Sky Pirates

by Catie Griffin

Thursday November 29, 2007

“Aye, lad…I’ve nev’r told a soul this but…”

Captain Locke leaned in close to Arthur, his grizzled grey bear flecked with foam from the ale he had just guzzled down. Arthur waited expectantly, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the captain’s bleary, blood shot eyes from across the sticky table. He barely noticed the foulness of the sailor’s hot breath on his face.

The captain lowered his rough voice, his words drunkenly slurring together as he spoke,

“The secr’t lies w’Jessica.”

Arthur sat up straight, a wash of different emotions flitting across his young face until determination finally lighted upon his grey green eyes. He smirked slightly as he eyed the captain; buying the bastard all those drinks had been worth it after all.
The captain leaned back in his roughly hewn chair, looking immensely satisfied with himself as he let out a loud belch.

Arthur shook his head slowly as he eyed Locke’s stained overcoat and rusted sword, belted clumsily at his side. The captain had once been a legend in his own time, evading arrest time and time again; it was a pity to see how far the hero had fallen.

But it was a greater pity he couldn’t let him live.

Arthur glanced around the inn casually, noting that the only person still there happened to be the bartender who was cleaning a spotted glass with a rather dirty rag. He would pose little problem in his plans.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Sir.”

The bartender tried to ignore him.

Arthur muttered before raising his voice “Sir!”

The bartender scowled as he realized he couldn’t ignore his rather loud and only customers. He glanced over at them, putting down the glass.

“Whatcha two sops want?”

Arthur looked at the captain who was smiling complacently with his gnarled, yellowed teeth.

“Your best wine from the cellar, if you would.”

“An’ale!” The captain guffawed, raising his mug before slamming it down, causing the table to creak ominously.

The bartender scowled at them again, wiping his greasy hands on his apron before dragging his feet towards the stairs.

Arthur knew there were exactly twenty-four stairs down to the cellar; which would mean he would have approximately three minutes, assuming the bartender lagged a bit while he was down there. He slowly started to count the steps as the bartender creaked down each one.

Arthur stood up, adjusting the dark cloak and hood which shrouded his face. He could faintly hear the mournful howling of the wind, whipping past the inn’s roof.

“It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, sir.” Arthur grinned at the captain who returned the expression with a stupid look on his fat face.

“Aye, lad…be’n nice chattin’ w’you….y’won’t tell m’secret…w’you?”

The captain looked up earnestly at him as he spoke. Arthur almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Arthur clapped a hand on his shoulder, trying not to cringe from the filth that it met. “Of course not, captain.”

“Aye…good lad..” Locke settled back in his seat “So when’s th’ale comin’?”

Arthur smirked as he heard step number twenty-four. “Perhaps another time.”

With a swish of steel, Arthur drew his sword. He could see the captain’s grey eyes widen in surprise before a look of sheer terror crossed his face.

“Lad…y’dunno what yer doin’…”

Arthur shook his head “You’re wrong, captain…I know exactly what I’m doing.”

With that he brought the sword down with a practiced sweep, slicing the captain’s head neatly from his neck. The head remained on the body for a moment, eyes gaping as a gurgling noise issued from it. Then it fell, sounding with a dull thump on the ground while the bloody torso slumped lifelessly back in the chair.

Arthur looked with disgust at the body; dirty work but it had to be done. He made his way towards the counter, taking the rag with which the bar tender had been cleaning the glass and using it to wipe off his blade.

It was then that he heard the bartender’s steady footsteps heading back up the stairs.

Twenty-four, twenty-three…

Arthur quickly sheathed his sword with a swish before running towards the door of the inn, grabbing the wrought iron handle and thrusting it open to emerge into the chaos beyond.

The wind screamed past his ears, lashing rain against him as it tried to tear the clothing from his body. He squinted through the barrage, looking up and down the cobbled street which was dimly lit by spluttering street lamps, threatening to extinguish in the storm. Rows of seedy stores and inns could just barely be seen, the shady lights inside were warm and inviting.

Arthur started down the street, his black, leather boots thudding against the pavement as he hurried on his way. He listened as the low growl of thunder rumbled in the distance, glancing over as lightning briefly laced the sky. If he didn’t hurry, the storm would be too far upon them.

He started sprinting down the street, his cloak flapping out behind him like some dark flag while his sword jangled at his side to herald his approach. The buildings flashed by on either side of him until he finally reached the docks.

The waves, normally calm in the quiet waters, rolled violently, crashing over the docks; white, frothing foam left behind on the wood. If he squinted, he could just see a ship with black sails tied up to the dock, the rope groaning under its strain as its charge was pitched up and down by the rocking sea. A young boy with light hair and coarse garb stood by the rope, urging Arthur forward.

“Cap’n! We must be goin’ afore the storm worsens!”

Arthur stopped in his rush. Captain Arthur…it had a nice ring to it. He smiled to himself, savoring his moment of triumph before gesturing to the boy.

“I know! Get the charms ready, Noah!”

The boy grabbed onto the rope, climbing up it with astounding dexterity considering the movement from the sea. Arthur motioned to follow, only briefly glancing back at the small port town: the place of his success.

Arthur started up the rope, moving hand over hand until he finally reached the deck of the ship. He swung himself over the side, looking at his crew who were rushing to make ready for departure.

“Are the charms ready?!” Arthur shouted over the storm.

“Aye, that they are, Cap’n!”

“Then let her fly!”

A groan of effort was heard from the sailors as they turned a large, spoked wheel lying parallel to the deck. As they turned the wheel, the sound of creaking wood was heard over the storm; the sails suddenly folded into themselves before spreading out horizontally, creating dark, ominous wings at the sides of the ship.

“Cut the line!”

The rope was cut and the ship surged forward over the sea as Arthur watched the old sailor who was steering the ship. Noah stood unsteadily by his side with a few stones in his hand, staring down at the strange light emanating from them.

“Now, Noah!”

Noah began to chant, his words mingling with the wind as he raised the hand which contained the stones, weaving a pattern which few could understand or hear. There was a groan from the ship as it slowly lifted into the air, tossing this way and that as it rode the turbulent winds on its dark wings.

“Where to, Captain?!” the old man shouted.

A smile curled over Arthur’s lips as the wind whipped his dark, wet hair back from his face. Lightning crackled behind him as the ship soared away from the storm. He had just killed the only obstacle in his way of being the king of these skies…and now all he needed to do was retrieve the item which would affirm his conquest.

“Port Jessica!”