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Fan Fiction

Waves of Riches

The sea. That mighty force of destruction. Chaotic and merciless et capable of unrivalled calm, unrivalled beauty. A free flowing spirit, untameable, unconquerable, unstoppable. Unstoppable that is, right up to the point where it meets the river Ankh at Ankh-Morpork docks and is beaten into submission like a door guard on the first day of the Hogswatch sales. It has been suggested that the ‘waters’ of the Ankh are actually a new form of life. This has been impossible to prove, however, as every time someone tries to analyse it his or her instruments explode. Even analysis by hex, the com-pu-ter at the university, had only led to Ponder Stibbons having to join the ants for a quiet sit down. Eventually, all Ankh water studies had been banned due to the strain on the fire service, which is quite ironic when you consider its water. Suffice to say the waters of the river Ankh provide a seriousness never before seen in ‘No Swimming!’ signs.

The solitary figure of a man slowly paced the length of the docks. He came to a stop and leant lazily over the rail, staring at the water in quiet bemusement. There was a curious two-layer effect where the Ankh met the sea. The brown met the blue but it didn’t blend. Having already mixed with anything and everything Ankh-Morporkians had to dump in it (mainly unspeakable), the Ankh water was dammed if it was going to mix with the sea as well. It would have been quite pretty if it wasn’t for the stink. The kind of thing trolls who have had a bit too much slab would point at and say “Oooooh colours.” The man sighed. He’d arrived in Ankh-Morpork about a week previously and he still hadn’t got used to the smell. It was in stark contrast to his former life of glory. A life of adventure, excitement, and rewards… for this scrawny young man was none other than Jason, cabin boy and chief latrine cleaner of the great pirate Captain Threadlock! Threadlock had once been considered one of the most feared pirates on the disc. Well the most feared pirate to cloth merchants anyway. He’d always preferred the feel of a good pair of silk breaches to the chink of coins in his pocket. Anyway, that was all in the past. He’d perished, along with his crew, somewhat bizarrely months ago. Some bright spark had sworn it would be a shortcut. The man had the ridiculous idea the world was round. Jason had been lucky and managed to scramble into a small rowboat as the ship had disappeared over the rim. He remembered the fading sound of Threadlock’s mad laughter as he’d paddled furiously away from the edge. He’d drifted for days, living on a diet fish and rainwater, and eventually, had run aground at Ankh-Morpork (Well he thought he had. He’d actually just run aground on the Ankh water around the docks). Jason sighed again. He threw a pebble and it bounced on the sludge, falling short of the sea. It was time to get back out there and he knew it. It was time to seek his fortune.

Tunish the troll was a bum. He didn’t know this, however, as there is a distinct lack of people willing to point this out to a seven-foot troll. What he did know was that he was bored. It was never meant to be like this when he first left the mountains for the lights of the big city. He wanted to be respected, he wanted to be rich, he wanted to become civilised like Mr Chrysophase, but all he seemed to do was sit about all day or get paid to hit people. Chrysophase the gangster troll was a hero back in the mountains. He was beating the humans at their own game, he wore a suit, and he was about the only troll to be referred to as ‘Mr’. Tunish was just thinking how good he’d look in a suit as Jason appeared around the corner, a smile forming on his lips as he saw the troll.

“Excuse me. Hello?”

Tunish was upset at the interruption. It wasn’t easy for a troll to gather his thoughts; he’d been building up to the suit thought all morning. He glared threateningly at the stranger.

Jason eyed the troll up and down and decided to get straight to the point.

“I wonder if you’d be interested in going to sea?”

“Wot?”

“An able troll like you would be perfect for my crew. Lots of rewards to be gained from a life at sea you know.”

“Wot?”

“I’m offering you the opportunity for riches and glory. I’m offering you the opportunity to become a pirate!”

“Wot?”

Jason sighed. “Look, its very simple. My name is Captain Jason Tre’bar. I am a pirate. I steal from the rich and keep the money. I have a ship I just don’t have a crew. That’s where you come in.” It was true he did have a ship, though quite how he’d acquired it was more of a mystery. That whole night was a bit of a haze, the grog around here was certainly up to pirate standards. There had been a bet in the inn he knew that… something to do with a sausage in a bun? The name Dibbler stuck in his mind, for what reason he could only imagine. All he knew was that he’d gone overnight from penniless to owning a fine fourteen-gun ship called The Minoria. Oh, and people seemed cross the street when he walked past now.

“So, are you with me? Are you ready to become rich beyond your wildest dreams?”

Tunish’s dreams didn’t go much past the suit idea. “No.”

“No?”

“No!”

Jason thought for a moment then rallied “Well do you know where I might find people interested in the opportunity of a lifetime?”

“Why don’t you try der bottom of the river.” Said Tunish irritably. He was beginning to lose the suit image in his mind.

“I will try there. Thank you for your help Mr Troll.” Jason answered, missing the sarcasm. Sarcasm wasn’t really something you expected of trolls.

Tunish’s eyes lit up.

“Mr?”

“Sorry?”

“You called me Mr! No-one has ever called me Mr before!”

Jason looked puzzled. “Yes?”

“Look no further Mr Jason sir.”

“You’ll join me?”

“Mr Jason, I’d follow you over the rim itself!”

Jason felt uncomfortable at the mention of the rim, but pulled himself together.

“Excellent. Well, to your first duty. Can you name a good place to recruit some able men?”

Tunish thought about this.

“Well deres always der drum.” He offered.

“Ah, a likely place for eager recruits?”

“Well it’ll have to be” Tunish mused, “It’s der only place I knows.”

*

A queue was forming in the Broken Drum inn, and as is the custom with any queue in Ankh-Morpork, arguments were breaking out.

“Are you gonna be finishing that drink friend?”

“Yes”

“I said, are you gonna be finishing that drink friend?”

Realisation dawned.

“Oh… no, no. Would you like it?”

A tall figure dressed in black occupied a stool at the bar. He would occasionally gaze over to the queue, and occasionally flicked an eye to an hourglass he held in his long, thin, strangely white fingers. In his free hand, he clutched a glass with a tiny umbrella poking out.

It was a good turn out and the queue stretched the whole length of the bar. It wasn’t often job opportunities were aimed at the clientele of the drum, the man was clearly an idiot… and idiots, usually had money. This Logic had attracted every thief, thug, lawyer, and lowlife in a two-mile radius. Oh, and Corporal Nobbs of the city watch.

At a table in front of the queue sat a beaming Jason and a bored looking Tunish. Jason was conversing with the queue’s leader, a huge hublander with a worryingly big scar on his face, making him look like he was smiling when he was actually scowling.

“So you haven’t got any money now?” the man was saying, “Right now I mean… to pay wages?”

“Well no, but c’mon it’s not just about the riches. It’s also a wonderful escape from life.”

A silence while all eyes in the bar turned to him.

Jason smiled encouragingly.

The queue halved.

“We can have sing-a-longs every night.” He persisted.

The queue halved again. “Is he serious?” Someone muttered in amazement as they walked away.

“ESCAPE YOU SAY?” said a voice.

“Yes.”

“REALLY?”

“Yes.”

“CAREFREE?”

“Yes.”

“HMM.”

*

Jason proudly inspected his new crew. There were five of them including Tunish, and adding himself to the figure that made seven! A number even Threadlock himself would be proud to lead. A feeling of nostalgia engulfed Jason momentarily as he thought of his old skipper. He remembered the time at that inn in Quim when another captain had boasted of his achievements. The captain was Sir Ricard of Tsort, and was credited with bringing potatoes back to civilisation (Well to Ankh-Morpork, so perhaps not civilisation). These days, smoking potatoes was all the rage downtown with people of breeding. Or inbreeding as Commander Vimes liked to say. Threadlock had grabbed the smoke from the captain’s mouth and eaten it there and then in front of the whole inn. Ate it, no lie. He’d even seemed to like it. He’d started eating them at every meal afterwards, Jason recalled. Now that was a real tough man. Now it was his time to lead men. Time to meet his crew.

“What’s your name sailor?”

Silence.

“I mean you.”

“Oh, sorry sir. You threw me off with the sailor part there. It’s Nobbs sir.”

Nobby had informed the watch of his decision to go that day, much to the amusement of all concerned. “A holiday?!” old Sergeant Colon had boomed. He had been all set to offer Nobby an alternative of a clip round the ear until Vimes had turned up. The commander had seemed more chirpy than usual, and had insisted Nobby took at least six months off. He’d even offered Nobby a raise if he went.

Captain Carrot had been the only one who seemed genuinely sorry to see him go. “We’ll miss your commitment to the watch, Corporal.” He’d said with a commendably straight face.

For Jason, the sight of Nobby Nobbs was a whole new experience. He’d heard of animals raising human children as their own, but Nobbs looked like he’d been raised by a disease. Furthermore, he’d twice had to recover his pocket watch from Nobby who’d been ‘Keeping it safe’ for him. It had dawned on him slowly that the lure of the big blue perhaps wasn’t the sole reason inspiring these men to join. All the same, this ‘man’ was a corporal in the city watch and Jason needed a crew used to discipline. He pondered this uncertainly as he watched the man.

Nobby seemed to feel more was needed. “I can tie my own shoes sir.” He added proudly.

“Good, good. Well done.” Jason moved swiftly on to the next body.

Body was a good description of what stood in front of him. Corpse was a better one.

“Name’s Dennis sir.”

Jason had heard of pirates missing eyes, but missing both arms?

“You’re a zombie yes?”

“Yes sir.”

“No arms at all?” Jason bent his head as if to check if Dennis had hidden his arms behind him.

“Incident with a dog sir.”

“I see.”

“I have good teeth though.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

Jason moved down the line.

“Tunish sir.”

“Yes I know that Mr Tunish” Sighed Jason, not stopping.

He carried on and had walked straight past the forth recruit before he realised his mistake. Coming back to face the man Jason wondered how on earth he’d managed to miss someone so tall. The man seemed to loom without taking up any space. It was as if he was all around them but yet not there at all. Jason dismissed all doubts; he was beginning to one of his headaches.

“And what’s your name sailor?” he asked cheerfully.

“BILL DOOR” said Death with the assurance of someone who had played this name game before, and the grin of someone who couldn’t do other expressions.

“Welcome to the crew Bill.” Jason made a mental note to put the man on double food rations.

So on to the final crewman… or dwarf as it turned out.

“I didn’t think dwarfs liked the sea?”

“I’m a pioneer sir, the first of my type.” Answered the dwarf theatrically. “I will go where no dwarf has gone before!”

Jason decided not to mention old Captain Steelarm. Now there was a dwarf going places. The bottom of the sea usually.

“Well done. And your name is?”

“Ironwood sir.”

Jason noted Ironwood already had a life jacket. A shame it was made of chain mail.

“Welcome to The Minoria. Shall we get this show on the water gentlemen? Ha!”

*

After about six hours Jason was confident the crew knew what they were doing. Or rather he’d lost the ability for rational thought and just wanted to get going. He had tried to be diplomatic in his assignment of rank, but ended up allocating on a first come first served basis since the crew turned out to be equally hopeless at everything. Here’s how it had panned out; First mate Tunish, Lieutenant Nobbs, Midshipman Dennis (In charge of sail maintenance thanks to his experience with a needle), Ensign Door and Ensign Ironwood.

The crew were all at their posts, the supplies were aboard, and nothing was going to make Jason spend another night at this ‘hell on disc’ city. He sighed and looked up to the Swamp-Dragon’s nest (Also known as a crow’s nest by those funny people in Klatch). Bill Door stood staring out to sea, his arms folded over the nest’s edge. There was something about that black cloak flapping in the wind behind his face. It just seemed… right.

No turning back now. It was time for adventure, time for riches, time for seasickness… Damn, he really should have remembered to buy pills. Jason turned his gaze out to sea. “Up anchor!” he bellowed in his best attempt at authority.

“Aye aye, sir” Tunish heaved on the heavy rope.

Jason turned to him. “Pardon?”

Tunish looked embarrassed. “It’s up.” He said sulkily.

“Ok, Ready lads?”

“Yes”

“Yeah”

“YES”

“Yep”

“Yes”

“SQUEAK”

Jason made a double take. Squeak? A puzzled look on his face turned to determination as he faced back out to sea. “Mr Nobbs?”

“Yeah?”

“Engage!”

Nobby turned, “Huh?”

“Just... go.”

*

From the docks a cloaked figure watched The Minoria begin to pull away. If you looked back five seconds later, the figure would be gone.

Lets recap; Fourteen days and nights have past since The Minoria sailed in a blaze of glory from Ankh-Morpork docks. A huge crowd of two pigeons, a small toad, and a man going by the name of Cynthia, had waved them off that fateful day. Well not waved, they were just kind of there. Life has a way of providing witnesses to dramatic events no matter how unlikely. It is a widely known fact that stories are alive, moulding the world around them to fit their all-important tale. They are an ancient force capable of bending reality, and like any good moving pictures director, stories need control of their cast. Take a man lost in the desert for example. He could walk for years upon years never seeing another soul. He could think of ideas never before imagined, cures for disease, solutions for poverty, a way to open milk cartons without ending up wearing the contents, but no one would be there to hear them. You can bet, however, that the one time that man would trip over his tunic head first into a pile of camel dung, a coach load of Klatchian tourists would be there grinning and taking iconographs. The pictures would be in the Anhk-Morpork Time’s funny pictures section within the hour, right next to the amusingly shaped turnips. The bottom line is, people are but pawns at the mercy of the world. Life will lead them to wherever it wants them, and if they’re late, life will wait. Continuing with similar logic, the simple answer to the age old question ‘If a tree falls in the woods but there is no one there to hear it, does it cause a sound?’ is no, because it simply wouldn’t fall if there was no one about, it would just wait patiently for an unfortunate traveller to aim its descent at.

Whether waved off or ignored, the ship had sailed. The Minoria was the mightiest (and only) flagship of Captain Jason Tre’bar, the newest, and keenest pirate on the disc, and coincidently the ex-cabin boy and latrine cleaner of the late, great, Captain Threadlock. A loyal crew of seve… five accompany him on his mission. There was first mate Tunish, a huge, strong, heavy, troll… with a suit fetish. There was Lieutenant Nobbs, formerly Corporal Nobbs of the city watch and slime bag extraordinaire. Nobby is a human and has the certificate to prove it, although ‘Hodges and Hodges’ of Ankh-Morpork are currently preparing a legal appeal on behalf of the opera house company who enforce a strict ‘no animals’ rule. Third is Midshipman Dennis Boot, the armless wonder and part-time dead rights campaigner. He claims that being a zombie has set him free. What it has set him free from, aside from his arms, is perhaps more of a mystery. Assigned to look out duty is Ensign Bill Door. He’s good with a scythe, and its always handy to have an anthropomorphic personification on board. Finally, there is Ensign Ironwood. This dwarf, along with his chain mail lifejacket, completes The Minoria’s crew. Inter-species integration has another triumph.

Together this crew plan to conquer the sea, avoid the river Ankh, and strike fear into the hearts of everyone who’ve heard scary stories about them (inevitably exaggerated). Their deeds will be remembered for days, nay weeks, to come, and will probably once be told by old men to their grandchildren. Once, being the operative word.

*

Is everyone up to date? Good, now just to get confusing on a grand scale lets go back four weeks in time to start part two.

*

Gerard Leathersmith shuffled uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench. He hated dingy offices with their dank smell of stale smoke and dust. He hated office workers with their pale serious faces, and their general disapproval of everyone not face deep in papers. Gerard was an outside person. The sun, wind, and rain were all his friends. Well all except the wind and the rain, no one likes to be cold and wet. He didn’t even know why he was here, it didn’t make sense; he’d just found piles and piles of sunken gold off the shore of Ankh-Morpork, why did he need a loan? He was rich now wasn’t he?

It had been his daughter’s idea.

“It’s an investment father.” She’d said.

“In-vest-unt?” He’d asked, “Why would I need a vest in this weather?”

“To recover the gold, we’ll need tools, men, provisions.” She’d counted it out on her fingers, “Men won’t work for promises you know. They won’t go to sea with no food either.”

Gerard could at least see the logic in that, he conceded. He just hated these pen pushing clerk types. Why couldn’t he just borrow from Chrysophase the troll like normal people? You knew were you stood with him.

“Knew where you knelt more like.” His daughter had countered, “You wouldn’t get to stand until you were anchored to the bottom of the river.”

Sophianna, his daughter, was a bright girl. Much of her mother in her, Gerard had always thought.

“Ah, Mr Leathersmith?” The voice was oiled and smooth.

“Yes.”

“Thank you for considering our humble business suitable to your needs. Please come through to my office.”

Gerard flinched at the ‘O’ word, but followed. The room was magnificent. Extravagance oozed from every corner. Bronze, silver, gold, the colour of money glittered from the furnishings. Gerard could see no expense had been spared. He managed to stop his chin dropping, reminding himself just in time he was in the lair of a glorified clerk. Mr Morrissey ushered Gerard to a chair and took his own seat behind the huge desk.

“Well” he began, “How can we help you?”

Gerard began to pour out his story. He told of how he and his daughter own a small fishing vessel, and spend the days fishing for curious squid off the sunken city of Leshp. He told of how he’d raised the anchor one evening, after another barren day, to get the shock of his life. Up with the anchor had come five solid gold coins. Further tests with the anchor, and eventually, an exploratory dive, had show there to be full mountains of gold on the seabed. It had stretched for at least fifty metres. A king’s ransom, all left to the fish. Gerard explained how he could never hope to recover all the gold by himself. He would need a small fortune for men, equipment, and numerous other expenses. Even the gold he’d already brought up would not cover it.

Mr Morrissey listened in silence.

When Gerard had finished, Morrissey started wearily on the compulsory questions… How much did he need? When would he pay it back? Did he understand that interest would be payable? Did he understand that his kneecaps were at risk if he failed to keep up repayments?

There were no other bankers in the room. If there had been, they would have been surprised to hear Morrissey then start to ask some non-compulsory questions. Highly irregular questions even… Where was the gold located? Who else knew about it?

Finally, he seemed satisfied he had all the information. He shuffled his papers and leaned forward over his desk.

“The answer is no, Mr Leathersmith. I’m afraid I do not believe I can offer you this loan.”

Gerard was caught in two minds. On the one hand he never really wanted to borrow money from this man with his fancy office and well pronounced ‘r’s, but on the other hand he was angry at being refused. Didn’t a wise man once say ‘men will always long for such that they cannot have’? Or was it a drugged up man? Either way they knew what they were talking about.

“Why not?” Gerard demanded.

“Because, Mr Leathersmith, it is too big a risk. You are a fisherman are you not? You own a sea worthy vessel do you not?”

“Best ship in the docks.” Answered Gerard proudly.

“So what, pray tell Mr Leathersmith, is to stop you concocting this story, tricking money from my good self, and taking to sea never to return? You haven’t even brought me a sample of this gold, I don’t even know it exists.”

Gerard felt his anger rise.

“Are you calling me a liar?” He rose to his feet.

Morrissey smiled. “Not at all. I am merely asking you to consider the issue in the way I must. It isn’t anything personal, you understand, but I would be a poor man if I could work with trust alone.”

Gerard couldn’t think of anything to say. He stood staring at the man in front of him. This man that had brushed his words aside as no more than a fairy story.

“If there is nothing else Mr Leathersmith? I am a busy man.” Morrissey watched the man physically shake with rage before storming out. He leaned back in his chair deep in thought.

“Mr Sakes?” he called.

“Sir?” A large figure entered from the back study.

“I have a small task I’d like you to carry out for me.”

A smile formed on the big man’s lips.

*

“So you were denied?”

“That’s what he said. May as well have called me a worthless thief.” Gerard stopped and thought. He looked around nervously and added “A non-guild thief of course. Not those fine fellows at the Thieves Guild.” Well you never knew who was listening, and here outside the banker’s office was prime thieving territory.

“Nothing for it now. It’ll have to be Chrysophase.” There was a touch of triumph in the voice.

Sophianna’s face screwed up in distaste at mention of the troll. They walked on in silence. It was market day and the streets were full of people going about their legitimate business. There were also a fair number going about their not so legitimate business. This could be argued, though not proved, of the smiling tradesman addressing a medium crowd gathered around his stall.

“I tell you,” Dibbler was saying, “I’d never seen a man eat ten before. He could even still see afterwards.” He stood back to a chorus of gasps. “Yes, a pirate he was. Known him for years I have. By the way, could I interest anyone in a gen-u-ine pirate t-shirt? Indorsed by captain Threadlock himself, I kid you not!”

Dibbler noticed Gerard, and with a grin, left his audience to catch him up.

“A fine day Gerard.”

“Wha… oh, hello Dibbler.”

“So… um… you’re a docks man. You’d know what’s what down at that end right?” Dibbler didn’t even pause for an answer.

“I heard a small rumour Gerard. Word on the street is that you may have come into some money?”

“Those are the rumours yes. Look I haven’t got time for this Dibbler, I have to see a troll about a boat.” Gerard tried to brush him off.

“You are but a fisherman, Gerard, and a fine one at that I grant you,” Dibbler crooned, “But me? I’m an old hand at the money business. I could double, no triple, your money in less than a month! …And what’s more, Gerard; since you’re my old mate I’ll settle for just fifty percent. Just fifty, and that’s cutting my own throat.”

“Your stall is being ransacked Dibbler.” Sophianna answered for her father.

Dibbler’s smile froze. He twisted round and began to speed back along the street. “We’ll speak sooooon.” He called as he disappeared.

“We don’t need help from the likes of him that’s for sure.” Said Sophianna. “How will we bring it in with no men though father?”

“We’ll get it in,” he answered quietly, “Even if I have to bring it all up alone with my own two hands.”

They turned the corner away from the busy market, heading back towards the docks. Three dark figures met them in the narrow street. The largest of the three figures smiled and began towards them.

“Can I help you?” Gerard sounded uncertain.

The big man stopped in his tracks, a puzzled look forming on his face.

“Well you could give yourself up and come quietly,” he mused, “That would really help me. The drink was flowing last night, you see, and I do feel a little fragile to be honest.”

“What? No, I mean…”

Gerard didn’t get to finish… a sack was rudely shutting out the light.

Sophianna stared in horror as the huge man slung the sack over his shoulder, sighing as the muffled noises came from within.

“Well now, that isn’t exactly what I’d call quiet. How about you miss? What way are you coming?”

“Painfully.” She answered, and brought her foot up sharply into the nearest man’s private area before taking to her heels. She reached the end of the alley and fled into the market crowds.

“Ah, let her go.” Said the big man dismissively. “He never mentioned a girl anyway.”

*

So that just about brings us back to the present, four weeks since Gerard had acquired a bad back sitting in the banker’s dingy waiting room, and two weeks since The Minoria had sailed in a blaze of rather pathetic glory. Reading and time travel huh? Sorry if anyone feels sick.

*

“Look its really very simple.” Jason was saying, “When they surrender and offer us the money, we stop hitting them.”

This line of thinking was all very new to Tunish, a veteran of the hitting business. Still, he was always willing to try these new fangled ideas; no one could say he wasn’t. He hadn’t eaten a human since he left the mountains months ago.

Against all logic, the crew of The Minoria had actually become quite a formidable band of cutthroats, without even cutting any throats. Could it be fate? Could it be luck? Could it be their victims are too busy laughing to defend themselves? Well whatever it was, it was serving them well. They hadn’t actually made any money of course, but the potential was definitely there. Or so Jason was telling them anyway. Their attack methods were hardly customary, but compensations were developing to mask any shortfalls in their swordsmanship. The ship’s guns were proving to be of questionable worth too. They were loud, scared the ship’s cat (as had something that goes SQUEAK in the night, but that’s a different story), and Dennis had managed to fire himself at the enemy twice during loading mix-ups. Tunish, they found, was much more effective at close range than the cannons anyway. They would pull alongside their chosen prey, and Tunish would step over to their deck and smash things up manually. He was marginally brighter than the ship’s guns as well. Nobby had found his best attack proved to be simply standing next to his target. He would offer a friendly smile and watch as they chose to jump overboard, or in one case, choose to hack themselves to death with a boat hook. At the time, nobody had noticed the young girl with the streak of black in her blonde-white hair. She’d only stayed a moment, flashed an accusing look at ensign Door, and disappeared. Nobby hadn’t seen her anyway. He was too busy brushing up on his fighting technique by searching the body for valuables. It was a wide-ranging technique, almost like a whole martial art, Jason thought. One time when the victim was too disgusting to care about his presence, Nobby had simply reverted to a trademark swift kick to an important area and saved the day. Incidentally, Bill Door had found the Nobby ‘standing near’ method worked for him too… but in a very different way.

“Wot if dey don’t have any money?” Tunish’s great brow was furrowed.

“What?”

“Wot if dey surrender but don’t have any money, sir?”

“Then we let them go… intact, with all their limbs Mr Tunish.” Answered Jason, “…and their clothes Mr Nobbs.” He added as an afterthought. Nobby grinned.

“It still surprises me that we’re allowed to just take people’s money” Said Ensign Ironwood, “You could almost say it’s like stealing!” He chuckled at his joke.

Jason sighed.

“Yeah you could… cuz it is stealing” Said Nobby matter-of-factly, “We’re like one big, happy, thieving family.”

Ironwood stared at him.

“You mean this is illegal?”

“Yep.”

“What if the watch catch us?” He paused and considered the likelihood of such events.

“Well what if the thieves guild catch us then?”

Nobby shrugged. “Out here? It isn’t even their territory.”

“We’re no worse than the thieves guild anyway,” now Jason spoke, “We’re not going to be hurting people physically.”

“Unless dey don’t surrender.” Added a pleased looking Tunish, thinking he’d finally got to grips with the politics of life.

Dennis was getting to grips with a copy of the Times.

“We’re mentioned in the paper again cap’tin.” he called, while skilfully turning the page with his teeth. Tunish made a dismissive remark and headed down below deck. He was secretly still upset at being mistaken in yesterday’s paper for the ship’s ugly figurehead. The remaining crew gathered around Dennis.

“It says… ‘More glory for the heroes of the waves’. Hey, it reports on that gold merchant’s ship we raided. You know that one that was full of the gold looking stuff… what did he say it was? Oh yes, roof insulation.” He flashed Jason an accusing look, “Bloody heavy for roof insulation in my eyes, a bit too glittery too.”

“Their captain was adamant it was just insulation Dennis. I did ask him twice, let’s not be distrustful.”

“Well he certainly gave us a good report here. He says we were perfect gentlemen to him.”

“Yes, its nice to be appreciated by your… err… clients.”

“Be nicer to make some profit.” Muttered Dennis sulkily.

“I’ve never been called a hero before.” Nobby said wistfully.

Jason looked him up and down. “No,” he said, “I’d guess you probably haven’t.”

*

Morrissey peered around the thick oak door. He was a clever man and had learnt never to discount rumours without investigating things fully. The rumour in question was concerning the university’s librarian. Stories were rampant that a magical accident had ‘gifted’ him with the form of a large slobbering orang-utan. A form he was bizarrely unwilling to let go. Morrissey would be less inclined to believe it if it wasn’t for the involvement of those mentally unhinged wizards. With them involved it was, in fact, more likely than the poor man being normal shape. Something rustled and he jerked to attention. There, over on the left, was that movement? He reached down into his pack and retrieved a large banana. Ears alert and eyes peeled he entered the room.

“Hello?” He ventured. There was more rustling behind one of the ancient shelves and a large grinning face rose into view.

“Ook?”

“Ah, the librarian?”

“Ook.”

Morrissey held the banana out at arms length. “I wonder if you might be so good as to direct me to the books on local marine history?”

“Ook.” The librarian reached out and took the banana. He then gestured for the man to follow. Morrissey resisted the urge to run as he passed a floating book fighting it’s chains. Magical libraries had rather unique dangers. He put it out of his mind and followed the ape five shelves along.

“Ook.”

“Thank you.” He fished in his pack for another banana, which was accepted with a snatch.

One hour later Morrissey had located a likely book and was well into his study. Ten hours later he shut his final book in satisfaction, Morrissey was not a man to do things by half. The gold had been easy enough to identify. Five hundred years ago Anhk-Morpork had seen it’s first major sea battle. It was, as usual, against the Klatchians, and was fought over ownership of the sunken island of Leshp. Fourteen ships had been lost that fateful day, one of General A. Tacticus’ most interesting victories. Among those ill-fated ships had been a Klatchian supply vessel carrying the army’s gold reserve. Even back in those days the heathen Klatchians had had the strange idea that soldiers should be paid in pure gold. This rather went against the Ankh-Morporkian tradition of paying in promised gold that never actually materialised. He guessed that the gold must have been disturbed from it’s watery home when the island had risen again recently. There had almost been a war over it then as well, Morrissey recalled. It was a cycle that played out every 500 years. The island would rise to the surface and Ankh-Morporkians and Klatchians would fight over it… then 2 weeks later it would sink back to the bottom of the sea to be confined to memories and dreams. The last cycle must have recently uncovered the gold. It was all very obvious. The rightful claimant of the gold was a more clouded issue. As far as he could tell there were no living relatives of the Klatchian lords who had supplied the gold. Even if there was, Morrissey doubted they could successfully prove it, or even prove that it actually was the gold in question. Also, the fact that it was now in Anhk-Morpork waters expelled the Klatchians further. It was therefore a fight exclusively between Ankh-Morporkians. Salvage rights were the key, he’d decided. The trouble was the salvage rights for the area were owned solely, and clearly, by the fisherman’s guild. It was right there in black and white. That fool Leathersmith had no claim on the gold anyway, it would have been taken away the moment the guild had got wind of it. The trick now, he thought, was retrieving the gold from the popular fishing grounds, and relocating it to his pocket with no one else finding out. He smiled as he gathered his notes. Morrissey liked a challenge. He left the university, and after a quick stop to purchase the latest copy of The Times, he headed back to the luxury of his office to begin his meticulous planning.

Nobby lifted a lid of a barrel and peered inside. “Nothing in here either sir.”

“It definitely came from somewhere around here.” Said Jason. “Keep looking.”

The crew had been startled some minutes beforehand by a noise sounding very much like a coughing fit. A female coughing fit, to be exact, which was rather odd seeing as there were no females aboard. The crew had consequently spent the last five minutes searching the ship and smoothing their hair.

“Its no good sir, there’s nothing here.” Said Dennis emerging from the hold.

“And you see nothing Bill?” Jason adjusted his gaze up to the look out.

Death paused while he considered the question. “I SEE MORE THAN YOU CAN POSSIBLY IMAGINE. I SEE LIFE, I SEE DEATH. I SEE DIFFERENT DIMENSIONAL PLANES. I SEE TIMES LONG FORGOTTEN, I SEE TIMES YET TO COME.”

“Yes, but do you see anything that could’ve caused that coughing noise?”

“NO.”

Jason was slowly becoming used to the ways of Ensign Bill Door. He was strange, that was for sure, but the same could be said for any of the crew, and hey, he did make a fine look out. He massaged his forehead and turned to Dennis.

“Ok, so we’ve checked all the cabins, we’ve checked the hold, and we’ve checked all barrels and other likely hiding places, yes?”

“Yessir.”

“Ok, and…”

“Except the small cabin sir, but no one can be in there because it’s locked from the inside.”

“OK, but we… what?” Jason recoiled mid-sentence. “So let me get this straight. We’ve checked everywhere except this small cabin here,” he indicated with a finger, “…this cabin here which happens to be located in the exact area we heard the coughing from. Is that right?”

“Yessir.”

Jason stared at him and sighed.

“Well I don’t have any arms sir, I have enough trouble with doors with locks on the outside.” Dennis explained indignantly, “Nobby could have checked it if he wasn’t so busy trying to make himself beautiful.” He turned to Nobby. “I saw you scraping the black bits from underneath your fingernails.”

“Well I wasn’t the one cleaning my teeth furiously then practicing smiles in the captain’s mirror.” Nobby countered.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just concentrate on getting this door open.” Jason paused. “Have you polished your breast plate, Nobby?”

Nobby muttered something about it being a good soldier’s duty to look his best. Jason turned his attention to the cabin.

He felt the door for strength. “Ok, stand back everyone.” He took a few steps back for a run up and flung himself forward at the door. A thumping noise accompanied Jason as he bounced off the wood and proceeded to skid along the deck towards the hold. He got up, brushed himself down, and mustered his remaining dignity.

“Tunish!” There was no answer. Tunish had gone below during the communal paper reading.

“Tunish?” Jason repeated. “Nobby, go and find first mate Tunish please.” Jason rolled up his sleeves and took another run up. Then another… then another…

Eventually the heavy wood gave way to his efforts. Not before time, he thought, as his shoulder felt as if it had some giving way to do of its own. Like very slow magic, Tunish arrived from the galley. “Hey, I could have done that for you, cap’tin.”

Jason lifted his eyes to the heavens and swung open the door. A young girl sat hunched against the far wall, tearstains lining her cheeks. She squinted at him, her eyes unaccustomed to the bright sun.

“Go away!” She said, somewhat hopefully Jason thought, seeing as he’d just spent the best part of twenty minutes trying to break in.

He stared at her in bemusement as he rubbed his shoulder. “A stowaway?” (*)

Another fit of coughing was his answer.

The meeting was only minutes old yet already an agreement had been reached in principal. Morrissey had been busy.

“How much can I expect to earn?” The voice was like a grunt, rough and harsh against the tranquil tones of Morrissey.

“Substantially more than you have now.” Came his reply, “It is a huge amount of gold we are talking about, and the work should be easy for a man of your… abilities.” Morrissey coughed in the smoke. This inn was worse than the Broken Drum. His mind wandered wistfully to his spacious office with all its finery. It was a pity that some business had to be conducted in a more discreet location.

“What if we meet this other ship?”

“Destroy them. It would just mean less people to question our story.” Morrissey rose. “Now I must go. I bid you good day, Mr Hack.”

He paused at the door. “Do not fail me.” He added without turning.

Morrissey left the meeting a very happy man. His plan was unfolding nicely, and his scapegoats were being led like lambs to the slaughter. He allowed himself a conservative smile. All that was left now was to decide how to spend it all. Perhaps a little more office decoration was in order.

*

…To be continued (unless I’m bribed not to *hint*).

(*) Remember the shadowy figure watching them leave in part one? Huh? Huh? - By the way, for the dirtier minded of you… it’s a star inside brackets and I’m just using it as a marker. It isn’t meant to symbolise anything else ok? :)

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Disclaimer: Not really.

Sorry if I’ve contradicted anything I wrote in the first part, I was too ashamed to read it back to check. Also, my apologies if this isn’t all strictly to Pratchett style, I had to suddenly add a sinister plot that I should have had in part one, leading to the recap rubbish messing up the styling. Anyway, I’ll never be anywhere near touching distance of the great TP and it would only hamper the story flow if I was too pedantic about it.

Oh, and sorry that this doesn’t follow on very well as a chapter to the first part, I didn’t know you could add to old stories until I’d written this as a whole new part with a recap and everything… durgh@me. I’ve banned myself from alcohol for a whole week as punishment.

*Shameless plug* Please look out for my short story ‘Justice Circles’ I plan to upload early next week (probably in the novels section just to be awkward). It isn’t discworld, it’s my own, but it is written using a similar style of ironic humour and I spent a lot longer on it. I would appreciate any feedback. Thanks.

By Racer Boy

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