BACK TO FRASER'S FRACTURED FICTION

Fairy Gothmother

by A. Fraser
Part 2

© Copyright 2002 A. Fraser, et al. All rights reserved.

He pulled on the boots and looked over the other items available.

He was just buckling on the sword belt when someone pounded on the door.

"Cap'n! Sail off the starboard stern!"

Uh... starboard was right and the stern was the back end of a ship. Right?

"Order all hands on deck!" Alex called out. "I'll be right there." He had no 
idea if "I'll be right there" sounded sufficiently piratical, but he couldn't 
think of anything else.

It apparently satisfied the knocker, for he heard boots tramping off. He thrust 
the knives into his boot-tops, the pistols into the sword belt, and his tongue 
firmly into his cheek. He opened the cabin door and manfully strode toward the 
main deck.

He arrived just as an enormous swell took hold of the ship and swung it up and 
down precisely like one of those amusement park rides.

You haven't forgotten that Alex is a vampire, have you?

It's not entirely true that vampires can't cross running water. Like every other 
"fact" that's "known" about vampires, it depends on a number of factors. 
Bloodlines, the limitations of the individual vampire, the definition of 
"running water"; these all must be considered. Alexander came from an ancient 
and noble vampire bloodline. Unfortunately, it was an ancient and noble 
bloodline that had a little H2O problem. Add to this the fact that Alex hadn't 
been on a boat larger than a motor launch in nearly a century.

He had no time to take in little details like the size and type of ship he was 
on, the components of her crew, or even the fact that it was just barely dusk 
and a stiff nor'wester was making the sails billow and crack. Nor was there time 
to grab onto a handy non-moving object.

Six feet, four inches of Romanian vampire hit the deck. For the second time in 
less than half an hour, Alex's head connected painfully with a large amount of 
well-seasoned wood. The rest of his body suffered from the sudden impact, too, 
but he was too busy choking back vomit to notice.

"Cap'n?" There was a hand on his elbow, trying to help him up.

The ship groaned and creaked as another wave rocked her. Possibly it was Alex 
who groaned and creaked. With the assistance of the hand at his elbow (focusing 
his eyes was out of the question), he was able to get up as far as his knees. 
Hands clutching the damp, rough wool of his breeches, head down, black hair 
hanging limply over his eyes, he was scarcely the picture of a dashing, romantic 
figure. The wool prickled his palms. That peculiar odor was swirling around in 
his nose and the back of his throat, making his nausea worse.

"Cap'n?" The hand was trying to tug him to his feet. "The crew's awaitin' 
orders, Cap'n."

Ah, yes. The crew. They were probably on the verge of mutiny by now. Swallowing 
the acid reflux in his throat, Alex managed to stand up without throwing up.

Approximately twenty men, young, middle-aged and gray-haired, were standing on 
the deck, staring at him. Their ragged clothes were stained with salt rime, 
grease, blood and general grime. Many had matted, filthy hair. All except two 
young sprats had unkempt beards. The accumulated stench of them threatened 
Alex's hard-won equilibrium. 

They didn't look as if they'd break out into a chorus of "Come friends, who 
plough the sea" anytime soon.

Alex turned to look at the rest of the person whose hand had helped him up. He 
beheld a short, stocky, dark complexioned man with wild gray hair and beard. 
This creature was dressed in a too-small jacket that might have once been navy 
blue and what looked like the remnants of a plain white kilt. A jagged white 
scar divided his face into uneven fractions; part of his features seemed to be 
sliding off. He was lacking an eye, but hadn't bothered to disguise this fact. 
In fact, nearly all of the crewmembers seemed to have been mutilated in one way 
or another. Alex nervously did a mental check of his limbs and features; all 
intact.

"Okay, Noni, what the hell do I do now?' he muttered inwardly.

And he knew. Just like that.

"Mr. Jackson!" he barked.

The one-eyed mulatto saluted. "Aye, Cap'n?" Was that relief in his voice?

"Details on the ship approaching, Mr. Jackson!"

"She's a Spanish galleon, Cap'n, flying the royal ensign."

"Unescorted?"

"Aye, Cap'n."

Now Alex knew perfectly well that a ship flying the Spanish royal ensign would 
not be unescorted. He didn't know *how* he knew that, but there seemed to be an 
unprecedented pool of information in his mind, no doubt the interference of his 
fairy godmother. He took an unnecessary deep breath to steady his nerves and his 
stomach. That post-fireworks smell was stronger than ever.

"Mr. Jackson!"

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"Why do I smell gunpowder?" As soon as he said the word, he knew that was what 
he smelled. Not unusual on a fighting ship, of course, but not in that quantity.

There were sidelong looks being exchanged among the scurvy crew. The ship 
pitched on the rolling waves, but Alex managed not to pitch in the opposite 
direction. He was getting the hang of this. If only the ship didn't make quite 
so much noise! Sails cracking in the wind, timbers creaking, the slap of waves 
on the hull... wasn't sailing supposed to be quiet?

"Waters, Cap'n," said Mr. Jackson.

"Huh?" Alex blinked, drawn back to the situation at hand.

"Waters." Mr. Jackson's gnarled hand pointed out one of the two beardless boys. 
He looked about fourteen under the grime. "He broached a powder keg, Cap'n. It 
mostly went overboard, but some got into the deck."

Staring down, Alex could make out black grains embedded into the sun-and-salt 
bleached planks.

Oh, wonderful. They were in distinct danger of being fired on by the Spanish, 
and the entire deck was drenched in gunpowder. Well, he'd wanted a radical 
change, hadn't he?

Time to show this crew who was captain around here. "Come here, Waters," he 
snapped.

The boy blanched beneath his coating of dirt, but obeyed. He was tall and 
gangly, with what might have been blond or light brown hair and hazel eyes set 
in a thin, frightened face. "Cap'n?" he stammered, not daring to meet Alex's 
eyes.

"Is there any particular reason why you spilled gunpowder all over the deck, 
Waters?" Alex asked. Lightning flashed in his storm cloud eyes.

"No, Cap'n," Waters swallowed. "I was careless, Cap'n."

All eyes were on Alex, waiting to see what he would do.

It hadn't started out as a tsunami. Technically, it still wasn't one. But it was 
one hell of a big wave. The kind of wave that gives surfers either wet dreams or 
nightmares. It roared through the ocean, zeroing in on a pathetic little 
construction of planks and nails that called itself the pirate ship *Ravaged 
Maiden*.

Unable to maintain his newly discovered sea legs, Alex pitched right along with 
the ludicrously named ship. He slammed into the unfortunate young Waters, half-
crushing the boy.

"Let that be a lesson to you," he admonished the lad, as he struggled to stand 
up.

Waters groaned. Undoubtedly, he'd expected to be flogged or keelhauled, not 
fallen on by his captain. The remainder of the crew was looking puzzled by this 
unusual punishment. Alex managed to stand upright and draw his sword, wondering 
what on earth to do next. The helpful voice in his head was silent.

Something round and hot sailed overhead. The other ship (still off the starboard 
stern) had started firing on them. Cannonballs plunked down into the roiling 
ocean all around the *Ravaged Maiden*. The pirates cursed.

"Return fire!" Alex shouted. "Man the guns! Bring her about and we'll show those 
dogs!"

The first mate looked at Alex. The vampire grinned maniacally. This was suddenly 
fun, like being a pirate should be. If you were eight years old and playing 
pirate on a plank in your swimming pool. Another cannonball smashed into the 
ocean beside the *Ravaged Maiden*.

The *Ravaged Maiden* did some more creaking and groaning. One of the crew was 
nearly twisted in two at the wheel. (Tiller? Who gave a damn at this point?). 
Even Alex could tell that the pirate ship was turning to face the other vessel. 
Cannonballs continued to fly, and now the pirates were returning fire. Clouds of 
smoke obscured the deck. Either the other ship didn't have its range yet, or 
they were the world's lousiest aims, however. Not one ball had yet hit ... 
whoops.

Splintered wood flew towards Alex's face and he instinctively covered his eyes. 
Jackson screamed some indecipherable orders. The sound of cannons firing was so 
loud that the first mate might as well have been praying or reciting poetry, but 
the crew seemed to know what to do. Alex stayed where he was, up against a solid 
barrier. 

With a sort of awful inevitability, the pirate ship drew steadily closer to its 
opponent. The aggressive ship was striking its Spanish royal ensign and 
raising... Alex nearly giggled. They were running up the Jolly Roger. It was 
another pirate. No honour among thieves, indeed.

The ships were now too close for cannon. Pistols and muskets were being fired, 
and flaming braziers appeared on the deck of the other pirate. Uh-oh. There was 
all that gunpowder ground into the deck of the *Ravaged Maiden*. Sure enough, 
arrows were being lit in the braziers. 

"Grappling hooks!" Alex screamed to Mr. Jackson, who relayed the orders to the 
crew. The two ships drew together with ominous crunching noises. "Board her, 
men!" the vampire captain commanded even as flaming arrows thunked into the 
*Maiden's* decks.

He put his long knife between his teeth, managing to somehow avoid cutting his 
lips or severing his fangs, and grabbed a stray rope. "Always wanted to do 
this," he said incoherently past the dagger. He leapt off the railing of the 
*Maiden* and swung on the rope over to the rival pirate ship, brandishing his 
sword.

The trouble was, he discovered, waving his arms and coughing as smoke 
overwhelmed him, that he could not tell the difference between his own crew and 
that of the other ship. He fought against all comers, sword dancing like Michael 
Flatley on speed, a sneer curled on his aristocratic lip and a twinkle in his 
eye. 

"Have at ye!" he cried out. "Arrr!"

He was having so much fun that it took awhile for the smell of smoke to filter 
into his consciousness after it had filtered past his nostrils. But eventually 
his vampiric self-preservation kicked in and he stopped dueling against his 
current opponent and paused to have a good look. Not only was the *Ravaged 
Maiden* on fire and burning to the water line, but so was the attacker. The deck 
was burning, not ten feet from where Alex stood.

Time to make an exit.

"Noni! Get me out of here!" he called out, as his opponent noticed his 
distraction and ran him through.

"You sure give up easy."

He was sitting on his typing chair in his study in Valley Mansion, still dressed 
in the ragged pirate costume. Blood dripped from the sword thrust in his chest. 
The smell of smoke in his nostrils made him jumpy, looking for the source. His 
eyes fell on his fairy godmother, who was perched on the leather couch. She was 
dressed exactly the way he'd seen her last. She looked as out of place in Valley 
Mansion as Alex did.

"Nice place," she said, then screwed up her nose at the sight of the full 
ashtray. "How can you smoke those things?" she asked, producing an unfiltered 
clove cigarette from midair and puffing on it. "So, why'd you yell?"

"The ship was on fire," Alex said. "And I got stabbed."

She raised an eyebrow. Clearly, she didn't regard this as an adequate 
explanation for wimping out. 

"Didn't you have a good time?"

"The ship was on fire," Alex repeated. "I have a sword wound in my chest."

"Is that all?"

"No, it's not all!" He leapt to his feet and started walking towards her. "I am 
a vampire! I don't get along with running water! I don't know one damned end of 
a boat from another!"

"Ship."

"What?" He stopped in his tracks, a foot away from her.

"Ship. A boat is something you pick up out of the water and put on a ship."

Alex wanted very badly to say that he didn't give a damn what the technical 
terms were, but something in Noni's expression made him choke the words back. 
She, whatever her faults, was a powerful occult being. The next time she plunked 
him down somewhere without warning, she might not wait 'til after dusk to do it.

That reminded him. "What if I'd stayed on that ship 'til morning?" he asked.

She met his eyes. Hers were very dark, expressionless behind the mask of make-
up. He suppressed a shiver. "I'm your fairy godmother," she reminded him acidly. 
"I'm not in the business of trying to get you fried. Have a little faith."

"What are you in the business of trying to do?" The question came out before he 
could stop it.

"That's up to you, remember? You're the one making the wishes."

"How about a little advice on what to wish for?" Alex sank down into his chair. 
"I couldn't seem to make piracy pay."

Noni blew a smoke ring at him. "I don't give advice," she said. "That's 
cheating. What do you want, Alex? Adventure? Romance?"

"Anything that doesn't involve boats," he said, carelessly. "Oh, sh..."

"...it." A few scraggly palm trees swayed above him. Waves lapped at a dismal 
little beach. He was on an island. A small island, apparently, to judge from 
what he could see. 

"Very funny, Noni," he growled. "Now get me the hell out of here."

He failed to reappear in his comfortable study. Oh, right, she'd only help if he 
were in trouble. Apparently, being cast away didn't count as being in trouble. 
Could he build a sun-proof shelter? He rolled his eyes and looked up at the 
star-strewn heavens for help. Alex had never built so much as a Lego house in 
his existence, let alone something as complicated as an entirely light proof 
shelter. He was still in his pirate clothes, without a tool save for the sword 
and long knife. The chest wound had healed, but there were blood stains on his 
shirt. He had no watch, no maps, no compass, no handy signal flares, no cell 
phone and ... damn, no lighter and no cigarettes!

As soon as that thought struck him, he desperately craved a smoke. "Noni?" he 
asked. "Can I at least have my cigarette case?"

That slim gold lifesaver failed to manifest for him. Damn. Sighing deeply, Alex 
set out to explore. Palm trees, rocks, bushes, and a smallish hill, hardly 
anything interesting. There was a bit of a lagoon on one side of the island, but 
Alex didn't swim. There were some dark smudges on the horizon that were likely 
other islands, but even if he did swim, they were too far away. He knew enough 
about oceans to know that distance was deceptive and that even warm ocean water 
could be deadly. For one thing, there were probably sharks and jellyfish and 
eels, none of which cared if you were a vampire. He'd never cared for seafood 
when he'd been human, he desired to be seafood even less.

He wondered what the other members of the Brotherhood would have done in this 
situation. The magic users wouldn't have any problems. He comforted himself with 
the thought that at least the other vampires would have been equally helpless. 
But none of them had a nicotine addiction.

Stop thinking about cigarettes! His hand went habitually to his pocket, except 
that he didn't have a pocket right there at the moment and there was no case or 
lighter there, anyway. Maybe he could roll some dried palm leaves and-what a 
ridiculous idea. How would he light it? 

In one way, he was slightly better off than the average castaway human. He did 
not need fire or food. He did need shelter and blood. Where was he going to get 
blood? Noni seemed to have neglected a few little details. As of yet, he was not 
hungry, but left long enough on this stupid island, and he would starve. A 
starving vampire is not a pretty sight.

Still, the problem of what he was going to do in sunlight was more pressing. His 
walk around the island had not shown him any handy old castles or abandoned huts 
or even a cave. There were rocks and trees and vines; he had the vague notion 
that somebody could probably do something very clever with such raw materials. 
Pity that the someone wasn't Alexander Philippe Goldanias. He'd have cheerfully 
traded his new car for Bob Villa. Or even for Francis, who had built his own 
shack and it was still standing.

He went for another walk around the island, exploring the laughable hill and the 
pathetic jungle. Wildlife on the island seemed confined to a few birds that 
laughed at him, several insects, and a large spider that he decided to leave 
well alone. No mammals. No blood. Damn.

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