Chapter 18 - A Chatty Captive

Wiesse bobbed along unceremoniously in the net carried on the back of the Dborin leader of the Shalayan Dervishes. They had been journeying a seemingly long time from where he had been captured and he idly wondered if his captors had been doing this intentionally so that he could not retrace the route. A rather moot point when he knew that the exchange was going to happen in a warehouse by the docks.

“You guys don’t talk much huh.” Wiesse said, twitchy from the silence.

“Hush!” came the tinny reply from within the confines of the armoured one.

Wiesse pondered if all other adventuring teams wandered the streets with this level of quiet efficiency and it was just his sub-par band of misfits that chuckled wildly about every little thing. He decided that he preferred his usual fair and that the Dervish’s were likely just a bit lame for being silent and grumpy. Also, the kidnapping thing put a bit of a downer on his view of them.

In spite of being bundled up in the net and bashing pendulously with each footfall against the Dborin’s solid muscular back. Wiesse had managed to find himself in a somewhat comfortable position, curled up almost foetal, he gave a wide yawn.

Seeing him casually yawn, the twin Impere who walked in tandem behind him shared an amused look and chuckled.

He peered back at them with a smile and raised eyebrow, “So, there are at least a couple of people in this band with a personality then?” he asked jokingly.

The back of the Dborin tensed slightly and Wiesse felt a shift as the Dervish’s leader went to turn back and scold him. The guttural grunt of a sentence forming in his throat, but it was stopped when one of the pale Impere responded, and he carried on walking without admonishing Wiesse or his cohort.

“You just seem so very confident and calm for a captive.”

“What can I say, I trust my friends and if they can’t save me what am I going to do? I figured if your boss doesn’t want to harm us I can’t be in that much trouble.” Wiesse finished the sentence with as close to a shrug as he could muster in his bindings, “Wait, you aren’t working for my old boss are you, circus strongman type, big moustache?”

The twins looked confused for a moment then shook their heads in unison, when they spoke, they took it in turns, seamlessly picking up from one another’s sentences

“No, our boss is nothing like that. He is kind and would not have you injured if it is not necessary.”

“Whilst he has a purpose with your friend that we cannot say, he has no need nor want to bring unnecessary attention to himself. Killing people in the acquisition of his… projects.”

“That would be considered unnecessary attention.”

Wiesse felt uneasy at the cryptic nature of their explanation but was relieved to learn that he and his friends were likely not in danger, he let out a sigh of relief and allowed himself to relax slightly more.

“It makes sense,” Wiesse said, “If you were working for my old boss, you would probably be after Ross and myself before Lichter. Unless he wanted to get the big tit out of the way first. Then again, you said your boss is kind, so that’s definitely not him.”

“You mentioned Ross, he was the one wearing Black, yes?” One of the Impere started.

“Are you two also twins, we’ve only met one other pair.” Finished the other.

Wiesse shook his head and let out a pensive ‘hmm’, “Nope, sorry. We’ve just always looked the same. It used to help a lot when we were acting together. We could fill in for the other one’s role or trick the audience with a disappear and reappear elsewhere trick, but if you look closely, you can see enough difference. But looking at you two, you really are identical, aren’t you?”

There was a forlorn expression mirrored on their faces that Wiesse had not been expecting but they went back to smiling as they responded.

“Well, you can tell Lettie, apart as she has a small mole on her neck, it’s at the back so you need to know to look for it.” Said the one on the right.

“And you can tell Lottie apart as she was cut and has a scar on one of her ears.” Responded the one on the left.

Wiesse unsure of how to answer gave a thumbs up from within his bundle, “So how did you two get mixed up with this lot then?” he eventually asked.

“Hush!” came a repeated tinny response from the heavily armoured Dervish. Until this conversation he had been the only person making any noise, huffing along in his hefty bell-shaped armour with raspy exasperated breaths.

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“Come now Hestor, he’s just asking questions.” Lettie said.

“Hestor is just grumpy as he wasn’t much help in the fight.” Lottie added.

“I will serve a purpose.” The one identified as Hestor defended. Wiesse could pick up the faltering pride in the man’s voice beneath the echoing metallic ring of his speech. He sympathised with Hestor slightly. Aware that his own attributions in the crew had been lacklustre and wanting.

“What’s your role?” Wiesse asked the armoured man in a bid to cheer him up.

“Role? I serve. That is my role.”

“Your team has roles?” Lettie asked, both of the twins clearly confused.

“Yea, of course. See Yerin, that small guy who hid on the rooftop. He is our tracker and map reader. Troit, man can that guy cook, he’s in charge of rations. Lichter is our muscle, Ross is kind of our leader and Felicity is only new in our midst but she’s doing good. I see her becoming our sort of voice of reason, always questioning stuff so we’re cautious.”

“What about you then, what’s your role?” Asked Lottie.

“Oh…” Wiesse said, “I Guess I’m just there to look pretty.” He said this with a laugh to punctuate his own joke, but none of his captors joined in with his humour.

After a near minute of silence the Roskin barked out a single hoot that could have been construed as a laugh.

“The Roskin thinks you are funny, little man.” The Dborin spoke, a curt snort of his own laughter breaking his visage as the cold steely silent leader.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, giving all that malarkey of not being able to speak the common tongue when you can easily speak. Talk about roles in teams, you guys have a translator for what, shits and giggles?”

The Dervish’s leader responded with a sentence in his native tongue and the interpreter cleared his throat, but did not translate the sentence directly for once, “He can only say certain phrases in the common tongue so avoids it when not apparent.”

“Only certain phrases?!” Wiesse cried out incredulously, “So he can tell me that the thrice damned shit-stained monkey man thinks I’m funny but can’t say, ‘hey I’d like to buy your fat arsed crocodile buddy please’, how is that apparent?”

Both Lettie and Lottie laughed with a far more casual ease and even a raspy titter came out of Hestor’s visor. Wiesse couldn’t be sure, but he was pretty certain he felt the Dborin’s back twitch in a silent laugh also.

The Roskin, aware somewhat that he was the object of conversation gave out another hoot and howl and his movements took on the erratic back and forth uncertainty Wiesse had seen him adopt when in front of Lichter.

“Huyan, that’s enough.” The burly fighter said, who was still nursing a bloodied nose from his tussle with Troit. He moved beside the Roskin and calmed him with a beefy hand placed on his friend’s slender shoulder.

They neared the dock Wiesse could tell. The humdrum of workers that fed in the rafts and hauled off cargo had been growing ever louder, but now it was punctuated with the sloshing of river tides against wooden crafts. The perpetrators of the ever-present gull squawking now visible to Wiesse, perched on rooftops and swirling in the sky. Utilizing the thermals to cut a circular route over the crates and boxes, desperately waiting on morsels of dropped or exposed food so they could swoop down and steal it.

From his limited vantage Wiesse noted that there were a fair few Warehouses along the dockside and he couldn’t help but think how any one of his friends was expected to know which one to find him in. But it was swiftly answered when the Dborin began giving orders through his translator.

“When we arrive, Hestor stands post out front. When they arrive invite them in. This is not to be a confrontation. Lettie, Lottie stand hidden inside either side of the door ready to ambush, should they treat it as though it is.”

Oh, they are going to be treating it as though it is buddy, Wiesse thought to himself. Fully aware that his friends were not the negotiating type.

“We are soon to find out if your friends are as competent as you think they are.” The translator said directly to Wiesse. With a level of bravado, he did not feel the former actor decided to flip off the runty man by way of response. It earned a laugh from the twins.

“It will be interesting to see what they do.” Lottie said.

“If they don’t come, then who knows, maybe you can join up with us.” Said Lettie.

The twins both smiled warmly and Wiesse got the impression they enjoyed a break in their usually dull day to day. The near eagerness Lettie had in her tone at the notion of him joining forces with their ranks made him suspect their other ‘project acquisitions’ one of them had earlier put it, did not have as much personal interaction.

But he had no plans to hang around.

“If I know my friends, I assure you, they’ll come. They are probably preparing some amazing plan right now.” He said.

-

Ross stood up from their huddled circle triumphantly, “That’s it, I’ve got it!” he said, fist to the air.

Felicity gesticulated wildly with excitement, “you have it, come on tell us?” she asked.

The black clad former actor smiled knowingly and nodded, looking at each of his companions in turn. “It’s so simple I don’t know why any of us didn’t think of it beforehand. Fool proof even.” He said confidence growing and showing in his demeanour.

“There is no way you have this down better than me Ross, this is my speciality. It’s what I do. You should all listen to me, or we’ll get this wrong.” Yerin argued.

Lichter skited his feet in excitement the way he did and scratched at his belly, “Now, now lets here what he has to say.”

“Three to one Yerin, I have this.” Ross said, he then rounded on Troit and addressed him with a pointed index finger. “It’s nutmeg, isn’t it?!”

Troit clapped together his hands in front of a broad smile, “It is indeed friend!”

The party erupted in a joyous and playful cheer and they each took another testing bite of their slices of apple pie that Troit had prepared.

“I was so sure it was cinnamon.” Yerin said whimsically dejected.

“It nearly had me to be fair, but damn is it good.” Ross put in, smugly devouring the last of his slice.

“This is delicious Troit, seriously.” Felicity concluded, “So, what are we going to do about Wiesse, any plans?” she asked.

“I don’t know… wing it?” Ross said to the group.

“Works for me.” Said Lichter.

“It’s what he would want.” Yerin added, “We can just figure it out as we go along.”