Nobody Likes Fairytale Pirates (37 page)

“Can you take him?”  She whispered.

“I don’t know.  Maybe.”

“Well… if you don’t win, they’re
going to kill us.”

“I guess we’ll see.”  He started
towards them.  “Let me do the talking.”

“That guy’s a monster!”  Ryle
whispered urgently.  “He’s gonna kick your ass, Uriah.”

“It’s okay.”  Uriah kept walking.  “I’ve
had it coming for a while.”

“Wait… just how big is he?”  She
sounded worried.  “Uriah?”

“I got this.”  He assured her.  “I
know what’s on the line.”  He stopped several paces from the men, staring at
them silently for a long moment.  “I’ve had a bad week.”  He told them simply,
not bothering to hide his Grizzwood accent.

“Is that supposed to mean something
to me?”  Their leader asked.

“It means I’ve had a really bad
week.”  Uriah repeated.  “And if you try to add to it, I can’t be held
responsible for what happens.”  He shook his head.  “Don’t start shit with me,
mister.  I left my sense of humor, my mercy, and my fucking boot about thirty
miles back that way.”  He gestured over his shoulder.

“We should kill these
Brightlighters!”  The man on the far left snapped, obviously spoiling for a
fight.  He drew his sword and pointed it at them.  “I don’t even know why we’re
bothering to talk to them!”

“I’m not a Brightlighter, get your
hearing checked.”  Uriah pointed to the north, where the Grizzwood lay on the
other side of the mountains.  “I’m from the swamp.”

“Little far from home, aren’t you,
swampman?”  Their leader leaned forward on his Wastelandi horse, which was
covered in wooly hair.  “Lost?”

Uriah shrugged.  “Well, you know,
there’s only so many trees and bogs a man can look at before he begins to dream
of a magical land without them.”  He gestured to their surroundings.  “The
majesty of The Great Nothing, the Wasteland’s gift to the world.  It’s just as
I always hoped it would be.”

“Empty.”  Ransom supplied for him,
walking up beside him.

“Yes.”  He nodded in agreement. “Precisely.” 
He pointed at his own chest.  “The Ocean’s Shame.”  He introduced himself. 

“Never heard of you.”  The man on
the left observed.

Their leader shook his head in
agreement.

Uriah ignored that.  “And this winsome
young lady is my partner.”

Their leader didn’t seem
impressed.  “Does your woman have a name, swampman?”

“Ransom.”

“Is she your hostage?”

Uriah shook his head.  “No, you’re
thinking of the impish lad over there.”

“Yo.”  Ryle raised his hand.

“No, she’s simply ‘Ransom.’”

“It was either that or ‘Blind’, but
that seemed a bit too on the nose.”  Ransom explained, her voice completely
unemotional.

“That it did, that it did.”  Uriah
nodded.  “You made the right call on that one, Dove.”

“Xiphos.”  The leader said simply,
which must have been his name.

“I am Stricklyd, the Killer of
Men.”  The man on the left pronounced.

“That’s what happens when you let
idiots name themselves.”  Ransom deadpanned to Uriah conversationally.

Uriah looked down at her.  “Have we
ever heard of him, Rance?”

She shook her head.  “We have not.”

“Excuse me, sir?”  Uriah raised one
finger, as if asking for his attention.  “We’ve never heard of you.”

The man launched into a profanity
filled tirade about the many ways he would kill them and the things he’d do to
their bodies once he had.

The whole thing was so
terribly
melodramatic and over-the-top.

Uriah was walking a thin line here. 
The Wastelanders would kill them either way, but he needed to make it a
question of honor.  The key was to piss one of them off enough to challenge him
to a fight, but not make them
all
so angry that they’d simply start
massacring.

It was the only option.

Uriah rolled his eyes again.  “Well,
he’s certainly a lively little chap, isn’t he?”

“He’s a fucking asshole.”  Ransom
corrected.

“Yes, but
spirited
.  I
appreciate his enthusiasm.”  He moved so that he was standing in front of her
again.  “So often, my victims are
tediously
dour and I find this lad’s
zest refreshing.”

“We’re still killing him, Uriah.”  She
said softly, as if breaking hard news to him.  “No matter how ‘zesty’ he may
be.  Don’t get attached.  That’s how we ended up with the Swab.”

“Well, yes.  Obviously, I’ll have
to kill him, that’s a given.”  He put a hand to his heart.  “But he’s certainly
touched my life while he was here and I really feel like he’s made me believe
in myself again.”

The man on the left launched into a
series of boasts and profane accomplishments he supposedly achieved, all of
which Uriah ignored.  Nothing the man said held any importance to Uriah,
because he’d already recognized that he needed to kill him.  And once you
decided to kill someone, their musings about the world stopped being at all
relevant.

The man on the left used his sword
to point at them again, daring to gesture at Ransom with it.  “So a swamprat
and his blind whore are going to threaten me?” 

“I’m from the Grizzwood, Sir.” 
Uriah reminded him.  “I don’t threaten.  I simply say…”

“…
step the fuck back!
”  She
finished for him.

“Yes.”  He pointed at her.  “That’s
a direct quote.  Our national motto.” 

“I don’t take shit from no
swamprat!”  The man growled, obviously insulted.

Uriah turned to face his partner.  “He’s
one of those people who treats life like a competition, have you noticed
that?”  He asked Ransom, talking around the man because he knew it would piss
him off more than anything else Uriah could possibly do.  “Always trying to
prove he’s better than everyone else.”

“If it were a contest, he’d lose.” 
Ransom agreed.  “Because he sucks.”

He kept his focus on his partner.  “See,
I was going to say that too, but I was afraid it would be interpreted as discourtesy. 
Personally I think your cute little accent allows you to say cruel things which
would sound unpardonably rude coming from me.  ’Because he sucks.’”  He
experimented, doing his best to imitate her accent.  “’Suakes.’  ‘Sooks.’ 
‘Saw-kiss….’”  He laughed, trying to sound utterly carefree about this
situation, like the man’s threats were a joke.  “Dammit, how do you do it? 
Malice sounds like the gentle aria of a beautiful goddess when it comes from
your mouth.”

She shrugged.  “It’s a gift.”

“’Geeeft.’”  He tried to imitate
her again.  “’Geeeephed.’ ‘Ge…’  Dammit!  I wish I could talk like that!  I’d
never stop saying things!”

“And this differs from the current
you
how
, exactly?”

“See?  Even when you’re mean to me,
I can’t help but smile because it sounds so amazing!  So much better than Grizzwoodian.” 
He rolled his eyes and made a disgusted face.  “My native language sounds like
a dying bullfrog in comparison.”

“Well, if you get us out of this, I
think I can help you master my tongue.”  She paused.  “And yes, I meant that
exactly like you’re hoping I did, Uriah.”

He blinked at her in lusty silence
for a moment, then remembered that they were both about to die.  “Oh, you saucy
girl!”  He took a shocked step back, not entirely acting.  “You’ll embarrass
these fine men with such talk!”

“Have you lost your mind?”  The
leader of the Wastelanders asked, sounding serious.

“Quite some time ago, yes.”  Uriah
nodded.  “I don’t know if any of you chaps have visited my corner of our mutual
homeland, but I’m afraid the bog isn’t nearly as convivial as your fine…
nothing.  It plays with a man’s mind.  And soul.  And fills them both with darkness. 
So again, I’m going to have to politely ask you to let us be on our way.” 

“You know what’s got to happen,
Swampman.”  The leader announced, sounding neither excited nor regretful over
the looming butchery.  It was just another day in the Wasteland.

“Indeed.”  Uriah nodded.  “I’m
looking forward to it.”  He straightened.  “I’m invoking the Right of the
Meanest.”

The leader’s eyebrows soared.

“Can he do that?”  The man on the
left wondered, asking his leader.  He shook his head.  “I don’t think he can do
that.”  He turned to glare at Uriah.  “Hey, you can’t do that!”  He announced,
as if the leader had made a ruling on the matter.

“And yet I just did.”  Uriah
squared his shoulders.  “I’m the Meanest man here.  And I’ll prove it if you
make me.”

The man on the left was almost too
angry to respond, sputtering in indignant rage.  “I’ll kill you right now!”  He
finally blurted out.

Bingo.

“Did you hear that, Dove?”  Uriah
asked, not taking his eyes off the man.

“Sounds like he just challenged you
to a fight.”  She calmly observed.

“That was my take on it as well.” 
He turned to the man.  “Fisticuffs?”  He nodded.  “Very well.  I accept.”

The Wastelanders just started laughing,
obviously believing that the fight would be short.

Uriah made his way back to his
party.  “Okay,” he announced, “I’ve negotiated with our new friends, and it
seems that they’re willing to let us go with just a fight to the death.”

“I don’t have to do it, do I?”  Din
whispered, sounding worried.

“No,” Uriah shook his head, “they
recognize the fact that you’re entirely useless.  No worries.”

“Do you need my help for this?” 
Ryle asked seriously.  “Because I’d rather not die today, Uriah.  Not that I
don’t trust you with my life… but I sure as hell don’t trust you with my life. 
I’ll fight for me, thanks.”

Uriah heaved a dramatic sigh and
gestured to the men.  “Do you
really
think you could kill those guys,
Swab?”

The boy turned to look at the
hulking warriors for a moment, then back to Uriah.  “Yes.”  He nodded, complete
confidence in his tone.

Uriah frowned, not expecting that
answer.

“I’ve been at war a long time.  I’m
not a swordsman of your caliber, but I get by.”  Ryle crossed his arms over his
chest.  “If it comes down to it, I can probably take one or two of them.  Just
tell me when.”

Uriah removed his swords and put
them on the ground, then handed Dinner off to Ransom.  Their pet made a happy
little sound and perched on her shoulder. 

Uriah took off his shirt, carefully
folded it, and placed it next to his weapons.  “This is pirate business, Swab. 
As much as I enjoy your assurances that you could best these men so easily that
you wouldn’t even have to put down your proverbial beer, I don’t think it’s
necessary.”  He turned back towards his opponent.  “I’ll handle it.”

“I think my only question is which
one of your women to take first!”  The Wastelander boasted loudly.

“If it’s not me, my feelings are
going to be deeply hurt.”  Random decided unemotionally.

“To be fair, Mother Ester is
not
without her charms.”  Uriah chuckled.  “But see?  What you so judgmentally call
being ‘an asshole’…”

“…a ‘
fucking
asshole,’ don’t
misquote me...”  She corrected.

“…I call ‘plucky optimism.’”  He
finished.

“We’re still killing him.”

“I know, I know.”  He heaved a
dramatic sigh.  “Sometimes I wonder why…”

“Just kill him, Uriah.”  She cut
him off.  “You have no idea how pissed I’m going to be if he kills you.”  She
took on a harsher tone.  “If you die before we’ve had sex, I’m going to…”

“I got this.”  He assured her
before she could finish, sounding far more confident than he felt.  “I have no
intention of dying before hearing you admit your feelings for me and getting to
experience... you skills at ‘language.’”  He teased, thinking back on her
promise to let him “master her tongue.”

“I’ll be a fucking
polyglot
for you if you can get us out of this without dying, Uriah.”  She promised.  “’Languages’
you didn’t even know existed before I show them to you.”

His opponent was now standing in
front of him, flexing his considerable muscles in warmup.

“Alright, little Swamprat.”  The
man cracked his knuckles.  “It’s go time.”

Uriah rolled his eyes and glanced
back at Ransom.  “Is there
any
situation where you can say that and not
sound like a total douchebag?”

“Nope.”  She shook her head.

“I doubt it.”  Ryle agreed.

“Shut up!”  The man shouted,
sounding insulted.

Uriah met his eyes.  “The way I see
it, you’ve got two options here: you can kill yourself now and retain some
semblance of dignity, or I can beat you to death in front of your friends and
then laugh about it with mine.”

“I’m going to pick the: ‘I kill you
and then steal your shit’ option, Swamprat.”  The man retorted, sounding bored
by this whole thing.  “I’m thinking of fucking the blind one, while making the
other girl watch.  Because it doesn’t work the other way around, obviously. 
And that would be less fun for me.”

Yep.

Uriah was going to kill him.  And
it would be bloody.

“Fine.”  Uriah nodded curtly.  “All
or nothing.”

“All or nothing.”  The man agreed
with a growl.

“Grizzwood proper versus its Wasteland. 
Swamprat versus Saltman.”  He turned in a circle, drawing their attention to
the bout.  “Place your bets, gentlemen.  On the small scale, this is just two
idiots fighting in the middle of nowhere, but in a larger sense, I really feel
like national pride is on the line here.”

“You gonna fight or talk?”  The man
snapped.

“I see no reason why I can’t do
both.”  Uriah took on a fighting stance as they began to circle each other. 
“To be frank, I’m giving you about 25% of my attention at the moment.  You’re
simply not worth more.”

The Grizzwood didn’t really have a
fighting discipline in the formal sense.  No special moves or holds they taught
and practiced.  No martial arts or philosophy which guided their battles and
lives.