by Aaron Yeager
“Don’t be so self-important,” Athel rebuked, waving her hand. “Being around you hasn’t changed me in the slightest. You’ve just never been around real power before, so you don’t understand how meaningless laws actually are. You’ve never seen them made and unmade on the slightest whim of the throne. You’ve never seen one man executed and another pardoned based on nothing but a mood swing. Laws are only for the little people.”
“Like us,” Ryin snorted resentfully.
“But, sweetie, it’s your kingdom that wants her executed,” Mina cautioned. “By doing this, you’d be defying your mother openly.”
“I know,” Athel said with a twinkle in her eye. “That’s the best part. It’s just like Marik in the Sands of Fire series.”
There was a moment of silence at the table as the crew thought about Athel’s proposal cautiously.
“Despite your remedial drawing skills, I appreciate the time and energy you put into this,” Evere began, “but the fact is you’re still a novice at this sort of thing.”
“Well, then, give me some professional advice, professor pirate.”
“Ex-pirate,” he corrected. “Getting Ms. Sotol out of the building is not the problem. You’re thinking too short term. The real problem is finding the influence to pardon our good ensign from her sentence with the gallows. Until we have a plan for that, breaking her out of the building won’t help us.”
There was a clang as Margaret opened a hatch and climbed down a ladder into the galley. Her blonde hair was frizzed with static electricity, and the edges of her uniform looked burnt.
“Did you hit yourself with lightning again?” Ryin asked, waving his hand to disperse the whiff of smoke coming off of her as she sat down.
“Just a little bolt,” she admitted, putting her head down on the table.
“You look exhausted, sweetie. Why don’t you go get some rest,” Mina purred.
“I’m okay,” Margaret mumbled without raising her head.
In the corner of the galley a small nook had been assembled for Alder. He listened quietly to the others, churning a wooden spoon in a mixing bowl. Bunni sat on the counter next to him with a small mixing bowl of her own, whipping it with a teaspoon as she hummed to herself.
“The way I see it, we’ve got two problems,” Evere surmised. “We need to save Spirea and save ourselves as well. Mina and I assaulted a superior officer, and the Navy doesn’t take too kind to that sort of thing.”
“Margaret, honey,” Mina said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Our ship kind of went fugitive ten minutes after you joined it, we can drop you off at the next port we come across.”
“Holy squalls, woman,” Evere said, “we need her.”
“I know,” Mina admitted, “but it just doesn’t feel right to make her stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Margaret stated matter-of-factly.
“You’re not?” Mina asked.
“Are you kidding?” she gushed. “The heir to Wysteria is on a fugitive Navy ship and I have a front row seat. Professor Ancorage will probably let me write a whole chapter about it in his next book!”
“That’s assuming we figure a way out of this mess,” Evere cautioned. “We still don’t have a plan at the moment.”
“We could always kill Spirea,” Ryin suggested as he raised his hand for another helping. There was a pause of silence as Alder brought over a bowl of porridge and set it down in front of Ryin.
“You’re right,” Athel said, breaking the silence. “They couldn’t possibly execute her once she’s already dead.” Bunni skipped to the table and hopped up, placing a spoon next to Ryin’s bowl, then followed Alder back to the kitchen nook.
“You princesses are awfully naïve,” Ryin criticized. “We break her out, and then make it look like there was an accident. Some kind of explosion...”
“How come your ideas always involve explosions?” Odger interrupted as he chewed his fingernails.
“...and then they won’t go looking for her because they’ll assume she’s already dead.” Ryin finished.
Captain Evere pursed his lips and nodded his head, impressed that Ryin had actually said something useful. “We’d have to put out a pretty hefty bounty on her first,” he added, “investigators love a juicy motive like that.”
“That would certainly convince them,” Mina concluded. “The Sotol guild was bound to have a lot of enemies.”
“But, where would you get the money?” Odger asked, scratching his wrist, “Bounties have to be paid up front to a holder, and all your accounts have been frozen.”
“What?” Dr. Griffin called out, rising to his feet. “Can they do that?”
“Aye, they can,” Evere confirmed, shaking his head. “What has this world come to? It used to be that there were a few sacred things in this world, one of which is another man’s swag.”
“I thought you said your wife was the sacred thing in this world,” Mina charged, her tail swinging angrily, “When did I get supplanted by swag?”
“I said one of the things, not the only thing. You’re definitely in the top three.”
“I’m so flattered,” she said without smiling. “What’s the third thing, then?”
“Anyway,” Evere continued, “Mina and I have never trusted banks. They’re bigger crooks than we are. We’ve got a few...subterranean caches, you could say, that could tide us over until this whole thing is sorted out.”
“’Subterranean caches,’” Athel repeated. “You mean you actually buried treasure in the ground? I thought real pirates never actually did that.”
“Hey, Allister, you didn’t answer my question,” Mina insisted.
“All the more reason to bury it,” Captain Evere reasoned. “No one will be looking for it.”
“By the forge,” Ryin commented, slurping down his porridge. “Alder, how do you make it so smooth like this?”
“The secret is to grind the oats into flour before mixing it with milk, then gradually increasing the heat as you cook it,” Alder explained as he set down a plate of eggs in front of Athel.
“I used myself as a grinder,” Bunni said happily as she bent over, revealing the flour marks on the bottom of her dress. Ryin spit out his mouthful of porridge and stood up angrily, waking up Margaret.
“Sweet teeth! What is wrong with you? Using that thing’s butt to make my breakfast?”
Bunni shrieked and scampered up to Alder’s shoulder, hiding herself underneath his collar.
“Calm down,” Alder said. “She doesn’t have any germs. Golems are completely sterile because of the magic that animates them.”
“But that’s not the point,” Ryin screamed, pointing a finger accusingly. “Did you cook my bacon on her face or something?”
“How would I do that?” Alder asked, confused.
“Alder, get that thing out of here,” Athel commanded in frustration. “That thing was made for little girls to play dress up with. I can’t believe you’d think it was appropriate to have it make breakfast with you.”
Alder bowed respectfully, hiding the pain in his eyes, and walked out of the galley to return Bunni to his spot under the stairs. As he left, Bunni stuck out her small pink tongue at Athel.
“You’d need a body,” Pops said as he passed by with his mop.
“What’s that?” Athel asked, surprised to hear Pops say anything.
“You can’t just blow up a room. There needs to be trace remains of a body, which means you’ll need to actually put a body in the room before you destroy it.”
“That’s a good point,” Evere conceded, “and digging up a body somewhere is not the kind of thing I like to think about over breakfast.”
“That’s okay,” Ryin commented, pushing his bowl away. “I don’t want to eat any more butt porridge anyway.”
“This soup is delicious,” Dr. Griffin mentioned as he slurped it down. He set down his bowl and then noticed that everyone was looking at him strangely. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing make
s you lose your appetite, does it sugar?” Mina observed.
“Actually,” Dr. Griffin commented as he grabbed Ryin’s discarded bowl and began eating it, “my last job was working as a Naval mortician. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of noises that dead bodies make as the expanding gases release.”
Everyone in the room groaned in disgust, but Dr. Griffin continued unobstructed.
“One time, I had set my sandwich down on this guy’s stomach, and then his...”
“By the devil that’s enough!” Captain Evere shouted, smacking his tongue to remove a bad taste from his mouth. “Stay your tongue or leave the table.”
The room was quiet for a moment as everyone settled, trying to find something more pleasant to think about.
“What’s wrong with his uniform?” Margaret asked sleepily as she watched Pops enter the next room to clean. “It seems all messed up.”
“Oh,” Athel said, waving her hand, “That’s because Pops isn’t really a member of the crew. He made the uniform himself and just started cleaning one day, and he’s been here ever since.”
“Reminds me of my cousin, Invini,” Margaret said, “except he just showed up one day and started eating my food.”
Margaret sat quietly for a moment, a concerned look crossing her face.
“How long did I sign up for, again?” she asked quietly.
“Three years, sweetie,” Mina consoled. “It helps if you don’t think about it too much.”
“Well, I think this is getting too stormy too fast,” Captain Evere concluded. “Desecrating a grave, breaking into a prison, and then faking an accident. There are just too many things that could go pear-shaped. We need a different plan, something simpler.”
“Well, we’re all ears, sweetheart,” Mina said, her large fox ears twitching slightly.
“Especially Mina,” Ryin commented, “She has ears like a cat.”
“Drop it Colenat,” Captain Evere barked. “I’m thinking that since the death sentence on Miss Sotol comes from Wysteria, and we happen to have someone who has the Queen’s ear with us...then the solution is perfectly obvious to me.”
All eyes turned to Athel, who didn’t like the direction this was headed.
“Set course for Wysteria, Miss Gerstun,” Captain Evere commanded.
“M’kay,” Margaret said, standing.
“Aye,” Evere said.
“What?”
“You say ‘aye’ when given an order.”
“Oh, okay. Um...aye,” she said saluting awkwardly.
“Belay that order,” Athel said.
“M’kay,” Margaret said, sitting back down.
“Explain yourself, Miss Forsythia,” Captain Evere said, his black eyes cold.
“We’re not doing that.” Athel insisted.
“Of course we are,” Captain Evere maintained. “It’s the simplest solution and it isn’t drawn in children’s chalk.”
“It’s just not an option, so forget it,” Athel persisted.
“I’ll admit I run a loose deck,” Captain Evere cautioned as he stood up, towering over Athel, “But I am not prepared to have my authority mocked on my own ship. If I give you an order...”
“I will follow it, my captain,” Athel said, defusing the intensity a little bit, “Except for this one. We’re just going to have to think of something else.”
“We could get her diplomatic immunity,” Margaret suggested. Athel and Evere turned from each other and looked at the girl as she sat there, cleaning her large glasses. “If she were a member of a royal family of one of the kingdoms, then she would have immunity to federal laws, and they'd be unable to extradite her. In that case the death sentence would have no effect on her unless she went back to Wysteria on her own.”
“I have diplomatic immunity?” Athel asked, surprised. “How come nobody told me?”
“That’s a fine idea, missy,” the Captain praised, “but our royal connections seems to have developed an insubordinate streak that’ll land her on bilge duty for a month if she doesn’t change her mind.”
“Go ahead,” Athel deflected. “You know I’ll just get Alder to do it for me anyway. All you’ll be doing is punishing your own cook.”
Evere growled and he and Athel locked gazes, neither one of them was willing to back down.
“You could do it on Stretis,” Margaret suggested, “by obtaining the Eye of the Storm.”
A hush came over the room, as everyone recognized the name and shuffled through their memories to see what they knew about it.
“I’ve read about that,” Athel said. “Isn’t it supposed to be a holy icon given by your god...ah, what’s his face.”
“Nehirana,” Margaret said.
“Yeah, Nehirana bestows the Eye of the Storm on a chosen mortal, granting them wealth and favor for the rest of their life, or something like that.”
“Yes,” Margaret sighed. “The legend seems to have grown out of proportion over the centuries as people have told it. The reality, I’m afraid, is not nearly so grandiose.” She sat up and adjusted her glasses, happy to have a captive audience, and began relating the tale. “It began three centuries ago, when twin brothers, Heinrik and Artaros, were each given a diamond necklace called the Eye of the Storm.”
“Kind of a strange gift for boys, don’t you think?” Ryin snorted.
“Both men and women wear jewelry on Stretis,” Margaret explained. “Anyway, during the unification wars, one of the necklaces was lost.”
“Which one?” Mina asked.
“See, that’s the problem. Heinrik claimed his brother’s necklace had been lost then accused Artaros of stealing his to replace it, while Artaros claimed that it was Heinrik that had stolen his necklace.”
“Sounds like a wholesome family,” Athel commented.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Margaret continued. “The two brothers spent the rest of their lives stealing the necklace back and forth from one another, at gunpoint, sword-tip, and besieging each other’s castles.”
“I’m surprised neither one of them got killed,” Evere commented.
“No, they’d never do that, because then they’d have had no one to gloat over. It’s a Stretis thing. You guys wouldn’t understand. Anyway, after they died, their sons kept the feud going, stealing the necklace back and forth, as did their grandchildren.”
“You Stretians really know how to hold a grudge, don’t you?” Odger commented.
“With each generation, the number of families involved became bigger, but the anger behind it cooled, until it devolved into a kind of game among the noble families. A private sport to relieve boredom.”
“You guys must be really bored,” Ryin coughed.
“Well, no one outside the noble families really knows about the Eye, except for the legends the peasants tell. The rules are that the current wielder of the Eye must wear it on their person at all times, and anyone who successfully takes it from them immediately becomes their heir and may ask a single wish of the former wielder, without restriction.”
“That explains Reinhard the Blessed,” Athel interrupted. “I read a story about a cobbler who was blessed by Nehirana and became king of Stretis a while back.”
“Yeah, he came across King Strekin while he was drunk in an alley, and took the necklace without realizing what it was. Obtaining the necklace is pretty much the only way to join the royal family anymore.”
“So,” Athel concluded, “if we get this necklace from the current owner for Spirea, then she’ll be part of the Stretis royal family, and have complete immunity from Wysterian law. That sounds like a plan to me.”
“The current holder is Duchess Erin, who sits on the Naval Command Board as the Stretis liaison. With her pull over the council, it would be simple for her to get the council to drop the charges against your ship, captain. Your record would be wiped clean, so to speak,” Margaret surmised.
“Spirea gets a pardon, and we use the wish to get ourselves out of trouble,” Mina said. “It’s perfect.�
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“Odger, prepare an anonymous information request to a local navigation station,” Athel ordered. “We need to know what events this princess will be attending.”
Odger sat up and began shuffling out of the room.
Hey, wait,” Captain Evere complained. “Don’t I get a say in this?”
“Ryin, go down to the storage lockers and see what, if any, fabrics we have on board. We’re going to need to make some ball gowns,” Athel commanded.
“Am I the captain or not?” Evere yelled, slamming a fist down on the table, knocking over a saucer.
“I think I’m going to take up your offer of taking a nap now,” Margaret said, placing her head back down on the table.
“Wait a minute,” Captain Evere demanded, “If you’re down here...then who's steering the ship?”
“I’ve got us in a natural wind stream right now,” Margaret mumbled. “It should take us all the way to Cocimbas without any more help from me.”
“Cocimbas?” Evere snorted. “That’s near the equator. Who gave the word for a change in course?”
Margaret pointed a finger at Athel without raising her head off the table.
All eyes turned to Athel, who raised her hands defensively. “Look, I had no choice. The only way Jas'ida would agree to help us was if we agreed to take her somewhere tropical and drop her off.”
“Who is Jas'ida?” Evere coughed.
“The Lillian tree, of course.”
“Of course,” Evere complained, placing his head on the table alongside Margaret’s.
“Don’t worry honey,” Mina purred, rubbing her husband’s shoulders sympathetically. “I’m sure once Athel gets her friend back you’ll get to be captain again.”
* * *
Athel sighed as she lay back on her bunk a few hours later. Alder had done his best to repair the missing wall in her quarters, but there was very little spare lumber on board and the wind whistled through some of the seams in the repair work. As she looked at the hodgepodge of wood that now made up her wall, she realized that something was bothering her, which was not a sensation she was accustomed to having as of late. Before she joined the Navy, she always felt restless, constrained, uneasy. Breathing the free air for so long she had actually grown accustomed to being at peace, so she noticed it more than she normally would have.