Blue Sea Burning

by Geoff Rodkey

  This time, he opened it himself. I kept my head down, because I knew if I looked into his eyes, I’d lose my nerve.

  “Please—I need a pen and parchment. To write something. Not for me. For others. To help them.”

  “On my desk.”

  Then he brushed past, leaving me alone in the cabin.

  I ran to the desk. The pen and parchment were still there, along with an inkpot. The parchment was covered with scribbled numbers. I flipped it over. The other side was blank.

  I sat down at the desk and copied out the map’s ancient hieroglyphs for the second time that week.

  Dash dot feather, cup, two dash dot firebird. Spear, sun eye, jagged line stars . . .

  My hand was shaking when I started, but by the third line my pen strokes were smooth. It was a relief to finally be able to write out the map for someone who wasn’t going to use it for evil—and to finally be rid of the awful responsibility of carrying it around in my head for so long.

  It was more than a relief. Once I gave it to Kira—and as long as I could persuade the pirates to spare her life—I’d have done my part to help the Okalu. Even if I hadn’t been able to finish the job, I’d at least have tried.

  And no one could say I’d been selfish or cowardly about it.

  The moment I finished, I ran for the door, shaking out the parchment to dry the ink as I went.

  Back outside, the election was about to start. Healy stood alone at the deck rail, studying the horizon while his first mate, Spiggs, moved through the crowd, handing each crew member a gold coin from a large canvas sack.

  Kira, Guts, and Adonis were still standing near the poop deck ladder. I walked over to them and handed the map to Kira.

  “It’s yours,” I said. “Keep it close.”

  She stared at it in disbelief.

  “She your — partner now? Cuttin’ me out?” Guts was glaring at me from under his shaggy, white-blond bangs, and I suddenly remembered the map wasn’t all mine to give.

  “Oh, right—Guts has claim to a third of any treasure you find,” I told her.

  Kira and Guts traded a look that I couldn’t begin to figure out. In the week we’d been apart, their relationship seemed to have turned into something more than just friendship.

  Or maybe it hadn’t. I couldn’t tell. And I wasn’t about to ask either one of them, because I didn’t want to get slugged.

  “Now, hang on,” Adonis chimed in. “If that map come off our property—”

  I was about to tell my brother to stuff it when Spiggs’s throaty voice rang out, ending the conversation for me.

  “Who’s still needin’ a coin?” he asked, holding up the sack.

  Nobody answered.

  “Right, then. Get the vote started.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The Vote

  HEALY TURNED AWAY from the deck rail and walked back to his spot in front of the crew.

  I had a decision to make. Once the election got going, I couldn’t interrupt it to plead for my friends’ lives. And after it was over, the crew might tear us apart before I could get a sentence out. If I didn’t speak up now, I might never get the chance.

  I tried to bellow loud enough to be heard in the back of the crowd.

  “I have something to—”

  “Shut up, boy.”

  Healy’s voice hit me like a mallet. My head swam, my eyes filled with little green and red explosions, and for a moment I thought I might faint again.

  After that, I couldn’t have found my voice with a spyglass. All I could do was hope I’d get a second shot when the election ended.

  Healy gave Spiggs a nod. The first mate called out:

  “Who stands for captain of the Grift and her crew?”

  “I, Roy Okemu.”

  Roy Okemu was a bald, dark-skinned Mandar nearly a head taller than the pirates around him. Even in a crowd of fierce men, he looked uniquely terrifying. It took a moment for me to figure out why—alone among the bristly, unshaven crew, his face was smooth and hairless, all the way down to his nonexistent eyebrows.

  It was like he’d scared off his own hair. And just looking at him, I knew we couldn’t expect any mercy if he won.

  “I, Jonas Pike.”

  Pike was an older man, one of Healy’s officers. His beard was streaked with gray, and his eyes were keen and narrow. I wondered how close he and Healy were, and whether if he were captain, Healy could persuade him to spare our lives.

  “I, Mateo Salese.”

  Mateo Salese was a Gualo, with thick black hair, olive skin, and an almost musical accent. He was so handsome I immediately thought of Tonio, the gentleman thief in Throne of the Ancients, and I wondered if women didn’t mind when Salese robbed them, either.

  It was hard to imagine a man that handsome slitting our throats. Maybe we’d be okay if he came out on top.

  Then it was quiet for a bit, and I was starting to wonder whether our odds of surviving were better with Pike or Salese when another voice startled me.

  “I, Burn Healy.”

  A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. Then:

  “Jonas Pike withdraws.”

  “Mateo Salese withdraws.”

  Roy Okemu just narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t withdrawing from anything.

  “Any others?” Spiggs called out. No one answered.

  “Awright. Okemu and Healy stand for captain. Roy Okemu, state your case.”

  The men around Okemu stepped back to give him room.

  “You all know Roy,” he began, in a thick Mandar accent and a voice as deep and rumbling as the volcano back on Deadweather. “On crew eight year. Fight hard. Fair man. Day I join crew, speak not one word Rovian. Today? Speak ten. Maybe twelve.”

  The crew laughed at the joke. Okemu grinned.

  “You want captain knows more words? Don’t vote Roy. But I say, for captain words not so important. Action important.”

  He stopped to let that sink in. There were some nods and grunts of approval.

  “We follow Healy long time. Take his mark, obey his Code. We do good, sure. Healy do better. What he take? Quarter share.”

  More nods. Some grumbling.

  “Captain get more, okay. He leader. This fair. But not quarter. Is too much. I be captain, I take one tenth.”

  A lot of nodding. Even some claps. They liked hearing this.

  Okemu held up his hand.

  “But hey—gold is gold. Important, yeah. Not most important. Most important is Code. Every man on ship swear Code. We live. We die. All by Code. Yeah? This right?”

  Nods and voices of approval all around.

  “Article One. First day, they tell me this biggest rule: ‘Brethren above all.’ I say, what this mean? ‘Brethren’? They tell me brethren is us. Brethren is crew. Brethren is everything.”

  Cheers. Roy Okemu might not know a lot of words. But he was very good at using the ones he did know.

  “Nothing come before brethren! Not treasure. Not woman. Not blood. Nothing!”

  More cheers. His voice was booming now, and there was anger in it.

  “We break this rule, what happen? We die. By his hand.”

  He pointed to Healy. My uncle’s face was a mask.

  And my heart was starting to race, for him and me both. Because I could see where this was headed.

  “I say okay. This fair. Rule is rule. Same for everyone. Until today.”

  Okemu lowered his voice.

  “What happen today in Pella? Everybody know. Nobody want to say. I say it.”

  He turned to Healy, looking him in the eye.

  “You break you Code. You put him”—he pointed to me—“front of us. Now we got no money. Now we ship sink. Now maybe we die. Not for brethren. Just for boy.”

  Okemu’s lip curled in a snarl. He slowly shook his h
ead. “This no good. Rule is rule! Even for man who make it. Captain break Code . . . no more captain.”

  The implication was clear—Roy Okemu wasn’t just arguing to be the new captain. He was arguing for the old one’s death.

  And men were roaring in approval. Not all of them. But enough.

  Kira’s hand was gripping mine again.

  It was all I could do to stay on my feet.

  Healy watched his crew cheer the man who’d just urged them to end his life. His face gave away nothing.

  Once the cheers had faded into silence, Spiggs spoke up.

  “Burn Healy, state your case.”

  Healy began in a somber voice.

  “Our situation is perilous. Our hull is breached, landfall is days away, and two hundred cannon roam this sea intent on our death. Whoever leads you will require your unquestioned devotion.”

  Healy paused. I could feel the crowd turning on him. The iron loyalty that had held the crew together under him for as long as I’d been on his ship was melting away and re-forming around Okemu.

  “Roy Okemu,” Healy called out, “is a fair man. And, brothers—what he says is correct. Twenty years ago, I wrote our Code in my own hand. And I have followed it to the letter.”

  He paused. His eyes darkened.

  “Until today. When I broke it. I put blood before brethren. Worse than that, brothers—I’d do it again.”

  I felt a lump of emotion well up in my throat as Healy nodded to underscore his point. “And if you were to argue that the rightful penalty for my action is death . . . well, boys, you’ll get no argument from me.”

  He was smiling now. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. And judging by the looks on their faces, neither could the crew.

  “More than that,” he went on, “in ordering our departure, I cheated every one of you your fair share for the taking of Pella Nonna. What had you expected? Five hundred gold each? A thousand? Call it the bigger. All in, there’s two hundred thousand gold I cost you. Because I put blood before brethren.”

  He wasn’t exactly helping his case. The pirates looked furious. Healy was still smiling.

  “But here is my promise to you: I’ll put brethren before gold. I take a quarter share, it’s true. And over the years, brothers, it adds up. There’s a dark and private place near Edgartown, accessible only by me. Inside it is ten million gold.”

  A little ripple of disbelief went through the crowd at the mention of such a staggering number.

  “There’s a world of trouble ahead of us. But those who follow me through it—and see that Ripper Jones and Li Homaya get what’s coming to them—can split that ten million equally. Brothers, if we get this job done together . . . that’s fifty thousand gold for each of you.”

  Two hundred mouths fell open in shock.

  “Call the vote,” Healy said to Spiggs.

  Spiggs held up a large canvas sack, open at the neck.

  “Inside the sack are two bags. White and black. Coin in the white’s a vote for Okemu. Coin in the black’s a vote for Healy.”

  The voting went so fast that a thick sliver of sun was still hanging above the horizon when it finished. Spiggs pulled the white bag out first, and it was so light and thin there was no need for a count.

  “Your new captain . . . is Burn Healy,” Spiggs bellowed.

  A cheer began to form, but Healy cut it off with a wave of his hand.

  “Return to your posts,” he called out. The men went straight back to business with their usual intensity of purpose. No one looked at us.

  The newly reelected captain had just begun a brief conference with his senior officers when Roy Okemu approached him, holding a pistol by the barrel.

  Okemu held out the pistol for Healy to take.

  “What Code says,” Okemu told the captain. “Challenge fail . . . no more challenger.”

  Healy nodded grimly. “Rules are rules.”

  Okemu sank to his knees. Healy raised the pistol and pointed it at the Mandar’s bald head.

  I turned away so I wouldn’t have to see it happen. Guts and Kira did the same. Adonis just gawked.

  The pistol roared.

  “Wot the deuce?!” Adonis muttered. “He missed!”

  I looked back at Healy. He was examining the smoking pistol with a curious look on his face.

  “Hmm. Not the shot I used to be,” he said.

  Bewildered, Okemu rose to his feet. Healy handed the pistol back to him.

  “All the better. Need every man we can get. Back to your post.”

  He issued a few terse orders to his officers, then dismissed them and turned to us.

  “The four of you. In my cabin. Now.”

  THERE WAS A SQUARE TABLE in the middle of his quarters. Healy sat us down around it. Dusk had turned the room gloomy, so he fired a lantern and set it in front of us.

  “Thank you,” I said—meaning thank you for saving our lives.

  Healy ignored me, and I worried he might think all I meant was thank you for the light. I was about to explain myself when he started talking.

  “Just so we’re clear—they’d still very much like to kill you all.” He leaned back against his desk as he spoke, his arms crossed in front of him in a casual sort of way. “If I hadn’t called that election and broken their fever, you wouldn’t have lived to see the dawn. It’s likely I wouldn’t have, either.

  “Fortunately, I’ve now solved that problem for myself. But not entirely for you. Technically, the Code only applies while you’re on board this ship. If we make Deadweather, and put in with the crew still hard against you, I wouldn’t bet on your lasting more than five minutes on dry land.”

  He shrugged, as if to say that would be a shame, but not much more.

  “So: if I were you, how would I avoid such an outcome? By making myself so incredibly useful to this crew that by the time we make land, they’d no more want to kill you than throw a perfectly good cannon sponge overboard.”

  He cocked his head and wrinkled his eyebrows as he fixed his gaze on Adonis.

  “You especially. Stick was right—you’re no child. Better stop acting like one, or you won’t be long for this world. That means treating people with respect. Not just my crew, but your companions here. And the whole rest of humanity, for that matter. Fortune doesn’t favor a fathead, son. Get your act together.”

  Adonis looked like he might throw up. I actually found myself feeling sorry for him. If there was anyone in this world he respected, it was probably Healy, and hearing that must have devastated him.

  Then again, he needed to hear it.

  Healy straightened up, walking toward the door as he spoke.

  “If I might offer a suggestion in the ‘making yourselves useful’ category—that chain pump is built for four. And the men working it have responsibilities elsewhere.”

  He held the door open wide.

  “Get going.”

  We all scrambled for the exit. For a moment, I hesitated—because I had an idea that I figured might solve both his problem and mine. But I was still feeling so ashamed from the last time I’d opened my mouth without an invitation that I wasn’t about to do it again.

  I was walking past him, out the door, when he put out an arm to stop me.

  “There’s something on your mind.”

  “No, I . . . don’t want to speak out of turn.”

  He smirked. “Why stop now?”

  The others were outside already. He closed the door. “Out with it.”

  “It’s just . . . I mean, that’s so much money you have to lay out, and it seems unfair Pembroke would get off without ever having to pay your crew for helping him take Pella . . . and we’re only half a day out, and if we went back—”

  He held up a hand to stop me. Then he gestured to the table.

  “Sit.”
r />   I sat. So did he.

  “You want me to go back to Pella Nonna . . . and do what?”

  “Destroy Roger Pembroke,” I said—and when I spoke his name, the anger came spilling out of me. “You could stop him! I know you could! I saw how you were with his soldiers—they love you! Much more than him. And you’ve got to! If Pembroke takes over the whole New Lands—”

  “—all the better for me.” Once again, his voice stopped me cold.

  “Are you forgetting,” he went on, “that it was my men who helped take Pella for him in the first place?”

  “But that was . . . before—”

  “—he put a noose around your neck. Yes. And in spite of all that, it’s not in my interest to destroy Roger Pembroke. To the contrary. I need to help him.”

  I must have looked as nauseated as I felt. Healy let out a weary sigh.

  “The Blue Sea . . . is a complicated place. And not a large one. Sooner or later, everyone’s paths cross. Time and again. I’ve been sailing these waters better than twenty years. And whether you start out as a man’s best friend . . . or his worst enemy . . . sooner or later, we all end up with our hands in each other’s pockets. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “Probably it doesn’t. Because you’re very young, and I’m going to hazard a guess that you make sense of the world by dividing everything into good and evil. Am I right?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not that stupid.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I insisted. “I know there’s gray areas.”

  “Do you? All right, then: Roger Pembroke. Good or evil?”

  “Evil,” I said instantly.

  “No gray there at all?”

  I thought back to the last time I’d seen Pembroke—standing in front of the whole city of Pella Nonna, spinning a monstrous lie about how it was me, not him, who deserved to hang for the crime of trading in slaves.

  Then a whole series of images flashed in my head.

  Pembroke smiling across his breakfast table as he sent me to get thrown off a cliff . . .

  Pembroke marching up the road to my house on Deadweather with a company of soldiers, aiming to steal my father’s plantation for the treasure he thought was buried there . . .