Dynami’s Wrath

by St Clare, Kelly

  Jagger was a bloody pain in her hull.

  Heat crept from her neck into her jaw. The moods she could blame on Peg-leg. Her temper was all Locks.

  “Has anyone ever told ye that ye’re an annoyin’ shite?” she shot at him, fists clenching.

  “One coin for the swear jar, my dear,” Barrels sang, ambling over with the rest of her fathers.

  Ebba waved a hand, not breaking the stare-off with Jagger. She hated paying the coin jar. Which was Barrels’ fault. He was tight with his coin and had instilled such principles in her. “I only said it because it be true. And. . .I was upset about Sal leavin’.”

  Locks clucked sympathetically. “Aye, true enough. We’ll let her off this once, lads.”

  “Only cause yer heart be hurtin’,” Plank agreed.

  Jagger whispered low, “See? Spoilt.”

  The heat flooded her face. Ebba shoved him away and whirled for the rigging.

  He was back beside her in a flash.

  “Get off my riggin’,” she hissed at it.

  “That be enough o’ that, children,” Stubby said, joining them from the helm.

  Jagger stilled and drew himself tall as he turned.

  Stubby lifted his gray brows. “That’s right. Ye’re actin’ like a child, too, Jagger.”

  “Ha!” Ebba shot him a triumphant look through her thick, black lashes. Then frowned. “Hey.”

  She wasn’t acting like child. Much.

  Surprisingly, Jagger didn’t seem angered by her father’s comment. A small smile curved his lips and Ebba studied him with no small amount of suspicion.

  What was he playing at?

  “Now, ye both need to. . .” Stubby’s voice took on a droning quality.

  Babies with shark’s teeth, he was settling into a lecture.

  Ebba stopped listening and let her eyes drift out over the ship’s side again. She sighed. The sprites were completely gone from sight, as though they’d never been here. Deep down, a part of her had held hope Sally would change her mind and come back.

  Jagger dug his elbow into her gut.

  “Ouch,” she exclaimed, more from shock than actual pain. “Why’d’ye do that, ye flaxen bastard?”

  “Ebba-Viva Fairisles,” Stubby said in a quelling tone. “Mind yer tongue. Are ye even listenin’ to a word I be sayin’?”

  Her spine snapped straight, and her face dropped. “He dug his elbow in my gut.”

  “How old are ye, Ebba-Viva?” her father demanded.

  “Eighteen and a bit,” she muttered.

  Stubby shifted his firm gaze to Jagger.

  “Twenty,” the pirate supplied without prompt. His eyes slid to her and he added, “And a bit.”

  “Ye had a birthday?” she turned to him, cutting off her father. “When?”

  Jagger folded his arms, glancing away “A week ago. Not long after yers.”

  They’d missed it. Not that she should feel bad when he’d kept it a secret like he did everything. “Well, Stubby be right. Ye should act yer age. Ye’re in yer twenties and should know better than me.”

  “Ye both need to act yer age,” Stubby boomed.

  Where was this coming from? She never had to act her age. Ebba cast a woeful look at her father and Stubby’s expression faltered. She watched as Plank grabbed the back of Grubby’s belt to stop him approaching.

  “Ebba’s sad,” Grubby whined.

  Plank grunted, visibly digging his heels in. “She ain’t sad, matey. We be tellin’ her off. This be disc’pline.”

  Stubby’s tone had softened when he spoke again. “What I was sayin’ is that we need the three o’ ye to focus and find out where we be headed next.”

  She was still attuned to Jagger’s buzzing presence next to her and snuck a look up at the crow’s nest. There was no way Jagger was reaching the shrouds before her. He’d become too comfortable in her territory and it had to stop.

  Ebba prepared to jump onto the bulwak. “I’ll just—,”

  “Nay, ye won’t. Neither o’ ye will,” Stubby snarled.

  She scanned the faces of her fathers, searching for the weak link. Grubby was restrained. Barrels, avoiding her eyes. Yet one of them held a particular softness for the heights of the nest.

  Her eyes sought out Peg-leg.

  He wasn’t avoiding her, and he stared for a long beat before saying, “I know why ye want to go up there, lass.”

  Ebba’s eyes began to burn again. His comment stole her voice for a scant second; long enough she couldn’t come up with a quip in return. His assumption was correct. There were few places aboard a ship to have a good cry. Below deck echoed. There was the tip of the bowsprit, but Ebba wasn’t sure she wanted to perch over the black Dynami Sea as she tended to do in the safer waters of the Caspian. According to Grubby, there were a whole heap of things under the surface that gave him the willies. Then there was the crow’s nest.

  Sally had left and Ebba wanted to leak a tear or two in private.

  “I’ll go up again,” Peg-leg announced.

  He would?

  Her father used to be a rigger until the depraved captain of Eternal ordered his leg amputated in petty revenge. Minus a leg, carrying a past filled with horrific abuse, and with the taint still in him driving his thoughts to black places, her father only recently regained the confidence to climb the shrouds.

  He’d gone up once, and Ebba knew the more he climbed to the nest, the more he’d heal.

  Mouth drying, she rushed to say, “That be a great idea, Peg-leg.”

  “What’s going on?” Caspian said, exiting the bilge door.

  “I’m goin’ to climb the shrouds,” Peg-leg told him. “Locks, did ye get a chance to make me that foot?”

  Locks nodded. “Aye, it be below deck. I’ll grab it.”

  The ship carpenter disappeared to the hold, and everyone’s gaze dropped to Peg-leg’s fake leg.

  “Thought a wider surface would be makin’ it easier to climb,” he said defensively.

  Caspian’s breath hitched in his throat. “A missing limb doesn’t change a thing, Sir Pirate?”

  Peg-leg winked at him. “Nay, lad. A missin’ limb doesn’t stop ye from a thing.”

  Locks returned and knelt to fit the end of Peg-leg’s peg into a deep groove on an otherwise flat strip of wood about the length of a foot.

  Stubby clapped the cook on the back. “Up ye get then, matey. We’ll ready the ship and figure out where to go.”

  Testing his new foot a few times, Peg-leg then ambled to the rigging. Ebba scowled at Jagger, waiting until he released the ropes before doing so herself.

  The oversized pirate walked to the mast, and she trailed after him toward Caspian.

  She stood on the prince’s right, patting her belt. “Hold on, I put the scio down somewhere.”

  “You tied it to Pillage again, my dear,” Barrels reminded her.

  Oh, aye. She’d wanted to re-test the ship cat as a hiding place. She’d used the scio so he didn’t gouge holes in the deck again.

  Blast. Pillage could be anywhere. Whenever she didn’t want to find him, he was around. As soon as she did, he tucked himself into some obscure corner of the hold. The ship cat did it on purpose, she was certain.

  “Where be the dynami? I’ll use that instead,” she said. The could use any three parts of the root to find the way to the next piece.

  Barrels blew out a breath. “I’ll go find the scio.” No one answered, and he exhaled loudly again, leaving through the bilge door.

  “Anyone have the dynami?” she called across deck.

  “Here, have the purgium. I’ll go search for Pillage as well,” Caspian replied.

  From the starboard bulwark, Plank called, “Aye.” He reached under the sash holding his pistols to his chest. He drew out the dynami. “Here ye go.”

  Caspian handed her the purgium as Plank tossed her the dynami. Flustered, Ebba dropped the healing tube to catch the dynami, but managed to miss that too.

  Both parts rolled across t
he deck and everyone immediately started after them—though the tubes were too big to be lost out the scuppers.

  The bilge door crashed open.

  Ebba jumped and whirled about, clutching her chest.

  “She stole my bloody cat,” Barrels shouted.

  Plank asked, “What?”

  “That sprite stole Pillage. I found the scio on my desk with a note saying the queen has ‘borrowed Pillage to act as her noble stead’.”

  No one on the ship really liked Pillage aside from Barrels, but Ebba pushed down her bubbling laughter. “That be terrible.”

  Plank snorted. “Ye need to put a mite more effort into that, little nymph.”

  “That be terrible!” she cried.

  Plank nodded. “Better.”

  Caspian threw her an amused look, the corners of his lips quirking, and she flashed a grin back.

  “Laugh if you will, but I consider this a gross misdemeanor after the hospitality we afforded her,” Barrels snapped, some of his peppered hair escaping its throng.

  Fancy words. Ebba took them to mean her father was greatly peeved.

  “She was your pet, Ebba-Viva Fairisles,” he continued. “I expect you to put things to rights.”

  They were in the Dynami, so she felt pretty safe agreeing to do so. “Sure thing. Wait, has Sal been able to write this whole time?”

  “I wrote the note for her,” Jagger told them, drawing everything to a screeching halt. “She dictated usin’ the scio.”

  “You knew?” Barrels screeched, rounding on the pirate.

  Jagger shrugged a shoulder. “Aye.”

  Ebba snickered, taking a large step away from him.

  “Oopsie,” Grubby exclaimed from directly behind her. “Look what ye dropped.”

  She peered over her shoulder to where he stood across deck. Ebba whipped fully around as Grubby bent down, his fingers stretching to the purgium and dynami.

  “No matter,” he said happily.

  “Nay, Grubby,” Ebba choked out. “Don’t touch them."

  Too late.

  White light exploded.