The Smuggler's Journal – Chapter 1

Jakob knew as soon as he woke up that it was going to be a bad day. The fact that he was lying facedown in the gutter and someone had just tripped over him merely confirmed it.

Grunting and cursing with alternate breaths, Jakob disentangled himself from the legs of the person who had fallen over him and crawled out of the gutter. His head ached and his mouth tasted like he'd been chewing bracken all night. His clothes were filthy, his hair was unkempt and he stank worse than a communal privy. Needless to say, he'd had better mornings.

As he wiped off the worse of the sewage, Jakob tried to focus on what had happened the previous night. Vague images floated through his fog-bound memory. He remembered entering a tavern (the same one he had woken up outside, he guessed): an utter dump of a place with earth floors and walls so thick with grease and grime that it acted as waterproofing. Jakob had drunk in his fair share of holes back in Altdorf, but he'd never been anywhere as bad as that before. As expected, he'd found a member of the Norscan crew he had been searching for sitting right in the centre taproom. A huge, tattooed, bear of a man, he had been wenching and carousing in equal measure. Jakob remembered going to speak to him but after that everything was a bit hazy. He was almost sure a drinking competition had been involved somewhere, and maybe even dwarf ale.

"That would certainly explain the headache…" Jakob muttered to himself as he retrieved his travelling bag from where it had been thrown beside him.

"Stupid southerner! What you trip Yan for?"

Jakob turned. The person who had fallen over him was on his feet and brushing himself down. To his surprise, Jakob realised that it was the Norscan he had been drinking with the night before. Now that he saw him clearly in the clean air of the street, Jakob saw that the Norscan was very tall, thickly muscled and beardless. Indeed, the Norscan did not appear much older than Jakob himself. The man's chin was covered in thick stubble, not the huge beard usually worn by Norscan men (and women, if the rumours were to be believed). He wore a simple outfit of dark leathers and furs, with great waterproof boots and a fine white fur cloak held at his throat with a bone clasp. The Norscan's mane of blonde hair was wild and uncombed: he had evidently had a rough night.

"Oh!" exclaimed the Norscan "It you! Weakling southerner who accept Yan's challenge! Southerner not hold drink!"

Jakob started at the insult:

"Hey! Back in Altdorf I'm famous for my drinking exploits! One time…"

But the Norscan just boomed with laughter and clapped Yan so hard on the shoulder that he staggered sideways.

"Yan jest! You accept challenge! You brave, if not great at drink! Come, we go drink more!"

"Err… I'll pass" Jakob mumbled, while his head giving a particular painful throb "I've got a crippling hangover and…"

"In Norsca, strong ale is hangover cure!" the Norscan boomed, one meaty hand grasping Jakob's elbow and steering him towards the tavern.

"Look, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm short on coin as it…" Jakob stopped. He had just reached for his coin purse, only to find it gone. Jakob's eyes scanned the gutter but couldn't see it. Jerking his arm out of the Norscan's grasp, he flung open his bag, but found it empty save for a few pieces of parchment and a quill.

"What wrong?" asked the Norscan.

"I've been robbed" Jakob said in a small, shocked voice.

"Robbed? Who rob you?" asked the perplexed Norscan.

"Same person who did you, I'd guess" said Jakob, pointing to the leather thongs that hung limply from the Norscan's belt.

The Norscan stared at them in disbelief.

"My purse! Who take Yan's purse!?" he cried and then launched into a string of Norscan curses, some of which sounded extremely vicious.

"It barkeeper!" the Norscan roared, striding up to the door of the tavern and beating on it with his fist "He rob Yan in night while asleep!"

"Open up door!" the Norscan yelled as he continued to bash at the door "Open, thief! I will skada your kyckling with a rova!"

"It's no use!" Jakob shouted, trying to make himself heard over the Norscan's loud threats "He won't open! It probably wasn't him anyway!" But the Norscan continued to ignore him:

"Open! Answer door! I Yan! Son of Stephanus Trollcrusher, slayer of… ship!"

The Norscan blanched, span round and rushed down the street, pushing Jakob aside as if he weighed no more than a child.

"Hey! Where're you going?" Jakob called after him, but the Norscan was already halfway down the street and accelerating fast. Swinging his bag onto his shoulder, Jakob gave chase, waving to the Norscan and crying for him to stop. The Norscan paid him no heed, however, as he rounded the corner and ran onto the quayside.

The Marienburg Suiddoc was the largest dock in all the Old World: over a mile long and nearly half as broad. Built on an archipelago of over a hundred little islands, the Suiddoc was criss-crossed with many bridges in varying states of repair. Huge stone bridges, crammed with shops, houses and tollbooths dwarfed little ramshackle wooden constructions, supported by spindly poles. Rope bridges were strung between the timeworn supports of ancient bridges long since abandoned. Beneath them passed ships from all the ports of the Old World and beyond: solid Imperial traders, majestic Bretonnian galleons, sleek Elven traders and exotic Arab dhows. Taverns, brothels, warehouses, shops and temples crowded the quayside while squat, weather-beaten dockhands kept the never-ending tides of goods flowing to and from the ships.

Jakob found that the Norscan was not difficult to follow; he did not move passed people but rather through them, leaving a trail of battered and bemused people in his wake. After a few minutes of chaotic chase, the Norscan halted at a vacant spot on the quayside and sank down onto the stone. When Jakob caught up with him, he found his quarry repeatedly banging his head on his knees and talking to himself in Norscan.

"What's wrong?" asked Jakob. The Norscan stopped banging his head and looked up at him with mournful eyes.

"Yan miss ship. Now Yan stuck here in southerner city!"

"What!?" cried Jakob in dismay: he had been hoping to barter passage to Norsca on the same ship.

"But surely they wouldn't leave you here! You're one of their crew, aren't you?" he asked.

"In Norsca, you fall behind, you left behind. It Yan's fault. Had too much drink!" groaned the Norscan, who then resumed banging his head on his knees.

"But… but… perhaps we can catch up with them" Jakob suggested hopefully "We could get aboard a fast ship and… and meet them at the next port! Where were you headed?"

"Yan no know. Father only say 'southern lands'" the Norscan told him.

"Well… well… perhaps they just moved the ship," suggested Jakob "They could still be in the Suiddoc!" He knew it was unlikely, but he was willing to try anything.

X X X X X X X X X X X X

It was several hours later and Jakob was sitting on the seawall of the Suiddoc, the Norscan slumped dejectedly beside him. The high, stone flagged wall looked north onto the pale Sea of Claws, stretching away to horizon where it met the gloomy late-February sky. It was low tide and the mudflats at the foot of the wall were dotted with beggars sifting through the ooze for a choice piece of scrap or flotsam. The top of the wall was crowded with gibbets, gallows and stakes, upon which the remains of pirates and other miscreants were displayed as a warning to others. Flocks of crows fought incessantly over the decomposing bodies.

Jakob and the Norscan had searched the length and breadth of the Suiddoc for the Norscan ship, but to no avail. They had even gone to the harbourmaster's office on the centre of the high Hoogbrug Bridge. After much arguing (and some outright threats from the Norscan) they were able to speak the harbourmaster himself: a grossly fat man with a terrible dress sense and even worse manners. He had swiftly and smugly informed them that the Norscan's ship had sailed an hour after dawn to an unspecified location and that if they did not leave his office right this instant he would be forced to call the Watch.

"What Yan going to do?" moaned the Norscan.

"Let's see," said Jakob ruefully "You've got no money, no friends, you don't speak Reik…"

"Hey, I speak Reik good!" protested the Norscan.

"As I said, you don't speak Reik" continued Jakob "You've got no home and nothing except the clothes on your back. I'd say you're stuffed."

"Name Yan. Son of Stephanus Trollcrusher" said the bemused Norscan.

"Well I'm Jakob Brustgewicht, but you're still stuffed!"

"No. You listen. I – Yan" repeated the Norscan slowly and loudly, pointing to himself as he did so.

"Oh shut up" Jakob snapped "Come to think of it, I'm not doing too well either. No money, no contacts, all my gear nicked except for a few damned bits of paper and a quill!"

"You have me" Yan pointed out helpfully.

"Oh yeah, that makes it all so much better(!) I'm stuck with a lumbering northern half-wit whose grasp of Reik is only slightly better than an inebriated ogre's! I've got a chronic hangover, no money and I'll be the laughing stock of the Altdorf academic community, if I ever manage to get back there!"

"Slow down" Yan said "Too many big words for Yan."

"Oh forget it!" Jakob yelled, storming to his feet and heading towards an alleyway between two brick-built warehouses.

"Where you go?" shouted Yan.

"To answer a call of nature, moron" Jakob shouted in reply, although he was careful to mutter the last word under his breath. Jakob found a convenient doorway and, after few moments fumbling with his codpiece, tried to relax.

He had just finished when he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. Jakob was suddenly horribly aware how vulnerable he was. He felt rough hands grab his shoulders and spin him round. A squashed, sunburnt face pressed itself up against Yan's and snarled at him in a low voice:

"Alright now, pretty boy, hand over the money and we leaves ye be"

"I… I haven't got any" Jakob blurted out. The face chuckled and stepped back. Jakob saw that it belonged to a short, bandy-legged man dressed in sailor's short trousers and jacket. Two other equally repulsive sailors flanked him.

"Here that boys?" asked the bandy-legged sailor "'E says 'e ain't got no money!"

The other two sailors sniggered unpleasantly. Jakob noticed that they were both carrying stout coshes with what looked worryingly like blood on them.

"'Es lying" one of them said.

"No, really!" said Jakob "You're too late! I've… I've already been robbed today. It's the truth!"

"You're a filthy liar, ain't ya?" said one of the sailors.

"'Course he is" said the bandy-legged man "No one dressed like that's ever short of a few Karls, are they?"

The other sailors shook their heads.

"Looks we're gonna have to do things the 'ard way" said the bandy-legged sailor, drawing his cosh from his belt.

"Oh good" said one of the others "I like the 'ard way!"

"Help!" screamed Jakob as the three sailors advanced on him "Help! Watch! Someone help!"

"Shut him up" instructed the bandy-legged sailor. With a malicious grin, one of his companions stepped forward and aimed a blow straight at Jakob's temple. Jakob raised his hands to protect his head and fell back in the doorway. Arms wrapped tightly over his head, Jakob felt a boot crash into his ribcage, then another and another. Then, after a few minutes beating, the sailors suddenly stopped. There was the sound of a brief scuffle and then a gentle mewling sound from the floor beside Jakob.

Tentatively, Jakob opened his eyes. One of the sailors was lying on his side, his nose a bloody splatter across his face. Another was slumped out cold beside him, his back to the wall. The third sailor, the leader of the group, was hanging three feet off the ground. Yan was holding him with one hand. By the throat. At arm's length. The sailor's eyes were beginning to pop out and his face was an interesting shade of purple.

"Thank you" groaned Jakob as he staggered out of the doorway, massaging his bruised ribs. The sailor's legs were kicking ferociously at thin air, while his hands tried in vain to prise open the Norscan's grip.

"Cowardly thieving scum!" growled Yan, "In Norsca, we hang thieves."

"So do we" said Jakob.

"Off end of jetty"

"Oh really?"

"With raw steak tied to head"

"Why?"

"For sharks"

"You have sharks in Norsca?"

"Ya. Big furry ones. Eat mammoths."

While this zoological discussion was going on, the sailor had turned from purple, to blue, to green and was now rapidly heading towards white. He was also making odd gurgling sounds.

"Let him down" Jakob instructed. The man hit the stone floor hard.

"We'll turn him over to the Watch" Jakob said.

"Sharks?" asked Yan, hopefully.

"No, unfortunately not. He'll probably get away with a regular hanging." Jakob explained.

"No, please… no!" gasped the sailor, who vigorously massaging his throat with both hands.

"Give Yan one reason" growled the Norscan, flexing his considerable muscles.

"I've… I've… got an… off… offer for you" the sailor said, getting shakily to his feet.

"We're listening," said Jakob, scepticism written over all his face.

"Listen… you say you got no coin" the sailor said "So you're looking for work?"

"Yes… you offering us work?" said Jakob slowly.

"Yes" nodded the sailor.

"Ye gods" he said, pointing to Yan "We could use a fighter like him in the crew!"

"You're on a ship?" asked Jakob, his curiosity piqued.

"Yeah. Bosun's mate, me," said the sailor, with a trace of pride.

"What sort of ship?"

At this the sailor looked shifty (well, shiftier than usual).

"We're… err, local traders. Run up and down the Nordland coast. Pick up… err, local goods and that for market."

"So no sea voyages then?" Jakob asked.

"Nah" the sailor shook his head, before asking: "Where you two headed, then?"

"That's our business" Jakob snapped.

"But what about me?" he asked "I'm no sailor, and I'm certainly no fighter. What use could I be aboard your ship?"

The sailor scratched his ill-shaven chin and spent a moment in silent thought.

"Hmm… let me see" he mused "You a man o' letters, ain't ya?"

"Yes"

"I thought so! Knew the minutes I spied ya, there's a bookworm if ever I saw one!"

"Get to the point."

"Look… our line of work, it involves a lot o' records. Book keepin' an' what not. Our clerk's always moanin' 'e could use an assistant. An' 'ere you are; ready made!" the sailor explained.

"Hmm… what do you think?" Jakob asked Yan.

"Yan no like it. No work with thieves."

"But you're a Norscan, aren't you?" asked Jakob "You're a raider, a corsair, a pirate for Sigmar's sake!"

"That different" said Yan obstinately.

"Listen, it needn't be for long" Jakob explained "We'll work until we saved up enough coin to buy passage to Norsca on another ship. It shouldn't take more than a few trips. How about it?"

Yan frowned, but gave a curt nod.

"Yah. Yan do it. Yan no like, but Yan do it."

"Excellent" smiled the sailor, displaying his crooked yellow teeth.