Buxacan Spicerunner

by Goodwin, Warren;

  “From the mansion,” he continued, “we took two carpets worth about eighty together, candlesticks and jewelry for fifty, coin converted to eighty crowns and twenty-five of artwork. I’m not counting food, drink, tobacco, cookware and silverware, as it won’t be resold. Bottom line, we have nine thousand fifty minus twenty percent or so. We’ll see about seven thousand in Port Buxaca. I haven’t done the man-by-man division yet. Are you ready to announce it?”

  “No, you can tell them. Just the approximate haul, mind you. They might get touchy if they’re given a number and we don’t get the full estimated price.”

  “I don’t have actual numbers yet; right now its percentages, not coins. I realized that I could save myself some work if I kept the books differently than I had been.

  “Let’s say that our estimated take is a hundred twenty-five crowns. If I broke that down coin-by-coin, and the factors only paid us a hundred, then I’d have to do all that work over again. So we use a two hundred-share system, each share being half of one percent. You get so much, I get mine, Anford gets his and the rest get theirs. What’s left is public…” Ellor went on, discussing bonuses and all as if Sako were a new hand.

  The captain didn’t mind; most of the hands were new, and they’d want a full accounting of why each man got what he did. It was up to Ellor and Sako and Dason to explain it all, penny by penny if necessary. Sako brought up compensation for Afnir, Sturo and others who were crippled or blinded, which they discussed at length. They touched on the possibility of a Crew House and the cost of a servant or two. “We’ll bring all this up at Council after dinner.”

  Dinner was a festive affair, held on the weather deck so that those on watch could participate in Council. Gomeneg delivered on his promise of something special. There was ham with cloves and honey, fresh vegetables seasoned and buttered, loaf after loaf of soft white bread with more butter and…eggs. Scrambled, fried or poached, eggs were a delicacy for sailors, a food normally only available ashore. The spirits flowed freely and the men toasted Gomeneg endlessly, and included Perndil when they learned that he’d helped.

  At Council, Ellor unveiled the plan he and Sako had worked out for injury compensation. Anyone who lost a hand or an arm in action would get a one time payment of one hundred Tayan crowns; for the loss of a foot or a leg, fifty. An eye was worth thirty-five, both…five hundred crowns—enough to live on comfortably for ten years. A pension would be voted on when a hand chose to retire, ranging from a half share to five shares of each haul, depending on length of service, for as long as the Smiler flag appeared over the sea.

  The Crew heartily approved of the new rules, but Dason had an addition, “Afnir should get a pension as well as his injury payment. He was our captain, and he was instrumental in the raid on Stafa.”

  The Crew unanimously agreed with that. Sako had an amendment as well, one he hadn’t discussed with Ellor. “You forgot something.” The young captain never raised his voice, but everyone heard him. “Sometimes a man doesn’t lose a leg, but the use of both legs. Shouldn’t that man receive payment the same as if he’d actually lost his legs? Further, what of the hand whose back is broken? He can’t use his arms or legs, yet he lives. It hasn’t happened yet, but it may. I figure he should get six hundred.”

  Caught up in unaccustomed thoughts of their mortality and vulnerability, the Crew murmured their agreement. Sensing the shift in their mood, Sako changed tack. “And you forgot something else—how big was our haul?”

  Ellor smiled at Sako gratefully. “We should get about seven thousand crowns, Tayan.”

  Dason threw out his arms in theatrical surprise. “SEVEN WHAT?” he shouted.

  Ellor shouted his answer back. “SEVEN…THOUSAND…TAYAN…CROWNS!”

  The Crew cheered so enthusiastically that even Afnir smiled to hear it. Finve broke out in song—a rollicking sea chantey known to all but the sea virgins. It was easy to sing though, involving willing women, exotic places, and an everflowing barrel of rum. By the second chorus, all were singing as loud as they could, even Sturo and Afnir.

  Below in the galley, Gomeneg smiled to hear the singing. He had just started the coffee, which he knew Sako and Dason liked after their dinner. Ellor would want some as well; he drank nothing harder than beer, and little of that. Gomeneg made a last check on the overnight soup, and made sure the bread and butter were easy to find.

  “They’ll be hung over and surly in the morning,” the chef said to Perndil. “But it’s nice to hear them having fun now.”

  “I hope they’re done soon,” the cobbler said sourly. “I want to get some sleep.”

  The stars were still out but the sky was lightening when the masthead called down sighting of a sail.

  “That’s the biggest fore and aft rig I’m ever seeing,” Tirpa told Drac. The boatswain took over the wheel and passed his telescope.

  “Ster and Stess!” Drac said when he’d seen. “She’s valling huge!”

  “Thinking we should be taking her?”

  “Stut, yeah!”

  “Go and getting Sako, find out if he’s wanting her too.”

  Sako did indeed want her, and had the Crew roused. They were as surly as Gomeneg had predicted, but they cheered up when they learned why they were all up before the sun. Sako took bearings and did some measurements. He determined that the foreigner would pass to their aft if they did nothing, and gave the commands necessary to bring about an intercept without going straight at them.

  “That way I still have the option of running away if she’s got us outmanned and outgunned,” he told Dason. “But if we leave things as they are, we’ll have to chase her.”

  “And we may not catch her then.” Dason had the glass up to his eye. “There may be a man or two in the rigging, but I can’t see anyone else. All her guns appear to be on the weather deck, I think. She’s being sailed rather poorly; look how much wind she’s spilling from her sails.”

  Sako took the telescope back for a look.

  “A ruse?” Drac said. “To trap us?”

  “Unlikely,” Dason said wryly. “They don’t know we’re chasing them since we’re in front of them, sailing away.”

  “Maybe she’s chasing us then,” Drac shot back, stung.

  “Now there’s a possibility we hadn’t considered,” said Sako. “She could be a reaver, too. Maybe that’s what the red stripes on the sails mean?”

  “Tirpa’s been to Alarfaj. I’ll ask him.” Dason left the helmdeck in search of the other officer. Neither ship altered course and they continued to close.

  Tirpa had no idea if the stripes meant anything, but he confirmed the Alarfaji colors on the highest pennant. The pennant on the mizzen was also a mystery—purple with the number five centered.

  When the big ship closed to signal range, nothing happened. Finally, she was in hailing range, and a voice called out something unintelligible.

  Sako looked at Tirpa.

  The boatswain shrugged. “I’m thinking it was a verbal ‘I-Y’, but I’m not really hearing.”

  “No response. Run up the Bloody Smile. Clenchjaw! A warning shot, please.”

  The gunner nodded and moved to the center starboard gun.

  “Now Drac! Hard to starboard!” The Horizon spun neatly and Clenchjaw fired a shot that splashed water over their helmdeck.

  The reaction was unusual, amounting to near panic. Sails were hauled down quickly, yet three guns were run out. They fired, but to no effect. Cutlasses and muskets were waved even as the other ship lost way.

  The Smilers were stupefied. What captain willing to fight would give up his maneuverability? For that matter, they didn’t act as if they were willing to strike their colors, either.

  Sako realized he was doing nothing and snapped out of it. “Prepare to board! Muskets and Brog aloft! Get your hooks ready!” Sako strode forward as he shouted the commands. He wasn’t going to miss this fight like he had when they’d taken the Horizon! Drac conned the ship as if he were approaching a dock. They would get
beam to beam, facing opposite the stranger.

  They got a few grappling hooks across and hauled the ships together. The foreigner fired a few more of her guns as the Smilers surged over the rail. Sako hauled himself over amidships, a throwing knife clenched in his teeth and a pistol in his right hand. He shot the first man he saw, but was forced to throw the knife as well when the man didn’t fall. He dropped the now useless pistol, drew his sword and stepped aft to support Stutmouth, who was hotly engaged.

  The defenders of the strange ship were richly dressed in flowing, colorful silks that were hardly suitable for sailing a ship. They were also very dark skinned; darker than anyone Sako had ever seen before. He’d heard descriptions of the Alarfaji, but these were the first he’d ever been face to face with. They were skilled fighters, but didn’t seem to have much stamina.

  Sako finished his man with a quick thrust and another leveled a pistol at him. Sako ducked under the shot and charged. He’d moved three steps when the impossible happened. A second shot came from the same pistol!

  The Alarfaji man may have been weakened, but there was nothing wrong with his marksmanship. The sailor of enterprise was hit in the face. Sako spun and dropped to the hardwood.

  A face swam blearily over him. It slowly resolved into Thard’s. The voice that matched seemed to come from far away. “How’s that feel, Captain?”

  Sako had to smile. Ashore, Thard would be the first to smack him in the head and call him seven stripes of idiot, but at sea he was all formality.

  “It’s called Heal-All.” His voice was closer now, and his face was clearer as well. It wore and expression of relief. “By rights you should have lost that eye.”

  Sako finally remembered how to operate his tongue. “Magic?”

  “You bet your eye!” said Dason. “In fact, you did! No thirty-five crown bonus for you.”

  “Magic pistol?”

  “No. Engineering. Here.” Dason handed one to him.

  The weapon was a marvel. It was made of metal rather than wood, except for the butt, and had a large bulbous cylinder behind and in line with the barrel.

  “Not magic,” Sako said.

  Dason looked at Thard. “How long before he’ll be able to speak more than two words at a time?”

  Sako scowled at them and sat up. “How is it charged?”

  “Now, I’d say,” said Thard, “that was four words. I’d call that progress. Pretty soon he’ll be capable of whole paragraphs.”

  Before Sako could strangle anyone, Dason explained how the pistol worked. Thard disappeared, but Sako hardly noticed. Each bullet was a pointed cylinder rather than a round ball, and was partially contained in a flat-based brass shell, filled with ordinary powder. Dason dry-fired the unloaded weapon to demonstrate how the cylinder turned to fire the next round, and how the hammer did not require cocking.

  “And every officer aboard had one of these?”

  “Yeah, and there’s fifty more packed in grease below.”

  “And the shot?”

  “Thousands of these cased rounds. They won’t work with regular shot, obviously.”

  “Every hand gets at least one, a share of the rounds and instruction. I take it we have prisoners—any worth ransoming?”

  “Two prisoners, the rest fought to the death. One’s an officer and speaks Buxacan. They were too sick to fight.”

  “Sick?”

  “Thard took care of it with that magic goo. Bleeding Gum Sickness, if you can believe that! Guess no one in Alarfaj ever heard of taking lemons or limes on long voyages. In fact, this is the longest voyage they’ve ever undertaken; they were headed for Port Sipa.

  “Some of the traders there were making huge profits from the Dalarians and Encastermen, and others got together and commissioned this ship to get their share. The Sulmir, which is their king, was so interested that he sent his fifth son along. His presence is why the sails were striped, and that’s what the purple pennant was for.” Dason winced. “He got dropped by a musket shot just as we boarded, worse luck. He’d’ve been worth a fortune. It was his bodyguards that were sailing the ship—they were rationing out the Heal-All to keep their prince protected, but most of the sailors were already fish food.”

  Sako fingered his eye thoughtfully. There was no pain. “Was there anybody the Heal All couldn’t help?”

  Dason turned grim. “Dren was run through, Drac was shot in the chest, and Arno went over the side. Finve’s left arm was taken off below the elbow by one of the masthead swivels.”

  “Where are the wounded?”

  “Stessaca’s Hole. Thard’s deck. I’ll go with you.”

  There were no wounded hands left in the Stessaca’s Hole but Finve. Thard was packing his pipe. Finve was sleeping.

  Sako was elated to see Finve alive. “I thought you said it couldn’t help him.”

  “Well, it couldn’t grow his arm back,” Thard said around his pipe. The surgeon grew thoughtful. “Although, it might have reattached it if we had found it…but look Captain.” Thard gently lifted the blanket away from the small man’s arm. There was no bandage, no tar, and no stitches. The stump was clean and fully healed, as if it had been lost months instead of hours ago. “You’re eye looks as good, if you looked in the mirror.”

  Sako had a sudden hope. “The stuff worked on Afnir?”

  Thard looked pained. “When my mentor taught me about it, he explained that it must be used within the first hour after the injury for full recovery, but I’d never worked with it before today. It’s very expensive. So no, sir, I was not able to restore Afnir’s sight.”

  “Damn.”

  “I tried. I was however, more successful with Sturo’s foot. There is no infection anymore, and it looks as good as Finve’s arm.”

  “Thanks a lot, Thard. We owe you.”

  “On the contrary, Captain, we owe you. By taking this ship, you’ve made us all very rich.”

  “Maybe. For a few weeks anyway.”

  Thard cocked his head in the way he did when he was trying to get someone to see his point. “Did you know that everyone, Afnir included, refused treatment until you’d been cured?”

  Speechless, Sako could only shake his head.

  Dason withdrew quietly, and Thard continued, “Since you took command, our boyhood dreams have come true. The men feel invulnerable. We haven’t had to run and we haven’t lost a fight. Because of you, Captain.”

  “If I were such a luck amulet, we wouldn’t have lost anyone. No one would have been hurt.”

  Thard took the pipe from his teeth and pointed the stem at Sako emphatically. “Don’t be an idiot, Sako! We’re pirates. No better than highwaymen. We can call ourselves ‘sailors of enterprise’ but we kill people, take their ships and cargo and money. If we’re ever caught it’s the rope for the lot of us. Some of our victims fight back and we lose a few. Everyone here expects to be killed someday, but only a few have died. The Crew feels that you’ll kill less of us than Stowe or even Afnir would have, and the Horizon alone was a bigger haul than either of them ever got us.”

  Thard reinserted the pipe and drew deeply. “Now go topside. Your Crew wants to see you. Tell us about the next plan you and Dason have cooked up. We’ll sail with you to Jono City, the Tanglesea, even into Stessaca’s teeth if you tell us there’s a prize there. Everyone knows you check on the wounded first, so they’re waiting. Go on, Captain.”

  Sako left, very thoughtful. He knew morale was high, but he hadn’t realized that the men’s confidence in him was so strong. To hear such things from a childhood friend—one who was a few years older as well—was a bit of a shock. He had felt that they were merely having a run of good luck, which balanced the bad luck they’d had since…Since we changed the name of the Bellflower to Merciless. Maybe I am responsible.

  Topside, Sako found Ellor and Sturo at the accounter’s little table. Though they shared the workspace, they ignored one another, except to keep their papers separate. Sako knew what Ellor was doing, but what had Sturo’s attenti
on?

  “It’s a build sheet!” the carpenter said excitedly. “I’ve never seen one that was kept aboard the ship. This’ll make repairs easier. Found it in that hidden lockbox in the captain’s cabin—which isn’t shown in these plans, by the way.” He turned his papers so Sako could see. It was a drawing of the hull. Graceful arcs and razor-straight lines covered the page. Dimensions and notations in Alarfaji filled the borders. “There are Freshboxes in the Galley! Two of them! And look here. Jat says that this notation states that the hull is painted with Neverrot! Can you imagine what it cost to paint a hull this size with Neverrot?”

  Jat? Oh, one of the survivors. “How much do you think she’s worth?”

  Sturo looked shocked. “You’re not thinking of selling her, are you?”

  “If the Crew votes that way…but I need to know what she’s worth.”

  Sturo thought it through before answering. “I would have said fifty thousand, but with the paint…eighty?”

  “Thanks. Ellor, what was our haul?”

  “Diamonds, rubies and bales of silk, but most of it is spice—box after box, all stamped ‘Braden’. Cinnamon, nutmeg, pimento, pepper and cloves. Manifest says they loaded out with cotton cloth, pots and pans, glassware, firearms and storm lanterns in addition to all the non-spice cargo. Apparently they talked to the right people in Braden about the silk and the jewels. Captain’s log says he was thinking—”

  “Numbers, Ell.”

  Ellor smiled sheepishly. “About double what we took from Stafa.”

  Sako blinked, and Ellor lowered his voice. “That’s right. We could sell the ships and the cargo and have about a hundred and fifty thousand crowns to divide between forty-four men. We could retire.”

  Retire. It was the dream of every sailor of enterprise, the day a hand could stop roving the sea risking death, dismemberment or the rope. A man could while away the rest of his life drinking and wenching and gambling. Only a few had ever done it. Most of those were members of Anford’s old Crew.

  “There’s not enough money in all Port Buxaca to pay us,” said Sturo.