The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  "The cap'n, she war suspicious so she hemmed an' she hawed whilst thankin' the matter over. She picked up them two buckets an' looked them over, an' then she went over all the rules an' made up a few o' her own as ta what I couldn't do. I agreed ta everythin' an' even threw in a few extras o' my own, so the cap'n seys okay, an' I tell you now thet someone in the crew was sick because thet soil bucket was pure disgustin'. There war more floatin' thangs in thet there bucket than I ever before or since had the privilege o' the smellin' or the seein' o'. I took good aim an' did the best I could, an' thet was some pretty good aimin' too. The contents streamed out toward my target except the parts o' it what the wind caught. Chunks o' night soil hit the deck an' splashed an' splattered an' created an unholy mess. Crew war jumpin' an' dodgin', an' their jumpin' an' dodging didn't meet with all thet much success cause parts o' thet bucket landed on more'n one o' them. The cap'n, she war laughin' an' grinnin' until she sees thet I war laughin' an' grinnin' even more than she war."

  "What ya being a grinnin' monkey 'bout," she demands o' me. "Ya lost the bet."

  "Yeah," I says,"but I bet the first mate his silver necklace thet I'd make you happy by throwin' crap all o'er yer clean deck."

  "Wal she thought thet o'er an' she started laughin' again cause she warn't the one who war going ta be doing the cleanin', an' after all, she'd won everything off'n me thet she wanted.

  Aaron laughed until he caught onto the missing part of the story. "How did that make you lose your finger?"

  Leaning forward, Crusty handed Aaron the necklace. "Ya see thet shiny spot by the catch?"

  Aaron fingered the area. He saw something. It might have been shiny once. "Yeah."

  "Wal there war a little pointy bit o' a sliver there. I war holdin' the necklace one day when thet sharp bit scratched me finger. I thought nothin' o' it at the time, but thet dang scratch got infected an' 'fore I knew what war what gangrene had gone an' made itself a home in me finger so whack--off she come. Thet gal I loiked, she said she wanted nothin' ta do with a part fingered man, so she went an' married 'erself ta a baker. Still, I got the best o' it 'cause the necklace is still in me hands, an' I didn' make no mistake by hitching meself to no shallow woman."

  * * *

  It turned out that none of Aaron's cabin mates could read well, if at all. Easy Sue claimed her glasses were broke. One Eye said he had lost the eye that learned to read, and the rest just admitted they were ignorant cusses. Once they realized Aaron had books, they insisted he read aloud at least twenty pages a day. Easy Sue promised if he did she would be nice to him as if he was one of the regular crew. Aaron declined the special treatment, swearing his decision had nothing to do with her missing teeth or her being bald, and no, it wasn't because he would be sharing her favors with half a dozen others. Claiming he had made a vow of abstinence to his mamma on the day she died, he swore he had to keep the promise, because his dead mamma was always looking right over his shoulder.

  Nobody believed him, but they pretended they did.

  Fifteen days passed before the ship encountered rough weather. Aaron spent most of the day getting wet while heaving over the side. Thoughts of his shotgun crossed his mind every time someone patted him on the back and asked why he made such a fuss over a little blow.

  He was leaning over the rail an hour past noon when Crusty Bill approached, holding a large piece of shattered driftwood in his hands.

  "Wal now," Crusty said,"seems ta me I seen ya here before. " Taking his knife from its belt sheath, he set the driftwood against the ship's rail and began began ripping free broken sections and trimming off splinters. He worked in silence, methodically cutting away, dropping some of the pieces to the deck, throwing other sections over the rail.

  After fifteen minutes, Crusty looked at his work and nodded in seeming satisfaction. For his part, Aaron didn't understand why. To him, the piece looked like a worthless chunk of misshapen wood. He was about to point this out when a heavy gust struck the ship, making it give an unexpected lurch.

  "So," Crusty said, breaking the silence,"how do ya like me swan? It don' look loike much now, but after a week's work I'll sell it fer two gold once we hit port. Say, are ya having problems? Can't imagine a feller havin' problems on such a nice cool day wi' only a touch o' a breeze."

  Aaron didn't answer since he was in the middle of heaving.

  "Yep," Crusty intoned. "Shore is a nice brisk day. Good day fer a stroll on deck, thet's what I sey. Yes, sar, a good brisk day."

  Looking over his shoulder, Aaron glared at the jokester. He started to straighten while his guts still wanted to heave. The ship rolled again. Aaron's stomach lurched, and his feet slid.

  "Hair now," Bill called. "Careful thar!"

  Aaron fell.

  Crack

  * * *

  Aaron woke to the ship's gentle sway. Daylight crept though cracks in a doorframe. Shifting, he felt the pull of bandages against the ache of torn skin and muscle. His head pounded to the beat of his heart, and his heart pounded to the sound of fluttering sails.

  "Been in thet shape a time or two me own self."

  Groaning, Aaron turned his head to see Crusty lying in the lower hammock on the other side of their shared cabin.

  "Had ta cut off yer shirt fer ya," Crusty said. "Had yerself a six inch splinter roight through it an' deep into yer arm, an' I 'pologize fer thet 'cause I sorta left 'em splinters lying about the deck. Anyway, hadda cut yer shirt away ta get at it yer injury. Cap'n says she's a few extras rags thet some o' the men left behind one time or 'nother. If'n ya need summthin ta wear she moight ha' it fer ya."

  Aaron reached up a hand to hold his head in place. The ship's rolling did not do good things to him. His hand brushed against his neck, paused, and then clawed at his neck again. He sat up with a shout.

  "Whoa now," Crusty exclaimed. "Ya might be a tough one, but ya ain't no-how ready ta be getting on up."

  "Where is it!" Aaron's heart beat at the speed of panic.

  "War's what?"

  "My pouch! I had a pouch around my neck. " Aaron's fingers clawed for the missing item.

  "Now don't ya worry none 'bout that. Easy Sue, she took it on account o' it had blood all o'er it. She's washing the thang out, an' then it comes right back to ya once it dries itself up."

  Aaron groaned. He was done for. The pouch held his Talent Stone. The Stone was bonded to him, or had been bonded to him, but he doubted it was a Talent Stone any longer because Stones crumbled if they moved too far from their owners. When Easy Sue returned, she would hold nothing but a pouch filled with metallic dust.

  Aaron lay back down with another groan. Until he got another magnet from his supply in Jutland, he was normal. He would have to walk when other people walked. He would have to face whatever trouble came his way. He could not run.

  He was screwed.

  Chapter 11

  "Get your ass down here!" a voice called from below.

  Melna came up for air. She felt a little giddy from illicit excitement, but unfortunately, nothing else. The long, clumsy kiss had bruised her lips and given her whisker burns, but not won her interest.

  Pity.

  She patted Joe's face before straightening her disheveled clothing and refastening a few opened buttons. "Sorry, Joe, Daddy is calling."

  He grabbed her hand before she could stand. "How 'bout you come b'low decks with me t'night, sweetling? Best you ever had."

  Chuckling, Melna gave his nose a well-practiced tweak. "You'd be the best, the worst, and the first I ever had. Nobody gets the complete package without a ceremony. "

  She leaned into him, enjoying the fresh sweaty smell of a working man. She loved the feel of his sailor's muscles and the touch of his hands as they ran across her more intimate parts. Melna gave him a small kiss, just a brief touch of moist lips on his salt cracked ones, and felt his body respond.

  She pulled back. "Interested?"

  "Melna!" the voice called again.

  He shook his head. "Go to yer dad
dy. I got me four wives and ten kids. Don' want no more."

  Yeah, him and every other man she had set her cap for. The men she went after were willing to dally for free, but none wanted to buy the goods.

  Miffed, Melna stood and looked down from the crow's nest. Her father waited at the base of the mast, the captain at his side.

  "Coming, Daddy!" After putting on her gloves, she grabbed a line, wrapped her rope loop around it, tested her grip, and then smiled at Joe.

  "At least you taught me one useful thing, sailorman. Watch me fly."

  "Be careful, girl. Yer just a beginner."

  "We all start somewhere. " She swung one leg out of the crow's nest then paused to give Joe a last radiant smile. "Remember telling me you never got any complaints."

  "Yeah," he answered suspiciously.

  "You have one now. Work on your procedure. Too much of the same thing gets monotonous. Gentleness sometimes helps, clean whiskers don't hurt as much, and swallow more often. Women don't like trading spit."

  "M' strong suit ain't kissin'," he assured her. "I'm much better at somethin' else."

  "Guess I'll never know for sure," she told him and then shouted below,"Here I come, Daddy!"

  Swinging her other leg out, Melna slid her butt off the wood ledge.

  She fell. Her body jerked and her arms protested as she slid down the line in a semi-controlled fall. The deck approached too fast, racing to meet her flailing legs. She screamed, half-afraid, half-exhilarated. Answering shouts came from above and below.

  Almost too late, she remembered to twist the loop's handles so the rubber teeth could push out of the loop's fiber. She pulled her hands apart, tightening the tension. The loop's teeth pressed into the ship's line, creating a sudden increase in drag that almost pulled it from her hands. She gripped the loop harder, letting it bite deep until she finally came to a complete stop.

  Panting, Melna looked down. Her landlubber's grip was slipping, and her feet still dangled.

  The deck, she found, was only three feet from her hanging heels.

  Laughing, Melna loosened her outward pull and slid down the line until her feet connected with the deck. Releasing her grip on the loop, she shook her hands. They burned. She did not yet have the right calluses for this.

  Of course, her father scowled when she turned to face him, but that was no surprise. Of late, he always scowled at her. The captain's scowl seemed just the slightest bit deeper.

  "Did you see me fly?" She flung her arms around her father's neck.

  "I saw you almost kill yourself," Roger Linley growled. "I also saw you throw yourself at Joe."

  "You most certainly did not. " Releasing her hold, she stepped back and placed her fists on her hips. "I'll have you know we were crouched in the crow's nest when I pounced on him, but that won't happen again. Rest assured, Daddy, Sailor Joe is safe from me."

  Her father glared daggers, then looked imploringly to the ship's captain. The captain cleared her throat, nodded, and moved on to do, Melna assumed, captainy things.

  "How long is this going to continue?" her father demanded. "You've thrown yourself at every man you've seen for the last five years."

  "Have not," Melna protested. She counted off on her fingers. "Under forty, clean and good looking, wanting me and not my money…hmmm…that wipes out most of the possibilities. Do the math. Except for playing with a few men like Joe, I'm looking at the top ten percent. Most of those are claimed by the time they turn eighteen. They have their second wife by twenty, and how many men will live with more than two women? It takes time to find a good man. In case you haven't noticed; I'm getting older."

  Linley's face twitched in exasperation, causing Melna the slightest twinge of guilt. None of his several wives had wanted to be saddled with Melna after her birth mother died. Because of this, Roger frequently brought her along while traveling between his businesses and wives, giving her an eclectic education along the way. How many girls her age could speak seven languages and audit accounts? In fact, she could keep double books faster than most highly trained professionals.

  "Just remember," Linley said. "Go too far and you'll find yourself married. I don't care if the man has twenty wives and is missing both his arms, if you drop your drawers you're married."

  "Yeah-yeah-yeah. So when are you going to let me open my own clothing business? Have you seen my newest drawings? They're sweet."

  "Indecent is a better description."

  Melna tossed her head. "That's what makes them sweet. Men will love them. Most women will want them, and the rest will be jealous. So when?"

  "Never. There's no market for it."

  "There will be. I'll make sure of it. I need this, Daddy."

  "What you need," he said,"is a husband. I have two or three people in mind for the role."

  "Not--"

  "Um hmm. I'm thinking Badager or maybe Feinsteen."

  Melna stamped her foot and glared fury. "They're old and have at least as many wives as you do!"

  "They," Roger Linley said,"know how to handle headstrong children. That's more than I've shown. You'll marry one of them before this year is out."

  "Not if I can help it," she muttered, too low for him to hear. She raised her voice for public consumption. "Whatever you think is best, Daddy. You know I always do what you want."

  "I know no such thing," Linley complained. "That's why I'm marrying you off. Then you'll be somebody else's problem."

  Damn right she'd be a problem. Any fat old rich bastard her father married her off to would rue the day he first heard the name Melna Linley. Besides, she was nineteen frigging years old, a woman in her own right in the new world, and only a year short of her majority on this side of the ocean. It would take an act of the Gods and be a cold day in hell before anybody forced her to marry someone older than twenty-five. After all, a girl had to have standards.

  * * *

  In some cases instinct counted for more than knowledge. Trained instinct counted most of all.

  Kim's instincts screeched alarm even though she saw no visible reason for concern. Her cell was dark except for the one flickering candle on her nightstand. The dim light showed nothing amiss, but in this case vision did not matter. She had been trained far beyond any dependency on sight.

  Reaching out with her senses, she used the little she could see, the small sounds, the brush of air against her skin, and odor. She used those senses and some other she had no name for but had developed none-the-less.

  Nothing. No one. Nothing.

  Her eyes flicked over her trunk. The hinges and lock were in place. No new scratches marred their surfaces. Her straw bed appeared unchanged, though she would have to search it for hidden needles and a few other traps. If nothing else, it was part of her twice daily routine.

  Getting down on her knees, she peered closely along the wood floor. Again nothing, as expected. Only a careless fool would attempt something so obvious.

  She stood again, considering. Her room was deliberately sparse, offering little opportunity for entrapment. One trunk, one straw bed she never slept in, and one night stand, the spare abode of a first year apprentice, exactly as she wanted. Most of the senior trainees claimed more luxurious surroundings. Many of those same trainees died because their rooms offered opportunities for hidden traps. One of Kim's older sisters died that way. She had been killed by a young trainee seeking advancement, an acceptable though dangerous way to rise.

  Kim had been chosen on two occasions for such an act. The attempts were clumsy. The instigators were soon dead. Since then, she had been exempt from the amateurs and was soon safe from the more advanced students. Even those several years ahead of her left her alone. Her deliberately acquired reputation for ruthless revenge served its purpose

  The feeling in her gut told her no first year student had been in her room. Even most seniors would have left some sign she could see.

  Carefully, she searched for pinholes or raised bumps in the walls, in the floor, or the ceiling. None existed
. The air smelled musty, but it was familiar. She detected no suspicious odors and tasted nothing untoward on her tongue. In the end, she found nothing, no additions to the straw bedding, nothing in or around her trunk, and her night stand was clear.

  Heart pounding but finally satisfied, she closed her cell door and fastened all seventeen of its bolts. The only guild rule against murder forbade fire and poisoned air. Fire endangered the entire facility. Poisoned air could kill someone other than the intended target, such as one of the masters. Although the masters were cruel and arbitrary, they had a strong sense of self-preservation. Because of this, they did set and enforce some rules, not that Kim trusted others to always follow those rules. More than a few students hated her enough to risk censure.

  Drawing her fire starter from her pocket, she set it on the stand in case she needed to light the candle during the night. Bending over to blow out the flame, she hesitated. Instinct nagged in the back of her mind. Something within her screamed 'Leave! Leave now!'

  "Always listen to your gut," one instructor had ordered. "Instinct is your mind putting clues together. When your muse speaks, listen."

  Straightening, she walked to the door. Kim did not know why she felt uncomfortable, but the cause did not matter. She would not sleep here tonight. In fact, she would not sleep here until her muse was fully satisfied it was safe.

  She drew back several door bolts before pausing.

  Someone waited on the other side.

  Was that it? Had some subtle thing been done to her room with the intent of driving her into a different kind of trap?

  What to do?