Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 44: On the Shore of a Shadowed Land

Capitano stood, drawing sword. Bodkin immediately stepped away, pushing back his oversized coat, revealing his own sword. Barnaby stood as well, wondering if he should draw his axe. Cedric continued sitting, watching.

"Oy, gentlemen," said Bodkin. "No need to upset ourselves."

"I'm not upset," declared Capitano, and thrust blade towards Barnaby.

But Cedric's broomstick staff swooped down. There came a clang! The blade clattered to the deck. Capitano cursed, jumping back, near tripping on the cargo of corpses. His companion moved towards Bodkin, who backed away, sword drawn.

Now Cedric stood, staff raised. Barnaby pulled his axe. Capitano recovered footing, drew knife, moving to stand beside his friend.

Then came a boot stamp from the front of the skiff. All turned to behold the looming guard, great two-handed sword drawn.

Quite intimidating; but behind him stood a figure of far greater menace. The cloaked man poling the skiff had at last turned to face his passengers. Holding the dark pole high. That pole stretched upwards into the night, endless as a beam of light, dark as Lethe's waters. No face showed within the cowl of the cloak; but the eyes gleamed red, two rubies aflame.

When this personage spoke, the voice came low as the floor of Infernum, dark as the caves of Nix. Shaking the boat with one mere word.

"Sit."

Bodkin sat. Capitano sat. His friend sat. Cedric sat. Last, Barnaby sat.

There followed silence. The cloaked figure turned away, continued poling. The looming guard kept sword unsheathed, eyeing the passengers.

For a long while there came only the sound of the river, the night wind, the cry of night birds. At last Capitano gave his easy laugh.

"After all, we leave St. Demetia behind. What quarrels we have are left behind as well, no?"

Barnaby's heart still beat double-time. The man sitting before him, talking so friendly, had meant to kill him. And probably Cedric and Bodkin.

"How are you so ready to kill and laugh?"

Capitanos confident face went empty as the eyes and mouth of any sheet-wrapped corpse.

"What?"

Barnaby did not repeat the question.

Cedric spoke instead. "Certainly, we have no quarrel with you."

"Exactly," said Capitano, recovering smile. "My apologies. I spied a breaker of oaths to St. Demetia. My fervency to uphold her law overcame my practical nature."

Cedric brushed that aside same as he'd done the sword.

"If you wronged the boy in the name of the saint, that remains between your conscience and the saint. It need not come between you and us."

"Fair enough. Pax, then, while in blessed Plutarch's quiet demesne."

"So be it," said Cedric, stamping the boat deck with his staff.

Bodkin reached to pocket, took coin, tossed it to the air. Catching and slapping it to wrist.

"Call," he demanded.

"For what?" asked Capitano, amused.

"For who leaves the dock first. Winner gets five minutes head start, so there's no arguing over who owns the street."

"Clever child," agreed Capitano. "Heads."

Barnaby, Cedric and Bodkin sat on crates watching Capitano lead a cart from the docks, gruesome cargo piled indifferently within.