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Chapter 11 fork: Mayoral Meeting
Vector says, “I’ll be talking to Sir Briansworth, you guys won’t really need to do much except listen.”
“But he suuuuuuuucks,” says Phyr. “Like, so bad.”
“And he’s also the closest option,” Pannych says. “Did I mention that my feet hurt? Look, if Vector doesn’t make headway with him in five minutes, then we can go try something else, OK?”
“Two minutes,” says Phyr.
“Or, instead of putting an arbitrary time-limit on my conversational skills,” Vector says, “Why don’t you wait outside and talk about video games or something?”
Phyr blinks a few times and says, “Yeah, I guess we could do that.”
At the Leetsburg City Hall, Pannych and Phyr sit on a bench outside to watch the sunset, while Vector goes in to talk to Sir Briansworth. For several minutes, Pannych enjoys being off her feet, while Phyr thinks about farts, probably.
“It’s good to see you,” Phyr says after a few minutes.
“What are you talking about? We see each other like every day.”
“What year is it, again?”
“It’s 2001, school just got oh, right.”
“Yeah. See, it’s 2018 outside, and things are… wait… no, forget I said anything. It’s just good to see you.” Pannych looks at him quizzically. “I mean, I was gonna talk about recent things, but then I remembered something soon on your timeline, and really? It’s kind of a shit-show from here on. Except for the black president, he’s cool.”
“We elect a black president? Sweet!”
“Two terms, even.”
“No shit? So not everything’s bad.”
“No, everything is bad. Nazis make a comeback.”
“OK, I could buy a black president, but now I know you’re pulling my leg.”
“Scout’s honor,” Phyr says, raising a hand sign.
“Uh, thing one? You were never in scouts. And thing two? That hand sign means ‘Live long and prosper’.”
“Whatever, I’m not messing with you. Nazis make a comeback and it’s fuckin’ scary.”
Pannych seems to accept this, and drops the incredulous look. Staring off into the sunset, she says, “All right, fine. At least I’ll get to kill some Nazis, then.”
Phyr almost facepalms, but manages to restrain himself and let that one go. “Anyway,” he continues, “I think today is officially the most I’ve seen of you since, well, high school.”
“Do we… not hang out?”
“We do,” Phyr says with a shrug, “We’re just busy. When we manage to get the same weekend free, one of us comes to the other - but that’s only like once a year, twice at most.”
“What do we do?”
“Drink, play video games, go out to eat. Best friend things.”
Pannych gives a wry smile and says, “Well, it’s good to know something good stays the same.” They then sit in silence as the red sky darkens and the stars come out.
Vector returns soon after, and immediately says, “OK, messing with me in the shower is one thing - but while I’m taking a shit? Not cool.”
Pannych stares dumbfounded for a second, then shakes it off and says, “What?”
“Don’t play dumb, just knock it off.”
“She was out here with me the whole time,” Phyr says. “And I sure as Hell wouldn’t let her mess with someone while they’re shitting.”
“Just stop, Phyr.”
“I’m serious,” Phyr insists. “Scout’s honor!”
“That’s ‘Live long and prosper,’ you dick. Now cut it out, both of you.”
“Back up a tic,” Pannych says. “What makes you so sure it was me?”
“Every shower I’ve taken, someone has whispered my name, almost like right in my ear. And it’s a girly-sounding whisper. And you’re a ninja. Put two & two together.”
“And two,” Phyr says. Vector glares at him. “That was three things! You need three twos.”
“Not helping,” says Pannych. “And now I’m starting to get worried, because we’ve been snuck up on, too - and if someone’s stalking us-”
“No, whoever this is knows my name.”
“Everyone on the damn island’s heard of us,” Pannych exclaims.
“My real name.”
“We said those in the cave, and I think a couple-”
“I mean she called me Benjamin.”
Pannych and Phyr look to each other with sudden concern. She says, “OK, now I’m really worried, but I’m not sure we can do anything about it for now, except keep our eyes out.”
The boys hem, haw, and harrumph their way to the same conclusion. Vector then says, “Well, things with Briansworth worked out. He tried stonewalling me at first, but I reminded him that he’ll be better off with us out of his hair. He’s pulling some strings, and gave me a contact in the Merchant Marines, so I guess that’s our next stop.”
The adventurers wind their way through near-empty lamplit streets to the Office of the Coast Guard.
“I don’t think they’re open,” Pannych says as they approach the building.
“We’re meeting her at the building, not in the building,” Vector says.
Pannych says, “Oh,” and then starts at the sound of footsteps from around the corner. An enormous shadow beckons from the mouth of an alley at the edge of the lamplight.
“That’ll be her,” Vector says with a nod. They follow him to the shadow, who leads them deep into the alley. Away from the lamplight, their eyes adjust to the darkness, revealing a nine-and-a-half foot tall giant with chestnut-brown hair, skin and eyes to match, wearing a green frock coat with gold buttons and epaulets.
“Evening,” she says in a rumbling whisper. “I’m Captain Charise Starling, of Her Exalted Majesty’s Ship Birthright. Sir Briansworth tells me I’m haulin’ you to Salinas.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Vector says.
“He also said you’re a reckless and undisciplined lot, and I’ll need to keep a close eye on you.”
“That… is not entirely unwarranted,” Phyr concedes.
“Well,” the captain says, “I don’t have the resources or the inclination to babysit a bunch of cock-sure landlubbers, so you’ll travel in the brig.”
“I think that may be a bit of an overreaction,” Vector says cautiously.
“You’re entitled to your opinion, and I’m entitled to ignore it. The silver lining here is that you’ll not be given any work in your cells. The way I see it, you’re not paying your own way, and that makes you cargo - so you’ll be treated as cargo, more or less. You’ll have your three square meals a day, and if you don’t make trouble, then I’ll not keelhaul ya. That strike you as fair?” Pannych and Vector roll their eyes, and Phyr grumbles, but they all nod their assent. “Very well, then,” Starling continues. “Keep up the cooperative attitude, and we’ll get along just fine. Now come with me, we’ve preparations to make before we bunk down.”
She leads the trio on a short walk to a run-down cabin that is at the nicer end of the “shack” spectrum, unlocks the crudely-fortified door, and leads them inside. Pannych remarks on the interior, “Nicer digs than I thought from outside.”
“Kinda the point,” Starling says. “I don’t spend much time here, and don’t want it getting the wrong kind of attention while I’m at sea.” Pannych gives an approving nod, and the captain continues: “First order of business is your appearance. You stick out like sore thumbs.” She rummages around in a large trunk and produces three dingy outfits in approximately the right sizes. “Change into these.”
“Ugh, these stink,” Phyr says.
“You’re prisoners aboard the Birthright. At least, nominally. You’ll not come out of this smelling like roses.” The adventurers share a resigned shrug and change into the worn rags. Starling gathers up their belongings and stows them in a steel footlocker, then hands the bright steel key to Vector. “That’ll be in the brig with you the whole time, and you’ve got the key. Take care not to lose it, yeah? You can armwrestle or whatever for who gets to hold it. Next order of business is your names. You’ll need pseudonyms on the voyage so’s not to-”
“Got it covered,” Phyr says. “I’m Dale, she’s Deirdre, and he’s Sye. Easy enough?”
“Easy enough,” Starling agrees. “Now let’s get you in irons.” More rummaging, and she produces three pair of shackles. She locks them around the adventurers’ wrists, and hands the dull iron key to Vector, as well. Finally, she threads a long chain through each of theirs, binding them all together. “Again, just for show, but we have to put on a good one. The realer it is, the fewer questions, and any failure on your part to play along is just gonna bite you in the ass.”
Vector and Pannych nod, but Phyr says, “Jesus, are we gonna have to eat salt pork and hardtack, too?”
“Indeed you will,” says the captain. “But don’t worry, it’s only for two weeks, and you’ll get plenty of water, with vitamins to boot. No scurvy for you kiddos.” She gives them a wink and a crooked grin. “All right, we’ve got you sorted. Now let’s get you to the Birthright.”
“Wait, are we sleeping on the ship tonight,” Vector asks.
“Aye. Best to get your sea legs overnight, so you don’t lose your lunch when we raise anchor tomorrow. Now follow me, and don’t say a word.” She hoists the footlocker with their gear over one shoulder, then takes the chain and leads them outside before locking up.
The four walk in silence along the dockside streets until they come to a gangplank extending from the deck of a galleon. Two merchant marines stand watch on the dock, and they stand at attention as Captain Starling approaches. “At ease, boyos,” she rumbles quietly once within earshot. “Last minute prisoner transport. Only to Salinas, not too far out of our way, then we’ll be rid of these wretched rapscallions.” She leads the three in irons up the gangplank, and then down into the brig. Being the only occupants, she doesn’t bother trying to sneak them the cell key, she just gives it to Vector. “Now take heart: this’ll be a boring leg of your journey, but we’ll arrive safe and sound in Salinas in two weeks. Keep your heads down, and we’ll have no problems.” The adventurers nod silently as they enter their cells. “Final order of business: you stay down here until I come and get you. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to leave your cells once I leave this room. Any whiff of irregularity, and my men’ll know there’s mischief afoot - and the fewer questions, the better. Is that clear?”
“As crystal,” Vector says as the others nod their assent.
“Very well, then. Looks like we’ll be out of each other’s hair before we know it. Get some good sleep, you’re not likely to find it once we’re on the open sea.” And with that, she leaves. Once they’re alone, the three of them each get 10 experience points for securing passage off the island.
The brig has no windows, but is dimly lit by a pair of magical lamps flanking the entryway. Each cell has a pile of straw, only slightly moldy; a bare bench, chained to the wall; and a foul-smelling bucket that each of them strives not to think about.
Minutes pass in silence.
“Let’s talk to Sir Briansworth, you said,” Phyr says in a mock whine. “I’ll do all the talking, you said. He’s glad to have us off the island, you said.”
“I am willing to admit that we could probably be traveling in greater comfort,” Vector concedes, a tinge of defeat creeping into his voice.
“It was still the closest option,” Pannych says, “And it’s hard to beat the price of free.”
They get as comfortable as they can and try to get some rest.
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