Whew. That relieved my mind. If Corbin wasn’t concerned, then I could do what I needed to do on my own to settle things between him and Bart—assuming Bart’s programming allowed him to be peacable. “Er . . . did you program him so he’ll negotiate a peace treaty, too?”
“Yes. Here we go. You ready?” Corbin had arranged for a horse-drawn open carriage to be waiting for us when we reached the shore.
As the horses clip-clopped their way down the cobblestone streets, he pointed out various sights, from the best place to buy rum and cannon shot (both important parts of a ship’s stock) to the newly built governor’s palace that sat at the base of the spit of land.
“I thought this was your island, but you said someone else is governor?” I asked, a bit confused.
“I helped take the island from the English, right, but I don’t run it. Edward Teach is governor here now.”
“Edward Teach? Why does his name sound familiar?”
“He was Blackbeard,” Corbin said, smiling. “You didn’t expect me to create a pirate game and not have Blackbeard in it, did you?”
“How silly of me.” I smiled as Corbin hauled me up closer to him, enjoying it so much I missed a few blocks of his narration.
By the time we had seen all there was to see of the town and were headed to a dockside inn for dinner, I felt I’d let him have his way long enough. So long as we were stuck in the game and had to play out the scenario, we needed to talk about the future. The inhabitants of Turtle’s Back might not be real in our world, but in this world they were, and I was growing extremely fond of many of them.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I warned Corbin as he sat down across a rough-planked table.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re on a thousand-calorie-a-day diet, and I’m a chocolate éclair. This is a public inn, and we need to talk, so behave yourself.”
His smile was so infectious, it was almost impossible to resist returning it. “Well, you are filled with creamy goodness. . . .”
“I want to talk about this blockade,” I said, leaning back so a well-endowed barmaid could set down my mug of ale and Corbin’s glass of brandy. As I mopped up the splashed ale I gave her a fulminating glare, which was completely wasted because she was too busy trying to get Corbin to look down her cleavage.
He kept his gaze firmly on me.
“You get beaucoup bonus points for that,” I told him when the barmaid finally skedaddled.
“Whew. Good. I hoped so, because it was totally going against nature not to look, but I did try. What did you want to say about the blockade? I assume you want to help with it.”
“I’m already signed up to do so.” I took a sip of my ale. It was the most innocuous of all the beverages in the game, but even so, experience had taught me that it packed enough of a wallop that my brain translated its effect as a form of virtual drunkenness.
Corbin frowned. “What do you mean, you signed up? I’m organizing the blockade—if someone has spoken to you about participating without clearing it through me first—”
“Corbin, I’m not a member of your crew. You said we had to fulfill the scenario, so I have to stick with Bart, regardless of my feelings. Unless you think my switching would have no impact on the game play?”
He thought for a minute, then shook his head. “If Bart approached you to join his crew, then that means the scenario needs a player in that crew. If you left it, the scenario might stall, and we’d never get any farther. Much as I’d like to have you in my crew, it’s probably better if you stay a member of Bart’s.”
I took a deep breath, dreading the moment that had come. “Well, technically I’m not really a member of the crew; I’m sort of probational there. However, Bart has asked me to help protect Turtle’s Back from the blockade, and I’ve agreed to do so.”
I leaned back against the wall, waiting for Corbin’s reaction to my statement. I had decided that my involvement in the blockade was the best bargaining chip I had to persuade him to talk peaceable negotiations rather than all-out war.
“You’re my wife,” he said, his frown growing.
“Only in the game.”
“We’re talking about events in the game,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t blockade against your own husband.”
“You just said I had to stick with the crew. Could I possibly blockade against my crew without screwing the game plan up?” I asked.
I swear a black cloud started forming over his head. “No. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow this—”
“Wait before you get all riled up. I didn’t think you’d like me on the other side, so luckily, I came up with a solution to the problem.”
He waited for the count of five. “What solution?”
“You and Bart get together and hammer out a peace treaty. Or,” I said quickly, sensing danger from the way Corbin’s eyes lit with menace, “your duly appointed representatives meet and work on a peaceful end to the hostilities between you and Bart. That should be within the bounds of the scenario, and yet would cancel all the war stuff.”
“Except the ‘war stuff’ is what powers the game,” Corbin said, a definite note of finality in his voice. “This game is built to generate conflict, Amy. Blockades are a part of that. In this case, I’m going to have to say that this blockade is preordained, and going to have to be carried out in order to further the scenario.”
“But you don’t know that for certain.”
“I think I know the game a bit better than you,” he said kind of testily.
“Yes, you do. But—”
“There’re no buts, Amy. You don’t like the war, and you want to stop it. I understand that. But you need to understand that it’s necessary for it to go forward in order to help us end the damn scenario.”
Now I was miffed. It’s true I wanted the war stopped, but I hated sounding so wimpy. “Fine. So while we spend however long it takes to blockade, how are we going to be finding your ex-partner?”
“I have three men in my crew I use as spies—normally they target Bart’s crew—but now I have them feeding me the latest ship sightings and taking note of conversations between pirates. On their own, the computer characters don’t chat with one another.”
“Whoa!” I thought about the women standing around the well talking and laughing. “I’ve seen people talking.”
“Yes, you have. The minute you come within range, their behavior becomes human. But when no players are around, the computer characters don’t interact.”
“Ah. Okay.” I raised my eyebrows, sidetracked for a moment with the idea that the computer characters could be made to spy on one another. “So your guys can take note of anyone talking, with the idea that someone in that conversation is human?”
“Yes, they can.” A look of pride temporarily overrode the irritation in his eyes. “I’ve got the best AI around powering the characters in this game.”
“AI? That’s artificial intelligence?”
“Right. Friend of mine works at Caltech developing sophisticated AI models. He stripped down a version for me and gave me the rights to modify it for the pirate world. The result is computer characters that carry sophisticated learning abilities. The more you interact with them, the more real they seem. There’s only one area they’re limited in—”
“They have no past beyond the game?” I asked.
A tiny little smile flashed across his lips. “You’ve discovered that, have you? Limitations on data storage make it impossible to give each character a detailed past, so we opted to use the space to increase their ability to learn and develop their own traits.”
I looked around the smoky inn. It was typical of what I imagined were the inns of the period and location—a long, low building with tiny glassless shuttered windows, a crossbeam ceiling, the dirt floor littered with debris, bones from chickens stripped of their meat, the tables and chairs scattered around the room in various states of disrepair. The patrons of the inn were just as disreputable
as the furniture—pirates of every class skulked around, sang off-key sea shanties, ogled the barmaids (none of whom seemed to mind), laughed, joked, argued, fought, and slept with blatant disregard for the general chaos going on around them.
“Well, I have to say, it was a good choice. Everyone here seems so real. They all have such depth to them, it makes it hard to remember they’re not real.”
“They are real; at least they are here,” Corbin argued.
I smiled. “Yeah, I agree with that. Here, they’re real. And that’s why if you insist on being pigheaded and stubborn about this blockade thing, I’m going to do my best to help Bart stop you.”
“Amy—”
“The scenario, remember? You can’t have it both ways, Corbin. Either I have to stick with Bart’s crew, or we blow the scenario.”
“You’re using that as an excuse to try to blackmail me into canceling the blockade,” he growled. “You could find a reason to not be a part of the blockade. That would allow it to go forward, but you wouldn’t be involved.”
“Maybe. But I like the people on Turtle’s Back, Corbin. I don’t want to see any of them hurt or suffering because no food or supplies can get in because you want to play war. And if I help Bart, perhaps I can make the blockade end faster. Plus there’s the other bonus.”
The hard, flat look of anger was back in his eyes. “What bonus?”
“Our marriage, remember?” I set down my mug of ale and leaned across the table to level a glare at him. “You said if we got married I’d have access to your things, and you would get stuff to me through the blockade.”
“Yes, but that was before.” It wasn’t easy to catch the fleeting expressions on his face in the smoky, dark atmosphere of the inn, but I recognized the mulish expression on his face well enough. Lord knows I’d seen a similar expression on Tara’s face often enough. Oh, all right, and mine as well.
“Before what?”
“Before I knew I loved you!” he bellowed, slapping his hands down on the table.
Everyone in the room stopped, turning to look at our corner. I smiled weakly and gave a quick wave. “Little argument, nothing serious. Go back to your carousing and wenching and . . . er . . . vomiting.”
I looked away from the man ralphing into a slops bucket and gave Corbin my most patient look. “Corbin, I don’t want anyone hurt—not you or the people on Turtle’s Back; not even Bart.”
“No. There’s got to be another way.”
“Fine. Give me another option.”
His jaw tightened.
I put my hand on his, giving it a little squeeze. “I don’t think we have any other choice, Corbin.”
“Dammit!” He cursed profanely under his breath. I felt for him, I really did, but there just didn’t seem to be any other way around it—I was going to have to go to war against him.
“Good-bye, Corbin. I don’t want to go, but I don’t really have a choice—not if we want to bring an end to this. You’ll be hearing from me. I will hold you to your word about supplies for Turtle’s Back, by the way.” I stood up, gathering my things.
“You’re just going to up and leave me?” Corbin stayed seated, as if he didn’t take me leaving seriously.
“I’m not leaving you—not really. Bas and I are going home. I’d like to be home before morning since I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot to do before the blockade.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, the mulish look back. “And just how do you plan on getting there? Whisking on a convenient bit of wind, perhaps?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I lifted my chin, stung by the fact that he didn’t seem to understand how badly I was feeling about the whole thing. “I’ll find someone to sail us there if you’re not inclined to help your own wife.”
“My wife would not abandon me for another man,” Corbin growled, getting to his feet at last.
“Now, that isn’t fair at all. Dammit, Corbin, give me an alternative!”
“I’ve given you one. You won’t take it,” he said, anger visible in his eyes.
“You’re not the only one who has a shred of pride,” I pointed out, angry, hurt, and sad all at the same time. “If the game calls for me to be true to my crew, then I’m going to be true. Especially since I think I can help bring about the end of the war.”
“You just don’t like conflict,” he snapped.
“Not when it concerns people I care about, no. I don’t suppose there’s a mechanism in the game for divorce?” I asked sweetly.
“No.”
I smiled. “Then we’re still married, husband mine. Good night. I’ll be in contact about the supplies we need on Turtle’s Back.”
“Amy!”
I turned on my heel and marched out of the inn, hoping against hope that Corbin either would come up with another plan that wouldn’t screw us up as far as the scenario went, or would at the very least understand why I had to go to war.
“Good luck findin’ yer way to Turtle, lass,” Corbin called after me in a voice loud enough to be heard across the entire lower half of the island. “There’ll not be a soul here who’ll take ye against me wishes. When ye’ve had enough of yer high-and-mighty act, let me know.”
I sighed. Hope is such a fickle thing.
Chapter 15
Ah, leave me not to pine
Alone and desolate. . . .
—Ibid, Act I
“Holder, can you—”
“No.”
I gave him a disgusted glare. “You’ve been talking to Corbin, haven’t you?”
The first mate, now clad in tight leather pants, a swishy white shirt, and a red sash tied around his waist, cocked an eyebrow at me briefly before returning his attention to the blond barmaid who stood behind a tall counter polishing a row of metal tankards. “Of course I have. And he told me to tell you no when you asked me to sail you to Turtle’s Back, and I, ever the dutiful friend, have just done as I was so ordered. Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”
“Huh?” He grinned at me. I smacked him on the arm and said, “You’re going to take me? What was all that no business?”
“Corbin told me to tell you no. I said I would. So I said no. He didn’t actually forbid me to take you home,” Holder answered, still grinning. I grinned back.
“I like how you think. Yes, we can be ready to leave in an hour. Er . . . that is, we’ll be ready if you tell me where Bas is.” I looked around the inn in which I’d finally tracked down Holder. It was located near the governor’s mansion, in a much more affluent area of town, and seemed to be patronized by upscale pirates, if there was such a thing. Even so, an inn with bawdy women and drunken men was no place for a child. “You didn’t bring him here, did you?”
“Naw, I left him at Wry Wenham’s.”
I accepted the small glass of ale the buxom barmaid brought and, distracted for a moment by a thought, asked Holder, “I swear I’ve seen that woman before. Why do all the barmaids here have an overabundance of bosomage?”
He laughed. “Because this game is going to appeal primarily to men, and I like them that way.”
“I thought you were happily married,” I said, sipping my ale.
“I am. See Saucy Sally there?” He nodded toward the barmaid, who was serving someone at the other end of the counter. She was identical in every way but clothing and hairstyle to the barmaid who’d been ogling Corbin. “That’s my wife, Linda.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“Or rather, her face and body are my wife’s. Linda was one of the models we digitized for the game. She makes a fine barmaid, doesn’t she?” He paused to admire the woman as she jiggled her way to the next customer.
“Very fitting. Who or what is Wry Wenham’s, and where is it located?”
He smiled indulgently as Saucy Sally slapped the face of a pirate who was apparently getting a bit too fresh. “I had Corb program in that response whenever a man gets too blatant. I don’t mind them looking, but no one is going to have her but me.”
&nbs
p; I opened my mouth to say something about that but changed my mind. “Wry Wenham’s?” I prompted, instead.
“Surgeon. His place is two streets down, on the corner. Big bougainvillea bushes outside it.”
“A surgeon?” I asked, a little surprised. I had assumed Bas would drift along with whatever morbid whim claimed him. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Does his house have a nice view?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Not really. He’s also the undertaker. The second Bas heard Wenham had in the bodies from a recent shipwreck, he was off like a scalded seal.”
I smacked him on the arm. “That is not responsible child care. Now I’m going to have to put up with listening to him yammer on and on and on about drowning victims. I’ll get you for this; see if I don’t. Which ship will I meet you at?”
He gave me the ship name and directions to find her, and promised to be at the dock in an hour or less.
“One question,” I said before leaving him.
“Why am I going against Corbin’s wishes?” he asked, taking a long swig of rum.
I nodded.
“Well, I like you, you see. And I think you’re good for Corbin. He’s worth a small fortune, you know? So lots of gold diggers have him in their sights. They drop into his lap. It’s not good for him to just have everything handed to him—but you’re not like that. He has to work to win you, and if I can help make things just a teeny bit more difficult for him, then I will.”
I smiled, despite myself. “You really are something else. First you go out of your way to throw us together, marrying me to Corbin despite the fact that I didn’t want to be married to him, and now you’re trying to keep us apart.”
His eyebrows bobbled at me. “It’s for the best.”
“Best for finishing the scenario and finding Paul, or best for Corbin and me?”