The Butcher's Banquet
"Great, now we know someone's aboard..." Grayson cautiously advanced, clutching the helm's handle with his clawed left hand, trying to bring the ship to a halt. But no matter how hard he tried, the helm spun relentlessly on its own, refusing to be tamed.
"They're playing hide and seek with us!" Grayson released the helm and turned towards the exit of the pilothouse, saying as he walked, "Come on, we need to find them. I know where those old ghosts hide."
Striding out of the pilothouse, he proceeded straight down the corridor, with Katheren and Seraphine following closely behind. Suddenly, a door ahead swung open. Grayson halted abruptly, narrowly avoiding a collision with the door.
He was about to shut the door when he heard heavy footsteps coming from within. He quickly pressed himself against the wall, gesturing for the women to take cover.
All three pressed against the wall, hidden behind the open door, when the sound of something heavy and metallic dragging along the floor echoed through the corridor, trailing away into the distance.
Peering cautiously around the corner, Grayson saw a white blur flash by, a rusty, blood-stained axe momentarily caught in his field of vision before it too vanished behind the wall.
He watched the direction intently for a moment, then cautiously stepped out from behind the door. Looking down, he saw a smeared trail of blood leading from the doorway down the corridor, turning a corner and out of sight.
"It's best the ladies don't see this."
With that thought, Grayson gestured for Katheren and Seraphine to stay put and peeked into the room. Darkness enveloped the space, but a nauseating stench wafted out.
Suppressing his revulsion, Grayson stepped inside the doorway when he felt something under his boot. Gazing down, he discovered a blood-drenched severed arm, its jagged bone sticking out from the torn flesh.
"Damn it!" He hastily retreated, using his sword to nudge the limb into the corner, then continued deeper into the room. As he rounded the corner, he found shelves laden with dismembered limbs and a floor splattered with dark red blood—a sight that chilled to the bone.
"Oh, God!" Grayson felt bile rise in his throat and promptly left the room, slamming the door shut. He exhaled deeply, teeth gritted, "This damned ghost ship is revolting!"
Suddenly, he heard rapid breathing beside him. Turning, he saw Katheren and Seraphine, pale as ghosts, standing against the wall, their eyes wide with shock.
"What's going on?" Seraphine asked, pointing at the bloody trail on the floor.
Before Grayson could reply, a heavy thud echoed from the other end of the hallway. They tensed instantly. Grayson glanced in the direction of the sound and whispered, "Stay quiet, don't ask questions, just follow me."
He moved along the edge of the corridor, avoiding the bloodstained path, and stopped at the corner to peer around. The blood trail zigzagged down the sinister corridor.
Quickly, he approached the opposite wall, the thudding growing louder. As he peeked around the corner, he discovered the blood trail led into a room with partially closed doors.
"Wait here, I'll check it out," Grayson instructed, leaving Katheren and Seraphine behind the wall. He tiptoed toward the door, peering through the gap.
Inside the gloomy hold, a corpulent figure in white chef's attire, towering hat included, raised a massive axe and delivered a punishing blow upon the chopping block. Grayson was shocked to see a foot fly off the table, caught expertly by the fat butcher.
"This would be quite the sight for Andros to behold, for him to understand what a real murderer looks like!" Grayson muttered with disgust, then noticed the butcher toss something dark toward the door.
Springing back, Grayson caught the object as it burst through the door, a blackened heart ensnared in his clawed grasp. Tossing it into a corner, he looked up to see the rotund chef now facing him, his jowly face twisted with malevolence, eyes glinting with malice, and a bloodied axe in his grasp.
"It seems we have fresh ingredients delivered right to our doorstep. Where have you come from? Before I butcher you, I'll carve your origin into your flesh!" the chef bellowed.
"I'd rather not end up that way!" Grayson gestured dismissively, "Actually, I'm here to visit Captain Jaxton. We have business to discuss. Surely you don't have the habit of turning business partners into dishes before negotiations, right?"
"I care not for business. I take care of the cooking!" thundered the chef, his voice booming so loudly it rang in the ears of Grayson and the women behind him.
"Don't get heated, friend. Since we're discussing business, let's not fight. I can cook too; how about I help you out?" Grayson suggested.
"You?" The chef looked at Grayson skeptically, "What can you cook?"
"I can..." Grayson cautiously approached the door, scanning the galley and noticing a massive tuna hanging on one side. His eyes lit up, pointing at the tuna, "How about we see who can fillet this tuna better?"
"Hahaha, lad, that's my specialty!" The chef laughed heartily, resonating like a church bell.
He swept the cluttered chopping block aside and heaved the gigantic fish onto the table, the whole galley echoing with the thud of the tuna's fall.
"Agreed, we each take half. Whoever fillets faster and thinner wins!" said the chef, pulling two large cleavers from behind his back. Amidst a whirlwind of dazzling knife work, the tuna's bones were deftly separated, leaving two clean halves of fish.
"Such skill for a chef!" Grayson exclaimed, stepping forward to the table. Elyra eyed the ruby-red tuna slices, gulping, "Can we eat after the contest?"
Before Grayson could reply, the chef slammed a cleaver into the table and declared, "Let's get one thing straight—if you lose, I'll turn you into tonight's dinner for the captain!"
"We?" Grayson raised an eyebrow, quipping to Elyra, "Hear that, little one? It's not certain yet who will eat who—the fella's a professional cook, and I'm just an amateur!"
"In that case, I'm not eating! I'm out of here!" Elyra flapped her wings and took flight toward the door, only for the chef to reach out, slamming it shut. A cleaver whistled by, missing Elyra by inches and embedding itself in the door.
"Yikes!" The little owl, scared out of her wits, darted back into Grayson's hat for refuge.
"Nobody's leaving until you beat me, or I turn you into a dish!" snarled the chef.
"But that doesn't seem fair. If we lose, you'll eat us, but if we win – and we don't plan to eat you – you should still have to eat something, right?" Grayson tapped the table.
"Nothing difficult about that. Whatever you want me to eat, I'll eat!" boasted the chef, standing proudly with his belly out.
"I like your spirit!" Grayson said, dragging his half of the tuna towards him, then patted his hat, "Hey, little one, come out and time us!"
Elyra cautiously emerged, flitting onto Grayson's shoulder, casting a wary glance at the chef and announcing, "Then I'll start counting. Ready, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, begin!"
Before she could finish, the chef brandished his cleavers, and a blur of swift cuts surrounded the fish. The motionless tuna seemed untouched, preserving its original form.
When the chef dropped his cleaver onto the table with a clang and looked up, he saw Grayson calmly stroking the fish from head to tail, then back again. Noticing the chef's attention, Grayson looked up and asked, "Are you done?"
"Done!" the chef declared, and the fish meat immediately collapsed like dominoes, splitting neatly to one side. He slapped the table, and a slice of tuna sprang up, nearly transparent, mirroring Grayson's face.
"Nice work!" Grayson applauded.
"Hmph, what about yours?" the chef asked with a sneer.
"Ah, mine's about done too..." Grayson said, casually wiping his face with his hand, peeling away a mask-like layer of skin.
Grayson spread it out on the table, touching his face, "I think this actually has a pretty good skincare effect. I'll recommend Katheren and Seraphine try it out later!"
"What? How is that possible?" the chef gasped in astonishment, peering at the nearly invisible slice of fish on the table.
Grayson pinched it up and tossed it to the chef, who caught it, pressing it gently, then glancing at his own cut incredulously.
"Should I tell him my left iron claw is equipped with five blades I can control with my mind, making slicing things up a lot easier than his cumbersome cleaver?" Grayson murmured to Elyra on his shoulder.
"That's not my problem. Just don't make me eat the piece you used as a face mask!" Elyra eyed Grayson skeptically.
"You little rascal! Always thinking ahead," Grayson shot her a glare, then turned to the chef, "Well? Any issues?"
"I've been a chef for fifty years and never seen such technique!" the chef said, his face a picture of dumbfounded awe, looking at Grayson. "How did you do that?"
"Hmm, I just spent thirty years as a royal chef in the palace kitchens of the Deiz Principality, we're practically colleagues. I suppose you're my senior!" Grayson claimed with a modest smile.
"How come I didn't know you'd been a royal chef?" Elyra whispered in Grayson's ear.
"I still remember the year we were hunting vampires hiding in the palace, and you, little troublemaker, sneaked into the royal kitchen and feasted for a month!" Grayson retorted quietly, causing Elyra to turn away and stop talking.
"Have we determined a winner?" Grayson asked the chef, who raised his head sullenly, his hand lightly closing around the handle of the cleaver on the table, "Nice try, but it's not that simple!"