Hesketh Tolson
patreon
RS 40: A Study In Sapphire (Part II)
🕑 Added 2021-06-26 12:32:58 +0000 UTCChapter 40
A Study in Sapphire II
I settle on the sand, and my companions gather round me, their faces expectant. I feel hope then, but my innards push up against my ribs, and my brain swells in my skull. I lift up a hand to my ears, but they are not bleeding, not right now, it is a memory only. We are away from the palace, away from the myriad watching eyes but even now, I fear we shall be seen or overheard and I cast suspicious glances at the water and its secretive depths. I would welcome death, it is the suffering of life I cannot endure.
“My father,” I say, with a deep breath, “is the King of these islands.”
“Yes, yes,” says the lithe girl. Her name is Alice and she is impatient as she is young, and constantly fiddling with the belts around her waist. “That’s why you are a prince. Honestly Fred, can I just stab him and speed this along? Put him out of his misery?”
“No,” says Fred. “My quest was to keep him safe, and to help him find a personality. He’s got one now, it’s not my fault if he’s creepy as fuck. I think the old boy means well, don’t you, Erik?”
I ponder before answering. “Really, what we do in this world is of no consequence. It is only what people believe we have done that matters.”
“I don’t believe that,” says Fred. “It matters. And you were about to be brave and tell us about your father.”
Perhaps my uncouth friend is less a goldfish and more an octopus - but no that is going too far. His heart is large, but I do not think he is cunning, while my tentacled brethren are wily indeed.
“The king,” Fred says, prodding me once more from my reverie. I shudder, and pull my mind back from the abyss.
“My father,” I repeat, my eyes growing distant, “My father the King. The King, the Guardian, He Who Dwells in the Deep, the Key of the Watery Gates. He who has seen the watery chasm, the Pale Dread. It is helpless. There is only the promise of oblivion and the darkness between the stars. I would go there if I could. Anything, anything to blot out the sound. To make it stop.”
“Whoa,” says Alice.
“Rough childhood, then?” asks Fred.
“My parents spawned many offspring,” I continue. “Their goal is to consume the world, and we are to be their messengers and their servants. Our purpose is to bring them worshipers, do their bidding, prepare their food and whisper of their greatness.”
“So what happened to make you think all of this wasn’t quite errr… tickettyboo?”
“I met Ula,” I say, with a sigh.
“Ula!” cries Maris. She brandishes the obsidian ring, her sapphire eyes flashing. “What happened to her? That ring was hers! Spelled to give her legs! She went to the palace to dance, she always wanted to dance, foolish minnow! I have seen neither scale nor hair of her since, and her comb was found floating with the jetsam.”
“Who is Ula?” asks Alice in confusion.
“My niece,” says Maris.
“My lost love,” I say with a sigh.
“Another mermaid?” asked Fred.
“Aye,” I say, regret pooling in my veins. “A daughter of Neptune. From the moment I met her she was everything to me. Every time I saw her I loved her more and more. More than once I bent to kiss the ground after she had passed, so smitten I was…We were never engaged. I have no complaints, she treated me as fairly as could be. Our affair was one-sided, I loved her desperately, but she only ever regarded me as a good friend, a best friend. There was never anything untoward on her part. My love was unrequited, an exquisite torture. I abhor this mundane existence, give me indescribable dread every time, but Ula…Ula! She was not herself luminous, but she was a conductor of light. I was no longer content in my darkness, in her presence the shadows shifted.” I breathe in, and the air rattles in my throat. “Her death at the hands of my brother devastated me.”
“Berne killed her?” asks Fred.
“Yes,” I reply, simply.
Maris starts to sob and a single, diamond tear tracks down her rouged cheek, dropping onto the sand with a gentle ‘pling’. The first tear is chased by many more as she cries for her lost niece. Each is about the size of a pea, and as hard and sparkling as a multifaceted diamond. Alice puts her arm around Maris’ shoulders and we all sit, mourning Ula.
I cannot cry for I am a husk, but I feel the regret and the sorrow in my bones. My emotions have long since been plucked out with only hollow remaining, deep and cavernous, but the horizon is limned in dusky gold and I realise the sun is rising on the distant horizon. The wind quiets and the waves with it, the light casting the dunes in grey relief.
“So what now?” says Alice, some time later.
“The King sounds like a boss,” says Fred, scratching his chin. “We should not rush in unprepared. I think we will need the whole party for this, and maybe some extra help.” He turns to me. “I assume your entire family is …er-”
“We are all monsters, yes,” I say. “For what man is not?” Alice snorts into her sleeve. I suspect she thinks I speak in metaphors. She will soon see. I refrain from glaring at her. “Not all of us feast on the souls of the living.”
There is a pause while my companions consider.
“Ooh,” says Fred, slapping his thighs. “Let’s have a SIEGE!”
“No!” says the Alice-child, turning pink. She embarks on a lengthy, and quite frankly impressive tirade about the logistics involved in siege warfare. From her demeanour and the way she berates my uncouth friend, I gather than this is not the first time he has suggested such a course of action and that the last time he left her holding all the metaphorical strings while he, quote unquote, ‘danced through the fairy castle like a wanton baboon’. When she stops to draw breath, Fred quickly declares that a siege probably wouldn’t be a good idea anyway, and peace is restored, although Alice continues to huff and puff for some minutes after.
All this time the unconscious pirates and ruffians have been lying about the beach keeping a low profile, taking naps, or perhaps regaining their consciousness. At this thoughtful lull in the proceedings it comes to Fred’s notice that some of them are trying to discreetly wriggle off into the dunes. Made irritable by the Alice-child’s tongue lashing, he sits up straight and bellows across the sands:
“Oi,” says he. “Where do you think you lot are off too?”
They all quickly lie still; feigning unconsciousness and Fred settles back on the beach looking smug. Maris casts him an admiring glance that he pretends not to notice.
“Anyway,” Fred says, turning back to me. “Prince Erik. Your father the king, why is he called the Gate? What was it? The Key of the Watery Gates? And all those other names?”
“The King, the Guardian, He Who Dwells in the Deep, the Key of the Watery Gates. He who has seen the watery chasm, the Pale Dread,” I intone, in a dead voice.
“Yes, yes,” Fred says. “But what does it mean?”
“He is himself the gate,” I say. “To pass beyond you must defeat him.”
“Aha!” says Fred, growing absurdly animated. He wriggles his toes and then chucks a lump of wet sand at a not so subtly crawling pirate, striking him on the head. The man desists, a terrified expression on his face. “Aha! Have we stumbled across the gate to level 3, so early on?”
“I know not of such things,” I say, “but my father is named the Pale Dread because well, he is a horror, and sickly pale in hue.”
“What a delight,” says Fred, rubbing his hands together in glee. The man disturbs me to my core, but there is something appealing about his enthusiasm. It will be charming right up to the moment it gets him and his companions killed.
“The watery chasm sounds… ug,” said Alice. “I bet we are going to need those breathing potions.”
“Yup,” says Fred, looking thoughtful. “I hope Joan can concoct something decent.” He straightens. Speaking of my insanely gorgeous and slightly insane girlfriend, what on earth is this?”
We all turn to follow his gaze.
An enormous full-rigged galleon is gusting into the bay, the wind behind her and sails full to bursting. Pennons stream in the breeze and the dawn light glints off a thousand brass fittings. Sleek lines painted a rich blue flow from bowsprit to stern, and the figurehead is carved in the likeness of a daughter of Neptune, complete with gold and indigo paint. The sides bristle with cannons. This is no merchantman, but a vessel built for war.
I recognise it as the pride of my father’s fleet, the Heart of the Ocean.
The great vessel coasts to a stop in the deep water just off the shore. There is a great scurrying of men reeling in sail cloth and pulling on rope, and an enormous anchor is dropped in the bay with a splash to rattle the ages.
A woman is hanging from the prow, one hand on a rope, the other waving a cutlass. A tricorn hat rests snug on the lady’s auburn locks which whip behind her in the gale. She looks familiar, I remember her from the palace, disappearing into the shrubbery, although she is now wearing scandalous clothes most unbecoming to the fairer sex. I can see her ankles, as well as the entirety of her legs outlined in her tight leather trousers.
“Ahoy!” she cries. “You cretinous landlubbers! Fancy a ride?”
“Nice boat,” shouts Fred.
“Ship, Fred, it’s a ship!”
“Nice ship!” Fred turns to address us. “Would you like to join our party,” he asks. “Erik? Maris? At least until we can sort out the monsters that seem to be terrorising your kingdom?”
“I cannot return to the palace,” I declare. “Not without arousing suspicion. I would be glad to accompany you until such a time as your quest can be fulfilled.”
Maris makes a tight nod.
“I will join you,” she says, her voice as clear as a silver bell, “until I have avenged Ula’s death.”
Fred nods, and we follow him to the edge of the sea.
The sun is rising now, and the sky has turned eggshell blue, with little white clouds puffy in the distance. The water sparkles in the light. I am afraid if I stand in the shallows some slimy tentacles will wrap around my ankles and drag me down to my death, but this is more likely to happen in the palace than on this random beach so I swallow my fears and step in. The water is surprisingly warm.
“Hang on,” says Fred, and raises his voice, calling up to the woman on the ship. “Darling!”
“Yes?”
“Do you need any extra men? I have all these spare ones lying around.” He gestures at prone pirates, most of whom are still feigning unconsciousness, and doing a very bad impression of it, I might add.
“No thank you! I stole a good crew as well,” his woman shouts back. “Very thoughtful of you to offer though!”
There is a collective sigh of relief from the beach.
“You lot owe me,” yells Fred, waving his hands like a windmill. “Go on, off you go then! And think twice before you try to beat up random strangers!” The ruffians scatter.
“I mean,” said Alice, wading slowly through the water, “I asked them to, and it was expensive. They got paid. Maris and I spent ages working on that ambush. You are such a bully, Fred.”
“Let me get out my tiny violin,” he replies.
A small rowing boat is waiting for us, and we clamber aboard. A grey bearded sailor with a weathered face and enough gold jewellery to open a small pawn shop rows us to the Heart of the Ocean, and we climb up with some difficulty up a rope ladder and onto the deck. Maris and I stand awkwardly as Fred and his friends embrace each other exclaiming and nattering in the banal manner of the lower classes.
“We think we’ve found the way to level 3!” squeals Alice. Fred’s woman, Joan, seems surprised.
“Already?” she says.
“Yeah, I think it's too soon,” said Fred. “By the way this is Prince Erik, his father is a small cosmic horror, and likely the level 2 boss.”
“Oh, well done, Fred,” says the lady, eyeing me up with an uncomfortably bold stare. “You kidnapped the prince, that should come in handy! Hello Erik, nice to meet you.”
“I was not kidnapped, ma’am” I say, but she merely pats me familiarly on the shoulder.
“He’s on an intense personal quest for breakfast food,” says Fred. “Pancakes with a side of emancipation.”
“I can get on board with that,” she says with a grin. She turns to Maris, raising one eye questioningly. The dark haired beauty is regal amongst the sailors, despite her night-walker attire, and stares at her down her aquiline nose.
“And this is Maris,” says Fred. “She’s a mermaid and she is joining us on our quest to dispose of the small cosmic horror, I mean the king. To avenge her niece.”
“A mermaid!” Joan exclaims, and she thrusts out her hand, grabbing Maris’, and pumping it up and down with great enthusiasm. “Nice legs,” she comments.
“Thank you,” says Maris, “the potion is very good.”
Joan leans towards her with an intent look on her face, then snaps back, regretfully.
“I would love to talk potions with you,” she says, “and legs. Soon. But right now we need to get going.”
“Why?” says Fred. “What’s the hurry? We’ve only just arrived? I was hoping for breakfast followed by a nap. Preferably in a hammock. And I’m very curious what you are doing with this ruddy big boat.”
“Ship,” said Joan. “And later, there’s no time.” She raises her voice, striding forward to issue orders. “Haul the anchor! Raise the mainsail!”
“Aye, captain!” comes the cry from all the crew, and they rush to obey her.
“Where’s Hugo?” says Alice, looking around, “and Epic? Have you seen them, Joan?”
Joan unclips a long brass eyeglass from her belt, and unfolds with a series of metallic clicks and groans. Sticking her tongue out, she levels it back towards the island we have just left, squinting into the lens, sweeping the lens backward and forwards as she surveys something in the distance.
“Don’t worry about them,” she says, snapping it shut. “They have their own transportation.”
“What?” says Alice. “What? What’s going on?”
“You know what’s weird,” says Fred, frowning. “The whole time since we’ve been here, level two I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen another player since we arrived. Besides us I mean. It’s just been NPCs all the way. Where is everyone?”
“Um Fred?”
“What?”
Alice turns him around. I follow her pointing finger, then lean over the railing, goggling and holding fast with both hands.
Coming around the side of the island is a massive assortment of vessels. Long ships, skiffs, rowing boats, several rafts, something that looked like a tricked-out bathtub, at least one Viking longship, a warship and a handful of caracals, all bearing down on us with cacophonous speed. People were everywhere, hanging from masts, shouting and paddling, furiously rowing, sails full and the water white with foam, the air thick with noise.
“What on earth,” muttered Fred. “Is that a bathtub?”
It is indeed a bathtub. How it stays afloat I have no idea. As we watch, it expands, a balloon rises up out of its structure and propellers shoot out on either side. It soars out of the pack with a mechanical chug, and a splutter. For a moment it looks like it might sink back into the madness, it bobs precariously, bits of smoke pouring from various parts, but then it rises again, swooping low over the rest of the floundering vessels and belching a trail of smoke.
There are people tightly crammed inside, and one of them looked familiar. I frown as it comes closer.
“So long, suckers!” yells a voice, and I look up to see my be-goggled older brother Hans leaning over the side, giving me the thumbs up.
“Hans!” I yelled. “What are you doing?”
“Epic!” squeals Alice.
Joan leaps onto the side railing, her eyes blazing as she points her cutlass forward. Her hair streams in the wind as the mighty sails drop and The Heart of the Ocean surges forwards.
“TREASURE HUNT!” she screams into the wind. “Let’s go!”
