by Mike Truk
“Frigates,” said Maestria, stepping up beside me. “I recognize them both. Their captains are good men - well, decent enough - but are currently in the employ of Port Gloom’s municipal council.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Aye, shit. That’s what you’ve dragged me into. Havatier’s been blowing up a gale all night, but they must have a couple of weather mages each on board and they’re faster than the Bonegwayne regardless. Those ships were made for speed. There’s no outrunning them.”
And like that I was wide awake, my heart pounding, staring at the inscrutable ships that were creeping up on us. Even at this distance I could make out the activity on their decks, the sailors moving smartly as they prepared to close.
“Can we fight them off?”
Maestria laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “The Bonegwayne has a complement of twelve cannons. Each of those bastards carries sixteen. So yes, we can fight them, but no, we can’t win. And even if Blind Fortuna herself spread her legs and shat pure luck upon our heads, we’d be so torn up by the engagement that we’d needs put into port for extensive repairs that might take a season. But no. That won’t happen. We’re not a ship of war. They are. We can’t win this fight.”
“Then?”
“They want you, Kellik.” Her gaze turned flinty. “That’s why they’ve come all this way, is it not? You’ve affronted the Family so badly they’ll hound you to the ends of Khansalon. I’m of a mind to put you and your friends aboard a jolly boat and row you over to them in an attempt to buy clemency.”
“Clemency.” I tasted the word. “You think you’ll get it?”
“Better chance of that then trying to fight them off. Best to give them what they want while I get as much distance from them as I can, and hope they won’t come after me.”
I grinned. “Come on, Maestria. You think the Family’s going to go soft on you? After you killed off their mage and the guards they’d put on your ship back in the Snake Head?”
“You killed them,” hissed Maestria.
I spread my hands. “Do they know that? No. What they know is that you lent us your weather mage, and then the guards they placed on your ship were murdered and you sailed off into the bay. After which we rendezvoused with you, and we all sailed happily toward the horizon.”
A band of muscle appeared over the joint of her jaw.
“Sorry Maestria. In their eyes we’re in cahoots. You’re going to need to be punished as much as I am as a warning to all other ship captains who think they can meddle in Family affairs.”
“The Hanged God stop your heart,” she said, and there was pure venom in her words. She turned away to sight through her telescope at the distant ships. “Damn it!”
“How long till they catch up with us?” I asked.
She socketed her telescope closed with a snap. “Two hours. I’ll have to stop fleeing and turn to engage them before then if I’m not to be taken with my pants down.”
I rubbed at my jaw. This wasn’t the time to feel guilty for dragging Maestria into my problems. Again. No, it was time to plan. Could we launch Pony onto one of the ships…? No. The risk of missing and having him sink into the ocean was too high. Netherys could help by causing all manner of mishaps on their ships, perhaps even stopping some of their cannons, but it wouldn’t be enough to win the fight.
“What if… could one of us go overboard with a barrel of powder and light it under their hull as they sailed by?”
“No,” said Maestria. “They’re watching us like hawks. Anybody goes over the side or lies bobbing amidst the waves will be noticed immediately. And powder doesn’t work that way.”
I bit my lower lip, thinking furiously. How could we outfight two superior frigates who were both faster and better armed than we were? If we could get on their decks we could perhaps overwhelm their sailors with our abilities, but Yashara’s scimitar and Pony’s hammer were useless if we were trapped on the Bonegwayne while they pummeled us with cannon fire.
“We’re going to have to surrender,” said Maestria, voice dull with despair. “At least that way I’ll save the ship.”
“No,” I said. “Surrender is tantamount to exceedingly painful death. Even if these two captains treat us well, the moment we’re handed over to the ‘authorities’ in Port Gloom we’re done for. How about -” I looked around, desperate for inspiration, and saw the beckoning expanse of the ocean that extended toward the distant horizon. “What if we left the offing? Sailed into the Dead Man’s Trench? Would they follow us there?”
Maestria laughed. “’Course not. Because nobody fucking sails over the Dead Man’s Trench. Not if they want to return.”
“We’re dead men, Maestria.” I wanted to seize her by the shoulders, but was worried doing so would result in a dagger in my gut. “Either we’ll be blown apart by their cannons, or we’ll be carted back to Port Gloom and tortured slowly over the course of months till our minds snap and we’re cut up so that our body parts can be posted around town. The Hanged God’s right here with us, right now, unless we try something desperate.”
She scowled. “So a slow, terrible death at the hands of the Family, or a quick and horrendous death at the hands - or tentacles - or pincers - of whatever rises out of the Trench.”
“That sounds about right,” I said, and by the Hanged God’s irrepressible cock I couldn’t help but grin. “We try to fight those frigates we’re done for. But if we risk the Trench, there’s a chance we’ll get through, isn’t there?”
“Not really.”
“But a little one. A tiny chance.”
She glared at me. “Infinitesimal.”
“So like I said, I’ll take a small chance over no chance any day of the week.”
“You are mad,” she said. “No, not mad. Divinely ignorant. You’ve no idea of what you suggest.”
“Look, I’d apologize but that’d just piss you off. So instead, let’s heel to starboard or whatever and get the fuck over that trench. Soon as we lose the frigates we turn to port and get right back into the offing. How long would we to stay out there till they gave us up for lost?”
Maestria tapped her tattooed chin as she strode to the far side of the raised deck and stared at the horizon. “Three and a half leagues till they can no longer see us from their crow’s nest. Take us about an hour and a half. No knowing for how long they’ll try to keep pace, expecting us to dart back out. They’ll slow, deliberate amongst themselves. If we go four or five leagues south while out of sight of land - if the wind holds steady - that should take us another three hours or so. Another hour to cut back into the offing. Say six hours all told over the Trench.” She dragged her hands down her face. “We might as well be sailing right into the Ashen Gardens.”
“But they won’t follow us?”
“No, they won’t follow us, because they’re not damned suicidal fools with no better options in life than to sail into the fucking Dead Man’s Trench!” If her voice had been a weapon, she’d have cut me in half right there and then. “Damn it! Get off my quarterdeck before I have you thrown off my ship!”
I raised both hands and backed away, trying for a studiously neutral expression that wouldn’t provoke her further. Down the ladder to the main deck, where Cerys, Yashara, and the others had gathered.
“What’s the plan?” asked Tamara, hugging herself.
“Nothing good.” I moved to the railing so that I could gaze back at the frigates. “That’s Port Gloom on our tail. They’re faster, have more weather mages and more cannons. We can’t outrun them and we can’t fight them.”
“We should have gone out the Field Gate,” growled Yashara. “We’d have had the whole countryside in which to hide ourselves instead of being trapped inside this wooden bucket.”
“Easy,” I said. “Anybody hears you call the Bonegwayne that they’ll toss you overboard.”
“They’re welcome to try.”
Cerys pinched the brow of her nose. “Enough with the posturing. Kellik, what’s Maestria goin
g to do?”
“Well, to be honest, I’m not completely certain. What I advised her to do, however, was sail out of sight of land and over the Dead Man’s Trench.”
They all stared at me.
“The Dead Man’s Trench,” said Cerys. “Where nobody sails because they become sitting ducks to all kinds of ancient horrors from the deeps.”
“Precisely,” I said. “The frigates won’t follow us. As I told Maestria, we’d be risking near certain death instead of absolutely certain death against those frigates.”
Silence.
Pogo removed his glasses and cleaned them with a spotless white cloth. “Mistress Yashara, could you please remind me why we thought it wise to accept Master Kellik’s contract?”
“I can no longer remember,” said Yashara.
“Enough already,” I said, patience wearing thin. “Did you think the Family would allow us to humiliate them so thoroughly and not attempt a response? Well, we’re paying for the outlandish size of our success. But look at what we’ve survived already. This’ll be just another miracle to add to our list.”
Cerys shook her head. “Blind Fortuna delights in punishing those who count on her favors.”
“Yeah, well, she and I have a thing going. I dare her to crush me for my outrageous gambles, and she delights in my foolishness and lets me live another day. But fine - does anybody else have a suggestion?”
Iris raised her hand. “If we determine the absolute minimum number of sailors needed to sail the Bonegwayne, we can kill the rest so that I can send them against the enemy. I could perhaps amalgamate them into some manner of swimming creature that could puncture the hulls -”
“Ah, no, Iris, I don’t think that would go over very well with the rest of the crew.” I tried to keep my tone even. “They’d probably, um, protest quite vigorously.”
“Hmm,” said Iris. “Even if it meant some of us survive?”
“Even so,” I said.
She shrugged and looked away, apparently mystified.
Netherys tapped her lips. “I could, if pressed, summon a servant of Mother Magrathaar… though I can’t vouch with complete certainty that it wouldn’t attack our ship instead of theirs.”
“Could it destroy one of their ships?” I asked.
“Hard to say. It would depend on the servant sent, and how well I was able to instruct it… they are by nature, agents of chaos. One might be able to pierce the hull of a ship, but then again it might choose to go aboard and attack in person.”
“Leaving us with one frigate to fight,” I said. “Which is perhaps more manageable.”
“Unless her servant attacks us,” said Cerys.
Netherys gave a sensual shrug. “A possibility, alas.”
“Tiller to port!” Maestria’s voice rang out over the decks, drowning out some kind of argument that was taking place up on the quarterdeck. “I’m the damn captain of this ship, and that’s my command! Tiller to port, and if you don’t like it, I’ll throw you headfirst into the brine to be picked up by a frigate!”
“Looks like she’s decided,” said Tamara.
“Blind Fortuna wept,” said Cerys.
“We’ve cheated the Hanged God before.” I tried to inject optimism into my voice. “Let’s see if we can do so again.”
The Bonegwayne began to veer away from land, cutting an oblique angle that grew ever more severe. I watched the sailors manage the ship, doing all manner of incomprehensible things with the many smaller sails and rigging, and soon we were cutting our way out toward the horizon.
“Kellik! Get your miserable hide up here.”
I looked to my companions. “Anyone care to join me?”
“I’ll come,” said Cerys.
“As will I,” said Netherys. “Lead on.”
The three of us ascended to the quarterdeck once more, where I was subjected to numerous furious glares from Jonas, Samel, and a few of the other officers that I’d not yet been introduced to.
Maestria stood with her fists on her hips, chin raised, staring out with her one good eye at the endless oceanic horizon.
“Made your decision?” I asked.
“Six hours.” She reached up to rub at the scar tissue that extended like pale pink webbing over her tan skin from under her bandana. “That’s my wager. Six hours in which to lose them. I won’t stay out there any longer.”
“Whatever you think best,” I said.
“Don’t you get all damned polite and agreeable now, Kellik.” She turned to step right up and thrust her face into my own. There were lines drawn under her eyes from her fatigue, but if anything her simmering anger made her all the more striking. “I curse the moment I laid eyes on you. In fact, I curse the moment Samel decided to try and talk Cerys here into his bunk.”
“How was I to know -” began the boatswain, but Maestria cut him off with a chop of her hand.
“You’re bad luck, Kellik. The worst kind of bad luck, because you disguise how cursed you really are with a string of impossible successes. But as you go winning battle after battle, everyone around you pays the price, slowly but surely losing the damn war.”
I raised both hands. “Listen, I never meant to -”
“No, you better damn well listen. I’m doing something no captain would ever command. I’m risking my ship and crew on the most insane gamble of my life, one that I’d never have had to have made were it not for your reckless vendetta and inability to keep me out of it. If we survive this, if we make it through the next six hours alive, I swear to you that I’ll have my pound of flesh from your hide. And I won’t settle for mere gold, either. Whatever I take from you is going to hurt, and I aim to leave you bleeding and gasping on the deck with something that will remind you for the rest of your life that nobody fucks with me and the Bonegwayne and walks away unharmed.”
I stared into her one good eye, at the fire flashing in its depths, and inclined my head. “We get through this, you come collect.”
“Now, get your people ready. We’re going to need all hands on deck to fend off whatever rises from the deeps. And while we wait for the Hanged God to summon us to the Ashen Garden, you’d best be on your knees begging that Blind Fortuna sucks your cock. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Maestria stood there, practically shaking with rage, looking like she was trying to find some pretext right there and then to draw her blade and cut off a piece of me, but finally nodded and pointed at the ladder. “Get.”
We withdrew.
The frigates changed course to follow us for the next half hour, betting, no doubt, that we were bluffing with our approach to the trench, but eventually shied away, sailing back toward the mainland as they realized it was no bluff.
It was surreal. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a peerless and infinite blue, and as land disappeared I felt for the first time that sense of insignificance and wonder that came from being surrounded on all sides by only water and sky. The sun was an inch above the horizon, a blazing coin too wondrous for any man’s purse, and a few huge seagulls kept circling our main mast, their wing span easily several yards across.
The wind was fresh, the Bonegwayne’s passage smooth, and as I stood by the railing gazing out over the dark waters, I kept having to remind myself of the peril we were entering. To my untrained eye there was nothing to hint at the dangers that lay below. The constant surging motion of the ship, the taut sails creaking and straining overhead, the occasional dash of spray, the warmth of the sun - all of it amounted to a delightful experience. Would that I could sit back with a mug of good heavy, feet up with a hat over my eyes.
But the nervous energy that ran through the crew kept me from relaxing for even a moment. Key ropes were replaced with lengths of chain, while a couple of men were sent aloft with buckets of alum with which to douse the sails. Cannons were trundled forward so that their muzzles poked out the ports, and everyone on deck kept glancing up at the lookouts, as if expecting a warning shout at any moment.
The
two frigates diminished into specks and then finally were swallowed up by the horizon. Maestria paced the quarterdeck, telescope at her eye more often than not, barking out commands to reef that sail or turn a quarter of a degree that way with the wind.
The Bonegwayne ran smoothly over the deep waters. An air of breathless expectation settled over the ship. A sense of inevitability. Havatier appeared from below, once more cadaverous in appearance, to brace himself on the poop deck at the far rear of the ship and coax the wind to blow with greater vigor into the sails.
Tamara stepped up alongside me. “Hard to believe we’re sailing over such depths. I wonder how far down it goes.”
“Impossible to say.” I gazed out over the dark waters. “Miles? Maybe there’s no bottom. Maybe it’s just clogged with horrors, a vast, squirming mass of terror waiting for…” I stopped at the sight of her expression. “Um, never mind.”
Time crawled by. With no geographic markers beside the endless ocean it was hard to tell just how much; I remained by the railing, gazing out over the waves, finding myself lulled despite my nervousness into a state of placid staring, again and again. The sun inched higher. The crew remained alert. Maestria never ceased her pacing. Even Pony came out on the deck to hunker by the main mast.
“Starboard!” The cry from above galvanized the deck. Men startled, some ran to the far railing, and I was amongst them, crossing the deck faster than I’d ever thought possible, rushing to belly up to the rail and gaze out over the ocean at a huge fin that undulated through the distant waves, easily a dozen yards long and glistening wetly in the sunlight, its length divided by sharp-tipped spines. It was moving parallel to the ship, and even as I saw it the fin descended back amongst the waves and was gone.
The sailors’ voices rose in panic, and though I wanted to ask the same questions I knew them to be fruitless. Jonas was bellowing and shoving men back to their posts. Tamara was by my side, Netherys on the other.
“I can feel Mother Magrathaar’s attention upon us,” whispered the dark elf. “Events are such that even she is curious as to what shall happen next.”