The Tithe of Captain Thorne

The Sinking Serpent smelled of dead fish and alive men. It was a thick scent that stuck to the back of the throat. The open air deck was crowded. Sailors from the Drifting Reach shouted over the noise of the harbor below. They slammed heavy pewter mugs onto the scarred wood tables. The sound was a constant drumbeat that matched the slap of the waves against the pilings.

I stood behind the bar. I wiped down the oak with a rag that was grey with use. My single eye scanned the room. I watched for trouble. Trouble usually looked like a Skaldvin raider with too much ale in his belly or a merchant who thought he could cheat on the tab.

Tonight the trouble looked different.

The crowd parted near the stairs. It was not a violent shove. It was a quiet retreat. Men stepped back. They made a wide path for the man who climbed onto the deck.

Captain Elias Thorne.

He was a legend in Port Sunder. He was the master of the Gilded Wake. He was the man who had sailed into the Great Gale and come out the other side with dry cargo. He usually walked with his chest out and a laugh ready on his lips. He usually wore blue coats that cost more than my tavern.

Tonight he looked like a ruin.

His coat was heavy. It hung on him like a wet shroud. His beard was matted. His eyes were deep pits of shadow. He did not look at the other captains who nodded to him. He did not look at the sunset burning the water red. He looked only at the floorboards in front of his boots.

He walked to the bar. The wood groaned under his step. He gripped the edge of the counter. His knuckles were white.

I tossed the rag into the bucket. I leaned forward.

"Elias," I said. "You look like you wrestled a kraken and lost."

Thorne did not smile. He did not look up. He stared at the grain of the wood.

"Rum," he said. His voice was a rasp. It sounded like a hull grinding on a reef. "The dark stuff. Leave the bottle."

I reached under the bar. I pulled out a bottle of Blackout Cane. It was thick and smelled of molasses and regret. I slammed it down in front of him. I set a clean glass beside it.

"On the house," I said. "You look like you need it."

Thorne pulled the cork with trembling fingers. He poured the glass full. He lifted it to his lips but he did not drink. He just held it there. He breathed in the fumes.

"Magda," he whispered. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

I snorted. "I run a tavern on the docks Elias. I have seen things that would turn a priest into an atheist. I believe in what I can see. I believe in gold. I believe in a sharp blade. Ghosts are just memories with bad timing."

Thorne lowered the glass. He turned his head. He looked at me with eyes that were full of terror.

"I see them," he said. "I see them every time I close my eyes. The crew. The boys. Ten years Magda. Ten years they have been waiting."

The tavern had gone quiet near the bar. The sailors nearby leaned in. They smelled a story. They smelled fear on a man who was supposed to be fearless.

"Waiting for what?" I asked.

Thorne took a sip of the rum. He winced.

"For the bill," he said. "The bill always comes due."

He poured another glass. He drank this one fast. The liquor seemed to settle him. He leaned back against the bar. He looked out at the harbor. The ships bobbed in the evening tide.

"It was the Gale," Thorne said. "You remember it."

"I remember," I said. "It took the roof off the Serpent. It smashed the sea wall. We found bodies in the streets for a week."

"It was worse on the water," Thorne said. "It was not a storm. It was hate. It was pure hate made of wind and water."

He ran a hand through his matted hair.

"We were three days out from the Azure Coast. The sky turned green. Not black. Green. Like a bruise. The wind stopped first. The sails went slack. The ocean went flat. It was quiet. Too quiet."

"The calm before," I said.

"No," Thorne shook his head. "It was the breath before the scream. Then it hit us. The first wave was fifty feet high. It smashed the bow. I heard the wood scream. I heard the mainmast snap like a twig."

He looked into his glass.

"My first mate was a good man. Silas. He had a wife in the Upper City. Two girls. I saw him go. The wave took him. He did not scream. He just looked at me. He looked surprised. Then he was gone. Just foam."

I stayed silent. The tavern was silent now too. Even the Skaldvin in the corner had stopped their shouting. They listened to the legend speak of his nightmare.

"We fought it," Thorne continued. "We fought for hours. But the ocean did not want a fight. It wanted a feast. The rudder sheared off. The pumps failed. We were taking on water fast. I stood at the wheel. I lashed myself to the column. The water rose up around my waist."

He paused. He gripped the glass tight.

"I was alone Magda. The crew was gone. Swept away. Crushed. I was the only one left. I looked out at the dark. The waves were mountains. I saw the face of death in the foam. It was cold. It was so cold."

"You survived," I said. "You brought the ship back."

"I did not bring it back," Thorne whispered. "I was sent back."

He turned on the stool. He faced the room but he did not see the patrons. He saw the storm.

"I was afraid. I admit it. I was a coward in the face of the deep. I did not want to die. I did not want to sink into the black and be forgotten. I screamed. I screamed at the wind. I screamed at the waves."

"What did you say?" I asked.

Thorne looked at me. His face was pale.

"I begged," he said. "I offered a trade. I said Give me breath. Give me life. I will pay. I will pay any price."

He took a shuddering breath.

"And the wind stopped."

A chill went through the room. The air on the deck felt suddenly cold.

"It stopped?" I asked.

"Instant," Thorne said. "The waves flattened. The clouds opened. The moon came out. It shone on the water. It was silver. Beautiful and terrible. The ship stopped rolling. The water in the hold receded. It defied reason. It defied nature."

He looked at his hands.

"I stood there. Lashed to the wheel. Alive. The only one. I heard a voice Magda. It was not in my ears. It was in my blood. It was in the marrow of my bones."

"What did it say?" I asked. My voice was low.

Thorne closed his eyes.

"It said Ten years. You have ten years. Then you belong to the tide."

He opened his eyes. They were wet.

"I thought I was mad. I thought it was the fear talking. I sailed home. You remember when I docked. The Gilded Wake was battered but whole. My hold was full of silk and spice. I was rich. I was a hero."

"You were," I said. "They threw a parade."

"They cheered a corpse," Thorne said. "I have been dead for ten years Magda. I have been walking around and eating and drinking but I have been dead. Every night I dream of the water. Every night I hear the waves. They whisper to me. They count the days."

He poured another drink. The bottle was half empty.

"I tried to pay early," he confessed. "I threw gold into the sea. I threw jewels. I hired priests to bless the ship. I never went back to the deep water. I stayed on the coast. I thought I could cheat it. I thought I could hide."

He laughed. It was a broken sound.

"You cannot hide from the ocean. It touches every shore. It waits."

He looked at the pocket watch he pulled from his coat. The glass face was cracked. He stared at it.

"Today is the day," he said. "Ten years to the hour. The sun set ten years ago when I made that deal. And the sun just set now."

He put the watch away. He looked at the crowd.

"I made it ashore," he said loud enough for the room to hear. "But the sea never lets go."

The sailors shifted uneasily. They touched the charms around their necks. They looked at the dark water of the harbor. They sensed the weight of his words. They sensed that something had walked onto the deck with Captain Thorne. Something that was not going to buy a drink.

"You are safe here Elias," I said. I tried to sound sure. "You are on dry land. The Serpent is solid. No waves can reach you here."

Thorne looked at me. He smiled. It was a sad expression.

"Look at my boots Magda."

I looked down.

A puddle of water had formed around his feet. It was not spilled rum. It was clear water. It seeped from the leather of his boots. It dripped from the hem of his dry coat.

"The tide is rising," Thorne whispered. "And I am the shore."

He drained his glass. He set it down with a click.

"I just wanted one last drink," he said. "One last taste of something that is not salt."

I looked at the puddle. It grew larger. It trickled toward the edge of the deck. I smelled the brine. It was sharp and overpowering.

"Elias," I said. "Go home. Go to the temple. Find a priest."

"Too late for priests," Thorne said. "The collector is already here."

He turned his head toward the stairs.

I followed his gaze.

A figure stood at the top of the stairs. He wore a long grey coat that dripped water. He had no face that I could see clearly. Just shadow and the glint of eyes that looked like tide pools.

The crowd did not see him yet. But Thorne saw him. I saw him.

"Part one," Thorne muttered. "The bargain is done."

He turned back to the bar. He gripped the wood until his fingernails dug in.

"Pour me another Magda," he said. "He walks slow. But he never stops."

I reached for the bottle. My hand shook. I poured the rum.

The sun was gone. The lanterns flickered. The shadows on the deck grew long and dark. And the smell of the deep ocean filled the Sinking Serpent.

"Tell me I was a good captain," Thorne said softy. "Lie to me Magda. Please."

"You were the best Elias," I said.

He nodded.

"Good," he said. "Hold on to that. Because what comes next will not be pretty."

The stranger in the grey coat took a step forward. The wood darkened where his boot touched.

The storm had arrived. And it was not made of wind this time. It was made of consequences.

***

The Stranger moved through the tavern like a shadow passing over deep water. He did not shove the patrons aside. He did not have to. The crowd parted by instinct. Men who would fight a troll with a broken bottle stepped back and pressed themselves against the railing. They clutched their amulets. They averted their eyes.

The silence spread outward from him. It killed the laughter. It killed the music. It left only the sound of his boots on the wood.

Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.

He left a trail of dark wet footprints on the dry deck. They smelled of stagnant tide pools and deep trench rot.

Captain Thorne did not turn around. He stared at his reflection in the empty glass. He knew what was coming. His shoulders hunched as if he prepared for a blow.

The Stranger reached the bar. He did not look at me. He did not look at the crowd. He sat on the stool next to Thorne.

The wood did not groan under his weight. He seemed to weigh nothing at all. Or perhaps he weighed too much for the wood to register.

He placed his hands on the bar. They were pale. The skin was wrinkled and white like fingers that had been submerged for days. He wore a ring on his left hand. It was not gold. It was a piece of black coral carved into a circle.

"Elias," the Stranger said.

His voice was not loud. It was soft and relentless. It sounded like the hiss of foam sliding back down a beach.

Thorne flinched. He gripped his glass until it cracked.

"Who are you?" Thorne whispered. He refused to look at the man.

"You know who I am," the Stranger replied. "I am the contract. I am the signature. I am the end of the ten years."

"I paid," Thorne said. His voice rose in panic. He turned to face the pale man. "I paid! I lost the cargo on the Jade Star. I lost three men to the fever in the Southern Isles. I have not slept a full night in a decade. Is that not enough?"

The Stranger turned his head.

I saw his face for the first time. It was handsome in a terrible way. His eyes were the color of a winter storm. They were grey and flat and held no pity.

"You paid interest Elias," the Stranger said. "You kept the account open. But the principal is due. The Sea does not haggle. It collects."

I stood frozen behind the bar. The air around the Stranger was freezing. Frost began to creep up the side of the rum bottle.

The Stranger looked at me. His eyes bored into mine.

"Pour," he commanded.

I did not want to. Every instinct in my body screamed to run. But my hand moved on its own. I grabbed the bottle of Blackout Cane. I poured a measure into a clean glass. The amber liquid hissed as it hit the cold glass.

The Stranger lifted the glass. He held it up to the dying light.

"To the bargain," he said.

He drank. He swallowed the rotgut rum without blinking. He set the glass down. It was empty. But when he exhaled the smell of brine washed over me.

Thorne stared at the empty glass. He looked desperate.

"I can change the terms," Thorne pleaded. He grabbed the Stranger’s sleeve. "Take the ship. The Gilded Wake. She is the fastest hull in the Reach. She is worth a king’s ransom. Take her. Sink her. Just let me stay."

The Stranger looked at the hand on his sleeve. A patch of damp mold began to spread across the blue wool of Thorne's coat where they touched.

"We have ships," the Stranger said. "We have the Golden Hinde. We have the Sun Chaser. We have every ship that ever dared the crushing dark. We do not need wood and canvas Elias. We need the breath you stole."

Thorne pulled his hand back. He looked at the mold spreading on his cuff. He looked at the tavern.

He realized the Stranger would not be moved. He realized money meant nothing to a thing that owned all the gold in every shipwreck.

Thorne stood up. He spun around to face the crowd. His eyes were wide and wild.

"Boys!" he shouted. "Help me! You know me! I am Elias Thorne! I bought the first round after the Harvest Festival! I hired you when the Guild would not!"

The tavern remained silent. The Skaldvin raiders looked at their boots. The merchants studied their maps. Even the dock whores stepped back into the shadows.

"Jonas!" Thorne pointed at a burly mate near the fire. "I saved your leg when the rigging snapped! Stand with me!"

Jonas turned away. He would not meet the Captain's eyes.

"Do not look at them," the Stranger said from the stool. "They are the living. You are not one of them anymore."

Thorne stumbled back against the bar. He looked isolated. He was a man standing on an island that was sinking fast.

"I am alive!" Thorne screamed. He pounded his chest. "I breathe! I feel! I am not dead!"

The Stranger swirled the remaining drop of liquid in his glass.

"You are a corpse that forgot to lie down," the Stranger said. "Ten years ago you drowned Elias. You just refused to accept it. We gave you time to say your goodbyes. But you spent the time building a fortune you cannot take with you."

Thorne turned back to the bar. He grabbed the bottle. He needed courage. He needed to drown the voice of the Stranger.

He tilted the bottle up. He chugged the rum.

He gagged.

Thorne slammed the bottle down. He coughed. It was a wet hacking sound.

"It is salt," he gasped. He wiped his mouth. "Why is it salt?"

"The rum is rum," I said quietly. "The salt is in you Elias."

The Stranger stood up. He seemed to grow taller. The shadows stretched out from his boots and covered the floorboards. The temperature dropped another ten degrees.

"The tide is in," the Stranger whispered. "It is time to go home."

Thorne shook his head. "No. No!"

He grabbed his glass. He meant to throw it. He meant to smash it against the Stranger’s pale face.

He slammed the glass onto the bar.

Splash.

The glass did not shatter. The liquid inside erupted upward.

It was not amber rum. It was green seawater. It splashed over the rim and soaked the wood. A piece of black seaweed flopped out of the glass and lay steaming on the counter.

I stared at the seaweed. It moved. It curled like a dying worm.

Thorne stared at the glass. He backed away. He clutched his throat.

"I can't," he wheezed. "I can't breathe."

"You are not meant to breathe air Elias," the Stranger said. "Not anymore."

The Stranger took a step toward him.

"Ten years," the Stranger said. "Paid in full."

Thorne opened his mouth to scream but only a gurgle came out. He fell to his knees. The deck beneath him was suddenly wet. The dry wood was gone. He was kneeling in a puddle that smelled of the deep ocean.

The crowd gasped. They pressed back against the walls. They watched the legend of Port Sunder crumble.

I watched the Stranger. He did not touch Thorne. He did not have to. He just stood there and watched the debt collect itself.

The tavern faded away for Captain Thorne. I saw it in his eyes. The lights of the Serpent dimmed. The face of the Stranger blurred.

Thorne was back in the storm. And this time there was no one listening to his bargain.

***

Thorne hit the floorboards with a wet thud. He clawed at his collar. He tore the fine blue wool open to free his neck. He gasped for air but found only the memory of the ocean.

A wave of clear water erupted from his mouth.

It washed over the dry planks of the Sinking Serpent. It soaked the boots of the Skaldvin raiders who scrambled back in horror. This was not a trickle. It was a deluge. Gallons of brine poured from a man who had not touched the sea in a decade.

Thorne writhed. His back arched. His eyes bulged in their sockets. He looked at the ceiling of the open air tavern but I knew he did not see the stars. He saw the crushing dark of the trench.

"Help," he gurgled.

Bubbles foamed at his lips. A small green crab skittered out of his mouth and clattered onto the deck. It raised its claws in defense before scuttling into the shadows of the bar.

I stepped back. My hand gripped the mop handle until the wood creaked. I had seen stabbings. I had seen poisonings. I had seen men crushed by cargo crates. But I had never seen a man drown while the dust of the street was still on his boots.

Thorne rolled onto his side. He kicked his legs. He swam against the air. His movements grew sluggish. The water continued to flow. It pooled around him. It dripped through the cracks of the deck to join the harbor below.

The Stranger stood over him. He watched with the patience of a glacier. He did not smile. He did not frown. He simply witnessed the transaction.

"Ten years," the Stranger said. His voice cut through the gurgling sound of the dying man. "You had your time Elias. You spent it well."

Thorne reached a hand toward the Stranger. His fingers were pruned and white. He tried to grasp the hem of the grey coat.

The Stranger stepped back.

"Do not touch the debt collector," he warned. "Or the price goes up."

Thorne fell back. His chest heaved one last time. A final surge of water washed over the deck. It carried a tangle of black seaweed and the silver flash of a deep sea minnow.

The light faded from the eyes of Captain Thorne. He stared fixedly at the western horizon. He looked at the place where the sun had set.

He went still.

The silence in the Sinking Serpent was absolute. The wind died. The gulls stopped their crying. The only sound was the drip of seawater falling from the deck to the water below.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The Stranger nodded once.

"Paid in full," he said.

He turned his back on the corpse. He walked to the stairs. The crowd parted for him. They pressed themselves against the rail to avoid even the brush of his coat. He descended into the dark of the Lower Side and vanished into the fog that rolled off the water.

***

I looked at the body.

Captain Elias Thorne lay in a pool of ocean water. His fine coat was ruined. His legend was washed away. He was just a pile of wet meat on my floor.

I looked at the gold pouch he had slammed on the bar. It sat heavy and wet.

I walked out from behind the counter. My boots splashed in the brine. I picked up the gold. It felt cold. It felt like it had been sitting at the bottom of a wreck.

I looked at the terrified faces of the patrons. They needed a reason to stop staring. They needed a reason to forget that death could walk in and take a man without touching him.

"Show is over!" I shouted. My voice cracked the silence like a whip. "The Sea collected its due. Now I collect mine."

I tossed the heavy bag of gold to the stable boy hiding near the beer kegs.

"Get a cart," I ordered. "Take him to the tide line. Leave him there. Let the crabs finish the job."

I turned back to the room.

"Drinks are on the Captain," I announced. "Until the coin runs out."

The tension broke. It did not break with laughter. It broke with a desperate need for noise. The sailors cheered but the sound was thin. They rushed the bar. They demanded ale. They demanded rum. They demanded anything that would burn away the taste of salt in the air.

I poured the drinks. I filled the mugs.

But I kept one eye on the wet spot on the floorboards. I grabbed my mop. I started to push the seawater toward the edge of the deck.

I scrubbed hard. But I knew the stain would remain. The wood would remember. The salt would stay in the grain.

I looked out at the dark harbor. The waves lapped against the pilings. They sounded hungry.

Debt always finds you in Port Sunder. Sometimes it walks in the door. Sometimes it is already in your lungs waiting for the tide to turn.

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