by Clare Smith
Cavanagh turned back, opened the door and left, keeping his sly smile to himself and leaving Mirralett with a look of horror on his face.
*
Bassalin sat on the driftwood log with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. If he’d been a woman or a sentimental man he would have cried at the disaster which had befallen him, but he was neither. He was a sea captain and a onetime reaver who was both feared and respected by those who sailed the Sea of Stars or lived in the coastal ports, and such men don’t weep. Apart from that he had a crew who relied upon him, and for their sake he had to be strong.
It was difficult though when the love of his life and the only thing which meant anything to him lay smouldering at the edge of the sea, a burnt out wreck. Since the first day he’d escaped from the Priesthood’s school and had set foot on his first ship, he’d dreamed of owning such a beauty and his whole life had been dedicated to that end. Now that the Golden Bird had gone a vital piece of him had gone with it, and somehow he doubted if he would ever be the same person again.
He looked up from where he sat high up on the beach and stared at the wreckage, which his valiant crew had managed to beach at the water’s edge. If he closed his eyes and thought about her, he could still see the smooth lines of her hull. It was that which had given his ship such speed through the water and the tall masts with the rotating sails which had made her more manoeuvrable than any ship afloat.
The reality was very different though. Her masts and sails had gone along with her decks, planking and brightwork. All that was left was a black and charred hull and the end of all his dreams. There was no doubt about it; the disaster had been his fault. He’d been stupid to attack a ship carrying Devil’s Fire, but his need for vengeance against his father and the chance to see the man, who wouldn’t acknowledge him as his son, be humiliated and broken had driven all sense away.
There had been pride too. He was proud that, as his father’s bastard, he had become known as Kallisan’s foremost captain with a reputation for ruthlessness and daring. Not only that, but the penniless son of a whore owned the fastest and most beautiful ship that had ever sailed. In his pride he’d wanted to show his father that he was a better man than he was, and in his pride he’d accepted the challenge which would have made him the nation’s hero.
He wasn’t proud now though. His ship lay in ruins and behind him, in amongst the dunes, there were the graves of six men who had fought the fire and had died for their bravery. Others had died too, but the sea had taken their charred remains. For all of that, none of his men had blamed him or called him a fool, and he wondered if he’d been a common sailor and a captain had led him into such danger, whether he’d been able to do the same.
His crew, or at least what was left of them and were able to work, were busily constructing shelters or out foraging for food to keep them all alive. Cobbam, the First Mate, who should have been with them, was picking his way over the burnt out hulk of the Golden Bird instead. He was wasting his time, but as that was the only thing they had plenty of and the man had loved the ship almost as much as he’d done, he’d let him say his farewells.
As for himself, he hadn’t been near the wreck since they had washed up on this shore, and he had no intention of doing so. He’d seen enough burnt out ships in his life to know what one looked like. In any case, he wanted to remember the Bird as had been and not as a charred corpse.
He could see Cobbam now walking the length of the keel and stopping every so often to look at something, although he couldn’t imagine what was holding the man’s attention for so long. Perhaps he was looking to see if any of the wood could be salvaged to make shelters, but even if Cobbam found some he wasn’t going to let him cut the ship up. She’d already suffered enough without that indignity, and should be left where she was to fade away and return to the sea.
Clearly the First Mate had either found what he was looking for, or had given up as he’d turned away from the wreck and had started to make his way up the beach with that peculiar roll all men have who have lived their entire lives at sea. Cobbam was a seafarer through and through, and had actually been born at sea on his father’s ship. He was also an excellent sailor and navigator, but for all of that he’d never made captain.
He supposed that was his fault. The man had been loyal to the Golden Bird since the day she had been launched, and it was that loyalty that had kept him there as first mate. If they ever made it back to Kallisan, and if Kallisan were still there, he would set the man free so he could take that final step and command his own ship and crew.
Cobbam came and stood in front of him with a curious look on his face. “Beg pardon, Captain, but I think yer should come and see this.”
Bassalin looked up into the man’s sea green eyes and shook his head. “There’s no point,” he said before looking down at the ground between his sea boots. “The Golden Bird has gone and that’s an end to it.”
The first mate shuffled uncomfortably. “Well that’s why I want yer to come and ‘ave a look at ‘er. She may look a mess, but ‘er ‘ull’s as watertight as the day she slipped from the yards.”
Bassalin shook his head. “Leave it, Cobbam. The Golden Bird is a burnt out hulk and it’s best that she’s left where she is for the sea to claim her.”
Cobbam scowled down at his captain. He’d sailed with Bassalin for many years and he’d never seen him give in to anything before. It was why he stayed with the man and had turned down the three offers he’d had to be master of his own ship. Bassalin was a hard man with an unpredictable temperament, but he loved his ship, knew the sea and cared for his crew like no other captain.
This man who sat in front of him wasn’t the Bassalin he knew or wanted. He needed the man of determination and imagination, and if he had to kick sand into this man’s face to get his captain back then that’s what he would do and be damned for the consequences.
“Now look ‘ere, Captain, you’ve ‘ad yer time to mourn and now it’s time to get off yer arse and come and see what can be done for the old gall.”
“Go away,” snarled Bassalin without looking up.
“I ain’t going to do that, not when the Bird is sitting out there on the edge of the water waiting for us to ‘elp ‘eal ‘er wounds and get ‘er back into the sea where she belongs. She may not be what she was but ‘er ‘ull’s watertight and there’s enough left of ‘er mast to do something with ‘er.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Bugger off and leave me alone.”
“Yer really want me to do that? Yer really want me to leave yer ‘ere feeling sorry for yerself when there’s the crew waiting for yer to save them, or ‘ave yer forgotten about the brave lads who fought to save what they could of the Bird just for you. ‘Ave yer so easily forgotten Denny and Cam and all the others who gave their lives for yer? Don’t yer care at all for Sten and Bowie who ‘ave burns that are likely to kill them still, or the rest of us who ‘ave lost everything? Are yer such a self-centred bastard that yer’ve forgotten already and all yer can think about is yerself?”
It was more than Bassalin could stand. He shot to his feet, grabbed Cobbam by the front of his shirt and dragged him close enough that he could stare him in the eyes. “I care, you bastard. I care more than you could ever know.”
He almost threw Cobbam backwards making him stumble and sit heavily on the sand. “Show it then,” the mate said in a quiet voice.
Bassalin breathed deeply, pushing his anger and outrage back down along with most of his despair. When he was back in control of himself he held out his hand and helped Cobbam to his feet. “I’ve always cared, it’s just that it got buried under other feelings for a while. Come on then’ let’s go and look at what you’ve found.”
He set off feeling like a man going to his execution. If it hadn’t been for Cobbam’s presence beside him he would have turned around and kept walking in the other direction, but he couldn’t show the First Mate he was a coward, not after what the man had said to him. So he kept going wi
th the ship getting larger in his vision until it took up his entire world. He stopped a few paces away from the hull and just stared at it whilst Cobbam waited patiently at his side.
When he felt strong enough he stepped forward and touched the sea weathered wood. In the days when he’d been a reaver he’d been responsible for firing a ship or two, and knew how their charred remains felt when he touched them. He’d expected the wood to be brittle and come away in his hands but it was as solid as the day the shipwrights had nailed it into place. For a moment the memories came flooding back of the small yard where he’d lived for nearly a year whilst his ship was being built.
At the end of every day, he would go to where she stood and run his hands over the hull feeling for the slightest flaw that would catch in the water and reduce her speed. On those days when he found an imperfection, he would take the carpenter’s plane and gently ease the roughness away himself until she was perfect again. In the course of her construction he must have touched every single piece of her a dozen times or more. It was no wonder the Golden Bird meant more to him than any other person ever had, except his mother.
Slowly he carried on down the side of the ship feeling the firmness of the wood whilst in his heart a glimmer of hope started to burn. When he reached the stern he almost smiled as he found that the rudder was still in one piece and hadn’t been touched by the flames at all. The stern of the ship was there as well, although by the look of the blackened holes where glass had once been, there was nothing left of his cabin. A cabin didn’t matter though; he could sleep on deck if he needed to.
When he walked around the other side of the ship it was a different story. The wood on the hull was firm enough, but the top most part, a foot above the waterline had gone, and only the ends of blackened timbers were left of her sleek lines. He remembered now that was where the Devil Fire had landed and had burnt the hottest, and that was where most of his men had died.
He studied it for a short time before moving onto the bow. The bowsprit had gone, burnt away when the sail caught fire, but the solid timber to which it had once been attached and formed the keel of the ship was as firm as it had always been. A fleeting memory of two men with axes cutting the flaming bowsprit free and paying for their bravery with their lives came back to him, and he shook his head in sorrow before continuing with his inspection.
Eventually he came back to where Cobbam was waiting for him. “Well, Captain, what do yer think of ‘er?”
“She’s solid enough below the waterline but what’s she like inside?”
“A bloody mess, but nothing which can’t be put right with time.”
Bassalin nodded. He’d seen the rope which Cobbam had left dangling over the side and guessed that the man was just waiting for him to climb up it and have a look for himself. He knew the inside of the ship was going to look worse than the outside and didn’t really want to see what the flames had done to the Bird, but he’d come this far and couldn’t back down now.
Leaving Cobbam where he was, he made his way to where the rope hung and pulled himself up it until he sat astride the ship’s side. Cobbam had been right about the mess. Most of the decking had gone and in places he could see right down into the bilges. Where the foredeck had once been, there was just a heap of charred wood, and all the rope, tackle and cordage had been burnt away to ash.
On the opposite side to where he sat there was a gaping hole in the ship’s side, and the brightwork, which had once shone like molten gold, had melted away to nothing. It was a mess all right but there were some good things too. Whilst the decking had burnt away there were enough of the supports left to carry the weight of a temporary deck, and the timbers on either side of the hole appeared to be sound.
Amazingly the ship’s wheel had been untouched by the flames, and as he’d already seen that the rudder was still attached to the hull, there was a good chance that the linkage joining the two together was in one piece. Best of all was the mast, which had burnt down level with the deck but still nestled in its cradle deep within the bowels of the ship. He sat there for a long time as he worked out what they would have to do to get her afloat again.
It was a huge task but with enough men and materials it could be done. The Golden Bird wouldn’t look pretty, but they could patch her up well enough to get her back to Kallisan and the shipyard where she was built. It would be like patching up a wounded crewman and taking them to the healer; the scars would always be there, but they would be fit to sail the Sea of Stars once more. His analogy made him smile, and all the despair which had almost drowned him disappeared.
Bassalin was still smiling when Cobbam climbed up beside him. He could tell by the look on the Captain’s face that the man he knew was back again and gave a small sigh of relief. “What do yer think then?”
“She’s badly hurt but you’re right, we can tend to her wounds and get her back to sea again.”
“It’s going to take some time, what with ‘alf the crew dead or injured,” said Cobbam thoughtfully. “And we’re going to need supplies whilst we work on ‘er and timber and cordage and a whole sack full of gold to pay for it all.” He stopped there and looked questioningly at his Captain.
Bassalin shook his head. “I’ve no gold except what’s in my pockets, and if we want to get back to Kallisan whilst it’s still there, we’ll need more men than we have here.”
“What are yer going to do then? Yer know we’ve washed up on Assimus and the Passonians are more likely ter put a slave ring around yer neck than advance yer a bent copper.”
He knew that was true, but he’d no intention of borrowing money and paying interest. “Do you remember the days when you and I were reavers my friend?”
“Aye, but that was a long time ago and this is the land not the sea.”
“That’s just semantics. The Passonians have everything we need.”
Cobbam shook his head. “Yer’ll not get the Passonians to work though, that’s why they ‘ave slaves so they don’t ‘ave to get their ‘ands dirty.”
“That’s true, but what if we were to bypass the Passonians and offer their slaves a taste of freedom?”
“Yer’d ‘ave more men than yer’d ever need and every Passonian who’s ever ‘eld a sword breathing down yer neck.”
Bassalin shrugged. “Do you have a better idea?”
The First Mate thought about it for a moment, not that it needed much thinking about. “It’s a great plan, I’ve always wanted to be a reaver again.”
Bassalin grinned, suddenly feeling ten years younger. “Come on then, let’s break the good news to the men.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A Different Perspective
Phillos Passonia
Kallawassian stood in the centre of the room and turned slowly in a circle almost laughing at the sheer excitement of it all. In all his twenty six years he’d never imagined that he would find somewhere so amazing, or where he felt so at home. There wasn’t anything in the topmost room of the Dragon Tower apart from the throne of the Dragon Queen, but that didn’t matter one bit. It was just the wonder of standing there in the same place as dragons had once stood.
He’d been to each of the tower’s four open archways, trying to imagine what it had been like to be one of the great dragons and to land on the ledge before moving into the throne room to honour their queen. It wasn’t difficult to conjure up such an image, not with a dragon’s spirit within him. He could almost see the dragon’s brilliant colours and smell the smoke from their fiery breath. The noise of their talons scraping against stone and the swish of their long tails as they moved from side to side was so real he felt as if he could reach out and touch the magnificent beasts.
The dragon spirit which lived within him had been dormant throughout the voyage but had surged into life the moment he’d stepped into the tower. It was alive now and struggling to be free, but he wouldn’t allow it and kept it close in check. If once he let it fly he was certain that it would never return and
that would be the end of him.
It wasn’t easy to suppress the dragon’s spirit in this room though, and it was even harder when he approached too close to the throne. That was why he hadn’t sat on it, although he’d wanted to, more than anything he’d wanted for a very long time. To do that he would have to battle with the dragon within, and he feared what that might do to them both. One thing was for certain, the dragon would never escape all the time he was alive; he was the spirit’s master and always would be.
The sound of raucous cawing brought him back from his musings and he absently stroked down Peck’s ruffled feathers. Peck didn’t like this place, which he could understand considering the raven thought he was king of the skies but would easily be out flown by a dragon. That wasn’t the only reason though. There were also no windows in the tower, so if Peck wanted to come and go as he pleased he had to do so from the throne room.
Unfortunately there was nowhere in the room for the bird to perch except on the Dragon Throne and there was no way Peck would go anywhere near it. He’d thought about getting a man to knock a hole through the tower’s wall for Peck’s convenience, but when he’d made enquiries he’d been told it was impossible. Apparently the Passonians had already tried to demolish the tower, but had failed to dislodge a single stone.
Snap wasn’t very keen on the place either, which he thought was quite strange considering his dragon was so closely related to the magnificent creatures of old. He’d tried to take Snap into the throne room to show him where his ancestors had once sat and so he could admire the view, but his dragon refused to cross the threshold and just lay there showing its long teeth. It was very ungrateful of Snap, and as he’d been unable to move his stubborn dragon out of the doorway he’d been quite put out.