Lawful Good Thief

by T L Ford

  Fear and instinct, combined with exceptional training and skills, took over. She let go of the lines. His rough dagger materialized in her hand and she sliced his throat, deep enough to split the windpipe and sever one of the large arteries. Blood sprayed. She jumped up. The other man found the same dagger growing out of his throat just below his voice box before he even realized what was going on. He gurgled and fell to the floor just after the captain. Angela, covered in warm blood, gagged, adrenalin still making her shake. She threw up.

  The floor instantly became slick with a deep layer of blood that was seeping through the cracks. She stepped up on the pile of mildewed lines to get out of it and wiped her bare feet. She closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath. 'Boat! I've got to get to one of the rowboats!' she thought. 'Keys. The man might have keys I need.' She bent and searched the captain, turning up an old silver ring, a small copper looking-glass, and a now blood-soaked handkerchief. She took the ring and looking-glass. Loathe to step into the blood, she hopped across onto the other man's stomach and hated herself for doing it. His stomach squished sickeningly. She searched him too, a task which was made slightly more awkward by the fact that she was standing on him. He carried a small pouch of coins, a boat whistle, and a small sketch of some lady. She took those, but could not bring herself to pull the dagger from the man's neck. No keys.

  She listened at the door. She didn't think anyone was on the other side, and pulled it open, careful not to let it slam into the wall and make noise. The narrow hallway was empty. She quickly hopped across to a clean area, pulled the taller man's body over a bit to act as a barricade to keep the blood from sliding into the hall and pushed the door closed. There were six doors along the hall, which she expected belonged to the officers. She listened at the first one, hearing nothing, and opened it.

  This was definitely the Captain's quarters. Spacious for a ship, with a wide bunk and a table and cabinet. She searched it, finding her desired object - another dagger. As an afterthought, she pulled the pillow from its pillowcase and stuffed the navigation charts into it - those would make a good gift for her Master or payment for someone helping her.

  'No one is going to pick me up if I'm not out in a boat to be picked up. Move!' she told herself. She listened at the door. Nothing. Dagger in one hand, and pillowcase in the other she slipped out and moved down the hall. A ladder went up. She climbed and stuck her head up peering around. A single man sat by a lantern on a table, unfortunately facing her. He started to raise an alarm, but choked on the dagger she threw instead that landed in his throat. Her aim was exceptional. Her luck was not. He pulled the dagger from his throat, looked at it, and fell sideways onto the table and into the lantern. The dagger clattered to the floor. The lantern tipped over, rolled across the table and over the edge. It hit the corner of a raised floorboard just right and shattered, its oil spilling out. Instantly, flames danced across the wood floor.

  Quickly, she retrieved the dagger, trying not to panic, and equally trying not to look at the glassy eyes of the man's surprised face. A door on the other side of the room led out. She ran for it. She could hear sailors on the other side, but she no longer had time for caution. The flames were lighting the tar used to seal the wood and the room was starting to smoke. She opened the door and stepped out into the light, blinking. No one was facing her. Quickly, she moved over, around the corner, leaving the door open. Spotting several barrels, she ducked between them. The rowboat was tied across the deck on the other side near the stern. It took the crew entirely too long to notice the smoke. Black billowed out of the door and she began to wonder if they'd have time to put it out.

  "Ho there! Fire below!!! All hands!" Men began to shout and run about, organizing buckets of water. Men poured out of the aft hold. Taking advantage of the chaos, she moved back toward the stern and dodged across to the rowboat. A precious two minutes fiddling with the lines and she figured out how to get the pulley system to hoist the boat over the side and lower it. She hopped over into the boat and continued lowering it. As soon as the small boat hit the water, she cut the pulley lines and pushed away from the ship. Using one of the oars, she pushed even farther. She anchored the oars and rowed away as fast as she could. Due to the nature of rowing, facing the back of the rowboat as one rowed, she had an excellent view of the ship.

  She watched the crew draw buckets of water up from the ocean and pass them, throwing them into the room where the lantern had broken. The ship was far enough away that it was starting to look small when flames appeared on its deck. Her arms, shoulders, and back were in agony and still she rowed. With a loud crack, the forward mast fell, pulling boards up as its lines held to the mast. Someone on deck pointed to her, but she was out of range, and they went back to trying to put out the flames.

  It concerned her that no one tried jumping off of the ship. Had they been anywhere near land at all, they would have tried to swim for it. Flames appeared at the aft end of the ship, and she concluded that the oil must have gone through the floorboards to the keel. Dark smoke towered up into the sky, reaching up to the lightly scattered clouds. Sails flapped freely as their lines were burned through. The aft mast, no longer supported, fractured and toppled to the side, catching precariously in a tangle of lines. The ship rolled sideways, the deck tilting toward her. She saw the fire had spread down the length of the ship and was dancing up from several portals that had been left open. Fire also wrapped outward from the hatches. At this point, men did jump overboard. The ship reached a critical point and the side near the top collapsed inward. The ship disappeared into the ocean.

  Angela grabbed her stomach, doubling over in pain and shock. Even if she had wanted to go back and pick up survivors, she was too far away with too little energy left. She hated herself. Sobbing, she pulled off her shirt and tried to rinse the blood out of it. She could barely focus, such were her tears, blurring everything with a steadily throbbing white haze. The blood left a light, rusty brown patch, but unless one knew, it could be mistaken for a material dye pattern. She tugged it back on; the sun would dry it soon enough. No land could be seen in any direction.

  No food. No water. No shelter. No sweater. No shoes. Only two oars, a shirt, underwear, and pants. And a pillowcase of utterly useless loot. In a rowboat entirely too small to be safe in the open ocean. She hadn't thought this escape through very well. She had no idea which way led to land. She could estimate based on the sun, but it was still fairly high in the sky. She didn't have extra time to be wrong. If she survived the cold night (a clear sky always meant a cold night), lack of drinking water was going to become a problem. She'd have to wait and navigate by the stars. Land was hopefully somewhere to the east.

  Waiting through the afternoon gave her plenty of time to think over events. Clearly, someone in the Guild wanted her dead. On any normal day, they wouldn't have been able to surprise her. They must have staged her mother's murder and planned the kidnapping. The thought made her sick and she was overwhelmed with grief. She curled up on the boat's floorboard and cried.

  * * * * *

  By the time the sun was starting to set, she had no tears left. Just an empty ache that absorbed any emotion she might have at all. Struggling with arms that hurt so badly they could barely lift her weight, she pushed herself up. She must have torn muscles when she'd tried to grab the line when she'd been kicked. The subsequent rushed rowing hadn't helped either. She stretched, trying to ease her muscles into moving.

  She blinked. In the distance, a ship under full sail was approaching. She stood and waved and after a moment, it altered its course. Whoever was at the helm knew his ship, as did the crew. As it approached, the sails came down, and the ship drifted to a stop within a small room-length of her rowboat. Ten curious faces peered over the side at her. She rowed over, careful not to bump into the side. Captains could be very temperamental about things ramming their ship.

  "Hello down there!" a man called leaning over.

  "Permission to come aboard?" she called back a
bsurdly.

  "Just a moment. We're getting a line for you. Are you hurt?"

  What a concept. She didn't think she'd ever be unhurt again. "No, I'm fine. Just a bit sore from rowing. The ship I was on sank."

  "We saw the smoke. That's why we came." The man next to the one speaking grabbed his shoulder. She could see his white knuckles. "Are you Amy Thomas' daughter, by any chance?"

  Her mouth dropped open before she thought to stop it. Were they friend or foe? Too late now to hide her identity. "I am."

  The one grasping the other's shoulder stumbled and grabbed the rail.

  The original speaker called down. "We've been searching for that ship since last night. I'm sorry we got to Merryweather too late. This is Captain Jason Thomas," he said, indicating the man standing next to him who was holding the wood with desperation, "Your father. I'm Jayden Travill, First Mate. Are you sure you're ok?"

  "Here's the line, Jayden. I tied it up real fine." Another man appeared, carrying a line with a board attached. The men were quickly organized to hold one end while the other end with the board was lowered over the side. The board had been strung into a swing style chair.

  She grabbed the pillowcase. "Do you want the rowboat?" she asked, grabbing the swinging board.

  "No," Jayden answered, "I don't think we'd be able to get the stench off it. Let it sink too."

  She stepped onto the board and held the line.

  "You should sit down. It'll be safer."

  "I'm fine, really. Please just get me off this rowboat. You're right about the smell." She could have easily climbed the line. The board was more than a little insulting, but her aching arms rejoiced not to be called to duty.

  The men brought her up. At the rail, someone took the pillowcase and her father and Jayden each took an arm and helped her aboard. She heard whispers from the crew of "Amy!" Immediately she saw that this ship was well-maintained. Clean, polished, orderly.

  Her father was crying. For a moment, he looked like he might hug her, but instead patted her shoulder awkwardly, perhaps too intimidated by her shock-wild eyes. "I thought we'd lost you. We got to Merryweather a few hours after that ship had left and it took us too long to figure out what had happened. I didn't know about you. I'm so sorry. We went looking for Amy and found that..." his voice broke off.

  Jayden continued, "One of the street orphans was saying sailors had taken you, but we didn't realize Amy had a daughter until we started going through her house and found your clothes. Then we had to find the kid and figure out what he was talking about. Then we nearly rammed the seawall tearing out after you."

  Uncomfortable with her father's wordless anguish, she opted for levity. "I'm glad you didn't. The seawall was a pain to build. It would have taken a lot to rebuild." Jayden looked confused, so she tried again, "Also, I needed the pickup. I'm glad you came to investigate the smoke."

  "What happened? How did you get in that rowboat?" Jayden asked.

  "It was horrible! Someone apparently knocked over a lantern and the crew was busy trying to put out the flames. They forgot to lock the door and I used the distraction to escape." All true, just not quite accurate.

  "The man never did know how to keep his ship repaired. Likely the tar wasn't coated. Are you certain you're ok? They didn't... do things to you?"

  "Never got the chance. I'm just a bit shaken is all." She avoided rubbing at her side which was throbbing merely because her arms were too sore to perform unnecessary movements.

  One of the other men stepped up. "Well, let's get you below deck and into a change of clothes. We can find you some food and water, too." He took her arm and led her toward a door toward the front of the ship.

  Briefly, she pulled free and took her pillowcase and rejoined him.

  "I'm Matthew, the ship's doctor. Is your shirt wet?"

  The door opened to a very short hallway with a door on each side and an opening into a larger room. They entered the larger room which had several cabinets, two doors on each side, and an oblong table and benches down its length. The table and benches were secured to the floor. At the far end, four good-sized portals let in light. Matthew explained, "This is what we call our drawing room. It's really the wardroom, but your mother renamed it and we kept it that way for her. She said it made us gentlemen and she could dine with us that way. It's the officers' meeting room." Pointing at the two far doors, he said, "That's the Captain's, and that's the First Mate's. That other one on the right belongs to the Second Mate. You have this one." He opened the first door on the left revealing a room the size of a closet with a bunk, water basin, and pitcher, and night pot in it. "The bunk lifts up. We put some clothes in there."

  Angela lifted the bunk and peered in. Dresses, almost all styled for Rashesh ladies of moderate wealth.

  "We brought those for Amy... um... your mother. They might not fit so well, but there's needles and thread if you know how to use them."

  A full sewing kit, Angela saw. All fine, expensive things. Things her mother would have wept over. Things that were utterly pointless now. Her throat tight with sudden pain, she asked, changing the subject, "Who am I displacing?"

  "Milady?"

  "Whose bunk was this?"

  "Mine, as it happens. But I assure you, I want you to have it. I'm happier in a hammock and it'll be less claustrophobic."

  Her father appeared in time to hear the end of this. "Thank you, Matthew." This was not dismissal, but genuine thanks. To her, he inquired, "Do you have everything you need? We'll do our best to get you anything."

  "I should be fine, thank you."

  "We'll wait for you topside, then." Again, her father looked like he wanted to hug her, but something stopped him. He gestured at Matthew and they left.

  Angela went into her closet and pulled the door closed. She stripped. She studied the brownish stain on the shirt and then, with determination, she opened her portal and shoved it out. The pants followed, too, when she discovered they had also been splattered a little. She found a small bar of soap behind the pitcher. A quick search through the bunk chest turned up a washcloth, towel, and hairbrush. She scrubbed herself. Once she started, she could not get clean enough. She studied the throbbing, darkening bruise on her side but judged nothing was broken or truly damaged.

  Her hands shook as the fear and terror of the last few days took its toll. It was finally over. She was safe for now. She toweled off and found a plain muslin dress that only needed a belt to make it decent. Her hips and chest were not as generous as her mother's (and would never be), so most everything would need to be altered if she planned to wear them. She'd also need to shorten all the hems and bring in the waists. She emptied the pillowcase into her bunk's chest and then tossed that smelly fabric out the window too. She'd look through the charts later. The ship tilted and jerked forward, and she quickly braced herself on the wall, but it seemed to steady out again. They were under sail and she could not wish them farther away.

  She pulled the brush through her hair and wondered if there was time to wash it, too. Deciding she wanted fresh water for her hair, she merely pulled it back and tied it with a ribbon. She surveyed herself. Still no shoes, but the dress was long and conveniently hid her feet. She no longer looked like an orphan, but not quite a lady of means. Somewhere in between, maybe a shop proprietor, a respectable working-class woman. The dress was also too large, but had pretty, if simple, embroidery. The long sleeves would be the right length once she brought in the shoulders. She ignored the gloves and hat that a fine lady would think a necessity.

  Angela rolled her shoulders and stretched, trying to work out some of the aches. 'Enough procrastinating!' she chided herself and stepped out into the drawing room. The curious thief in her wanted to peer inside of the cabinets and other rooms, but she made her way back to the deck. The crew was waiting and a loud cheer went up.

  'Would they still cheer if they knew I'd just burned a ship until it sank?' she thought guiltily. She was undeserving of their welcome and this made her feel even
worse.

  * * * * *

  Her father smiled at her and walked over. "Let me show you around my ship, Daughter."

  She nodded.

  "She's called the 'Tempestas Vinco II'. It means 'Storms Master'. She's got the two masts, supporting eight sails when we're running full, three on the front and five on the back." He led her toward the back, pointing out four cargo hold hatches. A fifth hatch led down to the galley, with a hallway. "Down that way is more storage and the crew quarters. I ask that you stay out of there. It's our officer-free zone and the men relax in there. They're not always dressed."

  "Of course."

  Back on deck, he pointed out the men's privy, a platform over the aft of the ship with holes in it. He said, "You just use your night pot and we'll take care of it."

  She nodded. "What kind of cargo do you carry?"

  "Right now we have rice and some spices we picked up out beyond. We'll be carrying spices, alcohol, or coffee beans for the next few years."

  "Will you be able to take me back to Merryweather?"

  "You have friends there?"

  "I do and I want to go through my mother's things."

  He looked down at the deck, his face a sudden mask of grief. "I doubt there will be much left by time we get back. Most everything had been pilfered when we got there."

  Likely by her Guild acquaintances, who would either immediately get rid of it to disassociate themselves, or keep it somewhere safe for her, depending on which side of the battle they'd joined.

  "I want you to know this ship is your home. You are welcome to stay on it as long as you want. You could also stay at a temple if that's your inclination. I can afford the donation to allow you a home at one. If you'd rather, I can also pay for school somewhere. Is there anything you'd like to study?"

  "That's all very generous, but I wouldn't presume on you. I merely need to get back to Merryweather."

  "Please presume on me. I know you don't know me very well, but please allow me to be a father to you. I loved Amy very much. I never intended on being gone so long and I'm more than prepared to provide for you."