Cheers, JakDax. Part Two for your enjoyment. Concrit is always welcome!
Disclaimer: Still not mine, still not for profit, all a bit of fun. :]
**
Chapter Two
{Consequences Bite Harder}
**
Reaver was half-way across the marketplace when Sparrow caught up and fell into step alongside. For a few moments, he didn't offer any sign he had noticed the companionship, and Sparrow cleared his throat to begin, even though he didn't know quite where he was going to start. Mercifully, Reaver saved him the trouble.
"If your intention is to persuade me back to the happy family reunion, Hero, I must warn you that I have absolutely no wish to join your little band of adventurers, and you really are wasting your no-doubt precious time." He paused, and actually did turn slightly to glance at Sparrow, one eyebrow quirking in something faintly resembling wry amusement. "So, off you go, scoot, shoo; back to Garth and Hammer; go and save the world, or attack the Spire, or you may want to consider acquiring a ship, since you're certainly not using mine--"
"Reaver," Sparrow interrupted wearily.
"--though Garth
does seem to have formed the opinion that she's his to commandeer as he wishes; I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised, considering--"
"Reaver!"
"--his absolutely
infernal tendency to-- Yes? Was there something?"
Sparrow glared at the sky for a moment, relieved to have got at least a moment's reprieve from the ranting. "Shut up, would you?"
"Don't feel you
have to stay and listen," Reaver informed him, not breaking pace. "In fact, I'd rather you didn't."
Sparrow hurried alongside, tired of him already. "I'd rather not be here, but apparently, Garth was deadly serious about none of us being able to do this alone. The four of us were singled out as the greatest heroes left. I don't like it any more than you do, but we need you."
Reaver laughed, a soft and almost warm sound. "How very flattering. Of course you do; I'm the best shot in all of Albion. Unfortunately, I have business of my own to attend to, and no matter what Garth thinks, it won't wait."
"You have forever," Sparrow pointed out.
"Not if I don't deal with this
now," Reaver responded, uncharacteristically quietly.
Sparrow paused for a second, and found himself jogging a couple of paces to catch up. "The sacrifice...?"
"Every three years. And it's just about time."
Sparrow considered his options. Truth be told, he wanted to spend as little time in Reaver's company as possible, but it also seemed quite urgent to investigate what might be happening at the Spire and sort that out, if necessary, too; and Garth certainly wasn't going anywhere without Reaver. "All right, listen. I'll come with you to the Shadow Court. Get that over with, then see why Garth's fussing, and then, praise be, we can get -- and stay -- out of one another's way again. Forever, all being well."
Reaver slowed his pace, apparently giving the suggestion due consideration. "Oh, very well, then," he said after a moment. "If you insist."
"I do. If nothing else, I want to keep an eye on you while you're in the area."
He got another laugh for that, harsher this time. "You're the self-appointed guardian of Albion now, are you? I must say, I haven't noticed you've done much for the economy."
"Plenty for me, though."
"Ah." Reaver actually shot him a sidelong grin for that one. "
Now, you see, you start to make a modicum of something closely resembling
sense. I thought you might have had it in you. You had the presence of mind to pass the Dark Seal on to that hapless young whippet in the Shadow Court, after all. Quite commendable, I thought."
Sparrow shuddered; the last thing in the world he wanted to think about was the Shadow Court and its inhabitants. More so now, considering he was apparently going back there with Reaver in the disturbingly near future.
There's going to be a catch, the sensible part of his mind pointed out. More than likely, it would be his own youth on the line, again. All right, admittedly there was a little less of that to go around nowadays, but probably still enough to appease the Shadow Judges.
Sparrow wasn't having any of that, thank you kindly. If there was so much of a sniff of the Dark Seal heading in his direction, Reaver was going to end up with the same somewhere the sun didn't shine. And Sparrow wasn't picky about where; there wasn't generally much natural light in a man's abdominal cavity, and the thing was fairly sharp on the edges.
"I had a mission," Sparrow said, with a slight shrug. "It was a 'greater good' decision."
"Ah, but the greater good could go to hell at the Spire," Reaver noted, with a nod to the dog. "You're an opportunist. I like that."
He sounded so damn smug that Sparrow could have hit him, but he held down the urge. "Keep your affection to yourself," he snapped. "I'm going back to tell Hammer and Garth that going to the Spire has to wait a few days."
"Don't be long," Reaver carolled. "I'll be waiting at the gates."
**
Garth was not at all amused by the fact that Sparrow returned without Reaver, and less so by the idea of trailing off to Wraithmarsh. "It's close to four hundred miles from Bowerstone Market to Bloodstone alone," he pointed out, "and another fifty to Wraithmarsh, on foot. You'd never get a horse to go through the fog."
"Bringing Reaver was your brilliant idea," Sparrow said. "If you want him along, we're going to have to go through this rigmarole."
"Isn't there a quicker way?" Hammer said thoughtfully. "Garth, your old tower. There was a cullis gate..."
"Yes, but I put Brightwood Tower up for sale once I was in Samarkand," Garth said. "Unfortunately, we can't really just go knocking on the door and ask if we may use the cullis gate, please."
"You didn't deactivate it before you sold the place?" Hammer said. "And it goes directly to Wraithmarsh? That was responsible--"
Garth quirked an eyebrow; it was enough to cut her off short. "Cullis gates are perfectly safe. I did stabilise it. Still, the point remains, the new owners would probably not appreciate our waltzing in and making use of it."
"Actually, that may not be a problem," Sparrow put in quietly. "I know the new owner rather well."
Hammer looked at him, hard. "You didn't..."
"I did. It's rented out, but... Well. Landlord's prerogative."
"Did you just buy up half of Albion?" Hammer sounded disgusted.
"Something like that. It works for us, doesn't it?"
"I have no wish to see this," Garth said. "You and Reaver go and sort out whatever urgent business he has in Wraithmarsh, and meet us back here as soon as you can. Hammer, in the meantime, you and I will try and find out more about the Spire."
"You mean you're sending me off out there, with Reaver, on my
own?"
Garth eyeballed him steadily. "You have the nerve to rent out Brightwood Tower, and indeed sashay in there citing 'landlord's prerogative' to use the cullis gate, but not to manage a few days in Reaver's sole company?"
"There's one hell of a difference between owning a blasted tower in the middle of nowhere and going off out
to the middle of nowhere with Reaver, of all people," Sparrow said, but he knew he was beaten. Garth's expression brooked no arguments. "All right, all right, I'm going. We'll be as quick as I can manage."
"Excellent," Garth said. "I want you back here in no more than ten days. And, Hero?"
"Yes?"
"Good luck."
**
Although Sparrow had been gone less than ten minutes, Reaver's face was a picture of annoyed impatience when he found the Hero of Skill at the city gates. "Ready, at last?" he enquired archly as Sparrow approached. "I believe approaching through Bloodstone would be best. We can take the ship down, following the coastline, then head inland and up to Wraithmarsh. Better ideas?" He didn't leave time for Sparrow to suggest anything before pressing on. "No? Excellent. Come along, then."
Sparrow rolled his eyes behind Reaver's back; the dog saw, and for a second or two Sparrow thought he might have rolled his own pitch-black canine eyes back in a gesture of weary solidarity. Reaver, perhaps mercifully, missed the gesture, already heading off down to the quay.
It was an impressive ship, Sparrow had to give it that. He had no idea whatsoever about what made a ship a ship, but this one -- she had
Riven II carefully painted on the side -- boasted two masts, complete with a crow's nest, and a complicated network of rigging running up and down them both. There was also, more worryingly, quite an array of cannon peeking out of holes running along the inland side.
Reaver seemed entirely at home on the waterside, authoritatively shouting orders to the seamen round about, all of whom answered without question (even more so after the promise of payment if they bucked up and set to it
right this instant). It seemed like a foreign language to Sparrow -- one filled with strange words like 'fore' and 'aft', terminology like 'rig the boom' and a few things to do with the aft-bow spring line and forward-quarter spring line. Reaver, of course, was fluent, and Sparrow found himself on board and underway in a surprisingly short measure of time.
There was something fairly pleasant, he had to admit, about standing on the deck of a ship with the wind in his face and his dog sitting calmly at his feet, watching the water undulating ahead of them and knowing the Bowerstone quay was fast receding behind. As the ship turned and came out into open water, he was faintly aware that Reaver's captainly shouting ceased, and a moment later, a voice by his side said, quietly, "Ah, the call of the open sea."
"We're not going far, Reaver," Sparrow pointed out, determined to put a damper on anything even remotely resembling a good mood if he possibly could. Keeping Reaver sullen and silent would be rather helpful in not getting dragged into arguments or, heavens forbid, conversation.
Apparently that didn't bother Reaver in the least. "Still. Nice to be on a ship again. I'm surprised you're not more nautically inclined yourself; you raised the
Marianne, after all."
"It wasn't exactly in the plan."
"Now there's a
very pleasant little ship," Reaver commented mildly. "I remember the
Marianne, of course. A little smaller than my beloved
Riven II -- beautiful, isn't she?" he interrupted himself brightly. "She's a brig, ninety feet from stem to stern, fourteen cannon, skeleton crew of twelve..."
"That's a lot of people for a fairly small ship," Sparrow said, faintly intrigued despite himself."
"Brigs need a rather large crew," Reaver told him. "Annoying, sometimes; expensive if I want to keep them all on; but at least there are always plenty of options."
It took Sparrow a second to catch up to which murky depths Reaver's mind was cheerfully diving towards.
"Reaver!"
"What? It's a perfectly valid point."
"Look, I'll be..."
Damn, Sparrow thought, realising he had no idea where anything was on a ship and therefore didn't really have an effective ending to that sentence. He had been hoping for something along the lines of 'I'll be upstairs', had they been in a house -- aiming for the connotation of 'I want privacy'; certainly not 'Feel free to follow' -- but on a ship... who knew? He could guess at a few places, but any one of them could be completely wrong, and the last thing he wanted was to look an absolute arse in front of Reaver. "Somewhere away from you."
"Suits me," Reaver said. "Always plenty to do on a ship, Hero. And I'm quite sure you can find me if you want me."
And avoid you if I don't, Sparrow thought, stalking away across the deck.
He didn't notice Reaver watching him go, or see the faint frown that crossed the pirate's otherwise unwrinkled face. The dog did, glancing up to Reaver before he followed Sparrow, and growled softly.
"Oh, begone," Reaver said mildly. "Shoo. Follow your master's delectable derriere, as ever."
The dog ran for it.
**
The
Riven II weighed anchor in Bloodstone Harbour to a welcome of freezing drizzle. The crew got on with their jobs without complaint, following Reaver's orders to the letter; Reaver himself, to Sparrow's great surprise, didn't waste a single breath on complaining about the weather (or even what the weather was doing to his hair), but continued his enthusiastic captaincy of the vessel, once even shouting out a midshipman who balked at jumping across from the deck to the soaking jetty and doing it his damned self (apparently it was impossible to get the crew, these days). The midshipman sulked vaguely, complaining to his nearest crewmate about how if he'd done that he'd have broken his bloody neck and it was a damn shame the captain hadn't had the same misfortune.
Sparrow kept out of the chaos, knowing he'd be more hindrance than help. At last, the ship was moored in and the crew departed, eager to get away and spend their wages before the journey back. Reaver stood on the quayside and watched them go, shaking his head. "Well, at least they get to have some fun, hrm?" he commented to Sparrow. "Come along; let's set to, shall we? Before this weather
ruins my jacket."
"I knew it!" Sparrow said, falling in to step alongside him. "I
knew eventually it would all come down to vanity. I was surprised you weren't complaining about your hairdo as soon as the rain came on."
"I had things to do, then," Reaver said with a slight shrug. "Now, do you suppose it's worth a quick detour by the mansion? I haven't had time to pop in and say hello to the new owners as yet, and I did leave a letter promising the buyer I would pay a friendly visit at some point."
"I remember," Sparrow informed him. "'Until I return to kill you and reclaim what's rightfully mine', wasn't it?"
"Something to that effect, yes," Reaver mused. "How did you... Oh,
Hero." He paused, watching Sparrow with something dangerously close to admiration. "
Really. First Brightwood Tower; now my own cosy little home?"
Sparrow nodded. "If it makes you feel any better, I haven't rented Bloodstone Mansion out."
Reaver smiled slightly. "Oh, Hero. Such a shame I always keep my promises, don't you think?"
"Like hell you do," Sparrow said, without much actual malice. "I can't remember a single promise you've kept. I do think it's worth a detour, though. I can pick up a couple of things that might come in useful."
"Such as?"
"One of the more useless staff members, for a start, since you needn't think you'll be using my youth and beauty for this."
Reaver quirked an eyebrow. "What beauty?"
"Shut up."
**
If you have another account on anothher side that you upload chapters frequently, please, do tell. 
