Death Whispers 4: The Best Laid Plans

Author’s Note: Death Whispers of the Etherwave is a serialized fiction story that is a part of Legends of the Privateers. Each chapter will appear bi-weekly.

Missed a chapter? (or ‘Episode’ if you like!) Well, never you worry, as we’re only just getting started! The full list of chapters will appear here later on!

Transformed by the cataclysm of 1712, Doctor Pedro Sangre and his four courageous privateer companions confront mysterious and evil forces that plague innocent people. Together, they grapple with uncanny forces and myths come to life, risking everything to preserve peace and set right what has gone wrong.

By the time the story was finished and we concluded our business, afternoon light had aged to an orange sunset. I stopped on the footpath outside the bookshop to listen to the shriek of gulls over in the harbor. It was a soothing normal that helped pull me out of my dark thoughts. Nearby, lamplighters walked by on their way to ignite the lantern sparks for the night that lined Tower Street.

Elara walked out of the shop, then stopped on the footpath next to me. The bag of doubloons in her hand jingled as she toyed with it.

“I know Argall said he felt safe at his shop, but I have a bad feeling about all this.” I scowled at the shadows drawn out by the sunset. “We need to keep watch on him until someone arrives to protect him.”

“Agreed.” Elara’s tone was terse. “I’m not sure he took your warning seriously.”

“Once out of sight of his shop, we can set watch schedules.” I said quietly.

There wasn’t any more to say about that, so we didn’t. Instead, we just listened to the sounds of Kingston in the evening. After a moment, Elara glanced over at me with a somber expression, then nodded at the bag of coins.

“There’s plenty here for repairs to the Duchess. After that, there should be some left over in memory of the ones we lost in the ruins.”

I blew out a soft sigh. This was never an easy conversation, no matter how often it happened.

“Lives are such a high price for anything. Especially for an old book of maps and notes.” I watched the sunset and pursed my lips. “I’m ashamed to say it, but I didn’t know the people we lost all that well. Any family?”

She shook her head as Lysander and the Terrasons joined us on the footpath. The five of us strolled town Tower Street to put some distance between the bookshop and its strange little owner. Then we’d plan out how to protect them.

“None that I know,” Elara replied softy. “But they deserve a proper marker in Pauper’s Field, or a vigil in the Proud Dog. Just something. They signed on with me. I owe them that. We owe them that.”

“I knew one of the lads we lost. My vote’s the Proud Dog Pub,” Skaldi grunted with a shrug. “Bazel was as stubborn as a mule, but his heart was always in the right place. He always liked the Proud Dog.”

“It would feel right,” Lysander added quietly.

To be honest, I only half-heard the rest of the conversation as it dove into the details. I didn’t realize it until Elara touched my arm.

“You’ve not heard a word we’ve said, have you?”

“Yes? No.” I rubbed my eyes. “I have some. My mind’s elsewhere.”

Durner Terrason grunted. “Well, out with it, Pedro. If you hold it in, it’ll eat you alive. What is it?”

The scars on my hand leaped to mind, but that was a conversation for later.

“The pirates. I have a feeling they knew we were there, waiting for us.” I scowled while I shook my head. “How did they know? We didn’t even know that the island had the Codex until a day before we dropped anchor.”

“Now, Captain Storm may have been after the book, but he could have also been after you,” Lysander said. “He called you out by name.”

That brought me to a dead stop on the footpath.

“What? No. I had the Codex. Storm was clear he was after it.”

“Pedro, he acted like he knew you,” he replied.

I replayed the fight again in my mind. If Lysander was right, or even half-right, it turned everything I had considered on its ear and wound my worries tighter.

“Storm was desperate to cut me apart, but I thought it was just to get the Codex.” I rubbed my chin. “But I see a little of what you mean.”

The image of Captain Storm’s skull amulet danced around in my thoughts. I rubbed my eyes, then shook my head.

“This is starting to sound like there’s a bounty on me. Maybe even one on the book and myself? I understand the book, but I don’t understand why put one on me?”

Durner shrugged. “If word leaked that Argall hired us, you’d be the likely one out of all of us to find and read the bloody thing.” He scratched the side of his rust-red beard. “Hunt the book, get the book. Hunt you, still get the book.”

The gearwright folded his massive arms over his chest. Brass veins in his skin glowed a soft golden hue. A sure sign he was concerned.

“When I worked as a hunter some years back, I ran into more than one contact like that. But! I’ll tell you this.” The look in his copper eyes turned brittle and hard. “Every one of those was always personal.”

I glanced around in mild surprise.

“Now wait. Personal? Who? I don’t mislead my clients with my alchemy. Not ever. I’ve also never met Captain Storm, or anyone that knew him that I was aware of. Not that he’s a problem now. Either the crabs killed him, or their venom has by now.”

Elara shook her head, dragonfly wings fluttering in agitation.

“No. Now wait, Durner. This all sounds too convenient. Yes, he took after Pedro, while the rest of the crew rushed all of you. But Pedro had the Codex.”

“Yes, I did.” A frown settled over my while I folded my arms over my chest. Thoughts turned over rapidly in my mind, sorting the pieces of the conversation. “But it was in my backpack, not visible at all. Storm and his cutthroats showed up after we left the main library, so they couldn’t have seen me take it from the shelf.”

Lysander raised his eyebrows at me with a serious expression. “The library had those tall windows overlooking the swamp. Could have been someone watching from out there.”

I nodded. “Perhaps. We didn’t exactly…”

Distant sounds of shattered glass and a muffled sharp shriek ripped both the air and our debate. There wasn’t any mistake where it came from.

“The bookshop!” I exclaimed.

We drew weapons while we ran.

“We’ve got the side,” Durner said, then raced off around the building down a side street with Skaldi right behind him. “Over and to the back?” I asked Elara.

“Yes. I’ll meet you both in the back,” she snapped off. Then she fixed me with a hard look. “Watch yourselves.”

“You, too,” I replied.

Elara’s dragonfly wings snapped open, then she shot into the air. A faint stream of blue-white flames trailed after her ghost blade as she vanished out of sight above the building.

I glanced at Lysander before we yanked open the front door, swords at the ready. Sebastian raced in ahead of us, then stopped two paces inside, posture stiff, wings and ears tucked low. Then he rolled out a low hiss. Lysander and I stepped in to either side of the gargoyle, stunned.

“What in the nine hells happened?” Lysander whispered. “We weren’t gone that long.”

The place had been turned upside down.

Chairs, tables, even small bookcases had been tossed over. Books had been ransacked and scattered across the floor, spines bent and cracked from a quick heat. They looked like thick, twisted leaves ripped from a battered tree. Random, small wooden trinkets and other oddities lay forgotten among the debris. Dust clouds ran wild through the air.

I shook my head. Words absolutely failed me.

“Step carefully,” I whispered while I eased past an overturned chair. A small field of black stained glass glimmered next to my boot. “Mind the broken glass.”

Lysander slowly followed in my wake.

Caution went out the window when we heard a soft sobbing from across the room.

For more about Legends of the Privateers, Hoist the Colors, or any of my other works, please consider subscribing as I would really appreciate the support, sometimes I post behind the scenes on writing, worldbuilding and more. If you’re wanting a deeper look at Hoist the Colors, take the plunge here at the link: Hoist the Colors.

Hoist the Colors is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. Actually, when it's not swinging off the rigging, or shivering some timbers, it's rather shy and retiring. Did I mention it enjoys baking? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. So he really is all to blame here.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, shoved overboard, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author's, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.