The fist came at Calhart with alarming speed. "Woah," he exclaimed, ducking moments before impact. The man's fist cracked against the clay brick wall behind Calhart. The thug shrieked like a child.
"Ooh, that sounded like it hurt," Calhart said, wincing in empathy.
"You bastard!" the ruffian growled, clutching his hand.
"I don't think you know enough about my heritage to be making such accusations, sir," Calhart said, slowly walking away with his hands up. His back to the exit of the alleyway.
The man wiped the pain away, spraying blood everywhere. He took steps toward Calhart with renewed determination. "You're going to pay for this," he said, raising his blood-smeared fist.
"Frankly," Calhart shrugged, turning his pockets inside out, "I don't have any money."
"Why, you—" the thug charged at Calhart, anxious to get his payment.
"Hey—"Calhart turned and started running—"you were the one who attacked me!" Calhart shouted, leaving out the part where he stole from one of the gangs members.
"Come back here, thief!"
Calhart burst out of the alleyway in a blast of wind, the man close on his tail. The clogged street paid them no mind. Calhart weaved between the crowds and carts, pushing his way through the bustling street.
His pursuer followed close behind. I mean, geez, I only stole a few rings from them. Calhart slid under a table being carried by two men. His pursuer put a hand to the table and jumped over it, his hand dripping blood onto its wood.
"Oh, come on!" the passerby lamented.
Calhart scavenged for an exit with his eyes. Multiple alleys hid themselves in shadows, but Calhart didn't want to get trapped in a dead-end. He continued running, his feet cramping in his well-worn boots. The cobbled pavement didn't help, either. He looked ahead, the path would soon come to an end, right against the edge of the cliff.
Calhart glanced back, the big man still pushing through the crowds to get to him.
"Is this really worth it?" Calhart asked.
The man's eyes hesitated for a moment, a singular thought seeming to pass through his thick skull. Then he grumbled and charged for Calhart.
"Woah, woah, woah!"
Calhart, distracted, stumbled off the edge of the path, over the cliffside. The man, intent on capturing Calhart, lunged after him. They fell through the air for a moment. Calhart fought his locks of hair away from his face, scratching and kicking in midair. The man was a mere few feet above him, his hand grasping the collar of Calhart's shirt.
"Hey, man," Calhart said, grabbing the mans arm, "watch where you put your grimy fingers."
Calhart hit something hard, his vision slammed into darkness. He cursed himself for always ending up in these situations. He could faintly feel something tugging at him. Pulling him forth. At the center of his muddied vision, a square face swam into view. The man kneeled over him, scrunching his new—stolen, but new—collared shirt.
"Listen man—"
Calhart was cut off by a swift gust of wind. His eyes instinctively closed shut, and he flinched with his whole body. The man's weight slumped to the side.
"Relax," a voice said from above him. A woman's. Though, it was deep and gravelly.
"Huh?" Calhart groaned, opening his eyes. A tall lady, clad in leather with a wide-brimmed hat, stood over him, a sword clacking against her side. She proffered Calhart a hand. "Thank you," he said, taking the woman's hand and pulling himself up.
"You can repay me by getting off of my ship," she said, her purple eyes staring daggers into him.
"What happened to exchanging names?" Calhart jested. "Name's Calhart, you?"
"Name's get off of my ship," she said, jabbing a sheathed sword into his chest.
Calhart raised his hands, "Okay, okay," he said. "But what about the dude?" he pointed to the tattooed thug lying on the planks of the deck, unconscious.
"Get him off my ship too," she said curtly as she turned around, leaving Calhart to himself.
"Um, okay," he said, then got louder as she got farther away, "Why'd you save me anyway?"
She didn't answer.
"Fine," he said. "I'll take care of this guy, don't you worry. All by myself, too!"
Faintly, he swore he heard her let out a chuckle. He didn't know this woman, but something told him she didn't laugh often.
"Name's Frankie," she said quietly as she disappeared to the quarter deck.
Calhart grinned in victory.
He attempted to lift the heavy man up, almost breaking his back in the process. "Yeough!" he yelped. Unconscious people are already heavy, and this guy weighed like five hundred pounds.
"Okay," he sighed, "let's get you up close and personal with the fishies now, eh?" Calhart said, dragging the body to the side of the ship to dump him into the ocean.
He reached the lip that revealed the clear water below. His hand that carried the hooligan felt fuzzy, like something had been vibrating in it. He looked down to inspect it, opening his palm. The pinky finger of the huge man bore a ring, one similar to the three that he stole. The weird, unintelligible markings that wound around the ring vaguely… glowed?
"Huh," Calhart said, "that's odd—"
Something grasped his shoulder.
An explosion erupted from the ring, blasting a hole into the side of the ship and sending wood chips sprawling into the air. The force of the explosion propelled the ship back, ramming into the clifface.
Calhart coughed smoke out of his lungs and looked around. He was flat on his ass, across the main deck of the ship. Flames billowed from the part of the ship that caught ablaze. The force of the explosion propelled the ship into the cliff face.
"Shit, Frankie's gonna be pissed—"
"You're right, I am pissed!" she said from behind him. He turned his head to see her steadying herself against the wobbling ship with her sword. "Fucking livid," she said, "now get up!"
She prodded him with her sword.
"Okay!" Calhart yelped, jumping up and swatting the sword away.
He straightened himself, dusting off his stolen shirt. "What do we do now?"
"We?" Frankie asked.
The ship cried, creaking and groaning as it started to sink into the ocean.
"Well, shit," Calhart said.
"You're going to pay for this," Frankie said, frowning at him.
"You'd be surprised how many times I've been told that."
"No, I'm not very surprised."
Water started getting into the ship, making it sink faster and faster.
Calhart frantically looked around at the increasingly dire situation they were in. "Uh, we should do something!"
"Stop saying we!" Frankie yelled, her voice coming from high up.
Confused, Calhart turned around to find her climbing up the clifface.
"What the—"
Creaaak!
The ship bellowed its final roar as it fell into the ocean all at once.
Calhart screamed wildly. He ran toward the mountain, eyes closed, yelling—his hands outreached for something, anything—and he jumped.
A second later, he felt the wind against his face. His hands coiled around something. Something cold and hard. He opened his eyes.
"You're really darn annoying, you know that, right?" Frankie said, glowering at him. His hands were tight around the sheath of her sword at her side.
"Yeah, I do," he said.
She returned her sights upward. "Least you're self aware," she said. "Maybe there's some saving for you."
Frankie carried his weight effortlessly, reaching higher with every grasp. Calhart hung onto the sword for dear life. He trembled as he peered at the waves crashing into the rocks beneath them.
"Don't look down," he said, voice shaking.
"Wasn't planning on it."
Finally, they crested the cliffside. Calhart rolled onto the ground with fervor. "Nice to be on something solid again."
Frankie looked at the cuts and scratches oozing blood on her hands with curiosity. She ignored it and dusted off her white shirt that got dirtied climbing. Her hands smeared blood on it. "Shit," she murmured.
They had climbed to a part of the town hidden behind clay buildings.
Calhart jumped up and reached out his hand. "Friends?"
"You're lucky if I don't strike you dead this very instant."
"So…" Calhart drew the word out, "acquaintances?"
Frankie rolled her eyes. She turned around to face the clay building, then unsheathed her sword and started slashing markings into the clay. Too bad I'm illiterate, Calhart thought.
"Whatcha doing there?" Calhart asked, peering around her shoulder.
She elbowed him in the forehead. "None of your business, now piss off."
Ow! Calhart yelped. He stepped back. I don't know what all that says, but I'd guess she's coming up with a new plan to get off this island.
"Sorry for kind of ruining your getaway plan," Calhart said, rubbing his head nonchalantly.
"I said piss off!"
"Okay, okay," Calhart conceded. "You win, I'll leave you alone now."
He started walking away, but every few seconds glanced back. Just in case she had something to say.
"I'm not going to say it again," she growled.
"Yep, got it!" Calhart yelled and scurried away.
Calhart sympathized with Frankie—whether by happenstance or not, her ship was the only way he'd be able to get off the island. Now he'd have to figure out an alternative as well. Thing is, he doesn't have the money for…
The rings! Calhart exclaimed mentally.
He rummaged through his charred and hole-riddled pockets, searching for the rings. But his frantic attempts to scavenge his pockets came up dry. No rings.
Dammit, they must've fell out of my pockets in the explosion.
He didn't know whether he was happy or sad about it. For one, he didn't have anything to sell. But for two, he didn't have the risk of carrying around exploding rings.