Poldo

"I’ve heard about you. Believe that? Word of Captain Poldo making its way around the Timoran seas. They say you’re one heck of a pirate."

Captain Poldo hadn’t been to the Roseport for over a decade. He told himself they wouldn’t remember him. He had new clothes on, and a shiny golden belt buckle that he made sure was over his shirt. Under his floppy hat he wore a wrapped cloth to cover the brand on his forehead. It was a mark from his latest visit, when he’d been inducted into the temple of the God Beneath and taken his symbol upon his body. The lady of the docks had demanded it be placed somewhere visible, so that his membership would be permanently public. He lasted five years in the service before the piety became unbearable.

He smiled and breathed in the last smells of the sea. So fresh, so sweet. Waves lapped the hull of his Destrier of the Sea. Its tall sails pulled taught with the westward wind, making good pace. His crew lounged on the deck, with dice and cards and other ways to pass their coins around. They should be cleaning, but he didn’t have the heart to ask them any more. He was always asking, and whenever he commanded, then rolled their eyes and dragged their feet, seeing if they might provoke him. But Poldo was not a violent man, so he ignored their insubordination.

He whistled to himself as he steered his ship toward the dam. The Rosewall was a mighty impressive sight when the Flood was down. A thousand feet high, it was built in the early days of the Flood, by Corillock Rose, though nobody remembered who he was. In fact, Poldo didn’t actually believe he existed. The city of Rosewall, the Rosewall itself, and the Roseport were all actually named after the wreaths of pink lichen growing on the dam. He couldn’t see it now, of course. The Flood was up. But when the water receded, what looked like rosebuds speckled the dam.

The water gate opened, letting Destrier of the Sea pass in a narrow channel. Other ships exited through a separate waterway. The dam itself was thick, maybe sixty feet across the top, with pale red brick buildings displayed like mangled teeth. A road spanned the length of the dam, splitting the two rows of shops and homes. It ended at the channel, where a pair of drawn bridges could be lowered.

And then they were out the other side, sailing in the Enduring Sea, which never fell with the Flood. The city proper lay to the left, its docks extending out along the shore until the city wall cut it off.

“Ready the mooring lines! Hoist the sails!” Poldo called from the helm.

The crew didn’t move.

Grig, the first mate, rolled his dice, then cheered. “Pay up, you scum!” He was a brawny fellow, with thick hands that enjoyed punching things.

“Hey!” Poldo shouted again. “Grig! Knucks! I said, ‘Ready the mooring lines and hoist the sails.’”

If he weren’t trying to steer, he’d have walked over and flipped their table. But docking was far too demanding of a procedure to simply leave the helm, so he glared at them instead. They rubbed their noses or scratched their scalps, none of them meeting his eyes.

“Go!”

The crewmates sulked off to slow the ship.

Captain Poldo slowly guided the ship into an open slip and the lines were cast and tightened until the vessel was secured. Once berthed, the plank was thrown and he, Grig, and a few others disembarked.

“Halt there!” a shrill voice called. A young man approached with a ledger. He wore a fine green coat with a dappled gold pattern, far too expensive for a commoner. He must be from the guild. “It’s a six-mark a day to tie up at the docks.”

Poldo stopped and fished in his pocket for coins. One, two, three marks. A fourth and a trey-mark. That was enough.

“And your name?”

“Captain . . . Elgo.”

They would recognize his real name, he knew. He stopped giving it to the harbormasters years ago. It was easier to lie.

The group of them walked into the city. The smell reminded him of Oakridge where he grew up. Animal waste in the streets, the sweat and grime of a thousand people crammed into one place. Out at sea, the salt spray masked the stench. He loved the smell of the ocean, the freedom of wind in his sails and no rules to bog him down.

“We’re going to see a man named Jimone. He’s a skilled pirate who hides in Rosewall, and we could use his help.”

“We are?” Grig said.

“Yes, he’s a friend of mine.”

“A friend of yours.”

“Yes.” Poldo frowned.

Grig laughed. “Then you don’t need me!” He sneered, and the others followed suit, wheeling around and marching off into the crowd.

Poldo sighed. One day, they would listen to him. If they stuck close, they could learn from him, they could participate in the captaincy, one day maybe getting their own ship and crew. But all they wanted was to gamble and game, or to spend a warm night with the city life.

If only he had gotten a different crew when he won Destrier of the Sea. Maybe then he would have become a successful pirate.

Poldo found Jimone in the back of his usual rundown tavern, his beard longer than before and his weathered clothes bulging around the belly. Jimone had lived off his spoils for many years now. That’s what successful pirates could do and Poldo needed the help of a successful pirate.

“You’ve come back,” Jimone said. He smoked a cigar and pulled on a mug of ale.

“I came looking for you,” Poldo said.

“Why’d you want me? Ain’t nothin’ I can do for you.”

“I need your help as a captain.”

Jimone sipped his mug and raised his eyebrows, beckoning Poldo to continue.

“My crew doesn’t listen to me. They gamble all day and I can’t get them to work. You’re a leader, you’re good at it. Come aboard for a few days and get them straight. That’s all I need—that’s all they need. Just a little correction will set them on the right path. Please.”

After a pause, Jimone said, “I’ve heard about you. Believe that? Word of Captain Poldo making its way around the Timoran seas. They say you’re one heck of a pirate. You sailed a fresh batch of men out of Brakshole until it was a skeleton crew. You take pity on merchants instead of taking their treasure. You’re an optimistic fool who doesn’t realize that life ain’t all about you. Damn right, your crew ain’t working for you. You’re a dupe.”

Poldo’s expression soured. “I came to you for help, not for critique.”

“I am helping you. Get out of the business. Go to the country and work as a farmhand. Floods man, you should have stayed in the temple, at least then you could be respected as a fool. You don’t belong on the sea.”

“But . . . ”

“Forget your dreams, kid. They’re called dreams for a reason.”

“So you won’t help.”

“Floods no! I’d have an easier time buying a fresh crew of greenies and startin’ from scratch. I can’t help you lead them, because you can’t lead!”

Poldo’s heart sank. It wasn’t true. He would change Grig and the others. They would see that he could be the captain that they’d always imagined him to be.

“I can,” he whispered.

Jimone shook his head. “You ain’t cut out for it, kid.”

Poldo left him there and walked back to the ship. It was hot in the midday sun. People walked by him with market baskets and donkeys and water jars balanced on their heads. He felt alone. He was not friends with his crew. He did not laugh and joke with them. How could he? They were so crass and irresponsible and god knows what else! He knew they could never get along.

Grig and the others were already back at the ship when he returned. The burly first mate was ordering the other crew members around, moving cargo and looking like he was doing something important. He wore a floppy hat much like Poldo’s.

Poldo walked up the plank and—

“Hey!” Grig shouted. “Get off my ship!”

Everyone on the ship quieted. Even some people ashore turned to watch.

“Grig, what are you doing?” Poldo asked.

“What are you doing? Civilians aren’t allowed on private vessels without permission. Get. Off. My. Ship!”

“This is my ship.”

Grig laughed. It was forced, but nobody else would know that. “You can’t just waltz up here and say that it’s your ship. You need to leave before I remove you by force.”

Poldo stood dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say. It was his ship! He’d won it in Brakshole. Grig was . . . mutinying!

When he didn’t move, Grig said, “Harbormaster!”

“Don’t!” Poldo begged.

“Or what? Harbormaster!” he called again.

Grig walked down to the dock to meet her. She was a fat woman with a girl walking in tow. Oh no! Poldo recognized her. She caught him over ten years ago. He turned to run, but was met by a wall of four crew members, who grabbed him and forced him to follow.

“My name is Captain Elgo,” Grig said and bowed. “I’ve caught a miscreant on deck trying to make off with my ship.”

The woman coughed a ragged thing, then said to the girl at her side, pointing, “See that boy? He’s the clerk here. Fetch him for me. And then get a Roseguard.”

The girl ran off. Lady Golaide, Poldo remembered, eyed him. “What did he do?”

“He came aboard and said that it was his ship, and that he would attack me if I didn’t get off.”

“I didn’t say that!” Poldo said.

She examined him, muttering to herself, “A lunatic? No, it’s not in the eyes.”

She reached toward him and he tried to draw back, but the crew held him in place. Lady Golaide lifted the cloth from his forehead, uncovering the scarred symbol of the God Beneath. A circle with a horizontal line above it. Her eyes widened.

“I know you!” she cried. “I caught you for piracy, and . . . and I gave you mercy.”

“You sent me to that damned temple to serve as a slave.”

“I saved you from being thrown from the wall!”

“Some deliverance.”

“But you escaped. Why did you come back?”

“To . . . ” He thought about Jimone, sitting in the dark corner of a tavern, a pirate of the past. They would find him, if they knew. “To live an honest life.”

“Honest?” Grig demanded. He gestured to the ship. “Is this what you call honest? Stealing a ship?”

Poldo didn’t have time to object. The girl returned with the young clerk and a soldier in glittering steel with a rose bound to the spiked helm.

“You summoned me, milady?” the clerk said.

“I did, but I don’t suppose I need you anymore. I know this criminal.”

The lad bowed and turned to go.

“Wait!” Poldo cried after him. “Wasn’t I the one who paid for this slip? It still is my ship.”

Grig laughed again. Poldo sensed his nervousness, however. He too was a pirate, though not a well known one. “He insists! I will hear no more of this, milady.”

“It takes a special kind of stupid to get caught twice in the same place,” she said. “Take him away. This time, he’ll receive his full punishment.”