Kal Moonheart Trilogy: Dragon Killer, Roll the Bones & Sirensbane

by Rob May

  Kal took her knife and sliced the seal cleanly. She read the letter while Ben poured himself the last of the Black Kraken.

  The license was pretty comprehensive. Kal was pleased to read that the commission not only gave the crew permission to fight, steal and even kill in the name of the Republic, but it also assured them that if they were captured by an enemy nation, they would enjoy the special protected status of prisoners of war. They were, in effect, now part of the Republic navy.

  There was just one sticking point …

  ‘Ben,’ she said when she had finished reading. ‘This letter doesn’t name Dead Leg as captain of the Swordfish. It names—’

  ‘That’s right,’ Ben said as he swallowed the last of the rum. ‘I couldn’t very well sign off such an important document to someone I hardly know, let alone trust. So go plunder some galleons, Kal; net yourself some booty. You’re a pirate captain now!’

  I.vii

  Edge of the World

  Kal must have stood open-mouthed for a good few moments, because Ben suddenly laughed and tried to brush away the significance of his words. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Kal,’ he said. ‘I don’t expect you to march out on deck and order Dead Leg to walk the plank. Quite the opposite, in fact—take your time; pick your moment; make your move when Dead Leg slips up … or if you’re really lucky, when he’s drunk on rum and slips over!’

  Kal couldn’t quite believe what he was asking of her. ‘I can’t make a play for control of the Swordfish—I’m the lubberiest person on board!’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find a way,’ Ben said. ‘Especially if you fancy a shot at all the loot that’s out there for the taking. The captain of a ship gets at least four full shares, I believe. The point is, Kal, that nobody must suspect your cover. You have to be seen to earn your commission. I don’t want the governor of Port Black thinking that it was me who sent you after him.’

  You mean you don’t want to be implicated, Kal thought. She knew the game Ben played as well as he did. So she made a move of her own:

  ‘Give me some of your soldiers.’

  Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘Give me some of your soldiers. You said yourself that I should hire some muscle. So save me the trouble and expense and give me some of the Senate Guard. They would be useful support if I got into an altercation with the captain, too. I’m sure you can spare a couple—think of it as sending them off on a training exercise!’

  Ben nodded, an amused look in his eyes. He had seemed drunk earlier, but now he was bright and alert. ‘Funny you should say that, Kal,’ he said, ‘because I actually was going to send someone along to help you out—’

  At that moment, there was a knock on the cabin door, and Dogwood entered without waiting to be asked. He stamped his booted feet on the floorboards and made a crisp salute. ‘No incriminating evidence on board, sir,’ he reported. ‘Maybe this isn’t the ship we’re looking for, after all. But there is this …’ He placed a silver hip flask on the table before Ben, who popped the top and took a sniff.

  ‘Smells like dead fish. What is it?’

  ‘Don’t know, Consul,’ Dogwood said. ‘There are barrels full of it hidden at the back of the water stores. But until I know exactly what it is, I can’t say if this lot are smuggling anything illegal or not.’

  ‘That’s a tough situation, Captain,’ Ben said. ‘Just think—you could have the greatest gang of smugglers who ever sailed the Silver Sea within your grasp, yet you’re just not certain enough to be able to make an arrest.’

  Dogwood looked pained. ‘I do have a suggestion, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Oh really?’ Ben said, throwing Kal a knowing look and a wink.

  ‘Yessir. I could sail with these fellows to the Auspice Islands, and continue my investigations there. If you’re looking for trouble, then that’s the place to go. That’s where crime and trouble has its roots. I’ve been all around the world, sir, and I’ll tell you this: there was never a more depraved nest of filth and felony than Port Black!’

  * * *

  The crew of the Swordfish gathered on deck to see off Senator Godsword. Dead Leg was less than happy about giving Dogwood a lift, but he tried to make the best of it. ‘Nobody gets free passage,’ he told Ben. ‘I’ll find your man some work that suits his station. There are plenty of rats on board he can chase down and arrest.’

  Dogwood was manhandling a massive chest that was almost as wide as he was. He gave Dead Leg a half-smile—a look that implied he wouldn’t be taking orders from anyone during the voyage.

  ‘Well, so long, Kal,’ Ben said as he stood at the foot of the ramp back up to his ship. ‘Come home soon, won’t you.’

  Lula appeared behind Kal and draped her arms around her neck. ‘Not if I can help it, Senator,’ she drawled. ‘Me and Kal are going to live out our days in a hut made of driftwood and palms, on a lonely beach where no one can ever find us.’

  Kal could only shrug at this declaration. Ben leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You’ll only get bored,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘You can come live in the attic of Zeb’s house instead when you return.’

  What a choice! Kal pushed Ben up the ramp while she still had some fond feelings of him to take away with her. But as the Mort Royal slipped its moorings, she caught a glimpse of a small grey face peeking out of one of the oar ports. Goblins; the voiceless, subjugated labour-force of the Republic. Even Ben, who was a tireless champion of democracy and equality amongst humans, had no compunction about mistreating those the civilised world deemed to be monsters. Ben’s family, stretching right back to the age of the gods, had suffered tragedy after tragedy at the hands of the creatures of the Wild. And he wasn’t the only one who saw the world this way; people everywhere believed that all dangerous creatures in the world were fighting for the Dragon, the terrifying winged god who would one day wipe out humanity in a rampage of fire and blood.

  Kal turned her back on the sight of the departing ship, and went instead to the prow. They had turned north into the wind when they had stopped, but as Dead Leg gave the order to raise the mainsail, the Swordfish swung back south again. Kal stepped up onto the bowsprit and gripped the forestay rope, and instead of looking back, looked ahead: to the horizon, and to the future.

  * * *

  The Auspice Islands were five thousand miles away, in the tropics on the other side of the equator. Depending on winds and currents, a ship like the Swordfish could cover about a hundred miles a day. If they reached the Auspice Islands in a month, it would be the dead of winter in Amaranthium, but the height of summer in the tropics. Right now, the winter sun was pale and remote, but every day would bring them closer to its warmth. Kal’s body ached for it. She knew she would burn, but she didn’t care.

  The first stage of the voyage took them straight down the Dragon’s Breath: a swift current that ran along the coast of Eldragoro. The Swordfish could make an impressive fifteen knots, but Eldragoro was an enemy of the Republic, so Kal had her work cut out for her keeping watch for unfriendly ships. If she was going to be a pirate captain one day, though, she couldn’t spend all her time up the mainmast.

  ‘Give me something new to do,’ she asked Dead Leg on the fifth day out. She motioned to where Jako was leaning against the tiller, seemingly lost in a daydream. ‘How hard can that be?’

  Dead Leg laughed. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘It’s easy. Give it a go.’

  Kal stepped up to the quarterdeck, where the muscular Nubaran stood near the aft rail. How did he get a body like that when all he did was stand around all day, unlike the rest of the crew who hauled ropes and clambered around the rigging? ‘Hi Kal,’ Jako said as she approached. ‘Come to take over?’ He stepped away from the tiller—a two-yard-long lever attached to the rudder pole—keeping it steady with just the fingertips of his right hand.

  Kal wrapped her arms securely around it. ‘Don’t forget,’ Jako said, ‘if the captain shouts for starboard helm, he means shove the tiller right, so we turn to port.’ He releas
ed his fingers and gave Kal some room.

  ‘I know how the tiller works!’ Kal said. Then suddenly she was knocked off her feet as the tiller jerked hard to the right. ‘Bloody barnacles, Kal!’ Dead Leg swore from the deck. ‘Hard-a-port, lass. Now!’ Kal scrambled to her feet, only for the tiller to hit her hard on the back of her head as it swung around. Eventually, she managed to wrestle it under control. Dead Leg watched her for a while, then when he was satisfied, he called the rest of the crew for a break. Kal was left in control of the ship. Her muscles complained, but she gritted her teeth as she battled the fast, but violent, current that carried them south.

  She saw Che roll a cask of grog out on deck, and having reefed the sails, the weary crew gathered around to refresh themselves. Lula and Dogwood, who had barely said a word to each other all week, had set up a board game on a crate and seemed to be finding some mutual quiet enjoyment. Che carried round a platter of seafood, and Sea Dog followed at his heels, yapping and begging for scraps.

  Kal concentrated on holding the ship on course, trying to maintain a steady distance from the Eldragoro coast. It was a cold, crisp day with clear skies. Yellow hills and patches of green scrubland passed by, punctuated by small clusters of white buildings. Jako came back to stand beside her. He was carrying two black jacks (leather cups, stiffened with tar) full of grog. Kal didn’t dare take her hand off the tiller to take one from him, though.

  ‘Careful,’ he said. ‘You’re drifting to the edge of the current. It doesn’t follow the coast perfectly: look how the water ahead is a deeper blue, with more bubbles and breaks. Navigation isn’t just about having a strong arm, Kal—it’s about observation and feel, knowing what a change in temperature means, or what the movements of whales signify … and a thousand more tiny details that even I couldn’t explain. The coast may look quiet, but there are corsairs in almost every village and every bay, watching and waiting for ships to flounder.’

  Kal was impressed. ‘You’re probably the most skilled member of the crew,’ Kal probed. ‘Does the captain appreciate you?’

  ‘He thinks I’m worth a share and a half,’ Jako said, with a modest grin.

  A share was an equal division of the crew’s earning. ‘That’s still dependant on how profitable the whole operation is though, right?’ Kal said. She was determined to find out more about why such a skilled crew was wasting time smuggling calico.

  ‘The rewards are potentially enormous,’ Jako sighed, ‘although the captain is a cautious man, and doesn’t want to take undue risk. I guess we will have to slow things down even more now we have that Dogwood sniffing around. The captain has the patience to wait trouble out, but I can’t say the same for the rest of the crew, especially with this curse hanging over us. Some of us want to make our money fast, to send back to our families in case the worst happens.’

  Kal cast a concerned glance over to where Dogwood was sitting with Lula. ‘Don’t worry,’ Jako said. ‘I’m not going to do anything rash, at least. I’ll leave it to you to sort out. Lula assured me you’re never going to let us turn into zombies.’

  He took over at the tiller and handed Kal the other black jack. She took a sip of the watered-down rum; it was revolting, but after a long hard sweaty day, she could see its appeal. She wandered down to the deck abeam the mainmast, where Lula and Dogwood were playing. She didn’t recognise the game. The board was painted onto the inside of an open wooden case: two rows of alternating black and red extended triangles, like teeth, on which were laid out black and white counters. Lula shook two dice out of a cup, and moved her counters along the teeth.

  ‘The game’s called cosmic race,’ Lula said. ‘I don’t know why.’

  Dogwood snorted. ‘It’s because there are twenty-four points—one for every hour of the day; thirty counters—one for every day of the month; and the spots on opposite sides of the dice add up to seven—the number of days in the week. It’s cosmological, you see!’

  ‘If you say so,’ Lula said. ‘All I know is that I’m winning.’

  ‘Not for long!’ Dogwood said. He tossed his dice and moved two of his counters around the board.

  ‘It looks pretty random to me,’ Kal said. ‘Where’s the skill?’

  ‘A Nubaran merchant taught me everything there is to know about this game, Moonheart,’ Dogwood said. ‘Believe me, it takes a great deal of skill.’

  Lula’s dice fell on the board. ‘Double six,’ she said. ‘Fancy that!’ On his next turn, Dogwood only managed a three and a two. Lula then reached for another die, but one that had numbers on it rather than spots. ‘I double,’ she said, placing the die next to the board so that the top face read sixteen.

  Dogwood studied the board in silence for a while, then stood up. ‘I decline,’ he said, throwing Lula some silver coins. ‘I just remembered that I need to go and write up my journal in my cabin.’

  He plodded off. ‘I should have let him win,’ Lula said, as Kal took Dogwood’s seat. ‘The game keeps him from his investigations, at least. Apparently he’s on the trail of an evil gang of narcotic traffickers. My crew are getting sick already of his constant questioning.’

  ‘I’ll try and warn him off, if I can,’ Kal said. The last thing she wanted was for Dogwood to get in the way of her own, subtler, inquiries into Lula’s operation. ‘Now tell me about this game,’ she said. ‘Is there really an element of skill?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Lula said. ‘But only a small one. If an expert played a beginner twenty times, then on average the expert will only win by about eleven games to nine. That’s why cosmic racing is all the rage over on the Islands now: anyone can take on the professional gamblers and have a chance of winning.’

  A sudden spark ignited in Kal’s brain. ‘But there is definitely an edge?’ she asked again. Lula nodded.

  In gambling parlance, an edge was a long-term advantage that would net a profit over a period of weeks and months, if not on any one particular day. It was the reason that Kal stuck to playing games of skill at the Snake Pit back home, but avoided games like the Magic Wheel or Shoot, where the odds were stacked in the gaming den’s favour.

  The trip to Port Black was suddenly looking to be a lot more exciting. In any place, in any situation, where Kal had an edge, she knew she would thrive.

  ‘Teach me how to play,’ she said.

  I.viii

  Serpent Shanty

  Kal stood at the rail and threw her last old lambswool pullover into the sea. They were two weeks into the voyage, and the winds and waters were getting a lot warmer. Her sea chest was empty now, save for her weapons, Ben’s letter, and some bundles of calico that Lula had asked her to hide from Dogwood. She was looking forward to splashing out on a new wardrobe once they reached Port Black—perhaps a striped silk shirt like Lula favoured, teamed with a spotted kerchief like Jako wore on his head to keep off the sun.

  Right now Kal was wearing a baggy linen shirt, but Lula was going about her duties on deck half-naked. The Island girl had a certain confident swagger. No, it was more than confidence. Kal was confident; Lula was showy. The two women could not have been more different: Lula had luscious brown curves, whereas Kal was lean and pale. Lula’s body was decorated with tattoos and gold; Kal’s was unadorned. The only thing they had in common was a collection of scars.

  Maybe I should get inked once we get to Port Black, Kal thought idly, watching Lula with a kind of envious fascination. As she watched, Dead Leg came to stand beside her. He raised a brass sexton to his good eye, and declared to anyone within hearing range that they were at the Equator.

  ‘How does that thing work?’ Kal asked him.

  The captain looked at her in surprise, like he had just been caught out. ‘This contraption?’ he said. ‘No one’s ever asked me how it works before. Truth is, Kal, I don’t really know myself. I just point it at the sun at noon, and it tells me something called the angle; but I have to go back to my cabin, get out the almanac, and cross-reference the angle with the date to find out our latitude. We were near en
ough to the equator yesterday, so I figured today was as good a time as any to announce it to the crew.’

  Dead Leg treated Kal to a gap-toothed grin. ‘The captain has to act like they know what they’re talking about, even if they have to sit down later to double-check their facts.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Kal said with a straight face.

  The crew had gathered on deck to perform the traditional line-crossing ceremony: a ritual conceived to appease Whalo, the god of the sea. Two of the youngest crewmembers, a teenage boy and girl, had dressed as Whalo and Vuda—Whalo in blue calico robes, and Vuda draped in a black flag. The scene they acted out was Vuda’s forgiveness of Whalo, her husband.

  A millennia ago, when the Dragon and its minions had attacked the Auspice Islands, Whalo had sent a tsunami to sweep away the monsters. It had worked, but it also drowned the native Islanders, broke the land into hundreds of tiny islands, and drove his wife into a rage of grief and fury from which she had never recovered. The forgiveness that the costumed players enacted was an optimistic plea to the two gods to cease hostilities in whatever heaven they now resided, and to calm the storms and tempests that spilled over into the mortal world.

  As Kal and Dead Leg watched the pantomime, a white head popped out of the midships hatch, causing Vuda to stumble on her words. There were mutters and a few boos from the crew, but they turned to laughter when Che climbed on deck and showed them what he was carrying: a giant rat trap that was mounted on a foot-long plank of wood. Not one, but two enormous rats dangled from the sprung mechanism. They had evidently both been caught sniffing for cheese at the same time.

  ‘Coo yah!’ Che exclaimed triumphantly, holding up his gruesome trophy. ‘Two rats; one trap!’