by Shae Ford
And he was right. Most of the captains, including Sam Gravy, held a cutlass. But there were some whose deaths were a little less conventional. The man a few slots down from Gravy had a sea serpent latched onto his upraised arm by the fangs. Another held a goblet in one hand, and a bottle of poison in the other. Some were missing limbs, had arrows in their hearts or axes at their necks, but each one of the captain’s faces was surprisingly fixed and noble. Matteo was the only exception.
Kael was drawn immediately to the sheer detail of his statue. His hands were bound behind him and a noose hung around his neck. His head was bent slightly, every wave of his hair flowed as if brushed by the wind. But it was the expression on his face that truly made him come alive.
His eyes bored into Kael’s, and though empty behind the white, they seemed to say everything. Or perhaps it was the arch of his brows, or the ever-so-slight lines on his forehead that told his story. No, it was definitely and without a doubt his smirk: the bend in his mouth and the unspoken mischief behind it.
But when Kael took it all in, Matteo’s face said one thing very clearly: I have won.
“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Lysander said from at his shoulder — so suddenly that it made him jump. “Morris was at his execution. He saw my father’s face just before they kicked the barrel out from under him … and this was his final taunt.”
Kael could hardly grasp it. “Morris carved this?”
Lysander smirked, and looked so much like his father. “It was the last thing he did before … well, you know.”
No, Kael didn’t know what had happened to Morris; he’d never felt like it was his place to bring it up. But now that he knew what Morris had been capable of, it angered him. Fate angered him. He thought of how it must burn to have such an eye, to be able to see the potential beauty hidden in a slab of stone … and yet have no means of giving it life.
He imagined it felt horrible — worse than breaking a thousand bows.
“I thought your pap died in the Whispering War,” Jonathan said, interrupting the long silence left by Lysander’s words.
“He did,” Uncle Martin replied. He grinned at Jonathan’s confusion. “Is this not what you expected, Sir Fiddler? Perhaps you imagined him dying with sword in hand, hmm? Well, the War didn’t end in the final battle, I can tell you that. Thanks to our worm of a King …” Fury glanced his face for half a moment, searing his cheeks before he managed to mask it with a smile. “But I digress. The important thing is that Matteo died fighting for what he believed in. He may not have been on the battlefield, but he still died a warrior’s death.”
A heavy silence followed his words. It hung in the air like a raincloud until Aerilyn said: “Were there any lady pirate captains?”
Uncle Martin seemed relived that the conversation had roamed to something a little lighter. “I’m afraid not, at least not officially. Though I’ve often wondered about Slayn the Faceless.”
He nodded to one statue that was a little more slender than the others. A cowl covered his head and a piece of cloth was tied around his face, revealing only his eyes. Tongues of flame lapped his legs and touched the palms of his noticeably dainty outstretched hands.
“There’s a lot about Slayn that makes me think he was actually a woman in disguise,” Uncle Martin mused.
“Like what?” Aerilyn said, stepping up to get a closer look.
“The story goes that after Captain Crux perished, his daughter went out into the woods to mourn … and never returned. Not three days later, this Slayn character appeared and said he wanted a chance to duel for the captaincy.”
“And he won?”
“Aye, but there after he always used a bow — a weapon more suited to a woman’s strength.”
Kyleigh stifled a bout of laughter, and Kael elbowed her.
“Whatever happened to Slayn?” Aerilyn said over the top of them.
Uncle Martin laughed. “Well, he claimed that he wore a scarf over his face because he’d been badly maimed by a witch’s spell. And do you know how he perished? In a fiery blast from the Witch of Wendelgrimm! Blew him to dust.” He touched a finger to the side of his nose. “They say that Fate doesn’t like to be cheated, and in this case Slayn — if she was indeed the daughter of Crux — cheated when she refused to give up her identity. So if you ask me, I think the explosion was Fate’s way of laughing last.”
Jonathan strode over, rolling up his sleeves as he went. “Seems to me that there’s only one way to solve this mystery!” He shooed Aerilyn out of his way and stretched his arms forward, his fingers curled and his eyebrows bent in intense concentration. Then he lunged … and grabbed Slayn’s marble chest.
Uncle Martin and Lysander both burst out laughing. Jake turned red. Kyleigh clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her grin, and Thelred just raised an eyebrow.
“Get your hands off of her!” Aerilyn shrieked, smacking him upside the head.
Jonathan had to take his hands away to protect himself from her blows. “All right, all right! Turkey legs, we’re not even sure she was actually a woman.” Then he turned his back to her, found Uncle Martin and mouthed: She was.
“Ah, well let’s just let it be,” Lysander said, before Aerilyn could work herself into a proper fit.
“Quite right,” Uncle Martin agreed, still chuckling. He pointed his cane up at the ceiling, where an elaborate spiral staircase drifted down from a large hole and touched bottom gracefully in the center of the room. “Up there’s where you’ll be staying. There’s no bedtime here — you can come and go as you please. Now move along, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover!”
And he wasn’t joking. Fortunately for Kael’s rumbling stomach, Uncle Martin didn’t give them a full tour, but led them quickly through the many winding hallways. Any comments he made were brief and on the move.
“There’re seven doors in this hallway,” he said as they walked through a passage with walls painted entirely red. “Don’t ask me why there’s an odd number. Our friend the battlemage will be interested to know that behind one of these doors is the spell room. But I’m not telling which one!”
Jake glanced at a door so badly charred that there was a permanent line of black soot on the floor from where it’d been opened. “I can hardly bear the mystery,” he said dryly.
At long last, they reached a set of doors at the end of the hallway and Uncle Martin stopped. “This is my second favorite room in the whole place — the dining room!” He pushed the doors open.
A table long enough to be a small boat awaited them, laden with food. The seasoned fumes of pork rose up from the tight skin of a roasted hog and made Kael’s mouth water. And that was before he even saw the rest of it: mountains of fruit, fresh vegetables, the golden tops of bread, and cheese — a dozen different wheels just waiting to be eaten.
“It’s beautiful,” Aerilyn said, and Kael was about to agree when he saw that she wasn’t even looking at the feast.
Had he not been so blinded by hunger, he might have noticed that the far wall of the room was made up entirely of glass: a huge sheet of it that stretched from the ceiling down to the floor. Outside, the ocean glittered beneath the white cliffs. Small fishing boats rode the waves and hauled in nets teeming with sea life.
“Yes, I always thought so,” Uncle Martin said as he joined her. “This particular sheet of glass was meant to grace King Banagher’s great hall, but sadly the shipment never quite made it there.”
“Because you looted it,” Aerilyn said, trying to look severe.
Uncle Martin snorted. “I’d resent the implication if it wasn’t true. Yes — I stole it. And much to my brother’s dismay, I knocked out this wall and had it put in here.”
“Why was Matteo against it?” she asked.
“Oh, some rubbish about it not being safe,” he said, with a wave of his hand.
“Well it isn’t.” Jake’s face reddened when all eyes turned to him. “I only mean it could break easily. Something like, say, a rock could bust it. And then of cour
se you could always fall out and,” he glanced down at the jagged rocks below, “I believe you’d die.”
Uncle Martin crossed his arms. “Oh? Why don’t you fix it, then?”
Jake looked taken aback. “Sir?”
“Yes, you mages are a smart lot — make it unbreakable, if it’s so dangerous.”
“But I’m a battlemage. Home protection spells aren’t exactly in my staff.”
“Well, get them there. No, my mind’s made up,” Uncle Martin said before Jake could refuse. “I want you to enchant this window, and you can start immediately.”
Jake clamped his mouth on whatever argument he’d had ready, grabbed a handful of provisions off the table and practically jogged out the door.
“Do you need me to tell you where the spell room is?” Uncle Martin called after him.
“No, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea. Thanks.”
“Strange folk, the mages,” Uncle Martin said when he was gone. “I swear they’re happiest when buried under a mountain of spell books. Now,” he clapped his hands together, “let’s tuck in!”
Uncle Martin handled the seating arrangements — not surprisingly, he managed to situate himself between Aerilyn and Kyleigh. No sooner did they sit than the kitchen doors swung open, and a herd of maids bustled in. They filled glasses with water and goblets with wine, supplied white squares of cloth and poured sauce wherever it was needed.
Kael was already well into his second round of pork when Kyleigh reached over and tucked one of the cloth squares into the front of his shirt. She seemed torn between laughing and groaning at the sheer amount of grease on his confused face. “It’s a napkin,” she explained.
“What in Kingdom’s name is a napkin?”
“It’s like a shield for your shirt — in case that hog decides to fight back.”
He thought napkins were a ridiculous idea. But she could have tied a scarf around his eyes and he wouldn’t have cared — just so long as it didn’t get in the way of his mouth. “Why aren’t you eating?” he asked when he noticed her empty plate.
“I’ve got the cook working on her favorite dish,” Uncle Martin said while batting the breadcrumbs out of his mustache. “It should be — ah, here it comes!”
A maid edged through the kitchen door, her arms shaking from the weight of the platter she carried. Kyleigh took it from her before she had to go too far and set it down in her place. Five slabs of meat were stacked upon it. When she cut into them, the seared outside gave way to the raw, marbled pink flesh underneath.
“What is that?” Kael asked. It certainly didn’t smell like any game he knew.
“Beef,” she admitted. “I know it’s not very sportsmanlike of me to eat a fence animal, but I can’t help myself. Here.” She cut off a chunk and sat it on his plate.
Aerilyn looked alarmed. “You aren’t going to eat that, are you?”
He’d been planning on it. In fact, the beef was already halfway to his mouth. “Why, is something wrong with it?”
She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “It’s not even cooked! Only barbarians eat raw meat.”
Lysander’s fork clattered onto his plate, and that was very suddenly the only sound in the room. “How dare you,” he snapped.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Aerilyn said defensively. “I only meant —”
“There’s enough ignorance in the Kingdom without you adding to it,” he continued, half out of his chair. “And here I thought you understood —”
“I do understand!” Aerilyn shouted, rising up to meet him. “She knows I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t mean her —!”
“Just her kind, eh? Just the rest of them?”
“Enough. Sit down,” Kyleigh barked.
They sat stiffly, still glaring daggers at one another.
Kyleigh jabbed her knife at Aerilyn. “Stop arguing. You know what you meant. And you,” she turned the blade on Lysander, “there’s no reason to make every slight into a battle. I’ve got thick skin. I promise I’m not going to run off crying to my room every time I’m called a name — unlike some of our number.”
Aerilyn looked on the verge of being indignant before she inclined her head. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“You certainly did, you filthy merchant,” Kyleigh said with a grin. Then she elbowed Kael. “Just try it.”
And he did. And he decided that he liked beef very much, even raw.
“I confess I don’t know what’s wrong with women these days,” Uncle Martin grumbled. “I suppose it’s all this war and unrest — but it’s making them too … agreeable. When Matteo and I were lads, there was little to do besides sneak into the nobles’ parties and get the girls to fight.” He laughed and dabbed napkin at the corner of his mouth. “That was always the best distraction. Two dignified ladies rolling around, clawing each other’s faces off would stop any ball dead in its tracks. Then while the gentlemen tried to separate them, Matteo and I would make off with the silver …”
They spent the rest of the day trading stories. Uncle Martin relived his glory days while Lysander gave him a very drawn-out and over dramatized version of their battle with the Witch. “And then Kael tore the chains off like they were naught but seaweed —”
“Hold on a moment.” Uncle Martin leaned around and fixed him with a serious look. “Tore the spells apart, did you? Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
“Don’t play coy, Martin,” Kyleigh said, taking a sip from her glass. “You know very well what the man is.”
He never took his gleaming eyes off of Kael. “So it’s true, then? I’ll admit I did wonder,” he said, and his eyes flicked involuntarily to the top of Kael’s head. “Well, it’s been years since I’ve had a whisperer to grace my table.” He raised his goblet high in the air. “To your health!”
Every few minutes or so, they’d have to put down their forks long enough for Uncle Martin to give a toast. He toasted good friends, interesting conversation, heroism, and warm bread. Then when the sun began to set, he toasted the evening.
“Where’d you find all of this loot?” Jonathan asked. He was in the process of groaning his way through a fourth helping of potatoes.
“To Lord Gilderick’s gullibility,” Uncle Martin declared, raising his glass. “Had he not made the very serious mistake of transporting his goods overseas, we wouldn’t have such a feast set before us!”
Even Kael would drink to that.
When the sun dipped low and took the light with it, maids slipped in and lit the many candles spread out across the table. Lysander waited until they’d gone before he said: “Why don’t I recognize any of the servants? Have things changed so much?”
Uncle Martin screwed up his nose and folded his napkin very neatly onto the center of his empty plate. “Most of the girls you knew are married, now. They’ve got homes and children to tend to. And then we’ve had to take most of the lads on as pirates.”
“But he’s right: I don’t recognize a single face,” Thelred said. “And when we left, there were only a few servants. Now it seems like you’ve got one for every room.”
Uncle Martin’s face turned serious, a worry plagued his voice. “There are dark things happening in the Kingdom, dark things indeed.”
“What sorts of things?” Thelred pressed.
“Dark things.” Against the pale candlelight, Uncle Martin’s face suddenly looked a hundred years old. “A year ago, we raided one of the Duke’s personal vessels. It was a bitter fight, and after we’d tipped the last of the bodies overboard, we went to inspect our loot. I went below with some of the lads and saw cargo marked as livestock, heading for the Endless Plains … only it wasn’t cows or sheep we found. It was people — clapped in irons and stamped for sale. We’ve found three others since.” He nodded towards the kitchen. “That’s where most of the new ones came from. They’ve been split up from their families, and I haven’t the heart to throw them out. The least I can do is give them work, teach them a trade and put a roof over their hea
ds until things get better.”
A long, impossibly heavy silence trailed his words. Then Thelred’s voice came out of the shadows, hissing like a man with no air: “Slaves?”
Uncle Martin nodded. “Dark things, I tell you.”
Lysander said nothing. His face was so contorted with rage that Kael imagined there would have been a hurricane lambasting the window, had he still been cursed.
“But we have a plan,” Kael reminded him, firmly. “We’ll put an end to this.”
“You’re right,” Lysander said after a moment. He took a deep breath and snatched his goblet up. “To freedom!” And he downed the whole thing.
“Absolutely,” Uncle Martin agreed with a swig of his own. “And I think we could all do with a slice of cake. Bimply!”
The way he said it, Kael thought it was a swear. But then a plump woman stepped out from the kitchen and bustled over to their table. “You called?” she said.
Lysander sprang to his feet and nearly crushed her in his embrace. “Dear Mrs. Bimply, how I’ve missed your cooking! I wish you’d join the pirates. A good galley makes the journey that much shorter.”
She blushed and pushed him away. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Captain — a ship is no place for an old woman like me.”
“Quite right, quite right,” Uncle Martin interrupted. “But after all this dark talk, we’ve agreed that we could do with some cake. How about a chocolate one with extra sugar?”
Mrs. Bimply frowned, planting her hands on her stout hips. “You know you aren’t supposed to have any cake, Mr. Martin. It’s not good for your heart.”
“Not good for my —? I tell you, Lysander, I’ve been living in a dungeon. Everyday, she finds a new way to torture me.” He shot a glare at Mrs. Bimply, who gasped.
“I never —”
“Denying me cake,” Uncle Martin said loudly, rapping his cane on the table. “Plundering my secret stashes of cookies — all twelve of them! And,” he narrowed his eyes at her, “she trims the fat off my roast. How’s a man to keep up his strength, I ask you, if he’s got no fat on his roast? Abomination!”