by Rob J. Hayes
“Why not?”
“Because I want my cabin back.”
“Done.” Aimi grinned, and Keelin realised he’d just walked right into a trap.
“Wait…”
“I’ll move down with the rest of the crew; I assume you can still vouch for my safety among them. I’ll vacate your cabin immediately and take on some of the ship’s duties. For a start I’ll replace that idiotic cook of yours; he wouldn’t know a spice from an herb. And you’ll start paying me a sailor’s cut from the ship’s earnings.”
“Wait…”
“I know my way around a ship, Captain Stillwater. I was born on one, remember. I can sail as well as any man you have on your crew and a fuck lot better than you, I’ll wager.”
Keelin was still trying to understand exactly what had just happened. He was fairly certain this slip of a woman had just hooked him, reeled him in, gutted him, and cooked him. He needed to regain some semblance of control over the situation. “Can you fight?”
Aimi narrowed her eyes. “No.”
“We’re pirates. From time to time we’re required to board ships and kill folk. It’s part of the job. Can’t fight? I’ve got no space for you.”
“The cook doesn’t fight.”
“I can’t afford to lose him.”
“Now you can’t afford to lose me.”
Keelin growled. “You’re not replacing Mondo; he’s been with us for years. You can work alongside him.” The words were already out of Keelin’s mouth before he realised he’d made the concession.
“Fine. If you want me to fight, you have to teach me how.” Aimi’s jaw was set like steel and her eyes were as lively as fire.
“Fine. Get your shit out of my cabin, now.”
Aimi smiled then, and Keelin realised he’d lost.
“And from now on,” Keelin growled as Aimi clambered over the side of the nest, “you can call me captain.”
She grinned at him. “I already do, Captain Stillwater.” Then she was gone.
Aimi scuttled down the rigging as fast as any monkey, leapt the last six feet, and landed on the deck in a crouch, all while wearing a grin she couldn’t even begin to hide. With nothing but her guile, she’d successfully escaped the mediocrity of what would probably have been quite a short life tending a tavern in a run-down pirate town. That she’d traded in those particular boots to become a pirate was another matter altogether, and a decision she hoped she wouldn’t regret down the line. Aimi had never seen a man, or woman, hang, but she’d heard it was the popular way for civilised society to deal with their ilk, and like or not, she was now one of them.
“How did it go?” Feather said, matching Aimi’s stride as she made for the captain’s cabin.
“Exactly as I planned.” Feather was a sweet boy, innocent considering his line of work, and quite gullible. She’d used him to a degree in her manipulations, but he seemed none the wiser and more than happy to help.
“I thought he’d throw you off the ship for sure.”
Aimi shrugged.
“I mean, you did stab him.”
“Only a little.” It was a weak defence at best. “But I’m part of the crew now, and soon to be an invaluable part. I need somewhere to sleep.”
“With the rest of the crew?” It was clear from Feather’s tone that he thought it a bad idea.
Aimi chewed on her lip, her hand on the door. “For now,” she said idly, already forming a plan to work her way back into the captain’s cabin.
Kebble Salt was an easy man to find, and the reason for that also happened to be the reason Keelin needed to talk to him. The refugees and the crews of the pirate ships alike respected him, and even feared him to some degree. His rumoured exploits during the battle with the Man of War had grown and grown to the point of idiocy. Keelin had even heard that he’d called down lightning bolts to smite his enemies rather than shoot bullets from his rifle. Added to the renown brought by the battle was his watchful diligence over the fledgling town and the fact that he had indeed killed a sand monster on his own with a single long-range shot. People were in awe of Kebble, and that awe was founded on respect.
The little watchtower the refugees had built for Kebble was growing, and now stood a good ten feet from the sand. The better vantage point gave the rifleman a full view of the beached Man of War and the growing settlement, and everyone felt safer with him watching over them. Keelin called up the tower before starting the climb; a man as dangerous as Kebble Salt was not a man he wanted to surprise.
“Everything quiet?” Keelin said as he gained the floor of the watchtower. Kebble was scanning the beach through squinting eyes. Despite the heat and humidity, the man had somehow managed to maintain his moustache perfectly. Keelin, on the other hand, had nearly a week of patchy stubble loitering around his chin and neck. He decided he’d take the time to shave once he was back on board his ship.
“More or less,” Kebble answered in a frustratingly calm voice.
“Fair enough,” Keelin said once it was clear Kebble had said all he was going to. “I have a proposition for you, Kebble. This little town of New Sev’relain needs a governor. Someone who can run things, keep the peace, and make decisions while Drake is gone. I think it should be you. Everyone looks up to you, they respect you. They’ll follow your orders…”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Kebble took a few moments to answer. “I’ll stay on board The Phoenix.”
“Why is it nobody is willing to leave my ship?” Keelin said with an exaggerated sigh. “First Aimi tricks me into letting her stay, and now you simply refuse to leave. I might as well go ask Smithe to piss off and make my day complete.”
Kebble let out a deep chuckle. “I cannot speak for anyone else, but for me. I will go where you do, because I believe near you, I may find my death.”
Keelin sighed again; his life appeared to be taking a turn for the unusual. “I can see you probably think that’s the craziest thing I’ve heard today,” he said with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “But you’re wrong.”
Kebble turned towards Keelin with sad eyes. “I am older than you think, Captain Stillwater. I have seen family and friends born, grow old, and die. I have lived long enough to see old magics disappear from the world and new ones take their place. In this unnaturally long life I have lived, I have done things that no man should ever do, and I am forced to live with the memories of those actions. And the reasons for them.”
“Huh?”
“I am cursed, Captain Stillwater. Cursed with immortality. And I have done everything short of taking my own life to cure myself of that curse. I have thrown myself into wars that had nothing to do with me, choosing to fight for the losing side only to survive and turn the tide. I have challenged men and women many times my equal to single combat only to best them and facilitate their deaths instead of my own. I have tended plague-stricken folk guaranteed to be contagious and caught no disease. I once even stormed a burning building on the point of collapse simply to find an old woman’s blind cat.” Kebble let out a weary sigh. “The cat leapt out of a window just before the building came down, and I had no choice but to follow it. Always I have skirted the issue of taking my own life, and always I have survived. With you, I…”
“Why not just take your own life?”
“The world has strict rules on the issue, and I have no wish to become a wraith, waking once more to find myself serving aboard the Cold Fire.”
“The ghost ship?” Keelin laughed. “It’s a children’s story.”
“It is not. I have seen it many times. A ship so light it could almost be smoke, it sails the ocean and leaves no wake.”
“Or it could just be mist on the water.”
“Crewed by wraiths, the souls of those who have committed suicide over water. It haunts the oceans. It haunts those who should be dead.”
Keelin would have liked to say he believed Kebble, but instead he was just beginning to doubt the man’s sanity. Of course, there were many ins
ane people in the world, and some of them were too damned useful to dismiss.
“So you’re not leaving the ship then?”
Kebble laughed and shook his head. “I believe with you I may find a god willing to take pity on me and cure my curse.” Keelin sighed heavily, then turned and began his climb down to the sand. It had already been a long day, and he had yet to see Drake.
By the time Keelin found himself on board the Fortune it was fast approaching dark, and he was in no mood to decline when Drake offered a glass of something stronger than rum. No matter that the town might be running low on booze, it appeared the captain who had built that town was more than amply stocked. Taking a deep swig of what appeared to be a particularly fearsome peach brandy, Keelin settled in to hear what was to be said. That both Morley and Princess were present didn’t encourage Keelin to predict good things.
“The town is coming along well,” Drake started. “But there’s issues. Expansion into the jungle is one. A real town needs to be sunk into solid earth, not sand. Now, we ain’t sure how the forest is gonna react to that, but every island here in the isles has its quirks, right?”
Morley let out a barely audible groan, and Keelin silenced him with a stare.
“Putting New Sev’relain on the map is one thing,” Drake continued. “Folk need to know the place is here if we’re ever wanting them to visit and trade. Ain’t exactly a pirate town without the visitation of piratical elements, and we need the influence this place has to grow, not shrink and lose folk to Fango.”
“The pirates need a reason to come here,” Morley said. “And pirates put into port in the isles for two reasons – dicks in a whore, and to offload the loot. One look outside, Captan Morrass, and it’s obvious we have two problems. There’s barely enough whores to service a sloop, let alone a couple of ships or more, and there ain’t no one to pay them for their hauls.”
“Reckon your man’s hit on the issues pretty directly there, Stillwater.” Drake smiled. “The town needs a legitimate front, some crook like Loke or Quartermain who can buy the loot from us at a discounted price, seeing how the goods are slightly less than legal, then ship and sell it on to civilised folk in Sarth, the Five Kingdoms, Acanthia, and anywhere else that might want it. Now we sure as a watery Hell can’t do that. Any of us sail into any port bar a free city, and we’ll be swaying from our necks in no time.”
“I can’t see us tempting Quartermain from Fango,” Keelin said. “And Loke probably died back in Sev’relain.”
“Wouldn’t matter even if he hadn’t. A legitimate front needs two things – money and ships not linked to piracy. By this point he would have neither, and would therefore be little to no use to anyone.”
Keelin took another deep swig of the peach brandy and sighed. “What do you suggest, Drake?”
Drake held up his hands. “We set someone up as a front and bankroll them.”
“Cap’n…” Princess started, but was interrupted by Morley.
“The crew will never agree to that.”
“It ain’t their money,” Keelin growled.
“Cap’n…” Princess started again.
“It ain’t fucking yours either, Captan,” Morley all but shouted. “Ship’s money is there to pay for repairs and to give advances to the crew in times of hardship, just like right now.”
Drake grinned. “Need a lesson in controlling ya crew, Stillwater?”
Keelin ground his teeth and glared at his fellow captain before rounding on Morley. “Ship’s money is to be used at the captain’s discretion for matters pertinent and the good of the crew.”
“And how is this good for the crew, Captan?”
“Cap’n…” Princess tried once more.
“Because I fucking say it’s good for the crew,” Keelin shouted. “We need a place to port, Morley. And we can’t exactly keep going back to Fango unless you want Tanner to use your hide as a rug.”
“Ship don’t have enough money, Cap’n,” Princess shouted.
“Eh?” Drake grunted, his cup stopped halfway to his mouth, the amused smile gone.
“I spoke to Byron earlier, Cap’n. Ship’s coffers are running low, real low.”
“How low?”
“Empty low.”
Drake fell silent, his eyes fixed and far away.
“How low are ours, Morley?” Keelin said.
“Low enough to be a worry, not so low as to inspire mutiny, Captan.” There was an extra edge to the way Morley spoke the title, and not for the first time Keelin wished Yanic had survived Sev’relain. He still hadn’t even said a proper goodbye to the man, because proper goodbyes required a dangerous amount of rum and at least a day to recover.
“Reckon the whores are the richest folk on the island at the moment,” Morley continued. “With no pimp and Drake’s protection, the few girls that are working are earning double the going rate and keeping all of it.”
“I knew that ‘no raping a whore’ shit was gonna bite us on the arse, Cap’n,” Princess said with a deep frown. “Girls don’t need a pimp, so they ain’t gonna have one.”
Still Drake said nothing, his expression blank.
Princess turned to Keelin. “What about that rifleman of yours? He go for the governor gig?”
Keelin laughed. “He refuses to leave The Phoenix on the grounds that he believes himself to be immortal and thinks I might be able to convince a god to kill him.” He expected shocked silence, but instead Princess nodded and shrugged.
“The immortal ones are always arrogant bastards,” Drake’s first mate said. “There was that one we picked up off Truridge, Cap’n, you remember. Righteous shit told us we were all mere drops in the ocean compared to him, and he was the lord high ruler of some kingdom don’t exist no more.”
“The Forgotten Empire?” Keelin was suddenly curious.
“Nah, though reckon he’d said he’d been there…” Princess drifted off, his face creased in concentration. “Fucking awful place. Anyway, Cap’n put his immortality to the test, and to be fair to the poor bastard, he wasn’t lying. Took enough to kill ten men ten times over and lived through it. So we dropped him off somewhere in the deep ocean and let nature deal with him. Drop in the ocean.” Princess chuckled.
“We’re gonna need warehouses and credit notes,” Drake said quietly, and Keelin looked over to find a determined expression on the captain’s face.
“Warehouses we can do, Cap’n,” said Princess. “But credit notes? Here on the isles? Nobody’ll trust ’em.”
Drake shook his head. “They will if they have my name on them. We need to leave as soon as possible, Princess. The quicker we get the money and the ships to set up the legitimate front, the quicker we can make this all work.”
“You’re leaving?” Keelin said.
Drake nodded. “Unless you can provide, say, ten seaworthy legal vessels with no history of piracy, and enough bits to pay everyone involved on salary until this little venture becomes self-sustaining.”
Keelin nodded back. “Leaving it is, then.”
“I need you to stay here, Stillwater.”
“Here as in New Sev’relain? Indefinitely?” The very last thing Keelin wanted was to be left floating at port for an extended spell.
“Here and about,” Drake conceded. “I need someone to look after the town, protect it while it gets on its feet. Beat down any dissidents and keep the townsfolk in line. I need someone I can trust.” He paused, then stood and made his way over to a nearby cabinet. “And I need someone to warn the others.” Drake opened the cabinet and riffled through its contents before pulling out a roll of vellum that was unmistakably a sea chart. Keelin felt hope spring to life once again in his chest. Now he knew where Drake kept his charts, he was one step closer to finding the one he needed, and that meant he was one step closer to taking his revenge on Arbiter Prin. Unfortunately, there were still a lot of steps left to take.
Drake tossed the roll of vellum to Keelin before sitting back down behind his desk. It was too much to ho
pe the man had just given Keelin the chart he so desperately desired, but he dared to hope anyway. Keelin unrolled the vellum.
“It’s the Pirate Isles,” he said uncertainly.
“It’s the chart I took from the Man of War,” Drake said. “They didn’t just know where to find Black Sands and Sev’relain. They know about Utringdon, Fair View, Rockwater, Lillingburn. Every colony, town, and outpost in the Pirate Isles except two.”
Keelin searched the chart, and it didn’t take long for him to see what was missing. “Fango.”
“Your friend, Tanner Black, appears to have been making some nasty friends, Stillwater.”
Keelin looked back at Morley, who seemed as shocked as his captain. “Tanner would never… He’s an evil bastard and no mistake, but he hates Sarth, hates all the kingdoms. As far as he’s concerned, the only kingdom that matters a damn is his own.”
Drake raised an eyebrow. “And what would be a better way to get rid of all the competition in the isles to make that little dream a reality?”
Keelin shook his head. It simply wasn’t possible that Tanner Black would sell out his fellow pirates. “Quartermain, maybe?”
“Maybe. Either way, the others need to know their towns ain’t safe. Sarth sent one ship, they’ll send more. New Sev’relain, on the other hand… Well, now that ain’t on the map either, is it?”
“You want me to sail The Phoenix round the other pirate settlements and tell the townsfolk to gather here.”
“Townsfolk, pirates, everyone.” Drake nodded. “Tell them all Cinto Cena may well be the last safe island in the isles.”
Chapter 32 - Fortune
“Dead man walking.”
Drake walked beside the man with members of his crew both in front and behind. They trudged their way up the hot sand towards the tavern; somehow it seemed the most fitting place for the event, given that its bones had been taken from the Man of War.
It didn’t really seem like there was much to say, and the man wasn’t exactly in the chattiest of moods. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since the day he broke. When Drake had pulled him out of the hold of the Fortune, he’d been unresponsive at best and pitiful at worst. His uniform was faded and stained, stinking of sweat, his moustache was an overgrown bush, and his eyes looked like they belonged on a dead man. Soon they would.