“The Weeping Tower?” Kytun called the drunken captain's attention back to the matter at hand.
Radaam, captain of the Cormorant, stared at Kytun a moment, catching up. "Yes,” Radaam nodded.
“One of the southern bays of the isle?”
“Yes. Desolation Isle. Bloody well-named, piss-pot of an island,” Radaam chuckled, amusing himself. “Piss-pot Isle. That’s what I would have called it.”
“This bay.”
Radaam focused on Kytun. “The bay, yes. Treacherous. Reefs. Shifting shoals. Murderous eighteen-foot tide comes charging up your arse one minute, then drags you onto the rocks or beaches you on sand the next.”
Radaam dipped a finger in his mug and drew a wet map on the table.
“Try to shelter in the eastern half of the bay, tide goes out and you’re trapped in them marshes. Cut off from the sea by dark mud and sand flats.” He splattered drops over the impromptu map.
“I’ve heard stories of them that should be dead wandering out of those marshes during the dark of night. And lights. Greenish lights under the deep water in the channel.” Radaam stopped, studying his tankard, lost in some thought or memory.
“But you’ve been there and returned.” Kytun pushed what remained of a loaf of brown bread to Radaam, hoping to anchor the man’s attention with food as ballast.
The Captain ignored the offering, instead digging into the leather satchel by his feet. With no thought to his surroundings, Radaam cleared space on the table between them and laid out a rough chart.
Sitting as they were, at the end of a table, Kytun checked that the men further down paid them no attention. Other charts and crude maps were on display at other tables, men arguing over them. No one seemed terribly interested in Radaam’s.
Radaam followed the faded lines of the chart with a finger as he spoke, “Marsh to the east, cliffs to the north and west, and that bloody great tide storming in and out the channel. And the Weeping Tower itself, hanging off the side of the rock, water falling over it, three hundred feet up, like a ripe, green and black fruit. Course, that’s when the fog lets up long enough to see the bugger. Finding the right cave is the key.” He waved a spiral in the air with a finger pointing up. “Cave connects up to the tower, or so the story tells.”
Radaam reached for the bread, filled his mouth and continued, spraying an occasional crumb on the parchment. “I know of two ships lost trying to get in that bay. That’s how I found it. Picked up a survivor from the first.”
“This chart is sparse.”
“I’ve got better aboard Cormorant, and Lura’s got a fresh map,” Radaam smiled at Kytun. “I’m not so drunk as I look, you see.”
Kytun reserved judgement.
“You won’t be the first folk I’ve landed there. She tell you that?”
Lura had failed to mention that fact when she approached he and Dax with her proposal.
“Dropped the first group in a dinghy, anchored them to a rock near the cliff face, then ran like hell before the tide turned. Came back in to pick them up five days running. Never saw a-one of them again.”
“Why a dinghy? Why not land them on the shore?”
“Ain’t no shore during high tide. Water plays directly on the cliff. Swallows all them caves save the biggest. And don’t be thinking it’s that easy. I’ve taken a boat into them big caves. Nothing there but rock and barnacles. Every one, dead end a hundred or so feet inside.”
Radaam placed a finger on the chart. “Put the second group on the sand right here during low tide. Tough men they were, too. Saw all seven of them go into one of them caves.”
“You anchored in the bay to wait for them?”
“Tried to. Line broke when the tide went out. Almost ended up on the rocks. We sailed right back in there when the tide changed.”
“No sign of them, either?”
Radaam had another drink, then looked at Kytun, suddenly somber. “Found one of them. Nasty little rogue from your part of the world, Kyross. Hard man by reputation. Respected hereabouts. Floated out of a cave. Been less than twelve hours, but he were all bloated. Looked like the crabs had been at him for days.”
Radaam dug into the pouch at his belt. He laid a large gold coin on the table. Kytun picked it up. The lines were faded, but some sort of looped cord or possibly a serpent decorated one side, the vague outline of a face the other. Kytun had never seen the like.
“He had fourteen of them in his belt.” Radaam laid a red gem the size of a man’s thumbnail on the table. “That were in his boot. Little bastard probably wasn’t going to share.”
Kytun held the ruby up to his eye. It was flawless, beautifully cut, glowing blood-red in the light of the lanterns.
Radaam wrapped his hand round Kytun’s, hiding the ruby from sight.
“I lie to no man. No mistake, it’s dangerous as hell. Like everything on Desolation Isle. Lost cities, haunted temples to dead gods, murderous tides, trackless bog and marsh, mountains, dark valleys, a damned restless volcano. All littered with treasure, just laying there for the taking.”
Kytun pulled Radaam’s hand off and tucked the ruby back into the man’s grasp. A hungry, drunken smile lit Radaam’s face.
“Well, we found her. Us!” Radaam pointed beyond the walls to the east. “There she lies, like some crazed virgin with a bloody knife, waiting for the first man to try her. But this virgin is rich. Stinking, buy-a-kingdom rich!”
“Try to shelter in the eastern half of the bay, tide goes out and you’re trapped in them marshes. Cut off from the sea by dark mud and sand flats.” He splattered drops over the impromptu map.
“I’ve heard stories of them that should be dead wandering out of those marshes during the dark of night. And lights. Greenish lights under the deep water in the channel.” Radaam stopped, studying his tankard, lost in some thought or memory.
“But you’ve been there and returned.” Kytun pushed what remained of a loaf of brown bread to Radaam, hoping to anchor the man’s attention with food as ballast.
The Captain ignored the offering, instead digging into the leather satchel by his feet. With no thought to his surroundings, Radaam cleared space on the table between them and laid out a rough chart.
Sitting as they were, at the end of a table, Kytun checked that the men further down paid them no attention. Other charts and crude maps were on display at other tables, men arguing over them. No one seemed terribly interested in Radaam’s.
Radaam followed the faded lines of the chart with a finger as he spoke, “Marsh to the east, cliffs to the north and west, and that bloody great tide storming in and out the channel. And the Weeping Tower itself, hanging off the side of the rock, water falling over it, three hundred feet up, like a ripe, green and black fruit. Course, that’s when the fog lets up long enough to see the bugger. Finding the right cave is the key.” He waved a spiral in the air with a finger pointing up. “Cave connects up to the tower, or so the story tells.”
Radaam reached for the bread, filled his mouth and continued, spraying an occasional crumb on the parchment. “I know of two ships lost trying to get in that bay. That’s how I found it. Picked up a survivor from the first.”
“This chart is sparse.”
“I’ve got better aboard Cormorant, and Lura’s got a fresh map,” Radaam smiled at Kytun. “I’m not so drunk as I look, you see.”
Kytun reserved judgement.
“You won’t be the first folk I’ve landed there. She tell you that?”
Lura had failed to mention that fact when she approached he and Dax with her proposal.
“Dropped the first group in a dinghy, anchored them to a rock near the cliff face, then ran like hell before the tide turned. Came back in to pick them up five days running. Never saw a-one of them again.”
“Why a dinghy? Why not land them on the shore?”
“Ain’t no shore during high tide. Water plays directly on the cliff. Swallows all them caves save the biggest. And don’t be thinking it’s that easy. I’ve taken a boat into them big caves. Nothing there but rock and barnacles. Every one, dead end a hundred or so feet inside.”
Radaam placed a finger on the chart. “Put the second group on the sand right here during low tide. Tough men they were, too. Saw all seven of them go into one of them caves.”
“You anchored in the bay to wait for them?”
“Tried to. Line broke when the tide went out. Almost ended up on the rocks. We sailed right back in there when the tide changed.”
“No sign of them, either?”
Radaam had another drink, then looked at Kytun, suddenly somber. “Found one of them. Nasty little rogue from your part of the world, Kyross. Hard man by reputation. Respected hereabouts. Floated out of a cave. Been less than twelve hours, but he were all bloated. Looked like the crabs had been at him for days.”
Radaam dug into the pouch at his belt. He laid a large gold coin on the table. Kytun picked it up. The lines were faded, but some sort of looped cord or possibly a serpent decorated one side, the vague outline of a face the other. Kytun had never seen the like.
“He had fourteen of them in his belt.” Radaam laid a red gem the size of a man’s thumbnail on the table. “That were in his boot. Little bastard probably wasn’t going to share.”
Kytun held the ruby up to his eye. It was flawless, beautifully cut, glowing blood-red in the light of the lanterns.
Radaam wrapped his hand round Kytun’s, hiding the ruby from sight.
“I lie to no man. No mistake, it’s dangerous as hell. Like everything on Desolation Isle. Lost cities, haunted temples to dead gods, murderous tides, trackless bog and marsh, mountains, dark valleys, a damned restless volcano. All littered with treasure, just laying there for the taking.”
Kytun pulled Radaam’s hand off and tucked the ruby back into the man’s grasp. A hungry, drunken smile lit Radaam’s face.
“Well, we found her. Us!” Radaam pointed beyond the walls to the east. “There she lies, like some crazed virgin with a bloody knife, waiting for the first man to try her. But this virgin is rich. Stinking, buy-a-kingdom rich!”
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