The Wives' Guild

The Wives' Guild

Bromm V

Nightfall came slowly to the little harbor of Sanctum Port. The decline of the sun set the long shadows of ships' masts stretching out over the rooftops like the fingers of some great hand. Despite the port's small size, its harbor was crowded with nearly a hundred ships, from small fishing schooners to massive fluyts plying the northern trade routes. A fortune in goods flowed through the port each year, much of it obtained by trade rather than piracy. But violence was never far from Sanctum Port, and the lord's palace served as a reminder of that fact, situated as it was inside the massive, sunbleached skull of a long-dead giant overlooking the harbor from a nearby hilltop.

On this night, the sailor Bromm found himself drinking with his friends in a dockside tavern called the Seagull. He was a tall and broad-shouldered young man with a black beard and green eyes. He wore a black coat about him, with a wide baldric of shark leather over his shoulder. On the table, next to several empty flagons, was his three-cornered red hat.

"One last round!" he cried to the delight of his friends, "to toast the end of our employment on one ship, and to toast our future employment aboard another!"             

"Aye!" cried Tahavi, banging his olive-skinned fist on the wooden table. He threw a handful of copper coins onto the table and summoned the barmaid. "Another round for us, woman!"

She sighed and gathered up the coins before moving away.

"They are always so sad to take our money," Imre remarked as he drained his flagon and slid it across the table to join the others. "If I didn't know better, I'd think they were tired of us."

"Tired of us drinking," Bromm said, too loudly. He took a moment to calm himself before continuing. "But we're right to be happy. We are well rid of that ship, and may Tarnilaen take them all!"

"Aye!" Tahavi cried again and slammed his fist down again. One of the clamshells they had drained earlier rattled off the table and onto the floor. Tahavi reached for it and nearly fell from his chair.

"I hope Sahat finds us a better one," Bromm said to no one in particular. "I hope it's a ship going somewhere exotic."

"Like to Leiyan, to buy indigo spice!" Imre exclaimed. He brushed his dark hair back from his face and smiled with wonder. His fair cheeks were turning red as he drank, but he held his drink better than the other two.

"Or to search for the Lost City of Wonders!" Bromm cried in equal excitement.

"If a captain ever says he's off to Kalis," Tahavi warned, lifting himself from his chair and setting the fallen clamshell down again, "run far away from his ship. No voyage searching for the City of Wonders ever finds anything but disappointment and death. Archen went looking for it five years ago, and no one has heard from him or any of his crew since."

"It's out there somewhere," Bromm slurred, looking about for the barmaid and fresh drinks. "And someone will find it eventually."

"Until they do, it will continue to lure sailors to their deaths," Tahavi continued.

"You sound like Sahat," Imre laughed.

"Who sounds like me?" Sahat said, appearing behind them. he swept his black broad-brimmed hat from his bald head in a theatrical gesture. Bromm cheered and tried to stand, only to sway on his feet and fall back onto the bench.

"Sahat! Have you found us a ship?" Tahavi asked.

"I have," the older man replied. "She's the White Shepherd, and she's bound for Deephold in the morning."

"Deephold!" Bromm cried, "I've always wanted to see a dwarfhold. I've heard that it's the largest and grandest of all the holds."

"Aye. And their mines turn out more silversteel than everywhere else in the world put together," Imre put in. "I've heard that they stretch so deep into the earth that miners go years without seeing the sun."

"They're dwarves," Sahat pointed out, "They go their entire lives without seeing the sun." He looked around. "Where's Pyet?"

Bromm jerked a thumb toward the tavern's staircase. "He went upstairs with the pretty wench. Poor lad couldn't wait to spend his silver after a month at sea."

At last, the barmaid returned with their drinks and quickly distributed them before shifting to another table. Her younger, prettier colleague's alternate employment had left the tavern short-staffed for the moment and she was none too pleased about it.

Sahat claimed the drink meant for Pyet and downed it in a single gulp. "To the White Shepherd, and a good haul!"

Bromm and Imre cheered. Tahavi had his face in a clamshell and could not join in, though he tried, only to end up sputtering messily through the meat. Sahat moved Bromm's drink away from him for safekeeping.

"Once Pyet gets back, we should head down to the Shepherd's berth, so it's time for you to quit your drinking."

"I wasn't finished!" Bromm complained, reaching for his drink.

"You need to sober up," Sahat chided. "In your state, you'll fall into the harbor before you get aboard the ship. They intend to sail with the tides, so we cannot afford any delay. Besides, you've been celebrating for three days now. It's time to get back to work."

"The White Shepherd," Tahavi mused aloud. "I'm not familiar with the ship. Who is the captain?"

"A man named Karnote. I believe he is Armannaise."

"Never heard of him," Tahavi said dismissively. "Is she a big ship?"

"Nay, a brig of perhaps eighteen guns, though she carries fewer now. She's on the dwarfholds run."

Bromm started in surprise as someone clapped his shoulder. Turning, he saw that Pyet had returned. The youth's scruffy face was split by a broad smile, and Bromm saw that his breeches were still undone.

"Hello, lads!" Pyet beamed.

"Have a good fuck?" Imre asked with his own smile.

"Best silver I ever spent," Pyet replied as his smile somehow grew wider. "She's got the nicest little tits, if any of you want to have a go."

"We've got a ship to catch," Sahat put in before Imre could open his mouth. "Do up your belt and let's be off."

"Well hold on a moment," Pyet protested. "I want to get something to eat first. Something with flavor, before we end up eating nothing but hardtack and salted cod for a month."

Pyet left for the tavern's kitchen, so Sahat hauled Bromm and Imre toward the door by himself. Tahavi followed at length, still holding on to the last of their clams. After an extended wait, Pyet joined them in the street outside holding a wedge of flat bread drenched in red sauce and topped with cheese and grilled vegetables.

"Had a bit too much to drink?" he asked around a mouthful of his bread.

"Never," Bromm slurred, much to Sahat's annoyance.

"Come on," the bald man growled. He grabbed Bromm by the shoulder and hauled him down the quay. The four of them made their way through the thinning crowds to the White Shepherd's berth, where they were challenged by a tall orc with a broken tusk.

"Who goes there?" the orc demanded, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a club studded with iron at his hip and a pistol in a holster across his chest. Bromm drunkenly checked that his own weapons were on his belt. He patted his own pistol hanging from his belt and in doing so, his hand brushed the hilt of the plain iron saber he had bought in Buccaneer's Bay.

"Sahat and the other new crewmen. I spoke with your captain earlier." Sahat replied, and Bromm noted that he was not reaching for the two daggers he wore tucked into his green and white checkered waistband.

The orc made a face of annoyance and waved them aboard before resuming his perch next to the gangplank. Taking great care not to stumble into the water as Sahat had predicted, Bromm climbed the plank to reach the brig's deck. They were met there by a dark-skinned man with his hair in thick, coarse braids that ran down his back. He wore an orange shirt that reached to his knees beneath a wide belt buckled with brass.

"Welcome aboard," he said in a thick, foreign accent. Bromm thought it sounded familiar, but in his drunken stupor he could not place it. "I am Dawhy, the first mate." He held up a logbook and quill for them.

"Sign here and you'll be a part of the crew. Once done, you can take your things down below and get set."

They did as asked with only minimal haggling over the terms of the contracts and he ushered them belowdecks to their hammocks. Descending the steps, Bromm saw that the bow of the ship was blocked off with thick iron bars to form a cage. Within that cage, chained to the hull by collars at their necks, were a score of women, naked and huddled together. The hammocks nearest to them were all taken by sailors who lay awake, ogling their captives. Some even stood at the bars with their arms through, leaning and leering together.

Bromm frowned with disappointment at the scene, but the others pushed him along to their hammocks astern.

After setting their things in their sailors' chests, Sahat turned to Bromm.

"You are disappointed?"

"It's a slave ship," Bromm said. "I thought we were done with this."

"You wanted to see the dwarfhold, didn't you? This ship is going there."

"Surely there was another ship going there. One without slaves?"

"Well, next time you find us a ship and I'll get drunk in the tavern." Sahat threw himself into his hammock and pretended to roll over and sleep. Despite the drink, Bromm could tell he was pretending. The man had not even undressed himself and the daggers in his waistband were surely making his feigned sleep uncomfortable.

Bromm doffed his boots and swung into his hammock, but he groaned when he saw a familiar face approaching. Skinny, with thinning hair drawn into a gray tail, the sea rat named Guldrin beamed at Bromm as he strode down the deck to greet him.

"Hello again, Bromm," the old man said quietly, taking care not to wake the other sleepers. "You've chosen a good ship to sign on with."

"Were that true, you would not be here with me," Bromm groused. Guldrin laughed, his mouth showing off his rotting teeth.

"It's good to see you again," the old man said, clapping a hand to Bromm's shoulder like an old friend. "Welcome aboard, you'll love it here. It's the best work you could ask for. Easy pay, the thrill of the hunt, all the wenches you can fuck, and at the end, you sell them for sweet silver and never have to see them again. Then it's off to the Coast to catch some new ones! I worked this route once many years ago, but our captain lost his ship to some bad deals and I had to go south to recover. But I'm back now!"

"This is a route?" Bromm asked.

"You've never heard of it? I suppose you are young. But yes, it's a route. One of the richest in all the sea. See, we're just a few hundred miles from the Bountiful Coast, the best raiding territory in all the world. A pirate can put ashore, capture a village and resupply on timber, pitch, grain, fruit, and whatever else he needs. But most of all, he can take their people. The people of the Coast are sold in slave markets from Zahir to the Imperial City itself! And for good reason. Their men know how to work and their women are the most beautiful in all the world. So we raid the villages and sell the men to the Empire and the women to the dwarves."

"Why not the men to the dwarves? What use do they have for women?"

Guldrin laughed. "My boy, you have so much to learn. Dwarves don't need men. Humans wouldn't last a week in their mines. No, you have to be a dwarf to survive down there. But they need women. For dwarves are all men. You look surprised. You never thought it odd that you've never seen a dwarf woman? There are none. For a dwarf to sire a son, he needs a human woman. Not many women will volunteer to live in a mountain cavern with short, hairy, soot-covered runts, so the dwarves buy them instead. And they pay in silver, gold, gems, sometimes even silversteel, so I've been told. You've struck it rich on this route, you'll see."

"That all sounds wonderful, but I will be moving on soon enough," Bromm replied, swinging himself into his hammock. Guldrin shrugged.

"Suit yourself. I'll be here when you decide to come back." The old sea rat wandered away and left Bromm to sulk drunkenly in his hammock.

The following morning, Bromm awoke with a ferocious headache. Up on deck, the air was thick with seagulls as two longboats towed their brig out into the open sea, where she unfurled her sails and caught the wind. In short order, they were sailing north at a respectable nine knots. Bromm found Sahat and Imre in the ship's prow, cleaning themselves off in the ship's showers.

"Did you know Guldrin was aboard?" Bromm demanded. Sahat merely shrugged, letting the salty water pour down his naked back.

"He goes where he goes," Sahat replied easily. "I was not going to let his presence keep us from getting a good berth."

"It's not a good berth if he's here," Bromm complained.

"What do you care?" Imre asked. "Guldrin is a rat, but he's harmless enough. And he likes you."

"Why I cannot understand, I've never shown him kindness," Bromm grumbled. "I find him repugnant, and his glee over this slaver's ship is why."

"They pay," Sahat said with another shrug. "I had no idea you were such a priest about all this."

"We'll find a new ship in Deephold," Bromm said and stalked off.

The others left him alone for the day, but in the evening after the sun went down, he found himself dicing on deck with them all and some other sailors.

"You've barely secured a new source of wages and you're already losing them again," Imre taunted as he scraped up Pyet's bet at the end of their game.

"What good is money if you never spend it?" Pyet asked. He leaned back on his seat, and upturned bucket, and took a long draw from his gin bottle. Bromm laughed and distributed the dice for another hand.

"Who's betting?" he called out. Pyet's new friend Lukodo put down a handful of coins and was soon joined by Bromm and his friends.

"Lukodo," Pyet said as he peeked at his dice. "How long have you been aboard the Shepherd?"

"Eight months," Lukodo replied. The man was tall, muscular, and very dark-skinned. Bromm thought he might be a cousin to the first mate, though he had a lighter accent.

"How does the captain treat you?" Imre asked, then added "I'll open the bidding since I won. Three threes."

"He's fair enough. Discipline is harsh on those out of line but follow the rules and you'll make out alright."

"Four threes," Tahavi said, continuing the bidding. "How does the route treat you?"

"Usually quite well. The Shepherd can sail up most rivers on the coast, so we can raid far inland for captives. The captain has a contact at the Guild who gives him a good price for wives, so we make out well."

Bromm stole a peek at his dice again. "Four fours. Wives? Tell me about that."

"Four fives," Lukodo said. "Wives, the dwarves need them to breed more dwarves. They buy slaves, make treaties with the villages around their hold, sometimes raid for them themselves. Dwarves who leave the hold to make a fortune try to bring back wives when they come home."

"Five fives," said Pyet. "What's a wife worth to a dwarf?"

"Depends on the dwarf. The rich ones have private harems filled with the most beautiful women they can buy. The rest use the Wives' Guild, which is more like a brothel. Dwarves fuck a woman and leave, then just hope the woman bears his son."

"Six fives," bid Sahat. "Hope? Is that all they get?"

"It's all they can get," Lukodo replied. "Unless they have enough money to buy a wife for themselves."

"And this ship provides the wives," Bromm supplied.

"This and many others. The dwarves love their gold jealously and give it up for little. Wives are one of the only commodities dear enough to them to win away their gold."

Imre bid six fives, but Bromm pressed Lukodo further.

"What of the women you sell them?"

"What of them?" Lukodo replied. "I spare them little thought, once they're off my ship."

"Surely it is no crueler fate to be pampered in a dwarven harem than in a Torvuls brothel," said Tahavi. "Seven fives."

"Liar," Bromm called. Tahavi sighed and they all lifted their cups, proving Bromm right. Tahavi surrendered a die, and they began the next hand.

"Three twos," Tahavi said, beginning the bidding.

"What is the Guild like?" Bromm asked.

Lukodo shrugged. "It has sunlight at least. It's built at the edge of the mountain and even has a balcony that overlooks the harbor. You'll like Deephold, just you wait."

"I've heard it's wondrous," Bromm said. Is it really built into the side of a mountain? Four twos."

"Aye. The harbor is a cavern entrance and we will sail right into its mouth to shelter beneath the mountain itself. Five twos. I've never seen a better place to wait out a bitter northern storm."

"I've heard terrible things about northern storms," Pyet said, "But I've spent all my time in the south. Five fours."

"They're terrible," replied Lukodo, his gaze going distant for a moment. "We lost seven men in the last one, which is why we put into Sanctum Port. Normally, we go from the raiding site to Deephold and then back to raiding. But this time we had to rest and repair."

"Six fours," bid Sahat. "Is that common?"

"Northern storms can be fierce," Imre said before adding his bid. "Six fives."

"That much is true," Lukodo agreed, "Tough this was a more ferocious storm than I have ever seen. It snapped two spars clean in half."

"Seven fives," bid Tahavi.

"Perhaps the people of the Coast called down Azlit's wrath upon you for your plundering," Bromm suggested airily. "Seven sixes."

"Liar!" called Pyet. Bromm lifted his cup and they all groaned, for beneath it were four sixes, which combined with one more from Lukodo and a pair from Imre made Bromm the winner.

"Imre, stop rolling sixes," Pyet chided, "between your rolls and Bromm's damnable luck, I will lose all my money before we make port again.

"What do you have to spend it on out here except gambling?" Bromm laughed back at him.

"You'll not find a whore out on the seas unless she's a mermaid," Sahat laughed.

"There's whores down below," Lukodo said plainly. The others turned to him with quizzical looks.

"The man Kannad, the actor, he usually opens the cage at night to pimp the girls," Lukodo went on. "Sometimes its hard to sleep at night from all the fucking going on. I like to watch, but if there's an especially pretty one, I'll throw in some coins."

"Think it might be open tonight?" Pyet asked.

"Why ask when we could see for ourselves?"

Pyet stood up. "I'm afraid my heart's no longer in this game, lads. I'm off to belowdecks to find a woman."

He stood up and walked away from the game. Leaning against the gunwale, Sahat looked around to the other gamblers.

"I think I might join him," he said after a pause. Bromm glowered at the deck as Imre wordlessly stood up and followed the others toward the hatch. Lukodo scooped up his coins and followed them. Sighing heavily, Bromm and Tahavi stood up and abandoned the game as well.

Down below, the cage was locked up tight. But sitting on a rude stool in front of its iron door was a grizzled old man with a glassy left eye, nearly split by a long scar running from the bridge of his nose to his ear.

"Kannad," Lukodo began, "Is the cage open tonight?"

Kannad cast a glassy eye over them and scowled.

"We just left port this morning and you sea rats are already looking to get your cocks wet?" he spat onto the deck. "I suppose I might as well let you in. Coin is coin, after all."

He stood up from his stool and removed a thick iron key from his wide belt. He reached for the door, then stopped and turned around.

"Most of you are new, so I'll lay down the rules. You pay for one girl, you get one girl. There's nineteen in there, but you only fuck the ones you pay for. Cum outside the girls, the dwarves won't be happy if we sell them a woman carrying your bastard. Leave your weapons out here," he commanded. "I won't have any of the girls getting crazy ideas with a stolen pistol or knife. In fact, it can get messy in there so I would leave all your clothes out here. And when you're done, get in the showers. We all have to smell you on this little ship, so show some respect to the crew. Now, money upfront."