Fata Morgana

by Thomas J. Radford

  “Since you first came aboard,” Nel said, “there’s a lot less of my crew than there ought to be. You came with trouble and it ain’t left since.”

  She saw the fight play out on Sharpe’s face. He seemed to have trouble keeping his emotions from showing these days. Before he’d been harder to read. That was the crux of it, what Nel had just said. She wasn’t wrong.

  “Why’d you do it, Nel?” he asked.

  “Won’t make the same mistake again, Castor, that’s why.”

  She turned her back on him, making for the captain’s cabin. Didn’t feel right to call it anything but, certainly wasn’t hers yet. Have to throw a lot more than one former prisoner over the side before she could start feeling anything about it. Did have a door though, she’d missed that, make a change not sleeping in a ready cabin where any folk could barge in. Less chance of being attacked by cutlery too.

  It took less than a hundred heartbeats to dispel some of those illusions. She heard the door open and shut behind her, softly but deliberately, the latch clicked, loud in the empty ship.

  “What?” Nel demanded, not looking to see who it was.

  “I would talk,” Quill answered her.

  “Who’s flying the ship?” she replied.

  “I left Jack in charge. For all his faults he is a capable sailor. I believe he can handle a crew with no minds towards drink and debauchery or maudlin songs.”

  “Won’t the ship drop out of the air?”

  “Eventually.”

  “How long is eventually?”

  “I believe we have a few minutes.”

  “As long as that?”

  “I suggest we talk quickly.”

  “What do you want, Loveland?”

  “This is a new side of you, this throwing of excess crew over the side. I am not sure I disapprove but I would know the thinking behind it.”

  Nel grabbed the captain’s logbook off the table, holding it out to her navigator. He took it, turning it over.

  “I was not jesting about what little time we have,” he told her pointedly. “There is something relevant in here?”

  “Captain was officious,” Nel said. “Kept good records. Better than we ever did. Every hand aboard, every bale and sack of flour. Every punishment doled out and every half-measured bottle in the spirit cage.”

  Quill hefted the book. “All this in here?”

  “Naw,” Nel pointed, to the chest and the books now strewn about it. “Whole chest full of them. Like I said, officious.”

  “And the relevance?”

  “No mention of our friend Lock. Not a one.”

  “You went through all of them? In the hours since we took possession? I trust you also considered that not being her actual name,” Quill said.

  “Aye, I did. Fact is, seen her around before. Shadowing me, buying me drinks even.”

  “I dislike her already, yet you still were unaware of her name?”

  “Never asked. Never cared to. Seems obvious now though, don’t it?”

  Quill narrowed his eyes, the same eyes flicked around the room.

  Aye, not so indifferent to abandoning your post after all, are you, Kelpie?

  “Wasn’t looking for me, not to be my friend or drinking buddy. Was waiting. For Sharpe.”

  “Ah.” The long exhalation between clenched teeth told her Quill had caught up to her. “There is a prisoner though,” he dropped the book down on the table. “The commander thought as much. What happened to them?”

  “Stoker found blood. Chances are he either finds the rest of them dead to the world in a box or they’ve already gone over the side. A bold move, standing in for them, have to give our friend Lock that much credit.”

  “You are certain of this.”

  “Threw her over the side, didn’t I?”

  “I have been suggesting that for years, yet this is the first time.”

  Nel pointed to the deed, still unrolled on the table. “Guild symbol,” she said of the more recent additions.

  “What of it?”

  “Wasn’t there before. Part of the message. Guild’s involved.”

  “Sharpe mentioned as much. The connection is what?”

  “How’d the deed get to Vice. Quill? Sharpe didn’t bring it. Heathen sent it. With who?”

  Quill frowned.

  “That was bait,” Nel thumped the table. “Bait for me. For us. And we were meant to draw Sharpe out.”

  “That is . . . the most tenuous of threads, Vaughn. And you believe her, Lock, to be a Guildswoman, the Guildswoman sent after Sharpe?”

  “I figured as much. You were the one who said it was probably Guild-folk who were after him. Figured Heathen sent Lock, and gave her that deed.”

  “That makes little sense.”

  “Plans inside plans. Everyone has their own game here, Quill. And we’re all being played.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “If I’m wrong . . . well, still won’t say I’m sorry over it.”

  “No. You gave her a barrel.”

  “Chicken coop.”

  “Jack said it was a pig pen.”

  “Does it make a difference? I did it. It’s done.”

  “I see. One last question then. What made you act? The log book? Her fraudulent name?”

  “Never saw Lock go for rum. Always had the coin for the quality. Not used to slumming it with the likes of us.”

  “The likes of you,” Quill corrected her. “What of it?”

  “Aye, whatever, Quill. Point is, it stood out. Bit of a lightweight teetotaller if I’m being honest.

  “Last entry here, fellow in lockup was there for tapping one of the rum barrels. Got lashes for it. Didn’t see no lashes on Lock, and I know what to look for. And book says fellow, mind, not lass. So now that lass . . . she’s swimming in the biggest drink of all. That’s irony for you.”

  “Perhaps.” Quill remained unconvinced.

  Nel pointed at the still visible bloody trail Stoker had left. “See them footprints, Kelpie? There’s your clue.”

  Quill studied the evidence. Tail flicked. He was annoyed. “And you do not begin by mentioning that?”

  The ship gave a slight shudder. Nel saw the pitch of the cabin start to angle down.

  “It appears that is all we have time for. Until later, Skipper,” Quill inclined his head to her.

  “STOP!”

  The muscles in Violet’s arms and legs almost cramped as she threw herself back, an inch, maybe two, before catching herself. Movement. Freezing. Whispering and shouting at Gravel all at the same time. All that tension in her body and it had nowhere to go. It yelled at her in protest.

  Violet spun around, grabbing Gravel by the arms and pulling him into the crook of the bulkhead door. She resisted putting her back against it, feeling her tail brush up against the wall. Gently easing both their weights back, slowly so as not to make a sound. She clapped a hand over Gravel’s mouth to quiet him. Violet shook her head at him, right in his face. His breath on her hand as he tried to suck air in, too loud, too noisy. Made her clamp his mouth harder. She tried to talk with her eyes, towards the open doorway. The glow. Voices. There were people that way, right where they wanted to go. Right outside Sharpe’s cell.

  It was Aristeia and she was not alone. The one doing all of the talking was the Kelpie captain, Heathen. Violet had only heard her talk that one time aboard the Tantamount but the sight was instantly familiar to her.

  The words were muffled, Violet couldn’t make any of them out, but she knew the tone. It wasn’t a conversation, more that of someone speaking at a captive audience. Gloating. Every now and then there would be a word, little more, from Aristeia. Violet felt Gravel’s arm spasm under her touch at the first, a flinching reaction. They were less than a dozen feet away. If the two women hadn’t been so engrossed in their conversation they would have heard them coming down the corridor.

  A conversation that seemed to be coming to a close. There was lull in the voices, then the ring of foots
teps tracking towards them. They had nowhere to go and only shadows to hide in. Violet wrapped her arms around Gravel, pulling him onto her, so close she could feel his heartbeat and the damp sweat on clammy skin. Whose it was, that she couldn’t tell. Pulled them down together, in their little intertwined ball, small as could be. Gravel’s arms were around her too, a precarious balance they both held, shallow breathing on her neck. Her chin resting on his shoulder, refusing to shut her eyes and look away though only one eye was able to see around his sailor’s ponytail.

  They’re on board a friendly ship, not even on watch. A secure area of a ship, the brig. They won’t be looking for trespassers. Carrying a glowstone, means bad night vision, only looking to put one foot in front of the other and not trip over themselves. Kelpie’s have front-facing eyes, they look ahead, more so in a corridor like this. Won’t be looking to the side. If Heathen comes through the door on the side closest to us then less chance of being seen. If it’s Aristeia there’s more.

  Thoughts she barely recognised flashed through Violet’s mind with every footfall. She felt calm though. There was nothing else to do other than let this scene play out. Not so for Gravel, she realised. He was holding his breath, waiting for it to be over. Waiting to be caught. Completely still.

  That was bad, she thought. Breathe. Now, before you have to. Breathing is loud, they could hear you.

  She hugged him closer, squeezing his chest, heard the slight exhale as the air left his body in surprise, the even quieter inhale right by her ear as normal breathing resumed. On the next breath Heathen and Aristeia stepped through the doorway, Heathen on the side closest to Violet and Gravel, as she’d hoped. The two weren’t talking to each other, a silence Violet wished they had filled, but both stepped with the quick-footed marching of people who had places to be.

  They despise each other.

  The moment of passing was long and drawn out, broken only by the slamming jolt of the door shutting behind them. Aristeia didn’t even turn to inspect it after the turn-wheel left her hand. The two disappeared around the corner of the corridor, the muted silver glow of their light soon following. After what she deemed long enough Violet tapped Gravel on the back and they shambled awkwardly to their feet, Gravel sucking in noisy breaths. He hadn’t been breathing proper after all.

  “They’re gone,” Violet told him. “You can let go of me now.”

  “Funny,” Gravel said. “Seeing as it was you grabbing me there.”

  Violet slapped him on the arm. “Weren’t no grabbing, Brandon.”

  “As you say, Miss Violet.”

  “You ever going to drop the Miss Violet?”

  “No, Miss,” he said with a straight face. “Not likely I will.”

  “Get the door,” Violet made a face at him.

  “Aye, Miss Violet, getting the door.”

  She felt better with a closed door behind them, one less obstacle. That still left Sharpe’s actual cell though.

  “How do we open it?” she asked Gravel.

  “Combination,” he said. “This many turns that way, so many turns this way. Here, let me.”

  There was a loud clank as he grabbed the wheel, the immediate sound of the mechanism hitting the bar. Violet’s heart sank.

  “It’s locked.” Gravel strained at the wheel pointlessly.

  “That’s the idea, isn’t it? Said you could unlock it.”

  “I can! I could . . . something’s changed,” he frowned, trying to turn the wheel more.

  “You said you could open it!” Violet almost cried.

  He turned to her. “Violet . . .”

  “The hells are you two doing out there,” Sharpe’s voice called to them.

  “Sharpe!” Violet crouched by the door. “The door’s locked.”

  “You only just figured that?”

  “Locked different, I mean.”

  “Good to know. That important?”

  “Is if we’re gonna get you out.”

  “Who’s we?” Sharpe asked.

  “Never mind. Hold tight, need to think here.”

  “I’ll just stay here then, shall I?”

  Violet faced up to Gravel. “How do we get this open?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Miss. Think we’d need a key as well as a combination. Must be worried about something. Someone. Aristeia and the captain would be the only ones with any keys, don’t see that happening for us.”

  “Is there another way in?” Violet asked.

  “For us? No. Maybe our small furry friend could find a way but that don’t help us any. Might need to rethink this, Miss Violet.”

  “No,” Violet shook her head. “Has to happen and has to be now.” She leaned on the doorway with one hand. It felt so solid under her touch. Sharpe just on the other side. So close.

  “Shall we go fetch the loompa then?” Gravel asked. “Should be down in the hold hunting rats and knocking chips off the big rock.”

  “Big rock,” Violet repeated, drumming her fingers.

  So many echoes on this ship. So many secrets and hidden places.

  “I have an idea,” she said.

  Chapter 21

  THEY DIDN’T FIND a body. Nel hadn’t really expected to. If she was right then Lock, whatever her name was, had known what she was doing. Body would be proper hidden or food for sharks. There was blood though, what Stoker had tracked through. Maybe a person, maybe chicken. Or pig. No way to be sure. No neat little bow for her moral quandary. Didn’t matter. If Nel was right, she was right. And if not . . . she’d given the woman a fighting chance.

  And I ain’t taking no more chances. Not with people I like.

  “How long until we make port, Quill?” Nel asked her navigator. The Kelpie had made himself at home, his own charts and those he could find lamp-shaded around the bridge. He appeared to have made a nest for himself as well; several hammocks were bundled in one corner. Didn’t even have to leave the room to sleep. Nel stamped her foot to get his attention.

  “What?” He didn’t look away from his work.

  “Haven. How long?”

  “We are not going there,” Quill raised his eyes briefly. “There is no need. We have enough provisions. Enough air and water. This is where we are going.” He jabbed at a point on one of his charts.

  “Port Autarch.”

  “It has been called many things. I believe that is the most current name.”

  “Fine.”

  “Was there something else?”

  “Haven was where Sharpe met up with Stoker, yes?”

  “As I said, we no longer have need of visiting.”

  “Wasn’t my meaning. Was curious why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why you suggested it. Haven’s as big as they come. It’s not a backwater port or some rural moon. Smack damn in the middle of the cross-lanes. Got more ships coming and going than some of the High and more folk than Piper had . . . all right, fine, maybe that weren’t so daft, Quill.”

  “Thank you,” Quill sniffed. Nel had to admit it was a begrudging compliment at best. The Kelpie’s idea had been more than a bit clever.

  Haven was big, deep in the Free Lanes. A planet bigger than most, it had originally been established as a charter mine. Rich veins of ether shallow in the planet’s crust, easy to get at. Easier than most. Mines and miners needed food, lots of it. Soon it was more expedient to make farms than it was to make runs. Farms led to towns and towns to communities. These days it was one of the most densely populated planets outside of the Central Band of the High. Still did a decent export of ether though the flood had slowed to a modest stream, last she’d heard. But that many folks all crammed into one place led to industry and the mother of inventiveness. So there was always coin to be made.

  Place like that, a couple of ships full of refugees and children and runaway Draugr could blend right in. Get lost in the crowd and never be looked at twice.

  Damned clever, in fact.

  Too clever.

  The kind of clever w
e’re going to need.

  “We’re up against it, Quill,” she told him quietly. “You realise that.”

  Quill nodded stiffly.

  “You given it much thought?”

  “No.” He raised his eyes. “I gave my word. There is nothing to think about.”

  “Don’t stop you complaining about it.”

  “Apparently I have more than one word to give then.”

  “That a joke, Quill?”

  “Was it funny?”

  “Almost.”

  “Then it was not.”

  Nel chuckled. “You thought about after? If we live through this?”

  “There is no need. We will live through it or we will not. What happens after will take care of itself.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Why’d you stick with me, Quill?”

  The Kelpie grimaced. Looked away.

  “Quill,” Nel growled at him. “Something you not telling me?”

  “As I said,” Quill replied. “I have more than one word to give.”

  “Who’d you promise, Quill? What’d you promise?”

  He didn’t answer.

  The captain. Couldn’t be anyone else.

  “Is that all I am to you, Quill? An obligation? All any of us are?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “That is all I am.”

  “Life was easier when we just yelled at each other, wasn’t it?”

  “I will try to continue the tradition of yelling, Vaughn.”

  “You do that, Quill.”

  “DON’T LIKE THIS.” Gravel rubbed his bare arms with both hands, crossing them over his chest. Bandit rode his shoulders, one leg dangling and the other draped over the front. The loompa’s hands were in his hair but it didn’t seem to bother Gravel any.

  “Be brave,” Violet told him.

  “Brave as can be,” Gravel muttered. “Else I’d be running for ma and asking for the brown trousers. Be brave, she says.”

  “And be quiet,” Violet told him. “Had our close call already. Don’t need the whole crew knowing what we’re doing down here. Don’t need anyone knowing.”