Plundered Chronicles: Skyblade's Claim (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Skyblade Saga Book 2)

by Robert Dahlen

  "450."

  "You're mad," Annabel said calmly. "These are 600 easily."

  "I'll have trouble moving them. 475."

  "You always say that. 575."

  "I need to be careful with the increased police presence during the holiday. 490."

  "You'll be selling most of these to the girls here. 530."

  Valois shook her head and smiled. "You drive a hard bargain as always, Captain Skyblade. 530."

  Annabel smiled in turn as she sat back in her chair, taking a sip of tea. "And you're stubborn as ever."

  "Perhaps." The fence scooped the jewelry into a small cloth bag, which she secreted away in her large bodice. "I'll write you a voucher to bring to the front desk. By the way--"

  Annabel held up a hand. "Before you go on, I do have a favor to ask."

  "You should talk to the front desk for that as well." Valois winked.

  "Not that." Annabel handed her the old parchment she had taken from the Svendaran ship. "What can you tell me about this?"

  The fence studied the parchment through her loupe. "It's quite old," she said. "There seem to be very faint impressions of some kind, but they've faded with age."

  "Any sign of an enchantment?"

  "I'm not trained enough in sorcery to tell...but this does remind me." Valois passed the parchment back to Annabel. "One of the girls told me that she saw something like this once, on Mezara."

  "Where?" Annabel asked.

  "Duke Gaviscol's summer palace. It was in the library. Martine was resting there between...engagements that day." Valois winked again.

  "Must have been quite a party." Annabel stretched. "I should be getting back."

  "Before you do..." The fence reached under the table. "There's a little something here for you."

  "What?" Annabel's heart stopped.

  "You had asked me to keep an eye out for this." Valois handed a letter to Annabel. "It created quite a stir. All the girls wanted to know who this 'Quinn Gallagher' was."

  ***

  The next few minutes went by in a daze for Annabel. She managed to stay calm as she thanked Valois, collected her payment, and left the bawdy house, remembering to put on her masque spell just in time. Once she had, she could finally let the blush spread to her cheeks, her breath growing shallow, her knees weak.

  I should wait to get back to the Peregrine before I read this, she thought. I shouldn't read this in public. There could be something I don’t want to see. Maybe if I stopped in a tavern or a tea shop…

  Annabel turned and hurried down an alley, out of sight of her fellow pedestrians. Standing in a gap between buildings just wide enough to let in a sliver of light, her hands trembling, she carefully opened the letter and started to read it.

  A moment later, she was laughing.

  My Dear Annabel,

  You little scamp. Someday, I will find out how you got my address. I must admit, though, that my curiosity about this is nowhere near as strong as my joy in hearing from you.

  I apologize for not writing sooner. I have been busy at work, and I think you can understand if I don't share any of the details. (Though when we see one another again, I have quite a few stories to tell!)

  I am also trying to look into that matter we discussed when we last spoke. It is such a tricky thing, to figure out who can and can't be trusted, and I'm making very little headway.

  Those are the moments I miss you the most, my dear one. I know why we need to be apart, but I wish you were here at my side. As odd as it might be for someone in my position to say to a pirate, there's no one I trust more than you.

  I wish I could hear your laugh again, see you smile, hold you in my arms. I wish I could feel your lips on mine, the warmth and the softness of your body. (I also wish we could pick up where we had to leave off on that airship when your crew found us!)

  Someday, gods willing, we'll be together again. Even if it's only for a short time, a brief vacation together, even just one night, I long to be with you.

  I hope this letter finds you well. I try not to think about all the danger you could be facing, the chance that you may never read what I'm writing. Maybe that's the true reason why I want you with me, so I can protect you, keep you safe. Please, my dearest Annabel, do be careful.

  I will write again soon, and I eagerly await your next letter. Until then, I remain,

  Your Torie.

  Annabel took a deep breath as she finished reading Victorie's letter. She wanted to laugh again, to cry, to jump for joy, but she knew that acting like a lovestruck schoolgirl would attract too much attention. She folded up the letter, slipped it back into its envelope, and tucked it gently into her coat pocket.

  As Annabel left the alley, she could hear Victorie's words in her ears. Her heart still raced; her limbs were filled with adrenaline. She kept a steady pace, but anyone who glanced at her, masque or no masque, could see her smiling.

  ***

  Annabel had met up with Big Tom, and the two had taken an early dinner at a tavern, wursts and sauerkraut and several of Ristadt's finest beers. The pirate had kept quiet about the letter she had received, but didn't hide her cheerful mood, as she swapped old stories with Tom and mocked the troll when he tried to exaggerate his part in them.

  They returned to the Peregrine well before sunset. The rest of the crew were back, and the ship was well-supplied, so Annabel had given them a free evening. She retreated to her cabin, where she re-read Victorie's letter, a bottle of wine at the ready.

  As she finished a glass and contemplated reading the letter again, she heard a faint rhythmic thump. She knew what it was right away. She got up from the table, tucked the letter under her bedcovers, and moved to the cabin window.

  Annabel grinned as she peeked out on deck. Mattner had set up his drum set and was beating out a simple pattern. Her grin widened as Big Tom stepped on deck, holding a violin case.

  Most of the crew had gathered, including all the glashtyn. They chattered excitedly as Big Tom opened the case and rosined the bow. "Settle down, ye scallywags!" he said with a grin as he tuned the violin.

  The glashtyn fell silent for a moment. Big Tom set his violin under his hairy chin and nodded. The dwarf slowed his tempo on the drums ever so slightly, and Tom started to play. Annabel smiled as she heard the first notes of "The Fiddler's Niece". She saw the glashtyn jumping to the deck from their perches, asking each other to dance, which they did with an enthusiastic awkwardness.

  "Look at that lot," Annabel said to herself. She corked the wine bottle, checked the lacing on her boots, and headed out of her cabin, forcing the smile off her face.

  Tom was finishing the song as Annabel strode around the corner, towards the stern and the party that had started there. The glashtyn had paused their dancing and were applauding, but it quickly faded as they saw their captain approaching. "Cap'n--" the troll started to say.

  "Ye call that dancing?" Annabel said. Her voice held annoyance, but she winked, and the glashtyn giggled. They moved aside as she shooed them out of the way, walking up to the musicians. "I need to remind these knock-kneed blaggards what real dancing is!"

  "And the captain's pleasure would be?" Big Tom asked, trying to maintain a stern expression.

  "'Green Hills And Dales', Tom,” Annabel said as she stood straight and stiff, her arms at her sides. “And don't dawdle." The troll nodded as he touched his bow to the violin's strings. As he played the ballad's opening notes, the dwarf drummed a steady beat at a medium tempo.

  Keeping her arms at her sides, Annabel began to dance, holding in place, moving on one foot, then the other. Her boot heels struck the deck, nearly drowning out the drums. The glashtyn began to clap in time.

  Annabel folded her arms as she glanced back at the musicians. "That's the best ye got, lads?" she said. "'The Brewster's Bawdy Tale', and pick up the pace!"

  Tom grinned as he smoothly segued into the raunchy jig. Annabel's heels clicked faster and faster. She began to move her hands, swooping them through the air as the cre
w clapped along.

  The song finished with a drumroll from Mattner. Annabel stopped, resting her hands on her hips, sweat drying in the evening wind. The glashtyn cheered. Someone tossed Annabel a canteen of water, and she happily drunk deep from it.

  A fine night, she thought with a smile. If only Torie could be here to share it...

  ***

  Annabel stayed on the deck, chatting with her crew as the bottles were passed around, watching Tom and the dwarf play and the glashtyn dance. It wasn't until the eleventh bell that she broke up the party and shooed everyone, except for the night crew, into their cabins.

  She retired to her small bedchamber and changed into her night clothes. By candlelight, she read Victorie's letter again, smiling the whole time. I suppose I'll have to write back soon, she thought. And in this letter, it'll be time to tell her what we'll do when we see each other again.

  Annabel carefully put the letter back in its envelope and tucked it under her pillow. She blew out the candle and lay on her stomach, pressing her face against the pillow; though the bedchamber had been enchanted to give her some privacy, she wasn't going to take a chance.

  She closed her eyes and slipped her hand between her legs. In her mind, she could see Victorie giving in to her desires, and she joyfully did the same, fantasizing of the day they would be together again.

  Chapter Two

  "Damned if I can figure it out." Greaves squinted at the parchment. "It looks like a blank piece of paper to me."

  "And to me," Victorie said as she stood in front of Greaves' desk. "But if it's nothing important, then why were the Svendarans trying so hard to keep it from us?"

  The tall corporal standing to the side cleared his throat. "Major? Might I take a look at that?"

  "Of course, Castleton." Victorie handed the parchment to the researcher. As he studied it, Victorie felt the faint touch of suspicion in the back of her mind, and a moment later, the guilt.

  When she and Annabel had worked together, they had run into Sebastian Woolcott, an old friend of Victorie's late father. They soon discovered that Woolcott had turned traitor, and was now working for the Svendaran government. To Victorie's shock, Woolcott had said there were others in the Cerindel Navy who were also in the pay of the Svendarans.

  Victorie had been trying to figure out since then who those agents might be, no easy task as no one she had interacted with had behaved suspiciously around her. She was grasping at shadows, worrying about almost everyone. On one level, she knew the chief clerk and the head researcher were probably loyal to the crown and Cerindel, but on another she couldn't be certain, and that conflict was eating at her.

  "There is something odd about this," Castleton said, snapping Victorie out of her thoughts. "Look at the edges."

  Victorie stared at the parchment. "They all look jagged," she said.

  "They do," Castleton said, "but on two sides, they're smoother and at a right angle. On the others, it's a more ragged tear, and the angle is a bit wider."

  Greaves grunted. “So the paper maker was a bit careless."

  "Or..." Castleton tapped the edges. "Perhaps this is part of a larger piece of parchment. One quarter, maybe."

  "This still doesn't get us any closer to answering the question about why the Svendarans wanted this."

  "I agree." Victorie took the parchment and tucked it into a pants pocket. "Which means it's time for another fresh set of eyes."

  "Machara?" Greaves raised an eyebrow.

  "She might be able to shed some light on this."

  "Best you do it. She likes you more than me." Greaves shook his head. "Last time I had to see her, she threatened to turn me into a watersnake."

  ***

  Victorie glanced around the office, her gaze landing on the shelf filled with grimoires and scrolls, the workbench laden with flasks and beakers, the cabinet that reeked with arcane odors even after being enchanted with a spell of cleansing. Anything was preferable to letting her gaze linger too long on the woman sitting across from her.

  Machara wore the Cerindel Navy uniform, but that was as close as she chose to get to official standards. She had accessorized with thick bracelets on each arm, three talismans around her neck, and a copper headband that glowed, sometimes softly, sometimes brightly, but never bright enough to outshine the light in her slightly mad eyes.

  The parchment scrap Victorie had taken from the Svendaran agent sat on the desk between her and Machara. The wizard had a fingertip resting lightly on the parchment. Her eyes were closed. Her hair was drifting behind her, though there was no draft in the room.

  The sound of Machara's voice, starting off soft and growing in volume, drew Victorie's attention away from the wizardry trappings. "The things...what they've seen...the sound of clockwork, the smell of ozone..." The headband shone like the fullest moon. "The fear...the screams...the chaos, the triumph...blood...so much blood..."

  Machara opened her eyes as the headband's glow faded. "That was dramatic," Victorie said quietly, almost impulsively.

  The wizard ignored her. "There's some secret hiding here," Machara said. "I couldn't uncover it, but Castleton was right."

  "This is part of a larger parchment?"

  Machara nodded. "And I suspect that any truths this hides will not be revealed until all the pieces are brought together."

  "It's easy to say that." Victorie picked up the parchment. "But finding the rest of the pieces will be quite tricky, assuming they've survived all this time.”

  “Best of luck with that.” Machara smiled. “Care to stay for tea?”

  “Tea?” Victorie blinked.

  Machara pointed to a pair of flasks, one set on a burner and feeding water to the other through an impressive series of tubes and filters; a valve in that flask was dripping water into an octopus-shaped ceramic teapot. “Just put the kettle on!” she said with a smile.

  Victorie had a shaky smile of her own. “Another time, perhaps,” she said. “I should consult with Stamford.” Machara nodded as Victorie stood and quickly left the office.

  ***

  Admiral Altina Stamford’s office was the exact opposite of Machara’s. Every object was in its ideal place, the paperwork was organized and straightened, the dust properly chased off. Stamford matched that in her razor sharp appearance, not a hair out of line, no unnecessary creases in her uniform.

  When Victorie had started working with Stamford, she had found the Admiral’s tidiness intimidating. As time had gone on, though, Victorie realized that Stamford didn’t much care if her fellows matched that, as long as they showed results.

  “So you think this is worth pursuing?” Stamford was saying as she eyed the parchment. “Frankly, even after Machara’s observations, it still seems like a lot of fuss for little reward.”

  “I’d be inclined to think that myself,” Victorie said, “if it weren’t for how I obtained the scrap. The Svendarans I encountered were willing to fight, and fiercely, to keep it.”

  “It was that important to them?”

  “It would have been that important to their supervisors.” Victorie leaned forward, her hands on the desk. “And anything that attracts that much attention from Svendaran intelligence is something we ignore at our peril.”

  “You make an excellent case, Brassfeld.” Stamford smiled very slightly. “Do you have a plan?”

  “More of a hunch than anything. They were disguising themselves as Ristadtans. It might be that they have contacts on Ristadt who could be persuaded to supply further information.”

  “So you’re off to Ristadt, then.”

  “With your permission, of course,” Victorie said.

  Stamford sat back in her chair and gave Victorie a long look. “I suspect this case has gotten into you,” she said after a minute, “for both better and worse.”

  “It has, yes.”

  “Very well, then.” Stamford folded her hands. “Best hurry before you miss the next sailing to Kirtorf.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.” Victorie saluted.<
br />
  “And do be careful,” Stamford said after returning the salute. “After that mess with the thunder gun, you’d be best advised to steer clear of Svendarans. And pirates.”

  ***

  As Ursel’s curses echoed through the Peregrine’s engine room, Annabel somehow managed to hold back a smile. The dwarf, who was in charge of care and maintenance of the airship’s propellers and engines, was crabby at the best of times. A genuine problem, like the one that had just been pointed out to Annabel and Big Tom, would cause Ursel to join swear words together in unique and highly entertaining ways, and it was usually wisest to wait her out before attempting to respond.

  “We can still sail with that broken crystal casing,” Tom said.

  “That may be the most idiotic thing ye’ve ever said!” Ursel roared. “And for you, that’s saying a lot!”

  “What would happen if we did?” Annabel said cautiously.

  “You’d risk losing the casing! And the crystal!”

  “And her sanity,” Tom added.

  That may already be a lost cause, Annabel thought.

  “Bugger off, troll,” Ursel snapped. “Take your hairy arse out of here.”

  “Quiet, both of you,” Annabel said sharply. “The Ristadtans have no idea we’re here, so we can stay until this is repaired.”

  “We don’t have any spare casings, Cap’n,” the dwarf said. “And they can be tricky to find.”

  Annabel nodded. “I’ll go. I know where to look without being asked too many questions.”

  “Shall I--” Big Tom started to say.

  “Belay that, Tom. I want you and Ursel to inspect the rest of the casings. Make sure they’re all in good order.”

  “Be glad to, Cap’n.” Tom grinned. “I’ll have the glashtyn help.”

  Annabel nodded and left the room quickly. As she did, she heard Ursel shout, “I’ll be thrice-damned if you think those greasy little bastards…”