The Perils of Archipelago

by B A Simmons

“I knew you spoke Engle,” Pete laughed.

  Joshua looked as surprised as a selkie in sunlight.

  Pete took the trencher from Edward and approached the Falcon. “Now, settle yourself down and we can talk.”

  “Ay weel say-ah no-ting to a—”

  Pete handed him the trencher; the meat still gave off wisps of steam. “These men will torture you, starve you, and after they’ve made you talk, they’ll throw you to the nessies. I just want to ask you a few questions, and after you tell me what you know, I’ll parole you back to your people.”

  “You geeve me your-ah weard you weel do dis?”

  “I give you my solemn word,” Pete said, holding the flagon up to him, too.

  An hour later, Edward, Joshua, and Pete left the tent. They had learned that a battalion of Falcon infantry had landed on Long Beard Isle ten days previous to their own arrival at Forgotten Isle. They had established a beachhead and began moving inland, killing many of the native islanders. Corporale Fabrizio Mangione, as he identified himself, was part of a detachment of Falcon marines left on Forgotten Isle to build the fortification and watch the ships passing by the area. As most passersby only stopped at Forgotten Isle for water, and hardly ever hiked to the peak, they felt they were safe in leaving only a crew of six. As the Alphina and Old Man were Falcon-made, they thought they were some of the Iyty privateers harassing Aruth and Fallen Dome. This was why Mangione’s sergeant signaled them.

  The most important information he provided them was the estimated arrival of the relief party—three weeks after drop-off. Pete estimated they, therefore, had less than a week left before another Falcon ship arrived to replace the watch crew.

  “So, we set an ambush for them like we did at Little Alimia,” Trina suggested as she sat with Pete, Tim, Jacob, and Edward in Pete’s cabin. “We have two ships now and a real camp to lure the Falcons onto the island. It’s not likely they’ll have more than a platoon of men on board. While they get slaughtered by the Punishers, we move in with the Alphina and Old Man.”

  “That’s assuming they only come with one ship. Or with this weather, come at all,” Tim said.

  “They’ll come,” Edward assured them. “The Falcons don’t like to leave men on deserted islands. They’ll come because their sense of camaraderie will overpower any sense of survival.”

  “We will fight. Not just because of the opportunity it gives us to do some damage, but because we can’t do much of anything else. If the weather allows a Falcon ship to come to the relief of their watchmen, we’ll be ready. Then when we take that ship, we can look at risking a venture through to Copper Isle,” Pete said.

  “Take them?” Edward said in surprise. “Don’t you think sinking the ship would be easier?”

  “Even with two ships against one, we’ve got but the one cannon. The Old Man has a ballista mounted at her bow, but that’s not much good if the ship is a big one. The hull would be too thick to puncture.”

  “We can help with that. We’ve got some specialized bolts. We call them antipersonnel missiles.”

  Pete nodded, “All the better then. With three ships, it lessens the risk of sailing in storms. If one ship founders, there are two others to save the crew and passengers. I want as many of you to fight with us on Alimia as we can get.”

  “Long Beard is to the south. They’ll be sailing across the wind to get here. The crew will be tired, even a well-trained Falcon military crew.”

  “The Falcons are meechers. Invading Long Beard is the worst military action they could have taken. That island is death to any foreigner,” Jacob said.

  Tim joined in, “I heard the natives there aren’t even really human anymore. They interbred with Ferlies and live in the trees.”

  Edward laughed at the notion, “They’ve been isolated there for centuries, cut off from all other civilization. The only other humans who came to the island were treasure hunters looking for ancient Duarve gold. That’s why the natives are so protective of their island. But I agree with you, Jacob. The Falcons are meechers for going there. They’re going to wish they’d never set foot on that island.”

  Pete smiled, “Let’s make them feel that way on every island they’ve invaded in the last year, starting with this one. Keep a good watch on the sea. As soon as any ship is spotted coming here, I want everyone to know about it. We’ll need a platoon of Punishers on each ship, equipped to board and take them as a prize. The rest should stay on the island, ready to fight whatever landing force they bring ashore. Leave a few tents near the shore as part of the lure, but move the rest of the camp to the west side of the island, out of cannon range.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Edward said with a smile of his own.

  The meeting adjourned and everyone bid goodnight with a renewed sense of purpose that spread throughout the ships and camp.

  A few minutes after the evening watch came on duty, Pete heard a knock on his cabin door. Answering it, he was not a bit surprised to see Trina standing there.

  He let her in to escape the rain, and she seated herself while he poured her a cup of Ka bean tea. Since her encounter with the selkie, Trina had started coming to Pete for conversation. At first, they chatted about sailing, hunting, and the war. However, Pete noted that Trina frequently inserted questions about Rob and the Engleman family. Gradually, over the weeks that followed, the questions shifted their focus to Pete himself.

  After a long silence, she asked, “Do you remember what you told me that night after we killed the octopus at Max’s Isle?”

  “You mean after you killed the octopus? Yes, I remember.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and . . . I’m ready to forgive Rob.”

  Pete nodded but did not smile. “That’s good. He’ll be pleased to know that. That is, as soon as we get back and you can tell him.”

  “I’m ready to move on from him. The only reason I hadn’t was because I was angry at him. I let myself open up to him and . . . now that I’m past that, perhaps . . . perhaps I can have enough courage to—”

  “To keep your heart open . . . so that someone else might decide he’s done being angry also.”

  They leaned toward each other as they spoke, neither wishing to appear too eager.

  “Yes, I was hoping you’d understand me.”

  “I think I do,” Pete said. A smile flashed across his lips before he pressed them to hers.

  7: The Sea of Grass

  The sun was touching the sea before the Entdecker caught up to the Stella Marina. She had allowed the wind to take her farther east than Tom had anticipated. Their captain was a great sailor for sure, as any lesser seaman would have either fought the wind, bringing them to a practical standstill, or allowed the wind to throw them back to Engle Isle.

  Though farther east, the Stella Marina was still on a southerly course. With the pinnacles of Engle Isle still visible behind her, Tom was confident they would catch her in the night. Rob began outlining the strategy he intended to use to successfully board and rescue their crew. He had himself, Piers, and four mercenaries. Harry and Orson, he’d sparred with and knew they were capable fighters. The other two, Jordan and Greg, while competent archers, were less confident in hand-to-hand fighting than even Rob. Knowing the Entdecker was too small to successfully tow the Stella Marina against the wind to Engle Isle, his plan included the use of a few firebombs to finish her off.

  “There are six of us to board her, and you can bet their crew is at least three times that. We’ll toss some firebombs onto the forecastle and down the hatch to the decks below. This should keep most of the crew busy while we find the prisoners.”

  “Where do you think they’ll be?” Piers asked.

  “Likely in the captain’s cabin. It’s the most secure part of the ship. If they’re not there, they’ll have to be out on deck. Pompeo might be a coward, but he’s not dumb enough to let his crew rough up his only leverage. His mission was a failure, so our people are his only—”

  The sound of gunfire
interrupted Rob, and all eyes looked to the Falcon ship. They saw the last of their hand cannon blasts targeting something in the water off the starboard quarter.

  “A nessie?” Harry asked.

  “Too early. Nessies won’t be out ’til after nightfall,” Tom said.

  “Something else,” Piers said, looking through a far-see. “A boat, by the looks of it.”

  “Who would be out here? All Engle fishermen were told to stay nearer the island,” Harry said.

  “Let’s get down there and see,” Rob said.

  The boat was a capsized fishing skiff. None of them could see a name on it, but they all noticed the holes made by the Falcons.

  “Look for a body in the water,” Rob ordered.

  “Rob?” said a muffled voice from under the boat. “Rob Engleman, is that you?”

  “Who’s there?” Rob shouted.

  The voice went silent, and for a moment Rob wondered if he was hearing ghosts. Before he could ask Piers if he had heard the voice too, a head popped up next to the skiff. The soaked hair partly obscured his face, but then he wiped it away from his eyes.

  “Max?!” Rob called out.

  “Rob! It is you!” Max yelled, and with a few well-practiced strokes, swam to the Entdecker. He was hauled aboard and handed a wool blanket.

  “Those meechers capsized my boat! I had to hide under her while they shot holes in her. I lost all my ale. Wooosh! Down to the bottom just like that.”

  Using a gaff hook, Piers fished around and was able to salvage a rain cloak and fishing pole. Jordan reached into the water and brought up a small box he saw floating. No sooner did Max see the box than he snatched it out of the mercenary’s hands. “That’s mine!”

  Rob shook his head, “Max, what were you doing out here? We warned everyone to stay close to the island.”

  “What do you care?! I have my own reasons. Everyone knows I sail wherever I want.”

  “You careless meecher!” Rob shouted. “You’re a member of our community. Do you not realize what is going on? Why that ship sank you?!”

  “They sank him to slow us down,” Piers said. He pointed ahead to the Falcon ship, which sped away as fast as she could go. Even at her odd sailing angle, she was widening the gap between them faster than any of them expected.

  “We’ll catch them again. The wind shifts northerly at night,” Tom said.

  “Sinking my skiff isn’t worth risking our lives. Why are you even chasing them?” Max asked.

  “They’ve taken two of our people.”

  “Who?”

  “Raymond Jones and Lewis Johnson,” Rob said. “Now put this armor on and follow every order we give you or by Ayday I’ll toss you back into the sea with your ale.”

  Max was sober enough to see Rob’s earnestness. He took the armor and struggled with it until Orson straightened him out.

  Sitting down on a barrel of apples, he brought his attention back to his box. He idly played with the latch, which brought him Rob’s attention.

  “I see you’ve figured out how to open it,” he said to Max.

  Max looked around as if he wasn’t sure Rob had addressed him. “What do you mean?”

  “That box. You found it aboard this ship and kept it after selling her to us. Last time I saw you with it, you still hadn’t figure out how to open it.”

  “Oh, yes, this. I . . . uh, I hoped it had something valuable, but turns out I was wrong.”

  “What was in the box?” Piers asked. Clearly, he’d been eavesdropping.

  “Just some old piece of leather with an odd writing on it.”

  Rob perked up. “Do you still have it?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Max, I’m not going to take it. I just want to see the writing.”

  Max huffed in consideration of Rob’s interest in his prize. “Alright. But it doesn’t leave my sight.”

  In the fading light, Rob beheld the scrap of soft leather Max took from the box. On both sides, he noted a familiar writing. It was Duarvish. While unable to translate it, he could recognize it from the time spent looking at the notes Doctor Morris had made from the tablet.

  One side was nearly covered in the alien script, while the other had little actual writing but was covered in a drawing. The drawing proved to be just as difficult to decipher as the text. Yet two ideas were clear: an object near the center of the drawing was the focus of this puzzle, and small figures along two of the edges were definitely Quillian boats with their distinctive Y-shaped sails.

  “This is a map,” Rob said. “I think this is a map.”

  “Let me see,” Piers said, and Rob showed him the leather. “What language is this?”

  “I’m certain it’s Duarvish. I’ve seen some before, and these wavy lines are currents perhaps, or maybe islands.”

  “Or channels through the Sea of Grass,” Piers said. “Look how they intersect between groups of these vertical lines.”

  “The Sea of Grass? How could there be a map of that? The sandbars are constantly shifting.”

  “Perhaps the smaller ones, yes, but if this is a map of the Sea of Grass, it would indicate there are larger channels that aren’t ever closed off.”

  “And what’s this at the center of the map?” Rob asked, not expecting an answer.

  “Your guess on that is as good as mine. However, look at this.” Piers pointed to an upper corner of the scrap. There, what Rob’s eyes had previously interpreted as a Quillian sail, now appeared different from the rest. After a moment, everything became clear. It was Engle Isle.

  But his thoughts were interrupted by a shout from Tom.

  “Take cover!”

  Bursts of fire from the Stella Marina sent the Entdecker’s crew dashing for cover. Tom heaved on the steering oar, but these rockets were aimed more accurately than the last. Four of them struck the Entdecker. The missiles had barbed points, which pierced the wood of the hull, allowing the white blaze to burn everything around its point of impact. One hit the aft gunwale, near Tom, who used his axe to knock it away and into their wake. Two landed in the sail, scorching large holes in the painted hellhound before being doused with water.

  The fourth struck Jordan in his thigh. His horrific screams shocked his crewmates, and they grew in intensity and horror. A couple of them threw buckets of water at Jordan, attempting to put out the fire spreading on his clothes, but Jordan flailed about on deck, causing most of it to splash elsewhere. In a move that impressed everyone, Piers took hold of the young man from behind and launched himself overboard, dragging the wounded man with him. Immersion in the sea took care of the fire, but as their armor lifted them to the surface, both men cried out for help.

  They were hauled aboard again, where Rob immediately attended to Jordan’s leg. The copper rod that acted as the rocket’s spine had embedded itself deep into the muscle. The flesh around it was badly burned. Piers again took hold of Jordan’s arms and torso, admonishing Greg to help him secure their wounded comrade.

  Jordan had not stopped screaming but was forced to quiet himself when Piers gagged him with a leather strap. Even though Jordan was still dripping with seawater, Rob could smell his charred flesh. He was both intrigued and sickened at how closely the smell resembled roasted goat meat.

  “Pull it out!” Piers told Rob.

  “If that copper point is in the bone, removing it will make the wound worse.”

  “We can’t leave it in him. It’s a risk we must take.”

  Rob realized the truth of Piers’s words and yanked hard on the rod. Jordan let out a high-pitched whine before his eyes rolled back, and he passed out. The wound was bound before he regained consciousness. He was laid with the ship’s supplies under the quarterdeck where he moaned pitifully for hours.

  “That attack was calculated,” Tom said to Rob as the crew removed the damaged sail and replaced it with their old blank. “Look at them now. They’ve escaped into the night.”

  Rob strained his eyes in the darkness that now engulfed them
. He saw no sign of the Stella Marina. “We have to keep after them. Let’s hope they’re meecher enough to light a lamp.”

  “If it were in open sea, I’d not be worried about finding them. Especially with their broken rudder. But the wind has shifted. It’s going to push them into the Sea of Grass.”

  “How close are we?” Max asked.

  “If we turned south now, we’d see it by morning,” Tom replied.

  “Let the wind push us closer then. We’ll follow the same course they’re taking.”

  Tom and Rob looked at each other. “Not a bad idea,” Rob confessed. Tom lifted the oar from the water, and the ship turned with the wind.

  The night passed uneasily for those aboard the Entdecker. Even with Piers and Rob attending him, Jordan’s constant moaning brought the threat of attracting night predators. They muffled the sounds as best they could without smothering him and just as splashes were heard among the dark waves, he stopped moaning and lay still.

  Piers stood up from attending to him and said, “He’s fallen asleep.”

  Sometime later, more sounds were heard in the distance. Cannon fire. It was too far to see any flashes, but Tom was reasonably sure the sounds had come from ahead of them.

  Hours passed. Clouds obscured the stars, making the passage of time difficult to tell. Orson noted several long shapes in the water off the starboard bow. The shapes did not come near enough to threaten, save alone for their appearance. Sea serpents were considered among the more hideous creatures known to men. A step below selkies and only just above that of a nessie, they were as ferocious as they were ugly. Some sailors told of their ability to wrap themselves around small ships and crush them like eggshells. While perhaps that was an exaggeration, everyone knew they were among the more dangerous creatures due to their armored hides and stealthy nature. It was easiest to avoid them and their usual habitats, such as sea caves or shallow water, than to fight them off. As Tom and Rob had already witnessed, in the open sea, a serpent was as likely to ignore a ship full of men as to attack it.

  As the sky to the east lightened to the dull gray of the approaching dawn, a brown haze appeared ahead of the Entdecker. Once the sun had crested over the horizon, the haze to the south sharpened. Tall canes of grass with long, thin leaves were distinguishable to those aboard. Tom placed the steering oar back into the water and signaled Harry to drop the sounding line.