by Anna Burke
I glanced up at them, feeling as hollow as an empty shell. Something blinked from the corner of my eye. I looked at the crow’s nest, where a small light pulsed back. I repeated my signal, the hollow feeling momentarily dispelled. He had seen me. I reeled myself back into the shelter of the boat and hung, half in and half out of the water while I waited. I was not climbing that ladder until I was sure there was someone on the other side of the door to haul me in.
A creak and a groan sounded far away.
“Rose,” Annie shouted down to me from the service door. I looked up to see her silhouetted against the light from the hatch. She was alone.
The ache in my stomach deepened, and my compass quivered, looking for another course. Through the deepening haze of exhaustion, I could tell things weren’t adding up. Annie should have gone immediately for help, instead of racing to the service hatch at the back of the ship like someone covering her tracks. For that matter, my O2 tank should have lasted a lot longer than it had, even with my struggle.
I climbed up a few rungs, determined not to show her how tired I was. I wanted to believe that I was wrong. I also wanted to live, and I stood a better chance of that if I could keep her talking.
“I can’t make the rest of the climb,” I said, double-checking that my line was still securely tied to my diving suit with one hand.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“Yeah. My right arm. I think it’s dislocated,” I lied, letting it hang limp. I had lost my spear, but the suit came with a diving knife. My right hand closed around it out of her sight.
“I’ll help you,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
“The ladder is half rotted. Can you go and get a rope?” I waited to hear what she would say to that.
“I can’t leave you here, Rose,” she said.
“I’ll be fine. I just can’t climb. I think someone cut my line. They must have followed us down.” Silence met my words. “I think it was Orca,” I said, crossing my fingers. If I was right about Annie, then the minute she found out I suspected her, I was dead.
“No. It’s not Orca. She’d die before she went against Miranda’s orders. Orca, whatever her faults, is the best friend you have on this ship.”
“Then maybe it was someone else,” I said. “Andre. He doesn’t like me.” Annie watched me. I couldn’t see her face, but I could almost hear the decisions tumbling through her head. Come on, Crow’s Eye, I thought. I wasn’t going to be able to buy myself much more time.
And if Crow’s Eye was in on it, then I would have to coax Annie down the ladder to finish me off, stab her, and hope there was nobody else waiting.
“Skipper,” said a familiar voice. I rested my head against the bars, not sure whether to laugh or to cry at the arrival of my unlikely savior.
“Orca.”
“Captain’s coming, Annie,” Orca said. “She’ll be wanting a report. What the hell is going on?”
I couldn’t see her, but I could hear the note of warning in her voice.
“Rose is down there,” Annie said. Her voice didn’t waver.
“I can see that. How did she get there, and why is she still there?”
“I took her squidding. Something, or someone, cut her line, and she’s too hurt to make the climb.”
“Typical,” Orca said. She leaned out to stare down at me, and then put one foot on the top rung.
“Wait,” I said, startling her. “The ladder. It’s half rotted at the top.” She froze, then slowly swung herself back into the hatch.
“If you can’t climb, how do you know it’s rotted?” she asked.
I heard Annie suck in her breath. I don’t know what would have happened if Miranda hadn’t shoved her way between them a second later.
“Why is my navigator clinging to my stern like a fucking barnacle?” she asked. Her voice was dead calm.
“There was an accident, Captain,” Annie said.
“Kraken, secure the skipper before there are any more accidents on her watch. Orca, make sure that lifeline is secure.”
So there was a rope up there, after all.
“Captain, I can—,” Orca said.
“Secure it, Orca. Rose,” she called down to me. “Can you climb?”
“Yes,” I said. The ladder would not withstand the weight of a rescuer. Even if I had been hurt, I would have had no choice.
“Rose, I’m tossing you a line. Tie it to your harness.”
The light from the hatch flickered in and out of sight, and I heard the slither of the lifeline tumbling down the ladder. I fumbled for it and tied it around my waist, then began the longest climb of my life— which had included more than its fair share of ladders, recently.
Miranda waited at the other end, and her firm grip closed around my forearms and pulled me to safety.
“Are you all right, Rose?” she asked.
“Yes, Captain.”
I squared my shoulders and met Annie’s eyes. They gave nothing away.
“I thought you were hurt,” Orca asked as I cut the diving line that still secured me to the boat.
I slid the diving knife slowly back in the sheath. She met my eyes, and beneath her general dislike I saw a flicker of respect.
“Kraken, get the skipper to the brig and under guard. I’ll question her later. Rose,” Miranda said, taking my hand to pull me out of Annie’s reach, “you’re coming with me.”
Chapter Eight
“Let’s get you out of that,” she said, when Kraken, Annie, and Orca had left.
I let her pull the suit off of me, shivering from cold and shock in the dark hallway. My clothes were damp with water and sweat.
“Leave your gear there. You need a drink and a blanket.”
I trailed after her down the winding, narrow corridors of the Man o’ War. We passed several crew members enjoying their off hours. Some toasted Miranda; others stared at me with open distrust. Miranda demanded a blanket from one of them and wrapped it securely around my shoulders.
Her route eventually led us to a common room, where she made a point of offering me a seat on a low couch in a corner. The bartender rushed to deliver us two glasses of rum, diluted only slightly with some sort of juice. The brief hush that had settled over the room in Miranda’s wake passed, and the tide of voices rose again, punctuated here and there by an outbreak of laughter or an angry shout. Miranda sipped her drink with a thoughtful expression as she surveyed the room, then tossed back the rest of the rum in a fluid motion. A second appeared at her elbow almost instantaneously.
I stared into the murky depths of my glass. A shadowy reflection stared back, eyes wide beneath frazzled hair. My curls had been confined beneath a wetsuit, exposed to salt water, and now were drying mutinously however they pleased. I needed to see a barber or, barring that, a comb. I ran a hand over my hair and tried to finger comb my topknot back into a semblance of order, wishing a haircut was my biggest concern.
“You keep your hair short,” Miranda said. “Like your captain.”
“A lot of women have short hair where I’m from,” I pointed out, tracing her sleek braid with my eyes.
“Yes, well, you also have higher-quality soap.” She raised her glass and clinked it against mine. I took a nervous swallow. “Braids are easier to manage here, although I draw the line at dreads, myself. Too heavy.”
“Oh,” I said. I was proving to be a less than scintillating conversationalist, but I allowed myself some slack, considering that someone had just tried to kill me.
“You can call me Miranda.”
I choked on my drink. Calling a captain by their first name was unthinkable. Nobody called Admiral Comita anything but “Admiral” to her face, and we stuck with her last name behind her back, just to be safe.
“Are you sure, Captain?”
“Do you always question your superiors, Compass Rose?” She was grinning now, revealing a dimple in her left cheek.
Of course she has a dimple, I thought. I should have just drowned.
&nbs
p; “No, Captain.”
“Say it.”
I gave her a look that must have revealed the depth of my discomfort and exasperation, because she laughed out loud, causing quite a few heads to turn our way.
“Or say it after a drink, I don’t care, but we’re not leaving this table until we’re on first-name terms.”
“All right,” I said, taking a gulp.
“Do you go by Compass or Rose? I assumed Rose, and I’m usually right about my assumptions, so think carefully before answering.”
“Rose. Compass is a little too utilitarian, even for a navigator.” Although if you say my name one more time, I’ll call you whatever you want, Captain. I tightened my hold on my drink, wondering why my inner voice sounded so much like Harper.
“I had a cat named Compass,” she said, toying with her glass. “He used to get lost all the time. Never understood it. I don’t think I’ll have that problem with you.”
“Should I be flattered or offended that you think I have more potential than a cat?” I took another sip of rum. I was not accustomed to the continual drinking that seemed to be the norm on this ship, and the alcohol was loosening too many things at once.
“Flattered. I loved that cat.”
“In that case, I’m honored,” I said, toasting her and draining the glass with exaggerated respect. Maybe it would drown out Harper’s commentary.
“Feeling braver?” she asked.
“Why?”
“Address me properly.”
“Captain Miranda.”
“I could have you flogged for insubordination, you know.” Her smile assured me that this time, at least, she was joking.
“Well then.” I took a deep breath and met her eyes. “Miranda. Thank you for the drink.” And saving my life. I tried not to savor the taste of her name.
“My generosity is renowned across the seven seas. Just ask Nasrin.”
The bartender had arrived with more drinks. I gave the glass a suspicious glance. With the exception of Harper, the only people who had offered me a drink in the past two weeks had wanted something from me.
The rum hummed through my veins.
“Whatever you say, Captain,” Nasrin said with a smirk. Her biceps could have crushed several windpipes at once, and I suspected she played bouncer as well as tender at this bar.
Focus, Rose.
“Hear that, Rose? ‘Whatever I say.’ Those are the house rules.”
Nasrin laughed as she strolled away.
“Whatever you say?” I repeated, hoping she didn’t notice my slightly slurred speech.
“Yep. Although not everybody believes, me. Isn’t that right, Nasrin?”
Nasrin made a rude hand gesture from behind the bar, which looked as if it had been salvaged from the deck of an ancient fishing vessel. I looked back to find Miranda watching me out of half-lidded eyes. She smiled at my startled expression.
“So,” she said. “Let’s get the hard questions out of the way then, shall we?”
“Yes, Captain.” The rum made sense, now. This wasn’t about soothing my nerves. This was about information, the only currency that never lost its value.
“Miranda.”
“Miranda,” I repeated. I would have happily said it another time, if she’d asked.
“Annie took you squidding?”
“Yes.” Miranda, I noticed, had a habit of twirling the ring on her thumb as she spoke.
“Why?”
“I asked her what the crew did when their shifts were over. She told me most of them drank and fucked.” I blushed slightly. “So I asked her what she did.”
What do you do, Captain? I needed to stop drinking.
“She lied to you if she said she didn’t drink or fuck. Annie’s as bad as they come.”
“She told me she fished.”
“I’ll give her that. Annie’s got a way with the squid, and I’ve never seen someone so enthusiastic about squid ink in their cooking. She’s a good cook, too. Our food isn’t usually quite this terrible.” She grimaced at the memory of dinner. “So she didn’t ask you to go with her; you asked her?”
“Yes.”
Miranda tapped her fingers on the table.
“You like Annie, don’t you?” she said.
I nodded.
“I do, too,” Miranda continued. “I don’t want to believe that she set you up.”
“She couldn’t have.” Hearing Miranda voice my suspicions out loud set off a domino effect of denial.
“She very easily could have. Only your line was cut.”
My breath caught at the memory of that feeling of sudden weightlessness, and the belly of the ship rushing past me.
“It doesn’t make any sense, though. Why would she do that, after helping me?” Annie had been the first person on the ship to reach out to me. Now that I was no longer dangling off the side of the boat, my suspicions seemed ill-founded. It could have been an accident.
“We elect our captains, outside of the Archipelago. The chain of command is fluid. Not everyone agrees with my actions, and there are a good many sailors who prefer slitting Archipelagean throats to working with them. If it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t personal.”
It did not make me feel better.
“Maybe it was an accident,” I said.
Miranda turned cold eyes on me.
“Annie’s first mistake was putting you in a position where an accident was possible. She did not have my leave to take you off the ship.”
“It was my fault.”
“And you paid the price.” Her look softened. “Drink. It will take the edge off the shock.”
I obeyed.
“What are you going to do to Annie?”
“Question her.” Miranda’s face hardened, erasing any memory of softness, dimples, and friendly banter.
I was glad I wasn’t Annie. I didn’t think she would be getting a blanket and a stiff drink. I remembered the spear streaking through the water from Annie’s hand.
After a squid, or my line?
“I don’t understand,” I said, not meaning to say the words out loud. Miranda set her glass down on the table.
“Don’t you?”
I thought back to what Annie had told me earlier that evening while we were sparring. “Show them you’re not some soft rice-fed fleeter and they’ll leave you alone. That’s the only victory you can hope for.” An odd thing to say, to someone you were planning to kill.
Unless she hadn’t planned on it. She was a self-professed pirate and a mercenary skipper— in other words, an opportunist. You had to be, to survive the waters outside of the protection of the Archipelago. What had Annie tried to prove out there, and to whom? Why hadn’t she gone for help? What would have happened if she had climbed down that ladder after me?
No, I thought, knowing better than to say it again. I don’t want to understand.
“You look like you’re dead on your feet,” Miranda said, rising.
“I’m fine, Miranda.”
“I’m sure you will be after a few hours of sleep. Let’s get you to a bed.”
She didn’t take my hand again. I briefly thought about tripping, then shook myself, appalled. I was a Polarian Fleet navigator, now a mercenary navigator, and I had a small helping of self-respect on top of that. I didn’t swoon.
I gritted my teeth and kept pace with Miranda, holding my bruised head as high as it would comfortably go. Miranda laughed low in her throat at my efforts, and I forgot myself enough to glare at her.
Her look cut through me like a hot knife, and there was nothing feigned about the sudden weakness in my knees.
Shit, I thought fervently. Shit, shit, shit. Attempted murder was the least of my problems. I needed to get off this ship and far away from Miranda.
Instead, I went with her to her quarters, legs shaking.
Her rooms were disturbingly close to Orca’s. I hoped the walls were soundproof and that she hadn’t heard some of the nastier fights I’d had with her first mate or,
worse, touched the web of my dreams with hers.
The first room in her suite was wider than it was long, and the walls were hung with antique remnants of a long dead ocean. A whaling harpoon framed a low couch, and a pair of tridents threatened whoever might be brave enough to sit in the armchair beneath their crossed tines. I almost caught my foot on a braided rope rug as I followed Miranda through into the second room, still glancing behind me at the other unfamiliar objects on the walls.
The second room in her suite had a tiny kitchen. I thought of all the meals Miranda missed and forgave her instantly. The lowest bilge drudge could have cooked a finer meal than the slop I’d consumed since my arrival, and Miranda’s kitchen showed the marks of frequent use. There was a small table with two chairs, but the second chair was laden with a pile of books. I blinked and took an involuntary step toward the chair. Real books were a rarity, even in the Archipelago. These, tossed almost carelessly, would have given an Archipelago librarian a fit of apoplexy.
“There’s fresh water in the tap if you’re thirsty, and feel free to help yourself to some fruit.”
My eyes darted eagerly to the basket of fruit on the counter. I resisted the urge to snatch a bunch for later. Miranda pushed through a curtain of tiny shells into the third room, and I hesitated at the door.
Miranda didn’t sleep in a hammock. Her bunk filled one half of the small room. It had been made with military precision, which was slightly spoiled by the fat orange cat lying sprawled in the center of the mattress. Green eyes were slitted suspiciously at me. The walls of the room were bare of all ornamentation, save for an ugly painting, and the only personal item in sight was the captain herself.
That was unsettling enough.
“Make yourself useful, Seamus.” The cat blinked slowly at Miranda and refused to move. “This is Seamus, my personal ratter. He makes sure nothing creeps or crawls in here.”
The sight of the bed, even with the cat in it, was too distracting. I looked around the rest of the room for something else to focus on.
The painting caught my eye. It was little more than an irregularly shaped canvas, painted with what I assumed was squid ink. Nothing else had that dark gray, almost blue-black, tint. Her room had decent lights, and the crude representation of a Portuguese man o’ war jellyfish loomed larger than life before me, a mass of swirling strokes that had a vaguely hypnotic and violent effect on the viewer.