Fata Morgana

by Thomas J. Radford

Kaspar stared at the weapon in his hand. Violet glared and stepped in front of him. The Luscan blinked his black and white eyes at her in lazy bemusement.

  This is his deck, his guns. Which means he shot down the Tantamount.

  “Get your pointy flash stick out of my face or I’ll find somewhere to stick it.”

  “Violet!” Kaspar tried to push her out of the way. She set her feet and shouldered him back.

  Mors’ head pulled back in surprise, but the smile didn’t take long to reappear. “My now, this is becoming interesting.”

  He reached behind him and retrieved a second wand, dropping it at Violet’s feet.

  “Pick it up, little girl,” he told her. “Let’s see if you can back up your mouth now.” He grinned at Kaspar. “Don’t worry, Ensign. You’re free to help your little friend. You’re going to need each other.”

  Mors drew his second wand and held them crossed in front of himself as Violet snatched up the one he’d thrown.

  “This is a bad idea,” Kaspar told her, holding his weapon low.

  “Lots of bad ideas on this ship,” Violet found herself saying, “this one’s just a little less bad.”

  Mors made the first move, flicking his wands out in either direction. Violet ducked and heard Kaspar grunt in pain. He hadn’t moved fast enough but she saw him rolling for cover. Tougher than he looks, then. Violet put her back against a post, listening.

  Mors was quiet but she caught the scuff of his boot against the deck. She edged around the post, sending off a badly aimed shot in his direction. Mors leaned aside easily.

  Not going to be that easy.

  A bang, a knock on wood sounded to her right. Kaspar caught her eye, pressed out of sight against a post of his own, and motioned down the deck. There was more cover that way. She moved when he did, keeping her head low and eyes fixed on her destination. Wand fire ricocheted near her feet to the accompaniment of Mors’ laughter. Violet tripped, tucking her shoulder into a roll and scrambled behind one of the lances. Breathing hard now. She looked for Kaspar. There across the deck.

  He made a complicated series of gestures with one hand. More pointing. A circling. Then pointed down.

  Violet shook her head. Kaspar repeated the hand signs.

  “I don’t know what you mean!” she mouthed, over-emphasising the words. Kaspar scowled back at her. He stood up and swept his weapon across his cover before ducking back down hurriedly.

  “I expected better of you, Ensign!” Mors called out, his voice echoing down the gundeck. “Your father was an excellent duellist, so they say. How did all of that talent fail to make its way down to you?”

  Kaspar’s face was mottled, red and purple. Violet could see him grinding his teeth together, knuckles tightening around the borrowed weapon.

  He’s clearly baiting you, are you going to be stupid enough to fall for it?

  Kaspar stood up, his pride stung by whatever barbs Mors had flung his way. Violet didn’t doubt the Luscan had known exactly what to say. She looked away but couldn’t close her ears to the cry of pain that came all too soon. Hook, bait, and trap. Which meant Mors would be coming for her now.

  Just you. All alone. No one to save you.

  “Hells,” Violet muttered, staring at her own wand. She didn’t even know how to properly use the damned thing. Hadn’t understood what Kaspar had tried to signal to her before. Only left one option really.

  “I give up!” she called out.

  There was a silence.

  “You . . . give up?”

  Mors’ reply sounded incredulous. She could only imagine his face. Violet rolled the wand out onto the deck where it could be seen by all.

  “You can’t give up!”

  “I forfeit,” Violet repeated her claim, rising up, holding her hands where they could be seen. She could see Mors now, he was only a few feet away. Kaspar too, half bent over, ashen faced and down on one knee. It was a hard choice as to which of the two of them was more confused.

  “That would be the end of it, Coldstream.”

  Behind Mors stood Aristeia Quinn, the first mate. Violet hadn’t heard the woman arrive, nor could she guess how long she’d been present. The woman had hard eyes though, hard eyes that were hard to read.

  “Unacceptable,” Mors flashed his teeth.

  “I suggest you accept it, my friend,” Aristeia told him. “A forfeit would be a legitimate outcome to an actual duel. Which of course this is not.” She looked meaningfully at Kaspar.

  “Of course not, sir.” Kaspar raised a trembling hand in salute. “Nothing of the like.”

  “Nothing of the like,” Violet copied his gesture and words.

  “Captain wants a word, Mors,” Aristeia told the other. Mors seemed of a mind to ignore her as he stormed up the deck, snatching up the loaned wands from the floor. “Until later,” Violet heard him say to Kaspar as the boy climbed to his feet. Violet moved to help him while the two officers left abruptly. He waved her off.

  “Never saw the forfeit coming, Kitsune girl,” he eyed her. “Didn’t think that was in your nature.”

  “Mors didn’t neither. Gonna irk him more than anything else would.”

  “Almost didn’t work,” Kaspar said. “If Aristeia hadn’t have reined him in like that—”

  “You damned fool,” Violet told him, brushing at his clothes. “He got you all fired up and wide-eyed stupid, and you let him.”

  “Aye,” Kaspar winced, “aye, he did. And I did.”

  “Why did the mate pull him up like? Didn’t think she cared for neither of us?”

  “Aristeia follows orders, lass. Raines wants you looked after. Captain says to look after you, first mate looks after you. Simple as that.”

  “Then we should tell the captain what happened.”

  “No,” Kaspar shook his head, grabbing her shoulder. “No, we should not do that.”

  “And why not?”

  “Duelling is banned aboard the ship. Aboard all ships. Worth your life and career in the service to be admitting to it.”

  “Mors didn’t give you no choice!” Violet protested.

  “Aye, and he knows I can’t tell the captain either. I said it was banned, didn’t say it don’t happen. Just doesn’t get talked about.”

  “He trapped you. All officer-like. You can’t duel and you can’t not duel.”

  “Aye, that’s how it is, lass.”

  “Stop calling me lass,” Violet pushed him.

  “I should start calling you furry wench like Brandon does?”

  “Don’t do that neither. What was that about your father?”

  “Nothing.” Now it was Kaspar’s turn to look away.

  “He some kind of famous?”

  “No.”

  “What was he then?”

  “He was my father.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “And he’s not a duellist.”

  Chapter 10

  QUILL WAS HALFWAY to the docks when Nel encountered him. He was alone, a fact that didn’t sit right with her.

  “What happened?” Nel asked him without preamble.

  “Nothing happened,” Quill shrugged, adjusting the wrap that covered his shoulders and head. “Where is Sharpe? Have you misplaced him already? Did your rescue attempt not go as planned?”

  “Went fine and Sharpe’s fine. Waiting. Where’s Jack?”

  “Locked up.”

  “I know he’s locked up, Quill, figured out that was what you were hedging about. It’s Jack. Shouldn’t have expected nothing else. You were supposed to do something about that. So tell me now why you didn’t and why Jack ain’t here.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Nel repeated, drawing out the word. “Loveland, we ain’t got time for you to get belligerent on me and—”

  “That is what Jack said, Vaughn,” Quill interrupted her. “I told him what we intend, he wanted no part of it. He said no.”

  Nel stared at him. “No ain’t good enough, Quill.”

  “This
is Jack we are talking about. When does good enough become a concern?”

  “Hells damnit, Quill, this was your idea. Never mind, I’ll see to Jack.” She pushed past Quill, back the way he’d come.

  “And what am I to do?” he called after her.

  “Follow me, you miserable snakeskin. What else did you think?”

  She didn’t look back to see if he was. Didn’t look at anything till she got to the square. Market vendors, carts, barrels, and stalls, all gone for the night. Nothing but the rotting produce that couldn’t be sold. To be expected for that time of night. Looked different sober.

  “Jack?” she called out, probably too softly. “Where you at?”

  She heard the clack of clawed feet on cobblestones. Quill had decided to follow her after all.

  “Where’s he got to, Quill? You sure you didn’t break him out.”

  “Quite sure.”

  “Then where?”

  Quill pointed. To a barrel of overturned fish.

  “You’re joking with me,” Nel glared at him.

  Quill shook his head, once to each side.

  “Of all the—” She bit off the rest of what she might say and began kicking at the loose fish with her boot. The smell made her gag.

  Week old fish, oh the stench of it. Don’t even care for fish.

  “Jack?” she called out, as the tops of the bars to his cell appeared. “You in there?”

  There was no answer.

  “If this ain’t Jack,” she warned Quill. “Then I’ve a mind to take them anyways. And they’ll be bunking with you, Kelpie.”

  “Your threats are unnecessary,” Quill told her huffily. “The cell belongs to the Korrigan. The fish are a recent addition, but I consider it will be an improvement.”

  Nel looked down through the bars, saw Jack looking up at her. He had a half-eaten fish in one hand. The other half was being ground up in his mouth.

  “The hells are you doing, Jack?”

  “Helping,” he told her, not bothering to swallow before speaking. The sight only made Nel want to gag more.

  “That’s disgusting,” she said.

  “So is the food here. Except for the rats. Rats are ok. Better than fish. Don’t like fish.”

  “Then stop eating it.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Jack, you’re coming with me. Cook’ll make you a proper meal. Soon as we got ourselves a ship.”

  “Who’s the cook?”

  “Don’t know yet. Haven’t picked one.”

  “Think I’ll stay here then. With the rats.”

  “Don’t think, Jack. Ain’t never been your thing.”

  “Don’t wanna go,” Jack said stubbornly.

  “Don’t care what you want, Jack. I say you’re going so you go. And I say the Kelpie is gonna make that happen.” She waved at Quill. It was time to do the thing. And the sooner they got away from the fish the better.

  “Stand away from the window, Jack,” she warned him. For a blessing the Korrigan did as she bid and backed up into his cell. Quill stooped down, wrapping a length of chain around the bars. He eyed Jack cautiously as the prisoner munched on his fish. He stepped back, holding the length of chain. About a dozen feet of it.

  “Where’d you even get the chains?”

  Quill shrugged.

  “Fine. Tie it off,” she said.

  Quill surveyed the market.

  “Our options appear to be limited.”

  “Find something,” Nel told him.

  “I will attempt to make do then.” Quill took a step away, the chain still dangling from his fist. He seized on a nearby tarp-covered wagon, stooping down to wrap the chain around the axle several times. Nel was impressed. The Kelpie didn’t have to crawl under, what with the way his chicken legs folded back. Just crouch and bend at the hips.

  “This will do nicely.” Quill straightened, raising one hand. Blue sparks, he was all set to perform. The wagon lifted off the ground, several inches at first, then a foot, tilting uncertainly.

  “Having trouble there?” Nel asked.

  “It is an awkward shape,” Quill admitted, his voice rasping through clenched teeth. “A moment.”

  He lifted his other hand, in an invisible balancing act. Not for the first time Nel was reminded of the oddities of thaumatic scaling. The stronger the practitioner the more they struggled with small objects and fine control. Quill was more used to billowing canvas than pushing a cart.

  “Do you need to lift it?” she asked aloud. “It has wheels, couldn’t you just push it?”

  “No!” Quill snapped, his shoulders stiffening and his stance widening. “I could not!”

  Meaning you didn’t think of that until I said it, more like. Fine, Quill, just break the boy outta the jail so we can be gone.

  Quill sweated, floating the cart until the chain went taut. Having found the limit he brought it back, then sent it flying across the market square in one savage push.

  The action tore the axle free; the axle and half the wagon floor, scattering its contents over the square. Nel had to cover her mouth with the crook of her arm. Fish. The wagon had been filled with fish every bit as rancid as those blocking Jack’s cell.

  “Damnit, Quill!”

  The Kelpie navigator turned and glared at Jack’s cell. Or perhaps it was just Jack he was directing his animosity at. The Korrigan stared back, chewing his fish. The bars were still in place, though one had been bent out of shape. There was no way Jack was fitting through.

  “No one appears to have noticed,” Quill observed.

  “No one has noticed,” Nel repeated incredulously. “No one noticed the bloody cart of rotting fish being thrown across the square?”

  “It’s late,” Jack offered. “Folk are sleeping.”

  As if solely to prove them both wrong, Nel heard the sound of raised voices. Yelling.

  “Or not,” she growled. She reached for her wand, aiming for the mortar around the bars. Jack flinched, retreating into the darkness of his cell.

  “Godsdamnit,” she muttered, knowing the charge in her weapon wasn’t near strong enough to damage the bars. She clenched her fingers around the hilt in frustration. But it did give her an idea.

  “I’ll be staying here then,” Jack surmised, still keeping a cautious distance from the window. Even with bars missing it was going to be a tight squeeze to get him out.

  “The hells you are, Jack,” Nel told him. She wrestled with the hilt of her weapon, unscrewing the pommel. The charged crystals inside slid out into the palm of her hand, tingling with pins and needles where they met bare skin. Two of them. Might be enough.

  Might.

  “Stay back,” she pointed at Jack, wedging the hardened ammunition in the base of two of the bars. There was enough chipping and pitting around the set to get them in there. Marks where prisoners over the years had forlornly scraped at the bars. Hopefully done their bit to weaken them.

  Just enough for this to work. Be up the river if we don’t.

  “What are you doing?” Quill sounded alarmed, watching Nel pummel at the bars and her makeshift charges with her fist.

  “Improvising,” she said, backing up. She could hear the commotion getting closer. The ruckus they were about to cause wouldn’t make them hard to find. “The crystals, blow ’em.”

  Quill stared at her. “This is—”

  “Just do it, Kelpie!”

  “. . . not going to work,” he finished stubbornly. “They require heat to do what you intend. How am I to create heat?”

  “Just . . .” Nel raised one hand, wriggling her fingers. Quill narrowed his eyes back at her.

  “Damnit.” So much for the brilliant idea. Had a damned torch too, left it with Sharpe.

  “The lamps,” Jack said.

  “What?” Quill snapped at him.

  “Gas lamps,” Jack pointed, as best he could. Then made a face. He appeared annoyed at himself. A moment of self-recrimination.

  “Quill,” Nel ordered. “Get the lamp.”r />
  Quill got the lamp. He did so by extending one hand towards the nearest lamppost and ripping it thaumatically from the ground. The Kelpie had lost his patience but also his control. He and Nel both jumped aside as the gas-filled fixture shot towards them. It crashed into the wall of the gaol. Whether by accident or design the gas erupted in flame, engulfing the bars and the crystals Nel had mined there. From inside there was a bellow from Jack. If he hadn’t already regretted his words he did now.

  Nel covered her head with both arms, shielding her face and curling her knees up. There was a flush of heat from the gas fire, not bad but noticeable. Hopefully enough to . . .

  The booms went off, one after another. Boom and crack. Loud and echoing off the brick and mortar of nearby buildings, bouncing off the cobblestones, clear as a ringing bell.

  Quill was coughing. Nel’s ears were ringing, and she spat out a mouthful of grit and dust, waving her hand to clear the air in front of her face. But the crystals had done their work: the bricks and mortar around the bars were cracked and gone. Scattered fragments lay all around. The bars were still in place but a few solid kicks finally dislodged them.

  “Up and out, sailor,” Nel ordered Jack. The gap was bigger now, big enough for him to make his escape. If they were quick.

  Jack was slow, far too slow for her liking. He came to the window, now a hole in the wall, placed his hands out onto the street level. He looked up at Nel, his greasy and grey-streaked braids hanging over his face.

  “Why?”

  “I need you, Jack,” she said.

  “Don’t nobody need me,” he shook his head.

  “Gabbi did,” she told him. “She needed you then. Like I need you now.”

  “You ain’t Gabbi.”

  “No. I ain’t. Ain’t nobody here Gabbi, but I’m still your damned skipper and you’re my damned crew. And I need my crew, sailor.”

  Jack made a sound. A small one. The kind a child might make when finding a missing piece of a puzzle. He started to climb out.

  “Give me that,” Nel caught his scrabbling hand as it clawed in the dirt, seeking a purchase. “Quill, come help us.”

  Quill helped and together they pulled Korrigan Jack free from the prison. The three of them stood a moment, breathing hard lungfuls of smoky air.