by Rob J. Hayes
“Was it the matriarch?” Beck said quietly. She sounded concerned. “The one you mentioned at the spring?”
“Yes,” Drake conceded, hoping it would shut the woman up.
“What did she do to you?”
“Drake,” called a voice from the next ship across.
“What?” Drake roared, venting all his fury at the hapless fool who had chosen to interrupt them.
“I can see you are busy, and I would hate to cause any undue stress. I’ll come back later. Lovely seeing you again.”
“Anders. What in all the watery Hells are you doing here?” Drake almost felt like grinning again; the interruption was a welcome one after all. Anders Brekovich was as slippery a serpent as Drake had ever known, but he was also one of Drake’s best agents. Even if he had died twice.
With a dramatic sigh, Anders bridged the gap between the two ships, and Drake spotted Princess just behind the drunkard along with a man dressed in white. “Well, Pern here…” Anders paused. “You remember Pern Suzku?”
Drake nodded. “Seem to remember you working for that little shit Swift.”
The warrior shrugged.
“Indeed,” Anders continued. “Well, he was also directly responsible for Swift’s death, which is something his old clan frown upon.”
“The Haarin becomes a Honin,” Drake said with a smile. “Dishonoured and a death sentence all in one, I hear.”
The warrior stared down at Drake. “The true dishonour would have been continuing to protect that man,” he said calmly. “My clan chose to serve his evil; I chose otherwise.”
“Oh, yes, you’re the most honourable pariah I know.” Anders shook his head. “His old clan have thrown three Haarin assassins at him in the last year. The fools only come at him one at a time, luckily, or he’d already be dead. After the third, Thorn decided it was best to put Pern out of reach for a while, and here seemed the best location for such a task.”
“And you?” Drake said.
“We couldn’t very well send Pern to the altar of temptation and decadence without an escort, could we? He’s very impressionable. Sheltered life and all that. No, I was the obvious choice to protect him from the seductions this place offers.”
“Of course you were.” Drake glanced over his shoulder at Beck, but she was paying the conversation little attention, instead riffling through the dead Drurr’s clothing. “You were here when these bastards attacked?”
“Oh, yes. We valiantly fought off a score of invaders. Why, some of the Rest’s crew attribute their eventual retreat solely to the efforts of myself and Pern here. In fact, he killed a good six of the bastards single-handedly – with me watching his back, of course.”
“Of course.”
“It didn’t help that they kept getting back up though. I’ve not seen anything like it since Absolution…”
Drake turned to the sailor who had captured the Drurr. “That true?”
“Aye.” The sailor raised an eyebrow at Anders. “More or less. They sunk a good few boats, but we turned the tide when we got ourselves organised. These two helped. So did releasing some of the nastier beasties we keep for fights. Ever heard of a killapede?”
“No.”
“Well…” The sailor looked a bit embarrassed. “Don’t reckon that’s its real name, jus’ what we call ’em cos they look a bit like a centipede, only bigger an’ killa’rer.”
“Go on,” Drake said, intrigued.
“Well, they got a load of body, uh…”
“Segments,” Anders said, apparently recovered from his brief loss of words.
“Aye,” the sailor continued. “Each with two sharp, pointy legs. They can grow up to six feet, I’ve heard, an’ the adults have skin harder than steel. They got poison that paryl… parily…”
“Paralyses.” Anders tipped the sailor a magnanimous nod. “And I believe you mean venom.”
“Yup, that’s the one. An’ they got these big fucking, uh, jaws, more like swords really, that can slice through bone. Seen one take a man’s foot off before. Poor bastard. Anyway, we released a bunch o’ them right as those Drurr cunts were comin’ at us. We haven’t got ’em all back yet.”
“You’re saying there are still some giant centipede killing machines loose aboard the Rest?” Anders said.
“Aye, reckon so.”
“Well, that’s damned unnerving.” Anders produced a hip flask from his jacket and took a few long sips.
“Get ’em found and caught.” Drake ran a hand through his hair as a thought struck him. “Can they be trained?”
The sailor looked uncertain. “Most anything can be trained if caught young enough. No idea how ya might go about it though.”
“Get me one just hatched and have it brought to the Fortune.”
“They don’t exactly hatch so much as eat their way out of the mother…”
“Just get one as young as possible.” Drake dismissed the sailor by turning his attention back to Anders and the Honin. “I hope you have some good news, Anders.”
“I do,” Anders replied cheerily. “So good I think I’ll write it down, hide it somewhere in your cabin, and then quickly jump on a ship bound anywhere but near you.”
Drake sighed. It seemed the fates had decided to heap shit upon him and watch him flounder. Having an oracle for a brother was useful for the long game, but short-term problems were his to deal with through and through.
“Out with it, Anders. Unless it’s your fault, I ain’t about to burn you for it.”
“Oh, sure, you say that now. The Five Kingdoms are building a fleet.”
“Something I don’t know would be better, Anders.”
“Well, they’ve built a new ship as well. A warship.”
“Man of Wars ain’t new. Dealt with one just a while back.”
Anders shook his head. “Those monstrosities are built to carry troops; this new ship is built for war. As big as a Man of War but as fast as a galleon, and bristling with all manner of nasty machines.”
“Such as?” Drake could feel tendrils of worry creeping up his spine.
“Catapults, scorpions, a big steel ram on the front, and more black powder than an army of alchemists could make in a year.” Anders swallowed. He looked nervous. “Rumour says it’s been designed by the engineers of Sarth and built by the shipwrights of the Five Kingdoms, and it’s heading your way soon, if not now.”
“It don’t look good, Cap’n,” Princess said. He looked as worried as Drake felt. The pirates of the isles weren’t ready for a war, and wouldn’t be for a while yet. Drake had only managed to unite two captains and already his enemies were throwing titans at him, while others were doing their damned best to cripple him. Worst of all was that folk looked to him to have a plan, to know everything that happened and how best to turn it to his advantage, and right now he had nothing. If he wasn’t careful, everyone would soon figure that out.
“Find Ruein,” Drake said to Princess. “Have him brought to the Fortune, and tell the lads they have three days for drinking and fuckery. After that we’re leaving.”
“What about us?” Anders said, grinning foolishly.
“I want you to go back to Rose and her Thorn and tell them I need some help. Feel free to remind them that they owe me.”
Anders sighed out a laugh. “Sure. Give me the easy job.” He turned around and started to walk away, the Honin on his heels. “What could possibly go wrong with telling the future king and queen of the Wilds…” His voice trailed off, and Drake stopped caring.
Beck had finished going through the dead Drurr’s pockets and was staring at Drake with care in her blue eyes that was even more damning than the more usual ice. “I still want to know, Drake.”
“More important things right now, Arbiter. Besides, not everyone gets what they want.” Drake made a show of leering at the Arbiter before walking away.
Ruein Portly was a former pirate captain who had sailed under the flag of a Sarth privateer until he boarded the wrong vessel. A Five
Kingdoms princess had been secretly aboard, and upon her eventual arrival home, she had demanded Ruein be branded a true pirate. Two years on the run later, and unwilling to take the isles as residence, Ruein had received an offer he couldn’t refuse; Drake hid given him control of Fortune’s Rest and a healthy cut of the profits. Now Ruein was a fat old sailor with a balding head and a beard that stretched down to his expanding waist.
“About the attack, Drake,” Ruein said as soon as he opened the door to the Fortune’s cabin.
Drake cut the man off with a raised hand and a laugh. “Ain’t your fault, Ruein. As it happens, it appears to be my own. Though quite where those bastards got hold of one of my compasses is another matter.”
Ruein ambled over to the nearest stool and sat down with a groan – and without permission. The man had always seen himself as Drake’s equal, despite working for him, and that was just one of the reasons why Drake didn’t entirely trust him.
“Are we drinking to drowned treasure?” Ruein was eyeing both the rum bottle on Drake’s desk and the hulking form of Byron standing to Drake’s left.
“Help yourself.” Drake pushed the bottle a little further across the desk with his feet.
As Ruein grabbed the bottle and tipped a measure down his throat, Drake glanced at the door to the cabin. He’d expected Beck to be back by now, and had become so used to her presence that the lack of it had him worried. The last thing he wanted was to tell her about his time with the Drurr, but he found himself wanting her trust.
He looked back at Ruein. “Did you bring the ledgers?”
“Oh, aye.” Ruein gave the bottle a shake before apparently deciding he deserved another mouthful. “Outside in a chest.”
“A chest?”
Ruein shot Drake a glance. “There’s a lot of books, Drake. Took two men to carry it here.”
“You weren’t one of them, I assume.”
Ruein laughed. “Volm…” He coughed. “Gods, no.”
“Fetch them in and have a look, Byron,” Drake said, and the giant scuttled away before returning a moment later with a large chest between his arms. Ruein’s eyes widened.
“That lad could crush a man’s head in one hand,” he said. “I could put him to use here.”
“He has his uses right where he is.”
Byron sat down on the floor with the chest and slowly started emptying its contents, carefully sorting the books into piles and then leafing through the pages, his beady eyes roving over the numbers contained within. Drake sat patiently, waiting for Byron to finish and for Ruein to give his report.
“He alright?” Ruein took out a pipe and starting to pack it with leaf.
“He’s fine,” Drake said with a predatory smile. “He has a head for numbers. Would you like to tell me how the Rest is doing? Or would you like him to tell me?”
“Well, we have just lost a number of ships. Initial count puts it at about fifty or so.” Ruein paused to light his pipe. “Maybe a hundred. It’s a set back and, uh…”
“Coloured Sky,” Drake prompted.
Ruein winced and looked at Byron. Drake followed the fat pirate’s gaze and found Byron frowning at the books.
“How are they looking, Byron?”
“The Rest has been operating at a loss for a while now,” Ruein said in a rush. “Your orders were that almost any desire, with very few exceptions, be catered for. Well, there are some expensive tastes out there, and prices have had to be lowered of late.”
“Have they now?”
“Competition,” Ruein said with a hasty smile. “Why sail halfway around the world to the Rest when the same… desires can be fulfilled closer to home, and cheaper?”
“What competition?”
“The Slavers Guild.” Ruein sucked on his pipe.
Drake could ill afford a war on a financial front as well as the other wars he was already fighting, and there was simply no way he could win against the Slavers Guild. They had too much money and too many people, and they could operate legally in cities Drake couldn’t even be seen in. It was a war lost before it had begun.
Byron finished looking through the books and started neatly packing the leather-bound tomes back into the chest.
“So?” Drake said.
“Numbers add up,” Byron mumbled.
“But they don’t look good?”
The giant simpleton shook his head.
“How much is left in the coffers?”
“One million one hundred and twenty-two thousand gold bits and…”
“Um…” Ruein looked like he very much regretted the interruption. “With the sinking of Coloured Sky…”
“How much?”
“We kept most of the money on the ship.” Ruein quickly dragged at his pipe, then snatched his fingers away from it; he’d been smoking it so hot that he’d burnt them.
“How much?”
“One million bits were lost.”
“I see.” Drake drummed his fingers on the desk. “What you’re saying is, I’m practically a pauper.”
“You still have more than most men would make in ten lifetimes,” Ruein said with a pathetic smile.
Drake banged his fist down on the desk. “I am not most men,” he shouted at the pathetic excuse for a captain.
Ruein paled, his pipe all but forgotten and heavy beads of sweat springing from his bald head to run down the creases in his fat face. Byron started humming to himself.
“Shit.” Drake stood from his desk to calm the giant down. “It’s all savvy, Byron. I’m not angry with you. Why don’t you take those ledgers down to your bunk and memorise them? That’d be fun, yeah? Then you can store them with all the others.”
Byron stopped humming and nodded eagerly.
“Off you go then.” Drake waited for the giant to make his way from the cabin, carrying the heavy chest as though it weighed nothing.
“I need eighty thousand bits brought to the Fortune.”
“The Rest won’t be able to operate with no…”
“I’m breaking up the Rest. Any ships already able to cross the deep will come with me to the isles, same as any sailor wants to come. Any that don’t will be put ashore at Korral. Sell off anything that can be sold, and use what you get to get the ships that don’t come with me repaired and outfitted for battle.”
“Battle?” Ruein sounded incredulous.
“Aye,” Drake said, showing Ruein his golden tooth. “Don’t you know? We’re at war.”
Chapter 41 - The Phoenix
Her hands were raw and red with blisters that sported their own blisters, and hurt more than childbirth, which, Aimi had been assured many a time, was about as painful as torture. Years of working as a serving girl had made Aimi’s hands tough and leathery, but the calluses were long gone and needed to be earned all over again. She didn’t mind though. She was once again out on the ocean and sailing the world. It was a glorious feeling to see new sights, experience new things, and meet new people. Aimi had been born at sea, and she was more than a little certain that the sea was where she belonged.
The sea ranged from crystal blue to emerald green, and was usually clear enough that Aimi could see down beneath the waves. There, she might spot any number of animals and monsters that called the water their home. Some of those creatures were fairly dangerous, and many were large enough to pose a real threat to a person’s life, but they were also beautiful.
Aimi let out a contented sigh, which quickly turned into a curse as the rope she was desalting popped another blister and deposited a stinging build-up in the wound all at the same time. She clenched her teeth and blinked away the tears of pain, biting her lip to stop herself shouting out a whole myriad of curses. She failed.
“Maggoty cock-swallowing fuck-monkey!” A couple of nearby pirates laughed, and one even applauded her.
“There’s a trick to it,” Captain Stillwater said from above. Aimi looked up to see him hanging from the rigging, looking down at her with a smile. He was nothing if not clumsy in his obviou
s advances, but Aimi didn’t truly mind. The captain was easy on the eyes and charming despite himself.
“Really? Oh, master of sailing, please enlighten me.” Aimi grinned up at the captain and turned her attention back to the devious length of rope.
“You don’t think much of me as a sailor, do you?” Aimi thought she detected a note of disappointment in the captain’s voice. He’d likely come down in an attempt to impress her.
“I don’t think much of any captain as a sailor,” she said. “Most are good at giving orders and sounding like they know a cleat from a grommet, but…” She paused and rolled her eyes at him. “Ask ’em to actually haul up a mizzen and tack the yard, and they’ll probably just end up dropping the anchor.”
The captain shook his head. “I didn’t catch a word of that.” He dropped from the rigging and landed easily on his feet, before leaning against the railing and staring out across the sea.
Aimi was young, not even twenty years, and the captain was older, but at that moment she reckoned him younger than he looked. Life at sea had a habit of ageing people before their time. Too much wind and sun and salt was the most likely cause of it.
The captain glanced Aimi’s way and caught her staring. She curled her lip at him and went back to the task of scraping the damned salt off the rope.
“I was a sailor long before a captain,” he said.
“Uh huh.” Aimi may have been interested, but it was much more fun to let the man think he had no chance.
“I spent a good few years as ship’s boy aboard The Black Death.”
Aimi had heard of Captain Black, and she’d heard a great many horror stories about his ship and her crew as well as the captain himself. If even half those tales were true – and she knew it was likely a good half of them weren’t – being a young boy aboard The Black Death must have been a harrowing experience.
“Sounds jolly,” Aimi said, digging her knife into the rope and narrowly missing cutting her own finger open. Trouble was, she was paying far too much attention to the captain and the attention he was paying her.
“Anything but, actually.” Aimi sneaked a glance to see the captain once again staring out over the ocean.