Overboard! Page 4

  “Ah Daisy.” he had said as she had arrived. “Thank you for coming to see me. I think maybe this evening your schooling will be concerned…” Daisy had registered the fact that he was moving between her and the door that was the only way out, “Concerned with earthier matters…” he had grinned and catching her before she could move he pulled her to him, his breath hot on her face. “But don’t tell your father.” he grinned. “He may disapprove of your tutor’s … shall we say, attention?” and with that he had thrown her to the floor and began removing his shirt. Daisy waited until the shirt was raised over his head before leaping backwards and putting all her strength into it kicked him in the groin as hard as she could. Nick fell to the floor like a felled tree, a loud, pitiful groan spitting from his mouth. He rolled on the ground as Daisy rose to her feet and made for the door. But Nick surprised her. As she reached for the handle a small dagger thudded into the wood beside her hand and she drew back in shock, turning to face Nick as he struggled to his feet.

  “You stupid bitch!” he panted as he stood in obvious pain, though his face contained more anger than hurt. “You will pay for that even if your family is well placed in Meesha. Nobody makes a fool of Nick Blade once, and certainly not twice!” Daisy glanced around the room quickly, taking in the sword racks off to her left and the man advancing towards her, thunder written large on his face.

  Daisy edged forwards, her blood up, both anger and fear running through her mind. “Well you certainly don’t need any assistance in making a fool of yourself do you now, tutor Blade? Even the newest pupils snigger behind your back at your dyed hair and fancy clothes. They say you spend more time on your appearance than a woman, Mr Blade.” As rage rushed across his face Daisy lunged for the sword rack and pulled a sword from there as her tutor moved to block the door. Turning to face him she held the sword before her, but was dismayed to discover Nick already had a sword in hand. He nodded at her once as he had done so many times during her lessons, but this time this was not a lesson. They turned on the spot, watching each other carefully, moving in a circle as if in a dance. Soon the door was behind her again but she could not dare move her attention from his eyes to the only possible route of her escape from the classroom. The moment she tried he would have her, and at this moment in time he seemed capable of anything. She raised her sword before her and Nick sped forward, his sword striking at her as if from all directions at once. She quailed at the ferocity of his attack, but she remembered her lessons and blocked his assaults but he continued to rattle her defences, his sword spinning about her, forcing her back towards the wall. She tried a quick flurry of attacks, her sword prodding at his defences but he was fast, and he parried them easily and as he did so he renewed his attack on her.

  Nervously she moved backwards trying to withhold his attack. Sweat broke on her brow as his sword flashed all about her, trying to find a way past her defences. She realised he was not playing with her, so furious was his assault. Slowly she moved backwards even more and her foot met with the skirting board of the room, the door behind her. It may as well have been miles away. Then the dagger he had thrown at her struck her back as she edged up against the door and she stumbled slightly, her attention caught by the handle of the dagger sticking in her back.

  Instantly Nick fell upon her as she stumbled, the blade flashing at her chest. Yet even then he was merely playing with her, a realisation that clashed strangely with the look of rage upon his face. The tip of the blade tore through her blouse, the clothing falling open. She was powerless to do anything about it as he continued his attack.

  “Nice bosoms indeed.” he grinned, his gaze glancing for a mere moment to the blouse flapping uselessly around her, a leer showing on his face. Daisy took the chance as he was distracted and in one fluid motion that would for years later bring a smile to her face, simultaneously kicked the feet from under him while at the same time reaching behind her and freeing the dagger from the doorframe. Nick sprawled on the floor, a look of total incomprehension on his face as Daisy kicked his sword away and at the same time stuck the dagger through his outstretched left hand effectively pinning him to the wooden floor through his palm. Daisy stood on his other hand and straightened her blouse, covering herself up as well as she was able.

  “Get off me girl!” he shouted, struggling to free his impaled hand but Daisy pushed his chin up with the tip of her rapier, smiling at him. He struggled against her but Daisy quickly slashed the sword across his face and cheeks twice diagonally. Instantly blood welled across his face and Nick began to scream which settled quickly to a low whimper as she finished the mark on his face, leaving a large deep cut which showed as a large X across his features. The cut was deep, and Daisy was hoping that it was deep enough to scar. He flailed on the floor and Daisy leaned down towards him, her face close to his. He stared open mouthed now as blood cascaded and congealed across his face.

  “Make no mistake Nick Blade.” she spat. “You have my mark upon you now, but if I should ever see you again I will kill you without even a thought.” and she spat in his face, before kicking him in the groin one more time just for good measure and leaving him lying there on the floor, impaled through his hand, cut and bleeding.

  The gossip the next day was of course all about the extremely sudden and totally unexpected departure of the fencing master and what had happened. None were any the wiser of course, and the next trainer that arrived some weeks later was a much more obliging man from the far east. Daisy continued to practice and learn and eventually even her new fencing master was inclined to agree that there was no more that he could teach her, and so she took to private tuition with a passion. From that day onwards she had not been beaten in a fight of any sort by a man, tutor or not. Nor had she forgotten a rather handy trick with regards to her blouse.

  Daisy stood immobile on the quarterdeck, staring out to sea as the ship headed to Hard Knocks. It had been a long time since that night when she had chosen a different destiny though she hadn’t realised that at the time of course. She sighed deeply. It seemed like a very long time ago indeed, and yet sometimes it was just like yesterday. Still as a statue she stood remembering, her mind far away not just in distance but also in time, a tear falling onto her cheek as she did so. Gathering her wits about her suddenly she gave a sigh of irritation and wiped away the tear as the ship sailed on into the night.

  Chapter 2

  ~ Tea and Sympathy ~

  From the quayside of the docks and harbours it is a mere half mile before the main thoroughfare approaches the imposing building that houses the council of the town of Hard Knocks. It could be thought that because of the proximity of the council to the docks that this proved that the council’s link with the trade brought in from the sea was very much an important part of the town’s revenue, which would indeed be an excellent guess. It could equally be deduced by the large number of skull and crossbones flags flying from numerous ships docked in the harbour that the council were not terribly concerned with where the wealth originated in the first place as long as a certain portion of it ended up in the council coffers. The skull and crossbones flags tended to prove that it was unlikely that this income came in any way at all from fishing.

  In reality the island of Hard Knocks was a mass of illegal activity that was built on a basis of ill-gotten gains and plunder. The matter of what was actually illegal or not however was much more difficult to define, for the council itself made the definition of what was and what was not illegal. This decision normally depended on the percentage of the profit that the council would gratefully, though ruthlessly collect from whatever it was that was potentially illegal. The end result of this was a judicial system that usually made decisions as it went along; a system in which hardly anything was able to be definitely defined as illegal at all. There were in reality very few rules, though the primary one that the average residents of Hard Knocks came across on a daily basis was best summed up by the words, “cash” and “only” though the order in which they appeared
was not always terribly important.

  The council building itself was considered by all and sundry to be therefore the centre of the town, given the level of riches which passed through it and the cut of the revenue that the council took of the profit from anything that was deemed legal. It was a passable arrangement that was seldom queried by the general populace. Well, not if they wanted to remain a member of the general living populace on an on-going basis anyway.

  The council building was large and imposing in the sense that any civil building that was concerned mainly with the accumulation of power and in particular wealth, can be. Large white marbled columns fronted the wide entrance, above which rose three large and spacious storeys. It was in fact the only building in Hard Knocks that had more than two storeys, and its mere presence not only dominated the quayside but the entire town itself. The only other structure in Hard Knocks that rose above ground level was the town jail, which was equally impressive, and although only possessing two storeys, was rumoured to have at least six underground.

  The third storey ran the entire length of the building, the centre of which consisted of a large glass fronted dome that rose high above the roof. It was here that the mayor of Hard Knocks had his office, and it was said, though usually in a whisper, that the walls were all made of glass so the mayor, Bradley Mackrell could keep his eye on the entire town from his lofty perch. It was in this office at the moment that the mayor had just arrived for the day and seated himself at his long, officious looking desk. Mackrell himself had an aura of power and privilege about him, his large portly frame seemingly wedged behind his large desk, a ruddy complexion framing his bright red hair. His face wore an expression of total indignation most of the time, this expression only leaving his face from time to time to be replaced with a look of extreme slyness that anyone witnessing it would almost instantly not only fear for their lives, but also all of their relatives to at least the seventh generation too.

  Mackrell pulled the chair upon which he sat nearer to the desk and took note of the items placed carefully and neatly on its surface. The desk at the moment had a small quill set to one side of a wide blotter, on the other side of which was a large ink well. Several neatly stacked pieces of paper were set to one side, awaiting the mayor’s attention. Bradley Mackrell gave a deep sigh and cast his eyes across his desk once again. Mackrell liked neatness to the extent that it sometimes veered towards a kind of madness, but he would from time to time mentally credit his current position as mayor as being down to this desire for neatness to a great degree, as many who opposed him but were now floating several leagues under water would probably agree, if they were able. The mayor began his morning checklist.

  Quill.

  Check.

  Ink.

  Check.

  Blotter.

  Check.

  Letters.

  Too bloody right check.

  Tea.

  There was a long pause, during which the wind could be heard howling around the glass dome that surrounded him.

  No tea.

  “Mr Tea cup!” he yelled suddenly, loudly thumping his fist on the desk. The neat pile of papers scattered a little following the impact. “Mr bloody tea cup!!!” Silence. Mackrell was of the opinion that it was a complete waste of his time and resources learning people’s names, preferring instead to refer to them by what he considered to be their duty that they performed for him was a much better and time effective idea.

  The mayor considered getting up from his desk but changed his mind. Irritation made him scan around the room, casting a scowl upon the small child like stool in front of and below his large desk. It wasn’t bloody difficult now, was it? A simple enough request. Just a cup of tea ready for him when he arrived in his office in the morning. Not hard, that. “Mr Tea Cup!!!” There followed another louder thump on the desk. From somewhere outside the room a faraway voice responded.

  “Coming sir.” Mackrell sat back in his chair; his by now reddening face threatening to make him look like an over inflated but increasingly dangerous tomato.

  “Thee’s best be bringing me my cup of tea, Mr Tea Cup.” yelled the mayor. “Or as sure as I’ve got a hole in my bum I’ll be kicking you all the way across town to the ruddy jail myself, you puffed up waste of space, tha knows!”

  The main door to the round room slid open a little and a well-dressed man in a crisply pressed suit and butler’s tails nervously put his head around the door, a look of surprise crossing his face as no sharp object seemed to heading at speed towards him.

  “There you are Mr Tea-Cup!” yelled the mayor, pointed a small pudgy finger at him in accusation. “Where’s my ruddy tea?”

  “McDowall, sir.” responded the butler with a grimace, visibly resisting the urge to point at himself. “Andrew McDowell.”

  The mayor waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever, Mr Tea Cup. You’ve got two minutes to fetch my tea or they’ll be measuring you up for a set of manacles by lunchtime.” He paused slightly, and McDowall was not surprised at all to see that the mayor’s face was turning an even deeper shade of red. “Just get my tea!” he yelled, and McDowall disappeared from the doorway as fast as he could, his footsteps receding as he scuttled down the corridor outside.

  Eventually the tea arrived and Mackrell supped at it furiously, his scarlet face slowly returning to its normal hue of just this side of crimson as the tea began to do its work. The mayor was on his second cup, McDowall standing ramrod straight to his side before he decided to take a glance at the paperwork now lightly scattered across the desk. As he casually glanced at a few of the letters he peered over the rim of his cup at the butler. “What have I got on today then, Mr Teacup?” he asked. The butler grimaced once again but was determined not to let the mayor realise just how much his seeming inability to remember his name managed to annoy him. He sighed inwardly to himself, not a single indication of it managing to show on his face. At least he was not Mr Hung Drawn and Quartered like his predecessor, he reflected solemnly.

  “Nothing terribly important today, your honour.” he said, pulling a small piece of neatly folded paper from inside his suit jacket, consulting it carefully, whilst also at the same time trying to discretely judge the remaining amount of tea in the teapot, an attempt that was unfortunately thwarted by the large white tea cosy that covered it. “A budget meeting at twelve, and policy session at four.” The mayor rolled his eyes at this, returning his attention to his tea. McDowell stood back from the desk, and then as if suddenly remembering something stepped forwards once more. Mackrell raised an eyebrow, wondering whether his butler was dancing on duty, and if so precisely what he was going to do to the man to punish him. It wouldn’t do for staff to be bringing their hobbies in to work. Oh no. Not at all! “Oh, and we have an emissary from the Golden Octopus downstairs. Apparently he has a message for you.”

  The mayor placed his teacup back on the saucer and passed one of the letters from the freshly signed pile to the butler. “Give that to Mr Post Box will you?” he said, “And tell him to post it straight away. Not teatime. Not tomorrow. Now.” This was accompanied by an impressively loud thump of Mackrell’s fist on his desk, and McDowell jumped slightly, before managing another inward sigh as he accepted the letter from the mayor.

  “I will make sure I tell Mr Russell that, mayor,” he said, and Mackrell rolled his eyes slowly.

  “Oh, and bring the bloke from the Golden Octopus up. May as well see what that bloody lot want now.”

  “Of course.” said McDowall, before retiring quietly from the room. As the man closed the door behind him Mackrell opened a large drawer at the front of his desk, and rummaging around for a while began to pull small wooden objects from it, placing them seemingly at random about the desk. To the untrained eye they looked like small chess pieces, perhaps no more than an inch or two high. Upon closer inspection however there was an assortment of pieces, though they all seemed to have a nautical theme. There were several resembling ships elegantly carved in black and whit
e wood, as well as what appeared to be a couple in the shape of wooden chests, a few anchors, and even several in the shape of small islands resplendent with a single palm tree standing up slightly from the wooden base.

  Mackrell paused once all of the pieces were on his desk, eying them keenly. He adjusted several of their positions, moved a few more around, and then took another long hard look at them. Apparently satisfied with this the mayor stood up and crossed the room, strolling across to the large glass windows. He absent-mindedly flicked a small piece of dust from the brightly polished window frame before turning to look down into the docks. The harbour was a mass of large ships, their masts sitting like a small forest of trees that swung slowly in what must have been a quite strong southerly wind.

  A small leaf blew past the window outside and Mackrell watched it as it drifted off towards the harbour. He had been mayor of the town of Hard Knocks for some fourteen years now, and it seemed that every year his hold on the town increased just a little more. It was a fine juggling act of course, and one that relied mostly on fear of action rather than action itself. A multi storey prison helped as well, of course, but these days he relied more on the members of the Golden Octopus to reinforce his less popular policies, while he merely directed their actions from afar. The cartel of pirates collectively known as The Golden Octopus needed keeping sweet as well though, and he was always careful to ensure that they had more than their fair share of their noses in the trough.

  It had not always been that way, of course. All of those years ago when he had stood for election he had relied more on his family, most of whom were now growing increasingly familiar with the accommodation afforded by the town prison, or the seemingly bottomless depths of the Hard Knock’s harbour. Back then though they had certainly helped him rise to the lofty position he now stood in, both figuratively and literally. This had involved the use of various methods of political persuasion and a ruthless dedication to ensuring everyone turned out to vote for him, as well as ensuring his political opponents were effectively rendered unelectable.