The Whore’s Fool
Joseph McCullough V

Stevan lowered his drinking jack and glanced ito a corner of the tavern where a woman giggled and writhed in the lap of one of his shipmates. Setting his half-empty jack on the stained round table, Stevan rose and picked up his musket. Laughter erupted from a table at the far side of the smoky room as Stevan checked the priming of his gun. He shook his head and strode towards the door.

"Where you headed, Stevan?" asked a voice as he reached for the door latch.

Stevan turned and saw Jarlgrim, the bo’sun’s mate, sitting by himself. "Back to the ship."

"Better to drink away the night and be rolled out with the trash in the morning than to go wandering around The Gateway at night."

Stevan shrugged and slipped the musket onto his back. "I’m not staying here all night."

"You targeteers think you’re immortal because you carry a big gun." Jarlgrim grinned. "Follow your nose, Stevan, the salt air will you lead you home."

Stevan nodded and pushed open the door. His boots crunched into the sandy ground as he stepped into the dim alley that ran behind the tavern. Despite the late hour, lights glowed from many of the windows in the crowded wooden buildings looming above the narrow street. Shadows thrown by the lighted windows and the pale sliver of moon clung to the alley walls.

A roar of laughter poured from the tavern behind him, and Stevan again shook his head. He started down the alley. As he walked, Jarlgrim’s words ran over and over through his mind. Targeteers, the sharpshooters of the pirates, had a reputation for being cocky, but Stevan was uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. He also knew the reputation of The Gateway, as both the city and the island it sits upon were known. Ruled by neither man nor law, The Gateway served as both haven and launch point for pirates, criminals, and rogue mages. A rough enough place during the day, some claimed that death himself walked the streets at night. Stevan grinned at the idea, but quickly sobered as he thought of the implications. His fingers began nervously tapping the hilt of his knife.

Stevan continued down the long, twisting alleyways, his musket bouncing against the back of his leather jacket. He strode around one corner, and then another. The buildings crowded ever closer together and the shadows darkened. Stevan quickened his step and came to a "T" intersection.

He paused as a cool ocean breeze blew through his long hair. The Norman breathed in and smelled the salty air of the ocean. A smile came to his lips.

Then a woman’s scream cut through the night behind him. Stevan spun, whipped the musket off his back, and brought it to his shoulder. Down the alley a woman stumbled into view, her off-white dress standing out in the pale moonlight. A black shape lunged out of the shadows and grabbed for her. The woman cried out as she was pulled to the ground by a large man in a black cloak.

Stevan gave a high-pitched whistle. The figures looked up from their struggle in the dirt to where the Norman stood with feet spread and one brown eye staring down the barrel of his flintlock.

"This is none of your concern, targeteer," the assailant growled.

"You attacking a lady is concern enough."

"She’s no lady."

"Looks that way from here." Stevan motioned the man away with the barrel of the gun and slowly walked forward.

"You’re making a deadly mistake," said the man.

"I’ll take the chance."

Stevan had advanced to within fifteen feet when the man broke and ran. The targeteer caught a glimpse of an ugly face covered in small pox scars.

Stevan stepped up to the woman and knelt beside her. He looked down onto a pretty, dark-eyed face surrounded by flowing auburn hair. Her skin appeared especially pale in the dim light. Stevan’s gaze drifted down her pale neck and caught himself staring at her generous cleavage, visible through a tear in her dress. He quickly glanced to the dirt at his feet, where a small knife lay.

A hand touched his leather jacket. He looked into the dark eyes.

"Your armor isn’t very shiny," she said with a shaky smile.

"What?"

"Could you help me up?"

"Of course…" said Stevan as he assisted the woman to her feet. She was younger than he had first thought, probably late teens or early twenties, a little younger even than he. Stevan handed her the knife.

"Thank you," she said as she slipped it under a fold in her dress. "I’m Cassi."

"Stevan." The Norman slung his musket back onto his shoulder.

A cold breeze blew down the alley. Cassi shivered and clutched the torn portion of her dress to her chest. She gave a little laugh, "Well Stevan, you saved my life. Would you care to walk me home?"

"That’s probably a good idea."

Cassi slipped her arm around Stevan’s and gently nudged him forward. With her eyes sharp towards any patch of shadow big enough to conceal a man, Cassi guided them through the maze of alleyways. For a moment, Stevan’s mind slipped back to another girl who had walked with him thus. A girl he had spent many years trying to forget. Cassi’s voice broke through his thoughts.

"Which ship do you sail on?"

"The Moccasin."

Cassi stopped for a moment and looked into Stevan’s brown eyes. One side of her mouth curled up in a sprightly grin as a look Stevan did not recognize came to her face.

"Well," she said, "I guess that’s not that surprising."

"What do you mean?"

"It takes a brave man to sail with Deglin Wrathe." Cassi laughed. "You’re kinda’ cute, you know… for a pirate."

Stevan felt the warm rush of blood in his face that had betrayed him many times in the past. He looked away and did his best to change the subject. "That man who attacked you – did you know him?"

"No, but it doesn’t take much reason for a man to attack a woman in The Gateway, especially at night. Come on, we’re almost there."

Cassi led him past a row of closed shops that sold weapons, jewelry, tattoos, and probably anything else if you asked the right way. Was it here that Captain Wrathe had bought him a musket to replace the one he had destroyed in The Waste? He could not be sure; every row of shops looked the same at night. He looked at the young woman by his side and a fluttering feeling came to his stomach.

They stepped into a wide alley, one side of which was dominated by a large, two-story wooden building. Light shone through a dozen windows. From the shapely lady painted in fading paint on the sign outside and the feminine laughter from within, Stevan recognized the place as a brothel. Cassi stopped in front of the low wooden porch.

"This is where you live?" Stevan asked.

Cassi’s eyes looked away from his. "Yes."

"Then you’re a…"

Stevan let the sentence trail off as Cassi nodded and looked up into his brown eyes.

"There aren’t many way for a woman to make money here."

Stevan swallowed hard. "Well, maybe…"

Cassi put a finger over his lips and smiled. "Come inside, Stevan. There’s something I want to show you."

Cassi stepped up onto the porch and slipped through the door. Putting one foot on the porch, Stevan stopped and looked behind him. He could turn around and find his way back to the Moccasin, let his good deed be its own reward. An image of Cassi forced itself upon his mind, and he bit his lower lip. The wooden boards of the porch groaned beneath his heavy boots as he stepped up to the door and went through.

Stevan’s nostrils were assaulted by the stinging sweet smell of burning colos leaves, a mild narcotic from the Orient. He put a hand over his nose and mouth. Cassi stood on a staircase in front of him, while off to his right he could see men and women laughing and lounging in a smoky den. They were gathered around a thin Tangulian man amusing the small crowd by making small coins disappear, likely more sleight of hand than real magic.

Stevan followed Cassi up the stairs to a long hallway with several doors on both sides. He felt the blood creeping into his face as they walked down the hall, and he heard the human sounds from behind closed doors. Cassi opened a door near the middle of the hall. Stevan, eager to leave the open hallway, stepped through.

The room he entered was small. A simple wooden bed sat across from a short table supporting a washbasin and a cracked mirror. A heavy oaken chest stood in one corner. The walls were bare except for a small window, through which shone the dim light of the moon. Stevan heard the door close behind him. He turned.

"What…" Stevan’s voice died in his throat as his gaze traveled down the smooth curves of Cassi’s body to where her dress lay pooled about her feet. "You’re sure about this?"

Cassi put a finger over her lips and said, "It’s best not to ask questions in The Gateway."

Stevan’s eyes drifted open and he peered around the room. It was still dark outside, and only the moon glow and the thin cracks of light around the door allowed him to see. Cassi’s soft body pressed against him under the cover, and her warm breath played across his chest. He brushed hair off his face. His groggy mind was not sure whose. Carefully sliding out of bed, Stevan recovered his pants from the floor and slipped them on.

His brow furrowed as he looked at the pretty young woman still asleep in the bed. Why had he gotten up? He had been so comfortable. He rubbed his forehead and thought of the money that Wrathe was holding for him, most of his share of the god’s head. The money did not mean much to him, but to Cassi?

The crack of breaking wood snapped Stevan’s mind to attention as the door flew open. A cloaked man bounded into the room. Cassi sat up with a scream. Stevan snatched his musket from where it leaned against the wall. A knife flashed from the invader’s hand, and Stevan cried out as the blade tore into the flesh of his left arm and stuck in the wall behind. Fire raced into the Norman’s brain as he slipped his thumb around the hammer of his musket. He spun the barrel downward, letting the gun’s own weight help him cock it.

The cloaked man drew another knife and Stevan fired point-blank. The roar of exploding gunpowder deafened everyone in the room. The gun kicked from Stevan’s hand and clattered to the floor. Blood erupted from the cloaked man’s chest as the musket ball ripped into him. He staggered back.

From the corner of his eye Stevan saw Cassi reach under the bed and draw a small dagger. At the same time, he took hold of the knife impaling him. Searing pain raced up and down his arm when he yanked the blade free from the wall and his flesh. Small streams of blood ran down his arm and dripped to the floor.

Cassi called out in warning. "Stevan!"

Three more dark men charged into the room. The first came at Stevan with a wooden cudgel. Stevan dodged to the side as the man swung. The cudgel whisked past Stevan’s ear as he stumbled over his own musket. Off balance, the Norman reached out wildly with his bad arm and caught his attacker’s cloak. Both tumbled to the floor.

Stevan rolled onto his back, the pain in his arm forcing its way into his brain. A hand grabbed his throat, another clamped down on top of his wrist, pinning his knife hand to the floor. A familiar, pox-scarred face stared down at him.

Across the room a man yelped and Cassi screamed. Her scream was cut short.

Stevan could hear the other men shuffling around the room near the bed, but could not lift his head enough to see what they were about.

Instead, Stevan thrashed from side to side trying to dislodge the man on top of him. His attacker’s stony fingers dug into his neck, squeezing the breath from his throat. Stevan lashed out with his blood-covered arm and clawed at the scarred man’s eyes. His attacker flinched, giving Stevan just enough leverage to roll him off.

The Norman leapt to his feet, knife still in hand. Cassi was gone, as were the other men. Stevan charged out the door and down the hall, past open doors and the peeking heads of curious onlookers. He reached the top of the stairs and saw two men at the bottom carrying an unmoving body wrapped in a sheet. Long auburn hair hung from one end of their burden.

Hatred blocked out the pain in Stevan’s arm and the ache of his throat. He started down the stairs when someone crashed into him from behind and wrapped an arm around his neck. Clutching at the arm around his throat, Stevan pitched headfirst down the stairs.

The world transformed into a spinning blur of color shot through with flashes of red pain. Stevan screamed as he tumbled onto his wounded arm. His stomach lurched as the swirling world slowed and he felt his face pressed against the hard wood floor. With the world still shaking from side to side, he jumped up and lashed out wildly with his knife. His attacker gave a gurgled cry as Stevan sliced through his throat. The man collapsed to the floor and Stevan stumbled through the front door

Out on the porch, he stopped and caught hold of a post. His chest heaved and his breath came in short gasps as the world returned to focus. Blood trickled down his arm. The cold ocean breeze swept through the densely packed buildings and across his naked shoulders. Away in the distance, Stevan heard the sound of receding hoof beats.

Stevan stood for a moment, letting his mind fully catch up with his body. Then he ran inside, up the stairs, and into Cassi’s room. The man he had shot lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood. Stevan crouched down and grabbed the front of the dying man’s shirt. He winced from the pain in his arm as he pulled the man’s face up to his own.

"Where did they take her?"

The man trembled and went limp. Stevan slammed the body down. He pounded a fist on the chest of the corpse.

A soft noise drew Stevan’s attention to the door where a woman now stood. She was older than Cassi, worn and tired. If ever she had been attractive the day was long past. She looked at Stevan with weary blue eyes and clutched a faded red robe tightly to her body.

"The man downstairs has been here before."

Stevan cut a section from the dead man’s cloak to bandage his wound. "Who is he?"

"He’s the servant of the wizard, Chalos."

"Where?"

"He has a manor outside the city. If you take the north road to the left fork, it will be the first holding down the fork."

"I need a horse."

The woman thought for a moment. "There’s a grey mare in the stable. The owner won’t miss it, for a while anyway."

Stevan gathered his clothes and weapons and looked into the woman’s tired blue eyes.

"I thought no one cared about anyone else in The Gateway," said Stevan.

"So did I," said the woman. "Please, help her."

"I’ll try."

The woman nodded and turned from the doorway.

Cassi woke with a throbbing in her head. Her back was pressed against cold stone. It took her a moment to realize she was standing, or that something was holding her upright.

She opened her eyes. She was in a room, nearly four times the size of hers, cluttered with tables and shelves. The shelves and table tops were covered with leather books, scrolls, loose pieces of parchment, glass vials of every description, and many strange little objects whose purpose Cassi could only guess. She had never seen a room like it, and thought that it must be the workshop of some alchemist or seer.

She was forced against a stone wall covered in only a thin white sheet. Her arms and legs, despite being held by no visible bond, would not budge. Cassi whimpered in pain as she bumped the large knot on the back of her head against the wall.

At the sound of her whimper a man rose from behind one of the cluttered tables. Cassi trembled as the decrepit figure came into view. He was tall, but severely stoop-shouldered. Light brown skin covered nothing more than bone. A thin horseshoe of grey hair ran around his bald pate, while a bushy tuft of similar hair ran from just under his lip to the top of his neck. He was old, older than anyone Cassi had ever seen, and his black eyes starred at her with cruel intent.

He shuffled towards her without a word until his bent frame loomed over her like a buzzard. Thin, bloodless lips pulled back in a smile that revealed a mouth full of sharpened teeth.

"Awake already?" said the man in a dry and lifeless voice.

"Let me go…" Cassi stammered.

"But I just got you, and I’m afraid freedom wouldn’t help you much anyway."

Cassi’s body tingled as the man’s black eyes looked her up and down.

"What are you talking about?" the young woman shouted, using her anger to cover her fear and to keep from crying.

"Yes, you should know. You see, I’m a very old man, and even magic can support a body for only so long. I’ve been doing so longer than I probably should have, but for the last ten years I’ve searched for a means to continue after this body has failed. Recently, I’ve discovered a spell that can do just that! Unfortunately, the spell requires something that this old frame just isn’t capable of… Yes, a pity."

The wizard ran a bony hand along the side of Cassi’s face as he spoke.

"So I cast my spell on my great-grandson, who, I’ve long known, has been spending his nights with one of the slave girls. The young idiot would pick last night, of all nights, to go into town whoring! Do you know how much trouble it was to locate you and have you brought here? I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much. At least you’re not some important lady. Only a fool would worry about a kidnapped whore."

Cassi’s lips trembled and tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Perhaps you remember a young man of mixed blood last night," continued the wizard. "I hope he paid you well. He’s usually quite generous with my money."

Cassi shook her head from side to side as tears she could no longer contain rolled down her cheeks.

"So you see, the spell was completed."

He touched a hand to her stomach and slid it down.

"This thing that stands before you is but an empty shell, no more alive than that table. My life-wind, all that is me, now grows inside you. Grows quite rapidly. In three days, maybe less, I will have grown much too large for my mother, and I’ll come out. Of course, your body won’t be able to handle giving birth to a child of that size. It’s unfortunate that you won’t get to see your son in his new body."

Below the wizard’s bony hand, inside her own flesh, Cassi felt something writhing, squirming in her gut like a great, blubbery worm. The wizard chuckled and took a step back as Cassi vomited on the floor.

Stevan crouched in a grove of trees near one side of the great stone manor. It was a square building, nearly a hundred feet long on each side. The walls were bleak, and, if not for the numerous large windows Stevan could easily have mistaken the house for a prison or fortress. On one corner, a third story stuck up from the rest of the building like a blunted tower. From a window on the third floor shone the only light visible from outside the house.

Stevan shifted the musket on his back and drew his knife. What was he doing? Most of his crewmates would laugh at the idea of risking his life to rescue a prostitute. There’s more where she came from, they would say. Except, maybe, the Captain. He had thought about going to Wrathe for help but decided he did not have the time.

He would try to rescue anyone he knew who had been kidnapped. Wouldn’t he? His heart skipped a beat as he thought of Cassi. One night – with a prostitute! He did not know what it all meant, and knew he did not have time to think about it. It would be dawn soon and the cover of darkness would be gone.

Stevan rose from his crouch and dashed to the manor wall. Reaching the wall, he pressed his back against the cool stone, straining his ears to pick up any sound. Only the slight rustle of the wind through the trees could be heard. Stevan reached over and tested the window. It was locked. He slid along the wall to the next window; it too was locked. His teeth ground together as he carefully stepped to a third window. He put a hand to the wooden shutters, and with a gentle push they swung open. Stevan peered into a dark and vacant sitting room. Thanking the lazy or careless servant, he crawled into the house.

Stevan groped his way across the room to a darkened doorway on the other side. He peeked around the doorway into a short hall. Halfway down the hall, light streamed through an open door. At the far end he could faintly see a staircase leading up. Stevan crept towards the open door, one soft footstep at a time.

He’d reached a large kitchen. A stone oven dominated one corner, and various pots, pans, and wooden utensils lined the walls. Sitting at a table with his back to the door, a heavyset man tore at a chicken leg and chewed with loud smacking noises. Was he one of them, one of the ones who had taken Cassi? Stevan touched a finger to the blade of his knife. A quick stroke to the back would be all it took--just like a pirate. For the first time he noticed the sweat that clung to his forehead. He slid the knife back into its sheath and slipped the musket off his back. He paused for just a moment. Then he wheeled through the door, took two quick steps, and smashed the butt of his musket into the back of the man’s head. The man slumped forward without so much as a groan. His head banged against the table.

"You okay in there?"

The voice came from a doorway to his left. Stevan sprinted over just as a man came walking through. The man’s eyes widened in shock as the musket stock slammed into his face. He tumbled over backwards and lay still.

Stevan froze, expecting more men to come charging into the room. The seconds passed; the house was once again silent. Stevan slipped out of the kitchen and headed towards the staircase.

Every step creaked as the Norman went up, the musket now held before him. The wound in his arm throbbed in time with his heavy breathing.

"Please, let her be all right," Stevan whispered to himself.

Stevan reached the landing at the second floor. Although his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, this floor was nearly pitch black. The only sound was the rapid beat of his heart. Stevan picked the direction that would take him to the third floor.

With just a few steps he had left the faint light rising from the stairway behind. Stevan felt his way along the wall, carefully placing one foot solidly on the floor before picking up the other. The air hung cold and lifeless around him. His heart screamed for him to go faster, but his mind knew that would be foolish.

Ahead, a dim glow appeared. A few more quiet steps and he could see the outline of another staircase . His heart jumped into his throat. He was close, close to knowing if he was too late. A prayer from his youth flashed through his mind, but he doubted that God had time for pirates or prostitutes.

He placed a foot upon the stairs, crouching low and close to the wall. At the top he saw a single door, slightly ajar. The flood of light through the doorway stung his eyes. He heard a voice, a man’s, mumbling and unintelligible.

Stevan snuck up to the door and looked within. He saw a room cluttered with wizardly things. He saw Cassi, dressed in a sheet and pinned to the far wall. A tall and emaciated man hunched over her, holding her tear-streaked face with a long fingered hand. Chalos, or so the old man must be, mumbled strange words and moved the girl’s head from side to side. A chill flooded Stevan’s body as he remembered the magic he had encountered and the stories he had heard. He waited no longer.

Stevan stepped boldly into the room. He snapped the musket to his shoulder.

"Don’t move."

"Stevan?" asked Cassi with a sob as she looked up.

Chalos turned around slowly and stared at Stevan with his beady black eyes.

"And you must be the whore’s fool." Chalos nearly spat the words out.

Stevan took aim at the wizard’s head. "You’re going to let my friend go."

"The whore is as good as dead already."

Stevan pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked down and ignited the powder. The gun roared as smoke and musket ball fired from the barrel. The ball tore into the wizard’s forehead and exploded out the back, sending shards of bone and flakes of skin in all directions. There was no blood.

Chalos stumbled back against the girl. He regained his balance and fixed the Norman with a baleful gaze.

Stevan lowered the musket, his mouth agape. He had blown away a large chunk from the top of the wizard’s head, but he still lived.

Chalos stretched a long thin arm towards Stevan.

"The damage you’ve done is but an irritation."

"Stevan," cried Cassi, "you can’t help me. Please run!"

Stevan dropped his gun and drew his knife.

Chalos spoke a few quick words and waved his fingers. Cassi’s hands slid a couple of inches down the wall.

Stevan felt himself lifted from the floor and flung across the room, his knife spinning from his hand. He crashed onto a cluttered table. It tipped over, spilling Stevan and the assorted mess across the floor.

Stevan shot to his feet, a large glass jar of blue liquid in his hand. With a curse, Stevan hurled the jar at the wizard. Chalos shouted a quick syllable and flicked his wrist. Five feet in front of the old man, the jar shattered in mid air as though it had hit an invisible barrier. A shower of blue liquid rained down on the floor.

Cassi’s hands slid a little further down the wall.

Stevan cast about for another weapon. As Chalos extended a second arm towards him, the Norman grabbed a broken table leg and charged.

Chalos screamed a series of ancient words and balled his fingers into fists. Stevan’s charge stopped abruptly as both his wrists were caught by unseen hands.

With a groan, Cassi fell away from the wall.

Stevan shouted and struggled against the invisible bonds that slowly lifted him from the floor by his wrists. His legs kicked out and toppled a nearby table. He screamed as fresh blood burst through the bandage on his arm. Still he fought, throwing his body violently. Chalos smiled as the seconds passed. Finally, the pain was too great. Stevan quit his thrashing and hung suspended in the air. Tears came to his eyes, a mixture of pain, anger, and frustration.

"Now targeteer, I will teach you the penalty for caring about a whore."

"No!"

The shout came from the side of the room. Both Chalos and Stevan turned their heads in surprise. Amidst the clutter, Cassi stood with Stevan’s knife in her hand. Her dark eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, blazed with a hatred born of hopelessness. The sheet had fallen away, and her naked body shivered as she raised the knife above her head. Her lips trembled as her face contorted in fear. Chalos shouted and swung his hands towards her. The knife flashed down. Stevan’s heart stopped; his mouth opened but made no sound.

Cassi gasped as she plunged the knife deep into her abdomen. Chalos screamed and clutched his head. Blood poured from between his fingers. Stevan’s wrists came free and he dropped to the floor.

Chalos, still screaming in agony, stumbled into the Norman. Stevan stared in shock at the massive bloody gash that cut through one eye and across the wizard’s nose. Chalos reached out his bloody hands and caught hold of Stevan’s jacket, screaming gibberish from the shattered remains of a face. Stevan retched as he grabbed hold of the wizard’s bony forearms. He felt the decrepit arms crack under his hands as he yanked them off his jacket. He threw the shrieking wizard to the floor.

Stevan tore his gaze from the dying wizard and ran across the room to where Cassi lay . He knelt beside her, his gaze locked on the protruding knife hilt. No one could survive such a wound, especially not a frail young girl.

He placed a hand under Cassi’s head and gently touched her face with the other. Her body shivered; her hands groped without strength for the knife. Her eyes looked towards his face but did not seem to see him.

"I could have saved you," he whispered, "could have saved you from all of this." Stevan thought again of the money held by his captain.

Cassi shook her head, but whether in response or just in the throes of death, he did not know. Seconds later, the young woman’s dark eyes shut and her muscles relaxed. Stevan hung his head and covered his face.

The world around fell silent. Chalos had ceased his screaming and lay dead a few feet away. If there was anyone else conscious in the house, they did not come to investigate the screams and gunfire. No one worried about the fate of others in The Gateway, even in their own homes – except him, the whore’s fool.

He hated that word. Whore.

He would not use it for the young woman who lay before him.

Stevan slipped his arms under Cassi’s body and tried to stand. Burning pain shot through his left arm. The body fell to the floor. Stevan staggered to his feet clutching his wound. He gritted his teeth and looked at Cassi’s face.

"I’m sorry… I tried."

Stevan slowly turned and stepped away. He picked up his musket from where it lay near the body of Chalos then he raised a heavy boot over the cracked and bloody face. Shaking his head, Stevan lowered his foot. His hatred had gone, and his heart felt empty. He whispered the only words he could find as he turned and walked from the room.

"Good-bye, Cassi."