Buxacan Spicerunner

by Goodwin, Warren;

  Captain Walmer of the Jono runner Bat looked again through his glass at the sinister ship bearing down on him. Nothing had gone right for the entire voyage. Though not very old, the Bat was worm infested. The pumps had to be manned constantly. The aft pump had broken at dawn and now they were taking on water. Walmer had been sure he could make Ingo East, but only with no delays and no storms.

  Then the mainsail had split due to age. The foretopsail followed soon after. There was no new material aboard, and the cloth kept tearing away from the stitches made to repair it.

  Now this .

  The strange sail had been in sight for a few hours, and was making straight for them. Between torn sails, a hull foul with weed and worm and three feet of water in the hold, Bat had no chance of getting away from what appeared to be a pirate ship. Sure enough, a black flag with the Noose was displayed, along with a signal.

  ‘Stand to.’ There were no threats necessary.

  Stut! Now all I need is a sea monster. The water roiled just aft of Bat, but it was only a shoal of fish.

  Relieved, Walmer turned his attention back to the Thirteen Twists and ordered all sails furled.

  The Hangmen sailed right up and grappled the crippled runner. A horde of heavily armed ruffians swarmed Walmer’s deck and herded his men aft with kicks and punches.

  “Is this all of your men?” one of them demanded.

  Walmer could clearly hear his pump sucking and slurping. He assumed the pirate could as well, despite the missing ear. “I have four men on the forward pump. There’s three feet of water in my hold.”

  “Storm damage?”

  “Worm.”

  The sea scum gave him a look of utter contempt. “Hook! This thing’s got the worm!”

  “Stut!” said a one-handed sailor with gold earrings. “Now we’ll have to careen!”

  “That’s right. Have the boys start transferring the cargo. Me and the captain got business in his cabin.”

  Walmer watched as Thirteen Twists sailed away. They’d taken all of his cargo that wasn’t wet, most of his provisions, and every coin aboard. But the crew had only suffered some bruising.

  If it weren’t for the worm, they’d have taken the ship as well and hanged us all. The Hangmen never marooned sailors.

  The lighter load also helped somewhat with the flooding. If I’m lucky, she won’t sink until after we make Ingo East. I hope some of the worms got to your hull, you bastard. I hope you sail straight into Captain Valmed’s path! Walmer would never learn of it, but at least half of his curse came true.

  Bostol was disappointed that he hadn’t been able to take the Bat as well as her cargo. How could these idiots let their ship get worm infested? Worse, once they knew, why hadn’t they done anything about it? It's stut like this that costs sailors their lives. How’s that for keeping your schedule, staphead? Just load her overfull and sail from port to port, stint your crew on provisions and even necessary stores like lumber and sailcloth, and keep it up until the ship goes down in four-foot swells with five knots of wind. Some people just shouldn’t own ships!

  Bostol sincerely hoped he’d ruined the owner of that vessel. He hated ship owners, and hanged every one he found.

  Bostol had once been the first officer on an Agresian runner out of Ariton. On his last legal voyage, they’d taken severe storm damage and lost the captain. Bostol had taken over and stopped at one of the uninhabited Chains for repairs. When they’d finally made Ariton, they were a month overdue. When the ship owners learned why, they’d fired him on the spot, in front of the whole crew.

  “You should be thanking me for saving your cargo—and dry dock fees as well!” he said hotly. “These men did as fine a job of saving your ship as any I’ve seen. If we hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t be late—we’d be lost!”

  “Late cargo is better than no cargo,” the new acting first officer agreed.

  But the owners of his ship were not impressed. They had been about to collect on the insurance, and had grossly exaggerated the value of the cargo.

  “You think so?” said the shorter one. “Then you’re fired too! The rest of you get this unloaded, and don’t expect to be paid for it, either!”

  Bostol and his mate, who would later be known as ‘Hook’, collected their gear and shuffled to the nearest tavern. Later, after they’d drunk through the rest of their coin, some men came and took them to a ship, which then put out to sea.

  Bostol had awakened in his old cabin. The crew hadn’t unloaded anything. “They wouldn’t pay us for our work or saving their ship, so we paid ourselves,” the spokesman told him.

  “You realize that we’re pirates, now.”

  “Yeah, and we want you to be our captain.”

  “In for a penny, in for a crown.”

  They sold the cargo in Sipa, returned to Ariton, and hanged the two ship owners from the lamppost in front of their office.

  Bostol had found Rumtown by accident, and had sailed from there for a while before he met an older captain.

  He’d spent an evening drinking with the man. The blue-eyed salt spoke of brotherhood and cooperation and what was about to happen in Port Buxaca. Bostol fell out of his chair when he learned that he’d been drinking with Baz Anford.

  Now Thirteen Twists was making straight for the nearest island with a decent careening beach. Toredo worm was serious, and Bostol had to be sure that none had burrowed into his hull. He went below to check the water level in the bilges every half hour. Their destination was in sight when a sail was spotted.

  The general rule north of the Line was that ships avoided contact, except for pirates. This ship was headed straight for them. That would be fine if it were a Brotherhood vessel, but the scum from Rumtown would attack anything they perceived as weaker.

  Thirteen Twists was anything but weak, but what was closing on them appeared to be at least a frigate. Spiderhead is rumored to have a frigate; he’s always trouble. But this was more likely the Royal Navy of Jonos. Bostol changed course to an area of shallows where he knew every reef by name.

  The situation became grimmer as the day wore on. The Jono ship was sailed with an expert precision that could only mean the Sword’s Edge. The Edge had taken nine Rumtown ships down and two independent pirate ships as well. Captain Valmed had also crossed swords with several ships of both Brotherhoods. He hadn’t bagged one yet though, and the Hangman was not about to be the first.

  They were still miles from the reef area when the sun went down, and the Sword’s Edge was only a mile behind. Bostol turned southerly and furled all sails. He never used running lights, but the Royal Navy did, and Bostol could watch their progress.

  “When he passes us by, we’ll up sail and head east.” But the lights of the hunter did not stay on course. They closed, then went away. Instead of driving due west, the frigate was casting back and forth. Valmed must have expected the Hangmen to try something like this. The moon would rise in an hour.

  Hook saw the same thing Bostol had. “He’ll be in gun range just as the moon shows us up.”

  “Which way are we drifting, and how fast?”

  Hook cast the log and had an answer within minutes. “East at a knot.”

  “So if we do nothing, and he keeps his legs consistent, we’ll be aft of him when we’re in gun range.”

  “Yeah. What are you thinking?”

  “I want absolute silence, men aloft ready to make sail and gun crews at the ready. No smoking either! As they pass, I want to rake his stern with chain. Do enough damage and he’s not hunting anyone.”

  The Hangmen made ready with silent efficiency. The Sword’s Edge was less than two hundred yards away when they passed. Bostol made a hand signal and his sails were set with a whispering rustle. Just a little steerage…Bostol had his broadside perfectly aligned with the frigate’s stern when an alert lookout spotted him.

  “FIRE!”

  Valmed was taken completely by surprise, but reacted quickly. The Edge began a turn to engage the sailors of enterprise.
Bostol managed to stay aft and fired another broadside of chain. I hope that’s enough to slow him down. “Break out all sail! We’re running!”

  The damage was extensive enough to prevent the Edge from continuing the chase. Valmed hadn’t even been able to return fire.

  Thirteen Twists disappeared into the night.

  43

  An Invitation To Dinner

  “Brothers, we seem to have some coin,” Sako announced. “We’re halfway between Hanarre and the Ingos, or we can go home to spend it. What would youse like to do?”

  The majority voted for Ingo West, so the Spicerunner made for that port.

  Sako and Dason figured that Falero would have been taken straight to Jono city, and word of his capture should not have reached the Ingos yet. Tirpa knew an agent there, as well.

  Ingo West faced Ingo East across a two mile strait. Ingo West was older, and it had a well-protected but small harbor. As Ingo grew in importance as a jumping off point for profiteers seeking fortunes in the Chains or on Clavland, it became too crowded. The city expanded to the nearby island with its larger harbor. Physically they were now two ports, but administratively they were one, held by Duke Iambola, one of the few men of such rank in Jonos.

  The agent was a well-to-do factor who preferred the western incarnation of the city. She conducted all of her business, legitimate or otherwise, at the Last Civilized Tavern, one block from the water. In addition to the usual factor’s commission, she also insisted that those she met with buy her lunch, or whatever meal was appropriate for the time of the meeting. In return, she paid for her clients’ drinks.

  “She says we’re easier to deal with when we’re drunk,” Tirpa said, as he, Sako and Dason walked to the tavern. “And foreigners are even easier because they’re so busy watching her breasts.”

  They laughed and Sako reminded himself not to be distracted.

  “Her halters cover very little, and she doesn’t like a tight knot around her neck; so if she leans toward you—and she will—they damn near fall out.”

  “Are they that big?” Dason asked.

  “No, it’s not their size…they’re…you’ll have to see for yourselves.”

  They arrived at a well cared for wooden building that was painted a light green with white trim, and stepped inside. It smelled clean and the food smelled good. Sako approved, comparing it to the Arms. The serving men wore matching green vests without shirts.

  It was late for breakfast, but business appeared to be brisk. There was a scattering of well-dressed merchant officers and a few local couples. An older woman stood and walked over to greet them. She wore a blouse over her halter, and wore two rings on her necklace, which indicated she’d been widowed twice. Her face was thin and plain and she wore her gray hair in a no-nonsense bun. Her skirt was as short as anyone else’s though, and her legs were quite attractive despite her age.

  “Good morning, boys. Welcome to the Last Civilized Tavern, my name is Esten. Are you here to drink, eat, or just relax in our sitting room?”

  “All three, Stess,” Tirpa said respectfully. “I’m being here before. I’m telling my new captain of the wonderful breakfast you serve and he just had to come.”

  “Not just handsome, but well-spoken.” Esten smiled and her face was transformed. Sako could now see why at least two men had found her fascinating. “Aren’t you a treat! I recommend you eat before you drink, boys, else the ladies might take advantage of you.”

  “In that case, maybe we should drink first,” Dason said with his most charming smile.

  Esten smiled again. “You’re a bad one, laughing eyes! Don’t act too easy, or even an old woman like me might take you; and you’d better perform!”

  “He’s a nice boy, Stess,” Sako said. “Just a little flirty. Is Osi available? And if so, has she eaten?”

  Esten gave Dason a stern glance, but his contrite expression, so obviously insincere, made her smile again. “Ornery!” she accused, before she turned back to Sako. “She had some toast earlier. She’s in the sitting room reading the broadsheet. Benk here will show you the way.”

  One of the serving men appeared at her elbow as if magically summoned. “Follow me if you please, gentlemen.”

  Benk led them around the tables and through to the next room, which was furnished with comfortable armchairs and couches. Several women lounged at ease, talking or reading, and drinking coffee or tea. They all looked up as the men entered, but the conversation didn’t stop.

  It took Sako a few moments to put his finger on what, besides the lack of men, made this sitting room so different from any other he’d been in. Nobody’s smoking. That made sense. He’d only ever seen one female who smoked. One woman sat with a novel in the sunlight that Sako couldn’t help but notice. Her halter was sized for…well…peaches, I guess, but those are as big as cantaloupes! He averted his gaze quickly. That must be Osi. Be the gentleman you were taught to be.

  But Benk led them past her to a woman in a chair with a newspaper. “Some gentlemen wish to buy you breakfast, Osi,” Benk said to her.

  She looked up and smiled as she recognized Tirpa. Her eyes were large and brown, and her amazing figure was concealed by a full blouse. Sako figured she was in the middle stages of pregnancy.

  “Tirpa Ackel, you handsome man!” She reached out both hands for his. “I’d feared you would come to a bad end when I heard you were with that animal Stowe. I’m so glad to see you.”

  “I’ll have a table ready for you in a few minutes,” Benk said, as he withdrew.

  “It’s nice seeing you too, Osi. You’re looking well. When did you get married?”

  “Five months ago. This is a wedding night child.” She put one hand on her belly in a gesture that Sako had seen every expectant mother make.

  “He’s potent then, but is he cooking?” Tirpa said teasingly. In Jonos, the women liked their men attractive, preferred potency, and demanded cooking skills.

  Osi laughed decorously. “He’s very athletic and quite good looking, but he’s not much of a cook, I’m afraid.” She tilted her head to one side and back. “Fine by me actually, since I eat out most every meal anyway.” She looked at Tirpa archly. “It’s a shame you and your handsome friends weren’t here for my Bride-to-Be.” Osi wrinkled her nose. “But then, you’d have probably brought that pig Hargen.”

  “Stowe died in a shipwreck. I’m with a new company now. This is Captain Sako Pizi, who’s owning the ship.”

  “Hello Captain Pizi. You’re a handsome one, but your eyes look…sad. And angry.”

  Sako bowed politely. “No danger to you, Stess, I assure you.”

  “Hmm. And your other friend, who thinks the world is a joke for his personal amusement?”

  “Dason Nive, at your service, Stess.”

  “You’d look nice in one of our vests, I think.”

  Dason could think of several flirty comebacks, but he never trifled with a married woman. “The Stess is kind to say so.”

  Osi stopped her perusal of Dason and turned her attention back to Sako. Her eyes moved over him in frank assessment as she spoke. “Unfortunately, I have no information for you this morning, Captain. It would be unfair to ask you for breakfast. Come back this evening for dinner, maybe I can find something for you by then.”

  “Dinner then. Say, five hours after noon?”

  “That would be wonderful—Oh, Benk, there you are. I won’t need a table now, but could you be a sweetie and bring me a heel of bread and some vinegar to dip it in? The baby wants vinegar—the red kind, please.”

  “Right away, Osi.” Benk disappeared again as unobtrusively as he’d arrived.

  “Until this evening, gentlemen.” It was clearly a dismissal. The sailors of enterprise bowed again and went back to the main room to eat.

  Osi’s fee was a hundred twenty seven Jono kings, which was a little higher than Pallo Brini had charged. In addition, Sako bought dinner for Osi and her husband, who seemed a little jealous of the attention she paid to the other men
at the table.

  “The Tern left Ingo East a week ago, bound for Braden. She’s Tayan. Her cargo is unimportant at the moment, sweetie, but she’s returning to Dalaria laden with spice.” Osi took another bite of steak, and Sako waited for her to finish. “There won’t be much gold aboard—they’ll have spent it on the spice—but I’m sure all that spice could be sold somewhere.” She gave Sako the expected dates of arrival in Braden and Dalaria. Her work finished, she ordered pastries for dessert.

  Throughout the meal she had questioned the Smilers without seeming to interrogate them. Tirpa had warned of this; she was, after all, an information dealer. They did their best to evade the questions without seeming to. Even so, they had no idea how much information they were giving away.

  Sako’s ship was an oversized Alarfaji xebec, which most only knew by description. He had to have taken it in the usual way of pirates, so he was good at it and had a dangerous crew. To have a ship like that, he was far ranging.

  The ship could hold more cargo than most but less than some, and it was as well armed as a privateer, though they were pretending to be a Kimbulan merchant runner. They were always well armed, but not as heavily as the Spicerunner.

  Some of the crew were from Jonos or the Chains, but most were Buxan in origin. The mix was about right for a Kimbulan runner, but there was one pureblood Clav and several part-Clavs, a pair of Stits, and even an Alarfaji. That last must have gone over to Sako when his ship was taken. This much she’d learned from Talik, her husband, who she’d sent to look over the vessel.

  He’d only seen a dozen men on the ship. Most crews would leave about a fifth of their number on board in a strange port, so she could extrapolate the size of Sako’s crew. There was also a man strapped to a chair, but he didn’t appear to be a prisoner—his hands were free and he was armed with a pistol.

  Tirpa she knew was Mitterish, but anyone could place that accent. Sako was Dalarian and Dason was Tayan, but such could be told from their names alone. Both had the grammatical quirk of adding an ‘s’ to the plural form of ‘you’—very common in Kimbula, so they probably grew up there. They knew a very good cobbler as well as a good tailor, and they could afford them, another testimony to their success so far. But Sako was relatively unknown yet; else he would never have dared come into a port. Osi had a feeling that was about to change.