve had it up to here with luck,” the captain growled. He moved to push her aside, but she stood her ground.
“Think of your crew. Nobody will sail under a murderer. A fighter, yes, but not a murderer. How will you sail your ship alone?”
The captain gestured at the sea. “Do you see a ship? It’s gone. This filthy dog has gone and cursed it!”
By now Imectas had gained enough of his senses to force himself to stand, even if he was exhausted. The captain was looking at him with a gaze that would stop the heart of anyone weaker. He wanted to punch the captain back, to kick him in the guts, but that would be to stoop to the captain’s level. And the second mate might not be his ally any longer if he did.
The captain growled, then stormed off up to the bluff. Imectas looked to the second mate. “What do we do now?”
“Don’t look at me. Your black magic got us into this mess. I’m just making sure the mess doesn’t spread.” With that, she spit on the ground as if it might ward off evil spirits, then followed after the captain.
Imectas stared after her, wishing she would be a little bit more charitable toward him. It felt like she had some sort of empathy for him. Gods knew he felt for her. He’d heard stories from the other men of what the captain did to her at night, and wondered just how much service she’d pledged in exchange for her life. He felt his hatred for the man flare up in his chest. Instead of running as he should have, he determined to get the cards back and work some of their black magic against his captor.
Looking around the beach, he saw that the carpenter had also survived the shipwreck, and he was certain the carpenter was the owner of the cards. He strode over, and when the man saw Imectas approach a cautious fear arose in his eyes.
“What do you want?”
“The cards.” Imectas held out a hand.
The carpenter spat in it. “You think I would give those to you? That’s the whole reason we got into this mess. Besides, they’re soaked through.”
“I do, because I’m sure you don’t want to find out what other sorcery I might be able to do without the cards to help me.”
The man couldn’t get the deck out of his pocket fast enough. He stayed long enough to watch Imectas use magic to dry the soaking wad, then signed a ward of the gods and moved to put as much distance as he could between himself and the magician.
Imectas wasted no time getting to work. From his pocket he removed the pendant he’d stolen from among the captain’s things. In the sand, he drew a small figure to symbolize the captain and help him focus, then laid the pendant on top of it. From deep within himself, he drew his hatred for the captain, his frustration at being held captive, the pain from each kick the captain had delivered to his ribs and back. These he funneled from his heart down his arms and through his fingertips to the cards as he shuffled. To ensure the gods might favor him, he tempered these with the promise that he would ensure the second mate was safe, since she had shown him mercy. Then he dealt the cards.
The Ace of Sharks, swift, a killer, efficient and powerful. The World Tree, a symbol of ageless and colossal strength. And the gods smiled in his favor: Death.
It seemed ages ago that Imectas had strolled into the tavern in the condition he considered best for gambling: absolutely broke. He had the clothes on his back and just enough coin for the opening pot and a mug of beer, if he felt the urge.
The tavern was crowded that day. In just two days the would celebrate Luvasta, the festival of the harvest moon. Considering the markets would soon be flooded with the fruits of an abundant season, many ships were docked in port to stock up for their long voyages. Throaty laughter rumbled around the great open room, and the smokes of many exotic cigars lingered in the air, tobacco and cannabis and salvia. When combined with the presence of beer, they made conditions perfect to enter a poor man and leave among the rich.
He sat himself down at an already crowded table, pulling up a chair between a small woman with her mouth as tightly knotted as her hair and a lanky man with few teeth. They moved aside rather quickly, as if eager to take the newcomer’s scarce funds, but Imectas had some tricks up his sleeve. He bet modest amounts at first, his eyes sharp and watching each card revealed. These he filed away in his memory while waiting for the perfect opportunity to raise his bets.
Across from him sat the captain. He wasn’t a large man, but the way he sat and the way he stared and the way he held his cards made him altogether imposing. A cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, its smoke curling lazily into the air. He played well, the cumulative hands revealing a mix of bluff and truth.
One round, Imectas had a fantastic hand, the two through six of eagles. He’d been working his way up to it for several rounds, nudging the cards with magic here and there to stack the deck in his favor. They were lower cards, but a run in the same suit was hard to beat. Yet the captain kept calling his bets, even upping the ante. Not believing his hand could be beaten, he kept going, grinning at the captain as he knew the old man was bluffing.
The cards came down. The captain hadn’t bluffed.
The old man laughed as he scooped the pile of winnings towards himself. The toothless man cocked his head and gave him a crooked smile. “That’s tough luck, ain’t it?” But Imectas wouldn’t back down. Next pot he threw in his earring, and was able to win enough to stay in the game.
He kept on playing, kept on pushing his luck. Every time he upped an ante, the captain tsked, and every time he won a pot, the captain gave him a look that could douse the stars. Finally, he’d crafted a hand worth going all in for. This was the kind of magic that made one start to sweat, but the tavern was hot and the others didn’t scrutinize him. A run of the major arcana, no small feat, one that could only be beaten by a higher run of the arcana. One that could only be beaten by the most extreme bad luck.
Still, the betting was fierce on this hand, and he loved it. The bigger the pot became, the bigger he knew his prize would be. When he had nothing material left to throw in, he took scrap of paper from the prim woman and scribbled on it, then tossed the folded sheet into the pot. It was that time. The cards were thrown down.
Eyes boggled at his hand, breaths whistled from gap-toothed lips. All, that is, except the captain’s. He laid down his hand, and confirmed that Imectas had the most supreme bad luck in all the land.
That was how Imectas came to owe the good captain an entire year of personal service.
Having cast his spell, Imectas shuffled the cards together except for Death, which he placed in his pocket next to his heart. For him, the Death card symbolized freedom. He looked out at the expanse of land before him. If he hadn’t promised the gods he would protect the second mate, he would have run off right then. That, and he wanted to see the look on the captain’s face when his spell worked its magic. He walked across the beach towards where the captain and second mate stood on the bluff.
The captain stood with one hand shading his eyes. Over the sea, clouds were beginning to gather, but inland the sky was still bright with sunlight. A rising breeze whipped the captain’s jacket around his ankles.
“What do you think, sir?” asked the second mate. “Should we go into the town or should we keep along the coast and find a port?”
“We need a ship.” The captain started walking along the shore. “There won’t be any ships inland.”
Imectas followed behind them, keeping quiet and hoping to avoid any attention from the captain. He couldn’t help feeling a little glee as the wind picked up around them. The clouds were dark indeed, and they roiled like a mass of serpents though they did not stray into the lighter sky that overlooked the land. Below them the waves churned, each crest growing higher before it crashed on the sand.
“I don’t like the looks of it, sir,” said the second mate. “The sea is angry. We should head inland.” She cast a glance back towards Imectas. It drilled into his chest and made his heart catch in his throat.
The captain marched on anyways, holding his head high. “The sea is our home. If she takes us today it will only be somewhere we’re meant to go.”
Imectas put his hand to his chest, where he could feel Death stiff and angular in his pocket. He knew the storm would come through for him, but he prayed for it anyway, prayed to any and all gods who might hear him. He watched the second mate walk ahead of him. He should pull her away, take her far from the captain and the wrath of the sea. But she’d resist him, and he couldn’t fight her.
The sea beside them began to pull back on itself. The second mate grabbed the captain’s arm, made him turn and look at the water trickling down the newly bared sand. He shook his head and kept on walking, and she walked along with him. Imectas hesitated. He knew he should run inland, lest he get swept away by the same wave he asked to take his captor. But the second mate: she wouldn’t leave her captain. Imectas couldn’t abandon her. Breaking his promise to the gods would likely cost him his life. He wished he could understand her. He knew she hated him, hated him deep down in her bones. Did she think the captain could kill her any better than the sea could?
The wave rose up, a solid wall of water that glittered with the light of the inland sun. He found that he couldn’t move, that his legs had put down roots deep into the bluff out of fear. When the water crashed down, it swept him off his feet, slapping him with such force he thought he’d broken in half. His mind seemed to wander in and out of reality. His eyes opened, and he was underwater. He broke the surface, gasping for air. Then the churning waters smashed his leg against a boulder. The world went dark.
When he came to, he was lying on a beach under a pier, the massive pilings standing in a line out to sea. He coughed and choked, vomiting seawater. His heart raced, and his leg burned wit a searing pain. He opened his eyes a little, and when he saw that his pants were torn and stained with blood he vomited again. It was bright out, and the sun was rising. He groaned, realizing he’d been out the entire night, and rolled on to his side.
There was a body lying next to him. It was a woman, dark, her hair knotted in thick ropes that lay limp on the wet sand. The second mate! He tried to stand, but the pain made him cry out and his leg wouldn’t bear his weight. Pushing through the pain, he crawled over to her. Gently, he reached out and touched her shoulder.
She coughed, quiet spasms that shook her shoulders.
Satisfied she was alive, he looked around. He didn’t see the captain anywhere. His first thought was that it might be too good to be true. He wanted to get up and look around, to see if he was really free, but he knew he wouldn’t be getting up for a long time. He prayed the gods hadn’t failed them, and that they were alone.
She coughed again, then lay back on the sand as if reclining to sleep, her lips lengthening in a smile.If she hadn’t been a woman, he might have fallen in love with her then. He touched her again, and her eyes fluttered open. It occurred to him that he’d never learned her name.
She looked at him, dazed, then pushed herself upright. “You’re hurt.”
He grinned. “Yeah, but I’ll live.” It was painful, and he wouldn’t walk again for months after he’d gotten it properly set. But in the grand scheme of things it seemed like a small price to pay. He slipped the Death card out of his pocket and thanked the gods for their grace.
“Where is the captain?” the second mate asked. “Is the captain here?” She looked around, her eyes wild with a fear he hoped she’d never feel again.
“No.” Imectas smiled. “We’re free.”
©February 2021, Jason Gallagher
Jason Gallagher’s work has been seen in The Ansible and previously in Swords & Sorcery. Learn more about Jason Gallagher at http://jwgallagherwriter.com/.