Chapter 2

Chapter 2

   THE BLAZING SUN hung high in the cloudless sky, seeming to make it a personal mission to scorch down upon Rory and Bozius as the two made their way to whatever town they could find shelter and possibly another score. They agreed that all their talk about the town of Mosley during their most recent near-execution made that place no longer a safe haven for the time being. Heapsworth’s very angry deputy, Cecil, and his mob of blood-thirsty townsfolk were likely still steaming over the missed opportunity to kill someone, and it would be a few days before they gave up the effort of trying to bring the escaped brigands to “justice.”

   Meanwhile, Bozius was giving Rory the silent treatment ever since the two agreed to head elsewhere. The muscle of this two-man gang of thieves had his heart set on Mosley—in truth, he had his loins set on Mosley and its many brothels, but he was depressed at the change in plans nonetheless. Still, the men did have all their loot and could make good with any place they landed in.

   “How ‘bout Trivelva, old friend?” Rory offered, hoping to stir his friend out of this uncomfortably silent protest. Getaways were less fun when Bozius was grumpy.

   “The mayor of Trivelva wants you dead,” Bozius replied without looking away from the road ahead. At least he’s talking now, Rory thought victoriously.

   “We could go to Dree,” Rory tried to find a place Bozius would get happy about.

   “Sheriff still wants to kill you,” Bozius reminded him.

   “There’s always Sanguan,” Rory smiled. “Remember those twins we met! They were fun, weren’t they?”

   “Yeah, real fun,” Bozius growled. “Especially when the one turned out to be a man!”

   “Not the one I was with…” Rory reminisced.

   “Yeah, well her sister, Dorothea, was packing a little John Thomas under her bloomers!” Bozius noted with an angry bite to his already huffy snarl, pulling his horse to a hault so that he could rest his eyes heavily on Rory. “And, um, let me think… what am I forgetting? Oh yeah, that’s right: they tried to kill us! Something about you breaking their mother’s heart the last time you were in town!”

   “That’s right!” Rory responded, a sly smile sneaking across his face as the memories of a time well spent came rushing back to him. “Oh, I not only broke her heart, Bozy, I also broke the bed, and I stole these very ornate and expensive vases from her home. Brilliant, I must add.”

   Bozius merely growled and urged his horse forward.

   “So no Sanguan, no problem,” Rory agreed, catching up with his friend. “But there are other towns along this road! Heflirin, Bonatrouse, Horncrest, Castletop…”

   Bozius took each item on the list in order, counting off on the fingers of his right hand to keep track: “Organized a group to kill you on sight; the husbands of all your dalliances want revenge; a voodoo priestess vowed to shrink my manhood should you ever set foot in town again; and for the love of all that is sacred, Rory, Castletop? You really suggest going to the capital city when a wanted poster for you hangs on a post at every corner?”

   “I don’t really understand the king’s problem with me,” Rory cut in.

   “It’s not one problem, Rory, it’s four,” Bozius refreshed his friend’s memory. “One queen and three princesses, to be exact.”

   “Ah, yes, those problems…” Rory actually thought he might blush a little bit.

   “What I don’t get is that you claim to be this beloved pirate, welcomed by common folk the kingdom over,” Bozius insisted, waving his arms around in a grandiose fashion to emphasize his disgust. “But we are quickly running out of places to go because you are sleeping your way through every available bed in Vimiland! I refuse to bed down in a barn or a cave somewhere because you spend all of your time strategizing on how best to get your rocks off!” Rory opened his mouth to defend himself, but Bozius barely stopped to take a breath as he kept going. “We were actually quite safe in Heapsworth, until you decided to go and spend the night in bed with Lana.”

   “Who’s that?” Rory inquired.

   “The innkeeper’s daughter, you idiot!” Boze roared. “How do you not know that?”

   The two friends continued riding in silence for a while, taking a fork in the road to a path that cut through a lush forest nearby. The road was well kept and the woods of the Acreaire Forrest were not exactly overgrown, allowing for a good amount of burning sunlight to still plow its way down upon the two sweating riders. Mixed with the stench of sweating horses, Rory was pretty sure he was caught up in an odor that wouldn’t allow him to get close to anyone other than a stable hand when he and Bozius finally made it somewhere. Anywhere would work for Rory now, even into the vengeful clutches of the husbands of Bonatrouse, though he would prefer the consequences in Horncrest. At least the voodoo woman technically only threatened Bozius there.

   “Are you done being mad now, Bozy?” Rory asked.

   There was a long pause, but even riding a bit behind his large friend, Rory could see the workings of a soft smile spring into Bozius’ cheeks. “I was really looking forward to Mosley, Rory…”

   “I know, chap,” Rory sympathized. “But do you know where this road is leading us?”

   Bozius stopped simply drifting along and began to analyze his surroundings. The thought process was slow, but recognition was little by little coming to him. His face soon became flushed with excitement, and he turned to look back at his old friend.

   “Don’t be playing games with me, Rory!” Bozius exclaimed. “I swear, I will beat you to death and feed you to the horses if you are teasing me!”

   “Horses don’t eat meat, Bozy,” Rory shot back, though the look in the eyes of the two steeds suggested otherwise. “We fed these guys in Heapsworth, right?”

   “Appleton Heights, here we come!” Bozius cheered. “Gambling and drinking and sexing and drinking and more sexing! I might even get in a fight or two, just to really enjoy my time there!”

   “I thought it would cheer you up,” Rory smiled. “You’re like a dog sometimes, Bozy. A big, shaved, sword-wielding dog. Feed you, give you treats, and let you hump the furniture, and all is well.”

   “What in the hell is this?” Bozius asked, completely oblivious to Rory’s last comment.

   “Yes, good attention span, too,” Rory added as he watched Bozius dismount and investigate something up ahead.

   It turned out Bozius caught something of rather interesting proportions, though Rory felt the day had been interesting enough, what with the near execution this morning and all. From the look of things, another near execution happened along this road in the not-too-distant past. Two carriages were overturned and broken beyond repair, and the patch of forest nearest the wreckage appeared as if it had been ablaze at some point. Chests of clothing, pottery, and various small treasures—nothing of tremendous value, but also nothing that Rory would be against pocketing—were strewn across the road and amongst the nearby brush. Some scattered weapons, including swords and spears, were also found, though the chaos was spread across a rather wide span. Three dead bodies were also spotted, one of a man dressed in the high fashion of the aristocracy: a long, olive green cape that complimented the soft beige and green tunic beneath, beige breeches tucked into tall leather boots that came near the knees at the top, and a large brown leather belt. The body was looted of jewelry, and from the flattened looks of the man’s hair, his hat was likely stolen as well. Rory’s guess as to why his very expensive clothes were not taken was that the blood stains soaking throughout the fabric would likely have an adverse affect on the price.

   The other two bodies were of bandits, and not just any bandits either. They wore loose-fitting black silk tunics tied at the waist with red ropes, as well as black masks with eye slits. The outer clothes worked two-fold: for starters, they were thin and very flexible, to allow full, unimpeded movement to the wearer; second, the looseness concealed the leather armor underneath. Leather armor wasn’t all that amazing, but this particular armor would be reinforced with metal ringlets. The bandits would appear to be easier targets than they actually were. However, the robes were in tatters, seemingly burned while the men were in them. Had the flesh not been charred beneath the masks, Rory would bet a high wager that both men would have red hands painted across their faces.

   “The Cache of the Hand,” Rory proposed aloud, a silly name that he was always embarrassed to say, despite the skill of this powerful gang of thieves.

   “Seems like it,” Bozius agreed, sword in hand as he made his way through the trees. “Fancy Pants back there couldn’t have put up much of a fight, the sissy. I doubt those he rode with did, either.”

   “Someone did, Bozy, look at this mess,” Rory responded, drawing a short sword himself. “Whatever the bandits were after, they must have gotten it. Likely took the owners with it.”

   “Whatever,” Bozius dismissed the whole situation, sheathing his sword. “Ain’t my problem. Let’s get back to the horses and on to Appleton Heights! My dangler is bobbing for some hot action!”

   “So true, Bozy, you are the poet amongst us!” Rory snicked. “Far be it from me to restrict your dangler from dropping into some harlot’s sugar den.”

Rory was about to turn back and head for the horses when he heard the rattling of chains. Bozius heard it as well, for he redrew his sword and made towards the source of the sound, albeit with caution. Discontinuing conversation, the two men made a wide arc away from each other, and soon found themselves flanking a prisoner chained to a tree. He was but a boy, with a mop of brown hair curling in front of his hairless baby face. He donned baggy white robes mottled with dirt and debris, tied at the waste with a light red sash. His bindings weren’t anything sophisticated; simply a length of chain wrapped twice about his chest and upper arms, secured in the back with a lock. Rory or Bozius could pick it with their eyes closed. It was strange enough that this boy was left here all alone as the only prisoner, but stranger still that chains were used instead of rope. Rope would have been cheap and easy, whereas even this simple chain could have been saved for something more… useful.

“Why you tied up, boy?” Bozius asked, giving away any sense of surprise in the weird instance that this child actually was some sort of menace, or worse: the bait for a trap.

“Oh, thank heavens! Please,” the boy’s smile would have likely been ear to ear if he had the strength for such action. He was lanky to begin with, but it seemed as if he were bound here for some time, without any nourishment. “Please, free me! I have to make it to Appleton! Please!”

Bozius’ face turned grave at the prospect of company. “Help’s on the way, kid,” he offered, though he didn’t mean from him; Bozius turned to leave.

“Bozy, wait, the child needs help,” Rory interjected.

“I told you to stop using my name in public,” Bozius stuck in.

Rory was mind-boggled. He looked around, arms open, confused. “Yes, right, because of the vast amount of people who aren’t here, in the middle of the woods! Would hate to blow your cover, Bozy!”

“The kid could mark us,” Bozius retaliated.

“Mark us as what?” Rory retorted. “As two guys who came to his rescue? I’d hate that! We might have to turn down the reward then!”

“Reward?” Bozius’ face lit up.

“There’s no reward, I’m afraid,” the boy mentioned.

Bozius threw his hands up in the air. “No reward? Come on, Rory, we’re out of here!”

“Rory?” the boy asked, eyes filled with wonder. “Are you Rory Casbury, the infamous pirate?”

Rory forgot that he was wearing leather breaches, a bright blue tunic, bandana, and tricorn hat. Had he a parrot and eye patch to add, he would completely look the part. He smiled at the recognition. “Better known as Roderick, but yes, ‘tis I! So you’ve heard of me, have you?”

“Of course!” the boy replied. “Who hasn’t? You take from the rich! And you give…” The boy paused to search his mind for something. “Well, I don’t think you give it to anyone, but you take so much! I hear stories and songs about you all the time!”

“Are the bards still writing songs? Oh, you hear that, Bozy? Those silly songs! I always loved that one, Rory Be My Lover. So catchy…”

“I told you to stop using my name, Rory.”

“Bozy, please! This brilliant young man already knows who I am, it’s just a matter of time before he eventually realizes perhaps who maybe you are, too. Besides, Bozy could be short for anything…”

“Bozius,” the kid answered. Bozius growled in response.

“Spot on, very nice, well done,” Rory congratulated the boy in a half-mumble, trying hard to avoid eye contact with Bozius.

“My cousin dated a guy named Boze once,” the kid added. “He was a real jerk.”

“What about you, boy wonder?” Bozius roared. “You got a name, or just more fancy talkin’?”

“Rafule, sir,” the boy offered. “Rafule Charsbic.”

“Your name sucks, too,” Bozius grumbled as he turned and hacked at some brush.

“And how is it that you came into this particular predicament, Rafule?” Rory asked.

“I’d rather not, thank you,” Rafule answered.

“Interesting choice, I understand,” Rory smiled. “But, see, I’m quite curious how a young man such as yourself, wearing what can only be described as his father’s bath robe, gets chained to a tree mere paces from what looks like a grizzly murder-burgle. I also fancy the term ‘murder-burgle’ and don’t find many opportunities to use it… Perhaps a little light from you and I can pick that lock and free you from this tree?”

Rafule looked away and remained silent.

Rory couldn’t help himself. “Murder-burgle.”

“Okay! Alright,” Rafule shouted. “I’ll tell you! Just, please, stop saying murder-burgle!’

“I was hired by Lord Wordsly to protect his goods in transport,” Rafule admitted. “Was supposed to be an easy gig, y’know? We were going to stop in Appleton, spend a few days at the lord’s manor there, then head off to Castletop. I’ve never been to the capital city before. I was excited!”

“So excited that you killed them bandits and that fancy man back there?” Bozius put in. The man was getting antsy, peeling an apple and eating the slices right from his blade.

“Bozy, please, I’m sure Rafule didn’t simply kill those men, he stole from them as well,” Rory grinned, then turned back to the captive boy and locked eyes with him. “He murder-burgled.”

“Please, stop! I didn’t burgle!” Rafule was close to tears. “The guy you’re calling the fancy man was one of Lord Wordsly’s guards.”

“Looks like his lordship needs better hiring practices,” Bozius insisted.

Rafule chose to ignore the brute and continued with his tale. “Well, we were attacked by some bandits yesterday, and the guards immediately went into position to defend us. The fight was crazy!”

“I thought you were supposed to be a defender, too?” Rory smelled lies, freshly baked but served with little skill.

“Lord Wordsly was quick to remind me of this,” Rafule retorted. “So I leapt into action, and called upon a giant fireball and rained destruction down upon the assailants!”

“A fireball?” Rory asked. “As in magic?”

“Yes!”

Rory studied the boy’s features, thinking about how Rafule expected anyone to believe this ludicrous story. Supposedly, a nobleman of some importance was traveling to Castletop by way of Appleton, and decided to hire an incompetent staff comprised of feeble guards and an untested boy wizard to escort him to his destination? Rory felt that with the size of this tale he just heard, there was only really one course of action to take:

“We’re leaving,” Rory decided, standing up and walking away with Bozius.

“No, wait, please,” Rafule begged, desperately trying to shake free of the chains that bound him. Rory kept his back to him and made his way back to the road. “Please, come back! I can prove it! I’m a mage and I can prove it!”

Rory tried to put as much ground between himself and the rambling boy as possible. The more likely story was that the boy used the Cache of the Hand’s attack on the small convoy to make his own attempt at stealing the lord’s treasure, and was punished for being a traitor. Obviously, this Lord Wordsly couldn’t bare the thought of killing the child outright, so instead opted to leave him chained to a tree to either starve to death or be rescued, whatever came first.

Starvation sounded like a horrible way to go. Rory was getting hungry just thinking about it.

Suddenly, Rory was stolen from his thoughts as Bozius tackled him to the ground. Confused, angry, and spitting dirt and leaves from his mouth, Rory looked up to see a whirling spire of flame blaze by, not feet to the side of where he was just walking. The strike likely would have missed him, but even from here he could feel its heat. Looking back at Rafule, he spied the open palm of the boy’s right hand facing him and Bozius.

“Had I not seen it for myself with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it,” Bozius said, forcing himself to look away from the chained up boy and back down at his friend.

Rory wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about nearly being grilled by such an otherwise unthreatening young nothing, but he wasn’t about to lie down and take it. Rory was a man of action, and though his hairs stood on end and the proper action seemed to be to run away, the self-proclaimed Pirate of Vimiland rose to his feet and ran back towards the boy.

Sword in hand, of course.

“You start explaining yourself, lad,” Rory demanded, sword to Rafule’s neck though his eyes were firmly on the boy’s hands. “If I don’t like what you say, well… you know…” Rory motioned the tip of his blade about the area before Rafule’s throat.

Rafule gulped. “I told you, I’m a powerful mage.”

“If you’re so powerful, why not cast some magic on these chains of yours?” Bozius asked, though he appeared much less threatening than usual as he hid safely behind Rory.

“Because I chose a mastery over the element of fire,” Rafule almost whined, as if the answer was truly so obvious. “It’s not like I can just melt the chains away.”

“I’m sure given enough time, maybe some focus…” Rory suggested.

“I’d burn the whole forest down first!” Rafule snapped, though his bravery was swatted away with the tip of Rory’s short sword inched nearer his throat. “Um, besides, I only…” His words were lost in a mumble.

“You only what?” Rory asked, curious.

“I…” Rafule took a very long pause. Rory was tempted to break the silence—or one of the boy’s magical fingers—when Rafule finally finished his thought. “I can only do one.”

“One what?” Rory hated when he never got the full story from someone. He himself was always excited for the opportunity to monologue; clearly, this boy didn’t share that passion.

“One spell.”

“One spell?” Rory was confused; he even pulled the sword away as he attempted to decipher this enigma. “What? Just that crazy fire, spike, shooty, stretchy, burny… thing?”

“Way to be concise there, Rory, really put a name on that one,” Bozius stated, peering over his shoulder.

“Way to be uselessly standing behind me, tough guy,” Rory retorted.

“Wunnuda…” Rafule mumbled.

“Seriously, kid, speak up!” Rory demanded. “Cat gotcher tongue? Just spit it out!”

“One a day, ok!” Rafule looked near tears, he was so red with embarrassment. “I got enough in me to cast one spell a day, just one. Then I have to wait until the next day.”

“Just one spell a day?” Rory asked.

“Yeah,” Rafule confirmed. “Any spell I want, as long as it’s fire-related. But just the one time a day.”

“What if you take a nap?” Bozius ventured.

Rory actually turned his back on Rafule the Wizard to stare in frustration at his friend. “What if you take a nap?!” Rory chided him. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yeah, it does,” Bozius insisted. “It’s not like the magic is staring at a clock. I’m sure he sleeps, gets a little recharge goin’… hell, I bet if he slept in sometime he’d get a little more magic juice in him!”

“Magic juice?” Rory couldn’t believe he was still listening to this.

“Bozius is right, a bit,” Rafule cut in. “I get it back after I sleep. A little nap and I can do something small. Light a candle, maybe, or set a torch aflame.”

Rory completely withdrew his weapon and walked away for a bit, just to get his facts sorted out. Apparently, he was in the presence of a potentially powerful ally if he played his cards right. Wordsly ditched the kid and left him to die, likely because the boy’s power scared him when it actually got put to use. Now Rafule was jobless and hungry, probably far away from home. Best of all, he expectedly knew the location of Wordsly’s home and treasure trove!

“You angry about being fired, Rafule?” Rory asked, wincing at his own horrible pun.

“Kinda,” the kid replied. “I just want to go home.”

“Bet you’d like to get back at the guy who burned you, huh?” Again, with the pun, Rory scolded himself after speaking.

“Not really,” Rafule answered. “I mean, I would have no problem if Lord Wordsly slipped and fell on a sword, rolled down a hill through a fire, got splashed with burning oil, and eaten alive by wolverines while seeing what he thinks to be a cloud in the shape of me, but I wouldn’t necessarily wish that upon him.”

Rory fought down the urge to smile. “Tell me more about this treasure, Rafule…”

“A lot of stuff in the carriages, really,” Rafule began to explain. “But the real thing we were transporting was this really big gold doll. Lord Wordsly was supposed to deliver it to someone at Castletop. Some duke or something.”

“Big, you say?” Rory asked, piles and piles of gold coins floating through his mind. “How big?”

Arms bound tightly, Rafule used whatever little range of motion he was allowed in his elbows to demonstrate the size of this Golden Doll. From the looks of his attempt at shaping it in the air, this prize was rather huge. Bigger than a baby, in fact.

“Do you know where Wordsly’s estate in Appleton Heights is?” Rory asked.

“Kinda,” Rafule responded. “I know what street it’s on…”

Bozius jumped into the conversation. “Wait a minute, Rory. I don’t like where this is going. We were supposed to relax in Appleton!”

“Rafule, come with us. Lead us to the Golden Doll and help us snatch it,” Rory stated, “and you may have your freedom.”

“Rory, can I talk to you for a sec…” Bozius pleaded.

“Yes, absolutely!” Rafule would have likely agreed to any terms, but Rory was happy enough to see him oblige this simple request.

“Rory, this ain’t a good idea!” Bozius grabbed Rory’s arm, gaining his attention.

Rory pushed on Bozius’ hand and slipped his arm from his friend’s grip. “What’s not good about it, Bozy? The lad knows where the treasure is, obviously wants to help, and has a little magic to make the transaction go by a bit more… smoothly.”

“He’s got a street name, Rory, that ain’t exactly no address,” Bozius was grinding his teeth. “Kid would say anything to get out of them chains, and I don’t know if you noticed, but he killed one of his own back there!”

“Nonsense, accidents happen,” Rory smiled.

“I don’t want to be no accident!” Bozius insisted.

Rory turned and looked his friend in the eye, making sure to keep his voice down. “Bozy, if this doll is half as big as Rafule made it sound, we’ll never have to steal again. Appleton Heights? You can build your own town with what this will bring us! Fill it with twenty whore houses and bed every lady twice a day if you like. This’ll be great!”

Bozius suddenly became more comfortable with the plan. “My own town of whores?”

“Call it Boziville!”

“Boziville?” Bozius tried the name on for size. “Boziville! I like it. Sounds classy…”

“Perfect!” Rory turned and looked at Rafule, who stared back up at him with a hopeful puppy dog gaze. The kid didn’t realize it, but he was about to help push Roderick Casbury’s reputation into the status of legend. All he had to do was be right about the things he said and lead the infamous Pirate of Vimiland to the treasure of Lord Wordsly. “Rafule, welcome aboard!”