Not long ago I got my next writing assignment from NYC Midnight. I was horrified to see the genre was Fantasy, and the subject was Mutiny. The kicker for me was I had to include a character that was an Imitator. What the hell does that mean? I had eight days to write a 2500 word story using those guidelines, and I spent the first two days pouting and complaining about the cruel twist of bad luck that put me in group 151 with those rules. So I named a character Flamel the Imitator, but he did nothing to imitate anyone, in person or on stage. I hope I don’t get disqualified for failing to make my Imitator do anything remotely like duplicating. Maybe all I really needed was to include a photocopier in my story, but so few good fantasy stories occur in the modern office. I also picked a pretty dumb name for my story, in my opinion. I had been looking at it day and night for a week and I just wanted it to go away, and the lame title reflects that. Since a reader might wonder if the people get away, calling it “Getting Away” is almost like calling it “Spoiler Alert.” Anyway here it is (it is very long for this blog, so get yourself a drink.)
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Getting Away
The tall, lanky knight, Guillaume, and his fellow knight, the stocky red-headed Renaud strode the misty waterfront of Narbonne, surveying the harbour. They scanned all the ships, looking for the familiar white sail with the bold red cross. A few white sails were furled on their masts, but a quick investigation proved none to be Templar vessels. Without a ship from the Order, they would have to find another ride out of France.
The stronghold at Montsegur had been sacked and looted the day before. The knights escaped with their two pages. Flamel the Imitator, an alchemist and mystic, and Georges, the curator of artefacts from the castle, had joined them in their run to the coast. The armies of the Pope and Louis IX would be looking for them as soon as they discovered the relic missing. The attack on the castle had not been an attack on the Templars, but the Order knew what was concealed there and dispatched these knights to Montegur to keep it from the attackers.
“Well Renaud, it looks as though we don’t have an easy way out of here. Any thoughts?”
“Even if there was a ship from the Order, they would likely have been engaged in some shipping and had no time to waste on our troubles. We will have to hire a boat and crew.”
Guillaume spotted a small boat, a single-masted cog, rocking gently against the wharf with one occupant watching them intently. “Hello captain! I see you are not busily loading or unloading, would you be for hire? My fellow knight and our small entourage are in need of flight.”
“Never any good comes from dealing with you bullies. My crew just sailed from Antioch and they have ten days off at home before we depart again. It would need to be a substantial offer to lure my men away from their homes, and an extra bundle for the trouble you and those long swords are probably bringing along for the ride.”
“There would be no reason for us to invite trouble onto you or your crew. We do have an urgent matter that we must leave to attend to , but I assure you we can give you a fair price for passage to Valencia.”
“Valencia, eh? That would be two days each way plus a day to rest and feed there. That cuts my men’s time at home in half. I have a crew of four, so I think 100 deniers is a fair amount to pry my devout crew from their beloved families.”
“100 deniers?” Renaud interjected. “We simply want to leave France, not buy your boat and deck it with silver. 50 would be generous and fair.”
“100 is my price. Feel free to keep looking at other crews, but I know there is no one else for hire.”
The knights lowered their voices. “it’s too high, he clearly thinks because we wear the tunics of the Order our purses are bulging with coins,” Guillaume whispered.
“We have that and more, but I’m sure his mangy crew is laying with the local working girls or sleeping off wine in some gutter. Pious family men? Ha! He should go ask this crew of his. If my guess is right, they would love the extra pay and return to the gutter for five more days after the trip.”
Renaud summoned the curator into the discussion. “Georges, could you please walk the rest of the harbour and see if you can find anyone to hire for less. Your lack of Templar insignia may be of some benefit.”
He raised his voice again, “Say Captain, why don’t you at least go to your crew and tell them the offer. 60 deniers to Valencia, and we’ll throw in another 5 deniers each.”
“I’ll go and ask, I am a fair man. Come back before sunset and I will have their answer.”
The knights and their pages, Flamel, and two chests of luggage found a tavern nearby and ordered some fish soup and bread. Renaud nudged Guillaume and pointed to the back of the inn where the captain was shaking two drunks at a table. They laughed heartily. Family men indeed!
They saw Georges wandering around outside. Renaud’s page ran out and brought him into the tavern. “Well, Georges, did you find anyone else for hire?”
“No, everyone is very busy around here, they seem to think we had good fortune finding one boat.”
Georges and Flamel sat quietly. Georges vacantly stirred his soup, and the mystic leaned back with his eyes closed. As relieved as they were to escape Montegur with their lives, they knew most of their friends and neighbours had not been as fortunate.
“Why did you say Valencia?” Renaud asked, picking a large crumb out of his red beard.
“I thought picking somewhere not too far away might help our chances.”
“I see. Well the Catholic majesties of Spain will be more inclined to side with Louis on the Montegur business. I don’t expect a warm welcome there either.”
“We need only to get that boat away from land. We need to go a lot farther than Valencia to get the Grail safely hidden.” He took a quick look around to see if anyone nearby had heard his careless mention of the Grail, but was glad to see everyone was focussed on their own affairs.
Late in the afternoon they made their way to the waterfront. The captain was on his boat already, gathering sailing gear. “Hey Templars. My crew will take the offer of 60 plus 5 each. We can be ready by daybreak.”
Guillaume tried not to look too relieved. “Fine, my good man, we will see you then.”
They spent the night tucked in a cherry orchard between the trees. When the knights awoke, they were alone. They opened a chest and made sure the Grail was still there and intact. The pages returned shortly with some bread and fruit, and everyone gathered to eat. Light was spreading across the cloudless spring sky as they made their way to the docks, gulls screeching overhead. The Mediterranean was almost still.
“Good morning, travellers,” the captain said with more than a hint of sarcasm. He and three sunburnt but muscular men were readying the ship for sail. “We have enough food for you for the trip, but we’re not running a hotel here, so I hope you find sleeping in the hold to your satisfaction. Oh, and we’d like our money up front so there’s no funny business later. Luckily for you one of my men can’t make the trip, so you have just saved yourselves 5 deniers.”
Renaud’s page stepped forward and counted out 75 deniers on a barrel top. The captain scooped the coins up and handed a 5 to each man. The last of the provisions and cargo was hauled aboard and stored. Heavy ropes were unwound from the bollards and the ship eased away from the dock.
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There was very little talking. Flamel and Georges conversed quietly at the rear of the boat while the knights watched the water and the receding land to their right. The pages found a spot on the rear upper deck and played dice. The crew skilfully tacked the sail to manoeuvre the boat forward, but it was calm and progress was slow. Lulled by the gentle pitching of the ship and suddenly exhausted from the relief of being away from France, the knights gradually fell asleep on the deck benches.
In the early afternoon they awoke. Guillaume saw one of the sailors watching him. “Hey, how are we doing? Can you judge what progress we’ve made?’
“We’re still off the coast of France. There’s next to no wind. At this speed it will be at least three days to Valencia.”
“Thank you.” Guillaume stretched and decided to track down the mystic, finding it slightly unnerving to walk on the rolling deck. Flamel was still above deck, drinking in the beauty of his surroundings. “Say, mystic, is there anything you could do to speed this trip up a little?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He closed his eyes and lifted his arms to shoulder height, turning his palms to the sky. At once a strong breeze blew and those men standing stumbled to regain balance. The sail filled and the boat lurched ahead. They could hear the crew shouting to each other over the wind, suddenly busy after a sleepy morning of sailing. The captain came out from under his covered steering compartment and had a quick conference with his men. The bow of the boat crashed through white waves and spray soaked the decks. The boat bucked ahead, making it hard for the land dwellers to move around.
Guillaume smiled at Flamel. He made his way forward, holding the mast for support. The sailor he spoke to earlier was controlling the angle of the sail with ropes. “How about this wind? Are we making better time now?”
“Yes sir, this is much more work but a damn sight faster. If this holds up, we will be back in the tavern in Narbonne tomorrow night,” he said with a wink.
So the afternoon passed in commotion and haste. They passed an outcrop of rocks far to their right and the captain tilled the rudder slightly, changing bearing to almost due south, passing the traditional border of Spain. When the land fell away to the west, they cut toward it, hugging the coast at a safe distance. As night was falling they saw the lights of Barcelona ahead. The boat headed toward it but stopped in shallow water, furled the sails and dropped anchor for the night. Strangely for the crew, the winds abated abruptly. There were comfortable below deck cabins for the captain and crew, but the travellers retired to the hold. The floor was uneven and wet, and the cargo area was draughty and completely dark. They slept but not well, waking often to wonder if a noise was ship boards creaking against one another, or rats.
They awoke in a press of men. Everyone was tired and sore. It was before dawn on another clear day when they clamoured to the lower deck in their damp clothes, breath billowing around them. Soon the crew and captain appeared above deck with bread and cheese and everyone ate.
“We got lucky with a good tail wind yesterday, but today looks calm,” the captain mused. “We might make Valencia by nightfall if we get going soon. Barcelona is a nice town,” he said, waving a bun in its direction, “but we haven’t got time to be tourists today.”
The anchors were winched up and the sail was unfurled. It filled with cool air and the boat began to skim forward. Guillaume motioned Renaud to join him in private conversation on the front upper deck. “We have to make our move early so we can have some hours to run in case there’s trouble.” Renaud didn’t react, but he knew exactly what his fellow Templar was suggesting.
“We will need to recruit the help of at least a couple of the crew, unless you are suddenly a sailor.”
Guillaume nodded. “How many deniers do we have left? There’s a chance they could be paid to stay with us for a while.”
“My page is clutching the purse, but I would estimate we have perhaps 450 left. Enough for a fat bribe for a common sailor.”
“I have never dispossessed a man of his boat before, so you will have to help me. As a feisty redhead, this is more your type of action.”
The wind picked up a little as the morning passed. Flamel smiled to himself as he found the right gradual amount to increase the wind without almost knocking people over like the day before. Georges sat with the pages and told stories about his former home, and the pages taught him how to play chess from an ivory set from one of the chests. Meanwhile the two Templars waited uneasily.
Guillaume caught Renaud’s glance and nodded. It was time. He shouted to the sailors, “Come here now! We must speak.” The puzzled sailors gathered around them.
“We need to go a lot farther than Valencia, as I’m sure you have guessed. But we cannot sail a ship. Who among you is willing to remain with us through Gibraltar, and for what price?”
He saw the captain storming toward them. The knights drew their weapons. “You sir, have a choice to make. We are taking your ship, and you can steer ashore and survive, and we will pay you for your ship, or you can resist and we will feed the fish with your entrails. How do you choose?”
The captain panted angrily. “I knew you bastard thugs were no good! This boat is all I have in the world, but I would prefer to remain alive. Just know that if we ever cross paths again and you aren’t hiding behind a sword, I’ll serve your testicles to the harbour rats.”
“And you men?” Renaud said, “Who will stay to sail us through Gibraltar for 50 deniers, and who will wade ashore with your captain?” A young sailor stepped forward and spat in his face and was run through with Renaud’s sword and fell gasping on the deck. The other two sailors backed away.
” I will stay.” “I also.”
“Then get back at the sail and you the rudder. Captain, put that man in the water and stay where I can see you.” The dying man was rolled off the ship with help from the pages.
Guillaume instructed them to approach the shore. When they were close enough, they gave the captain 50 more deniers and made him jump. Swimming was difficult with pockets full of silver, but they watched him drag himself up the beach, miserable but alive for another day, and relatively wealthy.
Flamel raised his palms again and the ship skipped ahead at high speed. They had many hours to get ahead of whatever trouble the captain might try to unleash on them. They sailed south but moved slowly east as far from land as they could while remaining in sight. In the afternoon they passed the island of Ibiza which was level with Valencia, but they continued. The crew who remained cooperated with their new masters, and as poor sailors they were eager to work for owners with money. Guiding the ship was hard for two men, but they instructed the pages who were soon passably competent.
A day past Gibraltar they took advantage of the more Templar-welcoming nature of Portugal and ventured ashore in Lisbon for supplies. Flamel purchased a broken lead mold from a blacksmith shop which he would make chemically imitate gold for the journey. Hiding the Grail was still weeks away, but its safety was now almost assured.
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Well that was it. You probably needed that nap (or maybe you need one now.) My last two stories are both about violent French people from years gone by. I must be in a rut. I’m not crazy about the story at all, but I hope that I don’t get called upon to write anything like that again any time soon. I find out what the judges think of it in April, which is a long time to feel apprehensive about it.
