Fata Morgana
Page 34
It did scream. Right up until it passed outside the envelope. A long, despairing wail.
Aristeia looked at her second, Mors. “I believe I said for that cannon to be secured.”
“Apologies, Captain,” Mors saluted gravely. “Marines, secure the weapon.”
He waved the nearest marines over and they proceeded to lash the cannon, wheeling it back to its original mounting.
“Any further orders, Captain?” Mors asked.
“Begin repairs, second,” Aristeia told him. “And then plot us a course for the Central Band. We have a long journey and dark days ahead of us. Time enough to properly reflect the record.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Carry on.”
“DOMINIK.”
Her brother made a face. “Don’t call me that. That’s Da’s name. You oughta know better than anyone.”
“Kaspar,” Nel corrected herself, switching to his preferred middle name. She didn’t know what else to say.
“The hells are you doing on my ship?”
“Your ship?” he bristled. “You mean to tell me with a straight face it belongs to you? That you didn’t steal it? It’s got fleet branding and colours and it’s been a long time since that meant you. Not to mention your crew looks like you spun them out of a bad song about pirates.”
“Had a ship,” Nel stared him down. “Then I didn’t.”
Kaspar flinched, looking haunted for a moment. “I didn’t know that was you.”
Nel sighed. “And I saw you,” she admitted. “Before. Probably should have said something.”
Kaspar’s head came up. “Saw me? When? Where?”
“Port Border,” Nel said. “Ran away, rather than talk. Good at that.”
Kaspar shuffled uncomfortably. “I probably wouldn’t have wanted to talk to you.” He made a face. “Then. But after.”
His eyes drifted, following Violet going up the rigging. “That was the day I met her. Never thought all this would follow.”
“About her,” Nel said. “About what she said. Anything you want to tell me?”
To her immense surprise, her brother flushed crimson. Between hair and complexion it was not flattering. “No,” he shook his head vigorously.
“Anything you need to tell her then?”
Kaspar gave her a withering look, somewhat undercut by the barely faded blushing. Nel held up her hand in peace offering.
“Nothing she doesn’t already know,” he said curtly.
“Fine. Good.” Nel frowned. “You met her? Vi? In Border?”
“Yes. During the riots. I was looking for . . . someone. They turned out to be drinking with her, with Violet.”
“Someone?” Nel asked him. It was hard to miss the pain in her brother’s voice.
“A friend,” Kaspar smiled. Sadly. “You remember how good I was at making those.”
Hells. She patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. His expression said he felt as uncomfortable about it as she did.
“You were looking for us?” she asked.
“No,” Kaspar shook his head. “We were shaking down the Morgana. Aristeia Quinn was supposed to take her out to the Amber Lanes, work on curbing the pirates that have been striking there. But we were contacted by a Guild spokesman to divert to Border. We had Raines aboard as our contact. He built the ship, he—”
“I know about him,” Nel interrupted, earning a dirty look from Kaspar.
“We were to retrieve a golem that had been delivered to Port Border,” Kaspar said. “It went on the run during the riots. Almost killed me and Brandon, might have if Raines hadn’t stopped it.”
Kaspar shrugged, a grimace. Too many bad memories. Nel thought better than to ask who Brandon was. “Next thing I knew we were all hands aboard tailing some ship. Yours, it turned out. Talk aboard was how we even knew how to find you. Guess we know now.”
Nel nodded. Yeah, we were all slow on that one. But how was anyone to guess that?
“We left markers. Our contact from Border was supposed to help run you to ground. Things got complicated once we were inside the Free Lanes. When you tried to run at Vice . . .”
“I know,” Nel said. “Things went bad.”
“Weren’t supposed to,” Kaspar said. “Raines wanted to take you on the ground. Everyone alive. Not in a good way, I guess, but alive. Aristeia was the one who gave the order to shoot you down under Vice. Things went dark between her and Raines afterwards.”
“Those shenanigans back aboard,” Nel said, remembering. “You and Vi, the sphere and the light show. The hells was that?”
Kaspar gave her a very sidelong glance. And just the hint of a smile. “Something a former captain of yours might have suggested, let’s say.”
Nel opened her mouth to follow that line up when they were interrupted. Sharpe yelled out in pain, followed by a bellowing from Jack. Nel turned to see Sharpe batting at the Korrigan with one hand while Jack liberally applied brandy to the man’s wound. She recognised the bottle.
“You’re wasting it,” Jack growled, trying to hold him down and pulling the bottle out of reach. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”
“Easy, lad,” Nel came up behind him, wrapping an arm around his chest and trapping one of Sharpe’s own behind his back. “Hold still, man’s right, can’t be wasting top-shelf grog like that.”
Sharpe screwed up his face, breathing sucking between his teeth as Jack poured.
“Drink?” Jack offered the bottle, still half-full.
“No,” Sharpe winced.
“Skipper?”
Nel just made a face, making Jack laugh. He swigged some for himself then set to work with needle and thread. Nel made sure not to let Sharpe go before he was finished.
“You wriggle more than a bait fish,” she told him at the end.
“That a good thing?” he asked, gingerly exploring Jack’s stitches.
“No, and stop that.” She slapped at his hand.
“Now what?” Sharpe asked.
“Find yourself a new shirt and don’t touch those for a week,” Nel told him. “You don’t want Jack double stitching you, believe me.”
Sharpe made a face at her. “Not that, can figure the sewing out for myself. Got Violet back, that’s what we set out for, right? Where to now?”
“Away,” Nel said. “Put some distance between us and what’s behind us, that’s all I’m thinking.”
“I would suggest Haven,” Quill said.
Nel glared at him. “Wasn’t asking, Quill. But thanks for announcing yourself. Saves me telling you to mind your business.”
“I can hear you from the bridge just as easily,” Quill told her. He nodded at Sharpe. “This one from further. If there was further.”
“Still not minding.”
“And I am still the navigator so you may as well take my advice now so you do not need to take it later.”
“Agree about Haven.” Stoker climbed down from the rigging to stand beside Jack. “Know some folk there. Good folk. Especially if you’ve an eye for a new ship.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” Nel asked quickly.
“Nothing,” Stoker told her. “Sails straight, she does. But a bit distinctive, if you don’t mind me saying. Could be the colours or the lines but truth is she don’t look like a Free Lanes trader to most folk.”
Jack laughed at the Draugr’s words and held up his bottle again. “Drink?” he offered.
“Aye, be pleased to,” Stoker accepted, taking a free-pour sip, the bottle not touching his lips. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Thought you didn’t need to drink,” Nel said.
“Ah, Skipper,” Stoker sighed, almost happily, “man doesn’t drink a drop like this because he needs to. Drinks it because he can.”
“Just hope it doesn’t come leaking out of you right away,” Sharpe said.
“Believe you’re the only man here with holes poked in him, Mister Sharpe,” Stoker grinned. He waved to the other Draugr up in the rigging. “Ca
re for a drop, my lads and ladies?”
Nel sighed, raising her voice. “Anyone not here?”
“I’ll have some,” Violet dropped to the deck, landing in a ball of fur that was all gangly arms and legs. She was half reaching for the bottle when Nel snatched it away.
“Oi!” Violet protested, echoed by Bandit. “What gives?”
“Please don’t give her any,” Kaspar sighed. “She’s a mean drunk. The girl can’t hold her liquor.”
“Oh and you can?” Violet retorted. “You ain’t the boss of me. Either of yous.”
“In fact she is,” Quill told her. “Whether she is prepared to admit it is another thing.”
“Shut up, Quill,” Nel told him.
“I think not,” Quill said. He reached into his knapsack, pulling out rolled parchment.
“What’s that?” Violet asked quickly.
“Be still and be quiet and I will tell you,” Quill said as he unrolled it carefully. He looked up and met Nel’s eyes over the tattoo deed before speaking again. “This is the deed to the Tantamount,” he told them. “It is from the captain and of the captain. He leaves the responsibility of her to one,” Quill grinned, showing all his teeth, “Chanel Dominica Vaughn.”
“That’s all well and good,” Kaspar was the first to speak, “and not to rub salt in your wounds, truly, but the ship you’re talking about is gone.”
“The Tantamount was never really a ship,” Nel muttered. “Captain just couldn’t remember the actual damned name. Kept saying whatever he thought it was at the time was close enough. Tantamount to. Just as well since the actual ship was wanted for blockade running.”
“The Tantamount is not a particular ship,” Quill agreed. “It is the people aboard her, her crew. That is what Captain Horatio left.”
“Skipper?” Violet asked. “What’s it mean?”
Nel made a face. Then, reluctantly, “Dancers Poignard is a gods awful name anyway.”
“Hear hear,” Jack chuckled, claiming the bottle back from her. He raised a toast and then a cheer.
“Does that make you captain then, Skipper?” Stoker asked. “Ship ought to have a captain.”
“Shut your mouth, Stoker,” Nel told him.
“It makes her captain,” Quill confirmed. “All in favour?”
A chorus of ayes.
“The hells it does,” Nel glared at them all. “I say nay.”
Quill shrugged. “If there is no captain the crew votes. You have been outvoted. Captain.”
“Gods damn you, Loveland,” Nel told him.
“To a miserable life with the likes of you,” Quill nodded. “Such is their will. Shall we vote on a second next? A skipper?”
“Me!” Violet said quickly. “I’ll do it. I can do it. Can it be me?”
“I vote for Bandit,” Jack put forward. “Already my second mate. Can be the captain’s too. Got the experience.”
“That is not how it works,” Quill stared at him. “That is not even . . . no.”
“Why not?” Jack asked.
“Why can’t it be me?” Violet pressed.
“Maybe that’s for another time,” Stoker suggested. “Perhaps we should be underway, discussions to be continued?”
“Sounds like something a good first mate would say,” Sharpe grinned at him.
“Begging your pardon, Mister Sharpe, was that you volunteering yourself?”
“Me? Gods no, man, I can’t even sail.”
“Ah, makes you a fine choice of an officer then.”
“Enough!” Nel shouted at them all. “All of you, back to work.”
“Aye, Captain,” Stoker saluted her. “Trust you’ll be wanting us all to stay on for a bit, then?”
“Just . . . man the lines, Midshipman. Man the lines.”
“Aye, Captain,” Stoker grinned, climbing back up to join his crew in the rigging.
“Good man, Stoker,” Sharpe said. “Always did like him. Hope the new captain keeps him on.”
“I will lay in a course for Haven,” Quill said while Nel ground her teeth in frustration. “Jack, a word with you.”
Jack followed the Kelpie towards the bridge, grinning broadly, a bottle in his hand.
“So I can be skipper, right?” Violet began again. “If you’re captain that makes me skipper, aye?”
“What about you, lad?” Sharpe asked Kaspar. “Fancy a promotion? Would seem to make sense.”
“What?” Violet reacted with shock. “No! He can’t be skipper. He just got here. He doesn’t even want to be skipper . . . do you?”
“Kas,” Nel said, following the thread in the girl’s ramblings. “She’s right, I haven’t asked. I’m sorry. What do you want? Where do you go from here?”
“There’s a place here,” Sharpe offered. Nel frowned at him but didn’t object to what he’d said.
Kaspar hesitated. Finally he said to Nel, “Da would be proud of you.”
Nel couldn’t help herself. She started to laugh, and after a moment her brother joined in.
Violet sulked. “Did the captain mention me? Did he say anything about me in the deed? Never mind, see for myself. Quill. Quill!”
And the girl was gone, a madcap dash to the bridge, tangled hair flying out behind her.
“She seems better,” Sharpe commented. “Better than she did before, I mean. More her old self.”
Nel pursed her lips, eyeing Violet thoughtfully. But is she? How do we know she’s her again? Violet, not Scarlett. Our Violet.
“She’s not quite right,” Kaspar told her.
“What do you mean?” Nel asked, alarmed.
“None of you are.”
Sharpe laughed. “Come with me, see if we can’t wrestle that bottle away from Jack. Let’s talk, you and I. About Violet, seems I missed a few things. And your sister. Let’s talk about our dear captain. Tell me everything there is to know about Chanel Vaughn.”
“You should know she hates being called that.”
“I do know that! Now why is that, exactly?”
Kaspar looked back over his shoulder as Sharpe steered him away, mouthing something.
Nel looked out, over the black. Her ship. Her crew.
Hells, Captain, what have you done to me?
There was a squawk. From behind. Nel sighed, turning to find Bandit perched there on the railing. Just him and her and the brightwork.
The loompa had something in hand.
A hat. A captain’s hat.
From Nel’s new cabin.
“Give me that,” she scowled, snatching it away from him. The loompa just chirped, not troubled at all.
It really was similar to Horatio’s. Same style, same colour. Not as faded or as tattered.
She was painfully aware of the rest of the crew watching her. She put her back to them so she could face the black again. Bandit made the jump to her shoulder, grabbing for the hat. She didn’t care for his weight on her back, and it reminded her of how he’d used to ride around on Piper.
Bandit retrieved the hat and set about trying to place it on his own head. It was far too big and covered his face. Nel just stared ahead. She preferred it to looking back.
Another chirp and she felt something placed awkwardly on her head, pushed and patted down until it stayed. Unfamiliar and the wrong fit. Nel reached up with one hand to adjust it, turning her face to fix the loompa with a scowl. Bandit cautiously withdrew his hands, waiting for her response.
“That’ll do, Bandit.”
The End
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Acknowledgements
First of all;
Mum, stop skipping to the end of the book and go back and read it from the start, the way it’s meant to be read.
And second;
To all the people who said no. And to the ones who said yes.
But mostly to those who sai
d, ‘This could be better. You could do better.’
About the Author
Thomas J. Radford is a New Zealand author and frequently introduced at social gatherings as ‘our friend the author’ in exchange for social currency. His personal circumstances have no probable bearing on the likelihood of happy endings and character deaths, despite any rumours to the contrary.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Acknowledgements
About the Author