by J. S. Morin
“Now, all of you, hang back and wait for Mr. Stalyart to call your name, then collect your share. There is a share for each of you, a share and a half for Mr. Stalyart, Mr. Crispin, and Mr. Holyoake, and two full shares for Mr. Hinterdale and for myself,” Captain Zayne said.
With that, the crowd gathered themselves into something just shy of a mob, and waited their turn like hungry jackals, rather than rabid ones. Kyrus hung well back and waited for the crush to die down before bothering to approach Stalyart. He leaned against the forecastle and watched as men slunk off to the crew quarters with handfuls of trade bars of gold. Each roughly the size of a man’s finger and square cut, trade bars were used for buying ships and land, or for negotiating ransoms. Few of the crew had ever held one, and most did not know their exact worth, just that it was a lot more than the same weight in eckle coins. Kyrus had a better guess than most, but not by a lot. He figured that each was roughly three thousand eckles, and that most of the crew had just gotten more than a year’s wages worth of legitimate work.
When Kyrus’s name was finally called, at the end, he received a share of sixteen bars from the nearly empty strongbox. He had been mildly surprised that Captain Zayne had seen fit to give Kyrus a share equal to his own, but he supposed it made sense. If Kyrus used his skill at magic to good effect, he was worth any ten men of the crew. It was a bargain price for what he gave in return. Kyrus was just grateful that it clearly showed the captain’s support in front of the entire crew. Few enough men would be brave enough to risk crossing Kyrus the Sorcerer, but hopefully none were foolish enough to anger Captain Zayne, Scourge of the Katamic Sea.
That evening, Kyrus was invited to the captain’s quarters, along with the ship’s newly appointed officers. Kyrus arrived promptly when informed by one of the crew, a young man named Stevin, that there was to be a dinner in celebration of their ship’s “liberation” from the Acardians. He was struck immediately by how much larger and more luxurious the captain’s cabin was. Despite their equal share of the loot, there was no mistaking that the real power was centered here.
The cabin was appointed in dark-stained and polished wood, much like the one Kyrus had claimed, but there was a large window at the rear looking out the stern of the ship, and two smaller, round windows in each of the port and starboard sides. The captain had a bed easily twice the size of Kyrus’s own, set to the starboard side of the room, and to the port side, situated between the windows, a locked liquor cabinet. The center of the room was dominated by a large table and chairs with a wrought-iron chandelier suspended above it by sturdy iron chains. The periphery of the room had bookshelves, a smaller table with a map and charts, and there was a globe, something that Kyrus had never seen except in the anteroom of the Society of Learned Men. Whereas his own cabin had been plain yet sturdy, this cabin was decorated with scrollwork and carvings befitting a nobleman’s parlor.
Captain Zayne was already seated and waiting, and Kyrus was the first to arrive.
“Welcome,” he bid Kyrus, “come in and make yourself comfortable. I am in excellent spirits today. The finest wine I was able to dig up aboard this ship is yours to enjoy tonight, along with the rest of the officers, once they arrive. Of course,” he added, “the rest will be along a bit later. I asked Stevin to fetch you first, as I wished to speak to you privately, without everyone else around.”
“About what, sir?” Kyrus asked.
He remembered to add the “sir” at the end, which was going to take some getting used to. Kyrus had some idea of what the captain wanted to discuss, but he was willing to play dumb long enough to find out what Captain Zayne already knew.
“I think you know, so I will be blunt. Who are you, Mr. Hinterdale?” Denrik asked.
Leaning forward in his chair and resting his chin on his clasped hands, he looked Kyrus square in the eye, and Kyrus could not help but avert his gaze under the scrutiny.
“Until recently, just a scrivener like any other. Perhaps I was unusually talented, if I do say so, but—”
“No, that is not what I meant, and I believe you know that. Mr. Hinterdale, I am neither a fool nor a man to be trifled with. I find it impossible to believe that you learned the rudiments in a book somewhere. From what I have heard of your trial, there was no such volume found despite a rather extensive search of your shop. So allow me to rephrase this question: who else are you?” Denrik added, and Kyrus knew what he meant.
Kyrus was not prepared to trust Captain Zayne with the truth. He feared that anything he let on may find its way to the wrong ears in Brannis’s world, so he thought fast and tried to come up with an alternate identity.
“In Veydrus,” Kyrus said, “I am a highwayman. I work by way of the north road out of Pevett, in the Kadrin Empire, and have a hideaway not a half-day’s ride from the road. I work with a crew of five others, and the most recent to join us was a sorcerer who had fallen out of favor with Lord Whitestag and left his employ—I did not ask the cause of his disfavor or the terms of his departure. I have been studying his spells and watching him use them. My learning has thus been rather haphazard.”
“Kadrin, are you? Filthy bastards, the lot of them.” Denrik sneered. “I had rather hoped you were not one of them, but you have the look, now that I consider it.”
“I could not agree more, Captain. I make my living robbing trade caravans, and I see that lot at their worst. I spare most of them—bad business leaving a lot of bodies—but I do not regret when they choose valor over poverty and end up on the end of my blade,” Kyrus said.
“A swordsman, eh? Show me,” Denrik said.
Still seated, he drew the cutlass sheathed at his hip and handed it across the table to Kyrus.
“Forgive me not being in practice in this world. These muscles will probably not do my skills justice,” Kyrus said and then took a few practice swipes around the cabin.
He briefly considered how easy it would be to run the captain through and wondered why he let himself sit at such a disadvantage. The blade felt heavy and awkward in his hands, far more so that Brannis’s sword usually felt, but he was fairly certain he could defeat an unarmed pirate of middling years.
The answer struck him of course: I could try to run him through, of course, but that would hardly be the easiest way to kill him. I could light Denrik Zayne ablaze with hardly an effort from this range, and he knows it. The pirate captain was brave enough just to be in the room alone with Kyrus, weapon or no weapon.
“You seem a bit scrawny in the arm to be waving that thing around, but I can see that you know how to use it, even if you could not outduel a single man on this ship,” Denrik said. “Hand it back here before you break something.”
Kyrus dutifully returned the weapon to its owner, and the captain sheathed it once again.
“So you are a highwayman, you say …” Denrik left the question unfinished, and Kyrus was unsure what answer he was looking for.
“Yes, and what are you, or should I ask … who?” Kyrus countered.
“In Veydrus, I am a sorcerer, and a powerful one. Here, I can barely draw enough to light a candle, but in Megrenn, I am respected and powerful. I know plenty of magic and was properly schooled, even though I can hardly get much use out of it here, despite the bounty of aether that abounds. I could teach you. My price is service aboard my ship, and that you do not go around acting like a Kadrin,” Denrik said.
“Acting like a Kadrin? What do you mean by that?” Kyrus asked, genuinely confused.
He had already started doing the figuring in his head: Megrenn claimed its independence from Kadrin roughly twenty-one winters—years—ago, and the war ended twenty ago. Denrik must be at least in his middle forties now. He was probably educated at the Academy and very likely fought for Megrenn in the war.
Kyrus wondered for the first time if he might be able to return the favor Brannis had done him in teaching him magic. Maybe he could find a way to act as a spy for Kadrin. Megrenn outriders had taken High Pass, and it was likely that they were s
omehow involved in the current goblin problem. Megrenn had always been one for making odd alliances.
“For starters,” Denrik said, “resist the urge to conquer anyplace we dock. It may be hard, since it runs deep in the blood, but I insist. I extend this to my ship as well; I will not have you fighting me for command. Also, there must be no talking of Veydrus— or anything at all from the other world for that matter—when any besides myself or Mr. Stalyart are present. He and I are the only ones who know of the other world, and like as not, we are the only two who are not afraid of you just for practicing magic.”
“Stalyart? The first mate knows, too?” Kyrus asked.
“Aye, met him during the Freedom War on the other side. He is a trader and scoundrel in both worlds. You would swear you had met the same man if you saw him there. He cannot work a lick of magic in either world, near as I can tell, though he is enough of a Crackle player that I could not say for certain. He used to supply Megrenn with stripe-cats and monohorns for our cavalry, after the Kadrin occupation had left us with so little to defend ourselves. You Kadrins were never much as sailors, and he ran your patrol lines with ease. Tellurak is more developed nautically, and I suspect he used tricks he picked up around here to help him smuggle,” Denrik said.
“Are there any others. I mean, not just on the ship? I suspected when you called me a sorcerer that you knew something, but that was the first I had heard of anyone with knowledge of the other world. And I assume that you know it is another world, correct? Is it possible that it is just another part of this one?” Kyrus asked.
“No, I think not. Tellurak is a vast place, but between myself and Stalyart, we have seen the mammoth’s share of it, with nothing hinting that it overlaps Veydrus at all. Stalyart and I have made quite a career of sharing information between worlds. When you pay close attention, you will find things that you can exploit, one world to the other,” Denrik said.
“Such as?” Kyrus pressed, taking a mouthful of the excellent wine Captain Zayne had provided.
“Well, cannons for one,” Denrik said, and Kyrus nearly choked on his wine. “And even though I do not have the draw you do, I use magic to my advantage on occasion myself.”
“Are you telling me that Megrenn has cannons?”
Kyrus was incredulous. Immediately he thought of the new “siege engine” the goblins were reported to have used at Illard’s Glen. Some sort of improved catapult, they said. Would not a cannon be seen as such, especially if they had only seen it from the receiving end.
“You will see them in Kadrin, soon enough. Pevett, you said? Give us a season and you will see them for yourself.” Denrik smiled. “There will be a reckoning, and Kadrin will find out what it is like to be occupied.”
“Why would you tell me this, after I admitted to being Kadrin? Surely you must suspect I would try to do something to stop you.”
“Why would I?” Denrik countered. “I know from long experience that you cannot just bring information from one world to the next with no explanation. No one in Veydrus would believe you, and I doubt you could get through their primitive heads what a cannon was before they saw one used against them in battle. Kadrins know magic, I give them that much, but if you can match their magic on the battlefield, or even close the gap, they lack the military strength Megrenn has.
“You would do well to consider helping the Megrenn cause, Mr. Hinterdale,” Denrik offered. “It sounds as if you do not have much love for your countrymen, and I do not imagine that the life of a brigand pays nearly so well as life as a spy. You could never be caught, since you could pass information in this world without ever giving cause to suspect you. Just worm your way into some position of value and feed information through me.”
“You have given me much to think on, Captain. I trust I do not need to decide right away,” Kyrus said, taking another sip of his wine.
“No, there is no rush. But I think it is high time we let everyone else in and celebrated,” Denrik said. “Stevin!” he called out, and the young man opened the door promptly. “Bring the officers in.”
“Aye, Captain,” the lad replied.
* * * * * * * *
The game had been going on for hours. Kyrus had played Crackle a few times, but mostly as a child with his brothers. He had never had much money and certainly had not frequented places where Crackle players could be found. There were no games quite like it in Kadrin, so Brannis had no experience to draw from, either. The trade bars they had been given by Stalyart earlier in the day represented sums too large to be used for a game, but most of the crew had money of their own, of various currencies. Stalyart had a list he chalked onto a slate board that gave the exchange rates, which made it easier for Kyrus to keep track of how much money was actually being passed around the table.
Kyrus had suspected cheating going into the game. The reputation of pirates was legendary, and none of it included fair play. He did not expect to catch any of them at it, since he was so new to the game and they all seemed to be much more comfortable with it—or at least they all made it seem that way. There was a good chance that he would be going to bed a poor man, despite his share of the loot that he had received only hours earlier. He had traded a few of his trade bars for an impressive-looking stack of zimbals, the coinage of Feru Maru. The small, octagonal zimbal coins had a square hole in the center, which Kyrus thought made them look exotic, certainly more interesting than the plain round eckle coins he had grown up with.
Early into the game, Kyrus had been losing regularly and steadily. He apologized for his many miscues in the etiquette of the game, which were easy to forgive when it was someone who was losing large sums. There had been jokes at his expense, and he seemed to be losing some of the mystique he had hoped to create in his persona. He was the land-dweller, the scrivener, the kid.
Kyrus decided to try his own hand at cheating. Well, if I am to be a pirate, I might as well try their way of playing. Let them just try to catch me at my way.
Kyrus—or rather, Brannis—had long been able to tell when a sorcerer was lost in aether-vision; he had seen the dreamy, vacant look often enough at the Academy and in his own family home. He had no reason to believe that Captain Zayne, or possibly even Mr. Stalyart, would miss the telltale sign of someone oblivious to the world of light. As the game went on, Kyrus tried slipping his sight just partly into the aether and, after an hour or so of practice, was comfortable enough with it that he could put his plan into effect.
As the cards came to him, he marked them with tiny wisps of aether, each uniquely identifying the card for him. After several rounds, he had touched every card and could begin taking advantage. Knowing who held which cards made Crackle—a child’s game—seem like child’s play. Kyrus was careful not to be too blatant about his change in luck, but began to allow his pile of coins to steadily increase. To his zimbals and a pair of gold trade bars in front of him, he now had eckles, darshis, clay-bones, and fonns, collected from stashes that the various players at the table had brought with them from their homelands or acquired elsewhere in their travels throughout Tellurak.
“You are not so bad at this game, Mr. Hinterdale,” Stalyart complimented him after Kyrus had taken a rather large pot from the first mate.
The man’s expression was inscrutable during a hand, but he became quite amiable when he was not involved, and he seemed to take his losses in stride, which was gracious of him since his pile had grown steadily through the night.
“Aye, Mr. Hinterdale seems to have caught the gist of our little game,” Holyoake commented, chomping on the end of his pipe.
Holyoake, though, seemed less charitable than Stalyart, and had been involved in the same hand until dropping out halfway through when he decided that either Kyrus or Stalyart had him beaten.
“Well, I had not played since I was a boy,” Kyrus said. “You cannot expect me to jump right in and play with the likes you fellows. Now that I have got my legs under me, I expect you will find me less of an easy mark.”
; Kyrus tried not to sound smug. He was enjoying winning, and was actually learning quite a lot about his fellow crewmates in the process. Being able to tell what cards they held, he knew when they were bluffing, and when they were trying to trick their opponents by feigning weakness when they were strong. Stalyart for one, seemed to almost be able to tell what the other players held as well as Kyrus could.
I wonder if he has some trick like mine, Kyrus mused.
“It seems our ship’s wizard is a quick study. I wonder if he could learn to read nautical charts as quickly,” Captain Zayne said. “We have put to sea with no proper navigator aboard. A few of us can manage well enough to get us where we want to go, but it would be good to have someone take over, and frankly, Mr. Hinterdale, you could do with an occupation while at sea.”
“I suppose I could learn it easily enough. I know how to read a map, certainly, and the rest ought to sort itself out from there. How hard could it be?” Kyrus said.
He had certainly seen nautical charts before. Davin had a handful of them, which he had taken with him to Golis when he had left. Kyrus had never paid them overmuch attention, but he was at least familiar with the basics of what was included: tides, water depths, hazards, and the like.
“This is serious business, Mr. Hinterdale. You have proven your worth with that magic of yours, but a mistake in navigation could run us aground. I shall have you apprentice to Mr. Stalyart until he says you are fit to plot our course unassisted. I trust you will take his tutelage to heart,” Denrik said.
“Cap’n, wouldn’t it be a bit, err, safer havin’ someone with experience doin’ the navigatin’?” Scradd objected.
The thin quartermaster seemed to be in his cups a bit, but there were nods of agreement around the table.
“I am not letting him navigate until Mr. Stalyart had trained him to his satisfaction. I have every confidence that Mr. Hinterdale will be quick as a lightning bolt taking up the trade. If he learns it as quick as he picked up Crackle, he shall be guiding the ship better than any of us within the fortnight,” Denrik replied.