Fata Morgana

by Thomas J. Radford

  “Why me?” Gravel asked her. “Why you asking me and not Kas?”

  “Because I ain’t got this thing figured out yet,” Violet said. “And you do. More than me. So maybe between you and me we can figure it out. Enough to get us away.”

  “That ain’t what you asked though. Still think you can do this all by yourself. So why me and not him?”

  “Because I’m asking you.”

  “Not an answer, lass.”

  “Because he does his thinking behind his salute,” Violet said hotly. “He’s part of the fleet and I don’t see him choosing me over that.”

  “Still sore over the kiss, aren’t you?”

  “I am not!” Violet snapped. “Ain’t got nothing to do with—right, changed my mind. Don’t want your help.”

  “Good, ’cause your plan is right stupid, Miss Violet,” he told her matter-of-factly. “Not a matter of wanting so much as needing. Which is what you’re saying anyways, that need is more important than want, aye?”

  Violet squinted at him. “Shut up.”

  “I’ll help you,” Gravel said. “On two conditions.”

  Violet beamed at him. Felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her chest. Breathing and all that was easier sudden. “What?” she asked, trying to sound cautious. “What conditions?”

  “Forget about heading back to that township. Both of us be better if we never step foot near there again. Got a ship we can take in mind. Much closer. Less holes in the plan that way.”

  “Ship? What ship? That ship? Your ship? That’ll work?” The words tumbled out.

  The ship in the hold. Down where Bandit lived. The one he and Kaspar tested.

  Then lied about.

  “Aye, it’ll work. Most likely. More than likely. I think.”

  “And the other condition? What’s that?”

  “I go with you.”

  Gravel said it quickly, braced himself. Held his breath even while he waited for her answer.

  Her answer came with a squeal, launching herself across the space between them, almost on to his lap. Violet wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. Squeezed the breath he’d been holding right out of him.

  “You mean it?” She thumped him on the chest repeatedly. “You’ll come with?”

  “Aye, I mean, yeah, didn’t seem so dangerous a moment ago.” He stared up at her.

  He has nice eyes . . .

  “Didn’t think you’d leave,” Violet said. “Leave him, I mean.”

  “Aye,” Gravel winced. “Kas, he’s a good lad. But . . . you’re right. Couldn’t ask him this. Wouldn’t be fair.”

  “You know what he’d say.”

  “Aye, I do. Be better off, I think, without us, without me. No more lies, no more having to protect someone. If I stay, there’ll be questions, after you’re gone. If I’m gone with you, they’ll know who to blame and it won’t be Kaspar.”

  “They won’t blame him?” Violet hesitated.

  “No, not when they’ve got the common deckhand to point fingers at. Lad’s an officer. Not good to go around making examples of officers. Families get all funny about it.”

  They both ran out of words then. Violet was still on top of Gravel, almost straddling him. She grinned, right down into his face, grabbing him by the shirtfronts.

  “Come on,” she said. “Before you wise up and change your mind.”

  SHE’D WANTED TO be alone. It was more dignified that way. Small ship but small crew, all of them busy. Should have been easy. Hidden down in the hold. Lock found her anyway. It only took her an hour.

  “Told you that stuff looked nasty.”

  Nel grimaced, wiping at her mouth with the sleeve of her borrowed uniform. She’d been planning on tossing the garment anyways.

  Not the coffee. Everything but. And not eating since . . . hells, when did I? Been busy. At least it’s still dark.

  What little had been left in the cold pit of her stomach made the jump to the floor. The end of her dignity along with it. Nel grabbed for something to pull herself up, coughing and retching. She could feel sweat breaking out on her arms and face.

  “Never again,” she groaned, back against the packed cargo. “Never.”

  “Heard that from many a person,” Lock mused. “Believed it at the time, same as the person who said it. Never known it to be true though.”

  Nel grimaced. Woman was right, most likely.

  “You want something? Or just enjoying me making a mess of myself?”

  “Came to get away,” Lock shrugged. “Told you, no sailor. Water makes me queasy. Figured it might be better down here.”

  “It’s not,” Nel told her. “Air’s bad. More sway. It’s worse.”

  Lock sighed. “I’m stuck on this ship, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah. Afraid so.”

  The woman sank down, back against and legs out. “Your crew ain’t right,” she said.

  “Never met a crew that are,” Nel muttered.

  “Yeah, but most crew . . . they’re people. Folk. Yours aren’t.”

  “It’s all going that way,” Nel shrugged.

  “It is in the High,” Lock said. “Everything’s being sucked in and put to work there. This is the Free.”

  Nel frowned. Gave the woman a look. “What do you know about it?”

  “Don’t have to know anything, Vaughn. Can’t ignore it unless you try.”

  “I’ve been trying.”

  “And what else are you trying?”

  “How do you mean?” Nel sank down to the hold floor herself.

  “You stole this ship, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What for?”

  “Needed a ship.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because I’m on it!” Lock snapped.

  Nel stared at her, not answering.

  “I’m going with you, aren’t I?” Lock said. “Whether either of us like it or not. So I have a right to know.”

  “Maybe you do,” Nel said. “But that don’t mean you get to know. And right now, this ain’t the time to be having a go at me.”

  Her newest crew member stared at her. Nel wondered if she was going to have to get up for this, maybe knock some sense into the lass. But Lock backed down.

  “All right. I get it. You don’t know me. I understand that, but I don’t know you either. Not yet.”

  Nel nodded. “That’s fair.”

  “So tell me one thing, Vaughn,” Lock said to her.

  “And what’s that?”

  Lock broke out into a grin as wide as her face. “You and the marine, the one with the tall and shoulders. There’s some boot knocking going on there.”

  Hells, why does everyone keep . . .

  “Kicked him in the face once. With my boot. Knocked his tooth out. That count?”

  Lock laughed. Loudly. “I’m starting to like you, Vaughn.”

  Nel shook her head. You’re right, don’t know you at all. Need to look into that. Soon as my stomach settles. Hells, I miss Gabbi, gonna have to stare down Jack’s cooking now.

  STARE DOWN SHE did.

  “Did you cook that?” she asked Jack, raising her eyes from the slab of salted meat up to her new cook. “At all?”

  “Don’t need cooking. Been salted. Salt cooks it.”

  “That’s not . . .”

  “Salt burns. Same as cooking.”

  Nel frowned. It was hard to argue when Jack wasn’t wrong.

  Doesn’t make him right though.

  “Thanks, Jack,” she told him. The plate shifted an inch or two as they struck another wave. Still with the waves. “Go tell Quill to get us in the air. Time we made some time.”

  Jack grunted, walking back out the way he’d come into the captain’s cabin. Leaving her alone with her plateful of salted pork.

  Nel hoped it was pork.

  She decided she’d rather focus on the previous captain’s logbooks for now. They were many and voluminous. Maybe the salt would finish cooking her d
inner by the time she was done.

  “Morning, Skipper,” Stoker called as he shambled through the doorway.

  “It’s morning?” Nel looked around. Yes, there was sunlight. So, not dinner then.

  “Aye, happens after night, mostly. Just have to hold on a bit longer sometimes.”

  Nel leaned forward over the desk, looking closer at Stoker. “Stoker, are you bleeding?”

  “Don’t believe so.”

  “Your feet are bloody.” She half rose out of her chair in concern.

  “What?” Stoker looked. There was a half-formed trail of red footprints following him in. He lifted one foot, studying it intently.

  “Been down in the hold, Skipper,” he apologised. “Believe it’s wine. Must have stepped in some, feels like it’s gone to vinegar though, to save us the tragedy.”

  Nel sat down, making a face at him. “You gonna clean my floor?”

  “Believe that’s a job most suited for a cabin boy, Skipper. Be sending him right along, I will.”

  Nel tried to hold face. She failed. Found herself laughing along to Stoker’s silent smirk.

  “What can I do for you, Midshipman? Have a seat.”

  Stoker tested the seat, rocking it gently. “Believe I’ll stand, thank ye all the same. Got a wee problem that might concern you.”

  “Why not?” Nel sighed. “Everything was going so well.” She reached for the book again, opening it up to a random page. A crew manifest. Former crew. She found herself smirking again.

  Hells, hope the captain never wrote anything like this about us. About me.

  “Been inspecting the guns and the armoury with young Powder, Skipper. On the one, we’ve enough small arms to repel, if not quite the arms to do the repelling with.”

  “And the other?”

  “Been tryin’ to find some shot for the big guns, lass. Skipper, I mean.”

  “There is none?”

  “Not as we can find it?”

  “Check the log books,” Nel said. “Should be a manifest here somewhere. Got everything else so far.”

  “Would that be the one you’re holding?” Stoker asked.

  “No,” Nel tossed it aside carelessly, reaching for another.

  Stoker eyed the not insignificant collection of journals. “A mighty task you’ve set yourself there, Skipper.”

  “Feel free to help,” she told him.

  “Ah, would but me eyes, you see. Don’t agree with the words and the squiggly bits. Too close to my face, you see.”

  Nel snorted. “Of course. Ah, this one’s about crew discipline.”

  “Be needing that one, I imagine.”

  Nel frowned. “Never did. Brought it up once, captain shot it down. Didn’t care for the cat, or the like.”

  “And you?”

  “What do you think, Stoker?” Nel sighed, turning the page.

  “Would never presume to think, Skipper. That’s when all the bad things happen. Thoughts and the like. Bad ones.”

  “You think I’m a bad person.”

  “No, lass. Nothing of the sort.”

  “Hard though. Everyone says.”

  “Best officers make the worst choices, they say. Only they mean hard.”

  Nel eyed him over the pages. “Careful, Midshipman, feel a promotion in your future.”

  Stoker coughed. “Best be going then, got rounds to make. Unobtrusive-like.”

  “Yes, you do that,” Nel waved to him. She’d come to empty pages; the logbook must be current.

  Wonder if Lock’s in here. Ah, here’s the last one. Ten lashes. Tapping the . . .

  Nel frowned.

  “Ah, Skipper . . . ?”

  Nel looked up, seeing Stoker standing in the doorway. The morning light was shining on him. Fellow was staring at his feet.

  “Believe I was wrong,” he said quietly. “Don’t think it’s wine after all.”

  “QUILL!” NEL CALLED towards the bridge. “Level her off!”

  Stoker gave a wave to Jack. For appearances, he had the whistle. Ropes were pulled and their speed slowed. A glance over the side told her their altitude was about right, flying parallel to the water, a mast’s height below them. They were still a few hours from the edge but Quill had already launched the ship. The breakers were getting too big for a ship meant for the black. Quill had chosen the expedience of using a rising crest as a ramp instead.

  And Nel had just called him on it.

  “This is not as simple as it might look,” Quill told her and Stoker, descending from the bridge. He eyed the sails critically. “Make up your mind, either let us ride the waves or rise above them. Holding the ship here is tiring.”

  “Suck it up, Loveland,” Nel told him. “I’m about to grant your dearest wish.”

  “We are throwing the Korrigan overboard?” Quill asked with false optimism in his voice. “I regret bringing him aboard already. You were right, the other one does indeed smell much better. I had in fact forgotten how fragrant his kind are.”

  His gaze moved to Lock, herself lounging against the brightwork and watching the Draugr work.

  “That, my friend, is exactly what we are doing,” Nel said. She rested a hand on her new wand. Charged and heavy, courtesy of Stoker and his armoury manifest. Small arms indeed.

  “Exactly what?” Quill said. “I do not understand.”

  “Watch closely then,” Nel told him. She gave Stoker a nod and he likewise made a few signals to his fellow Draugr.

  She started her march towards the woman. Lock spotted her from a distance but didn’t react until Nel drew close.

  Studying Stoker and the others. Been more than a bit curious about them.

  Now she knew why.

  “Never seen Draugr used like this, ma’am,” Lock said. “You could be on to a gold mine here. Except for them being pricier than water during a drought back in the High.”

  “Look over the side, Lock,” Nel told her. “See that island over there? The small pretty one with the grass and the trees and the white sand?”

  Lock frowned, leaning over the side and squinting at what Nel pointed at. She pulled back from the edge. “Aye, what about it?”

  “Need you to swim for it. Assuming you can swim, that is.”

  Lock turned a faint shade of green. “Truth is I never learnt.”

  Nel inclined her head. “Well, that will make this the more challenging for it. That and the big waves. Jack!”

  “Aye, Skipper?”

  “Go check out the hold. Find me an empty barrel or crate. Something that will float. Mind where you step too.”

  Jack shrugged but didn’t question, heading belowdecks to search.

  “The water’s salt,” Nel said to Lock. “Saltier than most. Should help you float. Once you hit the water head straight for the island. Don’t know what else might be in the water but I’d lay odds it swims better than you will.”

  “What’s on the island?” Lock demanded. “Why the swimming? Why me?”

  “Don’t want to put the ship down there,” Nel said. “And you because I say so.”

  “Why not one of the small boats then? Or the glass things?”

  “Tenders,” Nel said dryly. “We call them tenders, whether they’re made from glass or wood or whatnot.”

  “Fine, why not one of those?” Lock scowled. “What’s this all for?”

  “Really haven’t spent much time aboard ships, have you, Miss Lock?” Nel said. “At all. Jack, where’s my barrel?”

  “They’re all full,” Jack said.

  “Full of what?”

  “Useful stuff. Water, beer. Biscuits. Dung bricks.”

  “Very useful indeed, Mister Jack,” Nel agreed. “What did you find, what’s that you’ve brought up?”

  “Pig pen,” Jack held out the wooden framing. It was thin and lightweight, about two feet by three and just over a foot high. “Or maybe it was chicken. Smells like pig though.”

  “Very good, Mister Jack. Hand it over to our friend Lock here.”

 
; Jack shrugged and passed the cage over. Lock held it by the bars easily in one hand. “What in the hells is this for?” she said.

  “For you, Lock, or whatever your name is,” Nel told her. “You’re in luck, actually. We both are. Jack’s right, barrels are useful and so is what’s in them. Cages are good, float even better. Many a pig or rooster lived when sailors didn’t because they had them. Now,” she turned and pointed to the side. “Get the hells off my ship.”

  “I don’t understand.” Lock took a step back, away from Nel. Away from the edge of the ship. The woman’s eyes were wide.

  “Been reading the captain’s journal,” Nel said. “And I ain’t asking again. But I got one more thing I’ll say. Swimming. Learn it fast. That water goes all the way to the edge of the world. It won’t stop just for you.”

  Nel drew her wand, slapping it hard against her thigh. She raised her voice. “If she doesn’t jump in the next breath any one of you is free to throw her off.”

  Lock’s eyes darted between them, from Nel to Jack and then further afield. Stoker and his lot. Quill and Sharpe most probably. There was nowhere for her to go and she had no friends aboard. Lock held the wooden cage up in front of her, protectively. Nel raised her wand. And Lock jumped.

  “Take us up,” Nel called out, turning to face Quill. He was right where she expected him to be. Sharpe was next to him, shocked, where Quill was merely puzzled. She gave Stoker another nod, and he headed for the hold with Boxing and Swain.

  “That was unexpected,” the navigator said.

  “What was that?” Sharpe shook his head.

  “Do you have a problem with this?” Quill said to Jack.

  “Why would I?” Jack frowned. “I didn’t know her.”

  “Nor did any of us,” Quill nodded.

  “Smelt funny.”

  “We have discussed this. It was soap.”

  “Funny.”

  “Very well. I am taking us up. And away from here.”

  “You didn’t even look,” Sharpe said, grabbing Nel by the arm as the ship rose. “To see what happened when she hit the water. Let alone whether she made it to the island.”

  “Let go of me,” Nel told him, not looking at him or the hand on her arm, “or you can jump too.”

  Sharpe held on, meeting her eyes, making his point. Then he let go.

  “Since I first came aboard,” he told her, “your crew have been telling me the same thing. Skipper’s a hard woman. I believed it, but I never thought you were cruel.”