Buxacan Spicerunner

by Goodwin, Warren;

  “I know.” Andrana smiled impishly as she turned to face Sako. “It’s nice to be admired. It’s also nice to know that none will try to touch me without my permission. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?”

  “It is where I come from.” Sako lit a cigar they’d taken from the Tama. “What will you do once you’re ashore?”

  “My parents were cheese makers,” she said in her soft Encasteran brogue. “They thought it was a mistake to marry a sailor and move so far from home. Me and my girls will do just fine…until, maybe someday, another sailor comes into my life. Perhaps even a ship’s captain.” She looked at him directly.

  Sako coughed and tried to look away, but couldn’t. She was so beautiful. He wanted to promise her anything, but had to tell her the truth. “That could take some time.”

  She tilted her head in response. “A beautiful woman shouldn’t have to wait so long for a man, if she’s looking for one.”

  “If a ship’s captain said he would come back someday, she would wait.”

  “How long would she wait? What if he died?”

  “As long as it takes.”Andrana took a deep breath, threatening the twine. “I’m the widow of a seaman. I’m used to waiting. Men who do what you do become known. If you meet your end, I’ll hear. If you’re successful, I’ll hear that, too.”

  “So you’ll be looking for your share?” Sako had learned that he could tease her without offense, but Andrana was serious.

  “I don’t want treasure. I get more attention dressed like this than I would in the finest silk gown.

  “I want my girls safe, and good men for them when the time comes. And I want you.”

  Sako wanted her, too. But it was too much to ask her to wait for him. If she were in Port Buxaca…”I need time to think. I will give you an answer before you go ashore.”

  “Fair enough.” She walked away, and Sako watched appreciatively. So did everyone else; the breeches fit like a second skin.

  That evening Sako sat alone in his cabin, making entries in his navigational log. The door opened and closed softly. Sako didn’t look up right away and was surprised when a small hand came into his field of view and removed the cigar from his mouth.

  Andrana kissed him very deliberately. Instead of pulling away as she’d half feared he would, Sako cupped her cheek with one hand. When the kiss was over, he said: “I assumed you didn’t want to be touched by a man for a while.”

  “And I was afraid you were holding back because I’ve been despoiled.”

  “I don’t think that at all.”

  “I know. Now.” She stood and unlaced the vest. “Your first mate saw me come in. He said we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

  Sako smiled and took her hand. Both knew she had her answer.

  The cigar continued to burn in the ashbowl, forgotten.

  33

  The Imperial Naval Ministry,

  Taya

  Pyer Stom, captain of the privateer Ghost, paid his fare to the hackney coachman and stepped down near the main gate of the Naval Ministry. It would take nearly a quarter hour to walk through the parklike grounds to the front door of the building. Pyer didn’t mind. He was very early for his appointment. It was springtime in Taya and the trees were in full flower.

  Taya, thought by many to be the center of the world, was a bustling metropolis of nearly a million people, including slaves. The center of the city by the river was visible from these hills. Pyer could have walked from the riverfront, but that would have taken all day.

  As he’d ridden uphill, the buildings had thinned out and the city had become more spacious. There were three main hills on this side of the river, the one closest to the lake held only the Imperial Palace. The next was home to the mansions of the higher nobility. Earls and higher lived there during the winter months while court was in session. They had palaces on their own lands for the summer.

  The hill on which Pyer stood was for the Imperial Ministries of War, Navy, Commerce, Agriculture and Treasury. Each was headed by a noble placed there by the Emperor himself.

  Pyer strode effortlessly down the cobbled path that led in a broad curve to his destination. Everyone in sight was obviously a beaurocrat or an Imperial Navy officer. Pyer was neither and drew some stares accordingly. He had learned long ago to outwardly ignore the scrutiny of others, but it still rankled.

  Pyer was a man of average height, strong without being bulky. He was dressed plainly but well, with a fine sword at his hip. Silver buckles on his shoes were his sole concession to upper class fashion. His walk proclaimed him a sailor; everything else said ‘fighting man’. But that wasn’t enough to attract the unwanted stares.

  What was causing the attention, what had always caused notice was his hair and face. Pyer had the fine chiseled nose, thin lips and blonde hair of a Clav. But his hair and eyes were too dark; one of his parents had to be Tayan. Most half-castes were slaves, but some weren’t. Very few had been educated or had risen beyond the menial classes. Only one was a ships captain.

  Even his name was blended. Stom was what his mother had called him and Pyer was a traditional common name in the far south near the Tascerine Mountains. His father, a count’s firstborn, had loved him, though he’d visited rarely. It was he who’d provided Pyer with the education to become an accounter, but the half-breed had plans of his own.

  Pyer signed aboard a privateer that had done very well in the Thirty Year War. Instead of frittering his share of the prize money on rum and women, he’d invested it and gone back to sea. Eventually he was able to buy a partnership in his ship and was named captain. They made a fortune hunting pirates.

  Captain Stom took down three of the most notorious pirate ships to ever plague the waters around Sevulia. Pyer bought out the last of his partners just before the start of the last war with Agresia.

  The timing was good. Pyer was now wealthy and even a little famous among Tayan seafarers. His handpicked crew was intensely loyal, and not just for the prize monies. Pyer was scrupulously honest, reasonable and fair; traits that most privateers lacked.

  The war was over, Ghost was in dry-dock and his men were on shore leave, squandering their hard-earned pay. Thus the summons to the Imperial Naval Ministry had come as a complete surprise.

  Pyer had only been here once before, at the start of the war, when he’d applied for and received his Letter of Marque. It had expired at the end of hostilities and it was now framed and hung in the sitting room of his small house by the river. He hoped they didn’t want it back.

  A very young lieutenant at the reception desk directed him to a conference room in the Assignments Wing of the building. Pyer walked in to find three Imperial Navy captains in quiet conversation around the coffee service. They turned as one and looked at him with varying degrees of disdain. Pyer had a gift for names and faces and identified them instantly.

  The most senior was Captain Samdin Sweetwood of House Sweetwood, commander of the sixty-four gun third-rate battleship Mermaid. Tall and with meticulously coiffed hair, he carried all the natural arrogance of those born to the highest class.

  Captain Calwin of House Calwin was stocky, bald and red-faced. He wore a thick white moustache and the friendliest expression of the three: one of disinterest. Calwin had broken long family tradition by choosing the Navy over the Infantry. He commanded the frigate Speed.

  Captain Anderon Red wore the nastiest expression on a face marked by pox scars. One of the few commoners to reach such exalted rank, he had no use for privateers, and even less for half-slave bastards. His was the frigate Mist. Pyer bowed his head and greeted them politely.

  “Captain Stom,” Sweetwood acknowledged. “I hear you’re still in dry-dock.” His tone clearly said, ‘that’s not good enough’.

  Pyer had heard that Sweetwood treated everyone below the rank of admiral that way, and took no offense. “Ghost will be ready by weeks end, the shipwrights assure me, sir.”

  Calwin’s expression changed instantly to one of approval. “So you’
re Ghost!” He stepped forward and actually put out his hand. “Damned fine work these past few years.” He pumped Pyer’s hand vigorously.

  None of the nobility had ever offered his hand before. For that matter, neither had many common citizens. Pyer was abashed and made a deprecatory comment about only doing his duty.

  “Duty?” Red said with a sneer. “How could one of you develop a sense of duty?”

  Pyer gritted his teeth and met Red’s eye. “My father taught me much of duty, sir. A Letter of Marque is a contract, which I fulfilled to the best of my ability.” Pyer looked down again and smiled at the floor. “For my service I was granted citizenship. Taya is my country as well as my home.”

  “Pay no mind to him, Stom,” said Calwin “He wishes he were as famous as you. Now, I wonder why we’ve been summoned here today.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Sweetwood said haughtily. “Two frigates, a privateer and my Mermaid. It must be a pirate hunting expedition.”

  The door opened and Admiral Sir Mekton of House Overbridge strode into the room. He was the twin brother of Lord Merton Overbridge and his authority was second only Minister Snaves. He was a thin man with gray hair. The captains stood at attention.

  “Good morrow, gentlemen,” he said in his thin, raspy voice. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we begin?”

  “At your pleasure, Sir Admiral,” said Sweetwood.

  “Not my pleasure, I’m afraid.” Sir Mekton coughed and his voice took on a stronger tone. “The necessity of Taya. I’m sure you’ve realized what your mission is to be,” cough, cough. “There are far too many pirates in the Buxacan Sea; it’s time to thin their ranks somewhat. Ultimately, I’d like to see Rumtown found and then blotted off the charts.” Sir Mekton’s voice had faded back to its original weak rasp. “As you know, a fleet of ten ships flying the red flags of piracy sacked Port Therma just days before we captured it from the Agresians.

  “Our spies there reported Agresia lost thirty-six thousand flames in that raid, gold that should have come to the Empire. As of now, there’s nothing to prevent them from doing so again.” Cough, cough. “Participating in the raid were three ships flying the feathered skull of Pallo Argi; two ships showing the dagger flag of Treauville—one of those was sunk; two Bloody Fist ships—the Dragon and the Stinger—” cough. “Stiv Dallo’s Swift, and both of the Burner ships, Stansek and Brock.” Cough, cough, cough.

  “Ahem. This shows a serious degree of cooperation, and leads me to believe that there must be a pirate ‘king’ who commands them all. There have been rumors for years that Baz Anford has a fleet to do his bidding—combine those with the rumors of Rumtown and the behavior of the Red Pirates and you can all see the drift of the current and the clouds on the horizon.” Cough. “Questions.”

  “Sir.” Calwin waited for a nod. “Four ships isn’t much of a Task Force if we find this Rumtown. There were ten ships involved in the sack of Port Therma and who knows how many of the Black Flag pirates might be there? StrongArm, Spiderhead…Deadeye? Formidable fighters, all.” Calwin paused to light his pipe. “We’ll do our duty and not complain, Sir Admiral, but it sounds like a glorious way to lose the Mermaid and two frigates, not to mention Stom’s Ghost.”

  “I’m not sure sacrificing several ships is quite what the admiral has in mind,” said Sweetwood.

  “Stess no!” Cough, cough. “I will leave the details to Captain Sweetwood, but your mission is reconnaissance and targets of opportunity. And there will be five,” cough, “ships—Captain Barsi and the Dolphin will link up with you in Dalaria. Perhaps intelligence from captured pirates can confirm the existence of Rumtown. Next,” cough, cough, cough, “question.” The admiral prepared himself a cup of tea, adding a large dollop of honey.

  “I have a question, Sir Admiral. Why is he here?” Red pointed at Pyer as if at a particularly disagreeable circus freak. “Shouldn’t this be a Navy affair?”

  Admiral Sir Mekton took a long sip of his tea before answering. When he did, Pyer was more surprised by the tone than Red was. “How many battles did you participate in this past war, Captain Red?”

  “Three, Sir Admiral. But that’s—”

  “That’s not the function of frigates, you are correct. How many prizes did you take of Agresian shipping?”

  “Six, Sir Admiral.”

  “Captain Stom, how many battles did you participate in?”

  “Two, sir.” Pyer kept himself from smiling by concentrating on the knuckles of his right hand.

  “Prizes?”

  “Twenty-five, sir.”

  “And how many pirates have you brought to justice?” The tea must have helped, as there was no more coughing.

  “I’m not sure, sir. There were three captains…somewhat over two hundred pirates, I believe.”

  “Captain Red, do you have any pirate flags in your cabin on Mist?”

  “No, Sir Admiral. I haven’t—”

  “That’s why he’s here.” Cough. “When Lord Minister Snaves gave me this mission, I immediately thought of Captain Sweetwood and I knew that if I assigned him this task, he would ask for the best ships and captains available. That is why you are all here, and others aren’t.” Cough. “Captain Sweetwood, will you accept this assign-ment?”

  “I will, Sir Admiral. Ghost is so nearly a frigate that it makes no difference that I can see. Captain Stom has proven his loyalty to the Empire, even if he is not Navy.” This was very high praise, coming from Sweetwood.

  “You honor me, sir.” For the first time that day Pyer felt confident enough to meet Sweetwood’s eye. The tall aristocrat kept his gaze on Pyer as he addressed Red condescendingly.

  “Captain Stom is a citizen of the Empire, regardless of his birth. By virtue of being master of a ship, he is also a gentleman. His reputation with sword and pistol precedes him. Don’t goad him again, Captain Red. He may just challenge you, and I don’t think your First Lieutenant is up to the job. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Red with a black look at the half-caste.

  Pyer wanted to smile spitefully at him, but kept his face still. Admiral Overbridge handed folders to each captain.

  “Gentlemen, here are your orders. Captain Stom, yours include a Letter of Marque for the duration of the expedition.

  “Captain Sweetwood, proceed to Gateway as soon as Ghost is ready for your shot and powder. Rations will be disbursed at Dalaria Depot. If you discover the whereabouts of Rumtown, report to Admiral Harring in Tevon.” Sir Mekton stood. “For the Empire!”

  “For the Empire!” the others responded.

  “Good hunting.”

  “Thank you, Sir Admiral,” said Sweetwood.

  34

  Portcall, Ressatta

  The small chest from the Tama held the coin for running the ship, an amount of sixty Tayan crowns. There were also some silver nuggets, which Ellor estimated as worth another twenty. It wasn’t much, but it was only to be divided between the original nineteen Smilers. The new hands would not share in this haul, nor were they responsible for any debts accrued before they had joined.

  Ellor wrote it out neatly in his book. He preferred to work with Tayan coin. It was the standard against which the coin of other nations was measured.

  Royal Agresian coins were valued at 3:1; Republic coins were worth much less at 5:1. Jono coinage was less adulterated than Agresian but not as pure as Tayan, and was valued at 3:2, and Alarfaji money, rarely seen in the south, was the purest known and was valued at 3:4.

  The remaining money went to the ships fund, out of which provisions and necessaries were purchased, docking fees paid, and other sundry costs.

  Ellor applied that to his ‘Debts’ page, deducting all the coin the Crew had pooled for provisions and adding in the ten percent return he’d promised. That left them with just under forty-five crowns.

  They owed the ladies of Cathouse Row forty-four. There were nine pages left over to pay on their loan from Sigto & Anford.

  Ellor sighed. I forgot to pay Go
meneg. The chef’s salary was a regent a week. In two weeks Ellor would be forced to short Gomeneg a page if there were no more hauls. Fortunately, Gomeneg was paid at the same time as everyone else: at portcall. Ellor dreaded telling Sako where they stood, but Sako’s reaction was the opposite of what Afnir’s would have been.

  “Okay. Don’t worry, Ell. I’ll get you some bigger numbers to write in. As long as we’re at sea, we don’t owe anybody anything.” Sako gave his friend a rare smile and went back to reading the report Dason had prepared on their new hands.

  There were thirty, of whom eighteen were seamen. There were two murderers, a few highwaymen, a poacher, and a house-burglar. The rest claimed to be debtors, except Sharkbite and Ieskott.

  Ieskott had been convicted of mayhem. “I never hit her except the one time,” he said of his wife. “After she hit me with a pot, then I smacked her one. She ran off and sent her brothers after me. I took care of both of them and went to a tavern. There I was, drinking my troubles away, when in comes a squad of the Watch. They knew what I’d done and tried to arrest me.” Ieskott shrugged. “So I beat three of them down too, but the last one, he’s got a club and brained me. So here I am.”

  Sako was pleased to welcome him. A man who could beat five men unconscious with his hands alone would be nearly unstoppable with a weapon.

  Andrana came to Sako’s cabin a second time before they arrived at the coast of Colada. Sako knew that he’d never forget this woman. He’d find a way to come back for her, someday. She and the other ex-slaves were ferried ashore with the boats from both ships. When that was done, both boats returned to the Tama to return its original crew and several Smilers with very specific orders.

  Once aboard, the surviving Tamas were seized and fitted with ready nooses. The tag end of each line was tossed over the yardarm and made fast to the anchor chain. The Smilers returned to the boats except for Olik.