Rebellion (Chronicles of Charanthe #1)

by Rachel Cotterill

  Chapter 5

  "Pirates!"

  Eleanor wasn't sure who shouted first, but soon the cry was echoing through all the crew.

  "Pirates! Pirates!"

  "Run the pennant up the mast!" John shouted at Eleanor. "Quickly, girl!"

  She didn't need to be told twice; she ran across the deck to the locker, slid back the bolts and lifted the heavy wooden lid. Scattering flags and pennants everywhere, she eventually found the one she was after: green was for pirates. She stuffed the others back into their store, closed the lid and pushed the bolts home again before scrambling to hoist the small cloth triangle. Only once the pennant was fluttering atop the mast did she dare take time to indulge her curiosity.

  Two weeks at sea hadn't stopped Eleanor being scared of meeting pirates, but now she knew they were in sight she was too intrigued to be properly afraid. She leaned over the side of the boat, squinting towards the horizon, convinced that she could just make out the speck of another vessel in the distance, silhouetted against the setting sun.

  Triangle, his telescope clamped to his eye, stared across the bay without comment.

  "Will they bother us?" she asked him as the boat came more clearly into view.

  Keeping his attention focused through the lens, Triangle shook his head. "Shouldn't," he said. "Don't know what they're doing in Imperial waters, mind. They usually keep out the way."

  "They're coming this way," Sandy said, somewhat unnecessarily since every man on deck was watching the approach.

  They all stood in silence for a few tense moments as the other boat drew closer, until Triangle from behind his telescope said, "And they're well armed."

  "Get Mag up here," John snapped urgently at Eleanor; wondering how that was going to help, she nevertheless ran and scrambled down through the hatch.

  "What you want?" Mag asked once she had woken him.

  "Captain wants you on deck. Pirates."

  He cursed under his breath, but he didn't ask any more questions and he suddenly moved so fast that she had to hurry to keep up with him. The pirate ship was almost alongside their boat by the time she got her head above deck again, and once Mag saw them he ran across the deck, shouting as he went. "Ghiida!" he called out across the waves. "Ghiida!" And then he launched into a rapid series of sounds that Eleanor couldn't even split into words.

  "What's he saying?" she asked John.

  "It's Magrad," he answered. "Course all the men speak it a bit, it's the main language o' trade beyond the Empire, but Mag's a native – they'll listen to him."

  Eleanor thought about this for a moment. "So... Mag's short for...?"

  "Magra. Haven't you asked the men where they got their names?"

  "So he's a pirate?" she asked, wondering vaguely why she'd never thought to ask any of the men about the origins of their nicknames. It explained the accent, at least.

  "Not all the Nomadic Seafaring People of Magra have piracy in their veins," John said sternly, but she saw a twinkle in his eye as he added, "But in Mag's case, yes."

  "And what about Spice?" His was the strangest accent of all the men.

  "He's from Taraska, where all the food is–"

  They were interrupted by a voice booming from the pirate ship, but the man spoke Charanthe not Magrad. "You're under arrest! Don't try to fight. I repeat, in the name of our mighty Empress, do not try to fight."

  "Vaarhu!" Mag cried, slamming his fist against the gunwale, and Eleanor knew from intonation alone that if she'd understood the word it wouldn't have been a polite one.

  "Accursed Imperial seaslugs!" John muttered. "Right – everyone ready for this?" He looked expectantly round at his crew, who were already drawing their weapons.

  Eleanor added her voice to the chorus from the men: "Ready!"

  She wondered how long the Imperial forces had been appropriating pirate ships for, with grudging admiration for the strategy: it had allowed them to get close enough for a fight this time and – assuming they escaped – John's crew would certainly be slower to trust Magra vessels in future. "Divide and conquer," she murmured under her breath. Very clever.

  She pulled out the handful of knives she'd picked up in Dashfort. Flimsy, yes, but they'd be okay for throwing. She hid one inside her trousers just in case she needed it, poised a second in her right hand ready for throwing, and held the others loosely in her left.

  Taking a moment to look around at the rest of the crew, she realised she was the only one whose weapons had range – the others had daggers, and Sandy had also picked up a short sword, but there was nothing that would help until their attackers tried to board. Eleanor took a deep breath, then loosed the first knife. It was supposed to be a warning – she aimed at the ear of the man who had spoken – but the pitching of the boats defeated her and the blade clattered harmlessly onto the deck of the Magra boat. She cursed quietly; this was going to be harder than she'd thought.

  Before she could aim a second shot, Eleanor was almost knocked off her feet as the two boats bumped together. As the pirate vessel scraped and rocked away from the Canny Rose, one of the Imperial officers swung his leg over the gunwale and thudded onto the deck of the ketch.

  Eleanor flung her next blade in his direction, and it caught the top of his arm before ricocheting down and lodging in the deck a finger's width from Mag's bare foot. She was glad that Mag didn't have time to look around for the source of the knife – he was too busy defending himself against their uninvited guest.

  A couple of the Imperial officers were attempting to tie the two boats together, having apparently got hold of one of the Rose's mooring ropes. Eleanor sent three knives in their direction, but again the way the boats pitched and rolled caused her aim to fail again such that even her best shot caused only a graze. She was running out of blades and a few more of the Imperial force had now made their way aboard the Rose; the sound of dagger ringing on dagger, along with the occasional curse and cry, filled her ears and she wished that John hadn't stripped her of her weapons. With only a couple of flimsy strips of metal to protect herself she felt vulnerable and defenceless in a way she'd never experienced before.

  Above the noise of the fight, she didn't hear the man who stepped up behind her and grabbed both her arms above the elbows. His grip was strong but she stamped hard on his toes, distracting him just long enough for her to wrench her left arm free.

  She swung around to face her assailant, feeling something tear in her right shoulder as she did so. Her fist connected clumsily with his jaw and she knew she'd lost; she'd really only had one chance. She brought her knee up into his groin but it was too late; he pushed her down onto the deck, angered rather than incapacitated by the pain, and rolled her forcefully onto her stomach before binding her hands and feet with rough mooring lines.

  He leaned in over her, and she could feel the point of his sword against the back of her neck. "I've half a mind to slit you open for that," he growled. "Except they'd have my neck for it." He stood up, and aimed a hard kick at her head before returning to the fray.

  She struggled against her bonds for a while, but she was too tightly bound to free the dagger from her trousers. Thinking it better to conserve her energy in case one of the others managed to cut her free, she lay still, just listening to the sounds of the fight continuing around her.

  A moment later a couple of Imperial guards threw Spice down beside her, and she caught one of them muttering "Bloody foreigners!" as they stomped back to what remained of the fight. There was less noise now; fewer blades remained in their owners' hands.

  "We're losing," Spice said once he'd recovered his breath. "We'll all be hanged before we know it."

  Eleanor didn't know what to say to such fatalism; she could only hope he was wrong. She hadn't thought the death penalty was used for such minor offences; come to that, she wasn't sure they'd actually done anything illegal. At least, not before they'd started to resist this supposed arrest.

  Eventually all sounds of fighting subsided; looking round as best she
could, she could tell it hadn't gone in their favour. The Rose's crew, injured to varying degrees, were all heavily bound and laid out on the deck.

  "That's her."

  Eleanor recognised the familiar Port accent, and looked up to find she also recognised the face. She froze in surprise. What kind of business could have brought the harbour master of Port Just out here?

  "Did you follow me?" she asked, sensing there was little point in pretending not to recognise him.

  "Oh, all the smuggling ships out of Arche come via Dashfort," he said. "You were easy to find."

  "But why? Why me?"

  He didn't answer, but turned to a couple of the other officials and said, "Secure them all for the night; we'll anchor here till morning."

  "Why?" she repeated crossly, but still no answer was forthcoming.

  The men picked up Eleanor and the rest of the crew like sacks of potatoes, hauled them over to the pirate vessel, and piled them into a prison cage which filled half the hold.

  Once the guards had left them alone, John turned on Eleanor. "I trusted you, lass," he said harshly. "I'll not be making that mistake again."

  "I didn't do anything!"

  "You lied."

  "Don' say we never tol' you, Cap'n," Anvil muttered. Eleanor looked round at him, and he glared at her with a venom she'd never seen before.

  "I didn't," Eleanor objected. "You knew that harbour master's got some delusions in his head. I didn't know he'd come after me!"

  "If you'd kept your head below deck in Dashfort like I told you, you'd've never been seen, and they'd've never come after my boat."

  "Maybe." Her shoulder hurt, and she was too tired to be bothered with arguments. "But none of this is helping – we need to find a way out of here, preferably while they're sleeping."

  Anvil snickered. "What're we goin' to do, genius? We're all tied up an' they took all our weapons."

  "Not mine," Eleanor said. "I've still got a knife, if someone can help me get to it."

  John looked across at her. "Thought I took all your knives away."

  "I picked up another in Dashfort," she said. "It's not very good, but better than nothing. Anyone's hands free enough to help?"

  "They tied my hands in front o' me," Triangle said, shuffling across the cell to her side. "So I prob'ly can."

  "Can you reach my belt?" She turned her left hip awkwardly towards him as he reached her. "If you can hook your fingers underneath, you should be able to find the handle. Careful now!"

  He managed to pull the blade out without cutting her, and held it firmly in his fist. "Now what?"

  Eleanor turned her back to him and held out her bound wrists. "If you can cut the rope, we can both work on freeing everyone."

  Anvil shook his head. "You wanna get us all killed?" he asked sullenly. "If you hadn't noticed, we'll still be in this cage even if we cut all our bonds. No good jus' causing trouble."

  "I'll take my chances," Eleanor muttered. Her hair was fastened in a tight bun at the back of her neck; she was confident she could spring the lock with a couple of hairpins. "Tri?"

  He ran the flimsy knife back and forth along the knotted rope, slicing each fibre in turn. It was much harder work than it would've been with a decent blade, but it was working. His hands slipped once and the blade grazed Eleanor's skin; he started to apologise but she just urged him to continue working at the rope, and before too long her hands were free.

  She flexed her wrists, glad to feel the blood coming back to her fingers, then took the knife from Triangle to return the favour.

  "Is Anvil right?" he asked before she'd cut through more than a quarter of the thickness, pulling his wrists away from the blade. "Is this rebellin' just goin' to get us killed?"

  "I don't think so," she said. "But if you want, I'll get the door open first."

  She was aware that everyone was staring at her and she realised that in the fight to persuade them she wasn't an assassin, she'd just taken a huge step backwards. Still, their current plight seemed more pressing. She sighed, abandoned Triangle's bonds and began to work on freeing her own feet. If they weren't going to trust her, she'd just have to prove her point.

  She stood up and moved across to the door of the cage, pulling pins from her bun as she went and feeling the waves of hair falling down onto her back. This sort of prison-cage was never supposed to be opened from the inside so she had to reach around to get to the lock; she was going to have to work at a very awkward angle. She stowed her knife back under her belt and reached her hands through the bars to get at the keyhole.

  With her fingers curled around the lock she began to explore the mechanism with her hairpins, pushing at each lever in turn until she felt the cylinder move and click into its new position. She heard murmurs from the crew behind her, but she couldn't afford to spare them any of her attention – the lock was stiff and the job was fiddly, demanding all of her attention.

  A couple of times the boat lurched beneath her, causing her fingers to slip and lose the progress she'd made, but eventually a final click brought the cylinder into its open position, and she pushed the gate open.

  She turned in triumph. "See?"

  Suddenly everyone wanted their bonds cutting – even Anvil. She resolved to leave his till last for his attitude.

  "You'll all be free in a moment," she said as she began to work on Triangle's wrists first. "But once you step out of this cage, you're on your own. Those Imperial halfwits are only sleeping, and if you wake them, don't think they can't overpower us again. Okay?"

  Most of the men just nodded, but Jaws spoke up: "We should kill them in their beds. Slit their throats while they're sleeping – then they can't follow us."

  Eleanor looked to John. "Can the Rose outrun this ship?" she asked. He nodded, as she'd expected. "Then we should just go, as fast as we can, or we'll be in more trouble than we are now."

  "Quite right," John agreed. "If any of us ever wants to set foot in the Empire again, we'll leave them alive."

  "If we kill them, no-one knows who did it," Jaws countered. "Leave them alive, and they can run back with any tales they like."

  "I'm not caring about the Empire anyway," Spice added, a vicious glint in his eyes.

  "No." John's voice was hard now, and Eleanor wondered if he was the only one with a wife back home. "When the girl cuts you free, you'll leave this boat and get back to the Rose as quickly and silently as you can. No detours. That's an order."

  His pronouncement seemed to be enough to silence the dissent, and Eleanor went back to slicing the men's bonds as fast as she could. Once they were all free, John led the way up the ladder and across the deck to where the Rose was still lashed in place.

  The nine sets of footsteps echoing on the deck worried Eleanor; she was sure they'd be heard, and she held her knife in readiness. She didn't want to make herself more of a fugitive than she already was, but if it was a choice between imprisonment and freedom then she knew what she'd choose.

  Somehow they made it aboard the Rose without incident, and while John collected up the assorted weapons which were still scattered across the deck his crew hurried to untie the mooring lines, haul the anchor, and rig the sails for a quick getaway.

  Eleanor turned to John as they left the other boat disappearing into the distance: "Now, can I have my real knives back?"

  He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then nodded. "Aye, girl, I suppose we owe you something now."

  He went over to the safe and brought out the two school daggers first, then her throwing knife and name bangle.

  "Whenever you're ready to tell me the truth," he said as he handed them over, "I'm all ears."