by Claire Luana
“Let me do the talking,” she said. “I don’t need you offending him somehow.”
“Offending him?” Hale said with mock innocence. “When have I ever offended anyone?”
Brea’s retort was swallowed by a gruff voice.
“Who the hell are ye?”
The captain looked every inch a pirate. Well, Hale assumed this man was the captain, because no one else could get away with slouching against the rail with such a look of disdain. And he assumed this is what a pirate would look like, from his few times patronizing the theater. From the top of the man’s tricorne hat, plumed with a peacock feather, to the tips of his worn leather boots, the man fit the part. He held a map in one hand (an honest-to-god pirate map?) and the nub of a rolled cigarette in the other.
“Hello,” Brea said brightly, as if running into an old friend at the market. “We’re hoping to buy passage.”
“Passage to where?” the captain asked, taking a long drag on his cigarette before blowing the smoke into Brea’s and Hale’s faces.
Hale narrowed his eyes. Who did this man think he was to disrespect them so?
Brea laughed, as if untroubled by the cloud of tobacco smoke wafting about her glossy curls. “That depends. Where are you headed?”
“As far away from this coup business as I can get. New monarchs always want to flex their power. Inspections, taxes. I think we’ll head south for a while.”
“Tamros? We would be happy to secure passage to Tamros.”
The captain flicked the end of his cigarette overboard and hooked his thumb in his sword belt. “No can do. Ye’ll have to find yerself another ship.”
Hale’s gaze fell on the captain like a lead weight. This man could not say no to them. They needed out of the city. They would get on this boat, the easy way, or the hard way.
“Why not?” Brea asked. “We can pay. We won’t be any trouble.”
The captain met Hale’s gaze, his dark eyes issuing a silent challenge. Hale didn’t back down and met the man’s eyes with a stare of his own.
The captain chuckled. “Ye sure?”
“Hale,” Brea hissed. “Be polite.”
“Just returning the hospitality of our host,” Hale said with a forced smile.
The captain grinned in return, a smile filled with half as much gold as tooth.
“Ow,” Hale hissed as Brea stomped on his foot with her booted heel.
“Women are bad luck at sea. Won’t have one on the Nightingale,” the captain said. “And I reckon ye bring worse luck than most.”
“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Brea said.
“I suspect I’m talking to someone in fine clothes, with three horses worth more than my boat, out here in the middle of the night, desperate to buy passage out of Aprica. Someone who may be of interest to our new monarch. Am I close?” The captain narrowed his eyes. “Like I said. Don’t need more bad luck.”
Brea soldiered on, ignoring the captain’s admonishments. “Surely, the right amount of gold can banish even the worst luck. As I see it, you’ve got something in your hold you don’t want the new king to see; otherwise, you wouldn’t be risking running the blockade in the dead of night. Am I close?”
The captain grunted and looked away, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“So what’s one more piece of illicit cargo in your hold? Think of it as…hazard pay.”
“It’d have to be some hazard pay…” The captain squinted.
Brea reached into a pouch at her waist and pulled out her diamond wedding ring. The diamond was the size of a quail’s egg and had been the envy of every lady in the Aprican court.
The captain let out a low whistle, his black eyes glinting.
“Mother, no,” Hale said. “Father would roll over in his grave.”
“I don’t think they’ll do him the honor of a grave,” she said softly. “It’s just a thing. You boys are all that matter to me now.” Brea straightened, squaring her shoulders. “It’s yours if you get us safely to Tamros. Do we have an accord?”
“We do, me fine lady,” the captain said, his golden smile widening as he flourished a bow that would have made a patrician proud. He straightened and reached for the ring with eager fingers.
“After you get us safely to Tamros,” Brea said, whisking the ring back into her pouch. “And not a minute sooner.”
The captain smirked, as if a bit impressed with the woman before him. Hale was a little impressed himself. He knew his mother was a businesswoman, selling some of the most sought-after vintages in all of Aprica, but he had never seen her in her element.
“The last of the cargo is loaded, Captain.” A sailor approached, a colorful kerchief tied over his brow to keep his long, dark locks out of his face. Hale wasn’t used to men with such long hair, but many of the sailors on deck seemed to prefer the fashion. He rather liked the look of it.
“We need to get my other son,” Brea said.
“Ye have three minutes before we cast off,” the captain said. “Be on the Nightingale or be left behind.”
Brea and Hale jogged back down the gangplank as the sound of unfurling sails snapped behind them.
Cal was waiting with barely restrained anticipation where they had left him. “What happened?”
“He’ll take us to Tamros. We leave now,” Brea said. “Let’s go.”
“What about the horses?” Cal asked.
“Leave them,” Brea said. “Someone will find them. They’ll make their way to good homes.”
“Leave them?” Cal said, looking up and down the docks. “They’re bound to get cut up for dinner around this lot.”
“There’s no time, Cal,” Hale said, giving his chestnut, Jasper, a last stroke on his nose. Hale wasn’t crazy about horses the way his brother was, but Jasper had been a good horse. Regal. Proud. They had looked good together.
“Mother,” Cal said, a waver in his voice. “I’ve raised Stone since he was a foal. I can’t just abandon him.”
“Oh, Cal, my sweet Cal.” Brea sighed, reaching up to cup Cal’s cheek in her hand. “I know he is your friend, but he is a beast. To waste even a minute is to trade your life for his. He would not ask this of you, would he?”
“No,” Cal said slowly, resting his forehead against his horse’s, looking into the two dark pools of his horse’s eyes.
A thick rope thunked on the dock next to them, making Hale jump.
“Casting off!” a sailor shouted.
“Now, Cal,” Brea said, grabbing Cal’s hand and wrenching him away from the horses, which stamped in confusion on the dock.
They ran up the gangplank and leaped onto the deck as two sailors pulled the wooden boards up behind them.
Cal ran to the side as the wind filled the sails, pulling the ship away from the dock.
The flickering lights of Se Caelus grew smaller as the ship slid through the dark waters of the marina, leaving a rippling wake across the inky blackness of the water. Hale turned from the city to find a small sailor watching him from across the busy deck, a rope held motionless in his hands. The boy must’ve been younger than Hale…thirteen, maybe fourteen. His red hair glinted as bright as the lantern-light, and his eyes shone green even across the space between them. The intensity of the boy’s scrutiny unnerved him somehow. As if the lad was taking his measure...and found him wanting.
Hale narrowed his eyes. Who did this urchin think he was, to challenge Hale Firena? He was the son of the trade minister of Aprica...part of a proud noble clan that had helped settle these lands. “What’re you looking at, boy?” Hale barked across the deck, his face warming. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Ye.” The captain whirled, pulling a curved dagger from his belt and leveling it at Hale. “Talk to me crew again and I’ll throw ye overboard. I don’t care if yer mother pays me all the gold in Aprica. On this vessel, ye’re no one.”
Hale’s righteous indignation spluttered and died at the captain’s words. The events of the evening came crashing down upon hi
m. Adrenaline from their flight swirled from him like water down a drain, leaving Hale hollow and empty. On this boat or off, he was no one. Not anymore. His father was dead. The Firena clan was an enemy of the crown. They were fugitives.
“Now, boy, don’t ye have work to do?” the captain barked at the small sailor, who scurried back to work.
“You three, come here,” the captain said, gathering Hale and his family with a gesture. They formed a tight circle around him.
“I’m Captain Brimmer. The trip to Tamros will be a week, if the winds favor us. Ye’ll stay below. There’s a cabin—it’s filled with cargo, but push it to the side and ye should be able to hang a few hammocks. Don’t trouble me men, and you’ll not be troubled by ’em. Especially you, me lady. I keep a tight ship, but men will be men. I wouldn’t wander about without one of these lads around. Understood?”
“Understood,” Brea said, her chin held high.
“We’ll be passing through the harbor gates in five. We’ll be going dark and quiet, and hope we aren’t noticed. Get below. Not a peep from ye, ye hear?”
“There’s no need to talk to us like children,” Hale said. “We understand Aprican.”
“I treat ye like children when ye act like them.” The captain stepped forward until his chest nearly touched Hale’s. Hale was taller, but the man had a presence about him, a casual menace that spoke of dark deeds and secrets buried. It took all of Hale’s self-control to stand his ground.
“We understand,” Brea said, laying a hand on Hale’s arm. “We’ll get below.” Her grip tightened on his forearm until her nails dug into his flesh.
Hale stepped back, spinning and stalking across the ship, ducking down the stairs into the hold.
“Is it possible for you to go five seconds without getting into a dick-measuring contest with someone?” Cal exploded at Hale the moment they were below. “I swear to the gods, it’s a miracle you haven’t gotten us killed already. It’s not like father can come bail you out of jail this time.”
“I know.” Hale met the fire in Cal’s eyes with his own. “Because he’s dead. Someone’s got to look out for this family now.”
“Boys,” Brea said. “I will be taking care of this family now. And Hale, I know you mean well, but Cal is right. We need to lay low until we make it to Tamros. We can’t afford to make any more enemies. Understood?”
“If Cal had his way, we’d be smiling and bowing while we all had our throats cut.”
“I said, understood?” Brea’s voice was quiet. It was a bad sign when her voice got quiet. “This is not up for discussion.”
“Understood,” Hale grumbled.
“Good,” she said. “Now let’s find our cabin.”
Their cabin turned out to be a virtual closet that wasn’t worthy of the name, even if it hadn’t been piled high with boxes and barrels.
“Where are we supposed to sleep?” Hale asked.
“At least it has a window,” Cal said, clambering over a box to look out the tiny porthole. “Hey. We’re near the breakwater. But…it doesn’t look like we’re moving.”
“Let me see,” Hale said, shoving his brother aside. The porthole was grimy with salt, and he squinted to see through to the blackness beyond. Another vessel glided into view, its hull painted the sky blue and gold of the Aprican monarchy.
“There’s another boat,” Hale said.
“What?” Brea asked, her voice tense.
He peered out again, blinking through the salty haze. Iron fingers thrust out of the side of the other vessel. Cannons. Hale’s mouth went dry as a spark of a flint flashed across the water.
“Get down!”
Chapter 5
A cannonball exploded through the wall of the ship in a shower of splinters and sparks. Hale pressed himself to the deck, squeezing his eyes closed as debris rained upon them. The smell of gunpowder singed his nostrils. Someone was firing on them! The thought filled him with a kind of giddy excitement. This would be an adventure to talk about.
When it seemed that the worst of the shrapnel had fallen, Hale risked raising his head. His mother and Cal were pressed to the ground next to him, covered in a layer of sawdust and wood. A hole the size of a wine barrel gaped in the ship’s side. Their attacker was visible. And more sparks were being struck. Another cannon.
The second cannonball struck the bow of the Nightingale with a teeth-rattling impact. “We need to get out of here,” Hale said, using a nearby crate to pull himself to his feet. “Now.”
Cal protested. “The captain said to stay below.”
“That was before someone was firing at us! Feel free to stay here and die, but I’m going. Mother, come on.” Hale helped Brea to her feet. He had never seen her shaken before, but now, with pieces of wood and sawdust littering her tresses, she seemed unnerved.
“Let’s go, Cal,” Brea said. “We don’t want to be down here if the ship starts to sink.”
Brea’s words proved prophetic. As they rounded out of the cabin into the dark hallway, Hale’s boots sloshed through shallow water pouring from deeper in the hold. Hale helped Brea up the ladder onto deck first, following close behind to catch her if another cannonball hit. Chaos reigned on deck. The Nightingale had almost made it through the breakwater of the harbor out into the bay, but two schooners bearing the colors of the Royal Navy were now flanking them, firing at will. The little ship’s mast had been hit and was leaning unnaturally, like a bone out of joint. Sailors dashed about with shouts and buckets of water, trying to put out a fire that was spreading across the stern.
“What happened?” Hale grabbed the captain’s arm as he stalked by, barking orders at his men.
“I hoped to slip out undetected. We didn’t. They started shooting.”
“Can we make it through?” Brea asked. “Escape?”
“They could outrun us even if we weren’t taking on water and fulla holes. Hope ye fancy lords and ladies can swim. Griff!” He shouted at the tiny boy. “Bring us around. Why’re we giving ’em such a big target?”
Griff didn’t have a chance to take more than a few steps when a cannonball crashed across the top of the deck like a stone skipping across a pond. It bowled through one unfortunate sailor, tossing his mangled body into the air before burying itself in the Nightingale’s mast.
“She’s going over!” Captain Brimmer shouted as the mast bellowed a deep groan. “Get down!”
Hale fell to the deck beside his mother, covering her with his body as best he could. He caught Cal’s gaze beside him—his eyes wild and panicked. The mast creaked again, a long keening sound like the death knell of some otherworldly beast. And then it toppled into the sea with a reverberating splash, pulling ropes and rigging and cleats with it.
Hale coughed, dust and smoke stinging his eyes and filling his lungs. The fire from the stern was spreading, licking its way up the leaning decks towards the front of the boat. Another cannon exploded from the ship to their right, blinding Hale temporarily with a violent flash. The shot hit low against the waterline of the ship’s bow, shuddering the deck once more.
“We need to get out of here,” Hale said. “This boat is going down. Mother, what should we do? Head back to the docks? Hope we can find another way out?”
It seemed the madness of the night had finally caught up with Brea. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and vacant. She was going to be no help.
“Evander’s men will be waiting for us back there.” Cal groaned. “This escape plan was never going to work.”
“They don’t have us yet,” Hale said, cracking his knuckles. He hated to admit it, but Cal was right. Heading back to the dock was suicide. He looked around for an idea, an inspiration, trying to see past tongues of flame snaking into the air, the smoke that stung his eyes. A rowboat. There was a rowboat being lowered into the water. The captain’s tricorne hat was just visible through the flames. The man was abandoning ship. Wasn’t a captain supposed to go down with his vessel?
“A boat!” Hale pointed. “Let’s go!�
�� Hale grabbed his mother’s arm and yanked her forward, clamoring over the rigging and the shattered mast, shying away from flames that reached for them with greedy fingers. The fire roared like a furnace, so hot Hale was sure his skin would blister. But they stumbled forward, collapsing against the railing where the captain stood. The skiff was already in the water, filled with eight crewmen.
“Let us in the boat,” Hale said.
“It’s full,” Captain Brimmer said. “Shove off. May ye find easy seas and easy women,” he called down to his men, dropping the ropes from the side of the rail.
“Please. At least…my mother.”
“Ye don’t want your ma alone with eight lonely sailors,” the captain said. “She’ll have better luck prayin’ to the Piscator for mercy. I suggest you get swimming. Or die here. Your choice. Come on, Griff. Can’t stick around here no more.” With that, Captain Brimmer removed his hat and jumped off the side of the boat into the black water below.
The small sailor who had stared at Hale appeared out of nowhere, an apparition in the smoke. “He’s right,” the boy said quietly. He had a quiet, lilting voice, almost musical in quality. “Stay too long and the ship’ll suck you down when it goes.” Then he dove into the water—a perfect arrow shot into the black. He surfaced some yards off, stroking strong and sure towards the breakwater.
The breakwater. A sudden thought lit Hale’s mind like a shooting star. “Come on,” he said. “We follow them. Swim for the breakwater, then make our way across it back to land, but climb down outside the city.”
“Okay,” Cal said, shoving his blond hair out of his eyes.
“Mother, are you strong enough to swim?” Hale shook her gently. “Mother, we need you to be strong for a while longer. Don’t let that bastard Evander win.”
That seemed to bring her back to herself. Her gaze focused, and she met Hale’s eyes. “I can swim.” She took her cloak off and quickly stuffed it in her pack before donning the pack again and tightening the straps. Hale raised an eyebrow at Cal, and they quickly followed their mother’s example. The cloaks would be heavy when waterlogged.