Excerpt from Sinner Sharpe

A taste of the new fantasy world I’m conjuring!

Like the title says, here’s a somewhat brief excerpt of the new fantasy I’m writing.

Some explanation before we jump into it:

I started writing this series several years ago, after getting inspired by Glen Cook’s THE BLACK COMPANY series. I wanted to write about a swashbuckling mercenary who has the job of a lifetime, I just couldn’t get the stakes right.

If you were a patron of mine, then you know all about Sinner Sharpe and how it went from strictly a pirate fantasy adventure to a vampire-infested pirate…horror adventure.

You see, I was stuck on it for years — unable to get past Chapter 1. Literally the other night/morning, I buckled down and went back to it now that I’m free of THE DARK WORLD’s grip on me (until editing starts…), and this is just a bit of what I came up with:

“What brings you men to Battle Port Bay?”

Not a one opened their mouth to respond, but I did not relinquish my stare.

And it was clear no one would speak. About several minutes passed before anyone made an utterance, and it was a big-eyed bastard right next to me that did so. Son of a bitch coughed.

Ignoring the bits of phlegm and spit that flew onto my hand, I let a stirring of harsh words settle in my throat before I spoke. “I’m looking for men for a little job. The pay is handsome enough but you won’t be promised your lives.” This clearly got their attention for the slew of ‘em started to squirm interestedly in their seats.

“What’s this job?” one fresh-faced individual barked over his cup.

I stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide if he was just that stupid or if he truly had no idea what to ask when a man offered a job.

As I stared into his baby blue eyes, I decided it had to be the latter. Well shit, these men were new to this life after all.

I forced myself to keep my eyes off Dagger as I rethought their significance. Aw hell, it couldn’t hurt to train ‘em—show them the ropes. I eyed the way they sat in their chairs, some ready for a fight, others waiting with bated breath to hear my next words. Didn’t have much to lose in taking them on.

After all, who’s counting a million gold pieces?

The dagger under my spit-covered hand was cold—always a good sign. I pressed a finger against the silver blade and allowed my mind to cool. I could feel it in my bones, then.

Promise.

“I’ve been commissioned to secure a prince in the south,” I said.

All ears perked up, brows rising with their disbelief. One of ‘em, a fresh cut along a jagged cheek said seriously, “Now that’s dangerous. Royalty’s untouchable cargo, mister. What’ll make it worth our lives to help you secure this prince?”

I didn’t lose my cool as I stared at this individual for a long moment, the words rising to my lips. “Gold. A million pieces.”

I didn’t say anything else as I let these words settle in their ears. It was clear it got their attention, for they all sat up, not a gaze traveling elsewhere. “You shitting me?” one of them whispered as if to speak any louder would tell him I was indeed shitting him.

Another man raised a hand from across the table as if to still the one who’d just spoken, and with a gruff voice, he said, “How can we trust you? You gotta ship? A name?” The others sank back into their chairs with his words, realizing that I had given them nothing to warrant coming with me at all.

Backtracking, I began again, “Name’s Sinner Sharpe,” (this raised no alarm from them at all; I scowled wondering if I hadn’t made a mistake), “ship’s, The Bloody Sinner, and you can trust me by reputation.”

They all sat, some mouths agape, as they processed these words, then one slowly started. “Ah yeah, you’re that crazy guy—the one with all the fancy weapons and some such.” He blinked rapidly, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Sinner Sharpe…yeah, I’ve heard of you. You stole Dranna Gethgil’s painting some months ago, heard you scored half a million gold pieces with that job.” At his words the others nodded some more, seemingly coming around to me and where they’d heard my name.

“Didn’t know you were Othrillian, though,” one muttered underneath his breath.

“Aye,” I said, unable to keep the bite out of my voice. “I am Othrillian,” and I pressed a fist against the worn leather of the vest that covered my bare chest. My dark skin beneath was lined with scars here and there of battles nearly lost. Their eyes traversed them with wonder. “Will that be a problem for anyone here?”

I waited.

Othril people, my people, were not known that much in this part of the world. I left Othril what feels millennia ago to forge a new life for myself. I was not suited to their diplomatic ways. Not suited to the lavish decadence and parties thrown in the King and Queen’s honor every month. I was, however, suited to killing, as I’d learned when the Arkcanians from the west attacked and killed said King and Queen and many of my people. I killed their killers—as many as I could—and left. Nothing for me there.

But here, I reminded myself, as I stared at their wide-eyed inexperienced faces, there was gold.

Finally, one of them said, “Sorry, sir, I just didn’t realize Othrillians still existed.”

I moved a thick black loc from in front of an eye. “Is that what they tell you in your schools?” I asked, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. I was used to incredulity when I tell people what I am. Never hurts any less when met with it, though.

Some nodded while others continued to stare at me in wonder.

I let a small smile settle on my lips. Still, they knew of me. They’d learn of my not-so-friendly ways later. I didn’t get a chance to say a word before Dagger was at my back, his low words in my ear, “Satisfied, Sin?”

Hardly. Straightening up, I gestured a hand to the man behind me and said, “This here’s Dagger, my right hand. Any questions you have can be directed toward him. As of right now, we have to set sail…so if you’re ready to join say so now and we can begin instead of wasting words. You already know the essentials, anything else you’ll learn on the way.”

I could see there were other questions they wanted to ask, the shadow of how long they’d be away settled in-between their eyes, but no one said a word. It wasn’t ‘till the man with the cut against his cheek stood that anyone followed his lead.

Once they were all standing, I felt Dag smile. “Come along little doggies,” he said in his best teasingly sing-song voice. With his low voice it came out sounding immensely disturbed: an old puppeteer holding fresh strings not yet attached to their puppets. This wasn’t lost on any of the men as they traveled around the table and shook off their bemused expressions. None of ‘em were entirely sure what they’d gotten themselves into.

It was just where I needed ‘em.

I nodded to the patron behind the bar and she flashed me her prettiest smile before I turned for the door, following in their footsteps. I promised myself when I came back, I’d spend some time with that one.

*

The gray sky swirled above our heads warning us of a coming storm but I knew neither Dagger nor I would bat an eye ‘till the storm actually came. It was because of this that I kept to my duties, pulling the rope down to raise the mast. My arms burned with the pull, but I turned my thoughts from it. I wouldn’t cease my work until the black sail was fully erect.

I thought, instead, abou this job. I’d had time while Dagger had scared the new recruits into submission, to go over the finer details the conniving Yessup Rowe had shared with me back in the bustling city of Tergine.

The target was a Prince Augutus Ian Caleb of Moorton. I’d never heard of ‘em, but Yessup seemed convinced I was the only man for the job. He’d prattled on about how this prince must be stopped—killed—at whatever cost. Hence the score. No one would ever give a million gold pieces for a job. The most anyone was documented receiving was a Fierian from the golden lands of Viyfor. And Fierians are known for their cunning and wiles. They were a gifted race of long-limbed beings who, while beautiful, were deadly because of their voices. Let them sing to you—hell, let them whisper in your ear, and you’re roadkill. Theirs to do with as they please. They make damn easy assassins.

Yet I wondered why conniving Yessup didn’t just hire one of them. Asked him as much.

He’d said it was because this prince couldn’t be spoken to—reasoned with. That the land the prince lived in was swathed in a darkness so thick and strange, the magical nature of a Fierian wouldn’t work.

I’d never heard anything like it.

Then again, I’d never been this far south before.

I’d seen my fair share of unexplainable things with my ledger of jobs behind me. Didn’t have much time for any of it to reach my mind though. I’d been promised riches, gold, power beyond my wildest dreams with my targets’ own tongues right before I’d killed them. I knew it was all empty promises. Scared words of dying citizens.

But it was what old Yessup had said about this land as I’d perused the words I’d jotted down in my Black Book.

Dark land. Shadows everywhere. Can’t see. Monsters.

Monsters. Hm.

Now, I’d faced every kind of man beneath the sun. Never faced anything one could call a monster though. Destructive people, yes. Monsters, like from fairytales and such? No.

But that’s what Yessup kept whispering when I would ask him to explain what he meant.

“Prince Caleb. A monster. Must be stopped. Must be killed.”

I’d put it out of my mind when I left Tergine, and set off to my favorite country to regroup and find new recruits. The only place that exists for mercenaries and assassins—Polan. A country filled to the brim with what other countries would call ne’er-do-wells and brutes.

It was the only place I would ever consider home.

Besides my ship, of course.

I was pulled from my thoughts when a newer voice I didn’t fully recognize yet called to me from somewhere off The Bloody Sinner.

“Cap’n—Cap’n Sharpe!”

“Aye?!” I called. I took a deep breath and heaved one last time, pulling the black flag to full mast. I took a moment to admire its billowing and rubbed my arms free of soreness. I stepped across the dark wood and peered over the side of the ship.

I laid eyes on the big-eyed recruit who’d hacked his spit on my hand yesterday. Next to him was a burly man, his skin pale yet ruddy, and a black mustache curled over his mouth. He gripped tight his thick coat as a large wind blew past. It smelled greatly of water. Storm was not even two hours away.

“Hullo there, Mister Sharpe,” this man said, squinting up at me. My back was to the sun. “I’m Augustus Gray, dockmaster at Battle Bay Port of Polan. I noticed you arrived but two weeks before and as you’ve given no notice of your departure to my offices,” he gestured a thick hand toward a building further down the street, “I’ve come to collect your overstay payment.”

“There’s no need for payment, Augustus,” I called back, “me and my men are but two minutes from leaving. Let us just pull up our anchor and we’ll be out of your…hair.” I lingered on this word for the man was bald.

My new recruit stifled back a chuckle and I smiled. I gestured for him to get back on the ship and once he was aboard, I welcomed his assistance in pulling up the board used to climb on. At our action, the man named Augustus bristled, begging our attention with waves of large hands. It was in vain, however, I had long since turned my thoughts to the men tying down chairs, boxes. I lifted up the chain that held the large anchor, ignoring Mr. Gray’s harried voice.

We were ready to set sail and I’d let nothing stop me.

Dagger was at the helm, hands gripped tight around the wheel prepared to turn it out of port at my word. But before I gave it, I stared at the tall mountains in the distance cutting the dark waters from spreading out further along the horizon and thought of gold, of scared princes, and of lands not seen.

A storm cloud rumbled far over the mountains’ tall heads and I eyed Dagger. His hands were still atop the wheel, waiting for my word. I gave him a slight nod and he turned it.

I felt the ship stir to life beneath my feet, watched as a few men lost their footing, and thought of them gaining their sea legs.

“Brace yourselves if you must,” I called to the ship at large, as we headed toward the mountains and the storm in turn. The dark waters moved aside for my creation obediently. I knew it would not be long before the waters began to get choppy and the storm caused the waters to rise, the waves to crash upon the ship’s surface, but I would deal with that, as I did all things, when it came.

Let me know what you think in the comments below!

Until next time,

With Blood and Love,

I’m S.C. Parris