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Prologue;
Boots trotting heavy on the quay, thin cloak snapping frenzied in the wind, Bryre carved a path through brine and fog, strides lunging, frantic. Ringed hand greasing hair with sweat, he chewed his tongue and paced his breathing, swallowing the grim rise of bile that gurgled threateningly in the deeps of his throat. This business of skullduggery always left him with shaky bowels. It was as if at any moment he would collapse, retching and shitting himself simultaneously. Some good that alchemist brew did him, that fletcher. Halfway down the wharf, a plank succumbed to rot, taking his leg and a hearty chunk of flesh with it. He stumbled messily, palms scraping wood, bracing his weight against moss and splinters. From above, laughter sputtered then choked, and with a sudden heave, the man was on his feet, knife to knife with some raggedy puller.
"That dirk couldn't slit a child's throat, you," the puller said, grin lilting his voice crooked, light.
"Come, pray test it on yours?" Bryre spat back.
For awhile they stood, tense as beasts, before the stranger relented, stepping back, trading knife for cleaver and draped cowl for open face. Moonlight gave ugly luster to the scarred, filth smeared face. Eyes wide, discolored, and dully shimmering, the Butcher dropped the twist in his lips with a twitch of the hand.
"Kindly, sir, surrender I," he said.
"Ah . . . it's you. Of course it's you. Yes, I apologize. You caught me unawares," stammered Bryre, his features tight with pain. Hands caked with blood, he gestured for them to move further down the promenade, away from the shore. They went in silence, one swaggering, the other limping. At the end of the pier, a rowboat bobbed, burdened only by oars and a large, dark sack. They climbed in without ceremony, and after rowing past the kelp and shallows, uncorked a bottle of rum and began to talk business.
"One-Eye's authority is crumbling. We heard about the pirates and how they've started bringing their business to your men instead of his. You undercutting him like that, skimming just enough to make a profit and a few cheap friends, it's bold, Vandal --," Praise cut short by a hiss of pain as the Butcher poured hard drink on the gash, the man writhed, silent.
"Dangerous, yes. No more pillowtalk. What do you want?"
The shift of accent made Bryre nervous. Thickening, the air went sticky with tension, pregnant, violent, "The Knights of the Barracuda, as you know, have certain connections to the local pirate crews, and consequently ties to One-Eye and the cruel economics of his little operation. We want out. We want to back someone reasonable. So here I am with my head on the chopping block, offering you a chance to foster relations between our two organizations," Bryce said, letting silence trail.
"Yes, about that," Reaching into the sack that he had left sitting ominously between them, the Butcher retrieved a freshly severed head and gave it a toss, letting it land squarely in the lap of his startled passenger. As it rolled feebly about, the poor man shrieked, scooping the awful trophy from boat to sea, shuddering to himself as it gurgled and sunk. Watching on with a flat, bored expression, Vandal continued, "Either you think me a fool or you are a fool. Which is it, Captain Bryre of the Marghast, respected officer of the Barracuda Knights, beloved husband, father, and son?"
"You don't think he's mine, do you? Whoever he was, he has nothing to do with me or this offer. I can stake that on my life, Butcher."
"Oh?" Head doggedly tilting, the man traced the pale, wiry scar that ran the curve of his throat apple, "A relief, then. Keep only me in the strictest of your confidence. Whatever baited that rat came from your camp."
"Yes, I'll be more careful from now on," He replied curtly, impatience winning out. His guts were churning. This had to end soon or else he risked losing them to this monster, "But regardless, the offer stands, and to show we aim to make good on our word, we have a shipment that needs to be collected. It's in the hands of pirate crew that we contract waiting to be smuggled and then fenced. Do this for us and we will offer you a similar favor in return," Letting the weight of his words mount, Bryre smiled, gold teeth gleaming, moonlit.
"And what favor would that be, fish captain?"
"One-Eye's loyal contacts within the Knights charged with high treason."
At this Vandal's face split with a wide, lupine grin, expression sheer glee.
"Done."