She took careful note of the faces of the four as they exchanged glances, nods and smiles. She wondered for a moment if Troilen would object to the assignment of both women as his officers, but saw little concern on his smooth features. Rafen Ulbattaer, she knew, would have been less satisfied with such an assignment, and so, seemed pleased. The fact of the matter was that Vulta and Finthe had become fast friends and worked well together. This was a rarity, and many would see difficulty with such a fast friendship between superior and subordinate, but Cynthia had watched them closely. Splitting them up would be a mistake.
“Any objections?”
There were none.
“Good. Now, you have your ships. They will hit the water in about three weeks. You will be expected to name your vessels before that time.” They all stared at her wide-eyed before Koybur finally broke the shocked silence.
“The ships belong to you, Cyn. You should name ’em.”
“Aye!” Brelak stood, his heavy brow furrowed. “They’re yer dream, Mistress Cynthia. You should give ’em their names.”
“No,” she said without a hint of the pain that had brought this decision about. “The timber of their hulls and the labor of putting them together were paid for by me, and I’ll be the owner of record, but the ships shall be yours. I’ll not voyage in them. You will. Give Master Ghelfan at least a week before they’re launched with instructions for the script and the figureheads.”
“But Mistress, I—”
She stood and held up a hand, forestalling Ghelfan’s objection.
“My decision on this is final. I’ll endure their maiden jaunt if you promise a fair sea, but that’ll be my last voyage.” She lifted her glass and said, “Name them well.” She downed her port in a gulp and turned to the liquor cabinet.
The room remained silent as she filled her glass. Pleased that her hands didn’t shake as she poured, she turned back to them and surprised herself with a genuine smile.
“You now have the task of assigning crews to your vessels. Please feel free to avail yourself of my hospitality as late as need be, though the final decisions need not be made tonight. Goodnight.”
Leaving the study, she climbed the long stair to the tower, and let her pent-up emotions finally surface. Her hand quaked as she placed her glass onto the embrasure and gazed out over the sea. Tears welled up and overflowed at the beauty before her, the sea she loved so dearly but would never sail on except in her dreams. The ships she had wrought, her dreams incarnate, had become her torment, a golden ring she could never reach.
Her knuckles whitened with her grip on the stone as she gazed out over that limitless expanse of moonlit water. She looked up at that moon, her namesake, now showing half its waxing face. She wondered why her parents had chosen that name for her, but then remembered the amulet at her breast. She withdrew the silver crescent and held it up in the moonlight, its tiny gems glittering in the hilt of the stylized sword. The Scimitar Moon would have been her true namesake, but fate had robbed her of that and her parents in one wrenching jolt.
“No. Not fate.” Her husky voice smoldered with long-nurtured hatred. “A pirate named Bloodwind.”
She raised her glass and made a silent toast to his demise, even if it took her a lifetime.
CHAPTER Twenty-Six
Revelations
The pace of work escalated to a fever pitch following the announcements of the permanent assignments of officers and crews. A new camaraderie and competition sprouted up instantly, but the frantic pace could also have been attributed to the sizable wager between the two captains. The first ship to touch water would win the wager and its crew would earn the winnings as their first bonus.
A fortnight before the scheduled launch date, Cynthia made her daily trek down the hill to the shipyard for lunch, and found canvas barriers erected over the transoms and bows of each vessel. She knew their purpose instantly, which brought a thin smile. This competition had gone far indeed. She waited patiently until the lunch bell sounded and approached Master Keelson.
“So, they’re even keeping the names from one another, are they?” Mouse promptly flew from her shoulder to one of the draped bows and vanished behind the canvas. He fluttered out immediately, grinning widely, and bolted behind the other.
“Aye, and not just from one another, Mistress Flaxal.” He held up a forestalling hand as she ventured nearer. “They figured that you put the task of naming the ships on their shoulders, so they’re keepin’ the names secret from you until they’re ready to launch.”
“Well, I…” She groped for words. Mouse fluttered from behind the second ship’s draped bow, his face ashen and eyes wide. He landed on her shoulder, hopping up and down and tugging on her collar, pointing toward the further of the two ships, his fervor only intensifying her curiosity. “I guess I don’t know what to say.”
“Good.” The shipwright grinned and dusted his hands. “Rest assured, Mistress Flaxal, they’re coming along nicely. We’re almost a full week ahead of schedule. Only a bit of deck hardware, some joinery and the chain plates yet to finish. We’ll be in the water by the end of the week!”
She left the shipyard in a daze, her curiosity heightened and her heart hammering with anticipation.
During that week, Cynthia paced the rugs of the estate to tatters, finding it hard to concentrate and impossible to sleep. When word arrived that one of the ships had been deemed by Master Keelson as “fit to be wetted,” Cynthia raced to town and cheered along with the shipwrights and crews as Ulbattaer handed over the wager to Troilen. She even tossed in a few crowns to ensure that all the winnings weren’t spent on the ensuing celebration.
When news arrived at the estate that the launch date had been set for two days hence, Marta let out a shout. “Thank Odea! Now maybe that woman’ll calm down for half a tick!”
Cynthia arrived for the occasion in a rented carriage, dressed in her finest sea-blue gown, and saw that she had not been the only one to go all-out for the occasion. Her heart fluttered with excitement at the ribbons and garlands that draped the entire shipyard. Save for their masts and rigging, the ships were finished… and they were hers.
The cacophony of cheering crews, workers, and most of the population of Southaven cascaded over her as she descended the carriage steps. The noise sent Mouse diving for cover, but her gown had no collar. After one failed attempt to crawl down her plunging neckline, he found a hiding place amid the complicated coif of her hair.
The cheering subsided as she climbed the platform erected beneath the bowsprits of the vessels, but rose again as she embraced Master Keelson and Master Ghelfan, kissing each on the cheek. As Keelson’s ruddy features flushed an even deeper crimson than normal, she turned to the two captains. They stood as stiff as a pair of masts, dressed in traditional block-shouldered blue coats and flanked by their first mates. Troilen’s vessel would, by virtue of being the first finished, be the first in the water. Even as Cynthia shook their hands and thanked them, she felt a curious rush of jealousy at the thought of handing over her dreams-made-real into their care.
Cynthia turned to face the crowd, raising her hands to quiet the hundreds of voices all cheering, laughing and talking at once. When they refused to be readily silenced, a high-pitched, two-tone whistle cut through the air. Cynthia nodded her thanks to Finthie as the noise abated. The boatswain flashed a grin and a quick salute.
“Thank you all for coming,” Cynthia began, looking out over the familiar faces, people she’d known all her life. These were her only remaining family, the only souls who really knew what this day meant to her. She looked down at the rolled parchment in her basket, the carefully prepared speech she’d taken so long to write.
“I wrote a speech for this occasion,” she said, holding up the parchment and shaking her head. “I don’t know what possessed me to do such a thing, but here it is. Maybe someone can put it in the archives or something, because I can’t make myself read it right now.” That brought out a few solitary cheers, and she l
aughed.
“It wasn’t that long.”
This brought a few more laughs and some applause, but it faded quickly and she found herself staring out at those faces, not knowing what else to say.
“You all know me.” The words came out before they formed in her mind, as if part of her subconscious spoke of its own volition. “Many of you knew my family. You all know what my grandfather Benjamin Garrison built here, what my father Orin Flaxal hoped to carry on. Well, here I am, the last of the Flaxal line, and here behind me is the rebirth of my grandfather’s dream, and my father’s legacy.”
Applause rose from the crowd, a few cheers, but she silenced them with one raised hand.
“Unlike my grandfather, I am not a sailor, and unlike my father, I am no seamage. Nor will I ever be.” This brought out a few surprised mumbles, but most already knew the story.
“But I do have one family trait left: I am a builder of ships. And with these ships I am going to rebuild my grandfather’s empire and more. I’m going to make Southaven the center of production for a new kind of ship, a new breed of sailor and a new way of shipping that will end the plague of piracy that has been our scourge since before I was born. These ships will out-sail any corsair on the sea, and deliver cargo anywhere in the world in half the time of any galleon.”
She turned and raised an arm toward the two shipwrights. “I owe more than can possibly be repaid to Master Ghelfan for help with the design, and to Master Keelson for his skill in bringing these fine vessels to life.” She turned to the crowd. “Please join me in showing them my appreciation.”
Applause rose from the crowd, and Cynthia joined in. Ghelfan bowed to her gracefully, but Keelson just nodded stiffly and clenched his jaw, embarrassed at the attention.
“Now, I think it’s time to reveal the secrets that have been plaguing me for the last week. Captain Troilen, if you would do the honors, please.”
“My pleasure, Mistress.” The half-elf nodded to Vulta, who pulled the line that held the concealing canvas in place. It dropped away, and the crowd’s gasp of surprise echoed Cynthia’s own. On the bow of the ship, in exquisitely rendered detail, loomed the shape of a great steed, its equine head extended, mane flowing back as if blown by the wind. But below the massive forelegs, the steed’s form transformed into that of a great fish; a body vaguely equine in shape, but covered in scales of sea green. The tail split and curved around to each side of the bow with broad flukes spread wide as if to propel the ship forward. On the wide placard above and behind the tousled mane, the name “Hippotrin” glowed in gold script.
“The Hippotrin are Odea’s steeds,” Troilen explained loudly enough for the crowd to hear. “They draw her chariot through the sea, and are the fastest swimmers in all the oceans.”
Cynthia nodded, having heard the legend as a child. She noticed Kurian beaming with pride, and wondered if he might have had a hand in choosing the name.
“Well done, Captain Troilen. Master Kurian, if you would perform the benediction.”
“With pleasure, Miss Cynthia.”
While the old priest performed the rite, raising his hands and splashing the figurehead with blessed seawater, Cynthia let her eyes wander over the carved figure. It bespoke of power, to be sure, and of the speed this ship would boast; a good omen and a fine choice.
“Thank you, Master Kurian.” One of the priest’s assistants moved a stout wooden step up to the fore, and nodded to Cynthia. She withdrew a bottle from her bundle and stepped carefully up. Everyone edged out of the way, the two captains taking station to either side of her in case she lost her balance.
“I name you Hippotrin!” she called out, raising the sacrificial bottle of wine in readiness. “May you sail swift and true, and protect all who serve in you.” The bottle met the heavy cranse iron that capped the bowsprit and shattered into a spray of wine and shards of glass.
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, and Cynthia accepted a hand from Troilen as she stepped down. Keelson shouted the order, and the ship rolled upon its mobile platform down the inclined flagstones into the water. Long tending lines trailed from her bow and stern, easing her around as she floated free for the first time. She rode high in the water, of course, bereft of her masts and the stabilizing weight of ballast that would line her bilges, but she rode well, her lovely lines even more evident.
“Well done, Master Keelson,” she said as the cheering diminished, moving to the next ship’s prow. “Shall we continue? Captain Ulbattaer, if you will do the honors.”
“Of course, Mistress!” He nodded to Brelak, who jerked the restraining line smartly. The canvas fell away, and Cynthia found herself looking at strangely familiar feminine features. The woman was comely enough, hair flowing back not unlike the mane of Hippotrin, her gown showing a marginally decent amount of impressive bosom that was not unusual in a figurehead. But Cynthia couldn’t quite place the face.
The roar of the crowd snapped her reverie, and she looked past the figurehead to the name emblazoned in flowing gold script: “Orin’s Pride.” Then she realized where she’d seen those features before—every morning in the mirror, but in reverse. The face was hers, though the artist had taken a bit of creative license with the figure’s prominent bust.
“Captain Ulbattaer, I… I really don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say a thing, Mistress, at least not to me. It was my first mate’s idea, and he was quite insistent.”
She looked past the captain to Feldrin Brelak, who stood stock still, his face a mask of stiff control. At first she’d been embarrassed, but now, knowing that Feldrin had requested it, she felt deeply touched. She stepped past the captain and smiled up at the big Morrgrey.
“Thank you, Feldrin.” She stretched up on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek, but came up a hand short. He stood ramrod straight, jaw clenched, eyes staring past her. Cynthia tried tugging on his shirt, but he didn’t budge. Well, she thought, two can play at this game. She looked to Ulbattaer.
“Captain, would you please order your first mate to bend down so I can kiss him? Otherwise, I’m going to have to use the step.”
“Master Brelak?” he said sternly, twisting his moustaches in mock disapproval. “Do as the lady asks.”
“Aye, sir.” Feldrin bent stiffly at the waist, turning his face slightly away from her to proffer one cheek.
Cynthia thought it only fair that he share her embarrassment, so she grabbed him firmly around the neck and planted a kiss right on his mouth, much to the delight of the crowd. But looking into his eyes, wide with shock and only an inch from hers, she felt something tense within her, a rush of excitement she had not expected. She released him and patted him warmly on the arm, smiling and trying to dismiss the surge of adrenalin.
“If I’d have known that was the thank you, I’d have suggested it myself!” Ulbattaer exclaimed, provoking an eruption of laughter from everyone, and a blush from Cynthia. The first mate of Orin’s Pride simply stood there flushing darker than his usual olive hue, his stiff demeanor somewhat strained.
“Master Kurian, the blessing if you please.” Cynthia took a step back as the old priest dutifully performed the benediction. She looked around, avoiding Feldrin’s eyes, though he appeared to be doing the same. Her gaze fell upon the figurehead, and she examined it more closely. She would have to speak to Dura about the proportions.
When Kurian bowed and withdrew, and the step thumped into place under the bowsprit, she climbed up and addressed the crowd.
“Thank you, Master Kurian, and thank you again, Master Brelak. I do appreciate the thought behind the name of this vessel. Though I feel I might never be able to live up to the uh… stature of my likeness here.” She looked down at her chest skeptically, drawing a laugh from the crowd. “I think Dura must have used a mirror to get those proportions, ’cause they sure aren’t mine!”
When the roar of the crowd died away, she raised her voice and called out, “I name you Orin’s Pride. May you sail swift and true, a
nd protect all who serve in you.” The bottle met the cranse iron perfectly and shattered into a thousand pieces, heralding another cheer from the people of Southaven.
Orin’s Pride made her stately descent into the harbor and floated free, riding high just like her sister ship, ready for her rig and her first trial at sea.
*
Camilla stirred from a fitful half-sleep to confusion, pain and hunger. Something had roused her, but she could not focus her addled mind.
“The ships are afloat, Captain Bloodwind!” Hydra flowed into the room like an oil slick, smooth, beautiful and poisonous.
Camilla tried to stand, realizing that the sorceress’ entry must have woken her, but her legs would barely support her. Her arms hung suspended over her head by the golden chains, high enough that she could not sit fully to rest, but could only prop herself against the footboard of the bed.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to barge in here unannounced, Hydra.” Bloodwind shooed a young girl out of his bed and propped himself up against the elaborately carved headboard. The girl padded out, her clothing draped over her arm. She paused briefly at the foot of the bed to furtively pat Camilla’s shoulder and whisper, “Sorry,” as Bloodwind’s attention centered upon his sorceress. The witch’s eyes followed the girl’s slim curves as she passed.
“You told me, Captain, to inform you the moment the ships were launched. That event has just transpired. The masts are to be stepped tomorrow.”
“And where are my guards?” Bloodwind asked as if he hadn’t heard a word Hydra had said. He rolled out of bed and strode to a small table laden with food and drink left over from the previous night’s revelry. Camilla let her eyes sag closed as he poured rum and several different fruit juices into a mug and speared a slice of roast pork. “If you harmed them, Hydra, I’ll have you skinned.”
Scimitar Moon Page 26