Scimitar Moon

by Chris A. Jackson

  They laughed and ordered sweets, tea and blackbrew, though Brelak ordered another ale instead.

  “Strictly medicinal,” he said, “to treat the shock.”

  Cynthia muttered something about giving him a shock of her own if he ended up tied down to a wife and daughter, and let it go.

  CHAPTER Nineteen

  Captains Three

  By mid-morning the following day, Cynthia had six strong candidates for the remaining boatswain position, having decided that Finthie Tar, the woman she’d hired in Scarport, would take one of them. She had spoken to four captain applicants and received two notes by messenger requesting interviews that afternoon. She had also hired someone for the other mate billet, simply due to the fact that one interviewee failed to show up, and the other one, a woman named Vulta Kambeo, had such an impressive career that she saw no need to look further. She was a tall, dark-skinned woman from the Isle of Jombraka in the Southwestern Sea. She’d been sailing since she was thirteen on every kind of ship Cynthia could name, and knew the Southern Ocean like the back of her hand.

  It had been a busy morning.

  The six boatswain candidates, five men and a woman, sat in the common room chatting with Brelak and awaiting her decision while she discussed the matter with Koybur.

  “They all seem capable,” Cynthia said, sipping blackbrew and nibbling a glazed blueberry scone. “No sure way to tell which one has the most experience, though. I’m sure they’re all painting pretty pictures for me.”

  “It’s every sailor’s sworn duty to boast, Cyn.” Koybur smiled crookedly around his pipe. “But I think we can figure out how to separate the sailors from the scalawags.”

  Cynthia grinned. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, we used to have splicin’ contests when I was a lad. We could rig somethin’ up in the stable out back easy enough. We’ll have that new mate you hired officiate. The fastest wins the billet. That simple.”

  “That sounds good. It’ll give me time to concentrate on the captain applicants.” She sipped her blackbrew and bit her lip. “So, what do you think about our first four candidates?”

  He pulled out his ledger and ticked off the names. “Let’s see, you’ve got Mayers, Thorn, Ulbattaer and Ulaff.”

  “So far. And Troilen and Dankel this afternoon.”

  “Give me your impression of ’em first, Cyn.”

  “Well, Ulaff doesn’t know the Southern Ocean as well the others, and something rubbed me the wrong way about Thorn, though I can’t put my finger on it. He seemed nervous.”

  “He was nervous ‘cause he thought you knew he was the captain of the Blakely Boy.”

  “Hey, that reminds me. What happened to that other woman, Kali something or other?”

  “Don’t know.” He filled his pipe and lit it from the lamp on the table. “Mayhap she got a better offer. Anyway, word is Thorn’s got a problem with the bottle and is too proud to admit it. Yer right about Ulaff. He’s been runnin’ the inner sea from Fengotherond to Beriknor, with only an occasional trip to Tsing, fer far too long to be of use south of the Shattered Isles.” He made two check marks on his ledger. “That leaves Mayers and Ulbattaer.”

  She sipped her blackbrew and thought about it for a bit. “They both know the Southern Ocean. Rafen Ulbattaer has been in and out of every inlet south of the peninsula; he knew Southaven well enough, though I don’t remember ever meeting him. He used to run spices and teak south to the desert, and tin and lead back north. He captained a shallow draft xebec for a few years, then a dhow. He knows smaller ships. Toren Mayers has more open ocean experience; he’s run the silk trade, and copra, but always in a galleon. Nothing smaller than three masts, and nothing that would sail close to the wind like my ships.”

  “You think the experience with the closer hauled rigs’ll do you a turn for the better?”

  “I think so. Though Ulbattaer is a little, well, too friendly, maybe? I felt like he was trying to woo me.”

  “He’s from the desert, Cyn. Women don’t hold high positions in that culture unless they’re royalty. He might find it hard to adjust to a female boss.”

  “Maybe.” She nibbled her scone, thinking. “Well, it’s either of the two, or both, depending on this afternoon’s interviews. Do you know either Troilen or Dankel?”

  “Heard of both of ’em. Troilen’s a half-elf, and he’s been sailin’ longer than I’ve been alive.” He puffed his pipe and made a face as if mulling over something distasteful. “Dankel’s got a temper, or so the word goes. He was a navy man for the old emperor. Runs a tight ship, but he’s a big fan of hard discipline. He goes through crew like wire through cheese, and he’s been known to flog a man senseless for insubordination.”

  “Great. Well, I’ll talk to him, but I don’t think I want a tyrant as a brand new captain on a brand new ship.”

  “We’ll see how the interviews go, then you can choose from the four.” Koybur tapped out his pipe and started to stuff the bowl. “Not bad.”

  *

  Cynthia’s afternoon consisted of two long interviews with the remaining captain candidates while Koybur, Brelak and Vulta tested the potential boatswains. She had given Koybur leave to make the final decision, but wanted a tally of their performance in the tests.

  Her first interview went well. The half-elf Troilen boasted a vast amount of experience as well as a phenomenal memory. He could recite the cuts, coves and inlets, reefs, rocks and trenches of every coastline from the Southern Ocean to the Far West. He’d sailed in every type of ship from a smack to a four-masted galleon, and had battled pirates on three continents. He even told a harrowing tale of flight from a tribe of ruthless cannibals in the southern-most Shattered Isles—a night of light winds and a ship suddenly surrounded by dugout canoes full of savages thirsting for blood. He spoke eloquently and intelligently, and she knew instantly that he would make a fine captain for one of her ships.

  The second interview went less satisfactorily. Cynthia confirmed that Captain Dankel had been a naval officer and asked him about his experiences in the Southern Ocean. His answers were stiff and brief. He told her flatly that he considered the piracy in the Shattered Isles to be a bunch of foolishness, overblown in its impact on shipping.

  In the end, she thanked Captain Dankel and sent him packing, with assurances that she did plan on building more ships, and that she would keep him in mind. Troilen she asked to please meet her downstairs for dinner, as she already had Ulbattaer and Mayers. The count was down to three.

  *

  The company for the evening meal consisted of eight: Cynthia and her two companions; the newly hired mate, Vulta Kambeo; the new boatswain, a dark-skinned man named Karek Darkwater; and the three captain candidates. Stories flowed like water over a mill wheel amid the platters and tankards of food and drink, tales from every coast and harbor around the great western sea. Yarns of the merfolk, great sea drakes, and deep-sea nymphs who lured sailors on night watch into a watery embrace, all vied with one another. Mouse sat upon Cynthia’s shoulder, still as a stone, rapt with the sea stories. He got on well with all three of the potential captains and the new boatswain, but favored Vulta second only to Cynthia; a lady’s sprite, to be sure.

  Finally, she brought out the sketches of the new ship, to the admiration of all. When Cynthia mentioned that she’d hired Master Ghelfan as her shipwright, eyebrows arched in unison and Ulbattaer let out a low whistle.

  “That must have set you back a small fortune, Mistress Flaxal,” the dark man said, twisting the ends of his long moustache.

  “More’n a fortune, I’d say,” Karek agreed, alternately puffing on his pipe and sipping ale. “A bloody king’s ransom, more like.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t as much as you might expect,” she said, shooting a warning glance to Koybur. She did not want the rumor to spread that Ghelfan had agreed to do the job for free. “He was intrigued with the project.”

  “With the project, or with the mistress of ships?” Rafen Ulbattaer ask
ed with a wolfish grin, his teeth flashing like pearls on brown silk.

  “By the project, I assure you, Master Ulbattaer,” she said, smiling at his inference. “Master Ghelfan is a perfect gentleman.”

  “Nobody’s perfect, Mistress Flaxal,” Troilen warned, arching one slim eyebrow and sipping his wine.

  “Though some might like to think they are.” Mayers cracked his tankard against the half-elf’s delicate goblet, laughing at the fellow’s indignant glare.

  The subject drifted to the particulars of the new ships, from rigging to framing to the types of wood to be used. Hours had passed when Brelak finally stood and made his excuses.

  “I’d best make my way down to the wharves. I’ll be seein’ ya all in the mornin’, bright and early.”

  “Someone is going with you, right?”

  “Well, Mistress, I actually—”

  “I’ll tag along, if ye need a chaperone, Master Brelak,” Karek said with a gap-toothed grin.

  “Thanks, but I—”

  “I’ll go, too, if you think you might want some privacy,” Vulta offered, grinning at Karek. “I wouldn’t want Mister Karek to be waylaid while standing on a street corner tapping his foot.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “And I think you’ll be taking your own advice, Master Brelak. Someone will accompany you tonight. You choose.” Cynthia put just enough authority in her voice to make it understood that this was not a request.

  “With all due respect, Mistress, I am takin’ my own advice. I sent for Tobi, the carriage driver. I thought it’d be nicer, anyways.”

  “You are a true romantic, Master Brelak,” Troilen said, raising his goblet in toast.

  “Romance ain’t no part in it,” the Morrgrey said, his face flushing darker than its usual olive hue. “I just thought it’d be nice is all. The girl’s been on her feet all night. A carriage ride’d let ’er relax a bit.”

  “I think it’s a fine idea, Feldrin. Just make sure you’re back by morning, unmarried and unmarred.”

  “Aye, Mistress. That I’ll promise ya.”

  “I hear the carriage drivers will do a slow circuit of Riverwalk Park for a few coppers extra.” Cynthia grinned and chucked him on the shoulder while the others laughed. He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with, “Just have a good time, Feldrin.”

  “Bloody jokesters,” he grumbled, downing the last of his ale and nodding to the table. “In the mornin’ then.”

  They all called out their goodnights and well-wishes, some more colorful than others. When the door to the Red Gryphon banged closed, Cynthia took a deep breath and tried to relax. She never thought of herself as the suspicious type, but something still bothered her about the woman Marci and her claim of Feldrin’s paternity.

  *

  The Black Guard glided into Blood Bay under unusually light winds, one of her launches pulling from her bow to aid in steerage. Though the oar crew swam in their own sweat with the heat of the still air and their exertion, when the anchor crew snagged the mooring line the captain ordered them to take him immediately ashore to convene with Captain Bloodwind.

  An eager young lass named Sam met him at the dock. She was barely old enough to heft the cutlass that hung proudly at her skinny hip, but she had that vacant-eyed, do-anything look that told him she had been well initiated. She guided him all the way to the top of the keep, to Bloodwind’s private chamber, and he knew before entering that his master was involved in a matter of discipline. The screams told him that much. The girl knocked and worked the latch at Bloodwind’s command to enter.

  “Captain Corrien, good to see you.” Bloodwind waved a hand at a slave girl adorned with golden chains and said, “Camilla, be so good as to pour the good captain a glass of wine.”

  “Thank you, Captain Bloodwind.” The crack of a whip against flesh and the ensuing cry punctuated the atmosphere of the room. Corrien took the glass, not due to thirst, but because refusing Bloodwind’s hospitality was madness. “Yodrin and the rest are in place, sir. I know at least four of our people have already been hired on. Yodrin insisted on traveling to Tsing. The bastard killed my boatswain for having a loud mouth in Rockport. I dropped off another dozen of our people with him. With any luck we’ll have four or five on each of the Flaxal woman’s ships when they set sail.”

  “Excellent!” The whip cracked again, and the woman who hung by her wrists, her tattered dress torn away from her bleeding back, whimpered miserably. “That’s enough for now, Tim. I see your sister Sam is here. Why don’t you hand the lash over to her and escort the good captain back to his ship.”

  “Yes Captain Bloodwind!” The boy handed the lash over to the girl, and grinned. “Hey-ya, Sam.”

  “Tim,” she said, taking the lash and limbering it up in her hand. “See ya down in town later, ’ey?”

  “Aye,” he answered, moving to the door and opening it for Captain Corrien. “This way, if you please, Captain.”

  Captain Corrien followed the youth, but could not help but overhear Bloodwind instructing the girl in the application of the lash.

  “I’m sure you recognize your old nursemaid, Miss Straff, eh, Sam? Well, she tried to steal a boat and row out to sea. She broke the only law I put her under, and this is her punishment. I think another two dozen ought to do, but your brother’s already done a good job on her back. Let’s find some un-plowed ground, eh?”

  Corrian looked back to watch the girl cut away the rest of the woman’s dress. Too bad he’d been sent away. The coming spectacle would be worth watching.

  “Good, Sam. Now remember, the force comes from the shoulder. Keep your wrist straight to guide your aim.” The crack of the lash and another scream of pain split the air as the boy closed the door.

  CHAPTER Twenty

  Knives in the Dark

  The carriage squealed to a halt in front of the Hairy Parrot as Tobi hauled back on the reins and the brake. Feldrin stepped out of the door before they were fully stopped and flipped a gold crown to the driver.

  “That’s fer the whole night.”

  “Bloody right, er, I mean yes sir, Master Brelak, it’ll do nicely. Quiet as a mouse and discreet as a ghost. No tales comin’ from this hackney, I guarantee!”

  “Good. Now go home and meet me here at first light.”

  “But sir,” Tobi looked at him questioningly, “why pay me for the whole night, then send me home?”

  “Because if anyone asks you where you were all night yer gonna tell ’em you drove me around, took me to a lady’s home, then waited like you was told. This just saves you all the drivin’ around and waitin’.”

  He entered the Hairy Parrot without another thought about Tobi. The last thing he wanted right now was to give Marci the wrong impression. A carriage ride would insinuate extravagance, which might suggest an interest in a romantic or paternal role he definitely did not want.

  The Hairy Parrot could have been any one of the thousand waterfront pubs: the air was thick with smoke and the scent of rancid ale, the noise required a raised voice just to be heard, the barmaids showed far too much cleavage and the waterfront whores showed even more. Twenty years of places like this had almost soured Feldrin’s appetite for such distractions.

  He took a deep breath, smiled at a wench whose eyes lingered on him in passing, and shouted at the barman for an ale. Almost.

  A tarnished pewter tankard thumped down in front of him, and he sampled it. His nose wrinkled and he swallowed forcefully, wondering what was in the ale besides ale before realizing it was probably best he didn’t know. Either his tastes had changed with his rank, or it was the ale that was rank. He pushed the tankard away and sighed.

  “Tell Bort to draw one from the red keg. The other’s spiked with wood alcohol.” He turned and smiled at Marci as she placed a tray of empty mugs on the bar and dusted her hands on her apron. “Another round here, Bort! I’m glad you came. I won’t be long. Please, have a drink.”

  “Thanks, I will.” He accept
ed the new tankard and sat back down, sipping ale and watching the crowd while Marci tended her customers. It wasn’t long before she came back, removed her apron and bid the barkeep goodnight. She also called a goodnight to the hulking bouncer, a man even larger than Feldrin, and not by a small margin.

  “Not too many fights with that feller hangin’ about, I’ll wager.” He stepped into the sultry night and breathed the relatively clear air.

  “No fights at all.” She walked past him, starting up the street before turning back to ask, “You coming?”

  “Oh, aye, I’m comin’. Just didn’t know we was in a hurry.” He caught up easily and matched her quick pace.

  “I like to get off the wharves quickly. Some rough types hang about down here.”

  “No worse than across the river, I’ll wager.”

  “Quite a bit worse, actually. It’s not bad until you get into the Downwinds.” Her tone sounded humorless, almost bitter, and Brelak wondered how much the poor girl had gone through raising a child alone.

  They walked in silence for a while, finally making the turn that would take them over the river and into the Dreggar’s Quarter. The neighborhood along the river wasn’t bad, shops and three story tenant houses with balconies lining the broad avenue. Two blocks further on the streets narrowed and the houses devolved into ramshackle tenements, some so disheveled that braces had been hammered from balcony to balcony to keep them from falling down.

  “How far?” he asked, checking behind them by force of habit.

  “Not much farther. Just around the corner and up the hill.” Her voice sounded strange, quiet but trembling, as if afraid of something. It was not difficult to guess why.

  “Don’t worry, Marci. I won’t tell Nan who I am. If you want to, you can tell her. If not, that’s fine.” He put out his arm for her to take. “I’m pretty good with kids, actually. Might just surprise you how she takes to—”