The King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  Only two things kept the sailors calm and going about their business as usual: their training in the Kingdom Navy and Amos’s firm command. They might not believe the magician could tell where the black ship was on the water ahead of them, but they could believe that if any man could sail them across the Endless Sea and back it was Admiral Trask.

  Nicholas glanced up at the top of the main mast, where a lookout was stationed, against hope that they might catch sight of the ship they followed. Amos speculated from the girl’s description that the ship was a galleon, a design used occasionally in Queg in days past, sometimes with rowing banks, sometimes without. If so, he judged it a far slower ship than his own, and that despite its ten or more days’ lead time, he might even overtake it before it reached its far port.

  Nicholas hoped so, for as he grew bored and restless aboard the Raptor, he found his mind drifting more and more to a fanciful reunion with Abigail. The sour memory of killing Render continued to intrude on him from time to time, and no matter how he tried, the feel of the saber in his hand as it drove hard into Render’s stomach still clung to him. Even when he practiced with the sword with Marcus, Harry, or Ghuda, dueling across a pitching deck, he anticipated that sudden difference, that oddly soft feeling of a sharp blade cutting flesh as opposed to ringing off an opponent’s blade. And thinking of the blood and death made him feel ill.

  He had talked about it with Harry and Ghuda, and neither could help him cope with the feeling of somehow being dirty. No matter how much Nicholas tried to justify killing Render, no matter how much he told himself that this had been the man who had killed his aunt, destroyed hundreds of lives, and reduced a thriving town to a burned-out collection of ruins, he couldn’t bring himself to feel that he had acted correctly.

  Nicholas knew better than to bring up the subject with Marcus, for how could he express regret over killing one of the men who had murdered Marcus’s mother and kidnapped his sister?

  And Nicholas had spoken with no one about his deepest fear: that if need be, he couldn’t bring himself to kill again.

  Brisa came up on deck and Nicholas was forced to smile. The girl was like no one he had ever encountered before, and she amused him. In one fashion, she reminded him a little of “Uncle James,” one of the King’s advisers in Rillanon, and a former companion of his father. Now he was a Baron of the King’s court, and he and his wife and children visited Krondor on a regular basis. There was something wild and daring in him just below the surface, and Nicholas had heard tales that when he was a boy, James had been a thief in Krondor. There was that same wildness in Brisa, though it wasn’t hidden very deep below the surface. And it came out with alarming regularity when she was around Marcus.

  Nicholas and Harry exchanged glances, and Nicholas found Harry grinning as the girl started straight for them, her eyes fixed on Marcus. For reasons none of them could fathom, she had taken a clear liking to the often dour son of the Duke. At least, she delighted in teasing him at every opportunity, and often Nicholas couldn’t be sure if her provocative invitations were teasing. She could become quite scandalous at times. She was at home with the sailors, for while she was female, and several held to the odd superstition regarding women on ships, she could swear with the best of them, climb the rigging like a monkey, and tell the foulest jokes of anyone on the ship. Where Amos had worried that some of the younger sailors might try to take advantage of her presence on the ship, causing conflicts among the crew, his worry had been baseless. The slender girl with the ragged hair and large eyes had managed to turn almost the entire ship’s company into surrogate big brothers, any of whom would be happy to thrash any other member of the crew who grew abusive of their Brisa. And they all seemed to take equal delight in watching her make Marcus blush.

  Coming to where Marcus stood, a resigned expression on his face, she said, “Hello, handsome. Want to go below and learn a few things?”

  Marcus shook his head, his color rising, as he said, “No. But I do need to go below. I’ve not had my midday meal yet.” She took a step after him as he turned, adding, “Alone!” He left the girl who feigned a pout, and Harry and Nicholas grinned as he went below.

  Harry said, “Why must you tease him so?”

  Shrugging, the girl said, “Oh, it gives me something to do. It’s pretty boring around here otherwise. Besides, there’s something about him that appeals to me. I think it’s his total lack of a sense of humor. It’s a challenge.”

  Nicholas considered himself fortunate that she had singled out Marcus instead of himself. He found himself sympathizing with his cousin: the street girl from Freeport was a force of nature. He studied her and found himself conceding that she was pretty in a boyish, uncomplicated fashion. A few days after the voyage began, he decided her ragged clothing and dirty appearance had been more a product of guile than of carelessness; being a pretty girl in a town like Freeport was dangerous enough, but without a protector, it was an open invitation to rape and bondage. With shapeless clothing several sizes too large, and dirt on every exposed inch of skin, she looked far less inviting and often could pass as a boy.

  Putting her hands behind her back, she whistled a nameless tune as she sauntered down to the companionway. Nicholas laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Harry, already knowing the answer.

  “Just considering how fast we’ll find Marcus back up here on deck.”

  “One of these days she may be surprised.”

  Nicholas said, “I doubt much catches our street girl by surprise.”

  “Wonder what she’d look like in some proper clothing,” said Harry.

  Nicholas said, “I was just thinking the same thing myself. She’s rather pretty under all that ragged hair and has lovely eyes.”

  Harry said, “Forgetting Abigail already, are we?”

  Nicholas’s mood instantly turned dark. “No,” he said coldly.

  “Sorry. I was making a joke.”

  “It was a bad one,” said Nicholas.

  Harry sighed. “I’m sorry.” Then his mood lightened. “I was thinking how she’d look in one of those gowns Margaret and Abigail wore to that last reception, the ones that had all that lace down the front.”

  Nicholas couldn’t help but grin. “You mean the low-cut ones that my mother thinks are so scandalous.”

  Harry grinned in return. “Well, Brisa has that long, slender neck, and her arms are really graceful.”

  “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s forgetting whom we’re looking for,” chided Nicholas.

  Harry sighed. “Guess you’re right. Perhaps it’s the boredom. But except for Brisa, I haven’t paid attention to a girl, pretty or otherwise, since the last night we spoke with Margaret and Abigail. There may have been a few around since then, but I was a little too busy to notice.”

  Nicholas nodded.

  “One thing,” said Harry.

  “What?”

  “I wonder why she picked Marcus and not me?”

  Nicholas glanced at his friend and saw that the question was only half-joking.

  The lookout cried, “Captain! I see men in the water!”

  Amos shouted back, “Where away?”

  “Three points off the starboard bow!”

  Amos hurried to the bow, and by the time he had gotten there, Nicholas, Harry, and half the crew were behind him. In the water, small figures could be seen floating. Amos nearly spat. “Slavers,” he said with murderous fury, barely controlled. “Those that die are thrown to the sharks.”

  “One of them is alive!” shouted the lookout.

  Amos turned and shouted, “I want a boat lowered. Make ready to pick up the survivor! Put her into the wind, Mr. Rhodes!”

  The ship was turned to slow her movement while a boat was lowered. The men started rowing toward the floating bodies and the one survivor, when the lookout shouted, “Sharks!”

  Amos looked to where he pointed and saw a fin cutting the water. “Brown tip; he’s a man-eater.”

  “The
re’s another,” said Harry, pointing a little farther off.

  Nicholas asked, “Can your men get to the survivor first?”

  “No,” said Amos. “If the sharks grab one of the dead men first, maybe there’s a chance. Sharks are funny that way. They can swim around you for hours or come straight in and take you the minute you hit the water. There’s no telling.” He shook his head.

  Calis said, “Maybe I can distract them.” He unlimbered his bow and drew out a long shaft, fitting it to the bowstring. He drew back and sighted on the shark closest to the ship, then let fly. The steel-tipped arrow sped through the air and struck the shark just below the fin, causing a noticeable fountain of blood.

  Instantly three of the other sharks veered away from the floating corpses and sole survivor and made a straight course for the thrashing shark.

  Amos said, “Lucky shot. Shark hide’s tough. That’s like punching an arrowhead through armor.”

  Without boasting, Calis unstrung his bow. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

  The men in the longboat got the survivor into the boat and began rowing back to the ship. Amos called, “Ready a sling!”

  By the time the boat reached the side of the Raptor, a sling and two ropes were ready. A couple of the crew climbed halfway down to aid the injured man as he was hauled up on deck.

  By the time he was aboard, Anthony had reached him. He examined the man’s color, rolled back an eyelid, and put his ear on the man’s chest. Nodding once, the healer said, “Get him below.”

  Amos motioned for two men to pick up the man and take him to the crew’s quarters, and turned toward the helm. “Get her back on course, Mr. Rhodes!”

  “Aye, Captain,” came the answer.

  Amos scratched his beard. “If one of them is still alive…”

  Nicholas said, “Then we’re not too far behind!”

  Amos nodded. “Two days at most.” He calculated quickly, then said, “Unless I miss my guess, we’ll catch sight of them by sundown tomorrow.” There was a gleeful look in his eye, and Nicholas didn’t need to ask what was on his mind. When Amos overtook the men behind the sack of Crydee, there’d be murder to pay.

  —

  NICHOLAS, MARCUS AND the others waited on deck as the sun sank in the west. Amos had gone below with Nakor and Anthony, to see to the man they had fished from the sea. They had been down for most of the day and still no word was forthcoming.

  At last Amos appeared on deck and motioned for Nicholas and his cousin. They left the others, who were gathered on the foredeck, and joined Amos on the main deck. “He’s still alive, but barely,” said the Admiral.

  “Who is he?” asked Marcus.

  “He says his name is Hawkins and he was apprentice to a wheelwright in Carse.”

  “Then he was from the black ship!” said Nicholas.

  Amos nodded. “He also said that he had been in the water two days before we’d found him. They throw those who are dead and those too ill to recover overboard at sunrise, along with the garbage. He clung to a bit of a broken crate that was tossed, which is how he survived. He has a hacking cough, and Anthony figures that’s why he was tossed overboard. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”

  Nicholas said, “What about the girls?”

  “Rumors. They were taken away from the other prisoners the first night the ship put out, so he knows they were on board then, but he hasn’t seen them since. He says that someone claims a sailor mentioned they’re kept in better quarters because of their rank, but he doesn’t know.”

  Marcus said, “Will we overtake them before they reach their home port, Admiral?”

  Amos nodded. “Unless we’re closer to land than I think, we will.” As the sun sank beneath the horizon, he said, “The color of the water’s different here, it’s deep.” Glancing upward, he added, “But I have no idea where we really are; the stars are in places I’ve never seen before. Some old familiar ones have fallen below the northern horizon over the last month, and there are ones new to me visible in the southern sky. I judge we’ve still got a way to go before we reach our friend’s port, if I remember that map.”

  “That makes it a long journey,” observed Marcus.

  “Nearly four months from Krondor to the northern shore of that landmass on the map, I’m guessing. We’ve been more than two months from Freeport, and I think we’re still two weeks from landfall,” said Amos. He shook his head. “Assuming Anthony is right about their course.” Glancing at the deck as if he could see the sick man from Carse through the planks, he said, “And our near-dead friend down there shows that Anthony knows at least that much magic.”

  “Will we have trouble getting back?” asked Nicholas.

  Amos shook his head. “I can retrace our course, allowing for the winds. Every night I record my best guess as to heading and speed, and I’ve been doing this long enough that my best guess is fairly reliable. The stars may have changed, but I’ve marked the new ones, and where the more familiar ones rise each night. It may take a bit of work, but we’ll hit somewhere between Keshian Elarial and Crydee when we get back.”

  He returned to the quarterdeck and left the cousins alone with their thoughts.

  —

  ANTHONY CAME ON deck, looking drawn and exhausted. Nakor came out behind him. Nicholas asked, “How is he?”

  “Not good,” said Anthony. With bitterness he said, “The slavers knew their trade. Even if he recovers, he’s never going to be a hearty man, certainly not someone who can be sold on the slave block.”

  Nicholas said, “When will we know if he’s going to make it?”

  Anthony exchanged glances with Nakor, then said, “If he lives through the night, he stands a fair chance.”

  Nakor shrugged. “It’s up to him, I think.”

  Nicholas said, “I don’t understand.”

  Nakor grinned. “I know. When you do, your foot won’t hurt any more.”

  The short man took Anthony by the elbow and led him away to the other side of the ship where they could be alone. Nicholas glanced at Harry, who shrugged and said, “Let’s practice.” Pulling out his saber, he said, “If we’re going to overtake that ship soon, I want to be as sharp as this blade.”

  Nicholas nodded and they marked off a portion of the main deck and began exchanging blows.

  Nakor looked at the young men at practice a moment, then said, “You did well, magician.”

  Anthony ran his hand over his face, clearly fatigued by his efforts. “Thank you. But I’m not sure what you were doing in there.”

  Nakor shrugged. “Some tricks. Sometimes it is not the body that needs healing. If you practice, you can see other things inside the person. I was talking to his spirit.”

  Anthony frowned. “Now you sound like a priest talking.”

  Nakor shook his head vigorously. “No, they mean soul.” The little man looked at a loss for words for a moment, then said, “Close your eyes.”

  Anthony did so.

  “Now, where is the sun?”

  Anthony pointed over toward the bow of the ship.

  “Ah,” said Nakor in a tone of disgust. “I mean, where do you feel it?”

  “On my face.”

  “This is hopeless,” Nakor said, his disgust even more apparent. “Magicians. They mess your minds up at Stardock, fill your brain with nonsense.”

  Anthony was usually amused by the strange man, but now he was too tired. “What nonsense?”

  Nakor screwed up his face as if in concentration and said, “If you’re a blind man, can you tell where the sun is?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Anthony.

  The ship shuddered as Amos ordered a slight course change because of a wind shift, and Nakor said, “A blind man can feel the warmth of the sun on his face and ‘look’ at it.”

  Anthony said, “All right. I’ll accept that.”

  “Very generous of you,” snapped Nakor. “Close your eyes again.” Anthony did so. “Can you feel the sun?”

  Anthony turn
ed to face the bow of the ship and said, “Yes. There’s more warmth there.”

  “Good, now we’re getting somewhere.” With a grin, Nakor asked, “How can you feel the sun?”

  Anthony said, “Well…” He looked surprised. “I don’t know. You just can.”

  “But it’s up there.” Nakor pointed to where the sun hung in the late afternoon sky.

  “It gives heat,” responded Anthony.

  “Ah,” said Nakor with a grin. “Can you feel the air?”

  Anthony said, “No…I mean, I can feel the wind.”

  “You can’t see the air, but you can feel it?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Nakor grinned. “If there are things you know are there that you can’t see, then might there not also be things you don’t know are there that you can’t see?”

  Anthony looked befuddled. “I suppose.”

  Nakor leaned against the rail, and adjusted the rucksack he always had with him. Opening the bag, he took out an orange. “Want one?”

  Anthony found he did, and asked, “How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Always have oranges in there. We’ve been at sea nearly four months since leaving Crydee and you’ve never bought any that I’m aware of.”

  Nakor grinned. “It’s a—”

  “I know, a trick, but how do you do it?”

  Nakor said, “You’d call it magic.”

  Anthony shook his head. “But you don’t.”

  “There is no magic,” Nakor insisted. “Look, it’s as I said: there are things you can’t see but are there.” He made an arch in the air with his hand. “You do this, you feel the air.” Then he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “But you do this, you can’t feel it.”

  Looking out over the ocean, he said, “The universe is made up of very strange stuff, Anthony. I don’t know what this stuff is, but it’s like heat from the sun or wind. Sometimes you can feel it, and even move it.”

  Anthony was now intrigued. “Go on.”

  Nakor said, “When I was a boy, I could do tricks. I knew how to do things that amused the people in my village. I was to have been a farmer like my father and brothers, but one summer a traveling magician came through our village, selling curatives and spells. He wasn’t a very good magician, but I was fascinated by the tricks he could do. The night he came, I left my father’s house and went to him and showed him some of my tricks, and he asked if I wished to be his apprentice. So I followed him, and never again saw my family.