Compass Rose

by Anna Burke

  First, however, I had to find a way past her fleet.

  “There.” Crow’s Eye pointed, breaking my concentration. “Land.”

  I scrambled past him, pressing myself against the plastic and heedless of the bottle of piss at my feet. There was a slight haze against the northern horizon, but nothing more.

  “Look through this.” He pulled out a pair of binoculars and handed them to me.

  I pressed them to my eyes and gasped.

  These were no islands. As far as I could see, the coast stretched on and on, a low lumpy mass of solid ground that looked as endless as the ocean itself. It sent a thrill of hope and fear through me.

  “It’s something, isn’t it?” Crow’s Eye tone was reverent.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  It wasn’t, not really, not this far away, but the thought of it was the most beautiful thing in the world— and the most appalling. A place where ships could not sail, where you could not escape the storms by diving beneath the waves, and where water was a scarcity, not a given.

  “I wonder if I could navigate on land,” I said, voicing a curiosity best left unspoken.

  “About as well as I could walk, Compass Rose.” He slapped the stumps of his legs with a laugh. “We’ve no immunity now to their pestilences. We’ve lost the way of it.”

  “How close have you sailed?”

  “Close enough to smell it.” He closed his eyes, as if remembering.

  “How close could a small craft get?”

  “How small are we talking?” He opened one eye. “Say, a trawler?”

  “Hypothetically, yes.”

  “Pretty close, if she had a good skipper and knew the waters.”

  “How about Ching’s ships? You know more about them than I do. Any pirate craft small enough to follow?”

  “Sure, a few. Scouts. But no sailor alive would risk it. Waters are too treacherous. They say there are sunken cities there that flood the sonar with the cries of the damned and drag them to the bottom. More like run them aground, but there you have it.”

  “Interesting,” I said, an idea forming in my mind.

  “Interesting gets you killed, kid,” he told me with a pointed pat on the hand.

  I handed back the binoculars.

  “Thanks, Crow’s Eye.”

  “One more thing.” He swiveled around. “There are sailors on this ship who would like to see you dead for what you represent. I’m not one of them.”

  I blushed, unsure how to express how much his words meant to me.

  “If you take the coastal route, remember this, kid. The most dangerous thing in the ocean will always be other people. And watch out for squid.”

  Squid? As I descended, I wondered if Crow’s Eye was missing more than just his legs.

  “Rose.”

  I froze on the last few rungs of ladder. The chart room had been empty when I entered, but it was occupied now by the last person on this ship I wanted to see.

  “Captain,” I said, dropping to the ground.

  “I should order you to stay here,” she said, her face only slightly less livid than it had been the last time I saw her.

  “Why? It doesn’t make sense.” I kept my hands clasped behind my back, resisting the urge to touch her.

  “I need you on this ship. Stay, and I’ll make you second mate.”

  I tried not to focus on how the first three words had sounded. Then the gravity of her last statement sank in.

  Second mate? I wavered. Harper’s words came back to me.

  “Wouldn’t it be worth it, if you could be a navigator in your own right?”

  Being second mate to Miranda was too much. I couldn’t think. It was everything I had ever wanted, and accepting was the last thing I could do. I watched, as if I were in a dream, as a series of images paraded themselves before me.

  Me, at the helm, with Miranda at my side. Miranda, Kraken, and I sitting down for a drink in the ship’s bar. Waking up next to Miranda, day after day. Even sparring with Orca had become part of the fabric of my life.

  I wavered.

  Even if Miranda hadn’t been Miranda Stillwater, I still had a duty to Admiral Comita, and unlike a mercenary I was not free to make my own choices.

  “You need me to find out what else Ching is doing, more,” I said, my head still spinning. “You were happy enough sending Orca, and she’s your first mate. You have other people who can navigate.”

  “Orca is prepared. Orca is . . .” She trailed off, and I was glad Orca was not here. For all that I hated the first mate, Miranda’s blindness to Orca’s jealousy seemed unnecessarily cruel.

  “Orca is what?” I asked.

  “Replaceable.”

  I stared at her, and I didn’t need to hold my hands back anymore. For the first time since I’d laid eyes on her, Miranda Stillwater repulsed me. I tried to cling to the feeling.

  “How can you say that?”

  “I didn’t realize you cared so much for her,” Miranda said, her face still a mask of carefully controlled anger.

  “I don’t, but she—”

  “She is one of mine, and I would lay my life down for her in a heartbeat, but first mates can be trained. What you have cannot.”

  “So I’m a tool.”

  “Neptune’s balls, Rose, we’re all tools.” She looked up at the ceiling.

  I hoped she found inspiration there, because I had nothing for her.

  “Then let me do my job.”

  “Fine. If that’s the way you want it, fine. But if you get yourself killed it’s not just your Admiral you have yourself to answer to. I’ll drag your ass out of Davy Jones’s myself.”

  She closed the distance between us and the momentary repulsion passed.

  “No point in flogging a corpse, Captain. The Archipelago will be fine. You’ll be fine. There are other navigators. Look hard enough, and you might even find one half as good as me.” I gave her a weak smile.

  “Don’t be an ass, Rose,” she said, and for a moment I was back in the helm of the trawler with my arms around her neck, losing myself and my sense of purpose beneath her. I shook my head to clear it.

  “I can’t do this,” I said in a half-whisper that cut through me.

  “You don’t have to. Stay here. I’ll send someone else out.” She took my shoulders in her hands.

  “Not that. This.”

  I gestured at her, then at myself, and her face froze.

  “Remember what I told you, Rose? I don’t care who my crew fucks, as long as it doesn’t distract them from their duties. I overestimated you. If you can’t stay focused, then you’re right. You can’t do this.”

  The injustice of her words felt like a slap to the face, complete with the involuntary, hot prick of tears.

  “You think I’m distracted? What about you, Miranda? You just tried to keep me from doing my job.” My voice shook.

  “You’re not a distraction.” Miranda’s voice chilled by degrees. “You’re a compass, and I’m a captain. Forgive me for wanting to keep my tools close at hand.”

  “What was all that about guaranteeing my safety then?” I was shouting, and I didn’t care.

  “I’ve got a lot riding on you, Rose. But you’re right. This, this right here, is distracting me. I can’t afford to waste my time listening to this bullshit with Ching on my ass. You think you’ll be of more use to me out there? Then go. But whatever you think is going on between us is over when you come back. You are my tool. Nothing more.”

  “Okay,” I said, swallowing the words. They settled like stones.

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, Captain.”

  She slammed the door behind her, my last word echoing around the empty chart room. I swallowed that emptiness, too, and it came to rest beside the stones, as lifeless and barren as the bottom of the sea.

  • • •

  I probably would not have risked it, if it had not been for my encounter with Miranda, but later that day I tracked down Orca to finalize our departure
. Her mood didn’t look much better than mine, which was something of a small comfort.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” I said to her, cutting her off mid-tirade as she yelled at a group of passing sailors.

  “And how the hell do you plan on doing that?” she asked.

  My plan was simple, if a little crazy. Man o’ War was in need of supplies from the mines, and our trawler was just the sort of vessel suited for making a short delivery run, not to mention the fact that we carried a load of salvaged parts and supplies in our hold that the mines certainly could use. As long as I stayed out of sight and Miranda came up with a decent excuse for my absence from her ship, I thought we stood a chance, at least for a little while.

  How I would stay out of sight during Ching’s inspection was another matter entirely, and one that held little appeal. I decided not to think about that just yet, and filled Orca in on the details of my plan.

  “Huh,” she said, in a voice that suggested that just because she couldn’t find fault with my plan now did not mean she would not blame me later if things went wrong. “What happens once we’ve finished trading?”

  “We hide along the coast and see what else Ching is up to.”

  “The coast.” Orca stopped walking and stared at me. “Do you have a death wish, jelly?”

  “I might, after a day or two sailing with you,” I said.

  To my surprise, Orca gave a short laugh.

  “I could always kill you myself and spare the rest of us,” she said.

  “So much less satisfying that way for me, though.”

  “You really think there’s enough space in Davy Jones’s for the two of us?” she asked.

  “Well,” I said, continuing down the hallway, “it wouldn’t be hell without you.”

  • • •

  We inspected the vessel together; Orca didn’t trust the launching crew, and I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. Hating Orca was a welcome distraction.

  “You ever been in a trawler before?” I asked, watching her run her hands over the controls in the helm. The contrast between the unpleasant tension between me and Orca and the memory of the far more pleasant, if equally destructive, tension between me and Miranda grated on my nerves. I wouldn’t even be allowed to keep those memories pure.

  Stop thinking about her, I scolded myself. She made herself clear. You’re done.

  North, south, east, west. I would not cry over Miranda Stillwater. Especially not in front of Orca.

  “I have standards,” she said. It took me a moment to remember what I’d asked her, and another moment to realize that she’d insulted me.

  “Your mother didn’t,” I said, and just like that the brief respite I’d had while trawling with Miranda, Kraken, Finnegan, and Jeanine might as well have never happened. At least Orca and I were just trading insults, for now, instead of blows.

  “I hope you sail better than you fight,” she said.

  It was an uncharacteristically weak comeback, and I glanced at her, almost concerned. She was staring out the helm, one hand absentmindedly touching the wheel. There was nothing beyond the glass worth looking at.

  “Well,” I said, deciding I didn’t care, “I’m going to go see what’s in the hold for the inventory.”

  “You do that,” she said, still lost.

  I paused at the doorway.

  “Orca,” I said, not really sure why I bothered. “You want to grab a drink?”

  “Not really.”

  “Suit yourself.” I turned to go.

  “I’d rather beat the shit out of someone. You game?”

  We sized each other up.

  Now that she mentioned it, punching Orca sounded like exactly what I wanted to do.

  We walked to the training room in silence. It was empty, which suited my mood, and I wrapped my hands with vengeful precision.

  “Whatever you think is going on between us is over.”

  That was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? To keep the chain of command clear? To end any entanglements that would make it impossible for me to do my job, and to eliminate the conflict of interest that was part and parcel of Miranda’s identity?

  That didn’t make it hurt any less.

  Orca stretched, her lithe body warming up to do what it did best: bruise.

  Maybe it was just fun for her, I thought, jumping up and down on my toes to loosen my legs. Emotions were overrated anyway.

  I did not fool myself. I was not Harper, who had mastered the casual fling by seventeen, nor was I capable of that level of self-denial.

  I sized up Orca. It had been a week, at least, since we’d sparred, and I felt oddly calm. She couldn’t hurt me any more than I’d already hurt myself, and she looked less intimidating, now that I’d seen pirates and dead bodies, and sold my people to Ching Shih.

  We danced around each other for a few steps. I knew Orca’s pattern. She always made the first move, and she struck low and hard.

  This time, I struck first.

  It threw her off, and she took a step back. I struck again, getting past her guard and landing a blow on her upper arm.

  It felt good.

  I moved in again, and again, forcing her back across the mat until she let out a growl of frustration and launched herself at me in a flurry of feet and fists. I edged away, smiling. Whatever was bothering Orca clearly had thrown her off her game.

  “What,” I taunted, “losing your touch?”

  I was rewarded with a kick to the side that sent me staggering backward.

  “Don’t get cocky, fleeter.”

  I grunted in pain and lashed out with a left hook that took her in the jaw.

  The look on her face as she caught her balance was almost worth the agony inside my chest, compounded now with pain from what felt like several ruptured organs.

  Pure and unadulterated shock flitted across her features, sending ripples through her gray eyes.

  “You hit me.”

  I hit her again.

  The anger that felt like it had been boiling inside me for as long as I could remember erupted. I kept my core tight and my muscles loose, and I rained blows down on Orca like a cat o’ nine tails.

  She fought with all her strength, but she didn’t have despair riding her like a whitecap, and I brought her to the ground in a tangle of sweat and blood.

  “Fuck you,” she said, as I pinned her arms over her head.

  I had busted open her cheek, and a trickle of blood ran down her face onto the mat, but her nose and perfect teeth, which I had at one point vowed to break, remained intact.

  Her eyes had flecks of green in them, like islands lost in fog. Her skin shone with sweat.

  I didn’t say anything. Her braids fanned out around her head, the tiny shells white against the stained mat and her black hair. I remembered the panic in her eyes after she’d beaten me, lifting my shirt over my head in the shower, snarling as she walked me in front of her, keeping the discontented mercenaries at bay.

  I didn’t feel panicked. I didn’t know what I felt.

  “Don’t have anything to say?”

  Orca’s taunt bounced off me. It was fragile, like her, and brittle as glass.

  I looked at her. Really looked at her, and the girl beneath me looked back.

  “God damn you, Compass Rose,” she said.

  My hands tightened on her wrists. Something dark and forceful pulled me toward her, like filaments to a lodestone, and I let my anger and betrayal guide me as the cardinal points fell silent.

  I kissed her, surprising us both, and then her body surged beneath me and she met me with a passion that matched me grief for grief, despair opening up a hunger that went bone deep. I couldn’t get enough of her lips, but she turned her head, her eyes closed and her breath coming quickly, and when I hesitated she broke one hand free from my grasp and pulled me down toward her, the roughness of the gesture breaking down the last of my inhibitions. I kissed her neck, her skin smooth and yielding beneath my lips and teeth, and Orca wrapped her
hand in my hair and begged me with her body not to stop.

  Her hips pressed against mine, and she moved beneath me with an urgency that quickened my blood, her breath warm against my ear.

  I moved down her throat and toward her shoulder, tasting the clean sweat on her skin, and then she slid her leg between mine and I gasped, following the motion of her hips as she drove all conscious thought from my grateful mind.

  This is what I needed. Violence. Oblivion. Lust.

  “When you’re finished here,” said a voice that poured over me like a bucket of ice water, “we have work to do.”

  Orca and I broke apart, and if I had thought I was heartbroken before, it was nothing compared to the look on Miranda’s face.

  She turned her back on us and walked back out of the training room, her shoulders stiff and my insides trailing after her.

  Orca and I exchanged an agonized look, united, at last, in guilt.

  • • •

  The knock on my door disrupted the slow swing of my hammock. I rolled out, not caring that my eyes were bloodshot and my clothes rumpled.

  Please be Miranda, I thought, even as my heart pounded with dread.

  Kraken filled the doorway.

  “Are you here to drown me?” I asked, shoving my hands in my pockets to hide their spasm of disappointment.

  “I thought about it,” he said, looking me up and down.

  I squinted up at his face. It was hard to tell when he was joking with those damned tattoos.

  “Here,” he said, tossing me a flask. “You look like you need this.”

  Rum. Rum sounded nice.

  “So you’re not going to kill me?” I asked as he stepped around me, filling the room with his bulk.

  “I’m a cook, not an executioner.”

  Something about his tone warned me that beneath his casual words was a layer of very real anger.

  “Miranda,” I said, making her name both a question and an explanation.

  He sank into the chair, and I climbed back into the hammock, rocking myself back and forth with one foot.

  “Why’d you do it, Rose?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. So many things had seemed clear only a few hours ago.