“But to try to eliminate piracy… It is impossible.” Rafen Ulbattaer sipped his port and smoothed his black mustaches. “There will always be piracy, Mistress Cynthia. It is a fact of life, just as there will always be trollops awaiting sailors in every harbor. You cannot have one without the other.”
“You sound very sure of that, Captain Ulbattaer,” Troilen said, his eyes hard, his tone flat.
“Yes, I am sure. It is a simple fact: where there is wealth, there will be someone who wishes to take it. It is the same with the caravans. It is the same in every large city. It will remain so forever.”
“And I agree with Captain Ulbattaer,” she admitted, catching them all off guard. “But I’m not trying to eliminate piracy. I’m only trying to eliminate one pirate; the one who murdered my parents.” Cynthia stood and inclined her head to her guests.
“I’m sorry if I’ve ruined the mood. We can move into the sitting room and relax if you wish. I just felt like you all should know the truth of my intentions.”
“Yes,” Koybur said, pressing himself painfully to his feet. “We’ve eaten well and drunk enough to float a skiff tonight.”
“True enough,” Cynthia agreed, calling for Kara. “And there’s a whole cellar full of bottles yet to be breeched! Enough of my intentions. I want to learn more of all of your intentions, if they don’t include getting as far away from that crazy Flaxal wench as possible!”
They all laughed and rose, moving into the sitting room to continue the evening’s festivities, but the light mood had been snuffed out like a candle with Cynthia’s talk of piracy, and the flame of camaraderie was slow to reignite.
CHAPTER Twenty-Five
Labors of Loyalty and Love
Wood and copper, iron and steel, cordage and resin, paint and lacquer; those are what dreams are made of…
This had become Cynthia’s mantra throughout the dry season as she watched her ships take shape. She would sit for half an hour at the shipyard every day, precisely at noon, with the shipwrights, captains or some of the workers, discussing their progress, problems, needs, wants and wishes. Then, promptly at one half hour past noon, she would leave, for she knew her presence would only impede progress.
As the work continued, other ships came and went, some of them hers. With them came gold, news of civil war in the southern desert and the reminder of the ever-present threat of piracy among the Shattered Isles. Two galleons were lost in those months, their crews never heard from, their cargoes pillaged and sold in a dozen ports. But trade continued as it always would, for trade is the lifeblood of nations.
And in the Shattered Isles, safely ensconced within his slumbering volcano fortress, Captain Bloodwind waited. Through his spies and agents he knew every plank, nail and dowel driven home in Cynthia’s new ships. He knew to the day when they would be launched, and how many people he would have aboard them. He even knew of Cynthia’s preparations to prevent her ships from falling into his hands, which caused him many sleepless nights.
As to Bloodwind’s plans, only one other person knew anything at all of them. Not a single message, not one of his plots, not a word that passed his lips—even when he spoke only to himself—went unnoticed by the sharp eyes and ears that rarely left his side. Camilla knew more of his plots than any of his captains, more than any of his spies and more than his foul sorceress Hydra. And still, she did not know it all.
All this knowledge was, of course, quite useless. She had no way to warn anyone, no means of communication, and had long given up trying to bribe anyone into helping her. This did not stop her from analyzing his plans in her mind. She saw many points at which they could be foiled and many opportunities where people could die. After all this thought, after reviewing all this information, one question rose in her mind that she simply could not answer.
“Why?”
“What?” Bloodwind’s eyes shot up from the worn parchment in his hands, his brow furrowed in surprise. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Camilla fixed her eyes on the floor, the tremor of her shoulders setting her jewelry jingling. Her mouth had given voice to her curiosity without her intent, an unthinkable mistake.
“No, my dear, not nothing.” He rolled from atop the silk coverlet and stood, his eyes never leaving her. What exactly did you say?”
“I…” Her mind raced like a rat trapped in the bilges of a sinking ship, searching for an exit. “I only wondered.”
“Wondered what, my dear?” His voice held a hint of his most dangerous tone.
“Why…” Only one thought surfaced in her mind, and she knew it could enrage him. She would have knelt, had the chain that linked her wrists not been looped over a peg high on the corner post of his canopied bed. This had become one of his favored torments, chaining her there to watch him sleep, read, or be entertained by one of the other slaves. She often wished he would just ravish her and be done with it, but she also knew that the years of degradation had been a far longer-lasting punishment than any physical violation could have been.
“I wondered why you study those drawings so much.”
“And I wonder why you persist in thinking you can lie to me.” His hand curled around the chain bound to her collar and pulled until his breath warmed her cheek. “Do you desire even more jewelry, dear Camilla? I can think of no small number of fleshy bits about your person that could be pierced for gold rings.”
“No, Captain, I…” Her mind reeled at the thought of the glowing red sailcloth needles the pirates used to pierce their ears, noses and eyebrows, and just where Bloodwind’s demented imagination might lend them to be applied. “I thought that you are rich. You have more money than you could possibly ever spend. You could live like a king in any city in the world.”
An eyebrow lifted, and his tone mellowed a trifle. “Yes, that is true.” He drew her even closer, the brush of his moustache tickling her cheek. “And?”
“I wondered why…” she whispered miserably, knowing her honesty would bring her punishment. “I wondered why you continue. Why plot and plan and raid and… and…”
“Pirate?”
She stared at him for a moment, wondering if she’d really heard him finish her question. His eyes told her she had, and though they frightened her to her innermost core, she said, “Yes.”
“Money is nothing,” he said, his voice as smooth as aged rum. “Wealth is only the illusion of power, my dear.” His gaze traveled from her face down to her feet and back up.
“Power, real power, comes from something else. It comes from people, people willing to do anything for you, not only out of fear but out of loyalty.”
“Loyalty?” She was risking all now and knew it. But she also knew he would not kill her outright. She would suffer, but she just might also have her answer. Pain, it seemed, had become her only currency. “Pirates have no loyalty.”
“That, my dear, is where you are wrong.” He whirled away from her and shouted, “Guards!”
Two men burst into the room, naked cutlasses glittering in the lamplight, their eyes scanning the expansive bedchamber for something to kill. Bloodwind approached them and held out his hands, palms up.
“Give me your swords.” Two bronze hilts clapped into his palms before the echo of his words stilled in Camilla’s ears. “Now, follow me.”
He turned and approached her with the blades, but murder did not lurk in his eyes, only a calculated determination more terrifying than the naked steel. He brought the tip of one of the blades to her chin and applied careful pressure until her eyes met his. Behind him curiosity vied with amusement upon the faces of the two pirates. If they weren’t as insane as he, she thought, they would be terrified.
“You both know my favorite slave, Camilla, don’t you?” The two men nodded and answered in the affirmative, eying her briefly while Bloodwind ran the flat of the cutlass’ blade along her jaw. “Camilla, I believe you know Billy and Tommy here. They’re brothers, you know, and they’ve been with me for… well, from the beginning, ay l
ads?”
“Aye sir,” they both responded, grinning.
“You see, we served together on a ship once, back before I even found this place. Before I called myself Bloodwind.” He turned his head to the two and smiled. “You remember what I used to be called, lads?”
“Er, uh, no, sir,” one of them said, his brow furrowing, while the other just scratched his chin, shook his head and said, “I only e’r called ’e ‘sir’. They was too many officers ta keep ’em straight.”
“Aye, there were quite a lot of us, weren’t there? I was just one young lieutenant, and I daresay not even the captain or his bloody-handed mate knew my name. But there were quite a few more crew. Some of them like Billy and Tommy here are still with me, and some are gone. The Navy promised to take care of us, but once we were at sea that changed. They made us swear our loyalty, but never showed any in return. We watched a goodly number of our mates flayed alive by the cat, or dance at the end of a yardarm before we finally decided we’d had enough of that murderin’ bastard’s brand of discipline. Ay, lads?”
“Aye, sir!” they both agreed.
“When we took that ship from him, and fed him and his tight-laced officers to the drakes of the Fathomless Reaches, I made a pledge to those who survived, and they made the same pledge to me. Do ya remember that, lads?”
“Aye, sir!” Their voices rang like hammers on stone, cold and sharp.
“And what was that pledge?”
“By blood, by wind, by water and wave, loyal as one, or a watery grave,” they answered.
“And that means loyalty to who, lads?”
“To you, Captain Bloodwind.”
“And why me? Why do I deserve your loyalty?”
This brought them up short, as if every answer up to this one had been by rote. Now they had to think, which seemed to Camilla a formidable task.
“Why, ’cause you saved us, sir,” one of them said haltingly, as if explaining to a dimwitted child an obvious fact of life. “We was fodder for them lordlings. You gave us our own home. We’s our own nation now!”
“Aye, that’s right Billy, and what is my one and only law?”
“Your word is law, and that goes for everyone.”
“And betrayal means?”
“Death!”
“And failure means?”
“Death!”
“Good! Now,” he flipped one sword in his hand, caught it deftly by the blade and held the hilt out to one of the brothers, “take your sword, Billy.”
The man took the cutlass.
“And I have something for you, Tommy. Here.” He fished a bronze key from his pocket and handed it over. “Open that chest.”
Camilla knew the chest’s contents. By their gaping mouths and bulging eyes, the two pirates did not. Jewels and heavy golden coins stamped with the mints of a dozen nations filled the large chest; a fortune, enough to live like a king, or even become a king.
“Good. Now come here, Tommy. Right there. Good.”
When the man stood within easy reach, the cutlass in Bloodwind’s hand flashed from Camilla’s throat to Tommy’s in an instant, the razor edge resting on his bobbing Adam’s apple. Both brothers gasped in surprise.
“Now Tommy, I must ask you to stay silent. And Billy, I’ll ask you to place the tip of your cutlass against my chest, just over my heart.”
Both men gaped at him in shock, but complied. The tip of Billy’s sword rose until it rested against Bloodwind’s chest, and Tommy remained utterly silent.
“Now, let me explain this little game.” Bloodwind stood as steady as stone, his voice smooth and relaxed. “My dear slave Camilla confessed to me that she and Tommy here have had a, shall we say, liaison. She has coerced him into a plot to kill me in my sleep, and then take this chest and flee in the messenger boat tied at the quay. Your duty, Billy, is to carry out my order to execute your brother for his betrayal.”
Silence hung in the air. The tip of the blade against Bloodwind’s chest quivered enough to prick the skin, but the pirate captain stood without flinching.
“Your other alternative, of course, is to drive that blade through my heart and join them in their escape. I have given you this opportunity, Billy, because I know how you love your brother. Also, I know that if he were to die at my hand, you would never truly forgive me. You see, this way, his death is by your hand, not mine. Or, you can simply kill me and join your brother in his betrayal.”
“But, sir, I—”
“Ah, ah, no conversation. Just decide and act.” Bloodwind’s tone became commanding. “Strike now! Him or me. I do not wish to do it myself, but I will if you force me.” He pressed the edge of the cutlass against the terrified Tommy’s throat until a line of blood welled onto the blade.
Kill him! Camilla thought viciously, a lifetime of torment rising in her like a vengeful tide. “Kill him,” she whispered, realizing only as the words left her lips that they leant veracity to Bloodwind’s clever lie.
Billy’s sword left Bloodwind’s chest and lanced at Tommy’s with such speed that the pirate captain was hard pressed to knock it away in time. The parry came as a shock to everyone, even Camilla, who thought he would allow one brother to kill the other just to make his point. But as the lethal stroke rang off his blade, Bloodwind surprised her again. He flung his cutlass aside and embraced Billy in a crushing hug, laughing at the top of his lungs and pounding him on the back.
“Well done! Oh, well done indeed! Ha haaa!” He released the stunned pirate and clapped Tommy on the arm. “And you, Tommy. I must apologize for the ruse, but I was trying to make a point to my dear Camilla. Here!” He strode to the open chest, filled his hands with enough gold to choke a horse and brought it to them.
“Take it, lads. Enjoy yourselves. I’m sorry to have abused you so, but you did not disappoint me. Oh, you did not disappoint me at all!” They fumbled to pocket the coins, mumbling thanks and looking at each other sheepishly. Camilla could imagine the awkward conversation they would have after leaving Bloodwind’s company. “Now, off with you. Send up a couple more guards, if you please. And enjoy that! You both earned it ten times over!”
When the door boomed closed, Bloodwind turned back to Camilla, his smile triumphant as he pulled her close.
“Now that, my dear, is loyalty, and loyalty is power.” He pulled her face toward him until she could look nowhere but into those disturbing blue eyes. “All the gold in the world won’t buy that. That is what makes me more than any king, duke, merchant or mage, and that is why I am what I am.”
And as he kissed her roughly she trembled in fear, for she knew he was absolutely right.
*
As Cynthia’s ships neared completion and the hulls were moved out of the lofting shed onto the broad stone quay—much to the torment of her nerves—she decided that the time had come for another meeting with those who had helped her to bring her dreams to reality.
The evening proved to be a much more sedate affair than the previous dinner, with only seven diners and four courses: conch chowder, lightly grilled mahi-mahi with a mango glaze, pineapple-rum marinated pork roast, and a tart lime pie. Light conversation made dinner a relaxed affair, which suited Cynthia perfectly.
Business, she decided, should never interfere with a really good meal.
Afterward, however, with all her guests comfortably ensconced in the sitting room with their drinks of choice, and Mouse safely comatose on her shoulder, Cynthia wasted no time in getting down to business. She began by standing and raising her glass in toast.
“Lady and gentlemen, I would like to propose a toast to Master Ghelfan.”
A round of cheers and raised glasses answered her call, as well as an embarrassed smile and nod of gratitude from the shipwright.
“To the artist who helped bring my dreams to life, may he build a thousand more like these.” Another round of cheers followed, along with some exclamations.
“Dunno if the sea is big enough for a thousand such ships, Mistress,” Rafen Ulbat
taer commented, sipping his rum and fingering the points of his mustaches.
“You are just afraid of the competition, Desert Rat?” Troilen asked, earning a round of laughter.
“Not from you, Poet,” the dark-skinned captain countered with a grin.
Cynthia had listened to the two captains’ good-natured jibes for almost half a year now, and expected similar banter from Brelak and Vulta, but they had been uncharacteristically quiet all evening. She suspected they knew why they were here, and were slightly nervous. Well, it’s time to end the suspense, she thought, tapping her glass with a fingernail.
“Master Keelson has informed me that the time has come to put names and faces to our ships.” That got their attention, for they knew what would follow.
“I’ve decided to assign officers to ships first.” That earned a few pointed glances between her guests. “As far as I can tell, the two hulls are identical, but if either captain has a preference between the two, please tell me now.”
“I have no preference,” Troilen said with a shrug.
“If it’s all the same to you, then, Master Poet, I would prefer the ship that was brought out of the shop second.” Everyone turned to Rafen in surprise.
“You have discerned some superiority to that one?” Ghelfan asked, arching an eyebrow. It was virtually impossible to construct two truly identical hulls. With dozens of frames, hundreds of planks and thousands of joints between them, some inconsistencies were bound to occur.
“Not at all, Master Ghelfan, but you might remember when I got this.” He held up his left hand to show a broad scar across the back, still very light against his dark skin but well healed. “I left a good bit of blood between her keel and her fourth frame. Part of me is in her already.”
“Appropriate, Captain Ulbattaer, and unless there are any objections, she’ll be yours.”
There were none.
“And so, the other is yours, Captain Troilen.” At his nod of assent she continued. “In the last months, I’ve seen how you both interact with the other officers, and I’ve made assignments of mates and bosuns based on that. Unless there are valid reasons to the contrary, Captain Troilen will have Vulta as his first mate, and Finthie as bosun. This, of course, means that Captain Ulbattaer will take Feldrin and Karek.”
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