"Open up, in the name of the king!" Fusco, the Captain of the king's soldiers, pounded his gauntleted fist on the door, causing the few people who dared to peek from their windows to quickly retreat deeper into their homes. His followers shuffled nervously, glancing in every direction in case their target had decided to flank them, but the whole street was silent.
Finally, his patience leaving him, the Captain backed up and charged. The door was not locked, however, and it gave easily. But as soon as it opened, a deluge of water poured straight down into his head. He shouted and spluttered, diving forward to avoid further attack. His men had lingered behind, and now stood on the threshold looking wryly at the bucket rolling away on the floor.
"Get in here!" Fusco yelled, trying to wipe off his face and cursing the trick that had been played them. "Search the place! Find him!"
Obediently the rest of the soldiers trotted in and began running through all parts of the house. A few shouts and bumps told the leader that more traps had been sprung, though when he checked on his men, none were actually hurt. The wanted man had a sense of humor, it seemed, and he had decided to make them pay for entering his home. But in the end, they found nothing. Nothing, that is, except for a red cloak and a crown hung up on a hook.
"Captain!" One of his men yelled, reaching up for the items. "We've got something!"
Fusco's eyes widened at a sudden suspicion. "OFF!" He yelled, and the soldier jerked his hands back with a start. The Captain came up slowly and patted the man on the shoulder. "Easy, Hammond. That could be trapped, as well. Just...just be careful."
Hammond batted the cloak warily. "This whole place is trapped, sir. And Technoblade's not here. He's already slipped off, seemingly."
"I know." Fusco groaned. "Blast him. How'd he know this time?" No one answered him, and he didn't expect them to. Technoblade was renowned for knowing more than he should. Fusco suspected treachery, but evidence was severely lacking. He glared at the cloak and crown briefly. "Here, let me."
The other soldiers stepped back, each all too glad to let their leader handle whatever prank the anarchist had planned for them with his most precious possessions. Why he had left them behind, no one could guess, but it could not be doubted he would have made them very hard to take. One soldier even raised his shield a little.
Fusco kept his back to his men as he shut his eyes and grabbed the cloak, waiting for something to burst or burn or implode. Nothing happened, and he realized it wouldn't the moment he heard the crackle of paper under the cloak. He lifted up the fabric. There was a note. He picked it up and read it.
Hail to the soldiers of the king!
I have escaped you again.
Had time to compose this thing,
Just to drive you all insane.
Enjoy my traps, my pranks,
My plans and this rhyme.
I give you all my thanks,
For this chase sublime!
But now it's over and done,
You're too late to find me
And I am happily long gone;
Salutations, Captain, to thee!
May we never meet more
And may your king fall,
For he's a sot and a bore,
His death'd be a mercy to us all.
Farewell, Captain and men,
Get promoted and paid.
Don't look for me again:
I make even the worst afraid.
∞∞∞∞°
Miles away were the docks. Ships lined the piers, some fresh from far-off lands with exotic cargoes, others preparing to set sail to equally foreign parts. Men moved back and forth from deck to dock, carrying boxes, bags or chests, leading horses, herding sheep or cows and merely taking off to find the nearest tavern. It was a busy morning, as always, and everyone was too used to strangers coming and going to make remark of any particular one. It was a perfect place to lose oneself.
Into the bustling crowd strode a man in the prime of his life, with a rough cloak and hood, a long sword at one side, an ax on the other and a travelling sack slung over his shoulder. His dark hair was gathered up in short ponytail and a light beard covered his jaw. His crimson eyes roved the ships, looking them over. Walking swiftly from the town, he moved between the hurrying crowds with ease and made his way to one of those which looked well kept and which was being loaded with cargo.
A sailor was standing by the gangplank, shouting orders to the men who tramped past him, carrying their loads. He turned impatiently at the tap on his shoulder that the stranger gave. "Well? What is it?" He asked.
"Who do I talk to about takin' passage on this ship?"
The sailor grimaced. "Garn. One of those, eh?" He jerked his head up the gangplank. "It ain't me, that's for sure. You'll find first mate and Cap'n on the deck, makin' sure all's stowed." He turned back to his work.
The stranger nodded briefly and went up to the deck of the ship. He glanced around, soon spotting two men dressed somewhat better than the rest of the sailors and one of them seemed to defer to the other. He headed straight for them.
The one who seemed to be the captain glanced at him briefly. "You are none of my crew. Who are you and what do you want?"
"Captain," said the stranger, "do you take passengers?"
The man eyed him up and down. "Depends. Who are you? Are you alone? And how well can you pay?"
A shine gleamed in the red eyes as the stranger swung his bag off his back and pulled from it a small pouch of what sounded like gold pieces. "Name's Podarces. There's payment up front for you; forty coins in gold and sixty once you make your next harbor. And yes, I am alone."
Both the captain and first mate raised their eyebrows and glanced at each other. Then the captain glanced more suspiciously at the stranger. "You sure can pay well. Why not take a passenger ship where you want to go?"
Podarces grinned, ready for that question, yet having no intention of telling the captain his true reasons. "I already checked them, but they sail slow and every one of them's the same. I wanted somethin' speedier and more spirited. Your ship looked exactly like what I was wantin'. I can afford to pay what I promise, if it's a concern."
Taking the pouch, the captain weighed it in his hand. He tossed it up and down a little thoughtfully. "Look." He said. "If you can stay outta the way, I can take you to next port for this and what you promised. Those sixty pieces. But only if you mind your own affairs. Settled?"
The stranger nodded. "It is for me. And just to show you I can pay what I promised," once more he reached into his bag and showed an open bag of coin to the captain. "I tell you no lies."
The captain nodded. "You surely do not. Well then, I'll instruct someone to make a space for you and we'll be off in about two hours. Be ready and aboard by then."
Podarces shouldered his bag again. "I am ready now. If you'll let me, I'll just wait here." He leaned on the railing on the ship. "Out of the way?"
Both captain and first mate shrugged and let him be from then on. He watched as the men went back and forth, as the captain and first mate gave orders and noted what they had on board and as other men prepared the ship for departure. Still in port, there wasn't much roll or pitch, but the stranger found himself gripping the rail a little harder. He'd never been on the sea, and only came here now that the land for miles about was far too hot for him to remain in. King's men looking for him in every place he'd been sighted and tall bounties had been placed on his head to encourage others to pit themselves against his strength and wit. Yet he had escaped. And come to a completely foreign environment where he needed to relearn balance.
Once the ship was at last ready, a sailor took him down to his "space", which happened to be among some of the more solid cargo. "Valyble's these here things, an' valyble's yerself, so here's yer berth."
Podarces settled down in the rather cozy space, if a little crowded, and waited until the sailor was gone before checking his bag. He laughed to himself as he pulled out a beautiful crimson cloak, neatly folded, a small pouch of potions and a golden crown, carefully wrapped in red velvet cloth. "Wonder how long it'll take the soldiers to guess I left 'em castoffs."
Once he'd seen everything was in order and undamaged, Technoblade repacked it and settled back against the wooden wall of the cargo compartment. He had a fair idea, partially through experience, that his flight would soon be discovered, or at least that he'd made his way to the docks. But no one would be able to catch him once on the open sea...save pirates. They had the fastest ships, or so it was said, of any that sailed on the ocean, which made them the bane of many. Kings and emperors, governors and lords, anyone who lived by the sea, had put their shipbuilders to work trying to outpace the pirates, but rumors spread of how every good ship was seized, or that the sea favored pirates like her children. Only the brave went far out of protected waters these days.
Technoblade opened his eyes and gazed at the ceiling. His plan counted on one of two events happening during the voyage: either the captain would live up to his reputation for speed and reach his port sooner or pirates would get bold and attack the ship. In either case, he would find yet another way to disappear. He was hoping for pirates, though. Finding his footing among strange, hostile people was something he was good at, especially as he was just as capable of being violent himself. As for what might happen to the ship's crew, he didn't give much thought to it. Either they would live or they would die, and they would face the exact same situation whether he was with them or not.
He soon learned why people who'd lived on the land their whole lives thought the normal roll of a ship meant a storm was passing through. The vessel swayed from side to side every second of every hour he was awake, the timbers creaked and groaned with each movement; Technoblade gripped the edge of a box and wished the sea would just be calm. And then he realized, it might very well be what sailors referred to as "calm".
"If there's a storm," he muttered to himself, "what the heck is that going to be like?" He saw momentary pictures in his mind of the entire ship capsizing, pitching so much she just turned over slowly on her side and sank. He shivered. And remembered he couldn't swim very well.
Soon he began paying more attention to the sounds above him, of the thudding and thumping of rapid footsteps, the muffled voices as officers or sailors cried to each other, the weird whistling, thundering sound he eventually realized was the wind. It helped a little, to concentrate on something else, but the hours dragged. He was glad he had brought his own food and his journal. Which he had forgotten until now. Heaving a sigh, he drew it from his bag. This, his pencil, and a knife with which to sharpen the pencil were the last things he'd packed. His sack was not big.
Opening the journal, he flipped past his previous entries and found the latest blank page. All the entries were in his mother tongue, which no one even knew had a written script; this kept his secrets safe from prying eyes. Technoblade made sure his pencil was sharp, and then began his first entry on the sea.
⅖/¹¹³⁹
Eluding the king's men proved easier than expected, but they'll be coming after me as soon as they figure out I've slipped to the sea. For now, I am beyond their reach, but for how long? If the captain I sail with makes port successfully, I am at risk again, for the nearest land's monarch will like me no more than the sop I last visited did. At the moment, pirates are my biggest hope, for though their lives are rough and they can be quite vicious, they do not answer to any land's king. Their world will be my best refuge until I can return to my work. For now, I must wait and be patient; they may attack, and if they do, I can find a way aboard their ship, by whatever means necessary. That may include losing this journal though....But it can't be helped. For now, all I can do is wait and hope.
"Well, that didn't take long." Technoblade muttered, shutting the book and sliding it back into his bag. He closed his knife and fit it and the pencil in with the book, then closed the bag's mouth. "I'd better find somethin' to do with my mind," he told himself, "or I'm goin' to go nuts down here."
Eventually he decided to risk questions and peep out on deck. He could always put them off or give vaguely satisfactory answers, if he was asked anything about himself. He crossed the room the where the stairs stood, rough, wooden things with no actual railing. Stepping up them, he came out into a suddenly cleaner, colder air that at once chilled and enlivened him. Technoblade looked around. The sailors were...busy, it seemed, but he was not familiar enough with ship matters to understand their labor. But he could see a place, at the back of the ship, where he could sit and watch the sea without being in the way. Probably. No one spoke to him as he made his way past them, though more than a few glanced up to see who was walking by. Technoblade skirted the last sailor and climbed the four little stairs to the back deck, somewhat raised from the rest of the ship, like the front, and looked out upon the open water.
The sight of slow, grey-blue waves rippling the entirety of the sea that spread away before his eyes as far as they would reach in every direction took his breath away. A long cry from rambling cities and the never-ending current of citizens. It was almost as if he and everyone on this ship had suddenly become alone in the world, and now floated upon a vast spread of water, from which anything could come. "The primordial seas..." he murmured, though in his people's myths, the seas had been ones of fire.
The sea wind, so salty he could actually taste it, breathed cool upon his face. He hastily undid the ponytail, letting the breeze play with his hair, and enjoyed the feel of it for a few minutes. No city had given him this peculiar sense of freedom before. "Hush," he whispered to himself, "not yet. Not quite yet."
Footsteps clunked up the stairs behind him, snapping him out of his thoughts. Technoblade turned to see the first mate also looking over the sea. Technoblade wondered if the man ever got tired of the view or if he was one of those too entranced by it to ever really leave it. Then the first mate spoke to him. "Take all the time up here you can, sir, for eventually you may be wantin' to stay below."
"Storm comin'?"
"Nah." the sailor replied, looking forward. "Cap'n's got plans for a course that'll get us to port faster, but we may run across some pirates." A quick grin flashed over his face. "You don't want to be above deck then, sir." And, with a nod, he was off again.
Technoblade frowned. In a sense, he'd just heard good news, but the man's grin threw him off. Was he just not afraid of pirates? Or was he laughing at Technoblade, thinking him someone easily frightened? And why was the captain changing course? Did he want to get attacked? Puzzled, Technoblade glanced once more around the ship. It still looked like an ordinary cargo ship, to his untrained eyes, at least. A doubt, along with a tiny seed of fear, began taking form in Technoblade's heart as he glanced back out to sea.
"Did I get on the wrong ship?"