Tantamount

by Thomas J. Radford

  “What are we doing out here,” Nel said. She didn't mean to make it a question but Jack interpreted it as such.

  “I like the quiet,” Jack said.

  “Why's that?” Nel asked, for lack of anything else to do.

  “It ain't quiet in prison.”

  Nel eyed him. Jack's face was blank, hard.

  “You never asked me,” he said.

  “Never asked you what?”

  “About what I was in for.” He rubbed the shiny scar tissue bracelets on his wrists.

  Her hand might have tightened on her wand, but Nel looked Jack right in the eye then. “I don't care who you were, what you did, why you did it. That's the past. On our ship the past stays out of it. You don't bring it aboard and I won't ask about it. You're part of my crew now.”

  “Yeah.”

  Talking with Jack was frustrating. He didn't respond like a normal person. Every time Nel said something to him it felt like she was checking a box, taking them down some course of action. The problem was she had no way of knowing what the course was, and until she checked the right boxes, or enough of the wrong ones, Jack wasn't going to act.

  His head came up. “There's another ship.”

  Nel got halfway to her feet before the boat rocked wildly under her feet.

  The envelope, she thought, we must be meshing. The other ship's too close!

  The boat rocked again, one foot came loose, and Nel felt herself falling, pitching over the side. Felt the icy rush of the void as she hit the miasma. Her wand dropped from suddenly frostbitten fingers as she flailed desperately with both hands, seeking a purchase. There was none. Her other foot came loose of its binding and there was nothing left anchoring her to the boat.

  Except Jack. The ex-convict Korrigan lunged over the gunnels of the boat, clamping one meaty hand around her ankle. They hung there, freezing in the void, Nel outside the envelope, Jack straddling it. Nel stared at Jack, saw the confusion in his face.

  Jack had just saved her.

  And just as suddenly he let her go.

  Nel gasped, not in shock—she was beyond that—but in pain. She fell, but only a short distance, hitting something solid and unyielding before she fell too far. She groaned, wanting to curl up into a ball, but resisted the urge. Above her, Jack and the boat he was still in floated down gently to settle at her feet, canting to the side.

  Nel sat up, bare hands and feet finding wooden decking under them. She recoiled at that touch, her toes and fingers burned from the cold. That made her angry and drove her to her feet. The boat in front of her rocked unsteadily as Jack stood and tried to climb out of it, forgetting he was still strapped in.

  A familiar voice broke the silence. “Skipper, if I didn't know better I'd think you were following us.”

  Sharpe. If Nel hadn't lost her wand she would have used it. Her cold snapped limbs weren't fast enough to catch him but she gave it her all, chasing Sharpe across the deck as he ducked and weaved away from her punches.

  “You ploughing, gutter trash snipe!” she yelled at him, narrowly missing his head. “You attack my crew, set fire to my ship, steal my ship . . . ”

  She couldn't talk anymore, she was too angry. Sharpe, it seemed, had had enough too. He reached out and grabbed her wrists, holding on tight. She fought him, trying to throw him, break free, but he held her firm. So she kicked him in the knee. The knee buckled and he went down and she hit him higher. But when she threw a punch meant to connect with his face, she instead connected with a barrel that hadn't been there a moment ago. Nel howled in pain, dropping to her knees and clutching her hand.

  “Amusing as watching you two monkeys beat each other is, we have other concerns.”

  “Quill,” Nel growled up at him, following the sound of his voice. “You slimy, snake-skinned bast—”

  “Yes, yes,” Quill snapped irritably. “We are all that. All of us, illegitimate spawn the lot of us. Educational as your vocabulary can be, may we move on?”

  Nel glared at him.

  “Quill!” Sharpe yelled in warning.

  Quill turned, throwing up a hand. The oversized harpoon nudged aside, barely missing him. Careless of Quill to leave something like that around for Jack to throw at him, Nel thought.

  Jack appeared peeved that his missile had failed to do its job. He set about correcting the issue, this time with a heavier object. Having nothing else at hand he reached for what was — the boat. Grunting and roaring with the effort, he awkwardly lifted first the end, then the whole length of the dinghy off the deck and swung it like a club at Quill.

  Quill stopped him, though he didn't make it look easy. The more surface area he had to work with the stronger Quill could push on an object. Having something work against him made it harder, not normally a problem in the motionless, frictionless void when he was merely pushing massive sail cloth, but Jack seemed up to the task and for a moment the two seemed evenly matched.

  “Call him off!” Quill demanded, voice cracking with the strain. “Call him off now!”

  “Why should I?” Nel staggered to her feet, cradling her injured hand. It really hurt now, after smashing it into Quill's improvised shield.

  “I saved your miserable skins,” Quill growled.

  “From what!” Nel demanded. “The only danger was when you pulled us aboard!”

  With a yell Quill ripped the boat away from Jack and pushed it over the edge of the ship, out into the void. Part of the tiny boat stayed in Jack's hands, splintered handfuls of timber he stubbornly refused to let go of. He glared at the Kelpie resentfully, but didn't try anything else. Put in his place then, Nel thought.

  “Good riddance,” Sharpe said, reminding Nel he was still there. “I can't believe you made it this far out in that thing.”

  Nel glared. “Somebody stole my damned ship!” She whipped back to Quill.

  “That can be explained,” Quill shrugged, adding, “Skipper.”

  Nel seethed. “Setting fire to it? Attacking Piper and the captain?” An explanation wasn't going to cut it here.

  “That's a bit harder,” Sharpe admitted.

  Nel walked until she could look at them both at once.

  “Talk,” she said. “Talk fast and make it good. Really good.”

  The two exchanged a look.

  “Actually now's not the best time,” Sharpe said. Quill left the conversation to him and stalked back to his position at the helm.

  “We were following that behemoth out there.” Sharpe gestured out into space. “Almost ran into it coming out of Rim. So we were sticking to its blind spot, down below. We saw you almost get taken out, thought we'd pick you up on the by. But while that monstrosity is docking at Rim we've got somewhere else to be.”

  “And where's that?” Nel said, wishing again she hadn't lost her wand. That was going to hurt, more than the freeze burns, when she had time to stop and feel it.

  “Grange,” Sharpe said. “I'm going home. To whatever's left of it.”

  Chapter 9

  It hadn't been hard to slip away from the crew. The skipper might have told Gabbi to watch her, but when the Mangonel Falling arrived that had stolen everyone's attention. The dreadnought emerged from the miasma cloaking Rim, blotting out the horizon as it drifted alongside the station. The Tantamount's crew, the dock workers, and more were all drawn in, watching as landing parties made their way towards Rim. But Violet wasn't watching the Mangonel, though she found her eyes were continuously drawn back to it.

  It was Scarlett that had her attention. Scarlett and Onyx. The golem supported Scarlett, half-carrying the woman as they skirted the edge of the docklands. Blood crusted the woman's hair and one side of her face. Violet felt a pang of guilt over that, until she remembered what the woman had tried to do. That memory was only reinforced when Scarlett cast one long look towards where the Tantamount had been docked.

  Violet trailed them, keeping as close as she dared. The Guildswoman's intentions were obvious even to her—she was going to meet with the landing p
arty from the Mangonel. It was a rendezvous Violet arrived at after the Alliance group.

  From what Violet could see the landing party was heavily armed. All carried wands at their belts, nearly half carried the heavier staffs. They cut a formidable picture, grim-faced men and women of different peoples, bonded under a common blue and white livery. One stepped forward to meet Scarlett some distance from the main group. They appeared cautious, but not unduly threatened by the Guildswoman and her golem.

  Violet couldn't hear the words that were being exchanged. Taking a deep breath she darted closer, moving from cover to cover. She expected a shout of discovery any second from some sharp-eyed Alliance watchman. But none came. She crouched down behind an empty stack of shipping pallets, close enough to catch parts of the conversation but not to see the speakers.

  “. . . overrun with Draugr,” Scarlett was saying. The woman's voice was patchy, hoarse.

  “We went to extreme lengths to keep Rim isolated.”

  Violet missed Scarlett's reply.

  “. . . what you were brought in for. You've made the situation worse.”

  “The situation has escalated.” Scarlett sounded angry.

  “. . . not acceptable,” the officer was telling her. “There are hundreds of people on Rim.”

  “Were.”

  There was a long pause, long enough that Violet thought to risk a look. She saw the officer's face. He was conflicted.

  “The first step is to secure the remaining supplies,” he told Scarlett. “Will the crew be a problem?”

  “No.”

  It didn't take the Alliance long after that. Violet heard orders barked and before she could think about moving they were gone. They moved swiftly and directly, leaving a small group to tend to their vessels. Violet thought to get back to the captain and the others but the Alliance was between her and them. She could only watch as they closed in around the Tantamount's crew. She waited, heart hammering in her chest, but there was only quiet. There was no sound of weapons being discharged, no yells or screams. Violet let herself believe that the crew were still safe.

  A glance over the top of her cover told her that the remaining Alliance sailors were watching. Too risky to move yet. Violet put her back against the pallets, forcing herself to wait. Her heart was still pounding. She put a hand to it and it almost stopped.

  There, under her shirt, was the package Grouse had given her. Grouse, the man from the slums who'd known Sharpe. The man Sharpe had asked her to take a box of the Tantamount's cargo to. He'd given her the package in exchange but until now she hadn't checked inside it. She'd forgotten.

  Now, with nothing to do but wait, she had the time. She pulled the package out, a leather tube bound in twine. The sort papers and letters were kept in. Violet studied the tube, turning it over in her hands. It felt smooth to the touch but there were indentations around the body that could have been made by fingers. Handled often and gripped tightly.

  Violet tugged at the twine 'til it came loose, popping the top off and upending it. Rolled parchment slipped out into her hand. She set the container down and unrolled the parchment in her hand.

  Intricate calligraphy covered the top third of the parchment, pillars and ivy sketched in colourful ink. The writing began further down. Letters were not Violet's strongest suit but she'd learnt them on the Tantamount alongside her other lessons. Sailors depended on charts and references. And letters were nowhere near as difficult as numbers and the calculations needed to navigate the Tantamount. But at first Violet's eyes refused to reconcile the letters she was looking at.

  It was the deed to the Tantamount.

  Violet's fingers shook as she re-rolled the parchment and sealed it back in its container. She held it tight against her chest. Sharpe had taken the deed, that was the only explanation. He must have passed it to Grouse in the slums. Sharpe had played her, manipulated her. She realised that, didn't need the disappointment in the skipper's eyes to know that. But what had been the point in separating the deed from the ship? Had there been another plan in the works or was delivering the deed just a kick to the crew when they were down?

  Somehow she had to get the deed back to the captain. It was the only way she could start to make things up.

  Which meant she had to move. It could be disastrous to get caught by the Alliance sailors, but staying here made that just as likely. Violet started to move, foot by shaking foot, still expecting to be discovered at any second. But she wasn't.

  When she had cover between her and the Alliance landing party she started to circle back around towards the Tantamount's crew.

  A month ago Violet would have screamed when the hand closed around her upper arm. Screamed into the hand that wrapped around her mouth precisely to stifle such a scream. But now she bit down hard on that hand, twisting and writhing in the grip, tangling up in her attacker's feet, sending them both tumbling. She lashed out at where she guessed her would-be abductor's face was.

  “Hey, hey! Leave off, girl! It's me!”

  Violet could taste blood in her mouth and hear it pounding in her ears. She pulled back only to cast around for something she could use as a bludgeon. And it was only out of the corner of her eye that she saw her attacker uncurl feebly from a foetal position, peering at her from behind shakily raised elbows.

  “Grouse?” she demanded.

  “Aye, the same,” the other confirmed weakly.

  Violet stared at Sharpe's friend. Then kicked him hard in the stomach. “What in the hells are you doing, grabbing me like that? And this, you've got some nerve nicking this off my captain!” Violet brandished the leather holding the Tantamount's deed.

  “I didn't nick nothing!” Grouse objected, staring at the bloody teeth marks in his hand. “I just gave you what Sharpe gave me. Damn, girl, but you've got some teeth in that foul mouth of yours.”

  Grouse flinched when Violet narrowed her eyes at him and spat out a mouthful of his blood. “What are you doing, grabbing me?” she repeated.

  “Was trying to help you!” Grouse complained. “Won't be doing that again. Alliance just rolled through your ship's camp, you was headed right for them.”

  “So what's that to you if I am?” Violet lowered her voice at the reminder of the Alliance.

  “Sharpe said to watch out for you.”

  “Sharpe? After he stole the captain's deed? After he stole the captain's ship?!”

  “You're an angry wee one, aren't you?”

  Violet shook her head in disgust. She was, she realised, starting to understand how the skipper must feel all the time. Reluctantly she held out a hand to Grouse, which he accepted with his good one and let her help him to his feet.

  “Seems you and I had the same idea,” he said, eyeing her warily.

  “And what's that?” Violet asked.

  Grouse jerked his head in the direction of the Alliance landing party. “Finding out what the boys in the pressed white and blues are up to on Rim. And I reckon you had an earful of just that.”

  Violet shrugged.

  “I don't think the Alliance would have hurt your crew, lass, but they did scatter them good. If they've any sense, they'll head in towards the shanties. We can talk there. If you tell me what you know, I can help you look for them.”

  Violet looked at him, saying nothing. She thought it over. Grouse began to fidget as her silence went on.

  “Well?” he asked her. “What do you say?”

  “I'll think about it,” Violet said.

  Hidden away in the slums of Rim, Violet sat on a crate that was acting as her seat in the back of a dusty shack. Her hand kept straying to the front of her shirt, fingers tracing the lump that was the deed to the Tantamount. She'd searched but hadn't seen any of the crew. Not the captain nor Gabbi nor Piper. And it could only be her imagination, but the longer she held on to it, the hotter the deed felt under her shirt.

  Fixated as Violet was on the Tantamount and its crew though, she hadn't missed the activity that was running through the shanty town. S
he watched Grouse's Draugr, whom she had since learned was called Wallace, haul in a bundle of tarps. They were the same tarps, mostly old sails, she'd previously seen acting as roofs for the ramshackle buildings of Rim.

  There was already a bundle of tarp and cloth piled high in one corner of the shack. Wallace dumped his addition atop that and turned to leave. The Draugr stopped though, catching Violet's attention fixed on him. He stared back at her with disturbingly dry eyes.

  Violet squeezed her hands together, uncomfortable under that stare. It reminded her of the way she'd over-reacted her first time in the slums.

  “I'm sorry I screamed,” she said.

  Wallace kept staring at her. Violet wasn't sure if he understood her or not. She still didn't really understand Draugr herself. It was impossible to tell what was going on behind that weathered face.

  “What are you?” Violet said aloud, jumping off the crate and taking a step towards Wallace. The Draugr's head moved slowly to look down at her. He was built solidly with corded muscle that still flexed and bulged when he moved. She ran a hand across the biceps of one arm, watching his face for a reaction. The Draugr stared at her touch but gave no other response.

  Does he understand me?

  Under her hand the skin was dry and cold, like wood. It didn't yield to her touch the way normal flesh should. Her fingers traced the contours to the marking she'd seen on his arm during their first meeting. She realised now it was a tattoo.

  “My skipper has a tattoo just like this,” she said. “From when she was in the Alliance.”

  It wasn't her imagination. The Draugr smiled at her. Just before turning around and walking out of the shack.

  Grouse came back not long after, a loaf of day old bread in his hands. He tore off a hunk and handed it to Violet. She took it, realising she was famished.

  “My captain?” she asked between swallows. “My crew?”

  “Ain't found them yet,” Grouse said through a mouthful of bread, crumbs slipping out of his maw.