The Sail Weaver

by Morrigan, Muffy

  A sound came from the opposite direction and Tristan braced himself for the worst, only to be carefully picked up by Fenfyr. He heard the dragon hiss angrily, and a moment later he was being carried and then dropped into the lift. Muher and Thom stepped in and with a growling “Go!” from the dragon, the lift was in motion.

  “Help me up,” Tristan said, holding out his hand.

  “What happened?” Thom asked, hauling him to his feet.

  “There was something in the hall,” Tristan explained.

  “I felt it too, I think we both did. I was sick from the minute I turned the corner.” Muher waited as the doors opened and they walked into Tristan’s cabin. “What exactly were you doing down there?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Tristan replied.

  “We had a reason to be there,” Thom said. “You have no reason to be on those levels. You could have been killed. How many times have we told you…”

  “I’m okay, so stop yelling, I have a headache.” Tristan rubbed his head.

  “Here you go, sir, this will help.” Riggan appeared with the tea service. He set it down on the table, gave Thom and Muher a stern look and left.

  “You can’t go wandering all over the ship!” Muher snapped.

  “I was not wandering all over. I knew right where I was going, I was following you two.” Tristan poured himself a cup of tea, trying not to let his hands shake too much. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little sick,” Thom admitted, dropping into one of the chairs. He reached for the tea pot. “Chris?”

  “Me too. There was something in that hallway. Poison?”

  “No, it was dirty magic,” Tristan said.

  “Dirty?” Thom looked confused.

  “A long time ago, a very, very long time ago, they used to divide magic into two kinds—white and black, good and bad, but it’s not that simple. Over the centuries, magic and spellworkers have evolved and things changed. Magic is not black and white, but there are shades of intent or use. Dirty magic is magic designed to poison, to stop, to harm someone. It’s Healing turned backwards. I’ve only met a few practitioners of that aspect of the craft, and oddly they were all Rogues.”

  “Rogues?” Muher stared at him. “You think there is a Rogue Weaver on this ship?”

  “I don’t know, it hit me too hard to do any kind of diagnostic. I know there was one on the ship at some point, because they cast a net over that hallway. If you had spent more time there, it would have eventually killed you. I’m more sensitive so it hit me harder and faster. I wonder if that’s what Fenfyr has been smelling? Magic does have a scent, according to dragons.”

  “We have to get back down there,” Thom said.

  “If you go back, the magic will kill you, Thom.” Tristan leaned forward. “We need to find a way into that area that doesn’t involve going through that hatch.”

  “It’s the only one into the bottom hold.”

  “There has to be another way.”

  Muher laughed bitterly. “If the weather were better we could go out and cut a hole in the hull. What did I say? Why are you staring at me?”

  “The hole, could it have reached that deck?” Tristan asked.

  “It not only could, but it did. Damn! Why didn’t I realize that?”

  “Realize what?” Muher asked.

  “The pirate attack, they cut a damn precise hole in our hull. I thought they were probing for weaknesses, but they weren’t.”

  “What then?” The general looked from Tristan to Thom.

  “They were making a way to get something or someone onboard ship. But what and when? It must have been in the graveyard watch when the work crews were done and the area closed off so the Air Weavers could take a break.” Thom huffed angrily. “I need to get into that hold!”

  “We have to be careful, whoever performed the magic might have left a marker in the spell so it will hit you harder when you go down there again,” Tristan explained. “We have to find another way in.”

  “We do,” Muher agreed. “Until then, we play it low and slow and keep our ears open.”

  “I’ll let Riggan know to be extra careful.”

  “All of us, Master Tristan,” Muher said. “I think we all need to be careful.”

  They finished tea and then headed up to the quarterdeck. Tristan wanted to check the sails before he went to sleep, and Thom wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly. Muher tagged along “just to look threatening”. The deck was quiet as the ship settled down for the night, a small crew was on deck, but most were below at dinner or already in their bunks. Tristan glanced at the Elemental Interface, then stopped. His heart started hammering again. Someone had been at the intricate device, he could see a deep scratch in the surface of the deck by the bottom of the piece. Bending over, he checked it carefully. Nothing had been unseated yet, but that’s what it looked like they had been trying to do.

  He quietly left the quarterdeck and walked into his cabin. “Riggan, can you come up on deck in about three minutes? Bring a bag of some kind.”

  “Of course,” Riggan said.

  Tristan went back on deck and looked around, Thom and Aubrey were talking quietly on the other side of the quarterdeck and Muher was gazing over the taffrail. Moving slowly so no one would notice, Tristan bent over the Interface again and spoke softly, the Latin comforting in the situation. The clips that held the device to the deck slid away and Tristan stood; keeping his hand on the Interface, he turned so he was blocking it from the view from the deck. A moment later Riggan appeared. Without a word, Tristan lifted the Elemental Interface up and slid it into the bag. Riggan met his eyes for a moment, Tristan mouthed “hide it well” and the servant disappeared.

  “Weaver!” Stemmer said from behind him.

  “Yes, Captain?” he asked mildly. He noticed that Fuhrman was walking towards Thom and Aubrey.

  “We need to have a talk,” Stemmer said with a laugh. “Then you are taking a walk.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Tristan smiled.

  “It’s not a threat.” The captain pulled a gun. “And don’t count on that damned draft horse to help you, he’s already drifting.” The captain waved his hand and Tristan could make out the tumbling form of Fenfyr in the Winds, a limp body buffeted by the gale around him. “Greedy bastard likes grapefruit and you can get a lot of poison in one of those.”

  “Fenfyr!” Tristan cried, his heart breaking. “No.” He dove at the captain, there was a sharp pain in his head and everything went black.

  XXIII

  There was a cold sticky feeling on Tristan’s cheek as he regained consciousness. His wrists ached and with a tiny motion, he discovered he was shackled, the metal digging into his wrists as the fog cleared from his mind. The weight on his ankles he guessed came from similar shackles. He opened his eyes to total darkness, sighing he tried to figure out where he was.

  “Tristan? Are you awake?” Thom’s voice was anxious, an undercurrent of pain filling it.

  “Yes. Where are we?”

  “Brig,” Muher replied. “Deck five, second cell.”

  “Aubrey?” Tristan asked, easing himself into a sitting position.

  “He was taken prisoner, and Avila. Fuhrman was brutal handling Aubrey, I think they ended up dumping him back in sickbay.”

  “Do we know why?” Tristan reached back, hoping to find a wall to lean on.

  “No,” Thom answered. “Tristan, about Fenfyr…”

  “He…” Tristan shook his head, willing the tears away. “He can’t be dead.” The grief threatened to tear him apart.

  “They’ll pay for it, Master Tristan,” Muher said.

  “Since we’re stuck in the same brig, I think it’s safe to drop the formality, Chris,” Tristan said with a bitter laugh.

  There was a beeping at the door and it slid open. When their eyes adjusted to the bright light from the corridor they saw Fuhrman and one of the crew were standing outside the cell with guns trained on them. Tristan glanced ov
er at Thom and noticed the bruises on the man’s face, similar wounds marked the general.

  “Up,” Fuhrman snapped. “We need you on deck.”

  “Doing Stemmer’s bidding?” Thom asked, but didn’t move.

  Fuhrman started laughing. “You fools, spending all your energies worrying about Stemmer. Did you really think we would leave this in the hands of that clumsy idiot? Now get up.”

  “Um, no,” Muher said.

  “General Muher, this makes me so happy. You see his defiance, men?” This comment was directed to someone in the passageway outside. “Let’s show the crew what defiance gets you.” Two men came into the cell and dragged Muher to his feet. “You two, come with us or I’ll shoot him.”

  Tristan stood, swaying as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Thom was beside him and leaned over to steady him. “You aren’t going to get away with this,” Tristan said.

  “Get away? The Navy planned this.” Fuhrman waited as they shuffled out behind the men dragging Muher. “This was in the works all along, you only just slowed our plans a little.”

  They trudged down the hall and to the lift. Muher fought the men holding him the whole way until one of them hit him hard enough to stun him. After that, the general’s struggles were more token protests than anything. When they got on deck, Tristan realized that it must be at least six bells in the morning watch. A large number of the crew was gathered and there was a grating erected in the center of the deck.

  “He wouldn’t,” Thom muttered.

  “Shut up,” Fuhrman snapped. “Tie the good general up.” He walked over to the grating as the men secured Muher to it. “You and I have been at odds for a long time, although I am not sure you realized it was me. There were ten involved in the Stars Plot, and it’s not over, it’s just beginning, general, and you have only arrested five of the ten.” He laughed. “And now, I am going to enjoy something that I have been looking forward to since you stepped onboard.” He held out his hand and one of the crew handed him a cat o’nine tails. “I think twenty will be enough to subdue you into behaving as my servant should.”

  “Drop dead,” Muher spat back as they tore his shirt off.

  “Thom, are they going to…” Tristan broke off in horror as Fuhrman lashed the whip over Muher’s back. He opened his mouth to protest, but Muher caught his look and shook his head. Tristan clenched his fists in helpless frustration.

  “And that is one,” Fuhrman said happily. “Two, three, four…” When he reached twelve, the general’s knees buckled and at fifteen Muher let out a cry of pain. Tristan had no idea how the man had held back for so long, he was hanging limp from the shackles as Fuhrman shouted twenty. “Get him down from there.”

  The men released Muher and dragged him over and dropped him by Tristan and Thom. “I’kay,” he muttered.

  “This is the price for being loyal to the filth of Guild and the draft horses. This is what will happen if you help them. This is where you will be left until we drop you into space. Do you understand?” Fuhrman said to the crew.

  “Sir, yes, sir,” they caroled.

  “Take them below while we prepare,” he demanded. “And if you try something, Weaver, Barrett is next on the grating.”

  Tristan nodded silently and followed them back down to the cell. This time they were left with a small light, barely enough to breach the darkness, but after their eyes became accustomed to it, there was enough to see. He made his way over to where they had dropped the general—on his back of course—and gently managed to turn him over so the pressure was off the wounds the whip had left. Seeing the damage, Tristan swore under his breath.

  “Chris?” he asked softly.

  “Here,” Muher groaned.

  “Can we do anything for him?” Thom looked at Tristan. “There’s water here, but I wouldn’t trust it.”

  “I can help a little.” Tristan closed his eyes and tried to remember the Healing spell for humans. As he spoke he felt the spell form and after a moment the general sighed. “I’m sorry, I can’t do more than that. I’m not any good at the finer bits of healing.” Tristan said, leaning back. “So was that for the crew’s benefit or ours?”

  “Both, I think,” Thom said.

  “What do?” the general muttered.

  “What?” Thom asked. “Chris?”

  “What are they doing? They need a Weaver to fly the ship, don’t they?” Muher said.

  “They do—maybe that’s what’s been in that sealed hold, a Rogue to fly the ship,” Thom said. “They could have brought him on while we were docked.”

  “Then why not just kill me?” Tristan asked.

  “My guess?” Muher said. “They want you to fly it for them to demoralize the Guild. If you refuse they will kill you and use their Rogue.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Thom agreed.

  “I won’t do it,” Tristan stated firmly. “I won’t.”

  “We’re not expecting you to, Tristan,” Muher said. “And I’m prepared to pay whatever price that means. I am Dragon Corps, and those bastards murdered Lokey Fenfyr. I would like to peel their skin off for that.”

  “I refuse to believe Fenfyr is dead.” Tristan shook his head. “Until I am sure, I… I can’t.”

  “So, who is our Gunner? He is obviously not just a Naval officer,” Thom mused. “Probably Intelligence—they are some of the most outspoken against the Guild and spend most of their time trying to scheme ways to reduce the Weavers’ role. Although that is difficult when you need a Weaver to create the sails and fly the ship.”

  “They still need a Warrior,” Tristan said.

  “Yes, but there are a lot of Rogues, compared to the number of Sail Weavers. They could find someone, and a disgruntled Rogue would happily fly the ship for them.” Thom met Tristan’s eyes. “I’ve known a few, and they will do anything they can to help the fight against the Guild.”

  “But the sails need to be attuned, it’s one thing when you have time, but they are planning on using this ship to stop the Vermin, there is no time to attune a Warrior to the sails,” Tristan pointed out.

  “Which is why you are still alive, I think,” Muher said.

  “And we are back to the ‘I won’t do it’ portion of the discussion.” Tristan leaned back, trying to get comfortable.

  They were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. After several minutes Tristan became aware of the sound of movement. If he didn’t know better, he would say it sounded like the masts were dropping down into the ship. That’s when he noticed that the hum of the rigging had stopped, in fact there was no sound except for the clanking of tools and the hum of the mast motors. Something was happening.

  He was getting ready to ask the others when the door opened and Rose Webber stepped in, her black medical bag in her hand. “Unshackle these men!” she snapped to the sailor with her. The man hesitated and Webber turned on him. “I said get those things off them, or do I need to…” She let the threat trail off, and from the way the man’s face went from ruddy to white, Tristan guessed whatever it was, it was bad. The man came over and unlocked the shackles on Tristan, Thom and Muher. “Now, you, get out. I will buzz when I am ready to leave.”

  “Doctor, I was told…”

  “And I am telling you. They are not going to attack me, and you can damn well get out of here. You really don’t want to push me on this,” Webber snarled. The man opened his mouth, closed it and stepped outside. Webber waited until the door closed before approaching them. She knelt down beside Muher. “Your back is a mess, Chris,” she said, her voice light and teasing.

  “I suspect it’s just the beginning too,” he replied. “Fuhrman said something about making me his servant.”

  “He’d better hope he never gets injured enough to fall under my knife. Hippocratic oath or not I will cut out his eyes.” Her voice was mild, they might have been discussing the weather, except for the steel Tristan could see in her eyes and the set of her mouth. “I need to treat these wounds, Chris, some are deep and w
ill get infected. I know what that creature uses on his scourge.”

  “Do what you need to, Rose.” Muher put his head on his arms.

  “This is going to sting.” She pulled out an aerosol can and shook it up. “Topical anesthetic,” she explained to Tristan and Thom. She sprayed Muher’s back and waited for a moment. “Can you feel this?” She poked his back with her forefinger.

  “Only pressure, no pain.”

  “Good, I’m going to get to work, then.” She started cleaning his back, whatever she poured over his skin was bubbling bright orange. “That bastard,” she said under her breath.

  “What is it?” Tristan asked.

  “The whip—it’s not just a whip, it’s full of poison, so each lash drives the poison in deeper. That’s why the disinfectant is foaming orange. It’s a chemical reaction to the poison. I guessed as much, which is why I demanded to see you. I have my rights as Chief of Medical, and they do not want to piss off the Med Corps. If we left their ships they would be out of luck.”

  Once it had stopped foaming, she swabbed Muher back. It was bleeding again, the blood flowing over his back and onto the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Tristan looked at her, she wasn’t part of whatever the Navy had planned, she was only trying to do her job. “We understand.”

  “Let me check your cheek, Master Tristan,” she said as she finished with Muher. As she daubed at the wound on his face, she bent close and said almost soundlessly. “There are many that support you and the Guild. We are waiting, you will need us.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Tristan said, meeting her purple eyes. “Your help is much appreciated.”

  She nodded and turned to Thom, checking him over, then moved back to Muher. She bent over and kissed his cheek. “Don’t do anything stupid, Chris, please.”

  “I’ll try, Rose,” he said, laughing softly.

  “Promise.”

  “I’ll try. If I see a chance, though…” He trailed off, Tristan saw him look around the room his eyes briefly stopping on the camera in the corner. “I promise.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Mr. Aubrey will recover from his wounds, Mr. Barrett. I suspect he will be joining you in the brig by tomorrow. Ms. Avila was… She was injured a little worse. I am keeping her with me.”