As he descended the widening street toward the port he was relieved to note that the gate remained wide open as usual although now, rather than being guarded by two bored men, half a dozen soldiers stood alert, eyeing up everyone who entered or left the port. Presumably they were mostly on the lookout for Samir; they wouldn’t know of Ghassan’s escape yet and probably didn’t have his description. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Ducking into a shadowed alleyway that hadn’t yet been graced with the dawn light, Ghassan looked up and down the street. It was still early and there were few enough people around that he would be observed as he entered the port just enough that he might raise questions. His attire, condition and grazes might attract just too much attention. With a smile, he turned and jogged down the dark passage.
Sure enough, it met another tiny alley, too narrow for animals or vehicles. Clean washing hung on lines at the rear of residences. If he remembered this area correctly…
Yes, there it was: the rear entrance of the stables that fronted onto Khaz Gharda Street, and just inside the gate stood a huge stone trough, half full of water. Later it would be filled for the horses. Grinning, Ghassan pulled himself easily up and over the low wall, grunting at the pain in his leg as he dropped to the stone within. Removing the chain mail and gloves, along with his tunic, breeches and boots, he dropped them one after the other onto the floor beside the trough until he was standing naked. He grinned. That would give the stable master a shock if he came out now.
As quickly as he could, he climbed into the trough, immersing himself in the cold water that had chilled overnight and was yet to see warming sunlight. There was barely enough water to cover him but, ignoring the goosebumps that rose on his skin, he quickly washed himself down as best he could to remove the odour of the jail cell and sweat and plastered his unruly hair back down to his scalp.
Shivering, he climbed back out into the early sunlight, paused for a moment as he decided what to do with his armour and finally, shrugging, left it where it lay and climbed, naked, over the wall and back into the narrow alley. Minutes later, he was in the back yard of a house, selecting unremarkable garments of an average quality, and dressing as speedily as he could.
By the time he returned to the main road, there were noticeably more people about. With a frown, he perused the population. The best way… yes, there was his ticket into the port unmolested.
Down the street came a teamster with a cartload of bags and sacks, partially covered with a thick blanket. The donkey pulling the cart rolled its eyes in a bad tempered fashion and snorted. Ghassan chuckled.
“I know how you feel.”
Waiting for just the right moment, he walked out of the alleyway just as the cart rolled past and ambled quietly along on the opposite side of the street, keeping pace with the carter. Slowly, they rolled on toward the port and, after a few tense minutes, Ghassan let the carter pull slightly ahead. As the donkey reached the gate, guards stepped across to block passage. The man reined his beast in and the wheels rolled slowly to a halt, while the soldiers on duty began to go through the cart’s load, prodding with the buts of their spears.
Keeping his expression carefully neutral, Ghassan walked calmly on past the activity and through the open archway into the port district with only the most cursory of glances from one of the free guards.
He smiled. Being totally unremarkable was always the best way to remain unnoticed.
Now to find the Laughing Mermaid.
In which Ghassan instils order
The tavern was noisy, smelly, and absolutely full of life, exactly as Ghassan remembered it from the many times he had passed by during his youth as well as the more recent occasions when the Wind of God was docked here. However, despite his familiarity with the building, he had never before set foot inside it.
The interior was murky, reeking of the root cultivated by the desert nomads that was burned and smoked in clay pipes, mixed with the smell of sweat and that curious salty odour that only a lifetime sailor could cultivate. Squinting, Ghassan cast his gaze left and right. The tavern population seemed to polarise, with certain types gathering in small groups. There were several likely-looking groups that could represent the crew of the Empress and for a moment the fugitive officer chided himself for not asking more detail of his brother.
Through the crowds, as he clicked his tongue irritably, he spotted a heavy-set man with a design of whorls and spines tattooed across his scalp. Smiling, he realised that was probably why Samir had directed him to the first officer. Ghassan remembered that scalp from his brief time on board. Ursa was rather hard to miss.
Taking a deep breath, the tall man straightened and strode across the room, coming to a halt before the group who were spread across four tables at one end of the room. He almost laughed when the whole bunch fell silent, to a man, as he approached them. It was like something from an old comedy tale.
“Ursa, yes? I’m sure I remember you.”
The big man turned an angry face on him and his eyes flashed dangerously.
“Only if you’d like me to shout out your name, captain.”
Ghassan nodded.
“Agreed. Indiscreet of me. My apologies. I’m here at the request of my brother.”
Ursa nodded.
“He warned me. You’re to help us cut out the Empress and meet him later?”
“Yes, but more than that” Ghassan said, gesturing at a chair and raising his eyebrow.
The big first officer nodded and, as they sat, Ghassan noted with a mix of humour and discomfort the unpleasant looks many of the pirates were directing at him. He couldn’t entirely blame them, of course. He had been their most ardent adversary for many years and, were the roles reversed, he might well have tried to kill them by now.
“My brother is unwilling to leave even a part of his crew, and I tend to agree. We’re to free your shipmates and then take the ship. But before we make any sort of move, I need to be sure that you’re with me and I have a feeling some of you are struggling with that?”
Ursa shrugged.
“You’re no one’s favourite here. Can’t say as I’d have time for you myself if it weren’t for the law having been laid down by the boss; he threatened to gut anyone who laid a finger on you. Most of the lads would never dream of disobeying the cap’n, but there might be the odd man who thinks it would be worth it just to watch you bleed out.”
Ghassan nodded and turned to smile at the other men, who were still glowering at him.
“Anyone here have an issue with taking orders from me in your captain’s absence?”
There was a tight silence, though the level of apprehension around the table increased noticeably.
“Let me put it another way: I release every man here from their oath to my brother. I can’t do anything with a crew that are only with me because they’ve been told to be. So… given that you’re all free to knife me, with Ursa as a witness to my promise, who wants a go?”
Smiling, he pushed his seat back from the table, remaining firmly in it.
There was an uncomfortable pause as two men opposite him looked at one another and shuffled in their seat. The threat of displeasing Samir apparently still held them back. He smiled.
“No one at all?”
Ursa, next to him, leaned close for a moment.
“Don’t do this, sir. The cap’n will kill me if I let the men hurt you.”
Ghassan smiled and nodded.
“I’ll take my chances, Ursa. You take yours.”
Noting the man opposite who was almost out of his seat, his knuckles whitening on the seat arms with strain, Ghassan sized him up. These men were brutal and dangerous, but they would be honourable at some level, or Samir wouldn’t have them. It would be a shame to hurt them, but an example was worth a thousand speeches.