Hope and Red

by Jon Skovron

  “Ticks, go help the captain turn the ship,” said Ranking. “If we stay at this angle for long, the keel will snap and we’re as good as dead. Sankack, go rouse anyone below deck. We’ll need all hands if we have any chance of pulling free from this current.”

  Ranking blew a shrill note on his whistle and the crew sprang into action, moving smoothly from one task to the next. Hope felt again that pang of uselessness, unable to do anything except watch as everyone else worked desperately to turn the ship and get away from the Breaks.

  The ship rotated with painful slowness, the sails snapping as they turned in the wind. Finally they came about so the stern faced the reefs and the sails went taut again.

  “I want every inch of canvas we have flying!” bellowed Carmichael.

  The sailors scrambled to unfurl additional sails, letting out the trysail in the stern and several jibs in the bow. Hope moved to port stern and stared at the reefs, trying to gauge if they were making any headway. At first, it seemed as though they were locked into place, the wind and current in perfect balance. But then, almost imperceptibly, the ship began to move forward.

  “That’s it, my wags!” said Carmichael. “Keep on it and we’ll be clear in no time!”

  That was when Mayfield called down from his perch, “Ship off the starboard side!”

  Hope ran to the other side of the ship, Ranking right at her heels. A small, one-mast sloop was headed straight toward them.

  “Pirates,” Ranking said. “I pissing warned him. And they’ve got us by the pricks. Stuck here in this current, we can’t make a run for it.”

  “Then we fight,” said Hope.

  “With what?” sneered Ranking as he continued to stare out at the incoming ship. “Maybe you noticed that we don’t have a single pissing cannon on this boat?”

  “Why not?”

  “Only imperial navy are permitted to sail with cannons, and you know our captain wouldn’t break the law even if it meant the death of him and his entire crew. Why do you think that imp asked if we could handle the voyage? Because usually, only off-duty military take it on. But our captain, he wants a little extra money so’s he can start saving up to retire. Mark my words, that old man will be the death of us all!”

  Hope attributed this sudden burst of mutinous talk to panic. “Calm yourself,” she told him coldly. “Do you have a spyglass so I can assess these pirates?”

  Ranking shook his head, his eyes fixed on the pirate ship. “The captain does.”

  Hope moved quickly to the helm, where the captain still held the wheel, his expression grim.

  “Can I use your spyglass, Captain?” She held out her hand.

  Carmichael nodded, pulled it out of his coat, and handed to it her.

  Hope expanded it out to its full length and took a bead on the ship. She counted thirty heads on the small ship.

  “It’s packed with men,” she reported. “Swivel cannons fore and aft.”

  “Aye,” said Carmichael. “They’ll not bother with the cannons, since we don’t have any ourselves and they have a chance of taking the ship undamaged. Instead they’ll come alongside, throw over grappling hooks, reel themselves in, and board us.”

  Hope continued to scan the ship. The men, most of them dressed in rags, looked half-starved and sick with scurvy. The captain was armed with an old flintlock pistol. A few had swords or knives. The majority were armed only with clubs, hammers, or wrenches.

  “They don’t look very impressive,” said Hope.

  “They don’t need to. They’ve got us outnumbered three to one, and they’ll just swarm over us like a wave of locusts. My men are better armed, but truth be told, probably no better skilled at close fighting.”

  Hope’s eyes followed the length of the foremast up to where Mayfield still sat perched on the topgallant yard. She recalled how the mast had bent in the wind to keep from snapping during the storm.

  “Captain, if we were to shift the cargo all to starboard and have the crew lean on the starboard rail, would it be enough weight to tilt the ship so that the masts were angled over the water?”

  Carmichael’s eyes narrowed. “I think so. Why?”

  “If you do this for me, I swear on my life that not a single member of your crew will need to fight pirates this day.”

  He regarded her silently for a moment, his bearded face giving no indication of his thoughts. “Fine. It’s what I hired you for anyway.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  Carmichael lifted his face up and bellowed, “All hands into the hold to shift every inch of cargo to the starboard side, then back up and lining the starboard rail, armed and ready to fight.” More quietly to Hope, he said, “Just in case.”

  “Of course. And you should tell Mayfield he’ll want to get clear of the path.”

  Carmichael’s eyes widened. “The path?”

  The crew looked troubled with the order, but complied. In a situation like this, balking at the captain’s orders could lose the ship. The cargo was quickly shifted, and the ship tilted to the starboard side. The crew came back up on deck, spreading out across the starboard rail, and the ship tilted even further.

  Hope stood a few feet back from the base of the foremast and watched as the pirate ship veered out into a wide arc, then came about so that their port side was parallel with the Lady’s Gambit’s starboard side. Just as the two bows came in line, Hope ran up the tilted mast. As she neared the top, she spotted two pirates with grappling hooks, one fore and one aft, getting ready to throw. The ships were still roughly twenty feet apart. Those hooks would bring them together so the pirates could board. Hope couldn’t let that happen.

  When she reached the end of the mast, she slammed her weight down hard so that the tip bowed down for a moment, then snapped back, catapulting her across the gap. She summersaulted in the air so that her feet slammed into the man with the grapple on the pirate ship’s bow. The shouts of surprise and confusion from the pirates were so loud, they nearly drowned out the cold hum as she drew the Song of Sorrows from its sheath.

  All during the four-day voyage, Hope had continued to harbor doubts about her ability in true combat situations. But the moment the first pirate came at her with an ax, so slow and clumsy that she barely needed to shift her weight in order to avoid his attack, she realized that this battle was already won. She understood for the first time what a privilege Hurlo’s years of training had been. As she moved through the ship, swift and cutting as an icy southern wind, it was not arrogance or bloodlust or rage that filled her heart. It was gratitude to the man who had not only given her a life, but had surrendered his own to save her. Every day, she would strive to be worthy of that.

  Over the wet thwack of steel on flesh and the screams of pain, she heard the captain’s flintlock pistol cock behind her. She spun, bringing her sword around as the shot was fired, and slapped the bullet from the air. The pirate captain stared at her, his mouth open as he clutched the smoking pistol in his hand. Hope moved toward him, cutting through the slowly loosening knot of men until she stood before him. He fumbled for his own sword, but she knocked it away the moment he drew it. She held the point of her sword at his throat.

  “Ask for quarter, and it will be given,” she said. Because with privilege came responsibility, and there was no honor in killing any more of these starved and desperate men than necessary. It was as Hurlo would have wanted.

  His face folded in rage. “I’d sooner die, Southie slice!”

  She ran her sword smoothly through his neck, because also as Hurlo would have wanted, there were no second chances at mercy. Then she whipped the sword out, flinging the captain’s blood in the faces of his crew. As the body dropped to the deck, she regarded the remaining eleven men. “How many more die today?”

  “Please, miss,” one of them said. “Give us quarter.”

  * * *

  The pirates had little of value. Carmichael took their small chest of coins, had them stow their rigging, then towed them the rest of the way to
Dawn’s Light. When they docked at the military outpost, they were met by a hard-eyed soldier in white and gold.

  “Ahoy,” said Carmichael. “We’ve a shipment of cargo for you. And what’s left of a pirate raiding crew.”

  “We will take them both,” the soldier said flatly. He signaled to a squat building at the end of the dock, and a small garrison of soldiers emerged. The soldier in charge gave them a few terse commands, and they set about securing the small pirate sloop to the dock, and leading the pirates away in chains.

  Once the cargo had been offloaded and payment made, Carmichael turned to his crew.

  “No point in staying ashore here. Not even a tavern on this spit of land. Let’s make ready to sail.”

  As the crew began to climb back aboard the ship, Hope said to Carmichael, “I don’t like the idea of giving those men over to the soldiers. What will they do with them? It doesn’t look like they have a jail.”

  “That’s the law, Hope. We do our best to honor it.” He sighed and rubbed his temples with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. “Although it seems harder to do that the longer I live.”

  Once everyone was aboard, Carmichael looked around at them, then in a voice loud enough for them all to hear, he said, “By the way, Hope. You broke your promise to me.”

  “Captain?” asked Hope, her stomach suddenly cold.

  “You said none of my crew would have to fight pirates today. But I saw one of them take on an entire ship of the bloodthirsty wretches, putting herself in harm’s way in a most spectacular fashion, all to save the rest of us from injury or worse.”

  The welter of emotions that swept through Hope made it difficult to speak. Relief, confusion, embarrassment, pleasure. “Captain, I—”

  “Let no man say,” continued Captain Carmichael, as his gaze swept the rest of the group, “that Bleak Hope is not a true member of this crew.” He turned back to her, flashing a yellow smile in his beard. “Come here, you deadly little thing.” Then he pulled her into a rough embrace.

  It had been a very long time since anyone had embraced Hope, and she had to resist the automatic impulse to snap his neck. Hurlo had been many wonderful things, but demonstratively affectionate was not one of them. This warm contact was something she had not felt since her parents were alive. To be part of this crew, to be part of the sea. He was giving her a place to belong. And she found that for now, she not only wanted it, but needed it.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly to him.

  He chuckled, then stepped away and said to the whole crew, “Let’s get under way, then! This pirate money doesn’t sit well in my pocket. The sooner we reach Vance Post, the sooner I can spend it all on drinks for my crew!”

  The men all cheered and got to their stations. Hope stood and watched wistfully as they began their work.

  “Here, Miss Hope,” called Ticks over by the mainmast rigging. “Give me a hand with this line, will you?”

  Hope smiled. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Ticks.”

  13

  Brigga Lin did not know where he was exactly, or how he’d gotten there. But one thing he was certain of: He would change the world with his discovery.

  He’d woken up in a simple cot, still wearing his stained white biomancer robe. It seemed to be a military barracks of some kind, with twenty cots evenly spaced throughout the room. All the other cots were empty and the sun streamed in through the windows.

  He was terribly weak, but there was a jug of fresh water and some hard bread on the table next to him. He ate and drank the simple fare with a relish he had never known.

  “Feeling better, then, sir?” asked an imperial soldier as he entered the room, his helmet held under one arm. The gold tassels on his shoulders indicated that he was a captain.

  “Yes, Captain,” said Brigga Lin, wiping the crumbs from his mouth. He was still struggling to piece his memory back together, most likely thanks to that damned moss. “How long have I been out?”

  “’Bout two days, sir. Washed ashore in a rudderless boat, nearly dead. Fisherman found you, recognized the robes, and came running to us.”

  He had a vague memory of climbing out of the underground passage, laughing hysterically. Then he’d stumbled to his boat, pushed it out into open water, and set the sail. He had no idea how long he’d been adrift, but it couldn’t have been more than a few days or he would have starved. It was luck he’d drifted ashore on an inhabited island. Or perhaps fate.

  “Thank you for taking me under your care, Captain,” he said. “I will make sure you are amply rewarded.”

  “Sorry we didn’t get you cleaned up better, sir.” The captain indicated Brigga Lin’s torn and muddy robes. “But you were clinging to that book with such a desperation, when someone tried to take it from you, you got…uh, real unhappy.” He coughed. “So I thought it best to leave it alone.”

  The memories snapped into place like a puzzle. “The book! Captain, where is it!”

  “Right there, sir.” The captain pointed to a large black tome on the floor next to the cot. “Looks like you dropped it while you were unconscious.”

  Brigga Lin leaned over and snatched up the book. He was not ready for such a sudden movement, and the world spun for a moment. He held the book tightly to his chest until it passed.

  “You did exactly right, Captain,” he said at last. “This book will protect the empire from a grave threat.”

  “Glad to be of service, sir.”

  Brigga Lin stared down at the book. It had to be five hundred years old, perhaps more. It was a treasure beyond worth with knowledge that would make the biomancers more powerful than they had ever been.

  “Where am I, exactly?” he asked.

  “Wake Landing, sir,” said the captain.

  “I see.” It made sense. Wake Landing was one of the closest neighboring islands. A bit removed from the center of the empire, but that might actually suit his purposes. “Is there a temple on Wake Landing?”

  “Yes, sir. But it’s a bit small and nobody’s been in it for years.”

  “That will do just fine, Captain.”

  The book Brigga Lin had discovered was the Biomancery Praxis that every biomancer studied as a novitiate. However, this older version included a final chapter that had been removed from later editions. This lost chapter spoke of the dual nature of biomancery. To create as well as destroy. It spoke of the interconnected threads of all life, not just solid matter, but liquid, and even the air itself. But to harness such power required a specific kind of biomancer. Namely, a female one.

  There were no female biomancers, of course. The Book of Storms very clearly forbade either the biomancery or Vinchen orders from allowing female members. So if Brigga Lin wanted to test this newly discovered idea, he would have to secretly train a girl in the biomancer tradition, but not at Stonepeak. Was such a thing even possible? Even if it were, it would take him at least a decade. And he wondered, was the female mind strong enough to comprehend the knowledge that was required? After all that time and effort, he might find she was not even capable of biomancery. He might find that the entire idea was impossible. It would explain why subsequent editions of the book had omitted the chapter.

  But there was another way he could test it. A way that would take significantly less time. It would be unorthodox, certainly. But so was training a female biomancer. And with threat of invasion looming from the north, did the empire even have the luxury of a decade-long experiment? No, he suspected it did not. So once again, for the good of the empire, he would have to thrust his hand blindly into the darkness.

  It took another day before he was healthy enough to move around. Then the captain had a few soldiers take him through Wake Landing to the temple. The town was even smaller than he’d realized. Most of the island was given over to agriculture. He wondered why it warranted a full imperial squad. Perhaps because it was in the northwest corner of the empire, set equally between the Dusk Sea and the Dark Sea. If the forces of Aukbontar were to get a foothold such as
Wake Landing, it was possible not even the Guardian would be able to protect Stonepeak from a direct assault.

  The captain had been right. It was the smallest temple Brigga Lin had ever seen. Just one room with an altar no bigger than a table. But it would be enough.

  He turned to the two soldiers who had guided him to the temple. “Bring me food and fresh water once a day, but leave them outside the temple. No one is to enter without my leave. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” said one of the soldiers nervously. This far from the capital, they feared all biomancers equally. That would also suit his purposes.

  “Good. Then leave me.”

  The soldiers hurried away, carefully closing the temple door behind them.

  Brigga Lin laid the book open on the altar. Then he stripped off his dirty robe and undergarments. He stood naked, the colored sunlight that leaked in through the stained glass creating random patterns on his bare flesh. He stared down at his penis. He would never have admitted it, but he found it a strangely repulsive little worm, wrinkled and venous. He’d never had sex, and even the idea of masturbation—of jerking the little worm up and down—filled him with distaste. He’d always been concerned about that, well aware that he was not normal in that way. But perhaps it really was fate, preparing him for this moment.

  He gathered his thoughts together, then reached down and touched his penis. For a moment, nothing happened, and he wondered if he’d gotten the focus wrong. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But then a cord of pain shot up through his abdomen that brought him to his hands and knees. He hunched there on all fours as the pain rippled through him. He hoped the walls of this temple were thick enough to mute the noise. Because if he was already in this much pain, it was very likely he’d soon be screaming.

  He felt dizzy as the blood drained from his brain and engorged his penis. It stood warm, erect, and quivering, throbbing with his pulse. But it didn’t stop there. He moaned piteously as the warmth turned to searing heat, the throbbing to an unrelenting pressure. His genitals continued to expand until his penis looked more like a bloated sausage, and his scrotum like a small fruit. That was when he shrieked, like an animal.