Evenings on the Transdarian: The Ballad of Lucky's Fortune

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Pigasus
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Preferred Title: Setting Whisperer

Evenings on the Transdarian: The Ballad of Lucky's Fortune

Post by Pigasus »

As told by Brexil Quaspire

--

Captain Srin Allardice looked at the door of the pub. He had been looking at it for the past ten minutes. Beside him, Captain Lars Tenbrock snorted as if condemning Srin’s desperation, while actually condemning both of them.

“He’s probably gone,” said Tenbrock. “He’s Lucky. He’d be gone with the first sign of trouble.”

“Bollocks,” said Allardice. “He’d be here until the last possible minute, until it looks like there’s no hope of getting out. Then he’d pull it off anyway.”

Both men looked longingly at the door. Allardice was lean and sallow, with long, graying, light-brown hair gathered into the fearsome hybrid of ponytail and comb-over. Tenbrock was bushy and chunky and got red-faced when he ate or drank, like he was right now. Both have been sucking on booze since noontide.

“One time,” said Tenbrock. “A port authority jacht was gaining on his brigantine. Lucky steers it right into Hell’s Eye, rides the edge of it and somehow sails right out. The jacht didn’t respond quickly enough and went in the whirlpool.”

“Everybody knows that one,” Allardice said contemptuously. “I’ll do you one better. Beggarmaker’s Squall off Northern Pentland, near the reefs. Lucky’s Lucretia gets dashed. But they just happened to be carrying dire bee honey, some of which went stale. The barrels smashed, the hardened honey glooped up the hole and the ship rode out the storm. That’s fortune.”

“One time they had him,” said Tenbrock, unwilling to be one-upped. “Red handed, on a galleon full of opium. When they got in a rough patch off Zamenhof, no one knew what to do but Lucky. He steered them clear and when they went back on their promise, swam to safety. Gads. If only I could get him for my ship.”

“Not if I get him for mine,” said Allardice and was going to say something else when the door opened and whatever else they were thinking about each other went away. The young newcomer had brown hair, a tan, thoughtful face and rolled up sleeves. His arms looked like the instruments of salvation.

“Lucky! Lucky Fortune!” They cried.

The pilot squinted as if into light and smiled at the captains, shaking his finger at them as he approached. He sat down at their table and leaned forward: lanky, freeflowing, stepping as if assured of his success in all things.

“Now lads,” he chided. “It’s just Tregs while we’re in port. The name is what they’re looking for. Let’s be smarter than the name.”

“Faith, you’re a balm on the heart, Lucky. Tregs,” said Tenbrock. “I thought they grabbed you.”
“Almost did, almost did,” said Lucky. “I had to remove the sail and use it as a sea-anchor. Soon as I did that and laid down, they shone the beam. Three times, it swept. My heart has beat that fast before but rarely.” He winked at the captains and ordered a pint.

“Say, Tregs,” said Tenbrock. “Come work with me on my Sivriana, like old times. I’ve got a cargo in mind.”

“You and half of the chancers in here have a cargo in mind,” growled Allardice. “And if anyone’s taking it out of here, it’s Lucky and myself, on the Benares. Like we pulled the heist off the cape of Selrosa.”

Both men fixed their eyes on Lucky. He knew well that whichever he did not choose would immediately go to the authorities to try to get the second best prize in this transaction: bounty for the capture of the smugglers. But if the smuggler Lucky chose got away with the Fence’s goods, they would be worth a fortune. Time passed and as the port authority’s loop closed, everyone got twitchier and twitchier. His quick green eyes fastened on a gull flying around outside.

“How can I choose one of you?” He said. “My heart won’t let me. So I’ll give it to fate. Whichever ship that gull is close to when it lands, will be under my feet at sundown.”

“But…”

“Shh.” The other captain shushed.

The gull made several soaring passes and almost landed on the Sivriana before crapping on the bowsprit (Allardice laughed) and coming around near the Benares. Then, it abruptly reversed direction and landed on a buoy that was closer to the Sivriana by a few feet.

Allardice stood to his feet and stormed off. Lucky thoughtfully followed him with his eyes.

“You know where he’s going, right?” said Tenbrock.

“I know,” said Lucky. “I’ve already made arrangements with the seller. He’ll meet you in the warehouse in two hours. Bring some of your crew to help load and transport.”

“But…”

“He doesn’t know where the warehouse is yet,” said Lucky. “Let’s get it done, mate.”

“With you on board, it’s as good as done,” Tenbrock said.

Two hours later, Tenbrock’s crew entered the empty warehouse through one set of doors, just as a guard party with Allardice appeared in the other. Both men were arrested and soon, released since neither one actually seemed to know anything about the actual contraband or Lucky’s whereabouts. They were fined for disrupting the peace.

Meanwhile, off the coast of Perennia, the waves rocked a carrack sailing into the night. Through the open port, Lucky heard the sailors singing as they worked.

Raise the mains
Two spokes to starboard
Make the most of every gust
Azure keep
Of the deep
Pray, deliver us


“There is a motile island where I was born. It’s slowly shrinking,” said Captain Teague Murchadha of the Secret. “The seeds of the Thymvraan oak will allow them to regenerate and give us power to live and move. We will turn the island into a great ship and we will travel with it, occasionally putting down root, then picking up and shifting again. Ocean-borne diaspora, unruled by any man or nation.” He smiled. “We’ll make some money, too.”

“That’s acceptable,” said Lucky, looking at the moon in the window.

“You know, any navy could have paid you a vast sum for the seeds of an oak with the magic power to regenerate, even after it’s been cut to planks,” said Teague. “Enough for early retirement.”

“I’m not interested in retirement,” said Lucky. “Instead, I choose only not to harm. I’m at your side until fortune chooses otherwise.”

“Fortune!” Teague cried. He was in a good mood. “How grand it must be to be this intimate with fortune. What does it feel like to be destined to never die by the hand of a man or ocean’s calamity?”

Sometimes, words strike dead. Lucky face crumpled. He set down his drink, unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it upward. Just below his left nipple, a grotesque pallid tumor swelled from his flesh, radiating little fibroid growths from its center.

“Cancer…” Teague said, sobering.

Lucky nodded and put his shirt on. His hands shook. Outside, the wind inflated the sails and the young moon cast a silver trail on the surface. The sailors completed their refrain.

Raise the mains
Two spokes to starboard
Make the most of every gust
Fortune fair
From despair
Pray, deliver us
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