The Pirate and the Clockmaker

This is the result of a though experiment based on conversations with a friend at work. Before writing I rolled two D20s to determine the fate of the story: a ten indicating things would end in a draw, and a one, indicating heavy losses.

Her body dropped onto the wooden deck of the ship, which rocked slightly in the waves. 

“Is she alive?” Said a voice.

“Should be. She was coughing out water when we picked her up,” said a second. “And  Ceru knows how to grab people without hurting them.”

Sophronia Lovelace sat up on the creaking deck, accepting a water skein from a man with a bandana around his head. Two others knelt next to her, one with long, flowing hair and a long scar across his cheek and the other balding with what hair was left grey and thinning. She drank while that bald man looked at the other, who began calmly sharpening a cutlass. 

“Where did you come from, missy? You weren’t just out for a swim a hundred miles from shore,” said the bald man. 

“It seems impolite to start asking questions just after I awake and before I even know your names,” Sophronia replied in what       she hoped was a prim way of speaking. 

“Apologies madam,” said the scarred man. “I’m called Joseph Bellamy. I’m, ah, working with the good people of this ship as a guard .  Ceru and I found you floating on some driftwood to the west.” He glanced at the older man. 

“The name’s Cutler Armstrong. I’m the captain of the ship. We’re transporting some folk from the mainland to the Goblin Islands.” 

“I see,” Sophronia said. She told them her name and said she too was fleeing the succession war. 

“From where, and what happened,” asked the captain. 

“The library.”

“Ah. You lived there or were you studying?” 

“Both. I was in… clockmaking.” 

Bellamy nodded, and examined the cutlass again. He seemed to realize she was being evasive, tucking the sword into a sash around his waist and checking in turn a flintlock pistol. 

Deciding she should be a bit more forthcoming, she added, “We were attacked by Knights Vigilant who were chasing us. From the Papal States.”

The captain seemed surprised but walked away, calling to his men to readjust their course. Bellamy however gave a calculating look. 

“Who is Ceru,” she asked.

He glanced to his left, where she saw an enormous blue drake perched on the side of the ship, easily ten feet tall. It preened at a leathery wing at least fifteen feet across with its toothy jaw. “You’re a pirate then,” Sophronia said, shocked. Only pirates, she had been told, rode drakes; honest seamen used flying skiffs, not flying reptiles.

“An occasional pirate,” he corrected. “More often a privateer these days anyway. The governors on the islands pay a lot to keep mainland ships away. Not that I’d be able to do a lot to Vigilants.” He shuddered. “What kind of clockmaker are you to attract that kind of attention?” 

Sophronia struggled on the verge of speaking, but before she could a shadow passed overhead. A large sphere the size of an orange rolled across the deck, sparking oddly. Bellamy snatched it and threw it overboard where it exploded over the water, glittering bits of metal and glass raining down. “Grenadoe,” he muttered in horror, then shouted to no one in particular, “Goblins!” He turned to her. “Get below. I don’t care if you’re a commodore, you are t in fighting shape right now.” And whistling, he leaped upon the drake, who took off. 

That was how goblin attacks worked, Bellamy knew. You couldn’t spend long years at sea without understanding goblins. First came the outriders on kites, dropping grenadoes that exploded with shrapnel and smoke, blinding and injuring anyone on board. Then came the canons and boarding hooks, blasting away the rudder and ripping through the masts while tying the ship in place. And finally the goblins themselves would arrive, hanging onto the backs and arms of enormous trolls. They’d blast away at survivors with blunderbusses and finish off the wounded with daggers and boarding axes while the trolls snapped the masts or laid about them with spiked clubs. When it was over, the goblins would haul away anything of value and strip the ship for parts. That’s what their massive ships were made of: the skeletons of their past victims. But Bellamy hadn’t given up yet. They’d only seen one goblin. No sign of a ship yet. And a drake was larger, faster, and more maneuverable than a goblin glider. 

Then he spotted them, over a dozen goblins soaring towards him on gliders of leather stretched between bamboo poles. He signaled as he watched the skiffs rise into the air, archers readying their shots. Then he rose further into the air as the goblins streaked closer. As the first came into view, Ceru dropped like a stone, his back right leg slashing through the wing of the glider while his left seized the surprised goblin. All it had time to do was look up before the drake crushed the body like a falcon with a pigeon. 

Both goblin and glider fell to the sea below in ruin. Another sped alongside them, and the goblin attempted to bank towards Ceru, readying a throwing knife. Bellamy leveled his flintlock, blasting the goblin from the sky. But not everyone was as adept. Bellamy turned and saw the deck of the ship covered in smoke, the hulking goblin vessel approaching. 

The trolls were leaping onto the deck, crawling with goblins. With a scream, Ceru dove for the ship, his claws raking forward, catching one of the trolls on the shoulder. It turned, bellowing, and Bellamy slashed it through the throat with his cutlass. The troll, and twenty goblins, fell with a splash. Others, though, were crashing around, goblins springing from their backs, surrounded by the wounded and the dead. Bellamy dropped down from Ceru, the drake flapping to a safe height until needed again. Just then, a scream came from the lower deck. He turned in time to see Sophronia crest the stairs, an odd metal backpack on her slim frame. She pressed a button and a pair of long arms, made from gears and knives, sprang out, furiously jabbing at the troll before her. It stumbled backward, hitting the deck with a resounding thunk and lay still but bleeding. Three more trolls turned to regard her. 

Just then a bloodcurdling screech came from behind them. And erupting from the water a sea serpent rose, seizing the side of the goblin ship in enormous fangs. The remaining trolls began to lope back to their ship, goblins scrambling up their bodies before they made the leap. The goblin boarding hooks disengaged, and the ship departed, the sea serpent in hot pursuit. Bellamy let his sword arm fall, and turned to separate the wounded from the dead. The ship began to sail towards a barely visible reef, too shallow for goblins or serpents. 

The sun began to set. All told, of thirty people on the passengers and crew, sixteen had died, and were laid to rest in the hold until they could be buried when they arrived in port. Twelve of the remaining people were wounded. Bellamy sat on the railing, feeding Ceru fish. 

“So that’s why they hired you? Incidents like this?” It was Sophronia. 

“Aye, something like that. Some of us lived, that’s all we can hope for sometimes.”

She watched the drake swallow a fish before the big blue creature stretched its wings and flew up near the crow’s nest to sleep. 

“Some clock maker you are,” he said. 

She colored. “It’s why the Papal States are after me. They want weapons we built in the Library. Weapons only a few people can make. I wanted to disappear but I couldn’t just…” 

He nodded, lighting a pipe. “There’s a lot of islands and a lot of towns out there.” He jerked his head south. “You still might disappear out there. As long as the rest of the voyage stays calm, anyway.”

She let out a breath. “You’ll let me stay onboard?”

He glanced at her while he lit a pipe. “I wouldn’t leave anyone to drift out here, even if I’d kill them in a straight fight on land. But you’ve earned your keep here today.” With a nod, he disappeared into the gloom.