The Wolf, The Witch, and the Wasteland (a paranormal post-apocalyptic romance)

by Sweet, Jacqueline

  “We can pay you,” Conwynne soothed. “A thousand up front and ten thousand more on arrival in Sierren.”

  Lucia bit her tongue to stop herself from shouting at the old man. They could buy the fastest ship in Los Robles for eleven thousand credits. This pretty pirate wasn’t worth a third of that sum.

  “Up front,” Farid smirked. “No slaves.”

  “They aren’t slaves.” Lucia sat behind a round table, messily glued to the floor. “And anyways, I saw you deliver slaves to the baron just the other day.”

  Farid frowned. “I didn’t have a choice in that matter, kid. I have debts with the baron. With you, I have choices.”

  Lucia studied Farid, trying to guess what kind of shifter he was. He had remarkably human features, a handsome face, piercing blue eyes, a smooth and muscular chest. She saw no fur, no scales, no signs of his breed.

  Foxtail spoke up. “Not slaves,” she said. “Not anymore. This one freed us.”

  “Can we not find a more suitable transport?” Triptongue whined. “Something clean, perhaps? I am nearly positive I just saw fleas eyeing me hungrily from that blanket.”

  Farid sighed. “Eleven? No tricks?”

  “No tricks,” Conwynne agreed, his eyes twinkling.

  “Okay, then. Welcome to the Letherine. We leave at first light.”

  Red Jackets

  Conwynne argued, of course. The man seemed to thrive on arguments. He wanted to leave immediately, to forestall any discovery by the baron or the Suzerainty.

  “No one sails at night. Not from here. If you want to avoid any governmental entanglements, the key is to keep the same schedule as the normal folk.” The pirate only stopped smiling when he feigned offense at some offhand remark from Lucia, or barked orders at his first and only mate, the mutt guard Quinn.

  Quinn stayed away from Lucia and her party, always placing himself on the opposite end of the ship. When they ate a quick cold breakfast on the deck before dawn, the mutt busied himself checking moorings on the ground. When Lucia and Conwynne loaded the dive bike through a nearly invisible cargo hatch—the seams in the wood cleverly disguised—the shifter clambered up the mast to make minor repairs.

  “I don’t think he likes me,” Lucia whispered to Conwynne as they pushed the bike up the ramp into the Letherine’s belly.

  “He’s a shy one. Curious for a pirate, even more so for a mutt. In your uncle’s dealings, have you come into contact with many of them?”

  Lucia nodded, sweat stinging her eyes. She’d wanted to activate the bike’s pulse engine so it’d be easier to maneuver into the cargo hold. But Conwynne pointed out that likely the bike’s pulse drive and whatever drive Farid had hidden inside the Letherine would react poorly with each other, so she’d conceded and got to pushing. The bike was shockingly heavy with the drive turned off.

  “My uncle liked to hire mutts for work in the mines. Said they were strong and simple.” Lucia wiped hair out of her face, smearing oil across her forehead. “I think he meant they were easier to cheat.”

  “How did a man as blunt as your uncle ever achieve so much, I wonder.”

  They stowed the bike, tying it tight with thick cables and wrapping it with the same ubiquitous netting found elsewhere in the ship. The cargo hold was cleaner and tidier than the rest of the ship. Thick squat boxes stood in regularly spaced pyramids as tall as Lucia. The pyramids formed two rows that ran the length of the ship, like the hidden spine of some weird beast. Ballast, Lucia realized. The boxes were ballast. Without the hundreds of flat boxes—filled with stone or sand—the ship would soar into the sky when the winds took it.

  Conwynne sat on one of the ballast piles, removed a boot and poured sand from it onto the floor. “Mutts aren’t any different than you or I. They’re treated poorly because of superstition and fear, but they have the same strengths and flaws as anyone. In fact,” his voice grew wistful, “I fought alongside a mutt general. Many years ago, when the Suzerain was but a nomadic warlord pushing from the North. This mutt—they called him Inkfinger—was a slave we rescued. A proud man, but ill used by the factory where he was chained.”

  “Where was this?” Lucia asked.

  Conwynne tapped his knee with one finger. “Near Sala City, not so far from here. Inkfinger had black lizard hands, the legs of a great cat, the chest of a bear and the face of a man. He used to joke that he had the ass of an eagle and the—,” Conwynne laughed, realized who he was talking to, and switched topics. “The point is, just because a person is several kinds of shifter all mixed together doesn’t mean he’s inferior.”

  “You think this Quinn guy is embarrassed?” The idea seemed ridiculous to Lucia.

  Farid sauntered into the hold, the ramp silently sliding shut behind him. He was shirtless, a leather harness criss-crossing his chest, set with thick iron rings. When he captained, Lucia knew, he’d clip ropes to those rings to keep himself steady. He wore loose-fitting black trousers and soft black boots. A head-cloth and sun goggles rested on his forehead. The man’s skin shone with oil. Every inch of his smooth, hard body glistened with it. Protection against the sun, Lucia wondered, or vanity? Either way, she found herself appreciative.

  “Quinn ain’t embarrassed,” the pirate interjected, butting into their private conversation. “He just doesn’t talk.” Farid inspected their work, then re-adjusted the ropes securing the dive bike to the floor.

  “The quiet type,” Conwynne winked. “He should spend some time with Foxtail.”

  “That’s not it.” Farid’s voice grew serious. “A Suzerainty guard caught him stealing years back. He was swiping food to take back to the fosterage where he lived. Quinn got mouthy with the guard and the guard decided to take out his tongue with a silver-tipped dagger. Took months to heal at all.” From the look in his eyes, Lucia knew that Farid had been there with Quinn, had seen him through the trauma. How long had these two been together?

  Quinn poked his head through a hole the ceiling. It was the first good look Lucia had of him. He was all over covered in blonde fur, with black and red patches smattering his shoulders and back. A black circle of fur surrounded his left eye, giving the impression of a jaunty eyepatch. The first mate’s amber eyes were lively with intelligence. Livelier than most. He communicated with the smirking pirate with precise hand gestures, punctuated by sniffs and growls. Sign language, Lucia realized. He speaks with sign language.

  Farid replied in the same manner, signing as well as speaking, not that the first mate’s hearing wasn’t keen. Was it old habit? A means of staying sharp on his signs? Or a gesture of inclusiveness with the bestial mutt?

  The pirate leapt to his feet. “Get to the deck. We’ve got trouble.”

  Lucia’s blood ran cold. “The baron? He found me?”

  “Girl, once we get away from here we’re going to have a long talk about what you’ve gotten me mixed up in.”

  She turned to Conwynne. “Can we fight past him? Flee on the bike?”

  “It’s not the baron,” Conwynne closed his eyes. His skin shifted, becoming more animalistic as he focused his senses elsewhere. “The Suzerainty has found us.”

  * * *

  The smuggler Avar Farid ran through the ship with ease, dodging under beams, leaping over the ribs of the ship without a second thought. Lucia stayed close on his heels, watching his hips, moving as he did through the ersatz obstacle course. There’s a grace to the man, she thought. A gentleness in the way he interacts with Quinn. Were they lovers? Brothers in arms? She found herself surprised at the envy she felt for their relationship. Who had she ever been that close to? Even her late aunt, Elierra, had kept her cooly distant, despite being a foster mother to her. Would Lucia ever have a relationship like Farid had with Quinn? That ease of understanding, whole conversations communicated in a glance?

  Conwynne followed distantly, the smell of the shift emanating from his robes. His glaive hung on his back in a loose sheath. Lucia saw in a flash what was coming. The Suzerainty would try to detain them. A cadre of
guards—the same dozen from last night?—would encircle the ship, and Conwynne would kill them all. So much needless death.

  A ladder connected all decks at the midpoint of the ship, running alongside the mast from the cargo hold to the crow’s nest. Farid flew up it, two rungs at time, in leaping jumps. The rungs were wrapped with leather and rough cloth, the better to absorb the sun oil on the pirate’s skin, Lucia realized.

  She climbed onto the deck beside the pirate, somewhat behind the mutt. Forty feet below them were the guards from last night, along with an officer of some kind. Lucia had never seen a Suzerainty officer before. They never had cause to come to the backwater of Los Robles, she guessed. Or they stayed away from the baron. She didn’t know which.

  The officer wore a thin blood-red cotton suit with a split skirt over leather pants. Shining plates of boiled leather and steel interlocked on the woman’s shoulders around a flared collar. The clothes and armor were spotless. She gave the impression of a tightly coiled flower bud, about to bloom, but she was dressed entirely wrong for the desert. Perspiration streaked her face. Her head was uncovered, with sweat-soaked hair bared to the sun.

  “I am First Lieutenant August of his majesty’s Fourth Patrol.”

  “What can we do for you, Lieutenant?” Farid put on a jolly voice, affecting the accent of a farmer.

  “Where is your ship bound?” The woman’s voice was stern, but tired.

  “We’re awaiting cargo,” Farid said. “Hoping to take some ore or water down south, like. Maybe Bakerville?”

  “No cargo yet. I see.” The woman was unreadable. Did they teach that in the academy, or did they just select for it in officer training? If Lucia’s application had been accepted, would she have been like this woman?

  “I can’t help but notice evidence of your cargo door being opened recently. Gouges in the sand suggest something heavy was brought inside.” The woman removed her leather gloves. Her hands underneath dripped with sweat. “Stop lying to me, Captain. I am already going to cite you for failure to display proper markings.”

  “Fresh paint job,” Farid smiled. “We were going to get around to the numbers and flag today after the sun passed a bit. It’s a hot one, yeah? Y’all want a cold drink?”

  So slowly that she almost missed it, Farid pointed behind his back to a box on the deck. Inside were a half dozen bolters, grenades, and other weapons Lucia didn’t recognize. Did he want her to hide them? To arm herself? Should they strike now, while the soldiers were still unawares? What was he saying?

  “And the cargo?”

  “Oh, we’re doing some training exercises. New crew, yeah? All kids, like this one.” Farid slapped Lucia on the shoulder and ruffled her hair. She slouched her shoulders and stared at the ground mournfully like the teenagers she’d seen in the city.

  “I see.” Lieutenant August gestured to her soldiers and they approached the ship, weapons drawn. “And the rest of your crew? We’re going to search your ship now, for contraband and persons of interest. If we find anything suspicious, we shall impound this ridiculous craft and jail the lot of you. Get the rest of your crew on deck. We want no surprises.”

  Farid looked around exaggeratedly at Lucia and Quinn. “This is all of us that are here right now. Everyone is in town getting a last bit of happy before we sail off. Whenever that is.” He grinned at the officer again. Was the woman buying the act? What about Conwynne and the foxes below?

  The soldiers entered the ship through a boarding hatch in the rear. The sounds of ripping netting, of boxes being smashed open, of cargo dumped rattling and clanking across the decks echoed up through the floors.

  “Damn these red jackets,” Farid muttered.

  Quinn sniffed, signed at the pirate.

  “You said it, big guy.”

  “What do we do when they find the foxes?”

  “I don’t even know why they’re after them at all, girl. You haven’t told me anything yet.”

  Lucia hesitated. Should she tell the pirate about the prince’s message? About the amulet?

  “I swear, if they touch the pulse drives . . . “ Farid flexed his hands, trailing off.

  Lucia said nothing to him. Better to tell him everything once the journey was underway, when it was too late to say no, too late to kick her and the foxes and the old man off the ship.

  The breaking sounds grew louder as the soldiers searched the upper level. The deck hatch opened and Lieutenant August peeked out.

  “We’ve found evidence of illegal herbs, seven banned books, and two weapons that are forbidden for civilian ownership. I’m very disappointed, Captain.”

  “Look, my crew can be a rowdy bunch at times. You know how sailors can be. If you just tell me which berths you found the items in, I’m sure I can direct you to the right people.”

  “You’re the captain.” She tugged her gloves on, clearly pleased to have found some reason to scold Farid. “The responsibility is yours. This ship is officially limited. Hand over your transit papers. You are not to leave this port until cleared by me or the local authorities.”

  Farid sighed, slumped like he’d lost a battle. The man fished a bundle of worn pages out of a box lashed to the mast. “Here you go. Transit papers. We’ll be sitting right tight here.”

  Lieutenant August nodded. “Very well. I’m pleased this didn’t have to get violent.” She glanced at Quinn. “You know how emotional those things can be.”

  Quinn didn’t react at all. It was as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “Send along the names of the sailors who possessed the contraband, and we will waive ten percent of the fines. Per usual.” She gestured below decks. Her men dropped whatever they’d been searching and stomped out of the ship.

  “Allow me to show you out,” Farid said, bowing so low his nose nearly scraped the deck.

  Lucia trailed after the sand pirate. Where had Conwynne gone? Had he fled with the foxes, abandoned her after all?

  The place was trashed. Netting was slashed open, spilling pots and pans and dried food and shovels and every other sort of thing across the floor. There wasn’t a box on the ship they hadn’t opened.

  Lieutenant August kicked her way through, scuffing her shiny red boots on splinters of wood. “Your ship is a mess, Captain. You should clean her up.”

  “It’ll give the new kid something to do,” he smiled broadly. “No better way to learn where things are than to put them all away, yeah?”

  Lieutenant August frowned. She wasn’t getting the rise out of Farid she wanted.

  As they walked through the ship, entering the narrow mess hall where the crew took their meals, Lucia gasped.

  “What is it?” Lieutenant August turned to her, suspicion in her eyes.

  There, in the middle of the room, stood Conwynne and and the foxes. He had his hands over their eyes and his own eyes were squeezed shut. Lieutenant August didn’t see them. Farid did, but kept his face locked in his ingratiating stupid smile.

  “It’s just,” Lucia swallowed, “such a mess in here. I’ve got so much cleaning to do.”

  August sneered at her. “Best get to work, girl. This is what comes from throwing your lot in with these scum instead of finding a proper job.” As the captain kicked her way through the room, she walked around Conwynne and the foxes as if they were a table or a pole.

  When she was gone, Conwynne took his hands off the fox shifters’ eyes.

  “What a strange sensation. I will never get used to that as long as I live.” Triptongue began tidying up the mess.

  “How’d you do that, old man?” Farid asked. “I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff in my day, but that red jacket looked right through you.”

  “An alpha can shape the perceptions of those around them.” Conwynne’s body sagged. The effort had exhausted him. “But how is it that you were not affected, young man?”

  “I could see you, too,” Lucia offered.

  “Yes, but you are a true alpha. Your mind is too strong, your senses too sharp to be fooled.”r />
  “Maybe my mind is strong too, huh? You ever think of that?” Farid smiled. “Anyways. We need to get out of here immediately. As soon as that Lieutenant lady gets back to her base and calls in our numbers, she’ll find out those were fake papers.”

  “Your ship is a mess. Can we sail like this?”

  “I was hoping to hire on some more crew this morning. Quinn and I can’t do this job alone, y’know.” The pirate turned to Lucia, fixed her with his cool blue eyes. “How do you feel about ropes, girl?”

  * * *

  On deck, Farid showed Lucia where to stand. He fastened a thick belt around her waist, pulling it tight until she gasped.

  “That’s too much,” she said.

  “I just wanted to hear what kind of noise you’d make,” he grinned at her, his touch lingering a moment too long on her curves.

  The sand pirate clipped her belt to a heavy ring bolted to the deck. When the winds got going and the ship flew across the dunes, one wrong move could send a sailor tumbling overboard, never to be seen again. Near her, a dozen colorful ropes snaked their way through sails and pulleys or dove through holes in the deck to hidden levers. Her job was to pull the correct rope when Farid shouted for it. It didn’t seem too hard a job.

  Quinn was making last minute preparations below decks, righting vital systems the Suzerainty soldiers had disrupted.

  Farid was explaining to her what the ropes did, what hand signs from him or Quinn meant, when a prickly feeling ran up Lucia’s spine.

  “I sense something,” she said. “Trouble.”

  “Careful. You sound like that crazy old man.”

  From the deck Lucia could see the gates of Los Robles, the white stone gleaming in the late morning sun. Traders leading carts laden with goods queued before the doors, awaiting inspection and permission to enter. In a burst of activity the carts nearest the door were shoved aside, tipped over, as a contingent of thirty red jackets charged out of the gates, fully armed with bolter rifles and silver-tipped spears.