Scimitar Sun

by Chris A. Jackson

  “I, for one, have had quite enough of Pass the Knight!” Lord Kembrill said, casting down his cards. He quaffed the remainder of his drink. “Doesn’t anybody know another game we might try? This one has become boring.”

  “I was taught a card game by the captain and mate of the last ship I sailed upon, if anyone would care to learn,” Sam sipped her drink and fluttered her fan. “It’s a rather quaint game called Five-Card Mango; is anyone familiar with it?”

  “Isn’t that a sailor’s game?” Garrett asked, working up the total of what they were owed on the score sheet. Sam had kept track, and it was not an insubstantial sum; these blue-bloods played high stakes.

  “Well, yes. As I said, I was taught by the captain and the mate while they regaled me with stories about that foul sea witch, or seamage, or whatever one might call her.” She fluttered her fan and smiled at the three men. “It really is an enjoyable game, though crude by our standards, of course.”

  “Very well.” Baldwin called for the waiter to bring another round of drinks. “But let us play one round for fun, then begin for stakes, if you would.”

  “Yes,” Kembrill agreed, “we wouldn’t you to take advantage of our naïveté, Miss Samantha.”

  “Very well.” She took the deck and began to shuffle, slowly and inexpertly, fumbling the cards on purpose. “Now bear with me, gentlemen, I only learned this game a week ago when we were sailing through those dreadful Shattered Islands.”

  “Dreadful? How so?” Baldwin pulled a snuffbox from his waistcoat pocket and thumbed it open. “I was under the impression that the unrest in the Shattered Isles was settled these past two years, with the pirate Bloodwind’s fall. I daresay my shipping interests have improved!”

  “Well, that things have improved from Bloodwind’s terror is no doubt, Lord Baldwin, but if you have shipping interests, I suggest you keep a keen eye on them.” She licked her thumb and began to deal the cards. “Now, everyone gets three cards to start.”

  “Only three?” Kembrill picked up his cards and scowled at them. “How can anyone have any kind of a hand with only three cards?”

  “Why would you suggest I watch my shipping interests, Miss Samantha?” Baldwin asked with a cocked eyebrow, the interest in his voice plain to hear. “By all accounts, the Flaxal heiress has vanquished piracy in the Shattered Isles.”

  “She’s been regaling me all afternoon with tales of the horrors of the sea witch and her army of cannibals,” Garrett scoffed, earning a scowl from Sam.

  “They were not just tales, Lord Garrett,” she said with a pout. “Now, we have a round of bets beginning with the dealer and progressing to the right. I tell you, when we made port at that island fortress of hers, I was beside myself with worry. I thought those dark-skinned savages would storm aboard at any moment and ravage me, then roast me on a spit!”

  “Oh, come now, Miss Samantha,” Garrett said, making his practice bet and grinning like a wolf. “One could hardly blame anyone for the former, and I have not heard that the Flaxal woman harbored cannibals.”

  “Well they certainly looked like cannibals, dressed in naught but a scrap of leather that wouldn’t make a decent pocketbook, and armed to the teeth.” She sipped her drink demurely. “After the betting, everyone passes one card to the player on their right.”

  “What? How can I bet on a three-card hand, then give it away?” Kembrill whined, wide-eyed and oblivious to the conversation.

  “Bear with me, Lord Kembrill,” she said, fingering her cards and passing him the knave of staves. “Now everyone is dealt another card, and there is another round of betting, this one to the left.”

  “Ah, now this is getting interesting!” Garrett said, obviously playing on Kembrill’s nerves deliberately. “You said this afternoon that the Flaxal woman’s island was a frightful place, but she has ended piracy, without a doubt.”

  “Without a doubt, Lord Garrett, but I fear the Shattered Isles have been freed from a bad master, only to fall under the rule of a bad mistress.” She made her practice bet and smiled at Baldwin, who frowned at his cards and threw down a preposterous bet. “She is building a fleet of armed ships that can sail faster than even the emperor’s warships, and she can summon a hurricane with a wave of her hand. That kind of power, for good or ill, will not evade the emperor’s notice for long.”

  “I heard that His Majesty sent an emissary less than a month ago,” Kembrill said, finally joining the conversation. He cast a bet and nodded to Sam. “Now, I suppose, we pass another card?”

  “Correct on both counts, Lord Kembrill. We do pass another card, but this one to the left, and we saw the emperor’s warship arrive from Plume Isle just yesterday. We departed the island just as they were arriving. The Fire Drake, I believe, was his ship.” She picked up her card from Kembrill, and saw that it was the same knave of staves; he was either a dolt, or more shrewd than she gave him credit for.

  “Well, if the emperor sent a warship, I daresay the seamage has been duly chastised for her misbehavior and all is well,” Garrett said, eying his cards. “I presume we receive another card?”

  “We do, Lord Garrett, and the betting and passing continue until everyone has seven cards, then two cards are discarded face up for everyone to see. Then the final round of betting occurs and all hands are laid out.” She smiled at them all, seeing the wheels turning in their tiny little minds, both with the conversation and the myriad possibilities of bluff and double bluff. “But I would wager all this day’s winnings that the Flaxal woman does not take well to being put in her place by an emperor a thousand miles away. She could sink the entire Tsing fleet with a wave of her hand, or summon ten thousand mer to do it for her. How can Emperor Tynean fight that?”

  “Oh surely you exaggerate, Miss Samantha!” Baldwin said.

  “I do not, Lord Baldwin,” she said, leveling a deadly serious gaze at him. “The ship I sailed in was one of hers, and her captain and mate informed me of their mistress’ powers, not to mention her association with those blood-thirsty merfolk and dark-skinned savages.” She gave a shiver and fanned herself. “I daresay she could claim the Shattered Isles as her own private empire, and none could oppose her.”

  They all looked at her, gauging her veracity through the haze of the alcohol they had imbibed. Sam delicately raised her hand to the waiter, pointing to her companions’ glasses for refills. She could see in their eyes that, by the end of the afternoon, they would be eating out of her hand.

  “Well, gentlemen? Shall we play for stakes?”

  She smiled and dealt the cards.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Money in the Bank

  Feldrin gaped at the account book sitting on Master Fergus’ desk and swallowed. Hunting pirates, it seemed, paid very well. It had taken Fergus more than two hours to tally up the prize monies and the proceeds from the sale of silks, spices, trinkets, weapons, foods, wine and even exotic perfumes that had been aboard the captured ships. At the end of those two hours, Feldrin discovered that he was embarrassingly wealthy. Even after paying his crew and putting aside funds for the families of those who had died under his command, he would have enough to buy another ship if he so chose.

  Of course, it was nothing compared to Cynthia’s fortune, but still, it was far more wealth than Feldrin ever thought he would possess.

  “Thank you Master Fergus,” he said, finding his voice finally. He stood and took his copy of the account reckonings and stowed it in his gear. “I’ll tell the crew that they can draw their pay from you, but not to come all at once.”

  “Well and good, Master Brelak.” The little man pushed up his spectacles and thrust out his hand, obviously pleased.

  He better be pleased, Feldrin thought, shaking the banker’s hand and resisting the urge to squeeze until bones cracked. He’s earned enough commission from Cynthia and me to retire to Tsing and live in style! Until now, he’d not required the services of a banker, never having had more money than he could carry in a pouch on his belt or a small coffer
in his sea trunk. But now he had wealth and all the aggravations of owning his own ship — cargo to buy and sell, tithes to pay, bribes to bestow — and the bankers took their chunk of each transaction, nibbling away until it seemed like they received the greater share of the profit. Sometimes Feldrin wished he could go back to the simple life of a first mate, but then, there were perks to wealth…He smiled evenly at the banker and concluded his business. “I’ll be cuttin’ loose most of my crew and leavin’ in a few days, so if you hear of any captains hirin’ you might let ‘em know. They’re good sailors, every one of ‘em, and not afraid of a scrap.”

  Deciding who to keep on and who to let go was one of the most difficult processes he’d gone through in recent memory, but now that he was going back to hauling cargo he needed only a crew of eight to man Orin’s Pride, not the forty required to man a privateer. Dumping thirty-two sailors in Southaven would make it hard for them all to find billets, but their pockets were full with their accumulated sea pay and the bonus of their last prize, which would ease the transition. Some of them would find it difficult to go back to being common sailors instead of privateers.

  “I will let it be known, Master Brelak. With your reputation, I have no doubt that they will all find gainful employment quite readily.”

  “Bloody fine.” He hefted his sea bag and ducked out the door. He didn’t want to ask exactly what reputation he had earned among the local gossips. He knew Southaven was already swarming with stories about his exploits along the Sand Coast, but if it earned his crew positions on other ships, he’d put up with the rumors.

  He stepped out into the pleasantly warm noon-day sun and worked his tender shoulder under the strap of his bag. Janley had removed the sutures from the sword wound that very morning, and the still-healing gash itched. He let his feet guide him toward Keelson’s boat yard, smiling and waving at the few familiar faces he saw on the way. He passed the Galloping Starfish and resisted the urge to stop and say hello to Brulo; if he did, he would be trapped there for hours. He had things to do and people to see before he let himself relax.

  The yard was a bustle of activity, as always. The business Cynthia had brought the Keelsons had almost doubled their operation in the last two years. Two ships sat on the dry, while two more — Orin’s Pride being one of them — were at the dock having minor repairs or alterations done. Converting the schooner back into a merchantman would not be a difficult or lengthy task. Julian Keelson had told him it would be done in two days, which fit into his schedule nicely.

  “Feldrin!” Julian called, waving with one hand while directing two sailors hauling scrap off the ship with the other. “Done with the banker, I see. Did ya count yer pocket money after?”

  “Oh, aye, Julian, and my fingers and toes to boot.” He nodded to the open doors of the main lofting shed and the two nearly finished schooners inside, still unpainted and lacking rudders and rigging. “Two more for her ladyship of the Shattered Isles, I see.”

  “Aye, and two more keels to be laid as soon as these are out the doors.”

  “She keepin’ you busy?” The question was rhetorical; he knew full well that Cynthia was fulfilling her dream of building a merchant fleet. When these two were completed, she would have seven schooners, not including the new three-masted ship that he had yet to see afloat. When he left Plume Isle, the spar timbers had just arrived, and the hull and deck planking had been barely finished.

  “Busy as bees!” Julian said, obviously pleased. “But not so busy that we can’t take care of you, though, so don’t you worry.” He nodded over Feldrin’s shoulder. “Looks like yer welcomin’ committee’s here, which is just as well. Maybe they’ll keep you out from under my feet!”

  Feldrin turned to see a buckboard pull up to the shipyard quay, with Rowland, Marta and Brolan all crowded together on the seat. “Aye, the welcomin’ committee indeed. I’ll be up the hill if you need me, Julian.”

  “Welcome home, Feldrin,” the shipwright said with a grin, turning back to his labors with a chuckle.

  “Feldrin Brelak, you big, hairy pirate!” Marta called out, beaming up at him as she hustled up in a flurry of skirts. She clasped him in a ferocious hug, her head barely reaching his chest and her arms not quite reaching all the way round his torso. She thrust him to arm’s length and said, “You missed your sweetheart by barely a week! What a reunion that would have been, all of us here together!”

  “Cynthia was here?”

  “Oh, aye, she was here,” Rowland said, clasping the big man’s hand with a warm smile of greeting. Feldrin could see in his eyes, however, that he was not entirely happy about something. “She came and went and you’ll never guess in a month what she’s up to now!”

  “Nothin’ she does will surprise me,” he said, greeting Brolan with a firm handshake. “She didn’t bring her fish-folk friends with her and invite ‘em all to the Starfish for a drink, did she?”

  “Not that, but somethin’ just as crazy,” Rowland said, but before he could continue, Marta cut him off.

  “This isn’t really the place to discuss it,” she said, gesturing toward the waiting wagon. “If you haven’t eaten, we’ve got lunch for you up the hill.”

  “Oh that would suit nicely!” he said with a grin. “Very nicely indeed! I’ve been on sea rations too long, and cookin’ fer forty sailors puts a strain on the stores. Not a decent meal in months!”

  “Oh, you lie like a rug, Feldrin!” Marta said with a smile, poking him in the middle. There was little soft flesh there, but he’d hardly been starving.

  “Never could fool you, Marta,” he said with a laugh, lifting her up onto the buckboard seat. She squealed like a girl and slapped at his hands, but they were all laughing.

  “You wanna drive, Captain?” Brolan asked with a grin, nodding to the seat beside Marta.

  “I’ll ride in the back with Rowland,” he said, the suspension creaking as he hefted himself up into the small wagon’s bed. “I ain’t got my land legs yet, and I’m afraid I’d fall off.”

  They all laughed again as Brolan and Rowland clambered aboard, and the buckboard clattered up the street. Feldrin thought that their laughter was the sweetest sound he’d heard in months.

  ≈

  “He’s a right pain in me arse, is what he is!” Dura complained, slurping her mug of ale and reaching for another sandwich. She took a bite and spoke around the mouthful. “Always pokin’ around underfoot, askin’ silly questions.”

  “Well, he’s only here for a few more weeks, Dura.” Ghelfan frowned at her table manners. They rarely took lunch in the keep, but Cynthia had asked them up to discuss the issue of Edan. “He’s a curious boy, that’s all.”

  “Aye, but if he lets that li’l daemon of his close to a pile of shavin’s or a pot of resin, we’ll have naught but a pile of ashes fer a loftin’ shed.” She finished her sandwich and washed it down with the rest of her ale, belching loudly and standing up from the table. “Yer pardon, Mistress, and thank-e fer the lunch, but I got work ta do.”

  “Well,” Cynthia said as the surly dwarf left the room, “I suppose I’ll have to talk with him, though I was hoping to avoid it. Edan’s got enough on his mind without me lecturing him.”

  “I think if we simply set some rules regarding the shipyard, Dura would be placated. The issue regarding the firesprite, however, is serious. If Flicker were to ever get free of her chain in the lofting shed, there would be all Nine Hells to pay in gold.” Ghelfan sipped his glass of chilled tea and sighed. “I’m sorry to bring this to your attention at this time, Cynthia, but Dura’s concerns are valid.”

  “I’ll tell him that he has to leave Flicker in her cage when he visits the shipyard.” She shifted in her seat. Both her eyes and her backside were giving her pain; she’d been sitting all morning, struggling to translate another pile of scrolls that Kelpie had given her. “Do you think that will help?”

  “It should. I see no true misbehavior in the young man, and some of his notions could be put t
o practical use. He knows an astounding method for distilling spirits of naphtha from coal tar. I daresay, the quality of our resins and rigging tar will improve if we employ his expertise.”

  “That could be a good direction to apply his energy, and the gods know he’s got an abundance of it.” She thrust herself to her feet and Ghelfan rose to assist her, ever cognizant of her condition. “Thank you. He can help you build a distillery, but don’t push him too hard. He should be preparing for his trials.”

  “Of course, Mistress Flaxal,” he said, offering his arm to escort her back to her study. “And thank you for seeing to this. I know you are busy.”

  “Never too busy for friends, Ghelfan,” she said with a smile, then frowned at the pile of sharkskin scrolls drying on the rack she’d made for that specific purpose. There were easily a hundred scrolls, no two in the same hand or signed by the author. The scrolls were old, but she had no idea how old. Time was another concept to which the mer paid little attention; anything older than a year was just “old.” They had no calendars, and their only measures of time were the tides and the seasons. She really needed to introduce proper record-keeping to the mer, but they would probably think the notion was ridiculous, like they did most of her notions.

  ≈

  “I didn’t even know the old lightkeeper had an apprentice,” Feldrin admitted, nibbling one of Rowland’s famous biscuits. He sipped his mug of ale and sighed; it was good to be home.

  “Neither did Cynthia,” Rowland said, sipping from his own mug. “She said she couldn’t very well say no to him, after all he’s done for her, so she took the lad back to Plume Isle aboard Peggy’s Dream. A right nice vessel, by the way.”

  “I can’t wait to see her under sail.” Feldrin pushed his chair back from the table and loosened his belt a notch. “Those lamb chops were wonderful, Marta. It’s a good thing I don’t get yer cookin’ every day. I’d have to have the Keelsons build me a wider bunk.”

  “Oh, stop it!” She swatted him with a pot holder and beamed. “Though it’s nice to have someone around who appreciates my cooking without wanting to change every recipe I’ve got!”